Grave Intent (19 page)

A look of raw, unabashed hatred flared in the
old man’s eyes. He took a step forward, and his body wobbled as if
he walked on Jell-O. The accusing finger jabbed fervently at
Wilson. “Thief!” he declared in a thunderous voice. “It is you who
has released curse of death!”

Wilson reared back his head. “What the
fuck?”

Michael grabbed his father’s arm, suspecting
he’d spring after the guy any second.

“Let go,” Wilson demanded, yanking his arm
free. “If you got somethin’ to say to me, mister, then you’d better
hurry up and finish sayin’ it because I’m going to call the cops.
You’re trespassing.”

With a gleam in his eye, the old man spat on
the floor. His saliva crackled on the carpet like acid. “You have
taken granddaughter’s passage,” he said, each syllable heavily
accented, the r’s rolling off his tongue with venomous purpose.
“And for that you shall pay.”

Michael cringed. He remembered the pomp and
circumstance the Stevensons had given to the gold coin they had him
place under Thalia’s hands. Ephraim had said something then about
it being her right to passage. Evidently, this man was Thalia’s
grandfather, and somehow he not only knew about the missing coin,
he knew Wilson had taken it. But how? The man would have had to
been at the viewing to know, and Michael was convinced he wasn’t.
No way he would have missed a character like this, especially near
the end of the viewing when there were even fewer people in the
room. Regardless of how the old man knew, from the look on his
face, it was easy to assess that Wilson was in deep shit.

“I don’t know nothing about no
granddaughter’s passage,” Wilson declared to the stranger. “So if
that’s all you got—”

“You will end!” the man bellowed. He lifted
his arms and spread them expansively. “You are to receive but one
warning, and this I give to you now. Unless it be returned to her
before rising of second sun, you shall die without mercy!”

“Whoa, hold on now—” Michael said.

“Now just a goddamn minute—“ Wilson
shouted.

“The second sun,” the old man reiterated
louder. “Return it so granddaughter may find way or it is done,
Wilson Savoy. For you, for—”

“How the hell do you know my—”

“ . . . for anyone who dares possess it. It
shall be done.”

Wilson spun around and faced Michael. “I’ll
show that sonofabitch who’s gonna be done! I’m gonna kick his
ass!”

Although Michael agreed that the old man was
going over the top with the melodrama, he pulled his father close.
“The gold piece,” he whispered in his ear. “That’s what he’s
talking about. That’s what he wants.”

“I don’t give a damn what he’s talking about.
He threatened me!”

Figuring it best to handle the matter
himself, Michael held up both hands and turned to signal a truce to
the stranger.

But the old man was gone.

Bewildered, Michael dropped his hands and
took a cautious step forward. Then another. And another.

When he reached the spot where the stranger
had stood, the only evidence that gave proof the man had even been
there was a depressed set of prints in the carpet. Not the
footprints of a man, however. But those of a dog—a gargantuan,
long-nailed dog.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Janet finished the last of her coffee with a
hard swallow. "—then to top it off, I thought I saw a man behind
her.” she said, keeping her voice low so the girls, now watching
television in the Theriots’ living room, wouldn't hear. The hair on
her arms stood on end as she recalled the event.

"Oh, God," Sylvia gasped, pressing her hands
against the sides of her face.

Janet nodded. “I thought I was going to have
a heart attack right then and there.”

"What did you do?" Sylvia asked.

“You should’ve called me,” Rodney said, a
little too loud. “First thing.”

“Hush,” Sylvia warned.

“Well, she should’ve.”

Sylvia threw her husband a stern glance
before turning her attention back to Janet. “Then what?”

"I ran into the house, grabbed a knife from
the kitchen, then took off for the stairs, yelling like a
banshee."

"Should've called me first," Rodney said with
a shake of his head.

"For heaven's sake, Rodney," Sylvia snapped.
"You think she was gonna stop, pick up the phone, and call you when
all the time she's thinking those babies are just a whiff away from
danger?"

"She'd have had time," Rodney said
indignantly.

Sylvia tsked and turned to Janet. "Then
what?","You’re probably right, Rodney.” Janet reached across the
table and patted his arm. "But I didn’t even think. I just ran for
Ellie's room.”

“But the girls were okay?” Sylvia asked.

