Flesh and Blood: Chapter Three
You take me to the nicest places...
When Mae Bishop finally did in her abusive husband and dumped his body in the river, she thought her troubles were behind her. When his ghost shows up and leads her away from the police and straight into the lair of a serial killer, she realizes trouble never left. And when a mysterious angelic being recruits her for purposes yet unknown, Mae knows she and trouble are in it for the long haul.
You're reading Flesh and Blood. This is Chapter Three.
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There didn’t seem to be anything special about this new road. Just another back-country mountain road that meandered up and down for who knew how long. The sky began to lighten, and in the grayish pre-dawn she could make out broken down single-wides with junked-out yards, complete with rusted old cars perched on cinder blocks, interspersed with the occasional well-kept home and yard, and the even more occasional field dotted with cows or sheep. Maybe not the nicest area Wade was leading her to.
But she kept driving.
At last, Wade pointed at a turnoff up ahead. “There. That’s where we’re going.” It looked like the opening of a gravel driveway, with a rusty mailbox leaning precariously over a hand-drawn sign hammered into the ground that announced, “Al’s Auto Body.”
Mae rolled to a stop, but didn’t turn. “I don’t think getting this old truck fixed up is exactly a priority right now.”
“We’re here to get you a new car. The law will be looking out for this old heap.”
She grimaced. She didn’t know how the law would know what kind of vehicle she was driving, but she didn’t know how they’d tracked her down to that cabin, either, so they must have their ways. Wade was right, as much as she hated to admit it. She also didn’t want to admit how much it unnerved her that he’d brought her here. Her theory that he was just the voice of her own subconscious was holding less and less water.
She turned onto a lane lined on each side by thick tangles of oaks and hickories and red cedars. The woods continued on about a quarter of a mile before opening into a large yard, on one side of which sat an older home on a permanent, albeit cracked, foundation. A screened-in porch covered the front. On the other side of the driveway sat a large, aluminum-built garage, much newer and nicer than the home. About a dozen or so cars in various states of disrepair filled the space between the two structures, and about as many cars in much better shape were parked in neat rows on the other side of the garage behind a big For Sale sign.
The garage appeared to be closed, but a light shone inside the house. At least she wouldn’t be waking the proprietor. She parked as close to the house as she could before the driveway gave way to patchy grass and dirt.
“I don’t suppose that psychic ghost mind of yours knows what I’m supposed to say,” she said as she climbed out of the truck.
Wade appeared beside her. “I just know where you’re supposed to go. But I suggest you simply say you’re here to trade in your truck for a car.”
“How am I supposed to pay for a car?”
“The truck’s a classic. It’ll be worth a lot more than he’ll need to spend to fix it up. I’m betting he’ll make you an even trade.”
Mae glanced over at him. “What about paperwork? What if he asks to see my ID?”
“Something tells me that won’t be an issue.”
Mae wondered what he meant by that. She thought about asking, but she just wanted to get this over with and get back on the road. She climbed the steps to the porch, stepping over a board that looked so rotted she might fall through. The screen door wasn’t locked, so she let herself inside. She paused a moment at the front door to wipe her hands on her jeans and take a deep breath. Then she raised her hand and rapped on the door.
Heavy footsteps approached in response, and Mae braced herself. Locks turned and bolts slid — more than she would have expected, considering they were so far out in the country — and then at last the door cracked open far enough to to reveal a large man with a bald head and a bearded, babyish face. He wore a yellowing v-necked undershirt that was stained with coffee, motor oil and a darker, reddish brown substance that didn’t give her a good feeling but that she figured was likely some sort of automotive fluid she couldn’t name. Or maybe he’d cut himself at some point. Whatever the stain was, it looked old and faded.
“Can I help you?” asked a gruff voice, pulling her gaze away from the dubious stain and redirecting it at his face. Gray eyes peered out from beneath hooded lids and bushy black eyebrows, scrutinizing her.
“Are you Al?”
“What do you want?”
She stepped aside so he could see the truck. “I need to make a trade.”
He squinted past her at the truck. Then he looked back at her. “Now?”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s early, but it’s kind of an emergency. I need to drive a long way in a hurry, and I don’t think my truck’ll make it.”
He regarded her with even more suspicion than she did him. But then he sighed and stepped back, opening the door wide. “Come on in. I don’t do business before I’ve had my coffee. You want some?”
Not until that moment did Mae realize how tired she felt. She slumped a little as some of the tension left her. “I’d love some.”
She glanced around before stepping inside, seeing no sign of Wade. She didn’t have time to contemplate what that might mean before Al said, “Well, come on then.”
With a nod and a smile, Mae entered the house. She found herself in a darkened living room, partially illuminated by a light from the kitchen. She could dimly make out darkly paneled walls, a shabby sofa and a La-Z-Boy facing a giant flat-screen TV. Easy to see where Al’s priorities lay, financially speaking.
