Gateway

by David C. Cassidy

  I’m so sorry, Mar. But I swear, I’ll get you and Kit out of this if it’s the last thing I do. I swear to God I will.

  ~ 159

  Despite a growing fever, Jared whipped up a big breakfast, enough for four, and he ate for three. Marisa picked at her eggs, taking a short break to call the school. She left a message, informing Mr. Tremblay that Kit wouldn’t be in for a couple of days, possibly next week.

  As they sat with tea in the sunroom, Jared tuned his Bose Wave radio to the local news. Marisa had him switch it off before the announcer was even halfway through the names of the victims in the community center massacre. She turned to Jared and held his hand.

  “I’m so sorry, Jared.”

  He could not believe that Ricky and Gwen were among the dead. That Ridley was the shooter. That there were sixteen victims. Some of them children.

  “This is a nightmare,” he whispered. “A fucking nightmare.”

  Marisa comforted him with a hug. When he looked up at her, he saw the worry drawn across her face.

  “I want to pick up Kit right now,” she said. “I don’t care what the doctor says. I want him with me.”

  She left the room for a minute and returned with her cellphone. She sat down to dial, waited and waited, then plunked down the phone next to her breakfast plate.

  “Still no answer?” Jared said.

  “Where’s my Mom? Why aren’t they answering?”

  “Let’s go. You can keep calling on the way.”

  ~ 160

  Jared and Marisa picked up Kit just before nine. They spoke briefly with Dr. Vogel, who told them Kit didn’t appear to have any long-lasting effects of his concussion and could be discharged right away. Now they were on the way to Marisa’s parents, who lived a couple of miles out of town. Kit was in the back behind Marisa. A pair of crutches sat next to him behind Jared, who was negotiating a left turn.

  “I never liked that man,” Marisa said.

  “Who?” Jared said. He turned up the A/C, but it didn’t help with the fever.

  “Vogel. He kept staring at you.”

  “Small wonder. I’m not exactly the picture of health.”

  “He kept staring at me, too. Like I was guilty of something. Like he thought I did this to Kit.”

  “His demeanor certainly changed. I can’t believe he asked where we were last night.”

  “Can you believe it? I almost kicked him.”

  “Did something happen last night?” Kit said.

  “No. Nothing,” Marisa said assuringly. She looked at Jared as she crossed her arms. “There’s something not right about that man.”

  “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you?”

  “Can you blame me? How many times have you told me about the Phantom and how it must be a doctor?”

  “Who’s the Phantom?” Kit asked.

  “Mind your business,” Marisa said.

  Jared gave her a look. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Hey, it’s your theory.”

  “I’m a writer. I make stuff up.”

  “Well, he is the right age, isn’t he? He’s got to be in his sixties.”

  “Granted,” Jared said. “But he’s not a surgeon.” He paused. “Is he?”

  “He used to be,” Marisa said.

  “This is nuts. Don’t we have bigger fish to fry?”

  Marisa agreed. “Sorry. I don’t know where my head is at.” She tried calling her parents again, then tossed the phone into her purse on the floor. She asked Jared to go a little faster.

  ~ 161

  Judd stirred at dawn to the soft sound of a crooning mountain bluebird. His eyes opened slowly and met the rising light of a roiling apple sun, its bright rays filtered through the tall grasses that bordered the clearing. He still cradled the spade.

  He sat up, dizzy. The bottle lay in the loose dirt beside him. It was nearly empty, but he didn’t care. He could always get more. There was always more.

  He stared at the fresh mounds of earth. And wept.

  ~

  Hours slipped by, but he didn’t notice. For him, time had stopped. It was as if his mind was trapped in a maddening maze of confusion and rage, his heart trapped with it.

  He had buried Oro first, after he had gathered his parts and placed them next to Plata’s. In his drunken madness, he had cut the twine that bound their limbs and tried to make them whole again. And failed.

  He took a swig from the bottle. It was all he could do to stop the hurt. Stop the pain.

  But nothing could stop it, he knew; not real pain. Not the pain that drove you to drink in the first place. Drink could numb it, drink could twist it—into whatever lie you wanted to believe. Whatever made you slip from the real world into your own.

  How could they do this?

  Oh, they could pretend all they wanted. Jared would claim it was the Phantom, and maybe it was; maybe it was. Maybe the old man had been right, and the hand of the devil had come to Torch Falls.

  Bullshit. Like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. He knew the real devil here, and it wasn’t el Fantasma. Jared could spin it any way that brain-fucked mind of his liked, and he would. And Marisa—

  Well, Marisa would ride right along with pretty much anything he said. She was fucking him.

  They did this, all right. They brought hell to this town. Brought it on a goddamn silver platter, delivered by a goddamn silver Land Rover. And when the bill came due, Artie paid the price, like so many others. And now this.

  Now this.

  They’d hurt so many. Oh, how they’d hurt.

  Now it was his turn. He’d show them hurt.

  He guzzled the last of the whiskey. Said his last goodbyes.

  He wiped the dirt and the sweat and the tears from his cheeks. Got to his knees and staggered to his feet.

