The Drought (30 page)

Jar nodded he understood and wiped a dirty hand across his eyes trying to clear the sleep from them.

“I hope everything turns out okay with your mother.”

“Yeah, me too.” Jar wondered how she was holding up in the trailer and if the sand had finally gotten in. Jean-Claude whispered slyly.
I bet she’s one cooked tater.
Jar shrugged his shoulder in agitation trying to dismiss the annoying voice without saying anything.

“She okay?” Jim nodded his head toward Suzy.

Suzy was in a deep sleep. Her breath came in deep, rhythmic sighs.

“Yeah, she can sleep anywhere.”

The truck rumbled into the rest area, coming to a stop with a shudder and a hiss of airbrakes. Jar grabbed his backpack, gave Suzy a quick shake and together they climbed down out of the cab. For the moment the voices in Jar’s head were silent. He looked out over the rest area with exhausted eyes, thankful they had gotten as far as they had but knowing they still had a long way to go.

Junction, Texas

Beth reached the third landing. The walls vibrated with noise. Unnerved but determined to find Barry, she followed the sound until she came around a corner and found herself face to face with Griffin Tanner. As she expected he had a gun.

They both froze.

He broke the silence. “I have a riddle for you Beth. How many Riley’s does it take to really piss off a Tanner?”

She cocked her head slightly. For a moment the sweet perplexed expression on her face made it look as if she were considering the riddle. Before she could say anything, Griffin swung the rifle he was carrying and smashed it against the side of her temple. The sweet perplexed look remained on her face as a trickle of blood slid down from her hairline.

She crumbled to the floor.

He leaned down and answered his own riddle. “Four, if you count Robert’s dad.” He shouldered his weapon, squatted down and lifted Beth into his arms. Surprised by her lightness, he commented as if passing the time. “You’re quite a trim little lady. Robert always had a good eye when it came to the ladies.”

He continued to chat while he carried Beth’s limp body in his arms. “I wonder if you ever had the chance to meet your father-in-law, Rusty Riley. You see, I never got to meet the man. He was dead before I came back to town. I would have liked to though. I would have liked to have met the man who torched a tent full of women and children. Of course they were just gypsies so they didn’t really count.”

He looked down at Beth’s lifeless face, continuing his one-sided conversation. “You seem shocked. Still surprised Robert kept secrets?” On the second landing he started to yell. “Barry, come on out, you have a visitor.”

His voice echoed through the great hall. “Someone came to save you. Don’t you want to thank her?” He dumped Beth’s body onto the floor at his feet. She hit with a soft thud and let out a small moan.

Crouching down, he smacked her face. “Wake up. I need your voice.”

Her eyes rolled open but she couldn’t focus. The pain that had been with her for the past two months was back with a vengeance and she felt like she was going to be sick. She had had the weirdest dream, she dreamt… she was in Griffin Tanner’s house, only, he wasn’t a man anymore he was
shifting into something else.
She tried to roll away from the pain but something hit her in the face and the pain engulfed her again.

This time her eyes opened and focused.

Griffin was leaning over her.

She screamed. “No!”

He said, “Louder Beth, scream louder.”

Beth screamed again.

“You better come help your friend Barry, she doesn’t look too good.”

*

Barry heard a woman scream.

Padding on bare feet, he moved quietly through the corridors expecting a trap. His pockets were filled with shotgun shells, his gun was loaded and he felt confident Griffin would not be able to surprise him.

Griffin’s taunting words floated through the great hall. “Come meet your would-be savior.”

Standing in the shadows, Barry peered up.

Beth Riley was dangling from the third floor banister. The only thing stopping her from taking a twenty-foot plunge to a cold, hard marble floor was Griffin Tanner’s arm.

It
was
a trap.

The shotgun, the extra ammunition, nothing he had could save Beth.
What the hell was she doing here?
Leaning against a column, he considered his options.

Griffin loosened his grip on Beth. The sudden drop elicited another scream.

Realizing he didn’t have another option, Barry shouted, “Stop! I’m right here.” He left the shotgun leaning against the column and emptied his pockets. If he had the chance, maybe, just maybe he could get back to the gun.

Unarmed, he walked out of the shadows. The sight of Beth dangling over the banister made his breath catch in his chest. A painful memory surfaced.

*

Griffin’s eyes locked on Barry. The boy looked like he was about to collapse. His skin was pale, almost translucent. He was wearing shorts, no shirt and Griffin didn’t need to see his back to know it was crisscrossed with angry red scars. He touched his tongue to his lips and remembered the cocky boy who existed only a month ago.
He did that. He dismantled Robert’s son and created that quivering boy who could be knocked over by a slight wind.

Griffin shouted, “We’re coming down. Stay where you are or I’ll kill her.” He dragged Beth over the banister and began the decent. Holding his rifle with one hand he maneuvered Beth down the stairs with the other. When they reached the bottom he pushed her out in front of him and pointed the gun at her back.

Beth stumbled but managed to stay on her feet. The closer she got to Barry the harder it was to believe this was the same boy who had sat at her dinner table and cheated at canasta. His skin had always been a dark brown, his posture cocky. As much as she disliked his friendship with Jared, she had always thought he was beautiful. This boy looked like a ghost. She was unaware that her own appearance was equally disturbing.

