Stain of Guilt

by Brandilyn Collins

  This was no security officer. Maybe a kid. Teenager. Annie Kingston’s son?

  He looked back to the unmarked vehicle.

  The man inside had disappeared.

  Where? So fast?

  He stared at the car. Was that the top of a head behind the wheel? The man ducking?

  The teenager slunk down the sidewalk. Not even noticing the unmarked vehicle.

  Other movement. Far down the street.

  He eased from behind the tree, leaned forward.

  A car. Moving up the road. No headlights.

  It drew even with the teenager. The kid crossed in front of it, opened the passenger door. An inside light flicked on. Another male at the wheel. Another kid. The first teenager climbed inside the car.

  A reconnaissance. Annie Kingston’s son sneaking out of the house.

  From the back.

  From the sliding glass door.

  Darell Fleck’s moment of weakness.

  The car with no lights pulled a U-turn, headed out. He looked back to the unmarked vehicle. Was the man there to watch the kid?

  The man sat up. The car engine started.

  He pressed behind the tree as the car turned around in the cul-de-sac, headlights washing over the forest. The man stuck a round light on his car roof. In the goggles’ green tint, it flashed a muddy brown.

  This was not security. This was law enforcement. Here, outside city limits—the Sheriff’s Department.

  His Sheriff’s Department.

  His mind clicked through possibilities.

  A teenager, sneaking out. About to be arrested? Drugs?

  He curled his lip. His sons would never stoop to such despicable behavior.

  He eased on his backpack and quietly trekked toward the rear of the Kingston house.

  Chapter 23

  My shoulders hurt; my fingers cramped. I laid down the piece of chalk and sat back, turning my neck from side to side, flexing both arms back until my spine popped. Sighing, I glanced at my office clock. Twelve thirty-five. I could hardly believe how much I’d accomplished. At this rate I would be done before too long. Bland’s features were in place; they just needed the final applications of color. Wouldn’t it be great for the drawing to be complete by the time the kids had to leave for school? Jenna and I could drive them into town, then take the update straight to the Sheriff’s Office. After that, maybe I’d manage to get some sleep.

  I kneaded muscles at the back of my neck. Bland’s eyes glared at me from the paper, as if daring me to complete him so he could come to life and finish me off. A sudden shiver clutched my spine. I pushed away from my drawing table and rose. My legs needed stretching.

  Breathing deeply, I paced the perimeter of the area rug.

  My throat felt so dry. I headed toward the door, intent on padding to the kitchen. When the knob was halfway turned, my phone rang.

  The sound jangled through me. I froze, nerves pulsing.

  Bland.

  My eyes fastened on the drawing, a ridiculous notion filling my head. Did some supernatural power emanate from it? As if the features summoned the man himself.

  A second ring.

  I stared at the phone.

  From the other side of the office wall, I heard footfalls. Jenna had jumped from bed, awakened by the receiver in her room. The sounds crossed toward the hall. Her door opened.

  Third ring.

  I forced myself toward the desk.

  My office door opened. “Answer it!” Jenna’s hair was tousled from sleep, her eyes wide.

  Fourth ring—interrupted. I raised the receiver to my ear. Jenna hurried to press the button on the recorder.

  “H–Hello?”

  “Annie, it’s Ralph Chetterling.”

  Chetterling. My knees weakened.

  “Hi.” The greeting squeaked from my throat.

  “Were you up?”

  What is this, a social call?

  “Yes. Working.”

  “Good.”

  He cleared his throat, and I sensed hesitation. Something was very wrong.

  “Look, I have some unpleasant news for you. I picked up your son a few minutes ago. He was sneaking out of your house to meet up with a friend, and under the circumstances, I could not let him go and endanger himself. The friend’s name is Jeff Waite. Evidently they had this all planned. Jeff drove here to get Stephen.”

  My brain could not process the news. I gripped the phone and blinked.

  “Annie?”

  “Yeah. I’m here.”

  Jenna watched me like an eagle on a hunt. I shook my head and mouthed, It’s not Bland. She slumped in relief.

