Blood Wounds (10 page)

"He didn't, did he?" I asked.

"No," Mom said, a little too quickly. "No. People make things up. But that's the story that's making the rounds, and Brooke believed it." She inhaled deeply. "Well, why not believe it?" she said. "It doesn't matter if it's true or not. He was driving around for God knows how long with Krissi's dead body in the back of the car. He slaughtered her, her sisters, her mother. Why not carry her head around like a bowling ball?"

"Mom," I said.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I guess Brooke could handle things when it happened in Pryor, but once it reached our front door, it was too much for her. There was no way she could travel on her own, let alone with Alyssa to look after."

"So Val insisted Jack come get them," I said.

"It was Jack's idea," Mom said. "He figured we'd both be better off away from home until things cooled down. We flew to Orlando this morning."

"Is Brooke better?" I asked. "Would it help if I called?"

"Give her a day or two," Mom said. "Jack's been at Val's since we got here. He called to tell me he'd have supper there, and he said Brooke was still shaky."

"So you're all alone in Orlando," I said.

"Jack'll be here in a little while," Mom said.

"How's Alyssa doing?" I said. "Is she upset also?"

Mom inhaled sharply. "Things are a little complicated there," she said. "Val made an appointment for them to go to the tennis academy tomorrow, really talk about Alyssa's future. Val told Jack ... well, with Brooke acting up the way she is, Val has it in her head the girls would be better off living with her. Brooke will be in college, but Val wants her during vacations, and Alyssa full-time. Jack would never say it, but I think Val's using the tennis academy to get Alyssa to agree."

"Can Jack stop her?" I asked. "Val, I mean." No one would be able to stop Alyssa.

"I don't know," Mom replied. "With Brooke gone, and Val back, and the tennis academy so close to where Val lives, maybe not. We can't afford a custody battle, and Jack would never do that to Alyssa anyway. But the academy might tell them Alyssa is too young, that she's better off where she is. Or Brooke might convince Alyssa to stay with us. Or Alyssa might decide she's happier with us than she would be at Val's. Val has to travel so much on business. After Munich, it's a month in Hong Kong. She told Jack she'd hire a live-in housekeeper, but that's no way for Alyssa to be raised."

"It sounds pretty bad," I said.

"Jack's upset, naturally," Mom said. "But we'll all be home by the end of the week. And things are bound to get better. I've been afraid for twelve years now, afraid of Budge, what he might do to you, to me. I don't have to be afraid anymore. That's got to make a difference."

"I love you, Mom," I said. "And Jack. I love him too. And I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," she said. "But I don't think any of this is our fault."

F
AYE WOKE ME UP
from the first good night's sleep I'd had in days. "I'm sorry, sweetie," she said. "But Sam's going to be in court all day, and he needs me in the office."

"That's okay," I mumbled, still caught up in the final fragments of my dream.

"There's time for you to take a shower and have some breakfast," Faye said. "Then we'll go to the house. I don't want you going there alone, but if you're okay once we get there, I'll go to the office. It's only a few blocks from here, practically a straight line, so you should be fine walking home."

I had no idea what she was talking about. Curly, who'd woken up long enough to stretch and turn over before falling back asleep, provided no answers.

"What house?" I said.

Faye looked uncomfortable. "Budge and Crystal's," she said. "You need to see if there's anything there you want. Or if there's any loose change lying around. It's as much yours as anybody's."

There was no point telling Faye I wasn't interested. She was, and that was enough.

"Okay," I said. "I'll be downstairs in a few minutes."

"Take your time," Faye said. "Well, don't fall back asleep or anything."

"Fifteen minutes," I said. "I promise."

Faye left me and I left Curly. I was as good as my word and was standing in the kitchen, toasting frozen waffles, a few minutes later. Not a breakfast Mom would approve of. I wondered what Val served the girls for breakfast. I'd have to ask them when we all got home.

Faye kept looking at the kitchen clock, so I ate the waffles and drank the orange juice in record time. "It's real easy from here," she said as I grabbed my bag and a key to her house. "We make a right turn out of the driveway and go for four stop signs, and then make a left onto West Houston. Then five blocks to Maplewood Street, a right at the light, and another two blocks on Johnson. That's where the house is, four twenty-two Johnson Street. I wrote the directions for you, only in reverse, so you can get home. Shouldn't be much more than a fifteen-minute walk."

