Neighborhood Watch Page 11

  Then he remembered and called Katherine’s son, Kevin.

  “Hey, Kevin, it’s Derek.”

  “Hi, Derek.” He sounded put out, the type of voice Derek perfected on unsolicited telemarketing callers.

  “I really hate to bother you so soon after your mom’s passed, but I wanted to ask you something.”

  “I’ll, uh, try and help. Just, well, what can I do for you?”

  “At Katherine’s funeral, you said you found something in her belongings? Something that didn’t seem quite right?”

  “Yeah. That was strange. I didn’t know what to make of it.”

  “What was it?”

  There was a long silence on Kevin’s end. “Derek, can I ask why this is important to you? I’m not trying to be rude or anything, but I’ve kinda got my hands full here.”

  “I know, and again, I apologize. I’ve just been wondering about some things Katherine told me. If it makes you feel better, I don’t think Katherine’s mind was going. I think she knew exactly what she was talking about.”

  “I don’t know, Derek—”

  “What’d you find?”

  Another hesitation. “Well, um, underneath her hospital pillow, the nurses found a white cloth tied shut with dark ribbon, and…this is weird, but there appeared to be bones inside.”

  “Bones? What kind of bones?”

  “I guess they were bird bones. Or a reptile’s, maybe? They were scrubbed clean, nothing on them. And if I had to guess, I’d say there were several strands of Mom’s hair in there, as well.”

  Derek sat down on a lawn chair. “Huh.”

  “I’m trying to forget about it, Derek. I mean, Mom was always a strong Christian, a good Catholic woman…” Kevin paused, sounding like he was holding back a sob. “I don’t understand any of this.”

  “Kevin, your mom was a good Catholic woman. I wouldn’t read too much into it. Maybe someone put it there. A good luck charm or something.”

  “You’re probably right. Good luck charm. I just…I don’t know what to think. First, she dies under mysterious circumstances. The doctors aren’t even sure why. I’m so sick of hearing ‘natural causes.’ What does that even mean, anyway?”

  “She lived a good long life, Kevin. I know that probably doesn’t help, but—”

  “Yeah, okay, Derek. But I’d better go.”

  “Sorry again for—” The line went dead.

  Someone put that bag under Katherine’s pillow.

  But it wasn’t a good luck charm.

  * * * *

  Derek’s Internet research revealed little about bird bones wrapped in cloth. The usual rantings of Satanists and black magic practitioners filled the websites, most of them obviously delusional. Or are they? One site, an off-shoot of Satanic beliefs, listed over 500 members. A message board contained one teenager’s tale of how he used spells and chicken bones tucked in a bag to cause harm to school bullies. A month ago, Derek would’ve laughed it off. Now, he desperately grasped at anything he could, refusing to let go.

  Derek loathed himself for it, but he couldn’t resist. He needed a cigarette. When he grabbed his car keys from the book shelf, something fell to the floor. The key to Katherine’s house Kevin had given him. A sudden memory flashed. Katherine had told him to look in her bedroom, under her pillow.

  Stepping outside, Derek drew in a breath of brisk September air. He pushed Katherine’s front door open and called out, “Hello?” even though he knew the house was empty. Upon his entrance, the floorboards creaked, awakening to his intrusion.

  It struck Derek how the house had adopted Katherine’s personality. Quilts hung on the edge of a sofa, friendly and inviting. Photographs of a large family lined the wall, each one telling a story. Now they were nothing more than pictorial echoes of a life once lived. Sadly alone now, the house reminded Derek of a dog dutifully waiting for its mistress to return.

  Walking up the steps to the second floor, Derek felt a tickle at the back of his neck. A static shock. He turned, saw nothing.

  The door at the top of the stairs opened at his slight touch. The sight of the double bed filled him with melancholy. One side of the bed remained immaculately made, pillows in place, sheets pulled tighter than a marine’s bed. Herbert’s side, no doubt. Katherine’s side had a sad, recently slept in look, sheets askew, pillow indented.

  By the window rested the rocking chair her late husband liked to sit in. He gave it a slight push, the chair nodding back in silent approval. Katherine’s wedding photo sat on a small end table next to the chair, another sorrowful reminder of the end of an era.

