R. Stine - Red Rain

“Is that my Derek? But where is his head? Where is his head ?”

Pavano managed to wrap his arm around her shoulders. She was screaming now, shrieking and sobbing. It took all his strength to force her into the hall.

Two uniformed cops were on the stairwell. Pavano motioned them up. “Take care of her. Call a doctor. This is her house. It’s. . her son.”

He passed the screaming woman on to them. The two cops struggled with her on the stairs. She stumbled and they had to block her to keep her from tumbling down the stairs.

His stomach churning, Pavano returned to Pinto. He found him bending over, hands on his knees. “Pinto? You okay?”

“Not really.”

“Huh? What?”

“Look under the bed, Andy. What’s that thing under the bed?”

Andy sucked in his breath. He squatted down and peered at the round, dark object half hidden in shadow near the wall under the bed. “What the fuck?”

Pinto straightened up. He sighed. “Andy, I think we just found the kid’s head.”

Mark gripped Autumn around the waist of her white tennis shorts. He intended to lift her off his lap. But she took one of his hands and slid it between her legs. Then she lowered her face to his and began to kiss his neck. Slowly, she moved her lips to his cheek, then his mouth.

“No. Autumn.”

She giggled and nibbled his ear.

“Lea is right upstairs. She could come down-”

“But she won’t,” Autumn whispered. “She never stops working up there.”

She sat up straight, her white-blond hair falling over her eyes, holding his hand against the front of her shorts. “What is she writing?”

Mark glanced nervously to the office door. He could feel his erection pushing against his jeans. “I’m not even sure. A long piece. Something about death rituals. She used to share her work with me.”

“And now?” Brushing her hair against his cheek.

“She stays up there day and night. I’m really worried about her. I can’t even drag her away for meals. She’s. . not right.”

“That’s why I’m here for you, Mark.” Whispered against his ear so that the skin tingled all down his body.

“No. Autumn-please.” He worked his hand free and gripped her waist again. “Get up. Come on. Really. I’m serious.”

She made a pouty face, her round blue eyes wide, mouth all satirical. “Don’t you like me anymore?”

“We can’t do this.” Another glance to the door. Did he hear footsteps or just the house creaking? “Roz is home, too. And the boys are out back.”

She nuzzled his neck. Her lips were hot and dry. “Doesn’t that make it more exciting for you?”

“No. It just makes it more wrong.”

“Wrong?” Her smile faded. “You don’t really think it’s wrong, do you?”

Is she delusional?

“Yes. Wrong. I mean, look. I have too much to deal with now. I’m so worried about Lea and stressed about the kids and. . We can’t do this. We-”

The front doorbell chimed.

Autumn scrambled to her feet. She frowned at him as she smoothed her short hair with both hands. Then she tugged down the legs of her shorts. “Wrong?”

“Of course it’s wrong.”

What’s that song? “How Can It Be Wrong If It Feels So Right?”

“Mark. It’s those two policemen again.” Roz’s shout from the front entryway. “Shall I send them back to your office?”

Mark stood up and straightened his blue polo shirt over his jeans. He squinted at Autumn. “What the fuck?”

She began straightening the stack of files on the desk. “Guess I’ll go home. Say you’ll miss me.”

Mark didn’t answer. He was trying to figure out why the police had returned. He heard their clomping footsteps, heard their voices as they made small talk with Roz.

Autumn slid out with her pouty face on. She glanced back as the two cops entered, then vanished down the hall.

Mark had a sudden fright. Do I have lipstick on my face?

Then he remembered Autumn wore only a clear lip gloss.

The two officers entered and apologized for disturbing him. They sat down in their usual places on the couch. The one named Pavano looked tired, weary, as if he hadn’t been getting much sleep. His partner didn’t waste time getting to the point.

“Mr. Sutter, I’m sure you’re aware that one of the students in your sons’ class was murdered last Wednesday.”

Mark nodded. “Yes. It’s so horrible. So shocking. I spoke with our three boys-Ira and the twins-and tried to see if they needed counseling.”

“Well, Officer Pavano and I think-”

“My wife and I-we know the Saltzmans. I mean, we knew them before the divorce. My wife was in a reading group with Elaine Saltzman. She. . she must be beyond devastated.”

The two cops nodded. Pavano tapped something into his phone.

“My son Ira wasn’t friends with Derek. But they knew each other since fourth grade, I think. Ira is very sensitive. I think he had a nightmare last night. You know. About Derek.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Pavano said, glancing up from his phone. “They brought in grief counselors to the school.”

Mark cleared his throat. “Yes. That’s smart. I’m trying to work with Ira on my own.”

“We went to the school yesterday,” the big cop, Pinto, continued, keeping his small eyes steady on Mark, as if studying every reaction.

They couldn’t think I had anything to do with the kid’s murder. Why are they here?

“We spoke to Mrs. Maloney and to the teacher. What’s her name?”

“Montgomery,” his partner offered.

“You know. We’re trying to cover every angle. Grasping at straws, really.”

He and Mark stared at each other. Mark waited for him to continue. He could smell Autumn’s lemony perfume. Was it on his cheek?

“We asked the principal to go over everything that happened on Wednesday,” Pinto said. “We just asked if anything concerning the deceased stuck out in her mind that day. Anything at all.”

“What were you looking for exactly?” Mark asked. He leaned forward and crossed his arms over the desk.

“We didn’t know,” Pinto said. “Just trying to get an idea of the boy’s day.”

“I don’t understand,” Mark said. “You talked to the principal. So. . why did you come here?”

“Well. .” Pinto removed his cap and tossed it onto the arm of the couch. “The principal remembered that Derek Saltzman had a fight with your boys that morning.”

“Huh? A fight?”

“A spitting fight.”

Mark felt his cheeks grow hot. “I don’t think so. My son Ira would never spit on anyone.”

“Mrs. Maloney recalled that Derek Saltzman spit water on your son Ira and on your twin boys as well.”

Mark shook his head. “First I’ve heard of it. I do know that Derek has been in trouble before.”

“Well, we thought your boys might have some kind of information or recollection from that day,” Pavano chimed in. “Something that might give us a clue.”

“That’s pretty fucking desperate,” Mark said, tapping the desktop with both hands.

“We agree,” Pinto said quickly. “But there’s one more detail.” He turned to Pavano, as if asking for permission to continue.

Pavano gave an almost invisible shrug.

“This isn’t being given out to anyone,” Pinto said, playing with his cap, twirling it on one hand. “If you could keep it confidential. I mean, not spread it around to people in the community.”

“Yes. Of course,” Mark said.

“Well, you see,” Pinto continued in a voice just above a whisper, “the boy’s murder is very similar to the murder that occurred in your driveway.”

Mark couldn’t hide his surprise. “How do you mean?”