Where Stars Won't Shine

by Patrick Lacey

  I’ll be seeing you.

  But where?

  TWELVE

  MARIAH LONGWOOD GROANED. “What do you mean she’s not missing?”

  The voice on the other end of the phone sounded comatose. She imagined the woman as fat as could be, feet up on her desk and attempting a crossword puzzle. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but a person can’t be considered missing unless twenty-four hours have passed. And you said it’s been, what, less than twelve?”

  She tried to do the math but her mind spun in every direction. “I guess about that. But like I told you, she went to Marlowe, Massachusetts.”

  “What’s your point, ma’am?”

  “My point is her boyfriend was murdered by the sicko that came from there. The same sicko that went back there and killed hundreds of people.”

  “You mean Tucker Ashton.”

  Mariah rolled her eyes. “Yes, that’s exactly who I mean.”

  “But he’s dead.”

  She pressed the crown of her nose and bit her lip against the oncoming migraine. She could feel it behind her eyes, shooting white-hot pain into her temples. She’d been having them more and more lately, as Ivy’s symptoms worsened. And now that she was missing, the pain would not let up. It stayed with her everywhere she went. It was, she supposed, a lot like her sister’s invisible blood.

  “Are you still there? I said he’s dead.”

  “I heard you the first time but who says he’s dead? It’s not confirmed. In fact, why does everyone insist he’s dead at all? He disappeared. They never found a body. Just because he hasn’t killed in a while doesn’t mean he won’t start up again.”

  A pause on the other line. She could practically see the woman holding in a laugh, pressing a flabby hand to her flabby stomach to keep the giggle at bay. “Look, I’m sorry about your sister. I know this is stressful but she’s probably just avoiding you. That’s what sisters do, right? If she’s still missing tomorrow night, we’ll put out an alert. Until then, there’s nothing we can do.”

  Mariah gritted her teeth. The headache worsened. She imagined it materializing into something tall and skeletal, something Tucker Ashton-like that grabbed the nearest chef’s knife and stabbed it into her skull. At least then, maybe some of the pressure would be released.

  The woman cleared her throat. For a moment, Mariah had forgotten she was still on the phone. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

  “No. As a matter of fact, you haven’t been the least bit helpful. Have a great fucking day.” She ended the call and checked for missed texts or messages. There was nothing. She reviewed her last twenty texts to her sister, all of them desperate. The same went for her calls, which went straight to Ivy’s voicemail.

  Mariah had warned her about that place. She knew it wasn’t haunted. It was nothing so simple as ghosts or ghouls that threatened her sister. The reality was far more complicated and troublesome. Because killers did exist. As did depression. As did the word that kept swimming through Mariah’s mind, floating to the surface of her migraine every so often just to remind her of its presence.

  Suicide.

  She hadn’t thought Ivy capable of such a thing. Not even after Scott …

  She shook her head and recalled the days following his murder, how Ivy grew catatonic, staring at walls for hours. Only eating when food was forced in front of her. Drinking nothing but coffee and not bothering to hide her smoking. Mariah begged her to cry, let loose, scream at the sky if need be. Her sister had remained a statue through it all, holding back all emotions until one day, Mariah assumed, they would get the best of her.

  What if they finally did get the best of her? What if she checked into Hotel Marlowe, downed a bottle of sleeping pills, and went to bed forever?

  She shook away the thought. She was almost certain it wasn’t the case.

  Almost being the key word.

  For the rest of the afternoon she kept busy with chores. She swept the floors despite them being clean enough to lick. She sprayed and wiped every window in the house. She searched for invisible dust bunnies. Mariah was pushing thirty-five, had no romance in her life unless you counted the occasional one-night stand, always at the man’s house and never here with Ivy one room away. Though she wanted to get married, the right guy hadn’t come along and it was looking more and more likely the right guy didn’t exist.

  Though she’d never admit it aloud, she’d been jealous of her sister and Scott. What they had—it was the stuff of romantic comedies. There didn’t seem to be any issues between the two. She wanted that. Someone to hold and kiss and laugh. Someone to help push back the loneliness.

  Which is why she’d been more affected than she cared to admit by Scott’s death. On account of the half dozen times they’d slept together.

  Which is why, even after two years had passed, despite her sister’s troubling behavior, she still resented Ivy. In some weird way, she even blamed her.

  She’d never told Ivy about her and Scott’s time together. It had happened early on in their relationship. They’d been seeing each other for only a few weeks. Scott was due at Ivy’s old apartment but it was Mariah who opened the door and welcomed him in, told him Ivy would be right out of the shower.

  Over the next several weeks they spent precisely six sweaty nights panting in a motel until he broke it off. They made a promise never to speak of their act aloud.

  There you had it. Even when everything seemed perfect on the surface, there was always something close by to ruin the façade.

  In this case, it hadn’t even been the infidelity.

  It had been a madman with a knife and a fan base.

  She moved onto Ivy’s room, the messiest of the house. Here, the dust was visible. It covered everything. She swept and mopped and gagged when she spotted the sheets. They were yellowed and hardened with some mystery stain. The closer she got, the more she suspected it was sweat, as if they hadn’t been washed since …

  Since Scott.

