The Dark at the End rj-15

by F. Paul Wilson

  Taking her foot off the gas she hauled the wheel to the right. The car came to a rest, still in gear, engine running, nosed against the mansion’s garage. She had to back up.

  The world went blurry again, but instead of clearing, it faded to black, taking the sound of her phone with it.

  7

  “What the hell?”

  Anxiety nibbled at Jack as he jabbed the END button and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.

  Where was everybody? No answer from either Weezy or Dawn. Not good. Not good at all. All they had to do was sit tight in that house and watch from the window. What was so hard about that? Had the goddamn O’Donnells come back from Florida and found their home invaded? What? What?

  His phone rang. He grabbed it. The display showed a number he didn’t recognize. He thumbed SEND. He’d take a call from anyone right now.

  “Yeah.”

  “Jack, it’s me.” Weezy’s voice. “Where are you?”

  “Just about to the Nuckateague turnoff. Where are you?”

  “In a garage in Amagansett.”

  “What? How the hell-?”

  “Long story. The Jeep got towed. I can’t get it back because it’s rented under your name. A complete mess.”

  Well, rented under his Tyleski name. He’d been ready to deep-six that identity anyway. No arguing about the mess, though. He looked ahead for a place to make a U-turn.

  “I’ll come get you and-”

  “No. Check the house first. I can’t get hold of Dawn.”

  “Neither can I.”

  “I’m worried.”

  “Makes two of us. I hope she didn’t do anything stupid. You were supposed to keep an eye on her.”

  “I know, I know. But I saw the lights of the tow truck. I figured I’d be right back-”

  “I’m turning into Nuckateague. Stay by that phone.”

  “I’ll keep trying Dawn.”

  He hit the END button and made the turn.

  Okay, how to play this? His initial plan had been to find another empty garage farther down the street to hide the Crown Vic and its armamentarium. To reach that house, whichever one it was, required him to drive by the O’Donnell place.

  So that was what he’d do… and hope everything was as he’d left it. He shook his head as foreboding thickened around him like a fog.

  Fat chance.

  This was why he worked alone.

  8

  As was his custom, Georges reversed the boat toward the dock. The lagoon wasn’t wide enough to turn it around without a whole series of forwards and reverses, so he always backed in and docked it nose-out toward the open water. Today he’d have to secure the boat to the dock with an extra mooring line against the storm.

  A waste of time going out. Too rough. He’d spent more time fighting the wind and waves than fishing. And then the snow had come. But he’d known this would be his last chance for a while, so he’d given it a try.

  Well… almost fishing was better than no fishing at all.

  He’d tied the first stern line and was about to add a second when he noticed the car.

  Immediately he was on alert, senses humming, muscles tensed. He reached for his pistol but his hand came away empty. Of course. He never took it fishing. The salt air was poison for a fine weapon like his SIG Sauer. He grabbed a rusty knife from his tackle box and hid it, palmed against his wrist, and assessed the situation as he approached through the thickening snowfall.

  A Volvo… the engine running… someone slumped forward in the driver’s seat… a young woman… blond… something familiar He froze when he recognized the Pickering girl. What was she-?

  No need to ask. It could only be the baby. But how had she found them? No matter. What was she doing now?

  He started forward again, but more cautiously. She made no move. Had she passed out? When he reached the driver’s door he peered through the glass and saw blood on her and on the dashboard. Knife held at ready, he opened the door.

  Her left arm moved toward him and he went into a defensive stance, ready to make a backhand slash. But her blood-soaked arm had been resting against the door and had merely fallen when he’d opened it. She made no further movement. He felt her throat. Still a pulse.

  What had happened here? She’d been wounded-shot or stabbed, he couldn’t tell.

  He edged around the rear of the car and opened the passenger door. Still in gear. He put it in park and turned off the engine, taking the keys. A cell phone started to ring A sudden nerve-shattering shriek so startled him that, had he been holding his pistol, he was sure he would have fired it.

