“Really? Or what?” Tension rose in his voice. “You’re already hunting us down and killing us off one by one with your cop buddy. What exactly is your problem? First you stop people from murdering us, then you start doing it yourself.”
“So you admit there’s an us? What are you plotting?”
Kaling ignored the questions. “Why are the two of you trying to kill us?”
“Bill’s not involved in this,” Denton felt defensive. None of this was Bill’s fault. He shouldn’t be dragged into Kaling’s evil schemes. “Knowles attacked us. Bill had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice. We saw what happened.”
Kaling’s words cast a spell of unease over Denton. They had been there. They had been somewhere on that street, watching.
“Unfortunately, we got to Jessica’s too late. My fault,” he admitted, almost cheerfully. “I assumed you would have gone down the list in order. You used to be so orderly.”
Used to be. The words slithered through his synapses.
“What’s the point of these changes, Stephen? Are we just going insane, or is it something else? Is it mind control? Is it aliens?”
“Get ahold of yourself, Professor Reed. It sounds like you need a long rest.”
“Cut the crap. You used to be a lazy slacker, who came to class in sweat pants. Now you’re a fastidious little prick. Radnor was a cowardly paranoiac. Now he’s… hell, if I know what he is.” Some bat-shit, crazy Renfield with super powers.
“Why, we have just discovered our true selves. Would you like to know what your true self is?”
“No thanks,” Denton said dryly. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
“What makes you think I’ll tell you anything?”
“Because you left your phone number for me to call you.”
“Ha-ha, how right you are. Listen, carefully if you want your precious answers, meet me in the park on Market Square at eight o’clock. Come alone and unarmed. Any sign of your friend and you will never see us again. And you’ll never learn the truth.”
He hung up, leaving Denton staring at a credit card slip from a gas station. The same station he had visited earlier that day. The one just before the entrance to Mt. Nazareth State Forest. Strasser had been there two weeks ago. Why?
The Square was quiet for a Saturday night, especially one so close to Christmas. The shops were open late, but there was very little bustle on the sidewalks, and the park was almost deserted. The paths had been cleared of last night’s accumulation but were narrow between the banks. Fresh snow covered the fairy lights in little caps, creating a veil that dimmed them and softened the atmosphere. The trees looked as if they were hung with small candles, obscuring the modern age in a nostalgic tint.
There was no sign of Kaling or Radnor. Strasser was a complete unknown; he could be anyone. But the only other people in the park at that moment were an elderly couple taking a slow meandering stroll along the winding paths.
Would they all come? Denton worried. What if they were all stronger and faster like Radnor? Would he be able to defend himself from the three of them?
An edgy energy jumped around his nerve endings. It was reminiscent of a frequent sensation he had in college from getting too little sleep and consuming too much coffee. He had moved past exhaustion. His body was burning reserve energy it never knew it had.
Denton walked past a park bench. Two small boot prints dented the accumulation on the seat. A child had stood there, probably placed there by a parent. Hauled up so the toddler could have a better view, or so the mother could better reach a nose to wipe or a scarf to adjust.
A voice carried across the Square, “Hey, Bill. Merry Christmas!”
The speaker was a man getting out of a car, which he had double parked in front of Caldwell Jewelers. Denton scanned the sidewalk. Was Stahl here? Had Kaling seen him and fled? What would Bill do when he found Denton there?
However, this Bill turned out to be a bald man with large round glasses. The two men shook hands and had a conversation. Their words were lost in the distance, only the occasional resonating note carried to Denton. They shook hands again and each took a different route.
“Well aren’t you punctual.”
Denton spun around to see Radnor not more than three feet from him.
“Where’s Kaling?” Denton glanced around. “I came here to meet him not you.”
“What? Not happy to see your old friend.” He laughed. “Stephen sent me to make sure that you weren’t up to any funny business.”
“So you’re his lapdog? Is that what you’ve become?”
Radnor laughed again. It was a slow, lazy chuckle that sang of amusement and superiority. “Stephen just doesn’t like to get his hands dirty. You should appreciate that. Always with your hand sanitizer. Never wanting to touch your fellow human beings. Poor Professor Reed all wrapped up in his phobias and neuroses. You know that everyone in the faculty talks about how strange you are?”
“If you’re trying to get me angry, it’s not going to work.” Denton tried his best to sound unaffected.
“I’m just telling you the truth. That’s what you wanted to hear, isn’t it. The truth.” He said the last two words exaggerating the syllables and rocked back and forth on the heels of his shoes.
“I don’t want to hear anything from a demented loon like you.”
“Really, is that any way for a psychologist to talk?” Radnor shook his head in disappointment. “Very unprofessional.”
“Is Kaling even here, or am I wasting my time?”
“Oh, he’s here alright.” He gestured by giving a slow jerk of his head and purposefully pointing his eyes.
Denton followed the direction Radnor indicated. Two figures stood at the other end of the park in the shadow of a large elm.
So they had all come. The puffy ski vest gave Kaling away. Very little could be seen of Strasser, but he was a few inches taller than Kaling. A slight breeze lifted strands of his hair, revealing a great mop surrounding his head.
