Bad Blood

by Ren Hamilton

  The re-infiltration had been so easy. All Shep asked was if he planned to stay. Patrick had told him yes, and explained that he had to return to the city once a week for his consulting job. “Whatever you want, Obrien,” Shep said. “You’re a guest here, not a prisoner.”

  He got out of bed and padded over to the dresser with its gorgeous antique mirror. It must have cost Joey a fortune to refurnish this house. A fortune he claimed not to have only recently. Patrick had a moment of panic as he looked in the mirror at his own frowning, expressive face. He would never pull it off. He couldn’t fool these people. They knew him better than he knew himself. “No,” he whispered. “I have to.”

  He stifled the panic that threatened to rise up and overtake him like an army of fears. He would have to fool them. This time, he was the actor. This time, he was the spy. He thought of Robin and the way she’d kissed him before he left. He wanted to get back to her. He wanted his life back. At least what was left of it.

  He left his room, making his way down two flights of stairs until he reached the first floor. The house looked a far sight different than the last time he’d been here. Sun streamed through the enormous windows, spotlighting the gorgeous furniture and shiny wood floors. The place was clean and tastefully decorated. Patrick wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find at Forest Bluffs, but this wasn’t it. He’d imagined a fraternity house hovel, complete with beer lights and girly posters, not a photo set for Better Homes and Gardens. Whatever the boys were up to out here, they were living well while they were at it. Extremely well, he thought as he padded across the Persian rugs.

  Patrick seemed to be the only one up. He was glad. This would give him time to look around, and perhaps even go for a walk outside. The sooner he got those crop samples, the sooner he could go back to the city, and to Robin. He stopped short upon entering the giant kitchen. Platinum blond curls adorned a head bent over a bowl of cereal at the breakfast nook. At first Patrick thought it was Juris, and he gasped. The stranger turned his head at the sound. Much to Patrick’s relief, it was not Juris.

  It was Klee, the new arrival he’d seen naked and sobbing in the cave that dreadful night. He was significantly fresher looking, and quite attractive without blood and soot all over him. Bright, aquamarine eyes gazed at Patrick with innocent trust. He had a handsome, sculpted nose and lush pink mouth, which he held his spoon in, frozen in mid-bite. His skin was like porcelain with a healthy dust of rose across each cheek. Of all of the brothers, Patrick thought this creature looked the most inhuman, only because he was so impossibly perfect. But then again, perhaps they all started out this way, fresh, innocent, and childlike. Like something newly born.

  The pause had gone on far too long, each of them frozen, staring at the other. Finally, Patrick stepped into the kitchen and approached the breakfast nook. “Hello there. I don’t think we’ve met. My name is Patrick.”

  The blond man popped the spoon out of his mouth. “I…I know. They have been waiting. Waiting for Patrick. My name is Klee.” His voice was husky, like he had a sore throat, but pleasant sounding nonetheless, even as he formed his words with a robotic strain. He sounded very much like a toddler just learning to speak. “Do you want to desire have some Cocoa Puffs, Patrick?” Klee offered him the spoon.

  Patrick smiled. “No, thank you.” He pulled out a stool and sat down across from Klee at the breakfast nook. There was something different about this one, Patrick thought. He was missing that behind the eye glare the other three brothers had. They always looked like they were quietly planning someone’s demise. Patrick sensed an overwhelming innocence in this creature that sat before him crunching his cereal. Milk dripped down his chin and he wiped it with his arm. He wore a tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants, both of which Patrick recognized as Shep’s.

  “Klee, I didn’t see you out last night. Were you at the bar with the others?”

  Klee shook his head of platinum spring curls. “No. I could not go. I hurt my back.” Patrick shuddered, remembering the gaping wound he’d seen on Klee’s naked back at the cave. He glanced up at Patrick over his spoon. His eyes were even larger than Shep’s, nearly translucent lashes reaching his white eyebrows when they were fully open. “You are to stay with us here from now on. Yes?” He sounded hopeful.

  “Yes Klee. I’ll be staying here.”

