'Tell me,' she prodded once more. She put her arm gently around his shoulder. The smell of sweat and gasoline was pungent in her nose.
'All right,' he began, slowly. 'I'll tell you'
It was just after lunch on the previous Thursday when Nick got a call from the school office that there was some kind of a family emergency and that he was needed at home.
`[just spoke with your mother,' the dour secretary said, wire-rimmed readers on a chain from her slender neck. A worried look on the teen's face brought much-needed reassurance. She smiled and said, 'She's fine. Your dad and brother are okay, too. I asked.'
'What's happened?'
'I don't know Go home. Call us if you need anything from here. Okay?'
'I guess so.'
Nick signed out for the afternoon, slung his backpack over his shoulder; and hurried to the Ford pickup his dad had given him for his seventeenth birthday. He checked his pocket for cash, but came up short. He should have filled up earlier in the day. He revved the engine; a cloud of exhaust poured from the tailpipe. The gas gauge indicated he had an eighth of a tank Good. Enough to get home. He figured the `family emergency' probably involved grandpa or grandma. His dad's parents were already gone, and both Nick and Donny were close to their maternal grandparents. They lived on a farm just south of Billings, Montana. Some of Nick's happiest memories were of visits to their farm, a place of long summer afternoons and quiet, star filled nights.
Pulling into their long wagon wheel driveway, Nick spotted his parent's vehicles parked in front of the house. There was also a black Buick, a Skylark It was unfamiliar. The plates were framed in a rental car company's holder.
Wonder who's here?
The front door was ajar.
'Mom!' he called once inside.
There was no response. Natasha rubbed against his leg, and Nick bent down to pick up the cat. She immediately turned on her motor and started purring.
'Where is everyone? ' he asked, petting the cat and moving deliberately through the house. The living room with its pair of antique love seats set off by an oval braided rug was empty. So was the kitchen. A drawer was open. Almost absentmindedly, Nick shut it with a push of his hip. The cat stopped purring and wanted down, but Nick held her. Next he made his way down the hall, but everything was quiet. Really quiet. On his way backfrom his dad's vacant office at the opposite end of the hall, he noticed Donovan 's fifteen pound, shoulder-bruising backpack by the front door. He was already home?
The Seth Thomas grandfather clock in the foyer ticked like a bomb.
'Donny? Dad? Mom?'
Natasha jumped from Nick's arms and scampered toward the door. Maybe they were in the backyard? The afternoon sun was blinding and a breeze wafted the scent of lilacs and mint through the air. Swallows that had set up housekeeping under the eaves swooped low over the grassy field that zoomed up the hill from the driveway to the highway. He noticed that laundry had been hung that morning. It fluttered soaking in the smells of the country that his mother loved so much. The serenity of the scene was utterly at odds with the supposedly urgent request to get home. Somethings really wrong. Nick could feel panic rising.
He went back inside and stood at the bottom of the honey fir planked stairway.
'Mom?'
There was no reason to be upstairs. There were only bedrooms on the second floor. With a visitor here, why would they be up there?
Up he went, into a nightmare.
Jenna found an old cotton painter's drop cloth, and put it around Nick's shoulders. Each word of his story sent a shiver from her neck to the base of her spine. Like shards of glass stabbing. Like ice. Nick was looking at her then, measuring the impact of his words, not sure if he was losing her or winning her over. What he had to say was nothing, however, compared with what he'd seen in his parents' bedroom.
'It was bad,' he whispered. 'It wasn't some movie set or anything like that, but I wanted it to be fake. To be like some big joke. But I knew that my mom and dad would never play a joke like that.'
Jenna held him closer. Her heart ached for what he was about to disclose.
'You're going to be all right, Nick. You're going to be fine. I'm here'
He shot her a look that stopped her cold. He didn't even have to say the words. She felt stupid. Of course, he wasn't all right. How could he be?
'I want to smoke,' he said.
'Later. I can't help you if I don't know what happened'
He drew in a deep breath and held it. He wished he didn't have to breathe at all. Breathing meant living. He'd wished to God that he'd been dead, that he never seen what was in his parent's bedroom.
'Mom? Dad?'
The room was dark and absolutely still. The blinds glowed orange from the daylight outside, but the light was out and Nick couldn't see anything. He reached for the switch. The flash from an overhead bisque and brass fixture filled the room with creamy light ... and red.
The red, he knew with the visceral response that comes with complete fear was blood.
Not this. No. No. Please.
His mother was nude on the bed. Shed been bound with something on her legs and feet. His father; dressed, was beside her. A spray of blood spatter arced behind the bed. There was so much blood! He took each piece of the scene in like a Polaroid, not waiting to really see what he was viewing. Later the images would emerge from the fog of what he d seen. His father's curly silver hair was caked in shiny whorls of blood. His mother's skin was tissue white. Everything had been touched by the dark red color of blood.
'Mom! Dad!' Nick lunged for the bed and tried to shake them into waking, though he knew they were dead. His father's dark eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. His mother had doll eyes, too. Open, but seeing nothing at all. He was crying then. His hands were wet with blood and he spun around, as the reality of what he d seen sucked him deeper into terror. 'Momma! Daddy!'
On the floor, he saw afoot, a leg, and then the rest of his brother. Still. Lifeless like his parents. Nick started circling the front of the bed. He was a caged animal. The door was open, he could leave, of course, but he just kept circling. He needed to call 911. Call the police. But he was paralyzed by fear He called out, a wail of emotion, for his brother and his parents. Had Dad killed Mom, then Donny? Why? Nick felt his pocket for his cell phone, but it was gone. Must be in my backpack. Or the truck.
Family pictures looked on from the dresser. Among them was a shot ofNick and Donny grinning in cutoffs and Grand Canyon T-shirts standing against the celebrated red rocks of Sedona, Arizona. His mom and dad's wedding photo, his dad having to forever live down the white and powder blue tux that he d put on because he loved Peg so much. Mom with her medallion for winning the Tri-State Cat Fanciers show
Blood spatter mottled the mirror. Nick caught a glimpse of his own horror, a face he almost didn't recognize, so twisted in fear He turned away to go for the phone when a guttural sound called out from the bed. It was a plaintive cry, not quite human sounding. He wondered if Natasha had followed him upstairs.
The noise was a gurgling sound, but it wasn't the cat. It came from his father. Nick bent close. He could feel the warmth of his dad's breath.
Mark Martin was alive.
`Dad! What happened? What? I'm getting help now'
Mark Martin's eyes weren't tracking his son, but his lips were moving Blood pooled from his mouth.
'Nick? '
Fighting back his tears, Nick wanted to tell his father how sorry he was for everything he d done to disappoint him. He put his hand under his father's head, cradling him like a baby. He could feel the wetness under his dad's back that he thought at once had to be blood.
'I'm getting help. Going right now,' Nick said.
Mark Martin tried to lift his head, he gurgled out another cry. He wheezed. 'Closer ... thought Donny was you.' His words disappeared into the agony of his ebbing life.
