“So, um, maybe we could grab lunch? You still owe me.”
God, yes. Yes! she wanted to say, but common sense overrode her feelings. “I’d love to but with everything that’s going on, I don’t know what kind of day it’s going to be. I might end up working overtime.”
Cory gave her one of his lopsided, carefree grins. “All right. Well, I’ll see you soon then.” He stepped back so she could open her door.
Todd had made plans for everyone to get together again in two days to compare notes but Marisol had no intention of waiting that long. “Wait, how about this? I’ll call you in the afternoon, let you know how my day’s going, and then we can make plans for dinner? My treat.”
“It’s a date,” he said. He stepped towards her and leaned down, his lips aimed towards a spot on her cheek.
Before she could stop herself, Marisol tilted her head and intercepted his friendly goodnight kiss by planting her lips firmly on his. Then, quick as she’d started it, she broke the stolen kiss and turned away, covering her sudden embarrassment by fumbling the key into the door lock.
When she looked up again, Cory was halfway to his pride and joy, a classic black Cadillac Seville he’d restored in his spare time. Marisol waited, her lips tingling, until he drove away. At that moment, the haunting wail of police sirens filled the night, making her jump. The ululating cries grew closer and for a brief moment she was convinced they were heading for Todd’s house. Then the direction changed and she realized their goal was someplace even more familiar.
The Lowlands.
Where she’d spent the first eighteen years of her life.
That can’t be good. Not that sirens in the Lowlands were anything new. She’d grown up with the cops visiting her house and those of her neighbors more times than she could count, usually for domestic disputes but on occasion to break up fights between drunken neighbors or to arrest someone wanted for a crime of some sort.
Yet there was something about these sirens that set her nerves on edge, something in their primitive howling that screamed Beware! Danger is near!
The feeling of impending doom washed away the giddy schoolgirl after-effects of her kiss, leaving behind nothing but a nameless anxiety that was all the more nerve-wracking for its lack of a source. With a sigh, Marisol started her car and headed home.
Todd Randolph happened to glance through the kitchen window just in time to catch Marisol and Cory as they kissed. A brief kiss, to be sure, but a kiss nevertheless.
Their first one? Wouldn’t it be something if in the middle of all this, they finally got together after all this time?
He returned his gaze to the pot he was scrubbing, wondering if their burgeoning romance was a good omen or a bad one. He decided to take it as good, because the rest of the night had gone so well. Granted, John had stuck to his aliens-among-us theory. Todd still felt sure that the creatures had to be something from the depths of Hell. After all, he’d used Holy water and a Bible against them the last time. That had to count for something. Cory and Marisol were still on the fence, caught between Todd's previous success and the idea that there had to be a more logical explanation than demons.
But there’d been a lot less arguing than he’d expected and in the end they’d compromised - John would continue to research the alien angle while Todd would stick with the same line of investigation he’d been pursuing since he’d been committed. Over the next two days, each of them would put together a summary of what they’d learned and brief the rest of the group at the next meeting.
In the meantime, Cory’s job was to go back and learn as much as he could about the murders from two decades ago and find any commonalities between them and the current killings. And Marisol would use her position with the ME’s office to try and get copies of evidence and reports from all the cases.
Todd closed the door of the dishwasher and wiped his hands on a towel. Funny how things work out. Once the four of them had sat down, it was like no time had passed. They’d simply picked up where they left off twenty years ago, each of them assuming the roles they’d held as teenagers: John the quiet, reserved onlooker; Cory the shy, happy kid who was completely oblivious to how good he had things; Marisol, troubled and abused.
And me? I’m like the den mother. Back then I stole food and liquor because I was rebelling but also because I enjoyed playing host to the others. Now I’m doing the same thing.
“Hey, you okay?”
Turning, Todd found John staring at him, a concerned look on his face. “Yeah, I was just...I don’t know. Reminiscing, I guess.”
“I have a feeling we’re going to be doing a lot of that the next few days. And not all of it good either.”
“No, I’m afraid not. What are your plans for tonight?”
John shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Usually I just crash at one of the shelters.”
“Well, you’re welcome to stay here. The guest bedroom isn’t much but it’s got clean sheets and no roommates.”
A ghost of a smile touched John’s lips. “That’d be great.” He held his arms out, indicating the clean clothes he’d just retrieved from the dryer. “I’d forgotten what fresh-washed clothes smell like.”
“You want to watch a little TV? I’ve got more soda and food in the ‘fridge.”
“No, I think I’ll turn in if you don’t mind. It’s been a pretty exhausting day and my belly’s not used to being this full.”
“Okay.” Todd grabbed a soda for himself. “The spare room’s right next to mine. I’m gonna stay up for a while; I always do. Nowadays I don't even think about closing my eyes before the end of Letterman. I’ve had trouble sleeping ever since...well, you know. ”
“Yeah.” John paused by the steps, as if he was going to say something else and then turned away and went upstairs.