  There, in the backseat, the monster baby, staring at him.

  Blood on Dawn… the baby here… Gilda would not have given up without a fight.

  He was starting toward the house when he caught movement to his left. One of the doors to a garage across the street was swinging in the wind and… was that someone on the floor inside?

  He couldn’t make sense of this whole situation, couldn’t come up with a scenario to explain it. The street and the neighborhood looked as deserted as they had every other day-the very reason the Order had offered this location for the One. Georges had a terrible premonition about the figure on the floor of the garage.

  He hurried over and gaped at Gilda’s corpse. He’d seen damaged human flesh before-had inflicted a good deal of damage himself-so he felt no physical repulsion. But this wasn’t anything like what he’d expected. He’d seen damage inflicted by design, and damage inflicted by emotion. And this… someone had relieved an enormous burden of rage upon Gilda.

  Georges felt nothing for the woman, but he feared for himself. He had been appointed guardian of the household in the One’s absence, and he had failed-miserably. When the One returned He heard the baby shriek. He turned.

  ***

  Her baby’s screech brought Dawn to. She opened her eyes. Her phone was ringing.

  Where-?

  It all came back to her in a rush. The baby… Gilda…

  Her door was open. So was the passenger door. She reached to start the car but the keys were gone. Someone was here. Georges? She had to keep the baby from him. Couldn’t let him take the baby.

  She slithered out of the door. Her legs barely supported her but somehow she managed to pull the rear door open. The baby looked at her and screeched. The sound was almost sweet over the roaring in her ears. As she reached out to undo his straps, she realized that she’d never be able to get him out with just one arm. How-?

  Someone grabbed her roughly from behind. Her left shoulder and chest screamed as she was whirled around but she hadn’t enough breath for a single sound as she saw Georges’s livid face. His teeth were bared and clenched.

  “You killed her!”

  His big hands went around her neck and his thumbs jabbed into her throat.

  “You whore! You killed her and I will pay the price! But so will you!”

  The pressure on her throat was unbearable, unrelenting. She couldn’t breathe and didn’t have the strength to fight him, not even with her good arm. She felt like a rag doll in his hands. She heard a crunch as something in her throat gave way. The roaring increased as the light faded, leaving only blackness.

  And then even the roaring stopped.

  ***

  Georges knew she’d never breathe again through her crushed larynx, but he kept squeezing her throat because it felt so good. So damn good. The little trollop had most likely ruined his life. Well, he’d just ended hers, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly.

  He heard tires screech in the street. He looked up and saw a big black sedan skidding to a halt. He tossed Dawn back into the rear compartment atop her ugly baby as a man leaped from the sedan.

  What now? He hadn’t seen a single car on this street in over a week, and one had to pass by now?

  Wait-he had a pistol in his hand. A Glock. And his expression was fierce as he raised the pistol and fired twice.

  Georges’s thighs-first the left, then the right
-exploded in pain. The second hit spun him half around as he felt his femur shatter. The pain brought tears to his eyes, but he bit back the scream that rose to his lips. He would not scream.

  What was happening? Who was this? Georges had never seen this man before. He hadn’t asked what was going on, like any normal passerby. He’d simply looked at Georges and started firing.

  The man stared into the car, then reached inside. Georges couldn’t see his hand but imagined he was checking for a pulse. Clenching his jaw against the pain, Georges reached into his pocket and pulled out the rusty knife. Not a throwing knife, but the only weapon he had. He had to try something.

  He hurled it at the stranger Who turned and batted it away with his pistol. But he cut his hand in the process. He switched the Glock to his left hand and sucked on the side of his index finger as he approached Georges. His expression was furious… and frightening.

  “Why’d you kill her? No reason on Earth to do that. She’s just a teenager trying to get her kid back.”

  Georges jutted his chin toward the garage across the street. “She killed Gilda.”

  The man glanced over his shoulder, then back to Georges. “Yeah, well, you guys stole her baby.” He looked at his wounded finger. “You trying to give me tetanus? Cause that was a piss-poor toss.”

