by Paul Seiple
Eight
Kim sat on the corner of the bed banging her heels against the frame. She made a few swipes on her phone and sent another text message to Terrence. As soon as her phone noted the message was delivered, she heard a chime in the hallway.
“I’m here,” Terrence said, walking into the room.
“I sent you ten messages. You never responded,” Kim said.
“It was twelve, and it’s seven in the morning.”
“They released me early.”
Terrence dropped a chicken biscuit onto the tray attached to the bed. “Wonder why?” He laughed.
“Thanks. I’ll eat it on the way,” Kim said, tossing the wrapped biscuit into her purse.
“I don’t think your house is going anywhere. Take a minute and eat the biscuit,” Terrence said.
“I’m not going home. We are going to McDowell’s museum.”
“Kim, you’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday and did I mention it’s seven in the morning? McDowell isn’t there yet.”
Kim pulled the biscuit from her bag, unwrapped it, and took a bite. “He lives there. I’ve already talked to him.” She took another bite.
“Slow down,” Terrence said. “I don’t want to hear you complaining about indigestion all day.”
Kim put the biscuit on the tray and opened her father’s journal. “I didn’t have anything to do last night, so I read this whole thing.”
“About that.”
“About what?” Kim asked, holding up the journal. “This?”
“Yeah, your father was looking for it.”
“Shit. What did you tell him?”
Terrence thought back to the conversation with Sam about the Carpenter boy stealing the journal. Kim was too frantic to drop that on her. “I didn’t give you up.”
“Was he pissed?”
“A little.”
“Did he break anything?”
Terrence thought back to the broken mug. “Nope. He just cursed a bit. Does he break things often?”
“Sometimes. Anyway, the day Lloyd murdered his family...thirty-five years ago on the exact same day, Hayes was executed.” Kim took another bite of the biscuit and wiped her mouth. “These aren’t coincidences. I read the book McDowell gave me too.”
“The whole thing?” Terrence asked.
“Most of it. I think Derek Gallagher may know more about The Silent Six than my father. We need to talk to him.”
“I’ll make a call when we get in the car to see if we can find him,” Terrence said.
Kim smirked and took another bite. “Already done. I got Alvarez to find him this morning. Gallagher’s in Columbia. I sent him an email.”
Terrence shook his head. “OK, but I think we should stop in and see Lloyd for a few minutes before we leave. He’s getting released from the hospital this afternoon. Since we’re already here, it’s going to be easier to talk to him than at the jail.”
“Let’s go,” Kim said.
Kim tossed the half-eaten biscuit in the trash and opened the door, only to be greeted by two cameramen following District Attorney Judith Richards. Kim tried to shut the door before Richards saw her but was too late.
“Detective Strode?” Judith asked.
Kim eased the door open. Judith motioned for the cameramen to kill the cameras.
“Is your father all right?” Judith asked.
“My dad?”
Kim moved into the hallway. Terrence followed.
“I just assumed you were here because of your father,” Judith said.
“He’s fine. I took a spill.”
“Well, I do hope everything is fine,” Judith said.
“What are you doing here? Filming a campaign video?” Terrence asked.
Judith smiled. “I see you’re still a little upset about yesterday, Detective Simms.”
“What are you doing here?” Kim asked.
Judith turned to the cameramen. “I’ve been asked to participate in an episode of Absolute Justice on The Silent Six case.”
“You definitely strike fast,” Terrence said.
Judith feigned a smile and motioned for the cameramen to film. “Detective Simms, Tommy Lloyd murdered his entire family. It is my only purpose to ensure that justice is served swiftly and absolutely.”
One cameraman gave a thumbs-up and continued to film, while the other one moved to get a side angle of Judith and Terrence.
“And it has nothing to do with the national exposure, right?” Terrence looked directly into the camera. “Is it possible to find her good side?” He stepped out of the camera’s angle.
