Blood Orchard Part 16

The door slammed. Coren spun and saw that Well Girl #1 blocked it. Her eyes rolled back in her head, on which she still stood, as her entwined legs swayed like a metronome.

Coren nibbled his thumbnail. "You just ran into the fat chick. Crushed her face like a pumpkin. Her sister's guarding the door. Oh c.r.a.p, here comes the other one."

Well Girl #2 crawled from the box pile while slapping her stumps on the floor. She grabbed her fat sister's blistered ankles and pulled herself forward.

Jay stepped back. "Who's coming?"

Coren was at his wits' end. He had to do something fast. The bag of apples slipped from his shoulder, reminding him why he had brought Jay to the room in the first place. He was intent on proving a point.

He opened the bag and dumped it across the floor. "Watch the apples, man."

The fruits rolled across the floor; a good twenty to thirty bounced off the sisters. Coren braced himself while Jay hoped the guy wasn't out of his mind, seeing how he was pouring apples into an empty room.

The triplets froze. Their sockets squeezed with a squelch. Coren felt like a top, spinning on his heel to see that the sisters were in unison. He wished once again that Jay saw their reactions.

Jay turned toward the door. "Listen. I don't see anything, and your whole obsession with apples -"

Coren grabbed Jay's jacket sleeve. "Did you or did you not just run into an invisible wall?"

"You probably have Plexiglas dividing half the room."

Jay took another step. As Coren released his grip, the sisters unleashed their ear-piercing screams. It was as if the trio had spotted the apples at the same time. Coren clutched his ears, the soundproof walls compressing the shrieks to a deafening level. He glanced at Jay and was surprised to see him collapse on his knees with his head buried in his forearms.

Coren was beside himself. He can hear them! He can really hear them!

Jay's face was screwed up, looking as if he was about to cry.

The screams faded. Jay peered between his forearms. His eyes widened and he yelled. He scooted back, but then froze and scrambled toward the right wall when he glanced over his shoulder.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! What the h.e.l.l? Make them go away!"

Coren dropped his hands from his ears and shook his head. He smiled, glad his visitor had finally seen the light. "Wish I could. Now you know what I've been seeing."

Jay's back slammed against the wall. "Okay, okay! I don't want to see it anymore! I don't want to see it!"

His heart rattled his ribs. He was in a room with three mutilated dead girls that had appeared out of nowhere. A curly blond with mangled legs doing a headstand blocked the door he wanted to run through. Another blond with straggly hair crawled toward him on b.l.o.o.d.y stumps. And the "fat chick" Coren had referred to stood naked in the sea of oranges, swinging her bleeding head on blackened arteries as her caved-in face twitched between her flabby b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Trembles shook Jay from head to toe. They were indeed teenaged triplets.

Coren had a crazy grin on his face and pointed like he had discovered gold. "Look at them! I told you! They're sisters!"

At that moment, the word "sisters" sank deep into Jay's subconscious. He saw the photograph of the Blondies going up in flames. The sisters. The seventeen-year-old sisters! The ones that had disappeared over a decade ago only to appear in a panic room!

He glanced at the gaping ghosts - or were they resurrected corpses? He put the names to their maimed faces. The one doing the headstand was Loren; her curly hair was unmistakable. The rawboned one missing half of her legs was Sylvia. And without a doubt the obese sister was Henna. It was as if the three of them hopped out of the photograph in Halloween makeup.

Jay steeled his nerves and spoke through clenched teeth. "The Blondies. You have Pritchard's daughters in your panic room."

Hank dislodged his spur from the rack and pursued Burl. He couldn't let the man wash his hands as if he hadn't seen a thing. He was a liability. With Onward smeared across newspaper headlines, the temptation to snitch was overwhelming.

"Get back here, Burl! Don't you walk out on me!"

Hank stepped over Barter's corpse and brushed past the pickup. He s.n.a.t.c.hed a hoe from the barn wall as he charged outside. Burl turned and pointed a finger.

His words caught like a death rattle. His eyes widened to the size of his bifocal lenses. Hank was huffing toward him, red-faced and scowling, clutching the hoe over his shoulder in a stabbing position.

Burl turned and ran for his life. He knew the look on Hank's mug all too well. The man was out for blood. He wore the same expression fifteen years ago on that sweltering night inside the barn.

Hank c.o.c.ked back his killing arm. "You ain't squealing on me, pig!"

Burl stumbled for the field and abandoned his truck. He had a fleeting thought of burning rubber off Hank's property, but then remembered that the door locks were busted and he would have been caught behind the wheel before he could punch the gas. He glanced back as the bean plants sc.r.a.ped against his hands. There was maybe ten yards between them. His arthritis burned in his knees. He would be unable to lead the race for long.

Hank was determined to quiet Burl. The man had stood by his side once, had even promised friends.h.i.+p, and now he had turned his back on him. He was running scared h.e.l.l-bent on babbling to the first cop he encountered.

