The Cock Crowed Twice
Chapter One
. . . . . . She found the shrill sound of the peacock screaming at the first light annoying enough, but when it broke its normal routine and crowed a second time a chill ran down her spine. Deborah Carter felt compelled to get up, even though she had planned to sleep in for an extra thirty minutes, since she had been up so late the night before. But, considering that it was the first day of school and she had to be sure her three children were up, dressed, fed, bathed and ready prompted her to rise early.
With the extra half of an hour, she decided to take a brisk walk. She and her family lived in the foothills of the Sierra, just east of
The paths were narrow and winding and she had to look out for ticks. She returned to the house and kept thinking that she should feel invigorated, but the rude awakening by their peacock had left her feeling unsettled. The peacocks were pretty to look at but annoying to live with and she was not happy to have them on their property. That was her husband’s idea and whenever Big Zeke got into his mind that something ought to be a certain way or happen, it usually did.
You wouldn’t think she had anything to worry about. Her kids were among the most popular in school. Her son, Frank—a big, husky, freckle faced, fair skinned boy, was the captain of the football team. Her daughter, Becky, was intending to run for sophomore class president this year and stood a good chance of winning, while her younger brother, Jeff, would be just finishing up junior high school.
They had a big A-frame house on the top of a knoll from which they could see Highway 50 in the distance, the road to
Time to get the waffles going and wake up the kids, she thought as she strode into the house and shook the can of lemonade she’d left on the counter to thaw out while she was running. First she thought she’d see whether or not the kids could be rousted by the smell of hot, frying bacon wafting up the open staircase to their rooms. Zeke, which is short for Ezekiel, whom everyone, including their kids called “Big Zeke” was up and gone even before the cock crowed the first time.
I may as well get into my routine, she thought. Summer is over. But at least the kids will be out from under foot.
In no time, Jeff appeared and she could hear his sister stirring, but she figured that Frank must be either taking forever primping, which he was prone to do, or having difficulty breaking his habit of sleeping until noon on days when he didn’t have football practice in the morning.
“Frank!” She yelled. “The waffles are getting cold.” Busily she stirred the scrambled eggs in the frying pan and salted them. She mixed in bell peppers and onions, loosened them with a spatula, shook them and put them on the table.
“Jeff, go get your brother. Make sure he’s up.”
“But, Mom, he yells at me. Besides I never know what’s going on in his room. He usually has the door locked and tells me to dry up and blow away, whenever I knock.”
“I know, Jeffrey. I had your father take the lock off hia door. Now go and get your brother. We’ve only got about twenty minutes before Mom’s taxi service is about to leave.”
Driving the kids thirty minutes to school each way was another part of her job description. Frank used to drive himself, but by now he’d gotten one too many speeding tickets and his father put him on driving restriction in an effort to slow him down. She begged him not to, because that meant she would have to drive at least until Becky got her license. But he said, “If we’re not firm with the boy, he’ll walk all over us. One more ticket and our car insurance will go through the roof. They’ve raised the premiums twice already.”
They may have been wealthy, but Big Jim never lost his habit of being tight with a dollar. She couldn’t argue with his logic, but it was still one more burden added to her already exhausting list. Even though her husband was successful in business, he still insisted that she work part-time as long as he had a model home that needed staffing, and there was always a model home that required a staff to show it to potential buyers. She also did all of her own housework and most of their gardening. She wanted it that way. She always hated the feeling of having intruders in their home.
“Jeff, go get your brother,” she repeated. “Tell Frank that now his eggs are getting cold, too.” Then she yelled up the stairs, as Jeff got up to go get his brother for her. “Frank! It’s time to come down here and eat.”
Becky wasn’t at the table yet, but at least her mother knew she was up and about. She knew better than to ask her to wake her brother. They were usually at odds. Jeff had worshipped his brother through most of their growing up years, but now—with Jeff entering puberty and Frank at the height of his, patience and understanding between the two had broken down. In the past, their age difference had been enough to mollify their inclinations toward sibling rivalry, but that wasn’t the case any longer.
Reluctantly, Jeff proceeded up the stairs to get his brother, while she set the table and poured the orange juice. He’s got football practice after school and he needs a good breakfast to start the day, she thought.
A few seconds later, she heard Jeff scream. She passed Becky on the stairs and she, looking dowdy as ever, just shrugged her shoulders and continued down the stairs. Debbie hit her shin on the top step and said, “Oh, shit!” but didn’t stop to massage it. Frank’s door was ajar and she couldn’t see into the room, but she could hear that Jeff’s scream had turned into a whimper.
She pushed open the door. “Oh, my God!” She yelled. “Oh, my God!” she screamed, as she opened the door. “Cut him down,” she yelled. “Jeff, Becky, we’ve got to cut him down. She tried to lift his body and loosen the slipknot that was pulled snuggly around his neck, but couldn’t.
“Becky! Becky! Bring me a knife. Bring me a knife right now, goddamn it!”
She stood and tried to lift her son’s naked body in her arms. She sensed that he was dead, but instinctively all she could think about was getting him down to the floor, where they might be able to help him. It made little sense, but she had to cut him down.
Becky came to the door, looked in and said “Oh, my God!” She dropped the knife and went over and barfed over the railing into the kitchen. Debbie had to let go of her son and run over and get the knife. She lifted the chair, which had tipped over just prior to his death. She stood on it and gnashed at the rope. The knife was dull. She sawed and hacked and cried. She brushed away her tears.
Jeff was little use. He just sat on the floor and wept. He was a slight thing of a boy and not nearly as robust or fit as his brother. She begged him. “Jeff, help me lift your brother, so I can cut him down.”
With Jeff’s help they were able to create some slack in the rope and she managed to cut through it. They were not able to hold up his weight, only to break his fall as his lifeless body fell to the floor of his bedroom with a sickening thud.
Becky heard him fall, came running back in and asked, “Should I call an ambulance?”
Instead of answering Debbie just sat on the floor, clutching her two sons on either side of her—the living and the dead. Becky came over and put her arms over her mother and Jeff. Together they wept.
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