  Klee went back to his Cocoa Puffs. “Good. You will like it here.”

  Patrick smiled at the friendly blond creature, who shoveled cereal into his mouth with great enthusiasm. “Do you like it here, Klee?” Patrick asked. He found himself speaking to him in soft careful tones, as though Klee was a small child. He was not. His body was that of a man aged somewhere between eighteen and twenty-five.

  “Oh yes!” he answered. “I like it very much. So much better here.”

  “Oh? Where were you before?” Patrick asked, sensing he was about to get some information of value.

  “I was nowhere,” Klee said casually.

  “Nowhere? Oh, I’m sorry,” Patrick said. “I didn’t mean to pry. You don’t have to tell me where you’re from if you don’t want to.”

  Klee looked at him, his eyebrows knitted in confusion. “But I just did.”

  “Okay, Klee.” Patrick jumped at the sound of Shep’s voice. “Breakfast is over. Go on upstairs and get in the tub.” Klee dropped his spoon and picked the cereal bowl up to his mouth, drinking the chocolate milk residue until the bowl was drained. He scooted off his stool and obediently placed his bowl in the sink, then ran heavy-footed out of the kitchen. As Patrick watched him round the corner, he caught sight of the back of Klee’s tee shirt, which was stained with flecks of dried blood. Patrick immediately cast his eyes down.

  “You’re up early,” Shep said, and sat in Klee’s spot across from Patrick.

  “Yeah,” was all Patrick could think to say.

  He looked across the counter at Shep, who kept his eyes downward as he spun a quarter on the nook. He was fidgeting. He’s as nervous as I am. This was an awkward moment for both. Patrick took the opportunity to study his friend. The curly locks that Patrick used to think of as blond, now seemed darker after looking at Klee and Juris. He took in all of the details of Shep, examining him as he never had before. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. He’d gazed upon Shep a thousand times. Perhaps he was looking for a sign, something that he’d missed back in college, and all of these years since. Something to signify he wasn’t human.

  Shep continued to spin the coin with his eyes cast down, his long eyelashes brushing his cheekbones. Patrick studied the suntanned, youthful skin, the fleshy softness of his eyelids, the way his bottom lip curved over his chin a little too far, giving him a permanent pout. He looked at the bones of his hands, the curve of his wrist, and the veins that ran through the indent at the bend of his inner arm. There was nothing unusual that he could see. It was still just Shep.

  A flood of emotions overcame him. Patrick had the urge to grab Shep and shake him, shake him until he broke apart. In the next instance he wanted to hug Shep and beg him to confess the truth, no matter how horrible. What he wanted more than anything was to ask him why. Why had he, Patrick Obrien, been left in the dark, while others like Joey were brought into the fold? Why was he lied to, betrayed, used. But he said none of these things. He sat there in the early morning light, sharing an awkward silence with Shep, who seemed too uncomfortable to even look at him.

  “So,” Patrick said, desperate to break the silence. “The house looks nice.”

  Shep looked up at him with a sheepish smirk. “You think so?”

  “Yeah. I like what Joey’s done with the place. Who would have guessed there were hardwood floors under that old rug, huh?”

  Shep snickered. Looking down at his fingers, he said, “You know, Obrien, I imagined this a million times. You and I sitting across from each other, face to face at last. I thought of a thousand things you might ask me, a thousand possible ways the conversation would go. But never in my wildest imaginings, did I thin
k that our first conversation would be about decorating.”

  Patrick had to laugh, and it felt good. He did not let the laughter linger as he was afraid it would turn to tears. He didn’t want this to feel good. Sitting here sharing a laugh with Shep like this felt all too familiar, and it was breaking his heart. “So are you saying that you will answer my questions now?” Patrick asked carefully.

  Shep looked him in the eye. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I want to start things out on the right foot this time. I know you think I treated you badly. If I had to do things over, I’d do them differently, but I can’t change that now.”

  Patrick held his gaze. “Who are they, Shep?”

  Shep held his stare for several seconds, then looked down and began spinning the coin again. “They’re my brothers,” he said, and looked at Patrick for a reaction.

