P.J. Sanderson lay on the ground, on the verge of tears for a good five minutes, while Crowley studied the woods without really paying them much attention.
Finally, from his position on the ground, Sanderson asked the question that Crowley was waiting to hear. “Why? How could you do that to a person? Goddamn you, how could you do a thing like that?”
Crowley helped him to his feet, dusting off the back of his jacket. As they started to walk again, with Crowley guiding the tear-blinded writer, Crowley finally answered his question. “I did it for a lot of reasons, Phil. I did it because you have an ego almost as big as mine and I’m jealous of my ego’s size. I did it because once upon a time you did call something forth with a written spell and that something could have caused a lot of grief. I did it because you’re the type that would eventually have called something else with one of your books, or maybe even worse, write the recipe down in one of your trashy novels.”
Crowley stopped speaking until they were finally out of the woods, back where Sanderson had parked his car. When the man was seated and his seat belt was in place, Crowley finished his statement. “Mostly though, I did it because I said ‘I think’ you didn’t call them up with your little spells. I don’t KNOW that you didn’t call them up. In my eyes, even if it’s only the intent that calls them forth, one three year old boy has already paid the price for your little Halloween prank and one fifteen year old boy is in the process of paying that price.” He looked the writer in the face, staring deeply into his eyes the entire time that he finished his explanation.
“Maybe it was your intent that called them up, maybe it was your friend Alex’s. Hell, maybe it was even his little brother Todd. I just don’t know for certain. You should be glad of that Phil. Because if I did know for certain that it was you, I wouldn’t just be ragging on you like I have been. I’d have killed you by now.”
Jonathan Crowley smiled angelically at the man he’d tormented and terrified, both in life and in dreams, over the last twenty years and patted the man on his shoulder, before sauntering off towards the street, calling over his shoulder as he went. “You think about that, Philly. Think really hard about it. Someday I might even find the proof I’m looking for and if that time comes…Well, then I won’t let you have a free shot at my mug.”
P.J. sat behind the wheel for the better part of an hour without turning on the car’s engine. He ignored the cold that covered his body as he tried to decide who had called the creatures forth. When he finally started home, the answer was still lost to him.
12
In the woods outside of Summitville, lying just under the edge of Lake Overtree, a stone sat glistening in the early morning light. Around the stone there sat a gathering of dusky shadows. The shadows thought for a long time about the Hunter and about the Chosen One and his mother and his possible mates.
When the thinking was done, the shadows approached the Stone and reached through to its very core with Their thoughts. The smooth grass at Their feet started to shake, rippling like the Overtree in a hurricane force wind and then the ground erupted. From the minds of the shadows and the bones of two dead men, the Stone was urged to make its creations. Chuck Hanson’s remains were used to create a Hunter for the shadows. Dave Brundvandts’ battered corpse was infused with a new life as well, as a number of the shadows possessed a real body for the second time in their existence. Dave’s body was remolded and repainted by the power of the Stone. When it had been filled by the shadows, Todd Harris stood looking down at the remaining shadows and smiled. Todd had been dead for some time now and he had to admit it felt good to be back.
Chuck Hanson strode casually out of the woods, his memories intact and his perceptions perverted. He was glad to be alive again too. He had been afraid of Jonathan Crowley, now he knew better. Crowley was just a man.
Crowley might be a tough cookie when it came to dealing with the Folk and other creatures of that type, but a good old fashioned pistol would take him down in a heartbeat. He fired a cigarette after scraping the residual slime of his rebirth off of the lighter. Damn, but that did taste fine. The rest of the slime, or ectoplasm as Rick kept calling it, faded away as he walked into the sunlight.
By the time he reached the spot where the Folk had buried his truck, They had already placed it back on solid ground; the old beat up vehicle was a little dirty, but no worse for wear. It was time to see how Rick was doing on his research, if Rick was really lucky and hadn’t made any real progress, he would be allowed to live. He hoped that Rick was still stumped; Rick was his friend after all and he really didn’t want to kill him.
