Tainted (26 page)

The drizzling rain had stopped. She went out onto the deck, sat in a chair, pulled her knees up to her chest.

Four children. A big family. I'm young—that's the advantage of having a child so young. I can have more. I can have three more, definitely. Kids running all over the house, playing. God—it would be so perfect.

Putting her mug down on the deck, she noticed that the wood needed repainting.

We can trim some of the trees to get a better view, we can clean up the deck, sand it down, repaint it. There's so much to do. I should make a list.

The air had a quiet heaviness to it. Not muggy, exactly, but damp. Holly was about to get up and go back into the house to get a pad of paper and pen when she heard barking.

Bones is back from the vet. So Henry must be back—I guess he didn't have as many errands to do as Jack thought.

She picked up the mug and walked down the porch steps, heading to Henry's, singing.

“Dancing in the moonlight, everybody's feeling warm and bright. It's such a fine and natural sight . . .”

As she walked up the drive to Henry's house, Holly was surprised to see Billy coming around the side, heading for the porch.

“Billy? What are you doing here?”

“I was down on the beach and I heard the barking. I thought Bones might be stuck somewhere, that he might have gotten under the porch somehow, but the noise is coming from the house. Where's Henry?”

“He must be inside with Bones. Hey—what's with the old shorts? Are you losing your branded look?”

Seeing Billy didn't upset her; she could even joke with him. Nothing could upset her, not today.

“I'm trying to lose it, you know, become one with the ethos of Barrett Point.” He smiled. “I'm surprised Henry hasn't helped Bones out by now; he's been barking for a while.”

Climbing the porch stairs and opening the screen door, she said, “Bones has probably found a mouse and he's scared to death of it. Henry might be scared too. Maybe he's standing on a chair, cowering.”

Billy, a step behind her, laughed.

Who knows? Maybe this will all work out now. Maybe Billy will be civilized and, OK, we won't be best friends, but we can get along with each other. This may be the day for new beginnings for everyone.

“Henry?” she shouted amidst the barks, which were clearly coming from above them. “Where are you? What are you doing up there?” She headed for the staircase.

“Holly.” Billy's voice was low, urgent. “Wait.”

“What?”

“The floor. There's something strange on the floor here.”

“What do you mean?” She looked down, saw large dark red splotches, small dark red speckles. “Henry must have spilled some paint. Bones, shut
up
! Henry?”

“Holl—I'm not sure—”

But she was already heading upstairs.

“Holly.”

He took the stairs two at a time, clearly determined to get in front of her. When he was a few steps up on her, he turned to face her and took her by the shoulders. “Look—just let me go first, OK? Stay here and let me get the dog and Henry.”

They heard it simultaneously. Bones's bark suddenly switched, became a high-pitched moaning whimper. An unearthly sound; a bad, desperate sound.

They looked at each other, unease mirrored in each other's eyes.

Holly was swamped by an attack of the same sick feeling she'd had as soon as she'd answered the phone both those times her parents had died and heard the authoritative, serious voice on the other end. The harbinger of bad news. Bones's whimpering made her want to run out of the house and hide.

Bones is dying. It's a whimper of death, I know. How will I tell Katy? Poor Katy. This will hurt her so much. And Henry. He loves that dog so much. Where is he?

“You stay here—I'll go,” Billy said, but she had already pushed past him and was rushing to Henry's bedroom door.

When she opened it, the first thing she saw was Bones on the bed, lying stretched across Henry's chest, his nose pointing toward her. He had stopped whimpering; his eyes were closed.

Henry was lying face up, a sheet covering him up to his neck. His eyes were closed and his face was pale and his nose looked different: longer, thinner.

“They're both asleep,” she said in a hushed voice. She stared at Henry's nose. Why did it look so different? “They're taking a nap together.”

“Holly.” Billy had come up behind her. “Holly. I don't think Henry's asleep.”

Of course he's asleep, you idiot. There's no other possibility. He has to be asleep.

She took a step toward the bed, and as she did, Bones opened his eyes.

“Why are Bones's eyes so sad, Mommy?”