  He stiffened as he stilled. He had to gather himself, had to keep it together. After all, he had so little time left, yet so much to do.

  ~ 162

  The Land Rover turned onto County Road 5. Jared took Marisa by the hand, and she looked at him with dread in her eyes. They hadn’t spoken all the way out here, and the fact that her calls had continued to fail heightened the fear that enveloped them. There was a real chance that this was all just some kind of misunderstanding, that maybe the Judges were out shopping for groceries. Maybe asleep in their beds, dreaming of sugar plums.

  If only he could rewrite this chapter. Highlight all of the text and press delete.

  Marisa had been right. Despite his attempt—denial, really—that his two episodes yesterday had been akin to a hiccup and that they were all part of the same event, he knew now that they weren’t. And from the cold expression on her face, he knew Marisa was thinking the same.

  He only prayed they were wrong.

  He drove past the first three houses and turned left at the four-way stop. The Judges lived at the end of the gravel road, and as he drove up to their home, he wondered what new hell awaited.

  He parked in the driveway behind Henry Judge’s Impala. He turned down the A/C, and before he looked at Marisa, he glanced at Kit. They hadn’t discussed it, but when she nodded subtly and slipped the key to her parent’s house into his hand, he was relieved that he didn’t have to ask. He didn’t want her going in first any more than she did. With all that she’d been through, whatever he might find could drive her over the edge.

  “I wanna say hi to Grampa,” Kit said. “Gramma, too.”

  “Not right now,” Marisa said. “Jared has to talk with Grampa about something first. Okay?” She gave Jared a harried glance.

  “I won’t be long, Mar.” He went to get out, but she stopped him. He could see it in her eyes. This can’t be happening.

  He got out and took the steps to the front door. The doorbell got no answer. Three sound knocks were just as futile. He turned to Marisa. Even from where he stood, he could see she was fighting the tears. She wiped her eyes, then turned back to her son, distracting him with conversation.

&nbs
p; He turned the key and went inside.

  ~ 163

  A tomb, Jared thought. It was the only way to describe the place. Hello? died the instant it sprang from his lips, the deafening silence as disturbing as the quiet that had gripped him in Sonia Wheaton’s home.

  Despite the cool A/C air rising from the floor vents, the house was unusually warm. A squadron of flies crawled on the walls along the corridor. He moved through the main floor silently, and as he approached the kitchen, smelled a disgusting undercurrent of onion and rotten eggs. His fever seemed to grow in the stale heat.

  He stepped round the corner and into the kitchen. Catherine Judge lay on the floor. Half of her sprawled body was inside the open door to the deck, her neck twisted so badly that he nearly threw up.

  “Jesus,” he moaned, turning away. Another squadron of flies crept over the spoiled deviled eggs on the counter. He felt his stomach coming up, and he staggered back against the stove. It was all he could do to stop his knees from buckling.

  Don’t lose your shit, he thought. Not again.

  He willed his stomach back down. When he could, he stepped away from the stove and took a single step toward the body. The fever dizzied him again, and only a second effort gave him the courage to squeeze past the remains and step outside to the deck.

  And then he saw Henry.

  ~

  Jared nearly made it all the way to the railing. Another step and his vomit would have cleared the deck. Now he stood doubled over near the stairs to the yard, not wanting to turn around. Not wanting to believe. Not wanting to face Marisa and watch her fall apart.

  He turned. Henry Judge stared up at him, his eyes stuck open like a bug. It was as if the man’s brain had stopped all function at the instant of impalement. As if his eyes simply froze.

  Jared shuffled by quickly, and hurried past Catherine just as expediently. Only when he stopped in the foyer did he catch his breath.

  Henry had fallen prey to the evil—the monster thoughts—and Catherine, poor Catherine, had most likely succumbed to a heart attack. Henry Judge had scared her to death.

  ~ 164

  Jared held Marisa right there in the driveway for what must have been two or three minutes. The moment he stepped out the front door, the second she saw his dour face, she was out of the car and running for the house, screaming. He had to grab her with both arms and use every ounce of strength to stop her. She beat on his chest with her fists, begging him to Let go, let go, let me go, goddamnit, let me go-oh-oh-oh, and only when the darkness had fully taken hold did she capitulate, falling into his arms in the most devastating sobs he could imagine.

  “Please, no,” she said, her eyes searching. “Please, Jared … no. No-oh-oh-ohhh—”

  “I’m so sorry, Mar. God, I’m so sorry.”

  Kit opened the back door and had the foot of a crutch poking out.

  “No,” Jared said.

  Kit drew up the crutch and closed the door quietly.

  ~ 165

  It was past three when the police left, the bodies long since removed, and Jared drove Marisa and Kit back to town. There were no words among them, and he had none to give. As he pulled up in front of Marisa’s home, he wondered if they would ever speak again. The great Jared Cole had come to town, and hell had followed.

  A small pair of murky eyes met his in the rear-view mirror. He could not know if they were passing judgment or were on the verge of tears. Probably both.

  Marisa sat silently, staring down in her lap. She sniffled, and dried her nose with a tissue.

  Jared started to speak, but she cut him off.

  “Don’t leave us,” she said. And that was enough.

