Blood Orchard Part 21

Hank lunged with the wicket. Coren sidestepped and the Judas cradle deflected the blow. Hank dropped the wicket, and then threw a left jab. The punch knocked out Coren's front teeth and he clutched his mouth, stumbling like a drunk.

Regardless of the blood Jay had spilled, he wasn't about to let the farmer kill Coren. He ran with the mallet over his head, yelling like an irate kung fu master. Hank spun and glimpsed his fate. The mallet came down and smashed the center of his skull. His forehead split a red fissure down through his nose and his eyes crossed. His face flushed and burst vessels. Blood poured from his nostrils and mouth. He crumpled onto the Judas cradle, dangling on the triangular point.

Jay let the mallet slip from his fingers and fall beside the wicket. The news bulletins bored into his brain. What had happened since they had entered the barn? He had been a reporter digging for a story. Now he was the story and the reporter had left the scene.

Coren approached him, bloodstained and weary. "The nutjob knocked out my teeth. G.o.dd.a.m.n it. Let's get out of here. We don't need this traced to us. You have a family. They don't need that."

"Vance didn't need this. All he wanted was his daughters."

"And he went to all this trouble and still didn't get them." Coren shook his head. "This isn't our problem. It's just another story, right? Another news report."

"Yeah. This has been Jay Donovan for WNDY News."

Pritchard felt as if he had been kicked in the face. Bound to three out of the four wheel wells were the Trammell triplets. Their tiny arms and legs were entwined with barbed wire. Their naked, purplish-blue bodies were dotted with bloodstains, as if the infants had been laid on a crib of nails. Their mouths were likewise gagged with barbed wire, which had been wrapped around their necks like umbilical cords. Even more disturbing were the blond wigs stapled to each of their skulls.

Pritchard wavered on his hands and knees as a torrent of images blinded him. He saw Henna, Loren, and Sylvia screaming in the wheel wells. He watched from a bird's eye view while Francine lynched his daughters with barbed wire from wood rafters. Then there was darkness and crying.

He shook off the prodding blackout and refocused his eyes. Vance Trammell's triplets, dead and defiled, were bound to the undercarriage of Francine h.e.l.ler's Cougar. He released the knife and fished his Magnum out of the holster.

She killed Vance's triplets and dressed 'em up like my girls. You gotta be kiddin' me. That sick b.i.t.c.h.

He backed away from the b.u.mper and stood. Edsel was right there, peering into the messy trunk.

Pritchard's glare was bloodshot and watery. His face was pale as a dead man's. "Post up. Now!"

Edsel turned without a moment's hesitation and hurried toward his squad car. Pritchard's arm dangled at his side as he clutched the Magnum. The Cougar's open front door creaked in the wind.

Francine yelled and thrashed. "Take these cuffs off me! I didn't do anything! I didn't do a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing! I'll have your badge for this! You hear me? I'm not one of your pig daughters!"

Pritchard's reply was curt; a single gunshot splattered Francine's brains on the dashboard and pa.s.senger seat. The glove box popped open on impact. A news clipping with the headline Six-month-old triplets kidnapped, bloodied tumbled out and soaked in the waterfall of blood.

Pritchard grimaced, lowered the Magnum, and then turned. Standing before him, silent and wan, was a group of ten to fifteen men; some were armed with shotguns while others held maps and flashlights. On his right, Edsel approached with his gun drawn. Pritchard raised his Magnum and waved it at Edsel, signaling him to stand his ground.

Sam Emory glanced back at the search party, stunned as the rest of the men from having witnessed Francine's murder. He then met the sheriff's blazing leer and stepped forward.

"Paul? We found your daughters. They've been dug up in Coren Raines' backyard."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

"So what are you going to do with the half-buried bodies in your backyard?"

Coren backed away from the kitchen sink, grabbed a dishtowel, and dried off his mouth. "What bodies? They crawled out and melted, remember?"

Jay shut the deck door. His gaze was fixed on the moonbeam that seemed to spotlight the graves as if connecting the dots. The tainted croquet accessories glinted on the table. "I don't know what that was about, but there's three skeletons out there. Even though we left the barn a mess, your backyard's a lot more incriminating."

Coren tossed the damp towel to Jay, who proceeded to wipe the blood off his hands. "Pritchard will kill me if he finds those bodies. I don't know, Jay." He kicked the garbage can. Table sc.r.a.ps and barbed wire littered the linoleum. "What am I going to do? I can't just leave them there! And how do I know Vance didn't tell somebody about what he found?"

Jay wrung the dishtowel in his hands. "Well, what if we drag them into the panic room? They're just skeletons."

"But I dragged them all in there once already!"

"Vance found them. I found them. They're still out there. I don't get all that zombie stuff, maybe it was some kind of warning from the grave, but it wasn't them. They've been rotting in that backyard for years and we need to worry about letting them rot somewhere else."

Coren nibbled his thumbnail and then nodded. "Well, let's do it. The night's still young."