They were looking at her now—the saddest eyes she'd ever seen. Deep, dark circles of ineffable sadness.

Henry's eyes didn't open. Henry didn't move.

“You know, sweetie, I heard once that in World War Two, the RAF fighter pilots were allowed to bring their dogs with them to their base camps. And the dogs would go out at the end of the day and stand on the runway waiting for their masters to fly back from their bombing missions.

“But sometimes a dog wouldn't go to the runway. A dog would stay in the barracks.

“And that's how they knew who wasn't coming back that day. The pilots whose dogs didn't go out to meet them had been shot down. Somehow the dogs knew.

“They're loyal as hell and they're smart fuckers. They know when something's wrong.”

“Holly.”

She felt sick: sick in her stomach, sick in her mind, sick in her heart.

“Shut up. Just shut up.”

She closed her eyes because she knew when she opened them, she'd see Henry sitting up in bed. Sitting up saying,
“Shit, sweetie, why are you looking so goddamn scared? I'm fine, for Christ's sake.”

She opened them.

“Holly, the sheet's covered with blood. Something bad has happened.”

“All you have to do is love Katy. With all your heart. Stop worrying. You worry too much. Listen to an old wise man and take a chill pill.”

“Someone has killed him. Look at the blood. This wasn't an accident or a hemorrhage—someone killed him and wrapped him up in the sheet.”

“Red Slobs are playing this afternoon. You and Katy come over here and let's listen to them beat the crap out of the damn Yankees.”

“Holly. Come away from the bed. Don't look at the sheet. Please.”

“You're not supposed to get over death, sweetie. You don't forget and you never stop feeling the loss. You never make peace with grief, you just work out a way to live with the war grief wages in your heart.”

Her eyes moved down from his face.

Blood was splattered all over the white sheet that covered his body. So much blood. Too much blood.

It's not your blood, Henry. This can't be your blood. It's like some kind of bad modern painting, the ones you hate so much. It's not real.

“Get off the bed, Bones.” Billy was at her side now; he was taking Bones by the collar, forcing him to get off the bed. “Down, boy.”

Bones barked once, turned his head to look at Henry.

“Down.” Billy dragged him to the floor.

She had to get rid of it. The sheet. The terrible bloody sheet. She couldn't let Henry lie under this sheet.

“Holly, you can't. Don't touch any—”

She took hold of it, swept it off the bed, threw it on the floor.

“Because it's closer to the heart. I shake hands with my left hand because it's closer to the heart.”

Your chest. Oh, my God, the blood. That knife. This can't be happening. It can't be.

Oh, Henry, what have they done to your heart?

Winds of rage and torrents of tears were swelling in her, a hurricane about to hit land and wreak havoc. She doubled over, threw up on the floor. When she stood up again, wiping her mouth, she turned away from the bed.

I can't look. I don't understand. This isn't happening.

Billy was staring transfixed at the terrible, bloody mess which was Henry's chest and the blood-soaked knife which rested on top of it.

“We need to call the police. Right away. Now. We should go downstairs. You shouldn't look at this, Holly. Go downstairs.”

“I'm not leaving him alone. No way.”

But I can't look at you again. I can't see it again. Where are you? Where have you gone? How can you leave me like this? I can't leave you. I'll never leave you. I'm going to be sick again. I have to—

“Holly—where's Katy?”

“Katy.” A jolt of terror stopped her rising nausea. “Oh, my God. What if she comes back and comes over here? What if she—? I have to go home and see if she's back. If she's not, I'll call Jack. Make sure she doesn't come over here. Then I'll come back.”

“I'll call 911.”

“I'll be back . . .” She was talking to Henry, she was promising Henry; knowing he couldn't hear but not believing it, not really. Henry wasn't really dead but still—Katy couldn't see this. The two thoughts were flipping back and forth, paralyzing her with their contradictory messages.

None of this was real. It couldn't be. But Katy couldn't see it. This had to be a nightmare but she had to control this nightmare somehow, she had to make sure she kept Katy out of it.

Holly turned from the bed, broke into a run; when she reached the bottom of the staircase she tore out the door, the screen banging with a crash behind her.