Walking in the other direction, Todd Harris smiled and enjoyed the feel of the sun on his skin. It had been too long since he had enjoyed this. Behind him, another group of the shadows ran and scurried, as the terrain demanded. He had promised Jenny immortality and it was a promise he meant to keep.
Why hadn’t They all thought of this before? If the Chosen worked out properly and if his mate or even mates worked out as well, they could create enough bodies for each of Them. And wouldn’t that be grand; a body a shadow.
Somehow, Todd didn’t think that Jenny would mind making more babies and he knew he wouldn’t mind. That Jenny was a wild one. If the Shadow Hunter did its work, they would have nothing to fear. Todd Harris was certain that it would all work out in the end.
And he was really looking forward to meeting Joe, that brought a smile to his face that just wouldn’t go away. Just imagining Joe’s surprise was going to be reward enough. The idea that he would be able to keep Jenny afterwards only made the bargain all that much sweeter. So he’d been dead for fifteen years, so what? It had been worth the wait.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
1
The morning broke slowly in Summitville. Those with business in Denver and Boulder wearily made their ways to cars and started on their ritual quest for another day’s pay. Those with businesses in Summitville proper started their own rituals of setting their shops and restaurants for the day ahead.
Early in the pre-dawn morning, a cold front had slipped past the natural barrier of the Rockies, the resulting fog had crept just as stealthily from Lake Overtree and into the crisp air above Summitville. From a vantage point above Summitville, all that could be seen through the blanketing white haze was the occasional rooftop, from the older buildings in town. From below the sheath of mist, the sun was a pale, staring eye with hardly enough light to make it noticeable.
Most of the people in town were quite used to the phenomenon, it was just another day and not even a pretty one at that. Rick didn’t think he would ever grow so adjusted to the sight. The fog was en-chanting and oddly unsettling at the same time; it was like the idea of spending Christmas with the wrong family, it was Christmas and there was a certain comfort to be found in the rituals executed, but it still felt wrong. When he allowed himself to think about such things, Rick realized that the whole town seemed to give off the same feelings sometimes.
Rick had fallen asleep on his desk again, fortunate enough to have brewed a full pot of coffee before he actually reached blissful unconsciousness. One of these days, he was certain, his luck would run out and he would find himself and the building burning to the ground before he had a chance to wake up. Cheery thoughts for the morning’s first light.
The doctor stumbled into the break room and reached for the coffee filters. Decaf was fine for late at night, but he needed the real stuff to start his brain on the path of rational thought again. After pouring fresh grounds in the filter, he reached for the half-filled pot, preparing to dump the remaining India Ink from the glass urn. Chuck Hanson’s brawny hand stopped him. “You don’t want to pour that out, Rick, I just made it.”
Rick decided that he would wait for full consciousness before screaming at his friend, right now he was too goddamned tired. “Where the hell have you been for the last week?”
Chuck smiled his All-is-right-with-the-world-as-we-know-it grin and handed his old roomie a fresh m
ug of coffee. “I had some thinking to do is all. I’m back now.”
“Do you think that, maybe, if it’s not too much to ask, you could let everyone know where the fuck you’re going before you take off next time?” To anyone who didn’t know them, it would have seemed like a screaming match without the screams, it was just the way the two of them had always communicated. Even back in college, Rick had always stood his ground with Chuck Hanson.
Chuck slurped noisily at his too hot coffee and eyed Rick from over the lip of his mug. “Anything new happen while I was gone? You and your lady friend find anything out?”
Rick scowled back at the big man and scooped half a cup of sugar into his cup. “No, me an’ my ‘lady friend’ didn’t figure out shit. How about you, figure out who’s next on the list? Any notions as to what the hell is going on in this damned town? Oh, I almost forgot, that Brundvandt kid, the oldest one that hasn’t left town apparently did. Leave town, that is. Went missing sometime around when you took off. Deputy Dave has all the juicy information, assuming that he hasn’t disappeared too. If the Brundvandt kid’s one of ours, he hasn’t been brought to me yet.”