Denton sensed the sudden closeness of a body before he felt the tug on his coat. Radnor had taken advantage of his brief distraction to close the distance and take a hold of Denton’s lapels with one of his hands. His other hand grasped Denton’s wrist, which had risen reflexively in an attempt to block the man.
It was oddly similar to that moment in his office doorway, except there was no pretense to friendliness. The grip was brutally tight.
“Now this is what is going to happen,” Radnor said. He pressed his face close to Denton’s until their mouths were only inches apart. “You are going to come with me and we’re all going to take a little drive. Understand?”
Unable to reach the tire iron with his good hand, Denton let it slip out of the sleeve and slide across his palm until he held on to the very end of the bar. There was little room to maneuver, and he swung with what little force he could manage.
Radnor stumbled back from the blow against his bicep. Although he rubbed his arm, he seemed more surprised than hurt.
“Oh, you’re going to pay for that,” he seethed. “I owe you for so many things. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”
Denton took another clumsy swing.
Radnor caught his forearm and twisted until the weapon fell with a sharp clang on the icy path.
With Denton’s arm forced prone, Radnor used it like a lever and pulled him in for a punch.
Denton braced for the savage pain that was sure to come. But instead of sharp, searing agony from his jaw being reinjured, he only felt a numb pressure from the impact.
He laughed, even though blood trickled off his chin. “You’re losing your touch, Cole,” he taunted, even though the lack of pain was probably the result of the pain killers he’d downed after dinner and not because the bastard was growing weaker. As he spoke Radnor’s name, he flung a punch of his own w
ith his free fist.
Radnor dodged and shoved Denton away. He hit the edge of the path and stumbled backwards into the snow, sinking in deep among the powdery flakes.
Radnor was immediately on top of him. The beast locked his throat locked in its sinewy fingers.
“You think you’re so fucking superior to everyone else. But you’re weak. You’ve always been weak. And now you’re going to die.”
When he was unable to shake Radnor off, Denton rained blows on his forearms, chest, belly—punch after futile punch. But the monster wouldn’t budge. His consciousness began to ebb and his ears filled with a gray hiss. He tried to pry the fingers away, but his attempt quickly devolved into frantic clawing.
He had lost.
Denton looked up at the sky above Radnor’s head. He didn’t want the last thing he saw to be the look of glee on Radnor’s goblin face. Better to go out looking at the stars, even if somewhere out in that void of space was the source for the doom that came to Bexhill.
But the only lights he saw were the artificial ones clinging to the tree’s black branches. The boughs formed a chaotic lattice work and Denton soon became lost in their intricacies. The wind blew a branch and it seemed to hover directly overhead. Its L shape looked familiar. It was just like the tire iron.
It quickly came down and rang against Radnor’s skull. A shudder passed through him and into Denton’s body. Air filled his lungs again. He gasped and choked, greedy to get more oxygen in. Relief beat out repulsion, and he ignored the warm weight of the collapsed body on top of him, and Radnor’s cheek pressing against his own.
By some miracle someone had saved him.
“Denton?”
His heart sank. A profound dread filled every molecule of his being. There was no mistaking that voice. It was Linda’s.
“Denton?” She spoke in a breathless whisper. She might have been asking whether it was him or if he was alright, but the ambiguity didn’t matter. When their eyes met, all answers were forgotten.
He shoved Radnor off and let the man’s limp body roll into the snow. The blood matting his hair drew a streak, like an errant brush on a blank canvas.
Linda stood there holding the tire iron in both hands as though it were a broadsword. Her heather gray coat puffed out at the chest with each labored breath. Her white woolen cap sat slightly askew and her hair poked out from one side.
“Is that Cole?” she asked, as Denton got up.
He wiped his mouth on his sleeve leaving a glistening, dark trail behind. Blood continued to drip, warming the corner of his mouth. He sucked in his lip and grimaced at the sharp taste.
“Yeah,” he said looking at the body, tempted to give it a kick. Radnor’s face was relaxed, as if he were sleeping. It was the only time he had ever seen Cole Radnor look peaceful. “At least it was.”
Linda pressed herself against him. Her hug drew his arms tightly against his sides.
“Do you think I killed him?” Worry was deeply ingrained into her words. Her eyes were locked on the seeping head wound.
Even though the voice in his head thought, I hope so, Denton said, “No, I think he’ll be okay.”
“I can’t believe I found you. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Thank god, you’re alright.” Her hands traveled up to his shoulders. She stood on her toes and moved to kiss him on the lips.
Denton pushed her back. “Don’t. I’m sick.”
She pressed her lips together tightly, draining their color, while her eyes narrowed, registering her hurt. Even in the depths of the worst February flues, they never refused to kiss each other. Their beings had always been too intertwined to care if they shared an illness. Their lives were lived too closely to harbor the expectation that avoiding contact could prevent infecting each other.
Denton turned away from her cold stare and saw Kaling and Strasser moving toward them. They had left their position by the elm and were closing in fast. If it weren’t for the elderly couple walking side by side blocking their path, they would have already reached Denton and Linda.
