Velvet Rain - A Dark Thriller (11 page)

She grew a wee smile that was a sin in its sweetness, and that first glimpse he’d had of her in the diner, that lithe and sexy look, stirred him. The color in her skin deepened. And suddenly, he could smell delicious perfume on her.

“Are you sure about this?”

He looked past her, far beyond the cornfields. The Hembruff stead was perhaps a mile as the crow flies, two by a leisurely walk roadside. This couldn’t
be
more perfect.

“I’m working up there.”

“The Hembruff place? Well, there you go.” She paused a second. “The Missus puts out quite a spread.”

“That she does.”

“A little strict with the drinks, though.” Lynn raised a hand with two fingers in a V. Two beers.

He nodded. “House rules are house rules.”

“Does Big Al still hide beer in that old barrel of his? He doesn’t think anyone knows.”

“I take it you’ve worked for him.”

“Well … it’s been a while.” Suddenly she held a truly impish grin. “So how
are
Mom and Dad?”

“… Mom and Dad.”

It must have been all over his face. They were both adults, but he couldn’t help but feel like some high school kid trying to pull one over on the girlfriend’s parents. There was nothing going on between them—and there wouldn’t be—but bunking at the boss’s daughter’s place didn’t seem like such a good idea. And even if
Allan
Hembruff didn’t have a problem with it, dollars to donuts
Georgia
Hembruff would.

“She’ll put up a fuss,” she said, as if reading his mind. “Mom still thinks I’m sixteen, for crying out loud. I mean, after
Ray
… you’re
not
worried, are you?”

He stumbled a little. “I don’t want to cause any trouble. They’re good people.”

“The best. But Dad’ll be happy I finally rented this old shack. He’s been helping with the bills, but I know I’ve been a drain. Besides, he must like you a whole lot.”

His face fell blank.

“Gave you the keys to his truck, didn’t he?”

Of course. She knew all along.

“
Ma?
”

Lee-Anne Bishop was seventeen, her mother’s daughter in every nuance; the proverbial spitting image. She was still half asleep as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Barefoot at the steps, she wore pink pajamas with long sleeves. Kain couldn’t help but think how hot the girl must be. It must have been eighty-five degrees. Maybe ninety.

“I heard Beaks,” she said. “Everything okay?”

“Uh huh. You want some breakfast? I’ll fix you some if you want.”

“Thanks, Ma.”

The girl scarcely acknowledged the stranger, offering a polite
Hi
in a frail voice. Kain returned a small wave, and she drifted inside with the dog.

“She’s got her mother’s looks.”

“I’ll take that as—” Lynn stopped herself. “Do you realize I don’t even know your name?”

“Kain. Kain Richards.”

“Cain with a
C?
Or Kane with a
K?
”

“K.” And then he spelled it out.

“Lynn Bishop. But I guess you already knew that.”

She offered a hand, and he shook it.

“And you’ve met Beaks, of course. And Lee-Anne.”

“And the cats. Most of them, anyway.”

She was about to add something, but didn’t.

“Something wrong?”

“It’s just that … well, you’ve met
Ray,
too.”

“Ray … Ray
who?
”

She smiled with him then, but only a little. He couldn’t imagine anyone smiling much over Ray Bishop.

“… I, uh … I should be getting in to work.”

“Yes …
yes.
” She seemed pleased to move on, motioning to the ramshackle guesthouse. “Last chance to back out.”

“Sold.”

They shook again.

“I’ll leave it unlocked and the key on the table.”

He climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. He was already backing up when he set his foot on the brake. Clearly she had something more on her mind.

“I just wanted to thank you,” she said, her eyes brightening. “For yesterday.”

The drifter nodded. He backed the truck around, and then, watching her take the steps in the rear-view, headed off to work. He didn’t know he was smiling.

