Out of Time by Beth Flynn
He drove the car as far out into the swamp as he knew he could go and walk himself back safely. Even after the drive he was still winded from all of the work, and he allowed himself to catch his breath as he watched the car slowly sinking. He would carry the gun with him back to the motel. He’d need it in case he came across any gators.
While he walked back, he would try to figure out what to do with all that money.
One thing he knew for certain. He couldn’t spend it for a while. He didn’t know who, if anybody, would come looking for this guy. He would hide the money and give himself some time to make a plan.
**********
“I can give you some work, but I’m way out in the middle of nowhere. You have a ride?” the old man asked the kid as they stood outside the car.
“No. I can hitch though.”
“You ain’t gonna be able to hitch a ride to my place. Nobody comes out there. Sorry.” He started to walk towards the driver’s side of the car to get in.
The boy followed him. “Maybe I can stay with you. I don’t need to sleep in your house or anything. I can camp in your yard, if that’s okay. I’ll work hard for you.”
The old man eyed him warily. This kid didn’t have a family. He was probably a runaway.
“You in trouble with the law? Someone looking for you?”
“No, sir. Just fallen on hard times. No family, and I probably don’t have to tell you that orphanages are worse than living on the street.”
“So, you’re a liar,” the old man added, not unkindly. “You told me you needed a job to help out your family.”
He didn’t expect the kid to answer. The truth was, he didn’t give a shit. And he really could use help at the motel. He was getting old, and even though he rarely had guests, there was still a lot of upkeep. At the rate he was going, he would die before he could spend all that money. He could use some muscle to take care of the shit jobs like keeping up with yard work, repairs, even the pool. Heck, maybe the kid even knew how to cook.
He didn’t give the boy a chance to answer his last accusation. “Got a name?”
The boy looked at the ground.
“What should I call you? Boy?”
The kid’s head snapped up and his green eyes were cold. “You can call me anything but ‘boy,’ mister. Don’t call me boy.”
“Well, how does Ralph work for you? Can I call you Ralph?”
“Ralph will be fine, mister.”
“And I don’t go by mister. You can call me Pop. Now get in the car and roll down the fucking window. You smell like a dead dog that’s been laying in the sun for a week.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
1976
Grunt was right.
He pulled his car into the church parking lot and parked next to her car. It was the only other car there. She was really taking a big risk here, coming to her old church. Did she subconsciously want to be found? Did she want to run into that nun who’d been trying to get authorities to search for her?
Grunt quietly let himself in the unlocked doors. The church was massive and impressive. The smell of incense burned his nostrils. The lights were dim, but not so dim that he couldn’t make out a lone figure in the very front row. He could tell she was kneeling. Her head was raised. She was looking up. He looked up, too, and saw a massive cross over what he assumed was the altar. A man was nailed to the cross. This would be Kit’s Jesus. He called Him that because he wasn’t sure if he could be his Jesus, too. But He was definitely Kit’s.
Kit had tried to explain the basics of Christianity to Grunt. He loved to listen to her and was actually quite fascinated with some of the Bible stories she told. But he couldn’t fathom how it worked. And he definitely couldn’t fathom how it could work for him. No, he would listen to her stories, he would respect her beliefs, but he could not see how someone like him could be loved unconditionally by the man hanging on that cross.
Yet if he was going to be honest, he would have to admit that he admired, maybe even envied, her faith.
He barely noticed the beautiful stained glass windows that flanked each side of the church as he made his way quietly up the long aisle to where Kit was kneeling. He had reached her now and was getting ready to say something to her when, without turning around, she asked, “Will you sit here with me?”
He was shocked. How did she know he was even there? She turned then and looked at him, as she sat back on the bench. He slid in next to her.
“I saw two people murdered today,” she whispered. “I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do, Grunt. Please.”
“What is He telling you to do?” Grunt nodded at the cross.
“He’s not telling me anything. Or if He is telling me, I’m not hearing it. Or—” She paused, shook her head. “Maybe I don’t want to hear it. I’m so torn. Grizz is so good to me. Am I supposed to turn him in? Turn everybody in, possibly causing harm to Vince and Delia? Or should I stay and try to make a difference?”
Grunt thought about this carefully. She couldn’t go back home without calling the police. She’d been missing almost a year. People who knew her would be curious. If she said she’d run away, she’d be asked where she’d been all this time. Kit would never lie about it. At least not convincingly. So if she were to go home, she would have to report Grizz, and the gang to the police.
Grunt knew he was being selfish, but this would mess him up big time. Right now, Blue was paying for his college courses with money he earned from his gang activities. Money he earned from Grizz. If Grunt was ever going to make a life for himself and Kit in the future, he would need an education. That would be interrupted. And heck, he was only seventeen. He might even be put back in foster care, but most likely he’d go to a juvenile detention facility. No telling when he would be able to get back on track.
No. He would have to convince her to go back to Grizz.
