Psycho Within Us (The Psycho Series Book 2)

by Chad Huskins

  Still, he hadn’t quite mastered the language, especially reading the pluralizations in the Cyrillic script. So when he found a large, rundown billboard in lights for Ruffa Docks, he was perturbed to see so many roads listed underneath, some of them with the same name only pluralized, as well as what appeared to be three separate docks that were lumped in with the Ruffa Docks.

  Spencer drove straight until he came to a T-junction. He stopped, looking around at the empty street corners, the signs all covered in ice. Clouds of snow swirled around them, like they were at the epicenter of a tornado. “Which way?” he said.

  “You really think they’re gonna go after Shannon?”

  Spencer turned around in his seat. “Which way?”

  Kaley sighed. “Go right.”

  “Ya sure? These Ruffa Docks split off into three docks.”

  “I know, I can see it right here on Google Images and some other shots linked to Pinterest, but they’re all pretty much right next to each other.”

  “Toll booths or any kind o’ paid entry?”

  She gave him a sardonic look. “Yeah, like I can really tell all that by sitting where I am right now, Spencer.” That gnawed at him a little. “How am I supposed to know?” she restated.

  Slowly, he turned back around in his seat, and took the right. They drove in silence, moving away from houses and swishing past closed storefronts. Everything looked closed for business. Then, there was a break in the buildings on the left side of the road, and they could see the river. Miass River, presumably. There were no lights out on it, no boats trolling at all: it was frozen solid, just like the little girl had said it would be.

  There were no toll booths, no gates of any kind, at least not on the roads. However, there were plenty of chain-link fences topped with razor wire that cut off entry to the main driveways leading down to the docks. The docks were close together, just as Kaley had said, and they were mostly cast in deep, deep darkness, with only a few lonely lamps left on to illuminate empty sections of the cargo areas in a ghostly suffusion of orange.

  At each dock, there were stacks of mostly wooden crates, lots of them half covered in blue tarps. There was also a small dock house at each one. “Get the kid to take a look at this. Hey, kid!” he shouted. The boy gasped, and looked fearfully at Spencer’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Is this what ya saw? Any o’ this look familiar?”

  Spencer watched the boy get up slowly, peek out the window. He heard him sniffling. Then, Kaley said, “He’s nodding yes.”

  Spencer switched off the Subaru’s headlights well before approaching the first of the docks. He even parked, got out, and kicked the tail lights, smashing them to pieces before hopping back inside. They trundled slowly along in silence. The boy was now lying down in the floor in the back, possibly sleeping, possibly wishing he was dead. Spencer left the boy’s emotional control up to Kaley’s various skills for the moment, and scanned the dock. He stopped when he spied what he was looking for: a camera, mounted at the top of a dark lamppost, aimed right at the front gate.

  Driving past it, he said, “I’m gonna stop the car up here, an’ you’re gonna get out an’ go for a little looksee at each o’ these docks and dock houses.”

  “What? Why me? What can’t you—” She cut herself off. “Oh, right. Because I can pass through walls.” Kaley snorted. “I get it. That’s why you kept him. To use him as leverage so I have to go in and be your little spy.”

  “You’re gettin’ sharper, the longer you stay around me. Makes me so proud,” he said, wiping away a phantom tear. “Here’s a tip for future reference. It’s called resource management. Use what ya got while ya got it. Figure out what your resources are, an’ use ’em to the greatest efficacy.” He looked at her in the rearview. “That’s another word for efficiency.” He smiled. “See? Every moment you’re around me is instructive.”

  She only glared at him and looked away. Then, after looking over the first dock house for a moment, she said, “Shit!”

  “What is it?”

  “The bell just rang. Time for third period.”

  “So?”

  “So, I’ve been down here in the library for all of Mr. Boulier’s class.”

  “So?” he persisted.

  Kaley sighed. “I can’t stay down here all day without him or someone else eventually going to the principal or vice-principal and having them come look for me.”

