The Price of Brimstone Page 2

  “Involved? I’m your sister, Russell! Besides Gabby, I’m the only family you’ve got. I don’t know why you didn’t call me right away and tell me what was going on. When did this happen, anyway?”

  “About…I don’t know. Six days ago.”

  “Six days? This happened six days ago? Why didn’t you say something?”

  There is a defensive edge to his voice. “I’ve been kind of busy.”

  “I get that, but you could’ve at least called.”

  “There’s nothing you could have done.”

  “That’s not the point.” Sighing, I dig through one of the drawers for a spatula and use it to flip the sandwiches. “Okay. First things first. Have you filed a police report?”

  “Police aren’t gonna do anything. They’re both adults, Jude. Fact is, they have every right to disappear if that’s what they want.”

  “But you said that’s not what happened. You said they were taken. Your exact words, remember?”

  “You think the police are gonna believe that?”

  “What makes you think they didn’t just take off on their own?”

  “They wouldn’t do that.”

  “Oh, Russ…”

  “It’s my fault.”

  I blink at him, confused. “What is?”

  “I lost my temper. I saw them kiss, and I just...I lost it. You know, if I'd just kept it together, acted like a rational adult, none of this would've happened…”

  Oh, shit. Shit. My brother is well known for having a hair-trigger temper and when he loses it, things can get a little scary. Do I even want to hear the rest of this?

  In a faint voice, I whisper, “What did you do?”

  “I went off on them. Both of them. Took a swing at Owen. Called Sky a few things I don’t care to repeat. Told them they could both go straight to hell.”

  “And…?”

  “I went outside to cool off for a while. When I came back, they were gone. Both of them. Just…gone.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s all it took.”

  I drum my fingers on the counter, weighing the evidence. Unfortunately, everything leads to one very obvious verdict. “Fact check here. If Owen and Skylar weren’t screwing around behind your back, then tell me this. Why were they kissing?”

  “We’d all had a lot to drink. She’d been flirting with him all night, and I think things just got out of hand. I overreacted.”

  “Doesn’t sound to me like you overreacted. Sounds to me like you did just what anybody else would’ve done.”

  “It wasn’t what I did. It’s what I said. I never should’ve said what I did. He took my own words and used them against me.”

  Now I’m confused again. “He? He who?”

  Russ opens his mouth and then, appearing to think better of it, clamps it shut again. His forehead crinkles as he gives a resigned shake of his head. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. Maybe they just decided to leave town together. Maybe that’s all there is to it.”

  But he doesn’t seem to believe his own words. It’s clear that something else is wrong here. I can’t put my finger on the piece that’s missing, but I do know I’m not getting the whole story.

  Opening the fridge, I grab a soft drink for each of us. The bread is nice and toasted now, so I turn off the stove, scoop the sandwiches onto two paper plates and set them both on the table.

  Then I clear my throat before quietly demanding, “What’s going on, Russ? The truth. Stop jerking me around.”

  Instead of answering my question, he strays off in a frustratingly random direction. “Do you ever think about Claude Gilbert?”

  A dozen tadpoles squirm to life in my stomach. I don’t need to be reminded of that man. Just hearing his name takes me back to the darkest time in my life.

  “I try not to,” I mutter, taking a seat across from him.

  “You know he didn’t do it.”

  “Of course he did it! There was security camera footage showing him do it. His prints were all over the gun. There were witnesses. He never even tried to deny it.”

  “Yeah, I know. But it wasn’t him, Jude. You know that.”

  I don’t reply. The truth is, and I never told anyone this, but I went to visit Claude about two months after his conviction. I had to, you see. I couldn’t live with the fact that the poor man believed he’d gone mad. That not only would he spend the rest of his days serving life without parole, but spend them convinced of his own insanity because he couldn’t remember anything that happened that night.

  He wasn’t crazy. My brother and I both know he wasn’t crazy.

