Jared’s eyes rolled. He slumped over, and the Land Rover rolled forward slowly as his foot slid off the brake. Marisa couldn’t tell if he was still conscious. Or if he was even breathing.
The vehicle veered left into the oncoming lane. Marisa panicked. She grabbed the automatic shifter and threw the transmission into park, rocking the vehicle in a hard stop. Above the shouts and the screams in the street, she heard the unmistakable pop-pop-pop of gunfire. People were still flooding out of the doors, trampling one body after another. More gunshots followed, and the screaming reached a fever pitch. Now the street was filled with people fleeing for their vehicles. It was bedlam.
Lois Connehey staggered toward the Land Rover. The arts teacher had been trampled in the stampede and had a jagged cut on the right side of her face. She reached the vehicle and pounded against Jared’s window. “Help me! Help me, please!”
Marisa got out quickly and raced round to the driver’s side. Lois Connehey grabbed her arm for support, and Marisa had to steady her. When Marisa looked back toward the crowd, she froze.
“That’s him!” a man shouted. “That’s the guy!”
“Get him!” another cried. He was helping a teenager to his feet.
Now they were coming.
Marisa pulled away from Lois Connehey and opened the rear side door. She ducked when that disturbing pop-pop-pop came again.
“Thank you, thank you,” Lois said, stumbling forward.
Marisa grabbed her and pulled her away from the SUV. Lois tried to get in, but Marisa shoved her back. “I’m sorry,” she said, and opened the front door. Jared fell into her arms, groaning. She struggled to drag him out and managed to get him into the back. She slammed the rear door and went to get in, and the arts teacher screamed at her.
“You bitch!”
Pop. Pop-pop.
Marisa climbed in behind the wheel. She scrambled to lock the doors as men closed on the vehicle, and screamed when one of them slammed a fist against the side window. Another pounded the hood. They started rocking the vehicle, and she threw the shifter into reverse and hit the gas. She cranked the wheel hard, sending the SUV into a squealing spin. When a fist struck the back window, she rammed the car into drive and sped down the street.
She had no idea where she was going. Jared listed in the back seat, but at least he was conscious. He seemed to be settling, and the bleeding had stopped. He was a mess, but she was thankful he was still with her. She didn’t know how much more she could take. Not on her own.
She headed out to Old Mill Sideroad and stopped near the tracks. The flashing red lights finally died as the freight train passed. She slumped forward over the wheel and started to sob.
Jared stirred. “Mar?”
Marisa raised her head. She sniffled and dried her cheeks. “Are you all right?”
“I wish I knew.” He rubbed his temples a moment, then sat up in his seat. “Hand me that,” he said, pointing to his smartphone that sat in a small compartment under the dash.
“Judd?” she asked, handing him the phone. “Do you have his number?”
“Never lost it. It’s in my contacts.”
Jared called. Judd picked up.
“Yeah,” Judd said.
Marisa could hear some mild shouting in the background. But no screaming. No pop-pop-pop.
“Judd!” Jared said. “Are you okay? I was just outside the community center and—”
Judd hung up.
“He’s alive,” Marisa said. She had to say it twice before Jared responded.
“He’s alive,” Jared echoed slowly, as if finally understanding what that meant. He seemed dizzy and lost. He paused, then tapped the pizza box as his stomach growled. “This smells way too good.”
Marisa shook her head. “Really? Food?”
He shrugged.
She didn’t bother to insist he see a doctor. Instead, she resigned herself to helping him out of the back and into the front passenger seat. She cleaned him up with some paper serviettes he had stuffed into the glove box, and now they sat on the side of the road eating pizza. After her first bite tasted so good, she found an appetite for three full slices. Jared finished the rest, complaining more than once about the pain from his latest abscess.
“I knew I should have picked up some soda,” he joked after his last bite. “Guess I wasn’t counting on a road trip.”
Marisa sat quietly. She stared blankly at the road ahead. She had more on her mind than what had just transpired.
“What is it?” Jared said. “I mean, ignoring the fact that someone just had a human turkey shoot.”
“How can you joke about this?”
“Sorry.”
She turned to him. “Something else has happened, Jared. You know that.”
“We don’t know for sure,” he said. “There wasn’t much time between my last two episodes. Maybe what happened at the community center was part of the same event.”
“We don’t know that. For all we know, someone else got hurt. Or worse.”
“All I know is that the sensations were the same. Exactly the same.”
She understood. Rage and rapture.
“I want to see my son,” she said.
Jared held her hand. “Our son.”
~ 153
At the hospital, Marisa visited Kit while Jared stayed in the Land Rover. He looked like he could use the rest. When she returned, he was leaning against the side window, snoring deeply. She got in beside him and woke him gently.
Jared rubbed his eyes as he sat up. He looked at the clock. “That was twenty minutes? It felt like two.”
“I’m just glad you were snoring. You looked dead.”
He nodded. “So how is he?”
“He says he’s still got a bit of headache. His leg isn’t any better, of course. We’ll know more in the morning, I guess.”
“At least he’s safe here.”
