The Unearthed: Book One, The Eddie McCloskey Series (23 page)

Chefau
n
answered the front door to find a uniformed police officer standing before her. The cop was short, young and female. Her cruiser was parked in the driveway.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the woman. “I’m Officer Swinton. We received a call a few minutes ago, probably nothing, but I wanted to check it out. Is everything okay here?”

Chefaun frowned. “Yes. Of course. Who called you?”

“Sorry, I didn’t take the call. I’m just responding to it. They mentioned the Moriarty boy might be in trouble. We figured it was probably a prank but we have to check these things out.”

“Yes, we’re okay.” Why couldn’t people just leave them alone?

“I see.” Swinton did a quick once-over of the exterior. “I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am.”

“It’s no trouble.” Chefaun shrugged. “People.”

“Could you do me one favor and check on your family before I leave?”

“Would you like to come in?”

Swinton peered inside. “No, that won’t be necessary. I don’t want to bother you any more than I already have.”

“I’ll be just a minute.”

Chefaun stepped away from the door. She walked to the bottom of the stairs and called: “You boys okay up there?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah.”

Chefaun walked toward the kitchen till she had an angle on the window to the backyard. Sean was still over the grill, the smoke pouring out around him.

She went back to the front door. “We’re fine, Officer. Thank you for checking on us.”

Swinton nodded. “No problem, ma’am. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Have a nice night.”

* * * *

Eamon waited till the cop drove away. “That was the police.” He’d watched out of the window over Steven’s bed.

“Whatever,” Steven said.

Eamon heard him turn away and re-start his video game.

He figured the best way to kill them all would be one at a time. That’s how the monsters did it in horror movies.

First, Steven. Then, one of them—either Chefaun or Sean—would come up to tell him about dinner. He’d hide in here and wait for them to walk in. Then that would leave just one of them to surprise.

They didn’t deserve to live. They had never treated him right. Sean loved Steven more, obviously because they were father and son. He’d made it painfully clear so many times: be more like Steven, stand up to people like Steven. And no matter what, Steven never did anything wrong. Ever.

It was like William all over again.

He regretted not killing William. He’d only allowed William to die and that wasn’t the same thing. He should have stabbed William for all the times his brother had ever picked on him, and for all the times Siobhan had stuck up for William.

There was nothing good about family. Not one goddamned thing.

Steven’s back was to Eamon. It would be so easy.

Eamon reached under his shirt and felt the carving knife tucked in his shorts at the small of his back.

“You’re never going to call me names again,” Eamon said.

“Okay, weirdo.” Steven didn’t turn around.

Eamon came up behind Steven. He brought the knife up and cupped his free hand around Steven’s mouth like he’d seen in movies. Steven didn’t realize what was happening.

Eamon dug the blade in and sliced Steven’s throat. It was a lot harder than Eamon expected. Steven shot his hands up to his neck, trying to stop the blade, but it had already cut him. Deeply. Blood poured over Steven’s hands. He flopped and struggled. Eamon tossed the knife onto the bed so Steven couldn’t take it off him, then he pinned Steven down on the beanbag chair and kept a hand over his mouth to stifle him.

Steven tried to make noise but the blood and wound must have made it impossible. He struggled. His legs flopped, his feet twitched and kicked out. He tried to break Eamon’s hold of him but he was weak. He got one hand up and on Eamon’s face, his fingers searching for an eye. Eamon turned his head.

Steven was losing strength fast.

Then the struggle went out of him. He slumped in the beanbag. Eamon grabbed the bloody knife off the bed and listened. Nobody was coming upstairs. He checked himself. He was covered in blood. It had run all down his t-shirt and over his arms.

Steven looked up at him with half-dead eyes. Blood gurgled in his throat. Eamon saw an air bubble form and pop in the cut he’d made.

Steven was barely alive.

Eamon took it upon himself to put Steven out of his misery. He got the knife off the bed and plunged it into Steven’s chest.

Then the light in Steven’s eyes faded.

Eamon stood still for a moment. He was numb.

He tried to pull the knife out but couldn’t get it to budge. He stood and put his new sneaker on Steven’s chest. He pushed with his foot and pulled with his hand. Slowly, the knife came out. It slid an inch at first and stopped, then an inch more and stopped. He contrived to pull the knife out the whole way. When the knife finally came free, Eamon stumbled backward and fell onto Steven’s bed.

He looked himself over. He was covered in blood.

Only two more left.

Ti
m
pounded on the front door.

Eddie said, “Wouldn’t mind being armed right now.”

“Thinking the same thing myself.”

