Pretty When She Kills

Outside, the radio was pumping out old country classics into the warm summer air. The porch was crowded with family, kids were in the yard chasing after each other, dogs begged for scraps and attention, and the menfolk swilled down beer while they told tall tales.



Samuel was hitting the buffet table one last time. Though he was leaner than a blade of grass, he could eat any man under the table. His wife, Kelly Ann, had made some of her killer potato salad and he heaped a mountain of it on his plate next to some barbecue chicken and brisket.



“Looks like trouble,” Kelly Ann muttered, entering the kitchen of their double-wide trailer. Her long blond hair was plaited into a braid down her back and her cheeks were rosy from the heat. She guided their youngest, John, to the sink to wash off a mixture of grease, dirt, and sauce from the six-year-old’s face.



Samuel had two sets of children. The first set was Samuel Raymond Vezorak, Jr., who went by Ray, Damon, Amaliya, and Rachel from his deceased wife Marlena. Ray and Damon worked with him and lived in the trailers on either side of his with their wives and kids. Rachel had died of cancer when she was very young. Amaliya was...gone. The second set was with his second wife, Kelly Ann. John and Betsey were his pride and joy.



“John, what were you doing out there?” Samuel asked, cocking his head to gaze down at the little tow-head.



John giggled in response.



“Not talking about him, Samuel. Out there. I think it’s another one of those reporters.” Kelly Ann gestured out the window.



“Dammit. Not another one,” Samuel growled.



Mae, his mother in law (and previous sister in law when he had been married to Marlena), carried Betsey into the kitchen. The four-year-old was just as messy as her brother.



“They’re looking for Amaliya, you know,” Mae said. “That girl’s trouble. Pure and simple.”



“Amaliya is dead,” John said, scrunching his face as his mother wiped at it with a kitchen towel. “She wented to heaven.”



“Yes, your sister Amaliya is an angel now looking down on you when you sleep, taking care of you,” Kelly Ann said with a forced smile. She gave her mother a warning look and started to clean Betsey’s face, too.



“Yeah, of course,” Mae said, rolling her eyes, her head turned so the kids couldn’t see.



Mae was drunk and ready to fight, but Samuel shut her down with a stern look. Kelly Ann looked up nervously. They did not discuss Amaliya’s visit from beyond the grave in front of the children. Samuel would never forget the way his daughter’s eyes had glowed red as she casually tossed him and her brother Damon around like they were toys. Mae and Kelly Ann were convinced she had been possessed by demons, but Samuel feared it was something much worse. Though Amaliya was legally declared dead, Samuel still feared for her. And feared her.



Sometimes at night he would wake up in a cold sweat convinced she would be standing in the doorway of his bedroom, her eyes glowing, her teeth sharp, ready to take revenge on him for his shitty parenting.



His chest hurt at the thought of her. He remembered her as a beautiful blond child with blue-gray eyes, dancing and singing out in the backyard, not the surly young woman covered in tattoos with dyed black hair. It was difficult for him to reconcile the two images of his daughter.



Samuel shifted his over-burdened plate to his other hand and moved to look out the window.



“Where’d you see the reporter, Kelly Ann?”



“Out near the fence,” his wife answered. “He’s wearing a cowboy hat.”



“A local maybe?”



“Never seen him before if he is.”



The screen door screeched open, then snapped shut as someone else entered the trailer.



“Hey, Dad, got some reporter type out by the end of the drive. Want me to shoo him off?” It was Ray. Tall, lean, and weather-beaten, the oldest of his children was the spitting image of him at the same age.



“I’ll take care of it,” Samuel decided. “A man can’t even enjoy a decent meal around here without those jackals coming around.”



“Damon went to get his shotgun. A good shot over his head will get that reporter’s ass moving,” Ray said, grinning.



“I don’t want the police out here again,” Mae said shrilly. “They give me hell about the dogs running around loose.”



“Calm down, Mama.” Kelly Ann frowned at her mother. “Let the menfolk take care of it.”



Samuel glanced down at his plate, sighed, and set it on the counter. Plucking a fresh beer from the cooler, he gestured to Ray with a jerk of his head to follow him, and headed into the living room.



