P. Parrish - South Of Hell

The cops thought he had killed Jean and buried her out here. But he hadn’t buried her. Not in the barn or anywhere else.

He’d left Jean lying here on this very floor. He had left her to go to the barn to get the axe after he broke the knife. When he got back, the bitch was gone, nothing in the kitchen but a bloody smear across the linoleum to the back porch.

It was raining like hell that night, and he couldn’t follow the blood trail, so he waited until morning to walk the farm to find where she had finally fallen down and died.

Two weeks of walking, and he never found her.

For nine years, even after he had left the place, he had told himself she had to be dead. Carried away and eaten by animals. She was dead. Had to be. Chopped-up, bleeding women just didn’t vanish into the corn.

Where is she?

A soft moan pulled him back.

He looked over at her, but still it took him a moment to understand it was Margi. Her skinny body was trembling like she was in shock or something. And she was trying to move her arms and legs, but all she could seem to do was slide around on the floor, kind of swimming in her own blood.

But she was alive.

Just like Jean.

Louis stood by the bedroom door watching Amy’s face. Joe was sitting next to her on the bed, and although he couldn’t hear Joe’s soft voice, he knew what she was saying: “It wasn’t your mother in the barn, Amy.”

Amy’s expression registered surprise, then settled into something he could read only as deep disappointment.

Louis had expected tears or even resignation, anything but the quiet look of blighted hope that colored Amy’s face. But in the end, he understood it. He had seen the expression before in the faces of those who had lost loved ones. With loss came the relief of grief, but only if there was someone to grieve over. Amy still had not found her mother. The hole in her heart remained.

Still, he was surprised when Amy told Joe that she wanted to go back and see Dr. Sher again. “I need to keep looking for her, and Dr. Sher can help me do that,” Amy said.

It was only after Joe finally agreed to take Amy back to Dr. Sher the next day that Amy went back to bed.

Now, two hours later, Joe was stretched out on the sofa, hand over her forehead, and Louis was sitting close by. There was a bucket of chicken and a bottle of cabernet on the coffee table between them. Louis reached over and poured the last of the wine into Joe’s glass and held it out.

She shook her head, closing her eyes.

“Did you call your sheriff?” Louis asked.

“Detective Bloom called him,” Joe said.

“Is Mike upset at you?”

Joe shook her head. “He’d like me to come home, but he told Bloom whatever I did, he’d back me a hundred percent.”

“He sounds like a good guy.”

Joe nodded slowly.

The room was quiet. It was nearly eleven, and Louis knew Joe was as tired as he was. Still, she had been quieter than usual all evening.

“So, I guess you haven’t changed your mind about running for sheriff this fall,” Louis said. “You’re going to stay in Echo Bay?”

She opened her eyes. “You knew that when I left Florida,” she said. “Nothing has changed.”

He nodded. “Thank you for staying,” he said. “I think Amy likes you a lot.”

Joe didn’t comment.

Louis glanced to the bedroom door, open just enough so they could hear if Amy had a nightmare. But she had been out for hours now. Her need to sleep seemed to have lessened some, and she had not had another episode.

“You want to talk any about Lily?” Joe asked.

“No,” Louis said, not looking at her.

He heard her sigh. Maybe she felt the need to talk about it more than he did, but he couldn’t right now. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. Not to Joe and certainly not to Lily. He wouldn’t know until the day came when he met her.

Louis rose, gathered up the chicken bucket and empty wine bottle, and went to the kitchenette. He tossed the garbage and opened the fridge. There were six Heinekens and two sodas. He grabbed a soda.

“Oh… stop! Stop! God, help me, please! Stop it!”

Amy.

He ran to the bedroom, Joe at his heels. Amy was in the bed, sitting straight up, both hands rigid in front of her face. He grabbed her shoulders before he realized it might scare her even more.

“Amy! Wake up.”

She started thrashing at him, twisting away from him so violently she tangled herself in the blankets. He reached for her again but caught only the sleeve on her pajamas. It ripped as she scrambled from the bed.

“I have to get to the corn!” she said. “I can’t lead them to John. I have to run. Oh, Lord, help me, please!”

Joe tried to catch her, but Amy pushed away from her, stumbling across the bedroom. She was heading right toward the window. It was thick glass, but Louis wasn’t sure she couldn’t put herself through it.

He lunged for her. They both tumbled to the carpet.

“No! No!” Amy cried.

He pinned her wrists and looked to Joe. Amy was crying, bucking against his hold. She wasn’t very strong, and it was easy to hold her down.

Joe dropped to her knees next to them. When Amy felt Joe’s hands on her back, she started to relax. Louis let go of Amy’s wrists, and she drew her arms under her face, weeping.

“I’m going to die,” she whimpered. “I’m going to die.”

“You’re not going to die, Amy,” Joe said, rubbing her back. “I promise you. You’re not going to die.”

Amy was on her side, hands clasped against her chest, eyes closed. She had lapsed into a sudden, comalike sleep, just as she had done at the farmhouse.

Joe sat back on her heels. “Louis, we can’t keep doing this,” she said. “This girl belongs in a hospital.”

“Dr. Sher doesn’t think so,” Louis said.

“Dr. Sher has only seen Amy a couple of times,” Joe said. “And she hasn’t seen one of these attacks. We could be doing her irreparable damage by not having her in a place where she can be watched twenty-fours a day.”

“And medicated so she can’t remember any of this stuff?” he said.

“Maybe she’s not meant to remember,” Joe said. “Maybe there’s nothing to remember that has anything to do with her mother. It’s probably memories of her own abuse. Why force her to relive it?”

“Not remembering makes it worse,” he said. “And you heard her tonight. She wants to remember. She wants to go back and see Dr. Sher again.”

Joe sat back against the wall, staring at Amy. “I don’t know if we’re doing the right thing here,” she whispered. “She scares me. This whole thing scares me.”

Amy was resting on the red settee, eyes closed. Louis and Joe were seated near the piano, far enough away not to be a distraction but close enough to hear. Amy had asked that Louis be allowed to sit in this time. It had surprised him, but ever since he had given her the locket, she didn’t seem to mind him being around. In fact, this morning, on the way to the Bronco, she’d whispered to him that he shouldn’t tell Joe about the necklace because she would take it away from her.

He hadn’t told Joe about the locket. Nor had he given voice to the question that had been in his head since the trip to the medical examiner: Why had Amy put her own hair into the locket?

The click of the tape recorder drew his attention back to Dr. Sher. The room was quiet and warm. He and Joe waited in silence while the doctor again took Amy back to her nightmare, telling her there was nothing to be afraid of and that she was safe.

“Tell me where you are,” Dr. Sher said.

“I don’t know,” Amy said.