The Loveliest Dead (43 page)

“You’re gonna be a good puppy now,” Dad said, his voice low and gravelly and wet. “You’re gonna do as I say, or I’m gonna pound on you awhile. Got that, puppy?”
 

Miles wanted to nod his head “yes” and do whatever he was told, but he could not move.

Dad stopped a couple feet in front of him.

“No!” Mom screamed. She pounded on the basement door, struggled with the knob. “Leave him alone!, Let him go! David! David, can you hear me?”
 

Dad cocked his head a moment, as if to listen.

It’s not Dad
! Miles’s mind screamed within the walls of his skull.
It’s not Dad, it’s the fat man! Remember that! It’s not Dad!

“You gonna answer me?” Dad said. He hadn’t been listening to Mom at all, just waiting for Miles to respond.

Miles opened his mouth, but instead of talking, he began to breathe again, to pant. He nodded his head.

“Get down on the floor,” Dad—the fat man—said.

He moved quickly and got down on his hands and knees.

“On your back.”

He still could hear Mom’s voice on the other side of the door at the top of the stairs. She was talking with someone else and she sounded panicky, but it was just noise to Miles, because the fat man wanted him to lie down on his back in the dark and the only thing Miles could think was
What is he going to do to me with that knife
? His mind was too filled with horrifying possibilities to think about what Mom was saying. He found he was unable to move again.
 

“I said,
get on your back
.” The last four words were not shouted, but the way he said them—teeth clenched, spitting, growling—was worse.
 

With great effort, Miles forced himself to lie down on his back on the cold, lumpy dirt floor.

Dad towered over Miles, grinned down at him.

Miles remembered what had happened when Mom had hit Dad’s injured hand with a dictionary—he had become himself again. Miles could do that. Dad’s hand was in such pain already that he wouldn’t need a fat dictionary to hurt him, he could use his fist.
 

Dad knelt down, straddled Miles with his knees—
It’s not Dad
!—touched the flat of the blade to Miles’s cheek, and chuckled.
 

“You’re gonna be a good puppy now, aren’t you?” he said as he slid the knife’s large blade beneath Miles’s shirt.

“Why is this door locked?” Lily said. The door would not budge.

Jenna spoke rapidly. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know there was a lock on this door.”

“Claudia, call Chief Winningham,” Lily said. The feeling of dread she’d experienced in her visions filled her lungs like water and all she could think about was Miles.
 

Jenna stood in front of the washing machine, wringing her hands and breathing too fast, cheeks wet with tears. Martha was beside her with an arm across her shoulders.
 

“We’re not in his jurisdiction,” Jenna whispered, her words trembling. “We’re outside the city limits. Call the Sheriff’s Department. 911.”
 

Lily turned to Martha. “Would you call 911? Please?”

Martha hurried out of the laundry room.

Lily turned to Claudia and said, “Call the chief. Tell him to get back over here right away.”

“Do you think we need him?” Claudia asked. “I mean, with the Sheriff’s Dep—”

Lily moved close to Claudia and whispered in her ear, “I want his skeptical ass here to see this.”

“Are you kidding?” Claudia said.

“I’m not kidding. I want him here.”

“My cell phone’s in the living room,” Claudia said.

Lily said, “Check on Mrs. Frangiapani while you’re there.”

Claudia nodded and left the laundry room.

Lily was startled by a hand on her shoulder and spun around to find Jenna standing close.

Jenna spoke too fast in a half-whisper. “Ada said something to me—Ada, that’s the medium who came here for a sitting. She said the reason people only need to see her once or twice is that, by then, they’ve figured out they can talk to the dead themselves. She said anybody could do it. Might not get a response, she said, but it might be worth a try.”
 

“You know what, Jenna? You might have something there.” She turned to the basement door again and stood there a moment, thinking. She shouted at the door, “We know your secret, Leonard. Everybody knows. All the people who thought you were such a good guy—they all know now.”
 

Jenna suddenly moved forward a few steps and screamed, “Let go of my little boy, you bastard! Don’t hurt him! He’s your grandson, your own
grandson
!”
 

Lily put an arm around Jenna and led her back to the washing machine. She whispered in Jenna’s ear, “Please try to calm down, Jenna. Let me do this, okay?”
 

Jenna rubbed one hand down over her face as she nodded.

Lily went back to the door. “Everybody knows what kind of man you are, Leonard. Chief Winningham, everyone at the Eureka PD—your secret’s out.”
 

Martha returned to the laundry room and said, “Are we talking to Leonard?” She moved closer to the door and shouted, “This is Martha, Lenny. Remember me? You were a lousy lay, Lenny. You hear me? Screwing you was like screwing a little boy. Turns out that’s what you wanted all along. You’re a sick, pathetic coward, Leonard, and now everybody knows it. It’ll be in the paper and people will—”

A horrible sound erupted down in the basement—a growling, gurgling scream—and Jenna moved toward the door, one hand on her hip, the other on top of her head, clawing at her scalp. Her eyes were open to their limit and the corners of her mouth were pulled back in a grin of fear.
 

And the horrible sound went on.

A whimper escaped Miles when he felt the cold blade against his stomach. Dad cut off the buttons of his shirt one at a time. Miles heard shouting upstairs, but it sounded distant, far away. He stared up at Dad—
It’s not Dad
!—and glanced at the lump in his sweatshirt that was his arm in a cast and sling. Miles waited for the right moment. But he didn’t know if he could do it. It meant causing Dad a lot of pain—Miles did not want to do that. But maybe it was the pain of being hit that had allowed Dad to separate himself from the fat man. In that case, Miles had no choice.
 

“Goddamned women,” Dad muttered. He grinned down at Miles. “I don’t know what I wanna do to you first.” He pressed the tip of the blade to Miles’s throat. “Mebbe first, I’ll make damned good and sure you won’t struggle while I have my fun.”
 