Rodney rolled his eyes. “I would s’pose so,
Syl. They’re sittin’ right over there.”

Janet jumped in before Sylvia could counter.
“The girls were fine. They just looked at me like I was crazy."

"What about the man?" Sylvia asked.

"Nothing," Janet said. "I searched every inch
of the house and didn't find a thing. After a while I figured it
might have been the sun reflecting off the windowpane."

"I don't understand," Sylvia said. "Then why
was Heather screaming?"

"That’s the funny thing. She claims she
wasn't. In fact, both girls swear she was nowhere near the
window."

"That's really weird," Sylvia said. She got
up from her chair and began gathering dishes. "Maybe the girls just
played a joke on you, then got too scared to admit it when they saw
you run in all serious."

"I don't know," Janet said. "That’s a pretty
sophisticated joke for a five and six-year-old.”

"Computers and television, s’all they’re good
for. Teaches kids stuff they got no business learnin’,” Rodney
said. He pushed his chair away from the table. “Anyways, no harm
done. Kids’ll be kids.” He rubbed his stomach. "Syl, your fried
chicken'd make an angel cry."

Sylvia stopped midway to the kitchen sink.
"Here Janet is all worried, and you're talking 'bout food."

Rodney leaned back in his chair. "What's to
worry about? I’d bet you a dime to nothin’ that it was the kids
playin’ around.”

Sylvia shook her head dismissively, and Janet
used the few seconds of silence to change the subject. Rehashing
this afternoon only heightened her worry.

"Rodney's right, you know," she said to
Sylvia. "Your chicken is the best. I'm so stuffed I can barely
move." Janet sucked in a deep breath for emphasis, got up, then
gathered her plate and glass from the kitchen table and went to the
sink where Sylvia was already elbow deep in soapsuds.

A blush spread over Sylvia’s face. The
sleeves to her white and pink blouse were pushed up nearly to her
armpits, and meaty slabs of skin swung under her arms when she
rinsed a dish. “I’m glad you liked it. My mama left me that
recipe.”

Janet kissed the old woman’s cheek and
reached for a dry towel. "Well, you did your mama proud.”

A loud belch from the table made Sylvia spin
around with a look of disbelief and disgust. "Rodney!"

Janet bit her lip to suppress a laugh.

"S'cuse me," Rodney said, sheepishly. "But it
ain't bad manners, Syl, just good food. Ain't that right, Little
Bit?"

“That’s right.”

"Told you.” Rodney said to his wife. He
drummed his fingers on his stomach, and when Sylvia only glared
back at him, he got up from his chair. "Okay, guess it's time for
me to go join the girls."

When he left the room, Sylvia shook her head.
“I guess we just gotta be grateful it didn't come out the other
end.”

Janet grinned. She enjoyed working alongside
Sylvia in her kitchen. It reminded Janet of homey, childhood times,
a time before Alzheimer’s stole her name from her mother’s
memory.

"We should be at the festival by nine,” Janet
said, rinsing soap from a glass. “I can help at the pie booth if
you’d like."

Sylvia dried her hands on the checkered apron
cinched around her thick waist. "I sure would. I baked tons this
year. Didn't do blackberry, though. Just fig, pecan, apple, and a
few custards. I'm thinkin' that—" Her eyes darted past Janet, then
narrowed with worry. "What's the matter, munchkin?"

Alarmed, Janet spun around and nearly knocked
over her daughter, who stood inches away with her arms folded over
her stomach.

"My tummy hurts," Ellie said. She leaned her
head against her mother's leg.

Janet tossed the towel onto the counter and
placed a hand on Ellie’s forehead. It felt cool and dry. She cupped
Ellie’s chin and lifted her head for an eye inspection. Heavy
lidded, but clear.

"Probably too much chicken," Janet said,
smoothing Ellie's hair. She turned to Sylvia, who was already
heading for the medicine cabinet near the pantry. "Do you have any
Pepto?"

"Right here." Sylvia pulled a bottle from the
cabinet, then shook it vigorously while she searched for a spoon.
"Hope she hasn’t caught that stomach virus that’s been going around
lately. Rodney had it a couple of weeks ago."

Janet took the bottle, measured out a
teaspoonful of the pink medicine, then fed it to Ellie. "I’m sure
it’s just a little indigestion.”

