Tag Archives: suspense

Blood on the Tracks

(Author’s note: Just for fun I wrote this story using the titles of all the songs on Bob Dylan’s album Blood on the Tracks. See how many of them you can spot.)
I awoke screaming, tangled up in the blue sheets my wife bought the week before she died. Maybe it was a simple twist of fate the sheet wrapped itself around my neck, cutting off the blood flow through my carotid artery. As I unwrapped the cloth I became aware it was drenched in sweat but my body seemed curiously dry. My hand fumbled across the nightstand to turn on the lamp. Lying face down was her photograph. First thing in the morning I was going to toss it in the trash can. Maybe it was useless. I gave away the last of her clothes to Goodwill, burned all the letters she had written and even gave away her damn cat. All for naught. Memory of her still haunted my dreams.
A year ago I stood on the front porch and held her suitcase. Blubbering, she begged to stay, promising to change any way I wanted. I didn’t want her to change. I just wanted her to go away.
“You’re a big girl now. You don’t need me. You think you do, but you don’t. Why you can get a job and make more than I do. I hear Lily at the diner needs a cook. You’re a good cook. The nursing home lady Rosemary has a sign in the window asking for a chief housekeeper. You keep a damn clean house. Before you know it, some guy with more money than I got will come sniffing around you. That Irish guy Jack O’Hearts stares at your ass every time we go into his billiards hall. One day you’ll be driving down the street in a big Cadillac and you’ll see me walking home from the coal mine. You can laugh at me all you want.”
She pulled at my shirt sleeve. “I don’t understand. Everything was so good when we first got married. All was blue skies and fluffy white clouds.”
“You’re an idiot, wind is blowing in a different direction now.”
“You’ll see me every time you go downtown. You won’t be able to go to the movies, church, nowhere without running into me. I’ll start bawling, and you’ll feel real bad for breaking my heart. What will you do then?”
“Maybe I’ll move out of town. These old mountains depress the hell out of me. Anywhere would be better than this hell hole.”
“You’re gonna make me lonesome when you go.”
She tried to put her arms around my waist but I pushed her away. “You won’t be lonesome. You go see Lily, Rosemary, and Jack O’Hearts. They’ll take care of you.”
Once again she threw her arms around me and clung tight. She was stronger than I thought.
“Meet me in the morning,” she whispered. “You’ll change your mind by then.”
Slinging her suitcase around, I knocked her to the ground and then threw the suitcase out in the dusty street. “What kind of friggin’ idiot are you? Get the hell off my porch!”
Still whimpering she walked down the steps into the street and picked up the suitcase. Her shaking left hand wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her brown eyes darkened.
“I’m gonna tell Lily what you done,” she announced in a hard voice. “She got a lot of men friends who won’t take kindly to what you done.”
“If you see her, say hello.” I smirked at her before turning to go back into the house.
The sky quickly clouded up and a clap of thunder shook the screen down. She came running back on the porch and banged on the door.
“Please give me shelter from the storm!”
Just before I slammed the door in her face, I said, “Go see Jack O’Hearts! He’ll be glad to give you some shelter!”
That night I could not sleep well. Buckets of rain hit the roof, and thunder and lightning filled the sky. But the damn bitch was gone, and I didn’t have to put up with her whining any more. The next morning was clear and bright. Everything washed clean. I fixed my own breakfast like I always did then walked down to the coal mine. All the rain made the shaft muggy though. But enough guys were cracking wise so the time went by fast. At noon we sat under the big oak tree at the bottom of the hill when Lily came running over from her café.
“Is Susiebelle all right?” she asked me.
Taking time to finish chewing my sandwich, I looked at Lily and shrugged. “How would I know? She done walked out on me last night.”
“That ain’t so,” Lily replied, taking a step toward me. “I heard from your neighbors this morning that you kicked her out in the storm.”
“Well,” I said with a smile curling around the corner of my mouth. “It don’t make no difference if she walked out or was kicked out. She ain’t there now.”
“Rosemary said she found a suitcase in front of the nursing home this morning.” Lily put her hands on her hips. “When she opened it she saw all of Susiebelle’s favorite clothes, wadded up and smashed in, like it was done in a hurry.”
“She was always careless like that.” I laughed but noticed all the other guys were putting away their lunch buckets away and walking back into the mine.
Before Lily could say anything else, a holler lit up from downtown by the railroad depot. Her head snapped back to look at the street and then returned her glare to me.
“I tell you, Walter Burchfield. If anything’s happened to that sweet little girl, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”
Nobody talked much through the afternoon down in the mine, which was just as well to me. At the closing bell, I ambled out, only to be greeted by Lily, Rosemary and the sheriff.
“The womenfolk here says you kicked your wife out of the house last night,” the sheriff said.
“What of it? My family life ain’t nobody’s business but my own.” I pushed past them and started home when Rosemary yelled at me.
“I found her suitcase in front of my place.”
“Ain’t my fault if she can’t keep up with her things.” I kept walking.
“Walter Birchfield!” the sheriff shouted. “Stop right there!”
Now I ain’t one to give a damn about what other folks say, but I figured in this case I better behave. Turning around, I took off my cap and said as somber as I could, “Yes, sheriff. Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“After the gully washer last night, the depot clerk found something.”
“And what was that?”
“Blood on the tracks.”
Bowing my head, I said softly. “If Susiebelle got hurt last night, I’m real sorry, but I didn’t mean no harm. I told her Lily or Rosemary could give her a job. I even told her Jack O’Hearts might be interested in marryin’ her. Go talk to Jack. See what he says.”
“Jack O’Hearts ain’t nowhere to be seen,” the sheriff replied. “His room is cleaned out. His billiards hall is locked up tighter than a jug.”
“Well, that settles it then, don’t it?” I said. “She done run off with Jack.”
“She wouldn’t leave her suitcase in the middle of the street,” Rosemarie said.
“And Jack wouldn’t have run off without saying good bye to me,” Lily added.
