Nightscape

by Stephen R. George

  He pressed his ear to the door. Still no sounds.

  The handle turned easily, and the door opened with a slight squeak.

  His room adjoined a larger, more open area. Two windows, barred but not covered in newspaper, admitted daylight. Three wooden support posts rose from floor to ceiling. Ducts and pipes tangled overhead. Against the far wall, an ancient coal-burning furnace reached long octopus arms into shadow. To his left, a washer and a dryer leaned against the wall. The dryer had no door, and the clothes inside were stained and crumpled. The top of the washer was unscrewed, and wires and switches hung out.

  “Hello?”

  No answer. He moved to the bottom of the stairs and looked up at the door. A bar of light marked its foot. Faint sounds came from upstairs. Clinking, shuffling, muffled voices.

  He climbed slowly, careful not to cause creaking. He was one step away from the door when it opened.

  A huge man filled the door frame, silhouetted against bright kitchen light, naked but for a pair of stained underwear. His flesh jiggled. Evan could not see his face.

  He grunted, or burped. Terrified, Evan backed down a step.

  Another shape nudged the monstrous man away. A woman. He could not see her face, but he recognized her voice. It was the redhead.

  “You’re hungry, and you’re cold. Go downstairs. I’ll bring you a blanket and some breakfast.”

  “I want my mom.”

  “Go downstairs.”

  “Where am I?”

  Up to now, he had managed to control his fear. Suddenly, he felt like a little boy, alone and frightened. His lips trembled. Tears poised to flow.

  “Go downstairs. You’re upsetting Henry.”

  The huge man-shape filled the door frame again and the floor creaked.

  Evan whimpered and backed down.

  The woman pulled Henry back. “Go down. I’ll bring you what you want.”

  Evan went back down without another word. He sat down on the wet mattress. Upstairs, the house was coming to life. Voices and other sounds that he did not like, filtered down to him.

  He waited, terrified, shivering, for the sound of feet on the stairs.

  When Shep arrived at Harris Laws’ house, Bonnie was sitting on the back step.

  “Thank God you’re here,” she said. “It’s going to start raining any minute.”

  “I told you to stay out of this!”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m looking for my boy,” she said in tones that defied him to argue with her. “I thought I might find something here that would lead me to him.”

  “You’re not very funny.”

  “I’m not trying to be. Did you talk to Peterson?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I didn’t realize we were sharing information.”

  Bonnie smiled grimly and held up a key.

  “How were you going to get in? Break a window?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “I don’t believe you. Does Peterson know you’re here?”

  She pointed to the yellow tape across the door. Red letters spelled out the warning… ENE DO NOT ENTER CRIME SCENE DO NOT ENTER CRI …

  “Give me the key.”

  “Tell me what Peterson said.”

  Shep sighed. He wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t work it up.

  “He didn’t have much. You know it all already. Harris walked away from the wreck. The boy was hurt. There was some indication that Harris wasn’t quite himself before he disappeared. Missed some work. Didn’t talk to his parents.”

  “I knew all that.”

  “Now give me the key.”

  “I know how to use it.”

  She used the key to tear the crime scene tape at the lock, then opened the door.

  “You realize if we’re caught in here it will mean trouble,” Shep said.

  Bonnie shushed him with a wave of her hand and went into the house. Shaking his head, Shep followed.

  The kitchen was a mess. Soiled dishes surrounded the sink. The dishwasher hung open, full of crusty pots. The table was littered with cups and glasses, some still half full of now curdled and sometimes moldy liquid. The place stank. Despite the mess, he didn’t think it had been raided.

  “Jesus,” he said.

  An Ansel Adams calendar, open to July, hung on the wall beside the fridge. Shep flipped back to June. Some of the dates had notes, but nothing useful. June 17th had BEV, 7:00, scrawled across it.

  “Who’s Bev?”

  “I don’t know,” Bonnie said.

  She had come up beside him. Shep flipped the calendar back to May. Then to April. The notes in each date were what you would expect to find. CAR OIL CHANGE. EVAN DENTIST, 1:00.

