“I wish I could say that I’m getting use to any of this, but that would be a lie,” Tom declared.
“God, do I need a shower! I’ll even take a cold one-I have never felt so funky in my entire life!” Erin exclaimed.
“The good news is that we have a gas hot water heater at the house, so we can at least enjoy a hot shower.”
“Awesome-I can’t wait!”
Erin told Tom how to get to her apartment, which wasn’t far from downtown Worthington. He parked in front of the four-story brick structure and kept the car running.
“You want to come in? It will just take me a minute or two,” Erin said.
“Yes, I do. It’s going to be dark as pitch inside.”
“Forgot about that.”
Tom grabbed the flashlight and followed Erin up the walk. Erin led the way inside and up to the second floor. Her apartment door was still wide open-the way Kyle had apparently left it.
“Can I borrow the flashlight? I need to find my clothes,” she said.
“Sure,” Tom replied, handing it to her.
Tom stood near the door and watched Erin as she made her way across the small living room to her bedroom. He heard her rummaging around for several moments before she came out carrying a backpack. She went into the bathroom, stuffed some items into the backpack then rejoined Tom.
“Now take me to where that hot shower awaits!” she smiled.
Back in the Jeep, Tom yawned for what had to be the twentieth time since leaving New York. He tried to recall the last time he’d slept and realized it had been the night before while parked in front of Macy’s-about forty-five minutes worth in all before being rudely awakened by Chappy and his cronies.
He needed about eight uninterrupted hours of shuteye and a square meal.
After a shower.
He turned onto his street, pulled up in front of his house and did a double take There was a car parked in the driveway!
Although he didn’t recognize the car, its presence could only be good news: maybe someone had brought his family back home!
“Whose car is that?” Erin said.
“I don’t know but I’m hoping that Peg and the kids are in there right now. Maybe somebody found them!”
“That would be great!”
Tom pulled up behind the car and shut of the engine. He glanced at the license plate and recognized the name of the auto dealership advertised on the frame, which was located in Smithtown.
That was odd, to say the least.
“Maybe you’d better stay here while I check this out, come to think of it,” he told Erin.
“But you said-”
“I know what I said, but I want to be sure it’s safe before you come in. Once I’m sure that it is, I’ll come back and get you.”
Erin was visibly miffed. “I want to go, too! It’s not fair!”
Tom looked directly into her eyes. “Listen, Erin. We have no idea who is in my house right now. It could be a good thing or it could be trouble. I just don’t want to take any chances.”
“Okay. I’ll wait here. But come back as fast as you can, you promise?”
“I promise.”
Tom grabbed the flashlight and opened the car door. He shut it gently and made his way to the side door. It was dark as pitch inside, which was not a good sign. If Peg and the kids were in there, they certainly would have at least lit some candles or fired up the fireplace.
He paused before opening the door and glanced back at the mysterious car parked in the driveway. It was an older model Pontiac, green, and looked to be around a mid-nineties model. Who in god’s green earth would be visiting from Smithtown? he wondered. Peg’s family hailed from Columbus, so it almost had to be either a friend or a relative of his-someone with an awfully good reason to warrant the two-hour drive.
Tom crept over to the garage. He was not going to go into the house without some kind of weapon. He found a crowbar, recalled Bummer for a second, then carried it with him over to the side door. Opening the door as quietly as he could, he stepped inside.
From the laundry room, Tom could just make out a tiny orange glow coming from inside the kitchen. It looked like the end of a lit cigarette. He took a whiff and recognized the pungent smell of burning tobacco. At that same moment, the glow intensified as the person at the other end of the cigarette took a long drag.
“Come on in, Tom,” a voice suddenly rang from the darkness.
Tom flinched.
A flashlight flicked on and its beam shone directly into his eyes.
“And ya can put down that goddamn crowbar.”
The man’s voice was gruff sounding with a heavy southern Ohio drawl. It wasn’t the least bit familiar.
“Who are you?” Tom asked, feeling his heart rate go up a notch or two.
“Right now, that’s for me to know and you to find out. I want you to drop that piece of iron (pronounced “arn”) and walk toward me real slow-like,” the voice commanded.
“No way-this is my house and I’m not going to drop anything!”
Click.
Tom knew that was the sound of a gun cocking in the darkness.
“Ya sure about that, Tom? I’m bettin’ ya might wanna reconsider if ya don’t want a slug in yer haid”
“Okay, I’m dropping it!”
He let the crowbar fall to his feet; the dull clanging nearly deafening.
“There ya go. Now come toward me real slow. Or as God is my witness, I’ll waste yer sorry ass.”
Tom moved tentatively toward the man holding the flashlight. He couldn’t make out any of his features except that he was thin.
“That’s far enough, right there,” the man said. “Now, I’m gonna light a candle so we can see each another. I want you to just stand there nice and still for a second.”
Tom watched anxiously as the stranger grabbed a butane lighter off the kitchen table, flicked it and lit a candle. As amber light filled the kitchen, Tom gazed at the man’s face, trying to determine if he’d ever seen him before. He was heavily bearded, had a broken nose and wore his long, greasy hair in a ponytail. Tom was fairly certain he had never laid eyes on him before.
“There. Now have a seat and we can begin our little chit-chat,” the intruder said, gaping at him with bug eyes that looked like he was on crystal meth.
Tom sat down across the table from him and said, “What do you want with me?”
“Hold on and I’ll tell ya in a minute. First I want to get something to drink.”
The man got up, went over to the refrigerator and took out two warm Michelob Ultras. “Here,” he said, offering one to Tom.
“No thanks, too early for me,” Tom said, trying to appear under control while in fact he was terrified of this scary-looking redneck.
“Suit yerself,” the stranger said, screwing off the bottle cap. He kept the gun trained on Tom as he sucked down several huge gulps of beer.
“Ahhh, that’s better. Now down to the business. I don’t reckon you remember me, Tom, but I lived on the west side of Smithtown back in the eighties around the same time you shuffled off to New York. I’d seen you around in the bars from time to time but we never talked none because you were one of them city fellahs and I was just what you thought of as a hillbilly or whatever. Which I didn’t really give a big shit about because I figgered as long as you never messed with me or any of my buddies, I wasn’t gonna start no trouble with you.”
Tom thought back to those cobweb-shrouded days twenty years ago, trying to place this guy’s face in a bar. He looked just like the other typical hicks from the sticks: ultra-long dirty hair, full beard and that same sort of startled, demented look as the good ol’ boys in Deliverance But the guy didn’t ring any bells.
“Anyway, my name is Donnie-Donnie Shortridge. Now, does that name sound familiar to you?”
In fact, it did, but only faintly. Tom recalled the name Donnie Shortridge but couldn’t place exactly where he’d heard it before.
“Not really,” he said. “Should it?”
“Aww, it sure as hell should! But like I said before, your type of folk didn’t give a shit about my type so you probably don’t want to remember. Don’t really make any big shit to me, anyway.”