Family Murders: A Thriller

by Carver, Henry

  There was no one there.

  The cars! She sprinted up the stairs and looked out front, but all the cars were there. Now the search was taking its toll on her. She had been physically prepared to see her daughter each and every time she turned a corner. Seeing nothing each time was painful. More than that, it was confusing, because where else could they be?

  And then she knew, not because it was the one place she hadn't looked, but because she could feel it in her bones. Slowly, she turned from the front window and headed down that other hallway, towards the dead end, towards the door that lead to the new addition. It should have been locked. She knew it was locked.

  It wasn't. She turned the knob and stepped inside.

  Hurricane Marco was getting closer, and the wind was picking up. It was whistling across the huge sheet of plastic standing in for the missing wall. The plastic was stretched taught, and under constant pressure from outside it was starting to vibrate and hum like a piano wire. There were no lights, but with a translucent wall the entire space maintained a gray and milky glow.

  There was no one here either.

  The door smashed shut behind her. Angela jumped straight up and around, and there they were. Ted had his back pressed against the wall with Julie in front of him. Ted was smiling. Julie was crying, but she wasn't making a sound.

  Because a hand was clamped across the lower half of her face. Even from across the room, Angela could see the fingers digging in, pushing deep into the baby fat and muscle.

  "Jesus, Ted, what are you doing?"

  "Gosh, I'm really sorry about this, guys. I was thinking this would never have to happen."

  "You're hurting her!"

  "Well, it's not like I want to, sweetheart, but sometimes we don't get what we want," Ted said.

  "Just let her go, let her come over here to me, and I'm sure we can figure this out, whatever it is."

  "Oh, I know we can figure it out. When life gives you lemons and all that."

  She took a step forward, and Ted lifted his daughter off the ground by her head. Angela screamed.

  "Let's just stop right there, okay?" he said. "I don't want us getting into the kind of scuffle forensic evidence can't explain. It's got to tell a story, you know, and a believable one. From the footprints to the blood spatter to the positioning of the bodies."

  "The blood spatter—"

  "Oh, fuck off, Angela. Don't pretend you don't know. If you talked to Eric about a pair of pink sunglasses then I'm sure he filled you in on the other details too. But there's no need to scare our beautiful little angel here by discussing specifics."

  He reached into his outside pocket and pulled out a knife. Angela recognized it immediately. It was the fillet knife from their kitchen.

  "Oh God, Ted, look, whatever happened, we can fix it. Whatever happened in the past, I don't care about it." Angela swallowed hard. "I just want my family back together."

  "That's funny. You think this is a family? I guess you would. No one's beating on you, it's got to be heaven, right?"

  Angela said nothing.

  "That's why I picked you, you know," Ted said, "because you would be so easy to keep happy. And because I thought you would fight for—," he gestured in a vague circle at the house and at all of them with the tip of the knife, "—all this. It takes a kind of will to ignore all of the things that don't fit, all the things that don't fit into your perfect little life. Who else could I count on for something like that?"

  Angela stayed rooted to the spot.

  "And this little girl right here?" Ted playfully rubbed the top of Julie's head. At the same time, he pressed the point of the knife up under her jawline. "She was just a bonus."

  "Why are you doing this?"

  "Frankly, I never thought it would last this long. Hell, I never thought it would work this well. Ten years! The things I've accomplished—," he looked down at his daughter. "Right, no specifics. But you were both so perfect. Family man traveling on business, who would ever need to look closer?"

  "What happened ten years ago?"

  "Ten years ago it was my first time, and I didn't know how good it would feel. After that, I couldn't stop. Jesus," he let out a booming laugh, "I was so fucking scared afterward. I just wanted to show that little girl what was what, and then…I don't mind telling you, after I left that day, I thought I might be done."

  He giggled and twisted the knife a little bit.

