The Deadsong
Page 5
Dylan plucked a comic book from the rack and skimmed through the pages. “That’s too bad about Ashley Monroe.”
“It’s already that time of year,” Gina said distantly, browsing the paperbacks. A new Thomas Whitley novel caught her eye, but she wasn’t in the mood for the literary equivalent of a slasher film.
I can taste your thoughts. Sinfully tasty they are.
“Did you hear that sound outside last night?”
Dylan replaced the comic and pulled out another. “I don’t think so. I slept like a rock. What did it sound like?”
She had no words to articulate it. It had been a whirling pastiche of gruesome voices and the most horrible animalian cries she’d ever heard. She thought it could have been just another dream, but she listened to that damn song for most of the night. A song, yes…
“It was like a song, Dylan.”
His eyes met hers in simple bewilderment. “What the hell are you talking about, a song?”
“That’s what I just said, now wipe that snotty look off your face. I’m being serious.”
“Was this one of those ‘beyond’ sounds you hear sometimes? Like the time you heard me screaming when I fell off my bike, even though I was over a mile away? You’re so lame.”
“Whatever.” Gina decided to pursue it no further. They’re relationship was so typical, it pissed her off to the point of exhaustion. But she held firm in what she heard––and she had heard some pretty bizarre things over the years.
Hey there, baby girl. You smell terrific.
Her overactive imagination, fueled by the Keeper mythos, slowly began to wind down for the sake of her already thin sanity. Being a young girl was much harder than she was given credit for. Come graduation, she’d blow out of this one horse town in search of grander, more fulfilling locales. She’d already applied to three universities—two in Tennessee and one in Louisiana. The latter had just begun a controversial new program in paranormal research, which piqued her interest, although her mother’s resistance to such nonsense deflated her a bit. She was still hopeful.
“Want to check out the video games?” Dylan asked.
“You go ahead. I’ve gotta make a call.”
She didn’t, really, but she stepped outside and put the phone to her ear anyway. The wind chased around her ankles and batted at the vinyl CLEARANCE banner stretched above her head.
A man and woman passed by Gina, and she overheard them whispering about another death. Susan Lubbock? Is that who they’re talking about? She was in Home Ec with me...
She nearly dropped the phone when it began to buzz in her hand. An unknown number. Maybe it’s Jared. Yes, I could tell him about––
“Hello?” Gina said.
“It’s me.” She recognized the smooth baritone voice that had been on her mind since yesterday.
“Hi, me.”
“It’s Jared, sorry.”
“Yeah, I know, silly. What’s up? You weren’t at school today.”
“Eh, a little under the weather. I’m better now, though. I’m going over to Duke’s house tomorrow night to shoot off fireworks. You wanna come with me?”
“To Duke’s? Nah, he’s not on my favorites list at the moment.”
“Why’s that?”
She wanted to tell him about what happened to Dylan, but a part of her thought he might know already.
“Ah, sorry. Your brother. I’ll have a talk with Duke and straighten this out. He’s my best buddy and sometimes I have to put him on a leash so he’ll behave. Kind of a job his parents put me up to. For his own good, of course.”
Gina laughed. “I’ll think about it,” she said, turning to see her mother and Dylan, both standing behind the automatic doors with their arms folded. “I’ll call you tonight. I have your number now.”
“Don’t keep me waiting. I’ll track you down.” He said it with gentle humor, but there was the slightest glimmer of something else, too. It wasn’t threatening, just different––like he had changed a little bit in the past twenty-four hours.
She considered asking him to go on a proper date, but she didn’t think that was her little red wagon. He should ask her.
Just wait. You have all the time in the world.
Gina said goodbye and got into the Buick. After her mother made a few snide remarks, they squeezed through the red light and into the McDonald’s drive-thru. Perhaps a milkshake would settle the heat rising in her chest, that prickly sensation that came when her man-cravings got to jiving.
Her mother was staring at her. It wasn’t a look of disappointment or contempt, which was what she expected. This was more like the way you looked at someone when you knew they were about to go away for a really long time. Her mother finally broke her trance and rolled down the window.
“What do you want to eat?”
6
Jared had just finished dinner when the phone rang. He recognized the number. It was the Army recruiting office. A guy named Stone called every other day or so to deliver his good-buddy spiel and ask if he could send some more brochures in the mail, which would go straight from the box to the trashcan under the sink. Well, Jared couldn’t put them there for his mother to find, so he would put them in his backpack and toss them into the school dumpster after football practice.
Football was his first love. He and Duke had spent countless hours dreaming of making it to the NFL someday. Together, though. They had to do it together. All or nothing, baby. But they both knew if one of them made it and the other didn’t, there’d be no hard feelings. Right? But this new gig threw a wrench into those plans. He couldn’t do both, and if this began to overshadow his first love, well, he had things to think about.
He waiting until the phone fell silent before sneaking across the living room with the morning paper. Jared wasn’t one to enjoy the fruitless gossip and trivial headlines in the Hemming Herald––SAND MOUNTAIN BAKE SALE SATURDAY, PUBLIC LIBRARY ADDITION UNDERWAY, REAPING SEASON BEGINS: TWO DEAD.