  “Then you better move that black ass,” he said, “don’t wanna get detention. Or in-school suspension. Hey, here’s a fun question, what the fuck does this have to do with you goin’ in there an’ doin’ what I need doin’?”

  Kaley looked at him. “Is it heavy?”

  “Is what heavy?”

  “That massive fucking ego you’re burdened with lugging around.” Spencer smirked. He actually thought that was pretty funny. At the same time, it smacked of a test, and just as he was about to remind her of her obligation to Peter, she said, “Don’t worry, I’m going.” Then, all at once, the little girl turned and pushed her way out the door. It was a little confusing to watch, and plenty fascinating. It wasn’t like anything he’d seen in the movies, it…it was far smoother than that. She just went through the door, soundlessly and without fuss, as if the door was an illusion cast in the air and she was just passing through a flimsy layer of light.

  Spencer gave her an imperious wave. “After you,” he said to himself. Kaley walked around the front of the SUV, which had to be out of habit because there was no reason she couldn’t just walk through it, and then she hustled on over to the chain-link fence and passed straight through it without delay. Spencer also found it interesting to watch snowflakes not collecting on her shoulders or in her hair, only passing through her.

  Despite being an apparition, Kaley still appeared quite solid, even if her walk was kind of like skating, and so Spencer could make out her dark shape as she made her way down a short snow-covered embankment, and then behind the first row of crates down at the quay.

  In the back, the boy whimpered. Spencer realized that not only would a small child be missing the only human that had shown him any love or respect in the past several months, but the farther Kaley got from him, the dimmer her empathic power over the boy would be. “Relax, kid,” he said. “Kaley’s comin’ back soon.”

  At first, Spencer thought nothing about what he’d just said. Then, something struck him while watching Kaley disappear into the night. He’d said the words almost warmly.

  Spencer smiled. Just as he was excellent at learning new skills whenever it advanced his cause, and just as he had proven to be excellent at absorbing the customs and behavioral mannerisms of those around him so as to blend into their world and gain their trust, it appeared he also knew how to imbibe maternal tones and words.

  The boy sniffed again. Spencer looked back at him. The boy had started trembling. It was very rough trembling. Ah, shit. He twisted around in his seat, searched for the little blue bag before finding it in the floorboard. He snatched it up, opened it, and sifted through the contents for the insulin pens. He found a few, as well as a vial of Lantus, which was a fast-acting insulin. There was also lisinopril. Spencer had known a guy in prison who was diabetic, and if he remembered correctly, lisinopril was used to lower blood pressure and control liver enzymes. “Here, ya little fucker. Take this shit.” He held the insulin pen up, and reached for the boy. Peter recoiled, and Spencer snarled. “You wanna fuckin’ die? I don’t need or want ya around, but Kaley does an’ she’s my…well, fuck, I guess she’s my partner, ain’t she?” The boy didn’t move. “You ever play Simon Says?” Surprisingly, the boy nodded, though with supreme mistrust. “Good. Simon says ‘Get the fuck over here! Now!’” The boy’s whole body jolted, but slowly, ever so slowly, he obeyed. “That Simon’s a sonuvabitch, ain’t he?” The boy said nothing.

  After Spencer had given the kid his injection, he told him to sit back in his seat and take whatever usual dose of lisinopril he usually took. The boy couldn’t shrink away
from him fast enough, and went back to his fetal position in the seat. He was whimpering more, but trembling less.

  “Don’t you worry, little man,” he said, turning the radio all the way down and cracking the windows just a tad so that he might hear someone approaching. “Kaley’s not gonna leave you. You can count on that.” I know I am.

  At school, the library door opened, and in came three kids, all headed directly for the computers on either side of her. Kaley didn’t think much of it at first, but then came two more, and now four. Damn it, their third-period class must have computer lab time scheduled today, she thought.

  Kaley couldn’t stay here very long. Whoever these kids’ teacher was would surely suspect something when she saw this girl here, at one of the computers that one of her students could be using. The teacher would get inquisitive, and then…There might be trouble.

