Carving Knife

by Christian, Claudia Hall

  “Still a Jew.”

  They ran across the parking lot. Schmidty hit the remote access on his rented BMW, and they jumped into the car. Schmidty smoked the tires on the way out of the parking lot.

  “Where are we going?” Schmidty said.

  “Luis’s ranch,” Seth said.

  “Which way?” Schmidty asked.

  “Go up the valley,” Seth said. “It’s fast and we’re less likely to get caught.”

  Schmidty nodded, and Seth hung on. Schmidty flew out of town and started up the 17.

  “Okay, what’s going on?” Seth asked. “How did I ever save your life?”

  “Lizzie and I got married,” Schmidty said.

  “What about the big, expensive ceremony? Just the right rabbi? Your mother’s rules? The ring that wasn’t quite big enough? Your father’s disapproval? All of that?”

  “We were talking and just decided to get married,” Schmidty said. “We did it last night. That’s why we’re here—to tell you and Julie Ann—and my parents, of course.”

  “Is she pregnant?”

  “No,” Schmidty said. “Not yet. At least I don’t think so. Gosh, that’ll be fun. Anyway, that’s not why we got married. We wanted something that would be just us. I wanted to make the commitment to her—alone. She wanted to make the commitment to me—alone. Just her and just me.”

  “And?”

  “It was really . . . wow,” Schmidty said. “Dream-come-true stuff. She said the same thing. We did it on the beach with candles and a rabbi and . . .”

  “Your father’s going to kill me,” Seth said.

  “And?”

  “Same shit, different day,” Seth said. “Congratulations, son.”

  Schmidty laughed and pressed the car over a hundred on the straight highway.

  “The road is just ahead,” Seth said.

  Schmidty jerked the wheel and the car skidded around the right hand corner. Seth hung on. They headed toward Mount Blanca, effortlessly avoiding the potholes and broken spaces on the straight, flat blacktop.

  Seth’s cellphone rang. He looked at it and scowled.

  “I thought that was a super-secret phone,” Schmidty said.

  “Obviously not,” Seth said. He answered the phone with a gruff, “O’Malley.”

  “Mr. O’Malley?” an accented male voice asked. “It’s Abram Miller. I’m sorry for bothering you so late at night. You said to telephone you any time. I got this number from Luis’s wife.”

  “It’s no problem,” Seth said.

  “I would never have called, but . . .” Abram said.

  “Yes?”

  “There have been gunshots at Luis’s home,” Abram said.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “What?” Seth’s voice rose with panic.

  “Sounded like a rifle,” Abram Miller said. “Luis is out in the field with my two oldest sons. There was a large thunderstorm tonight. Since you told us about the relationship between thunder and these mutilations, we wanted to check the cattle. His wife and my wife went into town for a quilting class. They drove together. They are spending the night and going again tomorrow.”

  “Luis’s sister is at Luis’s home,” Seth said.

  “Yes,” Abram said.

  Seth heard gunshots in the background.

  “I thought, maybe she was a hunter?” Abram asked.

  “She’s my housekeeper,” Seth said.

  “Should I send my sons?” Abram asked.

  “No,” Seth said. “We’re almost there.”

  “We will wait for you on the road,” Abram said.

  “No!” Seth said, but Abram had hung up the phone. “Shit.”

  “What happened?” Schmidty asked.

  “The neighbors heard the shots and want to help,” Seth said.

  “Yeah, that’s really horrible,” Schmidty laughed.

  “Demon?” Seth asked. “They’re Amish.”

  “Yikes,” Schmidty said.

  They were rapidly approaching two ranches.

  “Where to?” Schmidty said.

  “Right,” Seth said. “But watch for . . .”

  Schmidty skidded to a halt. Abram Miller and a young man of nineteen or twenty were standing with six boys ranging from sixteen to ten years old. They were all armed with shotguns or rifles. Abram Miller stepped out from the tree-lined windbreak near the home. Seth jumped out of the car.

  “There is a man who is infected with an ancient demon inside.” Seth yelled—and then felt foolish.

  Abram Miller gave him a long look and nodded. He said something in Pennsylvania Dutch to his sons and the young man, before looking at Seth.

