SAFELY BURIED Chapter 34: Red Eyes

It may have been a giddy delusion caused by the joy of being free, but I felt strength flowing into my limbs. I stood up and stretched. I felt the pleasant pain of flexing the stiffness out of my arms. Then I started up the hill. My brain seemed to be working in slow motion. I wasn’t sure what to do first. Get to a phone. Call the cops. Report the boy’s bones and the PCBs. My phone was gone. Caroline Boofey had confiscated it. I could drop in on Jodie and make the call. I could bum a ride to town.

The forest was filled with little skittering sounds on the ground and the incessant two-part chorus of the locusts in the trees. Occasionally a slightly lopsided moon appeared and helped me tack from side to side through the tangle of greenbriar. In the steepest places, I had to use branches and tree trunks to pull myself up. Every few minutes one of the thorn bushes snagged my clothes or beard. Mosquitoes whined in my ears. I didn’t mind the scratches and bites. I was out of the cave. I was free. I was still alive. I did not let myself think about what I should do next. I could start thinking again when I reached the top of the hill. And then I’d play it by ear.

What with twisting and turning back and forth and stopping to catch my breath, it seemed to take an hour to reach the top of the hill. I expected to be directly above the Garth house, but the lights of what could only be Glenn Neidig’s cabin and the Grapevines’ house were way off to the right, much farther away than I thought they should be. I walked toward them along the narrow ridge.

I didn’t realize it at first, but I was having trouble seeing things. Things seemed to disappear. A tree directly in front of me wasn’t there unless I turned my head a little to one side. Then I realized a migraine was starting up. I sat on a boulder that bulged a foot or so out of the ground. I closed my eyes and waited, hoping to fend off the headache. A string of tiny silver boxes flickered in the dark. Then a line of bright triangles began pulsing. I lay on the rock and watched them pulse and slide. The whirr of locusts filled the night. Down in the hollow a dog began barking. Half a dozen others joined in, yelping and howling.

After twenty minutes or so, the migraine went away. I congratulated myself for fighting it off. The secret was to lie down and close your eyes as soon as the vision thing got going. But now it was time to do something. That’s what must have caused the headache—I was stressed because I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. Should I call the police, or should I go to the Gleaner and write my story first? What time was it? The paper might be off the press by now. I decided to see what was going on at the Garth house before I did anything else. I pushed myself up off the rock and got moving. Across the knobs, the red eyes gleamed at me as I walked along the ridge.

When I was almost directly above Glenn Neidig’s cabin and therefore the Garth house, a bite-sized car or truck appeared on the road coming from the direction of Hampstead. I didn’t think anything of it until it slowed to a crawl. It passed the cabin and the lane that led to the house and continued crawling along until it reached a spot where it could turn around. Then it slowly retraced its route until it nosed into a field some distance beyond the cabin. The headlights went out.

I started down the hill as fast as I could. The slope was so steep that I had to grab onto tree trunks or low branches to keep from falling. The moon broke through the clouds, and the sudden brightness helped me plot a course around the thorn bushes. I exhaled the words, “Thank you, moon.” I also thanked the locusts and crickets, two owls, and a whippoorwill for covering the noise I was making on the leaves and sticks.

There was little if any doubt in my mind that whoever had pulled off the road was heading for the Garth house. I was in a race to get there first. Halfway down, I could see a light in a side window, probably the living room. I wondered what time it was. At the foot of the hill, I held onto a thick vine and eased myself down the high inner bank of the dry creek. I crouched behind the opposite bank. From there I could see the lighted window.

The silhouettes of three men appeared between the house and the horse pasture. As they moved closer, I could see that at least two of them were carrying handguns. The third man had a long log in his hands. They paused for a brief conference, and then the one with the log and one with a gun crept toward the front of the house, while the third man, a big, heavyset guy, went to the rear. I watched him sneak up to the back door and try to open it, but it was locked. He placed the point of his gun against the lock and waited.

