Night of Fear

  The Grandma Ruth that T.J. loved used to sing “You Are My Sunshine” and “How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?,” complete with a realistic bark. Where did she go? T.J. wondered. What happened to the real Grandma Ruth? Who was this odd, befuddled stranger who clutched her purse and sang “Holy, Holy, Holy”?

  T.J.’s mother said that Grandma Ruth sang hymns and talked about going to church because she sometimes slipped back in time to when she was a child. “Grandma Ruth grew up on a farm,” Mrs. Stenson explained, “and the church provided her main social activities. She enjoyed church, especially the music.”

  “She isn’t a little girl anymore.”

  “In her mind, sometimes she is. She goes back and forth, somehow, to different times in her life. Because she was poor as a young mother, she insists on always carrying a purse full of money now. And her childhood memories make her want to go to church.”

  It isn’t fair, T.J. thought. She can remember something from sixty years ago but she can’t remember what day it is now. And she can’t remember my name.

  When Grandma Ruth started singing hymns or counting her play money, T.J. usually left the room. His parents humored her, sometimes even pretending to be in church. They said if it made her happy, what was the harm?

  A few months ago, they had taken her to a Sunday service but Grandma Ruth talked out loud during the sermon, called the minister David, and created such a disturbance that they had to leave. They had sat near the front, so Grandma Ruth could hear, and T.J. thought the walk back up the aisle, with the whole congregation watching, would never end. He had wanted to shout, “She wasn’t always this way. She has a terrible brain disease.” Instead, he stared at the floor, his cheeks burning.

  T.J. wanted Grandma Ruth to be the way she used to be—vibrant and laughing, always interested in what T.J. did and thought. When she used to call him on the telephone, she never asked the dumb questions that most adults ask kids, like, “What did you do in school today?” Grandma Ruth asked, “If you could have lunch with anyone in the world, who would it be?” or “Who do you think will win the World Series?” And she always listened to T.J.’s replies.

  When T.J. was small, Grandma Ruth read books to him and played what they called hide-and-sneak. When he got older, she often invited him to spend Friday night at her house. They would play Monopoly and make milk shakes and eat pizza at midnight. In the morning, they read the sports page and then T.J. always made pancakes. Grandma Ruth had let him cook breakfast since he was seven years old and she didn’t hover over him, watching every move, either. She just set the table and poured the orange juice and told him what a treat it was to have a man in the kitchen, for a change.

  Back then, she never called him David. Back then, she knew exactly who he was. Back then, she didn’t have Alzheimer’s disease.

  “I wish we didn’t have to go to that school meeting tonight,” Mrs. Stenson said, as she passed the plate of tacos.

  T.J.’s attention returned to the conversation.

  “I thought you liked Open House for the parents,” Mr. Stenson said.

  “I do. I just don’t like leaving T.J. and Mother here alone.”

  “We’ll be OK, Mom,” T.J. said. “You leave us alone all the time.”

  “Not when there’s been a murder in the neighborhood.”

  T.J. wished the Open House was a different night, too, but since it wasn’t, he did want his parents to attend. His basketball coach planned to tell them about a basketball camp that was scheduled for next summer and T.J. thought he’d have a better chance of getting permission to go if his parents heard about the camp from his coach, rather than from him.

  “That bank robber is probably in the next state by now,” Mr. Stenson said. “We can’t cancel the rest of our lives and cower in a corner.”

  “I suppose not,” Mrs. Stenson said, though she still looked worried. “We won’t be late,” she told T.J., and then added, “Keep the doors locked.”

  “I will.”

  After his parents left, T.J. started his homework. He wanted to finish so he could watch Top Gun on TV. Top Gun was his favorite movie and, although he could practically recite the script by heart, he never missed a chance to see it again.

  Grandma Ruth entertained herself by dusting the same table over and over. She hummed a hymn as she worked. After ten minutes or so, she began to sing the words. “Holy, holy, holy.”

  “Will you please sing something else?” T.J. said. He felt edgy tonight, and cross.

  Grandma Ruth stopped singing and looked at him.

