Death Rhythm by Joel Arnold Read Free Book Online

surface.
    Mae walked across the hall. Stood at the closed door to Edna’s old room. The room where Andy was staying. She leaned her head against the door. Listened. Slowly turned the doorknob and pushed the door in a few inches.
    No matter how slowly she pushed it, the door still creaked.
    She cringed, her jaw tingling, electricity shooting up her spine.
    There was no one inside. Nothing inside but old memories.
    She shut the door, the squeak of its hinges like a cry from the past.
    She forced those thoughts from her mind.
    The cat’s afraid of Andy, she thought. That’s all.
    There was so much to catch up on. But how much did he already know? Did he know anything at all?
    She was afraid that if she started talking about it, about the past, she might not be able to stop. Talking about it was like holding a match to a can of gasoline.
    She couldn’t remember the last time she had guests in the house. Not counting the -
    - the kids.
    (“ ...some kids from town ,” she had lied, more to herself than the sheriff, as he rocked back and forth on his heels, nodding.)
    She called out again - “Holden!”
    The house seemed to absorb the word. Swallow it whole.
    “Holden!”
    She walked quickly to the door at the end of the hall. It led up to the attic, and she couldn’t remember going up there for quite a while, but she yanked the door open just in case. It gave way grudgingly.
    She called up the steps, “Holden!”
    There was no answer.
    The door was warped with moisture, so she shut it forcefully. She turned and walked to the stairs, her slippers padding quietly and quickly, her pink terry cloth robe swishing against her ankles.
    “Holden!” she called out at the top of the stairs, then muttered, “Damn it,” before descending. She went through room after room flicking on the lights, calling out the cat’s name like a desperate mantra.
    “Holden! Holden!”
    She went through the kitchen, opened the door that led to the basement. It was like looking down into a black, hollow throat.
    “Holden?” she called.
    She pulled her robe tightly around her neck. Shut the door. Turned and jogged to the front of the house, opened the door to the outside and stepped onto the rubber Welcome mat.
    She felt desperate. Frightened. On the verge of tears.
    “Holden!” she cried. “Holden!” Not caring if Andy heard her, if the neighbors heard her, if the whole damn world heard her.
    “Holden!” One last time.
    Her voice quickly faded into the unrelenting night. She waited a moment. Listening.
    She turned quickly and went inside, letting the screen door slam shut behind her.
     
    The windbreaker Andy wore didn’t help much against the cold. His teeth chattered and his skin crawled, his blood trying in vain to surge through and warm his limbs. He rubbed his hands together vigorously and looked for the trail that led back to Mae’s, the trail now hidden from the moonlight by shadows thrown from trees.
    He cupped his hands and blew into them. Stomped his feet and tried to ignore the pressure building up against his bladder.
    He turned in the direction of the neighbor’s house. The thought of those breasts and warm red hair warmed his soul for a little while, but soon faded.
    Okay, concentrate. Where was Mae’s house in comparison to the neighbors’?
    He formed a mental picture of the two houses separated by the grassy field. About half a football field apart. He squinted, making out the outline of two gravestones looking like symmetrical phantoms in the dark. If he headed straight between them, he could continue on a straight path through the woods and hopefully run into Mae’s place. Maybe get poked at by branches, maybe trip a few times, but at least he’d get to where it was warm.
    Leaving the clearing, he walked slowly, the light from the stars dimmed by the treetops. His vision was good for only a few feet ahead at a time. He took a few steps, and waited for his eyes to re-adjust. He took a few more steps. He held his arm