A Life of Death: Episodes 5 - 8 Read online

  “See, that’s all there was to it. Nothing big,” he muttered, pushing it up the driveway. “So where do you want it?”

  “Does it have the keys?”

  He gave the ignition a cursory glance. “Nope, they must have dropped somewhere.”

  “Or that boy took them, the one that jumped in the car.”

  “When was this?” Barkly demanded.

  “Just before you came out.”

  I could see the gears turning in his shaggy head. “Do you know what happened to the driver?” he asked, massaging his five o’clock shadow.

  She shook her head. “No!” she shouted, twisting her hair between two fingers. “It’s just like I told you. I came home from Dino’s last night and don’t remember a thing.”

  “Hmmm… if something happened and this boy knows the bike’s here, we could have problems.”

  The woman ran a shaking hand through her hair. “So… what do I do?”

  “We’ve got to hide it.”

  She nodded.

  “We’ll try the back shed for now. I’ll call Trey and see if we can borrow his trailer. It should be fine until tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” she whimpered as he wheeled it around the house. She retired to the house and he followed after stowing Frank’s bike.

  Once the coast was clear, I sprinted back to where Paige left me. She was just pulling up. I slid into the car and she turned to me with a relieved smile.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Well, they got it loose, so the cops won’t see it, but it’s hidden in the back shed.”

  “It’s a good thing you stayed. I’m not sure if they could check without someone seeing it.”

  “Yeah, I’m glad I did, too.”

  “So, what do we do now?”

  “Let’s park closer to the corner and wait to see what happens,” I replied. Anything could still happen.

  Paige eased the car forward and pulled along the curb. The lantern sat illuminating the rear end of the SUV. As she shut off the lights and turned the key, Barkly left the house, doused the lantern, and started the large vehicle. He backed up and parked on the pavement but as he shut the door, flashing red and blue lights flew past us.

  “Shelly,” he shouted, hurrying behind the house, “The cops are here.”

  Three police cruisers squealed to a halt in front of the house. A fourth slid alongside us. Fred peered at us through the glass and I rolled down the window.

  “Hey, Fred.”

  “Hello, Alex. Was it Paige that called in?” he asked, as though he knew her.

  “Yes, that was me,” she answered, waving from her seat.

  “I thought you said the bike was stuck to the truck.”

  “It was. Alex was watching them while I went to call you.”

  Fred turned his attention back to me. “Were you?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I hid on the other side of the street. A man came out and helped her pull it loose. He told her he was going to hide it in the shed out back. It’s a good thing we found them because the guy, Barkly’s his name, he said he would try and trailer it out tomorrow.”

  “You sneaky little devil,” he said in a half-hearted whisper. “Ever thought of becoming a cop?”

  “No, not really,” I answered.

  I had never given much thought to anything besides surviving that day—that is, until this last week. Now I had to worry about the girls, too, and Frank. Although, Frank wasn’t as much of an issue anymore. The thought was depressing, and I saw it reflected in Officer McCullin’s eyes.

  He left the topic alone and added, “We’ll take it from here, kids. Thanks for the tip. Go on home now.” He rounded the corner and left us to follow his directions.

  “You think we should stay to watch?”

  “No,” Paige answered. “It’s almost ten. We should head home. If I’m out too late, they’ll ground me.”

  I understood and nodded. “Thanks for helping.”

  “No problem,” she replied, turning her attention to the road and leaving the neighborhood. I took her free hand in mine. She smiled and squeezed gently.

  The pressure was reassuring and I returned her affection, but it didn’t wipe the worry from my thoughts. What if I’d just stopped him? The question floated through my mind. No matter how much I told myself that it wasn’t my fault, it lingered through the ride home. I contemplated it further as I walked to the cemetery and took my seat under the dark pine.

  Chapter 26

  Tuesday

  October 11, 1995

  The next morning I felt a little better about what happened, but still couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt. Jessie tracked me down before I’d entered the main foyer at school, anxious to give me the hottest news.

