Shawna wondered if they’d get a new house, some mansion far from Salem. Or maybe they’d downsize so Kristen could spend more money on purses and jewelry.
Her mother set down a plate of tetrazzini a little too hard. The table shook along with Shawna’s nerves. She did not look across the table, for that would mean looking into her sister’s eyes. If she kept her mind occupied, stared at the mountain of white mush on the plate before her, she just might keep from choking on nothing.
“Shawna, dear,” her mother said, “would you mind passing me the salt?” As if her meal didn’t already have a day’s worth of sodium. Shawna reached across the table for the shaker and—
And almost gasped when her hand touched not cool glass but cool flesh. Her sister’s fingers. Angie had reached at the same time, perhaps trying to outdo Shawna, like she hadn’t already won that battle a thousand times over. Their hands stayed like that for a long time, Shawna’s insides recoiling in response.
Angie smiled. It was the first time Shawna had seen her this close since her triumphant return.
“I got it,” Angie handed it to Kristen, who looked so proud.
“How is it?” their mother said.
“I’m not hungry.” Shawna drank from her glass and cringed when she realized it was milk. It tasted warm. “Can I be excused?”
Kristen put a hand onto Shawna’s forehead. “Are you coming down with something?” As if she cared.
Shawna shrugged. “Maybe.”
Kristen shook her head. “Well, you best eat up. It’s still early in the semester and you can’t afford to miss any days.”
“I’m a senior. They don’t care.”
“I care.”
“Since when?”
She could sense the fight looming but Angie’s voice, so soft and soothing when she wanted it to be, eased the tension. “She’s probably just exhausted. Senior year is tough on all of us.” Another staged smile.
All of us? You got your pick of boys and friends all because of those tits and that face and that fucking voice of yours.
Angie continued. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about the homecoming show, since it’s almost Halloween.”
“What about it?” Shawna forced herself to eat a heaping spoonful of creamed chicken, not breathing through her nose until she’d swallowed the salty mess.
“I want to make sure you have a good spot. Things are going to be . . . crazy that night.” Shawna sensed there was more to her words than she was letting on. “It’s general admission but there’s a spot roped off for VIPs. And you, Sis, are the biggest VIP of them all. Aside from Mom, of course.”
Kristen smiled and winked.
“Do I have to go?” Shawna said.
“Of course you have to go,” Kristen said. “Your sister needs our support. She’s been working her butt off for all this success. Would it kill you to watch her sing for one night?”
She gulped. It just might.
“It’s okay, Mom.” Angie fake-pouted. “I get it. She’s embarrassed. It must be tough for her, with school and all. I bet she’s getting a lot of unwanted attention. Where’s Mia, by the way? Haven’t seen her around.”
Shawna’s blood boiled. Her eyes grew misty.
I will not cry. I will not cry.
“She’s been busy.” Shawna wasn’t sure why she lied. Maybe because saying the truth aloud—that her best friend and ex-lover had exited her life—was too painful. Maybe if she internalized it for all eternity, she could delay the inevitable nervous breakdown coming her way.
“I hope she can come too,” Angie said. “It’s going to be such a special night.”
Shawna stood. “I have homework to do.”
“Sit back down,” Kristen said, mouth half full of her soggy concoction.
“Good night.” Shawna stormed out of the kitchen but froze for a moment in the doorway.
“Forever with You.”
Her joints froze in place. She’d done her best to avoid hearing that damn song, though it was impossible. It played everywhere you went, crept into your mind when you least expected. “What?” She didn’t dare look back.
“That’s what I’m opening with that night. ‘Forever with You’. Did I ever tell you what the song’s about? It’s about you, Sis. It’s always been about you.”
Shawna took the steps two at a time and made it to the bathroom just in time to lose what little she’d eaten.
Dan Peterson’s phone rang.
He gasped, waking suddenly from a horrid dream. He couldn’t remember the details but he knew he’d been falling. Some bottomless pit. He heard screams all around him. The hole was scorching and his skin melted quickly, like candle wax, revealing bones within.
He wiped away cool sweat and looked at the clock on his bedside table.
One-fifteen in the morning.
Who the hell was calling so early?
His cell was within reaching distance but for some odd reason the thought of touching it made him feel sickly. His bowels felt ready to give way.
The phone kept ringing, the vibrations almost sending it over the table’s edge. Chalking his fear up to post-nightmare blues and a whopper of a hangover, he grabbed the cell and answered the call.
And gasped at the voice on the other end.
“You’re wanted at the job site.”
Dan did not speak for a long time. Not because he was exhausted but because he’d developed sudden onset lockjaw.
“Mr. Peterson, did you hear me? Please come to Gallows Hill.”
He nodded, forgetting the man wasn’t in the room with him and feeling blessed that wasn’t the case. He imagined the hooded figure stepping through his door, sitting on the edge of his bed, and removing the fabric that hid his face.
Or maybe he was in the closet this very moment. The darkness in his room was obscene. He could barely see past the table, let alone beneath the closet door. Was that cloth peeking out from underneath the extra space?
