Taking a tough tone, the man with the leather jacket said, “I’m not doing nothing wrong.” But his friend had hastened his steps and was leaving him there alone to face the cop, who in his heavy winter jacket looked as burly as a black bear and twice as ferocious.
He heroically took one last photo of Bill. Although in his haste to chase after his companion, he missed the capture button with his thumb.
Bill dropped his phone into the front pocket of his coat and then fumbled with Denton’s keys, trying to locate the trunk’s release switch.
“What are you doing?” Denton asked.
“Have you forgotten about the woman in your trunk? You think I’m just going to leave her in there?”
“She’s not in her right mind. You should wait for your backup. Or let me help,” Denton said. Knowles was lost in the mysterious world of double loops, but he knew how to handle her now.
“I think you’ve done enough. Don’t you? Besides, I’ve been getting lots of practice with people not in their right mind lately.” Bill’s words were so laced with sarcasm they practically performed an eye roll as they hit the air.
“Besides,” he continued. “Didn’t you say she was in some kind of trance?”
“She is. But—”
“Just stay put.” Bill pointed to him and to the place he was to stay. He took a step, stopped and wagged his finger at Denton again, like a dog that he suspected was about to disobey him. “I swear, if you try to run, I don’t care what Linda does to me, I’m putting a bullet in your leg. Got that?”
Bill walked over to the trunk and hit the switch on the fob. An audible click could be heard, but the lid didn’t open. Cold and ice kept it from popping up on its own. Eyeing Denton over the roof of the car, Bill moved closer to the back to push it open.
In a few minutes Denton would be on his way to the station house to face a litany of charges: kidnapping, arson, murder. He’d find himself in that same interrogation room again. Only this time it would be with some lawyer, who would be telling him how he had a strong chance of getting him off, if he offered an insanity plea. Just tell them it was mercury poison, he would advise. Admit you were delusional and not responsible for your actions. Even though, throughout the trial, the judge would be sitting on the bench scribbling eights onto his note pad.
That was his future, unless he ran. Bill was preoccupied and his eyes were down. If Denton was going to try and escape, now would be the time.
His feet wouldn’t move.
He was slowly filling up with guilt, a thick paste of remorse that oozed down his bones and filled his skin, turning him to stone inch by inch.
Linda. He had let her down on more levels than she even knew. His first priority should have been to keep her safe. He should have done whatever it took to get her far from Bexhill. At the very least, he should have talked to her—not in person or he might have infected her—but on the phone. She would have seen reason if he had explained it to her, instead of cowardly leaving it up to a few words in an e-mail. She probably didn’t even believe him. She probably thought he was crazy, just like Bill did. And if she didn’t, then it was worse. Linda had stayed, risking her own life and sanity, because she thought he needed her there. She stayed because of him.
And could he betray Bill? There had been a haze of fatigue over his expression and his voice. Dark circles formed under his eyes like rain clouds looming on the horizon. How many hours had he been out looking for Denton? How long has he been driving around Bexhill, while Denton was off on Mt. Nazareth setting up his little trap? A trap that had so many variables and risks, it was doomed from the start.
The truth was, he was beaten. His crazy, desperate plan was just that. The odds had been against him all along. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it.
The trunk swung open. An animal howl shrieked out and Jessica Knowles followed, springing like a coiled snake. She hit Bill in the chest and sent him reeling backward. They landed in the street with a splash of slush, Knowles on top writhing, struggling against the restraints lashing her limbs together. Her hair whipped back and forth across Bill’s face, while her head frantically thrashed around as she chewed her way through the scarf.
Bill fought to push her off, but the woman seemed to have gained mass while in the trunk. It was as though she had emerged from a cocoon as some new being, terrible and fierce.
Denton hesitated only a second and then ran to Bill’s aid. The ambulance had turned the corner, four blocks down the street, lights on, siren off. It formed a backdrop of angry red flares reflecting off of the puddles and the snow of the dark street. Denton reached them and hauled Knowles away, as though heaving a heavy sack. He flung her onto her back.
Still dazed, Bill swung his pistol at the body next to him, trying to aim past her convulsing legs. She kicked out, sending the gun flying across the street.
“What the hell is the matter with her,” Bill said, still on his back and scurrying out of her reach.
“It’s the infection,” Denton yelled. Although there was very little noise, he had the sense there was a thunderous roaring all about him. Panic had thrown off his equilibrium. He could have been standing on the deck of a ship surrounded by a violent, churning sea.
Bill ignored his answer but didn’t argue with it. “Grab her shoulders. I’ll get her feet. We’ll hold her down until the paramedics can sedate her.”
The ambulance was still a block away. Denton did as instructed. Knowles twisted around gnashing at his hands, bits of the scarf fluttered in the air like dead leaves. Tiny chewed flakes of silk, orange and yellow, floated to the ground around her.
Denton slid his hands down her arms away from her shoulders and her mouth and pressed her wrists against her stomach. As he leaned over her, Knowles went limp. The demon possessing her departed back to its mystical abyss.
“What the…?” Bill said.
My shirt, Denton thought. Of course, she sees the eight.
