The Sitter Page 25

  “Tell me about that day, Larry...you and Stevie at the river.”

  “Jesus Christ, Jeannie... ”

  I see the sheen of sweat on his face. “That abrasion on his forehead...”

  “Jeannie, you've got it all wrong! I didn't hurt him!” His voice rises to a shout.

  “You can yell all you want, Larry,” I say. “I don't believe you. I don't believe you because I now know the 'why' of it.” I tighten the grip on my weapon. “You want Stevie's place. His place in this family. You love us, don't you Larry?”

  “So...unfair,” he mumbles, mouth trembling, face contorting into the grimace of tears. He looks so young, so helpless as he stands before me.

  “You're a killer, Larry. And, I know with absolute certainty I will never be able to prove it. That, Larry, is what's unfair.”

  I can see Stevie then, by the river--my sweet, golden boy. “How did you do it?” I ask, my vision blurring with tears. Larry lowers his head into his hands. “Did you knock him out and then hold him under? Or did you push him in and then....”

  I tear my thoughts from the unbearable, but another thought, equally unbearable, comes to me. “Bertie...she knew too, didn't she? She found out somehow. What have you done to her, you sick sonof--”

  A harsh, jarring sensation then, in my hands. I've swung the bat! It catches Larry on his left ear and upper jaw with a loud 'thunk'. Fascinated, I see his ear instantly bloom with blood, rich and red. Larry cries out, staggers. He never saw it coming.

  Did Stevie see it coming?

  I raise the bat and swing again. He sees it this time, tries to duck but the bat scrapes the top of his head. Frantic, he backs away from me into the bathroom. I follow, bat swinging.

  Stumbling backwards, his legs come up against the tub. Whimpering, he covers his head with his hands.

  I swing my weapon again, lower this time--a body blow to his unprotected mid-section. He grunts with surprise and pain. I know in some detached, analytical place in my head, that I'm enjoying myself.

  God help me! What have I turned into?

  Larry clutches himself and falls backward into the tub, which I see is still full of water. Without conscious thought I jump into the tub on top if him. I force his head under water. “Is this what you did to Stevie?” I shout as I watch pretty red swirls of blood drift from his ear and float out into the water. He offers no resistance and I see that he is unconscious. He must have hit his head when he fell.

  Crouched on top of him, my knee across his throat, I hear myself panting with exertion. I look down at Larry's handsome face, distorted now by the rigors of dying.

  “How long is it going to take, Larry? How long before your brain turns to mush? What d'you think, Larry? How long... ” A wave of nausea hits me and my brain kicks in.

  Am I a killer too?

  I take my knee off his neck. Thrusting my hands roughly under his head, I raise it up out of the pink water. “Larry-Larry-Larry,” I chant, crawling out of the tub and hauling him up and then pushing his back up against the edge of the tub. “Please wake up. Please-please... ”

  I slide my arms under his and around his upper back. Bracing my knees against the outside of the tub, I take a deep breath and lift for all I'm worth. My God, but he's heavy! He comes up then, but too fast. He's out over the edge and on top of me, pushing me down beneath him.

  Larry's body is limp and heavy on mine. I scramble out from under him and slide the bath mat under his head. His ear bleeds freely onto the mat.

  That's a good sign, I think. People don't bleed when they're dead. Do they?

  Clutching a wrist, I feel frantically for his pulse. Is his heart beating under my fingers? Or is it mine thudding crazily at his wrist? I slap him across his face.

  *****

  Larry gave a mighty cough, and like a corpse in a horror movie, sat up. Water bubbled from his mouth as he coughed it out. Jeannie...She'd hit him. Christ! Gulping air, he gave a cry and pushed her back, away from him. She looked crazy, but she backed off. She picked up the bat and stood up. “Get out!” She pulled the bat back as if to haul off again and held it there, at the ready. “Out of this house!”

  Clumsily, as if he'd just gained a hundred pounds, Larry struggled to his feet, his wet jeans clinging and pulling at him.

  “You tried to kill me,” he said in wonder.

  “Out!” Jeannie shouted and walked back into Stevie's room.