“Why’s that?”
“’Cause he was my boyfriend.” Lily put her hand to her mouth.
“Were you jealous of Jack, Walter?” the sheriff asked.
“Hell no! I was hopin’ he would run off with my wife. I didn’t want her!”
“And why’s that, Walter?”
“Susiebelle was the sweetest girl in town,” Lily said. “Any man with half a brain would have been proud to have her on his arm.”
“You don’t know that blood on the track is Susiebelle’s.” I was beginning to get a little nervous. “It could be anybody’s blood.”
“Like Jack O’Heart’s?” the sheriff said.
I pursed my lips and stared hard at them. “You ain’t got no bodies. You ain’t got no motive. I kicked her out because I didn’t want her. All you got is blood on the tracks.”
Ever since then everybody’s in town and left me alone, which is just fine with me. Never really liked talking much to the other miners. The sheriff even stopped dropping by the house with questions. I don’t go to Lily’s café anymore. Afraid of what she might have done to my food. Other than that, my life hadn’t changed at all. Most folks nodded and mumbled hello, which was what they had always been their habit. Until tonight. I stared at the blue sheet and wondered how it had gotten around my neck. I got out of bed and checked the front door to make sure it was locked. Looking out the window I noticed a storm coming out the west. By the time I shuffled back to my bed and slid under the covers, I heard rain on the roof. Buckets of rain, followed by thunder and lightning. Before I could settle in and close my eyes I saw the blue sheet twisting up all by itself and snaked its way up to my neck. I tried to shout but nothing came out of my mouth. The blue sheet made two trips around my neck before it started tightening. I gagged, and my vision blurred. Before everything went black I swore I heard Susiebelle’s voice:
“You’re gonna make me lonesome when you go.”

Sins of the Family Chapter Twenty-Nine

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AUTHOR’S WORD OF CAUTION: The climactic last chapter of Sins of the Family is graphically violent. If any reader dislikes criminal acts described with stark details, I recommend not reading it.

John burst through the door and turned on the light, revealing Heinrich stretched out on his bed. Drawing himself up to his full height, John put a hand on Randy’s wiry shoulder. Time at last had come to kill Pharaoh and to be freed of all the agonizing passion which confused his mind.
“Give me the knife.”
“I don’t wanna.” Randy jerked his shoulder away.
“Give me the knife.”
“I wanna slit his throat.”
John’s hand went up, his index finger thrusting upward.
“I am Moses! Give me the knife!”
With reluctance Randy handed it over, but his face darkened with growing hatred.
“Pharaoh!” John began to stride toward the bed. “Your hour of judgment has come.” He paused. “Pharaoh. Answer me.”
When no answer came, Mike and Randy loped over and peered around John at Heinrich on his bed, his eyes bulging wide and his hands still clutching at his bosom. His dried lips stuck to his yellowed teeth as his mouth gaped opened.
“He’s dead.” John shook his head in disbelief.
“Why, he’s just an old man.” Mike giggled as he punched Heinrich’s belly with his beefy fist.
“He ain’t no bad guy, like you said.” Randy spat in disgust.
“How dare you deny me my vengeance?” Bewilderment etched John’s tormented features. All this time, all this killing, and Pharaoh was not his to punish. He jumped on the bed and straddled the old man’s body. “How dare you rob me of my mission?”
“Forget it, Moses.” Mike turned away and laughed. “He’s dead.”
“I will not be stopped!” John screamed in hysteria as he held the knife high above his head. Once again, in his mind, he was the naked warrior standing on the stairs’ top step at the trading post, a growing tree limb behind him. He held his knife high then also, as he looked down with contempt on his own father’s flabby body. His father had to be punished for not following Cherokee ways and for persecuting him because he did want to follow the old ways. Now this other fat old man must pay for his sins. With a war whoop, John brought his knife down and slashed into the corpse.
***
Outside, coming down the dark mountain lane lined with antique and craft shops, a police car made its usual late night rounds. The officers slowed to notice the waterwheel lights were still on.
“The last time Mrs. Schmidt left her lights on after eleven was when the old man had his stroke,” one officer said to the other.
“Yeah, we better check this out.”
***
Inside the bedroom, Bob hugged Jill as he watched John over and over again plunge his knife into Heinrich. Blood splattered everywhere, speckling John’s deranged face.
“Hey, stop it.” Randy hunched his shoulders. “It’s just an old man.”
“No.” John shook his head with delirious determination. “I shall end injustice.”
“Hey.” Mike focused on Jill and smiled. “I think I’m gonna get the princess.”
“No, you won’t.” Bob pushed Jill behind him.
Laughing, Mike knocked him to the floor. When Bob tried to rise, Mike pulled back his foot and kicked him hard in the gut, sending him across the room gagging and gasping for air.
“Come on, baby,” Mike murmured as he stepped up to Jill and put his hands on her slender shoulders.
Her face twisted in abhorrence, she knocked his hands off and punched his mouth.
“I like it when they fight back.” Mike smiled.
Bringing her knee into his groin, which doubled him over with a moan, Jill rushed over to Bob who was pulling himself up on his haunches. Before she could help him to his feet, Mike pulled her hair, causing her to fall to the floor. As Bob stood, Mike kicked him in his gut again, sending him back down. Groaning and holding his midsection, he looked across the room to see Randy drag John off the bed.
“Stop it!” Randy said, grabbing the bloodied knife.
“No.” John was dazed.
“Shut up!” Randy thrust the knife into John’s belly. “I’m sick and tired of you telling me what to do!”
He twisted its blade up under John’s rib cage. Bob watched the fury in Randy’s eyes as he glared at the man who had called himself Moses. John’s face hardly changed expression when the knife entered and even appeared relieved as he sank to the floor.
“Stupid Moses,” Randy muttered.
Bob rose with deliberation to his knees again. In front of him he saw Randy kick John’s body. To the side he saw Jill trying to sit up as Mike straddled her, her hands grasping at his face to scratch it. Mike slapped her hard.
