No Tour Guides in Hell:
Chapter 17
911

Location

CEDAR CREEK, MICHIGAN

Richard Underhill heard the crunch of gravel, a warning that the body-remover had arrived. He was under the kitchen sink looking for the carpet stain remover when the approaching vehicle startled him. His hands, skilled at darker tasks, weren’t quick enough to stop the bleach bottle from spilling. He pulled back to avoid the acrid fumes and hit his head hard on the cold-water pipe.

“Shit,” he spat, like a cobra with its tail caught in a door. The fumes were dizzying. He groped for the edge of the counter and hauled himself to the window ledge. He peered out.

Emily! I was sure it was the body snatchers. What a nowhere, pond-sucker town. I’d probably make the front page if I peed in a mailbox, but I let my kid just disappear, and nobody can do the math. One kid went missing on Fredericksburg Road; another was found in O’Bryan’s hayfield. It’s just math, folks.

Outside, Emily hesitated. She could see her boys in the car, their mischievous little heads spinning like tops. At least she wasn’t bringing them inside; that would have made things tougher. Emily looked around, scanning as if some internal radar was warning her.

Come on, you trembling fool—just a few more steps. Come to Papa. Damn, it’s a good thing I pulled the car into the pole barn. Stupid bitch thinks I’m gone.

He hurried to the bedroom, just in case any debris from his misadventure was lying around. He wanted to drag out this cat-and-mouse game a little longer. Oh, he’d tell her about Sarah—just before he choked the living shit out of her.

He knew she’d let herself in. He waited, sitting quietly on their bed. Soft footsteps trailed down the hallway into the boys’ room. The rustling and noise next door indicated she was in a hurry to pack and make a quick escape. Richard felt the adrenaline of a good hunt course through him. With his trap set, he was simply waiting for the kill.

“Ayaah. . .” She couldn’t hold back her scream. An armload of socks flew into the air and bounced around uselessly. “I thought nobody was here.”

She clutched her chest, fearing her heart would jump out and bounce away with the sock balls.

“Surprise!” His voice was smooth and unbothered. He lazily stretched and yawned, displaying his boredom.

“Where’s Sarah? I didn’t see her around.” She backed up, creating space to run. Like a hare caught in a wolf’s trap, she avoided inevitable slaughter by confusing her enemy with a distracting question.

“Sarah skipped off to Maggie’s birthday party and never came back. I guess she’s eating cookies and listening to the nonsense that O’Bryan woman fills her head with.”

Emily watched him carefully. Something about his words didn’t seem sincere. His lips twitched on one side, which was a bad sign. She looked around the bedroom — it was too tidy. He’d cleaned up a bit too much. Her eyes examined everything closely.

She saw a wad of cotton batting on the carpet near the bed. The little fear that had wrapped around her heart now took a bite of it. Hooha was always losing stuffing; he shed marshmallow orbs around the house as quickly as Emily could restuff him.

“So, that’s that.” She backed toward the door, socks forgotten. “I’ll just stop by Maggie’s on my way out of town. I want to say goodbye to Sarah properly.”

Emily knew the riskiest move was to turn her back on his beady little eyes. The first hint of an impending attack always came from that sinister stare.

Underhill slid off the bed and turned his back. He always did this when he was about to unload a big stinkpot of lies on her.

“Actually, Sarah never made it to Maggie’s.”

“What?” Emily’s voice sounded strange and distant, almost lifeless. “She didn’t make it. I don’t understand, Richard. Where is your child?”

But her heart knew. It was pounding like a bird caught in a cat’s grip.

Richard Underhill turned to face her; his eyes reflected his disgust. Then he spewed more lies into the air.

“I went to O’Bryan’s house the next day. They said she never showed up.” He hesitated. “Mike said they figured she wouldn’t be coming over with the body found on their property and all.”

“What are you talking about?” Her lips felt thick and blubbery. Somehow, the air had been sucked out of the room. “What body?”

“I haven’t heard any details yet, but apparently little Maggie O’Bryan found a dead body yesterday afternoon, right in the damn cornfield. The police have been crawling all over the place.”

Richard looked out the window into the yard. The boys were hanging out of the car windows and spitting at the side mirrors. Little monsters—that’s what they were.

“I stayed away from the chaos.”

“Your child’s been missing for days, and you haven’t told anyone. Have you? Did you look for her?”

It’s funny she asked that because she knew Sarah could run away, might run away, but most likely, Sarah didn’t run away.

