At the door to the stairs, Jack hesitates: he spots an old wood-chopping axe leaning against the wall and picks it up, holding it just under the blade. He slides his knife into his back pocket, just in case. He places a hand on the old rusty doorknob, expecting it to be locked, but finds that it turns.
With a heavy breath, he opens the basement door as quietly as possible. He is careful not to make any other sound as the door creaks upon its old iron hinges. The stairway revealed is mostly dark: two light bulbs that had been hanging from the ceiling on chains have been snapped off, and their pieces litter the stairs. Jack steps lightly, trying to avoid any shards that might cut his bare feet. His only guiding light is a small strip of white sunlight emanating from under the door to the kitchen above.
Jack forces down an urge to panic, knowing that his only other option to facing what lies in the house is to return to the basement. Neither option sounds good at this point. However, he cannot remain on the stairs, stuck between one terror and a possible other. As he reaches for the kitchen door, he has a faint memory of his mother, her body decayed and twisted, lifeless, and, worst of all, unrecognizable. He then remembers the storm, the car, and then, finally, Emma. Emma Creek, the girl he was lucky enough to be with, to possibly even be in love with, the girl who is now missing. This memory strengthens his resolve in small measures, finally tipping that decision to pass through the door. Axe held out before him, Jack swings the door open and steps into the kitchen.
As he clears the door, he is greeted by a noise to his left. A clicking sound that instantly draws his attention to the open front door of the house. A rifle is pointed directly in his face.
“Drop the axe,” the man commands in a deep voice.
Jack does exactly as he is told, determined not to anger the man. Getting shot and dying today, although somehow fitting given his prior circumstances, would be most unwelcome. He turns to face the man, his hands open and presented before him. In the doorway, with the storm outside behind him, stands a large man. He is bald, has dark eyebrows and a somewhat angry-looking face. His leather jacket is soaked, along with his blue-jeans. He is holding a hunting rifle, his hands shaking a little—perhaps from the cold, or something else—Jack cannot tell for sure. However, he recognizes the man: a family friend and one of the hunters that stay out in one of the houses a ways off.
“Bill? Bill Walker?” he asks, meekly.
“Jack?” Bill says with a short nod. “What the hell is going on here?”
Jack looks over to what Bill has been staring at: the body of his mother, the strange writing behind her written in possibly her own blood. However, the fox that was hanging above her is missing, although this minor discrepancy would probably be of no comfort at all to Bill. Jack is overcome once more. He begins to feel that same sick feeling of needing to leave, to get as far away from here as possible. He feels as though he may vomit again. However, there is a big man with a rifle aimed at his head preventing any such action.
“Jack!” Bill repeats, sounding angry now. “What the fuck is going on?”
Jack stands speechless as a crash of thunder fills the air, startling both Jack and Bill. Jack half expects to hear a gunshot follow afterward. He looks around, and then looks down to his feet: fresh blood is running from his ankles and joining his mother’s dark black-stained blood against the white and black checkerboard floor. Finally, he finds the words. They are simple, yet all he can come up with.
“I have no idea.”
“Did you do this?” Bill asks.
“Me?” Jack says as he suddenly realizes that carrying around the large axe made him look rather guilty, given the circumstances. “I didn’t do any of this. I came down from school, came to check on my parents and everything was… well like this. I got a call from Danny—he was concerned.”
“Looks like he had a good right to be,” Bill says as he cautiously lowers the rifle. “Are you doing all right?”
“I’m not,” Jack replies, his jacket stained with blood from the basement wall. His jeans are bloodied as well—not to mention the fact that he has no shoes and is bleeding at the ankles. “I was tied up in the basement.”
“Was anyone down there with you?” Bill asks, concerned.
“Yeah, the old woman that lives off the main road, she’s down there,” Jack answers, trying to get the image of her body out of his mind, yet it is burned in like an old Polaroid image. “You don’t want to see her, though—something, someone got to her.”
“Have you come across anyone else?”
