Psycho Within Us (The Psycho Series Book 2)

by Chad Huskins

  “Wh-what are you doing? I-I thought—”

  “Not you, little girl,” he said. “I need you to come over her beside me. I’m talking to her.”

  “Who?” Kaley turned. In the dim hallway, she saw nothing at first. Then, she noticed a shape along the wall. A small figure had curled into a fetal position and was hugging one of the big red doors. The little person was covered in blood, though they did not appear to be hurt themselves. Chunks of flesh and viscera clung to their shirt. And it was that shirt that stirred Kaley’s memory; otherwise she might never have recognized her own sister. “Shan?” she whispered, incredulously.

  “Kaley?” A whimper as faint as hope. Kaley had to blink several times to make sure she was seeing this right. Without their Connection, she hadn’t felt her sister near at all. “K-Kaley, I…where am I?”

  Kaley started to move toward her sister, but suddenly Spencer grabbed her by the shoulder. He jerked her back and said, “Don’t you go near her.”

  “It’s my sister, asshole! Let me go!”

  “You don’t wanna do that.”

  “What are you talking about? She’s my sister! I don’t expect you to understand!”

  “She ain’t yer sister. Least, not anymore.”

  “Kaley?” Shannon whimpered, looking up. Her cornrows were sopping wet with blood, and sweat beaded down her brow, around her lips, and down her neck. “Kaley…help me.”

  She turned back to Spencer. “Let—me—go!”

  “If you go anywhere near her, it may be the last thing you do. Trust me, your best bet right now is to stick close to ol’ Uncle Spence.”

  “Why would that be?”

  “Because I’m never wrong about people,” he said.

  “Can’t you see she’s hurt? Let me go!”

  “Oh, I see just fine. She ain’t hurt. Now what you gotta ask yourself is, just how did she get into this shape in the first place? If she ain’t hurt, then who’s blood is that?”

  Kaley looked at Spencer. What a wretched creature he was, and what a wretched life he must lead. So mistrustful, never relying on anyone, just using people. Still, there was something she saw in his mind’s eye. Kaley didn’t want to see it, but there it was. It came at her too quickly to look away.

  Once, when she was in the fourth grade, a boy named Anthony Conley had invited Kaley over to his desk in computer lab class to have her watch a video at his station. He said it was something funny on YouTube, but when she got over there, she found it was some seedy-looking website. Anthony pressed play, and before Kaley could look away, she’d seen a quick succession of mentally scarring images—an aborted fetus, a woman vomiting into another woman’s mouth, then a woman sucking off a horse, and finally a guy shooting himself in the head. The images had come at her too fast to look away, just boom-boom-boom-boom. The sick little things that boys liked to do to people. Looking into Spencer’s mind was like that moment. Once seen, it could not be unseen.

  She saw Spencer’s assessment. She saw how he’d put the puzzle pieces together.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Oh yeah,” Spencer said mirthlessly.

  Kaley looked back at her sister. “No. No, that’s not true. You’re making that up.”

  “Not a jot of it. Now just stay back. Keep away from her. Move slowly with me.” Spencer stepped back, pulling Kaley away.

  “Kaley,” said Shannon, her voice cracking. “Are y-you leaving me? Why?”

  Kaley’s heart melted. She was angry at Spencer for manipulating her. She was tired of his antics, his brutality, and his disregard for all things virtuous and good in life. She tried to run to Shan, but when Spencer stopped her, she turned and started fighting his grip. “Listen to me!” Spencer growled, his face an inch from hers. “You go near her, and it’s over! For all of us! She can’t be trusted—”

  “She’s not a monster! You are!”

  “We’re all monsters!” The words hit her like a slap in the face. “I told you, there’s a psycho in each of us, a little monster most people bury! Inside Freud’s fucking Id, savvy? But sometimes it comes out!”

  “Kaley?”

  “Let me go!” Kaley shouted.

  Spencer jerked her back. “You go near her and you’re dead! We all are!” He kept his gun trained on Shannon.

  “Stop pointing that gun at my sister! You don’t know anything about—”

  “Pitbull!” he shouted. “Who else would call me that? Only one other person, and that’s the little girl in my car that night we drove away. Remember? She called me God’s pitbull. An’ ya said your sister will only refer to me by the name ‘laughing man.’ That’s what your Others called me back at the Ruffa Docks. That’s what the Prisoner called me.”

