Relic

by Gretchen McNeil

  I’ve been half expecting to see Jack’s boat coming out of the darkness at me, but I never saw so much as a ripple of water during my hour-long ride. It’s silent out here, except for the sound of the outboard motor, as if every living thing around the lake is hiding.

  I cut the engine as I approach the mine, allowing it to coast to shore. Jack’s boat is on the rocks nearby, but there’s no sign of him. My tears have dried on my cheeks, and though I still feel as if I’ve been punched in the stomach, I am determined to do what needs to be done. I have to kill Jack and that thing inside him before he feeds again.

  Him or you.

  I grip my dad’s gun tightly in my right hand, keeping my arm slack by my side, in case Jack’s watching my approach. No, not Jack. The Anamet. The boy I love is gone.

  I kept my eyes on the lake, away from the body which lies before me in the bow. I tried to move her, but I couldn’t get Frankie out of the boat without capsizing us both, and so I held my breath, closed her eyes, and piloted us both across the lake.

  My hand trembles as it guides the rudder, and I’m suddenly thankful that it’s nighttime. The Anamet won’t be able to see that I’m afraid, won’t know I’m not even sure I can pull the trigger, even if it means saving my life, and the lives of so many more innocent people. Jack may be dead, for all intents and purposes, but my love for him is not.

  I wait until I feel the bottom of the boat drag against the rocky beach, then I leap into the shallow water and make a run for the base of the hill. I crouch against the bare rocks, still radiating warmth from the summer sun, and listen.

  I’m not sure what I expect to hear: evil cackling, crunching footsteps, taunting shouts. I’m certainly not expecting the dead silence.

  He’s in the mine.

  My stomach sinks. The hill where one eats oneself. I’ll have to follow him into the mine, where the rock seemed to be alive, a malevolent spirit working in conjunction with the creature it harbors. My odds of getting out alive, let alone taking Jack out of commission, are slim to none.

  You never know.

  Well, I can’t do nothing. I can’t let him go.

  Suddenly, I remember the halite. I can rebuild the halite wall, trapping Jack in the mine.

  I grip the gun tightly in my hand and start up the path. It’s the only way.

  The entrance to Bull Valley Mine is deserted. It’s dark here, the hillside casting a deep shadow across the plateau, and from where I sit crouched behind a boulder, I see no movement at all.

  I scan the area, looking for any evidence that Jack has been here, when my eye is drawn to something on the ground. It looks like an arm, outstretched, reaching for me from the shadows. As my eyes adjust to the muted light, I can see that the arm is attached to a body, lying prone on the ground in front of the mine’s entrance. Only it, like everything else up here, doesn’t move at all.

  I pull the Baby Desert Eagle from the back of my waistband, cupping the base with my left hand to steady my aim, as I emerge from behind the boulder and inch closer to the body, finger on the trigger, making sure to stay out of arm’s reach.

  I’m ten feet away before I realize it’s Jack.

  His Mohawk is plastered to his skull instead of the usual two inches of spiky hair, and his face is turned away from me, toward the mine. There’s a large tote bag by his side, unzipped, though the contents are hidden in shadow, and a few feet away, right in front of the mine, is a pile of halite. It sparkles in the moonlight, the bluish hue morphing the pink stones to a lovely shade of lavender, like something out of a cartoon.

  He’s dead.

  “No,” I say out loud to the voice in my head. He can’t be. Jack is the killer.

  He’s dead.

  I ignore the voice in my head and keep my aim steady, despite the pounding of my heart. “He’s not dead,” I say out loud. “He’s just playing possum. Aren’t you, Jack?”

  No response, not that I expect one.

  “I’m going to count to ten, then I start shooting, Jack.” My confidence wavers. Jack has to be the killer. There’s no one left. “Should I even call you ‘Jack’?” I begin to babble nervously. Why isn’t he moving? Why is he just lying there? “Is Jack in there anymore? Or is he completely gone and it’s just . . .” My voice trails off as my eyes catch sight of movement. From beneath Jack’s body, a small pool of liquid is oozing toward me, a dark, viscous blob doubling in size every few seconds as it’s pulled down the hill by the force of gravity. It seems alien, with a mind of its own, and yet I know it’s blood. Jack’s blood.

