Where Stars Won't Shine

by Patrick Lacey

  She descended slowly, cursing herself for not bringing along a weapon. Surely there was something upstairs, a knife left behind or one of the broken boards. A rusty nail may not have been much but it was something. As it stood, she was totally, utterly unarmed.

  She shook her head. She didn’t intend on fighting anything off. She’d confirm what was down there and get the hell back up, slam the door behind her.

  At the bottom, she slid the neck of her shirt over her mouth and nose. The basement was rancid. Her eyes stung. Her throat constricted.

  And when she saw the thing on the floor, her heart stopped.

  It was the approximate size and shape of a human. It writhed in the mold and dirt, covered in something thick. It reminded her of a life-sized worm, born moments ago. She backed away, her shirt coming down and exposing her mouth. The smell was too much. The fear was too much.

  She spun around and lost her dinner onto the floor. She promised herself not to look again before going back upstairs. Surely this thing, whatever it was, would not hesitate to strike once it got its bearings.

  But she looked anyway, perhaps by reflex, and she was glad she did.

  The thing stopped thrashing. Some of the slime came loose, revealing a face.

  It was not a worm after all.

  It was Ivy and she was very much alive.

  She keeled over, hacked, tried to catch her breath but failed. Mariah had been a lifeguard in her younger years, knew CPR well enough, though she was rusty these days. She did not want to put her mouth near the ooze that covered her sister but would do so without hesitation if need be. She was relieved to hear Ivy catching her breath enough to stand up.

  “Who’s there?” her sister said. Her eyes were plastered shut with slime.

  Mariah didn’t answer at first. She’d never been in shock, had never quite understood the term until that moment.

  Ivy held her fists out, clenching the muscles in her tiny arms. She’d lost weight since leaving home. “Scott? Is that you again? Don’t even think about it. I don’t care what you say. I don’t want to hear it. I’ll tear your fucking eyes out if I have to.”

  Mariah covered her mouth. The tears were sudden and they had nothing to do with the stench in the basement.

  Ivy moved closer, hands in a boxer’s pose. “Tucker? You finally decided to show up? Maybe it wasn’t enough to kill you but I hope it hurt like hell.”

  Mariah managed to clear her throat. She took off her jacket and stepped forward. “It’s me, Sis. It’s me.”

  Ivy froze. “Mariah?”

  She nodded, forgot for a moment her sister couldn’t see her. “Yes. Mariah.”

  Ivy shook her head. “That’s not possible. How did you get here?”

  “I drove down a never-ending road, past a shitty gas station and a bunch of dead trees.”

  “And you didn’t see a big hole in the ground?”

  Mariah tilted her head in confusion. “Not unless you count the potholes. I think I need an alignment thanks to this place.”

  Ivy seemed to consider this. She let her guard down for a moment before recoiling. “How do I know this is real? How do I know you’re not really him?”

  “Who, honey?”

  “You know who. Prove to me you’re not Tucker.”

  Mariah forced back a second wave of tears. Her sister was in rough shape, worse than when she’d set off for Marlowe. Coming here hadn’t brought her any closer to closure. She tossed the jacket. “Wipe your eyes off and take a look at me.”

  She did so quickly, as if Mariah—or whoever she thought Mariah really was—would attack at any moment. She opened her eyes for the first time. Surveyed her surroundings like they were just a façade. “It’s really you?”

  Mariah nodded. Her lip quivered.

  Ivy took another step back. “If it’s really you, prove it. Tell me something only you could know. Something you couldn’t have learned from that book.”

  “What book?”

  “Tell me!”

  Mariah winced at the sound of her sister’s voice, rising to near hysteria. What could she say to prove who she was?

  Now’s your chance, she realized. Now’s your chance to come clean. Tell her about Scott. Tell her how you slept with the love of her life when they first started dating.

