“Scott. He’s grown up to be just like you. He’s an arrogant, sadistic, bully.” Harry glared at Tom. He’d stopped his work and was standing in front of a freshly painted wall. “He’s a fucking asshole. I guess that saying is true — the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“I don’t have time to get into this with you,” Tom said, forcing the words out of his mouth. What he wanted to do was leap across the room and pound Harry’s face in. “So please, shut the fuck up and get to painting.”
“I don’t care if the cops bust us for keeping what you did a secret,” Harry said. “I’ve been living with what we did — what you did — for too long. Do you know how that’s affected me, Tom? Do you have any idea what kind of nightmares you’ve put me through?”
“Harry, we don’t have time for — “
“Shut up!” Harry yelled. The intensity behind that command startled Tom. He stopped, the adrenalin spiking through his system now. Victor stopped what he was doing and listened. “You just shut the hell up and listen to me, Tom, because I’m only going to say it once. You understand me?”
Tom met Harry’s gaze, not backing down. “I’m listening.”
“I’ve hated you ever since the night you killed Billy Thompson and Candace Drombowsky,” Harry snarled, his eyes blazing pits of hate. “The only reason I cooperated was because I was a scared, confused kid who didn’t want to get caught.”
“None of us wanted to get caught, Harry,” Tom said.
“Let me finish!” Harry barked. “If you hadn’t killed them, we wouldn’t have had to go through what we went through. Aren’t you getting that through your thick skull?”
Tom set down his paintbrush. He couldn’t let this go on. “Harry, let’s just take a quick break and — “
“I used to hope the police would catch you,” Harry said. “I realized you would have dropped a dime on us, but I didn’t care. I always figured I’d get some kind of lesser sentence. But at the same time, part of me was afraid of getting caught, just like you, so I said nothing. And…I’ve never been able to live with myself since that night.” Harry cocked a questioning gaze at Tom. “Do you understand what I’m talking about?”
Tom didn’t know what to say. He’d re-lived that night multiple times, and through the passing of time had only just recently felt the faint twinges of regret over his actions. At the same time he was so far removed from the person he’d been so long ago that he felt disconnected with him. The Tom Bradfield that murdered Billy Thompson and Candace Drombowsky was not the Tom Bradfield he was now.
“I’ve thought about Billy and Candace every day since that night,” Harry said. “I know you haven’t cared and have gone on with your life, but I’ve never gotten over it. I was so afraid of what might happen, that I never lived up to my full potential. I dropped out of college and worked in jobs I hated. I’ve had trouble with women, drugs and alcohol. I’ve been a shitty father to my own kids, and I’ve been a shitty person because of my alcohol problems, all of which are a direct result of what you did that night and how I helped cover everything up for you.”
“It wasn’t my fault you turned to booze and dope,” Tom said.
“Maybe it wasn’t,” Harry said, not backing down. “But I blame you for it anyway. I blame you for a lot of things that went wrong with my life. But you know what? I’m past all that now. Coming here today, seeing what’s been going on here and learning what’s happened…” Harry gestured around them at the splotchy paint-work in the guesthouse living room, the bloodstains on the floor and walls they were trying to cover up. “I see things have come full circle with Scott. And you know something? Scott’s much worse. Killing Billy and Candace may have been something that was carried too far that night, something that was just spur of the moment.”
“That’s right,” Tom said, his back to the front door of the guesthouse. “It was spur of the moment. I never thought it would go that far. You know that, and Victor knows it. We’ve talked about it so many times, Harry, that’s why we — “
“That’s why we covered it up, I know. But things are different with Scott. You can see that, can’t you?”
“All I see right now is we have to cover this up or the police will not only be all over this place, they’ll be traipsing through the woods and they might find where we buried — “
“As far as I’m concerned, Scott belongs in prison!” Harry cut in, overriding Tom, who started, shocked that Harry made such a bold statement. “The only reason I’m even here is for my own self interest. I don’t want those woods searched either. I don’t want those bodies found for the simple reason that I don’t want an investigation started. I’d like to think enough time has passed that any witnesses or evidence or whatever is so old it can’t be used. I mean, none of us were questioned back then, right?” Harry looked from Victor to Tom. They shrugged and shook their heads. “But still, you never know what can happen with DNA and stuff. So I’d rather have them where they are. Buried, where they can’t be found. I think that’s a shitty thing to say, but…for the first time in years I’m sober, I’m on a good track with my job, I’m married to a great woman, and I’m connecting with my kids. I’m even going to be a grandfather. I want to be there for my grandchild, I want to be there for him more than I was for my son when he was growing up. I want to make that up to him by being there for his kid.” For the first time Harry looked like he was imploring Tom and Victor to understand his position. And for the first time, Tom understood completely where Harry was coming from.
Tom said, “I understand, Harry.”
“Do you?”
Tom nodded. “Yeah, I do. Now can we finish this?”
“We’re going to finish this, all right. But remember what I just told you. I’m only here for my own self-interest. I don’t care about you or Scott. When this is finished, I don’t ever want to hear from you again. If the police question me, I’m going to deny I even know you. You got me?”
You self-righteous prick, Tom thought. Despite his sudden flare of anger, Tom fought it down. “Whatever you want, Harry. Let’s just cut the shit and get back to doing this.”
Harry bent down and picked up his paintbrush. He glanced back at Tom and the sudden change on his face was so swift that Tom had no time to react. Harry’s features went from sullen anger and defiance, to sudden stark shock and fear within a second. He opened his mouth and managed a quick “What the fuck is that?” and that’s when Tom felt the presence of somebody approaching from behind, at the front door.
When Tom turned around he caught a quick glimpse of a kid in dark jeans and a black and white T-shirt. He caught a glimpse of the words “Dr. Chud” on the T-shirt. The kid’s eyes were vacant, his throat ripped open, and Tom saw that his T-shirt wasn’t black, it was dark red from the great cascade of blood that had poured out of his torn throat. The kid, a young guy in his early twenties with brown hair, lurched forward and launched himself at Tom.
Tom stepped back, trying to scramble out of the way, and more people swarmed into view: another young guy who might have been Dr. Chud’s sidekick, his guts hanging out, and a short skinny kid with a horrible head wound that made his left eye protrude from its socket. Others swarmed in from the yard, about half a dozen, and as Dr. Chud slammed into him, propelling him onto the ground, the others entered the guesthouse and scrambled past, heading toward Harry and Victor, and the last thing Tom heard before Dr. Chud ripped his throat out with his teeth were the sounds of Harry and Victor screaming.