Henry Franks (18 page)

thirty two

“We have to go!” Henry screamed into Justine's ear, the words torn from his mouth by the wind.

Lightning strikes sliced through the night, the thunder rolling in waves over them. The wind carried ozone and sea salt along with the leaves and debris flying past them.

Justine nodded beneath him.

“You okay?” he asked.

Again, she nodded. If she spoke, he couldn't hear the words.

He squeezed her shoulder, kissed her head beneath him, and fought to stand up in the wind. He braced his feet to stop his slide across the leaf-strewn wet grass and held tightly to her hand. Together they bent over, running close to the ground around to the front of Henry's house. On the side, the wind lessened, blocked partially by Justine's home standing tall, dark, and empty above them, and then they were past it, running toward the street.

Gusts blew across the road and a stop sign skittered along the pavement, tumbling end over end. Soaked to the skin, weighed down by their clothes, they ran up the street.

“Henry!”

He looked over at Justine, the tails of her shirt whipping behind her. Hair lay plastered on her face and tiny drops of blood beaded on her arms before being washed away in the rain.

“Where?” She screamed the word, pointing to the intersection in front of them. Water lapped at the edges of the road, almost up to their ankles. Both ways, there was nothing to see. No lights in any direction. Just water, broken trees, and downed power lines dangling into the flood, thankfully not carrying electricity.

The wind battered them and Henry wrapped his arms around her. “We can't go that way!” he said, straining to be heard.

She stretched up to his ear. “I know!”

“Where?”

“My purse,” she said.

“What?”

“It's in your house, with my key.”

“Your house?” he asked.

“Key!”

“Break in?”

“Yes!” she screamed in his ear, then grabbed his hand again.

They ran with the wind now, blowing them down with each gust. Their clothing was torn, soaked with rain and blood. A branch came out of nowhere and clipped Henry across his right arm; he didn't feel it though it knocked him off balance, sending him crashing to the street. Justine's fingers slipped out of his hand as he fell.

“Henry!” she screamed, running back for him. She pulled him up, fighting the wind. When he put weight on his legs, he collapsed back to the ground.

Lightning lit up the world. It illuminated a figure at the end of the street, standing in the water, long hair whipping around in the wind. Then the light disappeared, taking the person with it. The after-image, a shadow standing there against the wind, stayed with them every time they blinked.

“Was that your mom?” she yelled in his ear.

He shrugged and scrambled to his feet, limping as they continued running. Another shutter tore free from his house, slamming into the wall like a gunshot before flying through the air to land behind them.

Wind stung their eyes and the rain beat on their unprotected heads as they ran up Justine's steps. Henry slammed his shoulder into the door but it wouldn't budge, and he caught his forehead on the brass doorknocker.

Justine looked around the porch, then picked up a small planter; the petals had been stripped from the flower and the bare green stalk stood defiantly against the wind. Turning around, she threw it into the boards that her father had nailed up over the living room window. Again, she pounded against the same spot until the wood finally splintered.

Together, they clawed at the board with their fingers, prying the hole wider until they could see the glass behind it.

The heavy rain came down sideways and wind pushed the matching pair of rocking chairs crashing to the railing of the porch.

“Faster!” Justine screamed. They reached through the small hole and pulled despite the splinters, forcing the nails slowly out of the siding.

The plywood came loose with a snap, falling on top of them, and the storm flipped it end over end toward the street. Justine picked the planter back up and threw it against the window. Glass shattered into the house, caught on the wind.

“Hurry!” Justine said as she jumped, breaking through the remaining glass. A shard stabbed into her leg and she screamed, tumbling to the floor as the piece of glass stuck out of her thigh. Henry jumped after her and spikes of glass at the bottom of the sill cut through his pants. The screaming of the storm lessened once they were inside, even though the wind and rain followed them through the broken window.

Justine crawled across the floor holding her thigh, glass cutting into her palms.

Henry slid to the floor next to her, slicing open his knees, and wrapped his arms around her.

She looked at him, teeth gritted against the pain. “Pull it out.”

“Ready?” Henry asked, his fingers slipping against the sides of the glass.

“Do it.”

Wind whistled through the broken window and rain pooled on the floor around them. Henry pulled off his belt and tied it around her leg.

“Now,” he said and she squeezed her fingers down on his foot as he pulled the glass out.

Blood soaked through her clothes. Henry tightened the belt and pressed his hands into her thigh until the bleeding stopped. When he looked up, her face was pale, eyes wide open in a sea of tears.

“You all right?” he asked.

Justine smiled, then a harsh little laugh escaped. “No,” she said, and then laughed again.

Lightning flashed and the thunder followed immediately behind. A shadow fell across the window, but it was difficult to see once the lightning went away.

“Get up!” Henry screamed, reaching for Justine's hand.

He wrapped his arm around her and she leaned against him as they scrambled to the kitchen, both limping.

“On the counter,” she said, pointing to the knife block next to the sink.

Henry and Justine backed up until they had no place else to run. Knives in each hand, they waited in the kitchen.

thirty three

Lightning struck a tree outside, sparks shooting off as the top half broke free, crashing into the roof. Plaster fell from the ceiling, sticking to their skin, wet with rain and blood. A figure appeared in the doorway, long hair dripping water to the floor.

“Mom?” Henry said, his voice raw. He lowered the knives.