  Derek dropped a hand to Katherine’s pillow, lightly stroked where she had rested her head. It felt warm to the touch, like someone had recently slept there. Impossible.

  Picking up her pillow, Derek grabbed the small parcel underneath. A black ribbon tied it shut. Inside resided small bones and a tiny yawning skull. Like Kevin, he couldn’t determine the bones’ origins. He rattled them in his palm like a handful of dice.

  The rocking chair woke up, bobbing back and forth. It moved gently at first then began pumping at an accelerated pace. The phonograph clicked. Music started up, the record crackling with age and dust. Big-band era.

  Something sounded on the stairwell. Light, but steady, someone coming up the stairs.

  His gaze glued on the door, Derek fumbled for the phonograph’s switch. The record skipped, catching in an endless loop of forlorn saxophones.

  A shadow announced his visitor’s arrival. A head of gray hair peeked over the top step. Derek backed up against the window.

  Katherine stepped onto the landing wearing a nightgown. She held a silver tray in front of her, the same way she had years ago when she brought them macaroons, her head down, staring intently at the platter. Approaching, she lifted her head. Her smile grew, impossibly so. The corners of her mouth stretched, rising, ending beneath her earlobes. A shark’s-worth of teeth grinned at him. Derek shut his eyes. The soft shuffle of slippers drew closer. He looked. She slumped over, her back rising into a hump, growing and growing. And she still held that awful, death’s head grin. Derek clamped his hands over his eyes. He slid down along the window, collapsing to the floor. Drawing his knees toward him, he curled into a ball. And waited for the cold comfort of insanity to whisk him to somewhere safer.

  The tray bounced off the rug and onto the hardwood floor with a sharp clatter. The music stopped. The chair let out one final squeak and came to an abrupt halt.

  Derek pulled his hands away from his eyes. Katherine—her spirit—was gone. The fallen tray lay next to Derek. Spread over the floor were the items she’d carried. Not macaroons. He picked a handful up and crunched them in his hand, the dust floating to the floor. Golden and brown oak tree leaves. From his tree.

  * * * *

  Katherine wanted to tell him something. What, he had no idea. But everything kept revolving back to that damned tree.

  Derek pulled himself off the floor and looked around the room. This time, he had physical evidence of his spectral visitor. The tray and leaves remained at his feet. Would Toni believe him now? Doubtful. And what could he do with this information? Nothing.

  But it was beyond time to turn proactive. Before someone else dies. And the answer lay buried in the house across the street.

  Outside, he made sure Carl and his cronies weren’t at home. All cars were gone; the yuppies by day, Satanists by night, working their day jobs. A little after three o’clock. Still plenty of time to do what he needed to do.

  Not looking back, or allowing himself to change his mind, Derek strode purposefully across the street. He shot one last glance up and down the block. His hand reached for the garage door handle, and he yanked. The garage door roared up on its runners. Derek stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind him. A motion-sensor light flashed on above him. The refrigerator in the corner hummed to life, welcomed him more than his neighbors ever had. A work bench sat along the back wall, the shelves crammed with jars full of nuts, bolts
, and nails. He pulled at a drawer in the middle of the unit. Locked. He wrenched it free with both hands, and the drawer flew into the air, its contents scattering across the work-table with musical plinks and plunks. Small knives, feathers, powders, ribbons, and bones…small, clean animal bones. He scraped them up and put them back in the drawer. His hands trembled, slowing his progress, before he managed to slide the drawer back into place.

  He knew it. They put the bag of bones underneath Katherine’s pillow. But he needed hard evidence. If he stopped now while so close to the truth, everything that happened before would be pointless.

  The door to the breezeway was unlocked. He dashed in, taking a quick look out the windows. Still no signs of cars or minivans. As he entered the house, he avoided standing in front of windows.

  The kitchen smelled and looked filthy, desperately in need of a thorough cleaning. A line of dead soldier beer bottles stood at attention on the counter. Dishes piled up in the sink, the last stubborn flies of summer dive-bombing them. A flower-faced clock ticked above the sink, urging him on.