“I figured she’d just come home after missing a dinner or two. Hell, she’s probably out in the pole barn having a tea party with some stray cat.”

Emily could hear the boys. They had gone wild in the unsupervised car. It was only a matter of minutes before they made their way to the door. She stared at Underhill, noticing almost as an afterthought his immaculate shoes and careful choice of clothing, despite being sealed inside his lair.

Vomit rose in her throat, fueled by fear and a firm conviction that he was not only insane but as evil as the devil himself.

“Besides, Emily.” He smiled, but his eyes didn’t. “Kids run away all the time. They always turn up—somewhere. Even in cornfields!”

Emily felt cold. It wasn’t a chill that August heat could chase away. He was giving her a nugget of truth, and though she wasn’t quite sure she understood it, it was the signal that he had no more use for her. And that was truly a dangerous place to be.

Her husband kept yammering as she left the bedroom and stepped into the hall. He didn’t seem to notice, still lost in his evil words. His back was to her, but she felt like his iron grip was around her ankles, holding her in place. With feet of lead, she turned and ran.

She heard his feet pounding the stairs as she hurried out the front door. The boys were bouncing in the back seat.

“SIT DOWN,” she yelled as she jumped in. She turned the key, and the car coughed to life. He was only a few feet away when the tires sprayed him with a shower of gravel. Emily tore out of the driveway so fast that the boys turned into human superballs in the backseat.

“Mommmeeee,” they wailed. She kept her foot on the gas and sped past the service station with the payphone standing sentinel at the roadside. She couldn’t get involved. Then she remembered Sarah’s plaintive voice. And how she’d failed her.

A call would only take five minutes. Underhill couldn’t hurt her here; it was way too public. She hesitated but then turned and headed for the phone booth.

“Dispatch.” Sheila’s voice was cigarette-hoarse and tired.

“I want to report a missing little girl,” Emily yelled over the road noise.

“How long has she been missing?” the dispatcher asked with more interest.

“I’m not sure. Maybe three days.” Emily’s voice was barely audible.

“What’s your name? I hope you don’t live at a payphone on the State Highway, because that’s what you’re showing up as.” She hated prank calls.

“I was living at 1420 Fredericksburg Road with my husband, Richard Underhill, but I left him. I came back for my children’s clothing.”

The dispatcher rolled her eyes.

“Are you getting a divorce, ma’am? Is there some hostility between you two?”

“It’s not what you think. Please just check on her. Her name is Sarah Underhill.”

“How old is she?” Sheila squeezed a Twinkie out of its packaging and took a bite. A nagging feeling in the back of her mind told her this might be important, but the spark dimmed and quickly faded away.

“She’s six.” Emily watched her boys smear orange taffy on the car windows. “I asked him where she was, and he said she went to a birthday party. Then he admitted that she never made it to the party. You must check. Please.”

“What was she wearing when she disappeared?” Sheila watched Steve Brooks lean over the countertop to grab something. He was drifting away from the conversation, and that was a good thing.

Emily admitted, “I don’t know what she was wearing.”

“Great, that’s just hunky-dory. What does she look like? You do have some kind of idea about that, don’t you?”

“She’s small for a six-year-old, with long, dark auburn hair and green eyes. She looks fragile and undernourished to me. But she’s my husband’s daughter. I’m sorry, I don’t know more. He’s evil. I can tell you that.”

“Stay right there, Ma’am. Or you can come to the Cedar Creek station immediately. It’s your choice.”

Emily looked down the road. There was no sign of Underhill’s vehicle. He hadn’t bothered to follow her.

“I can wait here, at least for a little while.”

“Fine. You do that. I’ll send an officer.” Sheila hung up, crumpling the report into a ball. “Damned prank calls.”

She was about to throw the wad into the trash can when Steve snatched it away from her and smoothened the paper.

“What do you have there, Sheila?” he frowned. “Jesus H. Christ, Barney would’ve killed you.”

“Wha. . .,” she stammered, her Twinkie forgotten.

“You have a missing kid report that matches the description of little Jane Doe, and you’re just going to toss it in File 13? Even I know better than that, and I’m just a rookie.” He waved the slip under her nose.

“I’ll handle this. Let Barney and Hank know where I went. And don’t mess up.”

Steve grabbed a notebook and turned to Sheila.

“Don’t you ever pull a cheesy stunt like that again, or you’ll be flushing toilets at the Thunderdog Lanes for a living.” Then he stomped out.