  “Alex, you’ve gotta hear this.”

  “What,” I asked, continuing to my locker.

  “Brogand Motors had its worst weekend all year.”

  “Grant’s father’s lot?”

  “Yeah, a lot of people took advantage of their sixty-day guarantee and returned the vehicles they’d bought.”

  “Who started that rumor?” I asked, brows knitted in skepticism.

  “Actually, Grant said it. I overheard him talking to a friend. He said sales were nonexistent. He heard his parents fighting about it. They lost more money than they made in the last month.”

  My eyes widened and I stopped. “What caused it?”

  “My guess is what you said.”

  “But who’d believe me?”

  “I doubt many people would, but when Coach Moyer left after talking to you, I’m sure it got people thinking. One of the rumors is that what you said was true, and Coach Moyer was in on it, too.”

  “One of the rumors?” I asked, although I was sure there were too many circulating to count.

  “Oh,” he started, “the other is that you were lying, killed Coach Moyer, and hid his body.” He feigned a smile. “No one really believes that one, though.”

  After spotting us standing in the hallway, Paige walked up. “Hey guys.”

  “Hey, Paige,” we answered in chorus. I leaned forward and kissed her with a whispered, “Thanks again.”

  “No problem,” she answered back, softly responding and encircling me in her arms.

  “Wow!” gasped Jessie. “Did I miss something?”

  “Yeah, a bit.”

  “So, did you hear?” she asked.

  “About Grant’s dad’s place,” answered Jessie. “Yeah, I just told him.”

  “Maybe things are working out for the better. After all that Grant’s family did, they’re finally getting a taste of their own medicine.”

  My thoughts turned to Grant’s grandmother and James Michowsky who’d never see his son again. “Well, we aren’t killing their wives and sons, Paige, so I’d say this is a far cry from their own medicine.”

  The reminder of what they’d done reined in her smile. “True, but it’s something.”

  “It is something,” I admitted.

  “A step in the right direction, I’m sure,” added Jessie. “Maybe now, I’ll have a scout come see me.”

  We all burst into laughter at the thought. Jessie had never been the star athlete, nor had he ever entertained the thought according to our past conversations. He wanted to do something worthwhile, or so he said.

  “So, what else did I miss?” he asked after we’d calmed down.

  Our smiles disappeared. “Jessie, you won’t believe this, but Frank’s dead.”

  His smile vanished and the mood changed. He’d known Frank. They’d played together on the baseball team for a year. “What happened?”

  “Drunk driver,” I answered, and cast my eyes to the floor.

  Jessie got the hint and asked no more.

  The rest of the day was uneventful and somehow enjoyable. People stared in awe as I passed. Had the incident in gym really changed things so much? I couldn’t shake the absurdity of my dumb luck. It was too much to believe. Later, Paige and I sat in the courtyard an
d enjoyed lunch with fall leaves littering the ground around our picnic table. But in class my mind wandered, considering the lingering question.

  After school, I left Paige behind, dropped the girls at home, and stopped to speak with my father. The monologue with him was lonely, but helped to purge the guilt. I dried my eyes and headed home, intent on finishing the project due this Friday. I told myself that it would help get my mind off things. However, life never goes as we plan.

  A LIFE OF DEATH: 6

  BY

  WESTON KINCADE

  - BOOKS of the DEAD -

  Chapter 27

  Secrets Revealed

  The drunk’s distorted shouts were audible outside the trailer. I leapt up the steps and threw open the door. A scene of horror greeted me. Vivian stood between him and the kitchen, arms spread wide.

  “Stay back,” she ordered.

  “Where do you get off telling me what to do in my own house?” demanded the drunk.

  “It’s my house, too. You better stay back.” She grabbed for the kitchen knife on the counter, but he took advantage of her diverted eyes, stormed into her with his overwhelming bulk, and clenched her throat in his hand. The other shot out to grab the wrist of her knife hand.

  “How do you like me now?” he rasped and thrust her into the kitchen cabinets. The knife fell away.