  I went because I had to tell him. That he hadn’t lost his mind. That it wasn’t his fault. And to offer forgiveness. Absolution for shooting my parents in cold blood and leaving them to die in a dimly lit parking garage.

  Like I said, there was never any question that he committed the crime. It was him, all right. His gun. His car at the scene. His finger that pulled the trigger four times. His empty eyes that turned to stare directly into the security camera before his thin lips curved into something too bone-chilling to pass as a smile.

  But it wasn’t Claude Gilbert that murdered our parents.

  That man was nothing but a pawn. A puppet on a string. Someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And unfortunately for him, he will pay for his bad timing with the remainder of his life. Because there isn’t a damn thing I can do to help him.

  No one would ever believe the truth.

  Russell tears off a corner of his sandwich and pops it in his mouth, chewing slowly. “Did you ever stop to wonder what our lives would be like if things were different?”

  “Different how?”

  “I don’t know. If Mom and Dad were still alive. If they hadn't always made us feel like the town weirdos. Or maybe if they'd at least done a better job of explaining why they felt the need to put their lives in jeopardy for a bunch of total fucking strangers.”

  “They did their best to shield us from all that. They were only doing what they thought was right. And Daddy did a lot of good, you can’t deny that.”

  I’m not sure he’s even listening to me. His bleary eyes are focused on something off in the distance as he whispers, “If I asked you to turn around and go back to Tulsa, would you do it?”

  “Nope. Not without a damn good reason why.”

  “You always were a stubborn little cuss.” There's the vaguest hint of a smile, and it relieves me to see something of his characteristic humor breaking through. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “So am I.”

  “But I really wish you hadn’t come.”

  Wiping my hands on a napkin, I wad it up and throw it at him. “Gee. Thanks.”

  Russ pops open his can of soda and takes a sip before telling me, “It was the guy at the bar, Jude.”

  Uncertain which direction he’s taking this time, I simply finish my sandwich while listening quietly. I’m not going to press him. He’ll tie it all together when he’s ready.

  “I was still so pissed at the two of them that I didn’t…I didn’t think much of it at the time. He seemed friendly enough. Offered to buy me a beer. Said I looked like I could use one. I didn’t know what he was at first. I didn’t recognize…what he was.”

  I’m suddenly finding it hard to breathe. The room feels cold, where it was perfectly warm in here just a second ago.

  “But then he looked straight at me, and I knew. When I saw his eyes, I knew.”

  I don’t want to go there. I really don’t, but I have to ask. “You’re telling me you saw one of them?”

  Staring down at the table, he nods.

  “I didn’t realize you still saw them.”

  “I haven’t. Not in a long time, anyway. I was hoping…I was hoping maybe I couldn’t, anymore. Or that there weren’t any more around.”

  “What did he say?” I ask faintly.

  “He said…this is your lucky day, brother. I just happen to have two one-way tickets for t
he express train to Hell.” Russell tosses his head back, as if trying to shake the memory. “I couldn’t move, Jude. I couldn’t say a word. And he just gets up, drops a twenty on the counter and walks away, laughing to himself. I hightailed it out to the parking lot as soon as I came to my senses, but there was no sign of him.”

  We both grow silent. For the next sixty seconds, all I can hear is the soft ticking of the rooster-shaped clock on the wall. That thing has got to be a relic from the seventies. It's tacky as hell. I’m surprised it still works.

  “Are you sure you weren’t just imagining things?” I suggest. “You said yourself, you’d had a lot to drink.”

  “Mm. Maybe.” I notice he isn’t looking directly at me when he says it. “Possibly.”

  I pick at my sandwich and listen to the clock some more. I never realized before how loud it is. Or maybe it just seems that way because it’s so quiet in here.

  “Tell you what,” I blurt, desperate to break the silence. “Tomorrow I’ll go pick up some stuff at the grocery store and clean up around here, but you gotta promise me you’ll at least take a shower and maybe do some laundry. Okay? ’Cause don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but you smell like a wet dog.”

  His lips finally curve up in a smile. “Yeah. I think I let the clothes sit in the washer too long before I put them in the dryer.”