  “What—where was Stephen going?”

  “I’m not sure what they had planned. An all-night party on a Monday night seems a little unusual, and the boys aren’t talking. But there’s an extenuating circumstance here, I’m sorry to say.”

  He paused again. I leaned against the desk, preparing myself.

  “When I pulled the car over I searched it. The interior smelled of marijuana, and Jeff appeared under the influence. I found joints in the glove box, plus a bag of marijuana and the rolling papers. Stephen had only gotten in the car a minute before, but he had some joints on him as well, in his jeans pocket. My guess is that he brought them with him.”

  My legs began to tremble. All thoughts of Bill Bland fell away, replaced by a new, worse fear—a mother’s fear for her child facing the consequences of his own foolishness. I could hear the empathy in Chetterling’s voice, the careful unfolding of information that he knew would rock my already shaky world. “What are you going to do, Ralph?”

  “Annie, I have no choice but to have them taken in for possession of an illegal substance. Stephen had under an ounce, so it’ll only be a misdemeanor. We’ll charge him, and then let him go into your custody. Jeff faces additional charges if he tests out for operating a vehicle under the influence, plus he’s clearly got over an ounce. He’s looking at a felony.”

  Stephen . . . arrested. My son, with a drug charge. Images blew through my head. Stephen in court. Stephen, with his rebellious smirk, unwilling to listen, unwilling to change. Bent on self-destruction. A dry wind kicked up those images, gusting them down a muddied path into the future, a path that twisted and narrowed onto treacherous cliffs.

  I couldn’t form a reply.

  “Look, is Jenna awake?” Chetterling’s voice pulled me back. “Maybe you can call her to the phone. I know this is difficult as a parent. Believe me, I went through the same thing raising my niece.”

  “Yeah. Jenna’s standing right here.” I held the receiver out to my sister. “It’s Stephen.”

  “Stephen?” She scrunched up her face.

  “No, I mean—just take it.”

  As Jenna said hello I stumbled around the desk to fall into my leather chair. The wind in my head picked up again, swirling pain and guilt and anxiety into a dust storm until I could barely hear Jenna’s end of the conversation. This wouldn’t have happened if I were a better mother. If I knew how to handle my son. If Vic hadn’t walked out on us all.

  What was I going to do? Part of me wanted to kick Stephen, to lash back and hurt him as he was hurting me. Another part wanted to wrap my mother’s arms around him and never let go, to save him from himself. Did he even begin to realize how stupid his actions were tonight? Not only the drugs and sneaking out, but now, after he was warned about Bill Bland. How could Stephen ignore that? Did he think he was indestructible?

  God, help me. I can’t handle this!

  Minutes passed. Jenna’s voice wove in and out of my thoughts. Then slowly the gist of her conversation began to sink in. I raised my head to watch her, the questions she posed thrumming my nerve endings.

  “What if we didn’t come get him? What if we let him sit in juvenile hall for a night or two?” Jenna paused, listening. “I think so too. It would teach him the kind of lesson he needs to learn.”

  No, Jenna, no! I couldn’t let my son sit in jail. It was dangerous there; who
knew what would happen to him? I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t.

  Think of something else, Annie, anything else. You can’t deal with this—

  The back door.

  Out of nowhere, that realization seared through me. A frightening thought, yet a saving grace, for it gave me a reason to get up, get away, leave Jenna’s voice and the decisions behind.

  On autopilot, I headed across the room.

  “Could you hold on just a minute?” Jenna spoke to Chetterling behind me. “Annie, where are you going?”

  “Downstairs.”

  “Why?”

  “The sliding door. Stephen snuck out of it. Which means it’s unlocked. He must have slipped up here first, turned off the alarm. I have to go lock it. The door, I mean.”

  “Can’t it wait a minute? We have to decide what to do with Stephen.”

  “No, it can’t wait.”

  “Annie—”

  “No!” I whirled on her, furious. “I can’t! I have to go!”