Chefaun opened the door about a foot, looking puzzled.

“Mrs. McKenna,” Tim said. “Is everything okay?”

“Um, yes. Yes, it is. Why are you here? The police were just here …”

“Eamon’s a troubled boy. Can we come in?”

She didn’t move. They weren’t getting in unless they pushed in. She didn’t understand and he couldn’t explain it. He didn’t understand himself.

All of him wished nothing was wrong.

And maybe there wasn’t. The spirit had dissipated hours ago, so if its energy and malevolence had returned to Eamon, things would have happened already.

“What do you people want?” Chefaun asked.

“The spirit at the Rossellis’—it’s Eamon. It was Eamon the whole time. He never left,” Eddie was saying, but Tim knew it didn’t make any sense to her.

Chefaun looked nervously over her shoulder then back at them. “I think you both need to leave. Did you call the police? Why are you bothering us? Can’t you leave Eamon alone?”

“We’re here to help. Eamon could be dangerous, Chefaun. Please. We wouldn’t have come out here if it were a joke,” Tim said.

She shook her head in disapproval. “You two wait here.”

“Wait!” Tim shouted.

She slammed the door.

* * * *

Eamon heard the pounding and ran to Steven’s window. From where he stood, he couldn’t see who was at the front door. But now there was a van in the driveway.

He had to find out what was going on. He wanted to kill everybody, but he’d run before that if necessary. He tiptoed down the hall to the top of the stairs so he could hear but not be seen. Chefaun was talking to someone, possibly two men. Then she slammed the door on them and went to get Sean.

Eamon zoomed downstairs and went into the dining room to hide. The first place they’d look was upstairs, so it made sense for him to be downstairs. And if he had to run, it’d be easier escaping from the first floor.

He crawled under the dining room table and made sure the tablecloth was low enough so he wouldn’t be seen. On his stomach, he angled himself so he could see the foyer, just barely.

Sean made a lot of noise as he stormed through the house with Chefaun in tow. Sean threw the front door open.

“I’m going to beat your fucking—”

“Hold on, Mr. McKenna. We came because we think your family is in danger.”

Eamon knew that voice. It sounded like the man who had been here yesterday… But it sounded more familiar than that.

He also knew it from elsewhere … which was strange. He couldn’t put his finger on it.

“You gotta listen to us. This is serious.”

Eamon knew that voice, too. He tried to figure out how … He’d never heard that voice here. He’d heard it elsewhere.

I know who you are. You’re just a sick, pathetic asshole. That’s all you are and all you’ll ever be.

How did he know that voice?

I know who you are. You’re just a sick, pathetic asshole. That’s all you are and all you’ll ever be.

Eamon’s head started to pound. How did he know these things? Where had he heard these things?

I know who you are. You’re just a sick, pathetic asshole. That’s all you are and all you’ll ever be.

Eddie. That was his name. Now he knew.

No one understood. No one ever did. Or ever would.

Eamon remembered everything. How Billy, his only friend in the whole world, had turned against him. How this Eddie had driven him out of his real home.

He had to kill Eddie too.

“Chefaun, you stay in here,” Sean said.

“Sean, wait!”

Sean closed the door behind him.

Eamon stayed put. He watched Chefaun take a step back from the door, then she peered through the peephole.

He waited.

Chefaun stepped away from the door and turned, looking upstairs.

“Steven?” she called out, worried.

Eamon put a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound of his breathing.

“Eamon?”

Eamon weighed his options. If she went upstairs and screamed, the game would be over and he’d be forced to run before he got to kill the rest of them.

* * * *

Chefaun looked out front again. Sean had pushed Tim and Eddie off the front porch and toward their van. He hadn’t hit them yet, and it looked like they didn’t plan on fighting back. She was worried about what Sean would do, but she was more worried about the boys. Why weren’t they answering?

“Steven?” she called out again. Her first step on the stairs was tentative. She craned her head to get a better view of the hallway upstairs.

“Where are you boys? Answer me if you can hear me …” The hackles on the back of her neck stood up. Something was wrong. There was no sound coming from upstairs. If they were in Steven’s room, they should have been able to hear her. And she knew they weren’t downstairs, either. Thirteen year old boys made a lot of noise.

She took another step.

The light in Steven’s room poured out the door. She could hear faint noises coming from Steven’s video game. But she didn’t hear him pushing any buttons.

“This isn’t funny now … You boys answer me.”

Chefaun took another step. She was halfway up the stairs.