A thump resounded behind them and the front door rattled in its frame. Several consecutive thuds followed, which Jay thought sounded like car doors slamming. Coren ran to the living room and peeked out the bay window. The doorbell dinged and dinged, oozing with impatience.

Coren turned and dashed back to the kitchen. "Pritchard and the whole town are at the door!"

Jay raised his hands. "Just calm down. We have to play this cool."

"He's been out to get me since day one and his dead daughters are in my backyard!"

A boom shook the front door, its hinges parting from the wall.

Coren seized Jay by the arm and yanked him down the hallway.

Jay attempted to wrench free. "What are you doing?"

Coren opened the sliding door. "This has nothing to do with you. None of this. You came here for a story, not to get booked for a triple murder." He shoved Jay into the panic room. "Don't come out of here until they've all left."

"There's no way -"

"Jay, you have a family of your own, remember? Don't screw this up. I don't have a thing to lose but alimony."

Jay bit his tongue as the door slammed and the darkness swallowed him whole. All he had was a small window to keep him in tune with the world. He saw Jeanette and the girls in its reflection. Tears trickled down his beard as he sat and succ.u.mbed to the silence.

Pritchard's mind spun as fast as the squad car's wheels. The b.u.mper trampled corner bushes. Curbs were checked and marked by the tires. Street signs shook in the wake. All the while the one-handed sheriff cranked the wheel back and forth, blinded by the past day's disillusionment as if a downpour drenched the winds.h.i.+eld.

Francine's murder and the gruesome discovery of the Trammell triplets cowered in his subconscious. His twitching red eyes saw blurry images of oversights.

He saw his daughters bawling on a summer day after school, explaining how Francine h.e.l.ler had clubbed them with her backpack. He regretted all of his past disciplinary measures. Even back then the recluse witch had been torturing triplets.

Pritchard bellowed as the tires screeched onto Inventory Street. It all made perfect sense. Raines and h.e.l.ler were accomplices. They had probably considered burying the Trammell triplets in Raines' backyard.

The squad car jolted up the gravel driveway, jarring Pritchard's thoughts even more. He knew that h.e.l.ler had threatened Raines, probably put a knife to his throat.

He saw the b.l.o.o.d.y Tribune headline.

He slammed on the brakes and parked sideways, blocking in the Suburban. He stepped out and scanned the premises. A light burned inside the rambler. He removed the Magnum from its holster.

He kicked the driver's side door shut as an approaching glare caught his eye. He glanced back. The cavalcade consisting of the search party and other nosy townies rumbled toward him. He turned and stormed up the front steps. He needed to handle business before the scene became a circus.

He removed his finger from the trigger and pounded on the door. He punched the doorbell and followed up with a boot. The door s.h.i.+fted as the hinges popped out. He kicked it again and it flew into the house as if it had been crashed into by a battering ram. He barged inside with his Magnum level.

Split second sound bites from Raines' mouth haunted him as his vulture gaze roved the house.

There's no one here but me. Do you hear any babies crying?

I didn't kidnap anybody's kids!

Pritchard's thoughts throttled as he crossed the vacant living room. Yeah, ya didn't kidnap any kids, Raines. h.e.l.ler did that. Ya just dug up my daughters, right?

He approached the bright light. The kitchen was deserted. Garbage was dumped before the deck door.

"Ya got some explainin' to do, Raines! Ya hear me? Ya gonna quit hidin' and tell me why my daughters are buried in yer backyard? Huh? Why are my daughters in yer backyard?"

Coren tiptoed to the end of the hall and peered into the kitchen. "Ask Adler and Nelson."

Pritchard whirled, and then ducked moments later as a lawn orb hurtled at his head. It clipped his Stetson and shattered the deck door. Coren stepped out of sight and plastered his back against the wall.

"Yer dead, Raines! I nailed h.e.l.ler for killin' the triplets! Now I find out my girls are buried in yer yard! Yer a G.o.dd.a.m.n accomplice!"

Coren dwelled on Pritchard's affirmation. Francine h.e.l.ler had killed the Trammell triplets. The dead Blondies had been trying to warn him of that the entire time. But why? Had Francine killed them, too? Had she enlisted Adler and Nelson's help? Whatever the case, Sheriff Psycho had the wrong man and was either clueless or plain deaf to accusations.

"You're confused, Sheriff! Adler and Nelson murdered your daughters! Francine h.e.l.ler probably helped, too! But I wasn't here fifteen years ago!"

Pritchard bellowed. Coren jumped as the kitchen table somersaulted into the living room and smashed through the bay window. He transferred the mallet to his right hand.

Pritchard spun around the corner. He then lurched back as Coren's swing breezed past his s.h.i.+rt. The mallet slipped from Coren's sweaty palms and thumped across the floor.

Pritchard growled while tears brimmed in his bloodshot glare. He charged Coren and jammed the Magnum in his mouth. "Why'd ya kill 'em, huh? Why'd ya do it?"

