by Craig Smith
‘Your dad wants to see you alive, Benny. Let’s not disappoint him. What do you say?’ They were alive. His dad at least. What about his mom and Penny? And where was Pete? At the bottom of the stairs they walked through the recreation room. ‘There.’ Will pointed toward his mom’s storage closet. A key was in the deadbolt lock. Benny turned it. Benny swore quietly after he had opened the door. The light from the hallway broke over the tiny room. His dad, his sister, and Tammy Merriweather were huddled together on the floor. ‘Inside,’ Will Booker told him.
When Benny could not quite commit himself to go into the room, his father spoke to him in a raspy, frightened voice. ‘Do it, Benny. It’s okay. Just come inside.’
The room had been cleared, but it was still tiny, and Benny stepped into the room, careful to avoid stepping on anyone. He studied the frightened eyes of his dad and sister and Tammy Merriweather for only a moment. Then he saw his dad was hurt.
In the next instant Will Booker brought the butt of the shotgun down against the side of his knee. Benny went to the concrete floor with a scream. Even as the pain arced through him the room went black. A jiggling of the deadbolt.
His father’s voice came out of the darkness. ‘Don’t do anything, Benny. Don’t say anything. Just stay down.’ Benny lay silently in the dark fighting back his tears. He listened until the sounds beyond the door ceased. Will was still outside. Benny was sure of it. Would he just start firing the shotgun? Was that what this was about? Benny huddled close against the floor holding his knee. What was happening? How did this guy... just…?
‘Benny? How bad are you hurt?’ His father’s voice came out of the blackness.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Can you stand up?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘He broke my ankle. I was sitting here and he came in here for no reason and he slammed the gun down on my ankle.’
Benny listened numbly. He was in pain, but worse than that was the nagging regret that he had been given a chance and failed to take it. Now with his leg injured, if not broken, he was not sure if he would have a second opportunity, especially if his dad’s ankle was broken as well.
On the stairs Will had been moving so carefully, almost like he was struggling with the steps. He had gotten closer to Benny than he should have. If Benny had just tried!
But he hadn’t. Because he was afraid. ‘Where’s Mom?’ he asked. His voice, he thought, sounded weak and childish.
For a terrible second nobody spoke. When his dad finally answered, he was sobbing.
‘Oh God, Benny!’ His dad’s voice rattled oddly. It was a voice Benny had never heard.
‘Tammy says Will shot her.’
Benny shivered and leaned his head back against the wall as his dad’s soft hurried speech rushed over him. She was dead, he knew it, but for a moment he could feel nothing. Dead. Like that. No goodbye, just a whisper in the dark.
‘A head wound – she thinks. Right, Tammy?’
‘I think so. I didn’t really get a good look.’ Tammy Merriweather’s voice was dry and timid.
‘But you said she was alive?’ his dad asked.
‘Yes, sir. I saw her legs moving. She was hurt but she was still alive.’
‘The point is, Benny, we don’t know how bad it is.’
‘He shot her in the head?’ Benny asked. No tears yet, but he thought he might be sick to his stomach.
‘I think so,’ Tammy whispered.
Benny thought he ought to feel something, but only his irritation with Tammy Merriweather registered – as it always did. ‘Did you see it or not?’ When Tammy didn’t answer him, he nearly shouted, ‘Did you see it happen?’
‘Keep your voice down,’ Penny answered. Pissed, as usual, her voice cold, tired. She would not let them hear her fear.
‘I want to know what she saw,’ Benny answered, his voice softer, if not his tone.
Benny’s dad spoke. ‘We can’t give up believing she’s still alive, Benny. She could be alive, couldn’t she, Tammy?’ His dad was asking Tammy to lie. Benny heard it, yet he waited himself for her answer.
‘She was alive last I saw her.’
Chapter 40
Wednesday 8:30 p.m., March 24.
THE MESSAGE LIGHT ON my phone was blinking when I got home. I punched it and heard Garrat’s voice. ‘Give me a call as soon as you’re in. Emergency.’
When Garrat aor ѡ!"1em"em"nswered, I asked her, ‘What’s up?’
‘My God, where have you been? Why isn’t your cell phone on?’
‘The battery is dead, Pat. I was out. I had dinner. Is that a problem?’ It was almost the truth. My cell phone was in the glove compartment; I had grabbed a breaded tenderloin sandwich at one of my favourite hideaways and stayed for dessert.
‘You haven’t heard?’
Where I had gone the beer was cold, the TV was dead, and folks still thought Dick Nixon was about to make a comeback. ‘What are you talking about?’ I asked her.
‘Will Booker has taken off with both Merriweather girls.’
I felt sick, cold, and deathly sober. It was a moment of such disorientation that it seemed I had just learned that Sarah was missing. Before I could gather my wits to answer, Garrat spoke again. ‘Max is at the Merriweather house right now, Rick. Anyway you can get out there – in a reasonably sober condition?’
