He felt better knowing that she would be safe.
JASON?
why didn’t you come?
It was Kate’s fourth attempt at texting him. She was worried. He hadn’t answered his cell. She’d tracked down his home phone, under Zef’s name in her day-planner. She hadn’t left a message, in case Zef intercepted it. She didn’t know how to reach Joey and… maybe she was overreacting, but something felt wrong.
She sat on her bed, staring at the mobile of horses hanging in the corner, stirred by the wind, the stallions chasing the mares around in a circle. Something was definitely wrong. This wasn’t like Jason. Had she… scared him off? She’d been pretty aggressive that afternoon. Maybe she’d assumed too much. Boys don’t like to be chased. But why the hell not? She stood and spun the mobile with her finger, sending it in the opposite direction. The mares were chasing the stallions now. Good for them. She grinned, picturing Jason as Ichabod and herself as the Horseman, striking him in the head with a—
BANG!
Kate spun and dropped her phone. She knew gunfire when she heard it. She tore open the bedroom door and stepped out onto the second floor landing. The shadow of a man stood on the stair.
“Red?” she whispered. “Was that a shot?”
Red blocked her descent. His eyes were oddly dark and blank.
“Answer me,” said Kate, backing away. Red began to climb towards her. He held a pistol in his hand. “What the hell, Red?” She’d known him for years. Since her mom was alive. He was the Usher family’s most trusted man. And yet he was looking at her as if at a stranger. He was strong, too. She wouldn’t be safe in her bedroom. Wind blew from the open front door. Kate glanced in that direction. The body of Big Gulp lay in a puddle of blood on the porch, a bullet in his skull.
“What are you doing?” she shouted, suddenly certain that Red had gone mad, that he would kill her. She reached the top stair. Then so did he. He raised the pistol but not at her. To his own temple. Blood flew across a portrait of Kate’s Aunt Madeleine. Red’s own red, red blood. Kate cried out. The security man crumpled to his knees, fell backwards, and somersaulted down the stairs, head over heels to the bottom.
Kate ran back to her room and snatched up her phone, dialing.
“9-1-1 operator…”
“Hello. I’ve got a murder. A suicide. Gunfire. There may be other people I—”
“Address?”
“I’m at—”
The phone flew out of her hand and struck the wall, flying into pieces. She stared at it, dumbfounded. The whole house shifted, groaned, as if hands were on the wood, warping it, attempting to push the structure over. Something threw sparks across her window pane, like a misfired firework. The power went out. The windows flew open and a hot breeze pushed in, smelling of garbage, garbage rotting in the summer heat. Kate spun, uncomprehending, surrounded by the shadows of the mobile, a hundred horses stampeding the moonlight.
“Don’t be frightened…” whispered a voice. But Kate was frightened. She was frightened as hell. “No need to be afraid of me.” The voice was feminine, elderly, oddly wet. Kate threw open her closet. She kept a pistol there. She loaded it with military speed and pointed it at the room, as if to shoot her bureau or her headboard. Kate caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror. That girl didn’t look helpless. She didn’t look scared. Kate would be okay with that girl in charge. She took a step towards the bedroom door. It slammed shut and wouldn’t open. She raised the pistol at the air.
“What did you do to Red?” she demanded.
“He was going to take you to Boston,” whispered the voice. “We both know I can‘t allow that.”
The spinning shadows of horses surrounded Kate. She kept seeing motion in the corner of her eye, startling her. “Who are you?”
“Who are you, girl? Why are you different? I am able to possess most, as I possessed your protector just now. I am able to act through them, to move them, so that they kill for me, or kill themselves…”
“Agathe Van Brunt?” Kate said, remembering all that Jason had told her.
A dark laughter answered. “But you… I can speak through you. You give yourself to me so readily. Who has emptied you, child?”
Kate understood. Jason had emptied her. And now… her blackouts. Her sleepwalking. Not catalepsy. Not catalepsy at all. “You’ve been possessing me?” she gasped. “What do you make me do?”
No laughter now, just ghostly breathing. “Brom… Brom…”
“What do you make me do!?”