  “We don’t abide by demons,” Abram said. “We do understand what you mean when you refer to something that is unknown, old, and evil. We will use caution.”

  As if to say, “That’s all I have to say on this matter,” Abram gave Seth a nod.

  “Does your young man have a weapon?” Abram asked.

  Seth looked at Schmidty, who had a bright smile on his face. Abram nodded to the youngest boy near Schmidty, and the boy gave him his shotgun.

  “How . . .?” Schmidty asked.

  The boy gave Schmidty a quick lesson and ammunition. The boy’s older brother gave the boy another shotgun.

  “Then we are ready,” Abram said.

  “You don’t have to . . .” Seth started.

  “We will not hesitate in the face of evil, Mr. O’Malley,” Abram nodded.

  Seth glanced at the boys around him. They nodded to the beat of their father’s strong words and looked more terrified with each word. Abram gestured toward the house and they started walking. The young man walked on Seth’s left and Abram Miller on his right. Schmidty stayed close behind Seth, and the boys followed.

  “I saw you play, Mr. O’Malley,” the young man said. “In San Luis.”

  “That was fun,” Seth said.

  “Yes,” the young man said. “I’m just learning the piano.”

  “My son-in-law, Mark, is very good,” Abram said.

  “As I said, I’m just learning,” the young man said. “I have been using some of your music sheets. I sing the ‘Melody to Amelie’ to my daughter at night. It’s not a traditional song but a very good lullaby.”

  Seth smiled at the young man.

  “He went to Julliard in New York City on his Rumspringa,” Abram said. “He’s a singer.”

  “You must be very good, Mark,” Seth said.

  “I just went for a couple of years,” Mark said. “I came home to marry and make my life.”

  “Love’s ruined a lot of careers,” Seth said.

  “Not yours,” Mark said.

  “I was ten when I started at Eastman,” Seth said. “I didn’t fall in love until I was twelve, and she went to school there.”

  Seth grinned, and Abram laughed. They walked to the edge of the windbreak. From where they stood, they had a good view of Luis’s home. Originally built for Luis and Maresol’s great-grandparents, the home was old, solid, and well kept. Luis had added a matching story-and-a-half in the back to accommodate his large family.

  “Okay,” Seth said. “Let’s try to be quiet.”

  Their pace slowed as they made their way across the gravel driveway. There were three cars in the parking lot. Maresol’s Mercedes, a Lexus convertible, and an older, midsized truck. The garage doors were down.

  “Can you disable the cars?” Seth said in a low tone to Abram.

  He nodded and pointed two of his sons to the cars. They heard shots from the back of the house. The boys set to work.

  “Why don’t we let the boys stay here?” Seth asked. “Make sure no one leaves.”

  Abram gave Seth a nod, and Seth went to Schmidty.

  “I think it’s a good idea if you stay out here,” Seth said.

  “With the little kids?” Schmidty shook his head.

  “Could be pretty nasty,” Seth said.

  Schmidty gritted his teeth and gave Seth a nod.

  “Stay cl
ose to me,” Seth said to Schmidty. Turning to Abram, he said, “Can you go in through the door here? Be sure to announce yourself. Say you’re checking if everything’s okay. Be loud and . . .”

  “Amish?” Abram grinned.

  “Yeah,” Seth nodded.

  “I can do dis,” Abram said in an artificially thick accent. He grinned, and Seth nodded.

  “Be careful,” Seth said. “They will kill you without hesitation or remorse.”

  Abram nodded. He ratcheted the shotgun in his hands and nodded to his son-in-law.

  “Wait ten minutes after we get around the back,” Seth said. “Ring the doorbell.”

  Abram nodded. Seth and Schmidty started moving toward the back of the house.

  “Remember the demon,” Abram said.

  “You do, as well,” Seth said.

  Seth gave Abram Miller and his son-in-law, Mark, one last worried look before moving to the corner of the backyard. There was no activity in the backyard. Schmidty tapped him in the ribs. When he looked, Schmidty pointed to something on the shoulder-high deck. Seth peered forward.

  Cotton and Davies had left a mutilated calf on Luis’s deck. The hide bulged out in a round, softball-shaped area and disappeared. A mink was still working inside the calf. Schmidty covered his mouth. He bent over and ran into the pitch black under the deck. While Seth kept guard, Schmidty set down the shotgun and threw up next to the woodpile. A hand reached out from behind the woodpile and wrapped itself around the shotgun. Seth raised his handgun and stepped under the deck.

