Strains of Patsy Cline singing Crazy wafted out of the open door then quickly faded away to near silence once more as the door closed behind the man, muffling the tune from the radio or record player somewhere in the house. Ed quickly ducked back down. Just as before, the man struck a match, lit a cigarette then flicked the bottom of the stick to extinguish it and tossed the spent match on to the ground. The windows were dark so the only light now coming from the house was through the window of the backdoor. The man was again in silhouette but it looked to Ed as if he were wearing some kind of gown or robe that went almost all the way down to his boots. Ed concentrated on the man’s face hoping to see some features when the cigarette was inhaled and grew brighter but he was too far away. All Ed could make out was that the smoker was gaunt and clean-shaven. The figure stood still, staring out towards the woods. He finished the smoke and flicked the butt towards where Ed lay hiding, the still smouldering end falling just ten feet away from his location. The figure turned and walked the few paces back towards the house, but then hesitated, looked back to the woods, scanning slowly from left to right, then seemingly convinced he was alone went back to the house and opened the door. Ed caught another few bars from Patsy Cline and the briefest flash of crimson and gold from the robe as the man entered the light, then the door closed behind him returning the backyard to silence and darkness.
As soon as the door had closed and the rear of the house returned to shadows Ed was on the move. He held up the top line of fresh new barbed wire and stepped on the lower two, making a big enough gap for him to pass through. As soon as he was clear he ran the thirty or so feet to the left corner of the house and stopped with his back to the wooden building. He peeked around the side and saw that it was still in darkness, so crouching low to avoid being seen through any windows, he ran to the front of the house. He knelt down at the corner and took a look around the front. Lights blazed from the windows at the front of the house, illuminating most of the drive. He was dismayed to see a bunch of cars and pick-up trucks parked nose in towards the house but not surprised to see they were all from the 1950s or early 60s, the latest being the one nearest to him which looked to be a nearly new black ‘62 Cadillac, the oldest being the now familiar beat-up burgundy Dodge pick-up parked next to it. The house had a wooden porch and cover, giving it a Wild West saloon look. He skipped over the wood railing and tip-toed towards the first window. The room was lit but empty and appeared to be a study with a desk and leather high-backed chair. He moved on to the next window which was smaller and set much higher, the washroom he deduced. Next came the door, which Ed thankfully saw was closed so he went quickly on. He was now over halfway down the porch and completely exposed, if someone came out now he’d had it. The next windows were the largest, both of which were open. Ed snuck down and got closer. He could hear them before he could see them, sounded like a bunch of men chatting away at a party. Almost under the first window now he dared to look up and in. He didn’t know what he expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t what was in front of him now. It was a perfectly ordinary living room, lacking a women’s touch perhaps but liveable and comfortable. A two-seater and two matching chairs were at one end, near the open brick fire. To the side was a wood-encased phonogram with some long-play records waiting on the top. This was where the plaintive voice of Patsy Cline was emanating. Nearer to Ed and in a corner was another wood-covered appliance, a black and white Muntz television, that was switched on but with the volume turned low and was showing adverts. A table on the far side had crockery, sandwiches and drinks. Everything seemed perfectly normal for a gathering of friends, which is why the eight fully robed men in the room made the scene even more surreal. They stood in groups of twos and threes chatting away, almost all of them with their backs to the window, sipping beer or eating. Most of the robes were deep burgundy with silver accents although he could see one that was bright crimson and gold. The smoker from out back he guessed and another figure dressed all in white. All of the robes had matching hoods that at present were hanging down their backs to form a high collar. All of the robes had a large badge sown on to the left arm; Ed was stunned to see that it was a stylised blood red swastika set in a white circle. Ed was looking at a room full of American Nazis.
A short figure nearest the TV pulled back the loose sleeve of his robe and looked at his watch.
“Nearly 10.30, I just love this show.” he said to no one in particular. The voice was familiar but Ed couldn’t quite place it. The man leaned over and raised the volume a little.
Vernor’s soft drink with Va-va-voom. Aged four years in wood. Remember, the fun ones drink Vernors.