His stomach dropped. As much as he hated the thought of her being with Grizz, he knew that his motivation was purely selfish at this moment.
“I don’t know if he can help who he is, Kit,” he told her softly. “I do know that you are the only good thing in his life. The only pure thing. He keeps you close because you’re the only light for him. Can you see that?”
Grunt was speaking from experience. Kit was his only light, too.
“But I cannot see what I see, Grunt. I cannot be true to myself, to my God, and live every day as if what he does is okay or acceptable.”
“Who says you have to think what he does is okay or acceptable? You don’t have to approve or condone his behavior. Maybe you can even get him to change his ways.”
Grunt practically choked on his last statement. The last thing he wanted to do was encourage Kit to get Grizz to change his ways. No, he was banking on the fact that Grizz wouldn’t change, that Kit would eventually turn her back on him. If he could just get his schooling finished, get a job, move out of the motel – be self-sufficient.
But he needed more time.
“Come back.” He whispered. “Come back, Kit. Maybe you can make a difference.”
“So you think I belong with Grizz?” She was looking at him now, her dark eyes unreadable.
This caught him off-guard. He didn’t want to tell her she belonged with Grizz. She belonged with him.
But he didn’t have to answer. She stood and held her hand out to him. He took her soft hand in his and stood with her.
As he walked her down the aisle and out of the church, he took a silent vow that one day, she would walk up this aisle, taking a vow of her own. As his wife. He would make that happen.
When they were in the lobby area, which Grunt would later learn was called a vestibule, she stopped and looked at him once more.
“He’s going to be mad thinking you had to bring me back. Do you think maybe I should just show up back at the motel on my own? Maybe tell him that I was just driving around to cool off?”
Grunt nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.” He
“I’m going to drive around for a little while,” he told her. “You know, pretend I’m still out looking for you. I’ll call or page Grizz in an hour. I’ll check in. See if you’ve been found.”
He winked at her and she gave him a smile that melted his heart.
Grunt walked her to her car and watched her drive out of the parking lot. Then he walked back into the church and over to a small table set up against one of the walls in the vestibule. The table was filled with all kinds of pamphlets and books.
That wasn’t what drew him back, though. It was something he’d noticed when he was walking Kit out.
He reached up to the bulletin board that was hanging above the table. Her smiling face and big, brown eyes were staring right at him. He yanked the missing person poster off the bulletin board and, stuffing it in his pocket, left the church.
**********
Kit tried not to struggle with her emotions on her drive back to the motel. She wouldn’t allow herself to think she was going back to a man who did the things Grizz did.
One thing she did know. He would be mad.
Would he hurt her or punish her for leaving?
She raised her chin in a small act of self-defiance. If he lays a hand on me, I’ll know his true colors. I know I could never be with a man who abused me. One act of violence toward me, and I’ll leave.
And then, before she could even stop the thought: I hope he doesn’t get mad. I want to stay with him.
Twenty minutes later, Kit pulled into the motel. There were only four motorcycles out front. She knew three belonged to Grizz and one belonged to Grunt. Everyone else was gone.
Where is everybody? She parked her car, got out, and was slinging her purse over her shoulder when Grizz rounded the corner. He must have seen her pull in off the highway and head for her usual spot behind the office. He had to be watching from their window. He was now jogging toward her.
She resolutely started walking toward him. She opened her mouth to say something, “Grizz, I—” but was immediately caught up in a bear hug that almost crushed her.
His face pressed into the top of her head, he was inhaling her scent and talking fast. “Kit, you’re back. You’re home. Where did you go? Why did you leave me?”
Before she could answer, he stood back and placed both hands on her shoulders. He looked down at her upturned face. “I cannot believe you fucking left me. You know the rules. You aren’t supposed to drive anywhere alone. Anywhere!”
“Are you going to hit me? Punish me?” Her voice was calm, like it belonged to someone else.
“Kitten, I’m pissed that you left me, and I know I have done some awful things to people.” He paused. “I’ll probably keep doing awful things.”
She cringed.
“But,” he added, “I will never, ever, ever lay a hand on you.”
“I saw you hit Willow. Remember when you knocked out her tooth?”
Once again he pulled her to his chest and bent low to bury his face in her neck.
He whispered, “I was never in love with Willow.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
1950s, Fort Lauderdale, Florida
He’d only been working and living at the motel a couple of weeks when it happened.
He’d worked hard for Pop, thought maybe he’d earned the old man’s respect, but that wasn’t true. Pop was just like everybody else. He wasn’t a nice guy trying to help a kid out. He worked him almost harder than his father had. At least he didn’t get the beatings. Pop was too old for that.
Pop lived in a unit that was larger than the others. It wasn’t just a room with a bath, but more like a little apartment. He told Ralph he could sleep on the couch in the small living room. Good thing he didn’t give him his own unit. More than once, the boy caught Pop asleep in his bed with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. It was a miracle he hadn’t burned the place down already.
