Kiss Them Goodnight

Part One: Relocation

Chapter One

Dry leaves crunched and twigs cracked under Tom Hanson’s feet. His labored breathing burned inside his chest from the cold March air. He ran between the trees, sparse moonlight his only guide.

He didn’t even know where he was, the darkness making it next to impossible for him to really see his surroundings. The long and bulky dark cloak he wore constantly snagged on the brush and briars.

His legs and sides burned and sweat rolled down his face. But he didn’t dare to stop, these crazy fuckers might actually kill him.

Unless it was all a hoax, a practical joke, like the ones on TV. Maybe they’d shout that he’d been punked or something. Where would the hidden cameras be all the way out here?

Tom’s gut told him it was no joke.

That little girl was really in danger, and if the people following him caught up to him so was he.

This was fucking crazy. Who’d a thought these weirdoes were serious about all this? All these years of secret meetings and dressing up in hooded cloaks, standing around reciting mumbo jumbo – how was he to know it would turn into this?

Tom bounced off a thin tree as he tried to look back over his shoulder. The momentum change threw him into a spin but he kept his feet.

Behind him three cloaked figures, silhouetted by the moonlight, stalked after him.

Tom didn’t know who they were – that was all part of the secret, no one shared their identities with anyone else – but they were moving pretty good, keeping up with him.

His heart beat in the bottom of his throat, a mixture of exertion and fear. This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be real.

He yelled again, hoping someone nearby would hear him. So far it had done him no good.

His nose ran in the cool of the night, the snot mixed with the sweat, but he didn’t have time to worry about it, to even consider it. Survival was his only thought - escape.

He hopped over a downed tree, the trunk rotted and moss covered. The uneven ground beneath his feet made him take several stutter steps to recover his footing.

The slip allowed his pursuers to gain ground on him.

Tom Hanson doubled his effort. He had to move faster, get away from here. He was only twenty, he had his whole life before him. He was getting ready to start his second semester at Crowder and he and Jennifer were starting to get serious. Things really looked good for Tom.

Even his dad had changed, becoming much more cool lately, less of a jackass.

The trees started having a little more room between them now, Tom found it easier to juke around and between them. He tried to shuck off the cloak but it zipped up the front and Tom knew he didn’t have time to stop and remove it.

He heard the footsteps of the people behind him and quickened his pace. Fear had a funny way of boosting speed and strength. But his chest ached, his lungs begged for a chance to rest. His right knee, the one he’d had scoped before his senior year of football, felt like someone drove railroad spikes beneath the kneecap with every step.

Tom knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this pace much longer.

He stepped on something - a rock under the fallen leaves or a root arching above the surface – he didn’t know because he never saw it. His ankle rolled and he heard a loud pop just before his face exploded in pain.

His lips and nose and cheeks were on fire as he bounced off the tree trunk and fell to the ground. The dirty smell of old, wet leaves filled his nose through the blood as his face smacked onto them, his head bouncing more than once.

White spots filled his tunneling vision as he tried to get back up. But his right leg didn’t seem to work. The only response he got from it when he tried to force it to obey was an intense wave of pain that rolled up his hip and back.

Something hot and wet ran down his face, flooding his lips and spilling into his mouth even as more of it leaked from between his teeth.

Tom’s vision swam, making him nauseous.

Everything hurt. He couldn’t catch his breath. Why was this happening? He just wanted to leave, to forget what he’d seen. He wouldn’t tell, he wouldn’t.

Leaves around him cracked and crunched. He heard heavy breathing that wasn’t his own. Lots of it.

Tom Hanson tried to push himself up, tried to continue to run, back to Jennifer, back to Dad.

A pair of black boots moved into his line of sight, a black cloak swaying just above them.

Tom started to cry. He hurt. He was afraid. He wanted to go home.

He wasn’t going to get to.

Dragging his unresponsive right leg with his arms and left leg, Tom moved forward a little more. Then he reached up at the black cloak but got a steel toe to the face for his efforts. It was more of a shove than a kick but it still hurt – Tom’s whole face felt like it was on fire.

Tom rolled to his back. Three figures loomed above him, their cloaks identical to his own. The three blurred into six then changed back to three several times.

The one closest to his head, the one that had kicked him, spoke and the voice was oddly familiar: Bad break, kid.

Was that. . .

Then all three figures leaned down and came for him.

Though it hurt to move his jaw Tom couldn’t stop the scream from escaping his battered mouth.

Moonlight gleamed off something in the lead one’s hands.