“That’s enough fighting.” Mike pulled down his pants and positioned himself between Jill’s legs.
If Bob were going to save their lives he had to do it now. A glint of the knife blade in the ceiling light caught his attention. He needed it to stop Mike from attacking his wife. At one time, the blood dripping from a sharp edge would have triggered cringing and running away, but not now.
“You ain’t so high and mighty now, are you, Moses?” Randy kicked John’s lifeless body again.
His body imbued with total outrage, Bob leaped forward, and with both hands clinched into fists he hit Randy on the nape of his neck, causing the boy to drop the knife as he fell to his knees. Bob grabbed the knife, reached around Randy’s face with one hand, pulling it back, and slashed his throat with the other. As blood spurted out, he looked around the room to see nothing but blood. Heinrich’s abdomen was a puddle of blood. John sprawled in a pool of blood. And as Bob threw Randy’s body to the floor, blood gushed from his throat. With the knife in his hand, he glared at Mike and knew he had to attack him next. What was right or wrong did not matter any more. He had to save Jill’s life. She was worth more than any of the others, including himself.
“Oh, baby, this is gonna be good,” Mike said as he unbuttoned Jill’s blouse, oblivious to the fact his brother had just been murdered. His big hands pawed her.
Bob grabbed Mike’s dirty brown hair and yanked his head back, pulling the knife deep across his throat.
“What the…” His words were lost in gurgling blood spewing from his mouth. Mike flexed his thick shoulder muscles to throw Bob off his back. As he turned he caught sight of his brother’s body lying in a pool of blood.
“Randy?” His voice sounded pitifully sad until it descended into a snarl.
With a bellow he pounced on Bob, heaving him to the floor and straddling his chest. Mike’s hands closed around Bob’s neck.
“You killed my brother!”
Squinting to keep Mike’s blood from dripping into his eyes, Bob secured the knife with both hands and thrust upward with all his strength into the hard hairy belly. As Mike’s grip on his neck tightened, Bob pushed the knife in again and twisted it. Blood gushed from the teen-ager’s mouth onto Bob’s face. Finally Mike’s grasp loosened, his eyes glazed, and a last wheeze escaped his bloodied lips. He collapsed on Bob who rolled him off with a grunt. Bob looked with vacant eyes at Jill who stared back, her fingers absently trying to button her blouse. He became aware of voices in the background.
“Mrs. Schmidt, we saw your lights on and–
“In there. In there,” Greta said with urgency.
“What is it?”
Bob heard steps coming into the room. He turned to see Greta and two policemen, standing in the doorway, their faces aghast at the scene.
“Oh no,” Greta said, her hands going to her cheeks.
“What’s going on here?” one of the officers asked.
Numbly, Bob stood, took a few steps toward them and handed the knife to the policemen.
“I just killed two men.”
Looking down at Jill, he contorted his face in agony and began to cry. She reached up to pull him down to her. Sitting aright she held his sobbing head close to her. Jill’s eyes roamed the room as Bob clutched her waist. Her lips crinkled, and her chest began to heave, and, tears poured down her cheeks. Greta went to them, crouching and putting her strong arms around them.
“My babies, my babies,” she said, kissing their foreheads.

Sins of the Family Chapter Twenty-Seven

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Their car pulled back on the highway and started down the Tennessee side of the mountain toward Gatlinburg. Bob and Jill were in the front seat next to John who was driving. In the back, Randy sat close behind them with his knife drawn and alternately tickling their necks. Mike licked his lips, reached down for another can but found the bag empty.
“We ain’t got no beer.”
“Not now.” John clinched the steering wheel. “We’re almost to Pharaoh.”
Randy’s eyes darted from his brother to John. He hated Moses. John did not care about him and his brother. They did a lot of mean things for him, and he did not care if they wanted a beer or not. Randy did not really want more beer, but his brother did. Or maybe he did crave a beer. Beer helped him forget, and right now Randy wanted to forget how mad he was at Moses.
“I want a beer too.”
“I said no. Now be quiet. We’re entering Gatlinburg, and traffic makes me nervous.”
Pulling his legs up into his chest, Randy looked out the window as the car pulled through a green light, out of the park’s darkness and into the brightness of the tourist town’s busy main street, lined with shops, restaurants and hotels. He saw people on the street, laughing and having fun. He saw fathers holding their sons’ hands. No one ever held his hand, laughed or had fun with him, which made Randy even madder.
“Stop for beer, or I’ll cut her.” Randy grabbed Jill around her neck and flashed his knife across her face, causing her to gasp.
“Don’t be foolish,” John said in contempt.
“Yeah,” Mike added. “If he kills her, you won’t know how to get to Pharaoh, and you wouldn’t like that, would you, Moses?”
“Very well.” Looking for a convenience store, he spotted one on the left side of the street. Several minutes passed before traffic cleared so he could turn into a well-lit parking lot. Mike and Randy opened the door. “How are you going to pay for it?”
“What?” Mike looked back at John with a quizzical smile.
“With this,” Randy said, pumping his knife into the air.
“There are at least twenty people in that store. Were you planning to kill them all? Do you think all twenty would stand by and let you rob the store? Don’t you think someone would call police and give them your descriptions and the license number from this car?”
Randy stared at him, not understanding all John’s words which made him hate him even more.
“The Joshua and Caleb of old would have never made such stupid blunders,” John said with a sneer.
“Stop calling us those stupid names,” Randy muttered as he put his knife away. He did not like to be called stupid, even though deep in his heart he knew he was stupid, or else his mother would have never left him alone on the side of a road.
“Just give us money,” Mike said with cheer.
“I don’t have any money,” John replied.
Randy’s eyes darted to Bob. This man had money and was too much of a coward to fight back. He grabbed Bob’s hair, pulling his head back with all his strength. Jill suppressed a cry.
“You got money.”
“Give him your wallet, Bob,” Jill said.