  “No! No, she doesn’t have the power to do it! I’m the one with—”

  “I think ya got it twisted again, little girl,” he growled, tugging her backwards. “Think for a minute. Use yer fuckin’ head for once! Who was it that got hurt in that basement before all hell broke loose on Avery Street? Whose pain was it that pushed you to do what you did?” His words were hypnotic, always making such maddening sense, always so frustratingly plausible. “You got it turned around, little girl. You’re not the power. Shannon is. You’re just the conduit, an amplifier. You’re the projector, but she’s the fucking source.”

  “She’s not a monster! She’s not like you! She’s my sister!” Kaley fought against Spencer, fought his insanity and his insufferable truth. Then, all at once, Kaley recalled feeling Shannon’s strange glee when, together, they had used their power against Laquanda in the lunchroom. An insult uttered by Laquanda had hurt Kaley, and that hurt had been communicated to Shannon, who sent feedback. Together, they had lashed out, but an alien fervor had come over Kaley, completely taking her over until Nan’s voice had brought her back down. And then she remembered Shannon suddenly severing their Connection. Why would she do that?

  To hide the truth, she thought, but wouldn’t believe it. The truth wasn’t important. It could be changed to fit what she needed to hear. But then again…

  “Kaley?”

  No. No, it wasn’t true. She wouldn’t let it be true. Her sister was her life, her love, her pillar. It was them against the world, and if Kaley didn’t have Shannon…No! It’s just not true! He’s manipulating me again! It’s what he does! “Let go of me!”

  “You’re not listening.”

  “No, you’re not listening! The Prisoner, the Others, they’ve all been trying to kill me! Why would Shannon do that?”

  “Because you’re her big sister and you weren’t there when she needed you,” he said into her ear, still tugging her backwards. Kaley still fought, only now it was more feeble. Her resolve was weakening. “Who went back to the store that night to get exact change? Who didn’t listen to her little sister who said they should just forget it? Who wasn’t able to keep her little sister from being pulled into that room and raped? Who wasn’t able to save her little sister until the laughing man showed up?”

  “Kaley?” Shannon’s little hand was raised. “Kaley, wh-what is he talking about?”

  “She wouldn’t blame me…she wouldn’t…blame…”

  “She doesn’t get to decide that,” Spencer said. “Guilt and shame don’t work like that, little girl. She was raped and you weren’t! The reverse of survivor’s guilt! Trust me! I’m never wrong about people, especially not when it comes to their emotions.”

  “NO!” she screamed. “You don’t know anything about emotions! You don’t have any to—”

  “Does a fucking marine biologist need to be a whale in order to know its mating habits? Now stop arguing with me and fucking move!”

  “Shannon’s not the Prisoner!”

  “I’m not sure she is,” he said.

  “Then what is she? Who’s the Prisoner?”

  Spencer opened his mouth to answer, but just as he did, someone behind them said, “Chto eto?” Both stopped, turned, and faced three men in black dress suits. Two of the
m could have been twins, both with blue eyes and blonde hair in a tight buzz cut, only one was much taller than the other. The man standing between them was tall, with a head shaved to a gleam and a face carved out of stone. The two blondes had pistols drawn, and were aiming them at Spencer. The bald man had a pistol, too, but it was at his side, relaxed.

  There was a moment when no one in the hall moved or spoke. Spencer’s Coke bottle-tipped gun was aimed at Shannon, not at the newcomers. Kaley could tell by Spencer’s surface thoughts that these were the other not nice men. She could also sense that all Spencer’s planning had now gone out the window. The keycard he found was useless. Instead of sneaking in on these thugs, they had crept up behind them. The men had heard them arguing, and she could sense they were riding the knife’s edge on whether or not they would kill or take hostages.

  The bald man spoke first. “Mr. Pelletier?”

  Spencer sighed, and nodded an amiable greeting. “Comrade Zverev.”

  Zverev’s eyes were cast slowly down at the floor, to the blood trail between Kaley and Spencer’s feet, and finally back up at them.

