Castle of Sorrows Page 6

  “Ben?” Claire was saying, her voice stitched with fear. “Honey, what’s the matter?”

  Ben said nothing, only moved toward the house on legs he could no longer feel. He heard Claire’s door open.

  “What’s wrong, Ben?” she called in a frightened voice.

  Ben stopped and turned. “Get in the car, honey. Lock the doors.”

  “What is it?”

  He attempted to swallow, but his efforts only produced a painful grinding sensation. “Now, Claire. Please,” he said, and he watched her sink down to her seat.

  Ben turned and faced the glass door, twenty feet away.

  The glass door stippled with drops of blood.

  Ben drifted nearer and as he did he saw with a sense of fatedness that the droplets had spattered the inside of the door. Ten feet away now he tilted his gaze downward, searching for the first glimpse of a body within the foyer. It would be Nat, he was sure. Nat would have answered the door because Nat was like Ben. He believed a man had certain duties no matter how outmoded or sexist modern society might deem such thinking.

  Another couple strides and Ben was on the porch. He reached the door, peered down through the glass. No body on the tiled floor.

  No body, but more blood. Smears of it. And something else.

  Ben’s heart thundered in his chest. Acid had climbed all the way up his throat, the insides of his mouth, yet the sensation was diminished by the flood of unreality that had inundated him. Even the steady drip, drip, drip from within the house was a sound scarcely heard, just the ghost of a sound really. Ben stepped into the house and felt the door ease shut behind him. The halls were dark, but there were plenty of lights on in the family room, and as a result the object on the wood floor was backlit, merely a shape.

  Ben’s whole body went limp when he realized what it was.

  A human forearm. Severed at the elbow.

  There was hair tufted along its length, a gold ring with an onyx stone on one finger. Nat Zimmerman wasn’t married anymore, but he still wore a gold ring with an onyx stone in it. Ben stared down at the forearm stupidly. The quiver gripped him again, a voice in his head

  (Julia)

  demanding he continue forward, where another grisly surprise awaited him. A trail of blood led away from Nat’s severed arm, and the walls of the hallway leading to the family room were festooned with roller coasters of red liquid, the splash and spray of Nat’s severed stump decorating the wallpaper like a ghoulish exhibit of modern art.

  Ben pictured the scene: Nat first demanding whoever had done this to leave the ranch and then struggling fruitlessly to fend his off attacker. Ben stepped into the family room and all coherent thought scattered in a single blast of horror.

  The entire room was bathed in carnage.

  Congealing puddles of blood littered the floor. Deep red stains were soaked into the furniture, Claire’s white reading chair marred by a giant burgundy apostrophe.

  Ben began to shake.

  His tortured, unbelieving gaze swept the coffee table where a human hand—this one definitely not Nat Zimmerman’s—lay palm up, the fingers curled like the legs of a dead spider. The hand was too large to belong to Julia. But it wasn’t too large to belong to his mother.

  Behind the couch he spotted a tennis shoe, the toe pointed up. He thought at first it was a man’s shoe, but then he remembered his mother’s height, her large feet. She’d always been self-conscious about them, hated the fact that her shoe size was measured in double digits. It was his mom’s sneaker he was looking at, Ben was certain, but as he drifted slowly around the couch, he realized the rest of his mom was elsewhere. Her leg had been chopped off below the knee. A ragged tube of shinbone, its spiky tip glistening like some gruesome crown, poked out of the bloody hamburger of the wound.

  Ben knew he should be mourning for her, knew he should be crying her name over and over or praying for her soul or something, but he could only stand there in shock, stand there and take in the state of the room, the walls splashed with blood, the adjoining kitchen in a similar state. On the island lay a large slab of butchered meat. He identified it after a moment as Nat Zimmerman’s torso. It had been hacked and mutilated, but the splintered ribs snarled in all directions and the purplish entrails dangling over the edge of the granite island top assured him that, yes, this was a human torso.

  Ben turned toward the hallway.