“That’s far enough.” Griffin gave her a quick jab with the tip of the rifle. “Now step aside.”

She stepped away.

Griffin brought the gun to his shoulder and took aim. “Any last words Barry?”

As if in response to the question, the lights dimmed and went out. The low hum vibrating through the halls faded. Silence descended over the large house.

Barry murmured, “The generator’s out.”

Griffin’s finger tightened on the trigger. The only thing stopping him was the enjoyment he received from the tense expectation playing across both Beth and Barry’s faces.

Loud thumps echoed through the hazy, great hall. Gilt framed paintings dropped from the third landing, crashing against the floor of the great hall. These were followed by, urns, pots and statues. Each item shattered on the marble floor.

Grinning wildly, Griffin shouted, “Is that the best you’ve got?” He threw back his head and laughed. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to save them.” Closing the distance between himself and Barry, he slammed the butt of the gun into his gut.

Barry sank to his knees.

“Come on Dora! Save him if you can!” He raised the butt of the shotgun again. This time the blow landed against the side of Barry’s head.

Blood flew from Barry’s mouth. He slumped to the ground.

Beth sobbed. “Stop! Please Griffin, just stop.”

He did not acknowledge Beth’s presence or her words. He addressed himself to the air and the walls around him. “Is this all you’ve got? A few pots, some paintings, a broken generator?” He was gesturing crazily with the gun. First pointing it at Beth, then at Barry, who still remained slumped at his feet.

Beth dropped down and crawled across the floor. She touched Barry’s hair. His eyes were open but he remained motionless, his cheek pressed against the cool, marble. Feeling helpless she whispered, “I told you Robert, I told you I couldn’t help.”

The use of Robert’s name silenced Griffin’s tirade. Raising the gun to strike her, cheeks red with the fever he asked, “What did you just say?”

Unable to resist taunting the man who had made his youth a prison sentence, Barry turned his head, spat a wad of blood and said, “She told Robert she couldn’t help.”

Griffin stepped back at the use of Robert’s name. His reaction was not lost on either Beth or Barry. “Is Robert here?” The insane grin returned. He spun wildly laughing at the walls. “Do you really think she can stop me?” He barked out a crazed laugh and pointed the gun at Barry’s head. “Do you think she can save him?”

Above them the great chandelier began to tremble.

Nudging Barry, Beth quietly pointed up. The two inched away slowly.

The trembling intensified. A piece of plaster cracked and fell to the floor. Large cracks raced across the ceiling. Dante’s nine rings of hell began to rain down over the foyer. There was a great shudder, followed by a loud pop. The chandelier lurched and began its descent.

Grinning at the marvelous display, Griffin stepped back shielding his eyes.

The glass chandelier exploded against the marble floor.

*

In the ensuing chaos, Beth and Barry scrambled away.

She fled through the kitchen and out the side door unaware Barry had faltered and gone in a different direction. Shielding her eyes against the sandstorm she raced toward Robert’s truck. Hoping for one last miracle, she cranked the starter. The carburetor choked in a breath of air and the engine sputtered back to life.

Robert reappeared, riding shotgun. This time his presence didn’t startle her. She glanced at him with a wistful smile. Things could have been so different if he had lived. She shifted into reverse, backed away from the house and said, “You better buckle your seatbelt.” Then, she popped the truck back into drive and gave it some gas. The mud-clogged engine resisted. The valves were filled with sediment from the river. The oil pump started to smoke. The tailpipe coughed out a wad of phlegm, accompanied by a nasty smell. Right as her stomach twisted in despair the truck picked up speed. She aimed for the oval shaped front doors with the intricate wrought iron lion doorknobs Griffin so adored.

Right before impact, Robert asked, “Are you sure?”

Beth’s smile, formed by fear, relief and a measure of certainty she’d never felt in her life, was almost a leer. In response to her dead husband’s question, she said, “Yes, yes I am,” and stomped on the gas.

*

Barry didn’t follow Beth. He went back for his gun.

He stood behind one of the large columns waiting for a clear shot. His hands were sweaty. The gun felt like it might slip right through his fingers. From the darkened hallway he could hear Griffin calling out, “Come out come out wherever you are.”

The last “R” sound was still floating in the dark corridor and Griffin was only inches away from discovering whether he or Barry was the faster gunmen, when a thunderous explosion rocked the house.

The front doors burst inward and crashed against the marble floor. This deafening sound was followed by the revving of a ragged engine. The rusted grill of a Chevy Silverado appeared. Looking like a beast resurrected from a watery grave, it rolled through the entryway.

Griffin came running only to stop short at the scene that greeted him. The passage of ten years and all the mud in the Llano River could not disguise the truck of his enemy.

Beth crouched just out of sight behind the ruined entryway. She called out, “They’re together Griffin. Can you feel it? They’re together for eternity and they’re in your house.”

Griffin’s response was immediate; he pulled the trigger on his rifle. One of the headlights exploded. The engine continued to sputter. A second shot rang out. A bullet hole appeared in the windshield. The asthmatic breathing of the truck filled the room.

He didn’t care about the damn truck or its impossible presence in his foyer but the image of Robert and Dora sitting on the hood of the truck enraged him. Taunting him, Robert picked up Dora’s hand and laced his fingers between hers.