Dan rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “This better be urgent.” He tried to sound brave instead of scared shitless. Tried being the key word. “Is everything okay?”
“Get here as quickly as you can. We’ve run into some . . . complications.”
“What kind of complications? I’m not due on the site for another three hours. You’ve already got us working twelve-hour days. Can’t this wait until later?”
The line went dead.
He got out of bed, took a quick piss, a quick shower, and a hundred other quick activities to delay arriving before the sun was up.
When the coffee finished brewing, he poured it into his oversized thermos. His ex-wife Sheila had bought the thing. Kept liquid hot for up to twenty hours. She would recite that fact in her radio voice and they’d both giggle. It was a longstanding joke until she left his ass. She’d been smart to do so. He was angry when drunk and even angrier when sober.
Separation made him think of Josh Meyers. Poor bastard. His wife was becoming the town whore and he’d sat back and let it happen. Surely the guy had known of Melissa’s lovers on the side all along. Even now Dan couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about the whole thing. There was something about Josh, some woe-is-me air, that begged for a punch in the face. He’d always been that way and Dan couldn’t see him changing anytime soon. At least the two were finally getting divorced.
He thought about his time with Melissa Meyers, how she’d moved her hips quicker than he’d thought possible, and his cock stiffened to half-mast before he recalled where he was heading. He grew limp again within a half second.
He grabbed his keys and stepped outside, got into his truck, backed out of the driveway. Stalled for a moment, trying to remember if he’d left any lights on. Every window was dark. Maybe the faucet then. Had he locked the doors? Sometimes they stuck.
Stop being such a pussy and get to work.
Easier said than done when you took into account where he was headed.
It only took fifteen minutes, door to stage, but he avoided sho
rt cuts at all costs. The moon was hidden behind clouds, the landscape so dark it was hard to imagine daylight ever coming to Salem. The wind picked up, not strong enough to sway his truck but enough to form cyclones of dead leaves.
He turned up the hill eighteen minutes later and parked at the foot of the park. The first thing he noticed was the empty lot. No other cars for as far as he could see.
Had it gotten colder? He flipped up his collar, shivered against the wind. Though he couldn’t see anyone, he heard something. Voices. Hypnotizing, joining like a chorus before splitting up again, chant-like.
In the distance, behind the trees, he sensed movement. Shapes danced about. The spotlights the crew had set up were ablaze. It was blinding, like staring into the sun, and when his eyes adjusted he nearly dropped his coffee.
He didn’t see a single crewmember. Tom and Gabe were usually the first ones on the site, followed by Bart and Andrew, but none of them were present. Not unless they had taken to wearing robes.
When he’d first been assigned the job, he knew something wasn’t right. They were breaking a thousand different zoning laws. Gallows Hill was part of the historic district after all, and making any alterations required countless legal loopholes. Gary Williams, the city planner, hadn’t offered any explanation.
“How are they allowing this?” Dan had said. “Those trees have stood since before this town was founded.”
“I understand how strange this all seems. I thought so at first too. But you’ll understand come Halloween. When the people gather and Angie sings, you’ll understand.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
No answer. Just the back of Gary’s head as he stared at something out the window of his office toward the cobblestoned street. He began to hum a melody. Dan’s skin prickled when he placed the tune.
He felt that same fear now, staring at the stage he’d helped build.
The robed figures up ahead hummed the song in unison.
He wasn’t sure who they were. Only that they were in charge of the construction, had somehow convinced the city it was a good idea. They visited often, checking to make sure everything was going according to plan. They never spoke for long and their faces were usually obscured by their hoods. He’d never seen this many in one place.
They danced and frolicked as they sang. Some of them grunted and growled, the sounds distinctly animal-like. He got the sense, without fully understanding, that they were performing a ritual of some sort. It seemed silly yet it fit perfectly.
He backed away. It didn’t matter that he’d been called in. The foreman could go fuck himself if he thought Dan was going to stick around for whatever this was. The prick could keep his money so long as Dan didn’t have to spend another day near that monstrosity.
For it seemed more like a living, breathing thing now. Not a stage but an entity. He didn’t like where his thoughts were headed. Didn’t like the way his gut screamed for him to get the hell out of there. He was inclined to agree.
Except when he turned around, there was a shadow blocking the way.
One of the robed figures had broken away from the group.
Or perhaps they’d been there the entire time. Watching. Waiting.
Humming.
“What took so long?” The voice was calm and calculated yet there was anger beneath its words.
“I came as soon as I could,” he lied.
“I find that hard to believe.”
Behind the figure, Dan’s truck called to him, a beacon of hope in a world of darkness. “You want to tell me what this is all about?”
The figure stepped forward. Its face was hidden.
It? When had it become it?
“May I remind you of the non-disclosure clause you signed when agreeing to this project?”
He nodded. “Sure. I remember it. But don’t you think everyone within walking distance knows about this thing?”
The hood rustled. Whoever (whatever) lay beneath nodded. “Yes, of course. We are not concerned with the stage itself. This is a matter of the plans behind the stage.”
“I haven’t said anything about that to anyone.”