  Listened for sounds coming from the nursery.

  He did not want to find whatever was behind the door at the end of the hallway, but he forced himself to move in that direction anyway. Whoever committed this atrocity

  (you know who did it)

  had placed one of Nat Zimmerman’s legs on the mantle, so that the blood had drizzled out of it and showered the hearth below. Before Ben left the room he noticed the way the hanging Venetian blinds were stirring, the ones that covered the sliding door leading to the deck. He reached out, brushed the blinds, and as he did he saw that most of the glass in the door had been shattered, the spangled spray of shards twinkling dully in the westering orange sunset. Ben pushed one hanging slat of the blinds aside and saw without surprise that the object that had been hurled through the window was his mother’s head. Had this not been such a horrorshow of desecration, he might have been spared the indignity of looking into his mother’s dead, staring eyes, but even this perverse joke had been inflicted on him. Charlotte Shadeland’s kind blue eyes were fixed open in an expression of stunned dismay.

  Ben let his hand fall from the blinds and moved toward the nursery door. It was closed, he saw, and though this should have comforted him—Was it possible whoever had done this had spared Julia, had not even bothered with the nursery?—the sight of the closed door had the opposite effect. Dismally, he saw the trail of blood leading to the nursery. What dim hope to which he’d clung vanished at sight of this, the smeared footprints in the hallway, an object placed near the door of Julia’s room.

  (you knew this was coming)

  He attempted to brush off the thought, but it would not go away.

  (this is your fault)

  Because it had been in his mind all evening—hell, had been in his mind since his ordeal on the Sorrows.

  (you failed, Ben)

  For a full year he’d fretted about everything, from fire hazards to Joshua’s diet to insisting on keeping all poisons on the top shelves despite the fact that Julia was still months away from crawling and Joshua was smart enough not to guzzle window cleaner.

  (you’re the worst father)

  And now he’d committed the most egregious error imaginable—he’d left his baby unattended. He’d known what was out there; deep down in the most primal reaches of his brain he’d known there was still a danger. The nursery door was closed, though that mattered little. He knew what he’d find. In the lightless hallway he could just make out what sat before the door like a derisive sentry.

  Nat Zimmerman’s head.

  It had been positioned to face the door, and the meaning Ben supposed he’d been meant to draw from this was plain enough: See, Ben? I’m watching the baby. Just like you told me to.

  Ben could no longer breathe, could no longer think. His eyes blurred, his heart had swollen painfully and was about to blow apart, which was no more than what he deserved. Jesus Christ, he’d been a fool. Why had he left Julia here?

  He paused before the door, reached for the knob.

  Don’t leave her alone, the voice in Ben’s head had proclaimed. Don’t leave her alone. Was that so difficult? Was he so dense he couldn’t listen to his gut just that once?

  His fingers closed on the doorknob.

  Had he listened to his gut a year ago he never would have traveled to the Sorrows; had he listened then he never would’ve encountered the creature. His best friend Eddie would still be alive. And they wouldn’t have incurred the wrath of the thing on the island, the b
east that had once been called Gabriel. The satyr, the monster, the seven-foot-tall nightmare with muscles so immense they threatened to burst through its black, leathery flesh.

  Ben pushed open the door and tensed for battle. After all, Gabriel might still be inside the room.

  Ben watched the door swing open, awaited the same savage blast of carnage that had assaulted him earlier.

  The room looked normal.

  No, not quite normal, he amended. There were more blood tracks on the floor, these easier to see because in here they’d had carpet installed thinking it would be easier for Julia to crawl on when she learned how.

  But she would never learn to crawl because within the crib he was about to find her mutilated remains. The room was so dark Ben couldn’t discern Julia’s shape within the pooled shadows of the crib. He ached with the deepest recesses of his soul to take back this night, to listen to his gut just this one time and in doing so save his little baby’s life, his precious baby girl. Knowing he could delay no longer, Ben reached out, flicked on the overhead switch.