  She stripped the bed and dragged the sheets across the hall, tossed them into the washing machine. As she made to turn it on, her headache protested. The pain grew exponentially. She slid to the floor and cried for a long time. She wiped her nose, rubbed her temples, and came to a conclusion.

  Ivy had run into trouble, whatever that might mean, and Mariah didn’t intend on sitting back. Not with equal doses of worry and guilt weighing her down, pushing her mind to the point of no return.

  If the cops wouldn’t help, Mariah would.

  THIRTEEN

  “SMOKE?” IVY HANDED Ethan a pack of Marlboros that had been full thirty minutes prior. Now it was more than half empty.

  He shook his head. “No, thanks. I quit last year.”

  She nodded, stared through the windshield at the impossible crack in the ground. “Me too.”

  They hadn’t spoken much since learning they wouldn’t be leaving Marlowe tonight. On account of there being no way out. The old man from earlier, the one from the convenience store, had stared in their direction. He had to have seen them. Except he hadn’t.

  Which meant one of two things.

  Either the three individuals sitting in the idling PT Cruiser had lost their minds or everything was real. Ethan begged for the first theory to be true but his gut told him otherwise. “We need food.”

  Ivy inhaled, held the smoke, exhaled. He coughed but she didn’t offer to roll down the window. He didn’t blame her. It felt almost safe inside the car. “Eating isn’t exactly my top priority right now.”

  “I understand but when was the last time you ate anything? We’re running on booze and adrenaline. Both will start to wear off soon.”

  “What did you have in mind? Is there a four-star restaurant in town? Maybe we could share some steaks with a serial killer and his biggest fan.”

  He winced. Hearing it spoken aloud was enough to bring his nerves back to life. Enough to remind him the second theory truly was the right one. “There’s a diner back the way we came. We don’t e
ven have to take Main Street. I know a shortcut.”

  “How convenient.” More smoke, less emotion. There’d been a change in her over the short time they’d known each other. She’d hardened up, perhaps her way of coping with the nightmare they’d been thrust into.

  Thrust? You came here willingly, didn’t you?

  But that wasn’t exactly the truth. He’d robbed a pharmacy willingly but he’d planned on dropping the pills off in Revere, not Marlowe. He’d been tricked by forces that were very much out of his control. He was called back here, whether by Tucker or something else. He thought of the bag of stolen meds, still sitting in his hotel room. Were they in the same spot on the floor or had something moved them? And if so, what did that something look like? Was it tall and frail or short and shriveled? Was it Tucker or something worse?

  Nothing is worse.

  He scanned the dark trees, sensing that something scanned back. “We should go. Once we’re thinking straight, we can come up with a plan.”

  Ivy studied the road. He wondered if she saw something he didn’t. “You direct. Once we’re there, once we’ve filled our little bellies, no more lying. Deal?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can cut the bullshit. I have a feeling there wasn’t trash in that bag. I believe you’re from here, that you knew him, but there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “Fair enough. But that goes for you too. I want to know why the hell you’d come to this place.”

  She tossed her butt out the window, the ember glowing in the thick darkness. “Sure. I’ve got to warn you, though. It’s going to sound crazy.”

  “Try me.”

  Ivy swerved to miss a pothole. “Your streets suck here.”

  “They used to be better.” Ethan thought back to when Marlowe wasn’t such a bad place, when it had been somewhat of a home. It was hard to remember such days.

  “I thought you said this place was nearby?”

  “It’s only another minute or so. It would’ve been quicker through downtown but I don’t like the idea of passing the hotel again.” He pointed to River Road. “Turn here and follow the water.”

  The road was covered in shadows, the headlights not offering much illumination. The darkness was solid somehow, more like sludge than air. On the left he spotted the river. It was dark but he swore the water looked unnatural, red like blood. It could’ve been his nerves but it was probably closer to the truth.

  He looked into the sky again and was not surprised to find it void of any light. He cleared his throat, tried to sound less scared than he felt. “There aren’t any stars.”

  “What?”

  “In the sky, I mean. Did you notice that? It’s just … pure blackness.”

  She looked through the window, nodded slowly. “I guess you’re right. Doesn’t seem possible, does it?”

  “Nothing about this place is possible.” He turned his head back to the road and grabbed the wheel when he saw the object blocking the way. “Watch out!”

  She followed his line of sight and slammed onto the brakes. For the second time that night, they narrowly avoided a collision. She tried to catch her breath and pointed. “What the hell is that thing?”

  “It’s my car.”

  “What?”

  He stepped out of the Cruiser without answering, walked toward the ruined vehicle he’d slid into the river earlier. Now it was back in the road and looked as if it had aged a hundred years. The metal was rusted and crushed beyond repair. Some of the dents resembled teeth marks. Every window had been shattered, the upholstery shredded.

  “What the hell happened to it?” Ivy said from behind.

  “I tossed it into the water earlier.”

  “So no one would find it.” It wasn’t a question. “Does this have something to do with your mystery bag?”