  She opened her mouth but stopped herself short. What good could come from a confession down here? She regretted her time with Scott but he’d chosen Ivy in the end. He’d told Mariah their last night together he truly loved her sister. He hadn’t expected things to move so fast, hadn’t met anyone that made him feel like that. Like he was the only person in the world.

  “Your ring,” Mariah finally said.

  Ivy raised her eyebrows. “What about it?”

  Mariah swallowed, cleared her throat. “You found it in Scott’s bureau the day after he died. You didn’t know he was going to propose. You’d been dropping hints left and right but you know how guys can be. A little slow on the uptake. You put it on and haven’t taken it off since. Because you think if you do take it off, then you’ll finally be over him. And no matter how much pain it brings, you never want to be over him.”

  Ivy dropped her pose. She came to Mariah, held her sister tightly. “It is you,” she said over and over, in between sobs. “It is you.”

  Mariah’s mind swam with a thousand questions but she couldn’t bring herself to ask them. Not yet, at least.

  For now, she was satisfied with their embrace.

  They held each other for a long time, crying like infants in the basement where a killer was born. It didn’t seem so terrifying anymore.

  Ethan fell for an eternity.

  As a child, he’d developed an irrational fear of heights. It came from nowhere. He’d been on several family vacations, had flown to Disneyland and Yellowstone without any problems. But one morning he woke up and was certain heights could and would kill him.

  Eventually he’d gotten over the fear. It took a few trips to a therapist’s office and a whole lot of coaxing from his parents. Now, though, as he fell into the never-ending abyss below Marlowe, he realized the fear had never really gone away. It stayed with him, hiding in some deep crevice of his mind, waiting for the opportune moment to rise to the surface again.

  He’d been right to fear falling.

  Because he’d be falling for the rest of his life and then some.

  A deep rumble sounded in the distance. It grew closer. Perhaps some beast had followed him down. Tucker, changing forms once again. Worse than the pile of death and limbs topside. Ethan would beg for blindness but his tormentor would grant no such wish.

  The rumble came closer.

  Closer.

  Until it was inches away from him. Until he opened his eyes and realized he wasn’t falling after all. He’d landed in the middle of what looked like a rural highway.

  An eighteen-wheeler was mere yards away, honking its horn. The driver screamed something silently from behind the windshield. It was much too late for him to swerve.

  Before questioning where the hell he was, Ethan rolled to the left, off the road and down a small embankment. He landed in a pile of leaves. His limbs tingled with pins and needles but he managed to climb back up. The truck had stopped up ahead. The driver, a man with a long, shaggy beard not unlike a wizard, took his hat off and ran for Ethan. “Jesus, mister. Are you okay? I almost turned you into a pancake.”

  Ethan regained his breath enough to speak. “Where the hell are we?”

  The driver looked him over, perhaps pinning him as a drunk or drifter. “You need an ambulance?”

  Ethan rolled his eyes, growing impatient by the second. “Where are we?”

  “Just outside of Marlowe, Massachusetts.” He pointed to the convenience store Ethan hadn’t noticed until now. The same one he’d passed some time ago. He couldn’t remember how long it had been. Then he pointed to something in the opposite direction, just behind Ethan.

  Ethan followed his line of sight and spotted the g
reen road sign. The one that welcomed poor souls to Marlowe. The one that some wiseass graffiti artist had defaced.

  Last stop.

  Only this time, Ethan was on the right side of the words.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  A FEW WEEKS later, after things had settled down some, Ethan agreed to meet Andrew at the Ipswich Sports Bar, the same place where he’d been talked into stealing a certain bag of pills. Andrew had been calling every day. At first he played the family card. He was worried about his brother, he insisted. There was nothing more to it than that. But as time went on, he dropped hints. Insinuations. What it came down to was simple really.

  “Where are they, man?” Andrew looked left and right, as if they were being watched. Fat chance of that. A fight had nearly broken out in the corner, near the slot machine, when someone had mistaken the redhead choosing the next song for their girlfriend. An innocent slap to the ass had quickly turned to a violent situation. Everyone’s attention was drawn that way. No one paid the two brothers any notice.