  Kaley needed to return to class. She figured she was done with the computer for the moment, anyway. So, she stood up, pushing her chair away and making eye contact with no one—for some reason, she felt severe guilt, like she’d committed some crime—and started back to Mr. Boulier’s classroom. With any lucky, she wouldn’t get a tongue lashing, a visit to Principal Manning’s office, or a phone call home to her mother.

  Meanwhile in Chelyabinsk, she was hustling down a hill, sliding much as she would if she were actually there, down the packed, slick snow. And sometimes, just sometimes, she could almost feel her feet leaving the ground. As a matter of fact, she believed this might’ve been going on the whole time she’d been in this form, but so gradual was the process she hadn’t noticed until just now. I’m floating. Sometimes even flying.

  The cold! The cold still affected her. It made her shiver, but only in the Siberian world; only her avatar there could see, hear, and smell that particular environment. Yes…yes, the smells. Spilled oil and gasoline on the planks, something that someone had recently neglected to clean thoroughly. All her senses worked but that of touch—she met a little bit of resistance passing through things, but like pushing through pudding, once on the other side, it was smooth sailing.

  It was strange to experience these things in one body, and yet not to be experiencing them at all in another. At CMS, she was warm and cozy, the cold winds of Russia affecting her none whatsoever. How was this possible? How was any of it possible?

  The one thing that both worlds shared was that ankle-deep, sometimes knee-deep watery film that coated most surfaces, especially the ground. It tumbled down the steps she was climbing up to Mr. Boulier’s classroom, swirling around her feet and creating little eddies. At the moment, not much was swimming around in it all.

  Maybe he’s right. Maybe they are looking for Shannon now. It was a disturbing thought, and she fought to find logic against it, but it made a lot of sense…and Spencer’s instincts were usually right. What could she do about it, though? Even if she ditched school and ran over to Cartersville Elementary, what could she do to defend Shan?

  The filmy, foaming water that moved all around the docks was quiet, as well. Kaley paused a moment to look out across the frozen Miass River, and for a moment was transfixed by the foaming water she perceived to be painted on it and sometimes hovering over it.

  The snow was coming down as thick as exploded pillows, and the angry wind was whipping it about in all directions. Dipping behind one stack of crates after another, Kaley made it halfway to the first dock house before she got the idea to check inside one of the crates. Experimentally, she pushed her face through, and looked inside, but of course found only darkness. Oh, right, no lights inside a closed crate. Stupid.

  She pulled her face back out, and just as she did she felt someone approaching. A lone someone…filled with emotions like any person, the most predominant feeling neglected and unappreciated. Feelings of inadequacy, wanting more out of life but kept from accomplishing much because of certain physical constraints…a body image problem…and a need to find warm human companionship before the night was done.

  Kaley sensed a sludgy mind, not unlike Dmitry’s and Olga’s and Mikhael’s. Sexual cravings? Yes, almost certainly. A view of women as second or third-class citizens? Definitely. She felt this person’s whole being vibrating the strings of her web close by.

  Then there came a beeping noise. Kaley peeked around the stack and spotted a single forklift, operated by a large man in a heavy parka, the fur hood pulled up over his head and tied tight around his chin, a scarf up over his lips and nose. He was dropping off a pallet that had four large steel barrels tied down. The side of each one had the universal symbol for flammable contents: bright-red square with a burst of orange-and-black flame.

  The forklift operator with the body image problem parked for a moment to answer his phone. He carried on a conversation for thirty seconds then put the phone back in his pocket and turned towards Kaley. Without thinking, Kaley passed into the stack of crates in front of her, into total darkness, and listened. Outside, she heard the forklift grumble by. Inside, however, she could hear the water trickling off the inside walls of the crates—she wasn’t sure how it worked, but it seemed that, for some reason, the film that separated planes clung to walls, floors, and ceilings; not people or tables or animals or anything else.

