Free Death Rhythm by Joel Arnold Page B

ball. The furious energy of a few minutes ago had drained from him like the air of a popped balloon.
    Natalie watched him, then walked up behind him.
    Sometimes, she thought, it would be so much easier to get it over with. She could do it right now. Put her hands around his neck and squeeze. She doubted he would put up much of a struggle.
    Maybe that’s what he wanted. Maybe he was waiting for her to do it.
    She put her hands on his shoulders. Flicked her thumbs up and down along the sides of his neck.
    His flesh felt hot. His pulse beat beneath her thumbs.
    It would be so easy. The pain would be over.
    She looked down at the top of his head, at the age spots showing through his thin white hair.
    So easy.
    But instead, she slid her hands down his chest, leaned over him and gave him a hug.
    “Dad,” she said, her mouth next to his ear. “I love you.”
    He raised his right hand and feebly patted the top of her head. She watched a tear travel a rough course over his cheek.
    She didn’t know how much more she could take.
     

 
    EIGHT
     
    The clouds split apart, the sun searing Andy’s eyes. He squinted. His head throbbed. He couldn’t breathe deeply enough. The tall dead weeds clawed at his ankles, and he stumbled when he reached the edge of Mae’s property, nearly falling over.
    Stop, just stop, he told himself, taking a deep breath.
    He stopped in the shade of one of the large oak trees. Leaned over, his hands on his knees, and sucked in mouthfuls of air. The sun reflected off the windows of Mae’s house, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Put his hand up to his temples.
    What the hell was that all about?
    He tried to think of what he did or said that made the man so angry. Was it the way I looked at his daughter?
    What else could it have been? Did he mistake me for someone else? Did I remind him of someone?
    There was a lot he wanted to ask Mae about. Ask her about the graves, the pictures on the walls. That crazy bastard next door. Ask her about a lot of things. But that would have to wait. For now, he just had to get out of this place. Get back to Cathy. He couldn’t even remember why he'd left her in the first place.
    To breathe, he reminded himself. But the air out here, fresh as it may have been, left a strange taste in his mouth. He didn’t know exactly what he'd been expecting when he walked out of his Milwaukee apartment only a few days ago, but it certainly hadn’t been this.
    Well, it didn’t matter any more. He was getting the hell out of here.
    He caught his breath. Stood up. Shaded his eyes with his hand, and walked around to the front of the house. The sun felt like an ice-pick in his head. He saw Mae’s silhouette on the other side of the screen door.
    “Mae,” he said, pulling the door open. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
    Mae didn’t answer.
    “Look,” Andy said. “I’m sorry to leave you like this. I know you wanted to catch up on Edna, and I promise I’ll call you sometime and we can do that. But I can’t stay here any longer. I have to go.” As the words left his mouth, he finally got a good look at Mae. She’d been crying. Her face was red, her eyes cast down to the floor.
    “Mae? What is it?”
    “You do what you have to do,” she said.
    He wanted so badly to run up the steps to his mother’s old room, grab his bag, and go. But seeing his aunt like this, even though he hardly knew her...
    “What’s wrong?”
    “You wouldn’t understand.” A touch of anger crept into her voice. “You’ve got nothing to do with this, so just go. Get the hell out of here.”
    “I’m sorry, Mae. I – ”
    “Leave.” Mae sobbed, the tears streaking her face like welts from a whip.
    Andy put a hand on her shoulder. “Come on. Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what you want. Do you really want me to leave?”
    Part of Andy hoped she would say yes. Hoped she would tell him to get the hell out of there and never come back. But he knew she wouldn’t say this. He knew it deep in his