As the Worm Turns

by Matthew Quinn Martin

  Beth downed the rest of her scalding-hot coffee. She grabbed her jacket and was off. She had to find out more about that man. Maybe he was harmless. Maybe it would prove to be just another dead end, but she owed it to herself to try. She owed it to Zoë to try.

  First stop was the Docklands. Beth didn’t think Zoë would mind her borrowing her battered Columbia ten-speed. She halfway wished she’d just kept Ryan’s BMW, though, until he came looking for it. She still couldn’t believe he hadn’t called or even texted once. Ryan was many things, but a stonewaller wasn’t one of them.

  As she cruised downtown, she scanned the shuttered shops and darkened windows. Many sported Thanksgiving decorations. Turkeys stuffed, trussed, and ready for the oven. Crepe pilgrims and pumpkins amid autumn streamers. Even though it was only early afternoon, all across town, the lights were dim. New Harbor rolled its sidewalks up early on Sundays. The blue laws were a relic of the city’s Puritan heritage, the roots of which were long since dead but still rotting beneath the surface. Even the mighty club Axis bowed to them, shutting its mammoth oak doors at eleven p.m. every Sunday.

  The open air felt good on Beth’s face. It had been years since she had ridden a bicycle. And after a couple of shaky starts, the proverb had proved true. She hadn’t forgotten how to do it. As she breezed farther from home, Beth was struck with the simple joy of just riding, of how much it felt like flying. A sadness crept up on her, reminding her of careless afternoons long since past. Back when there was little for her and Zoë to do but cruise as far from home as they dared. Back before this grown-up life where they’d both sought other ways of getting airborne.

  Beth’s nostalgia was cut short the moment she neared Fort Red Rock. No sign of that mysterious security guard there. But none of Tek or the prophet, either, thank God. She sped on, hitting the projects, the wharf, the charter high school. Nothing. He had to be working from some base of operations, she reasoned. But where? There were tens, if not hundreds, of abandoned structures in the Docklands alone—not to mention the rest of the city—that would be more than suitable. She couldn’t search them all. Hell, she wouldn’t even know where to start.

  Dusk arrived. Exhausted, Beth wheeled back, ready to head home. She took a shortcut over an abandoned train trestle, one she and Zoë had ridden across countless times as children. And had she not, she might never have seen the dog, scampering in a circle below her in that vacant lot. She might never have seen the man as he climbed into a large custom van parked there. Gone was the security-guard uniform, but there was no mistaking the way he carried himself—or that dog.

  Beth carefully set down Zoë’s bicycle across the long-neglected steel tracks. Then she hunkered down on the ties and waited. Waited and watched.

  Twenty-four

  The words TOTAL EXTERMINATION were emblazoned on the side of the van in big block letters that were impossible to ignore. From her perch on the trestle bridge, Beth struggled to keep what they might mean out of her mind. Hours had passed. Her stomach rumbled, and she cursed herself for not thinking to pack a sandwich. Her legs had long ago gone as numb as lumber, but the man had yet to set one foot outside of his van.

  The vehicle was unlike any Beth had ever seen. It was jacked up on knobby off-road tires. Diamond steel panels were welded to the lower half of the body. A heavy-duty winch had been bolted to a bumper that looked more like a battering ram. Wire cage reinforcements covered every light fixture. It looked more like something you’d see on a reality show, driven around by someone preparing for the apocalypse, than an exterminator’s utility truck. Every so often, she’d watch as the dog prowled around the lot, stopping at the same points over and over to stand sentry as if it was on patrol. More than once, Beth could swear it looked up at her.

  Dusk arrived. It was followed by a gray night that descended on the Docklands. A cold wind moved in from the harbor, kicking up small whirlwinds of dust, and the air smelled faintly of rain. Finally, just as the stars began to poke their holes in the sky’s dark curtain, the man swung open the side hatch and stood there, basking in the gloaming. Beth knew she had to get inside that van. If there was anything in there that might tie this man to the disappearances, any scrap of evidence at all, then the police would have to listen to her. They would just have to. And if she found nothing but bug spray and rat traps, then she could move on, and no one would be the wiser.

