The Bird Eater (20 page)

Aaron stepped around the couch, a wooden baseball bat casually swinging from his fingers.

Crossing the distance to where Miles stood, he stared Cheri’s husband straight in the eye.

Her heart thudded in her ears.

What is he doing?

She suddenly felt hot, dizzy, her runaway pulse making her nauseous.

He’s not really going to hit Miles with that, is he? He wouldn’t…

Miles held his hands up in front of him.

“Hey,” he said. “There’s no fucking need for that.”

Except Miles had asked for it. He had stormed into Aaron’s home, uninvited, and assaulted a man he hardly knew. Had he really expected Aaron to roll over, to let Miles beat the ever-living shit out of him in his own home? But she couldn’t condone Aaron’s response, either. It was a lunatic’s reaction. Torn between them both, Cheri held back a cry of protest, afraid of what was to come, her eyes growing wide as Aaron leaned back and spit a mouth full of blood into Miles’s face.

Miles stumbled back—he’d been expecting a swing of the bat, not a biological assault. His hands swatted wildly at his face, trying to get Aaron’s blood away from his eyes and mouth.

While Miles was preoccupied with his own anxiety, Aaron choked up on the bat, wound up, and brought the thing around his front in a fast, relentless sideways arc.

The bat cracked hard against Miles’s ear.

Miles cried out despite himself. He stumbled backward, scrambling onto the porch as Aaron followed him outside, ready to swing into him again.

Cheri screamed, suddenly terrified for her husband. In her head she had already left him, but she’d never hoped for this sort of demise. She didn’t want to be a widow, whether she and Miles were together or not.

Spilling out onto the porch, she grabbed Aaron by the shoulders from behind, her fingers digging into his skin through his T-shirt like claws.

“Please, stop it!” she wept. “Just let him go…”

But Aaron either didn’t care or didn’t hear her. He reeled back again, and for a moment Cheri saw her entire past with Miles flash before her eyes. The two of them meeting in the halls of Ironwood High, their first date at Fred’s, the first movie they had gone to see together—
Independence Day
. She saw him smiling at her as they sat in his pickup, the sunset lighting up his face in a way that made him oddly beautiful despite his tough exterior. She remembered him getting down on one knee as autumn leaves spiraled around them both, cold wind cutting through the mountains, hissing past the trees. She had spent those moments thinking of another boy—the one she had lost so long ago; and now that boy was advancing with deadly determination while Miles stumbled backward, cowering from the oncoming blow.

“Aaron, please!” She pulled back on his shirt, slowing his approach, but it did nothing to keep him from swinging the bat.

He pulled back and swung again, but Cheri yanked on his shirt just in time. He missed Miles by an inch. Aaron swung again, Miles dodging it by pure accident as he stepped off the porch and crashed down the stairs, landing in a freshly replanted hydrangea bush. He scrambled away when Aaron leaped down the steps, dead-set on pummeling Cheri’s husband within an inch of his life.

The fabric of Aaron’s T-shirt tore out of Cheri’s grasp, and as he landed in the weedy yard, she released an anguished cry.

Bleeding from his ear, Miles bolted across the yard toward his pickup, and for reasons Cheri couldn’t quite fathom, Aaron didn’t follow. He stood motionless instead, watching Miles peel out of the driveway with a dazed look on his face.

Cheri was afraid to speak, afraid to reach out to him, not sure if she was utterly insane in not taking off right after Miles, if not to see whether Miles was okay, then to simply get away from the lunatic wielding the baseball bat. Yet, somehow, after a few seconds of terrifying quiet, she gathered up the courage to speak.

“…Aaron?”

She held her breath as he slowly turned to face her, scared to see that disturbing smile pulled across his mouth. But the smile was gone. Aaron tilted his head up to look at her as she towered above him at the top of the steps. The bat slipped from his fingers and thudded to the soft ground at his feet. And just when she was sure he wouldn’t say a word, he finally spoke.

“I don’t think I should be here anymore.”

Eighteen

Aaron winced against the sting of his split lip as Cheri guided her Thunderbird into town. He could sense it from the way she held her silence: She thought he was nuts and she was scared, scared of
him
, her attention never wavering for long.

She had muttered something about Miles, about how she’d need to check up on him later to make sure he was okay. Aaron wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by that—from what he remembered, the last time he had seen Miles, Miles was beating the shit out of
him
. Aaron hadn’t even touched him—like it would have mattered if he had, what with Miles being twice Aaron’s size. But Aaron didn’t ask her to clarify, wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the hot throbbing of his face, tried not to pay attention to the taste of blood that lingered on his tongue.