“I hope so. But I’d rather have him with me.”
“He’ll be okay.”
Marisa avoided the usual routes home, especially Main Street. She turned onto Elm, fearing she would find a raucous crowd in front of her house. Fearing it was already in flames.
She pulled off to the side of the street before her driveway. “Are you kidding me?”
Her hatchback had suffered even more damage. Its rear window was smashed in. The rear tire on the passenger side was flat. All they could see was a green handle of the screwdriver that had impaled it.
“That too,” Jared said, pointing. The lower left corner of the living room window was cracked in a spider’s web. A small rock sat in the grass below the sill.
“I don’t want to stay here tonight,” Marisa said. “Not alone.”
~ 154
Marisa and Jared arrived at his house just before eight. They showered separately, and while he was downstairs mixing them drinks, she sat out on the deck outside Jared’s bedroom. There was no breeze; the night was warm. Orange and apple clouds hovered above the horizon, and the setting sun slipped behind them. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, but felt an emotional kick—and a rush of relief—when her son answered the phone.
“Hi, Mom.”
“How’s it going, baby? Any better?”
“I’m okay. I wish I could come home.”
“Tomorrow. I’m sure it’ll be tomorrow.”
“How’s Jared?”
“He’s okay.” She decided not to tell him she was staying at Jared’s. He’d not only worry about her, he’d worry she was so far away.
“Tell him I hope he’s feeling better. And say goodnight to him for me.”
“I will. Did you take your pill?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now I want you to get some sleep, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Sweet dreams, baby. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Mom.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Kit.”
Kit said goodbye and hung up.
Marisa called her
parents. She got the machine but didn’t leave a message. A few minutes later she tried again, and as the recorded voice of her mother came on, she left a message for them to call her back. She ended the call and set the cordless on the table.
Jared stepped out to the deck and set their drinks near the phone. He sat next to Marisa, and she sipped her drink and set it down.
“Is it okay?” he asked. “Usually you go bonkers for my pina coladas.”
“Sorry. I’m just so beat.”
“Me, too. That shower helped. But I gotta tell you, when I got a good look in the mirror … I’ve seen livelier stiffs from the Phantom’s handiwork.”
“The Phantom,” Marisa said, almost mockingly. “I don’t know who that sicko really is, but I’d like to show them the real Phantom.”
“You mean the shape.”
“I’m so worried, Jared. I’m so scared.”
“I know.”
“I called Kit. He wanted to say goodnight to you.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s fine, I guess. He’s one brave little monkey.”
“Did you call your parents?”
“I left a message. Knowing Dad, he’s probably asleep in front of the TV. Mom’s probably in bed reading. I’ll call them in the morning.”
For a time they sat without words, watching the sun dip deeper. Just a small red dome poked above the tree line.
“What happened tonight,” Marisa said. It was more a statement in exasperation than a question. “How many people were killed, do you think?”
“We don’t know if anyone was killed.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“No. But I’d rather not think about it.”
Again they sat without words. Again, it was Marisa who broke the silence.
“It’s getting worse. The things that are happening—”
“I know. The Bad People.”
“What do we do, Jared?”
“I don’t know. But we’ll find a way to stop this. I promise.”
She could see in his eyes he was just as uncertain as she felt.
Jared got up and took her by the hand. “Let’s sleep on it, okay? Whatever tomorrow brings, we can’t be fighting that when we’re fighting our own fatigue.”
They got ready for bed, and Jared spooned her. He fell fast asleep, but for her, sleep was only a hope. She lay in the darkness, fearing what waited with the dawn. She tried to block out the demons in her mind, only to sob at the image that so tasked her. All she saw was her son, a gun to his head, pulling the trigger.
~ 155
Judd woke with a start. His heart pounded. His bedsheets were damp, and sweat soaked his skin. He didn’t know where he was, not at first. He was caught in that half-awake, half-dream state, still living the nightmare. A sea of screaming people filled his racing mind, their cries punctured by that resounding pop just before each body fell. The very sound of death.
He stiffened, fighting the nausea that suddenly consumed him. He couldn’t tell if it was the cancer or the nightmare. All he knew was that he felt sick to his stomach again.
He got up to pee. His urine was darker than ever. The scale offered little comfort, the mirror even less.
It wouldn’t be long now.
He flicked off the light and sat on the bed. The full moon hovered at the window like a giant eye, illuminating the field behind his home. He checked the clock. It was half past one.
He could still hear the screams in his head, could see the bodies and blood. That dead stare from the cop. It was like looking into the eyes of a monster.
This was crazy shit, like that crazy shit that his brother called books. It was crazy, all right, so bat-shit nuts it was driving him to the brink. It was almost enough to drive a man to drink.
He got up, paused, and almost didn’t open the closet. On the shelf he moved some boxes aside, and took a slow step back.
He stared at the ratty Reebok shoe box; it didn’t hold his baseball cleats any more. He’d lost them years ago, after the win in the men’s slow-pitch final. After the celebratory bender, that was, waking up in that field with no shirt and no shoes, and no idea how he’d gotten there.
