The Drought (31 page)

While Griffin was distracted by the romantic duo, Barry walked up silently behind him. He raised his gun to his shoulder, aimed at the back of Griffin’s head, and just as he was about to pull the trigger he caught sight of what had Griffin distracted. The sight of his beautiful mother sitting with Robert Riley,
his
father, filled him with a sense of deep satisfaction. It was a spine tingling moment, meant to be savored, but he didn’t have time.

He pulled the trigger.

The bullet tore through the side of Griffin’s head, shredded his ear, burrowed through his cheek and exited between his nose and his lips. Blood flowed down his face and his ear hung by a sinewy thread. He staggered, righted himself, turned and pulled the trigger on his own gun. Instead of a loud blast, there was a small snick.

The gun was empty.

Except for a ringing hum that sounded like the dial tone of a phone, the world around him went silent. His eyes shifted from Barry and the gun he was still holding, to the darkened corridor. Behind him he could sense Robert and Dora—laughing at him, mocking him in his own home. Beaten, he scurried away, leaving a trail of blood down the hall.

Junction, Texas

Sand billowed through the wrecked entry. It floated through the dark hall settling across the expensive ruins. Beth didn’t give Barry a chance to succumb to shock. She scrambled over the debris in the foyer, grabbed him and dragged him toward the front entrance.

Instead of assisting in the escape, he resisted by dragging his feet and pulling away. “No, I can’t leave yet, there’s still something I have to do.”

“Barry, listen to me, you don’t have to kill Griffin. I don’t think that’s what your mother would have wanted.”

“It’s not Griffin.” He gave her a frantic look. “I have to find the baby.”

The memory of a baby’s cry floating through the dark halls when she first arrived stopped her. She whispered, “What baby?”

He looked around, half expecting Griffin to come lurching out of the dark. “Not here. We need to find a safer place where we can talk.” He led her further into the cavernous house, away from an easy escape and back into certain danger. He passed numerous doorways, all of which looked the same. Finally he stopped and opened a random door. It looked like a storage area. Gesturing for her to follow, he stepped inside the small room. They went from the dark hallway into a pitch-black room. A moment later a beam of light appeared. He handed her the flashlight and proceeded to move boxes in front of the door.

When he finished stacking the boxes, he retreated to the farthest corner of the room and sat down against the wall. She joined him. The bare cement sent a delicious chill up her spine, alleviating the claustrophobic weight of the heat in the small space. She sat in silence, trying to calm the desperate voice screaming in her head,
get out of the house, it’s not safe!
But like a kid with the covers pulled up over her head, she didn’t know if she’d ever find the nerve to open the door and peer out into the hallway.

Barry said, “I think I was there the night Griffin killed Robert.” As carefully as a child would select a building block to build his first tower, Barry selected each word, trying to reconstruct his memory. “I remember hearing a shotgun blast and screams; long mournful screams that seemed to go on forever. I ran through the house looking for my mom but I couldn’t find her. When I saw Griffin I asked him where’s my mommy? He said, ‘She’s sick right now, you can’t bother her.’ I knew she was still in the house because at night I could hear her crying.

I don’t know how many times I asked about my mom but after awhile he started slapping me.” He touched his cheek as if it still burned and looked down at his lap. He murmured, “I guess I stopped asking about her.”

Beth touched his arm. “You were just a little boy.”

He looked at her, tears shimmering in his blue eyes,
Roberts eyes
, “One night, I heard horrible screams. Frightened, I came out into the great hall. I saw a figure, all in white, standing on the third landing. Blood soaked the nightgown from the hips down. She stood there for a moment leaning against the banister, holding something covered in blood and then suddenly pitched forward and fell. A scream ripped through the foyer and echoed off the marble floors. Griffin stood frozen on the stairs, clutching an armful of towels. It was his scream echoing through the house, not hers.

Barry sucked in a deep breath, “I think my mom was pregnant with Griffin’s baby and somehow she got out. Maybe Griffin left the door open when he ran to get towels. He swiped his bare arm across his eyes. “They do that you know, when women have babies, they run and get clean towels.”

His next breath caught in his chest and he couldn’t speak. He let out a low sob and this time Beth reached out and grabbed him to her. The next words were all he could manage. “I think my mom…I think she killed herself.”

She rocked him trying to quite his sobs. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Shhh.”

When at last he was able to speak, his next words chilled her to the bone. “I have to find the baby.”

She resisted the idea the baby was still in the house. Unseen in the dark she shook her head to emphasize her denial. “No. Griffin would have buried the baby.”

He spoke with derision. “Yeah, that’s what a sane person would have done. Only we’re not dealing with a sane person, are we?” He whispered. “Do you know why the walls are so cold in this room?” He didn’t wait for her to respond but rapped lightly on the wall behind them. “This door leads to the basement.”

There was no doubt in her mind where his thoughts were leading. He thought the baby’s body was in the basement and it was his intention to retrieve the body and return it to Dora. Beth only had one question. “Where is Dora?”

“The attic.” He didn’t elaborate or tell Beth about the gruesome figure he had discovered the night before when he was searching for a hiding place.

“Okay, okay.” Beth took a deep breath. “So we go into the basement we find the body and we take it up to the attic. What about
Griffin
?”

He responded coolly, “I still have my gun.”

Exhausted, she stood slowly. Her legs wobbled beneath her and every bone in her body ached. She had no idea how she had made it this far or how much farther either of them could go. She flicked on the flashlight. “Are you sure we’re up for this?”