  Tears biting my eyes, I stumbled from the office.

  Chapter 24

  The kid had left a light on in the bedroom. It was enough.

  He flipped up the night goggles.

  His eyes flicked around the huge rec room. Couches near a fireplace. TV. Computer area. Messy. Probably the kid’s—

  Footsteps above.

  He hurried over to press against the wall of the stairwell. Listening. He must not be pushed into impetuous action. He must wait. Plan.

  Where to hide?

  A latch clicked open at the top of the steps.

  He slid along the wall and pulled open a door that had to lead to a closet beneath the stairs. Smothering blackness reached out to him. He stepped inside and flipped down the goggles.

  “I don’t know, Jenna, I just don’t know.” A woman’s voice.

  Jenna. The sister.

  His mouth tightened. She wasn’t supposed to be here.

  He needed Annie alone.

  Light spilled from the stairwell. He pulled the closet door shut without latching it.

  Footfalls down the stairs.

  Silence.

  He waited.

  Chapter 25

  I turned on the rec room’s overhead lights. The place was a mess, Stephen’s stuff strewn everywhere. He’d left a lamp on in his room. I headed toward it, stopping at the threshold to survey the chaos of his bed and floor.

  If I searched his dresser, would I find drugs?

  No, I would not search. Not now, maybe not ever. I couldn’t bear to think what I might find.

  Wading through shirts and pants, I crossed the carpet and turned off the lamp. Then back into the rec room, toward the sliding door. Outside, the night loomed black as sin. Somebody out there could be watching me, so easily visible in all this light. In a flash I pictured

  myself, backlit and vulnerable, watched by Bland, hulking in the forest. He sees me move toward the door, check the lock, the palm of one hand resting against glass. I push the latch into place. Then bend over to pick up a sawed-off broom handle, laying it in the groove behind the sliding door for extra security . . .

  Nerves pricking, I stepped back from the door. I was spooking myself.

  “Are you done down there? Come on!” Jenna’s voice echoed through the great room. She should be quiet. She’d wake Kelly.

  I hovered near the couches, stalled by ambivalence. The room weighted with an oppression that raised the hair on my arms. What was it? Stephen’s lingering teenage angst? Still, I could not bring myself to mount the stairs, return to the office. Deal with the decisions his actions had forced upon me.

  God, what am I going to do?

  I covered my eyes with both hands. For a moment I simply stood, wondering where God was, wondering if He really existed, really cared, as I’d come to believe. If so, why was He letting all this happen?

  “Can you tell me what you’re waiting for?” Dave’s question tremored through my soul.

  What right did I have to continue running my own life, then blame God when things went awry?

  Oh, forget it.

  I lowered my hands. Filling my lungs, I turned to go back to the office.

  My eyes half focused on the stairway wall. The closet door wasn’t closed all the way. Now what? Why had Stephen been under there? It held paint, various other items for the house, nothing of interest to him.

  What if he was hiding something in there?

  With a sigh, I moved toward it. My fingers grasped the knob.

  “Annie! I need you up here, now!”

  Great.

  I leaned my head against the door, fighting with myself over what to do. I could check the closet, just for a minute. Put Jenna off for just one more minute—

  “Annie!”

  Please, Jenna. Can’t you let me be?

  But I knew this wasn’t Jenna’s fault. I did need to handle the situation with Stephen. Now.

  “Annie, are you—”

  “Okay! Okay, I’m coming.”

  With a halfhearted shove I pushed the door shut and trudged back up the stairs.

  Forty-five minutes later, Jenna and I sat in the television room, talking. We’d moved from the office because I couldn’t stand to be in there with Bill Bland’s picture staring at me. Nor could we sit in the great room, due to the way voices echoed up to the second floor. Amazingly, Kelly had not awakened. No point in pushing our luck.

  My sister urged me to let Stephen cool his heels in juvenile hall for at least a night. “You can still change your mind, you know. It would give him a good taste of the kind of life he’s choosing.”

  She was right. And she wasn’t a mother. Jenna had no clue what that would do to me, knowing my son was behind bars.

