These Unquiet Bones (5 page)

Layne thought he heard the sound of distant laughter but quickly dismissed it. His imagination was simply running wild with scenarios in which he finally had Amy, his one and only. He knew she was The One the moment he first laid eyes on her over a year ago, but she didn’t know how he felt.

He never told her. His fear of rejection— and fear of what
it
might do to her— was too great.

But he has reached the boiling point. He couldn’t keep his feelings inside anymore. He had to tell her about his love for her, consequences be damned. It was driving him crazy.

Layne gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles blanched. But he had made his decision.

He was going to tell her, and soon. He had no other choice. His sanity was on the line.

Realizing he was still parked in the driveway, Layne shifted into reverse, pulled onto the road. He opened the center console, and pulled out a lighter and a soft pack of Marlboros.

Cigarette in hand, he lit up and wondered what he his first step would be.

Chapter 7

Amy stepped into the living room and heard the cordless phone ring. “Bet I know who that is,” she said, striding over to its perch on the table between the couch and armchair.

Snatching the phone from its cradle she checked caller ID and nodded her head. As usual, her father was ensuring she was where she said she would be after school. She placed the receiver to her ear. “Hey Dad.”

“Hey, peanut. How was school?”

“Pretty good.” She locked the front door and headed for her room.

“Any homework?”

“Yep. I have to write an essay on some poems for English class Monday.” She dropped her backpack and CD onto her unmade bed, flopped down in the swivel chair behind her desk, and started her computer. “Oh, um, is it okay if I go to a party Cat is throwing for me tonight at her house?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end. “Her parents gonna be there?”

“Yeah.” When she remembered what Catherine said about her parents being out of town, Amy got nervous. However, thinking about what Michael said about her father controlling her life, and how bad that made her feel, she didn’t correct the lie. “They’ll be there.”

She hoped he didn’t detect the apprehension in her voice.

“How long have you known about this party?”

“Not until today at lunch.” She hoped she could pull this off without him finding out. She didn’t think he had their cell phone numbers. “The party was last minute, and Cat already made plans and invited everyone. Can’t I go? Please.”

Her father sighed heavily. “All right. Long as you’re home before nine. We’ll talk about it later. I’m on my way out now.”

“Yeah, okay.” She felt a thrill of excitement. She’s never been so defiant before. Her fear kept her from being so. It felt great to rebel a little.

After saying goodbye and hanging up the phone, she called Catherine and told her that the party was on, only her father was under the impression that her parents would be there.

“Wow, lying to Daddy, are we?” Catherine said.

Amy laughed. “I feel kind of proud of myself.”

But also little scared. What if her father somehow found out what she did? There’s no telling what he’d do once his anger got out of control.

The specter of the Nightmare Man took shape in her mind, but she forced it away.

“Then we’re good to go,” Catherine said. “See you tonight.”

Dropping the phone on her desk, Amy held onto her fragile confidence and pulled out a change of clothes and stripped off her uniform.

Dressed in blue jeans and a red shirt, she sat in front of her Yamaha keyboard, flicked on the power switch, and played a song her mother taught her years ago.

She kept her eyes on a depiction of the drowning Ophelia as she played. The print was tacked to the wall in front of her. It had been placed there as a means of creative inspiration.

Drowning.
Amy frowned as her fingers danced along the keyboard.
Must be a horrible way to die.

She remembered how it felt after slashing her wrists in the lukewarm water of the bathtub a year after her mother’s death. It hurt worse than the pain leading her to that selfish act in the first place.

She remembered how her father responded at her bedside in the ER. The tears that glistened in his eyes shattered her heart like fragile china. She had never seen him cry before. Not even at her mother’s funeral.

“I already lost your mother,” he said that night at the hospital, leaning in with her small chin cupped in his large hand. “And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna lose you, too.”

Amy shook the thought away, closed her eyes, and let the music take her to a place far better than where her memories dragged her.

It was a place in her mind where she always went when that ugly black hole in her soul opened wider and wider until…

Scratch, scratch.

Her fingers froze over the keyboard.

What the hell was that?

She glanced over at the bedroom door and listened for what sounded like tiny claws scratching eagerly at a wooden surface.

My imagination?

The house was old and always making strange noises. So perhaps it was just the foundation shifting, or some rodent rustling around in the walls. The very thought made her shudder. She hated rats.

Scratch, scratch.

Her heart quickened its pace as a cold chill spilled down her back.

She remembered the Robert Frost poem she read in English class. She remembered the skeleton scratching its skull as it stood behind a locked door. She remembered the sound.

Scratch, scratch.

Biting her lower lip, she rose to her feet and moved cautiously out of her room and into the hall.

Turning to the closed door at the end of the darkened corridor, she took a deep breath and waited.

Scratch, scratch.

She leapt back, holding a hand to her chest as her heart flapped around like a caged canary.

Again she thought of the poem, remembered reading how the bones didn’t attempt to open the door but:

“Halted helpless on the landing, / waiting for things to happen in their favor.”

Another chill spread from Amy’s scalp to her shoulders.

Shaking her head with a nervous shudder, she told herself that she was being ridiculous— that there was nothing threatening behind that door but a rat. A fat, filthy, disease-ridden rat. Nothing more.

Still, she waited a little longer and listened.