“Yeah.” Randy yanked his hair again. “Do what she says or I’ll cut you bad.”
Reaching down to his pocket, Bob pulled out his wallet and held it up. Mike grabbed it and lunged from the car.
“Great. Now we can get some beer,” he said.
“Scaredy cat.” Randy threw Bob’s head forward. “Don’t move.” He brandished the knife in his face. “If you and her try to run I’ll cut your guts out. I don’t care how many people are standing around.”
***
After Randy left, Bob looked over at John who was staring out of his window. Harold failed to convince him to stop his mission, but Bob felt he had to make an effort or else they too would be murdered. He cleared his throat.
“Dr. Lippincott told me about their drinking problem.”
“That doesn’t concern you,” John said.
“He said once they start drinking they’re dangerous.”
“All the more reason for you and your wife to cooperate.”
“They’ll be dangerous for you too.” Bob paused. “It’s obvious you already don’t have power over them. They killed Dr. Lippincott when you wanted him alive. They’ve forced you to stop for beer when you wanted to keep driving. Don’t you think it’s time to end all this? Let’s stop at the police station, and then we’ll be safe. We pass right by it on our way to Jill’s grandparents’ house. You’ll be safe too. You’ll be safe from the boys.”
“I can control them.”
“Are you sure?” Jill asked.
“You, of all people, should do everything in your power to make sure I can control them.” He looked at her with an ominous glare.
Soon Mike and Randy were back in the car, giggling and slurping down cans of beer. After John pulled onto the street he glanced at Jill.
“Now where is Pharaoh?”
“He lives in the arts and crafts community on the other side of Gatlinburg, on the road to Cosby,” she replied.
Bob looked out his window at the contented vacationers with small sleepy children on their shoulders. They clung to stuffed black bears, wooden rifles and cones of cotton candy. Bob observed that as they waited at a red light he could call out to passersby if he rolled down his window.
“Don’t try to involve those people out there.”
Bob jumped, a bit startled that John in fact had read his mind, and turned towards him.
“Remember, Caleb has a knife and will use it on your wife at my command.”
“My name’s Randy.” He slid down in the seat to drink his beer.
“Yeah, Randy, Randy, candy, dandy, Randy, Randy,” Mike said.
“Shut up!” He jabbed his brother with his bony elbow.
“That hurt.” Mike turned toward a window and swallowed. “That girl there, walking down the street, she’s pretty.”
The passengers remained silent for the rest of the car’s stop-and-go trip through lit downtown. At last, the car picked up speed onto a darker stretch of highway.
“Turn left at the stop light near the supermarket,” Jill said in a blank tone.
“Thank you.”
An even dimmer street emerged. Old homes converted into antique and craft shops were shuttered because they closed earlier than the downtown T-shirt and souvenir stores. A startling exception was the multicolored lights on the rotating waterwheel on the side of the Schmidt house.
“That’s it,” Jill said.

Sins of the Family Chapter Twenty

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Bob sat across from Harold, leaning forward, his brow knitted in concern. The doctor sat back, his hands together in front of his face and his eyes studying Bob with distrust.
“Yes, it’s definitely John Ross, and the two teen-agers who murdered an elderly woman in Boone. They’re FAS.”
“FAS?”
“Fetal alcohol syndrome.”
“Oh.”
“You can tell by their looks.” Opening the brothers’ files, Harold pulled out their pictures and showed them to Bob. “They’re high grade mental defectives.”
“Does that explain the violent behavior?”
“Partly.” Harold put the pictures away and pulled out a report. “In my talks with them I found little understanding of right and wrong. Also, they are alcohol intolerant.”
“They have blackouts.”
“Yes.”
“Does John Ross know they’re alcoholics?” Bob sat back in the chair. “And does he know about they killed the widow?”
“He knows about her murder. I don’t know if he’s aware of their alcohol intolerance.”
“If he doesn’t, and he lets them have beer, for instance, he might be setting them up for another violent incident.”
“Even if he does know, he might give them beer to make them do whatever it is he has on his mind.”
“But what if once they’re drunk they decide they want to do something different than what John wants them to do?”
“That’s the problem, for both us and John Ross.”
“In other words, he’s got a ticking time bomb with him which he can use to blow up someone else or it may blow up in his own face.”
***
John turned off the interstate highway onto an old state road, winding through the lower Appalachians on his way back to the North Carolina State Mental Hospital. Jill tried to relax, but still peered into John’s eyes, trying to how decipher this man who had some unholy mission against her grandfather. Randy was rolled up in his fetal ball, while Mike hung over the seat staring like a vulture.
“We need gas,” John said.
“Good.” Mike smiled. “I want more beer.”
“Do you want anything?” John looked at Jill.
“No.” She folded her arms and looked straight ahead. She wanted to go home but knew he was not going to give her that.
“Hey.” Mike punched Randy. “Want some beer?”
“Yeah.” Randy raised his head, rubbed his eyes and smiled.
“We always want some beer.” Mike laughed and nuzzled Jill’s hair which caused her to shiver in revulsion.
***
Harold escorted Bob to the cafeteria. They passed several patients who stopped to say hello to the doctor and gossip about other patients who were not following the regulations, or to complain about unnamed attendants who were being callous by forcing them to adhere to the rules. The doctor nodded with forbearance and told them to remember to tell him again about their grievances during their next session. In between interruptions, Harold tried to fill in Bob on what happened immediately before their escape, including the incident with the broken television.
“I don’t understand.” Bob frowned as he paid for his coffee. “Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know.”
As they sat with their coffee in the cafeteria, they continued to figure out what incited John. George came in for his break, buying coffee and a honey bun. Harold waved him over to their table.
“George, you were in the day room that day,” Harold said. “Do you know what could have made John Ross break the television?”
“It was the show on the TV,” he replied, munching his snack. “It was news, but I don’t know what channel.”
“What time was it?” Bob asked.
“It was five-thirty.” George slurped his coffee.