  “Stop right there,” Seth said in a low tone.

  The hand stopped moving, but didn’t release the shotgun. Schmidty jumped back.

  “Show yourself,” Seth said.

  Brent Davies leaned forward.

  TWENTY-NINE

  He’d been sitting with his back to the house and his legs out in front of him. He looked like he’d been beaten with a baseball bat. His perfect nose was broken and his front teeth missing. He was bleeding from a knife wound in his chest. His knees showed the wear that kneeling on broken glass brought. Seth moved closer and dropped to a crouch. He didn’t lower his weapon.

  “You came,” Brent said in a puff of air. “Finally.”

  “Your stepdad?”

  Brent nodded.

  “Why?”

  “You,” Brent said. “He knew you were looking . . . mutes because . . . I . . .”

  Seth nodded.

  “Taunted all those other cops,” Brent said. “Made sure Amelie knew about . . .. grant . . . I thought . . . I thought you’d . . . make him stop. But . . . never going to end. Never.”

  Brent coughed and shook his head.

  “Tried to stop him,” Brent said. “Again. Every time.”

  Brent gestured to his body.

  “Every time,” Brent took a breath, and added, “ . . . worse than last.”

  Schmidty knelt down and pressed his sweatshirt into Brent’s chest wound.

  “How did he get you?” Seth asked.

  “Drugs. Ventilation system. I thought I was . . .” Brent took a breath. With effort, he said, “State Attorney . . .finally . . . free.”

  Brent shook his head.

  “He’s angry,” Brent said. “Everest . . .”

  “He was dead when he mutilated him,” Seth said.

  Brent nodded and pointed to one of his molars to indicate what Everest had done.

  “Tried . . . to . . . tell . . . Éowyn,” Brent nodded. “Left diary . . . explain . . . on computer.”

  “Don’t talk,” Schmidty said. “Save your strength. We’ll . . .”

  Brent shook his head and looked at Seth. In the dim light, his blue eyes looked like deep wells of primal pain.

  “Please.” Brent’s had stroked the shotgun.

  “No!” Schmidty said. “You can’t . . . No!”

  “Schmidty,” Seth said in a low, commanding voice.

  The young man looked at him with the round eyes of a frightened deer.

  “Won’t make it,” Brent said. “He’ll mutilate . . . wants to . . . been looking forward to it for a . . . long time. Left me on the deck with calf . . . to think . . . what’s next . . . what’s next . . . Would have already but . . . your housekeeper . . . saw me . . . got her boyfriend to draw him away . . . very brave.”

  “Where is Cotton?” Seth asked.

  “Inside,” Brent said. “Looking for . . . guy. Good looking, taller than you, skinny . . . chestnut hair, kinda long . . . wide shoulders . . . long legs . . . beard . . . Called . . . stepdad . . . by name.”

  “Mitch.” The words came out of Seth’s mouth before he realized what he was saying.

  Brent nodded. “She said . . . name.”

  Brent closed his eyes and took a breath. Schmidty gave Seth a worried look. Seth gestured for him to get out from under the deck.

  “I will get Cotton,” Seth said. “He will never hurt you again. He will not survive this night.”

  “Nor will I,” Brent said. “He rotated knife . . . Bleeding inside . . . Way that disgusting creature likes it . . . Tried to kill it . . . Bit me . . . I’ll . . . never survive . . . Let me . . . not him . . . Don’t let him . . . kill me.”

  “I . . .”

  “Please,” Brent’s eyes begged Seth for release. “Give me . . . the right to make my . . . end . . . not him . . .”

  “Schmidty,” Seth said. “Get out.”

  “But . . .”

  “I need you to watch for Cotton,” Seth said.

  He held out his handgun for Schmidty to take. The young man saw the determination on Seth’s face and took the handgun. He went out from under the deck. Seth pulled his fleece down over his hand and put his hand on the shotgun.

  “I will take you. We have a fast car and can be . . .” Seth said.

