“I still can’t believe it,” Ben said, looking over at me. “She seemed like she was okay.”
We were sitting on my deck, looking over the back yard. Leaves were layered in a spotty carpet across the lawn, piles built up here and there. A wheelbarrow and a pair of broom rakes were still lying exactly where Felicity and I had left them in a rush just a few days before. The cover on the compost pile was thrown back, corner flapping in the gentle breeze. Again, just as we had left it.
The sky was grey with a heavy stratum of clouds. It had rained the night before, but it hadn’t been a major storm front, just a quiet, gentle sprinkle.
A cold, endless, and depressing October sprinkle.
The loamy smell of the damp leaves filled the air, providing an earthy backdrop to the pungent aroma of our cigars. I continued staring out across the lawn, absently thinking about work I needed to be doing and finding a million excuses to avoid it.
“Hey, white man,” my friend prodded quietly. “You hear me?”
“Yeah,” I replied quietly, my voice a thin whisper. “Me either.”
I brought my cigar up and tucked it in the corner of my mouth. I puffed, but nothing happened. I pulled it out and regarded the business end without emotion. I stuck it back between my teeth and reached into my jacket pocket for a match.
My right hand was still wrapped in gauze. Several stitches had been required to close the wounds across my knuckles. There was a hand-shaped bruise square in the center of my chest that had already cycled into several bright shades of purple. My entire body was sore. I didn’t even have to move to feel the aches, and the damp air wasn’t helping. But, it didn’t matter.
I was finding it hard to really care about anything right now.
I fumbled with a wooden match, trying to strike it using my bandaged hand and succeeded only in breaking it in two. Ben reached over and took the box from me, ignited a match, then cupped it in his hand and held it forth so I could re-light my cigar.
I puffed carefully, using my left hand to twist the stogie as I drew on it, then pulled it away and inspected the end, blowing a gentle stream of smoke at the glowing coal.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“Not a problem,” he returned as he shook out the flame and flicked the charred wooden stub over the railing.
“I need a drink,” I announced.
“No you don’t,” he replied.
“Yes I do.”
“Trust me, white man,” he returned. “You don’t. ‘Specially not right now. Give it some time.”
We continued sitting in silence for several minutes. Several feet beyond the deck railing a small flock of birds were pecking at the ground around one of the feeders. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Emily, our calico cat, stalking them.
“Just doesn’t seem right,” he said.
“Can we talk about something else?” I asked, swallowing hard after the words.
“Yeah,” he said, paused, then offered, “Albright’s pissed.”
I couldn’t say much for his choice of new topics, but I went along with it anyway. I didn’t have the energy to do anything else.
“Like I care?” I replied.
He nodded. “Yeah, I know. Guess it was to be expected, huh.”
“She making life hard on you?”
“A bit, but I’ll survive. I always do.”
“Yeah. You do.”
“By the way, talked to Mandalay this mornin’,” he offered. “She asked about ya’.”
“She okay?”
“Yeah. Needin’ ta’ talk. The shooting at the gas station was the first time she’d ever had to kill anyone.”
“And it was a kid.”
“Yeah.”
“She in trouble?”
“A little. She’s on administrative leave. They aren’t too hot on the fact that she left the scene, but considerin’ the circumstances she’ll come out okay.”
“Good.”
“They were brother and sister, you know,” my friend said, switching subjects again.
“Yeah, you told me.”
“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Guess I did.”
I shifted in my chair, trying to get comfortable. I wasn’t succeeding.
“They tested the brother,” he offered. “Got an IQ of fifty-two.”
“Too bad,” I murmured.
“Why do ya’ say that?”
I looked over at him, unable to muster an expression and simply said, “Because with an IQ that low, our judicial system will let the bastard live.”
“Yeah, prob’ly,” he answered, and then sighed before continuing. “The sister is the real sick one.”
“They’re both sick, Ben.”
“Yeah, but the sister is the one behind the whole mess.”