Todd took his soda into the living room and sat down in the brown recliner that had belonged to his father. It was a déjà vu moment for Todd, one of many he’d had since moving in. Although he’d never lived in the house before, in some ways it felt as if he’d spent his whole life there. Everywhere he looked it was like seeing his old house, the one he’d grown up in, through a piece of flimsy lace. When his parents had moved they’d taken all their belongings with them and very little had changed in the intervening twenty years. The same brown rug on the floor, same brown and white patterned couch and love seat. When Todd’s father had died the church had closed as well, taking with it the family’s only source of income. Since then, Todd’s mother had been living on Medicaid, Social Security and her husband’s life insurance policy. After the mortgage and taxes, there wasn’t much left.
Todd wondered if his father was looking down, watching him from wherever it was people went when they died. Since the day Todd’s great-grandfather had established Rocky Point’s first official church more than one hundred and fifty years ago - he’d built the original Randolph house behind it at the same time - a Randolph had always served as Minister in the Episcopalian church, a role handed down from father to son without any break in service.
Until me, Todd thought, leaning back in the recliner. Dad must be so proud. On the floor directly in front of him sat the darker stain in the carpet where his uncle had spilled his coffee, a reminder of his father’s death. So much death because of me. So many changes. What would my life be like right now if I hadn’t found that game?
Thinking of the other Cemetery Club members, he added, What would their lives be like?
The guilt rose up again, the monster that lived deep inside him, a thing that refused to go away. Sometimes it burrowed down and hibernated for days or weeks but it always came back. And each time it appeared, it was stronger than ever.
Oh God, I wish I’d never met them!
A sad thing to think about his only three friends in the whole world but it was true. The Cemetery Club had led him down a dark road, even if the choices he’d made were his own. Being a part of it had turned him further away from the path his father and God
had intended.
Outside, sirens howled pain-filled announcements of violence and death, startling Todd from his reverie. Judging by their vicinity to his neighborhood they were heading somewhere close by. Not his street; more likely the dangerous section of town. The factories, maybe. Or the Lowlands.
He flicked on the television and scrolled through the channels until he found one of his favorite movies from the eighties, some silly beach comedy starring Demi Moore and John Cusack. Turning up the volume so it drowned out the call of the emergency vehicles, he leaned back and tried to relax while Demi pretended to sing and play the guitar.
He had a feeling it was going to be a long time before he got to sleep.
Chapter 11
Although the Monday morning sun had barely crested the horizon, Nick Travers was already on his fifth cup of coffee from the vile witch’s kettle that had cleverly disguised itself as the station’s coffee pot. He’d been called in just after three a.m., following several frantic reports of domestic violence from the Lowlands. Normally that wouldn’t have been enough to warrant rousting him from his bed, but in the course of the investigations, Officer Manny Salvo had gone missing.
“Chief?”
Travers turned from the coffee pot and found Bud Marks, the morning shift desk sergeant, standing by the door to the break room with an unhappy look on his face.
“What is it now Marks?”
“Um, we’ve got a guy who says he’s a witness to a kidnapping.”
“He saw something? What? Where?” Travers downed his coffee and tossed the paper cup aside.
“Actually, he says...he says it was a cop.” The rest of Marks’ words came out in a rush. “Said a cop and some other folks were taken over by aliens and they’re the ones that caused all the trouble in the Lowlands last night.” Marks stepped back and cringed slightly, like a dog expecting a boot to the ass.
“Oh for the love of...Jesus Christ, Marks. Why are you bothering me with this shit?”
“The guy’s old. Maybe a drunk. He could have seen something for real and just gotten it all mixed up in his head. I thought you might want to talk to him, just in case.”
Travers closed his eyes and counted to ten, a trick for calming his anger that he’d been trying unsuccessfully to master ever since getting elected Sheriff. He reached six before he couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“For chrissakes Marks. Give him to somebody else, anybody else. I don’t care who. Give him to a rookie. Don’t bother me unless you’ve actually got something better to report than this kind of nonsense.”
“Yes sir,” Marks said. He might have said something else but by then Travers had already pushed past him and gone into his office, slamming the door shut behind him.
Staring at the mountain of reports piled on his desk, Travers shook his head. “Just once I’d like to catch a fuckin’ break. Just once.”
He sat down and tried to focus his coffee-wired brain on how three cops could have disappeared in less than a week. Before he could open the first file, his intercom beeped.
“Sheriff? Deputy Mayor Smith is on line one for you.”
Travers groaned and put his head in his hands.
Just fucking once.
“Have a seat right here,” Bud Marks said to Henry Coleman, indicating the cheap plastic chair across from Manny Salvo’s desk. Bud hadn’t had any luck in finding someone available to question the old geezer, so he’d taken it upon himself to conduct the interview. He’d chosen Salvo’s desk because from there he could answer the phones, talk to the witness and still have a view of the front door.
“Okay Mr. Coleman, why don’t you tell me what you saw?”
The old man frowned. “You said you was gonna get the Chief.”
“I’m sorry but he’s very busy right now. If you don’t want to talk to me, you’ll have to come back another time.”
Coleman pursed his lips as he considered what to do. “Fine,” he finally said, just as Bud was about to ask him again. “But you ain’t gonna believe me.”
