In the back of my mind, They begin to stir. Restless, eager, excited. The screen goes dark, and in the reflection of the glass, They stand on either side of me, grinning and anxious to hand down our delayed justice.
It’s a good night for hunting.
THE WRONG GUY
Jefferson Halsey lives not in Downingtown but in a depressing apartment complex in King of Prussia. While the area is better known for the mall, there are also a number of cheap housing developments, allowing the retail-wage slaves to live nearby. King’s Choice is one of these complexes. It looks like it was once a motel. The building is painted the color of dog crap, a brown so repulsive that I wonder if it isn’t a worse punishment to make Halsey continue to live in the dump.
Doors open onto a common outdoor landing, and I try to look nonchalant as I walk along, looking for number 23. After passing three doors, I give up the act. There is a party going on, and people are standing on the landing smoking and telling stories about how drunk they got at the last party. Foot traffic moves between apartments, while rock, dance, and rap music mingles in the chilly night air. Halsey’s apartment window happens to be the only one that’s dark at this time of night. I guess it’s not his kind of party.
As I make my way, I try to calm the fluttering in my stomach. After Alex Medina, I’m pretty nervous. If anything goes wrong, a lot of people are going to get hurt.
I don’t even consider coming back to do it another time.
“Hey, do I know you?”
I turn around, and a beefy guy wearing a tight, glittery polo shirt walks up. His dark hair is gelled to within an inch of its life, and he actually flexes a little when I look at him. I swallow a grimace and smile.
I shake my head. “Nope. My roommate and I just moved in.”
The guy grins. “Well, in that case, welcome to the neighborhood. You should invite me in.”
Ick. Like that would ever happen. The Furies don’t even have to chime in. I can tell this guy is a loser by his bad midwinter tan.
I shrug. “I would, but she locked the door. I can’t even get in.” I pout prettily, and Sparkle Shirt moves closer.
“Well, I could probably help you get into the room. Is your window unlocked?”
Halsey’s big picture window is right next to the door. I eye it. “I don’t know. How do I check?” I shrug again, pretending to be stupider than dirt.
Sparkle Shirt hands me his beer, and I hold it while he pops out the screen and jimmies the window open. Big handprints are left behind as he slides the glass up. Better his fingerprints than mine. He laughs. “Like that. Now, since I helped you get into your apartment, why don’t you invite me in?” Translation: “I let you into your apartment; now let me into your pants.”
I giggle and hand him back his beer. “Sure. Why not?” But what I really mean is, “Not in a million years, Neanderthal.”
I climb inside the opening and land on a couch that reeks of cat urine. I close the window behind me and lock it, settling the blinds back into place. Instead of opening the front door, I move deeper into the apartment. It takes the guy on the landing a few minutes to realize I’m not coming back, and he begins to pound on the door.
“At least gimme your number,” he shouts from the other side.
I’ve made my way to the kitchen, and I duck behind the counter when footsteps come from the back hallway. I peer around the corner and see a middle-aged man in a ragged bathrobe crack open the front door just a bit. The meathead outside pauses midpound.
“Hey, bro. Uh, is there a really hot blond girl in there?”
Halsey sighs and rubs his balding head. “No, I’m afraid there isn’t. Could you please stop knocking on my door?” His voice is soft and meek. It’s hard to believe someone so polite could do the things he’s accused of.
Sparkle Shirt looks uncertain for a moment. He turns his head at a shout from down the way and holds up his hand. “All right. I’m coming.” He turns back to Halsey. “Sorry, man. I’m really, really drunk.”
“Of course you are,” Halsey mutters, but Sparkle Shirt has already stumbled off. Halsey closes and locks the door, and when he shuffles back to his bedroom, I move from behind the counter and fall into step behind him.
“Jefferson Halsey,” I say. He spins around, eyes wide with fear, and I release the hold I have on Them. He tries to push past me but falls back and scoots backward across the floor, his bathrobe falling open to reveal the stained boxers and undershirt he wears beneath. My vision splits into three, and a scorching wind swirls around the tiny apartment, melting the cheap carpet.