“Why are you so sure?” Bob leaned toward the attendant.
“I was on my way to clock out.”
“That’s the time my news show is on,” Bob said.
“But aren’t all news shows on at the same time?” Harold asked.
“We’re on for an hour and a half beginning thirty minutes before other stations. It’s a marketing ploy.”
“Do you remember what would have been on that day that would have upset John so much? It was about two months ago.”
“A former Nazi.”
***
Dusk was coming as John pulled into a small convenience store sheltered by tall pine trees. Mike and Randy jumped from the car and ran to go to the rest room while John with careful force took Jill’s arm and guided her inside. The clerk, a handsome young man, stood behind the counter, looked up and smiled.
“Evening, folks.”
“Hello.” John smiled as he tightened his grip on Jill’s arm.
“How can I help you?”
“I need gasoline. Ten dollars.” He looked at Jill and tried to appear affectionate. “Think that’s about right, dear?”
“Fine.” Fear and apprehension crossed her face.
“Okay.” The clerk punched the amount into his cash register and then he assessed Jill’s condition. “Are you all right, ma’am? You don’t look good.”
John squeezed her arm even harder.
“No. I’m all right.” Her eyes darted from the attendant to John and back again.
The young clerk cocked his head with curiosity and was about to say something when Mike and Randy bounded from the rest room.
“I want some ice cream,” Mike said as he went to a refrigerated chest.
Whatever the clerk was going to say to Jill must have slipped his mind as he smiled at Mike.
“Just slide up the top.”
“I can’t get it up.” Mike tugged at it.
“I said slide it up, not pull it up.” The clerk came around the counter and went to Mike. “I said slide it up, not lift.”
Randy was circling around the clerk’s back, beginning to unbuckle his belt and pull it from his jeans. Jill saw what was happening and began to cry out, but John twisted her arm. A bell on top of the door rang as another customer entered. The clerk looked up and smiled, just as he slid the ice cream chest top up. Frowning, Randy returned his belt to his waist.
“How’s it going tonight, Pete?” The customer was about the clerk’s age but was somewhat overweight.
“Just fine, Bill,” Pete said. “Got a date for the dance tomorrow night?” He looked at Mike. “There you go.” He returned to the counter.
“Naw,” Bill said. “I don’t think I’ll go.” He looked around at the others and then whispered, “Got some cigarette papers?”
Pete gave his friend a disapproving glare and then turned to a shelf behind the counter and took out a pack of cigarette papers.
“You still use that stuff?”
Bill handed him a couple of bills.
“That stuff’s going to kill you.”
“Oh, stop preaching at me. See you later.”
Pete handed him his change and smiled.
“See you.”
John watched Bill as he opened his car door, entered and drove off. Pete caught John’s eye and nodded.
“Pump’s all set. You can pump your gas.”
Randy pulled the knife from the front of his jeans and threw it, hitting Pete in the middle of his chest. His eyes wide with shock, Pete moaned, staggered toward the end of the counter and fell, his hand grabbing a display of Mr. Peanut snacks which came crashing to the floor. Running over to Pete’s body, Randy pulled the knife out, stuffed his pockets with little bags of peanuts from the floor and then hurried to the cash register where he grabbed as many bills as he could. Mike walked over, gnawing on an ice cream bar and picked up some peanut bags.
“Be sure to get all the money,” John said. “We’ll need it.”
“And beer,” Mike added. “Let’s get some more beer.”
With her free hand, Jill slapped John, pulled away and ran for the door.
“Get her!” he screamed at Mike and Randy who were preoccupied at the cold beer section.
“Stupid woman,” Randy said, and he ran for her, followed by Mike guzzling a can of beer.
Jill was out the door and scrambled into the woods behind the convenience store, stopping several yards into the thick brush to catch her breath and peeked around to see if Mike and Randy were far behind. Her mind raced trying to figure out how to escape them. She jumped when she heard voices muttering nearby.
“Which way did she go?” Mike’s voice was charged with energy.
“That way,” John barked.
“I don’t like her,” Randy muttered.
Jill crawled under a rhododendron bush as she heard them hurrying toward her. They paused, said something incoherent then stalked away. She stood and turned to scamper in another direction but stopped when she heard herself step on a branch and crack it.
“What was that?” John’s head turned.
“I don’t hear nothing,” Mike replied.
“She went there.” With determined steps, John started back the other way.
Fear welled in Jill’s head, and she could not think rationally. All she could do was run, not remembering from which way she had come. Out of the shadows Mike tackled her, slamming her down on the soft, moist pine needles. The smell of the ice cream, peanuts and beer on Mike’s breath made Jill gag and heave.
“That was foolish,” John said as he sauntered up.
“Boy, she feels nice and soft.” Mike rolled Jill over and planted his beefy body on top of hers.
“I say we slit her throat.” Randy arrived and bent down to put his knife to her neck. “We don’t need her no more.” He pressed the sharp edge into her skin, almost to the point of puncture. “She told us where that guy is.”
“No,” John said. “She’s our means to force him to take us to Pharaoh.”
Randy spat into Jill’s hair as he stood and put the knife back into his jeans.
As John began to walk away, Randy pulled back his foot and kicked Mike hard in the side, sending him reeling off Jill.
“Get up!”
“Come,” John called over his shoulder, “we must go.” He looked at Randy. “Caleb, bring the woman.”
Jerking her up by the arm pit, Randy glared into Jill’s eyes and whispered, “I don’t like you.”
***
Harold and Bob sat in his office trying to piece together the puzzle of how John Ross escaped, why he was angry at Heinrich Schmidt and what he planned to accomplish. The building was quiet with the departure of the day staff.
“Where do you think they are?” Bob asked.
“I don’t know.”
“My report said Mr. Schmidt lived in Gatlinburg.”
“We can notify police there.” Harold picked up his phone, dialed nine one one but the line was dead. He sighed. “Well, there’s nothing else we can do tonight.”