  He put a hand to his ear and followed her. Blood was oozing from his ear and running down his neck. Glancing down, he saw his white T-shirt had turned pink and red. A seed of anger began to grow in Larry's belly.

  “Jeannie,” he began.

  “You get out of this house and you never, NEVER come back!” She spit the words at him, her face flushed, her mouth a straight, mean line across her face. Her lips have disappeared.

  He shook his head, trying to clear it. Well, okay if that's the way she wants it, he thought. He had to get out of here--had to go home and figure out a new plan. Larry picked up his shoes, shorts and T-shirt and began to gather up the rest of his clothing on the bed. His anger was growing.

  She's got nothin' on me! Jeannie just thinks she knows--

  A whoosh, a gust of air on his good ear as the bat whizzed by, just missing him.

  “Out!” she yelled. “Now! You think I'm kidding?” She walked to the door, gestured with the bat for him to get out. “You get the hell out of here.”

  “What about my stuff?” He nodded toward the bed, holding his Nikes against his chest.

  “Your stuff?” The bat moved in her hands. “I don't give a damn about 'your stuff'.” Tears came into her eyes and her face crumbled into a grimace of anguish. She came at him, swinging.

  Larry ducked and ran by her, holding his shoes up to protect his head.

  *****

  The bloodhounds took off in a flurry of excitement, dragging Calvin, their handler, behind them. Albert Schmidt and another deputy, Gil Travis, trotted along behind the dogs, followed by Leo and Steven. Leo had supplied Bertie's scent with a T-shirt from the laundry hamper, and the dogs had quickly gone into action. They traversed back and forth across the back deck at first, then loped down the stairs and on past the tennis court.

  It had stopped raining late Wednesday night, but the ground was still damp underfoot and they were all hoping for footprints or some other clue to Bertie' whereabouts.

  “The handler isn't a sheriff or anything,” Leo explained. “Schmidt says his hounds are the best in the business.”

  Steven wondered about the man. Calvin was odd looking, tall and thin to the point of emaciation. He had a lot of black, curly hair that framed a haggard, white face, and his eyebrows were in need of a trim. His bib overalls were about three sizes too big for him and were almost in shreds. He talked almost constantly to his dogs but hadn't strung three words together otherwise.

  “Bloodhounds are very specialized,” Leo said. “Yeah, Schmidt was telling me, these guys are only used to find people. No dope or explosives or anything like that. And, they can trail cars! Jesus, can you believe that?” Leo was wired, excited and hopeful. “Yeah!” he went on, as if Steven had replied. “See, a car leaves behind the scent of the person in the car and the hound can pick that up. But this is good, them running off this way. I was scared the dogs would head out front to the street. Then we'd have to think maybe she was, you know...abducted or something. We're going to find her, Steven,” Leo said firmly. “I truly believe that.”

  “Yeah, that's right,” Steven said in what he hoped was a confident tone. Though he hoped with all his heart he was wrong, he didn't think there could be any benign reason for Bertie's disappearance, not since he'd seen what Jeannie had seen when she had come to the McQueen residence last night. The sense of interruption was too profound. Something had drawn Bertie away from her home. And almost equally disturbing, Louie was gone as well. Steven was sick with dread of what they might find.

  As they trotted along behind Calvin and the deputies,
he couldn't help but think about what Jeannie had said. There were an unusual number of people unaccounted for lately in Larry's life. Especially, he thought with a gut wrench of anxiety, if he included his son in the count. Stevie, Jordan, Bertie, and Catherine. And Louie. Steven was glad Kevin was at pre-school for the day. When he got home, he would have to carefully consider his wife's fears. He was certain Larry hadn't done anything truly illegal, but maybe he wasn't quite the hard luck victim he--

  “Over here!” Calvin called. The dogs had paused, agitated. They barked, sniffing at the ground. Calvin held them on short leashes while Schmidt and Travis knelt and examined the area.

  “Ground's been dug,” Deputy Schmidt said as Steven and Leo came up.

  “Where?” Leo asked, panting.

  “Right here.” Schmidt gathered up a hand full of grass and pulled. About a square foot of it came up easily with its under-sod attached.

  “Oh my God,” Leo said, dropping to his knees. He plunged his hands into the rain softened grass, pulling it up frantically.

