The chairs and rope lay on the floor and there were more traces of blood, but nothing else seemed to be disturbed here. Mama’s scrapbooking desk looked as if she might scuttle into the room at any moment with a fresh crop of old photos to cut and paste onto the thick pieces of colored paper. Daylight streamed through the window and everything seemed to glow in a color that reminded Daryl of fresh, golden honey.
Across the way, the door to the adjoining room was open at a forty-five degree angle. He could vaguely see half of the table that so many people had been nailed to but little else. With no windows of its own and the door only halfway open, the room was as gloomy as the interior of a crypt. Mama had taken out the light bulb years ago, preferring their victims to only have light when she deemed it so. If he were to go in there and that door somehow managed to swing closed….
“Nuh-uh.” Daryl said aloud. “No way, no how. I ain’t goin’ in there. Not without light.”
“Don’t be a pussy.” His inner Earl snapped. “Get your ass in there and find that bitch.”
“Fuck that! You know I don’t like the dark, Earl. You know it. No way I’m gettin’ trapped in there without no light and no way out and God knows what all else.”
Daryl’s voiced had risen in pitch so sharply that it bordered on hysteria. Even the thought of being trapped in that lightless room was made his eyes shimmy behind a veil of tears and he paced about the room with short quick steps.
“I know Mama is dead and all but I ain’t fuckin’ goin’ in there, you here me? What if she comes runnin’ out from the hall and locks me in? What if it’s dark and I can’t get out and there ain’t nobody here to help me? What then? What the fuck then?”
Daryl stopped as if he’d come to some sort of invisible barrier as his voice trailed off. He laughed at himself with a nervous little chuckle and shook his head.
“Flashlight.” He said. “I’ll go get the flashlight. Then it won’t make a lick of difference if that bitch tries to lock me in the dark.”
He bounded out of the room like a rabbit and Mona watched through the crack in the door as she lowered the rusty machete that had been raised above her head. The corners of her lips were arched in a crooked smile that, in any other situation, would have been misconstrued as flirtatious.
So, the little prick was afraid of the dark was he? That was definitely something she could have a little fun with. And, as she recalled the black painted windows she’d noticed when she found the machete, she realized that she even knew the perfect place to play this particular game.
With the stealth of a cat, she slipped out of the two rooms and into the hallway, already giddy with what she had planned.
When Daryl saw the police cruiser parked outside, he slapped his forehead so hard that a red hand print was left in its wake. With everything that had happened, he’d completely forgot that they’d ditched the truck alongside the road. And, since the sun had already risen by that time, the MagLite had been safely tucked away inside the glovebox.
Still, a cop had to have a flashlight, right? He imagined they had to go into abandoned buildings all the time to chase out kids and squatters. And that time last summer when Earl had his license taken away for DUI, the cop had shone a light into their faces that was so bright any coon hunter would’ve been proud. So it stood to reason that there had to be a flashlight somewhere in the car.
After nearly five minutes of searching, however, Daryl was still empty handed. His mind flashed back to the officer sprawled in the middle of the road, but this time it wasn’t the pulp his face had become that came to mind. This time, he envisioned that shiny, black belt that encircled the cop’s waist. It was almost like a super hero’s utility belt with its pouches and holster. Pepper spray, handcuffs, the little cradle for the handheld radio… and also a slender, black flashlight attached by some sort of hook or clamp. To be honest, he’d been so busy looking for the handcuff keys that he couldn’t remember which. All he knew for certain was that there had been a flashlight. And that it was still attached to that now frozen corpse.
“Son of a bitch!”
Daryl wanted to hit something, to drive his fist through a piece of wood just like Earl had done when they discovered Mama’s spectacles laying inside the corpse of their former victim. Instead, he stamped his foot into the snow and slammed the car door shut with as much force as he could muster. From somewhere back in the woods, a gunshot rang out and he stared at the edge of the forest for a moment while the meaning of this dawned upon him. The initial shot was followed by two more, one right after the other, and he knew he had to get moving.
Earl was a damn good hunter and the chances that he’d missed his mark were about the same as finding an honest politician. Which meant that the man was now dead and Earl would soon be coming back to the house. If he found Daryl simply standing in the yard because he was too afraid to check the darkened room for the woman… well, that was something he really didn’t want to think about.
Inspired by the threat of his brother’s wrath, Daryl’s mind seized upon an alternative almost immediate. The kitchen. Mama had boxes of candles tucked away in the junk drawer for times when the power went out in the middle of a storm. Even if he somehow still managed to get locked in the dark room, Earl would be back long before the candle ever burnt out. He’d be pissed, no doubt, that his little brother had been so easily trapped… but it still wouldn’t be as bad as if he came home to find him doing absolutely nothing.
Daryl bolted up the front steps and careened around the corner of the hallway. He’d just passed the open cellar door when he skidded to a stop and cocked his head.
He’d thought he heard something. Very low and very soft, but he was sure it hadn’t been his imagination.
“Daryl….”
There it was again. A voice, barely audible. It sounded old and tired and wavered as weakly as if the last vestiges of strength were being used to find the words.
“M… Mama?”
Hope stirred within Daryl’s chest and he remained perfectly still, straining to hear a reply.
“Daryl… help me….”
Yes! That was definitely Mama’s voice. Even though it sounded as if she were in pain and fading fast, he would have recognized it anywhere.
“Daryl….”
The cellar. Mama’s voice was coming from the cellar. And he saw it all as perfectly as if he’d been there: there’d been a struggle at which point the record player had been knocked over and, as they scuffled, they’d kicked ash out from the fireplace and onto the floor. Mama had fought them back, probably trying to drive them out of the house, but when they go to the cellar door something had happened. She’d tripped. Or perhaps been pushed. Either way, she ended up toppling down the stairs. She was down there right now. Probably with a broken hip or leg or arm. Or worse. She could have bashed her head open, could be bleeding to death even as he stood there putting it all together.
“Daryl, please… help.”
Normally, he didn’t like going downstairs and hadn’t set foot down there for nearly two years. But this time, he had no hesitation. He darted through the cellar door so quickly that he almost tripped around the piece of twine that Earl had apparently tied to the doorknob for some reason. His hand grabbed onto the rickety banister and he regained his balance before taking the rest of the steps two at a time.
The cellar floor was made of concrete and it was so cold that he could immediately see his breath in the harsh light of a bare 100 watt bulb. However, that same light also revealed what he took to be proof to his suspicions. For at the very bottom of the staircase was an oblong smear of blood, as if something large had lain there for quite some time.