OK, OK, call 911
, Billy told himself, as he ran downstairs and into the living room. He had tried to bring Bones with him, but the dog wouldn't leave Henry's room.
Find something to pick up the phone with so you don't mess up any fingerprints. That's what you're supposed to do, right? It's a crime scene. Think
Law & Order,
think like a lawyer.

He pulled his T-shirt over his head and used it to lift the phone on Henry's desk, then punched in 911 with his covered fingertip.

“There's been a break-in, there's been a murder. My name is William Madison. The man murdered is Henry Barrett. On Birch Point Road in Shoreham, at the very end of Birch Point Road. Please send the police and an ambulance as soon as possible.”

The woman on the other end of the line made him repeat what he'd just said, took the details, then told him she'd get the police there immediately.

When Billy put the phone back down, his stomach began to roil.

Don't. Stay calm. Stay focused. Pull yourself together. Get a glass of water. Can you touch a glass? Drink from the tap. Just get some water. . . . What's that? Henry must have spilled a cup of coffee over his desk. Why? Was he at his desk here when whoever broke in came? Sitting here having a cup of coffee before . . . all that blood. That knife . . . Jesus. His chest . . .

His stomach churned again, and with it came a fuzzy feeling clouding his head. Yellow and black circles flooded his brain and he swayed forward, threw his hands on the desk to stop himself from toppling onto it.

Don't. Don't faint. Take a deep breath—what's that noise?

He had braced himself on the desk, his hands splayed out in front of the computer, when it suddenly whirred and came to life, the screen flickering and then lighting up inches from his face.

I must have hit the mouse. The computer must have been asleep and I hit the mouse.

A page appeared with “
Image Results for Thomas Grainger
” written across the top and pictures underneath it. The colored circles receded; his vision cleared.

Who the hell is Thomas Grainger? What are those pictures? What was Henry looking at? Some small boy, identical twin girls and . . . Jack? Yes—Jack at a younger age. What's Jack doing there?

Billy started to read the text underneath the pictures, his eyes drawn immediately to an entry beginning:

The screen door slammed again and Billy jumped.
Shit, no. I'm alone, shit . . .
but it was Holly who burst into the room.

“They're not at home and he's not answering his cell, but I left a message for him on it and I left a written message—I taped it on the front door so he'll have to see it when he drives up. Katy won't come here. I'm sure he'll get one message—or the other. The police must be on their way, right? I know this is my nightmare and I know it will end and I'll wake up but meanwhile I have to stay in it, don't I? Unless I make myself wake up. Wait—I could do that. I could make myself wake up.”

She began to punch herself on the arms with her fists wildly flailing.

“Holly—stop.” He went over to her, grabbed her wrists. “I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. But this is real. I wish it were a nightmare too, but it's not.”

She tried to yank her arms away but he wouldn't let her. “It has to be.”

“Listen to me. I know you must be in shock, but try to listen to me. It's important. It's crucial.” He tightened his grip on her wrists. “Have you seen Jack this morning?”

“Of course I have.” She looked relieved to be answering an easy, normal question. “He came in after he'd gone fishing with Henry.”

“And then?”

“Everything was going to work. We were staying and it was all going to be good again. We were going to have fish for lunch. I was going to get Henry to come over and eat with us. I was sitting out on the porch having a coffee when I heard the barking.” Holly's body sagged; her face collapsed. “It's lasted too long to be a nightmare, hasn't it? And it's sequential. Nothing has happened out of sequence. And I always wake up after the worst part. The worst part has happened and I haven't woken up. Why haven't I woken up?”

“Come on.” He put his arm around her shoulder, led her to the chair. “Sit down. Take a deep breath.”

What's going on? What do I do? Could Jack actually have been the one that writing was referring to? Could Jack have killed those two little girls? Was that what Henry—

“That's not Henry upstairs, you know. It never is when someone dies. They leave their bodies. You can tell it's not them any more. They've gone somewhere else. Did you know that?”

Billy shook his head. The pained, bewildered look in her eyes pierced his heart.

“I don't understand. Who would want to kill him, Billy? Why Henry? I have to go back up there. I have to be with him.”