“No, I came here with, well, my girlfriend from school,” Jack says as he is reminded of Emma once more, the simple thought of her alone makes him grow even more sad. “I came in and found my mother like this… I ran out. Emma was missing, then the storm got really bad and I got into my car. There was lightning and I remember calling nine-one-one then passing out. That’s all I remember. Then, next thing I know, I’m awake in the basement, surrounded by death, hands tied with rope and my feet with barbed wire.”
Bill nods, taking on an expression of sadness. He takes a step back, and steadies himself against the door frame, his back to the rain. “You haven’t seen Jack Olen have you, my partner?”
“I’m sorry,” Jack replies. He wasn’t aware of their exact relationship, but it suddenly became clear. “Was he here?”
“Can we go outside?” Bill says, looking down toward Jack’s mother, suddenly realizing how hard this must be to have a conversation over the horrible state her remains are in.
“Please,” Jack simply answers as the two step out into the rain.
Jack follows Bill down the porch steps. As they reach ground their feet splash into water. It appears as though the rain has come so quickly and with so much volume that the valley is slowly starting to flood. However, the rain is not as fierce as it was earlier, yet is steady in its pace.
“I am sorry about your mother,” Bill says as he turns to Jack, “I wish… I should have come sooner, just to check things out.”
Jack nods silently, shielding his head with his raised arm. Although the rain is cold, he is grateful for it as it washes away some of the dried blood from his feet and hands. He scans the area for his car, spotting it a short distance away. Parked behind his vehicle are both a black and white police car and an ambulance. The ambulance’s lights are still flashing, illuminating the falling rain in brilliant blues and reds. “Where are they?”
“Missing as well, I presume,” Bill says as he leads the way to the Jack’s car. The two step in on opposite sides, closing the door. The familiar sound of rain taps against the rooftop. “What happened to your seat?”
“Lightning,” Jack slowly says, as though he is actually unsure of this answer, yet he seems to have a faint memory of it occurring.
“What the hell is going on here,” Bill mutters, more of a statement of confusion than a directed question.
“You said Jack Olen was out here, your partner,” Jack says, attempting to make some sense or form some plan. “Did you come together?”
“I sent him here,” Bill replies, placing a hand to his eyes and slamming his fist hard into his leg. “I sent him out here to check on your father, and he never came home that night. So in the morning I walked here, found our truck crashed up against the tree, right at the break in the tree line of your driveway, but he wasn’t in the truck. I made my way past the cop car and the ambulance, checked those vehicles out, they were empty as well—actually, not completely empty.”
“What do you mean, not completely empty?”
“There’s an arm in the cop car,” Bill answers quietly, “Just an arm, most of one anyway. A lot of blood, too, but the rest of the cop is missing.”
“There should probably also be two people from the ambulance, right?” Jack asks, trying to figure out exactly how many people have gone missing here.
“Yeah, I’d figure so,” Bill replies, his eyes fixed to the window, watching the rain collect in small forms that break apart and race dow
n the length of glass until they disappear from view. His mind right now is more on Jack Olen than anything else. Largely, he feels responsible.
“Why did you ask Jack to come out and check on my father?” Jack presses, hoping to find out some relevant information, something to help both Bill, and himself.
“I saw him in the woods, while hunting,” Bill says, his eyes still fixed on the falling rain. “But he wasn’t normal, not like the man we knew. He was wild. You could smell him more than anything. He was wearing mask of a dead wolf that I think he made himself, the rest of his body was covered in either shit or dried mud. He carried a blade-tipped spear. I tried to talk to him, to get him to explain what he was doing. At first I thought it was some kind of crazy author shit, like trying to get in touch with his animal side for his stories, you know? But he started at me, howling like a wolf, threatening me with his spear. I pointed my rifle at him, and asked him what the hell he was doing and he just kind of growled at me and backed off. Then he disappeared off into the woods. I’m sorry, I know that this is your family I’m talking about, but something has gone horribly wrong. Have you noticed anything? I know you were away at school, so is Daniel, but have you suspected anything through phone conversations, or anything?”
