Godland

by Stuart R. West

  “You too?” his mother had asked. Her eyes were glassy, her pupils dilated. Peter always said she kept something secret stored away to endure the long hours spent with her husband. One look into her eyes and Matt finally believed it.

  Mary stopped drying dishes. The pain etched on her face broadcast her thoughts clearly. She was losing her only ally.

  “Yes, Mom.” Matt wanted to run back to his room and unpack. Maybe put it off for a few more days. Sleep on it. No. That was the old way of thinking. “I need to leave.”

  “Where will you go?” His mother’s voice sounded hollow, void of life. Her spirit had long departed this mortal coil.

  “I don’t really know. But away from him. I’ll call and write.”

  “No. Don’t call. That will make your father very angry, but please, do write.” His father never picked up the mail. Sometimes Matt wondered if he could even read.

  “I promise.”

  The long silence draped over the kitchen like a death-shroud. Matt waited for an emotional breakthrough, for anything. His family had never been demonstrative. His father wouldn’t allow it. Or didn’t know how, more than likely. But Matt couldn’t leave without telling his suffering family how much he loved them.

  He reached his arms around his mother. She flinched, pulling back slightly. Afraid of his touch. He felt her shoulders slowly relax in his hold as if thawing out from the cold. She patted Matt’s back lightly, maintaining a good six inches between them.

  “I love you, Mom.” Matt hadn’t said those words to her since he was a child. The sentiment hadn’t been returned since then either. His mother sputtered, but words didn’t follow. She released her son. “Goodbye, Mom. You protect Mary, okay? Protect her.” She averted her gaze to the sink as if she didn’t intend to honor Matt’s request. Almost like she knew she’d already failed at the task.

  Matt turned to his sister and hugged her. She clung to him. “I’m really going to miss you, Mary.” Her tears wet his neck, tiny eyelashes fluttering against his skin.

  “Please don’t go.”

  “I have to, Mary. Come with me.” The idea startled him. He hadn’t planned on it. But it was the only option that made sense. The only way for her to do something with her life. He glanced at his mother to see if she’d protest but she stared flatly about the kitchen as if wondering what chore to tackle next.

  “No, I can’t. My place is here.”

  “I love you, Mary.” Matt released her. It felt permanent, too. No arguing with her. Not with the mindset Edwin had inculcated into her.

  Matt scurried out the door before he changed his mind. His knees felt weak, his mind foggy. Walking down the driveway, he heard choking sobs behind him. He turned to see Mary, standing in the drive. “I love you too, Matt!” She fell to her knees in the gravel. Her hands clasped to her chest as if praying for release.

  As Matt drove on into the night, he cursed himself. He had abandoned his sister to his evil father, not once, but twice. When their mother died, God—or something—had sent Matt back to the farm to save Mary. He failed then. Maybe God did, too.

  But he wouldn’t fail again. He wouldn’t fail his daughter. After all these years, he had a third chance at saving a loved one. Whether delivered by God, fate, whatever, he didn’t know. Didn’t care.

  I’m coming, Shannon. Hold on.

  Chapter Nine

  Fit to be tied and itchier than an alley cat.

  That’s how the little brown-haired temptress in the cellar made Edwin feel. A state of bound-up agitation, a scratch he couldn’t quite reach. He had to admit, these stirrings felt good after lying dormant for so many years. What he at one time felt for Gretchen had long fled, years before her death. It became a chore fulfilling his manly duties with her. By God, if he didn’t feel like a man again.

  Some naysayers might consider these sort of lustful feelings as sinful. Well, hell, let the tongues wag. From God’s words to Edwin’s ears, the Good Book laid down the law. The natural order of things. God made woman to be subservient to man’s needs.

  His mind made up and fully justified, Edwin entered the bathroom. Smiling at his visage in the mirror, he liked what he saw. He washed his hands, wiping them on his overalls. In the Quail farmstead, towels became obsolete once Gretchen had passed.

  “Boy, let’s go visit our guests.” Joshua came running, barely keeping up with Edwin’s vigorous pace.

  The girls hadn’t budged an inch. Their obvious fear renewed Edwin’s vitality. Staring at these two shivering little girls gave him a sense of power. Of potency.