He got the box down and felt the familiar weight of the bottle inside. It took his all not to crack it open and guzzle the whole damn thing. He had nothing to lose.
No—he didn’t. But a lot of people did. People like Artie.
Quickly, he put the box back and shut the door. He backed up against it. He didn’t realize he was trembling.
Keep your shit, he thought. Think about all those people. Think about Artie.
He didn’t know where his best friend was, but he knew in his heart he would never see him again. And the more he thought about that, the more it hurt. The pain was growing inside him like … well, like a tumor.
Again he heard those screams.
He wondered if Artie had screamed.
~ 156
Downstairs, Judd stepped out back to his modest deck. He lit up a Marlboro and leaned against the railing. The still night was warm, and the moon cast sharp shadows from a stand of trees just beyond his yard. Their long thin shapes seemed to creep across the field.
People are dying, he thought. Good people.
This thing—whatever this thing was that was making people loco, like the old man used to say—was some kinda strange. And if the old man were here, he’d have a royal shit-fit, waving his newspaper in that big old chair, screaming, La mano del diablo! La mano del diablo!
It was the hand of the devil, all right. Just like the Phantom. El Phantasma.
He didn’t buy into that hocus-pocus mumbo-jumbo, of course, but then again, he didn’t buy into chemo, either. He was just a simple mechanic. What he saw was what he knew. And what he knew was that Torch Falls was about to snap like a rusted tailpipe. All it would take was a bad dip in the road.
What’s goin’ on, Little Brother? What’s happening to you? I don’t know what the fuck is goin’ down here, but I do know this: All this blood? It’s on you. It’s all on you.
When Jared had called, he had wanted to tear a strip out of him. Had wanted to reach into that phone and rip his lying little throat out.
He still did. He wanted to get into his pickup right now and drive up to that fucking castle of Jared’s and drive his fists into his face. Make him talk; make him spit blood until the truth came bleeding with it.
Why? You really think you can stop it?
He couldn’t. He knew that. Whatever was going on, it was bigger than Jared, and bigger than him. It had teeth bigger than him.
He took a drag of his cigarette. He needed to calm down. Needed to keep his shit.
Back at the community center, the cops had called him a hero. He might have saved Artie’s daughter, but he was no hero. The fact was, he was as scared as scared got. He didn’t know what had happened to Artie, but he’d be damned if it was going to happen to him. People were going tits-up in all sorts of nasty ways, and he wasn’t going to be one of them.
He looked up at the moon. It was rising, but his star was falling.
It wouldn’t be long now.
He had weeks at best. The pain was getting so bad he could hardly stand it. The way he saw it, he had two choices: Die a slow, horrible death as he faded away, or die a quick, horrible death at the hand of some monster that lurked in the shadows.
Thanks, but no thanks. He’d go out on his own terms.
And he’d do it tomorrow.
~ 157
Judd stood on his back deck for nearly twenty minutes, held by the silence that filled the night. A second cigarette calmed his nerves, and the more he thought about taking his own life—and how he would do it—the more sense it made. He was good with it. At peace with it.
What about Oro and Plata?
They were old. Like him, they were on their way out. He would take them to the vet tomorrow. Let them die with dignity. And after that—
He heard a car start in the distance. It sounded
as if it had come from the clearing beyond the field. There were no headlights, but he could hear the car rolling slowly over the old dirt road that ran parallel to his land. He hadn’t seen a vehicle pass there in years, and he figured it was probably some horny teenagers—or some pot-smoking ones. Maybe both.
But why no lights?
They came on after the car had traveled some distance. He heard it for a few seconds more, and then it was gone. All was silent.
He stepped down onto the grass and made his way to the back of the yard. He stood near the twin dog houses, half-expecting Plata to bark. Oro was a deaf old cow, but Plata? He couldn’t see an intruder at twenty paces, but could still hear its heartbeat at a hundred.
He checked both dog houses. Empty.
He scanned the field. Called out to his dogs.
“What the fuck? Where are they?”
He went inside and returned with a flashlight. Standing on the deck, he surveyed the yard with the narrow beam from the lamp.
He spotted something near the bushes. Something there in the grass. He took the steps and made his way over.
No. NO.
Several lumps of raw meat led to the bushes in the corner before the field. Some of them had been chewed up, others were untouched.
He shone the light side to side and all around the yard. No sign of Oro. No sign of Plata. He made his way through the bushes and found himself shin-high in wildflowers and prickly grasses. Letting the light guide him, he made a hundred yards and stopped in the clearing.
He dropped the flashlight, dropped to his knees, and screamed into the night.
~ 158
Jared spat a tooth into the bathroom sink. The pain in his mouth subsided as he rinsed saliva and blood from it. His whole body felt like one massive toothache. He managed to get some feeling back in his arms and legs with some agonizing stretches, and making fist after fist with his hands got the blood flowing in his fingers. On the upside, he had lost just a single fingernail.
He got back in bed and curled up beside Marisa. The new light of the dawn streamed in through the bedroom windows.
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