“Was there anything in your sessions with John Ross to give you an indication he might do this?”
Again someone questioned his judgment. First there was his father, then George and now some young television reporter. Maybe Bob somehow recognized problems in the Rosses’ house. Maybe everyone was aware of his parents’ hysterical outbursts. Only Harold did not comprehend how they had affected their son. He held finger imagining the pang of the glass puncture, expecting to see a drop of blood there. He then stared into Bob’s eyes.
“Do you think I’m a bad doctor?”
“What?” Bob blinked.
“Sometimes I think I’m a bad doctor.”
“What could any other doctor at an overcrowded state mental hospital have done to prevent a patient from escaping?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t either.” Bob paused to smile. “Maybe more security around the building, but you can’t hire more guards, can you?”
“No, I can’t. It’s not in the hospital budget.” Harold sighed. “I think I need to go home.”
“That’s a good idea,” Bob said. “It’s been a long day. I just got married, and this is supposed to be our honeymoon. ”
Harold laughed as he opened the door, and they walked into the hall. One of the night attendants ran up.
“Doctor, all the phone lines are down.”
“Yes, I know. When I get home I’ll call the telephone company.”
“What do you think caused it, doctor?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He patted the attendant’s back. “It’ll be fixed in an hour or two.” The parking lot was empty and foggy, eerily lit by lampposts. Harold walked Bob to his car. “I’ll call Gatlinburg police when I get home to have the Schmidt residence put under surveillance.”
“I think not, Dr. Lippincott.” John stepped from the shadows holding Jill’s arm. Mike and Randy stood behind them, each sucking on a can of beer. “That’s why we cut the phone lines, so no one could contact police.”
Mike giggled and then belched.
“Oh no. Jill.” Bob focused on her face. He could tell she was afraid even though she was very good at hiding her emotions.
“John,” Harold said with fake bravado, “I’m glad to see you’ve returned. Let’s go inside.”
“I’m not back, doctor.” John smiled. “You know that.”
“What are you doing with my wife?” Bob asked.
“We went to Knoxville to find you,” John explained, dragging Jill further into the lamppost light. “To have you take us to Pharaoh.”
“Pharaoh?” Bob shook his head.
“Grandpa,” Jill interpreted.
“You are the granddaughter of Pharaoh?” John turned to her, his eyes lit with the power of new knowledge. “This is better than I thought.”
“You mean she’s like a princess or something?” Mike stepped closer to Jill and leered.
“Shut up.” Randy hit Mike hard on his shoulder.
“Ouch. Stop hitting me.”
“You must be hungry, Mike,” Harold said. “Why don’t you come in? We’ve got ice cream.”
“Oh, I’ve had lots of ice cream. And beer.”
Bob and Harold exchanged glances.
“Take us to Pharaoh,” John demanded.
“He lives too far away to get there tonight.” Bob looked down.
“You said he lives in Gatlinburg,” John countered.
“You lie.” Randy took a step toward Bob. “Just like all other bad people in the world. Lie.” He shot a hot glare at Harold. “You lie too.”
“I didn’t lie, Randy,” Harold said.
“I ain’t Randy no more. My name is…” He looked at John, his eyes blank.
“His name is Caleb.” He focused on Bob. “Take us to Pharaoh.”
“Not until you let go of my wife.”
“I’ll slit her throat.” Randy pulled out the knife and held it to Jill’s neck.
“I think we better do as they want,” Harold said.
They entered Jill’s car with John behind the wheel and Randy and Harold next to him in the front seat. Mike, Bob and Jill sat in the back. The brothers popped open two more beers and began drinking.
“I’m sorry I told them where you were.” Jill looked at Bob.
“That’s all right.” He stroked her cheek. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I wanna do that, but she won’t let me.” Mike leaned over, breathing beer and peanuts on them.

Sins of the Family Chapter Nineteen

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“I gotta go,” Mike said as he sat up the car’s back seat next to Randy who snored. John arose from the front seat, rubbing his eyes. After their encounter at the camp ground, he had pulled off the road to allow them to sleep a few hours. Driving again he noticed a convenience store in the distance and glanced at the gas gauge.
“We’ll stop here.”
A clerk, tall, rangy and with too many pimples, mopped the floor as John, Mike and Randy walked in. He looked up and smiled.
“Hello.”
“Hello,” John replied without a smile.
“Can I help you?”
“I need gas.”
“I gotta go,” Mike said.
“I can set you up for pump one, sir, and the rest room is through that door and to the right,” he said.
Mike disappeared through the door, and John went out to pump his gasoline. Randy wandered around, looking at displays of candies, chips and beer.
“You guys on the road all night?” He smiled with good nature and resumed his mopping.
“What do you want to know for?” Randy asked suspiciously.
“No reason.” He ducked his head and concentrated on his scrubbing.
Soon John returned from pumping gasoline and went to the counter to pay. Mike appeared from the restroom zipping his denim jeans. He noticed an ice cream case.
“Hey! I wanna get some ice cream!”
The clerk looked over at Mike, his mouth agape at the wide selection of brightly wrapped frozen confections before him.
“Just slide the cover up,” he said.
“I can’t get it up.”
The boy with pimples sighed and propped his mop against the wall. Randy circled around him, unbuckling his belt. By the time the tall, clerk was at the ice cream case, Randy had his belt off and looped, ready to lob it over the guy’s head.
“No, no,” he said. “I said slide, not lift.”
Randy slid his belt around the clerk’s neck and tightened it, causing the young man to gag, spit, and kick violently against the ice cream case. As Randy wrestled him to the rough wooden floor, squeezing his belt and making the clerk’s face turn purplish red, Mike slid open the top of the case and took out an ice cream bar, opened it and began to eat.
“Yeah, I know,” he said with a laugh. “Slide, not lift.”
The clerk’s kicks became less and less violent until they stopped, his last gasp left his lips, and his body went limp. Randy released the dead man’s head, turned to a magazine rack and picked up a girlie magazine to flip through.