The cameraman put the camera down. “Don’t worry, we can edit that out.”
“Of course you can,” Terrence said. “I’m going to get some coffee. I’ll meet you at the vending machine, Kim.”
“I’m not sure why that man has a vendetta against me, but I assure you, Detective Strode, justice is my only motive,” Judith said.
“Aren’t you even the slightest bit concerned as to why Lloyd murdered his family?” Kim asked.
“That’s a discussion reserved for Mr. Lloyd and God. I’m only concerned about being the voice for those who can no longer speak.”
“That’s good. Can you say the last part again?” The cameraman moved to get another angle of Judith and started to record.
“Get out of the way. Move.” A uniformed officer bumped the cameraman, knocking him against the wall. Three orderlies followed with two more cops trailing.
“Sorry, D.A. Richards, but there’s an emergency on the fifth floor,” the officer said as the orderlies and other cops passed by.
“What’s going on?” Kim asked.
The officer paused for a moment to catch his breath.
Terrence rounded the corner. “It’s Lloyd. Caught the last of it of the radio.”
The pain pulsating through Tommy Lloyd’s eyes made him want to gouge them out. The constant crying and replaying the scene in his mind was nearing him to the point of complete insanity. The lack of sleep didn’t help things. Tommy never wanted to close his eyes again. Whenever he did, he saw the faces and heard the screams. Their deaths haunted him—his son, a successful bank manager, his son’s wife, the best mother the twins could have ever hoped for. Tears flowed from Tommy’s cheeks to the pillow. The twins. Only eight years old. The same age as Jimmy when Hayes murdered him. Only this time, Tommy was the murderer. It was too much. He wanted to die. He wanted everything he had ever been taught about God and Heaven to be wrong. He didn’t want an afterlife. Tommy wanted it to end and fade away into nothingness.
A chill gripped Tommy, nearly sucking the breath from his lungs. A tinge of burn teased the flesh of his cheeks. He shook as the room grew colder. Between shivers, his breath formed a thin smoke that hung just above his face. The burning intensified. He reached for his face, realizing the tears were turning to ice.
“Don’t cry, Dad.”
The soft words swooshed over Tommy. A fine mist swirled around his arms, pulling Tommy’s hands away from his face. An inhuman strength held his wrists to the side of the bed with near bone-breaking force. A tingling latched on to Tommy’s ear.
“Let me wipe those tears away.”
The whisper blew into Tommy’s ear canal, causing a stabbing pain to radiate into his neck. He cried out when the sensation of splashing acid hit his cheek. Tommy tried to blink in hopes of making the feeling of melting flesh disappear, but something held his eyes open.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Tommy asked.
The pain went away. The cold lifted, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. An indentation formed on the flowered comforter at the foot of the bed. The shape of a little boy materialized.
“I thought we were playing a game, Father. Did I hurt you?” The boy kicked his heels against the bed, sending a vibration through Tommy’s body.
“You’re not Jimmy.”
The boy hopped off the bed and moved toward Tommy. The room filled with a sulfuric odor. Tommy took a deep bre
ath in a vain attempt to avoid the smell, but the sulfur seeped through, causing him to gag. The boy giggled.
Tommy cowered as the boy got closer. There was a temperature shift in the room that turned the gooseflesh on Tommy into beads of sweat. The comforter heated to the point that Tommy cooked underneath it. He tried to kick it off of him, but something kept it weighted down. The boy passed Tommy and walked up the wall and hovered in the corner just below the ceiling.
“What’s wrong, old man? I thought you wanted to die. You killed your family; you’ll surely burn in hell.” The voice was much deeper than a child’s voice. “Get used to it.”
“You made me kill them,” Tommy said.
The boy placed his hands above his head and flipped so that he was on his hands and knees, hanging from the ceiling. His body stretched downward until he was eye to eye with Tommy.
“I did no such thing.”
The hot breath singed Tommy’s face. The smell of rotting flesh caused him to dry-heave.
