Retribution (4 page)

~*~

The sun arched across the sky. Roger had been tense all day and was ready for the action to start. Sitting with nothing to do while she drove from Cleveland to Darlington was harder than a day at his deadbeat job. He hated his job, hated this town, hated his life. For the past two years, he had been on stage with no intermission. The play needed to end.

He glanced at his wrist and sighed. How many times had he looked at his watch? If he had one wish, it would be for time to fly. Just for today. But then, no one had ever offered to grant him a wish. No, Roger Jenkins had to fight and scrap for everything he ever had, and today would be no different.

Soon he would be able to head to Ted and Trina's. Nothing unusual about that. Many nights he, and sometimes the annoying Paul Studler, would settle on the front porch. Trina almost always provided cookies, and Trina's dad, Bill, would entertain them with stories from his childhood. Who knew life had changed so much? Black-and-white TV and home-delivered milk and bread?

Should he try to eat something before he headed out? He opened the refrigerator door, and smelled the milk. Still good, and enough left in the jug for a bowl of cereal. He reached for a bowl in the cupboard beside the refrigerator, red plastic, on sale at the thrift store at the time he had bought the house. Service for one. The raisin bran box felt light as he lifted it from the shelf. Only crushed sediment remained in the bottom of the plastic liner.

He threw the bowl into the sink where it cracked into pieces. He pulled a tight hand down his face, nostrils flaring as he gripped the side of the sink. Most of his life he had been able to control his temper, but lately, it was getting harder. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. Better get control and not let this rage come spilling out around Lillian. She had to trust him. That was part of his game.

Scanning the kitchen, he found a package of cookies stashed on top of the microwave. Sitting at the table, for all appearances a respectable gentleman ready for a Sunday snack, he munched on the chocolate cookies. The empty cupboards didn't bother him; he didn't plan on living there much longer. There was one good thing about living alone. No one cared what he ate. He savored the fat and calories even more.

~*~

An hour into South Carolina, as dusk settled in, Jives announced the anticipated exit from the interstate. At the traffic light, Lillian hyper-extended her aching back. Since Virginia, the trip had gone smoothly. Not far now. She opened the rear windows wider and warm air brushed against her skin. It had been cold at home.

She bristled with tension. She was about to start her new life. Was she ready? Anticipation of a new, quiet existence calmed her. No one knew her in Darlington, and she would keep to herself as much as possible. Craig used to say that people can only be happy when they live within God's will. She squeezed the steering wheel. Well, this move had better be in God's will because there it was, the sign for Darlington. Just five more miles.

Restaurants and hotels lined the state route. The smell of steak made her mouth water, but no time to stop now. A farmer's market and a technical college both flanked the right side of the street. On the left were fields with bits of cotton clinging to stubble.

The road narrowed to two lanes. Smaller businesses, a hair salon, the front window of a house with a poster offering alterations, refrigerators lining the walk of a used furniture store. Nothing like Cleveland with its many lanes of traffic and high-rise buildings.

Finally, Darlington city limits. She sighed, anticipating the journey's end. What if the bed and breakfast turned out to be a one-star dive? Bedbugs and dirty sheets? She blew a stray curl off her face, frustrated that she had not thought to do a web-search in spite of the great flyer. But as tired as she was, she could survive anything for a night.

The thought of destiny's end, perhaps a soak in a tub of hot water and a good night's sleep in clean sheets and no bugs sent tingles of anticipation through her. This was Darlington. No cameras flashing. No TV crews. No hostile stares. No sirens. No one asking her for matches. A strange sensation filled her. Was it hope?

Pulsing blue lights reflected in the rearview mirror. She slowed to allow the vehicle to pass, but the cruiser pulled behind her. Fear coursed through her veins. Had fate followed her after all?

3

Roger sat stiffly on the front porch swing at the McIverson Bed and Breakfast and stared straight ahead, acutely aware of Bill, Trina's dad, who sat beside him. When he had arrived an hour ago, a neighbor had occupied one of the two wicker chairs across from the swing. He had thought about changing spaces when the neighbor left, but, for now, he remained in place.