  "I wasn't an idiot. No witnesses, no fingerprints, I was careful about that. But never—never in a million years!—did I think they would finger the brother. It couldn't have been more perfect. Honestly, I think that's what got me hooked. I've been searching for that perfect feeling ever since."

  Angela felt like just lying down and going to sleep. "Ever since," she said.

  "Yes, Angela, ever since. Again and again, always trying to recreate it just so. I did learn one thing: don't shit where you eat. I got smart after that first time and never did it here again. And I went out and bought myself a nice nuclear family, just to make sure no one would ever suspect."

  "And now?"

  "Now, sweetheart, it's over."

  "So go. Give me my daughter, and just go," she said.

  "Our daughter, sweetie."

  "Give her to me."

  "Come on. You're not thinking creatively. This asshole thinks he can come back from ten years ago and fuck me? Let him try. But I'm going to flip it on him."

  "You'll never be able to get away with it. The police know that little girl's locket was buried in our yard."

  "So what? Crazed killer comes back to his old stomping grounds, no one knows why, but hey, he's crazy, so who can explain it? The details write themselves."

  "And Julie? Me?"

  "Well, it's tragic, really. On the bright side, I'm sure we'll all make the headlines. Two bodies, mother and daughter, discovered gutted. Husband's body missing, blood trail suggests he was dragged away into the woods. You don't look for someone who's already dead, especially not when there's such an obvious alternative."

  "That's your plan? Rub some of your blood on the ground, everyone thinks you're dead?"

  "Oh, they'll be sure, I'll make sure there's pints and pints of it, strewn all around. No one can survive blood loss beyond a certain point, so they'll be sure. It won't be mine, of course. I have a feeling," he giggled again, "that someone with my blood type will be showing up soon."

  "It will never work."

  "Haven't you learned anything from living with me all these years? People will explain away anything they can, any way they can. It'll work just fine. And a dead man can go anywhere and do anything, maybe even start a new family."

  "A new family?" Angela felt like she was going to die just listening to him.

  "Yes. A new wife. A new daughter even! I was getting tired of this one anyway." He twisted the knife again. Julie let out a muffled scream.

  "Stop it! Just stop—"

  "Move over towards the hole in the floor there."

  "What will it take? I just want you to stop."

  Ted made a ts-tsk sound with his mouth, then twisted the thin blade harder. A rivulet of blood ran down Julie's neck, and she whimpered around the edge of the hand still clamped around her mouth.

  Angela started walking toward the hole cut through the wooden boards, and Ted started circling, pulling Julie along with him. He walked crab-wise, sideways, placing each foot carefully to avoid the various tools and materials strewn across the floor, always facing his wife, always keeping her daughter in full view.

  Angela stopped near the edge of the hole, and Ted stopped too. His back was pressed lightly against the rippling plastic now. He took the knife away from Julie's neck and used it to point.

  "I want you to get down into the—"

  He was cut off by a great tearing sound punctuated by pops and pings as the clear wall ripped free of its staples. A gap appeared, and in the gap an arm. Ted's face registered only surprise as it reached down from above and latched onto the hand
holding the knife. Ted sputtered, and the arm started twisting. It twisted fast and hard, and Ted dropped the knife. He let go of Julie, pushed her really, and she stumbled toward the hole.

  Somehow, like she had seen Rocky do an hour ago, Angela acted on instinct and moved, really moved, around the gap and down onto her knees. She put out her arm, grabbed Julie, and stopped her from falling. For one beautiful second it was just the two of them, mother and daughter, looking at each other. She would have sworn Julie smiled. Then the world came roaring back up to full speed just as she had to duck.

  Ted had stumbled away from the disembodied arm, and now the rest of a person had started to follow. Eric's head came through, and then his body. He forced his torso through the ever-expanding gap in the plastic wall like a baby being born. For one sweet second, Ted's face drained like a tub with the plug pulled. Then it filled with blood again, turning a red so deep it was almost purple. He grunted and started forward, only pausing to get a grip on Julie's other arm and yank her across the gap and in front of him again. This time she was between him and Eric, and Angela saw her chance. She charged, and felt a kind of elation at the release of energy it took. No more thinking, no more worrying, just forward motion, action. Ted didn't even turn to look at her.