Beneath the hoods Tom saw red skinned faces, twisted and demonic. Red pupils in black eyes. Pointy teeth, ears, and horns. Each one slightly different but similar enough.

They were on him.

Tom quit screaming.

Chapter Two

Fluorescent headlights cut a swath in the fading darkness. Daybreak was on the horizon but hadn’t made it there . . . yet. The black pavement of the highway was still dark.

The old adage, ‘It’s always darkest just before the dawn’ seemed to fit real well, figuratively and literally.

Ryan Sanborn had been in darkness for more than a month.

But with his car pointed west, his foot down, and his daughter curled up in the passenger seat, Ryan drove toward better times, quieter times.

Maybe even – dare he think it - healing times.

Ryan was tired. Not just of driving (though he had been driving for the last sixteen hours straight), and not just of not sleeping (though he hadn’t a full night’s rest in more than a month).

No, Ryan was tired of the guilt, of the anger. Of the fear that seemed to follow him, relentless in its goal to drag him down to the darkest depths of self-loathing, the fear that hung over him like this night that seemed unwilling to surrender to the day.

But he couldn’t allow himself to go there. Not with Becca beside him.

Rebecca Sanborn, Ryan’s eight-year-old daughter, lay curled in the fetal position in the passenger seat of the 2003 Buick Rendezvous. In the darkness, lit only by the dim console lights, Ryan could just make out the lump of her form, her shoulders slightly rising and falling as she slumbered beneath the hand-made blanket.

For her he had to be strong.

But he wasn’t immune.

The dark, two-lane highway that stretched on forever before him, lit only by his headlights, was the perfect canvass for his mind to betray him. He stared at the dark pavement as it whisked by looking so much like all the other paved roads he’d seen before.

Black. White lines. Yellow lines.

Like the one he had sped down that night.

The night everything changed.

"Daddy!"

The memory of Becca’s frantic cry echoed in his mind. Made more haunting by the fact it had come over his phone. He hadn’t been there when he needed to be.

And Rachael had paid the price.

Rachael Sanborn – Ryan’s wife, Becca’s mother – was the one who died protecting Becca instead of Ryan. If Ryan had been there, if he hadn’t been fooled – again – by The Disciple’s misleading clues. If he hadn’t underestimated the psychopath.

The left side of his chest hurt. Ryan touched it with his right hand.

Rachael.

Ryan missed her smile, her laugh. He missed her level-headedness and her support.

He missed the touch of her skin, the press of her lips to his. He missed the way she used to tease him by leaning in for a kiss and stopping, waiting for him to come to her, then backing away making him chase.

And he missed her eyes. Her beautiful, blue eyes that used to stare into his. He could still see them, when he closed his eyes. When he thought of them, when he pictured them. They were there, big and blue, the brightest blue he’d ever seen.

So bright they were almost . . . white . . .

Ryan jerked with a start a moment before red and blue lights mixed with the shine of the headlights that reflected off his rearview mirror. Sirens gave a sudden, sharp cry that whined off as his blinker kicked on, indicating his intention to obey.

Ryan looked to the passenger seat where Becca slept.

He must’ve dosed off.

His heart beat in the bottom of his throat as he smoothly pulled the SUV to the side of the road. Gravel ground beneath the tires. God, he was just glad nothing had happened.

Ryan retrieved his black, bi-fold wallet from the center console after putting the vehicle in PARK. The lights from the cruiser behind him were low but caught the rearview mirror at just the right angle so the light reflected directly into his eyes.

He reached up and angled the mirror down enough to get the light out of his eyes.

Becca stirred a little in the passenger seat and Ryan fought the impulse to reach over and stroke her head. He’d rather she sleep through this if possible.

With an index finger and thumb, Ryan squeezed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. They were close to town now and he’d be able to rest soon. Or, at least, he’d get another chance to try to rest.

Finally, Ryan saw a shadow cross the headlights. A flashlight shone in the back of the Rendezvous, illuminating their meager possessions. They had only packed what they needed before they left on this pilgrimage. Filled black trash bags and used cardboard boxes caused the light to slow as it passed over them.

Ryan put his window down before the cop could tap on it.

Good evening, officer, Ryan said forcing a smile.

The cop was a burly man, thick built with a round, ruddy face. He wore a wide brimmed tan hat and tan colored uniform.

More like morning, wouldn’t you say? the cop said in an even voice. You been drinking? he asked, standing by the back of the window in case Ryan were armed.

No, sir.

Tags say New York. On a road trip, are ya? The light from the flashlight moved across the interior of the car before finding and resting on Becca.

