He poked his head out of the bedroom and checked Carol’s room at the end of the hall. He didn’t want any surprise encounters on the way to the bathroom. Morning, Carol. Oh, this? Just the condom I used on your daughter last night. All about safe sex, me. Fortunately, the coast was clear—Carol’s door was closed. He hurried to the bathroom, shut and locked the door behind him, and was about to flush the thing when he noticed something unusual. There was barely any semen in the condom. A drop, if that.
Did I shoot a blank? Or nearly a blank? How is that possible? I haven’t come in days. He dropped the condom into the toilet where it floated pathetically on the surface. One second, yeah; the next, yuck.
Ryan flushed the toilet and watched the condom spiral
(spirals…)
in the bowl. He stood transfixed on the spiraling pool of water, unable to look away. When he did, his head began to throb. His previously forgotten nightmare now coming back to him in fragmented pulses of light, the flashes hammering the nerve endings behind his eyes, even when he shut them tight.
And then it was gone. Quiet in the bathroom now. Only the sound of the toilet’s tank filling back up.
What the hell is wrong with me?
And this brought forth the original question. The used condom. Its lack of…content. What was wrong with him? Why had he failed to produce anything substantial? He sure as hell climaxed—of that he was certain.
Had it dried up overnight? No. With no great pride in recall, this was not the first time Ryan had tossed a condom aside to be picked up and discarded the morning after. He remembered no shortage of semen those times.
Had he…oh God, had he spilled some on the rug when he so carelessly dropped it to the floor?
Ryan hurried back to the bedroom. Returned immediately to the spot where he had found the condom. He noticed no whitish spot on her dark rug. Still, he began nonchalantly dabbing his foot around the area, looking for any section of rug that might be…crusty? All class, dude. You’re all class.
Rebecca, who was getting dressed, spotted his try at casual foot archeology.
“What are you doing?”
Finding nothing of note, Ryan looked up and forced a smile. “Nothing,” he said, a little too quickly.
“Did you flush your little friend?”
“He is no more.”
She smiled back and finished dressing. A pair of shorts and a tee. Blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was beautiful. First thing in the morning, no less.
He approached her. “How do you feel about morning-breath kisses?”
“I can deal with yours if you can deal with mine.”
They kissed.
“Not too bad,” she said. “How was I?”
“I held my breath.”
She laughed and slapped his still bare chest.
“I better get dressed,” he said, and began performing a new type of archeology: morning-after dress clothes archeology, typically followed by the ever popular walk of shame home. Only there was no shame here. No way. He would be proudly taking that walk home.
“How are you feeling?” she asked as he dressed.
“Sad,” he replied.
“That’s understandable. But I was kind of referring to your dream.”
Ryan did not mention the incident just now in the bathroom. The incident last night when he’d gone into the bathroom to splash water on his face, only to stare at Carol’s bedroom door and consider her a possible culprit in all this insanity.
“I’m okay,” he lied. “It was just one hell of a nightmare.”
“Do you remember any of it?”
“Not really.” Two lies now. This relationship is off to a lovely start.
“Good. It’s probably better that you don’t. You seemed really upset.”
Dressed now, he waved a dismissive hand at her. “I’m fine. The events preceding the dream more than compensate.” He winked at her.
She grinned. “You know, today is our last day of freedom.”
He nodded. Tomorrow was Labor Day. The kids officially arrived the day after. If they wanted one last hurrah before their worlds became chaos, it should be tonight.
“What were you thinking?” he asked.
“A repeat of last night works for me,” she said with another sexy little grin.
Ryan knew exactly what she meant, but his smile dropped before he could help it. He thought of Trish.
Rebecca immediately went to him. “Oh God—that came out so wrong. You know I didn’t mean—”
He cut her off with a hug. “Stop,” he said. “I know exactly what you meant. It’s okay. Yes—I would love a repeat of last night, all things considered.”
She sighed in relief and hugged him tight. “If you want time to mourn…” she said into his shoulder.
He thought of Trish. Her joining the devil on his shoulder, insisting that he not pass up another chance to get laid on her account. His heart both swelled and ached.
Ryan held Rebecca back at arm’s length. “I’m fine,” he said. “So, just a repeat of last night? No dinner or a movie beforehand? Just right to sex?”
She laughed and sighed with more relief. Then: “I’m thinking sex, dinner, movie, and then more sex. Thoughts?”
“I’m thinking I’m very lucky it was my shoe you chose to spit gum on that day.”
36
Ryan had driven only a few minutes before he had to pull over and throw up. The sickness he felt was not unlike the aftermath of a dizzying ride at the amusement park. One that spirals and spirals and spirals…
He puked again, his head hanging out the driver’s side door.
Something is…something is very wrong with me.
***
Cynthia Herb met her son at the front door. He’d called ahead to say he was on his way home. He’d also said he was very sick.