  He didn't have to, just stiff-armed her in the chest and she bounced back. Strangely, it felt like being hit with a ball of tissue paper that had been soaked in warm water. She scrabbled to unstick the wet mass from her chest, but wasn't able to. It was more rod-like than anything, and it seemed to be attached. She pulled her hand away, and it came back slick with blood.

  Realization dawned slowly. There was something sticking out of the side of her chest. An image flashed across her brain: if her torso had been a clock, a fillet knife would now be indicating approximately two-thirty. 'Morning or afternoon?' she wondered briefly, then sat down heavily on a bag of cement. She put her elbows on her knees and supported her head with her hands, which seemed to expend all her reserves. All she could do now was watch.

  "Let her go." Eric's voice exploded into the confined space.

  "It's nice to see you again, Eric."

  "I've thought about you every day. I've thought about you more than my own sister. You're not ready for me, so just let her go."

  "That's funny, I can't recall thinking of you much. So we got caught up in one little fight—I barely remember what all this fuss is about."

  Eric started forward. From the small of his back Ted produced a small silver pistol.

  "Turns out I did come ready after all. I want you to walk over near Angela now." The silver gun was pointed right at his chest. "You know, I wanted this to be another knife thing, because that's more your style, but it looks like you'll be changing your M.O. What the hell, it's been ten years, right? And I suppose you've really matured as a person."

  Ted started circling again, closing in, forcing him over towards the cement bags. Eric took a few steps closer, and Ted raised the gun towards him, ts-tsked again, then pressed it into Julie's temple.

  "Julie, listen to me." Eric had bent down and was looking her right in the eye. "I'm going to start coming at this piece of—at your Dad, and then he's going to have to stop pointing that thing at you."

  Ted's eyes narrowed. "Stop talking to her."

  "He's going to have to stop pointing it at you and point it at me instead. When that happens I want you to run and hide. Do you understand? Nod if you understand."

  Julie pushed against the hand and managed a small up and down.

  "I call your bluff," Ted said, "you're not going anywhere."

  "Ready?" Eric said, and started walking.

  "Stop. Stop," Ted said. Julie tensed her body. "God damn it, stop!"

  When Eric was four feet away, Ted shrugged his shoulders and raised the gun.

  "Now! Run, Gabby! Run aw—"

  Ted smiled, squeezed the trigger, and shot Eric in the chest. But Julie did exactly what she was told. She squirmed away, sprinted across room, and disappeared through the door into the house proper. Angela was resigned to dying, but if she had to go, she prayed this would be the last thing she would see, the last thing she would know: that her daughter had a chance again, however small.

  Eric stayed standing, took one step forward, took another bullet to the chest. This one sent him slumping backwards onto the ground, until his head was propped on the cement bag next to Angela. Ted aimed carefully at his face and pulled the trigger. She wanted to close her eyes but couldn't.

  The gun clicked and jammed hard with the slide back.

  "Lucky for you this is a cheap piece of shit," he said. He worked the slide back and forth, muttering to himself. Eric rolled over onto his belly and started trying to pull himself up the cement bag, dragging himself over loose tools.

  "You shouldn't strain yourself there, buddy. You'll just bleed out faster."

  "Fuck you." Blood foamed out of Eric's mouth along with the obscenities.

  "OK, I'll be back," Ted said. "Looks like this will get to be a knife thing after all. Maybe I'll run into Julie too! Don't you two go anywhere." He laughed and walked out the door.

  Angela looked down at Eric. His face was down on the floor, nearly between her knees. She could only think of one thing to say.

  "I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

  He labored with his breath for a second, then said: "I'm sorry I killed your dog. I just…I needed to be able to get to him."