  She looked him over. His exterminator’s jumpsuit seemed suspiciously like his security-guard uniform. It had the same tailored fit, and around his waist hung the same tactical belt. He leaned against the door frame with one hand on the jamb and the other on what appeared to be a pistol unlike any Beth had ever seen. She wondered if it was some kind of high-tech pest-control device or just a clever way to carry a handgun in plain sight.

  He slapped his thigh. The dog bounded over and up into the van. Then the door shut. Beth heard the engine fire up, saw the lights blaze to life, and watched with quiet horror as the van began to roll toward the open road. It turned left, headed under the bridge, then turned left again. That street led to only one section of town, and Beth had a pretty good idea what the van’s final destination would be. The Strip.

  Not even pausing to curse, she scrambled up. Rubbing the sleep from her rubbery legs, she hopped onto Zoë’s bicycle, then huffed it to the end of the trestle bridge. She hit the pavement just as the van buzzed past. She followed as close as she dared, always careful to stay just a bit behind it at every red light and hoping the man wasn’t scanning the side mirrors too closely.

  Twenty blocks later, he finally pulled up to the curb and parked. They were just around the corner from Axis. Maybe I should talk to him, she thought. Maybe he’ll take me right to her . . . and shovel the dirt onto my face, too. The hatch opened. Man and dog slipped out and headed off into the night. Soon both were out of sight.

  Beth scanned the street. It was totally vacant. Not a soul in sight. This was her chance, her only chance. Abandoning the bike, she padded over to the door. She reached out, gingerly testing the latch. Locked. She scanned the pavement for something she could use to open it. Her eyes landed on a broken car antenna lying in the gutter. She swept it up. Praying it would work, she slid the metal between the door frame’s rubber gasket, and with a soft click, she was in.

  Foolish. Beyond foolish. This is suicidal. This guy could be a serial killer, and you’re trying to sneak a look in his murder van? You foolish foolish foolish girl. But in she went, lighting the way with the screen from her cell phone. The interior looked like a mash-up of a surveillance nerve center and a mobile meth lab. Her light glinted off racks of assorted test tubes, beakers, and flasks. Off at the far end was a softly humming bank of electronic equipment lit up with a Christmas tree’s worth of red and green LEDs. Next to those stood a row of sharp wooden stakes standing upright like a stockade fence.

  Beth remembered the old prophet’s words. I got to spell it out for you? We’re talking about vampires. Was that what those stakes were for? Vampire hunting? No. It couldn’t be. There had to be some rational explanation. Maybe the stakes were simply for land surveying. She spotted a vial sitting open on the counter. A thick, viscous residue clung to its curved bottom. She lifted the vial for a whiff, instantly recoiling at the noxious fumes. It was like cotton candy soaked in ammonia and bile. Her head began to swim, her vision to flutter.

  Beth reached out a hand to steady herself on the counter’s edge. She hit a metal disk about the size of a hockey puck. A loop of glittering wire protruded from one side. She pulled her hand back and heard a soft click. The loop retracted instantly. It skittered across the counter, snaring a screwdriver and pulling it tight against the metal disk. Beth leaned in for a closer look. The wire had dug almost halfway through the heavy plastic handle, all the way to the steel shaft. Suddenly, a loud crack broke the silence. The screwdriver lay there in two neat pieces.

  Beth pulled her fingers in close. She shuddered to think
how that thing could have easily sliced a few of them clean off. She looked around at the rest of the van. Tacked up on one wall was a large and heavily marked-up map of New Harbor. Flanking it were missing-person fliers just like the ones she’d found. Zoë, Frat Dracula, the rest, they were all there.

  Were these trophies? She snapped a few quick pics with her cell phone, then tucked it back inside her jacket. She now had all the evidence she needed. Trying to keep the sick from rising in her throat, Beth slipped out silently and tiptoed toward the bike.