“Anything I want. I could make you leap through that window or kill your father or run naked through the streets of Tarrytown. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, child? That’s how I found you, dancing naked in the woods, calling to me.”
“I never called to you.”
“Let’s dance together.”
“Leave now.”
“No… let’s fly together. Would you like to fly?”
“What?”
“Shall we step onto the wings of night like two crones in a fairytale?”
“I said leave!”
“Oh, Katherine,” said the voice, and it sounded different now, familiar.
“Mom?”
“Poor motherless thing,” whispered Agathe. “No one to brush your hair and tend your wounds and cook you meals. Let me be your mother. I always wanted a girl…”
Kate had lost her ability to speak. She struggled with the doorknob.
“I am in you, Katherine,” said the thing which was not her mother. “I am always in you. And we shall never be separated again.”
“Stay away!”
Kate’s eye fell on the mirror. She saw her mother there. She saw her mother in herself, in her cheeks gaunt and blue, in her moonlit gold. But the face changed. The skin sagged, the eyes hollowed. The arms turned into sticks. Kate’s hair grew silver, then white. Her expression radiated pure evil, her mouth a toothless void.
“How can I stay away?” Kate said to herself, her lips moving on their own. “I am you.”
Kate cried out and in the moment before Agathe took complete control, she pulled the trigger of the pistol. The bullet struck the glass, throwing a spider web of cracks across her reflection, like a net to catch her soul there.
Hadewych drove up Broadway, searching for his son. What had Zef said? That he was… a queer? It was impossible. Not my boy. Not my boy. Someone had gotten to Zef. Someone had twisted his young mind. Someone had recruited him, had made him promises, as those older men had promised to raise young Hadewych from the gutter, had taken what they could and had laughed afterwards. Not my boy. Not one of those people. I refuse to believe it.
Hadewych reached Patriots Park and turned onto College Avenue. Valerie's house burned like a torch. He rolled past with his lights off. Searched the streets. No fire trucks. And he didn't see Zef. Had he beaten him here? A few neighbors were gawking, staring at the burning house as if it were a fireworks display. Cinders whipped into the air, to join the distant lights exploding over the Hudson.
Jessica was alive? How? He’d strangled her, hadn’t he? He’d been too hasty, had thought her dead when she’d merely been unconscious. But she would have burned alive. She had to have burned alive by now. What if Zef did save Jessica? What if Valerie survived? Hadewych couldn’t linger near her house. He couldn’t be anywhere near this place right now. He turned, skirting the park, watching the fire in his rearview. He would have to run. He tried to formulate a plan. He would take the Treasure. As long as he possessed it, he would be untouchable. Should he go to the lighthouse? He thought of the ball of fire he’d dropped into the grass. He should stay away from the park as well. But even if he had the reliquary, he would have to stay in the Hollow, if the Horseman were to serve him. Yes. He had to find a way to stay. He would just kill them all. And the first person who would die would be whoever had corrupted his son.
A flash of silver flew down Broadway. Their Mercedes, with Jason at the wheel. Hadewych snarled. That little queer Jason had
done it. Jason had seduced Zef, had twisted his mind, under Hadewych's own roof. How had he not seen it? He should have moved Zef as soon as he found the Crane boy’s magazine. Jason had planted it in Zef’s room to seduce him. Those people were evil. Evil evil evil!
Hadewych twisted the wheel, turning the car around. As his headlights swept the park, he saw a monstrous thing gallop out of the culvert of the André Brook. A figure in jeans and a red T-shirt—headless, riding the desiccated corpse of a horse. The rider carried severed heads in a bandolier, hanging across his back. The Headless Horseman took off after Jason. Hadewych hit the gas and joined the pursuit.
Jason tore down Broadway, running red lights, dodging oncoming traffic. He saw the Horseman in his rearview mirror, gaining fast, galloping on the skeletal horse. Charley yelped. Jason slammed the brakes, barely avoiding collision with a blue SUV. He pulled around it, into oncoming traffic. Headlights grew in his window. A horn blared. He hit the gas and popped over the far curb, driving across the grass of a condominium building. Charley tried to climb into his lap, seeking shelter, and he pushed her away gently. She slipped and tumbled into the floor but recovered. The Mercedes found the road again. He checked the rearview again, saw nothing, but he didn't dare relax.