Her outburst of violence must have been from not being able to see one. Perhaps when the trunk was opened, a draft blew the paper away from her.
“Carter, glad you’re here,” Bill said to the EMT, who jumped out of the passenger side of the ambulance.
“What’s going on, Stahl?”
“This woman is having some kind of fit. Get a sedative,” Bill said.
“She seems pretty sedate to me,” the second paramedic said, walking up behind Carter.
“You weren’t here a second ago, Mills. Give her something before she attacks again.”
“I’m going to need to examine her before giving her anything.” Carter started to kneel next to Knowles.
“I don’t think you want to get any closer, until you put her out,” Bill warned.
“Unless you’re a doctor, I can’t just take your word for it.”
“I’m a doctor.” Denton looked up at the EMT. His face was young and the whites of his eyes were clear and bright. “A psychologist.”
“You are?” From the way he asked, it was apparent he probably had thought Denton to be some vagrant who had been wandering by.
“Please step back so I can examine her.”
“You don’t understand. She needs to be able to see my shirt.”
The paramedic squinted at Denton. It didn’t take a clairvoyant to see what he was thinking: Denton looked more like an escapee from an asylum than a psychologist.
“Denton, let her go and step back, now. Let him do his job.” Bill had decided to hand authority over to the paramedic. He had gotten to his feet and his tone bordered on anger. Instinctively, Denton withdrew and moved back.
Jessica Knowles screamed in anguish and resumed her thrashing. Carter attempted to ignore her behavior and check her vitals.
“Miss?” he said. “Do you understand me? Can you speak?”
The noise that came out of her was like no speech Denton had
ever heard. It was half growl and half screech, an ethereal pulse from some language never spoken before on Earth. She shoved it out of her lungs like venom and ripped the belt around her wrists in two. Her chipped, red polished nails immediately dug into Carter’s throat.
Her legs bucked, rolling the EMT around on the street, while rivulets of blood ran down her murderous fingers. Denton leaped for them, trying to get the palm of his hand in front of Knowles’ face, but she sloshed through the gray muck on the pavement with such frenetic jerks it was impossible. Seeing the man desperately grasping for air, he gave up and grabbed her hands to try and break the stranglehold.
Carter’s fingers were already holding onto her wrists and together they gradually began to pull the claws away from his tender flesh. The second he was free of her, his partner grabbed him and dragged him away from the savage woman.
When her quarry had escaped, Knowles slammed her head back into Denton’s face. The world turned to blackness and flashing lights, as he went sprawling back onto the pavement. He cupped his forehead at the bridge of his nose, as if trying to expel the pain by capturing it.
Confusion filed the street like a barrage of artillery. People were shouting, Knowles was shrieking, someone was giving orders, nothing made sense.
When Denton looked up again, the woman had gained her feet. They were still tied firmly together, but she moved them like a thick tail. Knowles was evolving, shifting from serpent to reptile, as she pressed her attach on Carter.
The other paramedic, Mills, was unconscious on the ground with blood flowing from his head. There was a gash where his hairline touched the asphalt. Somehow she must have knocked him down, while Denton was recovering.
Carter retreated, with his bare hands on his neck trying to stop the flow of blood.
There was a deafening blast and Knowles shuddered. The fury of noise in Denton’s ears disappeared and was replaced by ringing. He looked over and saw that Bill had retrieved his gun. A whiff of smoke escaping the barrel was caught in the chill winter air. Blood was blossoming on the woman’s sweater. The bullet had caught her on her left breast. She fell back like a toddler losing her balance and sat down with an oomph sound.
There was a moment when no one moved and then Carter went to her. Whether out of compassion or professionalism, he wouldn’t leave her there to bleed out on the street, no matter what she had done.
He got her on her back and began applying pressure to the wound. Little, bloody bubbles frothed at her mouth.
“Get my kit,” he ordered. Bill didn’t move.
Feeling the gritty water under his hands, Denton began to stand. The ambulances lights still bathed the scene in red, but it was no longer an angry tone. In the quiet following the battle, it was the color of somber fatigue. Each bright rotation glinted off of metal six inches from Denton’s fingers. His car keys lay in an icy tire tread. Bill must have dropped them when Knowles hit him. He looped a finger around the ring and pulled himself up using the car’s bumper for support.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” a man’s voice screamed.
Denton turned and saw Carter pulling away from the woman, blood flowing freely from his nose. Blindingly fast, Knowles curled herself into a crouching position. She sprang, launching herself at the hapless paramedic. Another shot echoed out.
Denton had to turn away, bile rising in his throat. Gore sprayed the side of the ambulance behind her.
“Holy shit,” Carter said. “Did you have to aim for the head?”
“I…” Bill stopped himself and started over, clearly shaken by what had just occurred. “I wasn’t, she was just moving too fast.”
He walked over to the body and got his phone out. “This is Stahl. Where the hell is that backup? Shots fired. Suspect down. Ambulance is on the scene, but we need additional medical services. EMTs injured. Repeat, I have two injured EMTs.”