  Seeing such a scene brought memories of Helen’s brutal murder, my murder, back to haunt me. The futility of escape and inability to move held me in the doorway.

  “Alex, help!” shouted Abigail, peeking over the countertop. She was stooped in the corner, less than a foot from her enraged father.

  Her shout broke through the overwhelming emotions. Determined words flew to mind. She needs me. They need me. Pushing the feelings aside, I glanced back at her tearful eyes, and then to my mother’s. Her face contorted in an anguished grimace while a look of demonic delight infused his. How dare he? No more! I stepped up behind him, my heart pounding. My arms and fists clenched and shook with hatred. “No more. Let her go!”

  The drunk turned in surprise. Seeing me, he flashed an evil smile. “Come back for s’more?”

  Before he could react, I slammed my balled fist into his side. He grunted and flinched to the side. I followed it with another, a third, and a fourth. I don’t know how many I got in before the drunk shrunk away from my blows and turned to face me.

  “Now you got some fight.” His eyes reassessed me. His hand shot out and wrapped my hair in its fingers. “No one touches me.”

  His words, voice, and tone infuriated me further. The air felt as though it were gushing around my ears, throbbing under the pressure. “I just did!” I screamed. The sound felt as though it shredded my throat, but it was a passing emotion.

  I ignored the pain as he jerked my head up, and I sent my fist into his stomach. He harrumphed and groaned. I followed it with another. “Leave them alone!”

  He turned bloodshot eyes on me and threw his knee into my midsection. I slumped to the ground. He grabbed my shirt collar and flung me into the living room like I weighed only a trifle more than a Chihuahua. I toppled over the couch side and sprawled across its cushions.

  He turned to Vivian and slapped her with a forceful hand. “This is your boy. You brought him into my house. I’ll deal with you as soon as I teach him a lesson. Frank was better than any of these ungrateful spawn. Why’d I have to lose him?”

  I groped for the couch and table, lifting myself up.

  “Because you’re a horrible father,” she shouted back.

  The drunk brought up his hand again. Vivian flinched when he stopped an inch from her face. “You deserve it,” he stated. Convinced, he reared back again. This time he didn’t stop, and she fell to the linoleum floor. “Yeah, you deserve it.”

  I threw myself over the table and grabbed for him with both hands. He fought me off, strong armed me back into the room, and wrestled me to the floor. Then he loosened his belt and slid it from his pants, snapping it like a whip.

  “You know what Fred said today, hmmmm, Alex?” asked the drunk.

  “He said you helped find Frank’s murderer. I thought, well great. The boy did something right for once. You know what my brother said?” He waited for an answer. I stared at him in horror. “He said it was up to the DA, but he probably wouldn’t prosecute. They were both intoxicated.”

  I couldn’t believe his words. They cut through my fear. The blatant disregard for human life disgusted me.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought too,” he continued, seeing my reaction.

  “Nothing’s fair in this life. I do everything right, and they kill my only son.” He flung the belt into the air again, snapping it to emphasize his point. He leaned in to me and rasped, “Well, to hell with them.”

  An odd thought occurred to me at that moment. His slurred speech had vanished. He was sober. The belt flashed down and slapped my face like a hot coal that had somehow attained the smell I’d grown accustomed to.

  * * *

  A second later, the girls’ bedroom ceiling hung above me. I couldn’t move, only watch as Steve McCullin pulled my bare legs together and looped his belt around my ankles. He dragged me into the carpeted hall and through the living room. My bra straps and shirt clawed at my back, fighting the carpet beneath me, but gave up the fight when he hefted me over his shoulder like a fireman and exited the trailer. The bed of his truck sat waiting. Throwing down the tailgate, he rolled me in. A few tools clanged beside me.

  He shut the tailgate and started the old truck. It coughed a few times before it thrummed to life. Stars drifted above as he drove a short distance, stopped, and rounded the vehicle again. The tailgate clanged against the chrome bumper, and the sound helped dilute the fog clogging my ears. I again tried to move, but couldn’t.