She was ready at the door with all things mother and registered nurse. Ryan wanted none of them. He pushed past her, muttering, “I just need to lay down,” and stumbled down the basement stairs towards his bedroom.
She followed close behind. Took his temperature the moment he flopped onto his bed fully clothed and passed out. Curiously, he had no fever, yet his complexion was pallid, and he was sweating profusely. She wondered whether he’d drank too much the night before and failed to mention it. His symptoms were typical of that of a major hangover, and considering he had just come from a funeral, one for someone Cynthia knew her son cared deeply about, imbibing heavily afterwards wouldn’t have been unheard of.
She brought him a cool cloth for his head and fixed the fan on his nightstand to stay directly on him as opposed to letting it oscillate, as usual. She then placed a trash can next to his bed, just in case, before retiring back upstairs.
A deep sleep took hold of Ryan. Even the incessant vibrating of his cell phone on the pillow next to him—Rebecca calling—failed to wake him.
37
“Should I call his house, you think?” Rebecca asked her mother. “The landline?”
“He’s still not answering his cell?” Carol replied.
“No.” A look at the clock on her cell. “It’s after nine.”
Carol gave her daughter a look.
Rebecca batted it away instantly with an adamant shake of the head. “No. No, no, no. He wouldn’t do that. You know I’m the queen of pessimism, Mom, but even I’m sure he wouldn’t do that.”
Carol showed her daughter her palms. “Okay…okay…”
“I think something’s wrong. I don’t think he was feeling well when he left.”
“Maybe he’s asleep then. If he’s not feeling well…”
Rebecca nodded. “Yeah. I am going to try his landline.”
Cynthia Herb answered on the second ring. She and Rebecca exchanged brief pleasantries before Rebecca got to the point.
“I tried his cell a bunch of times, but he never answered.”
“He’s probably still asleep,” Cynthia said. “He wasn’t feeling well when he got home.
He went right to bed.”
“Would you mind checking on him?” Rebecca asked. “I’m worried about him.”
“Of course. He has been asleep awhile. Hold on a sec; I’ll go check.”
“Thank you.” Rebecca looked at her mother. “You were right. He’s asleep. She’s checking on him.”
Carol smiled back.
A lengthy pause. Then the sound of Cynthia’s voice echoing in the background, calling her son’s name.
“Rebecca?” Cynthia said when she came back on the line. She sounded concerned.
“Yeah?”
“He’s not here. And his car is gone.”
38
Pinewood Elementary might’ve been brand new, but decades of custodial work had taught Karl nothing if not that kids were hard—brutal—on a building. So he’d continued his Labor Day tradition of sneaking in while the school was empty to handle the last-minute preparations. Except this year, to his surprise, he heard someone enter through the side entrance of the building.
He called out for a reply and got nothing in return but the sound of casual footsteps getting closer. He called again. Warning whoever had entered—how the hell did they enter? The door was locked, wasn’t it?—that the building was closed. That whoever they were, they were trespassing.
The only reply Karl received was more footsteps creeping closer in their lazy, unhurried way. He called out yet again, demanding an answer.
Ryan emerged from the shadows. Karl sighed in relief.
“Dammit, son, you gave me one hell of a—” but he got no further. Ryan was present in body only. The boy’s eyes were closed, his continuous steps forward blind but not blind as he strolled right on past Karl as though he wasn’t there, heading somewhere particular, heading towards, Karl would soon find out, the teachers’ lounge.
***
Ryan sat alone at the big faculty table in the lounge. He’d entered the pitch-dark room and taken his seat with no trouble. It was Karl, following close behind, who’d flicked on the overhead lights, worrying for a moment that it might disturb Ryan’s trance, but no such occurrence had taken place. Ryan remained seated at the table, face blank and undisturbed. His eyes were no longer closed, but only just. They were fluttering slits, his lips not unlike his eyes, opening and closing but only just, muttering softly, producing nothing Karl could understand. To Karl, it looked as though the boy was having a conversation with someone seated across from him. Only it was just the two of them in the lounge. At least as far as Karl could see.
***
Across from Ryan sat John Gray.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes. You’re John Gray.”
“And you’re Ryan Herb.”
“How do you know me?”
“We all know you. We’ve all been waiting for you.”
“We?”
“Those of us who can’t leave here.”
“Why are you waiting for me?”
“Because you can see it and you’re still alive.”
“I don’t know what I see.”
“It will become clearer as you get closer. You just can’t allow it to claim you as it did us.”
“Why did you hang yourself?”
“I did no such thing.”
“You don’t remember doing it?”
“No.”
“I see children too. Children died here—long ago.”
“I know.”
“And children are still dying. Why?”
“We believe it’s their purity. That their essence is being fed to a higher power.”
“What higher power? Is this why you were killed? Is this the information you found out?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me more. Tell me everything I need to know.”