In frustration, each man leaped into the snow on either side of the old people and hastily trudged through to pass them.
“We need to go.” Denton grabbed Linda by the hand and pulled her away. The move was quick and decisive, and she didn’t resist.
Through his glove, the bones in her hand felt delicate, like the rib cage of a small animal. He was grateful for the leather and the felt lining. There was something shielding her skin from his diseased flesh.
“Listen.” Denton glanced back at her. “I don’t know what Bill’s told you, but I’m not crazy. Everything I said in my e-mail is true. There’s a virus in town that is making people psychopathic.”
“That’s nuts,” Linda said. “A disease can’t do that?”
“You’ve met Cole? You’ve talked to him? Did he ever strike you as homicidal before?” The path they were on began to curve as it left the thicket of trees and entered the emptier area of the park, where the farmer’s market convened in the summer.
Linda chewed her lower lip. Denton gave her a second to ponder the man named Cole Radnor, but he knew the answer to his questions. He had always been a little creepy and occasionally annoying, but despite all his great talk, Radnor was timid at heart.
“If you hadn’t shown up, he would have killed me,” Denton added. Over Linda’s shoulder, Kaling and Strasser were helping Radnor up. He was conscious again and they’d managed to get him standing on his uncertain feet. He shook his head as if he were trying to get bees out of it.
Seeing the concern in Denton’s eyes, Linda turned to see what was happening behind her. He hastened his pace and tugged on her hand to keep her looking forward. He sensed her stumble, as though it had been choreographed ahead of time, and moved to steady her. Their bodies met, her weight against his chest, hands still clasped together, his other hand on her waist.
When was the last time they had danced together? A friend’s wedding? A university fundraiser? At least four years ago, probably more. One more regret to add to the pile.
“Here, I’ll hold on to that.” He carefully took the tire iron from her and continued on, heading for Market Street, like their sudden, intimate contact hadn’t happened.
“I know it sounds like the stuff of bad B movies. Believe me, I know. But Radnor is sick, infected with a virus that drove him stark raving mad. And he infected me.”
Part of him wanted to just stop and hold her. Put his head in her lap and have her tell him everything would be okay. But Kaling and his little gang of the damned were less than twenty yards away. He needed to do something to put distance between them and Linda. And he had to do it fast.
“How can you be sure? How can you be sure of any of this?” Her words came out broken by pauses from heavy breathing. They were only walking quickly. She was showing more signs of exertion than she should have. She must have ran to intercept Radnor when she saw Denton in trouble. How had she known it was him? How did she know he needed help? Did she sense it the same way he had just felt that she was about to trip?
“He did it intentionally,” Denton answered. “He actually licked his hand and rubbed it on my burn.” He let go of her and held up his arm, the sleeve fell back demonstrating the wound.
“Eww.”
He tucked his wrist away, uncertain if her disgusted look had been with Radnor’s actions or the mottled mess of red blistered skin.
He stepped out onto the sidewalk. The Buick was parked a block and a half away on a side street. He headed for it.
“It doesn’t mean you have anything? It’s disgusting, but it’s not like he gave you an injection. And you do remember that you’re a hypochondriac, right?” The question sounded familiar like a refrain from a song. He had heard it before, perhaps while sitting at the breakfast table, kneading a migraine out of his forehead, worrying that it might be symptomatic of
a tumor.
“I’m not making this up.” He felt the irritation in his voice as it escaped his mouth. The police didn’t believe him. That ER doctor didn’t believe him. Bill didn’t believe him. But Linda not believing him scratched at an old wound. Not a deep cut, but a nebulous rash that comprised of all the petty annoyances that had accumulated over the years of their marriage: dish towels left in the sink, empty toilet paper rolls left on the spindle, dirty coffee cups left in the studio, the obligatory eye roll at his home improvement attempts, and her belief that he was prone to exaggerate things.
“Stop.” Her voice was no longer close behind him.
Denton was halfway across the street. She was still standing on the corner. She was defiant, with a hand on her hip. He jogged back to her and reached for her arm.
“We have to keep moving there are more of them out there. It wasn’t just Radnor.”
She deftly avoided his grasp and turned to search the park.
“There’s no one back there.”
They must still be helping Radnor. The trees blocked them from view.
“Look, no one knows what you went through in that cabin.” Linda placed her hands on his arms just above his elbows, in that way of hers that said, I understand you, but looked as if she were trying to shake sense into him.
He avoided her gaze. Their restaurant was right across the street. It was packed to overflowing with a festive Christmas crowd. Everyone seemed to be happy and laughing without a care in the world. If he could rewind time, what steps would he have to take differently in order to be one of those people?
“You have to see it’s not a coincidence that just days after you went through that, you came up with this strange conspiracy theory,” Linda said.
“I wasn’t traumatized by what happened there.” Denton turned back toward her. “Honest.” He adjusted the cap on her head and brushed the strands of hair back under it. He cursed his stupid leather gloves.
He wanted to rip them off. He wanted to feel the softness of her hair. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted her to talk him into going to the hospital and get help. He wanted to believe he was wrong, so badly.
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