Marks stared at the grizzled countenance before him, took in the raccoon-mask dark circles around the man's eyes, his tousled hair and dirty clothes, and fought to keep from saying his real thoughts out loud. You’re probably right.
“That’s okay. Just tell it like it happened.”
“Well, it all started when I heard this crashing and banging comin’ from the Mackley’s trailer. Shoutin’ too. They’re usually pretty quiet, so I decided to peek out my window and see what the ruckus was about. Had a good view, clear as day.”
“You saw people’s faces?”
“Yep. This big ol’ cop had Stacy Mackley pinned against the window. He was stranglin’ her, had his arm around her neck. Banged her head against the glass real good too. Thought he was gonna kill her right there but he dropped her to the floor soon's she passed out. That’s when it came into the room.”
“It?”
“The alien. Ain't you been listening? The goddammed thing that took over Stacy. Crawled right down her throat. Then her and this cop picked up her dead husband and went outside. They didn’t catch me though. I hid my ass in the dog house. Waited there all night. Couple of times I heard people come into the yard and look through the trailer. I stayed put until the sun came up. Figured no aliens gonna be runnin’ around in the daytime.”
Bud Marks put down his pencil and sighed. Coleman was nothing but a drunken dead end after all. “This cop you saw. Can you describe him?”
“I don’t have to,” Coleman said. “That’s him right there.”
Marks followed the man’s bony, shaking finger to a picture on the desk. In the print, Manny Salvo was holding up his citation for volunteer work.
“You’re sure that’s the man you saw?” Bud asked, grabbing his pencil again.
“Sure as shittin’. Saw him clear as day. Scared the piss out of me. Say, you got any coffee?”
Bud stood up and pointed to the break room. “In there. Help yourself. Just don’t leave the station. I’ll be right back.” He headed for the Sheriff’s office, fighting to keep a smug expression from his face.
Don’t bother you unless I have something to go on? I think this is gonna count as one motherfucking big something.
* * *
Warner Dawes looked at the people taking their seats in the conference room and felt a tickle of fear run down his back, a creepy-crawly sensation that sent his body into an involuntary shiver. He fought the feeling down and took a sip from his coffee cup, happy to see that his hand didn’t shake at all. As Mayor of Rocky Point, it behooved him to appear calm and in control, no matter what the situation.
And judging by the grim expressions on the faces of those around him, they had one shitfuck of a situation on their hands.
Deputy Mayor Jack Smith was the last person to enter the room and even he wore a serious look, a welcome change from the supercilious smile that was as much a part of him as his perfect hair and athletic body. Smith took his customary seat at the opposite end of the table. Dawes preferred to be as far away from his second in command as possible, mostly because he couldn't stand the sneaky bastard. But also because he knew he cut a more commanding figure by not sitting next to someone younger and better looking. There was also a business reason for the arrangement: it kept anyone they met with penned in between them, allowing no one else to think they had any kind of equality by sitting at the other head of the table. Pigs in a pen, as he liked to think of those who came looking for favors.
Today, they had four piggies boxed in: Sheriff Travers, Edwin Corish the ME, Town Clerk Freddy Alou and Betty Smyrna, Dawes’s secretary.
Dawes purposely took another slow, relaxed sip of coffee as everyone got their papers in order and then turned to the Sheriff. “All right Nick, how bad is it?”
Travers cleared his throat. “It’s not good, that’s for damn sure. Over the past two nights we’ve had eighteen reported disturbances in town, most of them in Lowland Park and the factory district. Th
e same M.O. in every case. Neighbors hear noises, sometimes shouting. Figure it’s just a domestic disturbance. But the next day, people are missing.”
“How many?” Smith asked the question before Dawes had the chance.
Without glancing at his notes, Travers said, “At least twenty.”
“At least?” Dawes frowned. “You don’t have an exact number?”
“No, sir. There could be more that just haven’t been reported. It is the Lowlands after all. On the other hand, we both know that in that part of town it's not uncommon for someone to go off on a bender for a few days or get some cash and hightail it out of town to Atlantic City, or maybe one of them Indian casinos. Hell, sometimes people just up and leave without telling anyone, never come back, and you don't hear from them again until years later. These aren't bankers and business owners after all. So it could be more or it could be less. However, there are the other cases, outside the Lowlands.”
“Go on.”
“Four missing for sure. I’ve got my men looking into them as top priorities. It kind of puts the Lowlands on the back burner but from a PR point of view we have to do it. Ten people disappear from a trailer park, most people either don't bat an eye or they say good riddance. One insurance agent disappears from a nice neighborhood and you’ve got all sorts of folks writing the newspaper, wanting to know what's being done to solve the crime.”
“God fucking dammit.” Dawes shook his head. “Any other good news?”
An angry expression took hold of Travers’s face. “Yeah. I’ve got another cop missing. Manny Salvo. He responded to a call in the Lowlands two nights ago and we haven’t heard from him since.”
“How can a cop just disappear?” Smith asked.
“If I knew that, he wouldn’t be missing!” Travers said, his voice rising to almost a shout. He took a deep breath and continued in a calmer tone. “We have a possible witness. Unfortunately, he’s eighty-something years old and thinks aliens are abducting people.”
Cemetery Club Page 10