Edward Lee - Succubi

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Chapter 15

Sergeant Tom Byron loaded his left cheek with Skoal, then spat into a paper cup.

Chief Bard, fat behind his desk, wasn’t sure about how to make the revelation. “Tharp and Belluxi shot up another Qwik Stop last night. Killed the clerk and three stoners.”

“Where?” Byron asked.

“North of Waynesville.”

Byron’s lips puckered. “But that’s—”

“I know, it’s thirty miles away from us. And those two guys burned up in their pickup were found right on our town line.”

Sergeant Byron was no mental giant, but he didn’t need to be told of this particular inexplicability. “That don’t make no sense, Chief. The bodies we caught Tharp buryin’ were burned up just like the two Crick City guys yesterday.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, and their brains were missing, and some of their organs, just like five years ago. So why would Tharp risk driving all the way back here just to go thirty miles backward last night to do the Qwik Stop?”

Byron chewed and spat again. “Maybe Tharp didn’t do the Qwik Stop. Maybe it was a fluke, someone else done it.”

“No way. The state just called me with the ballistics. They pulled Webley .455 slugs out of those kids last night. And that’s what they ripped off of old Farley at the first Qwik Stop.”

“Ain’t never heard of a Webley.”

“It’s a big piece, a big old British thing. Used ’em in the Boer War or some fucked up war like that. Got more stopping power than a .44 Mag, .45, l0mm, you name it. Slug’s so big, you hit a guy in the face with one, his whole head’ll explode.”

“And they also got the 870 from the Luntville car.”

“Yeah. Ain’t that grand?”

Byron sucked his wad of Skoal reflectively. “Maybe this means they’re headin’ away now.”

No, Bard thought. They’re coming back here. That’s what Tharp wants. He’s just driving back and forth to keep us off his tail. “Maybe,” was all he said. “And worst thing is we got no idea what they’re driving. They kill everyone who sees ’em, cops included.”

Byron continued to venture. “Maybe Tharp didn’t do the two guys in the pickup. Sounds crazy, shore, but maybe it was someone else.”

“Don’t be a moron,” Bard said. “Who else would do something like that? Burn up two kids, take their brains?”

But that’s not what Bard was thinking at all. As preposterous as the suggestion sounded, he knew too well that Byron was right.

«« — »»

“Any change?” Ann asked.

She stood in the kitchen, morning sunlight pouring in. It shined like glare off Dr. Heyd’s bald head. “No, he’s still the same. He hasn’t gotten any better, but at least he hasn’t gotten any worse.”

That was about as hopeful a prognosis as she could ask. Milly was putting little IV bottles into the refrigerator, medication and intravenous sustenance. “He didn’t stir at all last night.”

“Sometimes he convulses,” Dr. Heyd added.

“Why?” Ann asked.

“Really, Ann, the details would only upset you.”

“Tell me,” she said.

Dr. Heyd sighed. “A massive stroke causes a massive blockage, a clot. Every so often his blood pressure will break up some of the clot and he’ll revive for a short time.”

“But that’s good, isn’t it?”

“No, I’m afraid not. All it does is disperse more particles of the clot deeper into the brain, which will cause further clots and microscopic arterial ruptures. I have to be honest with you, Ann. The stroke has occluded the blood supply to a large portion of his brain. Therefore, when he is conscious, he’s completely insensible.”

“But he came to for a moment yesterday when I was in the room,” Ann said. “He seemed to recognize me.”

“Perhaps, but probably not.”

Wishful thinking, she concluded.

Milly put her arm around her. “It’s best not to think about the details, Ann.”

“I know. I’m just worried about Melanie. I haven’t taken her in to see him yet. I don’t know how much of this she’ll understand.”

“She’s almost an adult now. You’d be surprised.”

“I guess I should do it soon,” Ann said more softly.

“Yes,” Dr. Heyd agreed. “I think that’s a good idea.”

Ann thanked them and left the room. It was awkward, thanking people for attending a loved one’s death. Upstairs, she found Melanie’s bedroom empty. She mustn’t have slept well at all, and Ann could easily sympathize. Maybe nightmares are hereditary, she tried to joke to herself. She’d had her own nightmare again too. She knew what it was like to not be able to sleep because of a dream.

Back down the other end of the house, she heard voices. She walked up to her father’s door and stopped.

“…sometimes things seem bad to us, but they’re not really bad,” a voice was saying. The voice was unmistakably her mother’s.

“You mean, like God?” queried Melanie’s voice.

“You can think of it that way, dear. But it’s more than that. Somewhere, yes, there is an overseer, that watches over us and our lives. But everything is part of something else. We are all pieces of a great plan, Melanie.”

“What kind of plan?”

“Well, it’s not an easy thing to define. It’s in the heart. It overrides what we are, or what we may think we are, as individuals, because there really are no individuals. We’re all part of something that is greater than what we can ever be by ourselves. Do you understand, honey?”

“I think so.”

“Everything happens for a reason.”

“Is that the same as saying that God works in strange ways?”

“It’s more than that, much more. It’s the same as saying we’re all here for a reason that’s so complex, we can’t possibly see it all at once. And everything that happens, happens as part of that reason.”

Ann stood outside the door, infuriated. She did not make herself known, she only listened.

Melanie’s silence reflected her confusion.

“Let me put it this way, dear,” Ann’s mother continued. “It’s like what we were talking about yesterday. We think of death as bad. Your grandfather is dying, and we see that as bad because we love him. But it’s not really bad, we only think it is because we’re not capable of understanding the plan completely.” Her mother’s voice lowered. “People die for a reason. It’s more than just a part of nature. Death isn’t the end, it’s a stepping stone to a better place.”

“Heaven, you mean.”

“Yes, Melanie, heaven.”

Ann stepped back into another room so as not to be seen. She was seething. Her anger pulsed like a headache.

“I hear you’ve met some new friends.” Now they were out in the hall. “You go and see them now. We’ll talk later.”

“Okay, Grandma.”

Melanie went down the stairs.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ann demanded when she stepped out of the room.

“Oh, good morning, Ann,” her mother said. “I’m glad to see you’re in your usual cheery mood.”

“Where do you get off saying things like that to my daughter?”

“The poor thing is confused. Someone has to talk to her about reality, about death.”

“I’m her mother,” Ann reminded. “That’s my job.”

“Indeed it is, and just one of countless aspects of motherhood that you’ve conveniently neglected. Were you ever going to take her in to see him?”

“I wanted to give her some time, for God’s sake!”

“Time, yes.” Her mother chuckled. “You’ve given her seventeen years to wallow in confusion. Isn’t it time you started explaining some things to her?”

“What? About plans? About heaven? Since when do you have the right to influence her spiritually?”