Griffin was right about one thing. Barry wanted to see him dead.
*
As Barry pilfered food from the kitchen, Griffin searched the third floor. Nothing, he found absolutely nothing. He was returning to the main staircase when the steps leading to the attic door caught his attention. As a precaution he checked. The door was still bolted. His hand lingered on the door, a sensual smile played across his lips. Many perverse pleasures had played out behind the locked door.
He pulled out his keys and unlocked the attic door. The temperature inside was significantly warmer but it was still a nice room. He drifted to the vanity. There, his fingers lingered on the bottles, absently fingering the glass. Dora’s scent wafted in the room. A long strand of her dark hair was still caught in the brush.
Dora had been the most beautiful woman in the town of Junction. The fact she was dating Robert Riley when Griffin met her, made the pursuit all the more interesting. The money, the attention he lavished on her, poor Robert couldn’t compete. As fate would have it, the last laugh would be theirs. Before they married, Dora had slipped away one last time to be with Robert.
To think, during their wedding ceremony, while they were exchanging vows, Robert’s sperm had already intercepted an egg and imbedded in his wife’s uterine lining. The timing so perfect it would appear to a fawning husband as if he had impregnated his wife on their honeymoon. The muscle in his jaw twitched. His hand swept across the vanity. Perfume bottles crashed to the floor, he was ensconced in Dora’s scent. “You conniving bitch! If you were alive, I would kill you!”
The shrouded figure on the bed did not stir. Threats were meaningless to the dead. Enraged by the silence, he kicked the breast pump across the room. It hit the far wall and broke into pieces. A long two inch wedge appeared in the wall.
Squinting in disbelief, he moved across the room.
A burst of laughter erupted from him. The dumbwaiter, he had forgotten about the damn thing. “So the little mouse has gone down to the kitchen to get something to eat.”
Behind him the vanity mirror shattered.
He spun around, surprised.
A noise began to vibrate through the walls. It came from all directions, growing louder in intensity.
He stood at the center of the room. “I’ve always known you were here Dora. I‘ve felt your censure permeating the rooms of this house for almost a decade.”
The thumping reached a crescendo.
He yelled over the furor. “Once Barry’s dead, the last trace of you and Robert will be gone forever.” He grabbed a large piece of the broken mirror and strode toward the dumbwaiter.
The cut rope dropped down into the shaft.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
They traveled East
The dirt bike got them as far as Kerrville, Texas.
It had been a hell of a day and they had only twenty miles to show for it. They rode out of the sandstorm like two time travelers covered in grime, unable to share their harrowing trip with any fellow travelers. The town of Kerrville had not been subjected to a single stray grain of sand. They ditched the bike when it ran out of gas and walked along the shoulder of I-10. Although it was still unmercifully hot, the large expanse of blue Texas sky overhead was a welcome sight.
As was the gas station at exit 110.
Suzy went inside to ask for the key to the restroom. A thick layer of grit covered her and her shoulder-length hair was a tangled mess.
The attendant gave her a long, hard look.
She said, “Look, I got money to spend in here.” She fished a crumbled, dirty twenty dollar bill out of her pocket, stolen from her father’s wallet as a last minute thought.
The man handed her the key with obvious reluctance, he said, “Make sure and bring it back.”
Unable to resist rolling her eyes she went out the door mumbling, “Gee, I got myself a bathroom key, the world is mine.”
She met Jar around back, where they took turns cleaning up in the bathroom. While Jar was inside the men’s room she opened his backpack and did a quick search. The clay box was inside, still radiating warmth, like a heated brick. She glanced up to make sure Jar wasn’t coming out of the bathroom and tentatively reached in and brought the clay box out onto her lap. A surge of heat went up through her fingertips and across her thighs, before she could break contact a warmth, both vile and pleasant, spread toward her crotch and she felt a quiver of excitement vibrate through her like the time the warm water from the showerhead hit her unexpectedly in her private area.