A woman inside screamed, “Somebody’s on the porch!” and the light went out. A loud smash and the sound of breaking glass came from out front. It sounded like the log was used as a battering ram. At the same time, the guy in front of me blasted the lock with his gun and kicked in the door, but instead of charging inside, he crawled into the pantry like a marine on the beach. I heard the kitchen door hit the wall, followed immediately by a shotgun blast. The marine fired two more shots, and Caroline Boofey cried out in pain, “Walter . . . Wally.” A chair fell over, and a moment later there was a heavy plop on the floor.

On the second floor, a window near the left end of the house opened, and Paula’s head poked out. Without hesitating, she came climbing out the window. I got out of the creek and ran to the house. Hanging from the sill, she lowered herself about a third of the way down the wall and let go. I caught her around her legs and broke her fall. She gasped and flailed her elbows as we tumbled on the ground.

“Paula,” I hissed in her hair, “it’s me—Phil.”

She went on battling for a moment, then twisted her neck to see me. Her mouth spread wide in a clownish look that went from shock to disbelief to joy in half a second, “Oh Jesus, you’re alive!”

“Not for long if we don’t move. Let’s go.”

We scrambled apart and got up. I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the creek. I nearly dove over the bank, dragging her with me.

A second shotgun blast erupted in the house.

Breathing hard, Paula said, “How’d you get out?”

“Tell you later. Where’s Edna Mae?”

“I don’t know. I was upstairs when she yelled.”

“There are three of them,” I said, “two in the front and one in the back. It looks like they mean to wipe out the Boofeys just like the Garths.”

“I knew this would happen.” Her voice trembled. “I tried to tell Walter, but he wouldn’t listen. We’re all gonna get killed.”

“We’re not dead yet.” I had a weird sense of invincibility. It was as if, having survived my trek through the caves, having inhaled PCBs, having dug through an acre of trash, having caught Paula jumping out a window, nothing could stop me.

She tried to climb out of the creek, but I grabbed the bottom of her shirt and held her back. “Stay here,” I said.

“I gotta help my mom.”

“You’ll get killed, Paula. Edna Mae’s smart. She probably went down to the cave.”

“How do you know?’

“We can’t go in there. We don’t even have a gun.”

“You don’t have to go with me.”

I clutched her shoulder and gave her a shake. “Use your head, Paula.”

She crinkled her nose and said, “Peee-uuu! You smell.”

“Thanks.”

She gave me a little shove and tried to get out of the creek again, but another shotgun blast inside the house stopped her.

There was a loud crash. Someone yelled, “Oh shit!” Boofey must have got one of them. Guns fired like crazy, and things began breaking, falling, smashing—dishes, glasses, a china cabinet maybe. “You damn piece a shit!” the voice yelled again. It sounded like Frank Brandon.

A light in the dining room came on, and a second later a window shattered. Paula and I ran a few yards through the creek and saw Walter Boofey hung up in a window screen. The long screen, now attached only to the windowsill, encircled his neck like a huge collar as he thrashed to get loose.

“Those bastards,” Paula cried.

“Come on,” I whispered. I took her hand and led her through the creek to the back of the cornfield. From there, hidden among the tall thick stalks, we had a clear view of the side of the house.

Someone else in the dining room shouted, “We’ve had enough of you, pal.” When he stepped up behind Boofey, I recognized Lillian’s brother Doug from the Judge’s party.

“Go to hell,” Boofey snarled.

“You first, shitface.”

Boofey struggled to pull his head out of the screen. A shot was fired, and he squealed in agony. Paula gasped and stiffened. Boofey cursed again.

Seconds later Doug Brandon bent over him, and Boofey made a long deep straining moan that sounded as though he was struggling not to scream. There was another shot, and his entire body lurched sideways. Boofey's quavery voice went on cursing.

“Finish him off,” Frank said.

“I will when I’m good and ready.” Doug paused a moment. “He killed my dad.”

“I know. We need to get your dad out of here.”

Doug shot Boofey again to hear him scream.

Paula covered her ears and sank to the ground. I felt her shaking against the side of my leg.

Finally Doug put his gun against the screen and said, “Bye-bye, pig.” He shot Boofey twice in the head.

Frank and Doug Brandon left Boofey hanging out the window. There were several bumps and scrapes, as if furniture was being shoved around. Then the dining-room light went off, but the lights in the hallway came on and cast a faint glow in the background. Noise came around the front side of the house from the porch. I left Paula where she was and ran between the cornrows. I saw Frank and Doug carrying Ralph Brandon’s body out of the house.