Ralph did everything around the motel. He’d only had to clean two or three guest rooms since he arrived, but he maintained the grounds and the pool, plus did all of the cooking. He even did the laundry. Pop had taken him on a recent trip into Fort Lauderdale. They picked up his mail at the post office and went to a county office to pay his yearly tax bill. He even went with him to pay the water and electric bill a year in advance. Pop didn’t need Ralph with him to do those things, but he did like having the kid to carry out all of the beer and the groceries so he could stock up and make less frequent trips into town.
That night, they’d been sitting in number four. Pop had had one too many beers. He was reminiscing about his own family.
Ralph had never once asked him if he’d had a family.
“He had green eyes like yours,” Pop said to him in a slurred voice.
Ralph looked over at him and realized Pop was drunk. He was sitting in an overstuffed chair. They’d been watching some TV. The Honeymooners was on; it was a favorite of the old man’s. Ralph Kramden was the main character. Guess that was where Pop had come up with his new name. Spittle was forming at the corners of Pop’s mouth as he struggled to be heard over the volume of the television.
“I don’t know how old you are, but I think my boy might be about your age. Maybe older than you. How old are you?”
Ralph just stared and didn’t answer.
“Don’t look at me like that. What? You think I’m too old to have a kid your age? You think my dick stopped working or something?” Pop asked as his head started to bob to one side. He was fighting to keep it upright.
“Where is he?” the boy asked him.
“His mother took off with him maybe ten years ago. Couldn’t handle being out here waiting for a highway that’s never going to be built. She was young, anyway. Took her cheating ass and my son and ran off with some drunk that passed himself off as a sailor. Ain’t seen or heard from either of them since. Didn’t have enough money to track them down. Spent it all on this place.” He gestured with his right hand that had been holding a cigarette. Ashes wafted into the air.
“Been alone here ever since. Stop staring at me with those devil eyes. Stop fucking looking at me!”
“You’ve been alone here since then?”
He was beginning to understand why Pop may have been so harsh. He had lost someone important to him, too. Ruthie. Is this what loss does to a person? Turns them in to sad, mean old drunks? He knew Pop could be nice. He’d been nice to the few people that had stayed here.
But that was an act. He treated Ralph like a slave. Ralph wouldn’t complain, though. He was used to hard work, and besides, he was getting fed.
Pop absently waved his other hand toward a small table.
“I wasn’t completely alone. Had my babies.”
Ralph looked over at the pictures. Yes. Pop’s babies. He’d seen the pictures, but never asked. Two separate pictures, each in their own frame. Two German Shepherds.
He’d started to ask Pop their names, but the old man had already fallen asleep. He picked up his own blanket that he’d been using on the couch, gently draping it over the old man. He then removed the cigarette dangling from Pop’s right hand and stubbed it out in the ashtray.
Everybody had their demons.
That night wasn’t discussed again and Ralph continued to work hard for Pop. One day he decided maybe he would go a little further past the motel grounds, do some hunting. He had a homemade slingshot and he knew he could make a decent turtle soup if he could find one.
He headed out that morning, figuring he could get his hunting done while it was still cool. He’d left Pop sitting in his chair and made his way out to the swamp, walking well beyond what was considered the motel lawn. He stopped cold when he came upon three graves. A chill ran up his spine.
Each grave had a decent-sized headstone made of natural rock with a hand-painted name and year. Jack. Sandy. Benny.
“What the fuck you doing nosing around out here?”
Ralph turned around, a startled look on his face. Was he facing off against a murderer who had slaughtered his family? Had there been a wife and two kids? His mind was reeling with possibilities.
He wanted to hurl accusations but instead heard himself say, “Was turtle hunting. Figured I’d make a nice stew tonight. My stepmother used to make one.” He paused then and stared at Pop. “You buried your family out here?”
He didn’t know what Pop was going to say, but he didn’t expect what came next.
Pop started laughing hard and slapped his knee. “My family? You think I killed my wife and kid and buried them out here? What kind of low-life rat bastard buries their loved ones in a homemade grave in the middle of nowhere and slaps a rock on top as a headstone?”
He didn’t notice the boy stiffen at his last comment.
“It’s my babies,” Pop continued. “Although they deserve better than this. Jack was my first. Then came Sandy.” He paused then, looked from the third grave and met the boy’s eyes. “That’s Benny. He died right before you came here. Never got around to getting a picture of him. Bought a frame to match the others and everything, but never got to use it. Too bad. He was the prettiest of the three. Had some wolf in him.”
He slapped Ralph on the shoulder and started to laugh again, but it turned into fits of coughing. Following Ralph out this far had overexerted him.
“Buried my family in the swamp. You got some imagination, kid. So tell me, am I going to like turtle soup?”
Less than a week later, Ralph was asleep on the couch. He was a light sleeper and knew Pop had gone to bed drunk that night. It was becoming more frequent and he really did need to make sure that the old man didn’t burn the place down with his smoking. He was sleeping when the old man’s mumbling woke him up.