Rory stared at Saul, his eyes traveling up and down the other man’s scratched arms. “Typhus must cause itching.”
Saul looked down at himself, the color draining from his face. “You think that’s what I have?”
By now Karen had dropped her hands, watching them as they stood by the front door. There was something tickling at the corners of her mind, some answer not quite within reach yet.
The coffins in the basement.
The fleas. Saul’s mysterious all-over itch. The little girl.
Sean.
“What happened to Storm?” she asked suddenly. “After his wife died, I mean.”
Rory didn’t seem particularly eager to answer the question but did nonetheless. “He killed himself in the basement.”
“Really.” It was a statement, not a question. Karen chewed her lower lip, thinking hard. Finally, she asked, “How do you know the wife really had typhus?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how do you know? They were out here all alone. Could he have killed her?”
He gave her a mildly disgusted look. “Why the fuck would he have done that?”
She shrugged. “Happens all the time. Some men would rather kill their wives than have them leave.”
“I’m pretty sure she just got sick and died,” Rory said.
“Hmm.”
“Jesus. This isn’t one of your books, Karen. Not everything is a diabolical murder mystery.”
“I don’t write mysteries,” she said absently. But there was a mystery here, some answer, a puzzle piece that continued to elude her.
“Maybe we should have a séance,” Rory suggested sarcastically. “Then you can talk to the Captain yourself and ask him if he killed his wife.”
Karen’s eyes narrowed to slits. She wished he would stop talking for a minute so she could think. If she had been writing this story…then what? What would the characters’ motives be? What would be the theme? Something more than death or even an afterlife? From somewhere in the house, the dog began barking again. All three of them looked towards the sound, which was coming from the back. Probably the kitchen.
More pine needles and twigs began rolling along the floor, pushed by a wind also coming from that direction.
“Shit,” Rory said. “The back door must have blown open.”
The three of them ran in that direction and as soon as they hit the kitchen, sure enough, the door was open to the storm. Dusty stood under the table, barking wildly, peeking out from between the legs of the chairs.
Smart dog, Karen thought as Rory started to close the door, his blond hair being blown off his face, the tails of his shirt flapping loosely. Outside, someone screamed and this time, Karen knew it wasn’t just the house playing tricks on them. The trio all looked at each other, shocked and amazed.
“Don’t close it,” Saul shouted, running forward and gripping the door, holding it open as he tried to shield his face from the battering wind and see out into the back yard at the same time.
Trees had crept up against the house on this side as well, nestled right up to the porch so the trunks actually touched the wooden railing.
Karen ran to stand behind Saul, peering over his shoulder into the storm, trying to see around the tree trunks.
“Someone’s out there,” Saul said.
Behind them, Rory cursed. “What the fuck is going on? How could anyone be out there?”
But regardless of what he thought, someone was indeed out there. Both Karen and Saul saw movement far back towards what had previously been the edge of the woods but was now just deeper, darker woods.
A figure, stooped and loping through the trees, dodging fallen branches, hands raised above its head in a feeble attempt to protect it.
Squinting, Karen struggled to see the figure more clearly. Definitely human and naked by the looks of it, though it was hard to tell from this distance. A dark-skinned man, she thought, screaming and running.
As they watched, the figure reversed direction and then was bolting towards the house, towards them for a moment before veering off to the right.
“Oh my God,” Karen whispered.
Saul finished the thought for her. “It’s Sean.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Karen shoved herself past Saul, screaming her brother’s name as she stepped out onto the porch, already trying to figure out a way past these trees, to get out there and reach him.
Saul was already way ahead of her, vaulting the porch railing and squeezing out from between two pines. Karen tried to follow the way he’d gone, but hands gripped her shoulders and held her back.
“No,” Rory shouted. “It’s too dangerous out there.”
As if to prove him right, from somewhere above something cracked and a branch began its long descent, knocking into other branches on its way down until dozens of them of various sizes crashed onto the porch roof and rolled off.
“Let me go!” Karen screamed, struggling to free herself of his grip.
“You want to get killed too?” Rory yelled in her ear. “Saul will get him!” Karen twisted around as best she could, intending to punch him if she had to but when she saw his face, she froze. Rory was crying, tears streaming from his eyes and blowing back across his cheeks towards his ears. The sight of him brought tears to Karen’s eyes as well, and she turned back to see if she could spot either Sean or Saul, but realized that wherever they now were, it was out of their line of sight.
She raised a hand to her mouth, sobbing now, the ache in her so fierce and jagged she felt as if her heart was being torn from her body, a pain so deep and excruciating she knew nothing could ever hurt so badly unless it had been latent, there all along, allowed to fester and bleed under the surface, growing in size; an infection that couldn’t help but explode in a drowning rush of anguish the moment it suffered even the slightest prick.
Shouts from somewhere out there reached them — Saul was yelling the word “Stop!” repeatedly, as well as Sean’s name. Another crash and a cry of pain and then only the wind for entirely too long.
Both Karen and Rory held their breath, choking back their sobs, eyes straining for any sight of movement out there in the gloom.
The dog had found the courage to come out from the table and stood shivering against Karen’s thigh, periodically letting out a shrill bark.
Karen was certain they’d lost both men to the storm when they heard a loud grunt to their left and ran to that side of the porch, peering over the edge to a small area where no tree stood.
Rolling on the ground, Saul fought with Sean, who Karen could now see was so filthy he had appeared to be dark-skinned from a distance.
Saul was doing his best not to hurt Sean, who kept striking out with fists and feet in an attempt to escape. Blood streamed from Saul’s nose, pine needles and dirt already mixed up with it, caking on his upper lip. Rory leapt over the rail to help subdue Sean, which made Sean struggle all the harder, making strange grunts and animal sounds.
“Sean!” Karen screamed, throwing a leg over the rail, intending to drop down and assist if she could.
Sean didn’t even glance up at the sound of his name, eyes rolling and terrified, fighting with the men as if he’d never seen them before in his life.
It wasn’t until Dusty, sticking her head through the slats of railing, barked twice, that Sean looked up and recognition showed in his wild eyes. He tossed back a sharp elbow, nailing Rory in the mouth and at the same time reached behind him, grabbing Saul’s crotch and giving it a vicious twist. Rory fell backwards onto his ass, blood spurting out from between his fingers as he covered his mouth, eyes crunched closed in pain while Saul howled loud enough to raise the dead, releasing Sean to cup his balls with both hands.