Relocating, Ryan said, his eyes followed the officer’s. That’s my daughter, Becca.

Is it now? the cop said almost to himself. His eyes flicked back to Ryan for a moment before going back to Becca. Ryan spotted the name badge pinned to the officer’s chest but the glare from the light made it impossible to read. I’m gonna need you to step outta the vehicle.

Ryan’s shoulders sagged and he sighed heavily before he could stop himself. What an inconvenience. Silly, small town police.

He opened the door still holding his wallet and moved to the side of the Rendezvous as instructed by the officer. As he got out of the car, his feet touching the dark pavement, another cruiser pulled up behind the first, its colored lights adding to the red and blue illumination. Great. Another one.

The officer made a frustrated sound. Now just turn and face the vehicle, arms and legs spread.

Ryan sighed again but did as he was told. Slowly.

The driver’s door of the second cruiser slammed shut and a new pair of boots crunched on the pavement.

You got a problem, mister? the officer asked picking up on Ryan’s attitude.

No, sir, Ryan said. Just don’t know why this is necessary. What’d I do, swerve a little?

The cop stepped closer to Ryan’s back. More than a little. And you’re from outta state. And you’ve got a minor in the front seat with you who may or may not be your relation. Real bad timing.

Why’s that?

Local girl just went missing a few days ago.

Mornin’ boss, said the new officer, his voice more pleasant than the first’s.

Murphy, the first officer growled. What are you doing out here?

So the first officer hadn’t radioed for backup?

Old man Peterson, Deputy Murphy said. He called in to complain about some kids making noise out in the woods. Wanted someone to check it out. He paused just long enough for the first officer to grunt. Thought you were off tonight?

I was. The first officer didn’t elaborate. Got an out-of-stater here who was swerving. Got a minor asleep in the front seat, says it’s his daughter.

Her name’s Becca, Ryan said. Rebecca Sanborn.

Go ‘round and wake her, the deep voiced first officer said. See what she says.

You betcha, boss. The second officer walked around the back of the Rendezvous, Ryan heard his boots crunch the loose gravel on the side of the road.

The thick smell of poultry houses filled Ryan’s nostrils as he waited facing the dark blue siding of his car. Tree branches creaked in the slight breeze that blew cool morning air across his face. The car was cool under his hands and the muscles in his legs threatened to knot up after having been forced in one position for so long. His back ached, too, but still, it felt good to stand up and be out of the car. If only it were of his own volition.

Ryan heard the door handle on the passenger side click as it opened. The overhead light in the front of the vehicle came on and Becca sat up, the deputy standing in the open door. He couldn’t hear their words, only a low mumble.

What’s a New Yorker doin’ in these parts anyway?

Plus this joker kept yakking at him. He sounded even closer to Ryan than he had been.

Ryan tried to keep his voice level and calm. Told you already; relocating.

That so? How come?

Just needed a change of scenery. Ryan pinched his eyes closed as Rachael’s face flashed in his mind. First she was alive and beautiful, her blue eyes sparkling. Then, in the same instant, her blue eyes were dark and unblinking. Drips of crimson painted a line across her face. Her mouth was frozen open in her last gasp.

Why here? Got family? Or did you just . . . spin a bottle and head this way?

Family, Ryan answered. Through the tinted windows Murphy and Becca were little more than silhouettes. The deputy gave her a small wave and stepped back from the door. As he closed it carefully Becca turned and looked in Ryan’s direction but Ryan doubted he was any clearer to her.

Ryan turned his head as Deputy Murphy rounded the vehicle and stopped a few feet from them.

You got yourself one pretty little girl there, Mr. Sanborn. Sharp as a tack, too, the deputy said hitching his thumbs in his belt and smiling at Ryan.

The first cop grunted.

Out of the direct line of the light Ryan could make out the deputy’s young face. He had an angular chin with wide, kind eyes, and one of those infectious smiles. His nose was just a little crooked like it had been broken a couple of times before. Ryan didn’t have to work to smile back at him. Thanks.

Ryan turned around and faced the pair of officers then, the deputy looking friendly and the other looking sour and disappointed. The first officer stared at Ryan with predator eyes.

Whereabouts you going? the first officer asked.

Ryan met his stare as he moved sideways back toward the door, aware that Becca was watching him now. He considered whether he needed to actually tell the officers where he was going or not. But since they could still fine him for swerving, he decided he better play nice.

My sister-in-law has a place just outside of Springtown. Ryan didn’t miss the way the first cop’s face hardened a bit. He just wasn’t sure what triggered it.

