Brother (16 page)

“She's alone,” Reb murmured beneath his breath. Despite the fact that Michael had only seen this house twice before ­tonight, Ray was somehow positive. The mark was clear. It was safe.

“You don't want me to just go in with you?” It seemed like a better option. They could tape her up in the living room. If it was just Reb, she'd go racing around all over the place. Sure, the house was in the middle of nowhere, but keeping her quiet was a good idea. You never knew when a car was going to pass by or when some night owl was going to take Fido out for an evening stroll.

Rebel narrowed his eyes and Michael shrank away from the glare. “I told you, ten minutes.” He stepped out of the car, leaving the door wide open behind him. Michael fumbled with the dome light. He turned it off as Reb stalked along the wild grass and ducked around the side of the house, probably looking for open windows or an unlocked door.

There wasn't much to fear in places like this. That's why people moved out to the country. It seemed safe and peaceful and perfect until you caught a lunatic crawling through your bedroom window. Michael glanced at the analog clock recessed into the Delta's dash, its phosphorescent hands glowing weakly in the dark. Then he opened his door, looped his hand through the fresh roll of duct tape, and slid out of the car.

He crossed the front yard to the small bistro table beneath a tree and took a seat in its metal-backed chair, waiting for some sign of struggle—a scream or the breaking of glass. The inevitable noise of someone watching their life flash before their eyes. When it remained silent, Michael got up and walked the dozen yards it took to get to the darkened road. He knew he shouldn't have gone so far from the Delta—Reb had told him to be ready—but he had seven more minutes to wait.

Stepping onto a small boulder along the side of the road, he balanced there, wondering if Rebel was into old ladies. Maybe his brother was discovering his own tastes rather than letting Momma dictate them with her MO. Reb wanted to break the rules, and this one seemed as good as any to break.

There was a bang from inside the house. Michael turned to look at the cottage from the edge of the road. He hopped off the rock he was balancing on and hurried back to the Olds­mobile. There was no screaming—just the sound of things being thrown. He imagined Rebel dodging table lamps and crystal ashtrays, wondered what he'd do if the woman actually got the better of him and came bursting out the front door. What if Reb didn't come bolting from the house after her ­because he was unconscious on the living room floor? What if it was because she had stuck a kitchen knife through his neck? Would Michael let her get away? His pulse quickened at the possibility of the woman slashing Reb to ribbons, of his brother dying on a cheap Formica floor.

“I'll let you get away,” he whispered. “Just kill him. That's all you gotta do.”

He blinked at his own words. Did he really mean that? If Rebel really did die, what the hell would Michael do then? He'd drive the Olds back to the house, grab Misty, and leave Momma and Wade in dreamland. They'd drive into town and find Alice, and the three of them would take off to New York City.

Even Pittsburgh or Columbus, Ohio, would be better.

He chewed on his still-tender lip, wondering if any of that was possible. Would he be able to get out of Dahlia and start a new life if there was no one there to stop him?

At the eight-minute mark, Michael pushed away from the Delta and followed Reb's path around the side of the house. Reb had left the back sliding-glass door open a crack, and ­Michael quietly pushed it over before slipping inside. A strangled cry sounded from down the hall. Pivoting on the soles of his old boots, he trotted down a picture-lined hallway until he reached an open door.

Rebel held the sobbing woman down on the bed by her wrists, quiet pleas escaping her throat.

“Please, Michael, don't. . . .” she croaked.

Michael froze in the doorway, the world momentarily tilting on its axis when his name slipped past her lips. How did she know . . . ? Had Rebel told her that his brother, Michael, would be there any minute, ready to help?

He swallowed and stood idle at the threshold. Reb shot a look across the room, his jeans unzipped, his most private parts exposed. Michael looked away, squeezing his eyes shut as though he'd walked in on something he wasn't supposed to see.

“What the hell are you doin'?” Reb snapped. “Get
over here
!”

Michael forced his eyes open and shifted his weight to his toes. He moved fast, already peeling a strip of duct tape from the roll.

The woman was weeping. Her hair, which had been pulled into a ponytail, was now halfway down. The rubber band barely held back an unnatural reddish-blond. Rebel had bloodied her face, most likely with a swift whack to the nose. The blood dribbled across her mouth and chin, staining her powder-blue tank top. A golden
M
glinted from a chain tucked into the hollow of her throat.