  “He’ll find me,” Brent said. “Mutilate. ‘Nothing left to do with you, son, but remove the devil and punish the body.’ I . . . know what I am, and you . . . owe me . . . nothing. But . . .”

  Seth nodded.

  “Will you . . . Tell Éowyn that . . . she . . .” Brent coughed. “ . . .best thing . . .ever . . . did. Can’t . . . love . . . Don’t . . . know how.”

  Brent shook his head.

  “But Éowyn . . .” Brent nodded. “You see that she . . . gets . . . everything?”

  His pleading eyes tore away Seth’s resolve. Seth looked down at the ground for a moment before nodding.

  “I won’t pull the trigger,” Seth said.

  Seth held the shotgun to Brent Davies’s temple.

  “Sing?” Brent asked.

  Seth sang the only thing he could think of—“A Melody for Amelie”—the song Abram Miller’s son-in-law sang to his child. Schmidty joined in after a line or two. They were through the first verse when Brent grabbed the barrel of the shotgun and pulled the trigger. The blast took the top half of his head off. Blood and brain matter splattered the underside of the deck. The young man’s head slumped forward. Seth reached over and shut the handsome young man’s beautiful eyes.

  “Sleep well,” Seth whispered.

  Seth came out from under the deck. Schmidty was still singing the song. Seth gave him a long look before continuing the song. Schmidty handed Seth his handgun and grabbed the axe from near the woodpile. Still singing, Schmidty nodded to Seth, and they went up the deck stairs.

  THIRTY

  The mink was coming out of the calf’s anus when they passed. Schmidty chopped its head off with one solid “whack” from the axe. He gave Seth a nod, and Seth opened the sliding glass window. He waited a moment before taking a step into a comfortable den.

  The house was graveyard still. A dim light was on in the galley kitchen just ahead. It looked like Luis’s wife had set his dinner on the bar between the den and the kitchen. Seth swallowed hard and lowered his voice to no more than a low hum. Schmidty followed suit. Neither one dared give up their song.

  Maresol had spent every summer in this house growing up. She’d once told Seth, that
as a child, she would hide in a space between the first floor and the basement ceiling. No one ever found her. Originally built as a hiding place for alcohol during prohibition, the space was three feet by six feet. Just enough space for a sitting adult. Seth had to trust that she was now in her hiding place. Anything else was too awful to contemplate.

  The doorbell rang, and was followed by a knock. Something moved near the front of the house. Abram Miller’s voice called Luis’s name through the door.

  Seth raised his handgun and took a step past the bar into the kitchen. Without warning, a twenty-five-year old Mitch Delgado appeared in the long hallway to the front. He wore a cocky smile, tattered jeans, and an old green shirt with ARMY on it. The sheer joy of seeing his best friend made Seth’s head spin. Mitch shook his head and put his finger to his lips. He pointed to the kitchen. Schmidty ran into the kitchen, and Seth followed him.

  “Down,” Mitch mouthed.

  They crouched down. Seth raised his handgun to eye level.

  Muttering to himself, Cotton ran through the hallway and into the den. He was carrying a carving knife. His hands were stained with blood. Tiny beads of blood dropped from the knife.

  “God damn it,” Cotton said. “I can’t wait to get my knife into your sorry ass. I will take your demon for myself and punish your flesh by carving every piece of skin off you.”

  “Show me,” Mitch said. He gave Cotton one of his annoying “prove it” grins and disappeared.

  Cotton screamed with rage and ran to the front of the house. Abram Miller opened the front door. The Amish man shot him in the leg with his shotgun. Cotton sneered and kept moving toward Abram.

  “Got you, Delgado.” Cotton laughed.

  Cotton thrust the knife at Abram’s son-in-law. They fired in unison, hitting Cotton in the chest. Cotton’s body flew backwards. He hit the living room wall and fell to the ground dead with the knife in his hand.

  The home seemed to darken, and there was a putrid smell in the air.

  “Remember the demon!” Seth yelled. “You have to sing!”

  The Amish began singing their traditional hymn, “Lob Lieb.” The children outside took up the song. Seth and Schmidty sang “A Melody for Amelie.” The Amish men set their weapons down. Seth went looking for Maresol. As he’d hoped, she was tucked under the kitchen floor and singing “Immaculate Mary.” He helped her out of the crawl space and held her close.