  Kaley looked between all the monsters in the hall, back at Shannon.

  Another elevator door chimed down the hall. Everyone turned to look. The doors parted, and out stepped a stocky, blonde-haired fellow wearing a gray jacket and a surly look. The man started towards them, then saw the scene in front of him, and stopped short. Kaley knew him at once, even though she’d never seen his face.

  Spencer looked at the newcomer, and smiled. Kaley could sense intense glee within Spencer, and grim satisfaction within the surly-faced man.

  Now no one spoke. The hallway was dim and frozen, and Kaley could swear she detected the cold winds from outside moving up and down the corridor.

  “K-Kaley?”

  The men hadn’t seen Shannon. None of them had noticed the diminutive little girl in the middle of the dim hallway, so focused were they on Spencer and Kaley. At the sound of Shan’s voice, the two blonde men jumped. The one on the left turned his gun on Shannon suddenly. Kaley felt his trepidation, his nerves like a live wire, jumping and snapping at anything. She also felt his trigger finger about to squeeze.

  Kaley shouted “No!” and flung herself between the gunman and her sister. The gun went off, and Kaley felt something punch her in the gut.

  Spencer stood there watching it all happen.

  Spencer remained perfectly still.

  Watching Kaley Dupré fall back on her ass, watching the slightly stunned look on her face, Spencer made the decision to simply not move. He’d let go of her shirt and let her fall, and remained motionless. Somehow, he knew it was the right thing to do. Like a man in quicksand, the smart thing was to not make any sudden movements. Spencer now turned to the blonde-haired fool that had jumped the gun, and the other blonde man that had pointed and nearly fired, but exercised more restraint. Then he looked at Zverev, who’d clamped his hand on his man’s wrist and called him a fucking idiot.

  Spencer remained perfectly still.

  He stood at the center of the hall, Zverev and his people to his right, standing at the T-junction, and Kaley and Shannon to his left. His first thought was to lunge at the shooter, or to shoot him where he stood. No one kills Kaley Dupré but me. But for once, that urge was easy to set aside. Other things were at stake here, just no one knew it yet. Still, he marked the thug’s face, and vowed to watch him die.

  “Freeze!” someone called. “Drop the gun!” Spencer, Zverev, his two goons, and the sour-faced fucker stepping out of the elevator turned to look. And, to beat all else, there stood one of Atlanta’s finest, Detective Leon Hulsey. Spencer recognized him from news reports on corruption in Atlanta, and on the story of that night on Avery Street. The man was sweating heavily, and was standing in a ready stance with a pistol leveled at Zverev and his goons. “Drop them all,” he said. “Now. Right now.” Spencer looked at Hulsey’s gun. It was shaking. The man’s eyes were wild. He’s seen it. It’s already started.

  Spencer remained perfectly still.

  Zverev stared at the detective and smiled. “What are you doing with a gun, shahktor?”

  At the opposite end of the hall, the man that had been pursuing him all night pulled out a pistol of his own, and aimed it fearlessly at Detective Hulsey.

  “Just drop the fucking guns! Kaley? Kaley Dupré, is that you? C’mon, girl. We’re getting out of—” The walls started trembling, as did the floor and ceiling. Then, Spencer thought he heard running water. He felt coldness around his legs. Keeping perfectly still, he looked down, saw water rising up around his ankles. It was a strange, murky brown water, but also filmy, exactly as Kaley had described to him earlier that night.

  Everyone looked down at their feet, even the stocky fellow by the elevators.

  Spencer looked up, past Kaley Dupré, who lay dying on the floor, gasping for breath and spurting blood from her chest. His eyes moved across the trail of blood leading to the elevator. Finally, his gaze rested on the unassuming little girl huddled near the door. Shannon’s tears had ceased. She was no longer crying, but staring wide-eyed at her dying sister on the floor. Then, slowly, she bent forward and started crawling on all fours, through the water and over to her sister. She sat beside Kaley, lifted her head and cradled it, and looked into her eyes as she gasped for breath.

  Spencer remained absolutely still.

