Summer Shadows

by Killarney Traynor

  “Something in this room,” George said. “Remember, the footprints only went into this room.”

  “I wonder if he found it,” Mac said quietly.

  “Probably not. I mean, he was still here, wasn’t he?”

  “But he was carrying that bag awfully tightly,” Ron countered. “He had something in there. More clippings maybe. Where would he get those? They were pretty old.”

  “Newspaper office, I guess,” George mused. “They keep back copies and stuff, right?”

  “I don’t know,” Dylan muttered. He stood by the door, his hands jammed in his pockets, his manner sullen. “It’s creepy either way.”

  “However he got them,” Ron said, “you’re right, Mac. He is obsessed.” He thought back to all the people they had met in the past two weeks. “You don’t think it’s that writer guy, do you?”

  “Who?”

  “The one who wrote that mystery. He told Aunt Julia that he spent months researching it, and it’s based on this murder. Do you think he’s the one who is…” He stopped, shaking his head. “No, that’s silly. He can get in here with permission and stuff. He doesn’t need to hide.”

  “Check it out,” George said suddenly. He was bent over the floor next to the lounge, shining his light on the floorboards.

  They gathered around him and looked at the dark spot on the floor.

  George traced it with his finger, then withdrew it quickly before looking up. “She was stabbed or something in this room twenty years ago and this thing is still here. It’s like - time froze or something.” He looked at Ron. “Man. Imagine that night, living right next door to a murder, hearing the sirens and everything and realizing that there was a killer only a few yards away? Got to be scary. Sirens always give me the creeps.”

  As he said this, they heard sirens. Then they heard the deeper sound of an approaching fire engine. It stopped at a distance, but it was close enough to cause pulsing lights to play around the edges of the heavy curtains.

  Dylan visibly relaxed.

  “It’s not coming here,” he said, relieved. “It’s down the street.”

  Down the street…

  Ron was sure that it had nothing to do with his house. After all, Aunt Julia and the kids were walking home, and probably hadn’t even gotten there yet.

  He hobbled over to the window, stepping carefully around the debris, and pushed back the heavy curtains.

  An ambulance was pulling around the corner onto his street, lights on, but the siren was silent. He followed it up to the fire truck, parked on the road just in front of Mrs. Jurta’s house. Swarms of firemen, cops, and medics wove through the parked vehicles.

  Then he realized that the focus wasn’t on Mrs. Jurta’s house at all: it was on his own.

  His heart caught in his throat. He rushed across the room, his injured ankle forgotten. He was out the door before the others even noticed, and on the stairs before they could react. He hopped onto the railing and slid down as the others rushed out.

  “What is it, Ron? What’s wrong?” they shouted, but he was in too much of a hurry to answer them.

  He slid off the bannister and managed to land on both feet. The front door was locked. Fumbling, he managed to draw back the bolt and unlock the handle. He threw the door open and charged outside just as Dylan reached the door.

  Together, they raced up the street. It seemed to take forever. Up ahead, the house was ablaze with lights, and groups of firemen talked together while a couple of cops blocked off the street. A medic near the ambulance was on his phone.

  “Oh, man,” Dylan panted.

  Ron grunted and pushed himself harder. In another minute, he had reached the Wilde’s driveway, where the cops had set up cones.

  One of them tried to stop the boys.

  “Move along,” he said, stepping out right in front of Ron. “Nothing to see here.”

  “That’s my house!” Ron snapped.

  The cop looked doubtful.

  Ron glared at him. “If you don’t believe me, ask Officer Wilde.”

  “Officer Wilde, huh? Sorry, kid, I need to see ID.”

  “I don’t have any,” Ron said, growing desperate. “Look, is anyone hurt?”

  “I can’t say,” the cop said, but his voice softened a little. “I don’t know.”

  “Dude, that’s his family’s place,” Dylan said, trying to help. “They’ve just come up for the summer, and they’re friends with Wilde, all right? Let him go in, seriously.”

  “Wait here,” the officer said, but Ron didn’t wait. He slipped past the cones and darted around him.

  “Hey!” the cop yelled.

  Ron raced as fast as his legs would let him, dodged another policeman, and took the porch steps two at a time.

  The front door was open. Inside he could see Jack held by a female cop. He was crying.

  He burst into the room, into the middle of what appeared to be an interrogation. All the doors were open. In the hallway, medics were bent over a prone figure; beyond them, people were in the back bedrooms, and someone was taking pictures. A policeman stood guard next to the dining room door, through which Ron could see Mrs. Jurta seated at the table. A gun, a small automatic, lay on the table in front of her.

  He saw all in a second, before anyone had time to react to his appearance. And then:

  “Ron!”

  Dana threw herself into his arms, almost knocking him over, and he shouted in pain. Amelia wasn’t far behind, wrapping her arms around the both of them. They sobbed into his shoulder, and all he could hear was “Aunt Julia” and “shooting”.

  Jack squealed, wriggling to get out of the policewoman’s arms.

  One of the medics stood up and snapped, “Get them out of here. We need quiet.”