  He let it drop back to July. Bonnie studied the page.

  “Ah ha.”

  “What?”

  She pointed to the 5th. “Call Bonnie about Evan,” she read.

  “Did he call you?”

  “No. But that doesn’t even look like his handwriting. It looks all shaky.”

  “Evan?”

  “No.”

  “But he didn’t call, so we’ll never know. Let’s keep looking.”

  “Should we split up?”

  “No. We’ll work together. Don’t touch anything.”

  Bonnie led the way into the living room. Here, too, was disarray. Scattered cushions made a jigsaw of the floor. At least a week’s worth of unopened newspapers lay piled on top of the television.

  Bonnie opened a drawer in the wall unit. It was full of magazines.

  “What are we looking for, exactly?”

  “A notebook, a diary, like that,” Shep said. “Did he own a computer?”

  “Probably. He liked toys.”

  Coats from the cupboard littered the front hall. Shep checked the front doorknob. It had been dusted for prints. Something occurred to him, and he blurted it out before thinking.

  “Did they find Evan’s finger?”

  Bonnie, who was picking up coats, turned to look at him.

  “Nobody ever said. But it won’t be here. Why?”

  “I don’t know. It just occurred to me.” He thought of the coroner’s report of Jeff. Much more than his fingers had been missing. Eaten, they said. “Let’s check upstairs.”

  Bonnie dropped the coats and followed him up the carpeted stairs. As they reached the upstairs landing, Shep wrinkled his nose.

  “Something stinks.”

  “What is it?”

  “Something rotten.”

  The bathroom was the first door on the right. The bathtub was full of murky water and smelled stagnant, but it was not the smell he had noticed in the hallway. Black water and toilet paper clogged the pot. Bonnie peeked in, then backed out.

  “This just isn’t like Harris. He was a neatnick. He’d never leave the bath full or the toilet un-flushed.”

  Next, on the left, was the master bedroom. Here, the smell was strongest. Bonnie covered her mouth as she came into the room.

  “That’s disgusting!”

  Drawn blinds and curtains covered the windows. Only feeble daylight leaked into the room. Shep flicked on the light, but nothing happened. The bulbs had been removed.

  “He wanted it dark for some reason.”

  Bonnie had opened the night-table drawer and was raking through it. She swore softly and slammed it closed.

  “What is it?” Shep asked.

  “Nothing.”

  He stepped past her and opened the drawer. It contained a ten-pack of condoms, a well-thumbed copy of The Joy of Sex, and a half used squeeze-bottle of personal lubricant. He opened the condom box. There were four left.

  “Busy boy.”

  “The son of a bitch. And here in the house. What if Evan knew?”

  “What if he did?”

  Bonnie lifted her chin and didn’t answer. She opened the cupboard. Here, at last, was order and neatness. The suits were hung
perfectly, and beside them a row of pressed shirts. On the floor, in a neat row, at least ten pairs of shoes, polished to a glossy shine.

  “What the hell is that smell?” Shep wondered aloud.

  He checked behind the dresser. Nothing but dust.

  Bonnie raked through the dresser drawers. Shep watched her as she did it. Underwear, socks, T-shirts, jeans. One drawer was full of colognes and anti-perspirant. Bonnie pulled out a dark bottle.

  “I gave him this. Years ago. It’s not even opened.” She dropped it back into the drawer and slammed it closed.

  Shep sat on the edge of the bed. For a moment, the stench of rot became stronger. He leaned over and peeked under the bed.

  “Oh, Christ.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He got down on his knees and peered more closely. Bonnie kneeled down beside him. She made a soft mewling sound.

  “Get me a coat hanger from the closet.”

  She brought him the hanger and remained standing. Shep reached under the bed, the hook of the hanger pointed down. He felt it snag, and pulled slowly back against light resistance. The smell became instantly stronger.

  “What the hell is this?”