  I couldn’t go through with it.

  We watched the clock,waiting for Chetterling to call and say the booking was complete. It was taking some time. The detective insisted on returning to his surveillance out front, which meant calling a deputy to drive out and get the boys. We knew the boys had been picked up some time ago, Jeff and Stephen handcuffed in the deputy’s backseat. Time and again that scene played upon the screen in my mind. Time and again I forced it away.

  When the call came, Jenna would leave to pick up Stephen. I’d elected to stay home with Kelly. I simply couldn’t bear to see my son held in custody.

  “Are you still going to try to work tonight?” Jenna rested in an armchair, her feet up. She’d gotten dressed, run a quick comb through her hair. Only Jenna could manage to look beautiful with no makeup after one in the morning.

  I closed my eyes, pushing my thoughts back toward Bill Bland, to my immersion in his features, his life. The connection remained, but on some deep, distant level, like a telephone line fraught with static. “I have to finish it. Besides, it’s not like I’d sleep even if I went to bed.”

  “Might be hard to concentrate.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “You could try again in the morning.”

  “Jenna, listen. If I lie in bed, I’ll think about Stephen. And those thoughts are far more terrifying than Bill Bland’s threats. Bland is someone who can be stopped as soon as he’s caught. But stopping Stephen . . . how do you get through to a kid who won’t listen?”

  I felt her answer, even though she would not voice it again: You put him in jail, just like Bland.

  She sighed. “Maybe you should try sending him to live with Vic. Get him away from these friends here.”

  “I already took him away from his druggie friends in the Bay Area, remember? Doesn’t seem to matter where he is on the outside; Stephen just gravitates to guys who are like him on the inside. I can’t take him away from himself. Besides, you know Vic wouldn’t take Stephen, not to save the kid’s life. Sheryl doesn’t want to be bothered with my children; she’s made that perfectly clear.”

  Jenna was silent for a moment. “We have to think of Kelly too. She’s a good girl. We can’t allow drugs to be around her, all that bad influence. Stephen, with
his immoral friends around his younger sister. Makes me shiver just to think about it.”

  We. Silently, I thanked God for my sister. She would stick by me in this, all the way. Even if she didn’t agree with my decisions.

  “I know. The only good news is, we live away from Redding. Stephen’s friends can’t just walk up to the house, you know. They have to have a car.”

  “Don’t most of them?”

  “I suppose. Still, it’s better than living in town, like we did in the Bay Area. Remember how his friends flocked around all the time? I never knew who’d be showing up, and at what hour.”

  “Well, one thing’s for sure. You’ve got a friend in Detective Chet—”

  The phone rang.

  “There he is.”Woodenly, I reached for the receiver. Then pulled back my hand.“Wait. What if it isn’t? I should take it in the office, by the recorder, just in case.”

  Jenna put down the armchair footrest.“You stay, then. I’ll get it.”

  Tucking my feet under me, I hunched on the couch, listening to her steps across the hardwood floor.

  Chapter 26

  She’d turned off the bedroom light. He kept the goggles down, binocular capability turned off.

  The phone rang, not five feet from where he stood. He surveyed it, waiting.

  Footsteps upstairs.

  He slunk back toward the closet.

  A second ring.

  The footfalls sounded directly overhead, then continued past the stairway.

  The third ring cut short.

  He focused on the cordless phone. He must know what was happening upstairs. Dare he risk listening to the call?

  With long, silent strides he neared the receiver. Picked it up. Pushed talk.

  “ . . . still doesn’t want him taken to juvenile hall.” A woman’s voice. “I tried to talk her into it, but she won’t budge.”

  “It’s understandable.” A man. “Hard thing for a parent, knowing your kid’s in jail.”

  “I know. So I’ll be going to get him.”

  “Is Annie going with you?”

  “No. We’d have to bring Kelly, and Annie doesn’t want to wake her up.”

  “Makes sense. Just check the doors one more time. She relocked the one Stephen used, right?”