  She’d just poked her head past the van’s back end when she spotted the man and his dog rounding the corner. She ducked back behind the van, pressing herself flat against its side. She scanned the street. Nothing in front of her but a blank brick wall, no doors, no alleys, not even a Dumpster to jump into. She judged the distance to the far corner. At least fifty yards. There was no way she’d make it without him spotting her. She was trapped, and in another second, he’d have her. There was simply no place to go, except . . .

  Beth dropped prone. She rolled under the van and held her breath, staring up at the soot-covered undercarriage and rusting muffler. A single combat boot loomed into view, then a second. Just as she began to feel as if she’d dodged the executioner’s blade, Beth felt her phone vibrate. She fumbled for it, just able to click it to silent before it drew any more attention.

  She hugged the phone tightly to her chest, hoping that that one slip wouldn’t doom her. To her right, she heard a snuffling sound. She turned to spot the outline of the dog’s muzzle mere feet from her. The snout inched closer. She could hear a growl beginning to form in the dog’s throat, see its teeth glistening as it bared them.

  Then, suddenly, the van’s leaf springs creaked. The boots were gone, up and in, and so was the dog, padding after its master. Beth let out a thin exhale. She had to get out of there. She had to get somewhere safe.

  Axis was just a block away. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it was her only choice. The club would be closed by now, Hank long gone. In her haste to quit, she’d forgotten to hand in her keys. She just hoped they hadn’t changed the alarm codes. She began to inch toward the rear bumper, scraping her back against the cold asphalt. She was about to tuck away her cell phone, but before she did, she took a quick peek at the screen. On it was a long text chain from one of Ryan’s friends:

  Beth . . . do you know where Ryan is? No one has seen him for like two days. VM box is all filled. I tried swinging by his house. Someone shoved his phone in the mailbox, and there was a note from you. I didn’t read it (promise). I’m just getting really worried . . . txt back if you hear anything. Sorry to bug you if this is a bad time.

  Bad time! Beth couldn’t imagining a worse time. Then she heard the van’s engine roar to life.

  Twenty-five

  Beth did her best to keep in the van’s blind spot as it drove away. She’d just been able to roll out from underneath it, ducking into a shallow doorway. Finally clear, she walked calmly toward Axis, as if she was just another New Harbor denizen out for a midnight stroll. She left Zoë’s bike where it lay. It would likely get stolen within the hour, but Beth vowed to buy her roommate a shiny new one if she would just come home.

  She rounded the corner, hugging the brick as she slinked over to Axis’s massive door. She fumbled for the key. All of them looked identical in the gloom. She found it. Metal struck plate, and she was in. She punched in the alarm code just seconds before it went off. She had to get hold of the police. She pulled out her phone, only to feel it slip from her grasp. The phone bounded out of sight, disappearing into the gloom.

  She got on her hands and knees, feeling the sticky floor with both palms. She crawled all the way under one of the long tables. A stray beer bottle went rolling. Beth’s heart did jumping jacks at the hollow sound rebounding in the blackness. Her hands hit napkins, beer cans, pencils, even a shoe, but no phone. She forced herself to be calm. There was no way that man in the van had seen her. Even if he had, he wouldn’t think to look for her here. And even if she lost her cell, Axis had a pay phone, one of the last operational ones in New Harbor. She could call the cops from that. She rose.

  And there he stood.

  Three feet from her, nothing but a shadow in the doorway. No dog, but his pistol was drawn and pointed directly at her. She threw her hands into the air. “Please don’t—”

  “Shhhh.” He stepped forward into what scant light streamed from the front windows. The same name, “Jack,” was stitched on the breast of his jumpsuit. His focus went slack. It was almost as if he was looking at her and, at the same time, through her.

  “Mister, I—”

  “Silence.” Jack kept his gun trained on her, and with his other hand, he reached for a vial on his belt. It was identical to the one that had almost knocked Beth out back in his van. He rapped it against a chair’s top rail, then thumbed off the cap. A thick smoke rose from the vial, and he inhaled deeply. An odd vibrating look came over him as his eyes relaxed to near slits. He scanned her one last time, head to foot, and let the vial slip from his grasp. He aimed the pistol high. And fired.

