He was in a hurry. Daylight was starting to break in the east. He’d been driving for eighteen hours, with only a brief stop for a nap in the Ozark National Forest.
The sores on his hands, arms and face were healing, but slowly. He didn’t know what that bitch had done to him, but he couldn’t focus on her until the immediate business was handled.
He sped through the dreary countryside, past collapsing farmhouses and rusty barbed wire, towards the miniscule town of Sulphur. There was a bright grin on his face. He was going to sort some things out today, and sort them good.
In his childhood memories, the Tanner house and the outbuildings made up a massive compound, almost like a town. When he pulled up the dusty gravel driveway, he almost thought he had the wrong place. The main house looked tiny and gray, many of its exterior boards crumbling to dust. The outbuildings seemed much smaller than he remembered, too.
Tommy parked in front of the house, next to a big rusty pick-up truck, and he looked up to the tiny window on the second floor. Then he knew he had the right place. That window had been his eye on the world for nearly three years.
The lights in the house were already on. Mr. Tanner liked everyone to be up by sunrise, to get started on chores around the farm.
Tommy stepped off his bike, hung his helmet on it, and walked past the chickens scraping and pecking in the yard. The front door opened as he approached it—someone must have heard his engine.
Mrs. Tanner stood behind the screen door, a few years fatter and grayer. A boy of about ten stood beside her, his eyes bulging with fear.
“Howdy,” Tommy said with a wide smile. He wondered how he looked to them, with the oozing infections leaking down his face.
“Who are you?” Mrs. Tanner asked. “What do you mean making all this noise so early in the morning?”
“Don’t you remember me?” Tommy took off his sunglasses and stared at her with his gray eyes.
“Thomas?” she whispered.
“Fuck yeah.” Tommy pulled open the screen door and stepped inside, forcing Mrs. Tanner to take a step back. The little boy stared up at him. “What’s your name?” Tommy asked.
“Paul,” the boy whispered.
“Did Mr. Tanner baptize you when you got here, Paul?” Tommy asked.
“Yes,” Paul whispered. “He baptizes me all the time.”
Tommy scowled and looked past the boy and Mrs. Tanner. Two more kids ate breakfast at the kitchen table, staring at Tommy over spoonfuls of shredded wheat (not the frosted kind, as the Tanners believed that would spoil children). The boy looked about fourteen or fifteen, while the girl looked twelve or thirteen.
“Oh, look.” Tommy nodded at the girl. “It’s the future Mrs. Tanner.”
“That is disgusting!” Mrs. Tanner snarled.
“You’re getting a little ripe, aren’t you?” Tommy poked Mrs. Tanner’s doughy arm. His touch made her gasp and back away. “A little old for Mr. Tanner.”
“He was right,” Mrs. Tanner whispered. “You do have the devil in you.”
“True.” Tommy picked up a bowl of unsweetened shredded wheat from the table and ate a spoonful. “This stuff is nasty. You kids like this?”
The two kids at the table shook their heads.
“What in the Lord’s name is happening down here?” Mr. Tanner tromped down the staircase, dressed in overalls and boots. He glared at Tommy. “Who are you?”
“You forgot me already, Mr. Tanner?” Tommy asked.
“This is Thomas,” Mrs. Tanner whispered. “He ran away. Remember?”
“I don’t care who he is,” Mr. Tanner said. He jabbed a finger into Tommy’s chest. “You gonna get out this house right now, less you want me to grab my shotgun and plow a trench through your skull.”
Tommy seized Mr. Tanner’s hand.
“Get the shotgun if you want, old man,” Tommy said. “It’ll end with your brains splattered on the ceiling. I promise.”
He squeezed tight, giving Mr. Tanner a good dose of fear, then released the man’s hand. Mr. Tanner just gaped at him.
“Mrs. Tanner,” Tommy said. She jumped at her name, but he had her attention. “When the old man died, you brought a couple of witches here to talk to his corpse. To find some missing money.”
“You did what?” Mr. Tanner stalked toward his wife. “Witches? I’m gonna whup you so bad. Get upstairs and take them britches off.”
Tommy grabbed Mr. Tanner’s throat and slammed him back against the kitchen wall. Pots and pans hung overhead crashed to the scuffed linoleum floor. The little girl at the table started crying.
“You stay put there,” Tommy hissed to Mr. Tanner. “Or I’ll kill you like I killed your daddy.”