The sky shone deep crimson tones of sunset, setting the poorly lit façade of one of Ironwood’s last remaining motels into deep relief. The sun-bleached sign that hovered twenty feet in the air buzzed weakly, advertising rooms starting at twenty-nine bucks per night. Getting away from the house for a few hours wasn’t as bad an idea as Aaron had originally thought. It would give him a chance to sleep without those fucking birds chirping in his ear all night long. Cheri zipped the parking brake into place before giving Aaron an unsure smile. He tried to smile in return, but only ended up cringing when a shot of metallic pain seared his swollen lip. Sliding out of the car, Aaron grabbed the duffel bag he’d halfheartedly packed a half hour before and followed Cheri in the direction of a neon arrow, the word
VACANCY
burning bright red as it pointed toward the front office. Like the motel straight out of Hitchcock’s classic; Aaron hoped they’d be playing
Psycho
on AMC.

We all go a little mad a little, we all go a little mad…

Stepping into the front office, a sleepy-looking old guy peered up at them from a
Partridge Family
rerun
.
He adjusted his thick plastic-rimmed glasses, gave Cheri a curt smile, and let his eyes roll over Aaron’s tattoos. The guy was an easy read: he didn’t like the looks of his newest guests, at least not the weird guy who had straggled in behind Miles Vaughn’s wife. Aaron waited for the clerk to ask Cheri what she thought she was doing, getting a cheap motel room with a man who wasn’t her husband. But the guy said nothing, allowing his wandering eyes to settle back on Cheri before asking:

“Room?”

Either Mr. Partridge didn’t know her, or he was being courteous for courtesy’s sake; sparing Cheri the embarrassment of having to explain herself, or maybe he was worried Aaron—with his busted lip and his inked-up arms—would cause trouble if he spoke out of turn.

“Yes, please,” Cheri said, sidling up to the chest-high counter as she rummaged through her purse.

Aaron dropped his bag on the floor,
The Partridge Family
theme song playing as the opening credits rolled.

Come on, get happy!

“Cher, I got it,” he said, sliding his credit card and license across the counter, murmuring, “Just one night” at Mr. Partridge.

“But you said—”

“I know what I said. Forget it, it’s fine.”

He could afford twenty-nine bucks, and a good night’s rest would do him a world of good, even though he felt guilty for abandoning the house. As soon as the sun was up, he was heading down Old Mill and getting back to work.

Mr. Partridge’s eyes bounced between them like a spectator at a tennis match, and the more Aaron watched him, the more he was convinced the clerk knew who Cheri was. There was a twinkle of recognition in his eyes, a definite sense of familiarity in the way his mouth went tight. Mr. Partridge held his silence, reached an arthritic hand across the counter, and pressed his palm flush over Aaron’s credentials. He stared at the picture on Aaron’s ID for a long time, as if actually considering denying him a room. But he eventually began to fill out a paper application, copying the information off of Aaron’s license by hand.

Aaron and Cheri stood in awkward silence as David Cassidy sang a song about love. Mr. Partridge eventually slid a credit card slip and pen back to Aaron, waiting for the required signature before exchanging the receipt for a single key attached to a diamond-shaped keychain, the number five embossed against green plastic.

“Checkout’s at ten,” the old guy told them, turning his attention back to the television.

Aaron gave Cheri a look, snatched up his bag, and stepped out of an office so bright it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkening night sky.

“He was awfully pleasant,” Cheri mumbled as they moved across the lot toward number five. Aaron slowed his steps to a full stop as she continued ahead, his gaze pausing on Cheri’s Ford. The kid sat in the backseat of her car, staring through the windshield at them both. He lifted a hand and wiggled his fingers at Aaron as if to say,
I haven’t forgotten about you
.

“What?” Cheri looked back at her car.

“Nothing.”

The edges of his heart buzzed with anxiety. He needed sleep. A few hours would do wonders, but a full eight would give him a new lease on life. If that kid could just leave him alone for one night,
one
damn night.

Cheri shoved the key into the door lock and Aaron followed her inside. His hand slid across the wall in search of a light switch, but there wasn’t one. Cheri moved through the dark toward a bedside lamp, struggled with the switch, and eventually succeeded in turning on the light.

Still in the doorway, Aaron marveled at the ugliest wallpaper he’d ever seen—mustard yellow with patchwork flowers in shades of brown and gold; a decorator’s nightmare complete with a full-length mirror bolted to the wall opposite a sagging bed.

“Wow,” Cheri said. “The luxuries twenty-nine bucks can buy, huh?”

He didn’t smile at that, the kid in the back of Cheri’s car still gnawing at the fringes of his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder back across the lot, but the Thunderbird was empty. Aaron clenched his teeth against what he was sure was true—the damn kid was gone because he was already inside room number five.

“The bathroom is equally charming,” she announced from across the room.

Aaron shut the door behind him, dropped his bag next to the door, and proceeded to where Cheri leaned against the bathroom’s doorframe. Dingy yellow tile covered the walls from floor to ceiling, a Formica countertop sported mystery stains and a grungy sink with a rust ring around the drain. The tub had flower appliqués stuck to the floor and a scale-covered showerhead looming above.

