Residue

by Steve Diamond

  “If you are worried about people intercepting your phone transmissions,” Alex spoke into the phone, “then now there is the potential scenario those same people know you are going to be delivering us something.”

  Us. I liked the sound of that.

  “There’s no way around it, Miss Courtney,” the Insider responded. “No matter what solution I reach for, the consequences are equally damning for all of us.”

  “Where do you want to meet?” I asked. We could sit here all day going back-and-forth. If things were really as bad as he insinuated, then we needed to get this ball rolling. I had things I needed to prepare.

  “I am delighted you are willing to give me the benefit of the doubt,” the Insider said. “The best place is somewhere populated with a bunch of civilians. Preferably somewhere loud, but where you know as many of the people as possible. Calm Waters is limited on these types of places, but I’m sure if we take a moment—”

  “I know a perfect place,” I cut him off. I turned my head and raised an eyebrow at Alex.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me?” she said, eyes wide. “No freaking way.”

  “If you two are done with your cute, silent conversations,” the Insider said, “I’d love to hear your supposedly ‘perfect’ place.”

  “Tonight is the Homecoming Dance,” I said.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  After outlining the extent of my plan to the Insider—meeting at the dance was about as detailed as the plan got—Alex dropped me off and rushed off to “go shopping.” She may have been the toughest girl I’d ever met or heard of, but she was still a girl.

  Girls get new dresses for dances, Jack, she had said. It’s practically the only rule we all try to follow.

  Martha was out running errands, claiming she’d fallen woefully behind on everything. I’d grown used to her quiet presence, but I needed a moment to myself.

  I was tired. Exhausted really. I went upstairs to get a bit of sleep, but immediately got distracted by Barry’s copy of

  Dune. It sat on my bed where I’d laid it down the night before. The purple residue still covered it. In the aftermath of Barry’s death, and mixed with some of the stuff I’d read in my grandfather’s journals over the last couple days, I’d come up with a theory. The more attached a person was to something, the more likely a permanent psychic connection would be formed. I thought back to the psychic residue on Alex’s favorite gun and on Wyatt’s journals. It seemed like a solid idea.

  I’ll make this right, Barry, I thought as I looked at that battered and well-loved book. I promise.

  Reverently I set the book back down.

  I wanted to read more from my grandfather’s journals. I wanted to see if there were any more ESP tricks I could learn. It was pretty clear from what I’d read—and from the videos I didn’t ever want to watch again—that unless I let myself get experimented on, I’d be limited to the power I had. No telekinesis for me.

  The videos. Huh. I hadn’t even really thought about them since watching them. All the chaos had distracted me. I wouldn’t learn anything more from them. But that didn’t mean there weren’t ways to learn more about what I could do.

  It was a good idea.

  It was a great idea.

  But I hadn’t really slept in two days. Before I knew it, I was staring up at the ceiling and drifting off into a nap.

  #

  Relief. I was finally back in the dream. It was becoming a strange source of comfort.

  I saw the old time sign again, and went through all the same motions of stalking the Leech from within my grandfather’s body in his memory. I’d circled around the question long enough, probably worried about the potential answers.

  Why was I experiencing his memory?

  Was this the only one I’d ever see, or was there more behind the curtain? And what would happen when I got to the end of the memory? This Leech was obviously the same Leech terrorizing the town.

  I chased after the Leech again after it jumped me. This was where I’d been kicked out of the dream last time. I followed it further into the woods, using the blood trail and the psychic residue of the creature’s footprints as an easy guide.

  My grandfather wasn’t worried about the tracking part of it. He was worried about what to do when he caught it. The people at Helix—Gaines, specifically—had ordered him to take it alive.

  Though, now my grandfather was thinking maybe that order would get conveniently forgotten. I knew that was a pointless thought. It wasn’t going to happen.

  The trail went on forever. Wyatt wasn’t feeling too fantastic. He was pretty sure he had a moderate to heavy concussion, and his left arm was a lot more painful than it should be. Was it broken?

  He pushed the thought away, mind singularly focused on finding the Leech.

  The forest opened up about a hundred yards ahead. A cabin stood, barely visible in the moonlight, and the monster’s tracks led to it.

  Gun leveled—though it wavered due to the blow to the head—Wyatt took those last hundred yards with extreme caution. No twigs crunched under his boots. His breathing was low and quiet. He paused to lean against a tree for a few minutes, hoping to regain some of his wits. Didn’t work, but he went on anyway.

  Geez. My grandfather was a freaking stud!

  The flip-side of that admiration was that this was usually the part in the movies where things went real bad for the guy who doesn’t call for back-up.

  The cabin was a mess of broken windows and missing shingles. Around it hung the stench of decay, the source being a heap of corpses near the front door, stacked like a grotesque collection of firewood. They were both human and animal.

  The front door to the cabin was open, but through it a bloody leg was visible. My grandfather circled to his left, gun steadier than it had been a short time ago. His adrenaline pushing away the fog. When he came into full view of the open door, I saw the Leech sitting in the doorway, slumped against the frame. From here it was hard to tell if it still breathed.

