by Simon Holt
“Was it some kind of suicide pact?”
“What?”
“You and Aaron. Did Henry get in the way?”
“God, no! How could you think something like that?”
Reggie tried to push past her father, but he caught her by the arm.
“Look me in the eye and tell me it was an accident.”
Reggie felt her heart pounding inside her ribcage, but she steadied her gaze with her father’s.
“It was an accident.”
They were both still, staring at each other; Reggie could see Dad’s eyes searching her own, trying to read them.
The doorbell rang, and Dad blinked. He let go of Reggie and stepped back. His angry gaze softened into one of sadness.
“I only want the truth from you, Reggie. I can only help if I know what’s going on. And I want to help. It’s just the three of us now—we have to be there for each other.”
The bell chimed again, and Dad left the office. Reggie heard the front door open and Dad’s surprised voice.
“Mr. Bloch? It’s kind of late—can I help you with something?”
Reggie shot to her feet and strode into the hall. She frowned at Eben, who stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on his cane.
“Yes.” Eben took a small step inside. “I know it’s late. My apologies for this unexpected visit. But I need to speak with Regina. The matter is urgent.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Reggie.” Dad’s voice had an edge.
“May I—” Eben took another small step forward.
“Yes, yes. Come in.”
Reggie crossed her arms but said nothing as Eben came inside. He offered her a tired smile, but it did little to disguise the man’s palpable agitation.
“Please, Regina. This is about our friend.”
Aaron. Reggie’s skin burned like coal. How could she have forgotten him, no matter what she’d been through since his arrest that morning?
“Aaron.”
“Yes,” Eben said softly. “He needs our help.”
Reggie looked at her father.
“Five minutes,” he said, then walked back into his office.
Eben shuffled inside, and under the full light of the room, Reggie noticed that he appeared much older and frailer than the last time she’d seen him. His skin was pale and blotchy, his eyes sunken and gray. He looked utterly exhausted. He stooped, leaning more on his cane for support than Reggie had remembered.
“I would stand, but I am very tired these days.” He crossed to the recliner and took a seat.
“Unless you tell me you can get Aaron out of jail, we’ve got very little to talk about.” Reggie paced behind the living room sofa, arms folded. “And you don’t look like you’re in shape to pull off a prison break.”
“I deserve your rage, Regina. I know that. But hating me isn’t going to solve any immediate problems.”
Reggie stopped pacing. “I don’t hate you, Eben. Come on.” She moved to the couch and sat down.
“I want you to tell me what happened today,” Eben said.
Reggie rubbed her forehead, the anxiety of the morning coming back to her.
“The police were at school. They came and took Aaron away in front of everyone. For questioning. There were rumors that…” Reggie swallowed. “That they found Quinn’s car.”
“That part I’ve heard already. I want to know if anything else happened today.” Eben spoke quietly but intensely. Reggie stared at him for a moment.
“How did you know?”
“Tell me.”
Reggie recounted her vision in first period, and Henry’s meltdown at school. When she was finished, Eben tented his fingers and was quiet, lost in thought.
“What are we going to do about Aaron?” Reggie asked finally. “That detective was scary serious.”
“She’s scary, all right,” Eben said curtly. “Or rather, it’s scary.”
“It?” Horror flooded Reggie. “You mean that woman, she’s a… she’s a Vour?”
Eben nodded.
“Many police forces are filled with them. Vours like to infiltrate places of authority, remember? It makes it easier for them to achieve their goals. And tougher for someone like me to get to,” he added ruefully.
The fear rocked inside Reggie. “What is their goal? What do they want? I thought it was over.”
“I had hoped it was over for you,” Eben conceded.
Reggie jumped up. “We have to get Aaron out of there before she hurts him. Or kills him.”
“I doubt it will kill him—that would draw unnecessary attention. But it will try to break him.”
Reggie held her hand out to Eben.
“Come on, let’s go.”
“No, Regina, I don’t want you anywhere near that station.”
