said.
Stepping around the boxes I caught that extra shadow on the ceiling again along with that squeak, and figured whoever it was must still be looking for the light switch. It was hard to find if you didn’t know exactly where it was located.
“The switch is in the middle of the outer wall, on the left, about three feet in from the doorway,” I called.
Silence.
No movement.
Even the breathing had stopped.
When I turned around, Lisa was gone. I shivered. This was getting totally out of control. Slasher movies flashed through my mind and I suddenly wished I had spent more time watching Turner Classics with Lisa and her mom while I was growing up instead of suspense and thrillers with my dad.
“Lisa, where are you?” And just as I said it, the sound of breaking glass echoed through the barn. “Over here!” she yelled, her voice cracking.
I rushed toward the sound of her voice, which seemed to be coming from the right side of the barn, over by the antique millstone. It only took a moment to find her and as soon as I did I had to slide a few boxes out of my way to get to her. She was looking down at something. Even in the dim moonlight, I knew that intense look she wore on her face. I’d seen it a thousand times before. It usually came right before she was getting ready to either cry or relay some disturbing news. Like when she had to tell me that Johnny Underwood broke up with her for Erin Martin, our fifth grade class president whom we both hated because she told everybody my father was in the mob. I figured this look was over-exaggerated due to our shadow fear plus the glass I’d heard shatter had been a few bottles of oil, and she was upset about breaking them.
“Don’t give it another thought. We have plenty more. I can replace whatever’s broken,” I said trying to calm her.
She turned toward me just as I slid another box out of the way so I could see the oil disaster. Her right hand was dripping with olive oil and she was holding up some kind of thick black metal screw. “I don’t think you can replace him, Mia.”
I slid the last box out of the way and saw brown, scuffed shoes pointing straight up from the barn floor, and teetering on top of the body attached to those shoes was the excessively heavy antique millstone, which almost entirely covered the obviously crushed body.
“What happened?” I asked, but I could feel myself slipping into pure hysteria. Those little hairs on the back of my neck were doing their dance again.
“It’s Dickey, and I’m almost certain he’s not going to be able to tell you.”
A sick panic accompanied by a red-hot chill raced through me. “Is he, like, dead?”
She nodded. “Pretty much. I checked. There’s no pulse.”
“Did you see — ”
“Not a thing.”
I started shaking. My chest tightened. “We should call an ambulance.”
“We should try to figure out how this happened first.”
“Are you nuts?” I couldn’t understand what the woman was thinking, but all I wanted to do at that precise moment was to get the hell out of there.
“I might be able to write about it in my next book. It could save someone’s life.”
“You are nuts. We need to call an ambulance, or the police or Uncle Benny.” That’s when I noticed the dark red blood oozing around Dickey’s head, and the open thirty-liter futso on the floor not far from the body. I suddenly felt sick. I also felt guilt. I had been the one to have the millstone dismantled. It was my idea to move the damn thing. If it hadn’t been for me, Dickey might still be alive. The thought was too much. My head started to swim. Things around me were spinning.
Lisa took my hand, and calmly bent over to take a closer look at his head. “Oh my God!”
“What,” I whined, not wanting to know any of the gory details. At this point, I was barely hanging on.
“His head is bleeding out, and it’s not from the millstone. I think he’s been shot.”
I told myself this couldn’t be true. She
Stepping around the boxes I caught that extra shadow on the ceiling again along with that squeak, and figured whoever it was must still be looking for the light switch. It was hard to find if you didn’t know exactly where it was located.
“The switch is in the middle of the outer wall, on the left, about three feet in from the doorway,” I called.
Silence.
No movement.
Even the breathing had stopped.
When I turned around, Lisa was gone. I shivered. This was getting totally out of control. Slasher movies flashed through my mind and I suddenly wished I had spent more time watching Turner Classics with Lisa and her mom while I was growing up instead of suspense and thrillers with my dad.
“Lisa, where are you?” And just as I said it, the sound of breaking glass echoed through the barn. “Over here!” she yelled, her voice cracking.
I rushed toward the sound of her voice, which seemed to be coming from the right side of the barn, over by the antique millstone. It only took a moment to find her and as soon as I did I had to slide a few boxes out of my way to get to her. She was looking down at something. Even in the dim moonlight, I knew that intense look she wore on her face. I’d seen it a thousand times before. It usually came right before she was getting ready to either cry or relay some disturbing news. Like when she had to tell me that Johnny Underwood broke up with her for Erin Martin, our fifth grade class president whom we both hated because she told everybody my father was in the mob. I figured this look was over-exaggerated due to our shadow fear plus the glass I’d heard shatter had been a few bottles of oil, and she was upset about breaking them.
“Don’t give it another thought. We have plenty more. I can replace whatever’s broken,” I said trying to calm her.
She turned toward me just as I slid another box out of the way so I could see the oil disaster. Her right hand was dripping with olive oil and she was holding up some kind of thick black metal screw. “I don’t think you can replace him, Mia.”
I slid the last box out of the way and saw brown, scuffed shoes pointing straight up from the barn floor, and teetering on top of the body attached to those shoes was the excessively heavy antique millstone, which almost entirely covered the obviously crushed body.
“What happened?” I asked, but I could feel myself slipping into pure hysteria. Those little hairs on the back of my neck were doing their dance again.
“It’s Dickey, and I’m almost certain he’s not going to be able to tell you.”
A sick panic accompanied by a red-hot chill raced through me. “Is he, like, dead?”
She nodded. “Pretty much. I checked. There’s no pulse.”
“Did you see — ”
“Not a thing.”
I started shaking. My chest tightened. “We should call an ambulance.”
“We should try to figure out how this happened first.”
“Are you nuts?” I couldn’t understand what the woman was thinking, but all I wanted to do at that precise moment was to get the hell out of there.
“I might be able to write about it in my next book. It could save someone’s life.”
“You are nuts. We need to call an ambulance, or the police or Uncle Benny.” That’s when I noticed the dark red blood oozing around Dickey’s head, and the open thirty-liter futso on the floor not far from the body. I suddenly felt sick. I also felt guilt. I had been the one to have the millstone dismantled. It was my idea to move the damn thing. If it hadn’t been for me, Dickey might still be alive. The thought was too much. My head started to swim. Things around me were spinning.
Lisa took my hand, and calmly bent over to take a closer look at his head. “Oh my God!”
“What,” I whined, not wanting to know any of the gory details. At this point, I was barely hanging on.
“His head is bleeding out, and it’s not from the millstone. I think he’s been shot.”
I told myself this couldn’t be true. She
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