  “Why don’t you sing ‘You Are My Sunshine’ for a change?”

  “I don’t know that song.”

  “Sure you do.” T.J. began to sing: “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray.”

  Grandma Ruth looked blank. It was clear she did not remember the song she and T.J. had sung together hundreds of times when he was small.

  She’s the one who had taught the song to him. She always changed the lyrics and sang, “You’ll never know, T.J., how much I love you.” How could that be erased from her mind?

  T.J. quit singing and returned to his homework. He had enough trouble with biology without trying to sing at the same time.

  Almost immediately, Grandma Ruth began to sing again. “Holy, holy, holy. Lord God Almighty.”

  “Stop it!” T.J. said, his voice coming sharper than he had intended.

  Grandma Ruth broke off in the middle of a note. “What’s wrong, David?” she asked.

  “I can’t concentrate when you’re singing,” T.J. said. “I’m trying to do my homework. And please quit calling me David.”

  T.J. was perfectly capable of concentrating. He often did his homework with the TV on or with his stereo turned up to full volume, especially when his parents weren’t home. It wasn’t Grandma Ruth’s singing that bothered him, it was the choice of songs. She sang the same few hymns over and over and over, and each time it reminded T.J. that Grandma Ruth was slowly losing her mind. I will never, he thought, for the rest of my life, be able to hear “Nearer, My God, To Thee” or “Holy, Holy, Holy” without wanting to cover my ears and run.

  Grandma Ruth, looking hurt, sat down on the sofa and opened her purse.

  “And don’t count your money, either,” T.J. said. “It’s the same amount you had ten minutes ago. You counted it then.”

  “I need to be sure I have enough.” Grandma Ruth removed the stack of bills and started putting them, one at a time, in a pile beside her. “We need eggs,” she said, “and milk for the girls.”

  It was pink, green, and yellow money from T.J.’s old Monopoly game. Grandma Ruth counted carefully, making sure no bills stuck together.

  T.J. sighed and returned to his homework. Sometimes he wished Grandma Ruth could leave this earth the way his other grandma had. One day Grandma Doris was the picture of health, planning a trip to the Grand Canyon, and the next day she was dead in her chair, from a heart attack, with the crossword puzzle beside her.

  It had been a terrible shock but it was still better than this. At least Grandma Doris had been herself right up to the end. She had not left her body behind while her mind and personality went to some dark, unknown place where no one, not even her family, could follow.

  “Good,” Grandma Ruth said. She put the money back in her purse and snapped it shut.

  When T.J. looked up, she smiled at him, a loving childlike smile, full of trust. Guilt settled like a cape on T.J.’s shoulders. How can I wish she would die? he thought. It isn’t her fault she’s like this. What’s the matter with me?

  “Is it time to go to church?” Grandma Ruth asked.

  T.J. slammed his book shut and stood up.

  The telephone rang.

  “T.J., this is Edna Crowley. We’ve had car trouble and aren’t home yet. Can you be our critter sitter one more time?”

  The Crowleys were the Stensons’ closest neighbors. Their house, an old barn, and a large pasture adjo
ined the Stensons’ five acres on the west side, although it wasn’t visible because of the thick stand of alder trees along the property line.

  Since they both retired last year, Mr. and Mrs. Crowley took frequent short trips and they always hired T.J. to care for their dogs and cats. It was a good job. T.J. enjoyed playing with the animals and it didn’t take long to walk across the back field, let the dogs out of their pen for a run in the pasture, and set out fresh water and food. He had gone twice a day all week but he had not gone that afternoon because the Crowleys were supposed to get home.

  After assuring Mrs. Crowley that he would take care of the animals, T.J. got his sweatshirt and Grandma Ruth’s coat. She would have to go with him; she couldn’t be left alone, even for a short time. The last time Grandma Ruth was home alone, she turned all the stove burners to High and they were all glowing red when T.J.’s parents returned.

  “It’s a miracle she didn’t burn herself,” Mrs. Stenson had said.

  “Or set the house on fire,” Mr. Stenson added.