“Is she mentally challenged too?”
“No.”
“Good,” I replied. “Then they can execute her.”
“Yeah, I’m sure the prosecutor will push for it.” He paused and took a puff from his cigar, rolling the smoke around on his tongue before letting it out in a slow stream. He tapped the ash then looked back over to me. “Regular fuckin’ torture chamber they had down in that basement. Crime scene guys said they actually had some kinda current-slash-voltage regulator or somethin’ hooked up to the generator. Kinda like a homemade electric chair.”
“Yeah, they were real experts weren’t they,” I grumbled.
“I guess,” he replied, then added, “Apparently electrocution is pretty painful. The sister liked ta’ see how much the victims could take. That’s her kink. Inflictin’ pain.”
“You’ve got an odd view on changing subjects. Do we really have to talk about this right now, Ben?” I asked.
He frowned and looked away then muttered, “Yeah. I know. Sorry.”
After a short, uncomfortable silence, he spoke again. “So whaddaya wanna talk about?”
“Nothing.”
The heavy silence fell between us again as I puffed quietly on my cigar. I watched on as Emily continued creeping slowly toward the blissfully unaware flock of birds.
“So, what about the brother?” I asked, reopening the wound of my own accord.
“I thought you didn’t wanna talk about it?”
“I changed my mind.”
“Okay, so what about ‘im?”
“He was torturing the women too.”
“He was just doing what his sister told him to do,” my friend said with a mild harrumph. “Still doesn’t get that he was doin’ anything wrong.”
“What about the heads?”
“There were fifteen total,” he replied. “From four different states so far. They’ve identified all of ‘em except three. Missing women dating back six years. We’re still tryin’ ta’ get ‘em ta’ tell us where the rest of the bodies are buried.”
“I meant why did they keep them.”
“Oh. Yeah. Well, it seems big brother thought they were pretty, so he wanted ta’ keep ‘em.”
“Gods…” I murmured.
“Yeah.”
“Any idea why the scattered grave sites?”
“Not yet.”
I turned my head slightly and watched Emily as her tail twitched and her hindquarters danced in preparation to attack. She suddenly uncoiled and sprang forward, missing her mark but sending the flock noisily into the air.
Ben huffed out a breath then asked, “So, what time are you going to the funeral home?”
“About three-thirty,” I replied.
“That’s comin’ up pretty quick.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You know, it ain’t your fault she’s gone, Row. You did everything you could.”
I didn’t answer.
“So… You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll make it.”
I thought I heard a noise and turned to see an auburn-haired vision standing in the open back door. Her hair was pulled up in a loose Gibson girl, neatly pinned in place. She was clad in a solemn black dress and pumps.
“Aye, Rowan,” she said softly. “Come in and change. We have to leave soon.”
“I’ll be right there,” I told her with a nod.
She looked back at me sadly. Her soft face looked like it had been brushed with a tasteful amount of makeup, but it still couldn’t hide the black rim around her eye nor the bruise on her cheek where she’d taken the punch. Fortunately, the burns on her opposite cheek had completely disappeared, as had mine. Would that all injuries healed as quickly and completely as the ethereal ones seemed to do. In that same vein, it was too bad that the emotional scars of the supernatural would never really fade.
I continued to watch as she turned and disappeared back into the house. When she was out of sight, I turned back to the yard and puffed on my cigar.
“Yeah,” Ben muttered again. “The Forest woman really seemed like she was gonna make it when they took ‘er outta that basement. I guess she’d just been through too much.”
“Yeah,” I replied quietly.
“Jeezus, Row, I know it sounds bad, but I’m glad it was her and not… Ya’know… And… And I hate ta’ say it, but I’m just glad she lasted until after the Twilight Zone thing fizzled out… Ya’know? And Firehair didn’t… Well… Ya’know…”
“Yeah, Ben. Me too,” I muttered. “Goddess help me. Me too.”