“But—”
Eben coughed, and the painful rasp sounded all too familiar to Reggie. For a moment it seemed as if Eben might break into one of his uncontrollable hacking spasms that had started last winter, the kind that ended with blood spilling out onto a white handkerchief.
“Eben, you’re in no state to do this on your own.”
“I will get Aaron out of there, and I will protect you and your family. But Regina, I need you to promise that you’re not going to go looking for trouble with the Vours.”
“Eben, I—”
“Promise me. No more hero stuff.”
Reggie felt the rage and panic rising inside her; at this point she couldn’t tell one from the other.
“I was never trying to be a hero—but you and your… secrets! They’ve led to nothing but suffering and pain! Why won’t you tell me what you know? Maybe this could have been prevented if we’d all worked together. Your secrecy hasn’t protected anyone but yourself!”
Reggie felt her face flush, and she knew she was yelling loud enough for the whole house to hear, but she didn’t care.
“Regina, I know it might seem that way, but you must trust my judgment—”
“And why can’t you trust me?” Reggie leaned over Eben. “Tell me what you know. Tell me!”
“Reggie!” Dad stood in the doorway, shocked. “Stop this. Get away from the man.”
He crossed the room in three strides and pulled his daughter away from Eben. Then he helped the elderly man to his feet.
“I think maybe it’s time you went home, Mr. Bloch.”
“Indeed it is.” Eben looked from Thom to Reggie, who was still breathing heavily. He lifted his hand, as if he wanted to embrace her, then thought better of it and lowered it again. “Aaron will be okay, Regina. I’ll see to it. And I can see myself out.”
With that, he limped to the front door and out into the dark night.
“What was that about?” Dad asked darkly as he locked the door behind Eben.
“Aaron got into some trouble today,” Reggie replied, equally coolly. “We just disagree on how to help him.”
She started up the stairs, expecting Dad’s command to return so they could finish their talk, but none came. At the top of the landing she looked back to see her father sitting on the sofa, his head in his hands.
Reggie turned on the tap in the shower and waited for the water to warm. She had stood here just this morning feeling normal again, and now the day had left her dirty and afraid. She wished she could wash it all away, but the soap just wasn’t strong enough.
After her shower she put on her pajamas and brushed her teeth, going through the motions of nighttime rituals as anxiety for the future spread throughout her limbs. Before getting into bed she checked her e-mail; just one was waiting for her, from [email protected]. Reluctantly she clicked it open.
Regina, do put your faith in me. Rest tonight. When I bring Aaron out, that wretched thing will have made its mark on him. He will need you more than ever when this is done. —E
Sleep came upon her like an oil spill—greasy and black, flooding and poisoning her dreams with sadness and pain. Nothing gelled into images; the blackness, the fea
r, the suspicion, and the malice coursed through her subconscious layers like heated blobs of wax.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.”
The voice was a whisper. It traveled like a cold breeze and blew through twists and turns in the strange labyrinth of her mind. She heard herself moaning in the dark.
“Aww. That’s my girl. Wakey, wakey.”
Reggie had experienced such phenomena before, but not since she was a little girl.
“Reggie…”
The voice called again, and this time she was sure it had woken her. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t feel her body in space. She felt only the leaden weight of the darkness. She wafted uneasily in a state between wake and slumber.
The thing calling to her was treading alongside her.
“Reggie…”
The voice was now next to her, becoming clearer and more familiar as the darkness receded. Human.
“Reggie…”
Closer now.
“Come on now…”
On top of her.
Pavor nocturnes.
Night terrors.
“Time to wake up.”
She pushed her mind to the surface, willing it to wake. She sprang up in bed.
A lone figure in silhouette sat on the edge of her bed. A pinprick of light, as from a small flashlight, lit a piece of paper the person was reading. Reggie could not make out a single feature on the intruder’s face, but she recognized the suppressed laughter.
“Rise and shine.”