“I want some of these books,” he muttered. “And some beer.”
“Yeah, me too.” Mike wiped dripping ice cream from his chin as he headed for a beer display.
John walked around the counter to open the cash register, pulling as many bills out as he could.
“Get anything you want, but hurry.” As an afterthought, he selected a carton of cigarettes from a rack behind the counter.
Each brother grabbed a six-pack of beer and turned for the door. Mike paused long enough to stare at the dead clerk’s bulging, glazed eyes.
“He don’t have as much spit as the other one did.”
As John drove along Interstate 40 near the Tennessee-North Carolina border, he smoked a pack of cigarettes as he pondered his mission, and wondered if he had chosen his compatriots with prudence. They did not seem to understand the difference between killing because they had to and murdering just because they could get away with it. And they did drink more beer than anyone could ever enjoy. He looked over his shoulder to see them asleep, almost childlike in their slumber. Concentrating on the road again, John dismissed his doubts as he remembered the first Moses. His own brother Aaron built a golden calf while Moses was on Mount Sinai receiving the Ten Commandments. Like the first Moses he would overcome any setbacks brought about by the failings of his followers.
Eventually, Knoxville’s skyline appeared on the horizon. John became aware of an ache encompassing his skull after the long cold drive. He noticed a man getting out of a large sedan at a deserted bowling alley parking lot. John pulled in next to him and got out of his car.
“Excuse me, sir.”
The fleshy man, in his late thirties, wearing lime green polyester slacks and a pullover knit plaid shirt that had trouble hiding his hairy navel, turned to smile. Even in the autumn chill, perspiration beaded his brow. “Yes?”
“Will you tell me the location of the television station that broadcasts news hosted by Bob Meade?”
“Sure.” The man turned to point down the street. “You take this road and turn left ten blocks from here and go another four blocks. You know, I was a journalism major in college. I could do a better job than Meade, but my uncle, Pinky Pinkney, the famous bowler, wanted me—“
“Do you have any aspirin?” John said.
Mike and Randy roused from their sleep, rubbed their eyes and leaned out the window, focusing their wide-spaced eyes on the talkative man.
“Great, fantastic.” He motioned for John to follow him. “I was just about to open the bowling alley, Pinky Pinkney Lanes. He’s my uncle, you know, and a very famous bowler. I run it. Up until recently I edited Pinky Pinkney’s World of Bowling magazine. Maybe you’ve heard of me. I’m Joe—“
“The aspirin?” John repeated, losing his patience.
Mike and Randy started laughing. Joe looked at them.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. The aspirin?”
“Great. Fantastic.” Joe began walking toward the bowling alley. “Come on in.”
As John, Mike and Randy followed Joe past the lanes, he waved his arm.
“Thirty-five lanes. The most in the state of Tennessee.” Leading them into a small office, Joe bent over to go through his desk. The knit shirt rode up, revealing the hair on the small of his back. “Oh yes. I’ve done quite well in the bowling industry.” He paused to catch his breath and to shuffle papers around in a drawer. “Now where is that aspirin?”
Randy moved close to John. “Is that Pharaoh?”
“No,” John replied in a whisper, shaking his head. “He’s just someone who talks too much.”
Randy moaned, and John noticed his dull little brown eyes narrowed in anger as he stepped up to Joe.
“Caleb,” John said, hissing, “don’t.”
“Ah, here it is.” Joe picked up the aspirin and turned, smiling. “I’d still be running the magazine if it hadn’t folded. Incompetent staff—“
Joe’s eyes widened as Randy rammed the hunting knife into his gut. He looked at John, uncomprehending. Randy jerked his knife up under the rib cage, and Joe groaned before falling on the floor.
“Like a stuffed pig, eh?” Mike patted his brother on the back and laughed.
Randy wiped blood from his blade on Joe’s lime green polyester pants, and then looked with apprehension at John.
“He was awake, so it was okay to kill him, right?”
“No, it wasn’t okay. All I wanted was aspirin.” John leaned down to pick up the aspirin bottle. “We weren’t going to rob him.”
“I didn’t like him, anyway,” Randy said.
“We can’t kill everyone we don’t like,” John said in suppressed anger. “Caleb, don’t kill anyone unless I tell you, understand?”
“Okay,” Randy replied, mumbling.
“Not okay,” John said, correcting him. “Say yes, Moses.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, who?”
“Yes, Moses.” Randy’s eyes narrowed again.
Within an hour, John found the television station, parked and walked through a double glass door, followed by Mike and Randy who had just finished the last beer in their six-packs. Looking around, John focused on a desk where a middle-aged woman with flaming red-dyed hair sat. A sign hanging from the ceiling read “Information.” He walked to her with efficient determination.
“I want to talk to Bob Meade.”
“He’s not in right now.” The receptionist smiled.
“When will he be in?”
“I really couldn’t say.” She batted her eyes.
“You mean you won’t say.” He stepped closer.
“I really don’t know what you mean.”
“I demand to see Bob Meade.” John slammed his hand down on her desk.
“I told you he’s not in the building.” The smiled faded from her face. “Now if you don’t leave, I’ll call security.”
“Very well.” John stared hard, deciding he should avoid a confrontation with the police. When he tried to fight the police he always lost and ended up back at the mental hospital. Then he would never find Pharaoh. “Good day.” He nodded before turning to leave.
“I gotta go.” Mike rubbed his crotch and looked around.
“Me too.” Randy frowned.
John scanned the doors in the foyer until he saw the sign to the men’s room.
“There it is.”
They ambled over and went in while John waited outside the door, continuing to stare at the receptionist who was punching buttons on her intercom.
“Hurry,” she muttered. “Hello, security? This is the front desk. Get up here fast. Those escaped mental patients are here.” She frowned. “Of course, I’m sure. I’d recognize the scar on his forehead anywhere.”
