These Unquiet Bones (14 page)

Victimized.

The end of the poem found the narrator fleeing the scene with face hidden as harsh wind blew. All was gray and dreary, all hope and color lost.

Amy sighed; feeling like the poet was speaking for her: a girl who had no voice to speak for herself, not in her father’s house at least.

She was captured. Just like her mother had been.

But her mother got away. She set herself free.

Not for long, though. The Nightmare Man got her.

Amy thought about the wedding photo. Who was the bride in the picture? Was she the ghost woman haunting her?

Amy wished she had listened last night. She wished she hadn’t allow her fear to deafen her ears to the spirit’s message. Her mother said ghosts sometimes show themselves when they have an important message to convey.

Before she could contemplate that further, the house phone rang. Her father answered it. Five minutes later, she heard him cursing up a storm.

With her curiosity piqued, she pressed her ear against the wall.

Chapter 35

“Tell that fucker to come say that shit to my face!”

“Calm down, Hank,” said Joe MacCallum. “That’s not going to happen.”

Bile boiled in his chest like bubbling acid. Hank drove his fist into the armrest of his recliner. “I should beat the livin’ shit out of that asshole, starting this crap all over again. I know he still believes I’m responsible for Ellen’s death, and now he thinks—”

“Doesn’t matter what he thinks.”

“Balls on that son of a bitch, callin’ me up like that, accusin’ me of shit like that! If he were half the cop I was—”

“Just calm the hell down.”

Hank raised his right hand and swept the collection of empty beer cans off the side-table. They all clattered to the carpet.

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me to calm down! You know he’s gonna run his damn mouth, that he suspects I’m somehow connected to this shit. You know damn well he’ll make all kinds of trouble!”

“I already warned him what would happen if he did. Trust me, guy, he won’t go spreading that crazy theory around. Keep your cool. Got me?”

Hank needed another cigarette, but he finished his last pack. “Shit… yeah, yeah, I got ya. Keep me posted on the case.”

He hung up the phone before Joe could respond and chunked it across the room. It hit the front door and split apart.

“Cheap piece of crap,” he muttered, rising to gather the broken pieces which he dumped in the kitchen trashcan along with the empty beer cans scattered about the living room floor. “Don’t believe this shit.”

He grabbed another beer from the fridge, cracked it open, and tossed back a couple of long swallows. Though he was damn near through the case, he wasn’t drunk. His alcohol tolerance was high, higher than his tolerance for other shit at least.

What he couldn’t tolerate was prick county detectives like Patrick Keene pointing fingers at him.

Hank downed the rest of his beer, crumpled the can, and tossed it toward the overflowing trashcan. He missed.

That fucker! Thinks I set my own wife up to be murdered! Thinks I set my own daughter up to be—

“Is everything okay?”

Hank spun around to see Amy’s head peeking out into the hall. She looked scared, her brown eyes as big as saucers. Feeling like an asshole, Hank walked over to her.

Looking at him uncertainly, Amy straightened up and took a couple of steps back into her room. Hank reached out and ran a hand through her soft blonde hair and touched her face.

Her skin felt as smooth as her mother’s had once. And her scent was intoxicating.

He kissed her lips and felt a warm stirring in his loins that no father should feel toward his daughter.

It sickened him, the thoughts he had in his head. Disgusted with himself for the unnatural longing he felt, he turned away without a word to Amy.

I am not my father. He told himself. I am not my father.

But she was her mother. And like Ellen, she was his sister.

“
Eat of the forbidden fruit,”
his father hissed. “
She’s a slut like the others and must be punished. She too must die!”

She was Hannah reincarnated. Hank was sure of it. After all, he never could break that cycle of sinful longing.

Chapter 36

After fine dining at Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse in Midtown Mobile, Richard Barrett returned to the dark, lonesome silence of his large, plantation-style house in the Oakleigh Garden District.

The quiet was almost palpable. Its heavy weight was soul crushing. Richard could barely stand it any longer.

The house was a vast, empty shell haunted by memories of what used to be.

He needed a woman to liven his deadened spirits; to bring beautiful music back to the piano room, lively entertainment to the sitting room, and joy to the oppressive air choking the life out of him like an ever-tightening noose.

He needed Amy, and she needed him whether she knew it or not.

After hanging his coat in the foyer closet, he sulked as he walked to the kitchen where he fed Lord Byron his white-haired Persian. He then returned to the front of the shadowy house and climbed the dark staircase to his study.

He approached the mahogany desk, turned on the green-shaded gooseneck lamp, and picked up the case file the detective had left on his doorstep.

Sitting back in a plush leather armchair, Richard flipped through the pages in the manila folder for what might have been the tenth time since receiving it.

Everything he needed to destroy Hank Snow in the eyes of his granddaughter was here. Tomorrow, he’d stop by Pine Run High, deliver the proof of Hank’s atrocities and take Amy where her father couldn’t hurt her.

His simple plan couldn’t fail. He was confident. After the truth was revealed, she’d be safe. And Hank would be left to suffer the demons of his own making, alone.

Closing the file, Richard contemplated what Ellen ever saw in that man. He was scum from the beginning, and he obviously kept his deep, dark secret from Ellen. If she had known, she would never have gone against her parents’ wishes and married the devil. But then again she had always gone for the dangerous types, always done wild things with wild people, and put her safety at risk.