  At first he thought it was a dead cat, or a crumpled shirt. Then he thought it might be cellophane. He could see the carpet through it. But it seemed to be moist, and there were patterns on the fabric that seemed almost familiar. Something stopped him from reaching out to touch it.

  “Oh, God,” Bonnie said

  “What is it?”

  Bonnie had no answer.

  Shep looked more closely at the pile on the floor. He prodded it with the hanger. It crinkled and tore.

  Bonnie had a hand over her mouth.

  “Weird,” Shep muttered. “Looks like something alive. Or dead.”

  He stood up and rubbed his nose, then ushered

  Bonnie out of the room. She seemed disturbed about something. Best to keep her busy.

  “Come on, there’s more to check.”

  Evan’s bedroom was the messiest in the house. Here, the dresser had been thrown on its side, the bed nearly torn apart. Clothes and toys and books were strewn about as if a tornado had ripped through the room.

  They poked around a minute longer, then left the room. Bonnie leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

  “Did your ex have a home office?”

  Bonnie pointed to a door at the end of the hallway. Shep opened the door and went in.

  Here, again, was order. An IBM personal computer sat on a desk, a laser printer on a stand beside it. Books lined the walls. Two of the desk drawers were open and empty.

  “Somebody’s been here before us,” Shep said. “And they knew what they were looking for.”

  “Maybe his parents,” Bonnie said. “They might have picked up some things.”

  “We’ll have to visit them.”

  He ushered her back along the hallway to the top of the stairs. “Go outside. Go to my car. I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

  Bonnie nodded and went down the stairs. When he heard the door close, Shep went back to the master bedroom. He had seen new shirts, still wrapped, in one of the dresser drawers. He pulled one out now, and removed the shirt from the wrapper. With the coat hanger, he gingerly picked up the moist pile from the floor and pushed it into the plastic. He held it by the tip of his fingers and carried it downstairs.

  Bonnie was leaning against his car. She looked better now. When she saw the package she stood up straight.

  “What’s that for?”

  “We should have it looked at. See what it is.”

  “Why?”

  “Because anything we find out might help us. Hop in. We’ll head over to his parents’ place.”

  “I’ll take my own car.”

  “That’s crazy. Why waste the gas?”

  “Because otherwise, you might leave me there, and I’d be stuck.”

  Shep pursed his lips. The thought, he admitted, had crossed his mind. “I’ll follow.”

  “That’s right,” Bonnie said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was spitting rain when Bonnie drove up to the Laws’ place. Low, swirling clouds darkened the sky. Peterson’s gray sedan was parked in the driveway. Bonnie drove up beside it, and moments later Shep came up behind her.

  “Beaten to the punch,” Shep said as he got out of his car.

  “What is he doing here?”

  “We’ll find out in a minute.”

  As they climbed the front steps, Bonnie’s stomach knotted with trepidation. How was she ever going to explain it to Tom and Roberta? She had demanded to take custody of Evan, and now she had lost him. Her hand trembled as she rang the doorbell.

  “Calm down,” Shep said softly.

  “You don’t understand. We don’t get along very well.”

  “In-laws are all the same.”

  “Are you married?”

  “No.”

  The front door opened and Tom was standing there. His face was ashen. He looked from Bonnie to Shep then back to Bonnie.

  “Well, you had better come in, I suppose,” Tom said. “We’re in the kitchen.”

  Shep held her arm, and Bonnie was glad of the support. Her knees felt like spaghetti.

  Roberta and Peterson were sitting at the kitchen table. Peterson cradled a cup of coffee in front of him.

  “What are you doing here?” Bonnie asked.

  “He came to tell us what you obviously had decided to keep secret,” Roberta said. She had been crying. “Why didn’t you say something when you called this morning?”

  “Robbie, please,” Tom said. “I’m sure she had reasons.”

  Bonnie blushed. Only one reason. She had been terrified of their reaction, and still was.

  Peterson cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “I told you earlier, Miss Laine, that my parents were friends of the Laws. I felt obliged.”