Sylvia recapped the bottle and placed it on
the counter. “Why don’t you go on and bring the girls back to the
cabin? Munchkin looks whipped and so do you.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Janet said. “I think a
good night’s rest will do us all some good.”

“There you go.” Sylvia hunkered down beside
Ellie. “You’ve got a busy day tomorrow, munchkin, so you need to go
and take care of that tummy.” She held out her arms. “How about
giving old Sylvia a hug bye?”

Ellie wrapped her arms around Janet’s right
leg.

Puzzled, Janet stroked her daughter's back.
This wasn’t like Ellie, even on a really bad day. She’d always
adored the Theriots. “Aren’t you going to give Sylvia a little
hug?” she asked.

Ellie hid her face farther behind her
mother’s leg, and Janet gave Sylvia an apologetic shrug. “She’s
tired, and with her stomach—”

“Don’t you worry about it.” Sylvia put her
hands on her knees and grunted her way upright again. “Go on and
get that baby to bed. How ‘bout I send Rodney out there with
you—you know,” she tossed a quick look over her shoulder as though
referring to a secret hidden in the cupboard behind her, “just to
check things out.”

“No need,” Janet said. “We’ll be fine.” The
truth was she would’ve loved for someone to “check things out” at
the cabin. But Rodney was getting old, and she worried that he
might trip over something in the dark and get hurt. She’d simply
make a run through the house before the girls went inside. The plan
sounded a bit paranoid to her, especially since she’d already
convinced herself, or thought she had, that the man she’d seen in
the window had been an illusion created by the sun. But better safe
than sorry.

There’s no one in the house. There’s no one
in the house. There’s no one in the house.

Janet continued to chant the mantra to
herself as she loaded the girls into the van, then left the
Theriots.

The ride back to the cabin seemed longer than
usual. The night wrapped around the van clear and warm, and a moon,
slivered to a quarter of its size, strained to illuminate the sky.
As Janet turned onto the dark side road that led to the cabin, the
van’s headlights gathered shadows to the edge of the forest. Her
heart thudded loudly in her ears.

“Mama?” Ellie said quietly.

“Hm?” Janet pulled up to the house and
parked. She scolded herself for not leaving on an outside
light.

“Is there such a thing as a bogeyman?” Ellie
asked.

Janet turned around in her seat, frowning.
“Where on earth did you hear that?”

Ellie threw a worried glance at Heather, then
looked back at her mother. “Nowheres.”

“Heather?” Janet eyed her niece.

“Tommy Marks says they got bogeymans when
it’s real dark, Aunt Janet,” Heather proclaimed. Her eyes darted
nervously at the window. “And . . .it’s real dark.”

“Who’s Tommy Marks?”

“A boy that lives by my house. He knows
everything. He’s eight.”

“And what does he say a bogeyman is supposed
to look like?” Janet asked.

Heather drew in a deep breath. “Like a
monster. All ugly and stuff with big teeth.”

“I see. Well, I’m afraid Tommy doesn’t know
much because there’s no such thing as a bogeyman. That’s just an
old, ugly fairy tale.” Janet pulled the keys out of the
ignition.

“Promise?” Ellie asked.

Janet nodded. “Tell you what. Both of you
close your eyes.”

The girls shut their eyes simultaneously.

“What do you see?” Janet asked.

“Dark,” Heather said.

“Is it really dark?”

“Yep,” Ellie answered. “Really, really
dark.”

“Any bogeymen in there?”

Heather giggled. “No.”

“Nope,” Ellie confirmed.

“Okay, open your eyes,” Janet said.

Two sets of eyes popped open.

“Nighttime is the same kind of dark, only you
see it with your eyes open,” Janet said. “And just like there were
no bogeymen in the dark behind your eyes, there are none now.
Understand?”

“See, I told you,” Ellie said to Heather.
“There’s no such a thing.”

Heather looked past her to study the window
as though debating what to believe.

“That’s right, honey. No such thing.” Janet
opened the van door, and white hazy light washed over them from the
interior bulb. “Now you two stay in here for a minute, and I’ll go
inside and turn on some lights. I don’t want you tripping over each
other out there.”

“Lock the door, okay, Aunt Janet?”

Janet got out of the van and smiled back at
Heather. “I’d already planned to.” She lowered her window a couple
of inches, pressed the auto lock, and closed the door.