As the sun fell behind the sheltering limbs, the air cooled, but not enough to warrant a jacket. The ceiling fan wobbled as it rotated, and the moving air passed over him in soft waves, just enough to keep persistent fall gnats from becoming a nuisance. Two years in the south, and he still couldn't get used to the warmer weather.

Bill towered over him by at least a foot, but then, Bill towered over almost everyone. It wasn't the man's height or bulk that made him cautious: the big man seemed to know more than he should.

Lillian could arrive any time now, and Roger's nerves were raw from being constrained within his forced good behavior. Hiding his tension from Bill ate at his energy. Roger hated Lillian. Although nothing would undo the past, some things, when the law proved to be inadequate, demanded a personal touch. Soon he could restart his life. Darlington, and even his partner, would become nightmares of the past, dreams he would never revisit.

Sitting on the edge of the second wicker chair, Ted puckered his brow and clenched his lips as he watched the approaching cars.

A little girl, perhaps three years old, stumbled on the uneven sidewalk. A man, presumably her father, grabbed her and picked her up. She wrapped slender arms around the man's neck and rested her head on his shoulder.

An ache tightened Roger's throat and he turned away from the scene of trust.

The rhythmic squeak of the porch swing, and its lulling, rocking motion, usually soothed him, but today it did little to loosen the balled muscles in his neck. Tilting his chin upward and rotating his head, he felt the ache, like a flame being held against a rope. He ran his hand down the short beard he had grown to cover what he considered his greatest physical flaw, a weak chin.

The sidewalk stood empty now, but in the yard, a pair of squirrels scampered up the old oak, their cheeks bulging with acorns. A siren sounded and his heart thumped wildly, even though the wailing remained muffled by dense air and distance.

He was too reactive and needed some activity to burn off the adrenalin that laced his blood, but a walk, which usually helped calm him, was out of the question. He might miss her arrival. A piece of loose skin dangled beside his right thumbnail and he pulled it off. Blood oozed out and he stared, watching it grow to a small bubble before he wiped it off with his other hand.

He rose from the swing and went upstairs to the bathroom to wash his hands. Back on the swing, he turned to Bill. “Did you make it to the festival?”

Bill's size fourteen shoes maintained a steady rhythm as he pushed the porch swing back and forth. “I walked up for awhile,” he mumbled, brushing his hand across the top of his head, the short salt-and-pepper stubble barely disturbed by the action. “Seemed wrong not to, but there wasn't much that interested me.”

“You made quick work of those sweet potato fries,” Ted said, his gaze darting from his father-in-law and back to the street.

Bill knew things about people, what they were feeling, if they were good or evil. Kind of like Santa Claus. More than once in the past hour, Roger had turned to find Bill staring at him. Did he suspect?

The minutes suspended, mocking, refusing to move on.

“So, Bill, anything new between you and Sandra that I should know about?” he asked.

The steady rocking stuttered. “I don't know what you mean.”

“You and Sandra. You're a couple, aren't you?”

“I don't know where you got that idea.”

Bill and Sandra were always together. And the way the big man looked at her, something zinged between them.

“I just thought—”

“Well, just quit thinking.”

The disagreement fed Roger's tension. If there was one thing he did well, it was observe. Any other day and he might have challenged Bill, but not today. He couldn't risk an out-and-out argument and have to leave the house. Not with Lillian on her way.

Vibrations as Ted bounced his leg radiated across the porch floor. The iced tea on a stand at Ted's side rippled, as though a beast approached each time Ted's heel struck the floor.

Roger stared at the ripples; in a way, a beast was approaching.

Ted glanced at his watch. Again.

“She'll be here soon,” Bill murmured.

“I know, I know.” Ted pushed thin strands of blond hair off his forehead. “But Trina's so much better at this than I am. She usually greets new guests, not me. I just wish she were home.”