  He grabbed the end of the belt and pulled me off the truck with a muffled thud. A sea of overgrown grass consumed me, blocking everything from view but the sky above. Suddenly, I was being pulled through it, feet first. I waited for the beating to continue when we stopped, but instead he began digging a hole next to a wooden fence. Dirt fell around me with each cast of the shovel. After he’d dug for a while, he glanced back at me.

  “Son of a gun,” he declared, eyeing me in his quivering rage, “You’s even watching over my shoulder when you’s dead.” He threw down the tool and stepped out of the hole. With two fingers, he flicked my eyes shut. I was again engulfed in the darkest of nights. The only sounds I heard were his grunts and the shovel digging my grave deeper.

  Oh God! What about Frank, Gloria, and Abby? What will become of my babies? The tears ached to flow, but nothing seemed to work anymore.

  * * *

  I came to with welts crisscrossing my body. My muscles ached and the drunk lashed out at me again.

  “Well if that ain’t gonna phase you, this’ll have to do.” He threw down the belt and grabbed Frank’s aluminum bat from between the kitchen counter and entertainment center where he’d stored it after our last encounter. “Time for you to learn a lesson, boy. Remember this?”

  Panic and fear coursed through me as he lifted it over his head. He’d killed people with his hands. I remembered. My imagination conjured the pain of what he’d do with that bat.

  Two small hands appeared from behind him, covering his eyes.

  “Leave him alone, Daddy.” Abigail demanded from her perch on his back.

  The drunk reached up and grabbed her neck and chin in his free hand. “Daddy’s not in the mood to play now,” he muttered through clenched teeth. He twisted his body and flung her off his back. She hit the wall with a loud thump and fell to the ground. “Now where were we?” he asked, turning his attention back to me. The bat gleamed under the ceiling light. “Oh yeah.”

  He brought the bat down like a hammer. I twisted to avoid it, but it slammed into my side with the force of a cannonball. Pain flared, overwhelming my aching groin. He brought it over his head, readying for another blow. I knew I couldn’t take another.
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br />   Summoning the agony from every beating he’d given me, I lunged at the drunk, christening his manhood with my heel. He went to a knee, wheezing. Curling my hand into a fist, I threw it into his face with all the strength I could muster. He brought the bat down on my thigh and the pain enraged me more. Thought was fleeting. I punched him again and again, hitting every place my experiences taught me would inflict the most pain. Blood blossomed on his face and nose, but I wasn’t sure whose it was. Nor did I care. I rained blows onto him… for Helen, Abigail, Vivian, Frank, and for Glory’s innocent eyes that watched his murderous acts. He struggled to push himself up from his knees with the bat. Stooped as he was, I showered him with hatred until he could no longer hold himself up. With each raging impact, he fell closer to the ground. Seeing my chance, I grabbed the bat. He turned a swollen eye to me and lunged for it. I swung it into his face with a crunch. The drunk wilted and fell to the ground.

  “How do you like that, you bastard? How about a bit of your own medicine?” I screamed and brought the bat down on his side and legs. Bone crunched. I smiled. I brought the bat over my head for another swing when a frail hand gripped my shoulder. Vivian stood behind me.

  “Let it go, Alex,” she whispered.

  The tension in my shoulders eased under her touch. I peered down at his prone body and was astonished by the lump of flesh he’d been reduced to. He wasn’t conscious, but still breathed. I looked back at Vivian. Her face was devoid of emotion, but her eyes pitied what she saw. As the adrenalin ebbed, pain took its place. I gritted my teeth and dropped the bat. Abigail lay on the floor for another minute before lifting herself onto unsteady feet. Her eyes glossed over her father’s prone form. She looked at me, then Vivian, but stopped when she looked toward the kitchen. She took a step forward; her legs wobbled. She steadied herself and pointed.

  “Check on Glory.”

  Glory! She hadn’t crossed my mind until that moment. I looked where Abby pointed. In the corner of the kitchen floor was Gloria. She lay still, her blonde hair shrouding her face.