Blood Harvest (Book 1): Blood Fruit

by Goodman, D. J.

  If Peg hadn’t stared for just one second more she was sure she would have gotten back to her feet, run up the stairs, and immediately called the cops. Everything afterward in her life completely turned on that moment and she would always be acutely aware of it, often wondering how things could have been different just as she had eleven years before. But she hesitated and stared, and that was all it took to change everything.

  Because now, in the girl’s current prone position, Peg could see her back. The scum and filth were caked just as heavily there as on the rest of her, but the greater light from this angle was enough that Peg could see the pale white skin beneath. Except it wasn’t all white.

  Peg held her breath for several seconds. Her mind wouldn’t accept what it was seeing. Slowly, making sure not to make any sudden movements that might startle the girl and make her grab at Peg again, she went forward on hands and knees and reached through the gap. No longer caring what exactly was the putrid mess covering the girl, she gently put a hand to the girl’s naked back and brushed away enough of the crud to get a clear view of what was underneath.

  Butterfly wings. Beautiful blue and purple wings tattooed on the girl’s back, just as crisp as though they had been inked on her only a week before.

  “Don’t call anyone, Peg,” the girl mumbled. “You can’t. It’ll find me.”

  Peg’s hands quivered uncontrollably as she reached up to the girl’s head and turned it to face her. The girl let her, not resisting in the slightest.

  “Help,” Zoey Sellnow said. “Please.”

  Chapter 3

  With the promise that Peg wouldn’t try to call anyone, Zoey finally seemed satisfied enough to allow Peg to go back upstairs. Peg didn’t even know what she intended to do upstairs but she had to step away. If she didn’t get a moment to herself she was certain her mind would completely break down.

  As it happened, Peg didn’t even make it completely up the stairs. When she got to the last two steps her legs suddenly began to shake beneath her and she fell to her knees. She managed to steady herself with the grab rail to keep from falling back into the basement and leaned forward at least enough so her face was over the solid hardwood floor outside the door before she puked. After three solid heaves, what little food she’d still had in her gut from breakfast finished coming up and she sat there, half in and half out of the stairwell, her entire body shaking, her heart pounding, her eyes watering both from vomiting and the stench, and her mind frozen and blank. She wasn’t quite sure how long she sat there. She realized after a while that her eyes weren’t just wet from watering but that she was actively sobbing. That was fine for now, she figured. Just let it out. Whatever the fuck was happening to her, she just had to let it go. That was what her therapist always told her.

  Therapy. That was something for her mind to attach on while it tried to rearrange itself with this new impossible situation. Therapy hadn’t always helped before. The first time she’d seen a therapist had been six months after Zoey’s disappearance, but she’d only gone twice before stopping. The next time she went it had been court ordered after her suicide attempt several months later. That time had lasted longer, almost five months, before she’d stopped. Finally she’d started seeing a new one shortly after she’d met Tony. By then she had finally felt like she was ready to heal, that she had to heal if she wanted things out of life such as a family.

  The second therapist, the court-ordered one, had asked her once what she might do or say if Zoey ever came back. Peg had told her to fuck off because there was no way that was ever going to happen. The little bit that the investigation had turned up pointed pretty obviously to the fact that Zoey had been taken, not that she had run away. No one ever just took a nineteen year old girl just to have companionship for a while, and it was highly unlikely that someone involved in human trafficking had suddenly decided that a place like Sheboygan would be the next hot spot to find women. No, it was a fact known by all but said by almost no one that Zoey was dead. Wisconsin had had its share of serial killers in the past and it didn’t seem impossible that another one was out there. The police had even told Peg’s family that there were one or two other open cases in the southern Wisconsin area that looked superficially similar, but no hard evidence had ever been found to put them together.