Suddenly, a different voice rang out from above, clear and angry: Grandma’s.

“This is Martha, Lenny. You remember me? You were a lousy lay, Lenny. You hear me?”

Dad straightened his back and looked up at the door.

“Screwing you was like screwing a little boy.”

Hearing Grandma say that made. Miles wonder if he was dreaming.

Dad made a sound like a growl as he listened.

Miles realized the moment had come. Dad’s attention was on the door. Miles swung his right fist without thinking about it—otherwise he might never have done it. It connected with the back of Dad’s left hand.
 

Dad screamed as he fell back and off of Miles, who crawled backward. Dad dropped the Mag-Lite as he writhed on the floor and cried out in pain. Miles, suddenly on hands and knees, scurried over and grabbed it up. He could use it as a weapon, if necessary.
 

Dad sat up with his back against one of the wooden support beams beneath the stairs, legs spread, one knee bent. Perspiration glistened on his face. “Miles?”
 

Miles gasped when he heard his dad’s voice, not the fat man’s. “Dad?”

“Miles. Run. Get out of here. Now.” He sounded hoarse and exhausted, but there was no mistaking the urgency in his voice.

Miles did as he was told. His shirt had already been untucked, and now it hung open in front, its buttons somewhere on the dirt floor. He stepped over Dad’s leg on his way to the stairs.
 

A hand closed on his left ankle and sent him pitching forward. He landed facedown in the dirt.

“Not so fast, puppy.”

Claudia returned to the laundry room and whispered to Lily, “He said he’s on his way. You should see the living room.”

“What? Why?” Lily said.

“She’s up and talking again, sitting on the sofa.”

“Talking to the boys?”

“Yes. The living room’s full of them. I had to go around to get in, because I didn’t want to disturb them.”

“Okay, let’s leave her alone and let her work.” Lily was amazed by how well Claudia was holding up. Lily’s hands were trembling and her voice was dry and cracked, all from fear. “You’re sure handling all this well.”
 

“Are you kidding?” Claudia said. “I’m about to crap my pants.”

Lily whispered, “I may join you.” She turned to Jenna. Martha stood beside her with an arm around Jenna’s shoulders again. Lily said, “Is there a window down there?”
 

Jenna shook her head. “No, nothing. It’s just a hole in the ground with cinder-block walls and a dirt floor. Shouldn’t we be
doing
something? There’s an ax around here someplace—we should be looking for it.”
 

“Where is it?” Claudia asked. “I’ll go. I need to get out of here.”

Jenna said, “Behind the garage, where all the wood is stacked, maybe leaning against the wall.”

Claudia hurried out as Lily turned to the basement door again. She was tempted to go out through the dining room to see for herself what Mrs. Frangiapani was up to, but she was unable to tear herself away from that door. Hoping to distract him from Miles, if nothing else, she continued talking to Leonard Baines.
 

Dad rolled Miles over and straddled him again on his knees. He backhanded Miles, hit his cheekbone with the butt of the butcher knife’s black handle, which protruded from the bottom of his fist. Miles cried out in pain, and the ground tilted beneath him for a moment.
 

“What kind of man are you, Leonard?” said a voice on the other side of the door. “You prey on
children
. You’re a coward—Martha was right. And she would know, wouldn’t she? She told us how childish and pathetic you were in bed.”
 

Dad ignored her. His eyes never left Miles’s.

The voice continued, but Miles was too preoccupied to listen.

“You gonna be hit me again a good Miles little puppy?” Dad said.

Miles fought the dizziness, struggled to remain conscious. He wasn’t sure he’d heard what he
thought
he’d just heard, but it didn’t matter. As if poking Dad with a stick, Miles slammed the head of the heavy Mag-Lite into his left hand.
 

Again, Dad screamed and fell off him, but this time he dropped the knife. Miles suddenly found himself standing with the flashlight in his left hand, the knife in his right. He swayed with dizziness.
 

“Get out,” Dad said, his voice crushed by pain.

Miles stayed where he was. To get to the stairs, he would have to go around Dad, who was stretched out on the floor, and that would put him within reach of Dad’s hand again.
 

“I said get out,” Dad said as he slowly got to his feet.

“
Let
me get out.”
 

Dad hunched forward and let his right arm dangle. For a moment, Miles thought he moved like a mummy from an old horror movie.

“Don’t make me hurt you, Dad, please,” Miles said. He didn’t want to cry, but tears came anyway.

“You’re bein’ a baaaad puppy,” the fat man said. He came toward Miles. “Put that fuckin’ knife down now, or I’m gonna make you eat it.”
 

Miles found himself once again backed up against the cold, damp boxes. “Dad, please. I don’t want to hurt you.”

The fat man laughed. He suddenly stood up straight, swept his right foot out, and knocked Miles’s legs out from under him.

Miles was so surprised by the move, his hands let go of the knife and flashlight as he went down.

Claudia came back into the laundry room empty-handed, wet from the rain.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t find it,” she said. “But I think the police are here. I heard someone drive up out front.”

Lily turned away from the door and said, “The police, or Chief Winningham?”

“I don’t know,” Claudia said.

“Excuse me,” Lily said as she stepped around Claudia and left the laundry room. She went through the kitchen and stopped halfway through the dining room. Orange firelight flickered in the living room. Through the doorway, she saw a dozen boys, maybe more. She could hear Mrs. Frangiapani talking quietly, gently. The boys were nothing more than gossamer outlines of small figures in the dark. Through them, Lily could see Mrs. Frangiapani sitting on the couch, leaning forward, hands folded neatly in her lap. The boys disappeared and reappeared like some kind of fiber-optic illusion—at times it looked like the living room was packed with them, and at others, like there were only a few.