John touched his head and turned away, wishing the boys would hurry in the restroom. They needed to leave, but he still wanted to find Bob Meade. Maybe the red-haired woman would talk under pressure. At that moment John saw two women enter, one very young and attractive. The other was the older woman from the television news.
“Come up stairs with me, Jill,” Joan said laughing, “and I’ll give you this picture of Bob I have in my drawer.”
John’s head snapped to attention when he heard the name Bob.
“It’s a candid shot. He was looking up from his desk with the sweetest, most innocent expression on his face.” She led Jill to the elevator. “I know I give him a hard time, but between you and me I always had this Mrs. Robinson fantasy about him.”
Jill laughed as they entered the elevator.
“I’ll have to keep an eye on you now, knowing you have a thing for my husband.”
John’s eyes narrowed as the elevator closed. Her husband, he repeated to himself. This must be the wife of Bob Meade, the man who could take them to Pharaoh. She would be a valuable asset in persuading him to do John’s will. They could not approach her here because the red-haired woman had already alerted security guards. They must leave and watch for her outside. John opened the rest room door to hear Mike and Randy laughing and splashing water at each other.
“Quick! We’ve got to go!”
“We was having fun,” Mike said.
“Joshua and Caleb. Now,” John ordered.
The boys came out of the rest room and followed John outside. Dodging traffic, they crossed the street and trotted down the block. Looking back, John spied Jill emerging from the station. He pushed the brothers down behind the car they had stolen.
“Is she gonna take us to Pharaoh?” Mike asked, peeking up.
“Yes.”
A security guard and the red-haired receptionist ran out door and stopped Jill as she was about to step from the curb. They both looked around. John edged closer so he could hear the conversation.
“Where did they go?” the guard questioned.
“Where did who go?” Jill said with a smile.
“The escaped mental patients,” the receptionist replied, fear tinging the tone of her voice. “You know, John Ross and the two boys.”
“He was here?” Jill asked. “Bob’s out looking for him right now.”
“I saw the scar.” The receptionist’s lips quivered.
Subconsciously, John touched his forehead. He became angry that they talked about him as though he were a monster with a scar, a scar inflicted by a monster. He was the monster killer. He was going to kill Pharaoh and free his people from their oppression, and free him from his oppression. Bob Meade’s wife would lead him to her husband, and he would take him to Pharaoh. Then all this misery would be over. What would his life be like without the misery; he wondered but could not even imagine it. No matter, he dismissed the thought and concentrated on the people across the street.
“I think you should come back inside,” the guard advised Jill.
“Don’t worry. John Ross doesn’t even know I’m alive,” she said. “Besides, what would he want with Bob?”
“Ross was very angry when I told him Bob wasn’t here,” the receptionist told her with conviction. “He actually hit my desk with his fist. I thought he was going to do something to me.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be all right,” she said, turning to walk away. “I think Ross would go back to Cherokee. His parents should be notified. They’re in more danger than I am.”
“I’m calling the police,” the guard said. “I’ll ask them to contact the Rosses and put an officer at your apartment.”
“Thank you, but I really don’t think it will be necessary,” Jill said, as she continued walking away.
“Be careful,” the receptionist called out.
John watched as the woman and the guard went back in the building and Jill went to her car. He nodded at the boys, and they ran across the street, catching up with her as she unlocked her door. John pushed Jill into the car and across the seat as he took the wheel. Reaching behind him, he unlocked the back door to let Mike and Randy into the back seat. They sat there, leaning forward, laughing, exposing their brown, rotting teeth and smelling of beer, candy, peanuts and sweat.
“What do you want?” Jill said.
“We wanna slit Pharaoh’s gut.” Randy pulled the hunting knife from his jeans and brandished it in her face.
“Pharaoh?” She shook her head.
“Where is your husband?” John grabbed the key from her hand and stuck it in the ignition.
“Why do you want him?”
“He’ll lead us to Pharaoh.” Gunning the engine, John raced away from downtown Knoxville.
“Who’s Pharaoh?” Jill’s voice was filled more with confusion than fear.
“She wants to know too much.” Randy placed the tip of his knife to her soft chin.
Jumping at his touch, Jill looked at Mike who was pulling her top open. She jerked away and clasped the buttons on her blouse.
“She’s pretty.” Mike laughed as he wiped his runny nose.
“Shut up!” Randy hit his brother with his free hand. “Let Moses talk.”
“Moses?” Jill peered into John’s eyes.
“Your husband talked to Pharaoh on his news program.” He paused. “He was in trouble with the government, but he won. Pharaoh bragged he always won. We will make sure he never wins again.”
“Oh.” Suddenly Jill’s mouth fell open. “Him.”
“Where is Bob Meade?”
“I don’t know.” She looked away, out the window.
“You lie.” Randy grabbed her hair, pulling her head back and exposing her neck to his sharp blade.
“You better tell us, Mrs. Meade.” John smiled with evil knowledge. “Caleb has a temper.”
When she paused Randy pulled her hair again, causing her to gasp.
“He’s in North Carolina, at the mental hospital.”
“There?” Mike spat in disgust. “I don’t want to go back there.”
“Shut up,” Randy said.
“Very good, Mrs. Meade. You may let go of her now, Caleb.”
Randy obeyed, put his knife away, and rolled into his fetal ball in the back seat. Mike continued to lean forward breathing on Jill’s neck.
“Why are you doing this?” She pulled forward to get away from Mike. “The old man hasn’t done anything to you.”
“You sound like a follower of Pharaoh.” John glared at her.
“No.” Jill forced a smile. “I just asked a question.”
The back of John’s neck burned with anger and remembered how sweet vengeance tasted, his triumph over his father, crumpled at his feet, and the acrid sting of blood as it dripped from the knife to his tongue.
“Take care, Mrs. Meade. We may have to sacrifice you to Yo He Wa.”
“All this is making me thirsty,” Mike said. “I want some more beer.”
“Me too.” Randy peeked out of his cocoon with a hopeful eye. “It’s been a long time since I had a beer.”