We See No Evil (The Cornelius Saga Book 4) Read online

  WE SEE NO EVIL

  Tanya R. Taylor

  Copyright© 2017 Tanya R. Taylor

  All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. No portion of this work may be reproduced, copied or transmitted in any form without the expressed, written consent of the Author.

  Other Books in this Series

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  Other Fiction Titles by Tanya R. Taylor

  INFESTATION: A Small Town Nightmare (The Complete Series)

  Real Illusions: The Awakening

  Real Illusions II: REBIRTH

  Real Illusions III: BONE OF MY BONE

  Real Illusions IV: WAR ZONE

  Cornelius (Book 1 in the Cornelius saga.)

  Revenge of Cornelius (Book 2 in the Cornelius saga.

  Each book in this series is a stand-alone.)

  CARA: Some Children Keep Terrible Secrets (Book 3 in the Cornelius saga.)

  Haunted Cruise: The Shakedown (A Stand-alone HAUNTED SERIES, Book 1)

  The Haunting of MERCI HOSPITAL (HAUNTED SERIES, Book 2)

  Hidden Sins Revealed (A Shocking Serial Killer Thriller)

  10 Minutes before Sleeping (A Story of Abandonment, Domestic Terror & Bitter Revenge)

  1

  _________________

  “Not again!” Doris Black snarled.

  Her husky, fifty-four-year-old husband, Clyde, was stretched across the couch as she sat close by with a glue gun in hand. Doris had been working on an artificial floral arrangement for Miss Mable up the street. It had been a lucrative side job for her for many years.

  Placing the glue gun on the table and clearly exasperated, she stood up. “It won’t be long before nightfall, so I’ll get the candles!”

  Clyde released a heavy sigh and sat up as well. “I’ve pretty much had enough of this hog crap! Every other week the power goes out in this God-forsaken town. Why can’t those idiots at the plant keep the lights on for a measly population of only fifteen hundred? You’d think we live in a big city. But even folks there don’t have to go without power more than maybe an hour or two in the whole dang year!”

  “Relax, babe. Remember what the doc said about you avoiding needless aggravation?”

  “Good, ole Doctor Whitmore probably has one of those two ton generators sitting at his big, fancy house by now while the rest of us have to sweat it out like a bunch of slimy pigs,” Clyde snarled.

  Doris was staring at him from behind the kitchen counter. “Two ton generator, huh?” She shook her head. “You really need to calm down, Clyde. Look, I’m just as annoyed as you are, but I got enough sense to follow the doctor’s orders. You should too, since the last time your blood pressure suddenly shot up. You could’ve died that night!”

  She was referring to the night Clyde passed out and had to be rushed to the local hospital. It took several days for them to get his blood pressure down to a relatively safe level.

  “Well, you go right ahead, Doris. And furthermore, while you’re cooking and you remember he told you to lie down and get some much-needed rest, go right ahead and don’t bother to get back up to check the stove. See how you’d like it living under the bridge because you let the house burn down. And for what? Following the doctor’s orders! I don’t think Whitmore knows as much as people give him credit for anyway.”

  Doris sucked her teeth as she headed back with the candles and an old lantern she had inherited from her late mother. “You’re not making a bit of sense. You’re just like your pa. Your ma always said so.” She sat on the couch. “I swear I don’t know how I managed to put up with you for the last twenty-three years. I feel much older than I look!”

  “No one locked you in by putting a gun to your head, Doris. You knew where the door was the moment you stepped foot inside the house.”

  Doris snickered and gazed at him with those sultry eyes. He was shaking his head. “You think you’re all tough, don’t ya? You know if you thought for a second I was leaving your old, rusty derriere, you’d be on those weak knees pleading for another chance just like in the old days.”

  “They were the old days,” he said. “Don’t make the mistake of dwelling in the past. You might be shocked by the outcome of a repeat performance.”

  Doris picked up the newspaper and started to fan herself. Clyde had already stripped down to his boxer shorts.

  “I swear it gets hotter and hotter every summer,” she complained. Some strands of her greyish-blonde hair had stuck to her forehead.

  “That’s why this nonsense has to stop!” Clyde barked. “They don’t even care about the bedridden and elderly who suffer like hell through these power outages.

  Doris looked his way. “You wanna go by the diner and suck up their air-conditioning for a while?”

  Clyde thought for a minute, his eyes focused outside through the front window at the darkened sky. Every window in the Black’s home remained open twenty-four seven, particularly during summer months. But sometimes, natural ventilation just wasn’t enough to handle the humidity.

  Clyde reached for his trousers and started to pull them up. “Let’s go. If they operate tonight like they’ve been doing all along, we’re bound to be in the dark at least two to three hours. Dammit! I’m missing the blasted movie I’ve waited all week to watch!”

  Doris got up. “I’ll go wash up and throw on something quick.”

  “Quick is the operative word, Doris.”