“I might have,” Jack answers, shaking his head. He also feels an intense surge of guilt as he remembers the reason why he hadn’t bothered to give his own parents a call for nearly a month. “Had I not been avoiding them. I was failing out of school. I was afraid of what they would do or say, I was so stupid. I should have just faced up to it a month ago. It was Danny that tried to call them for weeks and couldn’t get an answer on the phone, so as a last attempt he called me up and asked me to come down.”
“It’s not your fault,” Bill replies as he clamps a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You couldn’t have seen anything like this coming.”
“It’s not your fault either, Bill,” Jack adds, noticing that Bill, who normally looks strong and more than capable, looks as though his entire world has come undone.
“It is,” Bill says, his voice cracking and a tear escaping his usually firm, stony face. “I was afraid. I figured Jack could handle it, being a former detective and all. I thought he’d be able to sort all of this out because I was too afraid of your father. Something about him terrified me.”
“You couldn’t have known that it would come to this, though,” Jack encouragingly replies, “Besides, we don’t know anything. Jack could be fine, just like Emma.”
“You’re right,” Bill says as he clears his eyes, releasing a heavy sigh. “I am sorry, Jack. After all that you’ve lost and what you know now, you shouldn’t have to be the strong one. I’m the one that should be reassuring you.”
“I was a wreck. I still think I am,” Jack says. He still cannot properly wrap his mind around the fact that his mother is dead. The thought that that body in the kitchen is hers seems impossible to him. Like it is nothing more than a movie prop, or some horror set-piece you see on TV. His mind is also filled with thoughts of Emma, and he realizes that Bill must feel the same worry. After all, Jack feels responsible for bringing Emma here, to this nightmare. “We need to do something. I’m thinking we need to go back into the house.”
“Yeah,” Bill says, although he sounds about as excited at the prospect as cattle would be to return to the slaughterhouse. Bill reaches into his jacket pocket and tosses a pistol to Jack. “Got this from the cop car—you know how to use one?”
“Not at all,” Jack replies as he fumbles the gun in his hand. This is actually the first time he’s been in possession of one.
“It’s pretty easy, just release that little latch on the side, that’s the safety. It’ll click just like that,” Bill explains, mimicking the action with his hands. “After that, it is pretty much just point and shoot—you just have to make sure you know what you are shooting at. You’ve got about ten shots left in there—I’m guessing the cop didn’t lose that arm with no struggle.”
“Got it,” Jack says nervously.
“You ready to head back in?” Bill asks.
“One last thing,” Jack says as he begins to search his pockets, only to find that they are empty. He has a faint memory of his cell phone. It should be somewhere here in the car; he reaches under his seat and fumbles for a moment until his right hand connects with the familiar object. He pulls the phone from beneath the chair. The battery light is flashing.
“Calling in any backup would take hours,” Bill says reluctantly. “If we’re doing something, we should do it as soon as possible.”
“Calling my brother,” Jack says as he thumbs through his address book, stopping on “Danny”. The phone rings once, and then goes directly to voice mail. “Danny, hey… it’s… it’s me, Jacky. Something has happened down here at home. Something terrible, I can’t say for sure what is going on yet. I’m going to try and figure it out. I’m going to fix this if I can. Don’t come down here. Stay where you are, no matter what. That’s important. Just stay in New York. Do not come here. I will take care of things, and… well, I love you, man. Just don’t…”—and with a beep, Jack’s phone has died.
“I guess… well, that’s done,” Jack says as he takes the pistol in one hand and places the other on the car door’s latch. A short burst of thunder fills the air, echoing through the valley and causing the car to shake a small amount.
“I’m happy you’re with me,” Bill says as he nods and places his rifle against his shoulder. “Let’s do what must be done.”