Bill chuckled. “Can't expect her to miss her own baby shower.”

“Trina's having a baby shower today?” Roger asked.

“You might know these things if you showed up at church now and then.” Humor ringed Bill's eyes, but Roger knew the man was serious.

As Roger ran a hand across the dark hair on his chin, he knew to let Bill's second challenge also go unanswered. Going to church had been his way of meeting Ted and Trina, nothing more. Some may have regretted the trouble the young couple would soon experience because of their guest, but not him. Regret wasted energy and time, both commodities he held close to his chest. At least he had worked out the details to protect them. Killing the family would be wrong.

He mulled over his personal metamorphosis from a man who pleased into a man who killed. When had it happened? He didn't see himself as a bad person. There was no lust for blood. And this would be the last time. One more death. That's all he needed to be finished.

~*~

With the blue light reflecting in her rearview mirror, Lillian eyed the sandy soil beside the road, clenched her teeth, and pulled off. If the car sank to its rims, it wouldn't be her fault.

She lowered the window and waited for the smug grin of the small-town cop.
So this is my new home, population 6,500.
Transported to the 21
st
century, complete with speed traps.

“Ma'am, do you know how fast you were driving?”

She turned and stared, her eyes level with the officer's belt buckle. “About 45.”

“The speed limit's 30.”

“But the sign said…”

The officer bent over and quickly perused the interior of the car before resting his attention on Lillian's face. “The speed limit changed back down the road a ways, about half a mile. I followed you to see if you'd slow down, but you didn't.”

Lillian melted at the sound of his southern drawl, and then chided herself for the stupidity of her emotion. “I missed the sign,” she said, still trying to get a handle on her unexpected attraction. “I'm sorry.”

The lanky officer returned to his cruiser, carrying Lillian's driver's license and car registration.

Through her rearview mirror, she watched the patrolman's long-legged stride. Definitely not what she had expected. And cute, too. Shame flamed her cheeks.

Thirteen hours on the road. I'm almost there. No wonder my mind is acting crazy. And now a traffic ticket.
She felt the hardness of the seat against the back of her head.
Is it too much to want a quiet life, maybe a house someday and—

She sucked a lung-full of air as a large hand reached through the window.

“Sorry ma'am. I didn't mean to startle you.”

Two deep breaths, and she grabbed the documents secured between the officer's gloved fingers.

“I have to give you a ticket, you know.” His breath smelled like mint.

Passing cars slowed. Their occupants stared.

“You're from out of town.”

She looked up at the officer, shielding her eyes against the pulsing light. “I'm from Ohio, Cleveland, actually.”

He smiled, exposing white, slightly crooked teeth. “I've never been to Cleveland. Would like to get there someday and see the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.”

The throbbing lights. The stares. Memories of flashing cameras sent her back to Cleveland…back when…

She jumped as he spoke.

“Where you headed?”

“The McIverson Bed and Breakfast.”

“Ted and Trina's place!” Lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You're gonne love it, but it won't be easy getting there today.” He glanced toward town. “Hey, tell you what. I'm off duty in a few minutes anyway. What say I lead you there?”

“I have directions…”

“Not going to do you much good. It's the Sweet Potato Festival. The main streets into town are shut down. It's Ms. Lillian, right?” As he sprinted toward the cruiser he called over his shoulder, “Just pull out behind me and follow close.”

She groaned.
Why God?

~*~

T
he tension push from the inside of Roger's body, ready to explode from his skin, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. How much longer before she would arrive? He picked at the skin on his thumb again, pressing a finger against the raw flesh, relishing the burn, wishing it were more.

The pair of squirrels ran back across the grass and scampered up the tree. A jet, looking like a shining dart in the sky, left behind a signature trail of vapor. As a child, he used to lie on the grass and trace the streak with his finger, wondering where the plane was going, hoping one day to be on it. Eventually he had caught the flight, only to find out its destination was no better than where he had left.