  “I’m surprised Max can stand to be around you.”

  “Frankly, so am I. Especially lately.”

  I’m looking forward to seeing Max again tomorrow. I like him. He’s a lot like me – practical and sensible, whereas my brother and Owen have always let their dicks do the thinking for them. Girls have always been their number one priority. And believe me, females flock to them like puppies to Purina. Back in middle school, it used to piss me off when some girl would pretend she wanted to be my friend, only for me to realize later that it was just a ploy to hang out at my house and gush over my brother. I always thought it was so pathetic. Like a high school guy is really going to be interested in some moony twelve-year-old!

  I watch as Russ drains the rest of his Coke and then idly crushes the can in his hand. His eyes are glassy, drooping halfway shut, and there are dark circles beneath them. There are plenty more questions I want to ask, but I decide they’ll have to wait. If there’s a point past exhaustion, then he has surely reached it.

  “Why don’t you go on up to bed?” I advise. “You look like you’re about two seconds away from collapsing. Have you been sleeping?”

  “Not much,” he admits.

  “I have some Tylenol PM in one of my bags. Why don’t I give you a couple and you can go take a nice hot shower while they kick in. I think you’ll feel a lot better after you’ve had a good night’s sleep. How’s that sound?”

  “It actually sounds really good.” With a burst of energy that startles me, he jumps up and heads over to the basement door, where he flips a latch and secures it with a padlock that was dangling from the silver loop.

  I watch him in fascination. “What are you doing?”

  The padlock clicks shut, and he turns to give me a stern look. “Don’t fuck with this lock, Jude. I mean it.”

  “Why? What’s down there?”

  “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” I grumble.

  His eyes grow hard as steel as he sets his jaw and tells me grimly, “I’m trying to keep you safe. For now, that’s all you need to know.”

  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

  Chapter Two

  It’s mid-afternoon and I’m putting the groceries away when Russell comes shuffling lazily into the kitchen. It’s a vast relief to see him looking more like himself and less like a Walking Dead extra. I was starting to wonder if he was going to sleep the day away. Obviously he desperately needed some rest, so I figured I should keep it down and try not to bother him. Who knows how long it’s been since he was able to fully recharge?

  I assess his shampooed hair, clean-shaven face and fresh set of clothes, nodding my approval. “That’s better,” I determine, patting his cheek.

  He breaks out in the boyish grin I’m used to seeing, the one that makes him look more like seventeen than his actual age of twenty-four. I feel much better knowing that he seems to be over last night’s weird funk.

  It was all just bullshit, I decide. Paranoia. Depression brought on by sleep deprivation. Skylar and Owen are shacked up somewhere humping like skankrabbits, and that’s all there is to it. They aren’t victims of abduction. Come on, that doesn’t even make sense. Okay, so the whole scenario sucks for Russ, but it’s not like he can’t snap his fingers and have two dozen replacements standing in line at his beck and call. It’s always been that way for him. He’s never had a problem attracting attention from the opposite sex.

  “I picked up some pizza,” I announce, pointing to the cardboard boxes on the counter. “Figured you’d wake up hungry.”

  “Ah, you’re the best! I’m starving.” Lifting one of the lids, he makes a face at the Canadian bacon and pineapple. “Uh…”

  “That one’s mine,” I sigh. “Don’t worry, the one underneath is for you.”

  He grabs a plate and piles it high with greasy thick-crust pepperoni that’s oozing with extra cheese. “Thanks. You’re all right for someone who eats fruit on their pizza.”

  “I keep telling you, you’d like it if you’d just try it. I used to think it was gross, too.”

  “Yeah, I hear sheep testicles are tasty but I’m not too keen on trying those either.” His eyes twinkle as he demolishes half a slice in one bite.

  “And yet you’ll eat potted meat, which is made from…what, exactly?”

  “Pure deliciousness.”

  “Pure mystery ingredients,” I retort.

  “There’s no pineapple in it.”