  “It’s okay,” Bonnie said. “That’s why I’m here, too. Has anything happened?”

  He shook his head. He took a deep breath and pushed his coffee cup away from him.

  “I had better be going.”

  Tom moved to escort him, but Peterson waved him off. “I can find my way. I’ll call if anything develops.”

  When he had gone, Tom took a deep breath. “Sit, if you like. Coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” Bonnie said.

  “Is this him?” Roberta asked, glaring at Shep.

  “This is Shep Thomas.”

  “He’s the one?”

  “What one?”

  Bonnie felt herself trembling. Only Shep’s touch on her arm stopped her from breaking into tears.

  “I was helping Bonnie,” he said. “She told me of her problem, about how the police hadn’t listened, and I agreed to help.”

  Roberta lifted her chin defiantly. “Obviously not well enough.”

  “Robbie,” Tom said. He put two cups of coffee on the table.

  Bonnie sat down, and Shep sat down beside her.

  “My grandson has been kidnapped,” Roberta said, never taking her eyes off Bonnie. “And it’s her fault.”

  “It’s not her fault,” Tom said.

  “It is her fault. If we hadn’t let her take him, none of this would have happened.”

  “I’m afraid you’re wrong about that,” Shep said. “They’d have snatched him from you, if you’d had custody. These people wanted the boy, and they were going to get him.”

  Roberta snapped her attention to Shep. “Who are you?”

  “My brother ran into this same group six years ago. They killed him.”

  Tom, hands clasped on the table, asked, “Are you looking for Evan now?”

  “Yes.”

  “How very thoughtful of you,” Roberta said bitterly.

  It was too much for Bonnie. She stood abruptly, knocked the table, and spilled her coffee.

  “Now, listen I I’ve had enough of your harping and bitching! I told you f
rom the beginning what was happening! You said I was crazy! I told the police, and they wouldn’t listen either! Well now it’s happened! Evan is gone! And Shep is the only person who has done anything to help me. The only one! And it was your son who did it. Do you understand? Harris is involved! Evan was telling the truth from the beginning!”

  She dropped back into her seat and sobbed. She could not help herself. The tears spilled out. Somehow, since getting up this morning, she had managed to contain her grief, had managed to bury it in activity. Helping Shep. Searching Harris’s home.

  But now, faced with the Laws, the totality of the calamity that had befallen her struck home, and she could hardly breathe. Evan was gone. Her son had been abducted by a cult. Just like in the news, just like what happened to other people. She remembered the faces of mothers on Donahue and Geraldo, eyes full of pain and grief and terror, explaining how their children had come to be abducted, and she remembered how her heart had ached for them, and how she’d thanked God that she was not one of them, but now she was one of them, just like them.

  When Shep put an arm across her shoulder she shrugged it off.

  “You don’t know that,” Roberta said softly. “You’re just saying that.”

  “Listen to me carefully,” Bonnie said. “Harris is involved. I’ve seen him. He’s mixed up with these bastards, and he gave his son to them. He’s one of them.”

  “Get out of my house.”

  “Roberta, be quiet.”

  “I want her out of here!”

  “Shut up!”

  Tom stood and came to Bonnie. He knelt beside her and put an arm across her shoulder.

  “I apologize for Robbie. We’re all upset.”

  Bonnie nodded, sniffling. Across the table, Roberta made a harsh choking sound. Tom looked at her sternly.

  “You really think Harris is involved?” Tom asked gravely.

  Bonnie nodded.

  “And Harris is alive?”

  “I’ve seen him.”

  “So, he’s become part of this cult. Is that what it is?”

  “We don’t know,” Shep said. “We don’t know much about them at all.”

  “But if he’s alive, he can be brought back, too, can’t he?”

  Bonnie sniffled. She looked at Shep. He shrugged.

  “Suppose he could,” Shep said.

  “Why did you come here? Not just to tell us about Evan.”

  “No. We need help. Shep thinks he might be able to find Evan. We’ve been to Harris’s house.”