Eamo
n
crawled out from under the dining room table and made his way silently to the wall. Chefaun was on the other side of the wall, from the sound of her halfway up the stairs. His nerve came back. Steven had been easy, because he hadn’t been expecting anything. But Chefaun would be more difficult. She was on the alert now.

“Eamon?”

He listened to her panicked breathing. Moving to the edge of the wall, he slowly stuck his head out and peered around.

She was half-turned on the stairs. He was probably outside her field of vision, but if he moved away quickly she’d notice him in her periphery.

Her hands were on the banister. The knuckles white.

“Stop playing games now and you answer me.”

Eamon adjusted his grip on the knife. He didn’t want her to go upstairs. But even more so, he didn’t want to kill her on the stairway because then there’d be blood all over, right out in the open. Anyone coming into the house would know something was wrong, and the game would be over.

Chefaun spun around.

Eamon pulled his head back in time and hid behind the wall. Chefaun hurried down the stairs and went out the front door.

* * * *

Eddie balled a fist. Sean looked ready to explode.

“We’re trying to help,” Tim said.             

Sean hit Tim with a right cross that rang his bell. His brother lost his balance and fell onto the lawn.

Eddie went for Sean. “You motherfucker!”

The two men grappled and Eddie immediately realized his mistake. Sean had forty pounds of solid muscle on him. Sean got him in an armlock. Eddie stomped his toes and tried to headbutt him, but Sean pulled away.

For a moment the two men squared off, both with murder in their eyes. Tim was still on the lawn.

Then Chefaun was outside, forcing herself between Sean and Eddie. “Stop! Stop!”

“Get back in the house, Chefaun,” Sean said.

Tim was sitting up, shaking his head.

“No, Sean. Listen. The kids are not answering me. And I know they’re upstairs. Something is wrong.”

“These two frauds have put crazy thoughts in your head.”

“Maybe.” She put a hand on his chest. “But let’s just go make sure there’s nothing wrong first, okay?”

Sean looked over her shoulder at the brothers. Eddie helped Tim get to his feet. Tim was blinking rapidly and moving his jaw around.

“You two sons of bitches stay right fucking there.” Sean turned to go inside.

“Hold on,” Eddie said. “Let us come inside with you in case there’s something wrong.”

Sean ignored him and went inside.

* * * *

Sean slammed the door. He’d had enough of all this. They were going to move away, try another town.

“Eamon? Steven? Answer me,” he said.

He walked to the foot of the stairs. “Answer me right now. This is serious.”

Sean walked up the stairs. He could see light coming from Steven’s room and could hear the TV. The door was cracked.

“This isn’t funny. Chefaun’s worried sick.”

He reached the top of the stairs, Steven’s door only a few feet away.

“You’re both fucking grounded. This isn’t funny.”

He pushed Steven’s door open.

It took him a moment to understand what he was seeing.

His son was splayed across his beanbag chair, lying in a pool of blood. The blood had spilled over the sides of the chair, streaming onto the carpet too. Sean had never seen so much blood. His stomach lurched.

Steven’s head was turned fully to one side, and one of his arms was twisted around at an awkward angle.

He rushed to him. “No, no, no, no ...” Kneeling down over his son, Sean cradled his head. Steven’s eyes were dull and half open. They did not move. He was not breathing. He was dead. “Shit. Shit—” He didn’t know how to administer CPR, but he tried to, opening Steven’s mouth, pinching his nose, and blowing air in. After a few breaths, he realized he was being foolish—Steven needed real medical attention if he was going to be revived.

He grabbed at his pockets for his cellphone but didn’t have it on him. Steven didn’t have a landline in his room. The nearest phone was probably in the master bedroom.

Sean stood up quickly and turned.

And Eamon knifed him in the gut.

The pain hit him a moment later. Sean dropped to his knees, clutching at the knife. The sight of his own blood pumping out of him made him woozy. Eamon tried to pull the knife free of him, but the blade was too deep.

Sean reached for Eamon but the kid scrambled away. Sean touched the handle of the knife, trying to remember if he should pull it out or not. Probably not.

He passed out.

* * * *

“We have to go inside,” Tim said.

His bowels felt loose while his stomach tightened up. He knew something was wrong. Sean had been in there too long.

He brought his hand up to his jaw, opened and closed his mouth. His whole head hurt.

“Maybe he’s yelling at them for playing a prank on you,” Chefaun said, but Tim could tell she didn’t believe it.

Eddie said, “No offense, but your husband would be out here beating the shit out of us first if that was the case.”

“Sean!” Chefaun called out.

No answer.

Eddie looked at Tim. “We have to go in.”

“I’m coming with you,” Chefaun said.

“No,” they both said.

