Children of the Dark

by Jonathan Janz

  I put a hand on Chris’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out.”

  “It never ends,” he whispered. I could see his bottom lip trembling.

  “It will,” I said, knowing how lame that sounded. I squeezed his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, but we’ll make sure—”

  “Yes it is!” he growled. “It is my fault.”

  My eyes began to sting. I gripped his shoulders, squared up to him, and said in a low firm voice, “You didn’t make this happen—your dad did. We’ll tell somebody, find a way to put a stop to it.”

  “I’ll put a stop to it right now,” he said.

  Pushing away from me, Chris gripped the door handle and started to twist it. I have no idea what Chris would have done had he confronted his dad the way he apparently intended to, but the sound of the doorbell prevented the confrontation from occurring.

  Chris’s dad grumbled something. I followed Chris inside, and we discovered Chris’s mom weeping in the kitchen, her bottom lip split and bleeding. Chris made to put his arms around her, but she pulled away, her eyes fierce. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Mom,” Chris said, his voice unsteady. “You have to—”

  “Don’t tell me what I have to do,” she said distractedly. “That’s your father’s job, remember?”

  She stormed out, leaving her son staring after her with tears on his cheeks.

  I wanted to comfort Chris but the right words eluded me. The painful silence was interrupted by the sounds of conversation emanating from the foyer. Without making eye contact with each other, Chris and I followed the voices.

  And were met with a pair of policemen, state troopers from the looks of them. They stood across from Mr. Watkins in the foyer, looking like the antithesis of the Shadeland police force. Instead of the stubborn malice of Bryce Cavanaugh or the moronic self-importance of Terry Schwarber, these two policemen looked competent and professional. One was short, stocky, and had a salt-and-pepper crew cut. The other was tall and lean and black, and he looked a little younger. The short, white cop was scribbling on a pad of paper. The tall, lean one had his hands folded before him. We approached as the two cops conversed with Mr. Watkins.

  “…them everything he knew last night,” Chris’s dad was saying, his voice curt and borderline hostile. “I don’t see the need to repeat it.”

  “Mr. Watkins,” the lean cop said. “I can appreciate your desire to protect your son—”

  “If you appreciated it, you wouldn’t be here,” Mr. Watkins said.

  The lean black cop glanced at the stocky white one, who was eyeing Chris and me. The white cop smiled. “Hey, fellas.”

  I nodded at him, but Chris didn’t.

  Chris was watching his dad.

  I realized Mr. Watkins was pretending nothing had happened. He’d just belted his wife at least twice—one of the blows violent enough to draw blood—and here he was acting like the concerned father and irate taxpayer.

  He’s a great actor, I thought wonderingly. And a complete son of a bitch.

  “I didn’t give you permission to talk to my son,” Mr. Watkins said, his tone cold enough to freeze lava.

  The black cop grunted good-naturedly. “He was just saying hello.”

  “I don’t care what he was saying,” Mr. Watkins said. “I should never have invited you in. Now,” he said, ushering them toward the door, “if you two would—”

  A new voice spoke up. “Have you found her yet?”

  We turned and saw Chris’s mom. She looked a little wan, but other than the extra lipstick she’d applied, she looked fairly normal.

  Just another perfect day at the Watkins mansion, I thought.

  The tall black cop smiled apologetically. “We haven’t, ma’am. That’s why we’d hoped to talk to your boys.”

  Mr. Watkins was growing red-faced. “I’ve already told them they can’t speak to Chris. Now I’d like you both to—”

  “I’ll talk to you,” I said.

  All heads swiveled toward me.

  Chris nodded. “I will too. If it helps Kylie Ann.”

  “It won’t help Kylie Ann,” Mr. Watkins said with finality. “The Shadeland police chief interrogated my son last night for the better part of an hour, and Chris is not going to tell you anything new today.”

  “Mr. Watkins,” the stocky cop said, “we feel that, in the interest of being thorough, it makes more sense to…”

  “Go through it again,” the taller cop said.

  “But what purpose—” Mr. Watkins began.