  Ten minutes later, Clyde reached for his car keys from the mantel and headed for the front door. Doris blew out the candles and followed with her purse dangling over her left shoulder. She was wearing a blue, sleeveless blouse, the tail of which stopped just below her navel, and a washed-out pair of blue jeans. Her hair had been twirled into a semi-neat bun and her diamond studs were the only earrings that filled the tiny gaps in her ears that night. She had pierced each ear two more times when she was a teenager and often went out with three knobs in each ear on any given day. She locked the door behind them as Clyde made his way over to the carport.

  Ellenview cemetery was situated directly across the street from their house. Even after having lived on Suffolk Lane for nineteen years, each time Doris looked over at the cemetery, she had an uneasy feeling. A wave of anxiety would hit her until she turned away and focused on something else. Doris was convinced it was all those spooky-sounding tracks her dad used to play when she was a little girl. One, in particular, was about an obeah man who went into the graveyard at night and conjured up some dark stuff. At the end of the record, the artist released a loud, evil grin and every time Doris heard it, she could barely get to sleep that night. She never told her dad how much she hated that song although he played it at least once every weekend while he sat in their living room with a shot of gin in hand, winding down after a long week of back-breaking work.

  Clyde was almost to the Range Rover when through his peripheral vision he thought he had seen something dart across. He halted and looked over to the right. The paper birch and oak trees in their front yard harbored shadows all around them – shadows of crooked branches and overhead power lines mostly, which could only be seen under the moonlight. He scanned the yard for a few moments, then glanced back at Doris.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, a few steps behind him.

  Clyde looked over in the direction of the trees again. “Nothing. I just thought...”

  “You thought what?”

  “Nothing.” He fingered his keys. “Let’s go.”

  As he was about to unlock the door, he heard what sounded like the rustling of leaves. By then, Doris w
as waiting at the other side of the vehicle. Clyde looked back again and this time, he knew he saw something on that western side. Something short, lean – human looking. “Who’s that over there?” he shouted.

  Neither a stir, nor a reply.

  He inserted the key into the driver’s door which automatically unlocked the jeep.

  “Who is that, Clyde?” Doris peered in the same direction.

  “Get in the car,” he told her, tossing the keys over the roof of it. She quickly caught them. “Get in and lock the doors. I’m gonna see what they want since cat’s got their tongue.”

  Doris wasted no time heeding her husband’s demands as he made his way toward the stranger standing near their bedroom window.

  “I asked who the hell you were!” Clyde said with marked annoyance in his tone. He had closed the gap between them down to about ten feet.

  “Mister Black...” went a soft voice near the oak tree.

  “Trevor, is that you?” Clyde asked. He could barely see him, but definitely recognized the voice. The teenager looked like nothing more than a silhouette beneath the moonlight.

  “Can you help us, please?” the boy asked. “He’s really mad. His eyes don’t look right.”

  Clyde was now standing a little more than a foot away from him and wondered why the boy didn’t look quite like… the boy. “Have your folks got into it again, Trevor? You need me to go over there?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Come with me, then. We’ll drive back to your house.”

  Trevor, looking awfully pale as he abandoned the shelter of the tree, followed Clyde who was already on his way to the jeep.

  “Climb right in,” the gruff contractor told him as he started the engine.

  Doris looked at Trevor who sat quietly in back behind Clyde. “Hi, Trevor,” she started. “Is everything okay? You don’t look so well.”

  He nodded shyly.

  “His folks are at it again,” Clyde filled her in. “I don’t know why those two knuckle-heads can’t seem to get it together.”

  “Clyde!” Doris cried. “For God’s sake, their son is in the car.”

  “He knows I’m right.” He reversed to the end of the carport, then took off down the street.

  The neighborhood was lined with cars parked mainly along the side of the road. Several houses had their own carports or garages, but many others had filled their front yards with large trees and beautifully-manicured lawns they didn’t want to park on. Clyde never understood what possessed them to sacrifice what could have been a sensible parking area for the sake of a pretty front yard.

  After turning a few corners, they pulled onto the fractured driveway of a little, blue house on Shedon Lane. Don and Tara Beesley had a reputation around the neighborhood for neglecting their yard. Neighbors saw it not just as an eyesore, but a health hazard. God only knew what was hiding among those tall clumps of grass and bushes which grew simultaneously and extended all the way out to the road. The house was in poor shape too and desperately cried out for a fresh coat of paint, not to mention some carpentry repair work on the faded brown, chipped front door.

  The Beesley children were not allowed to have other kids over – not that any of their parents would have allowed them to visit anyway. Aside from the wreck they called their property, Don was known to have a drinking problem, which sometimes drove him into fits of rage.

  “You stay here,” Clyde told Doris as he reached into the glove compartment for the yellow flashlight. “I’ll see if I can calm the mule-headed son-of-a-gun down.”

  Disgusted by her husband’s complete disregard for Trevor’s feelings, Doris sighed deeply and watched as the two headed for the door; Trevor trailing behind Clyde.

  Clyde knocked once and called out to the couple, but no one came to the door. He waited a minute before deciding to go inside. For a moment, yet without verbalizing it, he wondered why Trevor didn’t just bypass all of that and walk in ahead of him, but chalked it up to the boy just being a shy, awkward fifteen-year-old.