  Entering the living room, he scanned it for signs of the previous night’s sex party. The room stank of stale cigarette smoke and abandoned drinks. Cups stacked, some still half-full, on coffee tables and arms of chairs. Several blankets lay abandoned and wadded up in corners. A frat house, the morning after.

  If they have something to hide, Derek guessed it would be in the basement or the bedroom. Visiting another dark and dank basement filled him with dread. But he had come this far, and he wasn’t turning back. Retreating to the kitchen, he opened the basement door. He flicked on the light switch. Going down the steps, a chill washed over him, a sudden drop in temperature. Like his own basement, it was built upon a stone foundation. A green, quasi-fluorescent fungus covered the rough-hewn walls. Rounding the corner, Derek stopped.

  A black curtain cordoned off the southern part of the basement. Hanging on rods, the curtain dangled from the wooden under-structure. He pulled back the curtain, the hoops jangling and frazzling his nerves. A large tapestry with a hand-sewn five-pointed star inside a circle hung on the back wall. Underneath it stood a wooden piece of furniture, a box-like monstrosity composed of many drawers and shelving. Candles and sex toys surrounded the centerpiece…a skull. But of what? Human shaped, yet not quite. Sharp teeth lined the open jaw. Budding small horns protruded from the scalp. It appeared hungry, angry at being disturbed. Below it, hanging in front of a smaller curtain, was an inverted crucifix with a crude figure composed of cloth and a clay-like substance tied to it. Derek recognized the fabric. Part of his work-shirt he kept in the garage. On the ground lay a rippled knife. A dark substance caked the tip. The dark spread underneath it onto the floor. Blood. Had to be.

  Derek’s heart beat at his chest. Finally, he had proof. But of what? They can’t be arrested for weird religious practices. But they had trespassed into his garage and stolen his shirt. He let out an incredulous laugh when he realized his equal guilt.

  The blood on the knife. His hand reached for the knife before he pulled back. No. No fingerprints.

  He fished his phone out and snapped photos of the altar. He would have something to show Toni. She could make of it what she would. But she’d believe him.

  Satisfied—vindicated, even—Derek pulled the curtain back across the rod. He walked up the steps. Taking a last look around, he ensured everything stood in its original state. With one foot into the breezeway, he heard the ratchet of tires entering the driveway. Headlights swept through the breezeway before settling on the garage door.

  Oh, my God, Carl’s home!

  Derek shut the breezeway door and backed into the kitchen. He heard Carl whistling as he walked up the sidewalk. Racing for the back door, Derek bounced into the counter, his elbow nudging a beer bottle. The bottle spun on the counter, edging closer to the floor. He reached for it. And missed. A moment frozen in time, yet the end result inevitable. The bottle fell, then shattered on the floor. Derek wrenched the back door open, the chain lock catching. He shut it and slid the chain free. A key twisted and rattled in the front door. The door opened. Derek heard—felt through the floorboards—the heavy padding of feet as he pulled the back door closed behind him.

  Running for the back fence, Derek vaulted it. Not the most graceful vault but a successful one. He fell into the facing neighbor’s yard, landing behind a bush. One yard over, a dog’s growl turned into a bark. A bundle of fur zipped up and down the fence yapping at him. The dog stopped in front of him, hackles raised, still barking.

  A light flooded Carl’s back yard. Carl stepped outside, investigating the neighborhood. Derek ducked and remained crouched in hiding.

  He waited twenty minutes for Carl to go inside. Then he took the long way home.

  * * * *

  Outside, thunder rumbled. The skies turned dark purple. Wind remained non-existent, not even a breeze. Everything stood eerily still and portended a wicked storm on the rise.

  “You broke into their house?” Toni glared at him, slack-jawed and truly pissed. But Derek thought his evidence worth his breaking and entering. “Oh, my God, Derek! What’s wrong with you? You can’t just go breaking into people’s houses.” She slumped down onto the sofa.

  “I know, honey, but—”

  “But, what? Nothing you say is going to make this better. My God, you could go to jail!”

  Derek approached her, phone in hand. “Just take a look at what our neighbors have been doing in their basement.”