I thought about my thirst and about how tired I had been a couple of seconds before I had spoken to her. Suddenly those things did not matter. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’ll be there in half-an-hour.’
FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER I passed a roadblock using my badge and ID and rolled up behind half-a-dozen county cars, a clique of federal government-issue sedans, some beat junkers that belonged to the underpaid print reporters, and three shiny new TV vans. As no one in the media seemed to recognise me, I got to the door without difficulty. An old sheriff’s deputy I’d gotten drunk with a few times twenty years ago told me to go on in. Stepping through the entryway I found myself looking at a broken hall mirror stained with a bit of blood and covered in black fingerprint powder. In the next room a knot of men were locked in a tight circle. Out of their midst, I heard Max Dunn’s big voice. ‘Glad you could make it, Rick.’
I met his gaze, then looked back over my shoulder at some suits in what looked to be the preacher’s study. ‘Feds?’ I whispered.
‘They’ve got the phones for now,’ Max answered. He had just a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. This case was his. He did not want to lose it to the feds. ‘If Booker is stupid enough to call, we could have this thing sorted out in a matter of minutes.’ Max grinned his big horse teeth at me and winked. I decided Max had gotten religion on me when I wasn’t looking.
‘They’re here at your invitation… or Merriweather’s?’
‘Ms Merriweather called them after she called me. Right now, they’re happy to give us the case. This thing is ours until someone says ransom or state line.’
I did not say it, but I knew if the feds did not want it the odds for the girls surviving were desperately bad. Will Booker was an extremely competent madman, and those he had wanted to kill had perished – with the lone exception of Missy Worth. We knew this from hard experience and so did the Feds from watching us the last time.
‘What about the media?’ I asked. ‘Have you given them anything?’
‘They know the basics. The boys in suits, in their advisory capacity, say I should get them involved, but I dearly hate TV people, Rick.’
< Wiб)p height="1em" width="1em">I answered with a friendly grin, ‘At least the feeling is mutual, but I’d say, this time, you want to use them all you can. Get them to help out. Make a plea for everyone to start looking for our boy William, that kind of thing. And pictures: they can put Booker and the faces of those kids on TV every ten minutes if they feel like it… and if you make it worth their while.’
Max was nodding, but he was not buying it. ‘That’s what they told me.’ He glanced in the direction of the FBI agents.
>
The TV people had burned Max every time they put a camera on him. At least that was his perspective. ‘Then, too,’ I added, ‘these are the same folks who were telling the world yesterday that the sheriff’s office had framed an innocent man. Kind of nice to shove that down their throats. Of course maybe that’s just my thinking.’
I could see genuine pleasure coming back into Max Dunn’s dark eyes. ‘You think they’ll let me push it down their throats, Rick?’
‘These people would run their own funeral for good ratings, Max.’ When he nodded agreeably at the image, I told him, ‘The worst we can do by going public is maybe give the kids some hope, if they’re able to watch.’
Max looked at the stairs almost morosely. ‘The parents, too, I expect.’
‘They’re here?’ I asked in surprise.
I’m not sure where I imagined them to be, but as they had not been with the rest of us, I could only assume they had gone to stay with friends or down to their church.
They’re in one of the bedrooms upstairs with a half dozen people from their church. The old boy was wailing a while back, Rick.’ Max thought about it for a second and shook his head.
‘I never heard anything as spooky come out of a human being in my whole life.’
I pointed at the mirror. ‘Anything else to see?’
‘We don’t know who hit the mirror; probably get a report on the blood tonight, but our bet is Tabitha Merriweather, the younger of the two girls.’
‘How old?’
‘Just turned sixteen a couple of months ago.’ I tried to shut off my feelings, but it was
hopeless. Will Booker had managed to tear my soul loose. ‘We found some unopened mail on the floor just inside the front door. We found a good latent print belonging to her on one of the envelopes. Her jacket and a piece of her blouse were over here.’ Max pointed to the front room.
‘Ripped off her body, from the look of it.’
I studied the spot where he pointed. ‘Did he rape her, Max?’
The sheriff hesitated, then shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Rick. We’re still putting the evidence together.’
Chapter 41
Darkness.
TABIT MERRIWEATHER HAD been in the trunk so long the feeling in her hands and feet was gone. The rolled pair of socks in her mouth had grown soggy. She had begun to think of it as a tumour in the back of her throat. It widtee?ghtas better that way. Almost natural. A part of her flesh, the fate God had given her to endure.
Like the cramp that had started in her arm. She had tried to roll over to take the pressure off, but it wasn’t possible. All she could do was change the pressure in the vain hope that the muscle would somehow relax. It didn’t. The muscle ached. Her hip hurt as well. After a while, she forgot to wonder why this was happening to her. She got so used to it she could almost believe it was the most natural thing in the world. Hour upon hour of it. Aching and grieving, wondering if this might be the good part. And if it was?
