Endurance - Jack Kilborn [65]
What the hell is wrong with him?
“We’re here, fellas. Don’t give me no trouble. I get angry, I start breakin’ things on y’all. You hear?”
The Sheriff got out of the car, gun in hand, and opened the door. Felix got out first, staring into woods so dark he felt like her was being swallowed. There was nothing around, far as he could see. When Cam exited the vehicle, the Sheriff took out a flashlight and marched them forward.
Out of nowhere, a gigantic house appeared. Made of logs, surround by tall trees on all sides. Not a single light was on.
Is this the Rushmore Inn?
“The forest rangers don’t even know this place exits,” the Sheriff said. “Got some trees on the roof, so it can’t be seen flyin’ overhead. Every so often, hunter’ll stumble on it. We take care of ‘em.”
He marched them inside the heavy front door, closed it behind him, and yelled, “Ma! I’m home!”
Felix looked around the room, awed by the decor. U.S. Presidents were everywhere. He was so floored by how odd it was that he almost failed to notice the large old woman lumbering toward them.
“Good evening. I’m Eleanor Roosevelt. Welcome, gentlemen, to the Rushmore Inn.” She fussed with her hair, held in place by a white hairnet, then turned to the Sheriff. “Dwight? Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing guests?”
“Sorry, Ma. This was last minute.” Dwight took off his cowboy hat and held it by the brim, looking solemn. “I’m afraid I got some bad news. These fellas here killed John.”
Eleanor blinked her bulbous eyes. “John? My John?”
“‘Fraid so. These are the ones I told you about a while ago. The ones looking for the girl. They shot John in the head. Like a dog, Ma. Nuthin’ I could do.”
“Better than he deserved,” Cam said. “You people are scum.”
Sheriff Dwight hit Cam in the stomach, dropping him to his knees.
“Mind my momma, boy.”
Eleanor placed a hand on her chest. She moaned, a low, keening sound that grew higher and higher in pitch, like a fog horn.
“There there, Ma.” The Sheriff patted her shoulder.
Eleanor stopped howling long enough to pull a handkerchief out of her robe pocket. She dabbed her eyes, but as far as Felix could tell they were already dry.
“Get me some water to calm my nerves, Dwight. There’s a pitcher on the table.”
Dwight nodded, heading for the pitcher. Felix flexed his legs.
If he turns his back on me, I’ll run at the old woman and…
The next thing he knew, Felix was on his knees, teeth clenched in agony. It felt like a pick axe hit him in the stomach. He stared up at Eleanor, who was now holding a stick she must have had hidden in her robe.
She touched the stick to Felix’s arm, and it hurt worse than if she’d branded it with a hot iron.
It’s a cattle prod. But Felix was much more interested in the hand that held it. On Eleanor’s pinky.
A yellow diamond ring. Pear shaped.
Maria’s engagement ring.
She’s here! Maria is here!
“Shame on you,” Eleanor said. “Shame on both of you. John was a good boy. A special boy. He wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but he loved his momma, and I had big plans for him.”
“He was a rapist and a murderer,” Cam said.
Eleanor juiced him with the prod, and Cam cried out.
“Not another word out of you, boy. Dwight! Where’s my water?”
“Here it is, Ma.”
The Sheriff handed her a glass of rust-colored liquid, and she drank the whole thing, smacking her lips at the end.
“Not much in the taste department, but wonderful for the nerves. Get my blood kit, Dwight.”
“Got it already, Ma.”
“Test ‘em.”
The Sheriff knelt down, poking Felix in the hip with something that stung. He did the same thing to Cam. Then he opened up a leather satchel and pulled out some vials of fluid.
He just took our blood samples. He’s going to test if we…
Jesus, who’s that?
A giant had come down the stairs. A giant with a gaping split in his face. He walked up to them and stared at Felix, flicking his tongue out through the hole in his nasal cavity.