  Wyatt’s aim steadied, and his finger tightened on the trigger of his revolver.

  The choice weighed on him. Shoot it and call it a day, or render it completely unconscious and drag it back to his truck?

  His finger tightened a fraction more.

  Then let off completely.

  I’m not a murderer, he thought.

  He walked up slowly, gun still trained on it just in case. When he was standing right over it, the Leech lunged, psychic tendrils exploding from it like I’d seen in the vision of Barry’s death. They tried latching on to my grandfather, but then his own aura flared outward into a bubble. The Leech was weak from blood loss, but my grandfather was probably dealing with a concussion.

  I could feel Wyatt willing himself to stay upright, and how he was desperate to keep those psychic tentacles from touching him. Even now he forced himself to not pull the trigger on his gun. He was a good man. It was impossible not to feel a little humbled.

  Instead, he forced himself to take a step closer. Then another. The Leech tried to move, but it was too feeble now. My grandfather swung his gun like a club with all his strength, hitting it with a thud in the side of the head. The monster collapsed in a heap.

  Wyatt let out a deep breath, cursed himself for not shooting it in the face, and pulled some twine from his pocket to tie the monster’s hands and feet.

  The memory didn’t end abruptly like all the previous ones. It faded out like a song, everything losing clarity until it was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  My eyes snapped open. I yanked my phone out of my pocket to check the time. 2pm. I’d only been asleep for an hour and a half.

  If the Leech had used that cabin in the past, then why wouldn’t it go back there? It seemed reasonable. Kinda.

  The Leech was almost an animal now, living on instinct and driven by hunger. A quick internet search wasn’t able to find any record of any cabin in that area of the forest.

  I checked my phone every three minut
es to make sure I hadn’t missed a call or text from Alex. Where is she?

  Another thing about the dream spinning around in my head was that pile of corpses at the front of the cabin. That was a lot of murders to cover up. If there had really been that many vanishing people, wouldn’t the FBI have gotten involved? Wouldn’t it be part of at least some sort of urban legend around Calm Waters? It also suggested the Leech needed to feed on far more than the few people he’d already taken here in the town to survive.

  So where were all the reports of missing victims? Some animal would do—and suddenly that news report from the TV about missing animals took on a different light—but from the few tastes of the Leech’s mind I’d had, I was left with the impression it needed humans after a certain point.

  I did have one idea on how to track the monster. That sign I always saw at the start of the memory could give me a good idea where to start. From there I could potentially follow the steps from my grandfather’s memory.

  I wanted to head straight there, but I didn’t think it was the best idea to run off by myself.

  And Alex still wasn’t returning my calls.

  Where the heck was she?

  No sooner had I formed the question when a knocking sounded from the front door.

  Alex was already letting herself in with a key—when the heck did she have a key made?—when I opened the door.

  “A key seemed like a good idea,” she said in response to my thoughts. “I actually made a mold of it a while ago, but you’ve always been home, so I never needed it.”

  OK then.

  “So…I’ve been calling.”

  “I know, I know,” she said as she turned and began walking up towards my room. “I’ve had a lot to get done and prepared for before our meet with the Insider. And thanks to your terrific idea,” she continued, and it was impossible to miss her sarcasm, “I had to go find a dress for the stupid dance.”

  “You didn’t already have one?”

  Her expression was withering. “I already told you the rule. Besides, do I look like I have a closet of dresses?”

  She looked like she should, but that probably wasn’t the point. It was a bit hard to imagine someone that looked like her not wanting to get all dressed up.

  “It’s not a matter of desire,” she said. Was she blushing a little? Heh. “I’ve just always had stuff going on. I’ve never bothered with the dances.”

  Wait a minute. I thought back on all the school dances I’d been to. I didn’t ever remember seeing her there—I would have remembered.

  “You’ve never been to a dance?” I was blown away. “Why wouldn’t anyone ask you?”

  “Easy there,” she said pointing at me with an accusing finger. “I always get asked. Always. In fact, I get asked several times to each dance. I just always say no. I’d rather be shooting…or something…”

  Obviously she was keeping something back, but I didn’t press the issue. She had her reasons.

  “Thanks,” she’d turned her back to me and was staring into one of the bags.

  “For what?”

  “You don’t press me for answers,” she replied. “Most kids our age—not to mention every adult on the planet—push and push on every little thing.

  “It’s even worse when they know I can read minds. Suddenly I should have all the answers,” she went on. “And I should share them with everyone.” She turned back around, a short, black dress in her hand. “Do you realize that I know everyone’s secrets? But I don’t share them. I’ll use what I hear in everyone’s skull to my advantage whenever possible, but I don’t go around blabbing their inner-most secrets. If I’m not divulging their secrets, why should I let everyone know mine? Why should I give them an advantage over me?”

  As her miniature rant carried on, she had taken steps towards me. I was sitting on the bed, now leaning back as she towered over me. I had run out of room to back away from the tirade.

  Alex blinked and looked down at me. “Oh. Uh. Sorry.” She took a few steps back and glanced down at the dress in her hand.