"You lied to me, Burl!" Hank hurled the hoe.

The flat blade arced like a javelin. It landed a yard ahead of Burl. He reached down, grabbed the handle, and swung around. The blade sliced open Hank's shoulder a hair below his gunshot wound. He yelled, and then tackled Burl to the ground. The hoe flew off to the side and they rolled across bean plants as they kicked and punched one another.

Burl raised his forearms before his face. "Get off me!"

Hank put his fist through the gap in Burl's block and caught him in the chin. Burl hollered, having bit his tongue, and blood gushed from his mouth. Hank clamped his hands on Burl's throat. Burl flailed and rolled, but Hank refused to let go.

"You killed those girls, Burl! You raped 'em and you tortured 'em! And you locked me out of the barn while you did it!"

Burl gasped for air and slapped at Hank's wrists, but his bones throbbed and weakened his defense. He wormed back, trying to crane his neck out of the chokehold. He looked up and saw the ashen sky through the barbed wire fence. At that moment, he knew he had to fight until it pained him to death. He had lived too many years to go out like a light.

He snapped his neck forward and head-b.u.t.ted Hank in the nose. A grin cracked his b.l.o.o.d.y lips as his old friend howled and lost his grip.

Pritchard pulled away from the tainted Texaco and headed into town. He had told Edsel that he was going to drop in on Hank, but he had a different agenda.

Barter's words haunted him. If no one's left town, then how many people have you questioned?

He had interrogated Coren Raines, and that about summed it up. Truth be told, he wanted the innocent man to take the fall so he didn't have to deal with this stress anymore. All the case did was dredge up memories of his daughters.

He eyed his cigarette, and then flicked it to the roadside. That was his last drag of nicotine. Nothing would calm him down now. Coren Raines was on the verge of feeling the wrath of Hurricane Pritchard.

As he squealed the Crown Victoria's tires onto East Walnut Street, movement near the right ditch caught his eye. He tipped his sungla.s.ses. He slowed his roll and peered through the pa.s.senger's side window as he pa.s.sed by.

At first, he thought he was looking at two dogs playing in Hank's field. Then he realized it was Hank straddling Burl Nelson. The bearded old man head-b.u.t.ted the wild-eyed farmer.

"Ya kiddin' me?"

Pritchard's brain fired off split-second speculations. What were the friends fighting over? And why wasn't Hank off burying Barter? Had Burl happened upon Hank's dirty work?

Whatever the reason, Hank had the same look in his eyes as when he had torched the detective. He watched him in one swift move grab the barbed wire fence, wrap it around Burl's throat, and choke him. The barbed wire snapped in Hank's b.l.o.o.d.y hands and Burl's head rolled into the ditch.

"Jesus Christ!"

Pritchard turned left on Oak Street. He released the steering wheel and pushed up his sungla.s.ses with his only index finger. He wasn't about to deal with all that. Hank had better make sure he had the mess cleaned up by the time he was done torturing a confession out of Raines. The farmer had two bodies to bury by the hour's end. Hank was so red-handed he would be facing prison time.

He thought about Burl. The old man had been one of the more trustworthy residents. Now he died at the hands of his best friend.

Guess it's the last season for apples.

Francine stared out the third-story rose window as she puffed like a smokestack. The two men that had stood up for her fifteen years ago wrestled in the field. She choked back her tears as Hank decapitated Burl. She dropped her cigarette, ground it into the hardwood floor, and turned her back on Onward.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Hank clamped his hand over Francine's mouth. He sat her down near the porch steps as she clutched her bleeding calf. He crouched to eye level.

"Keep your mouth shut, understand?"

Francine nodded. Hank and Burl ran into the orchard. She struggled to compose herself, stiffening her body against the trembles. She was certain the Blondies were going to kill her. She was proud of herself for evading them. As far as she could recall, it was a first.

Hank and Burl met at the wobbling fence and exchanged lascivious looks. Blood dripped down the slats. Henna yanked the screwdriver out of her hand, hollering, and then proceeded to clamber over. She plummeted with a thud. Her scowl faded to a cross between surprise and confusion.

Hank revealed a softball-sized apple. Henna gaped and he slammed it into her mouth before she could unleash a warcry. Burl punched her in the gut, causing her to drop the screwdriver, and then pulled out a dark bottle.

Hank nodded and tossed him the handkerchief. Burl doused and shoved it in Henna's face. The clear liquid dripped down her oversized T-s.h.i.+rt and she collapsed within seconds. Hank and Burl let her body crumple on the ground, surprised she had gone down easy.

"I still want to know where you got chloroform," Burl muttered.

Hank grinned. "It's halothane. Why do you think I ain't got any animals?"

Two blond heads poked above the top of the fence. Sylvia's screwdriver was intertwined in her split ends. Loren was unarmed with her Pirates cap askew. The sisters glared over the slats, searching for their prey like starving wolves. Their eyes narrowed as if on the same wavelength.