“You pulled the trigger. You have to live with knowing you, and you alone, are the reason your family will suffer eternally in the bowels of hell.”
There was a sudden black flash. The little boy was sitting at the foot of the bed again. The bedspread turned colder, causing Tommy to wince as the chill hit burning skin. Tommy recited The Lord’s Prayer. The boy repeated the words after him in a soft childlike tone, as if he were learning them for the first time. When they got to “But deliver us from evil,” Tommy went silent as pressure gripped his throat. The temperature began to rise again.
“Let’s not get carried away,” the boy said, his voice was still deeper than a child’s.
A familiar mist fell over the room, dampening Tommy. At first, it was just wetness against his skin, but then it began to sting. He tried to scream, but the invisible force against his throat tightened. Only a muffled gasp escaped. Music filled the room. Barely audible at first, the song became louder as if someone was turning up the volume.
“Remember this song, Father?” the boy said. His voice was back to that of a child. He started to sing the chorus to “Rhinestone Cowboy.” “We used to sit in the backyard on Saturday nights singing this song and trying to catch fireflies.”
Memories of the eight-year-old boy Tommy used to know crashed over him, drowning him sadness. He saw Jimmy playing on a homemade swing made with an old tire from Tommy’s pick-up truck. He heard his son’s laughter just as it was in 1975 before he disappeared.
“Why didn’t you save me from the bad man?” Jimmy asked.
The boy inched closer to Tommy. A sulfuric odor burned Tommy’s nostrils, matching the stinging of his flesh. He tried to move away from the boy, but paralysis made it impossible.
“The bad man did bad things to me, Father. He hurt me. But it hurts more to know that you didn’t care.”
“I did care. I never stopped looking for you,” Tommy said with the complete knowledge he wasn’t talking to his son. It didn’t matter. This thing mimicking Jimmy was making him feel excruciating grief.
“If you cared, you would have found me. What’s left of me is buried underneath the tire.”
“You’re lying.”
An evil smirk took over the boy’s face and his voice deepened. “Am I? You remember the tire swing you built for me? You were just thinking about it.”
“Get out of my head,” Tommy said.
The boy laughed. “I’m not in your head, old man. I’m in your soul, raping it, taking everything from you.” The voice softened again. “Because you let the bad man take me.”
“You made me shoot Will,” Tommy said.
“And his wife and twins. Don’t forget them.” The voice was deep again.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
The boy stood up on the bed and levitated, floating over the floor. “Because I can. I am one of the six. We will be silent no longer.”
A force hit Tommy’s chest hard enough that his arms and legs lifted from the bed. A bright flash caused him to close his eyes. When he opened them, he saw the boy hovering over him. The boy’s right arm, up to the elbow, was buried inside Tommy’s chest. Pressure intensified, giving the feeling of weight being dropped on Tommy. A sharp pain raced along his left arm like the fuse of a firecracker. The pain exploded when it reached his jaw, sending shrapnel all throughout his face. Tommy tried to breathe, but it was over. He had taken his last breath. He closed his eyes and saw little Jimmy standing by the tire swing singing “Rhinestone Cowboy” and waving at him.
“Kick the door down,” Terrence said, running up on a group of officers and nurses huddled in front of Lloyd’s room.
“We can’t. It’s like there’s an invisible wall there or something,” one of the officers said. Realizing that sounded insane, he blended back into the crowd.
Kim pushed by Terrence and looked through the glass in the door. Lloyd thrashed as if someone was shaking him, but there was no one there. She grabbed the door handle, jerking her hand back after heat cut through her flesh. The handle turned and clicked on its own. The door popped open. No one else saw it. Kim pushed through. Terrence followed.
Even with the constant sound of flatlining, there was a peace in the room. The calm didn’t last as doctors and nurses crowded around the bed. Lloyd no longer thrashed. His body lay motionless as a doctor pressed the defibrillator paddles against his chest. There were no signs of life left in Lloyd.