Richard and Jane had hoped it was a phase, and that her barroom slumming was just a way to ruffle her parents’ staunch conservative feathers. But somewhere along the way. beauty fell in love with the beast. That love destroyed her.

But I won’t let you do the same to Amy, Richard vowed. I won’t let her fall victim to your backwoods legacy of evil.

The terrible thought occurred to him that perhaps he was already too late. He prayed he was wrong.

Back at his desk, Richard wrote a letter to Amy explaining his intentions in giving her the case file and what she must do after reading its contents. With a paperclip, he attached it to the outside of the folder and slipped it into a manila envelope with Amy’s name scribbled on it in black ink.

Richard got ready for bed. He had a busy day ahead of him and needed his rest.

His sleep, however, was tortured by nightmarish visions of hillbilly demons ripping the wings off heavenly angels as they robbed them of divinity, raped them of light.

The angels all had Ellen’s face.

Chapter 37

Creaking door hinges pulled her out of a light slumber.

Amy opened her eyes to darkness.

The sound of footsteps closed in behind her.

Her heart jumped. She twisted around to see the mountainous silhouette of her father looming over her bed.

“Daddy,” she said, fear and perplexity heavy in her voice.

“Little bitch,” he growled, peeling the covers away from her body. “You dirty little tease!”

“No,” she whimpered, her hands held out defensively as he eased down on top of her. “Daddy, please… don’t.”

“Mmmm,” he moaned, sliding his hand beneath her shirt and squeezing her breast. “Gonna teach ya a lesson, you damn little whore. You four-legged succubus!”

She cringed in pain. “Don’t… Daddy, no!”

He slid his tongue along her face. “Taste so good.”

Another hand dug into her hair and pulled at a fistful of locks, holding her head down to the pillow as he forced his way into her mouth.

Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. She squirmed beneath her father.

His tongue explored the inside of her mouth. His penis pressed against her like a rigid snake looking for an entrance.

She screamed, but her cries were muffled by her father’s greedy mouth, choked by his slimy tongue. Revulsion spread throughout her body, setting her nerves on fire.

From somewhere near the bedroom door, she heard a voice on the verge of cracking into puberty. “Hannah…? Dad…? What the fuck—?”

As her father pulled away, Amy turned her head in the direction of the voice.

The boy she recognized from a faded photograph. He stood in the soft yellow light coming in from the hall.

He was tall and on the husky side with shaggy blond hair and small hazel eyes. He wore a black Iron Maiden T-shirt and checkered boxer shorts that fit loosely around his meaty legs.

The shock of what he was witnessing registered clearly on his face as he nervously licked his upper lip and opened and closed his fists.

“Henry,” she whimpered as a rough hand slid from beneath her shirt. “Please, make him stop.”

“Shut up,” her father growled, slapping her hard in the face. “Speak when you’re told!”

Through her tears, she stared at her father, who in the glow spilling into the room appeared as a lizard-faced lecher.

A cruel smile cut across his reptilian visage like a slash from a sharp hunting knife. His small black eyes trained maliciously on her brother who shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other.

“So whaddya gonna do boy,” he said with a snicker, “just stand there like a queer holding your limp dick in your hands? Get on over here. Let’s teach this dirty little tramp here a lesson. She’s been showing herself off all over town.”

“No,” she whined, reaching her hand out to her younger brother. “Henry… please… Help me!”

Her father slapped her again, harder. “I said shut up!”

With a heavy sigh of resignation, Henry stepped forward. His fists still clenched and unclenched at his sides.

“Atta boy,” he said, lifting her shirt, revealing her naked breasts. “Ain’t they tempting? She’s a whore just like your mother, but her cunt is mighty tasty. Wanna try? Wanna piece of this here Forbidden Fruit?”

Looming over his sister, Henry licked his lips and stared. He was aroused at the sight of her exposed, but he also appeared revolted. He glanced at his father.

“It’s all right, boy. Come on. You have my permission.”

Meeting her eyes, Henry slowly lifted his hand. A cruel smile quivered at the corner of his lips as he reached for her chest, and curled his hand into a fist. She closed her eyes.

Despondent whimpering woke Amy from the nightmare with a jolt. Her eyes peered into darkness. She felt very cold.

Twisting around in bed, she gazed at the blue woman weeping at her bedside.

Icy fear flooded the chambers of Amy’s petrified heart, but she fought against the terror. After all, the ghost wasn’t going to hurt her. If that were her intent, she would have done so last night.

No, she had a message to convey, and Amy was going to listen to it this time.

No more fear.

“I’m,” the blue woman sobbed. “You—”

She reached out for her with long, ethereal hands. Amy’s pulse thundered in her ears. Her breathing grew shallow.

“We’re all captured.”

The ghost then touched her face with its frigid fingertips—

“Tell Henry.”

—and disappeared.

“Wh-what?” Amy asked the empty darkness, now more scared and confused than ever.

Chapter 38

He knew it was time to say goodbye to his ride once smoke started rising from the engine.

Annoyed, Adam slammed down the hood of the souped-up Honda Accord that had belonged to his recently deceased Pappy and started walking.

It was well over ten miles to the town where he’d find the next Eve, but that was okay.

If it was The Father’s will that he’d walk the remainder of his quest, then his will be done. Adam took the journey on foot as a test of his endurance, his strength.