  Georges spat at him. “May you die in agony.”

  The man waved his pistol at Georges’s legs. “Doesn’t look like you’ll be picking up your boss tonight.”

  Georges felt as if he’d been slapped. How could he know that? It could only mean he wasn’t here by accident. Who was he?

  “No worry,” the man said. “I’ll sub for you. What airline?”

  “Fuck you.”

  He looked at his finger. “Well, whatta ya know?” He thrust it toward Georges. “All better.”

  It was true-the cut had already stopped bleeding.

  “Just like your master. We’re old buddies. So tell me: What airline?”

  “Fuck your mother!”

  The man looked at the sky, then back to Georges.

  “I haven’t got time for this.”

  He pointed the Glock at Georges’s chest.

  “No!”

  9

  Jack double-tapped Georges’s heart and put one through his forehead for insurance.

  Then he heard his phone ringing back in the car. He holstered the Glock and went to retrieve it. The same number as before. He thumbed

  SEND.

  “Weezy?”

  “I’ve been calling Dawn but she doesn’t answer.”

  Jack glanced back toward the Volvo. “Yeah… well…”

  “What? What, Jack?”

  He was on a cell, the signal going who knew where.

  “Remember that movie with Bruce Willis?”

  “ Die Hard? Listen, Jack, I don’t want to play movie trivia. Dawn-”

  “Remember what Haley Joel Osment’s character could see?”

  “Ohmigod! You mean-?”

  “I’m seeing three… and a really ugly baby.”

  “Dawn? Is she-oh, God, no!”

  “Pull it together, okay? I- we need you to stay together. We’ve got big trouble. What street are you on?”

  “Ju-just off twenty-seven.”

  “Any landmarky place nearby?”

  “I can see a farmer’s market across the street but it’s closed.”

  “I think I saw the place on the way in. Forget the car and get over there and wait. I’ll pick you up ASAP.”

  He cut the call before she could say anything else and looked around. Had to get these bodies out of sight. He wasn’t worried about anyone hearing the shots in this wind and weather. What few people were within earshot were inside.

  He emptied Georges’s pockets and found nothing but a cell phone and the Volvo keys. He grabbed him by the wrists and dragged him around to the far side of the car where he loaded him into the passenger seat. Heavy son of a bitch. Then he moved to the rear compartment to deal with Dawn.

  Poor kid. If she’d just done what he’d told her she’d still be alive. He tried to imagine what had happened since he’d left. She’d been with Weezy, and Weezy had walked down to the car… and then what?

  He leaned in and went to grab her shoulders to pull her farther into the car when the baby’s deafening screech stopped him. He looked at the child-the Marty Allen hair and the scrunched-in features gave him a troll-doll look without any of the cuteness. Fury lit his beady little black eyes and Jack thought he was angry for taking his mother from him.

  “Don’t worry, little guy. I’m not gonna-”

  But then he saw the red smears on his face.

  As he watched, the kid dipped his fingers into the blood welled in Dawn’s shoulder wound and then stuck them in his mouth, sucking greedily.

  10

  They had a litany going…

  “We can’t just leave her there,” Weezy said for what seemed like the thousandth time.

  And each time Jack gave the same reply: “We don’t have a choice.”

  They stood inside the door to the O’Donnell house, looking out on Dawn’s Volvo, collecting snow as it sat in the yard.

  After Weezy’s call from the garage, Jack had moved Dawn and Georges into the O’Donnell garage, where they joined Gilda on the floor. He’d arranged them along its west wall, Dawn supine, covered by a sheet from the house, the other two facedown. Then he’d eased the Crown Vic in beside them-a tight fit even if the garage had been empty-and closed the damaged doors. Their hinges had been loosened and twisted a bit, and the latch was broken, but he’d managed to jury-rig them so they stayed closed.

  Then he’d taken the Volvo and its little passenger into Amagansett to pick up Weezy. Snow had begun to accumulate on the asphalt, but the Volvo handled nicely.