  “Cavanaugh doesn’t know what he’s doing,” I said.

  Again every face swiveled toward me. I noticed the state policemen trying to stifle grins.

  “Well if you’re such an expert,” Mr. Watkins said with a nasty smile, “why don’t you go with them?”

  I forgot for a moment how gigantic Mr. Watkins was. “Why are you in such a hurry to get these guys out of the house?”

  Mr. Watkins’s face tightened. I believed in that moment he would have strangled me if there hadn’t been witnesses. “They’re out of line,” he said in a controlled voice.

  “Hah!” I said, glancing around. “You say that with a straight face? Why don’t you tell them why your wife keeps covering her mouth?”

  The atmosphere in the foyer changed instantaneously. Chris’s dad looked like he was about to explode from mortification or fury or both. Chris looked scared enough to pass out. The stocky cop was watching me uncertainly, but the tall black cop was staring at Mr. Watkins as if seeing him for the first time. And what he saw there, he didn’t like.

  “There something you need to tell us, Mr. Watkins?” the tall cop asked.

  Mr. Watkins’s mouth opened and shut, reminding me of a little kid attempting to blow bubbles. At last he managed, “We had an argument, yes, but that was it. I think Will’s imagination is working overtime.”

  I knew I should shut up, but it was like my mouth was on autopilot and I was simply hanging on for the ride. “Was it my imagination she was bleeding a minute ago?”

  The tall cop looked ready to wring Mr. Watkins’s neck, but Mrs. Watkins surprised us all by saying, “Maybe you should go with them, Will.”

  I felt like I’d been slapped. “Mrs. Watkins, he shouldn’t—”

  “I appreciate your concern,” she overrode me, “but I think you better go.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but she added, “Please, Will.”

  I glanced at Chris and was stunned to see how sickly a hue he’d gone. I knew how traumatized he was, and though I wanted to help him, a part of me figured it would be better if I did leave with the cops. I know that sounds cowardly, but it really wasn’t.

  Because somehow I knew a great many things about the Watkinses I’d never known before. I knew despite their money, their house was an unhappy one. I knew Chris’s dad had struck Chris’s mom before, and I knew it had been covered up. And somehow, I was sure that Mr. Watkins would hurt his wife again.

  As I followed the cops outside, I understood that this was a cycle for the Watkinses. And when I got into the back of the car, a terrible new possibility occurred to me.

  Did Mr. Watkins abuse Chris too?

  It would certainly explain a lot. It had crossed my mind before, mainly because of how quiet Chris got when someone mentioned his dad, how the light would go out of his eyes, to be replaced by a brooding expression that made him seem far older than his fifteen years.

  “So,” the white cop said as he steered us out of Chris’s driveway, “my name’s Jim Flynn. This is Detective Wood.”

  The tall black cop turned in the passenger seat and gave me an embarrassed grin. “David is fine.”

  I thought I’d have a difficult time calling either man something other than Officer or Sir, but I nodded and kept quiet.

  Officer Flynn eyed me in the overhead mirror. “You were right about Cavanaugh, by the way. I’m good friends with the county sheriff. Larry Robertson? Off the record, he can’t stand the chief. Or his deputies, for
that matter.”

  “They’ve botched this investigation, haven’t they?” I said.

  Detective Wood glanced at me. “That’s like saying Carl Padgett is a mildly dangerous jaywalker. This investigation has been a disaster.”

  “That’s not going far enough,” Flynn said. “They haven’t just made the wrong decisions. They’ve made the worst possible decisions at every turn.”

  “And that began with not contacting us the moment Kylie Ann Lubeck went missing.”

  Flynn glared out the windshield, thin-lipped. “We’d have her back by now.”

  Wood shook his head. “Precious hours were wasted while those dolts stumbled around the woods.” Detective Wood glanced at me. “They give you a hard time, did they?”

  “They didn’t beat me or anything,” I said, “but they treated me like I was a criminal. Oh, and they made me walk home at three in the morning.”

  Wood’s mouth fell open. Flynn slowed the car to a halt. He was staring grimly ahead.