  Ethan shrugged, looked around. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Andrew nibbled on his thumbnail. It had always been a nervous habit, one that had grown more pronounced with age. And with the nature of his line of work. Which was to say: criminal. “Don’t give me that, okay? Don’t you think I deserve an answer?”

  Ethan drained the rest of his beer. It was his third in the last hour and he’d hoped it would calm him some, dull his nerves enough to get through this conversation.

  The final conversation, he reminded himself. He didn’t plan on speaking with his brother after tonight. This was a last supper of sorts, though Andrew hadn’t gotten the memo.

  “Are you even listening?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Tell me where you hid the pills and we can be done with this. I’ve got guys on my ass over this. They want their money and, quite frankly, so do I. I’m real sorry what happened to you but you got out alive. So do me this one favor, will you? You owe me.”

  Beneath the table, Ethan’s hands turned to fists. “Owe you?”

  Andrew nodded. There was nothing theatrical about the gesture. He truly believed he’d done Ethan a favor, like his life would be better from here on.

  “I was such an idiot to come here in the first place. I should’ve never let you talk me into it.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way. We can still make some money here.”

  Ethan’s fists tightened. “You want the pills? Go get them yourself. They’re on the second floor of the Hotel Marlowe. Room 203. Ask for Tucker Ashton. Tell them I sent you.”

  Andrew slammed his hands onto the table. His eyes grew wide and for the first time Ethan realized how desperate he was. “Cut the shit or I’m in deep shit. I can’t go back to jail. I just can’t.”

  “Not my problem.” Ethan stood. “You call me again, if I hear from my wife or daughter that they heard your voice or saw your face, you’ll be praying for jail.”

  He made to leave but Andrew stood and cut him off.

  The near fight had died down. Several pairs of eyes darted toward them. “Get out of the way,” Ethan said.

  Andrew stepped closer. “Not until you tell me the truth.”

  Ethan wound back quickly. Andrew did not see the punch coming until it collided with his jaw and knocked him onto his ass. He landed on a neighboring table. A half-full glass of something pink and fruity fell onto him. The redhead from the jukebox howled with laughter.

  “That’s the truth,” Ethan said.

  He slammed a twenty-dollar bill onto the table and left without another word.

  “Hey, honey?” Alexis said from inside.

  “Be right in.” Ethan sat on the porch, watching the sun fade into the distance. It had been exactly one month since he came back from Marlowe. It was hard to think of this as anything less than a second chance. He found himself taking in small details more and more. Like the way grass smelled after it had been freshly cut. Or the way his wife’s voice made his heart beat faster.

  “Someone’s on the phone,” she said. “Her name’s Ivy something or other.”

  “Tell her I’ll call her back.” They’d spoken several times since that day, had been questioned countless times by authorities about the disappearance of Amy and Zeke and wanted to get their stories straight. Oddly enough, they hadn’t even been linked together. Not yet, at least. He didn’t mind talking to her about what happened. It even helped sometimes. After all, they’d nearly died together several times. He owed her his life, let alone a few long-winded phone calls. But tonight he didn’t feel like discussing such things. He’d gotten back from his second job a half hour prior. He was tired and sore and he wanted to spend time with his family.

  After a few moments, Alexis stepped outside. “You want to tell me who Ivy is?”

  “She’s one of my clients at the bank,” he lied. “Nice lady but she asks a shit ton of questions. I’ll call her back tomorrow. Chances are, she’ll forget what she was asking in the first place.”

  “A client, huh? You’re sure you’re not cheating on me?”

  He spun around, grabbed her, kissed her. “On you? I’d have to be a nut job.”

  “You are a nut job. My nut job.”

  He breathed in. “I smell lasagna.”

  “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

  “Let’s eat then.”

  As she stepped back inside, Lisa came running out. “Daddy!”