“He’ll show up. Ain’t the first time the little snot’s gone runnin’ off to Denver or some such for a week.” Chuck munched on a cinnamon covered donut from the box he’d brought along. When he offered the confections to Rick, the man dove eagerly into the sugar covered calorie bombs. “Probably ran himself into a spot of trouble with his dad and beat a path out of town.”
“Hmm. Whatever.”
“Nothin’ new, hunh?”
Rick shook his head sadly. “At this point, Chuck, I’d be better off just letting it all sit for a few days, to be honest. I just keep running in the same circles again and again.”
Hanson nodded his head and seemed to think about that for a while. “So go home and get some decent sleep. Take a couple of days to rest. Maybe we’ll figure it out later. No offense, but you look like shit.”
“None taken.”
The two of them chattered for another twenty minutes and when they were finished, both went on their separate ways to separate destinations. Rick went home and collapsed on his bed. What was once Chuck Hanson went off to kill a man.
2
Mark settled down after his run and waited for the inevitable to occur. Five minutes later, it did. Tyler came up and pounded on the door. Still feeling horribly embarrassed about the previous night, Mark opened the door and escorted his friend into the den. Tyler pulled a normal Tyler stunt and got right to the point. “So, how’s the moon tan coming along Howie?”
Mark held his hands before him and groaned. “Please, God, please, don’t tell anyone about that. I don’t know what the hell came over me, I really don’t.”
Tyler smiled pleasantly. “I won’t tell anyone, relax.” He pulled a suspicious looking piece of paper from his shirt pocket and passed it over to Mark with a flourish. “I don’t need to tell anyone, I already pasted this to all the doors in the neighborhood.”
Mark looked at the writings on the paper and made threatening gestures towards Tyler. If he hadn’t known that Tyler wouldn’t pull that kind of crap, he would have rammed the paper down his friend’s throat. Still, it felt good to just goof around with Tyler, somehow they just never seemed to have the time anymore. Tyler punched Mark in the bicep to get his attention.
“Just what were you doing out there anyway, Howie? You scared the hell out of me, I mean two moons in Summitville.. .One’s bad enough, ya know?”
“Ha ha ha, very funny.”
Tyler sobered up momentarily, still smiling, but not smirking. “Seriously, you okay? I mean, you took some pretty nasty falls out there.”
Mark thought about how to answer as he ran into the kitchen to grab them each a Pepsi. “Yeah, I’m fine. Not even a scratch. I really don’t remember much of anything, ’cept you laughing your ass off and me standing there butt naked. I guess I was sleepwalking.”
“You think?” Tyler was throwing his Gee-I-never-would -have -thought-of-that-one/All too innocent look at Mark. When Mark glared instead of smiling about it, Tyler shrugged and filled him in again on all of the details. He finished up his story with a question: “Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”
Mark flashed on images of he and Cassie holding hands, interspersed with vivid flashes of Lisa struggling underneath his weight. “No,” he lied, “I can’t remember anything except that Cassie was there.”
Mark pulled on his hair, tugging sharply at the mane that Tyler saw was growing longer every day. Then he stared at Tyler with such an intense expression of fear, that Tyler was tempted to leave, equally tempted to hold him close, protect him. “Tyler, do you think I’m going crazy?”
“You mean do I think you belong behind the bars in the Lakeside Institute for the Mentally and Emotionally Impaired?” Tyler shrugged and shook his head. “No. You’re weird, so am I for what it’s worth, but I don’t think you’re ready for the rubber room. You don’t belong in one of those anymore than I do.” Tyler’s face got that sadistic smile back in place and he winked at Mark. “You just need to get laid, Howie. Hell, you might even need to get laid more than I do.”
Mark couldn’t decide if Tyler was being serious or not. Knowing Tyler well enough, he asked for clarification. “Shit, Mark. We’ve gone over this before. You’re in the middle of a King Kong sized growth spurt, You’ve got hormones they don’t even have names for going gonzo all over the inside of your body. Look, when Patrick had his last growth spurt, he was a basket case for a year and a half. Y’know why? ’Cause he didn’t get laid.” Tyler lit up his three dollar smirk again. “It’s a scientifically proven fact, Howie.”