The doorknob rattled behind her and she jerked the box off her lap and hastily shoved it back into Jar’s bag. The warmth lingered along with dirty thoughts—she felt Dwaine Miller’s fingers on her hipbone, his fingertips gently rubbing across her cotton undies but instead of turning away she let him touch her. When Jar emerged she kept her head down afraid he might see something in her eyes.
They returned the key to the attendant and purchased a drink and sandwich. The little bit of air conditioning inside the station made them linger until the unwavering scrutiny of the gas station attendant forced them back out into the heat.
They were sitting on the curb of the gas station, trying to stay out of sight when Jar felt the first push come through. It was like someone was feeling around inside of his head, soft fingers probing around the lobe of his brain. He jerked back at the sensation then closed his eyes and let the sun fall on his face. He felt the message more than heard it. The urgency made his heart start to pound. “Hurry, it’s not safe.”
His eyes snapped open and he looked around. It wasn’t Jean-Claude. This voice sounded different. It sounded like a woman. Standing, he dragged Suzy up. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”
A truck driver carrying a thermos of coffee was walking toward a freightliner.
Jar whispered to Suzy. “Just follow my lead, whatever I say just nod in agreement and don’t throw me any funny looks.”
He approached the truck driver and in a voice Suzy didn’t recognize said, “Excuse me mister could you give me and my sister a ride?” His lower lip quivered.
The truck driver hesitated and looked over his shoulder to see if anyone else was around who might help out. “Listen kid, I’d love to but it’s against company policy. I’m not allowed to carry passengers, I could lose my job.” He made as if to walk away.
Jar followed. “I know about the rules, my uncle drives over the road for Bestline. I wouldn’t ask. It’s just our mom’s real sick over in Louisiana and our dad…” Here he hesitated and let a few tears slide down his face. “Our dad’s a drunk and won’t take us to see her.” He rubbed his arm across his face smearing the tears and a load of gritty snot across his arm.
The truck driver looked toward the gas station, hoping someone else might come along and save the day. Relenting he asked, “How far ya going?”
“Just outside of New Orleans.”
The truck driver waved them toward his truck. “All right then, quick now.”
As the diesel engine rumbled to life and the truck driver cranked her into gear, Jar felt the second push. “Hurry, now. Somethin’s coming.” The voice was definitely feminine there was a lyrical nuance in the speech pattern he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He looked in the side mirrors half expecting something or someone to come running up beside the truck. Nothing was there.
The cab jerked as the trucker shifted gears and slowly, ever so slowly the big rig started to pick up speed as it climbed the on ramp to I-10. East, they were heading east toward San Antonio, Baton Rouge, and then on to New Orleans. Jar didn’t want to touch the clay box but when they got closer he would. He dozed fitfully next to Suzy dreaming about fire, gypsies and a looming presence. He mumbled in his sleep, “Don’t worry, Mom. Don’t worry.”
Jim Streat looked down at the sleeping kids and smiled. Back at the gas station he was pretty sure he was being conned but hearing the boy murmur to his mother in his sleep made him feel like he’d done the right thing. He shifted into twelf
th gear, pressed his foot on the gas and took a drink of his coffee. He rolled through San Antonio and Houston while the kids slept like the dead. He made good time. Baton Rouge was on the horizon when the boy started to stir.
“I’m going to have to drop you off at the next rest stop.”
Jar strained his eyes to identify the road and their location.
Jim said, “We’re coming up on Baton Rouge. I can take you as far as Gonzales. I’d take you further, but there’s a check point just the other side and I can’t have you kids in the truck.”
Jar nodded he understood and wiped a dirty hand across his eyes trying to clear the sleep from them.
“I hope everything turns out okay with your mother.”
“Yeah, me too.” Jar wondered how she was holding up in the trailer and if the sand had finally gotten in. Jean-Claude whispered slyly. I bet she’s one cooked tater. Jar shrugged his shoulder in agitation trying to dismiss the annoying voice without saying anything.