Al shut the door and motioned her toward the kitchen, where she found a dented and dinged metal table covered with tools and car parts. He shoved some of them out of the way to clear a spot for her. “Have a seat.”
Mae pulled a rusted metal folding chair out from the table and turned it to face him as he shuffled over to the stove. In spite of the mess of the table and a sink full of unwashed dishes, the rest of the kitchen looked clean and tidy.
Al opened a cabinet door and took out a black mug with an auto parts logo on it. He set it next to a similar one already on the counter that sported a famous tire company mascot. He took an old-fashioned metal coffee pot from the stove and filled both mugs, then brought them to the table. He handed her the tire mug and then stood and sipped his coffee. She simply held hers, letting it warm her cold fingers.
“Tell me about your truck,” he said after he’d drunk about half his coffee.
Mae set her mug on the table and shrugged. “I can’t tell you much. It was given to me by a friend. It’s a Ford — I think it’s from the ‘70s. It runs okay, but I’m not confident it’ll run as well as I need it to.”
He nodded. “I don’t know how much better of a car you’re hoping to get for a straight trade-in.”
“As long as it runs, I’m not too picky. I’m sure we can come to a deal.”
Again, he looked her up and down, his gaze holding less suspicion and more of something she didn’t like at all. “Yeah. I bet we can.” He tossed back the rest of his coffee like a drunk tossing back a glass of cheap bourbon, slammed the mug down on the table, and reached for a shirt that hung on the back of the chair opposite hers. “Sit tight and drink your coffee while I go have a look at it,” he said as he shrugged into a dark blue work shirt that had his name embroidered on a patch over his heart. He held out an expectant hand. “You got the keys?”
Mae leaned back to dig the keys out of her jeans pocket and handed them over. “Thanks,” she said.
“Don’t mention it. Stay put and drink your coffee.” He stomped back through the living room and exited the front door, shutting her inside.
“What the hell have you gotten me into here, Wade?” she muttered as she picked up her cooling coffee and took a long drink. Only then did it hit her how badly she needed to pee.
Mae set the mug on the table and stood up. She knew the polite thing to do would be to wait for Al to come back and ask to use his bathroom, but she didn’t think she could wait that long. Surely he wouldn’t begrudge a paying customer the use of his facilities.
A little hallway led off of the living room. Mae followed it and found a door standing open into a small bathroom. The pink tile and claw-foot tub looked like they were probably original to the house. The toilet didn’t appear much newer. As she sat down to take care of business, she thought the pipes must not be, either, what with the way they groaned.
She stood back up and was about to flush, but her hand froze halfway to the handle. What she’d first taken for groaning pipes, she realized, sounded human. Mae leaned over the tub and turned an ear toward the drain. It wasn’t the groaning of old metal she heard coming up through the opening, but crying. The kind that said whoever it came from had lost all hope. The kind that Mae knew all too well.
Quickly, she flushed the toilet and washed her hands at the sink. She didn’t bother drying them, but wiped them on her jeans before opening the door and stepping out into the hall. “Hello?” she called. “Is someone there?”
“In here,” called a male voice. A familiar voice. She followed it and found Wade standing at the back of the kitchen. He nodded toward a door that was bolted shut with a sliding lock. “You need to see what’s in there.”
“What’s going on here, Wade?”
“This is why you’re here, darlin’.” He looked past her and nodded toward the cluttered table. “I suggest you take something you can do some damage with, if you need to. Too bad there’s not a hammer. We both know how well you can handle one of those.”
Ignoring his jab, she went to the table and scanned its contents. Her heart had sped up when she’d heard the crying, and now it pounded so hard she it throbbed in her ears. Her gaze landed on a heavy-looking crescent wrench. She picked it up and felt its heft. It would do. She glanced toward the front door.
“Don’t worry,” said Wade, “you’ve got time. Don’t waste it.”
Wrench in hand, she returned to the mystery door and slid back the bolt. The door opened to a dark wooden staircase leading down into a basement. The sound of crying drifted up the stairs. “Hello?” Mae called.
The crying abruptly stopped. Mae peered down into the dark, letting her eyes adjust. There were no light switches, but she could make out an overhead light at the bottom of the stairs, with a string hanging from it. “Hello?” she called again, hoping she wouldn’t have to go down there.
“Help us!” a voice called. “Please!” A second voice joined the first. Both voices sounded desperate, frantic, and female.
Mae swore and looked back at Wade. He simply made a motion like she should hurry up and get moving. So she did.
Carefully, she picked her way down the steps, one hand on a rickety wooden rail that she didn’t trust to hold her weight, the other holding the wrench ready to strike. At the bottom of the stairs, she had to raise up on her toes and reach, grazing the end of the string with her fingertips before finally managing to grab hold and pull hard enough to make the bulb light up. Her effort caused the light to swing wildly, making shadows dance all around her.
“Oh God,” one of the voices cried from deeper in the basement. “Oh God, help us! My name is Jana Davis. This is Wendy Givens. Call the police and tell them we’re here!”
