Page 41 of The Haunting of Paynes Hollow

“It wasn’t like that. At all. But I remembered a story from my family, about the nekkers.

Then you were born and…” He exhales. “When it came to your health, Sam, your mother was neurotic. Terrified you’d inherit the gene for early dementia.

Her dad had just been diagnosed, and your mom was …

not in a good place. I agreed to help perform the bonding ritual to make her feel better.

But we never killed anyone.” He points at the letter.

“That says I was going to find someone. Not kill them.”

“Find a victim,” Josie says.

“No, hon. Absolutely not. We did it for you, too. Protecting Sam from that terrible disease but also, if my family could benefit, I wanted that. And it worked. Everything got better for both families. Until Austin died and Sam’s dad…”

He looks at me. “I hate to say this, Sam, after everything you’ve been through, but your father wasn’t a good person.

Part of that magic was about protecting you and your mother from him.

From his temper. I told your mom that the horseman trampled Austin, but I’m not completely sure it wasn’t your father.

I wanted to protect you. You and your mother.

From your father, in life and after his death. ”

And here’s where it all breaks down. Oh, his story has been tattered since he started, but with this, it explodes, as he’s unable to keep from casting himself as the hero.

With this, the lies shine blindingly bright, because I could sooner see my father as a closet serial killer than an abusive father and husband.

That lie scatters the veil I’ve pulled over my father’s memory. The shroud that keeps me from remembering his kindness and his gentleness and his goodness and his love, because if he’d murdered Austin Vandergriff, all my memories had to be wrong. They’re not.

I say my mother and I didn’t get along after Dad’s death, and it was my fault, lashing out, but we’d never been close.

She might have done this “for me,” but it was my father who’d been the light and warmth in my life …

as I’d been in his, and when that sun went out, I was left with the cold and distant star of my mother.

Smits is lying. He’s constructed a story woven of half-truths and outright lies. But I’m not calling him on it just yet, because I still need something from him.

“Where is Ben?” I ask.

Smits sighs, the sound bone-deep, the put-upon grown-up retaining patience when a child asks for the ridiculous and impossible.

“I don’t know, Sam. I already told you—”

“You’ve told me three versions of the story. He left because you snapped at him. No, he left because you said I’d better not be paying him. No, the real reason he left is because he staged a fake legend … which you’ve just admitted isn’t fake at all.”

“Answer her question, Dad,” Josie says. “Where is Ben?”

“I don’t know, hon. He took off—”

She pulls out her gun. I startle and quickly glance over, trying to catch her eye, to tell her no, please don’t escalate this, but she won’t look my way.

“Josie,” her father says, sharp but calm, as if she kicked him during a tantrum.

“Where. Is. Ben.”

“I don’t—”

She swings the gun barrel on him.

“Josie,” Smits says, struggling to gentle his voice. “You’re upset. I understand that. This is all very confusing—”

“I’m not a fucking child, Dad. Don’t talk to me like I’m five.”

“Then don’t act—” He bites that off. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to diminish your right to be angry with me—”

Her harsh laugh cuts him off. “Wow. You actually were awake during those family-therapy sessions Mom begged for. Could have sworn you nodded off. Or maybe you just pretended to, being a jerk like always.”

“Josie.” His tone firms. “I’ve already admitted that your mom and I had problems. She’s never been easy to live with and—”

“Mom?” Josie’s voice rises. “Mom is the single most easy person to live with. She’s a fucking saint who put up with your shit. Now where the hell is Ben?”

“I don’t—”

“Count of five, or I swear I will shoot you.”

Every muscle in me tenses. She’s shaking, and I want to get her attention, reassure her, get her to lower that gun. But she will not look my way, and I’m afraid that if I speak, it’ll only upset her. One more person telling her to calm down when she has every right to be furious.

“Five. Four.”

“Josie,” Smits says. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know. Do you want me to lie? Fine. I think he’s over there.” He waves an arm so dismissively that my anger turns on him.

“Stop patronizing her,” I snap. “You did something to Ben. You’ve already admitted to the rest so—”

“Why not admit to this? Good point. Obviously, if I knew where Ben was, I’d admit—”

“Three.”

“I didn’t hurt Ben, Josie. I didn’t hurt anyone. The only one threatening here is you, honey, and—”

“Two.”

He steps toward her. “You aren’t going to shoot me, Josie.”

Her hands adjust on the gun.

I lunge their way. “Stop. Sheriff, please just—”

“Stay out of this,” he snaps. “This is your fault. You already got your aunt killed.”

“Sam didn’t—” Josie begins.

“Of course she did. You believe this nonsense that she only just found out about the nekkers now? No. That’s why she came here. She enlisted Ben Vandergriff—”

“Dad! Stop!”

“I’m just telling you—”

“Stop lying.” Josie’s eyes fill. “Please. If you care about me at all, stop lying. Stop blaming everyone but yourself.”

“What did I do? I didn’t kill her aunt. Didn’t kill that little boy. I’m just the sucker her mother used—”

“Dad, stop!”

“You stop, Josie. This is enough. Give me that damned gun.”

He lunges, grabbing for it. She swings the gun up. Smits grabs her arm, and she starts to topple backward. I run, screaming for them to stop, just stop. Smits is trying to wrestle the gun from her, and they’re in the shadows, and I can’t see—

The gun fires.

Smits flies back, hands going up. He starts to fall. Josie tumbles backward, gun still in her hand. Smits hits the ground, hands flying to his chest.

Blood. I see blood.

He’s shot.

I run to him, but he’s already scrambling up, snarling at me to get the fuck out of his way. There’s no bullet hole. Just a splatter of blood, as if the shot grazed him. He stalks over to where Josie fell backward and he reaches down to snatch the gun.

“You’re lucky you didn’t—” he snaps.

Then he stops.

There’s a sound. A low animal sound. Smits drops to his knees and shakes Josie, and her head flops up and—

There’s blood on her face.

Not just blood. Torn flesh and gray bits and—

A hole where her eye had been.