Sins of the Family Chapter Twenty-Four

Only one vision flashed into Heinrich’s mind, Hans Moeller’s cabin in the Bavarian forest. Once again he was in that room, but this time he was tied to a chair and Greta held the knife which came slashing down into his abdomen. For once in his life, Heinrich comprehended how it felt to be the object of brutality. But even at this point of understanding, he did not atone for his cruelty. Heinrich only pitied himself because Rudolph was the one who had made him feel small. That was why it was so easy for him to torture Hans. As tears streamed down Heinrich’s cheeks, his chest constricted. It was as though Greta, in addition to slapping and kicking him, also were sitting on him. And Rudolph was standing there, smirking at him. Quivering, his hand reached up to his flabby breast.
“Greta.” This time it was a call for help, for compassion. Her laughter reached all the way from their bedroom, and it was not laughter he was used to hearing. Her voice was hard-edged and triumphant like his own laugh when he stood over Hans Moeller’s limp, bleeding body.
“Greta. I’m hurting.” Again he heard the gusty laughter of the victor. No mere female joke on the television could evoke such a full, satisfied sound. Heinrich knew from personal experience. The pain in his chest intensified. His fingernails clawed into his sallow flesh, trying to tear out the offending member of his body. One last time he pleaded, but his voice was only just a whisper.
“Greta.”
***
Randy stood, wiped the bloody knife on his pants and put it away. John ran to join him, stopping short when he saw Harold’s body on the pavement and his blood trickling down the road.
“You fool! I told you not to let him escape, not kill him.”
“He kicked me in the face.”
“He was fighting for his life. You would have done the same.”
“We didn’t need him.”
“He was a good man.” John tried to look away but was transfixed by the blood. “He didn’t deserve to die like that.”
“He was a liar, like all other bad people in the world.”
John slapped Randy full across his face. Randy’s eyes widened with surprise. John slapped him again, even harder. His face reddened in rage borne in frustration. Randy’s impudence and stupidity drove him mad. John could not take the boy’s insubordination any longer.
“I am Moses!” John was hysterical. Spittle flew from his mouth onto Randy’s cheeks. “I decide who lives and dies! You are a follower! I am Moses!”
Mike joined them. His mouth fell open when he saw the doctor’s body on the highway.
“Okay, okay.” Randy looked down and shuffled his feet. “Stop yelling at me.”
“Hey, you killed him,” Mike said, examining Harold’s body. He laughed. “He don’t look so smart now, does he?”
In the distance a car motor’s humming became louder, and headlights flickered across the hills. John turned in that direction.
“A car’s coming.”
“Hey, let’s hide in bushes and watch the car run over his body.” Mike nudged his brother. “I bet it’d make it jump real funny.”
“That would make the car stop,” John said. “We don’t need to involve any more people.”
“We gotta get rid of the body,” Randy said.
“That ain’t no problem at all.” Mike laughed as he bent down to throw Harold’s corpse over his shoulder. He headed for the stone terrace followed by John and his brother.
***
At the bottom of the embankment, hidden by underbrush, Bob and Jill stood and examined themselves for broken bones and scrapes.
“Are you all right?” Bob panted as he put his arm around Jill.
“I think so.” She leaned into him and trembled.
“It’ll be better if we separate.” Bob looked around.
“No.”
Before Bob could reply, a thumping noise and soft tumbling drew their attention upward.
“What was that?” Jill said.
“I don’t know.” He directed his gaze back to her. “You can hide easier without me around.”
“I don’t want to lose you.” She hugged him around his waist.
Harold’s bloodied body crashed through underbrush and came to rest at their feet, his blank eyes staring at them and his throat open with blood coagulating and turning brown. Jill began to scream, but Bob laid his fingers over her lips. After they had a moment to compose their emotions, Bob pushed her away from the corpse.
“Find a crevice, a cave, anything and stay there until morning.”
“What are you going to do?”
“The same thing.”
“I don’t like it.” She shook her head.
“I don’t like the alternative,” he replied, nodding at Harold’s body.
“All right,” she conceded.
“And don’t come out until morning—no matter what you hear.”
“Don’t say that. It scares me.”
“Go,” Bob whispered. “Now. Quick.”
“I love you.” Running back for another hug, Jill grabbed him.
“I love you.” He kissed her with urgency. “Now go.”
Running a few feet, Jill turned to look back. Bob motioned her on, and she vanished in dark brush. With one last swift fleeting look around, he bolted into shadows of rhododendron and cedar trees. Musky stench of decomposed leaves and animal urine filled his nostrils. He tried not to think of smells from the hospital when his mother died. At least it was not quiet, as he listened to deafening song of crickets.
***
Peering into the darkness of the mountain trees, Mike laughed again.
“Did you see how funny he bounced down the hill?”
“Oh, shut up.” Randy shoved him.
“We’ve got to find the others,” John said.
“You shoulda never let them out of the car,” Randy groused.
“Shut up!” John demanded.
Randy glared at him.
“What are you gonna do, Moses?” Mike asked with eagerness.
“There are three of us and only two of them,” John replied in an even tone, regaining his composure. “They can’t have gone too far.”
“So we have to go down there?” Mike peered down the embankment.
“Yes.”
The boys jumped off the asphalt pavement and easily kept their balance as they scampered down the steep ridge. John tentatively followed them. When he arrived at the bottom, John was greeted by a broad grin on Mike’s face and a look of contempt in Randy’s eyes. He did not care for the apparent degeneration of their deference for Moses.
“That way.” John took Mike by his broad shoulders and jerked him to one direction and pushed. When he turned he saw Randy already going in the opposite direction.
“You don’t have to push me around,” he muttered.
John sucked in air and plunged straight ahead. The couple must be caught and forced to lead them to Pharaoh. Once the boys saw how he conquered Pharaoh they would respect him again.
***
Leaves and twigs crackled, causing Bob to stop and lean in the direction of the noise. He understood every fiber of muscle in his body and every rational thought in his brain was required to survive. Sucking in his gut, Bob slid behind a large prickly bush. When he was a child, he knew his father would not have thought he could handle such an ordeal. Maybe he would have more confidence in him now. Bob shook his head, telling himself it made no difference whether his father thought he could survive. All that mattered was surviving.
***
John looked into shadows, listening for some rustling or snapping which his ears could not divine. He cursed his father under his breath for not taking him into forests and mountains when he was a child. He cursed him for not teaching him Cherokee ways, how to track, how to catch prey, how to survive. His father was too preoccupied with dancing for tourists, earning their paltry coins, to raise John to be a proper warrior. If his father had trained him instead of beating him, John now could find his quarry quickly and continue on his mission to find and kill Pharaoh. Pharaoh. He thought of what Harold had said to him about his father being Pharaoh and not some old German man. Maybe he was right. Maybe his father was Pharaoh. John squared his jaw. But that old German was terrible also. He must complete his mission to kill him and then return home to slit his father’s throat, the true Pharaoh.
***
Mike thrashed about in shadowy undergrowth, uncertainty etched on his forehead. Hunting down a mysterious bad guy was no longer exciting. Randy was furious with John or Moses or whatever his name was. Mike always became frightened when people around him squabbled. The sweet oblivion of his beer stupor wore thin, making him thirst for more. He did not want to kill anyone. That was too much work. People looked silly when they had spit running down their chins or blood spurting from their guts, but it was more fun to have another beer.

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