Reggie panicked and tried to squirm away. The figure in the dark giggled and then clamped its hand down on her knee from atop the thin cotton sheet.
“Quiet, sweet thing. Make a sound and I will slit your throat. No, I’ll slit your father’s throat first. Then your little shit of a brother will have his. I’ll let you watch.”
This had to be another nightmarish vision. He couldn’t have survived. He couldn’t be alive.
“Surprised to see me? Thought I was dead? I’m okay, honest.”
He scooted up the bed a few inches.
The beam of the pocket flashlight swung upward and lit the intruder’s face.
“Boo.”
Reggie cried out and he leaped at her, putting his hand over her mouth and pressing her head down into the pillow. He kept the flashlight under his chin and stared at her with wild, bitter eyes.
“What? Not pretty enough for you anymore?”
The right half of Quinn Waters’ face looked normal—the long eyelashes, the dark curls framing a sculpted cheek and jaw, though the latter were paler than Reggie remembered, so white they looked carved from marble. But the left half… Despite her terror, Reggie stared at it with fascination. Veins like black scars crisscrossed over his cheek and jaw, and his lips were a wan blue. His eyes, though, were as bright as ever, chilling and lethal.
“Yeah. I know. Get some cover-up, Quinn.” He smiled and revealed a set of perfectly white teeth. “Still got the pearly whites though, right? How about you? Life hectic these days?” He moved his hand up and down, forcing her head to nod. “Oh, that’s right. Finals week. You must be crazy swamped about now.” He leaned in close to her, his breath cold on her face. “If I let you up, no screaming. I really don’t want us to be interrupted.”
He took his hand from her mouth.
“Miss me? What am I saying, of course you missed me.” Quinn shook the piece of paper, and Reggie realized it was the scrap she had written her nightmare on the night before. That’s what he had been reading. “I don’t know if it’s touching or pathetic that you’re still dreaming about me. Wait, no, I do. It’s pathetic.” His tone was eerily gleeful.
Reggie sat up, scurrying to the top of the bed. She pulled the sheets up to her neck and drew her knees to her chest. Quinn shook his head and yanked the sheets from her, exposing her legs and feet. She frantically stretched her nightshirt down over her knees, as far down her bare legs as it would go.
“At least you get what’s coming to you in your subconscious,” Quinn went on. He reached over to her end table and flicked on the lamp. In the light, the whiteness of his skin looked almost translucent.
Reggie trembled as she spoke. “How—”
“How am I still alive?” Quinn shook his head and smirked. “I can tell you one thing, it is no thanks to you, the old man, or your nerd of a boyfriend. Damn, I want to meat-grind that prick.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Nah. As much as the thought delights me, I didn’t come here for that. I have business.”
“Business?”
“Yes. See, I can’t exactly fit in anymore. You and your associates ruined all that. I was one of the favorites, you know. More human than human. But now…”
Quinn pushed a vein on his cheek and a wisp of black smoke seeped out.
“Now I’m just a screwup. And my lot doesn’t take kindly to screwups. I’ve been cast out.”
Reggie stayed silent. The Vour inside Quinn had spewed so many lies in the past. It had lived inside the shell of another boy for who knew how many years, and everything it said or did or was had been sculpted from lies.
“What can I say, doll? The hunter has become the hunted.”
“The other Vours want to destroy you?”
“Hurt, maim, torture. And then, when they’re done having their fun, yes. Destroy. For good.”
“Sounds fine to me,” Reggie said.
Quinn patted her bare foot, and her skin crawled at his touch. She remembered the power it possessed, the freakish ability it had to conjure terrible and paralyzing fears when in contact with a victim. She kicked his hand away.
“What do you want?”
“Simple. Revenge.”
“On me?”
Quinn cupped her cheek with his hand.
“Eventually, maybe. But no, not now. My beef is with my brethren, and I need your help.”
Reggie shook him off.