He barked out a cynical laugh. “Like we have so many options.”

“We could just wait here. Wait for…”

“Wait for help? You really think anyone’s coming to help us? You think anyone knows Griffin has us here?” Barry’s face twisted and his voice became hoarse. “In all the years I’ve been here, no one has ever come to help.”

She touched his arm, “I came.”

The simple declaration softened him and Barry’s face relaxed back into a boy’s face. His voice this time was pleading, “Beth, it’s the only way. She has to be at rest. I just want her to be at peace.”

“Okay, let’s do this. Let’s find the baby.”

They pushed a large box aside and opened the door. Cool, damp air crept into the room. Beth flashed the light into the dark passageway. A stone stairway curved downward. There was a sound like water running behind the walls or people talking in hushed whispers.

She asked, “How did you know this door was here?”

“I saw Griffin come out of the room one night.” He looked down, embarrassed. “I’ve never been down there. I was too scared to go alone.”

Well, I’ve got news for you buddy, I’m scared right now.
Standing on quivering legs she said,
“I’ll go first”.

That cynical look Jar and Suzy knew so well, flashed across Barry’s face and before she could say another word or take a step he shouldered past her and rounded the slight curve. For a fleeting moment the flashlight illuminated Barry’s ravaged back. Angry red scars crisscrossed the surface, a savage reminder of Griffin Tanner’s depravity.

Junction, Texas

The disfigurement Griffin Tanner suffered went deeper than the burning wound seared across the right side of his face. His new twisted countenance was gnarled to the core of his being. Had there been any humanity left in Griffin it vanished at the sight of Robert and Dora sitting on the hood of Robert’s truck. The man known as Griffin Tanner was gone. This new creation, feeding on the burning pain radiating from the right side of his face and his own hatred, lurched down the corridor, consumed by a single thought.
Burn it. Burn it all down.
He had not gone searching for ammunition as Beth and Barry had assumed
.
He had gone looking for gasoline.

Stumbling through the kitchen, he made his way out the side door. The sand hissed across the floor whispering its approval.
Yes, yes burn it
. He smiled at the sand’s approval and opened the door wide. The wind hit him. Sand burrowed deep into the raw flesh of his face, transforming it into a grotesque mask. He walked through the swirling sand feeding off the pain coming from his face. By the time he made it to the first set of garages, the entire right side of his face was coated with a thick layer of sand.

The sand, acting like a makeshift bandage, stemmed the flow of blood. He touched his new face, enjoying the rough texture. He laughed out loud and sang out into the storm.
“Mr. Sandman, send me a dream… give me a tank full of gasoline. Make it flammable and easy to light… and send those little shits flaming into the night. Mr. Sandman… ”
While he sang, he performed a little jig, dancing his way through the third garage door.

A few moments later he emerged carrying a red container of gasoline. He swung the can to and fro, appearing in good spirits, his whistled tune lost on the wind. As he reentered the house through the kitchen door, the tune became more audible. He had given up the sandman tune and was now whistling the Muffin man. He stopped briefly in the kitchen, rummaged through a drawer and came up with a packet of matches. Satisfied with his find, he placed the matches in his pocket and gave them a quick pat.

The whistled tune was sharp and carried through the silent, great hall, marking his passage. When he arrived in the foyer, he unscrewed the lid on the container and happily poured gasoline across the hood of Robert Riley’s truck. Continuing his task with glee, he walked over to the stairs and poured gasoline on the 18th century Persian carpet that lined the treads. He broke into song once again, singing out, “Do you know the Griffin man, the Griffin man, the Griffin man, do you know the Griffin man, he lives on Drury Lane.” He continued to sing as he splashed gasoline on the draperies and the tapestries hanging in the lower hall. When the container was empty, Griffin threw it down and spoke loudly to the room. “I don’t know where you’ll live after tonight, but it won’t be in the house that Griffin built.”

He struck a single match.

The smell of sulfur mingled with the overpowering odor of gasoline. He held the single match to the book of matches. The flames danced merrily, excited to consume. When he held the flame to the nearest tapestry it appeared to leap across the cloth and began to greedily consume the fabric. The fire spread quickly. Within a few minutes an entire wall of the great hall was in flames.

The flame crawled along the floor inching its way along the stream of gasoline leading to the front foyer. It went under the truck and jumped up onto the hood. The smell of burning rubber filled the great hall and a sense of immense satisfaction filled Griffin. He would have liked to see Robert and Dora one last time, quivering in fear, but they did not appear to him.

He cast his eyes upward. He wondered where the two little mousies had hidden away. They wouldn’t stay hidden for very long. Part of him wanted to take his gun and wait outside for them to try and escape the fire, then he could pick them off as they came running out the door.
Like shooting fish in a barrel
. But time was running out and there was still something he had to take care of, a little unfinished business needed tending. Thumbing through a ring of keys Griffin murmured, “Oh, no Jar, I haven’t forgotten about you. No one steals from my collection. Didn’t Barry tell you?”

Griffin stepped through the wreckage of his collection. Barry had done a good job in the destruction of the room. It had taken a lifetime for him to collect the articles now littering the floor, but those items no longer concerned him. There was only one thing in the room he needed, something Jared Riley had overlooked in his hurried departure. Griffin leaned down and swept away the debris covering the floor. When he stood up he was holding a machete.
Yes
, he thought,
this was something he would definitely need on his journey.
Heat burned his palm and climbed up his arm—the machete thrummed with energy.