  Beth screamed. But it was drowned out by a second scream behind her. The sound was inhuman, echoing through the empty nightclub like a thousand forks scraping against bone china. She twisted around. A man dressed in slim dark jeans and a designer shirt writhed in a crumpled mass on the floor. His hair hung in long locks, obscuring his face. With another thin whine, he rolled upward. Milky foam spurted like a geyser from a gaping hole in his chest as he breathed his last.

  “What . . . why—”

  “I said, silence.” His voice was little more than a raspy breath. Jack stepped past her. He held fist to mouth, coughing. He bent to the corpse and pulled a syringe from his belt.

  “What are you doing to that man?”

  “Hardly a man,” came the response. Jack stabbed the needle straight through the corpse’s breastbone. He pulled up on the plunger, filling the barrel with a thick yellow liquid. Beth felt the nausea rising in her gullet as the ground beneath her turned to jelly.

  Jack collapsed the syringe. It disappeared into a pouch in his belt. “Salt.” Beth opened her mouth, but that’s as far as she got. There were no words. “Salt?” he repeated. “Do you have any?”

  “Salt?”

  “Yes.” He pushed past her to grab a box of kosher salt, one of two that always sat at the end of the bar, margarita-ready. He ripped off the top and dumped half the contents over the body. Almost instantly, a corrosive vapor began to rise from it, filling the air with a putrid stench that burned like the after-flare of a match. Before Beth’s eyes, the body began to melt. Fizzling and foaming into nothing but a human-shaped glob that kept shrinking and shrinking.

  “Listen,” Jack said before Beth could even take a breath. “You need to get far away from here. As far as your feet will carry you. There may be more of them. I know there are more.”

  Beth did her best to shiver some sense into herself. If she could only keep him talking, maybe she could get him to offer up some information. “More of what?”

  “Nightmares. That’s all you need to know.” He narrowed his gaze at her. “You will walk away from here. You will never speak of what you have seen. You will forget my face. Understand? Repeat that back to me.” Before Beth could respond, another faint sound came from the melting man. Jack poured more salt over what was left of the body.

  Nightmares. That’s all you need to know. Beth knew she was in a nightmare, but she needed a hell of a lot more than that. She backed away from Jack, from the impossible sight in front of her. The pay phone was only ten feet away. Her hand found the neck of the nearest bottle. While Jack’s back was still to her, she took aim at his skull. And her aim was true.

  Twenty-six

  You’re sure you saw a body?” the cop asked Beth as he jotted notes on a small leather-backed pad.

  “Yes, I . . .” Beth lo
oked down to where she’d watched that stranger melt into a puddle of goop before her eyes. Nothing remained but another mystery stain on Axis’s well-mottled wood floor.

  “An actual body? Like dead and on the ground? You know, miss, it’s really dark in here. You sure somebody wasn’t just pulling a prank on you? Some leftover Halloween antics?”

  Beth wasn’t sure of anything anymore, least of all what she should say next. No longer an employee of Axis, she was technically trespassing. A call to Hank would be a guaranteed trip to the police station, riding shotgun along with the crazy guy the cops had just dragged out unconscious and in handcuffs. “That man,” she started. “I think he kidnapped my friend. He’s got all kinds of weird stuff in his van.”

  “What van?”

  “It was out . . . out front,” Beth stammered. “But . . . but he moved it.” Her eyes landed on the floor as if she could scrape some sense off of the stained planks. She finally spotted her phone lying in a far corner. “Look, I’ve got pictures of the inside. Chemicals, maps, pictures of missing people, weapons, I think.” She stopped short of mentioning the sharpened stakes as she quickly scooped her phone up from the floor. Rising, she thrust it toward the policeman. “Just look at those.”

  “Look at those what?”

  Beth glanced down at what she held. The screen was shattered. The phone destroyed.

  “Let me get this straight.” The cop rested one hand on his gun belt. “You broke into that guy’s van, then cracked him on the head with a bottle of Glenlivet?”

  “No . . . it’s not what it sounds like.”

  “You got ID?”

  Beth dug out her wallet. She’d just flipped it open when a burst of static came from the policeman’s walkie-talkie.