  “Outside, all of you,” the female officer said brusquely, and another cop yanked Ron by the arm back on to the porch and down the steps. The others followed, protesting.

  Ron tried to break the policeman’s grip, but to no avail. “Where’s Aunt Julia?” he demanded. “What’s going on?”

  “Kid, you’re in a lot of trouble,” the officer said.

  Across the yard, Dylan was standing against a cruiser. Another cop was with him.

  The officer holding Ron barked, “Harry!”

  “What’s this?” Harry turned. Recognizing Ron, he said, “Told them to wait, but they rushed me.”

  “Nice. Contaminating the crime scene. You’re in a lot of trouble,” he said again.

  Ron stopped short and yanked his arm out of the man’s grip. He raised his chin and glared at him.

  “Listen,” he said. “My name is Ronald Timothy Budd, and those are my siblings, and this is my house. If you touch me again, I’ll file charges against you.”

  The cop stopped short and stared. Ron readied himself for whatever came next, but at that moment, a familiar voice called from the porch:

  “Have you located the brother yet, Warren?”

  Warren looked up as Ron whipped around to see Robert Wilde. Wilde looked stern, but he was surprised to see Ron running up to him.

  “What happened?” Ron demanded. “What’s going on?”

  Robert was calm. “There’s been a break-in. Your aunt’s hurt.”

  It struck him like a thunderclap. Ron staggered, and Warren steadied him from behind. Visions of February, when his parents died, flashed in his memory and he was aware of the same sinking, nightmarish feeling rolling over him now that had come then.

  Steady. You can’t go to pieces. You need to look after the kids.

  It was a huge effort, but he regained control. His voice sounded level and calm as he said, “Is she all right?”

  The lump in his throat was huge. It was difficult just to get that much out.

  “The medics are taking care of her right now. She needs to go to the hospi
tal, but they think she’ll be all right.”

  Ron relaxed a little. She wasn’t dead.

  Robert examined his face. “What happened, Ron? Were you in a fight?”

  He didn’t explain. Robert was obviously just giving him the watered-down version, and Ron was determined to get the whole story.

  “But – but there was shooting?” he asked.

  “We think Mrs. Jurta was trying to scare off the burglar. She’s inside, and everyone else is okay.” His face turned rigid. “We’re just waiting on your aunt.”

  “Wilde.” Another cop near Dylan was listening to his collar radio. “We got another break-in, just down the street. The Lang place. Silent alarm was tripped.”

  “Silent alarm!” Ron said, astonished. “But…”

  Robert was barking out orders, and after a few unsuccessful attempts, Ron finally got his attention.

  “It’s not burglars,” he said. “They’re – my friends.”

  That got their attention. Robert turned to Ron and the others clustered around to listen.

  Ron’s mouth went dry, but he explained. “We were ghost hunting, that’s all. We weren’t going to go inside, but then the guy left the back door open and we just thought that…”

  “Wait. Guy?” Wilde demanded. “What guy?”

  “The homeless guy who was living there. That’s where I got this fat lip. But he’s gone now, and we went in to see if he had disturbed anything and he, um, had.”

  Robert was angry now. He turned to Warren.

  “Take Harry and get down there to secure the area. If it looks okay, leave him, and bring the boys back here.”

  Warren nodded and signaled to Harry, leaving Dylan free. He looked hesitatingly at Ron, and when Robert spotted him, he waved the boy over.

  “I suppose you’re in on this ghost hunting bit as well, Dylan?” he asked.

  Dylan nodded miserably, giving Ron a wounded look. Ron ignored it.

  Robert glared at the both of them. “Breaking and entering is bad enough,” he growled through gritted teeth. “But you were stupid enough to challenge a squatter? What were you thinking? You might have been hurt!”

  “He was,” Dylan muttered. He gestured to Ron. “The guy kicked him.”

  Robert glared at Ron’s bruise. “He did?”

  Ron nodded slowly. On the inside, he felt as though the foundation was slipping out from under his feet. Worse still, tears hovered just behind his eyelids. He never cried, and he certainly wouldn’t do so with Dylan and the police - and Wilde - staring at him.

  “Are you all right?” Wilde asked.

  “Fine.” It was an effort just to make the sound.

  Robert put a hand on his shoulder and turned to the ambulance. “Charlie?”

  A medic poked his head around the ambulance door. “Yeah?”

  “Got another one for you.”

  “Send him over.”

  The yard was getting busier. Robert was being called from a hundred different directions, but he remembered to ask, “Dylan, where is your grandmother?”

  “At the party,” he mumbled.

  “Call her, and tell her that we’re going to have to question you and your friends about what happened tonight.” He turned to Ron. “As soon as Charlie’s done with you, come and find me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dylan gave him one last, pained look before he marched up the porch steps and into the house.

  40

  Julia drifted in and out of the blackness. She heard voices, but they were distant, and she couldn’t make out what they were saying. She kept trying to call out to them. There was something urgent she needed to do, something she needed to say, but she couldn’t remember was it was.