“Grab her hands,” Reb demanded. Michael took one of her arms and wrapped the duct tape thrice around a wrist. He yanked it toward her other hand, and then taped them together as quick as a rodeo star. Rebel let her go, then tucked himself back into his jeans while Michael taped the woman's mouth shut. “Take her to the car,” he said, shoving his fingers through his hair. It was then that Michael realized the woman wasn't wearing any pants. A pair of plain white panties were skewed around her hips, half on, half off. Michael stared at the woman's hips, reluctant to push her out of the house without at least giving her something decent to wear.

“What's wrong with you?” Reb asked, shoving Michael out of the way when he hesitated to move. His brother grabbed the woman by the back of her neck and shoved her into the hallway.

Michael blinked and followed Rebel out the front door and to the car. The woman was now fighting like hell, thrashing and bucking in Reb's arms. Halfway across the yard, they stopped and Michael tied her legs together at the knees with a thick binding of tape. He then moved down to her calves, and finally her ankles, repeating the process. Rebel dragged her the rest of the way to the Oldsmobile. He popped the trunk and dumped her inside before marching around to the driver-side door with a dissatisfied grunt. Michael was left with the woman staring up at him, her eyes pleading, begging him to reconsider, beseeching him to be her savior. When she tried to scream around the tape stuck across her mouth, he slammed the trunk closed.

He expected Rebel to yell at him as soon as he fell back into his seat, but his brother said nothing. He simply threw the Delta into reverse, peeled out of the driveway, and fishtailed it onto the road.

But halfway home, Rebel broke his silence with a laugh. It was a severe, heartless titter that made Michael's skin crawl, a sound that he'd never heard escape Reb's throat before. Michael wrapped his arms around himself and stared out the window, watching the headlights slash across the trees. He wondered where Reb had gone, because Reb
was
gone. Not here. Lost somewhere along that winding rural West Virginia road.

When they finally turned onto the road that would take them back to the farmhouse, Michael dared whisper a question into the Oldsmobile's cab.

“How'd she know my name, Reb?”

Rebel didn't answer. He just laughed again.

T
HE MORNING RAY
had watched Michael unlatch the rabbit cage and pull Snowball from behind the fencing, he lay in bed, waiting for Laura­lynn's wail. She was usually the first of them up, but the fact that Ray was waiting with baited breath turned the minutes into hours. By the time Lauralynn screamed, Ray had actually started to drift back to sleep. As soon as he heard her, his eyes darted open. Michael, who had snuck back into bed after he'd done the deed, didn't move when their sister cried out. He was faking sleep so hard it seemed that he had paralyzed himself in the process.

Ray bounded out of bed and hopped over to the window, shoving the dingy curtains aside just in time to catch his older sibling kneeling in front of the rabbit cage. But to Ray's surprise, it wasn't just Snowball who was missing. The cage was completely empty. Michael's plan had worked like a charm. He nearly said something to his kid brother, thought about congratulating him on a job well done, but rushed downstairs in his pajamas instead.

Misty Dawn had her arm around her big sister's shoulders. Michael drifted onto the back porch a minute later, but he kept his distance. He sat on the bottom porch step with his hands covering his mouth. Ray was tempted to say something—
Don't look so guilty, you idiot
.
Michael had done a bang-up job covering his tracks, and now he was going to give himself away with that pathetic look of shame plastered across his face.

“What happened?” Ray asked in his best
I'm-super-concerned
voice.

“My bunnies!” Lauralynn's words were nearly indecipherable around her sobs.

Ray widened his eyes in a dramatic sort of way as he stared at the empty cage. “Oh
no
!” He almost cracked a grin at how ridiculous he sounded. “They got away?”

Lauralynn didn't reply, because she couldn't speak. She was crying so hard now that she could hardly breathe. Misty Dawn rubbed her back and whispered, “There, there, we'll find 'em,” like the dumb little girl she was.

Find 'em?
Ray thought.
Sure, you'll find 'em—just wait 'til dinner.

Ray turned to look at Michael, who was still petrified upon the steps. “What's wrong with
you
?” he asked, padding back up the porch steps. “It almost looks like
you
opened the cage.”