KATE! HELP! DANGER!
The psychic alarms blared in his head.
Kate’s in trouble! But so am I. Oh, so am I.
He blinked, disconcerted, and ran a red light. A green Chevy clipped his rear bumper. The back wheels of the Mercedes fishtailed but didn't slow his momentum. He was probably going to get himself killed in an auto accident. But that was better than being beheaded. He watched the rearview mirror. For a moment he thought he saw a figure sitting in the back seat. Would his own future son use his Gift to witness this day? Not if Jason died tonight. There would be no more Cranes.
Kate is in danger… His Spidey-sense was blaring. She needs me. She needs my help. He gripped the wheel. Could he lose the Horseman? Turn around? Kate's house was in the other direction. Other side of town. Brake lights lit in front of him. He careened over someone's yard, through bushes, back onto Broadway again.
He didn’t have his phone. But he had other means of communication—
Zef? Can you hear me? Zef, are you there? Kate is in trouble. Help her. You've got to help Kate… Zef? YOU’VE GOT TO HELP KATE!
He prayed that it would be enough, but he knew in his heart that his connection to Zef was not that strong. Zef probably couldn’t—
The Horseman sprang from the trees to the right, his bandolier of severed heads beating against his chest, his hatchet at the ready. Charley barked hysterically. Something struck the window, sending a spider web of cracks across it. It must've been a severed head. There was a splash of smoldering green fluid there. Another missile struck the car, the flaming head of Carlos flew across the windshield. Jason caught a stretch of open road, hit the gas. “Get down,” he cried, talking to the dog and his heart rate both. Something struck the rear windshield.
Jason saw the exit for Interstate 287 coming up. He would have a clear path southward all the way to New York City. Just get out of his range. But what if the Horseman’s range was different now? Then drive to the ends of the earth. Yes. Get away. Get back to reality. Find the rational people, the scientists, the normal people—the Carl Sagans and Stephen Hawkings and Richard Dawkinses. Magic is insane. It's absolutely insane and frightening and I want no part of it. Even if it is real, it’s wrong. It’s sick. I want out. I want to be me again. That's enough. Real life is enough.
He was nearing the turnoff for 287 South when something grabbed the steering wheel. It whipped out of Jason's hands, spinning deliriously. He wrestled with it. The Mercedes plunged onto an exit ramp, headed downward, onto 287 North, not South. But 287 North would take him to… would take him to… The toll plaza flew at him. The Mercedes smashed through the lowered arm. He was being corralled, forced westward towards the Hudson, towards the Tappan Zee, towards a sky bright with fireworks…
…and the Hold-Your-Breath-Bridge.
Joey wiped his eyes and held his breath.
BANG!! BANG!! BANG!! BANG!! BANG!! BANG!! BANG!!!
The fireworks blared at full intensity, all-out chaos in the heavens. All the echoes met and merged and intensified, the rhythms joining, reinforcing each other; the magic moment; the last turning; the final act of the play; the last movement of the symphony. The moment when the fuses are lit and all one can do is sit slack-jawed and gape at the spectacle.
The grand finale had come.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
“The Bridge of Bones”
William Wade drove his rig down 287 South, a little too fast, making another water run down to New York. He felt good. A night run was extra pay, plus holiday time-and-a-half. He was thinking about healthcare premiums. And death benefits. He crossed the Jersey state line and his sixteen wheels found the Tappan Zee Bridge. He'd arrived at the perfect time, too. The fireworks were blazing over the Hudson. He turned his music up. A kickin’ country song. What a view!
Happy Fourth of July, America! Whoo-hoo!
As he reached the metal cage at the center of the span, his steering wheel snapped counter-clockwise, flying out of his hands, yanked by something invisible.