  “Come again?” Detective Wood asked.

  I told them about how Cavanaugh and his deputies had made a joke of it. As I talked, the two men exchanged glances, their expressions rapidly changing from astonishment to outrage.

  Detective Wood moved in his seat to face me. He spoke slowly and with a gravity that made me a little nervous “Will, you seem like a sincere person. But you need to know this: You better not mislead us in any way because that could get you in a lot of trouble. You understand?”

  “Of course,” I said with a touch of heat.

  “Then son,” Officer Flynn said, “you better tell us the whole thing, from beginning to end. Please don’t leave anything out, particularly as it pertains to the missing girl.”

  “Or the Shadeland police force,” Wood added.

  “Especially the Shadeland police force,” Flynn said.

  And as we made our way back to Masonic Road, I told them the entire tale.

  ¨

  By the time I finished, we’d been sitting in my driveway for ten minutes.

  “…and then Brad and the rest of the guys got in Blades’s Mustang and drove away,” I said.

  Detective Wood studied me. “Anything else?”

  I mulled it over. “I’m pretty sure that’s all.” I considered telling them about what Peach had seen in the window—the pale, grisly face with the glowing emerald eyes—but something, probably protectiveness of my sister and a desire to keep her from being thought a silly little kid, prevented me.

  Flynn turned to Wood. “What do you make of it?”

  Wood scowled out the passenger window. “Will’s account dovetails with the facts Cavanaugh supplied pretty nicely.”

  Flynn eyed my house. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”

  “Mom doesn’t get off work for several more hours.”

  “You’ve got a little sister, don’t you?”

  “She’s at a friend’s.”

  Wood gave me a probing glance. “You spend a lot of time on your own?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, and made to get out. But the door wouldn’t budge.

  “Hold on,” Wood said. “I’ve got to open it for you.”

  As Wood let me out into the sweltering day, I was again surprised by how tall he was.

  “You sure you want to stay here alone?” he asked.

  I shrugged and tried to look tough. “Padgett’s already left town, hasn’t he?”

  “We’re not assuming anything,” he answered. “We don’t even know that Padgett is the one who abducted Kylie Ann.”

  “So you don’t know anything,” I said.

  I thought that might piss off Detective Wood, but he actually smiled a little. “Imagine working a cash register at Wal-Mart. You come on at six PM, and you’re taking over a register somebody else worked all day. The cash, change, everything is totally inaccurate because the other guy couldn’t add or subtract, much less handle large bills or credit cards. But you’re the one whose butt is on the line if the register doesn’t add up at the end of the night.”

  I nodded. “I get it. It must suck cleaning up after Chief Cavanaugh.”

  “‘Suck’ isn’t a strong enough word. If you were a trifle older, I’d use the real word, but for now, yeah, I’ll tell you that it sucks.”

  He clapped me on the shoulder and got back into the cruiser. “Take care.”

  I thought the state troopers would drive away then, but Detective Wood leaned toward me, a hesitant look on his face. “Can I ask you something?”

  I waited.

  “Mind you,” he went on, “I don’t expect an answer.”

  “Okay,” I said, but I already knew what the question would be. Worse, I had no idea how to answer it.

  “You said something back at your friend’s house that was pretty interesting.”

  I shifted uneasily.

  Officer Flynn leaned toward me from the driver’s seat. “Something about Mr. and Mrs. Watkins.”

  I licked my lips. “Oh. That.”

  Detective Wood asked, “Did he hit her?”

  I hesitated. “What happens if I say yes?”

  “Tell you the truth,” Wood said, “that all depends on how we decide to handle it. Mr. Watkins is a well-known man and someone who’ll fight any charge that comes his way.”

  I grunted. “I’m sure.”

  Flynn looked like he’d just detected a bad smell. “Watkins isn’t very popular with those of us on the force.”

  I wanted to smile then, show them I was on their side, but all I could think of was Chris. What would happen if the cops went over to arrest Chris’s dad? How would that affect my friend? And what would that do to Mrs. Watkins? Would her husband abuse her twice as violently?