Mae followed the voice and found a row of heavy-duty dog cages that had been bolted to the floor. Two of them held women, each of whom looked to be about half Mae’s age. Both of them looked straggly and emaciated, and were covered in cuts and bruises.
She recognized their names from the news, but both girls bore little resemblance to the pictures that showed them looking healthy, vibrant and full of life. They had both been missing for weeks.
“Please!” cried one of the girls. Mae couldn’t be sure which was which. “Call the police!”
Her first instinct was to run upstairs and do just that. But as she turned, it dawned on her that the police would arrest her right along with good ol’ Al. She needed to get them out of there, and then she needed to get away. “Hold on,” she said, putting the wrench in her back pocket and going to inspect the cages. They were solidly constructed and padlocked shut. “I’m gonna get you girls out of there.”
“There’s no time for that!” the one in the cage closest to her said. “Please, just call the police!”
“That’ll take too long.” Mae pulled out the wrench and raised it over her head. “Stand back.”
The girl did as told. Mae brought the wrench down onto the lock with as much force as she could muster. Considering how she’d been chopping her own wood for six months, it was a considerable amount. Even so, the wrench just glanced off of the lock, and Mae muttered a curse. She shifted her attention to the latch. If she had a screwdriver, she could simply remove it.
She spotted a work bench along the wall to her right. Shoving the wrench handle through her belt loop, she hurried toward it, but what she saw there caused her steps to falter. She found tools there, all right, but not the assortment of hammers and nails and screwdrivers she’d expected. Instead she found knives and other pointy things, many of which she couldn’t name, but which were clearly instruments of torture. She thought she recognized a bone saw, or at least her idea of one, still crusted with a brownish-red substance she was fairly certain wasn’t rust.
“What kind of sick…” Her voice trailed off, not finishing the thought as she forced her attention back to the matter at hand. She chose a smaller knife with a blade that might serve as a screwdriver and returned to the cage.
“Hang on. This shouldn’t take long.”
“Hurry!” said the girl.
“Honey, you don’t need to tell me.” The screw head was a Phillips, but Mae managed to fit the tip of the blade into one of the slots and angle it so that it gave her some leverage. The screw was tight, and she had to use all of her strength on it. “Come on, you son of a bitch.”
Finally, it loosened. Mae smiled and let out the breath she’d been holding. “There. I’ll have you out of there in a jif.” After several turns with the knife, she shifted it to her left hand and used the fingers of her right to finish removing the screw.
“Come on, come on,” the girl muttered impatiently, her attention focused on Mae’s handiwork. She almost had it when suddenly the girl looked past her and shrieked so loud she almost split Mae’s eardrum.
And then the light went out, and Mae found herself in complete darkness.
She spun and put her back to the cage, moving the knife back to her right hand as she moved. Behind her, Wendy—or was it Jana?—kept screaming, while in the next cage the other girl began to sob.
“Quiet!” Mae commanded, and both girls abruptly obeyed, plunging the basement into silence. Mae’s ears strained to hear something, anything. A footstep, a rustle of clothing, the heavy breathing you’d expect from such a heavy man. But all she could hear was the frantic breathing of the young women behind her and the bass beat of her own heartbeat in her ears.
Then someone grabbed a fistful of hair at he back of her head, and she was the one who screamed. She lashed out with the knife, but a hand grabbed her wrist and squeezed so hard she felt the metacarpals grinding together. Again she screamed, more with pain than fright, and the knife fell uselessly from her hand.
And then she was airborne. She felt the air rush around her as she flew, and abruptly stop as she slammed into a wall, or maybe a support beam. Something metal clattered nearby as she slumped to the cold concrete floor. At first she was too stunned to think much about it, but as she began to recover her senses she remembered the wrench. She felt her belt loop, but it was no longer there. Frantically, she groped along the floor, feeling for it. Absurdly, she had a picture of herself looking like Velma from Scooby Doo, searching for her dropped glasses. But that image gave way to bursts of red and gray in her vision as someone stepped on her hand—the one she’d busted earlier in her attempt to punch Wade — sending pain shooting up her arm and eliciting another scream.
Beneath the scream, through the haze of pain, she became aware of the scraping of metal against concrete. Mae knew what came next, and braced herself. Not that it made a difference. An explosion of new pain at her temple overpowered all of the other hurts. Her head filled with fuzz and cotton and mud and she could no longer hold herself up. She collapsed onto the cold floor, and the stars in her vision gave way to blessed, blissful nothingness.
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Love it! Reminds me of Odd Thomas a bit the way your keeping it light, even though she’s haunted by her abusive ex’s ghost 👻Look forward to reading more.
Hi, Jean! Is it okay if I submit this post as your contribution for Macabre Monday? That way, it can be considered as a candidate to be featured in the weekly digest!
If you prefer that I don't, I will understand! 👍🏼