Coren gagged on the barrel, staggering back as Pritchard continued to charge. He heard shouts and pounding footsteps. The sounds became background noise the moment his head slammed into the hallway wall. He was inches from the panic room door with the Magnum tickling his tonsils and Pritchard's chest pressed against him. He had to lead him away.

Francine's voice screamed from Pritchard's pocket. "Your daughters were pigs, too! All of them! You knew they were bullying me!"

Pritchard's face was mauve and bulged veins from his forehead to his jawline. The tape recorder broke the dam. Fifteen years of pent up guilt spilled down his cheeks. "Yer lyin'! My Blondies are dead in yer yard! Why'd ya kill 'em?"

In his periphery, Coren glimpsed a crowd rus.h.i.+ng into the living room. A crazy thought slipped into his head of his house being taken over by a frat party. He clung to the notion, hoping someone brought a bottle of Seagram's.

The suspense was killing Jay. He knew Pritchard was out there beating Coren senseless. He was deaf to the outside world, though. There was only peace and darkness, where his conscience tortured him. While he thought of Jeanette and his girls, he also thought of Coren, who needed an ally more than ever.

He grasped the door handle without a second thought. Regardless if he was unarmed, he could not let an innocent man get cuffed by an insane cop.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

Loren moaned as she came to. Her eyes fluttered and strained to focus through the blur. She screamed, stabs of pain raking her mouth. Blood streamed from her split lips between dangling teeth.

She writhed and wailed, wanting to run but paralyzed to the cold, moonlit floor. Henna's decapitated corpse was sprawled beside her in a coagulated pool of blood. Sylvia's dismembered body twitched nearby as if still coping with the shock. Loren couldn't tell if she was alive or dead. She looked down at her own body. Her legs had been mangled and her mouth destroyed.

She heard a door slide open. Hank stepped in the moonlight. His eyes locked on her. Her screams died as he crouched before her. She tried to speak, and then realized her tongue was gone.

Hank flashed a toothless grin. "You're a little trooper, aren't you? Got more s.p.u.n.k than your father. It's too bad you squealed. You might've just been grounded."

Sylvia rolled over and wept. Loren's heart leapt and her eyes lit up. Her sister was alive!

Sylvia rasped between sobs. "Please...Please no...Daddy made us...do it...He made us...bully Franny...Please."

Hank walked over to Sylvia. "He told you to kill the little girl that ripped off your stinking legs. You got what you deserved."

"Daddy hated...Franny's papa...He made us...be mean...to her."

Hank grabbed Sylvia's right stump and dragged her over to her sister. She hollered and thrashed. Before Loren could react, the sneering farmer smashed Sylvia's stump into her face. He pinned her to the floor with his cowboy boot on her chest. She squirmed, struggling to breathe. Her body soon relaxed, suffocated by her sister's b.l.o.o.d.y limb.

Hank threw Sylvia aside. She slid across the floor and collided with the wall. He then seized her hair. He slammed her skull against the steel until her screams died and blood poured from her eyes.

He reached into his overalls, and then eyed the three sheriff's badges. Pritchard was a sicko. He wanted the badges stuffed in their smart mouths for taking advantage of the fact that he ran the town and they got away with murder. Hank thought it was his way of burying the guilt even deeper.

After implanting the badges, Hank wiped his hands on his overalls and dragged Loren out of the panic room. As he shut the door, he swore that he caught a glimpse of Henna's eyes blinking.

Jay opened the door. A gunshot rang near his head. Blood sprayed his face. He stood still, befuddled, surprised by the explosion. His heart sank. He was too late.

Coren's body slumped at his feet. Pritchard stepped into view, staring at Jay as if he was a ghost, the Magnum barrel dripping brain matter. He pointed the pistol at eye level.

Jay's jaw slacked and he stepped back as a million thoughts zipped through his head. He was going to die. He was never going to see his wife and daughters again. He was going to be a news flash on every station in the state.

Movement caught his eye. A group of silhouettes turned the corner and rushed toward them, shouting and waving their arms. A frigid breeze tickled Jay's nape as recollections of the panic room haunted him. He saw the dead Blondies converging into one body and splitting apart to reveal Francine. The breeze seemed to wrap around his head like a scarf, filling his ears with raspy pleas.

He seized Pritchard's wrist and yanked him into the panic room. The door slammed and the Magnum fired. The shot reverberated, piercing the far wall. Jay stumbled backwards and hit the floor. Pritchard stood tall, took aim.

The panic room mimicked a meat locker. The Magnum glinted in the sliver of moonlight, trembling in Pritchard's hand. The cold rushed through his veins. s.h.i.+vers rattled his bones. He trained the gun on Jay.

The darkness blinked out to crimson light that surged from the floor. Pritchard's trigger finger straightened and his head snapped. The steel walls peeled and bled. The throbbing muscles burst from every direction. The three walls that Pritchard faced dilated like giant eyeb.a.l.l.s.