“What—what’s going on?” he stammers, trying to get away. I move forward and grab him by his robe. Silver chains hang from my arms.
“You have been accused of preying on children. How do you plead?” I ask.
“I didn’t do anything!” Halsey’s eyes dart back and forth, taking in the Furies. He’s trying to process what he sees, but fear is quickly shutting down his brain.
“Guilty or not guilty?” I prod.
“Uh, uh, uh,” is all that comes out of his mouth.
I pull him close. Bracing myself for the worst, I look at him through Tisiphone’s vision. I see Halsey at dozens of parties, but I see none of the crimes he’s accused of. The man is innocent. He’s not a child molester after all, just the victim of circumstance. Wrong place, wrong time. I probe his mind for the real culprit, the person who did hurt those little girls. Even he doesn’t know the answer to that, and the memory of his persecution fills me with sadness. This man has suffered enough.
“Not guilty,” I spit.
There is a slight hesitation, and They still. Through our link I sense something like annoyance, and maybe disgust.
“Guilty,” the hawk chirps.
Megaera is the last to speak. “Guilty.”
I release Halsey and turn my head slightly. “He is innocent. He didn’t hurt those little girls.”
Tisiphone grins widely, madness glittering in her eyes. “He’s guilty enough.”
The serpent grabs Halsey’s throat and squeezes. “I agree. No man can be innocent.”
“No,” I whisper, but I make no move to stop Them. What if They are right? What if there’s some crime that I missed? I search the images I saw, but I can’t find anything more wrong than him stealing a few cookies when he was a child.
Before I can stop Them, Megaera speaks. “Jefferson Halsey, we have a special treat for you.” The change from our normal script surprises me, and I glance in the serpent’s direction. I catch a glimpse of scales and hair made of writhing snakes before my gaze is drawn back to Halsey. “Death would be too quick for you,” she says. His eyes bulge.
Dread creeps into the pit of my stomach. I want to let Halsey go and then run from the room, but I am rooted to the spot. A buzzing begins in my chest, a pressure so intense it makes me want to cry out. I have the urge to vomit, and from the corners of my eyes I can see Them grinning in delight at Halsey’s fear. I open my mouth, expecting to throw up on the apartment’s melted carpet. A cloud of tiny black buzzing shadows flies out of my mouth. It looks like a bunch of gnats, only the swarm eats up what little light is in the room as it swirls overhead. The serpent drops Halsey, and as he scoots backward across the floor, the tiny creatures enter his ears, nose, and mouth. He begins to scream soundlessly, clawing at his throat and face, the tendons in his neck standing out from the strain.
It is too much like Medina’s truck stop justice.
“The pain, fear, and shame of a hundred victims,” Tisiphone says softly, before breaking out into a giggling fit.
“He wasn’t guilty.” I try to yell the words, but they come out as little more than a croak. The chains hang from my arms, heavy and restrictive. There is no sword in my hand this time. I didn’t need it. They have decided on his punishment without me.
They have just hurt an innocent man.
I have just hurt an innocent man. My stomach sours and my head pounds, one awful thought echoing throug
h my mind: I didn’t stop Them. I could have, but I didn’t. Instead I stood by and let Them do it.
I have become too much like Them.
Halsey writhes on the carpet. There is no sound coming from him, but his face is contorted with pain. Slowly the color leaches from his hair and skin, leaving him as white as a marble statue. He’s mewing like a wounded animal, and I turn, trying to find Them.
“I won’t do this anymore,” I say, my throat thick with regret. Regret that I didn’t stop Them; regret that I’ve been Their willing servant for so long. Alekto was right. I wish I had listened to her sooner. “I won’t do it anymore! I’m done.” I turn this way and that, but I can’t see Them. I catch sight of a feather on the melted carpet, scales shimmering out of the corner of my eye, but there is no way to confront Them. They are too much a part of me.