“She okay?” Jim nodded his head toward Suzy.
Suzy was in a deep sleep. Her breath came in deep, rhythmic sighs.
“Yeah, she can sleep anywhere.”
The truck rumbled into the rest area, coming to a stop with a shudder and a hiss of airbrakes. Jar grabbed his backpack, gave Suzy a quick shake and together they climbed down out of the cab. For the moment the voices in Jar’s head were silent. He looked out over the rest area with exhausted eyes, thankful they had gotten as far as they had but knowing they still had a long way to go.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Junction, Texas
Beth reached the third landing. The walls vibrated with noise. Unnerved but determined to find Barry, she followed the sound until she came around a corner and found herself face to face with Griffin Tanner. As she expected he had a gun.
They both froze.
He broke the silence. “I have a riddle for you Beth. How many Riley’s does it take to really piss off a Tanner?”
She cocked her head slightly. For a moment the sweet perplexed expression on her face made it look as if she were considering the riddle. Before she could say anything, Griffin swung the rifle he was carrying and smashed it against the side of her temple. The sweet perplexed look remained on her face as a trickle of blood slid down from her hairline.
She crumbled to the floor.
He leaned down and answered his own riddle. “Four, if you count Robert’s dad.” He shouldered his weapon, squatted down and lifted Beth into his arms. Surprised by her lightness, he commented as if passing the time. “You’re quite a trim little lady. Robert always had a good eye when it came to the ladies.”
He continued to chat while he carried Beth’s limp body in his arms. “I wonder if you ever had the chance to meet your father-in-law, Rusty Riley. You see, I never got to meet the man. He was dead before I came back to town. I would have liked to though. I would have liked to have met the man who torched a tent full of women and children. Of course they were just gypsies so they didn’t really count.”
He looked down at Beth’s lifeless face, continuing his one-sided conversation. “You seem shocked. Still surprised Robert kept secrets?” On the second landing he started to yell. “Barry, come on out, you have a visitor.”
His voice echoed through the great hall. “Someone came to save you. Don’t you want to thank her?” He dumped Beth’s body onto the floor at his feet. She hit with a soft thud and let out a small moan.
Crouching down, he smacked her face. “Wake up. I need your voice.”
Her eyes rolled open but she couldn’t focus. The pain that had been with her for the past two months was back with a vengeance and she felt like she was going to be sick. She had had the weirdest dream, she dreamt… she was in Griffin Tanner’s house, only, he wasn’t a man anymore he was shifting into something else. She tried to roll away from the pain but something hit her in the face and the pain engulfed her again.
This time her eyes opened and focused.
Griffin was leaning over her.
She screamed. “No!”
He said, “Louder Beth, scream louder.”
Beth screamed again.
“You better come help your friend Barry, she doesn’t look too good.”
*
Barry heard a woman scream.
Padding on bare feet, he moved quietly through the corridors expecting a trap. His pockets were filled with shotgun shells, his gun was loaded and he felt confident Griffin would not be able to surprise him.
Griffin’s taunting words floated through the great hall. “Come meet your would-be savior.”
Standing in the shadows, Barry peered up.
Beth Riley was dangling from the third floor banister. The only thing stopping her from taking a twenty-foot plunge to a cold, hard marble floor was Griffin Tanner’s arm.
It was a trap.
The shotgun, the extra ammunition, nothing he had could save Beth. What the hell was she doing here? Leaning against a column, he considered his options.
Griffin loosened his grip on Beth. The sudden drop elicited another scream.
Realizing he didn’t have another option, Barry shouted, “Stop! I’m right here.” He left the shotgun leaning against the column and emptied his pockets. If he had the chance, maybe, just maybe he could get back to the gun.
Unarmed, he walked out of the shadows. The sight of Beth dangling over the banister made his breath catch in his chest. A painful memory surfaced.