"It's a nice day for a walk," I said. "It'll feel good to get some exercise."

Faye looked at the clock in the car. "It's been one of those mornings," she said. "Everything would be better if I woke up ten minutes earlier."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Oh, it's not your fault, honey," she said. "It's just with the funeral tomorrow, Sam and Harry Norris were both concerned Crystal's family might want to go to the house and start taking things that aren't rightfully theirs. I do feel bad about leaving you alone, but it's better if we do things quiet-like. The less fuss, the better."

I don't know what hidden treasure Faye thought might be lying there. "Did Crystal work?" I asked.

"Not after the twins were born," Faye said. "They were preemies and something wasn't right with Kadi, so Crystal stayed home with them."

"And Budge worked at the tannery."

"Most everyone does around here," Faye replied. "If it ever closes shop, Pryor'll close right along with it. All right. See, here's the turn onto Johnson. They put the traffic light up about ten years ago, after a big accident. A pickup plowed into a car with a half dozen high school kids. The mayor's daughter was killed, along with a couple of her cousins. It's like a memorial traffic light."

As we drove to the house, we could see the traffic light wasn't the only memorial. The small yard in front of 422 Johnson was covered with bouquets of flowers, teddy bears, dolls, crosses, and handmade cards signed seemingly by hundreds of people.

"Well, it's to be expected," Faye said. "Don't know why Harry didn't bother to tell me, though."

She pulled the car up in front of the house, and we both got out reluctantly. It felt like a desecration to walk through the offerings, knowing I was going in not out of love or reverence but to take any loose change I might find, or a memento of the strangers who happened to be my closest relatives.

"There might be things that belong to somebody else," I said, hoping that would be a good enough reason for us to turn around and go home. "Something they borrowed from friends or relatives. I wouldn't want to take anything that belongs to someone else."

Faye pulled an envelope out of her bag and handed it to me. I could feel the key inside it. "Take the jewelry," she whispered. "Anything you find like that. Any cash. If you should find bankbooks, or any papers that look important, take those. No one's asking you to take a skillet or the towels."

"You're coming in with me, right?" I asked.

"Just for a second," Faye said. "But you should be the one to unlock the door. Seeing as it's your family, your inheritance."

I hated this. I hated all of it. I knew Jack would never let me go through something like this alone. But I couldn't make a scene. I was the one who'd insisted on coming to Pryor. They were my family, I'd said. Faye had taken me in, done everything she could for me. And according to her, this was what family did.

I unlocked the door.

There was a bad smell to the house, like something rotten had stayed in there too long and windows hadn't been opened, but it wasn't too bad. It wasn't so overwhelming that we had to escape.

But whether I wanted to or not, I could hear the crying, the screaming. I felt enveloped by terror, attacked by rage.

"Where?" I asked.

Faye understood. "Kadi was in bed with Crystal," she replied. "Maybe she hadn't been feeling well. They think Budge went after Crystal first, but he wasn't methodical or anything, and there was blood all over. Crystal must've tried to protect Kadi, but there was nothing she could do. Budge had six inches and forty pounds on her, and a hunting knife. It's from the way the bodies were they think Crystal tried to save Kadi."

"And the others?" I asked, swallowing hard.

"Kelli Marie was in the bathtub," Faye said. "In her nightie. The police figure she heard what was happening and ran into the bathroom to hide. They don't know where Krissi was, maybe in bed sleeping through it all. The only rooms with a lot of blood were the bedroom and the bath, but Budge must've stepped into some of it, because there were tracks on the floor. He left from the kitchen, carrying Krissi they guess, and drove off."

"Nobody heard?" I asked.

"The TV was on," Faye said. "Everyone keeps their TVs on all the time. Even if the neighbors heard something, they probably thought it was just a show."

"And nobody suspected anything?" I asked. It was inconceivable to me that if Jack and Mom and Brooke and Alyssa and I were all missing, no one would notice.

