“Plans change.” She said aloud. “And I reckon if they’ve done somethin’ bad enough to have the cops come a’sniffin’ around, then those plans better be changin’ right quick.”
There was no question about it: both of them would have to die. She’d slit their throats and when they boy’s got home, they’d dispose of the bodies. After all, you don’t keep snakes in the hen house, as her mother used to say.
A shiver passed along her spine and she lowered her gaze so that she was looking into the living room. Through the wide doorway, she could just make out the fireplace: the logs that had popped and crackled for most of the night were now nothing more than a pile of smoldering embers. Even the pine-scented smell of smoke had begun to fade. Before long, the house would be so cold that the sweat on the insides of the windows would freeze into meandering streams of ice. The chill would further aggravate the rheumatism that sometimes made her knee feel like a pincushion full of needles and walking upstairs would be a miracle worthy of Jesus.
So it was settled then. She would kill the man and the woman, come back down to throw some fresh logs on the fire, and have a nice cup of tea while she waited for Earl and Daryl to drag their sorry asses home. They’d be rid of these two before it was even time for lunch.
Mary slipped the knife out of her pocket and gripped the frigid, metallic handle. Even if it was only for a short amount of time, the young couple upstairs would bleed for her… and she was ready for the warmth of their blood to chase away the chill of the morning.
The old woman’s body stiffened as she stared at the coils of rope on the floor. For a moment, her mind simply refused to believe the evidence in front of her: it had to be some sort of trick, some clever ploy to simply make her think they had somehow escaped. After all, she’d watched Earl tie the knots herself. If it had been Daryl, then that would be a different story… but Earl was a master with the rope and there was no way they could have just slipped out of the bonds as easily as if they were pajamas. No way.
From the corner of the her eye, Mary noticed that the door to the other room hung open and she could just make out Darlene Honnicker through the gloom. The woman looked almost as if she were suspended from the table: her legs were splayed out behind her and her arms were bent awkwardly over the edge of the table as if she were struggling to maintain a grip; with her head bowed before her limp body and her shoulders locked into place near her ears, it was all too easy to imagine that the table was an altar before which the mutilated blond were praying. But Mary had made enough corpses in her day to recognize a dead body when she saw it… and Darlene Honnicker would most certainly not be providing any more blood for the old woman.
“I know you’re in there. You both best be comin’ out and I just might let ya live.”
Her words were short and clipped and Mary tried to suppress the rage that imbued them with a slight tremolo. It was better to keep it all inside, like a bottle of cola that had been vigorously shaken. When the time was right, she’d let it all spew out, would let the pressure burst forth as the walls and floor were covered with thick, dark liquid; but for now, she’d save it all up and wait for just the right moment.
“You hear me? I don’t know why ya killed the girl… don’t rightly reckon I care neither. But you can both step out here right this minute and hang on to some of your pride. Or ya can wait ’til the boys get home and they drag ya out kickin’ and screamin.’ Your choice.”
Mary cocked her head as she listened for the shuffle of movement from the other room or hushed whispers as the couple planned their course of action. She strained to hear the softest of breaths or even the rustle of fabric. But there was only a silence so complete that she could almost believe that the only occupant of the room really was the carcass dangling from the table.
“Fine. Have it your way. I can wait out here ’til the cows come home. Or the boys. Whichever comes first.”
Still nothing. But she knew they had to be in there. She’d unlocked the door at the top of the stairs herself and she would have heard something if they’d somehow forced it open when she was talking with Howarth. And, while freeing themselves from the ropes was certainly a trick worthy of Houdini, she seriously doubted the couple had the ability to just walk through solid walls.
No, they were in there all right. They had to be.
Switching the knife from her left hand to her right, Mary pursed her lips and fought the urge to storm in after them. She wanted nothing more than to walk in with the blade swishing through the air before her, to cleave flesh from bone as they scurried away from her like cockroaches in the light. To make them pay for thinking they could actually escape. But the logical part of her mind knew that wouldn’t do. As long as she was in the bedroom with its brightly lit window and the only exit squarely behind her, she had the upperhand… and it was an advantage that she was not about to just foolishly give away.
So she decided to wait it out. Earl and Daryl should be home any time now. In fact, she’d expected them to be back before it had even begun getting light out. Where the hell were they, anyway?
Mary looked toward the window as if she could somehow will the sound of the truck engine to appear in the yard outside. And that was when she saw it.
The blade of the knife trembled in her hand and her shoulders hunched as she ground her teeth together. The anger that had made everything within her feel like a tightly wound spring began to slip and her eyes sparked as her sagging breasts rose and fell with each quick breath.
“Sons of bitches… no good, ass lickin’ sons of bitches….”
Her feet thudded against the floorboards as she stomped to the window and her left fist clenched as she fought the urge to shattered the rippled glass with a punch. Her entire body seemed to be drawn in now, as if she were compressing into a seething ball of sinew and veins. How much time had she pissed away talking to an empty room? Even now, they were probably laughing at her as they scuttled through the woods, calling her an old fool, a stupid hick who could be tricked so damn easily.
Every ounce of her concentration was focused on the edge of curtain that was trapped under the sill and the little flakes of paint that had fallen when they’d pried it open. She was only peripherally aware of the footsteps pressed into the snow that covered the roof outside… the same footsteps which led to the edge of the rusted gutter. At that moment, if she’d had it within her power, Mary would have set the curtains ablaze with nothing more than the heat and intensity of her gaze. She would have beamed all of her hatred and anger into a roaring column of fire that would have reduced the cheap fabric to nothing more than ash.
“Oh, I’m gonna find you, oh yes I will. I’ll find you and you’ll only wish ya hadn’t escaped. I’ll track ya down and….”
The house filled with music so suddenly that Mary jumped just as if someone had snuck up behind her and tickled her ear. . It was the familiar pop and crackle of the phonograph, the almost Spanish-sounding horns and acoustic strumming of Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire. But the last record she’d listened to had been Boxcar Willie. Which meant someone had to have changed albums. Someone had to have turned the record player on.