  She peeked her head out, saw the forklift extending its prongs to lift a stack of empty crates, then did a one-eighty and came towards her. Kaley slipped her head back into the crates, back into darkness, and listened to it pass. Once the forklift had gone by again, she peeked her face out the front. The driver had dropped his cargo, was backing up slowly, flipping off his headlights. He didn’t even give a glance back in her direction. He then disappeared down the dock.

  Kaley sensed no other persons on this dock, but maybe Spencer would want to have a word with this forklift operator? But what will Spencer do to him? Kaley shrugged inwardly. Who cares? I can tell what the forklift guy is thinking of doing later tonight. For a moment, it struck her that she didn’t feel great empathy for the forklift operator—that was a new feeling for her—and perhaps some of Nan’s wisdom was taking effect: Ward yo heart, chil’. Or maybe…maybe it was Spencer’s words, spoken to her in that car ride seven months ago. You think I’m like Genghis Khan? Khan once said, ‘I am the punishment of God. If you had not created great sins, God would not have sent punishment like me upon you.’

  It was a horrible thought, that she was somehow intertwined with the psychopath, and Kaley was frightened that on some level she was coming to accept this role. It had started when she decided to listen to him at the cabin, to fire her pistol out the window as a distraction. Such a relatively small act, but it showed her willingness to listen to him when he had a plan.

  If I tell him about this forklift operator and what he’s thinking, he won’t hesitate to come down here and torture this man. And why should I care? An instant later, Kaley had her response. Because it’s wrong. We should find out more and turn him over to the police, just like we should have taken Peter to the police. They’re the experts. They’re the good guys.

  Kaley was just about ready to turn around to go and tell Spencer this…and then there came another tickling at the back of her mind. A tremor along another strand of her invisible web, vibrating at an emotional frequency that to her was a note pitched just right to shatter glass.

  Kaley stepped out of the crates, and felt the pain and fear. She breathed. If she had been paying attention in that moment, she would have noticed that when she exhaled, she blew out a cloud of warm air. That cloud expanded, swirling into a faint orb surrounding her, and every snowflake that came within it melted and fell like cold rain. The snow started falling sideways, as if pulled towards her.

  There was a path in the falling snowfall, ever so faint, a space in the air where the snow wasn’t allowed to move through. It was never logic that guided her along this channel, only intuiton.

  “What the hell?” he whispered to himself. Spencer turned on the windshield wipers just once, to wipe away the snow building on the gla
ss so that he could get a view outside. He didn’t dare turn on the headlights. When he felt his eyes were deceiving him a little, he opened his door. “You stay right here,” he told the kid sternly. “Don’t move yer ass an inch.”

  He closed the door behind him and took a few steps away from the car. The snow crunched beneath his feet. He looked around at the millions of falling flakes. At first, it all seemed just fine, but the longer he stared at it the more he began to see.

  Occasional funnels were whipped up along the ground, as well as a few white swirls in the air, only visible in the light of the few lampposts by the dock houses. But what was most curious was the fact that the snow…the snow was…no, no, his mind was probably just playing tricks on him. Snow created all kinds of illusions, especially when it was this heavy. Like clouds, they could form patterns that…Stop fighting it, he told himself. You know what you’re seeing. It’s the same as it was on Avery Street, when the rain started coming in sideways, moving towards the house, towards her.

  Spencer had vivid memories of that night. He knew what that strange weather had portended. “What are you doin’, little girl?” he mumbled to himself. “What’s got ya so excited that you’re about to open that door again?”

  Survival instincts, deeply ingrained in him and then reinforced by a lifetime of looking over his shoulder, told him that he really ought to run. Just leave the boy here, get in the Subaru, head for the airport and ply his trade somewhere else. But there was a part of Spencer Pelletier that perhaps trumped all other personality traits: curiosity. She’s found something. It’s affecting her emotionally, and she may not even know it yet. This is what happens when she’s near great trauma.