  He nodded, tried to tell himself it wasn’t the same car, but as he stepped closer he was certain of two things.

  One: it was the same car. The vanity license plate remained unharmed, the Red Sox logo looking almost new.

  Two: those were teeth marks and those were claw marks and they were being watched this very moment.

  “We have to go,” he said, backing away. The leaves to their right rustled. Something was close by. He smelled rotten garbage and something vaguely sweet, the scent of things left to rot. “You think you can get around it?”

  “It’ll be a tight fit. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Not until this thing is in the rearview.”

  They sped into the Cruiser, locked the doors. Ivy turned the wheel.

  From the backseat, something moved. Ethan was certain it was the thing hiding behind the trees, the thing that smelled so horrid. A moment later, Amy yawned and stretched and asked where they were going.

  “To eat something and get the hell out of this place.” Ivy pulled onto the shoulder. She’d been right. It was tight but they managed to pass the wreck. The leaves and trees swayed violently as if pushed by a gust of wind that wasn’t there.

  As if the thing moving the trees was frustrated.

  As the Cruiser turned the corner, he spotted something as it stepped onto the road. Something tall and misshapen. Then it was gone, swallowed by the darkness, though it didn’t feel far away.

  In Marlowe, the bad things were never far away.

  FOURTEEN

  “IT’S JUST UP here,” Ethan said a few minutes later.

  Ivy slowed the car. The country road became a bit less rural. There were businesses every few blocks but they’d long since closed their doors. Most of the windows had been boarded up, blocking any view of the interior. The signs and slogans had faded with time. She wondered what they could’ve been. Hardware stores perhaps. Maybe video rental shops that had closed when Blockbuster reigned. Were the video tapes still inside, gathering dust, or had the display room been cleared out, leaving behind only bare walls?

  She was beginning to suspect the latter was true, that everything in this town had gone out of business. “Are you sure about this?”

  He pointed. “Turn here.”

  She pulled into a gravel parking lot. The wheels spun, pebbles shooting in every direction. She imagined the car sinking until they were submerged. Suffocation, she reasoned, was preferable to what she’d already seen tonight.

  The Marlowe Diner, much like every other establishment in town, had seen better days. It resembled a train cart, its shape reminiscent of other such restaurants, but that’s where the resemblance ended. The metal siding was badly dented, not unlike the wreckage back on River Road. The windows weren’t boarded up but they were yellowed beyond return. It made everything on the other side look distorted. She squinted and told herself nothing moved among the booths and bar.

  She parked and cut the engine. “Let’s make it quick.”

  “No,” Amy said from the backseat. “No, no, no. We need to get out of here now.”

  “We will,” Ethan said as he stepped out. “But we can’t do anything until we’ve eaten. Until we’ve come up with a plan.”

  Amy crossed her arms and pouted, child-like. It was, Ivy supposed, something she did often back home. Zeke had probably spoiled her, and in return, she’d given him her undying allegiance. That is, until he’d brought her to a town where bartenders walked around with axes sticking from their spines. Which reminded her. “We need a weapon. Something to defend ourselves with in case we’re not the only ones dining tonight.”

  Ethan waved his hands. “I’ve got nothing. We can grab a knife inside. Maybe some pans too.”

  She eyed him, tried to tell if he was lying. “You sure you don’t have a gun on you?”

  “You want to search me?” He turned around and headed for the entrance.

  Ivy waved Amy on. “Stay out here if you want but I wouldn’t. There’s safety in numbers and tonight, we seem to be the only three people with our heads still attached to our shoulders. So to speak.”

  Amy got the message. She nearly tripped
on her way out of the car.

  Ethan reached the door. Ivy expected him to break the glass but instead he turned the knob and it opened with ease. He held it while they entered.

  The diner smelled halfway between mold and sweat, a pile of dirty laundry left out for ages. There were a dozen booths and a rectangular bar faced an open kitchen. She could see knives on the closest counter. “Grab one of those,” she said.

  Ethan nodded and stepped into the kitchen.

  She led Amy to the closest booth but didn’t sit down. “Where are you going?” the girl asked.

  Ivy didn’t answer. She stepped behind the bar, stood on the counter, and leaned into the kitchen. After a few moments of searching, she settled on a large ice pick. It wasn’t the world’s thickest piece of metal but it would do the trick. She slid it into the handles of the front door and tested them. It held but it wouldn’t hold up against something larger than human.

  She sat across from Amy. The two did not speak for a long time. It wasn’t an awkward silence. They’d shared near-death experiences. They were more than strangers now, shared a common bond most others didn’t.

  The smell of something cooking drifted in from the kitchen. The griddle sizzled and she thought she heard a microwave. Her mouth watered. Ethan had been right. Fear caused quite the famish.

  Five minutes passed. The kitchen door opened and Ethan carried three plates toward their booth. He set them down and apologized. “This was the best I could do. Almost everything’s gone bad.”

  Ivy looked at her plate. It wasn’t exactly gourmet but it called to her nonetheless. A pile of corned beef hash, with a side of mixed vegetables.

  Amy shook her head, looked ready to cry.

  “What’s the matter?” Ethan said.