Michael jerked his head up and stared at his brother with wide, glassy eyes, and then he burst into tears. But rather than dodging back into the house, he ran for the girls, threw his arms around them both, and wailed “I'm sorry, Lauralynn!”

Neither of the girls deciphered his apology. Michael had practically confessed to the crime, and they mistook his admission for mutual sadness.

The day dragged on, and Ray's siblings spent most of it among the trees just beyond the backyard. Even Michael was helping Lauralynn look for her fluffy babies, as though finding at least one of them would somehow redeem him from the evil he'd done. Ray hung around the back porch, listening to them calling out bunny names—
Snowball! Blackie! Mr. Buttons!—
as if the things had the capacity to respond like dogs.

“They're pretty stupid,” Ray told Momma as he buzzed around the kitchen. “They think them rabbits are gonna come hoppin' back outta those trees because they heard their name or something? Bunch of idiots, if you ask me.”

“I don't think nobody 'round here
did
ask you,” Momma replied, not once turning to look at her boy.

When Momma finally called them to the table, Ray had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing. It was as if she'd done it on purpose, leaving the rabbit intact the way she did. She presented the roasted critter on a platter the way any other family would present a turkey on Thanksgiving. Snowball lay on a bed of leafy greens, surrounded by steamed carrots, like the punch line to a particularly gruesome joke. She hadn't even bothered to chop off the head. The ears had wilted in the heat, and the eyes were nothing more than black cigarette burns, but there was no mistaking it for what it was. Lauralynn screamed so hysterically when she saw it, Ray was sure she was within inches of a puking fit.

He expected her to turn tail and bolt up the stairs, slam her door and refuse to come out for a few days. But rather than escaping the dining room in a flurry of tears, she screamed at Momma instead. “You
did this!
” she wailed. “
YOU killed my bunnies, you bitch!
”

Ray's mouth fell open in shock.

Misty Dawn and Michael were also unable to hide their surprise.

Ray had never seen Lauralynn so angry, and he'd never
ever
heard anyone speak to Momma that way. He looked from Lauralynn to Misty Dawn and Michael, dumbstruck, the three of them sitting there like open-mouthed trout. Wade covered his face with a hand, as if not wanting to see what was about to come next. When Ray laid eyes on Momma once more, his secret amusement was gone. Sure, Lauralynn deserved some of what was coming to her, but the satisfaction of a little poetic justice burned away at the sight of Momma's bubbling outrage.

Her gaunt face was as red as if she'd stuck her entire head into a boiling pot. Her mouth was pulled into a line so tight that her lips all but disappeared. But her eyes scared Ray the most. Just as he'd never heard Lauralynn so angry, he'd never seen such hostility, such obvious loathing radiate from Momma's stare. For a second, Ray was sure Lauralynn had sealed their fates. Momma would murder them all, and then she'd boil their bones and go back to being Claudine Morrow—childless, happier.

Ray shot a look at his adopted brother. This was all
his
fault. Michael was the one who had turned Lauralynn against him. Michael was the one who had taken Snowball and skinned him under the cover of night. Ray considered outing him right then and there, telling the entire table that he'd caught Michael red-handed earlier that morning. But he was almost positive Michael would get a free pass. He was little, and he hadn't successfully brought in a kill for dinner in nearly a week. He had killed Snowball out of desperation, out of
loyalty
. And what was Ray doing? Betraying him by tattling. Ray bit his tongue against the temptation. No, if he kept it to himself, he'd have something to blackmail the little bastard with. If he kept it to himself, he could hold it over Michael's head for the rest of the kid's life.

All of this flashed through Ray's mind within the time it took Lauralynn to horrify the table with her outburst. And Momma reacted exactly as expected. She stood up, the legs of her chair screaming against the hardwood floor. Wade got up too, as if ready to stop the inevitable, but he kept silent. It was as if he'd risen from his chair to get a better view, his hands gripping the table in front of him. Lauralynn made like she was about to run, but Momma was faster than any of them gave her credit for. She grabbed Lauralynn by the hair and used her daughter's momentum to shove her into the wall. Except Momma missed the wall and pushed Lauralynn directly into the corner of an old armoire.