Vacations from Hell

Page 37

I tightened my grip on the pipe and took the steps as gingerly as I could, willing my body to weigh nothing, not to inflict any pressure on the old wood. The shuffling continued in the kitchen, and I tried to move in time with it. Then I was at the kitchen doorway, the smell of onions burning my nose. It smelled like Henri had taken the time to actually put them on the stove. I could hear them sizzling. But no other movement. I readied myself.
And then a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, making me drop the pipe. I screamed.
“Is okay!” Gerard said.
He was untied, standing there, alone.
“What?” I said, gasping. “What…”
And then I saw.
Henri was lying on the floor on his back. His head…well, what was left of his head…a lot of it was missing…. I didn’t take a good look. He was dead. There was a massive splatter all over that corner of the room, and the blood ran all around him, funneled through the grooves in the wooden floor. The shotgun was on the table.
“What happened?” I said. I felt hot and faint, and I had to grab the doorway for support.
“He untied me,” Gerard said, sounding shocked. “He let me go. And then he shot ’imself. Where is your sister?”
“I knocked her out with a DVD player,” I said.
He nodded absently. I stepped around him and had a better look at Henri. He was definitely dead. There was so much blood.
“I think he saw the hand and remembered what he did,” Gerard said quietly. “Eet has happened just like the notes said, just like my cousin. Henri has killed himself, and now eet will move.”
“Oh,” I replied.
The onions popped in the pan. I pulled them off the burner. I couldn’t figure out how to turn it off. Gerard came over and lowered one of the heavy covers over it.
“You believe now,” he said quietly. “I did not want to either, but once you have seen eet, you know eet is true.”
Henri’s dead body was on the floor, half a head missing. What had seemed so impossible now seemed utterly plausible. The curse was here.
“Yes,” I said. “I believe it now.”
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Fine. I mean, I just beat Marylou over the head. But I didn’t kill her. That’s good, right? I was careful about that.”
This news cheered him. His face perked up a bit.
“That is good, Charlie! That is very good!”
I remembered how Marylou had grabbed the knife and the pipe earlier, how she had fought me just now…how all of her instincts had been so murderous.
“It’s her,” I said. “She’s got it. I’m sure of it. She’s been acting strange.”
Gerard watched me carefully for a moment, examining me for any signs that I might break into a murderous rampage. He looked at Marylou’s pipe, which was now on the bench next to the table. Then he smiled, pure relief flooding his features.
“Yes,” he said. “Eef you did not kill her when you could, eef she is acting odd…yes. I believe you are right. Eet is your sister. We will lock her up then we will all be safe. We will all be safe, Charlie!”
With that he pulled me close. I don’t know what it was—maybe the mad excitement—but he kissed me. I mean a passionate, full-on, total-body-contact kiss in the true French fashion, done only as a tall village boy who was massively glad to be alive could kiss.
Which, if you are interested, is pretty good stuff. I was pretty glad to be alive myself, and the moment just swelled in that blood-splattered, onion-reeking kitchen with the rain driving away outside. Gerard paused to laugh, his lips close to mine, then picked me up giddily. I wrapped my legs around his hips for support, and we kissed again.
Neither of us heard Marylou come in, or noticed her quietly pick up the rifle.
“What have you done?” she said.
She really didn’t look good. The blood had smeared on her face, and there were shadowy bruises all along her jaw and cheek. Her eyes were red and teary, and her teeth were set together.
And we were, you know, making out over a dead body with half a head, so I could see how this was going to be a tricky one.
Gerard lowered me slowly, and I tried to smile. A calm, it’s-all-okay-now smile.
“You don’t understand….” I said.
“That is the biggest understatement of all time.”
Marylou backed up to the doorway and swung the gun between the two of us.
“You killed him,” she said to Gerard.
“No,” I said quickly. “He killed himself. Because he killed his wife. Just like I said.”