  “Oh my God.”

  It can’t be.

  It is.

  “Jack!” I race to him, dropping the gun as I grab his shoulders and turn his body toward me. The first thing I notice is that his eyes are open; their brightness infuses me with a glimmer of hope that he’s still alive. But then I see the dark spot dead center on his forehead. A bullet hole. Even in my shock, I can appreciate the expert marksmanship of the kill shot.

  I pull his body toward me, and his lifeless head lolls heavily to the side as if he’s barely connected to the rest of his body. In an instant, I can see why.

  The front of his throat has been ripped clean away.

  I can see the articulated bones of his spine, exposed by the muscle and tissue that’s been eaten from his neck. Not merely ripped away—it looks as if there are teeth marks in the flesh, as if his throat had been eaten. Trachea, vocal cords, and thyroid gone. A spurt of blood fills the gaping hole, almost black against the lighter bones and cartilage, then spills out into my lap. Another pump of blood, weaker this time. Phantom, in a way, because Jack’s already gone. His brain is dead, his eyes unseeing, and body already stiffening.

  “H-how?” I manage, putting voice to the only question in my mind. How is Jack dead? He had to be the killer. There’s no one left. “Who did this?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  The voice comes from close behind. I push Jack from my lap and scramble to my feet, spinning around toward the entrance to the mine. I see the vague outline of a body, lighter than the darkness surrounding him. “Who’s there?” I glance furtively at the ground, looking for the gun.

  Instead of answering, a figure steps out of the shadows and into the moonlight.

  Deputy Flynn.

  FORTY-ONE

  “I DON’T UNDERSTAND,” I SAY, STARING INTO FLYNN’S BRIGHT eyes, burning like blue embers in the darkness. “How—”

  “You know how.”

  Flynn is the Anamet. I’m so angry at myself for trusting him, especially when I was so willing to believe that my own father was a murderer. “It was you all along.”

  He doesn’t respond, but stands still at the entrance to the mine, smiling at me.

  I still have a chance. My eyes shift to the ground, where I catch the glint of metal from the gun about six feet away. If I can reach it, I can probably empty the magazine into Flynn’s chest before he even knows what I’m doing, then run for the boat.

  Without breaking eye contact, I shuffle my feet, inching closer to the handgun. “S-so now what are you going to do?” I stutter.

  He cocks his head to the side, confused. “Do?”

  “They’ll find you, you know. My dad won’t rest until he hunts down his daughter’s killer.”

  “Kill you?” Then instead of pouncing on me, Flynn plants his hands on his hips and laughs, deep and hearty, like he’s just heard the most hilarious joke in the world. “Annie, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  I’m so close to the gun now. “Yeah, right. Like you didn’t hurt Jack?”

  He looks down at Jack and shakes his head. “I didn’t kill him.”

  I freeze, the gun forgotten as I gaze at the gory, lifeless body of my boyfriend. “Liar!” Rage pulses through me. How dare Flynn stand there over his victim and proclaim his innocence. “You killed them all. You’re a monster.”

  Flynn clicks his tongue. “Don’t resort to name-calling. It isn’t nice.”

  I lunge
for the gun, snatching it from the dirt, then spring to my feet and aim the barrel at his chest. “I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch.”

  Instead of begging for his life or making a run for it, Flynn steps toward me, slowly, steadily, until the muzzle of the gun is pressed into his chest. I want to squeeze the trigger. I want to see the life ebb from his body in the same way that he drained it from my friends. I want him to suffer. I want him to die. But while my brain is screaming for my fingers to work, instead of firing the gun, I lower my arms.

  “You can’t kill me.” Flynn reaches out and cups my cheek in his hand. I feel a thrill race through me, the same sensation elicited by Jack’s touch, and instead of flinching from it, I move closer to Flynn, my body drawn to him even while my brain is screaming for me to run away, until our bodies are practically touching.