The living room was just as crowded as the porch. A few people were watching a race on the TV. The barbecue was a monthly event at his house and neighbors always showed up in droves for his award-winning brisket. He liked showing off his culinary skills and hanging out with the people he thought of as true friends. They were not fancy uppity types.



Pete Talbert was lingering near the doorway, keeping a watch on the stranger outside. Pete was a good guy in Samuel’s estimation. He had hoped that Amaliya would gain some sense and marry the guy, but that had not come to pass. Lately, Pete was withdrawn and a little jittery. Samuel suspected he was mourning Amaliya’s death. Pete had never stopped crushing on his daughter, even when she had turned weird. Pete had suffered a bizarre stroke a few months before and was still recovering. Though Samuel didn’t like to admit it to himself, he wondered if it had to do with Amaliya’s mysterious visit on Easter.



“He’s just hanging out by the gate taking photos,” Pete said as Samuel stepped next to him.



“The road is public land,” Ray said, frowning. “Not much we can do if he doesn’t come on our property.”



“I can go check it out,” Pete offered. He scratched at his black goatee, his blue eyes nervous. “Maybe I can get him to leave.”



“Nah. I’ll go set him straight,” Samuel responded. With a weary sigh, he shoved open the screen door.



Their boot heels thudded across the porch as the men headed toward the stairs. Samuel knew that Ray and Pete were right behind him. They were good guys and he was glad for the company. He was getting too old to do all the ass whooping. If he was lucky, the reporter would shove off without any trouble and he could get back to his plate of cooling food.



Strutting up the gravel drive toward the gate, he hooked his thumbs onto his belt and fastened his blue-gray eyes on the man snapping photos of his home. Damon quickly caught up with them, holding his shotgun casually in one hand.



“Should we call the police?” Damon asked.



“Nope. Gonna handle this ourselves,” Samuel answered.



The man on the other side of the fence noted their approach, but didn’t seem concerned. His cowboy hat was pulled low on his forehead and his eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses. In his hands was a very fancy, very expensive camera. On the road behind him was a big black truck with a small travel trailer attached to it. Samuel didn’t like the man’s long duster that flowed in the warm summer breeze. It could hide all sorts of weaponry.



“Good afternoon,” the man said, just as Samuel started to open his mouth. “Lovely homestead you have here.” The accent was Southern, but not Texan.



“Thank you, sir, but I need to ask you what you’re doing taking pictures of my place,” Samuel answered, folding his arms over his chest.



It was difficult to tell what the man truly looked like. His face was hidden by the shadow thrown by his hat and his sunglasses. The one thing did that show clearly was his wide smile. “Oh, I’m an investigator. I’m just taking photos for my files.”



“You’re a policeman?” Ray asked skeptically.



“Private investigator. I’ve been hired to look into the so-called Satanic Murders.”



“Police closed that case when they found Professor Sumner’s body. He killed himself,” Samuel answered. He didn’t believe the official story he had been fed, but he didn’t like strangers hanging around his property.



“They never found your daughter’s body, did they?” The man tilted his head and Samuel caught a glimpse of the man’s dark eyes.



“She’s dead, sir. We had a funeral. Maybe one day we’ll find her body, but the police said they found the spot where she died. Lots of blood, too much lost to be alive,” Samuel answered gruffly.



The policeman had shown Samuel the pictures of the bloodstained wall. Amaliya had been killed behind the dorm. The foundation and bricks had been dark brown with her blood and the ground had been saturated with it. The police were convinced that the killer had temporarily buried her body and later retrieved it, storing it in her dorm room. The police weren’t sure why Professor Sumner had taken Amaliya’s body with him, but Samuel suspected the truth. His daughter had woken up buried in the ground and found her way back to her dorm room before trying to come home.



The stranger nodded his head. “That’s what the newspapers said. Don’t you think it’s odd that Professor Sumner took her body?”



“He was obsessed with her,” Ray said defensively. “All the papers said so. They even said he was trying to date her. He was a sick bastard and I’m glad he killed himself.”