  She was aware, though, and trying to force her eyes open. Unfamiliar voices were talking about someone, telling each other to be careful, and watch her respiration. She became aware that her head was aching and she thought, for a moment, that it had been broken open. Other areas were hurting, too, but they weren’t as bad.

  “…possible concussion… stabilized…”

  They were talking very fast and their voices were growing stronger. She tried to ask them what was going on but she couldn’t. Nothing in her body seemed to exist anymore except for the pain and the headache. She was detached from everything but those anchors. If she wanted to, she could just let those go and sail away back into the dark nothingness…

  Then she heard someone say, “The house is clear. No other victims.”

  Robert.

  Partial memory returned, enough to grip her with terror, and it forced her eyes open a little.

  The world spun. Robert’s back was towards her. She tried to lift her hand but it didn’t respond. She opened her mouth, but all that came out was a small squawking noise.

  It was enough. Robert turned, and suddenly he was much closer. He was holding her hand.

  “Julia.”

  His voice sounded far away. The dizzy spell was making her nauseous, and she longed to close her eyes to block it out. But she couldn’t. There was still the question, the one that she couldn’t remember.

  The tide was turning – she was being pulled out to into the dark sea. Desperate to speak before she was swept out again, she tried to talk, but nothing came out. She tried again, harder this time, but the effort made her weak and the current was gaining ground.

  “They’re all right,” Robert said. “Amelia, Jack, Ron, Dana, they’re all right, they’re fine.”

  Dana is okay.

  The boys are fine.

  Julia felt deep peace overtake her anxiety. That was the answer. The kids were all right. The kids were safe. They were with Robert. Robert would take care of them. The sea beckoned, and this time she didn’t fight it.

  “Julia, you’re going to be all right. Just hang in there, Jules...”

  His voice faded, but the peace remained.

  Julia awakened alone, staring at a white ceiling from a soft bed. There was no noise, except for the gentle beeping of the monitor. Her head hurt, but her mind was clear - empty of all thought except for how comfortable she was. She had no idea what time it was or how she had gotten to bed, but it didn’t seem to matter.

  I must have been really tired…

  She could tell from the shadows on the wall that it was still dark outside. She closed her eyes and tried to roll over, but something tugging at her arm prevented her. Annoyed, she glanced wearily at it.

  It was an I. V.

  She tried to raise herself, but her head throbbed and a wave of nausea threatened her. She leaned back against the pillow and looked around. She was in a small, but comfortable hospital room. The beeping sound came from the machine she was hooked up to. She was wearing a shapeless gown, and her clothes, the ones that she had so carefully picked for the party, were piled up on one of the bureaus. In the mirror, she could dimly see her bandaged head and sunken eyes. Her knee hurt now, too.

  The kids.

  Panic gripped her, then subsided. Robert had them. He had told her they were all right. She couldn’t remember when he had said that, but she knew that he had.

  Maybe it was a dream. Nothing here felt real. She fumbled around the bedding and found the call button.

  The nurse was delighted to see that she was awake and bustled off to find a doctor. He came back with two, both of whom assured her that the kids were fine and staying with Caroline Ojacor. She could see the kids tomorrow, when she was more rested and the doctors had completed the tests to their satisfaction.

  They examined her, asked questions, some about her condition, others about the incident, then planned the tests, and increased her medication.

  “That’s it for now,” said one doctor, whose name Julia had already forgotten. “We’d better let you get some sleep. You’ve got a lot of healing to do.”

&nb
sp; “I want to see the children,” Julia murmured as the drugs took effect.

  “Sorry, but you need rest and quiet. You can see them tomorrow afternoon, perhaps. Right now, just rest.”

  Julia could barely see him as he spoke. She was out before they left the room.

  When morning came, Julia felt much better. The nausea had subsided, her aches were responding to the medication, and her doctor jokingly informed her that she had a very hard head.

  “My mother could have told you that without an MRI,” she laughed.

  “We’d like to keep you for a few hours more for observation and tests,” he said. “They’re just routine and probably aren’t necessary, but I want to be sure we’re not missing something. You’ve got a lot of people waiting for you to come home.”

  Julia wondered if she would be able to go back, knowing that her house had been violated.

  After the doctor was done with her, she had a light breakfast of dry toast and weak tea, then called Caroline’s house. Joseph answered on the third ring.

  “Oh, hello, Julia,” he said, cautiously cheerful. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Better, thanks. And thank you for looking after my kids. You’ve no idea what a weight it is off my mind.”

  “Oh, it’s a pleasure. We haven’t had children stay with us in a long time. Are you looking for Caroline?”

  “Yes, or Ron.”

  “He’s still talking to the police, but I’ll get Caroline for you.”

  Ron was talking to the police? Julia wondered about that until Caroline picked up the phone.

  Caroline assured her that the children were fine, causing no trouble, and that she and Joseph were delighted to have them as guests. Julia asked about Ron’s chat with the police.

  “I suppose it’s about the break-in, right?” she said.

  Caroline’s answer was too vague to be very reassuring. “I’m sure that’s so. The police allowed me to go into your house to get some clothes for the children and I took a look around. Only that back room was damaged.”