Hank jumped and seized Loren's wrists. She flipped head over heels and landed on her back, groaning in tears. Sylvia hopped down and lunged at Hank with the screwdriver. The farmer tripped on Henna's unconscious body and fell out of harm's way.

"Over here!"

Sylvia had no sooner spun when Burl splashed her face with halothane. She screamed as it burned her eyes. Burl punched her in the mouth. She hit the ground out cold beside her sisters.

Loren moaned, rolled onto her stomach. She rose to all fours and crawled toward Henna. Burl ran at her with the halothane and hurled the bottle. It smashed on the side of her face. She collapsed face down at Henna's feet, her left cheek bleeding through black shards.

"Nice one, Burl." Hank stood, s.n.a.t.c.hed his handkerchief from Burl's hand, and then smothered Sylvia's face in it. "That ought to keep her under."

Burl headed toward the orchard. "I'll get the wheelbarrow."

Hank regarded their handy work. It was a Kodak moment in any alb.u.m. The Blondies had received a dose of their own poison. The townspeople would pay to see the triplets incapacitated. He felt like a regular hero.

He turned to Henna, kicked her in the ribs with his cowboy boot. Her body jiggled and her parted lips driveled, but she failed to stir. He raised his boot, dug his right spur into her stomach, and rolled it across. He grinned as a trail of blood soaked through her T-s.h.i.+rt. The bold, glittered phrase "Eat me!" brightened as if lit by neon.

Coren furrowed his brow. "Pritchard's daughters? What are you talking about? That psychopath has children?"

"They disappeared fifteen years ago, just like the Trammell triplets."

The Tribune headline haunted Coren. Then he realized how he must have sounded when he was ranting and raving about pulling triplets out of his backyard. He paled.

"Jay, listen to me. I don't know how -"

Coren's words were sliced short as the Blondies screamed b.l.o.o.d.y murder. He clapped his hands on his ears, as did Jay, but to no avail. The shrieks pierced their eardrums like drill bits. Both men yelled and collapsed to their knees. Jay buried his head in his arms.

The shrieks died. A teeth-gritting screech filled the silence. Coren and Jay looked up, confused by the metallic grinding.

Their eyes glued to the walls. The steel plates peeled and rolled down to the floor on their own accord. Beyond the soundproofing should have been Sheetrock or insulation. Instead tomato red muscles and stringy tendons pulsed and bled. Jay vomited. Coren's b.u.t.t was frozen to the floor. He was awestruck, his head snapping to see each wall wrench down, the fleshy fluid squirting and trickling into the room.

Jay panicked and shook his head. "This isn't real! The Blondies aren't there, these walls aren't -"

Coren stood and pointed. "You think the walls are ghosts, too? I'm telling you! I carried these girls into the -"

The throbbing muscles in the walls popped like spit bubbles, spraying blood from all four corners. Coren hopped back as a mottled wad splashed his shoes.

Jay was at the breaking point. He glanced at Coren. He looked as if he had adapted to the madness and had no intention of fleeing.

Jay rushed the door.

Loren fell from her headstand onto her knees and bawled. Tears streamed down her scars. "Oohh! Oohh!"

Jay was taken aback. Moments ago the ghost had seemed horrifying, now she was a mere child pleading for open arms. She reached her hands out. Jay was entranced. She reminded him of his own daughters when they were young, crying to be picked up and held. He knelt.

Blood seeped from the barb wounds that stretched from Loren's mouth around the back of her head. "Oohh! Oohh!"

Jay extended his embrace. Henna unleashed a bellow that flattened the piles of boxes and crushed their contents. The boom box exploded and the window cracked. Jay whirled and ducked off to the side while Coren s.h.i.+elded his head with his forearms.

Henna's cry sank into the core of the walls and the muscles quivered, spurting greenish-red pus. She clutched her carotids and raised her head shoulder level. The rotted skin peeled off her face, then plopped on the floor. The rest of her flesh followed suit. It curled back like age-old wallpaper from her bludgeoned neck, dropping in clumps to the floor.

Jay lost his gorge. He turned his head, refusing to watch the freak show another second, only to lay his eyes on Loren. The curly-haired sister clawed at her face and raked her arms. Her flesh and clothes peeled as one.

"Coren, make it stop!"

Coren broke his gaze. He saw Jay backpedaling toward him as Loren crept forth. He looked to Henna. She was skinned to the bone, a ma.s.s of muscle. Sylvia had shed her skin and rags as Loren had and pulled herself up on her stumps at Henna's side.

Coren clenched his fists. His only thought was to fight his way out of the room. Being holed up like mental patients would drive them crazy before long. He regretted having tossed the bag of apples, though it proved his point. Jay was a firm believer.

Coren charged Henna. He threw a punch and she blocked it with her head, which ruptured like a dropped watermelon.