  Apparently, my internal struggle showed on my face, because Wood said, “Look, Will. We’re not here to put you in a bad spot. If you want some time to think about it, how about this…” He plucked something from his shirt pocket and offered it to me. A business card. “Take this and think it over. I think you know what the right thing is. Guys like Watkins never change. He’ll keep doing this until someone stops him.” He eyed me steadily. “Someone who’ll stand up to him.”

  I held his gaze a long beat, then pretended to study the card.

  “Talk to you soon, Will,” Wood said. Flynn also said his goodbye, and then they were backing out of the driveway.

  I watched them go with a vague sense of regret. They were the first two adults I’d encountered in a while that I felt I could trust. Oh, the Marleys were good people, but Flynn and Wood were different; they seemed to know Shadeland’s business, but they came with none of the biases or entanglements that the other adults in my life possessed.

  But now Flynn and Wood were gone. Which meant I was stuck here with nothing to do.

  Man, it was hot. I was perspiring freely now, my shirt sticking to my back. The air was so humid it felt tropical. The storm would hit soon.

  My muscles tensed. Yes, I decided. I knew how I could spend the next several hours. Mom wouldn’t be home until late afternoon. She didn’t want me to go to the basement again, but she’d never know if she wasn’t here to catch me.

  Excited, I hustled around the side of the house and swerved around the corner.

  And ran right into Eric Blades.

  He jarred slightly, but he’d evidently been prepared for the collision. I, on the other hand, landed right on my ass.

  “That was rude,” Kurt Fisher said. “I want an apology.”

  Eric grinned, the guy’s complexion darker than I remembered. He wore a black tank top, and his arms were heavily veined. Kurt looked the way he always did. Fairly short, but arrogant and muscular, his black crew cut lent him a militaristic aura. Definitely not the kind of guy whose bad side you wanted to be on. Of course, I’d been on Kurt’s bad side for as long as I could remember, as if I’d offended him with my birth or something.

  Sitting there on my rear end, I turned and discovered Pete Blades, Eric’s older brother. Pet
e had a heavy shadow of beard, and though I knew he worked at the pharmacy, he didn’t look clean-cut now. He’d traded in his striped button-down shirt and his nametag for a burgundy T-shirt and a pair of black shorts. He was heavier than Eric and a good deal older. I thought he was twenty-four or twenty-five, which made this situation even more surreal. What kind of guy that age hung around with high school kids? Even worse, what kind of guy participated in the beating up of a fifteen-year-old, which was where I was pretty sure this was going?

  I got up, dusted myself off, and gave Pete Blades my most caustic look. “I bet your bosses would be really proud to see you now.”

  Pete smiled, unabashed. “It’s funny you mention that, Burgess. See, working at the pharmacy, you find out a lot about people. Which ones can barely afford their meds. Which ones go to extreme lengths to make sure they get them.” He gave me a penetrating look. “Which ones falsify their prescriptions because they ran out over a year ago.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said in a thin voice.

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Pete said. “And you know that if I turn in your junkie of a mom, the first people that’ll show up will be Child Protective Services. You and your little sister will be taken away and put in different homes, and your mom’ll be lucky to stay out of jail.”

  I could only stare.

  “And that’s why,” Eric Blades said with a wicked grin, “you’re going into the Hollow with us. Kylie Ann and I were just getting to know each other, and I’m not going to let Carl Padgett or some other freak hurt her.”

  For once I was at a complete loss for words. Eric turned and cut across my backyard in the direction of the Hollow. I followed him, drifting along like a wraith. Kurt and Pete were talking and chuckling behind me, but I couldn’t make out their words. There was a lot of profanity, and I could tell most of it was about me and my family, but at that point I was too stunned to care. I mean, I knew my mom was addicted to her prescriptions, but I still believed they were sanctioned by a doctor. That she’d been forging the doctor’s signature shouldn’t have been surprising to me, but it was. Whatever good will my mom had built up with her recently improved behavior was burned away in a flash of contempt so powerful it left me feeling desolate and hopeless.