  Shoving an armful of chicken in the freezer, I snort and give him a sidelong look.

  “How much were the groceries?” he asks as he crams more pizza in his mouth. In a muffled voice, he adds, “I’ll write you a check.”

  I wave off his offer. “Don’t worry about it.”

  He washes his food down with a mouthful of beer and lets loose a burp loud enough to register on the Richter scale. It’s really kind of disgusting to watch him eat sometimes. I’m pretty sure he does it for my benefit, just to get a reaction out of me, so I take the more mature route and disregard his obnoxious behavior.

  “You’re unemployed right now,” he reminds me.

  “You can buy them next time.”

  His brow furrows ever so slightly, and I have a feeling I know what he’s about to say. “Just how long are you planning on staying, Jude?”

  Oh, give me a break already! Are we really back to this?

  Fuming, I slam down a can of tomato sauce with way more force than necessary. “Tell me something. Why are you in such a blue streak hurry to get rid of me? This is my house too, you know! I have every right to be here.”

  “I’m not trying to get rid of you. I just think you’d be better off in Tulsa with Gabby right now.”

  “And why is that?”

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Is it? Well, tell you what. I have a thesaurus if you’d like to borrow it.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant, smartass.”

  “Really? And how am I supposed to know when you won’t tell me anything?”

  “Trust me. This is not something you need to know.”

  “Says who? Obviously it involves me, or you wouldn’t be trying so hard to get rid of me, would you? Let me ask you something, why do you find it necessary to act like–” I stop talking in midsentence, taken by surprise at the sound of the front door slamming.

  It’s Max. I watch in amazement as he heads straight for the refrigerator without so much as a hello. Foraging around inside, he selects a beer and pops the top before turning up the can and guzzling most of the contents in one long draw.

  “You know, you two really mak
e me appreciate the fact that I was an only child,” he announces by way of greeting.

  Without saying a word, Russ and I both flip him the middle finger at precisely the same moment.

  “Synchronized hand gestures. Classy.” Max takes a peek inside one of the pizza boxes and then looks directly at me. “What psycho is eating pineapple on their pizza?”

  Super. I am now outnumbered two to one by defective X chromosomes.

  “I ordered it that way on purpose, if you must know. So I don’t have to worry about sharing any with you walking garbage disposals.”

  “Garbage. Remember, you said it, not me.”

  “Nobody said you had to eat it.”

  “Anchovies,” he remarks, apropos to nothing.

  “What?”

  “If the plan is to keep people from scarfing your food, then you have to order it with extra anchovies.”

  “Oh. Sure, but then I wouldn’t want to eat it.”

  “I never said it was a good plan.” Flashing me a grin, he lifts a piece of Hawaiian Luau pizza out of the box and takes a bite. “Just like I never said I didn’t like pineapple.”

  Rolling my eyes, I hide a smile as I gather the empty grocery bags. I’d never admit it to anyone, but I’m not sure I ever completely got over my adolescent crush on Max. There’s just something about the handsome blonde that has always appealed to me. His personality doesn't suck either. I admire the fact that he’s more respectful of women and less of an obvious manwhore than other guys. I mean, I know he’s had his share of girlfriends, but I’ve never heard him talk trash about any of them so that’s bonus points in my book.

  Max turns his attention to my brother. “You get some sleep?”

  “Man, I don’t remember a thing after my head hit the pillow. I don’t think I moved once all night. I was out for sixteen solid hours, do you believe that?”

  “Are you just now getting up?”

  “Yep.”

  “He looks a lot better, doesn’t he?” I comment, adding to Russ, “I’ll be honest. You had me worried last night.”

  He shrugs. “I was just tired. That’s all.”

  “Up to the task at hand, then?” Finishing off his slice of pizza, Max swipes his hand across the leg of his stained jeans. They look like they have brown paint spattered on them. Is that what they’re doing down there? Working on some kind of do-it-yourself project? If so, I don’t see what the big hush-hush deal is.