  “Your brothers?” Patrick struggled to appear shocked.

  “Yes. I lied when I said I was an only child.”

  “Well, that explains the resemblance. But why, Shep? If you had brothers, why did you lie about it?”

  Shep then spun an elaborate combination of lies and half-truths, peppered with what sounded like some genuine emotion. “My father abused us all. When social services took us out of the house, we got separated. I only just recently found them. I always said I was an only child because it was too painful to talk about them.” Shep pulled on a lock of his hair, a familiar gesture that told Patrick he was fabricating. Then, his face changed and became sincere, more sincere than Patrick had ever seen. “I have them all back now, and I’m never going to lose them again.”

  Shep’s chin quivered momentarily. He seemed to catch himself, and made his face pleasant again. “Anyway Obrien, you know by now that I was having you followed.”

  “Of course. No offense, but your brothers aren’t exactly discreet.”

  Shep nodded humbly. “I am sorry about that. But we needed to keep tabs on you. You understand, don’t you?”

  “You should have known that I’d never rat you out, no matter how pissed I was at you.” Again Shep nodded. He seemed to be winning Shep’s trust back. He struggled to make his face as dumb and innocent as possible. “I’m not saying I’m not hurt, or pissed as hell at you, because I am. But I wouldn’t have done anything to hurt you, or Joey.”

  “I know that now. You think you can forgive me?”

  Patrick paused. Lie to him. You can do it. “Of course I forgive you. I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Shep sighed and ran a hand across his sandy curls. “I was hoping you might be able to help me with something.”

  “What is it?”

  Shep’s face became conflicted. He clasped his hands together and leaned forward. “I have another brother. You’ve seen him, I know you have. His name is Juris. I believe you chased him in the woods out at Betsy’s house?”

  Patrick flinched at the mention of Juris, but managed to hold a poker face. “Yes, I remember him. He wasn’t at the bar last night, was he?”

  Shep stared at him hard and Patrick could feel his suspicion. “No. He wasn’t at the bar last night. He’s missing. I sent him to Boston to follow you and I haven’t seen him since. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  Shep’s docile demeanor had in an instant changed to hard and accusing. Patrick felt his heart quicken. He pretended to think. “He’s the other blond one, right?”

  “Yes.” Shep eyed him intently, as if trying to read a message printed on his face.

  “Actually,” Patrick said, “the last time I saw him was at Betsy’s. Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him since.”

  Patrick made his face blank as he looked back at Shep, careful not to avoid his eyes or make any shifty movements that might indicate he was lying. In his own mind, he convinced himself he was telling the truth—a little trick Litner taught him before he left. Pretend you’ve been asked a different question and answered it truthfully. Shep kept staring at him, and Patrick was afraid he would start to sweat like a criminal under a hot light.

  Finally Shep sighed and leaned back in the stool, linking his hands behind his neck. The disappointment was obvious as he closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t know what to do. I’m worried sick. If anything happens to Juris it will be my fault.”

  “I’m sorry Shep. I wish I could help.”

  Shep shrugged mournfully. “Well, if you didn’t see him, you didn’t see him.”

  Patrick actually felt sorry for Shep for a moment. Then he forced himself to think of Copie when he’d first come to Saint Mary’s with his cuts and burns, a look of terror in his eyes. His sympathy faded. Another image flashed in his mind—Shep slicing the wrist of the old doctor in the cave, despite his pleas and protests. He had to keep summoning these images, because it was so hard to look at Shep and not think of him with affection as he always had. He must keep reminding himself that this thing that sat in front of him was not his friend, but some murdering, scheming, otherworldly being.

  But as he watched Shep rub sleep out of his eyes, his resolve crumbled. This was the Shep who’d taught him to guzzle a full beer in one go. It was the Shep who helped him get through chemistry class by showing him simple ways to look at the formulas. It was the Shep who used to lounge around getting high and watching The Three Stooges with him every Sunday morning.

  It was the Shep who smeared a dead man’s blood all over a cave wall after slicing his throat with a saw blade.