  In that typical stubborn therapist way, though, she hadn’t been willing to take Peg’s fuck-you as a true answer. And so Peg had been forced to think about it. As much as she had wanted to just dismiss the question with a sarcastic answer, she’d found it a question she’d actually needed to consider. And it hadn’t been one she could forget about even after the therapy session. There was of course the obvious answer that everyone would expect from her: she would be happy to have her sister back. Any other answer and people would think she was a bad person. But the more she’d considered it the more she realized it could never be that simple. The circumstances under which Zoey had vanished led to many people laying at least some blame on Peg, and that included Peg herself. Zoey wouldn’t have been there that night if Peg hadn’t gotten her that fake ID, and Peg hadn’t realized her sister was gone for an unacceptable amount of time. The police investigation had looked at family and friends as possible suspects at first, and even Peg hadn’t been completely outside of suspicion as having some part in the disappearance. Of course she had been cleared of suspicion rather quickly. She was only included in the investigation in the first place because a handful of officers on the Sheboygan police force had some problems with her. Innocent or not, though, that blame had hung on her and it had shaped her.

  In fact, after some thought Peg had needed to be honest with herself and admit that if Zoey ever came back Peg might in fact be angry with her. It seemed like an illogical response, but then Peg hadn’t always been the most logical person following everything that happened. If everyone was correct and Zoey was dead or had been kidnapped, then none of this would be her fault. But if Zoey returned, if she had just walked out of their lives for whatever reason, then she had permanently destroyed the lives of everyone who loved her. And that wouldn’t be something Peg could ever forgive.

  Now Zoey was here, but Peg just couldn’t process it yet. She didn’t feel the anger she had expected or the happiness, at least not yet. Instead Peg just felt numb, broken. Her brain refused to work. She couldn’t deal with this yet.

  And what about the lock? Or the teeth?

  Oh yeah, she definitely wasn’t prepared to deal with that. Those were details she would file away for later examination. For now all she could manage was figuring out what to do in the next moment. And then the next. Maybe after enough time some of the stuff going on in her thought processes would begin to make sense.

  So the first step was to get up from this awkward position on the stairs. She used the railing to pull herself back to a standing position, noting but not feeling any particular emotion about the way her every muscle felt like it was about to give out on her again at any second.

  Once she was semi-steady on her feet she stayed there for several seconds and began a mental list of everything she would need to do over the next few minutes. Don’t worry about emotions, just let them happen later. For now just focus and get things done.

  The pool of vomit in front of her. That was one. There weren’t a lot of chunks because she hadn’t eaten lunch yet. She could clean that up easily enough. And there was the smell to deal with. She wasn’t sure what to do about that, but it was another thing for the list.

  That’s all great, she thought to herself, but when exactly do you plan on dealing with the naked, babbling, shit-covered girl sitting in your basement? Hmm? How about her?

  She would just have to deal with Zoey in the same methodical step-by-step manner that she dealt with everything else here. The first and probably most important question was whether she would ignore Zoey’s wishes and call the cops, or at least an ambulance. Saying that Zoey was unwell would be the understatement of a lifetime. Her ramblings had implied that somebody was
after her, but practically nothing she’s said made any sense. Given her ordeal, whatever unimaginable horror that had been, she was probably being paranoid.

  Paranoid nothing, you in-denial ass, she thought to herself. Lock. Teeth. This is not a woman who was off on some hippy commune. Get your fucking head out of the clouds and pay attention to the details that are right in front of you.

  As much as she worried for her own sanity when she was having intense arguments with herself in her head, Peg had to admit that the little nagging voice was absolutely right. Zoey didn’t appear to be completely in her right mind, but if she was afraid of something then all the facts, as unbelievable as they may have been, pointed to her having some very good reasons. Peg didn’t know how she would try to explain the lock or the teeth to the police anyway. They wouldn’t believe her on the phone, and when they got here and saw for themselves…

  Peg suddenly remembered that her arm was throbbing. She looked down at the place where Zoey had grabbed her to see a very large, very nasty looking bruise forming. If Zoey had indeed done something to the lock with her bare hands then what she had done to Peg’s arm was nothing. If the cops came in here and Zoey suddenly felt threatened there was no telling what she could do.