  Angela had loved that dog, shuddered, but still nodded.

  "We're going to die," she said.

  "Probably." Blood was frothing out of his mouth even when he wasn't talking now. "When I say so, can you flip that switch?" He used his eyes to indicate a toggle on a black box.

  Angela was about to ask for what, but ended up just nodding as Ted walked back in, now holding another knife out of the kitchen block.

  "So, it comes down to this," he said. "You thought you could turn your pathetic revenge fantasies into some kind of reality. And now you're—"

  Eric grunted something and blood spattered across the floor.

  "What was that?" Ted asked.

  "I said," Eric wheezed in air before finishing his sentence, "shut up."

  Ted turned red, then purple, and blew his top. "You said that to me once before, ten years ago, and I gave you what you deserved. I told you then you'd never say that to me again. Now I'm going to prove it to you."

  Ted stepped over Eric's prone body. From between Ted's legs he nodded at Angela who reached out with her less-numb arm and flipped the switch. The box roared to life. From the sound of the rapid clacking she identified it as an air compressor she'd heard the contractors using.

  Ted looked surprised, but put on another smile and reversed his grip on the knife so that the blade pointed down. "Whatever you're trying, it's way too late. I'm going to—"

  Eric rolled off the nail gun he'd been laying on, then used the floor to lever the business end upward.

  "Shut up," he said again, and pulled the trigger.

  The nail shot up vertically and went through the soft underbelly of Ted's jaw and up through his mouth, neatly stapling his tongue to his brain stem. The man who had been her husband registered just a moment of confusion. Then whatever light was in his eyes went out, and he fell quietly backwards though the hole in the floor.

  Angela gave some kind of mental cheer, and passed out.

  12

  "Mommy, why did that man call me Gabby?"

  Angela was tucking her daughter into bed as the lights flickered and the wind pounded the walls outside, both heralding Hurricane Marco's imminent arrival.

  The police, with Frank Cooper in the lead, had shown up about fifteen minutes after Angela gave in to unconsciousness. It turned out Julie hadn't followed instructions exactly. Instead of hiding she had run out the front door and down the street, and then another quarter-mile to the next house. The nice older lady who lived there had called the police almost immediately.

  The puncture wound to
Angela's torso was long but shallow. The knife had been forced in to its hilt, but the blade had ridden along the outside edge of her ribcage and stayed away from any organs or major blood vessels. After thirteen stitches—and against doctor's orders—she had checked herself out, collected her daughter, and gone home.

  The new addition was sealed off by police tape, but Angela didn't want to go in anyway. She hoped the whole thing would get razed to the ground. For the time being, considering her medical condition, the police had agreed to put off the interview. She had an appointment with Frank Cooper here at the house tomorrow, and she had a lot to organize in her head, a lot to tell him.

  Before leaving the hospital, she had made one visit. The room was guarded by two officers in uniform, but they knew who she was. They let her in.

  Eric had been connected to a lot of tubes and monitors, but a respirator wasn't one of them. He could breath on his own, and even though they had dug one bullet out of a lung, he could talk. But Angela just looked at him.

  "I don't know what to to say," was what finally came out.

  "So don't say anything," he had said.

  And for a long time they had sat in silence, each thinking their own thoughts, both wondering where they might overlap.

  "I think I understand everything that happened," Angela said, "but I do have one question. How did you find the locket? I mean, I know you must have dug twenty holes, but even that wouldn't be enough to find it—it was tiny."

  "After I saw the article and found the house," Eric said, "I started watching. It came out earlier in the national papers. Only after they picked it up did your local paper grab it too, so I was there pretty early."

  He looked off into the distance.

  "And I didn't have to wait very long before I saw him bury something. You all went out somewhere that night, and I dug it up."

  "The locket?"

  "No. It was a bracelet, or maybe an anklet, I'm not sure. But there was a family murdered that week in San Antonio, and something similar was listed as missing."