Baby

backward panic, he stumbled, losing his grip on the petrol jar, sending it crashing to the floor to explode on the still flaming torch. As fire rushed to the petrol, liberally splashed prodigiously on his soiled pants, his eyes barely registered the thing withdrawing into the dark hole. Then the fire quickly swallowed his eyelids and he saw no more.
    ###
    Robert slowly replaced the telephone receiver. He felt kicked in the stomach, shock and disbelief leaving his hands shaking. He picked up the telephone, its weight suddenly ponderous as he dialed the number.
    “Let me speak to him, Hilda.” He waited for Sheriff Hudson to pick up the telephone.
    “Hello, Robert. I guess you heard.”
    “Have you been to the site yet?”
    “I’m going out there now. I’ll let you know what I find.”
    “You had better let me know everything. I’m not paying you to hold back information.” Robert’s voice gave an embarrassing crack.
    “What are you worrying about Robert? Think the place is cursed?” Robert wondered at the undercurrent of bitter amusement in Hudson’s voice. Deciding to let it pass—the shock of Eli’s death, after all—he barked an abrupt goodbye and hung up.

Chapter 10
    Sheriff Hudson hung up the telephone after talking to Robert Doyle. Even though the guy was a sanctimonious shit and an evil one at that, he still called the shots. He certainly did not plan to hold back any information of the disturbing kind, if he found any. No way. Why miss out on an opportunity to personally cause a worthless piece of dog crap some discomfort? He sensed Robert’s growing concern with the events at Netty’s farm. If you call festering anger and misplaced righteous indignation, concern.
    Hudson leaned back in the swivel oak desk chair in his office at the station, hearing the familiar squeak of the springs giving him a reminder of the perpetual admonishment that always accompanied his shame and guilt when he thought of the money he took from Robert to look the other way. In for a penny, in for a pound; the longer he took the money, the deeper he sank, until he found covering up murder commonplace.
    He never understood why Robert felt the need to rape and murder his mother-in-law while paying a trumped up social call at the farm. He never offered a reason or an apology. Together, they concocted the lone gypsy story for public consumption. The cover stories became more and more facile as the murders increased. A few deflowered farm girls after Robert and Eli finished with them, a missing competitor that gave rise to a new business opportunity for Robert, and Netty’s own death, along with the unfortunate creature she kept as a pet that made the mistake of catching Eli’s sadistic eye. And these were just the murders he knew about.
    He glanced up at the photograph of his family. His wife, Marne smiled back at him with the same look he fell in love with over thirty-five years ago. His eyes paused as they took inventory of his three healthy children, two now grown with young children of their own. He loved them all; even as his heart ached over the exclusion in the photo of his first born, Emily. Only he and Marne knew of her existence anymore, his parents and in-laws long passed away. The tears and wrenched guts never stopped, even long after they accepted the necessity of putting Em in a caring home that could give her the professional help her condition required. The move to Newtown to take the available position of sheriff followed soon after her placement.
    Em thrived at the home yet never achieved more than the skills of a five year old. Only the fact that she enjoyed impeccable care in a homey loving atmosphere made the separation bearable. Once a month, Marne packed their bags and off they went to visit Em, six hours away in upstate New York to spend whatever remained of the weekend with their girl. She would always be their baby, even as she now broached her thirty first birthday.
    They made the decision to keep her existence a secret because of the judgmental stigma they thought their other children might be saddled with. Yet it took the intervention of Robert Doyle, like the snake in the Garden of Eden that enabled them to pay Em’s bills and actually try to have more children. In the beginning, he asked himself, why not, everyone did it in one form or another. He snorted bitterly as he judged himself harshly. What a stupid greedy ass he had been. Marne did not know, of course. He never could face her if