Okay, welcome back to KYW-3, This is Ken Goodman giving you the latest weather report brought to you by Sinclair Oil. And don’t you turn that dial now, coming up next we have ‘One Step Beyond’, but first, the weather…
“How can you watch that crap?” said another of the small group in disgust.
“Hey!” he replied indignantly, “it’s great, it’s all about the other side.” The shorter man turned as he spoke and Ed was looking straight at a younger version of Sam Ryan the motel owner.
“That machine is gonna fry yer brains I’m telling ya. Shoot! I’m gonna get some air.” The taller man rebuked.
Ed realised the nearest supply of fresh air for the other man was through the front door, not the back. There was no way he could get to either end of the porch before the robed figure emerged from the front door. Ed quickly turned and vaulted with one hand over the railing and dived down, coming to rest on his hands and knees next to the four fake ventiports of a two-tone blue ’55 Buick Century. The front door of the house creaked open as the figure stepped out. The man wandered aimlessly in the other direction, taking a quick look inside the Cadillac at the far end. Keeping low, Ed tried to follow the other man’s course but lost him. Turning sideways to the rear of the Buick Ed glanced right at the last car in the row. It was black and white and carried a huge gold star on the door. Looking up, Ed could just make out the top of the red dome light on the roof.
“Crap!”
The thought pretty much covered it. Just as he returned to his mission of tracking the man in the robe, the figure walked past the backs of the two cars Ed was crouching between. The man glanced sideways and they made eye contact, but he kept walking for another step and did a double-take, disbelief written over both of their faces. Ed recognised this man too. He was looking into the clear blue eyes of Esther’s husband Jed, only a much younger version.
“What the hell…”
Before Jed could utter another syllable, Ed had leapt to his feet and ran towards the man. As Ed approached, a velvety arm swung towards him but Ed ducked the swing and as he came back up, followed through with a gravity-defying jump in the air. At the zenith of his jump, Ed lashed out with a hook kick that caught the other figure in the side of the head. Jed Mourn stumbled sideways but was still standing although he was leaning heavily on the side of the patrol car. He shook his head clear and rushed toward Ed with a low growl. At the last second, Ed stepped neatly sideways and raised his forearm up, using the other man’s energy to ram the firm muscle into the man’s throat. The man crumpled to the ground gagging for air, grabbing with both hands at his throat. Ed knew he had to get clear, and quickly, but he didn’t want to be followed. With little remorse he kicked out with his right leg, smashing down on the side of the robed figure’s left knee, the crack of bone confirming the strike was on target. Before the fallen man could scream with what little air was in his lungs, Ed’s right foot came up and caught the man under his chin whipping his head back to impact on the back fender of the patrol car. He collapsed sideways unconscious, but the noise of his head hitting the car had been loud and someone inside the house had heard it over the noise of the TV. Ed ran as fast as his legs would carry him round to the left of the house, back into the darkness. Shouts came from the front as the rest of the mob poured out. It took little time to find their fallen comrade. Ed was halfway across the clearing before the first shot rang out, kicking up dust and dirt ten feet to his left, they still hadn’t seen him. An engine howled into life and earth sprayed out as one of the group wheel-spun their car into motion, headlights blazing. Ed knew there was no way he was going to have time to delicately climb through the barbed-wire fence. The beams of light were coming around the side of the building, a big V8 engine roaring in protest. Another shot through the dark, this time close enough to make Ed jump sideways. With the light from the car headlamps now breaking the darkness he could see he had only ten feet to go before the fence, he put his head down and ran even faster, his legs pumping like pistons, his chest heaving, drawing in as much air as he could. The lights from the car were now on his back, he wasn’t going to make it. With as much energy as he could muster he dived forwards, arms in front as if he were going off a diving board; he lunged up and forward over the fence just as a bullet chipped out a hunk of wood from the fence post next to his head. He cleared the fence with an inch to spare but his landing was far from soft. Head down, he came bowling over through the long grass, he rolled once, twice, the wind being pushed out of him so he could hardly breathe before a tree stopped his spin. A heavy weight wrapped heavily around his chest, it was so tight, no air, he couldn’t breathe, gasping desperately, My God, this is how it ends.