“Never.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” He slithered up the side of the bed like a snake, his icy eyes opened wide. “I don’t care what you want, or what you think.”
He touched her foot again, and Reggie could not move.
“You will give me exactly what I need, Reggie. And when you do, maybe I’ll spare your family. Maybe I’ll spare your sanity.”
He tickled his fingers up her calf like a spider’s legs.
“Maybe not.”
Reggie squirmed and slapped his hand away. She wanted to scream, she wanted to hurt him before he could hurt anyone else, but her muscles could only tremble beneath her skin. The fear felt like a straitjacket.
Quinn stood up and stretched.
“I can’t believe you don’t see the beauty of this partnership. Bringing down the Vours is as good for you as it is for me.”
“You’re an evil bastard.”
“I know.” Quinn walked to the bedroom door. “But we have a common enemy now. Sweet dreams, princess. I’ll be in touch.”
6
Reggie sat huddled at the head of her bed. She could barely stretch out on her mattress, much less sleep. She turned on all the lights.
Quinn was alive. And he had been in her bedroom. Reggie tried to shake the terror away.
She’d read through two study guides, a magazine, and four comic books by the time the sun rose, and then she decided to clean her room. Finally, at 8:30, she thought it was late enough to call the Coles’.
Their answering machine picked up after a few rings, but as Reggie was leaving a message she heard a click, and Aaron’s mother’s voice came over the line.
“Oh, Reggie, is that you? I’m sorry, we’ve been screening our calls. There’s been some press.”
“Is Aaron okay? Is he home?”
“He’s home, yes.” Dr. Cole’s voice was strained. “We got him out early this morning.”
“Is it… would it be all right if I came over?”
Reggie could hear the woman’s hesitation.
“Please,” Reggie beg
ged. “Just for a bit. I’d like to see him, see if there’s anything I can do.”
“And I’m sure he’d like to see you,” Dr. Cole replied. “I guess that would be fine.”
As Reggie was pulling on her jeans the memory of Quinn’s fingers creeping up her leg turned her stomach. She attempted, unsuccessfully, to block it out. So instead, she spent most of the fifteen-minute walk over to Aaron’s house trying to figure out how to tell him about Quinn. Or if she should even tell him at all.
But all thoughts of Quinn vanished when Reggie rounded the corner onto Aaron’s block. Dr. Cole had vastly understated when she’d said there’d been “some press.”
Parked cars and TV news vans lined the street in front of the Coles’ house. Police held back the crowd milling on the edge of the lawn, and a few cameramen had set up across the street. Local media had found out about a possible new lead in the Quinn Waters case. Reggie imagined a mob of townspeople gathering like the angry villagers from Frankenstein, with Aaron as their monster. The stores downtown were probably having a rush for pitchforks and torches at that very moment.
She cut through a few neighboring backyards and made her way to the Coles’ back door. Aaron’s father answered, his face taut with concern, but he smiled when he saw it was Reggie.
“Hello, Reggie. I was worried you were one of the reporters. Come on in.”
“Oh, Reggie!” Dr. Cole pulled Reggie into a bear hug when she saw her. Her eyes were red from crying.
Reggie had often found solace with the Coles, in no small part to Aaron’s parents, who treated her like their own daughter. Dr. Cole was a locally well-known therapist who had a weekly radio show on a community channel, and Mr. Cole was an engineer. They were kind and intelligent, and Reggie relished the normalcy of their household, where voices were never raised, meals were home-cooked and on time, and both parents were around to kiss their son goodnight.
She looked around her. The house was spotless as ever, but all the drapes were drawn, and jazz played from the sound system to drown out the activity outside.
“How is he?”
“He’s got bruises all down his arms. The Wennemack Police are going to have one hell of a lawsuit on their hands when I’m done with them.” Dr. Cole sighed. “He’s been in his bedroom since we got back. He won’t talk, he won’t eat—and you know Aaron always has a healthy appetite. He’s exhausted but can’t sleep.”