  ~ 166

  Jared set two steaming cups of tea on the coffee table. He sat with Marisa on her sofa.

  “How’s he taking it?” he said. Kit was in the kitchen having a sandwich. Jared could see the rubber feet of his crutches and a hint of their legs. “Mar?”

  “Better than me,” she said flatly.

  He handed her the tea, and then he glanced out the window. Clouds had gathered in the west, and he did not imagine the slight change in atmospheric pressure—nor the slight headache. “I think a storm’s coming.”

  “It’s already here.” She turned to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s all right. I know.”

  “I can’t stop hurting, Jared. I can’t stop the pain.”

  He looked at her. She searched his eyes, and then, after what seemed an eternity, she nodded she understood. Accepted.

  “There’s no other way,” she said.

  ~ 167

  Jared and Marisa waited for Kit to finish his lunch, and she called him into the living room. Crossing the carpet on three legs, he moved surprisingly well for his first crutches. He stopped in front of his mother, his expression drawn.

  “I’m sorry for Gramma and Grampa,” he said. He sniffled.

  Marisa got up and held him a moment. “No, no, baby. This wasn’t your fault.”

  “It was the monster thoughts, wasn’t it?”

  “No,” Marisa said, sitting again. She looked at Jared.

  “Did you hear any more, Kit?” Jared said. “Last night, maybe?”

  “No …”

  “See? It wasn’t that.”

  “Was it the Bad People? Like at the community center?”

  “Where did you hear about that?” Marisa said.

  “I heard a nurse talking about it. It was really bad.”

  “I know. But that wasn’t your fault, either, okay?”

  “How come the Bad People are still doing these things? They only happened when I heard the monster thoughts.”

  Jared looked at Marisa, who was already looking at him. She nodded, prodding him.

  “Kit,” he said, uncertain of how to proceed. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten him any more than he already was—or blow his mind. “Maybe you should sit down, okay?”

  Kit used his wooden legs to get to the chair beside the sofa. He plunked himself into it and set his crutches beside him.

  Jared was tapping his finger, and Marisa stopped him with a nudge. “Kit, I want to talk to you about that event we had in the park. Is that okay?”

  “Sure. I guess.”

  “Okay. Good.” Jared sipped his tea. “I know you remember the Bad Words. You said they feel bad. Right?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Do you remember what I asked you? If you felt me?”

  “I remember.”

  “But you didn’t, right?” Jared’s eyes met Marisa’s. She hadn’t sensed him, either.

  Kit shook his head. “Was I supposed to?”

  “No,” Jared said. “Not at all. But I was supposed to feel you.”

  “Me?” Kit looked at Marisa.

  “It’s okay, Kit. Just let Jared explain. This might be a little weird, though. Maybe a little scary. You okay with that?”

  “I guess so.” He stiffened a little.

  Jared gave him a small smile in an effort to settle him. “Kit, do you know how you see things sometimes? The premonitions?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well … sometimes I see things, too.”

  “Premonitions? Like me?”

  Jared shook his head. “No. No premonitions. I see different things. Things about people. Things that are important to them.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, like when someone really likes something. Like maybe their favorite ice cream. Or if girl has a crush on a boy, but she doesn’t want to tell anyone. You understand?”

  “Secrets?”

  “Like secrets, yes.”

  “Are they good secrets all the time?”

  “Mostly,” Jared said. “But not all of them.”

  “How do you see them? Do they just come to you?”

  “Yes. Mostly. Sometimes I see things when I’m under a lot of stress. It doesn’t always happen, but it can. Like the day you had that seizure in the park.”

  Kit nodded
.

  “We connected,” Jared said. “We shared a link between us. Like an invisible telephone line.”

  “Like Wi-Fi?”

  Jared chuckled. Marisa smiled.

  “Exactly,” Jared said. “Like Wi-Fi. But it’s more like a window. A window that only I can see through. I call it a gateway.”

  “A ‘gateway’?”

  Jared hesitated. He looked at Marisa before turning back to Kit. “This is going to sound totally nuts, okay?”

  “Nuttier than what’s been going on?”

  Again Jared chuckled. “You got me there, Kit.” He paused. “When it happens—when the gateway opens—I can feel things. Things deep inside a person’s heart.”

  “You mean like a soul?”

  Jared nodded, not surprised by the boy’s insight. “Yes. That’s right.”

  “You saw my soul? Cool.”

  Marisa smiled.

  “I didn’t,” Jared said. “The thing is, I usually do. Something was blocking my view through the window, so to speak.”

  “Like a snowstorm?”

  “Something like that. I think it was because of your seizure.”

  “Kit,” Marisa said, “there’s something else. It’s about the shape.”

  “What about it?”

  Marisa started to speak, but looked at Jared instead.

  “The gateway,” Jared said. “It’s like a window, like I said. Usually it’s a one-way window that only I can see through. But—”

  “The shape came through, didn’t it?” Kit said.

  “I think it did.”

  “And all those monster thoughts? It’s making people do all these bad things?”

  “Yes.”

  Kit looked at his mother. “It’s after me. Isn’t it.”

  Marisa took him by the hand. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. I promise. We promise.”