  He’d tensed himself during the ride, waiting for one of those screeches, but it never came. A glance in the rearview mirror showed the kid asleep. Good thing, too. He’d pitched a fit when Jack had taken his mother away, screeching like the proverbial banshee. Jack hadn’t known whether it was maternal attachment or removal of his snack. He’d been chowing down on Dawn’s blood with lip-smacking gusto. Jack had wiped the blood off the dashboard before heading for Weezy, and now realized he should have cleaned up the baby’s face as well. But he’d had more important things on his mind.

  Like how to salvage this clusterfuck.

  He’d found a snow-dappled Weezy rubbing her hands and stamping her feet in front of the empty produce stand.

  “Sorry to take so long,” he said, turning up the heat as she got in. “Cleanup took longer than I expected.”

  Shivering, she slid into the passenger seat and held her hands over the dashboard vents.

  “’S-s-s’all right.”

  She glanced at the baby in the backseat and grimaced.

  “Was I right?” he said.

  “Not so bad.”

  She had to be kidding. Then again, this baby belonged to Dawn, her surrogate daughter, and so maybe Weezy was seeing the child with different eyes.

  She looked at him again. “Does he really have…?”

  “Tentacles? I didn’t check.”

  Time had been tight and he was in no great hurry to find out. Plenty of time for an anatomy check later.

  She gave him a quick rundown of seeing the tow truck flashers and running out to stop it.

  “How did anyone find it?”

  “The guy at the garage told me it was reported to the police and the police called them to pick up an abandoned vehicle. That’s all he knows.”

  Jack shook his head. “Murphy’s law rules the goddamn universe.”

  “The multi verse,” Weezy said.

  Unasked questions about Dawn layered the air within the car. Finally Weezy took a deep breath and looked at Jack.

  “Dawn… she’s really…?”

  He nodded.

  Her features twisted as tears began to roll down her cheeks. “How?”

  Jack describe
d the scene as he’d found it, then, “The best I can come up with is somehow she got hold of the baby, Gilda came after her with a knife, wounded her, but Dawn fought back and killed Gilda. Then Georges killed Dawn.”

  Weezy buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God. It’s all my fault!”

  He sighed. “Somehow I knew you’d say that.”

  “Well, it is. I never should have left her.”

  “You saw the flashers. I’d have hauled ass down there too.”

  “But if I’d stayed-”

  “This never would have happened? Okay, probably not. But just because you could have stopped her if you were there doesn’t make you responsible for her bad decisions. And she made a whole series of them, one right after another: leaving the house, going to the mansion, entering the mansion, taking the baby. At any point along the way she could have made the opposite choice, but she didn’t.”

  She raised her head and looked at him. “That’s awfully cold.”

  Yeah, it was, wasn’t it. But anger was leaving him feeling pretty damn cold at the moment.

  “Sorry, but that’s the way I see it.”

  “She was a young mother, her baby had been taken from her, she wasn’t thinking.”

  “Exactly. This wasn’t all about her. There’s a bigger picture. We explained that. But in the end none of that mattered to her. Dawn-Dawn-Dawn-that was it.”

  Weezy was staring at him with a worried expression. “What’s happening to you?”

  “What’s happening to me? How about what’s happening to us -as in the whole world? How about she’s blown this primo chance-a near-perfect setup-to stop this guy.”

  “How can you say it’s blown?”

  “Well, Georges isn’t going to be waiting at JFK to pick him up tonight. And neither Georges nor Gilda will be answering the phone-death tends to create something of an impediment to that. He’s no idiot. When Georges doesn’t show and he can’t contact either of them, don’t you think he’ll suspect that maybe, just maybe something’s amiss? And when he does, he’ll head elsewhere. Maybe turn around and catch the next flight to Timbuktu or anywhere far from here. We’re losing our last chance to stop the Change. And when the Change happens, how many deaths will be laid on Dawn’s doorstep?”