  Although it bothered her, Peg had to admit that, at least for now, it was a better idea to do exactly as Zoey had asked and leave the authorities out of this. That might change later, but a lot of things might change later. Peg might wake up later and realize all of this had just been some nightmare she’d had while napping on the couch and she was late to pick up Brendan.

  That reminded her. Gingerly stepping over her own puke, Peg went into the kitchen and checked the clock. Almost two. Somehow in all this she’d lost nearly an hour. That meant she had less than an hour before she had to leave to pick up Brendan. Tony wouldn’t be home for a couple hours after that. She had that much time to take everything that had happened and somehow arrange it all into something she could work with.

  The first thing she did, while it was on her mind, was phone Brendan’s sitter and ask if she could keep him for an extra hour. She made up some story about having to go back into work for some kind of minor resort emergency. It was a good thing the sitter didn’t ask for any details because Peg wasn’t sure she would be able to keep a story straight later if she had to. Instead the sitter just said it would be fine, and Peg hung up. Okay, so she had an extra hour. Now was time to figure out what to do with it.

  The puke was simple enough to clean up. It left a bit of a smell on the floor, but honestly with the rest of the stench coming from Zoey it was barely noticeable. That, then, would need to be her next task. If she didn’t want anyone asking any strange questions, then this whole house would need to smell like a rose by the time anyone else set foot in it.

  And this is also the point where you have to stop hiding behind being domestic, she thought, and start dealing with the fact that your sister is here.

  She didn’t want to deal with it yet. The shock was still far too fresh. She had no choice, though. It was time to go back downstairs and face this. One step at a time. She didn’t have to know what exactly was happening and where this was all going. Just one task and then another, just like they were always saying in AA.

  She almost went back down the stairs before she remembered a trick she’d seen in a movie once and went to the cupboard in the bathroom. Peg scavenged around until she finally found an old, seldom used tub of Vick Vaporub near the back, then dabbed her finger in it and smeared some under her nose. Supposedly that would block out the worst of the smell. When she went back into the basement she found that it worked to a small degree, but not nearly enough to keep out the smell entirely. A little was better than nothing, at least. Hopefully this would keep her from needing to heave again.

  Zoey hadn’t moved from where Peg had left her. For a second she thought Zoey was dead since she didn’t appear to be breathing. That idea sent a shiver through her. Peg’s feelings on this matter might be too complicated to deal with just yet, but one thing she did know was that she wasn’t prepared to lose Zoey so soon after finally getting her back. But as Peg came closer Zoey turned her head to look at her. Their eyes met. Zoey’s eyes were dark blue, which was vaguely surprising to Peg. She couldn’t honestly be certain whether her eyes had always been that color or not. Peg’s own were brown, as were her mother’s and father’s. With everything Peg had ever thought about her sister in the last eleven years, she realized she’d never even bothered to remember such a simple detail.

  A horrible thought occurred to Peg. How could she really be sure this was Zoey at all? It sure looked like Zoey, but the idea that Zoey had somehow lived had vanished from Peg’s brain years ago. It was almost easier to believe that this was some imposter. That was absurd, though. She had Zoey’s face. She had Zoey’s tattoo. Besides the teeth her body was exactly the same…

  Exactly the same. In her shock and disbelief Peg hadn’t even realized the other thing that was incorrect about this picture. Perhaps she’d been thrown off by the filth all over her, but Zoey didn’t appear to have aged a day. After eleven years she still looked like her nineteen year old self.

  Peg tried to dismiss that idea. That could only be her short-circuiting mind playing tricks on her. As soon as she got Zoey cleaned up she would see the differences, she was sure of it.

  “I didn’t call 911, just like you asked,” Peg said. “But I really think that’s a bad idea. The police need to know.”