  “Hold it there, sir,” said Travis, placing a gloved hand on Leo's wrist. “Let us do the digging, okay?”

  “He's right, Leo,” Steven said, putting his hand on Leo's shoulder. “You guys bring shovels?”

  “We've got a couple in the squad car,” Schmidt said.

  “Mine are closer,” Leo said and nodded to Steven. “You mind? The shed's unlocked.”

  Steven gave him a thumbs up and started back. “Probably nothing, Leo,” he said, and began to pick up speed.

  *****

  “Bitch!” Larry raged, pedaling full out back to his house.

  Who the hell does she think she is? Beatin' me up that way? She's guessing--doesn't know anything..

  The December air was freezing and his ear was throbbing. He was home in fifteen minutes--a record. He peeled off his wet clothes and tossed them into a damp heap on the floor. He couldn't bring himself to run a bath--Larry knew it would be a while before he felt safe in a bathroom again.

  Quickly dressing in jeans and a warm flannel shirt, Larry ventured into the bathroom to have a look at himself. It was worse than he'd thought. His ear was bright red and looked like it had a couple deformed beets growing on it. The throbbing in his ear had spread to the rest of his head, and there was blood in his hair, where Jeannie caught the top of his head with the bat. He touched the area gingerly, and his fingers came away with blood on them. He found the aspirin bottle, shook five out into his hand, and gulped them down with water. He didn't think the aspirin would do much for his headache, but he had to try.

  Taking one of his mother's washcloths, he wet it under the faucet and daubed gently at his ear. It stung like hell.

  Jeannie, how could you do this to me!

  Somewhere deep in his gut, Larry thought she cared for him. Thought, hell, he'd known it! He'd known she had a special feeling for him. All those smiles she'd sent his way--did he just imagine them? Well, of course she was upset, seeing Stevie's baseball cards on the bed--that was understandable. But how could she turn on him that way? Larry felt like bawling, like just giving in to despair and failure. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears away.

  He opened his eyes and saw his pathetic, bloody image in the mirror.

  Loser. Poor-Larry-Cutler--loser! Why don't I just give good ol' Deputy Schmidt a call, then sit down and wait for him? Shit, one look at me...

  Larry sucked in a breath. Yeah...I can tell him what happened, what that sweet Jeannie Cutler did to me. Even better, I can show him. Yeah! At least I can do that.

  He smiled at himself in the mirror, then pulled out his cellphone. He had used the camera on it before.

  *****

  When Steven returned with a shovel and a small spade, he found that the deputies had examined the general area and marked it off with yellow crime tape. Leo grabbed the shovel and Schmidt quickly took it from him.

  “No,” he said. “We'll do the digging. I want you two over there with Calvin and the dogs.”

  Leo looked like he was going to cry.

  “Please,” the deputy added, his voice much softer.

  “It's best, Leo,” Steven said, and they walked over to the tree where Calvin stood with the restless, panting dogs. All three looked worried and sad, as if used to searching out tragedy.

  Schmidt and Travis began digging. Because of the recent rain, the ground was soft and the work was not difficult.

  “Why,” Leo said softly to Steven, “are there just two deputies here? Where is the rest of the sheriff's department, anyway? And, what about equipment? Shouldn't they at least be taking pictures of this area?” Surely the department could--”

  “Jesus, what's that smell?” Steven said, and quickly regretted his question.

  Schmidt fixed Leo and Steven with a hard look and stopped digging. The two men walked over to the hole. Deputy Travis scraped his spade gently at the bottom of the hole. Something brown and furry appeared beneath the edge of the spade. Travis slipped the spade under it and lifted it up. It was an animal and Leo quickly recognized Louie. He was nearly decapitated.

  “Oh, my God! It's Louie! Oh God...” The deputy laid Louie gently on the ground as Leo knelt beside his dog.

  Schmidt was still digging and he and Steven saw the hand at the same time. Schmidt pushed his shovel around it to reveal a stomach barely covered with shreds of filthy cloth. Schmidt dropped the shovel and with his gloved hands he carefully scraped the dirt from the face. Or, what used to be a face. The stench was terrible.