  The bloody footprints—there was something wrong with them, they were too human—and the humped shadows in the crib…they weren’t shaped like a baby. Was it possible…

  Ben rushed over to the crib, peered inside.

  Nothing.

  Julia was gone.

  A tide of emotions so powerful swept over him that Ben had to lean on the edge of the crib for support. He was relieved she was alive—or could be alive. He was heartbroken she’d been abducted, and not just abducted, but abducted by a monster.

  Ben slumped over the side of the crib, sobbing silently. One hand brushed the red-and-blue cushioned Thomas the Tank Engine toy Joshua had picked out for his baby sister, a plush train Julia enjoyed nuzzling. Ben grasped it, raised it to his nose and inhaled. It smelled of his baby, that combination of talc and sweetness that made him so happy he wanted to cry.

  Ben froze.

  Upon discovering the bloodbath in the house, he hadn’t sent Claire and Joshua away because he wanted to protect them the way he should have protected Julia. But he’d been in the house how long? Five minutes? And the

  (beast)

  murderer could have gotten them by now. Perhaps

  (it)

  he had been lurking in the adjacent woods the entire time, biding its time until Ben entered the house, knowing Ben would be transfixed, would give

  (the monster)

  the killer ample time to—

  Oh Jesus, Ben thought and shoved away from the crib.

  He’d taken two panicked strides down the hallway when he heard Claire scream.

  Part Two

  Homecoming

  Chapter One

  Teddy Brooks arrived at the Shadeland house around eleven-fifteen that night.

  The cops had treated him like some kind of derelict when he pulled up outside Shadeland’s ranch. That was okay, Teddy supposed. When he quit the force, he’d understood he was probably leaving the fraternity forever, and that now he’d be regarded with the same distrust he’d always leveled at civilians.

  So upon arriving, he’d taken the baleful looks and the curt questions in stride, electing to chill out by his car and smoke until Shadeland noticed him. When Ben did, he didn’t come over right away, only remained beside Claire and Joshua, who were sitting on a bench at the edge of the yard, the little boy’s head in Claire’s lap. Claire herself was staring glassy-eyed at nothing in particular, and when Ben knelt in front of her to whisper something, she didn’t even nod, just kept staring and thinking whatever unutterable thoughts she must be thinking. Teddy couldn’t imagine. He and Tanya never had children, and given the way things turned out, that was probably for the best. Still, Teddy understood that what was happening to Claire Shadeland was every mother’s blackest nightmare.

  Ben came over.

  “They have any idea who did this?” Teddy asked.

  Ben braced himself against the side of Teddy’s trunk, looking like he was trying to overturn the car by sheer strength. “They think they do.”

  “Let me guess,” Teddy said, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth. “Marvin’s men.”

  Ben nodded without looking up.

  “You called me because you figured I could confirm it one way or the other.”

  Ben looked up at him, hopeful and maybe a little scared.

  Teddy shook his head. “I haven’t seen anything suspicious lately. Certainly not Marvin’s thugs.”

  Ben sniffed, fighting off the tears. Teddy looked away.

  Ben said, “It wasn’t Marvin.”

  “You sound pretty convinced of that.”

  Ben didn’t answer, but Teddy could see his shoulder muscles flexing and unflexing through his shirt. The guy was wired and Teddy couldn’t blame him. Maybe Shadeland could overturn the car by brute strength.

  But Teddy said it anyway. “You’re not gonna tell me it was the beast, are you?”

  Ben let himself into Teddy’s car.

  Teddy got in behind the wheel and waited.

  “Look,” Ben said. “There’s more to the story than what I told you.”

  “Shit, I could’ve told you that,” Teddy said.

  Ben seized Teddy’s leg, just above the knee. Goddamn, it hurt. But Teddy wasn’t about to let Ben know that. He stared back mildly at him, Ben saying, “Before I tell you this, I’ve got to have your word you’ll keep it secret, especially from the FBI.”