  When questioned about it, Grandma Ruth said only, “It was time to cook Edward’s dinner.”

  The phone rang again; this time it was Dane.

  “Did you know Top Gun is on TV tonight?” Dane said.

  “I’m planning to watch it but I have to go feed the Crowleys’ animals first.”

  “Better hustle,” Dane said, and hung up.

  That’s one thing T.J. liked about Dane. He never wasted time.

  T.J. said, “Put your coat on, Grandma Ruth.”

  “Are we going to church?”

  “We’re going to see the baby kittens.”

  A stray cat had produced a litter of kittens in the Crowleys’ old barn last month. T.J. had taken Grandma Ruth to see them once before and she had enjoyed the fuzzy babies.

  Her crinkled face broke into a smile and she followed T.J. out the door.

  It took him three times as long to cross the field when Grandma Ruth was with him as it did when he was alone. She stepped slowly through the long grass, carefully avoiding any stones. She kept pausing to look back, as if wondering where she was.

  “Keep walking,” T.J. said. “We have to hurry tonight.”

  “Where’s David? Shouldn’t we wait for David?”

  “David isn’t here,” T.J. said crossly.

  Grandma Ruth stopped. “Where is he?”

  “Come on, Grandma Ruth,” T.J. pleaded. “You’re going to make me miss the opening of Top Gun.”

  Grandma Ruth headed back home. “I have to get David,” she declared.

  “Forget David,” T.J. said. “David is dead.”

  Tears filled Grandma Ruth’s eyes. “David died?” she said. “What happened? Oh, my. This is terrible news.”

  “It isn’t exactly news,” T.J. said. “It happened ten years ago.”

  But Grandma Ruth wasn’t listening. She stood in the middle of the field with her arms folded, hugging herself. Grief was etched across her face.

  When will I learn to keep my mouth shut? T.J. thought. He hadn’t meant to make her unhappy, only to make her hurry. At least she wouldn’t be sad for long. She’d soon forget what he had said and ten minutes from now, she would be talking about David again, as if he were alive and walking beside her.

  “Grandma Ruth,” T.J. said. He touched her arm to get her attention and repeated her name. When she looked at him, he said, “We’re on our way to feed the baby kittens. If we don’t go, the kittens will be hungry.” He held out his hand.

  Grandma Ruth put her hand in his. It felt frail, like the body of a baby bird. She allowed him to lead her the rest of the way across the field and through the alders. When they reached the metal gate in the fence surrounding the Crowleys’ pasture, T.J. grasped the handle with both hands and shoved. He kept forgetting to bring along a can of oil; it took all of his strength to slide the bar across so the gate would open.

  The two dogs, Pepper and Salt, ran in joyful circles when they saw T.J. They were always more interested in getting petted than in being fed and T.J. scratched their heads and talked to them before he let them out to run in the pasture.

  Grandma Ruth wandered over to the barn.

  “Don’t open the door until I get there,” T.J. said. “We don’t want the kittens to get loose.”

  Grandma Ruth sat on a big rock, opened her purse, and began to count the play money.

  When the dogs were back in their pen, T.J. got dog food from the covered container that was next to the Crowleys’ back door. He fed the dogs, filled their water bowl, and then joined Grandma Ruth.

  When she saw him coming, she said, “Is that you, David?”

  “No,” T.J. said, trying not to sound annoyed. “I’m not David. I’m T.J.”

  Grandma Ruth walked with him to the barn door and waited for him to open it. With one hand, she picked at the peeling paint that curled from the door frame. “This doesn’t look like a church,” she said. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?”

  “We’re here to feed the kittens, Grandma Ruth.”

  He slid the wooden door open. The barn had not been used for horses since the Crowleys’ daughter grew up and moved away, and the interior had a stale odor of mildew.

  The inside of the barn was dark and T.J. fumbled along the edge of the door, feeling for the light switch. As he flicked it on, he turned toward the bales of hay where the kittens slept.

  A man leaped to his feet, blinking in the sudden light. Bits of hay clung to his dark hair.

  T.J. knew instantly who it was.