Springtown, huh? Deputy Murphy said. That’s where I live. Nice place. Good schools, he added with a nod toward the car.

Springtown’s a nice, quiet place, Mr. Sanborn, the first officer said. I don’t think a fella from a big city like New York would find it very appealing.

So you don’t get many New Yorkers out this way?

Nope. Sure don’t.

Then how do you know they wouldn’t find it appealing? Ryan did have to fight to keep the smile from his face this time. He let his eyes move from the reddening face of the first officer to the deputy. Was the deputy trying not to smile as well? Am I free to go now? Ryan asked after a moment.

Sure, the deputy answered. The first officer didn’t look too pleased. You have a nice day, now.

Ryan nodded to the deputy and then locked stares one last time with the officer that had pulled him over. As Ryan opened his door the officer made no attempt to stop him so he figured he was fine. Then, just as he was sliding in the driver’s seat, the officer spoke.

You drive careful now. I’ll not let you off the hook again. Understand?

Ryan just stared at him a moment longer before snapping the door shut, exhaling a deep breath. He felt Becca’s eyes on him as he sat there. He looked at her and grinned.

Woke up, huh? he said playfully. I was starting to think you went into a coma over there.

Becca stared back at him with eyes blue like his own, not as dynamic as Rachael’s had been. But the rest of her face was her mother’s. Becca was only eight but she looked much older. Her eyes had seen too much pain, cried too many tears – their innocence was gone.

She didn’t return his smile.

Ryan put the car in drive, turned on his blinker, and pulled back onto the road. The darkness had lifted even more during his interrogation and he could hardly see his headlights on the road anymore. Becca turned her head to stare back at the cops as they shrunk in the distance behind them.

Why’d they pull you over, Dad? she asked.

I got too tired and swerved a little. My fault.

Are you still tired? she asked after a moment.

Yeah but more alert now, that’s for sure. We’re almost to Aunt Lisa’s house. I’ll be fine.

The breaking dawn lit road ahead of them.

Chapter Three

Becca sat back in her seat then and pulled her homemade blanket up on her lap. It was made of two pieces of fleece material laid together, the edges cut and tied. The top piece was dark blue, the picture of a perfect night sky, with white dots representing the stars. The inside piece was just plain blue, not quite as dark as the outside. The edges of the fleece blanket had been cut and tied together to make the blanket. When Becca was a toddler she developed the habit of curling a strand of the fleece around a finger and rubbing it there.

She hadn’t messed with her baby blanket since she was six years old, not to speak of. Then, after . . . well, after everything that happened, suddenly she couldn’t go without it again. And she rubbed her fingers with the frills just like she had when she was a toddler. Must be some comfort thing.

You hungry? Ryan asked after they had gone a few minutes with no noise but the hum of the engine and the road noise. Once we get to town we could stop somewhere and get some breakfast. It’s only a few miles ahead.

I’d rather just go to Aunt Lisa’s, Becca responded without looking at him. She stared straight ahead.

Okay. Sure, baby. Whatever you want, Ryan conceded as his stomach growled. He was hungry but what he wanted even more than food was some coffee. So long as Lisa had a pot on he’d be okay.

Aunt Lisa was Rachael’s older - much older - step-sister. She was single now and owned a pretty nice three bedroom home in Springtown compliments of one of her ex-husbands. Was it the second? Or third? Maybe the fourth. Ryan couldn’t remember for sure.

Lisa was a senior in high school when her father left her mother and moved in with Rachael’s mom (who was already pregnant with Rachael). After high school, Lisa left her mother’s house and spent quite a bit of time with her new baby sister.

She had taken the news almost as hard as Ryan had.

For the next few miles the only talking in the car was done by the singers on the radio. Then the soft music was interrupted with local ads. A small town carpet store owner tried - and failed - to be funny as his monotone voice droned on about the savings of shopping with them.

Ryan lifted his sunglasses from the center console and slipped them on his face, the nose pieces settling back in to their usual positions. His mouth was dry but his bottle of water was empty.

His stomach growled again. The clock in the dash said 7:21 and he just hoped Lisa was ready for them.

Lisa’s house was on the outskirts of town. Becca sat up, pulling the lever to bring her seat upright as Ryan pulled onto the rocky, dirt drive. The tall oak trees lining the long drive blocked out the early morning sun dropping the temperature noticeably.

The tires crunched as they slowly made their way along the slightly curving road. Then they rounded the last small corner and the faded yellow siding of Lisa’s house was in plain sight. The one level home was ‘L’ shaped with the one car garage sticking off the far side. It was easy to see the garage had been added sometime after the home was built.