  “They’ll be here soon,” Teddy said, and that was true enough. It was the reason why Teddy had busted his ass to get here so quickly after Shadeland called.

  “I know you don’t believe me, but what I said about the island, all of it was true. I just left out a few things.”

  Teddy let the rest go for now. “What kind of things?”

  Ben noticed the way his hand was crushing Teddy’s leg. He let go. Teddy tried not to show his relief.

  Ben frowned. “Your clothes are wet.”

  Teddy shivered a little. “I was taking a shower when you called.”

  “Claire killed someone.”

  Teddy hesitated. “Your wife killed someone?”

  “Shot him in the face.”

  “Your wife did. One on the bench over there.”

  Ben nodded. “Ryan Brady. He flipped out and tried to kill Joshua right after the helicopter crash.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  Ben looked at him pleadingly. “This is why I never told the truth. I was afraid they’d…”

  “Afraid your wife would get locked up?”

  Ben ran a shaking palm over his face.

  “We don’t have much time,” Teddy said. “Anything else you wanna get off your chest?”

  “Can I trust you?”

  Teddy dragged on his cigarette, blew smoke out the open window. At length, he said, “I gotta live somehow, Ben. That means I’ve got to do right by the people who hire me, and if that means betraying someone else’s confidence—the someone else being anybody not paying me—I’ve got to do it.”

  Ben’s upper lip curled as if he’d tasted something sour. “You’ll sell out anyone who stands between you and a paycheck.”

  “Hey, man, I could just lie to you and let you spill your guts and then tell it all to Christina, couldn’t I? But I’m bein’ straight with you, tellin’ you how it really is. You wanna be pissed off at me for that, go on ahead. I’m just tryin’ to save you from makin’ a mistake.”

  Ben looked over at him, unmoved. “You’re just thinking of me.”

  Teddy glanced down at his dashboard. “Fuck you.”

  His cigarette had burned only halfway, but suddenly he didn’t want the rest of it anymore. Heedless of the cops milling in the driveway, Teddy flicked the smoldering butt into the gravel and said, “I’ve got to get back to
town. Sorry about your daughter.” He started the engine.

  “Turn off the car.”

  Teddy shook his head. “We’re done playing.”

  “I’m going to cooperate with the Feds.”

  Teddy looked up. “How’s that?”

  When Shadeland didn’t answer, Teddy reached down, killed the engine. “What are you talking about?”

  “The first two who worked on me,” Ben said. “They wanted me to go to the island with them.”

  “For what?”

  Ben looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “What do you mean, for what? The same thing you’ve been asking me. They wanted me to reconstruct what happened on the Sorrows.”

  Teddy stared at him, mouth open. “Man, your daughter just got abducted…your mom got…” Teddy shook his head. “What the hell you wanna…” He trailed off, eyes widening.

  Shadeland said nothing, only stared back at him.

  Teddy said in a wondering voice, “You think that’s where she is, don’t you? You think that thing took her to the Sorrows?”

  Ben’s arm shot out, seized Teddy’s shirt. Teddy felt himself jerked over the armrest, his face inches from Ben’s. But strangely he felt no alarm, no outrage at being handled so roughly. The only emotion he experienced was fascination. Staring into Ben’s tear-streaked eyes, Teddy thought he had never seen such an unholy mixture of sadness and fury.

  “He took her,” Ben said, teeth bared. “That bastard took her, and I’m going to get her back.”

  “They’ll never believe you,” Teddy said. “You can’t go to the Feds with such a weirdass story, they’ll—”

  “I’m not gonna tell them about Gabriel,” Ben said, releasing him.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’ll say I had a flashback from last summer, that what happened tonight jarred my memory.”

  “You think they’re gonna buy that?”

  “No, I don’t. But I think they want to get to the bottom of what happened and will be too interested in that to care about why I’m cooperating.”

  Teddy nodded toward Ben’s wife and son. “What about those two? You just gonna leave them alone?”