  He kneeled down and hugged her tightly. He did not want to let her go. If he had his way, he’d bring her to work all day long. Would listen to the knock-knock jokes she’d picked up at school and the punch lines she so often got wrong. Eventually she grew antsy, pushed him away, and handed him something. “I made you this. Sorry it took so long. I wanted to get it right.”

  It was nearly impossible to keep his composure when he studied the image. It was a replacement, of course. He’d lost the original back in Marlowe. Somehow that had been the worst. Not seeing so much death and pain. Not coming face to face with a killer he’d once known to be a quiet and troubled child. The worst was losing his little girl’s drawing. The new image was better. She’d been working on her craft and if she kept up, he could see her as an illustrator someday. A famous cartoonist who drew comics that matched her knock-knock jokes.

  “Do you like it?”

  “I love it.”

  Her faced beamed. She pointed to the background, where the dragon had once threatened the kingdom. “Did you notice it’s gone?”

  “I did. How come? Don’t tell me you were chicken.”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Because it is gone. That’s what the doctors told me, remember? They said I’m going to be okay because I’m so tough. They don’t call me Princess Lisa like you but they say I’m brave. I figured the castle could be safe now. It’s a happy ending.”

  He stood and lifted her. “It certainly is. What do you say we eat?”

  She nodded, kissed his cheek, and ran back into the house when he put her down.

  Ethan folded the picture and placed it into his new wallet. He felt more secure when he put it back into his pocket. Like nothing could ever threaten him again. He was back home with his family. His daughter was getting better each day. Things were good.

  But as he heard something step onto his lawn, he remembered threats never really went away. You could fight them off, perhaps win for a while, but they’d always be there. Waiting.

  He was certain something stood in his front yard, though he did not look that way. It was useless. The moment he turned in that direction, he’d see the outline of something tall and skeletal. Then the image would vanish as if it had never been there in the first place.

  He heard a rustling. The sound grew closer.

  He chalked it up to the wind and stepped back inside, closing the door behind him.

  Princess Lisa was waiting.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “ARE YOU SURE about this?” Mariah said as the
y waited for the moving truck. It was running a half hour late and she was certain this was a cosmic sign they should call it off.

  “Positive. What did we say about you repeating yourself?” Ivy looked over the pile of things in the hallway and front lawn. She didn’t have much. In fact, it would’ve been easier to use Mariah’s Jeep. But, Ivy had reasoned, there was something more official about the rental. Like she couldn’t have changed her mind even if she’d wanted to.

  “And what did we say about you lying to me?” Mariah folded her arms in the hallway.

  Ivy finally stopped. “I believe you asked me that already. A thousand times, if I remember correctly.”

  “You don’t have to do this. You can stay here as long as you like.”

  Ivy grabbed her sister’s shoulders and squeezed. “I know I can. And I appreciate it. It’s just time, you know?”

  Mariah nodded. “I know.” She was surprised at how badly she wanted to cry. Her lip began to tremble. She turned away. She’d always appeared to be the braver of the two but after whatever had happened in that godforsaken town, it was obvious she no longer held that title.

  She poured a cup of coffee in the kitchen and offered one to her sister.

  Ivy shook her head.

  “Are you sure? It’s going to be a long day.”

  “You wanted me to tell you the truth, right?”

  Mariah stopped her mug halfway to sipping it. She thought for a moment Ivy had changed her mind. She was going to stay behind. The house, much too big for one person, wouldn’t become so lonely. Her sister’s quiet, nightly sobbing, though stressful, was much more preferable to no sound at all.

  Tell her. She deserves to know.

  She shook her head as if she’d spoken the words aloud. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  “Your coffee sucks.”

  Mariah’s eyes widened. “What?”

  Ivy nodded. “That’s right. I’ve never liked it. Tastes like motor oil with a bit of shit mixed in. Whenever you weren’t looking, I’d toss it, get my own somewhere else—anywhere—so long as it wasn’t that crap.”