  “You,” shouted Edwin. “Little Miss Lindsay Bellowes.” He spat onto the dirt floor, cleansing his palate for the upcoming meal. “Stand up. You’re comin’ with me.”

  “No! No, Shannon!” Lindsay thrust her arms around the other girl, holding on tight. “Come with me, come with me…please come with me, Shannon.”

  “Nope, not just yet for you.” Edwin stabbed a finger at the blonde girl.

  “Can’t I please go with her?”

  “I said, no, dammit! Joshua, pick up the brown-haired sow.”

  Joshua tugged at Lindsay, but the girls stayed locked together, inseparable. With a grunt, Joshua yanked harder. Lindsay’s fingers peeled away, reaching out for her friend. Joshua tossed her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing.

  “Please, mister,” pleaded the wispy girl.

  “I’ll be back for you later,” said Edwin. “Let’s go, boy.” They backed toward the door. Lindsay kicked her feet against Joshua. Joshua grinned, taking it all in good fun.

  In the living room, Edwin turned to his son and said, “Boy. You go on upstairs to your room for a while. And stay there.” Confused, Joshua gaped at Edwin. Just like a kid on Christmas Eve, he didn’t want to miss out on anything. Right now, though, Edwin didn’t have the patience for any buffoonery.

  “You heard me, boy. Drop the girl on the sofa and git.” Joshua lowered Lindsay onto the sofa. He sulked out of the room, head lowered. Edwin listened for his plodding footsteps on the stairs. Then he turned his attention back toward the girl.

  “Now, Miss Lindsay Bellowes, we’re going to have us some fun.” He ran his hand over his stubbled chin, anticipating the glorious wonders awaiting him.

  The girl’s eyes widened as realization set in. She cast her eyes about the room, searching for an escape route, Edwin presumed. “Please…can I use the bathroom first?”

  Edwin hesitated. It was about his needs, after all, not hers. Then again, if he invited her into his matrimonial bed, he would want her clean.

  “All right then, girl. Just remember to behave yourself. I’ll be waiting right outside the door.” He grabbed her hand, wrenching her off the sofa. “Come with me.”

  Holding her wrist tightly behind her back, he steered her toward the bathroom. Leading a cow to slaughter. The nape of her neck beckoned him. He bent, his nose grazing her neck. Sniffing, he drew deeply in. A nice scent, not unlike rain. Edwin noticed the girl’s neck muscles tense.

  He shoved her down the narrow hall, the floorboards creaking beneath their feet. They stopped in front of an aged painting of Jesus, smiling serenely down upon them. Edwin reached around the girl, pushing the bathroom door open.

  “Get in.” He slapped her back. “I’ll allow you to shut the door, ’cause I’m a gentleman, but don’t even try the window. It’s been nailed shut for years.”

  Lindsay closed the door behind her. She looked around the small room for a potential weapon. Nothing. Maybe if she came out swinging, she could overpower the old man. Yet the old man possessed surprising strength. Not the best plan.

  She snatched the phone out of her pocket, and then twisted the knob in the sink. A rusty-colored liquid slopped out of the faucet, eventually running clear. With unsteady hands, she turned on the phone. She punched the mute button before the musical greeting notes chimed. Carefully, she set it on the sink ledge. Her heart sank. No signal.

  She peered into the toilet, gagging at the filth
lying within. Amongst the excrement ringing the bowl, a green mold thrived, spreading onto the seat. A medicine cabinet hung on the wall above the sink. Suspecting the cabinet door might creak when she searched its contents, she flushed the toilet. Her hand fumbled, brushing up against the phone. The phone plunged into the toilet. Clamping one hand over her mouth, she thrust her other hand into the bowl. Her fingers latched onto the phone. Sludge oozed between her fingers. Shaking the phone several times, she patted it against a ragged curtain, praying for no water damage.

  When she slipped the phone back inside her pocket, her fingers fell upon something sharp. The glass shard. Pinching it between two fingers, she edged it out. She wrapped toilet paper around one end, creating a workable handle. She placed it into her back pocket, the paper handle extended above the pocket-line.

  “We ain’t got all day, girl!”

  The door flew open, loud as a thunder crack. Lindsay turned, her hands quivering in the air. The old man came at her, nostrils flared, eyes burning. “Time’s up.”