Eddie Radcliff had said that the only way to kill them was to burn them. Jessica Knowles wasn’t moving. She was never going to get up again. It looked like a bullet to the head worked just as well.
Three left.
Denton couldn’t bring himself to be anything less than appalled at the woman’s grisly death. Yet in a sense she was already dead. Whoever Jessica Knowles had been, it wasn’t the thing that was killed out there that night.
And now there were only three more of them left. The plan might have little to no chance of succeeding, but the odds had just improved by twenty-five percent. Could he really give up now, when he was so close?
Bill and Carter were helping the other EMT. Mills had regained consciousness. Carter was checking his pulse and Bill was putting his folded jacket under the man’s head.
Leaving the trunk open, Denton slipped into the car and drove off as fast as he could. Long after his friend was out of sight, Denton could still hear him yelling his name.
Chapter 36
Promises
COME ALONE AND UNARMED.
Kaling’s words conjured up a montage of scenes from half remembered movies and TV shows. Each of the grainy, sepia shots in some way depicted the hero walking into a trap. The fragmented images formed a flip book in Denton’s mind with a dead stick figure drawn in the margin of the last page.
Denton would have disobeyed the instructions in a heartbeat, but it wasn’t so simple. Who could he get to help him? He couldn’t call the police. They would lock him up. Where could he get a gun? There were plenty of places to buy one in Bexhill, from hunting supply stores to the seedy little shops that seemed to spring up like mushrooms next to rundown liquor stores, but the waiting period would make the purchase pointless.
In the end, he walked into Market Square by himself with the tire iron from the Buick’s trunk slipped into his left coat sleeve. The metal chilled his skin through the fabric of his shirt. There was comfort in the coldness of the steel and the way the short end of the L shaped bar curled into the palm of his hand, where his tight grip tested its strength. It hid in the folds of his coat and he could easily unsheathe it with his right hand when needed.
Even if it were a trap, he had to walk into it. What other option did he have? Denton just hoped he would be able to lure Kaling up to Mt. Nazareth, before Kaling sprang it. One of them would win out over the other. Perhaps the fate of the entire world hinged on who it would be.
A queasy churning filled his gut, brought on partly from nerves and partly from dinner. Denton’s stomach gurgled, protesting what might very well be his last meal.
As last meals went, it had been a poor one.
The drive-thru Mexican food was bland, cumin flavored cardboard. He sat in the car and chewed without pleasure, thinking about the woman that had been Jessica Knowles.
The sight of her lying in the street with her skull fractured apart haunted him.
The last three people he had visited were dead, simply because he had been there. He had little sympathy for the Moores. They had only themselves to blame. If they hadn’t attacked him, there would have been no fire. But Knowles would still be alive, if he hadn’t taken her out of her apartment.
But had she really been alive? Were any of them really alive? What were you once that thing took you over?
He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about how much time was left until the time bomb in his brain counted down to zero.
He needed to focus on neutralizing the threat before that happened. With Linda still in town, it was more important than ever. Whatever else happened, Denton had to make sure she survived this unharmed.
Where is she now, he wondered?
Was she at home crying? Unlikely. Maybe she spent a short time pitying him that morning after waking up alone in their bed. But Linda wasn’t the type of person to wallow in misery. When she was upset, she lost herself in her work. Perhaps she was in her studio, the multitude of flood lights standing in for the sun, turning the windows around her
into a house of mirrors. Or maybe she was at the Gallery. She might be a short five minute walk down the street, helping out with the Christmas rush and nervously glancing at her phone waiting for a call from Denton or the police.
Or possibly she was at the police station, taking a more active role, refusing to let him vanish without a trace. It wasn’t hard to imagine her slipping past the officer on duty and getting into the bullpen. Her haired tied back in an all-business ponytail, wearing her purple NYU sweatshirt emblazed with the school’s torch symbol. She reserved the shirt for serious tasks, like cleaning the dingy basement or tackling wasp nests in the backyard, because of its ratty, frayed nature, and because of its old security-blanket associations. Vividly, she stood there bullying the police to get off their asses and do something.
The thought made Denton smile but gave him no comfort. If only she had listened to him and left Bexhill. He didn’t want her worrying about him. He didn’t want her risking herself for him. That was why he had to hold on a little longer—hold on to see it through and stop this madness before it reached her.
Alex Strasser was the last name on the list. His house was in the no-man’s land between the student housing and the townie neighborhoods. He lived on the upper level of a wooden duplex badly in need of paint. The door had been left unlocked and the place was empty. Strasser had been expecting him. Kaling had gotten there first.
In the kitchen, on the wall next to the phone, a number was written in pink highlighter. There was no threat—no warning—but the message was clear.
Denton picked up the handset and punched in the graffiti’s digits. There was a stack of receipts on the counter. He started flipping through them as much to keep his hands busy as to search for a clue.
It was picked up on the second ring. “Professor Reed, you are proving to be far more destructive than I ever imagined.”
The chirpy, prim voice on the other end of the line felt like poison ivy seeping beneath Denton’s skin.
“Stephen, I want answers and I want them now. This is your last chance.”
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