The rig made a wild left turn into incoming traffic. The cab and trailer together were longer than the road was wide. It jackknifed and hit metal on both sides with a crack that threw William into the passenger seat.
Horns blared. Tires screamed.
An eastbound car behind William drove headlong into the trailer, driving it against the cage of the bridge. One of the V-shaped girders on the eastbound side of the bridge cracked free of the roadbed.
An westbound car struck the cab, twisting the wheel base without snapping the head of the rig from the body. William’s cab shot through the girders of the cage, twisting in them like a crowbar, and those too snapped from the roadbed. The road itself cracked under the combined weight of the rig and the two wrecks. The center of the bridge lurched and sagged. The rig tipped and glass flew at William’s face.
He lay there, stunned, with country music wailing from the stereo and blood dripping from his forehead. A moment later another westbound car struck the rear of the first, throwing it forward again, and the roof of the cab flew at William, crushing him and the radio before either could make another sound.
Silence fell.
The bridge groaned, its bones snapping. Fat plastic water-cooler bottles bounced down the road, catching the light of the burning vehicles, and tumbled over the side, jumping into the river below.
The glare of the fireworks continued but the lights of the bridge had winked out.
A cable snapped. The girders bellowed with pain.
The bridge was broken and Jason was on his way.
Jason saw the smoking wreck but he was no longer in control of the Mercedes. He sped straight at the overturned rig. Fireworks lit the passenger-side window. A bright rubber-on-steel sound filled his ears as the tires touched the bridge. The overturned rig grew larger and larger.
Jason put a hand out to protect Charley, bracing himself.
In the moment just before impact, he realized his seatbelt was off. He scrambled for it. Too late. It—
The car lurched. Its wheels left the ground. The Horseman’s ghosts were here, lifting the Mercedes as they had lifted Kate’s Porsche, as they had lifted his parents’ car. They dropped the Mercedes on the railing of the bridge. The car teetered, balanced precariously, lurched towards the water…
And stopped.
The left front wheel had caught. It had caught on a signpost. One of the signs put up to deter potential suicide jumpers. But the slightest jolt could twist the wheel and drop the Mercedes into the Hudson.
Jason pushed the hair out of his eyes, trying not to move. The bridge went dark. The scene was eerily still. The fireworks threw bright shadows but… silently… as if the volume were turned off. He heard his own breath and Charley’s, hi
s heartbeat under his tourniquet and in his ears and in his neck. The car wrecks ahead threw garish shadows as they burned.
As these lights dimmed, Jason saw the ghosts in the road. The Army of the Horseman surrounded the Mercedes in a semi-circle. The spirits disappeared and reappeared with each red glare. He rolled down the window and thrust the owl talisman at them. They backed away, but he was still surrounded. The car shifted, with a groan of straining metal.
A figure approached in the rearview mirror. A figure on a horse. The talisman would be useless against him. Jason hung the silver disk around his neck, gathered Charley to his chest and kissed her. “It’ll be okay, baby.”
But it wouldn’t be.
Sie sterben an der Brücke, whispered the ghosts. Over and over. You die at the bridge…
Jason felt a wave of melancholy pouring from them. The trap of helplessness and resignation. A chill came over his heart. He tried to shake it off.
Jason searched for options. He’d always found one before. A weapon. An escape route. But he had nothing. A dog. A bar of gold in his pocket. And nowhere to run. The Mercedes sat precariously on the railing and would have already tumbled into the Hudson if the left front wheel had not snagged on a sign reading:
THERE IS ALWAYS HOPE
THERE IS ALWAYS HELP
LIFE IS WORTH LIVING
SUICIDE IS NEVER THE ANSWER
The Horseman slowed as he neared, bringing his skeletal horse to a casual trot. Jason felt his malice and arrogance, the Horseman’s bloodlust combined with Eddie’s physical strength and swagger. As the Horseman dismounted, the dead face of Vernon McCaffrey bounced against his chest, the last of the Monster’s arsenal of severed heads, attached by means of a loop through the eye socket. The Army of Ghosts closed on the car, in case Jason tried to run.
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