“I’ve seen it, Brody. I’ve seen how it all started.” She began to shake and struggled to speak. “Remember this moment, Brody. Remember, and I’ll—”
Brody’s arms collapsed against his chest.
She was gone.
Find a boundary, he heard in his head. A voice, so familiar.
A boundary
A boundary
The darkness
Brody ran down the stairs toward the front door. The officers were gone, and the shifting, swirling shadows licked the door frame, tiny wisps spreading inside and crawling along the walls. The outside was coming in.
Brody recoiled, but it was in the darkness where he would find his answers.
He closed his eyes and let the blackness take him.
Brody floats in the darkness, seeing nothing, feeling nothing. It is silent here, and cold. He is aware of the rise and fall of his chest, but the sensation of breathing is wrong. He cannot speak, nor make any other sound. His limbs are fixed in place. He tries to flex his fingers, then his toes, but can’t tell if he’s actually moving them.
Time passes without meaning, seconds ticking by with nothing awaiting them and leaving nothing behind. Here and now is all that matters, for there is nothing else.
The searing pain in the back of his head is gone now, but the hunger remains. Brody knows this place. He has been here many times before.
The house in Joshua is an escape, a door through which he will pass, to live a life that isn’t real. Felix, the police officers, and all he knows on the other side of the shadows are false people and places designed to test him, push and prod him, while someone watches.
The shadow man.
But Brody knows he isn’t alone. He isn’t the only player. Connie is part of this game, too. She disappears into this dark place, just as he does, and emerges in the house in Joshua—
And other places.
Brody sees her dressed as his dearest Reba.
He sees her as a young girl on a playground, chased by the shadow man. Feels her body trembling against his in a pitch-black closet.
He sees her on an icy street, swinging a pipe, fighting off people trying to hurt her, and he sees her as a teenager, running down a sunlit street, trying to escape the shadow man. In each place Connie is there with him, different in appearance and age, but inside she is the same.
Just as he is the same, in Joshua; Culver, Ohio; Garland Trail, Nebraska; and West Glenn, Colorado.
Brody slowly retreats deeper into himself, falling down a long tunnel of his mind, to a place where he simply exists, waits, and survives. He wonders if he will dream.
He sees himself as a ten-year-old boy, trying to keep his little brother from getting hit by a car. He sees a yellow dinosaur.
and
A twentysomething war vet fighting for survival in the early morning hours.
and
A high school kid with an old car, sweet on a pretty girl named Joan, whom he would watch die in a fiery car wreck. A note, crumpled on the car seat.
No, he isn’t dreaming. This is the game. His game.
Brody relaxes his mind, confident in the knowledge he has finally unlocked. Here in the shadows he will wait until he emerges into one of his four worlds.
He would find Connie. She would be there. Why, he wasn’t certain, but she would appear wherever he was; they were both playing the same game. I’ve seen it, Brody. I’ve seen how it all started, she’d said. Connie was the key. She knew, and she would be his partner in the coming struggle.
Together they would fight the shadow man.
And end this insane game.
He feels himself rise from the depths, ascending from the shadowy place into another place. This is how it happens, the strings being pulled by the puppeteer, dragging him to another existence where he will dance and sing to the amusement of the shadow man.
Bright flashes cross his vision, and—
Chapter 27
BRODY10
Culver, Ohio
Thursday, May 15, 1975
Brody opened his eyes. He was in his bedroom, lying on his bed. He was ten years old, but for the first time ever in this place, he was much more than just a little kid.
He swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood, looking around his room. There it is. He spied something he’d seen while suspended in the dark place and quickly stuck it in his pocket.
“Brody, dinner’s ready,” his mom called from downstairs.
“Okay, Mom,” he replied. This was all part of the shadow man’s sick game. This house, his mother, everything—all lies put here for some twisted purpose. But he would play along. For now.
Brody hadn’t been here for the longest time. Usually, his memories stopped at the playground, after he’d tried to save, or had saved, his brother from the car. The mention of dinner sent a pang of hunger through his body so urgent and overpowering it was difficult not to run downstairs and stuff whatever food he could find into his mouth. He would eat, then he would leave. He had to find Connie.
“Tell Murphy, too,” his mother added.
Brody opened his door and stepped into the hallway. Brody smelled the food from downstairs, and his stomach growled. He was weak, as if he hadn’t eaten for days, but there was no more pain in the back of his head, which was a blessing. Murf’s room was right next to his, and the door was open. He peered inside and saw Murf sitting on the side of his bed.
Brody had a hard time looking into Murf’s eyes and thinking anything was wrong. Deep inside, he loved that kid, and thinking about Murf being anything other than a real, live little boy made Brody angry. He recalled all the times he’d run after Murf as he wandered out into the street, and all the times the car had hit him, or had hit both of them, or had barely missed them both. The memories were nearly too hard to fathom.
“What’s wrong, Bowdy?” Murphy said, using his little-boy voice again.
“Nothing’s wrong, Murf,” Brody replied. He walked into his brother’s room and tousled the kid’s hair. “Dinner’s ready. Have you washed your hands?”