They go, Their mocking laughter echoing in my brain even after They are once again sequestered in my subconscious. “I said I’m not doing this anymore.” But there’s no response from Them, only an eerie silence that is somehow deafening.
They know that I really don’t have a choice.
I check on Halsey. He’s still alive, his breathing shallow, but his mind is gone. He stares sightlessly at the ceiling, his lips forming words he never speaks.
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, but he is beyond my voice.
I pick up the phone on the wall in the kitchen and dial 911, leaving the phone off the hook so that the ambulance will respond. Slowly, like a shell-shocked victim of a disaster, I back away and out of the apartment.
I get into my car, still too numb to think. I want to cry, but I don’t. No surprise. I haven’t been able to cry since I called Them so long ago.
There is no satisfaction in what I’ve done. Not this time. Maybe there never was. The deadening effect of my shock gives me a moment of clarity, and I can’t help but hate myself. I’m disgusted. After all of the hours searching for Halsey, my victory is hollow.
All of a sudden I’m afraid that killing Dr. Goodhart will feel the same way.
SICK
I spend the day after Halsey’s judgment at home in bed. I sleep through my alarm, and when I finally manage to wake, every muscle in my body screams in objection, and my head pounds like a marching band is practicing inside. I try to get out of bed, but my legs turn to mush and I fall on my face. I lie on the floor, half out of it, for what feels like an eternity. It is only when I finally roll over to get up that I see the alarm clock. I’ve lost an hour. I’m not sure whether I’ve blacked out or They tried to take me over. Either way it’s not a good sign.
I manage to crawl back into bed, but by the time I pull the covers up, I’m shaking from the effort. I’m exhausted but afraid to sleep. This happened once before, back in Savannah. It was after the incident with Kevin Eames. Because of him, I refused to give in to Their demands anymore. They made me sick until I gave in, and in my hurry to get Them a judgment, I got sloppy. That was how I ended up in Saint Dymphna’s.
When I came back to myself in Saint Dymphna’s, I made Them a promise: We would hunt down the bad men if They let me live a normal existence again. No more indiscriminate killing. We would be deliberate and cautious in our hunting. They balked at first. But then we were trapped in Saint Dymphna’s with Dr. Goodhart, and there was no way They could hand down any justice unless I got us out of there. So They conceded. I thought it was because They needed me to stay in this world.
Now I’m not so sure. Maybe They were just biding Their time.
I remember Jefferson Halsey, guilt and fear hollowing my middle. I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life as Their puppet. And now that seems like a very real and very terrifying possibility.
At some point I fall asleep. I’m awakened by my phone a few hours later. I answer it with my eyes closed.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?” It’s Niko. I’m surprised to hear his voice, but not upset that he’s calling. I can’t let him know that, though. I have to stay as far away from him as possible. He’s trouble.
More important, I’m trouble.
“This is getting to be a habit, you calling and waking me up,” I grumble.
“You didn’t answer my question. Where are you?”
I roll over and look at the clock. It’s after four on a Thursday. Niko should be at the pizza place. “I’m at home, sick. Why?”
“I’m outside. Let me in.”
I sit up in bed too quickly, and immediately lie back down. My head spins, and I’m pretty sure I might throw up. I take deep breaths until the nausea passes. “Why are you here?”
“You have to ask?” There is a moment of thoughtful silence. “I have to see you.” His voice is heavy with unsaid things. The moment in the vacant lot affected him as much as it did me.
My mind stops processing as his words sink in.
“Cory, are you still there?”
I sigh. “Yeah. I’m trying to not throw up.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No, not about seeing you. Seriously, I am really, really sick.”
He makes a noise of irritation. “Then let me come in and take care of you.”
It’s the strangest offer I’ve ever gotten, and probably the nicest. Of course, it’s also creepy, but in a sweet way that makes me feel squishy inside. He has to repeat the statement before I answer. “You want to take care of me?”
“Yeah.” He hesitates, and I wonder if he’s just realized what an odd suggestion it is. “I mean, I can at least keep you company.” There is another pause. “Did you talk to Mindi?”