  Before Lindsay could reach the glass knife, he yanked her toward him. His fetid breath expelled, sparking her gag reflex. She shut her eyes, unable to look at him. Using one hand, he cinched her wrists together. Holding them firmly in place, he dragged her into the hallway.

  “You don’t even remember me, do you, Miss Lindsay Bellowes?” He swayed back and forth, dancing with his unwilling partner.

  “No. No…” She opened her eyes. “Have…we met?” Making conversation with this bastard might forestall the alternative. The unspeakable alternative.

  “Do you know how insultin’ that is?” Spittle landed on Lindsay’s cheek. “From the American Royal last year. I demand your respect.”

  Suddenly, she remembered the old pervert hitting on her at the Royal. Something she’d laughed off and filed away. But she didn’t recognize this man. Didn’t want to try. But if it is him…it’s the only thing that makes sense. It must be him.

  “Wait! I do remember you. I do.” Terrified, Lindsay weighed her words carefully. “You wanted me to go back with you to your farm, right? Is that what this is all about?” Lindsay chortled once, even though her survival instincts warned against it. But the sheer insane notion that this old fool kidnapped her because she rejected his awful advances notched up her hysteria to unmanageable levels.

  “Don’t you laugh at me, slut. We’ll see who’s laughin’ soon. You’re about to make me happy in more ways than one.” He thrust his free hand onto Lindsay’s breast and gave it a harsh squeeze. Lindsay grimaced. “Nice,” he drawled. His hand fell to her side, following the contours of her body. Travelling dangerously close to the phone and knife.

  “Can’t we go somewhere else?” She had to redirect, change course. It surprised her how cool logic intervened, calming her. “Not the bathroom?” She attempted an alluring purr, came up with a stuttering child’s voice.

  “I’m not finished yet.” Shoulders hunched, he pressed his face against her breast. His hand moved along her hip. Lindsay gulped, waiting for the inevitable. His thumb sidled over her phone. “What the hell’s this?”

  “It…it’s my phone. I swear to God, mister, I didn’t even remember I had it.”

  He dropped her wrists. Pulling the pocket lip out, he dug for the phone. She whisked a hand behind her. With an upward motion, Lindsay brought the blade across his cheek. Red tears crawled down from the thin incision.

  “God damn bitch!” Stumbling back, his hand flew to his wound. “I’m a’gonna’ kill you!”

  Lindsay jabbed the knife at him again, forcing him down the hallway. He raised a hand, attempting to ward off her attack. Lindsay contacted with his palm, feeling the shard hook deep, feeling satisfaction. She wrenched up sharply. The glass came free, a flap of skin flopping back into place. His palm gushed blood. He bellowed. Falling against the wall, he knocked Jesus’s portrait to the floor. He dropped to his knees as if praying.

  Screaming, Lindsay bounded over him. She raced down the hallway. Her foot caught on the edge of a rug. She hopped on one leg, quickly righted herself.

  She turned a corner, found herself in a kitchen. Her hip jabbed into a chair, bringing it down with a blood-freezing bang.

  A narrow white door. Ghostly light peeping in. Outdoors!

  She wrenched the door open. The chain-lock snapped tight.

  “Boy!” The old man’s voice roared down the hallway into the kitchen. “Get her! She’s making a run for it!”

  Lindsay slammed the door shut and slid the lock free. A great thundering sound boomed overhead.

  Oh, God, don’t look back!

  The door opened onto freedom. Taking a running leap into the darkness, she tumbled down four tall steps, landing in a grassy patch. She picked herself up, ignoring the pain. A low groaning moan grew. She ran toward the gravel driveway, the moon lighting her way.

  Please, God, let me get away. I’ll come back for Shannon with the police. Oh, God, please…

  Her legs carried her, pumping like pistons. Gravel kicked up behind her. Terrible thuds. Hoarse breathing, an asthmatic machine. An arm encircled her waist, solid steel. He picked her up and raised her toward the moon like an offering. Haphazardly, she floundered the knife about. He squeezed her wrist until she dropped the glass to the gravel with an impotent clink.

  Twirling her around, his dead eyes looked into hers. He emitted a high-pitched shriek, an inhuman sound.

  Lindsay’s scream reached an even higher pitch and travelled across the desolate farmlands of Godland, Kansas.