  Something licked past his leg. Spencer looked down, saw a dark shape swimming just beneath him. Then, the water started climbing the walls. The guns and the tension in the air was all but forgotten; all eyes followed the water as it climbed. Spencer looked over at Shannon Dupré, and he saw her rocking back and forth, holding her big sister’s head, the two of them locked in a gaze. Kaley tried to say something; by her lips it looked like she meant to say Shannon but just couldn’t get it out. Shannon kept rocking. Her big sister gasped rapidly, faster and faster, then took one last breath, let out a long, long sigh, and breathed no more.

  The hallway quaked again. Detective Hulsey kept his gun trained on all of them. “I said drop the guns!” His eyes touched on Spencer, and for a moment he looked the question at him: What the fuck are you doing here?

  Spencer looked back at the two girls. Shannon was simply staring at the wall, but slowly she turned to face them. She opened her mouth, and looked like she might scream, but something black was bubbling inside. It came up out of her mouth, overflowing and running down her jaw, down her neck, pooling on the floor. Something else moved inside her mouth, swimming in all that oil. Everyone else was looking at the gravity-defying water on the ceiling, ignoring Hulsey’s pistol.

  Spencer looked at the stocky man, then at Hulsey, then at Zverev and his goons. “Trust me, guys,” he said, stepping back from the two girls. “You wanna run.”

  16

  Shcherbakov kept his gun trained on the black man, but his eyes flitted between the black man and Pelletier. He was aware of the phenomena happening all around. The water climbing the ceiling, and strange whispers and even laughter now echoing down the hall behind him. Whatever was going on, he was certain it a ruse of some kind, some kind of strange gas or water leak, perhaps even orchestrated by Pelletier. Then again, he was also convinced that something else was afoot. The laughter…it sounded a lot like the hyena-like sounds he’d heard at the docks.

  Finally, he went against his instincts and glanced over his shoulder. Nothing there. Or maybe…maybe there was. Something moving at the other end of the hall. Indeed, the hall had gone from dim to pure dark, and that darkness was approaching. Or was it?

  Shcherbakov looked back at Pelletier, saw him backing towards the T-junction at the end of the hall. He turned his gun on him, and said, “Freeze there.” Pelletier stopped moving, looked at him. “Drop the gun.”

  “We can’t all drop our guns,” he chuckled. “Matter of fact, we’re all gonna need ’em if we wanna get outta here alive. I suggest we all work together—”

  “Drop the gun,” he repeated. “Dr
op it, or I shoot.”

  “Brother, what we’ve all got comin’ makes getting shot look like a day at Disneyland.”

  “If you don’t drop the—”

  “Everybody shut the fuck up!” the black man shouted. “I’m an officer of the law, and if I say to drop the guns, you’d better know I mean—”

  “An officer of the law?” Zverev laughed. “Who are you joking, shahktor? This is Russia, you fucking idiot, we don’t have any of your kind for hundreds of miles around.”

  The black man squinted. He wasn’t sure of something. In fact, he didn’t look sure of anything.

  Shcherbakov turned his gun back on him, and was about to issue a command to drop his weapon when suddenly there were screams. Lots of them. Behind the walls all around them, people in the suites, banging against the walls. Something slammed against one of the big red doors. A woman was screaming “Oh God!” and then there was silence. Then, more screams from other rooms. A door was flung open behind him, and Shcherbakov spun and aimed his weapon at a middle-aged man staggering into the hallway. His face…it sloughed off like so much melting meat, and his arms ended at the elbow. From his stumps, jagged, insect-like appendages were jutting out, clawing at his own body. Then something like antennae shot out of the back of his head, his skull split wide, and some sort of fat creature fought its way out, and landed on the floor, wailing like a newborn baby.

  Zverev’s people gasped. The black man screamed “Fuck!” Shcherbakov backed up, aiming his weapon at the body. Zverev himself said, “What…what’s going on?”

  “Two separate worlds shaking hands,” someone was saying. It was Pelletier, speaking as calmly as you please. “Stuff without geometry, or reason. No boundaries. Summoned by a little girl’s hate and shame. Some of it’s her, and some of it’s them.”

  “I told you not to move,” Shcherbakov warned.

  He snorted mirthlessly. “I’ve been in this wilderness before, boys. Trust me, Toto, we ain’t in Kansas anymore. You wanna run.” He started backing up again.