He stopped at the last one. His throat went dry and his hands began to shake. His mother was asleep on the couch. Light from the television splashed over her bulbous form covered with a patchwork quilt. Rivera Marquez on “Shop from Home” was demonstrating an electric-powered tie rack. Only $39.99 if you call within the next ten minutes!
Jared padded up to his room and closed the door. A thin film of sweat had glued his shirt to his back. He lost the shirt and ran a hand through his hair. A Judas Priest song played quietly on his stereo. He cranked the volume and stretched out on the bed with the newspaper open to page two. He read the column carefully:
REAPING SEASON BEGINS: TWO DEAD
by Kay Daniels
Ashley Monroe, 17, and Susan Lubbock, 17, both residents of Hemming and students at Durden High School, were found dead Monday morning after sustaining multiple snake bites. Both had apparently died in their homes during the night. Authorities searched each property and found no snakes in the homes or on the premises. “I hate that this happens to innocent members of our community each year,” Sheriff Ned Robertson said in a statement issued Monday afternoon. “I assure the public we’re doing everything in our power to prevent this terrible occurrence from happening again.” Mayor Wallace Barnham declined comment when reached for an interview, although an anonymous source claims his office is coordinating efforts with the Arlo County Sheriff’s Department to protect those who reside in housing vulnerable to snake intrusion.
Last year, thirteen young men and women were killed in Arlo County as a result of this questionable snake attack phenomenon. The public should maintain a heightened alertness while proceeding through wooded areas and places of cover where snakes might nest. For more information, visit our courtesy website at…
Jared wadded up the newsprint and tossed it into the floor. I did it. I can’t believe I actually did it. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. The first reaping of the season was merely a demonstration for his own good. He had watched his mentor in action, using the same methods he had b
een taught. It had been numbing watching Ashley die like that in a frozen fit of shear terror. After it was all over, he had followed his mentor back to the station wagon and drove out to the shack in the woods to return the snakes to their den. It wasn’t until the next day he received his first assignment, his first solo. And the job went off without a hitch. That feeling…
Oh when they bit Susan, it was orgasmic. It was as though her entire life force was sucked out of her, feeding into his own by way of some mystical thievery taking place. Once it was over, that feeling had immediately transformed into an impulse. He no longer felt obligated to do it in fear of Pearson’s retaliation. He wanted to do it. No other sensation in the world had any chance of fulfilling him in the same way. If he still had a conscience after last night, it would only be a matter of time before it was squashed like a spent cigarette. The doubts and moral complications would unravel and disappear. Soon, he would be the one who delivered those pitiful souls back to the dark forces who truly owned them. He thought about Maryann Lubbock and what state of hysterics she might be in right now since her daughter was lying on a cold slab somewhere. She knew this time would come, Jared. She knew. Don’t forget that.
He got into the shower and tried to scrub away the grime of human compassion that had been his strongest quality for most of his young life.
These desperate wannabe mothers… Don’t they know they should be careful what they wish for?
7
While riding in back of a mildew-scented Greyhound, Alan turned over the last words Sedgewick had left him with: I think someone up there brought them here.
The idea of a sick looney from Pennsylvania breeding some kind of super-serpent and carrying it to the south was an absurd idea, but one to consider. As a student of science and as a member of the unpredictable human race, Alan was obligated to consider each and every possibility.
His wife hadn’t been too keen about his two week research project away from home since they were expecting a child in February, and because there was still much to be done in order to transform the upstairs guest room into a nursery before the baby came. He had promised to call Elizabeth every night before bed. The university had paid for his lodging at the Bartleby Motel near the Arlo County Archives where he’d be spending most of his time during his stay in Durden, and long-distance phone calls were an added bonus.
The bus had been on the road for almost two hours and he decided to nap before arriving at the bus depot on Highway 7––some place called Avery’s––and try his best to keep an open mind once he got there. Deputy Cooley would take him to the Bartleby to check in and then carry him to the Arlo County Sheriff’s Office to meet Ned Robertson and to discuss their plan of action.
His natural optimism began to recede. If this town gave Sedgewick the heebie jeebies, Alan felt he would be completely susceptible to catching a case of it himself.
8
Dylan was more excited about having to wear a bow-tie. Sure, the free screenings were nice, a super bonus, but there was something about looking formal even if the job description consisted of tearing tickets and helping old ladies find seats once the lights went down and the first reel came to life.
The Hemming Theatre was built in 1914 and had survived the depression, thirty-seven owners, and even the threat of demolition or repurpose after the box office receipts were barely enough to cover maintenance and wages for their already underpaid staff of six. The city council finally passed a budget in the late nineties to restore the theatre to its former glory, installing new light fixtures, repainting the place inside and out, replacing the screen, and even putting in a handicap-accessible ramp from the sidewalk to the front entrance. Nowadays, the theatre thrived on second-run films and concessions, along with support from the local community.
Dylan was particularly pleased to know he’d have his first paycheck next Friday. Larry Dawson, the manager, had gone to school with his mother and thought highly of her, and her son would hopefully be just as polite and well-mannered.