  Steven would never have known her except for the hair. Even in this obscene grave, Jordan's hair was recognizable. Though matted with blood, he could see it was a thick, distinctive auburn.

  “Oh, God, no!” cried Leo, coming over to stand at the edge of the grave.

  “It's not Bertie,” Steven said quickly. “It's not her.”

  “This one's been here a while,” Schmidt said. The dogs were wild now with the smell from the body and Calvin struggled to calm them.

  “I think this is Jordan Kennedy,” Steven said.

  “I thought it might be,” Schmidt said. He radioed what they had found to the Sheriff's department and requested more personnel and equipment.

  *****

  I am in such trouble. Such deep, deep trouble. Rinsing out the tub, I am sickened by the liquid tendrils of Larry's blood.

  I tried to kill him!

  I wipe the tub and floor with a towel, then toss it into a corner. I sit listlessly on the floor of the bathroom, so tired, so alone. My aloneness is a tangible weight, too heavy to bear. I had tried to call Steven, but realized he'd left his cell at home.

  Oh, Bertie, Bertie, please, please be all right!

  I finally get to my feet and finish straightening the bathroom. I roll up the bloody bath mat, carry it and the towel downstairs to the laundry room and toss them into the washer along with soap and bleach. I wish I could do the same with myself.

  In Stevie's room, I tear the sheets off the bed, thinking to wash them next. How dare Larry sit on the bed of the boy he's murdered! I re-make the bed with fresh sheets.

  And you, Catherine, did you really drink yourself to death?

  I can't shake the feeling I had when Larry came into the Cutler kitchen. I knew then that his mother was afraid of him--afraid of her own son. The friendly ambience of my visit with Catherine vanished with his arrival. Larry had an aura of evil about him.

  But that is nothing compared to coming in on him in Stevie's room, on Stevie's bed. I can still see him, his eyes closed, Stevie's quilt against his face, and that sickening smile on his face. Those arms, all those scratch marks, those gouges. Like an animal attack... ”Oh Jesus! Louie?” Did Louie do that? I remember Bertie saying Louie didn't like Larry, that he actually had to be tied--oh, God! I froze, visions of mortal struggle coming onto my mind's eye.

  Louie...Bertie...Larry. Something truly horrible has happened--I know it!

  But, who will believe me? And, what will Larry
say about what I have just done to him? He'll tell Steven of course, and put his own twisted spin on it, and what will I say then?

  “Well,” I begin, aloud, thinking to try a little sincere honesty. “I realized this afternoon that Larry murdered our son in order to take his place in our family. I went a little crazy and hit him with one of Stevie's baseball bats. He fell into the bath tub, and I--” I can see the look of horrific disbelief on my husband's face--“tried to drown him, but thought better of it. And, Steven, I think Larry may have killed Bertie, Louie and Catherine because they got in his way. And Jordan Kennedy as well for reasons I can't fathom right now.”

  I am sure I won't be able to prove any of this, either to Steven or the authorities. It occurs to me that Albert J. Schmidt will be interested in my theories, but he will also be interested in the fact that I have just tried to do away with Larry. I know, though, that I have to tell my story to Schmidt or someone else in authority, and hopefully before Larry tells his.

  On my knees, I gather up the baseball cards now on the floor and pick up the metal box Stevie kept under his bed. It has been pried open. I begin to weep as I carefully put the cards back into it.

  Oh, Larry...I wish I'd kept my knee on your throat.

  *****

  Steven knelt with Leo next to Louie's body. Leo sadly stroked the animal's stiff, dirty coat. Schmidt and Travis were nearby conferring with each other while Calvin stood with his dogs. Steven watched as the dogs quivered with excitement, straining against their chest harnesses. Leashes taut, Calvin leaned his scant weight back onto his heels, and muttered to his dogs.

  “Schmidt!” Calvin called out then, but the deputy ignored him. “Schmidt!”

  Steven rose and walked over to the man. “Need some help?”

  “Nah--” said Calvin, glaring, a curl to his upper lip. He hawked and spit, narrowly missing Steven's shoe. “Still on scent,” he said.

  “I don't--”

  “Tell that fart!” Calvin said, nodding toward the deputies, his sunken cheeks now glowing with color. “The dogs is still on scent!”