  “You’re welcome,” I said which drew the tiniest hint of a smile from her. The dress in her hand was much smaller than I had anticipated. “So. I see one dress and several bags.”

  “I wasn’t sure what to get, so I bought five. I’m going to try them all on and see which one gets the best response from you.”

  Was this the best thing ever, or the worst? I was having a hard time deciding.

  “And you’re going to start with…that one,” I said with a pointed look at the dress she held.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Well, where are you going to put, uh, your…gun?” Or anything?

  She reached down and picked up a smaller bag and pulled out a small holster. The question weighing heavily on my mind was a simple one.

  “It goes on the inside on my thigh.”

  Oh.

  Clearing my throat I said, “It looks a tad smaller than your gun.”

  She shook her head in obvious sadness. “I know. I had to downsize specifically for this situation. Luckily, I pretty much have unlimited funds, so I ordered a Rohr Baugh R9 a while ago in case a situation like this popped up. It doesn’t have great stopping power, but it’s better than nothing.”

  “A situation like this?” I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been preparing for having to come armed to a Homecoming dance?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you have a scenario for a zombie outbreak in a convenience store too?”

  “Obviously.” When I just shook my head in amazement she went on like I hadn’t interrupted her. “Anyway, the gun is narrow enough to not get in the way of walking. It’s more of a ‘slow dance’ gun rather than a ‘jump around’ kind. But don’t worry; I’ll have several other guns in the trunk of my car just in case. I always have at least an automatic rifle of some sort in there, plus a few extra pistols and several hundred rounds of ammunition. I like to be prepared.”

  Right. Because that was exactly what I was worried about.

  Alex looked down at the dress and sighed. “You have a point though. This was the dress I was rooting for too. I drove into Eureka after dropping you off. Broke several laws getting there and back this fast. This was the first dress I found. Now what am I going to do with it?”

  “I’ll tell you what,” I said. “Once this whole mess is done, we’ll go out somewhere and you can wear that dress. Hopefully you won’t need a gun.”

  Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Are you asking me out?”

  Crap. How was I supposed to respond? I was, but what if that wasn’t what she wanted. Of course if I backed out, what if she did want me to ask her out. This wasn’t the best thought-out situation.

  Not to mention she had just read my mind through my whole thought process.

  Usually she would read my mind and comment on my thoughts, bailing me out. This time she stared at me with raised eyebrows and folded arms. Was she actually going to make me answer her? Seriously?

  “Seriously,” she said.

  This was higher-pressure than I was used to when dealing with the fairer sex. I started to sweat. “Yes,” I said finally. I think I sounded firm in my decision. Mostly. “When things calm down, let’s go somewhere nice. Maybe even drive down to San Francisco and make a day-trip out of it.”

  I held my breath.

  “Deal.” She grabbed the other bags and walked out of my room to the bathroom down the hall.

  #

  Alex slid into a long, pale blue dress with a slit up the center to allow for walking. It also allowed for the drawing of her gun strapped along her left, inner-thigh, and knife on the inner-right. She hiked it up a little and took a few practice steps running in place. Not the best, but it would do.

  She opened the door and walked into Jack’s room. His mouth fell open just a little as he saw her. Excellent. She soaked in the jumble of thoughts running through his mind. His eyes ran from her feet to meet her gaze. For the first few moments it had been slightly u
ncomfortable, but then the admiration had begun feeling…tingly.

  Recognizing and evaluating her own strengths and weaknesses had always been one of Alex’s strong points. She knew enough about herself to see the severe trust issues, the streak of stubbornness she’d been developing the past few years.

  Faking legitimate social interactions was easy for her. But dealing with someone else’s attraction was not her best area. More often than not, that attraction had nothing to do with her, and had more to do with the way she walked and her chest size. Most boys were pigs, and some adults were even worse. And in reality, girls were no better. It was hard to be around such blatant duplicity all the time. Such disingenuousness.

  But with Jack…

  Sure he’d always admired her looks. But he was actually a really decent guy under all the jokes he used to compensate for his own weaknesses.

  Alex assumed it had a lot to do with the amount of growing-up he’d been forced to do this last week.

  Jack liked her. More than liked her. But it was all of her that he liked, not just her looks. He respected her for what she was rather than compare her to any of their other peers.

  It was so refreshing.

  She’d also loved watching him squirm when he’d asked her out. These were some definite unexplored benefits to reading minds—especially when the other person knew what was happening.

  The shocking moment had been when she realized that she did want him to ask her out. This was going in a direction her father likely wouldn’t care for.

  And Alex found she didn’t much care.

  She pulled out another dress, similar in cut to the blue one she currently wore, only red.

  “Nope,” he verbally said and his mind echoed at the same exact time.

  “It’s the same dress,” she replied, confused. “Just a different color.”

  “Exactly. It’s red. Red is cliché. All damsels in distress either wear red or white in the movies. You are not, and are not likely to ever be, in distress. Every other teen at this dance will be in red because they that’s what they see all the movie stars in. They are dumb. You are not.