  Shannon heard her friend scream. Unmistakably her. Her blood ran cold.

  “No, Lindsay! No!” She crumbled against the wall, sliding down its rough surface to the ground. Her teeth bit into her knuckles to stave off the image of her friend’s dying. Her vision blurred, her mind emptied. To keep from passing out, she dug her fingernails into her palms, inducing physical pain. She welcomed it more than mental anguish.

  Temptation called. A serene place of retreat. A hideaway. Gavin.

  Resolve pounded on the door of her happy place, an unwelcome intruder. But unavoidable.

  She gathered her strength. Placing her ear against the door, she listened for sounds of life. Cicadas singing their repetitive song. Nothing else. Even the animals had quieted.

  Despair washed over her. Now utterly alone with no way out.

  She heard the outer cellar doors pull back. She scurried back to her corner, awaiting her turn to die.

  The door opened. Joshua stepped inside, ducking so as not to hit his head on the frame. He held a length of rope and more rags. She shook with fear as he shambled toward her. When he opened his mouth, saliva fell in long strands.

  “Joshua?” she managed. “Your name is Joshua, right?” Her bottom lip shuddered uncontrollably. She despised her inability to hide emotion. Particularly fear.

  But he appeared pleased at her acknowledgement, a small hint of kindness in his upraised brow.

  Good. Use his name often. Try to reach his humanity. “What happened to my friend, Joshua? Is she okay?”

  He nodded tentatively, uncertain of his own answer.

  “She’s alive?”

  He patted his hands together. If she read him right, Lindsay was still alive. Momentary relief washed over her.

  Joshua dangled the ropes in front of her face, as if presenting a gift. She remembered her earlier words to Lindsay. She needed to gain Joshua’s trust. No matter how repulsive the idea. “Okay.” Shannon held her arms up toward Joshua, wrists together. “You won’t hurt me, will you, Joshua?”

  Joshua shook his hairy head back and forth. He fell to his knees, wisps of dust rising from the impact. He delicately wrapped the rope around her wrists as if tending to a wounded baby bird.

  “I’d like to be your friend, Joshua. Would you like that?”

  Joshua craned his head, favoring Shannon with his good eye. His nearly toothless grin made him appear like a bearded jack-o-lantern.

  “Do you have many frien
ds, Joshua?”

  The smile vanished. Miniscule whimpers, fragile almost.

  “I’m…I’m sorry about that. Everyone should have friends.”

  Joshua stopped binding her hands. He sat down in front of Shannon, rocking back and forth on his haunches. The whining increased. Greasy long hair whipped at his face, a self-flagellation.

  Shannon took a clue and backed off. “It’s okay, Joshua. I’ll be your friend. Just remember…friends don’t hurt each other, right?”

  A sudden hush fell over him.

  “It’s okay, Joshua.” Shannon couldn’t help but feel a little pity for the man. She wondered if the old man—Joshua’s father?—abused him. Judging by what she’d witnessed of the old man’s behavior, she’d bet on it. “It’s okay,” she repeated calmly.

  Suddenly, Joshua lashed out. He hooked a thick finger into Shannon’s jean pocket and tore. The glass shard fell to the ground. The overhead bulb’s dim light played on the weapon’s edges. Once again the gentle beast transformed into a monster. Shannon’s momentary pang of empathy vanished. He grabbed the shard, wagging it in front of her face. His deep-throated growl reverberated in her chest.

  She couldn’t help her involuntary shriek. Joshua jumped to his feet, hovering over her. His face contained little humanity, only animal rage. Shannon shut her eyes, folded her arms over her head, and dug in. She didn’t want to see it coming.

  After an endless moment of silence, she dared to open her eyes. Joshua studied her, his head at an awkward tilt. He attempted another smile. Shannon didn’t know what unsettled her more—his smiles or sudden, unpredictable temper tantrums.

  Joshua wrapped another rag over her mouth. He pulled it tight, nimbly fastening a knot with his large fingers.

  Shannon focused on the wall in front of her, looking past Joshua. She didn’t want to emanate fear. She felt he could smell it on her. But every time she looked at him, terror filled her.

  Joshua walked away, bumping his head into the light bulb. He swatted at it like an annoying housefly. Before he locked the door behind him, he looked at her once more. Shannon registered curiosity, maybe something else, something decent.