He stared down at the photos on the ground. He was afraid to touch them, afraid to be anywhere near them, but he knew he had to get rid of the pictures, and he reached down, scooped them up, and ran to the kitchen sink, where he dumped them in. Their vacation photos were mixed up in there, too, but they were probably contaminated as well, and if he got rid of all the evidence, his parents would never miss them. They’d probably forgotten they still had film in the camera anyway.
He dumped the negatives into the sink as well.
He half expected the photographs to leap up, to start moving, to try and escape, to make noises, to do something in order to stop him, but nothing unusual happened as he pulled open a drawer, took out a soup ladle, and used the big spoon to herd the pictures over to the drain mouth and shove them into the garbage disposal.
He turned on the water, turned on the disposal.
A sense of relief coursed through him as he heard the grinding, as he saw the little flecks of paper that spit out from the drain mouth as the disposal chewed up the pictures.
He turned off the garbage disposal, took the 1-Hour Photo package in which the pictures and negatives had come, and shoved it down there as well.
He turned the disposal back on.
“Hey,” his mom said behind him. “What’re you doing?”
He turned to see his parents walking in, carrying sacks of junk they’d bought at the garage sales. He flipped off the disposal switch. “I was going to clean the breakfast dishes,” he lied. He was aware that his voice sounded too high, and he knew that he was sweating profusely. His heart was still pounding crazily in his chest.
“You don’t have to do that,” his mother told him. “I’ll get them.”
“Okay,” he said, backing away.
His dad frowned at him. “Is something wrong? You look a little funny.”
“No,” he said. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
Twelve
1
They were alone at the bar. Paul had just left to pick up his car from Henry’s Automotive, where Henry Travis had charged him an arm and a leg for simply flushing out the cooling system, something Odd told him he would’ve done for free, but Gregory and Odd had decided to stay for an extra round of drinks.
There were no other customers today, and even the bartender was keeping his distance, giving them privacy, pretending to be wiping glasses at the far end of the counter.
Gregory had had three beers already and was feeling pretty good, but when he glanced over at Odd, his mood faltered. The old man was looking into his beer, not drinking, and the expression on his face made Gregory feel uneasy.
“What is it?” he asked.
Odd shook his head.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Something.”
“You don’t want to—”
“Yes, I do,” Gregory told him.
There was a pause. “People are talking,” Odd said finally.
“About what?”
“You. Your family.”
Gregory could feel his face tighten. “What about us?”
“These… deaths didn’t start happening until you all moved into town.”
“That’s ridiculous.” But his heart was pounding.
“I know it is, I know it is. But the timing’s there. And you know how superstitious these yokels are. Someone noticed that Loretta Nelson’s murder over at the realty office happened about the same time you bought your place in town, and it probably spread from there. And Chilton Bodean was the capper. Everyone knows you two weren’t exactly pals and that you threatened to beat the shit out of him.” He lowered his voice. “Hell, the bartender saw it.”
“Come on. I saw him that one time since I moved back. And you were with me.”
“I know.”
“Besides, he stabbed himself.”
“But he stabbed himself because he had another peeder growing outta his belly button. That’s not a normal everyday occurrence.”
“And that’s my fault, too?”
“I’m not saying it is. All I’m saying is that people are talking. They’re saying that even if you didn’t do anything on purpose, maybe you brought this weird shit with you. Part of it’s probably those old anti-Molokan feelings creeping out. But you gotta admit that there’s some strange stuff been happening here lately.”
Gregory’s face felt flushed.
“I debated whether to tell you or not, but I figured you wouldn’t hear it from no one else…”
“Paul’s not—” he began.
“Hell, no!” Odd looked at him. “Your friends are your friends. You can count on that. And this is probably nothing. It’s probably just a few people and it’ll blow over before long.” He took a long drink of beer. “Maybe I shouldn’t’ve even opened my stupid mouth.”
“No,” Gregory told him. “No, I’m glad you did.”
“Just forget about it.”
“So they don’t think me or my family did anything. We didn’t murder anybody. We’re just… the cause of it somehow.”
“I told you they’re superstitious.”
“But why blame us? What about the Megans?”
“There’s talk about that, too. Maybe it’s your house. Maybe you activated it or it activated you or something. Some type of chemical reaction.” He shook his head. “I told you you should’ve gone after Call, gotten a new place instead. Hell, maybe you still can. I’m not sure what the statute of limitations is on something like that, but if he sold you your home under false pretenses—”
“No.”
“Well, just forget about it, then.”
“What do you think?” Gregory asked.
Odd squirmed in his seat. “Don’t matter what I think.”
“Odd…”
The old man sighed. “I seen a lot of things over the years. This ain’t no murderer or serial killer. I know that.”
“But do you think I’m involved? Or my family?”
“Oh, hell, no. I know better’n that. But…” He took a deep breath. “It ain’t inconceivable that your house is somewhere down in the mix.” He downed the rest of his beer in one huge gulp. “McGuane’s a funny place. Not funny ha-ha, but funny strange. I seen things myself over the years, heard about a lot more. But lately it’s sort of… turned nasty. People are getting killed, and that scares me. There’s probably not one reason for it all, no single thing that’s the cause of it, but it’s happening, and I understand why people are looking for easy answers.”
“You don’t think there’s an easy answer.”
“I don’t know if there’s a hard answer. I don’t know if there’s any answer. You know that saying, ‘Shit happens’? That’s kind of how I look at it. Shit happens, and the best thing to do is just stay out of the way.” He took a five-dollar bill from his pocket, placed it on the bar. “That’s why I’d get out of that house if I were you. A lot of people died there, and that can’t be good.”
Odd got off his stool, patted Gregory’s shoulder. “I gotta go,” he said. “Lurlene’ll kill me if I’m late. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
Gregory nodded, watched the old man walk out of the bar. He picked up Odd’s five, then took out some bills of his own and walked down to the end of the counter to pay the tab. He handed the money to the bartender, but he didn’t like the look on the other man’s face. It reminded him of the nearly identical expressions on the faces of the men who had berated his father outside this very building—