“So…” Cheri slid her hands into the back pockets of her pants. “I should go now so I can come back sooner rather than later. I need to grab some stuff from home, maybe check on…” Her words tapered off. She stared down at the aged carpet, then glanced up at Aaron and forced a smile. “You’ll be okay, right?”

Aaron didn’t have the slightest clue if he’d be okay or not, but he nodded anyway.

“Sure,” he said. “Just going to bed.”

“Do you want any food or anything, before I go? I could swing by somewhere.”

He shook his head. The thing with Miles had happened hours ago, before he had a chance to eat lunch, but the whole incident had made him lose his appetite, and the constant taste of blood in his mouth wasn’t helping.

“Are you sure?” She looked undecided. “I just, I would rather you stay here, okay? Do you have any money?” Pulling her bag from against her hip and around her front, she rifled through it, coming up with a small coin purse shaped like a strawberry. “Here. I saw a soda machine next to the front office, in case you get thirsty.” She slid the little purse onto the shabby entertainment center next to an old TV. “If you want anything else, will you call me?”

Aaron stared at her, confused by how worried she looked.
“Cher…” He gave her a little laugh. “I’m fine. Seriously.”

Her expression eased up, a wary smile inching slow-motion across her lips. “Okay,” she finally said. “I’ll just be a few hours, maybe even less.”

Aaron nodded, stepping around to one of the bedside tables. He grabbed the TV remote and pointed it at the relic of a set.
The Partridge Family
blinked onto the screen—the same marathon the guy at the front was watching.

“Okay,” Cheri repeated, seemingly speaking more to herself than to him. “I’ll be right back,” she said, gave him another strained smile, and ducked out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

As soon as she was gone, Aaron dropped the laid-back act and let his gaze sweep the room. He wanted to believe that the kid could only screw with him back at the house—Aaron had seen him around town, but the boy always kept his distance beyond Old Mill Road. Maybe he’d just stand outside in the parking lot all night. And even if he didn’t, what was Aaron going to do about it, never shut his eyes again?

You can’t worry about things you can’t control,
Doc Jandreau had told him.
You do that, and you’re liable to drive yourself insane.

Deciding to take his doc’s advice, Aaron stripped down to his briefs and T-shirt, brushed his teeth, and slid into bed to watch David Cassidy gee-golly-gosh his way from one scene to the next. But fatigue loomed heavy, his eyes burning with the need for sleep. The world went fuzzy around the edges and his head lolled to the right, partially propped up by a couple of lumpy pillows. Mercifully, sleep finally came while the shadow of the bed’s square headboard loomed tall on the flowered wall behind him.

Growing inch by inch in the pale blue glow of the TV.

Larry Wallace watched Cheri Vaughn and the Holbrook boy wander past four motel room doors before stopping in front of room number five. He’d nearly turned them away as soon as he saw Edie’s nephew step into the cramped confines of his front office, but he hadn’t told them to get lost because he had no idea what he would have said if they had asked why. The truth would have worked—he wasn’t keen on adultery, and then there were the rumors, the stories, the flat-out legends about the Holbrook fella—but Larry wasn’t too sure about speaking the truth to the devil’s face. You were liable to burn up that way, the whole motel going up in spontaneous flames.

Grabbing for the phone, Larry snatched up his little book of contacts and thumbed through the ragged pages to where he had scribbled Hazel’s cell number. He had known Edie’s nephew was back in town as soon as Aaron had arrived, but Larry had convinced himself that Aaron Holbrook wasn’t his problem. Heck, he hadn’t seen the man with his own two eyes until tonight, and yet somehow there had been no doubt in his mind as to who he was staring at the moment Aaron stepped through the door.

Because you can feel the devil when the devil walks in,
he thought.

Larry had never bought into the stories of the Holbrook kid being dead, but he had wholeheartedly believed that there was something genuinely wrong with the house at the end of Old Mill Road. If Edie’s boy had made it out of Boone County with his soul intact, good for him, but it certainly wasn’t unblemished after returning home.

Dialing Hazel’s number, Larry shook his head to himself—you couldn’t live with the devil and expect to come out whole.

Eric sat up on his couch, squinted against the darkness of his living room, grabbed the remote, and paused
The Cabin in the Woods
to listen for a follow-up knock on the door. It came a few seconds later and he climbed to his feet, dusting potato chip crumbs from his shirt while Barney the German shepherd lazily looked up from his giant dog pillow. Eric gave the dog an amused sort of look as he moved toward the foyer.

“Some watchdog, Barns,” he said beneath his breath. “Keep up the good work.”

Rubbing his hands against the sides of his jeans, he was surprised to see Cheri through the peephole. Her arms were crossed protectively across her chest; her head was tipped down, the soft waves of her hair obscuring half her face. Eric shot a glance at the digital clock sitting on a table close to the door—the only thing that kept him from being late to work on a daily basis. It was after eleven. He raised an eyebrow, unlocked the door, pulled it open, and greeted the woman he’d known his entire life with a suspicious glance.