“Yeah, we went to the mall yesterday after she broke down at lunchtime.”
He’s quiet, and then, “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
The call has just gone from odd to awkward. I want to save the conversation, say something witty, but my mind is blank. The Furies probe at the wall I use to keep Them in my subconscious. Not good. Still, I really want to see Niko. “I’ll be there in just a minute.”
“Okay.”
It takes me what feels like an eternity to get to the front door. I still wear pajamas, an oversize sleep shirt and a pair of fluffy socks. I debate changing. I really don’t want Niko to see me this way. Then I decide that if I really want to chase him away, letting him see me sick and in my pajamas is the best way to do it.
I open the door. Niko leans against the door frame. My heart skips a beat when he glances up. He looks amazing. Snowflakes are trapped in his dark curls, like stars in a night sky. I’m surprised they lasted long enough to make it to my hallway.
Then I realize it’s freezing. Not just in the hallway but in my apartment. I can even see my breath.
“I think the heat’s out,” I say to Niko.
He grins, because somehow that’s funny, but the expression fades when he looks at me. “Whoa, you really are sick.”
My face flushes in embarrassment. I must look absolutely awful for Niko to say such a thing. I’m wishing I had just told him it wasn’t a good time and hid out until I didn’t feel like seven shades of dead.
But it’s too late for that, and I just give him a curt nod. “Yeah,” I mutter. Another wave of nausea hits me, and I turn and lurch to the bathroom on shaky legs. I make it just in time to throw up in the sink, the door still partially open. What appears doesn’t look like anything I’ve eaten in the past few days, or ever. The sink bowl is covered in putrid green slime that smells like it came from a sewer. The sight is enough to set me heaving again. It reminds me of the time I watched The Exorcist with my dad, hiding under a blanket so I wouldn’t see the scary parts—pretty much the entire movie. Distantly They laugh, and begin to pound against my mental barriers. A whimper escapes me.
I need help.
There’s a knock on the bathroom door. Niko has followed me down the hall. He stands in the doorway, a sympathetic expression on his face. I’m horrified, but at the same time I’m having trouble even standing up.
&nbs
p; I wash the glop down the sink before he can see it, and rinse out my mouth. The water is icy and refreshing, and I take a couple of seconds to drink it straight from the faucet. When I finally turn toward him, Niko looks at me with concern.
“Are you okay?”
“No, but you should go. It’s really not a good idea for you to stay.” I can feel Them rustling in the back of my mind, and I fear for Niko’s safety. The image of Jefferson Halsey’s soundless screaming fills me with despair. What happens if I black out again while Niko’s here? I don’t want to put him in any danger, but at the same time I’m afraid to be alone. I don’t know what’s happening to me.
Niko doesn’t say anything, just wraps me in the throw from the back of the couch. I look up at him as an idea flits through my mind. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Sure.” I’m a little shocked by his ready acceptance. No questions, just immediate concern. It warms me from the inside.
“I need you to tie me up.”
Niko’s eyebrows shoot up, and a grin quirks one side of his mouth. “As much as I would love to, don’t you think you’re a little sick for that?”
I shake my head, but the movement compromises what little balance I have, and Niko has to catch me. “No, you don’t understand. I have these . . . attacks. I’m supposed to take medicine for them, but I don’t. So I need you to tie me to my bed until it passes.” My voice is strained. Thinking of lies to cover what’s wrong with me isn’t easy, but I need his help. It’s hard for me to ask him, to trust him. The request is so far away from normal that there is a good chance he will turn around and leave, thinking I’m batshit crazy.
But maybe he really does care about me and wants to know the me that’s beneath all of the trappings. Since the first day I saw him, I’ve felt like there’s something important between us. The worry in his eyes makes a bittersweet hope well up in my chest.
He walks me to my bed, half-carrying me when my legs give out. He catches me with a grunt, and I can’t even be embarrassed that he’s probably wondering why I’m so heavy. I think I’m dying. The thought doesn’t scare me as much as it should. At least if I’m dead, I can be sure They won’t hurt anyone else.
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