The small hairs on the back of her neck stiffened as she waited for another sound to come from behind the closed door.

She waited with a body filled with cold tension. She felt her muscles grow taut and tight.

The house phone rang.

Amy’s heart leapt into her throat. “Freakin’ phone.” She stomped back into her room, snatching it from her desk. She viewed the Caller ID screen. “Crap.”

It was Richard Barrett, her estranged grandfather. He was likely calling to wish her happy birthday as he did every year.

But she didn’t answer. The bitter feelings that emerged whenever she thought about him kept her from doing so. Her father also didn’t want her speaking to him and she understood why— her grandfather was not to be trusted.

She placed the phone back down on her desk and stared at it until it stopped ringing.

The sound of the kitchen door slamming shut made her jump. “Amy,” her father called out. “Where you at?” Footsteps creaked along the hallway and stopped in front of her room.

She turned to see him standing in the doorway and holding up a stylish black leather jacket.

“Got somethin’ for ya,” he said, extending out to her.

“Wow.” She slipped into the sleeves. “It’s awesome.”

“Glad you like it.” He stood behind her as she modeled the jacket in front of the mirror. His massive physique filled the entire frame dwarfing her five-foot-three figure.

Amy slid her hands down the folds. The leather felt nice and smooth. “I love it.”

“And I love you.” Caressing her hair, he kissed the top of her head. “Damn, it’s amazing how much you favor your mother. Scary, almost.”

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. This was how she wished it always was between them— warm and comforting. It was a shame he couldn’t have been like this when her mother was alive. It was a shame he couldn’t lay off the booze.

“So,” she said, “ready to eat?”

“Let me jump in the shower first,” Hank said.

“Oh, wait. I think there’s a rat in Grandma’s old room.”

Hank glanced down at her curiously. “Did you go in?”

“Not if it’s a rat. No, sir.”

“All right,” he smiled, giving her cheek a gentle pat. “I’ll check it out for you.”

Chapter 8

Joe MacCallum was gone for the evening, so Patrick Keene dropped the stack of case files Joe had requested on his desk, and returned to his own office. He felt conflicted about what he had done an hour ago.

After sifting through the archives at the Azalea County Sheriff’s Office in Mobile, he happened upon a manila folder titled HANK SNOW, CLASSIFIED WITNESS. It piqued his interest.

After reading the case file, his first feeling was disbelief. How could he not have known about this? How could anyone not have known?

His astonishment morphed into hatred and bitterness. He had harbored strong feelings toward Hank Snow for years. Those feelings were what drove him to the doorstep of Hank’s ex-father-in-law.

Richard Barrett wasn’t home, however, so Patrick slipped a copy of Hank’s file halfway beneath the welcome mat and headed back to the Sheriff’s Office substation in Pine Run.

At the time he was running on adrenaline, his long-held hatred of Hank Snow clouding his better judgment. But now he felt regret.

By handing over classified documents to a civilian he violated his core professional ethics, and a man who betrays his ethics is a despicable human being in Patrick’s book.

But these were extreme circumstances, or at least he kept telling himself that.

Sitting at his desk, Patrick stroked his short goatee and stared out his office window. He gazed passed the dense screen of shrubbery behind the office building, his thoughts on Ellen Barrett Snow. He thought about her often.

He was one of the lead investigators on her murder case but long before that— as far back as high school— he had a maddening crush on her, one that never truly went away.

Why she had been with Hank was far beyond him. It didn’t make sense. Ellen was a high-class girl, so delicate and sweet. A butterfly like her could only be crushed in the rough, meaty paws of a behemoth like Hank. And so she was.

Hank was nothing but a low-class, macho thug who used to make his living wrestling in a cage at a seedy bar. Ellen should have been out of his league entirely.

So what was she doing with him? Their marriage had been a mistake. One he knew she’d regret. She deserved someone better.

Ellen was an angel, a goddess. Hank was a devil, a beast. But he managed to snatch her up anyway. How? Why?

Patrick stopped stroking his goatee. He clenched a fist. Resentment clung to his heart. He sighed deeply.

Back in high school, he was so afraid of rejection that he only coveted Ellen from afar, fantasizing what it’d be like to touch her skin, to feel her hair, to kiss her lips. He never stopped fantasizing about her.

Patrick unclenched his fist. His anger abated somewhat, but his resentment lingered as he remembered Ellen.

She was the one true object of his desire. He used to stuff secret admirer letters and love poems in her locker when no one was looking. But he could never muster the courage talk to her. He wondered if she even knew he existed.

So what happened after graduation? He joined the military and learned to overcome his fear of rejection. Boot camp made him strong and confident. He became a different person. A better person.

When he later returned home to Mobile, he learned from a friend that Ellen was a different person as well, and not for the better.

It broke his heart to learn about her relationship with a backwoods redneck like Hank. It baffled his mind. She picked the wrong guy

What happened to her after graduation? Did she somehow get caught up in the wrong crowd? What made her change?

His source couldn’t tell him.

Shortly after his military service, he joined the Sheriff’s Office. Not long after, Hank did too. It added insult to injury, working side by side with the man who stole Ellen away.

Jealousy joined resentment. They were old friends.

Patrick still suspected Hank in Ellen’s murder, even if Joe and the others didn’t. He wondered if the case file he found on Hank would change their minds. For Patrick, it added context.