I ran back to Paula. “I want to follow them,” I told her. “Do you know where my car keys are?”

“Your car ain’t here,” she said.

“Where is it?”

“Walter got rid of it.”

“Where? How?”

“He sank it in quicksand.”

I took a long, slow breath.

Paula explained: “When you didn’t come out of the cave you went in, him and Caroline blocked it up with big rocks. He thought you either got shot or you’d get yourself killed in there some other way. He got rid of your car so nobody would know you was here.”

“What about his car—where is it?”

“In the barn prob’ly.”

“Where are the keys?”

“Hanging in the kitchen, unless they’re still in his pocket.”

“Come on.”

She got up and ran with me toward the house, but on the way she said, “I ain’t leaving. I gotta find Mom.”

“Okay, you do that,” I said. “But I need those keys.”

I led the way in carefully, afraid to make a sound the Brandons might hear. “Is there a light on the stove?” I said.

“Yeah there is,” Paula said.

“Turn it on, but don’t turn on any other lights.”

She switched on the stove light and jumped back with a shriek. Caroline Boofey sat in a pool of blood on the floor with her back against the side of the refrigerator. Her head hung to one side like a broken puppet’s. Her eyes stared blankly, and her mouth hung open with a dumb expression. A large red splotch that resembled the continent of Africa covered her chest.

“Where are the keys?” I said.

Paula had frozen. She gazed at Caroline.

I spun her around. “Paula, where are the keys?”

From the laundry room, Edna Mae said, “They’re on the hook by the door.”

“Mom!” Paula ran to her with open arms. “Thank God, oh thank God, thank God,” she said, fast and shrill. They squeezed each other tightly, both of them in tears.

Edna Mae did not see Caroline until she nearly tripped over her legs. Her wide mouth gaped, and her chin tembled. She turned away and leaned on the table with both hands. Paula helped her sit down.

“Walter’s dead too,” Paula said.

Edna Mae’s eyes swam in pools of tears. “I knew this would happen,” she said. “I knew it from the start.”

“We need to get out of here,” I said.

Paula leaned over behind her mother with her arms wrapped around her neck and shoulders. She kissed her on top of the head.

“Come on, ladies, it’s not safe here,” I said.

“I never wanted nothing to do with blackmail,” Edna Mae said. “It was all Caroline’s idea.”

“It’s my fault,” Paula said. “I gave Walt that letter I found.”

My skin was jumping so much, it felt like it was coming off the bones. I thought the Brandons might come back and burn the house down. I had to call the police. Where was my phone? I couldn’t focus. “What letter?” I said.

Neither of them answered.

“I saw barrels of toxic chemicals in the cave,” I said. “They’re leaking. Is that what the letter was about?”

Still no answer.

“Damn it!” I yelled. “Tell me!”

“Okay, okay,” Edna Mae said. “Wayne threatened to report them to the EPA unless they cleaned up the dump.”

“So the Garths were killed to shut them up, and Walter and Caroline took over the blackmail attempt.”

“No!” Paula shouted. “It wasn’t like that. Wayne and Cheryl wasn’t into blackmail. They just wanted the chemicals got rid of.”

Edna Mae nodded. “It’s true, Phil. I swear to God.”

I pulled the keys off the hook. “Look, we’ve got to go. Now!”

Paula said, “I ain’t going nowhere near them killers again. If you want to go after them, go yourself.”

“I’m not going after them,” I said. “I’m going to call the police.” I remembered my BlackBerry. “Do you know where my phone is?” I asked her. “Caroline took it. And my wallet and keys, and the gun.”

“The gun’s empty,” Paula said.

“I still want it.”

Edna Mae said, “Your stuff’s downstairs in the cave. I’ll go get it for you.”

As I listened to her go down the steps to the cellar, I suddenly felt very tired. I got myself a glass of water at the sink.

Behind me, Paula said, “I’m glad you’re all right.” For once her voice was soft, almost tender.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad you are too.”

She scrunched up her lips, and we stared at each other over Caroline’s body.