*
Griffin’s eyes locked on Barry. The boy looked like he was about to collapse. His skin was pale, almost translucent. He was wearing shorts, no shirt and Griffin didn’t need to see his back to know it was crisscrossed with angry red scars. He touched his tongue to his lips and remembered the cocky boy who existed only a month ago. He did that. He dismantled Robert’s son and created that quivering boy who could be knocked over by a slight wind.
Griffin shouted, “We’re coming down. Stay where you are or I’ll kill her.” He dragged Beth over the banister and began the decent. Holding his rifle with one hand he maneuvered Beth down the stairs with the other. When they reached the bottom he pushed her out in front of him and pointed the gun at her back.
Beth stumbled but managed to stay on her feet. The closer she got to Barry the harder it was to believe this was the same boy who had sat at her dinner table and cheated at canasta. His skin had always been a dark brown, his posture cocky. As much as she disliked his friendship with Jared, she had always thought he was beautiful. This boy looked like a ghost. She was unaware that her own appearance was equally disturbing.
“That’s far enough.” Griffin gave her a quick jab with the tip of the rifle. “Now step aside.”
She stepped away.
Griffin brought the gun to his shoulder and took aim. “Any last words Barry?”
As if in response to the question, the lights dimmed and went out. The low hum vibrating through the halls faded. Silence descended over the large house.
Barry murmured, “The generator’s out.”
Griffin’s finger tightened on the trigger. The only thing stopping him was the enjoyment he received from the tense expectation playing across both Beth and Barry’s faces.
Loud thumps echoed through the hazy, great hall. Gilt framed paintings dropped from the third landing, crashing against the floor of the great hall. These were followed by, urns, pots and statues. Each item shattered on the marble floor.
Grinning wildly, Griffin shouted, “Is that the best you’ve got?” He threw back his head and laughed. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to save them.” Closing the distance between himself and Barry, he slammed the butt of the gun into his gut.
Barry sank to his knees.
“Come on Dora! Save him if you can!” He raised the butt of the shotgun again. This time the blow landed against the side of Barry’s head.
Blood flew from Barry’s mouth. He slumped to the ground.
Beth sobbed. “Stop! Please Griffi
n, just stop.”
He did not acknowledge Beth’s presence or her words. He addressed himself to the air and the walls around him. “Is this all you’ve got? A few pots, some paintings, a broken generator?” He was gesturing crazily with the gun. First pointing it at Beth, then at Barry, who still remained slumped at his feet.
Beth dropped down and crawled across the floor. She touched Barry’s hair. His eyes were open but he remained motionless, his cheek pressed against the cool, marble. Feeling helpless she whispered, “I told you Robert, I told you I couldn’t help.”
The use of Robert’s name silenced Griffin’s tirade. Raising the gun to strike her, cheeks red with the fever he asked, “What did you just say?”
Unable to resist taunting the man who had made his youth a prison sentence, Barry turned his head, spat a wad of blood and said, “She told Robert she couldn’t help.”
Griffin stepped back at the use of Robert’s name. His reaction was not lost on either Beth or Barry. “Is Robert here?” The insane grin returned. He spun wildly laughing at the walls. “Do you really think she can stop me?” He barked out a crazed laugh and pointed the gun at Barry’s head. “Do you think she can save him?”
Above them the great chandelier began to tremble.
Nudging Barry, Beth quietly pointed up. The two inched away slowly.
The trembling intensified. A piece of plaster cracked and fell to the floor. Large cracks raced across the ceiling. Dante’s nine rings of hell began to rain down over the foyer. There was a great shudder, followed by a loud pop. The chandelier lurched and began its descent.
Grinning at the marvelous display, Griffin stepped back shielding his eyes.
The glass chandelier exploded against the marble floor.
*
In the ensuing chaos, Beth and Barry scrambled away.
The Drought Page 21