  I want to run, want to get as far away from him as possible, and yet my body won’t listen to me. “What’s happening?”

  Flynn smiles. I can see his face clearly now, and instead of a murderous gleam in his eyes, a sinister snarl on his lips, I see longing in his eyes, and as he bends his lips to mine, I arch my back for his kiss.

  Instead, his presses his lips to my ear.

  “Annie,” he whispers. “I think it’s time for you to remember.”

  She lies in the mineshaft, unmoving as if asleep. I recognize her from the beach, the redhead with the intelligent eyes. She offered to help Benjamin Cooper, offered herself to me without even knowing it. Now she is here, in my home. Finally, a female. It’s been so long.

  Her mouth opens, inviting me inside, and a shiver runs through me. Soon, we shall be one. Her memories, my memories. Her desires, my desires. I bend to her lips. It is time.

  I arrive back at the boat before anyone else and quickly cut the radio wires with a knife from the galley. I quickly retrace my steps and find a concealed spot in the forest to hide until more of them have returned. Sonya, of course, will insist on calling this in to the Lake Patrol, and we definitely don’t need old Deputy Weller clued in. He’s already suspicious. We must take care of that soon.

  I wait until my dad is passed out before I take his keys and race up to Deputy Weller’s house. It’s well after midnight when I arrive, but all the lights are on in his cabin and one of the doors is unlocked. I pause as I cross the threshold, something stinging at my skin. Salt. Weller is trying to protect himself. But it’s too early for that. I am not strong enough yet, and the girl can still tolerate the effects.

  Weller is at his desk, reading his precious scrapbook. I’ll leave it for her to find, for her to learn. It will be in safe hands then.

  Weller was foolish to think he could contain me. He never even sees me coming.

  He’ll never see anything again.

  Greer answers the door with a smile. She’s confused why I’m here, but she invites me in.

  “Is everything okay?” she asks. “You look pale.”

  “Can we talk?”

  She shrugs and walks down the hall toward her room, and I follow, my heart racing. I can smell her blood, see the veins throbbing on the side of her neck as it flows from her heart up to her brain. The pounding in my head intensifies as saliva fills my mouth. I’m ravenous, desperate to taste the soft tissue. Greer opens the door to her room, and as I step inside, I catch sight of a heavy metal box on her dresser.

  “What’s up, Annie?” Greer says. “Is it about—”

  Before she can finish, I snatch the jewelry box and swing at the back of her head with all of my strength. I hear her skull crack, then her body falls limply onto the carpet. I descend upon her, swinging again with the box, using the corner as I try to dig through the bone.

  A door opens. Her mother is home. I must leave. I stare longingly at her bloodied skull while I climb out the bedroom window. I’m so hungry.

  The college students are together in the apartment. I recognize them immediately: my saviors. I watched from the shadows while they moved the halite bricks that formed my prison. I wish I could thank them for my freedom, but no one must speak of the mine. No one must know.

  Two shots to the head, quick and lethal. I drag them to the elevator and down to the Dumpster. I dip my finger in the girl’s wound and lap the blood greedily. My stomach growls. I must get back before I am missed, but perhaps I have time for just a taste.

  My head aches as I climb the stairs to Graham’s room. I’ve taken half a bottle of Advil, but the thumping in my skull won’t go away. I have to feed. It’s as if my brain is trying to escape the confines of my body, slowly boring a hole in my skull like a woodpecker searching for bugs in the trunk of a tree.

  “Hey,” Graham says as I enter through the unlocked door. “You didn’t have to come all the way over here. I could have told you on the phone. . . .” He pauses as I stand in front of him, the easy smile vanishing from his lips. “Are you okay, Annie? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

  “I’m fine,” I manage. But I’m not. I’m anything but. As I reach back into the waistband of my shorts for my dad’s gun, I spy a black object on the table next to Graham.

  “Shotgun,” he says nervously, picking up the firearm. “I felt like I needed protection after all that’s happened.”

  I leave my gun where it is. This will be easier than I thought. “God, I love a man who knows how to use a gun,” I say, my voice breathy as I saunter toward him.