“Are you certain of that?” Another step closer.
He opened his mouth to respond but shut it quickly. He’d been right to keep his voice down at the bar earlier, during his conversation with Josh, but he apparently hadn’t been discreet enough. They’d heard him somehow. No surprise there. They heard everything. “You were listening in on me.”
Another rustle. Another nod.
“That’s illegal.”
“It’s all quite legal. You’d know that if you read the contract. Something tells me you also skipped the section about punishment.”
He swallowed. “I think I skimmed that part.”
“We are allowed to take action as we see fit for any leaks regarding this project.”
“But I barely said anything.”
Another step. Face to face now, though the darkness beneath the hood was still absolute. “You implied something other than a concert, did you not?” He didn’t give Dan the chance to respond. “This is your first and last warning, Mr. Peterson.”
Dan prepared a response, his last bit of bravery. He’d worked construction since he was nineteen, was an asset to the city. If need be, he’d go above all of their robed heads. But his speech never made it out.
The figure pulled down its hood and offered him a clear view of the face that lay beneath. Although face was a strong word. There was a nose and a mouth and there were eyes—piercing green eyes like toxic waste in contaminated rivers—but it wasn’t like any face he’d seen. Not in his waking life, at least. It looked better fit for the endless pit from his nightmare.
He blinked and the creature was just a middle-aged man with deep wrinkles.
“Do we have an understanding, Mr. Peterson?”
He nodded, pissed his pants, and ran to his truck when the figure stepped aside.
He did not bother slowing for the stop sign at the bottom of Gallows Hill, nor at the one on Washington. Did not stop until he was back home and every single light was turned on.
CHAPTER SIX
GOING VIRAL
ESMERALDA RENTED HER SHOP FROM a man named Arnold Goldman. He was short, ancient, and reminded her of the grandfather she’d never had. Both of hers had died years before she was born. Heart attack on her mother’s side, diabetes on her father’s.
And now you’re heading down both roads, she thought as she sipped a large iced coffee (extra cream, extra sugar) and finished her third breakfast burrito.
She wasn’t parked outside Arnold’s home to reminisce about family members. She was here to find out what the hell was going on. Though she didn’t own the property, she operated her business honestly and wasn’t about to bend over while that pop princess signed autographs for her mindless followers.
She’s not just a pop princess.
She’s pure evil.
Esmeralda turned up the heat and turned down the volume of her radio, an ad for a local no-kill shelter urging her to adopt a kitten today. She couldn’t risk hearing a certain song by a certain someone that always seemed to play when she least expected it.
When the lyrics started to creep into her head, she focused her attention on the fourth and final burrito. The cheese had hardened and the bacon was slimy but it calmed her some. Her car was a disaster zone. Discarded soda bottles and crumpled fast food wrappers lined every surface. These were the signs of her declining health. At home, in her refrigerator, was a shelf dedicated to fruits and vegetables. All of them had rotted. She’d bought them weeks ago, during her newest I’m-going-to-lose-weight period, which had lasted precisely one night, when she’d eaten low fat macaroni and cheese to which she’d added a stick of butter for good measure. She was aware of her habits, aware that she was slowly killing herself, but she was also aware that eating made her feel good. McDonald’s was her safe zone, Burger King her therapist’s office. Everyone had their vice.
Eating soothed her worries.
And right now she had worries aplenty.
She stepped outside and made her way up Arnold’s driveway. She’d called several times earlier and was met with a prehistoric answering machine until Arnold finally answered, heard her voice, and hung up immediately.
She knocked on the door loud enough to wake the neighbors. From behind the curtain she could see faint light and movement. Arnold was home and she wasn’t leaving until he gave her an explanation. Finally, after another round of knocking, the knob turned and the door opened.
The man who stood before her looked less like a grandfather and more like a corpse. Arnold Goldman had seen better days. His eyes were dark circles and it was evident he hadn’t slept in a long time. His dentures were as uneven as his glasses. “Esmeralda. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I called you five times.”
“I’ve been busy.”
She covered a belch with her hand, blew the breakfast fumes out through her nose. “We need to talk.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“I’m afraid it can’t. It’s about the shop.”
“What about it?” He tried to close the door but she placed her foot in the way.
“What about it? You let Angie set up a signing without so much as asking me. I ought to tear you a new one. In fact, I’m not sure that’s even legal. I should get a lawyer.”
He shook his head, sighed. “It won’t matter.”
“Oh, it’ll matter when I sue your ass.”
“No, I mean even if you win, it won’t matter. In the end, none of this will matter.”
She raised an eyebrow. The longer she looked at Arnold, the more she suspected he wasn’t just exhausted. Perhaps the man had finally lost his mind, old age sabotaging his brain cells. “You want to tell me what you’re talking about?”
He stuck his head from the crack in the door, looked around the neighborhood as if they were being watched. Come to think of it, that’s exactly how it felt. Esmeralda sensed someone nearby, unseen eyes peering at the two of them in the early morning. Suddenly the world was too quiet. She coughed. Not to clear her throat but to break the silence.
A Voice So Soft Page 5