Another lightning strike, and the shadows disappeared.

Long hair flying in the wind, a sick grin missing a tooth, and unmistakably male.

William took a shallow breath, then fought his eyes open. Lightning lit the room, the wind whistling through the broken window. Chrissy sat with him, his head in her lap as her fingers played through his hair. Her every breath came out as a hiss, forced through what remained of her throat.

“Henry?” she whispered.

William blinked, but she was still there, the faint trace of a smile somewhere in her damaged face. “Chrissy.” He coughed, trying to clear his lungs. A bubble of blood popped as his lips opened. “What happened?”

“Henry?” she asked again.

“Storm,” he said, pointing toward the window. “Thought you were chasing them.”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. She moved him to the floor and ran to where the broken glass was letting the hurricane in.

“You attacked me.” He stretched out toward her but she was too far away. His arms fell to the ground.

At the window, she shook her head again.

“Chrissy,” he said, then louder to be heard over the wind. “Chrissy!”

She turned around and looked at him. “Henry?”

“You didn't?” he asked, pointing to his head, where the blood still ran in thick rivers down his skin.

Once more, she shook her head.

His eyes closed as another cough sent dizzy waves of nausea through him.

“Henry?”

William sighed. “I don't know,” he closed his eyes. “I thought it was you.”

Lightning broke the sky open, slicing through the tree outside.

“I'm sorry,” he tried to say, but by the time she reached her husband's side, he was beyond speaking.

“Frank,” she said, the word barely more than a sigh, impossible to understand, and then she kissed him one final time as he died.

The stranger hissed, raising a pipe over his head, swinging it at random in the darkness as he walked toward them.

“Justine, run!” Henry screamed, standing between her and the stranger, knives held high in front of him once again as the footsteps came closer.

Glass shattered to the floor from the kitchen door, and another body crashed into the man with the pipe. Rain poured into the room, the wind screaming across them. Justine grabbed Henry's hand as the two people rolled over each other on the floor.

The man landed on top, raising the pipe high as he prepared to strike. As one, Henry and Justine lunged forward, each driving a knife into his side. The pipe fell out of his hand as he toppled to the ground.

Lightning struck again, lighting the room. Beneath the dying man, a woman struggled to free herself.

Henry pulled the body off and the woman scrambled back against the wall. Long brown hair lay flat against her scalp, and even in the dim light he could see the necklace of scars she wore.

“Henry,” she hissed, almost a moan, the word barely recognizable.

“Mom?”

Hope and Tragedy in the Aftermath of Erika

Saint Simons Island, GA—August 31, 2009:
Over three thousand Glynn County homes are still without electricity two days after Hurricane Erika made landfall to the south, in St. Marys, before turning north inland to Atlanta. It will be the end of the week before full power is restored, utilities management has said. The U.S. Department of Energy, concentrating most resources in Camden County, which suffered a direct hit, says that power has already been restored to 38 percent of those residences in Georgia that lost power in the storm.

Mayor Jim Monroe of Brunswick, helping local businesses clean up the island, praised the efforts of law enforcement and the citizens of Glynn County. “The Golden Isles should be incredibly proud of the men and women who serve here.”

Damage estimates range into the tens of millions, but thanks to the efficient evacuation of the islands, the human toll was remarkably low. “A couple of fender benders and minor accidents,” said police spokesperson Carmella Rawls. “The tragic death of local resident William Franks, who died during the storm, has led to the successful resolution of the vicious murders which have plagued Glynn County this summer.”

“Blunt force trauma,” said Major Daniel Johnson at a hastily called press conference in the aftermath of the storm. “Mr. Franks is the final victim of Richard Adims.”

Adims, 41, a former resident of Waycross, had been institutionalized at Georgia Regional Psychiatric Hospital after being found unable to stand trial for a series of beatings due to mental incompetence. In May, Adims was transferred to Turning Point Hospital after biting off a part of his tongue in an apparent suicide attempt. After attacking a guard on the transport, Adims escaped and had been on the loose ever since.

Dr. Jason Rapp, Chief of Staff at the GRPH, released a brief statement to the press: “Due to a computer error, Richard Adims was mistakenly classified as an N-VO, Non-Violent Offender. In the confusion after the unfortunate situation earlier this year concerning the supervision of patients, this misclassification went unrectified. Funds have been requested from the State discretionary account to assure this does not happen again.”

Repeated calls to the Georgia Regional Psychiatric Hospital for additional information went unreturned.

The body of Richard Adims was found in the debris after the storm in a subdivision on St. Simons Island. The alleged cause of death is puncture wounds that police spokesperson Carmella Rawls says Franks was able to inflict upon his assailant.

“It appears that the suspect, Richard Adims, intended to seek shelter with relatives, who, unfortunately for William Franks, live next door to the Franks' residence on St. Simons. But Mr. Adims went to the Franks residence instead, where he once lived with his first wife, Margaret Saville, a local psychologist. In the struggle,” Ms. Rawls said, “Mr. Franks suffered a severe blow to the head from the pipe that allegedly was used by the suspect in previous attacks. In self defense, the victim was able to fatally wound his assailant.”

“The people of Glynn County and the Golden Isles are eternally grateful for all of the hard work and dedication of FLETC, the various police departments, and the many people who gave of their time to aid us this summer,” said Mayor Monroe.

William Franks is survived by one son, Henry, 16.