“Heart attack?” Terrence asked, noticing Judith and the two cameramen standing in the doorway. “Cut those cameras.”
Judith made a swiping motion under her neck. “Sorry, I didn’t realize they were still filming.” She faced the cameramen. “I assure you this footage will be destroyed.”
The men put the cameras to their sides and nodded.
“He’s gone,” a doctor said, placing the paddles back on the machine.
Kim turned to speak to Terrence, but something written on the wall stole her voice. In red were the words “The Mayhem was here.” Beneath the words were two small handprints.
“Are you OK, Detective Strode?” Judith asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Kim ignored Judith. She nudged Terrence. “Look at that.”
“The wall?” Terrence asked.
“No, what’s on the wall.”
“Kim, I don’t see anything on the wall.”
Kim took out her iPhone and snapped a picture of the wall. She looked at it. The words were there. “You don’t see this?” she asked, handing the phone to Terrence.
“I only see a yellow wall.”
Kim looked at the picture again. “The Mayhem was here” was there on the wall.
“Are you sure you’re feeling OK, Detective Strode?” Judith asked. “Do you see something we can’t?”
“No. It was my mind playing tricks on me. Lack of sleep, I guess.” Kim shoved the phone back into her blazer. “Terrence, we have that meeting.” She walked by Judith and the cameramen into the hall.
“Looks like you’re going to have to find another crusade to latch your campaign train to,” Terrence said to Judith as he passed.
Judith smiled and shook her head. “I really don’t know why you don’t like me, Detective Simms.”
Nine
“What did you see in there?” Terrence asked, pulling the sedan out of the hospital parking lot.
“You wouldn’t believe me,” Kim said.
“I’m your partner. You can trust me. But more than that, I’m your friend. I will believe you.”
“It was nothing. Like I told Reynolds, it’s probably lack of sleep.”
Terrence pulled the car to the curb and stopped. “I know there are strange things happening. What did you see?”
Kim tapped her phone and swiped to the photo. She hoped it really was just lack of sleep, but the words were still there—bright red letters flaring out against a yellow wall. She gazed at the photo, hesitating to reveal what she saw to Terrence. After a few seconds, she sighed and said, “I
see the words ‘The Mayhem was here’ and two small handprints that look like a child’s.”
Terrence squinted. A wrinkle stretched across his forehead. He looked at Kim as though she was speaking a language he didn’t understand.
“I know. I wouldn’t believe it either. Hell, I’m not even sure I believe it, and I can see it.”
Terrence shook the bewildered look and started the car. “I believe you. But why can’t I see it too?”
Kim shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Hopefully, McDowell will have some answers.”
Don McDowell and the supernatural were old friends. He saw his first ghost at the age of fourteen. One night, he was woken from sleep by a chill. He opened his eyes to see the head of his next-door neighbor, who had recently passed in a car wreck, floating over him. Don was more curious than frightened. He wanted to know why the neighbor chose him. It was a question that would go unanswered. Don never saw his neighbor again. It was fifteen years before he witnessed anything else “not of this world.”
Don was a ten-year veteran on the Biloxi police force when he received a call to check out a disturbance at a house in a normally peaceful neighborhood. Instead of following protocol and waiting for backup, he entered the house after hearing the screams of a child. No amount of training could have prepared Don for the scene. Two women were cowered in a corner praying as a child levitated over a bed while speaking in tongue. When Don walked into the room, silence fell. The women stopped praying. The child crashed to the bed in exhaustion.
“Please don’t take him away,” one of the women said. “He’s not crazy. He’s got the devil in him.”
Don glanced at the boy, who seemed to be asleep. He spoke into the radio attached to his shoulder and informed the dispatcher everything was under control and backup wasn’t needed.
“Thank you. I’m Lisa and this is my mother, Cynthia.”