Murf held his hands out in front of him, palms up, so Brody could see.
The events all seemed so real and so right. He felt content knowing he was at home with his little brother, going downstairs to eat dinner with their mother. A normal day with his normal family. He sighed and shook his head.
“I washed them, really I did,” Murf said.
“It’s not that, Murf.”
“Are you okay, Bowdy?”
“Come on, kiddo,” Brody said. His heart was breaking because if he deviated from the script he was supposed to play, his brother (or whatever he was) would no longer act like the Murf he had grown to love. He would be like Felix, or the kids at the playground, a glassy-eyed mannequin, angry that Brody wasn’t doing what he was supposed to. For now, he would play along, then he would try to find Connie at the first opportunity. “Let’s go eat.”
Brody couldn’t help himself when he sat down at the table, shoving forkful after forkful into his mouth. He was starving.
“Slow down, Brody,” his mother said. “You’ll make yourself sick!”
Brody looked at the woman he’d known as his mom for as long as he could remember (at least in this place) and was sickened by the knowledge that she was really no different from the others. She had blond hair, brown eyes, and a nose that looked just like his. But she was a falsehood, a fake. “Sorry, Mom. This is really good.” Which was true. The food tasted great, but the hunger was still there even after he’d cleared half his plate and downed a whole glass of milk.
“I’m glad you like it, but don’t eat so fast. You ate lunch at school today, right?”
He nodded but couldn’t remember whether or not he’d eaten.
No, you don’t remember because you were never at school today. You were in the darkness, then you were in your room, he reminded himself. Play the game. Just play the game.
“I called your father a little while ago, Brody,” his mom
said. “And I told him what you did today. He’s very proud of you.”
The car. It had to be the car again, right? “It was nothing,” Brody replied.
“Nothing? You saved your brother’s life today!” She looked at Murf. “And you, young man, are very, very lucky your brother was there.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Murf said quietly. “I won’t do it again.”
Brody decided to chime in. “Yeah, Murf. You know better than to walk out into the street without looking.” As soon as he said it, Brody noticed a change in the room. Both his mother and Murf were staring at him.
“Street?” his mother asked. “What are you talking about, Brody?”
“The car, at school,” Brody said. “I saw Murf walking out into the street, and I grabbed him right before he got hit by the car.”
“No, Brody,” Murf said, his voice oddly flat. “I was choking, and you hit me on the back.”
“There was no car today, Brody,” his mother said, her voice also lacking emotion and her eyes quickly losing life. “You shouldn’t be talking about the car.”
Brody pushed his chair back from the table and stood as a sharp pain rocketed down his spine from the back of his head. He groaned and grabbed the chair to keep his balance. His mother and brother sat there, staring at him.
Brody remembered what had happened at school when the other kids had chased him and Connie, when they had beaten him. It was time to leave.
He turned and ran from the house, slamming the front door closed behind him and taking off down the street toward the school. If Connie was going to appear, it would be there. At least he hoped so. The sun was out, white, puffy clouds floated across the blue dome of the sky, and birds were chirping. He felt a breeze, saw people walking around and cars driving up and down the streets. Culver, Ohio, in mid-May. Completely normal.
But it wasn’t. His mother’s and brother’s faces at the dining room table confirmed that much. He’d said something that had thrown them off script, and he had already experienced what happened after that.
In the darkness, he had learned the truth: this was one of four places where he was Brody Quail. And it couldn’t be real.
He had to find Connie, talk to her, let her know what he’d realized was happening. She would know what to do next because she knew how it had all started. She’d seen it in one of her dreams. He had to know, too.
Brody ran, pumping his arms and legs, hoping the fierce flash of pain he’d felt at the table wouldn’t return. His head was throbbing slightly, but it wasn’t too bad. He half expected the people along the streets to stop and stare as his brother and mother had, and take off after him (he’s not doing what he’s supposed to do), but thankfully, they didn’t seem to care. So far.
As Brody approached the school, he saw it was abandoned, which made sense because he’d started this day (Day? What was it, really? A session?) in his room, well after school had ended. The playground was empty, no kids lining the fence screaming at him as before, no hive-minded mob wanting to pummel him for not staying on script. He’d hoped to see Connie there, waiting for him, but there was no sign of her.
He remembered a moment from before, in another place, a big, empty house where the shadow man dragged Connie into a room, into the darkness. His heart sank, thinking maybe he’d never see Connie again.
He stopped running.
The shadow man had gotten her.
Brody didn’t want to consider having to go through this alone, without the only other person who seemed to know what was going on. He would look for her, find her. He would step into the darkness wherever he found it.
it’s a boundary
a boundary
go to a place you’ve never been before
First, he would search the school. Just in case.
Brody ran to the school’s front door and pulled it. It was locked. He tried two, then three of the side doors and found them locked as well. He searched the ground until he found a rock big enough to do the trick and walked to the back of the school, where the trees would hide him from prying eyes. If the school had an alarm, so be it. He would be in and out quickly enough to avoid the police (if there even were police in this place). If she wasn’t there, then he would find a boundary.