  Inside the house didn’t look much different from the exterior. Using the glare of the flashlight, Clyde could see the grimy, white living room walls, chairs with ruffled, tan coverings, a center table stacked with snack wrappers, and a floor littered with a mixture of work boots, beer cans and a grey bucket that looked like it was probably used as a “slop bucket”. He could also see what appeared to be an inch full of urine settled at the bottom, the stench of which convinced him he may be right. Somewhat shocked by it all, the thought drifted to Clyde’s mind that perhaps the family was really struggling to make ends meet. However, he wasn’t sure if anyone in the neighborhood knew or even cared if that really was the case. Don and Tara were pretty much low lives or white trash as they were called countless times behind their backs.

  “Don! Tara!” Clyde called as he carefully walked through. He noticed Trevor had strolled down the hallway and disappeared into one of the rooms.

  The house was unusually quiet and the apparent calm bothered Clyde, if only a little. He had this uneasy feeling in the pit of his gut as the silence didn’t at all make sense based on what Trevor had conveyed before they arrived there. He had expected to hear Don’s ranting before they even pulled up in the driveway.

  Following Trevor’s lead, he called out to the Beesleys’ again, but there was not a peep. “Where the hell is everyone? Trevor?”

  Midway down the hallway, Clyde happened to knock his foot against something near the left side of the wall. Stopping immediately, he pointed the light toward the supposed obstruction. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “Tara!” The tiny woman’s feet were inches into the hallway as she was sprawled face-down on the bathroom floor. Clyde noticed the gaping hole in her head and a pool of blood settled beneath that unabashedly revealed that she was no longer alive.

  Tara was only five feet three and very thin. She could pass for a school girl if spotted from afar. But up close, her face told the story of countless struggles and battles. Life with Don had not been a walk in the park, particularly since he became a slave to the bottle twelve years earlier. No amount of talking or arguing ever made him see the light.

  “Trevor!” Clyde cried. He stepped into the bedroom he had seen the boy enter a minute earlier. “Trevor!” He called out frantically. The glare of his light was set straight ahead, then instinctively, he scanned the light from left to right.

  “Jesus!” He almost dropped the flashlight. “What in the world? Trevor?” He held his head, gripping his short, black strands with agonizing force. There, outstretched on the floor, were the remaining members of the Beesley household, each in their own pool of red - Trevor was no exception. The .44 Magnum rested just inches away from Don’s lanky body and it appeared to Clyde that drunken Don had been the sole perpetrator.

  Reluctantly, Clyde inched closer to Trevor’s body. His older sister, Abby, was slumped right next to him, her arm resting limply across his back. Everyone in town knew she had always been protective of her little brother and Clyde could tell that she had done all she could to protect him in that moment of madness, though to no avail. Trevor’s injury was undoubtedly fatal as was evident by the entry-wound of the bullet that pierced his back. The others had each suffered a merciless blast to the head – the sight of which made their neighbor feel sick to his stomach. He realized just then why he had felt the uneasiness in his gut by the mere silence of the house.

  “I gotta get the hell outta here!” Clyde backed out of the room. He hurried down the hallway, yanked open the front door, and darted out to the parked jeep.

  Slamming the car door shut and fumbling with the gearbox, he sped out of the yard.

  “What happened?” Doris asked, shocked by his actions. “Looks like you’ve darn well seen a ghost!”

  “I… I did! We did!”

  “What?” She frowned.

  “It was Trevor.” He shook his head rapidly and she saw his eyes were moist with tears. He glanced her way. “Call the police. They’re all dead!”r />
  Panic-stricken, Doris’ eyes veered to the back seat where Trevor had sat. The story her husband would tell moments later would shake her to the core and the enigma of how the boy, already dead, could have possibly accompanied them for the drive back to his house.

  2

  _________________

  Rosie was kneeling on the sofa gazing outside through the large living room window. Her eyes were bright with excitement to the point she could barely keep her little legs still.

  “When are they coming?” she asked Mira who was busy dressing the table for dinner.

  “They’ll be here any minute now, honey. Just relax. You’re making me nervous for no reason!”

  “I can’t relax, Mom. It’s been like forever since I’ve seen Tommy, Uncle Wade and Aunt Norma.” She turned and gave her mother a worried look. “They might not even recognize me anymore.”

  Mira stopped what she was doing and stood with her hands at her waist. “Sure they will! It’s not been that long since we’ve seen them.”

  “About a year,” Sara interjected, rubbing her hands on the front of her yellow apron. “But they couldn’t get away, Pumpkin. Your aunt and uncle have both been so busy with work.”

  “I know.” Rosie looked out the window again.

  “How about you come into the kitchen with me and we’ll check on the pound cake?” Sara glanced at her watch. “I think it’s time we took it out.”

  “I don’t want to!” Rosie frowned. “I wanna see when they get here.”

  “Okay. Have it your way.”

  “There’s no way you’re getting her from there, Mom,” Mira said quietly. “She’s been stuck at that window for a whole hour now.”

  Sara smiled and headed back to the kitchen.