She told herself there was no use worrying about what she could not control. Best to keep something beautiful close to you. A thing her mother had told her once. She tried it, but all she could think about was Will’s face as he closed and locked the door. At that moment, she had known with certainty he had killed those kids. No matter what her father believed. She had known too that she was going to die by his hand as well.
A door creaked open. Not the first time. Will had been in and out before, but this was different. His footsteps came directly toward her. So it begins, she thought, and struggled to pray, but before she could even think the words she would offer God, the key penetrated the lock abruptly and the lid came up. It was dark outside, dark within. His face was a blur of shadows.
Only the voice assured her it was Will. ‘Time to come out and play, Tabit.’
Chapter 42
Wednesday 9:30 p.m., March 24.
BEN LYONS COMES OUT of the darkness first. The man crawls – his ankle truly broken.
Boy after him, pulling himself across the floor with his arms – his knee now fat with swelling.
The three girls walk in a line behind Ben and Benny. They come to the carpeted part of the basement, the recreation room. Will lines them up in a semicircle, all of them sitting on the floor. He wants to see each of them fully. He keeps them spread out. He studies each face now.
Tamara has lost her fear and hope. She looks five days into it, not five hours. Tear tracks stain her face. She still wants his words to be true, imagines this is only a terrible nightmare. He has promised to marry her, hasn’t he? Even now, she would go off with him if he bothered to flatter her a little. It is why she bores him. No sense of betrayal, no soul at all that he can see.
The others are different. Unbroken yet. They are full of wrath and terror. They own the fury of dogs, if they could only surrender to their rage. And so they are dangerous. At least until he breaks them. Will holds a cordless phone out toward Ben Lyons but very carefully. ‘Your store manager’s home number,’ he whispers.
‘Which one?’
Will blinks. ‘The manager, the man who reports directly to you.’
‘Which store?’
‘The person you call if you have to leave town.’ Will has not anticipated this. Suddenly he is unsure of the whole idea.
‘I don’t know. It’s never come up.’
Will sees now what Ben is doing. He walks down until he he Dstands before the three girls, the tip of the shotgun waving before them innocently. ‘Are you sure you want to play games with me, Ben?’
‘I call Tony Corrigan if I have to leave.’
‘Dial his number.’
Ben Lyons pretends to hit several numbers, and Will walks toward him quickly. ‘The phone! Give it to me!’
Ben’s face pales before the barrel of the gun. He has no choice. He hands the phone over. A voice answers, ‘Nine-one-one.’ He had called the police!
Will snaps it off and walks to the three girls. ‘Ladies,’ he whispers, ‘Ben just killed one of you.’
When Ben Lyons shouts in protest, Will steps back toward him quickly, striking his face hard with the butt of the gun. Blood flows out of his nose. Now Will twirls the weapon down so that the barrel points into Boy’s face. Boy’s eyes flash hot with fear. Ben holds his nose. The blood on his hands and covering his mouth excites Will. He begs the life of his son like a man praying to God. Will nods calmly, like a man convinced of a thing. He walks toward the girls again. ‘You can have Benny, if he’s the one you want, Ben. I’ll take Penny so the rest of you will understand me.’
Tamara looks at Penny Lyons, but she says nothing. Tabit cannot help herself; she glances at the girl too. Neither dares to protest or volunteer to take her place. Will lets Penny see that she is the one they all have chosen. They all give her to him. Not a second thought about it either. Only the pleading of a foolish father: ‘For God’s sake, Will!’
It is a prayer as pious as Sunday morning. Will responds to it by walking back to Boy.
‘Make up your mind, Ben. Is it Benny you want to see die?’
Ben screams his protest, ‘No! My God, Will, why does someone have to die?’
‘ You played the game, Ben. This is the price when you lose. I won’t take your favourite though. Not this time. But someone has to pay.’
‘Then take my life!’
‘I make the rules. You make the choice.’
Ben Lyons won’t choose. So Will tells him with a friendly shrug as he levels the gun into Boy’s face, ‘We do it by the Bible then. First born male.’
‘No! Not Benny!’ He is crying freely now, because his choice is made. He knows it, the same as Boy and Penny know it.’
‘Your little girl, then?’ he asks gently, making the point for the rest of them. Ben Lyons shakes his head, still weeping, but he does not speak. Penny watches the choice being made.
Her face pales; that is all she does. It is why Will loves her.
He holds the shotgun before her face for a long moment. He hea
rs Ben weeping for the death he chooses. Will lets Penny understand that her father has done this to her, then lifts the gun barrel from her eyes. He smiles as he does it. ‘Not my favourite,’ he whispers.
WILL KNOWS SHE WILL love him for this kindness. Maybe not at first, but in time this will be what she remembers.
‘The name was Tony Corrigan?’ Will waits patiently while the man weeps and curses
him in whispers. ‘Call Tony and tell him you have to leave town tonight,’ he says finally. ‘You don’t know for how long, but you will call him early next week. You say anything else, you pass a message of any kind and everyone dies – starting with Benny.’