  “Huh?” He’s confused by my demeanor, but as I rest one hand on the arm of his chair and lean close to him, I see his eyes trail down to my chest as his breaths come faster.

  It’s over in an instant. The gun is still in his hand, and I have the barrel in his mouth before he even knows what’s happening. He flails his arms, trying to stop me, and hits me hard on the back of my neck. Hard enough to leave a mark but not hard enough to stop me. I pull the trigger, and his body falls.

  I fight the urge to rip his cranial bones apart at their fused seams and bury my face in doughy softness of his brain tissue. But I can’t take it all. Then someone will know.

  I take enough to ease the hunger, relishing the fatty brain tissue as I roll it over my tongue, but my stomach still growls as I stand up to leave.

  I snap Rob’s neck while Terrence sits beside him. It takes him several seconds to process the fact that I’ve just murdered our friend, and by the time he manages to fumble open the door, I’ve already slid across the hood of the car. He’s fast, but I have a head start. I tackle him on the front lawn of the neighbor’s house.

  He claws at the grass, desperate to escape, but my arm is around his neck, squeezing. He tries to roll over, to pry my arm away from his throat. But I’m too strong for him. I’ve never felt this strong in my entire life. I can do anything. I can kill anything. No one can stop me.

  It takes longer than I expect for Terrence to stop thrashing in my arms, and even then I squeeze tighter and slowly count to ten, just to make sure he’s really dead, then I let his body fall limp on the wet grass. I spot a hose in the yard, coiled up against the house, and I peel off my clothes. I feed with abandon now, knowing I can clean up after. No one will know.

  I stand up, deciding between the two of them. Inside, my stomach gurgles, begging for sustenance, replenishment. Then my body is racked by a cough, deep and painful, as if I’m being stabbed in the lungs by a thousand knives. My gaze returns to Terrence, the cross-country runner, and I know where my feeding will begin.

  I grab the saltshaker from the cupboard and carefully dump its contents down the drain without getting so much as a crystal on me. Then I pull down a bag of sugar and hastily refill the shaker. Sonya thinks she’s so smart, thinks she can trap me. But I’m smarter.

  Sonya stares at me, her eyes wide, her body tense. The room practically vibrates with her fear, and I realize that she knows. They all know. That’s why my dad put me on lockdown, changed the code on the safe. That’s why Jack pretended he was getting back together with Frankie. They know it’s been me. My father found the clothes I s
tashed in the hamper. Found the rounds missing from the gun. He’s told them all.

  I smile at Sonya, trying to look as innocent and nonthreatening as possible. I don’t want her to be afraid.

  But, of course, no one can know. And besides, the throbbing is back. The taste of Graham’s brain only staved off the hunger.

  “I promise,” I say, cutting off her escape route. “This will hurt me more than it hurts you.”

  Frankie and Jack are too busy getting the boat ready to notice that I’ve snuck up behind them.

  “Did we bring enough dynamite?” Jack asks. He sits in the stern, fiddling with the outboard motor.

  “More than enough,” Frankie says. She climbs out of the boat onto the dock. “Once we get the halite out of the mine, we’ll collapse the entrance shaft.”

  “I can’t believe it’s inside Annie.”

  “You knew, didn’t you. Even before her dad called.”

  Jack nods. “The night Graham died she said he texted her just half an hour before, but I saw her phone. His texts came in two hours earlier.”

  “Which gave her plenty of time to kill him.”

  Jack sighs and his eyes fill with tears.

  “The halite might force it out of her, Jack,” Frankie says. “Then if it can’t get back into the mine, hopefully it will die.”

  “Okay.” Jack wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Let’s do it.”

  In the shadow of the hillside, I slip into the water, oblivious to its cold, and ease my way down the boat launch.

  Frankie’s right above me, untying the ropes from their moorings. So close. She doesn’t even see me coming.

  “Annie,” Jack cries. “Annie, I know you can hear me. Know that you’re still inside. I need you to fight what’s happening to you.”

  His arms are crossed over his chest, hugging something to his body. I can see the glimmering in the moonlight. Halite.