  Oh yeah. There was that too. It was only seven o’clock in the morning and already this visit was turning out to be harder than he expected.

  Part of him longed to just tell Litner to go fuck himself, and then grab a straitjacket and dive into the lunatic soup with the rest of them. That tiny, gutless part of him wanted to give himself over to the horror, and beg Shep to put his soul to sleep, as he had done to Joey. After all, life would certainly be easier without remorse. Of all the conflicts he felt, he defied this one with the most vehemence.

  A sleep rumpled Russell came bounding into the kitchen. He stopped short so suddenly that Patrick could almost hear the skid marks being laid. His thick black glasses flew off his face and landed, unbroken, on the floor. Russell quickly retrieved them and placed them back on his nose, blinking through them at Patrick. “Obrien?”

  “Hello, Russell,” Patrick said contemptuously. He wanted to dive over the breakfast nook and throttle Russell to a pulp for trying to kill Copie. It appeared he did not have the same reservations about hating Russell as he did toward Shep.

  “Obrien! Wow. I guess I really did miss something by staying in last night.”

  “Russell, could you give us some privacy please?” Shep said. “We have some things we need to discuss.”

  Russell looked mortally wounded. “You’re not going to be staying here permanently, are you Obrien?” Russell cast dark eyes on Patrick.

  “Russell!” Shep shouted, making Patrick jump. “Your jealousy is getting tedious. I’m trying to be patient with you, but you just keep pushing me. Now could you please fuck off before I get angry?” Russell stormed out of the kitchen. Shep looked back at Patrick. “Do you see what I have to put up with?”

  Patrick forced a half smile. Man, this place was nuttier than he thought. Shep jumped off the stool. “I’m going to grab a shower. Joey has to speak in the fields at eleven, but you and I can take a walk first so I can show you everything. Why don’t you get cleaned up and meet me in the sunroom for coffee and pastry in, say an hour?”

  “Sure,” Patrick agreed, and watched Shep bounce out of the room. Coffee and pastry in the sunroom? This was certainly a well-funded cult. Wasn’t it just like Joey and Shep. They wanted to play David Koresh but they didn’t want to be uncomfortable at all while doing it.

  Patrick heard Joey’s voice muttering on the staircase as Shep met him half-way up. “Don’t you have a hangover?” he heard Shep ask him.

  “Yeah, but it’s my last one. I won’t need the booze now.”


  “How do you feel?” They’d lowered their voices and Patrick had to strain to hear the answer.

  “Safe,” Joey whispered.

  Moments later Joey shuffled into the kitchen. After downing two full glasses of water, he came and sat down. Patrick smiled at him, unable to help himself. He was glad to see him. Joey looked great, healthy despite the hangover, skin tanned and glowing. He frowned at Patrick, looking wary. “Wow. I forgot how big you are.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your muscles, Obrien. I’d forgotten what great shape you were in.”

  “Your point?”

  Joey grew very still, biting his lip. “Do you want to beat me up a little?”

  Patrick shook his head. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Because if you want to knock me around a little, I’d rather get it over with now. Just don’t mark up my face, okay?”

  “Joey enough of this. Why would I want to beat you up?”

  Joey cast his eyes downward then looked warily up at Patrick. “You know about me and Kelinda. Right?”

  Ah. So that was it. Joey was afraid Patrick was still pining over losing the queen of the manor. Patrick had scarcely thought about the fact that Kelinda was with Joey now. Sure, he was rather not looking forward to seeing her, but in the larger scheme of things, it didn’t matter at all. “Yes, Joey. I know about you and Kelinda.”

  “And you’re not mad?”

  Patrick sighed and pretended to mull it over, enjoying that Joey was experiencing some discomfort over it. Finally, he shrugged. “No.”

  Joey looked relieved. “No?”

  “No. I’m not mad. Not at all.”

  Joey collapsed with a sigh. “Oh thank God.” Patrick couldn’t hold in his laughter. Joey looked serious again. “Obrien,” he said, putting a firm hand on Patrick’s shoulder, “I’m really glad you’re here.”