“There’s no time for chivalry. That’s my family in there.”

“Call the police first.” Tim held his cellphone out to her.

Her hands were shaking badly as she opened the phone. “You’re right.”

Tim shot Eddie a glance after Chefaun looked down to dial. Eddie nodded once. He was thinking the same thing. They could run inside now while Chefaun was distracted and keep her out of harm’s way.

Tim locked his jaw and nodded at Eddie.

“Hello, this is Chefaun McKenna. Please send someone quick—”

They were on the front porch by the time Chefaun said anything.

“Wait. Wait!”

Tim threw the door open, Eddie fell into the house, and Tim slammed the door shut behind them, throwing the deadbolt into place and flipping the lock on the handle.

Chefaun pounded on the door, and they could hear her through it. “Let me in! Let me in!”

“Gotta lock the backdoor, too,” Eddie said.

They rushed through the foyer, into the family room. Eddie flipped the lock on the sliding glass door into place. Things were happening at the speed of light now. Tim wasn’t even thinking—he was just acting.

“Sean!” Tim yelled out. “Steven!”

Nothing.

“I’d say it’s time we armed ourselves,” Eddie said.

Tim followed him into the kitchen. Eddie stopped at the wooden knife block. He was staring at something, but Tim didn’t know what it was.

“What are you looking at?”

“Two knives are missing.” Eddie pointed down at the block. “I’m guessing they’re not in the dishwasher.”

“Jesus.” Despite everything that had just happened, he hadn’t been entirely convinced things were bad. The missing knives and the lack of response from anybody in the house confirmed it for him.

Eddie grabbed two knives and handed one to Tim. They exchanged a look. Then they each grabbed another knife.

“Never thought I’d say this, but if only we could wait for the cops,” Eddie said.

“We can’t,” Tim said.

“I know. If somebody dies and we could have done something …”

Tim nodded. “You ready for this?”

“You fucking kidding me?”

“Me neither.”

Tim and Eddie crept back into the foyer. It was getting dark out, and there were few lights on in the house. Eddie flipped on the light in the foyer. They both kept their eyes on the stairs leading up to the second floor.

“Sean, if you can’t answer me with your voice, throw something or hit something,” Tim called out.

Nothing.

“The police will be here any minute,” Eddie said. “It’s all over.”

The fear came back to Tim. The police couldn’t get here fast enough.

Someone has to stop Eamon, the voice in the back of his head responded. And he knew it was true. So he fought the fear and batted it down, and he took a deep breath.

He looked at Eddie and nodded toward the stairs.

Eddie moved toward the foot of the stairway, and Tim was a couple of steps behind him. It was at that moment Tim thought he heard something.

Then something flashed in his eye.

He realized too late it was the glint from the light in the foyer on Eamon’s knife.

If Eamon had been left-handed, like William had been, he would have been able to stab Eddie much more quickly. Instead, he had to step out almost fully into the foyer to get an angle.

“Eddie!”

Tim threw himself into his brother, nearly sending him toppling back down the stairs. Tim lashed out with his knife, but he was off balance and more worried about Eddie, so Eamon dodged it as it arched through the air. Tim misstepped on the stairs and lost his balance, crashing into the wall.

Tim felt something in his chest. There was no pain at first, but when he looked down he saw the knife plunged there, too much steel buried in him.

Tim was vaguely aware of Eddie above him on the stairs. He had fallen to one knee, but had regained his balance and brought his knife around, missing Eamon’s head by inches. Then Tim realized that Eamon had grabbed one of his knives. Eamon slashed once, and the knife bit into Eddie’s left arm. Eddie screamed.

Eamon bolted away.

Tim knew his body had pinned Eddie’s leg, so Eddie couldn’t get up right away. But he couldn’t move. Tim felt Eddie pulling at his leg, trying to free it from the weight of his body. Once he did, Eddie turned and leaned over him, while he grabbed feebly at the knife in his chest.

He looked down and saw a lot of blood. Breathing was difficult. He gagged on something, tried to cough, but it came out as a weak breath. To his horror, he realized he was going to die very quickly.

“Tim!” Eddie cried.

He pulled at the knife in his chest.

“Don’t—” Eddie said. “Leave it in.”

He tried to say Chefaun. He wanted Eddie to forget about him and get to Chefaun.

“Sh—aun—”

He tried to say it again but couldn’t. The world started to blur.

“Tim!”

He couldn’t move. His eyes went out of focus. He couldn’t even see Eddie anymore. He thought about Mom on the hospital bed, smiling up at him weakly, and then about Michelle. He’d been meaning to call—