R. Stine - Red Rain

Samuel felt a chill, muscles tightening at the back of his neck. “Who is the devil?” He knew the answer.

“The new pa.”

“Maybe he didn’t mean those things we heard him say.”

Daniel narrowed his eyes at Samuel. “He meant them. He said he didn’t want us to come. He didn’t want Mum to bring us here. And he didn’t want us to live in the little house in the backyard. Why? Because he didn’t know if he could trust us.”

That made Samuel giggle. “He can’t trust us, boyo.”

Daniel didn’t smile. His normally pale cheeks had turned rosy pink. “Pa doesn’t like us, Sammy. He doesn’t want us here. And he shouted at Mum. You saw him shout at Mum because she wants to make us happy and give us everything we want.”

“But, Daniel-”

“He doesn’t want us to be happy. Pa doesn’t want to give us the things we want. You heard him. You heard every word. We have work to do. We have plans, boyo. We cannot let the new pa stand in our way.”

Samuel felt the chill again. “What are you thinking, Daniel? Why are you saying all this? We can’t kill the new pa. We can’t. It would make Mum so sad.”

“He’s a devil, Sammy. A devil in our heaven.”

Samuel grabbed his brother’s wrist. “Don’t think it. We can’t do that to Mum.”

“You’re right. You’re the sensible guy, Sammy. As sensible as potatoes in chowder. We don’t want to kill Pa. We just have to keep him busy.”

Samuel shook his head. The backpack suddenly felt heavy in his lap. He let it slide to the bus floor. “Keep him busy?”

Daniel nodded. He had that thoughtful look in his eyes that Samuel knew well.

“How do we keep him busy? What do you mean?”

A thin smile played over Daniel’s lips. “I have some ideas. We can keep him real busy, Sammy. Maybe with the coppers.”

Mark watched from the front window as the dark blue Audi pulled up the driveway. A young man with a thick head of wavy brown hair and a seriously tanned face climbed out. He leaned into the car to retrieve a slender laptop case, then walked crisply to the front door, straightening his red necktie and buttoning his dark suit jacket as he walked.

Autumn had left ten minutes earlier, weighed down by a tall stack of folders. She offered Mark several meaningful glances as she left. In return, he gave her a comic wave and a goofy grin, keeping it light. Nothing serious happened here, Autumn. Did it?

If only he could move back the clock. Would he move it? Maybe not. Moments before, he had kept his eyes on her long, slim legs under the short skirt as she bent to pick up the folders, and felt himself start to get erect again.

Am I crazy? What am I thinking?

Lea, I love you. Why didn’t you stay and watch out for me?

Oh, what kind of juvenile thinking is that?

Roz had returned with a trunk load of grocery bags and a screaming, hungry Axl. Mark emptied the car for her. He saw the twins tossing a tennis ball back and forth in the backyard. He thought about joining them. But it was time for his meeting with this man from the institute.

What was his name? Hulenberger? Something like that.

Mark had suggested they meet and have tea at the American Hotel on Main Street in town. That way there wouldn’t be kids underfoot, running in and out, demanding his immediate attention. Elena was already angry that he didn’t have time for a long discussion about the sleepover she wanted to have with Ruth-Ann.

But Hulenberger insisted on coming to the house. And here he was at the front door, all tanned and prosperous-looking in a designer suit that fit his slender shoulders perfectly and a crisp white shirt that contrasted his tan.

“Mr. Hulenberger? Come in.”

“It’s Dr. Hulenberger. But call me Richard. Everyone does. Even my kids.” A brief, hard handshake.

“Well, call me Mark. Come in. Welcome.”

Mark led him down the hall to his office. He could hear Roz in the kitchen, pleading with Axl to sit still. The back door slammed, and he heard Ira calling, “Anyone home? Roz?”

“Nice day,” Hulenberger said. “I enjoyed the drive. My wife and I have a house in Sagaponack, but we haven’t opened it yet. It’s almost May, but it still feels like October, doesn’t it? All the rain. Incredible. We probably won’t open up till Memorial Day. My wife hates the country. She always says she’d rather be on Madison Avenue. Ha.”

Was he talking so much out of nervousness? Or was he just a chatty guy?

Mark stopped at the office doorway and pictured Autumn bending over the desk again. Her short skirt tossed up onto her back, black underpants around her ankles, and that smooth little ass. .

Oh, God.

Would he see her there every time he walked into the office?

The whole left side of the desktop was empty. The papers and folders had all been swept aside. He wondered if Hulenberger noticed that something was odd.

He led him to the green leather couch against the wall. Hulenberger dropped onto the edge and sat up very straight, lowering his laptop case to the floor. Good posture. He slid a hand down his tie a few times. Nervous habit?

“Nice room, Mark. I like that photo behind your desk. I think I know those trees. From Brisbane, right? Australia? I walked in that very spot and admired those twisty roots all around the tree trunks.”

Mark nodded. “My wife is a travel writer. A good photographer, too. She writes about adventure travel. Seems a lot of people are into it.”

“Hannah and I were on a food and wine tour. We weren’t impressed with the food in Queensland at all. Dreadful. In fact, we didn’t have anything good to eat till we got to Sydney. Were you there with your wife?”

“No. She was on assignment. I had my patients. You know. And my book.”

Chitchat, chitchat.

Mark suddenly had a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He rolled his desk chair in front of the couch and dropped into it. The room still smelled of Autumn’s lemony scent.

“Nice of you to drive out, Richard.”

Richard cleared his throat loudly. Adjusted his tie. “Well, I wanted to tell you in person. I didn’t think it was right to do it over the phone or by email. Too impersonal.”

“You mean-about the grant?” His voice suddenly tight.

“Yes. Should I come right to the point? I think I should. We’re not going to give you the grant, Mark.”

Can silence be loud?

To Mark the silence in the room seemed deafening. Without realizing it, he slammed his head back against the leather seatback, like someone showing shock in a cartoon.

“You mean. . you’re not giving the whole amount? Only part?”

Richard sat even more erect. Mark saw a single bead of sweat appear above one brown eyebrow. “No. I came to offer our regrets. We can’t give you any of the grant money at this time.”

“But my studies. .” Why can’t I finish a sentence? His hands left wet marks on the leather chair arms.

“We approve of your work. Wholeheartedly. That’s why we made the initial offer. We felt that your studies with juveniles would add considerably to the literature.”

Mark was distracted by movement at the office doorway. He turned and saw Samuel and Daniel standing there, hands in their jeans pockets, serious expressions on their pale faces.

“How long have you two been standing there?” He didn’t mean to sound so irritated. His mind was churning from the news of the grant money turndown. He should shout at Hulenberger, not the boys.

They didn’t reply. Both had their eyes on Hulenberger. Staring at him hard, as if giving him the evil eye. Then, without a word, they turned and vanished down the hall, bouncing a tennis ball on the floor.