The Running Girls(5)

Randall stood before it now, in front of a hole in the house that had once held a window. Prison and age had shriveled him. He stood hunched, a weary acceptance in his eyes. Laurie caught a glimpse of David in his facial figures, and it appalled her to think Randall would have been baby Milly’s grandfather, had she survived her birth.

Angling herself so the oak’s low-hanging branches hid her, Laurie sucked in a breath as Warren stepped toward Randall and gut-punched him. Randall collapsed around his fist, then sank slowly to his knees in the dirt.

Laurie thought about David, the trauma inflicted on him by his father’s act, and wondered what he would do now, if he were in her position. Would he intervene or would he join in with his grandfather? She feared she knew the answer, and guiltily felt pleased that he was away on work.

Randall didn’t try to fight back. Warren’s deputies stood guard as the old chief hauled Randall to his feet, only to knock him down again with a vicious blow to the face.

Laurie wasn’t one for vigilante justice. She was straight when it came to matters of the law, and that made her feel like the worst kind of hypocrite as she remained silent even as Warren kicked his former son-in-law in the groin. Again, Randall sagged to the earth.

How long could she let this last? How far would Warren go?

One of the deputies went to pull Randall to his feet, but Warren stopped him. She heard him tell Randall to stand, his voice deep and resonant in the thin air. Randall was like a rag doll. He scrambled feebly in the dirt for a time, as if his bones had stopped supporting his body, before at last struggling to his feet. Laurie was less than fifty yards away but she could see his body shake. A line of puke mingled with blood on his shirt. Surely he couldn’t take much more of this.

Warren began moving to and fro, as if he was winding himself up to do something unspeakable. That was, finally, enough for Laurie. She stepped out from the shade of the tree, a fierce blast of heat hitting her as she rushed along the dead ground toward the abandoned house. “Warren, that’s enough,” she called out, just as the old chief pulled Randall in close.

At first, she thought Warren was whispering something in the man’s ear, but Randall’s scream soon dispelled that notion. Only then did Warren turn to face her, as Randall fell to the ground with blood pouring from the flap of gristle where Warren had bitten his ear.

Warren wiped blood from his mouth and the absence Laurie saw in his eyes was the most terrifying thing she’d seen in a long time. Drawing close to them, she glanced at the former deputies, who both at least had the good sense to look apologetic.

“Laurie?” said Warren, some measure of life returning to his eyes.

“That’s enough now, Warren.”

Warren began nodding like one of those toy dogs you saw on the dashboard of cars. Laurie went to him and gripped her grandfather-in-law by the shoulders. He’d aged a decade in the last minute. His face was a crisscross pattern of deep grooves, his skin tanned and pitted with patches of white like an abstract painting. “Warren, you with us now?”

Warren glanced at his deputies, who hung their heads like chastised dogs. “I’m sorry, Laurie. You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

Randall was slumped against the house, watching the conversation as if his life depended on it.

“You get home now, Warren,” Laurie said. “OK?”

Warren appeared set to argue, then, to her surprise, nodded.

“All three of you get going now,” she said, “and there’ll be no need to talk anymore about it.”

Randall remained quiet as the deputies helped Warren down the path, as though he were the one who’d taken a beating. Laurie watched him stumble, his legs giving way every now and then, and wondered what she was going to say to Randall. After all, he was David’s father, was now her father-in-law, though the only time she’d ever interacted with him was during his arrest and incarceration.

“You’re Laurie?” said Randall, as Warren and his minions disappeared. “David’s wife?”

Laurie forced herself to turn to him, to take in the damage. Randall’s right eye was already swollen, his wounded ear pouring blood, but he didn’t act as if he was in discomfort. His cracked lips were formed into a smile. “I’d heard that David got married. I’m so pleased for you both.”

Laurie felt the sigh build up deep in her stomach. Randall looked like a harmless old man. The flesh on his arms was loose, pale skin hanging from his bones like flaps of a tent. He’d had sixteen years to consider what he’d done, but Laurie couldn’t succumb to sentimentality. Weak and frail as he was, the man had killed his wife; had murdered her husband’s mother. She would help him with his wounds but anything else would be a betrayal.

“Why did you come back?” she asked, peering through the hole where the window had once been. The interior was surprisingly well maintained, with original furniture and a number of dust-coated photo frames that Laurie refused to focus on.

“Where else would I go? This is my home.”

Laurie stepped past him and through the opening, her leg catching on the rotten frame and tearing the skin above her knee. She moved toward the kitchen area, ignoring the sound of scuttling activity on the floor. With little hope, she tried one of the faucets, the pipes groaning to life but producing nothing except a blast of fetid air and a few brown drops.

The cupboards were bare beyond a few cans of tinned food and Laurie eased her way back to the opening, fighting the desire to leave, to be away from the man who had caused so much hurt for David.