~ 10

The day passed quickly. By noon he’d driven his first tractor, a John Deere 4010 with Syncro-Range transmission, and by one-thirty he’d had his first tractor accident, steering into a fence to avoid a squirrel that had scampered across his path. That had been it for the Great Tractor Experiment, at least for the day, and he had finished his shift repairing the damage with Nate Russell and Mike Bedard. He’d been the butt of their jokes, most about his advanced age and how anyone over eighty shouldn’t be allowed to drive. Later, he supped with them and the rest of the Tribe, enduring Nate’s melodramatic recollection of the mishap; in Nate’s version (his arms splayed four feet wide), the squirrel had been
This big, I tell ya, and the Little Ghost just
had
to swerve or he mighta been killed.
After the laughter, Kain thanked Georgia for the fine meal, tasked his limit with Big Al on the deck (the man slipped him a third brewski, this one tucked inside the barrel), and then decided to head out. He was just about to leave when the man asked if he’d found a place to stay. Kain simply came out with it.

“Woulda told you about it myself,” Big Al told him, much to his relief. “But Georgia … well, she’s just Georgia.”

“I can find another place. It’s no problem.”

“Cripes, no. That woman’ll just have to get on side. Fact is, there’s bigger fish here.” The farmer drank and wiped the suds from his lips. His usual laid-back demeanor seemed to dissolve. “We worry about Lynn. She’s just a holler away, but she’s still our little girl, you know?”

“I understand.”

Big Al was downcast. “She tell you about Raymond?”

“She mentioned him.”

“Had their troubles … I’ll leave it at that. But I don’t trust that man, not as far as I could throw his sorry ass. I hope you never have to cross paths with him.”

The farmer slipped into silence. His old eyes were troubled, as if he were recalling some black memory he had tried desperately to forget. The lines in his sunbaked skin deepened. He paused, uncertain, and then he met Kain squarely, adding what the drifter already knew.

“Ray Bishop’s dangerous …
crazy
dangerous.”

The man looked like he wanted to go on, as if needing to push some crushing dead weight from his chest. But something stopped him. He wore that same unmistakable worry as that guy in the diner—the old-timer who thought Kennedy an idiot—when Ray Bishop had brushed up against him. Except with this man, it ran far deeper. He was afraid. Afraid for his daughter. Afraid for anyone in Ray Bishop’s path.
Crazy dangerous
meant exactly what it evoked. Men like Ray Bishop (a Stiff if ever there was one, for from him he had read not a crackle of that infuriating static; and even if he had, even if the static
could
be trusted, he would have had his doubts, for the man seemed as sharp as cue ball) were walking grenades just waiting to go off. And when they blew, look out. Someone always got burned by the shrapnel. He wanted to confess what had happened at the diner, but that was Lynn Bishop’s burden to bear, ultimately her decision. If she wanted her parents to know, she’d tell them … and if she didn’t, he understood why.

He left the man with his beer and his thoughts.

Twenty minutes passed on the way to Lynn’s farm, the walk pleasant, and when he arrived twilight had fallen. He moved cautiously up the drive so as not to frighten the shepherd should it lie in wait, and as he reached the guesthouse he stopped cold as a cat surprised him. It hissed before skittering into the darkness.

The pickup wasn’t there. The porch light was on, and a lamp glowed in an upstairs window. Lynn’s daughter was there, curled up in a chair reading a book. She read for a spell and then her room went dark.

The door was stiff, and he had to play it to get it open. He found the light switch, but the overhead bulb was out; the lamp beside the bed worked. There was a narrow closet, a small dresser, and a table with two folding chairs tucked neatly inside its legs. Fridge and woodstove. Cupboard and sink. The ceiling didn’t appear to have any fatal flaws, although there was some mild water damage in one corner. He spotted the key and slipped it in the breast pocket of his jacket.

He was bushed. He undressed and explored the cramped bathroom, took a long hot bath in the equally cramped tub, and even though he could barely get his legs to stretch out, his body and mind welcomed the respite it offered.

He was thinking about Lynn Bishop. Something that had been pecking at him like an angry crow since last night. Had he felt the Sense? He couldn’t be sure. Her parents showed no sign of it, but her? That damn static again. It was driving him crazy. Losing his ability to detect it was like losing both arms. Both
legs.
He felt vulnerable, something he hadn’t felt in a long time, and it was more than a little unsettling. Still, getting worked up about it was doing more harm than good. He would have to deal with it. Besides, he didn’t plan on Turning any time soon, and certainly not around Lynn or her parents. And certainly
not
near the dog or the cats.