“It’s not like that hasn’t happened before,” she said to his back.

Emily was sitting on the edge of a wheel-balancing machine, drinking a Coca-Cola, when Officer Brooks arrived. She watched him say a few words to the clerk, then stroll into the repair bay.

“Hi. You must be Emily. I’m Steve Brooks from Cedar Creek Police Department.” He was tall and handsome, with calm hazel eyes. He was everything Richard Underhill wasn’t.

“Yes, I’m Emily.” She managed to shake his hand, though somehow she had already gotten thick black grease on it.

“I left my husband a few days ago. His daughter, Sarah, was really upset. I’m not sure where her biological mom is, but I didn’t have any parental rights. I had to leave her behind.”

“Okay, so when you left him, was she okay?”

“Yes. So, I went back today to get the kids’ clothes. She was gone.” Emily turned.

Her boys were helping the gas station attendant. He was washing a car window, and they were hosing off his shoes.

“And he told you some fishy story? That’s what the dispatcher’s report said.”

“Yes, he said she went to Maggie O’Bryan’s for her birthday party, but then he found out she never arrived. Nothing he says adds up. I don’t know how to put it any other way, but the man is a monster. Where do you think she could be?”

This beautiful young mother was so overwhelmed with anxiety that Steve almost confessed what he suspected, but he remained silent.

“It’s hard to say, Ma’am. Maybe nothing’s wrong. We might need to get in touch with you… could you just write your number on this pad?”

“I’m sorry. It’s probably silly of me to call you guys, but he said you found a body at O’Bryan’s, and then he admitted that Sarah never came home.”

“No problem, Emily,” he smiled gently at her. “I’ll be in touch.”

Emily finished her Coke and watched him walk back to his squad car. She wasn’t divorced yet, and little Sarah was missing.

Steve’s adrenaline was rushing. He felt like he had just met the most beautiful woman in the world and cracked his first case—all in one lucky moment.

Steve pulled the cruiser into the driveway on Fredericksburg Road. Richard Underhill must be a darn fool to give up a woman like Emily.

The house was eerily silent. The swings showed only a gentle breeze swaying them. It felt like a haunted homestead if there ever was one. He knocked on the door, which was slightly ajar. He had half-expected there to be no answer.

As he turned to leave, a very short, balding man stepped into the doorway. He was slightly bow-legged, and his cheeks looked like he’d been in the rouge pot. Not a guy you’d picture having beautiful Emily as his wife.

“Yes?” Underhill didn’t seem flustered when a uniformed officer came to his door.

“We’ve received a report that your child is missing.” Steve took the open door as an invitation and walked past the leprechaun into the house. “I’m going to need some details. Mind if I look around?”

“You got a warrant?” Underhill still held the door open, clearly hoping he’d block Steve’s way. As if he could. Richard was so short that Steve could have stepped over him without messing up the man’s thinning hair.

“No, I don’t. Most people in your position are more than happy to cooperate,” Steve shot back, confidently maintaining his alpha energy.

“Well, I’m not most people, and I want you on the other side of the threshold,” Richard hissed.

Seems quite aware of his rights. Bet he knows the system from past contact.

“Mr. Underhill,” Steve persisted, “are you from this area?”

“We moved here last year,” Underhill admitted, eyes flashing with anger. He flung the door open wide and pointed. “Now get out.”

“Your attitude stinks, Underhill. I know you have a six-year-old daughter, and I know she’s missing. Do you want to produce a recent photo and a proper description? Or do I have the Police Chief ask you personally with an engraved search warrant?”

Steve, acknowledging Underhill’s rights, stepped back onto the porch but maintained the demeanor he had learned at the academy.

“She’s just a kid—your typical six-year-old pain in the neck. She’s probably run away.” Underhill scratched his goatee. “Fact is, when I took her to the circus just last week, she threatened to run away and join them.”

He acted as if he was about to cry, then he took out his wallet and showed two old, worn photos.

Steve looked at them. Sarah Underhill, on her first two-wheeler, grinned back at him. A tooth was missing. The other was a somber child sitting next to the monkey’s cage at the zoo. If a heart could truly sink, his did. Her eyes shimmered, bright in the glossy photo, still full of dreams and hopes, still alive.

“Mr. Underhill, you’ll need to come down to the station with me.” Steve could almost smell the miasma of decay that had permeated the hospital morgue. It was as if the rot exuded from Underhill and not from the child at all.

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