As they followed the drive past the front of the house, the front storm door opened and Lisa stood in the doorway, a lit cigarette in her mouth and pink - my God, Lisa - pink hair. Becca leaned against Ryan’s shoulder as she stuck out an arm waving at her Aunt and Lisa returned the wave with a smile.

Suddenly Ryan was back in New York, in the sterile waiting room of the hospital. Lisa stood in front of him, red-eyed, red-nosed from crying. Her hair was black and down to her shoulders. You get him, Ryan, she said through gritted, angry teeth. You get this son of a bitch and make him bleed. The rest of her demand was lost as she succumbed to sobbing again, her head and fists hitting his chest until his arms wrapped around her.

He promised.

The crunching of rock ceased as Ryan pulled the car onto the concrete driveway and stopped. By the time he got the car in park, Becca was already hopping out the passenger side door, blanket thrown over her shoulder.

Lisa met her in front of the car and the two embraced with squeals of delight (mostly coming from Becca). Ryan stepped out of the car, his legs, back, and butt thankful for the change in position. He eyed her short, spiky, pink hair.

How are you, sweetie? Lisa asked squatting down in front of Becca.

Becca answered, Hungry. We haven’t even had breakfast yet.

Ryan frowned at her - now she’s hungry.

You’re early, Lisa said standing up and tousling Becca’s hair a little.

Ryan shrugged a shoulder and eyed his daughter. Someone didn’t want to stop for breakfast.

Lisa smiled and patted the top of Becca’s head as she stepped past her to give Ryan a peck on the cheek and a hug. She reeked of cigarette smoke - as always - and her faced was lined with wrinkles. But her faded blue jeans fit her well, accenting her slim figure. Her short sleeve black tee shirt was tucked in and snug against her ample chest, the bold faced white words, ‘YOU WISH’ pulled tight.

Lisa caught Ryan checking her out and smiled. Well, go ahead, she said lifting one of her hands and gently feeling for the pointed ends of her hair.

What? Ryan asked innocently.

Tell me I look silly, I can see it on your face. Might as well say it. She turned and put a hand on Becca’s back, guiding her toward the front door.

Becca spoke as Ryan answered, I don’t think you look silly, Aunt Lisa.

You’ll just tell me to go to hell, Ryan said.

Lisa looked down at Becca and smiled, thanking her, then looked over her shoulder at Ryan and winked. I know.

Ryan chuckled, same old Lisa. You look good, Lisa.

I know that, too, Lisa said as she walked along the concrete sidewalk that led to the front door.

Spring was in the air, the smell of the green grass and bright flowers filled Ryan’s nose. He could hear the chirping of birds and the creak of the budded tree branches as they moved in the breeze. The overcast of the lane was gone and the warm morning sun touched his skin. He paused along the walk and stretched, taking in a deep breath as he did.

He liked it out here, he had to admit. There was definitely something admirable about the slow paced, small town life.

Well come on in, now, Lisa said holding the door open for him and gesturing with one arm. Quit standing there thinking about the qualities of small town life and get your butt inside. There’ll be plenty of time to stand around and admire the scenery after breakfast.

Ryan smiled at her and did as she asked, shaking his head at her aptitude for reading his thoughts. Of course there’d be time for standing around later - what else was there to do this far from serious civilization?

And I’ll have you know, Lisa said as he passed her, there is plenty else to do out here other’n stand around and watch the grass grow.

Ryan stopped and stared at her, wide-eyed.

It’s just, she continued, when your surroundings are this pretty, it’s a crime not to enjoy’em.

You know, Lisa, Ryan said, I’ve met many self-proclaimed psychics in my time but none of them hold a candle to you. Are you sure you’re not--

Naw, Lisa said with a dismissive wave. You’re just easy to read. She smiled but this time it didn’t touch her eyes.

Ryan saw it then, what he thought he might see, brewing just beneath the surface of her emotions. She was being her usual self but it was all an act. Her eyes recognized the look in his and cut from his to Becca and back again in a moment. It was all an act for Becca’s sake. Lisa and Ryan would have their discussion later.

And it wouldn’t be pretty.

Now, I know that’s not true, Ryan muttered as he followed her in, deciding to play along with her for Becca’s sake.

The interior of the house smelled musty, heavy with the thick scents of recently sprayed air fresheners. But all the air fresheners in the world couldn’t combat the permanent stink of second hand smoke.

The entry to the home was clean and led straight forward to the dining room or to the left where the living room was. Once white walls were muddy yellow and Ryan knew if he moved any of