  “You can’t,” Zoey said. “I’m ripe.”

  “You’ve got that right, sis. But that’s something we can fix.” She held out her hand. “Come on. I can clean you up.”

  Zoey hesitated. “The fruit is all grown and it’s ready to be picked,” she whispered.

  Peg summoned up some of that deep inner patience she’d been forced to learn when she became a mother. “Zoey, you’re safe now. I promise you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  You were the one that let something happen to her the first time, she thought.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, did her best to force the negative thoughts from her head, and then opened them again. She moved her hand closer to Zoey but she made no attempt to touch her. Something about her body language suggested a gazelle that had heard something suspicious in the brush and might bolt at the slightest provocation.

  After several tense seconds Zoey put her hand in Peg’s. Peg gripped it firmly and Zoey squeezed back, although thankfully without the same bone-crushing strength as earlier.

  With the same care she had taken when holding her son’s hands during his first steps Peg led Zoey out from between the furnace and water heater. Zoey didn’t seem overly weak but she took every step with extra care as though she expected the ground to sink beneath her at any moment. She stopped for no apparent reason at the bottom of the stairs to stare into space, and Peg could only get her going again by taking both her hands and leading her up the stairs in an awkward backward sort of crab step.

  She didn’t give Peg any more trouble until they reached the top steps. Peg came out into the hall but Zoey pulled away and pressed herself tight up against the wall just beyond the door.

  “Zoey, please. We have to get you cleaned up if…”

  “Too bright,” Zoey murmured. “No more light. Faced it already. No more no more.”

  Peg frowned and looked around in the hall. She didn’t even have the light on in here. It was actually slightly darker than on the stairs. “Honey, I don’t know what to say. We have to have some light.”

  “No! No more! Walking in the day felt bad. Please. Make it go away.”

  “You mean… the daylight? Do you want me to close all the windows?”

  Zoey sighed and her face looked almost, but not quite, pleased. “Yes! You understand. Thank you. Thank you, Peggy, thank you.”

  If it meant she could get Zoey moving again then Peg didn’t see what harm there would be in humoring her. It was probably a good idea to keep anyth
ing going on in here to themselves for now anyway. Most of the neighbors seemed nice enough, but yet another lesson she had learned the hard way in the last eleven years is that, no matter how large or small the town, you could never quite trust the people living next to you to mind their own business. In a town the size of Oconomowoc one could be sure that the local busy-bodies were always on the lookout for some bit of juicy dish that they could spread around, and Peg was sure that a naked girl walking around her house covered in shit would qualify.

  She went around the whole lower floor making sure the blinds and curtains were closed, but that brief time alone set her thoughts out on a disturbing path. Zoey didn’t seem to be enough in her right mind at the moment to think about not wanting the neighbors to see. Instead, she’d said something specifically about not liking walking in the day. She had somehow managed to come in through a locked door, going through an entire neighborhood in broad daylight while in a state that should have sent the neighborhood watch into a shit-tizzy. Try as she might, Peg couldn’t figure out how that was possible. Her brain tried to look at it from all angles, but the matter refused to form a shape that she wanted to recognize.

  Instead the same details just kept going over and over in her head. Fast or stealthy enough not to be seen. Not liking sunlight. Incredible strength. And those teeth. Oh, those teeth.

  Don’t you dare, Peg thought. Don’t you fucking dare think it. I know what you’re going to try to say and you’re not fucking allowed. Your mind is blown. You’re trying to make sense of things. You have the right to lose just a little bit of your shit here. But you do not get to start making such crazy accusations. Not even mentally. You do not get to try to say she’s a…

  Peg slammed her hand against the wall before her mind could actually form the word. The pain felt surprisingly refreshing. She did it again, then again, until finally she could feel the bruising starting in her hand and there was a small dent in the drywall. That was yet another thing she would have to explain later, but it was worth it. The moment had passed. The word that had been on the tip of her tongue was gone, and she would not let it come back.