What about the scars?
Lynn had regarded them with perfectly subtle glances; he had almost missed them. It was only when he had started in with his mock sales pitch had she taken a more discerning look. She’d been laughing heartily, but had managed to check them out as he spieled. If she’d wanted to ask, he couldn’t tell. But it would eventually come up. It always did.

The steaming bath drained him, and he was nearly asleep when he heard a vehicle roll up the drive. He got out of the tub and toweled off (Lynn, bless her, had provided him with ample towels and other toiletries), then slipped the towel round his waist. He went to the window and saw her heading up the steps to the house. She turned, lingered in her glance, and saw him through the glass web. She waved. He waved back. She went inside then, and after a time, all the lights went black. He stayed up a while longer, writing in his diary about the good people he’d met.

~

Later, he woke around three, screaming out of a nightmare. He thought he heard the rains, but when he rose to the window in a cold sweat, all he saw were stars.

~ 11

The week slipped away, his long labors consuming the hours, and Kain spent the fine Sunday morning taking in a walk, exploring a trail through a patch of woods that led to the river. When he returned, the morning history, he was pleasantly surprised to find Lynn Bishop on the veranda watering her flowers. He hadn’t seen her since Tuesday night. Hadn’t seen a soul here since then.

She looked up as she leveled the watering can. He waved from the drive, and in return was greeted by that picture-perfect pin-up. Even the unflattering midday sun could not steal her youthful vibrancy. She really was lovely. And those
eyes.

He found more spring in his stride and made his way to the steps. He was thankful her pets were nowhere in sight.

“Hey, stranger,” she said brightly. “Have a nice walk?”

“Uh huh. Found a trail that leads right to the river.”

“I know it,” she said, finishing the last of her watering. “Dad used to take me down there all the time when I was little. He’d drop a line while I skipped stones. I drove the fish away and drove him crazy at the same time.” She set the can near the steps. “Care for some lunch?”

“Love some.” Although he wondered where the dog was.

She led him inside, and he followed her down a short corridor, into a homey kitchen teasing with the sweet aroma of freshly baked blueberry pie. Kitty Wells sang low on a radio. He sat at the table, and she fixed them some sandwiches and a salad. Lee-Anne joined them shortly after, dressed in slacks and a long-sleeved shirt. The house was uncomfortably warm, just a hint of a breeze easing in from the window. He couldn’t fathom how the girl could stand it.

There were brief introductions. The girl had a smallish voice,
too
smallish, he thought. And he also thought they could be twins. Save slight differences in their skin, a small line here or there on Lynn and not on Lee-Anne, they were nearly identical.

Lynn gave him a subtle smile.

“Sorry,” he said, embarrassed, catching himself staring. Static was jamming his brain; it had been since he’d met Lynn on the steps. Whether it was coming from both, he couldn’t know.

“It’s genetics,” the girl said matter-of-factly, clearly used to his reaction. She bit into her sandwich. “We took it in science class.”

“Honey, don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Sorry.” It came out
sawree.
The girl swallowed and took some milk. “Mr. Kimball says that someday, people are going to copy other people.”

“Mr. Kimball,” Lynn lamented, rolling her eyes.

“It’s true, Ma. He says they’ll copy a mouse or a rat at first. Then maybe a horse or a sheep.”

“Copy … what do you mean,
‘copy’?
”

“It’s like this. Let’s say they take—”

“‘
They’?
”

“Scientists, Ma. Like Mr. Kimball. The real ones, anyway. I wasn’t really listening, but he says they’ll take some skin or some hair from an animal—blood, maybe—and make another one. Exactly the same.”

“
Blood?
You can’t make a person from that.”

“I know, Ma. It’s sex.”

“Lee-Anne Bishop!”

Kain couldn’t hide his grin.

“Well, that’s what Mr. Kimball says.”

“Sounds like he’s been reading too many science fiction stories again. And telling too many.”

“But think about it,” Lee said. “They could take Beaks and make another one just like him.”

Lynn shuddered. “That’s a horrible thought. Awful.”

She called her son for lunch, but there was no reply.

“What’s so bad? We could have Beaks around forever.”

“Even if they could do such a horrible thing,” Lynn said, “they shouldn’t. It’s not … well, it’s not natural, that’s all. Besides, I wouldn’t want him around forever.”