Larry wasn’t disappointed. He already liked Dylan a great deal and immediately put him to work once the first cluster of moviegoers picked their way into the place at a quarter till four.
He recognized nearly everyone. There was Gilbert Langley, the school janitor; Shirley Thompson and Wanda Phillips from Math; and Carl Whatshisname from the hardware store. Dylan remembered seeing Carl when his father needed screws, nails, or other knickknacks. Carl was also involved with some church around here, but Dylan couldn’t think of which one… That one past Grissom’s Stretch on the main highway, maybe… Dammit, what’s it called…
Sand Mountain Church––a nondescript house of worship with a dead oak out front, twisted up like an arthritic hand. Those folks had a sketchy reputation in town, but that kind of talk usually went in one ear and out the other.
He ripped their tickets with little effort, putting on his most dignified and regal persona. This was easy work and he felt as though he were doing a great service to the community. He was making a difference in the lives of others––at least that illusion was enough to chew on until he cleaned up the spilled popcorn and empty Styrofoam cups and headed home for the night.
He wanted to make a real difference, though. Someday, he’d have his chance.
9
The place was dark and lit like a haunted house. Alternating green, pink, and yellow neon. Beams and lasers pulse and strobe to music laden with heavy bass and sultry vocals. Cheap perfume and cigar smoke.
Duke and Roger liked the place immediately. They recognized Lilly, one of the dancers. She’d graduated from DHS last year and got knocked up by Stan Cunningham. Her belly was swollen and pale like a dead fish caught in the backwater. She had already popped out one kid that practically begged to be fed, but Momma was doing what she could to put food on the table. Shaking her stuff for cash was just one avenue of income and she found it was something she rather enjoyed, even if Stan was a pissed-off grunt who had little to do with her anymore.
They found a table near the stage and dragged up a couple of chairs. This delightful little black hole in Cullman County was appropriately called, well, The Black Hole. It wasn’t the classiest joint within driving distance, but it sure would make for kicks to celebrate Duke’s eighteenth birthday.
The boys showed their shoddy fake IDs to the waitress and they each bought a draft. Duke pulled out a roll of ones and waved Lilly over. He slipped a few into her garter, purely out of the kindness of his heart. When he let go, the garter snapped her thigh, making it jiggle. He didn’t want to do it, but he thought, what the hell, maybe she’ll dance over to the old farts on the right side of the stage and let him have a go at the hotties who would surely come out next. Yeah, he’d wait for the hotties.
The hotties never appeared, but there was one girl who strutted in on red heels and made his blood scream. After careful consideration, Duke mentally knighted her Hottie Red Heels. Come forth.
Roger ordered another draft and slapped Duke on the back. “That’s the one for me right there.”
“No,” Duke said, pouring down his liquid courage, as if he needed it. “She’s all mine.” He smirked and called her over with a finger.
She got down on her knees and crawled to them. “Hey there, fellas. You got something for me?”
“I do,” Duke said, “if you have something for me.”
He felt a strong hand grip his shoulder. “I got something for you,” a voice said behind him. Duke saw it on the hottie’s face. He was in trouble.
Deputy Ron Cooley spun him around. “Hiya, Duke.”
Roger Eakes got up. “Ron, how’s it going? Want a drink?”
“I quit, thanks. You sit down.” Roger did as he was told.
Duke rolled his eyes up at Cooley. “Listen, if you think you’re gonna bust me on something––”
“Like that ID you got there?” Cooley nodded at Duke’s wallet on the table. “Who made that for you? Randall Yates? I hear he’s pretty good.”
“Maybe I don’t. How about I call up your folks and tell them where you are? Think they’d like that?”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“Wanna try me?”
Duke considered head-butting him into the next decade, but chose wisely in favor of his future. He didn’t need to get his ass bopped for running around in a strip shack, regardless of what county it was in. He thought about asking Cooley what he was doing here anyway, but Cooley could make trouble for him if he wanted to. A part of him knew he could make trouble for Cooley as well. The young deputy knew it, too. Nevertheless, Duke and Roger stepped around him and walked out quietly. Hottie Red Heels watched all of this with her chin on her clasped hands, frowning. Once the boys were gone, she said “Thanks, Ron. You gonna make up for the money you ran out of here?”
“Sugar,” Cooley said, licking his finger. “I got you covered.”
She smiled and took the twenty in his hand.
10
Seth Willard was staying up late watching his little brother, Tommy, since their father couldn’t afford a sitter. Their father was a construction foreman who had been single for six months, and now he was up at The Eagle in Durden having dinner with a dental hygienist he’d met during a routine cleaning.
Tommy was seven years old with a fair complexion and a headful of black wavy hair that stood out in a crow’s nest. His father had put him to bed before leaving, but later Tommy had crept downstairs to watch TV with his brother, who always let him watch scary movies. “I want to see the scary parts,” Tommy had said with innocent curiosity. Seth let him, almost with sadistic pleasure. A horror film was on cable––a crew of zombies staggered blindly towards a woman crouched against a headstone. She was screaming. Tommy’s hands jumped to cover his face but he managed a cautionary glance through his open fingers. The TV flickered into white noise and landed on a Scope commercial.