  She reluctantly snagged the phone and thumbed through the photos. She slowed and dropped the phone in her lap. “Okay, it is strange. But you broke into their house. That’s the real issue here.” Patch cowered beneath her feet, obviously wondering if he had done something to evoke Toni’s anger.

  “Well, they came into our garage and stole my shirt and—”

  “What? You’re saying ‘they started it’? Grow up!”

  “Toni, they’re practicing black magic and—”

  “That’s not a crime, Derek, and you know it. What you did is criminal.”

  Derek shook his head. “It’s not just that, Toni. I think they’ve been using curses or spells or—whatever—to kill off the older neighbors.”

  Toni howled at the ceiling, giving Patch serious competition. “Oh…my…God, you need help, Derek. This has gone on too long now. I’m scared out of my mind.”

  “I am too, Toni. I don’t know what to do.”

  “I do. We’re going to get you help.”

  “I don’t need that kind of help!”

  Toni’s voice shook. “I swore I’d never go through this again…after everything we’ve been through. But it’s happening again. I love you, but I just can’t do it.”

  “Toni, honey, because of everything we’ve been through—all of it—please, listen to me. Believe me!”

  She stared at him as if he was a stranger. Painful doubt registered in her eyes. Yet Derek saw love there as well. The kind of love you don’t question, even when you know it’s not best for you. When it doesn’t make sense.

  He knew she wanted to believe him. But Derek realized with defeat she just didn’t know how.

  The doorbell rang. Derek placed a hand on her shoulder as he stood. Patch stayed behind with Toni.

  He opened the door. “Dr. Farraday? What—what’re you doing here?”

  Drops of rain started dribbling from the sky. She smiled, friendly, yet not. “Hi, Derek. Didn’t Toni tell you she called me?”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “She’s worried about you. And I am, too.” She tilted her head.

  “Nothing to worry about, Dr. Farraday. I’m fine. Everything’s just been a big misunderstanding. Sorry you came out here, especially with a storm on the way. But—”

  Dr. Farraday sighed and straightened her head. “No, I’m sorry, Derek. You don’t understand. It’s time we finished this. And I brought all the help I need.”

  From behind her, three figures stepped out of the sh
adows. They stalked forward into the doorway’s light. His three male neighbors. Carl held a bundle of rags and ropes cradled in his arms like a baby. Scott swung at the air with a baseball bat.

  “It’s time we ended this, Derek.” Now, Dr. Farraday’s grin didn’t look sympathetic in the least.

  Chapter Twelve

  The dark-haired neighbor raced up the steps, fire in his eyes. Derek slammed the door, pinning the man’s arm, and leaned in. The man screamed, flailing his arm about. Blindly, he latched onto Derek’s hair and pulled his face into the door.

  “Call 911!”

  From behind him, Toni said “Derek? What’s—”

  Patch ran forward, growling. Derek’s face met the door again. Stunned, he fell back to the floor. The door crashed open, the three men bursting inside.

  A shoe contacted Derek’s face. “That’s for my arm, asshole!”

  Toni screamed. Patch launched onto the man, teeth breaking the skin of his forearm.

  “Get him off! Goddammit, get him off!”

  Carl stormed past the chaos, barreling toward Toni. Sounds of a scuffle emerged from the kitchen. Carl screamed once, followed by Toni’s muffled shouts.

  Scott hitched his bat back and slammed it into Patch’s side. With a high-pitched whimper, Patch fell, silent. Standing over Derek, Scott pulled the bat over his shoulder and said, “Strike three, you’re out! Neighhhbor!”

  And then he was out.

  * * * *

  “Nasty bump you’ve got there, Derek. It’s going to leave quite a bruise.” Derek woke to the administrations of Dr. Farraday, therapist and apparent Satanist. She cupped his chin and gave his head a yank. A round of chuckles echoed off the basement walls. “Not that it’s going to matter now.” Dr. Farraday stood and stepped back, bemusedly admiring her patient on the floor.

  Something stirred next to Derek. Turning, he saw Toni, her eyes wide with shock. Sitting on Carl and Kendra’s basement floor, they were propped up next to the altar. Their hands tied behind them, their feet remained free for all the good it did them. “Toni, you okay?”