The thought roamed around in the back of Mark’s head while they talked. By the end of the conversation, Mark was more than halfway convinced that Tyler was right.
3
Tony Scarrabelli walked down the main stretch of the strip, doing nothing that had to be done and basically enjoying the last day of weekday freedom before school started again. The day was beautiful, now that the early morning caul of fog had faded under the sun’s gaze. It meant nothing at all to Tony, he just had to get the hell out of the house before he went crazy.
It was a bad situation at home these days, his two older sisters were bitching about how much money they needed as allowance for college and his dear old Dad was doing everything but actually calling them leeches. Mom of course was nowhere near the house when his father was home and when she was there, she was bitching about how little time he spent with his children.
To add to the merriment, Dad the understanding, had suspended Tony’s wheels for the week before school, screaming about how Tony needed to learn how to drive responsibly. Tony knew how to drive, he’d received an A-Plus on his Driver’s Ed course at school. He just didn’t give a shit. Tony figured the old bastard was still pissed about the near miss with the Gravel Shower. So was he, he’d been hoping for a bull’s eye on the fat old fart.
Tony shifted his thoughts away from the bad things going on in his life and tried to recapture his fading good spirits as he scratched at the bandages covering his nose. In front of B. Dalton’s, on the side of the street that everyone called “The Mall,” Tony stared at his reflection in the plate glass window. He looked much as he always had, except for the blaring white tape in the center of his face and the chipped incisor in his mouth. He did his best to follow the Tyler Wilson train of cheerful thoughts and reminded himself that at least Crowley hadn’t broken his jaw.
Tony’s starting smile faded as he saw the reflection of Jonathan Crowley behind his own image in the bookstore window. Idly he noticed that Uncle Phil’s latest had just reached the top ten charts. The reflected Crowley waved and from behind him he heard the overly pleasant tones of the man’s voice. “How’s the nose, Tony?”
Tony’s bowels tried to freeze, his heart did a stuttering double take and his voice quivered as he responded. “It’ll do.” He hated the tremor he heard, e
ven more, he hated the way his knees were starting to shake.
Crowley’s reflection locked eyes through the window and Tony forced himself to resist the urge to run. “I just wanted to apologize for that, Tony. I really shouldn’t have taken it out on you, but I was just having a bad day, y’know? Sometimes things aren’t going the way you’d like them to and you just have this urge, the urge to beat the shit out of whoever gets in your way, even if they haven’t done anything wrong at all.” Tony felt himself nodding, couldn’t recall giving his brain that order, but that was okay. As long as it pleased Crowley. He swallowed the dry lump in his throat. “No hard feelings, hunh Tony?”
Tony tried again to swallow the yellow fear in his throat; nothing doing, the damned thing was there to stay. Instead of trying to speak again, he nodded and shrugged at the same time. The smile he attempted looked pained in the window’s reflection. He saw the reflected Crowley walk towards him and he flinched, almost wet his pants. Crowley’s reflection smiled again, right up next to his own shaking reflection. Crowley’s hand reached out and patted Tony on the top of his head, like a dog that had done well. “Good boy. I’m glad we had this little talk, aren’t you?” Tony again felt his head nod of its own volition. When Crowley’s voice started again, it was laced with a honey sweet threat. “Listen, I want you to do me a favor, okay?” Tony thought frantically about how many times he had used that exact same tone of voice on the kids that were smaller than him. A part of his psyche cried out that he had changed, that what Crowley was doing was unfair; the righteous voice didn’t have the strength to make it up to his fear-tightened vocal cords. Tears of shame threatened to fall from his eyes, the sting of unborn tears made his shattered nose itch furiously. Again, Tony felt himself nodding. “Great,” Crowley crooned. “Yes sir, that’s just fine.” Crowley’s fingers caressed the back of Tony’s neck, violence implied in every gentle stroke of the hand. “I want you to keep an eye on Mark Howell for me. Could you do that? I can’t tell you how much it would mean to me.”
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