  Chapter Three

  The description fit perfectly: jeans, dark hair. Under his open jacket, T.J. saw that he wore a T-shirt. He looked younger than thirty, but T.J. wasn’t much of a judge of age.

  T.J. grabbed Grandma Ruth’s hand.

  The man crouched. One hand groped on the floor behind the bales of hay.

  “We didn’t mean to wake you,” T.J. said. “We were going to feed the kittens but we can come back later.” He began backing toward the door, pulling Grandma Ruth with him.

  “Are you the preacher?” Grandma Ruth said.

  “We can’t stay, Grandma Ruth,” T.J. whispered. He took another step backward.

  If he were alone, he would flick the lights off and run for it. He’d cut across the field and under the fence and get home and call the police. But he’d never make it with Grandma Ruth. She was too slow. And he couldn’t leave her here with a murderer.

  The man found what he was feeling for. He jammed it in the pocket of his jacket. When he stood up, he kept his hand in the pocket. The pocket bulged and T.J. was sure the man’s hand was closed around a gun, the same gun that had shot and killed the bank teller.

  “Stay right there,” the man said.

  “He doesn’t look like a preacher,” Grandma Ruth said. “He isn’t wearing a necktie.”

  “Hush, Grandma Ruth.”

  “What am I going to do with them?” the man said. “They’ll have the cops on my tail before I get six blocks.” He spoke as if there were someone else in the barn.

  T.J. looked quickly around the barn but saw no one else.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” T.J. lied. “Like I said, we just came to feed the kittens. If you needed a warm place to sleep for a few hours, I don’t see anything wrong with using this barn. Why would we call the police?”

  The man raised one eyebrow. “I can’t let you stop me now,” he said. “If you call the cops, I won’t be able to finish.” His hand moved inside his jacket pocket.

  “My parents are waiting for us,” T.J. said. “We live right next door. If we aren’t back in a few minutes, they’ll come looking for us.”

  The man frowned.

  “We’re going to church,” Grandma Ruth said. “They didn’t want to come.”

  “Then they won’t be expecting you back in a few minutes. Nice try, kid.”

  “She’s mixed up,” T.J. said. He pointed to his jeans and sweatshirt. “Do I look like I?
??m going to church? We came to feed the kittens.”

  “I want my revenge,” the man said, “and I won’t let you stop me.”

  “Where’s the organ?” Grandma Ruth said. “I want to sit near the organ.”

  “We won’t stop you,” T.J. said. “You can leave.” He didn’t even want to guess what sort of revenge the man meant.

  A gray and white kitten darted out of a horse stall and ran to the bale of hay beside the man.

  Grandma Ruth yanked her hand free from T.J.’s grasp and stepped toward the kitten. “Here, kitty, kitty,” she said.

  Instantly, the man moved closer to Grandma Ruth and put his hand on her shoulder. Ignoring him, she sat on the hay and tried to pick up the kitten.

  T.J. thought fast. According to the newscast, the bank teller died en route to the hospital. The man wouldn’t know that. He wouldn’t know if he was wanted for murder or not. If he knew he was already wanted for murder, what difference would it make if he killed somebody else? But if he thought the teller had lived, he might think twice about pulling the trigger again.

  “The bank teller lived,” T.J. said. “She’s doing great. The bullet just nicked her.”

  The man seemed not to hear. “I have to get out of here,” he said, brushing the hay from his clothing.

  “Look,” T.J. said. “Why don’t you just leave and I’ll pretend you were never here in the first place. I don’t have any reason to be mad at you and by the time we get home, Grandma Ruth will have forgotten all about you.”

  The man shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s too risky. I can’t take a chance on you running to the cops. You’ll have to go with me.”

  Go where? For how long?

  The kitten eluded Grandma Ruth’s grasp and scampered away.

  “This is an odd church,” she said. “There aren’t any pews.” She spread her skirt neatly about her knees, folded her hands in her lap, and began to sing. “Holy, holy, holy.”

  “What’s with her?” said the man.

  “She has a brain disease. She gets confused and can’t remember things. She thinks she’s in church.”