He remembered the darkness, how it had felt, and he shuddered. It was an awful place, so empty and constricting, but it was where he had learned the truth about himself, and the only place where he thought he could find Connie.
If she was even alive.
Brody threw the rock at a small window. The glass spiderwebbed but didn’t break. He picked the rock up and threw it again, and again, until the glass finally gave way. He grabbed a stick from the ground and poked at the shards of glass around the edges. Luckily there were no sirens or bells, but maybe they had a silent alarm, like a bank.
He squirmed through the window and dropped to the floor, careful not to cut his hands on the shards of glass. He opened his mouth to call out Connie’s name, then stopped himself. He assumed the building was empty, but there could still be a janitor inside, a possibility he forgot to consider before he broke the window. If anyone was inside, he or she would probably have heard the glass breaking. He’d have to be careful. He walked quickly down the hall, searching each classroom as he went. Down the main hall toward the office, he found nothing. The gym, empty. There was no one here. No janitor, thankfully. But no Connie either.
He made his way down the last hall, past his own classroom, where he’d hidden behind his teacher’s desk one of the last times he’d been here, when
the sky was wrong
the shadows deep and dark
the colors flat and lifeless
and stood before the janitor’s closet where he and Connie had hidden. Where he’d held her in his arms and she had vanished into thin air. “Please be here,” he whispered and opened the door.
For a second, Brody wasn’t sure what he was seeing. The inside of the closet was dark, too dark. Swirling shadows, an emptiness stretching away far beyond the back of the closet.
In the shape of a man.
Brody stumbled back, falling on his butt, kicking with his feet to get away as the thing slowly emerged from the closet.
The shadow man, an outline of a person cut from the air, reaching for him.
Brody scrambled to his feet and ran for all he was worth, back toward the window. He didn’t look back, but it was there, so close, following him.
It’s evil, Brody. It wants us both.
It killed my family.
Brody slipped as he turned the corner and slid into the wall. He fell to the floor and risked a glance behind him. The shadow man was there, walking quickly. He was once again whole, a man in black clothing, boots, and a visored helmet. He was close enough that Brody could see his own reflection in the shiny faceplate and the terror etched across his face.
He crawled down the hall, scrambling to his feet. He stopped, grabbed his window-breaking rock from the floor, and turned. He held it up, ready to throw. “Stop!” he screamed as the shadow man turned the corner. “Leave me alone!”
The shadow man didn’t stop but slowed his pace. Still, he came closer. Closer.
Brody threw the rock, and it struck the shadow man in the shoulder, bouncing off harmlessly. Brody turned and ran, slipping on the glass shards on the floor and nearly losing his footing.
The glass!
He quickly looked around, searching for a piece large enough to use as a weapon. There! He grabbed a long shard of windowpane, triangular with a sharpened end, the wide portion almost too big to fit in his hand. The edges were sharp, and he could feel them digging into his fingers.
This time, the shadow man stopped. He held up his hand, motioning at Brody to stop.
“Get back,” Brody commanded. “Leave me alone.”
The shadow man raised his other hand, brought it to his face. He seemed to flick some sort of switch by his mouthpiece.
“What did you do with Connie?” Brody screame
d. “Where is she?”
For the first time, he heard the shadow man speak.
“Forget about the girl.”
His voice was electronic, as if he were speaking through a microphone.
“What did you do to her?” Brody screamed, slowly backing up toward the window.
The shadow man took another step forward. “You need to forget about her, Brody.”
It—he knows my name.
“You killed her family,” Brody said coldly. “And you killed her, too, didn’t you.”
“The girl isn’t here, Brody. Put the glass down.”
“No!” Brody had been gripping the shard so tightly that it had cut into his fingers, and he could feel a trickle of blood running down his wrist. He didn’t care, though. He wasn’t going to play this game anymore.
Brody was backed against the wall now, the window’s bottom edge pressing against his shoulders. He’d have to turn and lift himself up before the shadow man could cover the distance and grab him. He wasn’t sure he could get out in time. “I’m through playing your game. I’m done, do you understand? I’m not going to play this anymore. None of this is real!”
“It’s not a game, Brody,” the shadow man said. “Look at your hand . . . You’re bleeding. Put the glass down, and come with me.”
“Where is Connie?”
“You have to forget about her.”
Brody decided. He turned and lifted himself up, the glass still clutched in his hand. He heard the shadow man move toward him, felt him grab his leg. He was halfway out the window, being dragged back. He tried to hold on to the edge of the window with his empty hand, gripping it as tightly as he could, but his fingers slipped, and he fell back inside.
And that’s when Brody Quail fought back.
Brody swung his weapon with all the strength he could muster and shoved the pointed shard of broken glass into the shadow man’s shoulder.
He let out a tinny, electronic scream and tumbled back, the glass sticking out of his shoulder, covered in blood.
Brody’s blood.
Brody watched as the shadow man vanished, leaving the glass shard suspended in midair for a moment before it fell to the floor, bouncing once and breaking in half.
The Argus Deceit Page 18