pages, scrutinizing Matthew and Gordon with the stoniest of stares. Breakfast was almost over when Gordon passed gas. The noise was long, drawn-out and not a bit accidental. Matthew snickered as the odor struck us. I gagged. Richard threw down the paper, got up and seized Gordon out of his chair. They went upstairs. Matthew and I stared at each other and listened to the sound of Richard’s belt. As the strapping went on, Matthew giggled, concealing his mouth with just his fingertips. “Stop it,” I said, and he laughed harder. I went over and shook him. “I said stop it!” I nearly slapped him, but stopped myself. “It’s over,” Richard said, coming downstairs with a strut in his walk. “I’ll be taking the boys to school today, Elaine. We’re going to have a little man-to-man talk along the way.” I sprayed Lysol as soon as they left and opened the kitchen window. Not wanting to think about anything, I ran water in the sink, added detergent, and began washing the dishes. I’d used too much soap and the suds built, frothy and white. I rinsed a bowl and set it aside. What I saw next made me shriek. There was a face in the bubbles, with sunken holes for eyes and an open, oval void for a mouth. It was Richard’s face. Wind came through the window, scooped the suds out of the sink and blew it into my eyes. I screamed, stepping back. That’s when the doorbell rang, followed by an urgent knocking. Disoriented, I answered the door with bits of soap in my hair to find two police officers on the porch. They told me there’d been an accident. The shock of seeing Richard in the intensive care unit after first looking at my children dried my tears before I cried them. His face was wrapped in bandages. No hint of flesh showed, even in the eye, nose and mouth holes. Looking at his head, I knew just what he resembled, and the crazed notion crossed my mind that perhaps the face in the soapsuds was a message from him I’d not understood. The attending physician who’d been going over the litany of Richard’s injuries finished by saying, “Do you have any questions?” “How? How did he survive?” “Chalk it up to the miraculous. The other car struck the driver’s side. Had the collision happened a few inches to the right, the car might have been cut in half.” “But it wasn’t a few inches to the right, and my boys are fine.” The doctor touched my shoulder. “You should be thankful for that.” I saw the obvious confusion and concern on his face and tried to assuage it with a quick smile. “Of course, I am.” He suggested I leave for now, as Richard would be in deep sedation for hours. He pushed me out of the room even as he spoke. I didn’t resist until we reached the door. I was on the verge of telling him I’d leave when I was damned well ready, but I heard Coop’s voice. “Elaine.” I turned and saw him coming up the hallway. I ran to him. Ran to him like he was my husband. “We heard the news at the factory. Are you okay?” I shook my head and tears filled my eyes. “It was good of you to come.” “I had to,” he said, and either the answer itself or the huskiness in his voice made me study his face. The concern I saw wasn’t sentimental or weepy. I suppose when you’ve been to war your emotions are always harder. I trembled and cried against his chest. “I’m scared.” “Richard’s a strong guy. He’s going to make it.” “That’s not what I mean. There’s something wrong with the boys, Coop.” A rigidity entered his body. Without explanation, he pulled me down the hallway and turned a corner. We were alone and I found his face almost bloodless. “I know. Not just Matthew and Gordon. All of them, Elaine.” “What are you talking about?” “Everyone who was at the lock-in.” We heard footsteps and turned to see Pastor Tommy coming, shepherding my sons just ahead of him. Neither boy looked traumatized. “Elaine,” he said, reaching out to hug me. “I can only say how sorry we all are about the accident. It’s a miracle from God he’s alive and the boys are fine.” I might have tuned out his platitudes even under the best of circumstances, but they just made me angry. I had to find out what Coop meant. “Pastor Tommy,” I said, squeezing his hands. “I have a favor to ask.” “Anything, Elaine.” “Would you stay with Matthew and Gordon for a little while?” His brows furrowed. “I don’t understand.” “Tonight’s going to be a long one here and I need to get some things from the house.” “I want to go home too, Mom,” Matthew said with a slight smile. His eyes almost seemed to sparkle. There was no way in hell I was getting into a car with either of my children until I knew what was going on. “It might be better if they stayed close to you,” Pastor Tommy said. “No,” I said, trying not to shout. Pastor Tommy looked at Coop. “You know the boys better …” “I’m sorry, Tommy, but I have to get back to the factory.” Pastor Tommy didn’t notice how Matthew and Gordon stared at me. The coldness didn’t belong to them. But if not, whose was it? What glared at me from behind my children’s eyes? Pastor Tommy reluctantly agreed and Coop and I left without giving him another chance to speak. Our walk went faster and faster until we began to sprint upon reaching the exit. “Get in,” Coop said as we reached his Jeep. “We’ll go to the church and I’ll explain everything. We’ll be safe there.” We got in. Coop turned the ignition and backed out fast and reckless. I looked at his big right hand working the stick shift and noticed the whiteness of his knuckles. “Safe from what, Coop?” “The Devil.” TO BE CONTINUED. READ THE SECOND HALF OF THE DEVIL'S REEL: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/ TEXT/THE-DEVIL'S-REEL-SEAN-EADS-AND-JOSHUA-VIOLA GET A COPY OF IT CAME FROM THE MULTIPLEX: 80S MIDNIGHT CHILLERS AT HEXPUBLISHERS.COM 31
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