“I can’t. The power that inhabits this building is too strong. It has given us glimpses in moments of carelessness, but it is far too cautious most of the time. We know a little, and that’s all.”
“What did you find in the boiler room?”
“Nothing significant, I’m afraid. But I was led there by a murdered child. We believe it’s the source.”
“The source of all that goes on here?”
“Yes.”
“So you know all about Helen Tarver and what she did years ago?”
“Yes.”
“And is someone here trying to carry on her work?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know—it’s kept from us. But it’s someone who is rewarded for the sacrifices they are giving to that higher power.”
“Rewarded how?”
“Something beyond our means of comprehension.”
“The photo. The staff photo from Highland. Karl the janitor believes it was left on my car to help me. To help me recognize you and the others so I would start digging around for a way to stop all this.”
“Yes, it was given to you to help you start searching, but the giver’s motive was not one of help—it was one of malice.”
“Malice?”
“Someone suspected you had the ability to see. The photo was a ploy to see how you might respond to it. A way to confirm their suspicions if you responded to that ploy in exactly the way you did. To confirm whether you were someone who needed to be dealt with. Someone has been keeping a very close eye on you, Ryan.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
“I was sick today. Very sick. Like nothing I’d ever experienced. I dreamt of these…spirals last night. I don’t know how to explain it. I mean, I’ve had dreams since coming here, quite a few actually, and none of them pleasant, but never anything like this. This dream was…this dream felt like…”
“A means to possession. An attempt to own your mind.”
“Yes! How tempting it felt to just submit…”
“And yet you fought.”
“Yes.”
“Which is why you’re on that side of the table and not here next to me. Not here with all of us. You have an inner strength that all of us lacked.”
“Stew said the same thing.”
“He was right.”
“How do you know your buddy Stew isn’t the one keeping a close eye on me? That Stew isn’t responsible for it all?”
“I don’t.”
“Comforting.”
“If your dream felt like a try at possession, then it’s already begun. Someone has already managed to take something from you.”
“Take something from me?”
“Your friend Trish was forced to take her own life because her blood was spilled earlier in the day and used.”
“So that razor blade in the stack of papers…that was placed there on purpose. It was no accident.”
“Yes.”
“Placed by someone who knew Trish could see.”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t spilled any blood.”
“Neither did I. My urine was used.”
“Your urine?”
“My erratic behavior following my divorce led some to believe I was using drugs. I was made to take a urine test once a day. On one particular day, twice.”
“Twice in one day?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the first sample was misplaced.”
“Not misplaced, though, right? It was stolen.”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you don’t. Are you here to help me or—”
“I don’t think you have much time, Ryan. If the attempt at possession has already begun, then it means someone has taken something from you.”
“Like what??? Never mind—forget it.”
A pause.
“What does this asshole want, John? I mean seriously—what the fuck do they want?”
“We believe the children are sacrificed because of their purity. It is the ultimate spit in God’s face. To offer the blood of one who possesses the free will he
gave them before that will can be tested—”
“I’m not a religious man, John—”
“—against the evil that inhabits this world. Claiming innocence in its purest form. Untainted and true. A pre-emptive attack on God’s children.”
“Only the children were tainted by evil. They were tainted by the crazy fucker who occupied their bodies when they were carrying out those horrific attacks on each other.”
“Clearly, such a thing is not an obstacle. Otherwise, we would not be having this conversation.”
“Jesus, how many fucking times am I going to hear that?”
“Sorry?”
“Never mind.”
“As you already know, Ryan, those who are a threat to this liturgy are dealt with. I wasn’t strong enough, and neither were the others.”
“A woman claimed her son’s IQ dropped fifty points. The former principal was stabbed in the foot by a child who doesn’t remember doing it. What were these incidents?”
“My guess? Unfortunate recipients of experimentation before the hands responsible
(WHOSE FUCKING HANDS??!!)
honed their craft. And those hands will only get better, Ryan. Their craft stronger.”
“How do you know that I’m strong enough to deal with this?”
“We don’t. We can only hope. Follow me to the boiler room. I will do my best to lead you as far as I can, but I cannot guarantee that my strength will hold out. I may fade, and if I do, then you’re on your own.”
39
“He’s not there?” Carol asked her daughter.
“No,” Rebecca said as she laced up her shoes. “His mother claimed he came home and went right to sleep. Now he’s gone.”
“She never saw him leave?”
“Of course she didn’t. Why would she go check on him if she did?”
“So where are you going?” Carol asked.
Rebecca grabbed her car keys from the kitchen counter. “I’m going to go meet Mrs. Herb at her house, and then we’re going to go look for him.”
Carol stopped her daughter at the door. “Wait a minute, sweetheart. Don’t you think you might be overreacting a little bit?”
Dark Halls - A Horror Novel Page 13