"Crystal spoke to her momma, but not every day," Faye said. "Her folks both work at the tannery. They don't necessarily feel like conversation after a long day. And it wasn't like this was the only time Budge missed a day at work. The second day he didn't show up, they called here, and when they didn't get an answer, they started calling around." She looked at her watch. "Honey, I got to get going," she said. "Try not to think about what happened. Just go through the things, take what you think is important, and go home. Call me when you get back, all right? And remember, if anybody comes to the door, you have as much right to be here as anybody. More than anybody, seeing as they were your sisters." She gave me a quick peck on the cheek. "I'll see you tonight," she said. "Maybe we'll go to Dairy Queen after supper."

"That'd be nice," I said, because I was supposed to say something.

Faye nodded and walked out, leaving me alone with the jewelry and the loose change and the scent of blood.

My blood,
I thought. That's what you call family. Blood relatives.

I looked around at the living room, not knowing what I was supposed to be seeing. It was cluttered with toys, dolls and puzzles and coloring books with crayons strewn around the floor.

I was four when Mom took me away from Budge, the same age as the twins. I must have left toys like these behind.

I didn't remember. I could picture my grandmother's cuckoo clock now, and the painting of Jesus. She'd had a vase with plastic flowers on a table under that painting, and I'd loved the flowers because they always were in bloom. But I didn't remember what my home had looked like, whether it had been littered with crayons and puzzles.

I forced myself to look up, to truly look around the room. Crystal and Budge also had a picture of Jesus on the wall, but theirs was above the TV set. There was a plaid sofa with a couple of cigarette burn holes in it, and I realized some of the unpleasant odor was stale cigarette smoke. Sure enough, on an end table next to a recliner was an ashtray with half a dozen butts in it.

Mom had smoked, I remembered. She'd quit around the time she'd met Jack. Maybe she'd seen that he didn't smoke or maybe she'd had to choose between cigarettes and food. Another question to ask her when we were at a point where we could talk about her life before.

There was a bookshelf on the wall opposite the sofa. It held a few picture books, a handful of paperback romances, a Bible. On the bottom shelf were toy boxes, and on the top were photographs, the Sears one that had been shown endlessly on the cable news stations, and one of Santa holding Kelli Marie, a second of him holding the twins.

There was another formal photograph, a couple smiling at each other. The wedding picture, I realized. I walked over and picked it up. Crystal had on a light blue dress and was holding a bouquet of pink roses. She looked so young, so full of hope. Budge's smile looked insincere, posed. But maybe he was self-conscious or blinded by the flash. He had on an ill-fitting jacket, with one of the roses as a boutonniere.

There was another picture from the wedding, this one crowded with family. Most of them looked like Crystal, or at least not like Budge. Two of them stood closer to him than to her. One, an old woman squinting and scowling, I recognized right away as Granny Coffey. She'd scared me when I was little, I suddenly remembered. She yanked me by the ear and told me bad little girls went straight to hell, where they burned screaming for their mommies forever and ever. I cried and she said God didn't care if I cried because He didn't love wicked little girls like me.

Another time, I remembered, she chased me out of the house with a broom, locked the door, and left me standing there, no coat on, for what felt like hours. It might have been hours, for all I knew. Mom had found me and carried me into the house and Granny Coffey had said she'd fallen asleep and forgotten all about me. Mom yelled so loud, she scared me almost as much as Granny Coffey had, and that night she and Daddy got into a huge fight. They woke me up, they were so loud and scary, and I watched from the living room doorway as they fought with curse words and fists.

Daddy. He was my daddy then and I'd loved him. Even when I was bad and he paddled me hard, I loved him.

I'll be good, I'd promised him. I'll never do it again.

Mostly he'd stop then and he'd kiss me and say he sure hoped I'd learned my lesson. Once, maybe twice, he didn't stop. It was like he couldn't, and Mommy had to pull me away from him. He'd burst out crying, and it scared me more to see him like that than all the beatings in the world.

Daddy.

I felt assaulted by the memories; they were hitting me as hard as Daddy used to hit me. I shook my head, as though I could knock the thoughts out of it, and forced myself to focus on the boy standing between Budge and Granny Coffey in the wedding picture. He looked to be twelve or thirteen, in a slightly too-tight jacket and slacks that were a little too short, like he'd had a growth spurt too recently to buy new clothes.