Daniel Awakens
Daniel Wolfe awakes from a particularly unpleasant dream. In his dream he was running down a long yellow-lit hallway, the ceiling held up by scaffolding and wooden beams crisscrossing the particle board walls. It reminded him of those construction site sidewalks that they cover up for people’s safety. The worst part of the dream was that one of his legs was significantly longer than the other, making his escape much slower and clumsier. However, he could not remember exactly what he was running from.
As Daniel shakes off the remains of the strange dream, realizing that he is not in his own bed. His head hurts a little and he tries to remember the night before, but has trouble doing so. He then notices the young woman in the bed, and things become a little clearer. There beside him is a naked dark-skinned woman, white sheets scrunched just below her breasts, which are glowing in the dim slants of sunlight flooding through the curtains. Her hands rest to one side of her head against her curly black hair, and she is sleeping soundly.
Daniel feels a moment of beaming happiness, recognizing the girl from his advanced photography class. Lavender Clay is her name, and he has been talking to her for the past few weeks. He did not think that things were going well up until yesterday, when she asked if he would come by and help her with a photography project. What started as some amateur photography of her in different poses and scenes turned into dinner, a few drinks and eventually a few hours’ worth of drunken sex. He just wished he remembered more of it.
Daniel’s moment of happy reminiscing is broken by the sound of the tinny beeping alarm of his cheap sports watch. He attempts to muffle the sound, but it has already roused Lavender from her slumber.
“Mornin’ already, then, is it?” she asks sleepily in her British accent. It’s the accent that Daniel loves, being from Illinois originally, and then the Ozarks of Missouri. Her accent by far is the most exotic thing he’s ever heard. The way that she forms her words are so beautiful to him, he could happily spend hours listening to her read entries from even a phone book.
“Yeah,” Daniel replies as he searches the floor for his clothing, finding his jeans first. He searches his front pocket, attempting to locate his cell phone. He finds his keys, a pack of gum, but no phone—he must have left it back at his dorm the day before.
“You’re not leaving yet, are you now?” Lavender asks as she rolls to face Daniel, her nose scrunched up cutely she pulls down the covers, exposing the entirety of her svelte body.
“
Oh, jeez…,” Daniel says, running a hand through his short black spiky hair, “I should really be going; I have to check in on my brother, I called him about…” Daniel pauses and stares, his train of thought suddenly lost again in the beauty of her naked form. “It can probably wait.”
“It is not going anywhere, then?” Lavender asks, giggling mischievously.
“Probably not,” Daniel replies as he realizes that he his visibly aroused in a way that his black boxers cannot contain.
“Come back to bed, then, for a bit,” Lavender says as she holds out a beckoning hand, which Daniel quickly takes, drawing his body closer to hers. Lavender works her hands down and tugs away at Daniel’s boxers, exposing him against her warm, soft skin. She draws herself away for a moment, reaching for her nightstand, and returns with a condom, which she rips open, “Lucky… we got one left,” she adds as she tosses the wrapper to the floor, along with the rest used the night before.
Daniel is nervous this time, lacking the liquid courage of the night before. He feels a shiver of anticipation as Lavender’s hands slowly work the condom over him and, once ready, she pulls him over her. With her guiding hand, he is inside of her. The feeling overwhelms him as he lets out a loud groan. He begins to thrust, slowly at first, as Lavender moans quietly, a hand to her mouth, almost as though she is embarrassed at the sound of her own pleasure.
“Oh, bloody hell.” Lavender moans, finally giving in with a slight yelp. She removes her hand from mouth and digs her nails into Daniel’s back. He increases his speed, and adjusts himself, thrusting even harder. Lavender’s response only increases Daniel’s ferocity, as just the sound of her voice in an ecstatic state is enough to push him closer to the edge. Daniel, sweating, and more fulfilled now than any other moment he can remember in his life, can no longer contain the forces at work, and comes. He feels his body shake, and his arms, like jelly, giving way. He collapses like a fallen tree to the bed beside Lavender. She places her arms around him, playfully rubbing her nose against his.
Window in the Earth Trilogy Page 33
