by Amy Cross
“It's louder near this building.”
“It's not!”
“Then get down and I'll go in and look! I'm telling you, this is the only place in town where the guy wouldn't have been caught by now! He and Jessica have to be inside!”
“Jesus,” she mutters, hauling herself all the way up and then wriggling a little as she makes her way through the window. After taking a moment to steady herself, while carefully avoiding sitting on any of the broken glass left in place, she starts climbing down and eventually drops onto the dusty concrete floor inside the building. She falls forward slightly, but steadies herself with her hands and then gets to her feet.
“Well?” Jason calls out.
“Come inside and see for yourself,” she replies. “Or don't. It doesn't really matter, there's definitely nothing in here.”
“Whatever,” he mutters, reaching up and then hauling himself to the ledge, before turning and dropping down on the other side. Landing awkwardly, he slips and thuds into the concrete with his shoulder, while letting out a gasp of pain as he feels a sharp pain in his ankle.
“Are you okay?” Judy asks, hurrying over to help.
“I'm fine!” Pushing her away as he gets up, he gasps as soon as he tries to put any weight on his left ankle. Leaning against the wall, he mutters a few choice curse words under his breath.
“If you're hurt -”
“I'm not hurt,” he tells her, limping past in a defiant show of strength, despite the pain. “Come on, we have to find them!”
“There's no-one in here!” she calls after him. “Jason, listen to it! The scream's one hundred per cent coming from somewhere outside!”
“Maybe it's in another part of the building!”
“Face it,” she continues, hurrying after him, “what you imagined is wrong. If the person doing this had brought Jessica here, they'd have been found by now.” She waits for him to reply. “Bad news, little brother. Turns out you haven't got the right imagination for this kind of thing after all.”
“Shut up. You don't know anything.”
“Most people would've taken that as a compliment.”
“Maybe I got a few details wrong,” he grunts, clearly in pain as he continues to limp toward a door at the far end of the main hall, “but I'm right about the basics. This guy, whoever he is, is definitely turning the screw slowly, building the agony up. Maybe it's an experiment to see how much pure pain the human body can take?” Reaching the door, he pulls it open and looks through into the next room, which turns out to be just as empty as the first. “Then again, if you were gonna go to all this trouble, why pick Jessica goddamn Barton?”
“Why not pick her?”
“Well, she's not exactly...” Sighing, he turns to her. “She's kinda, you know, a little bit on the delicate side. If you were trying to test the limits of human endurance, you'd hardly pick someone like her. Plus, you know, she's kinda plain. If you were some kinda sex monster, you'd pick someone hotter.”
She stares at him, shocked by the words coming from his mouth.
“You're really something,” she tells him. “You know that?”
“I'm just trying to put myself in the mind of this guy.”
“Come on,” she says with a sigh, turning and heading back toward the window. “We're wasting our time in here. Let's go back and see how the others are doing.”
“We should try the Beauy building next,” he calls after her. “Judy? If I was him, maybe I'd take her there!” He waits for a reply, before starting to limp after her, wincing a little at the pain in his ankle. “Hey! Wait up!”
In the distance, the scream continues.
Chapter Eighteen
As the scream continues outside, Father Roake steps through the doorway and looks around at the faded glamor of the Pine Ridge movie theater. Old posters have been left hanging on the walls, and there are dark stains on the blue carpet, along with spilled popcorn. Making his way toward the door on the far side, he's briefly able to smell a foul odor drifting out from one of the bathrooms.
“Can I help you?” a voice asks.
Turning, Roake sees a woman making her way out from behind the counter.
“I'm just...” He pauses. “I was looking, that's all.”
“For her?” There's fear in the woman's eyes now. “Are you part of the search team?”
“I think everyone's part of the search team,” he replies. “The whole town seems to be looking for this girl.”
“They say it's Jessica Barton,” the woman continues. “I don't know if that's true, but... Well, that's what they say. I hope they're wrong, but it seems they're pretty sure.”
“Jessica Barton,” Roake whispers. “So that's the name of the latest girl.”
“I can't go out there,” the woman tells him, wiping tears from her cheek as she glances at the main door. “I just can't. I've been sitting in the office with my headphones in, listening to music. I just can't bear to hear her screaming like that, I think I'd have had a nervous breakdown by now. Does that make me a bad person?”
He shakes his head. “The people of this town are caught in the middle of something they can't hope to understand,” he tells her. “It's probably better if you don't know the full truth about what's really happening here.” After glancing around for a moment, he takes a step back. “It's not here. I'm sorry to have disturbed you.” He turns to walk away, but he stops when he feels the woman's hand on his arm.
“Would you...” She pauses, as if she's afraid to ask. “I mean, if it's not too much trouble, would you pray with me?”
He opens his mouth to tell her that he doesn't have time, but he quickly realizes that he can't turn down such a simple, genuine request. “Of course,” he replies, leading her to a set of chairs lined up against a nearby wall, next to the old concession stand. As they sit, he tries to think of something that might make the woman feel a little better.
“I just can't imagine what that poor girl must be going through,” she says, wiping more tears from her eyes. “If it's Jessica... I mean, that girl is so sweet. Troubled, Lord knows, but sweet. She doesn't have a good family, she comes from a background of rotten folk, but she never uses that as an excuse. I always thought she'd break free and really make something of herself, really prove to the world that she wasn't like her deadbeat, alcoholic mother. She always had this bright inner light, if that makes sense, like a kind of goodness that the world couldn't ever destroy.” She stares into space for a moment, as more tears trickle down her cheeks. “I used to give her concession prices when she came to the movies. Just because I like her, you understand. She's only, what, twenty-one or twenty-two. This isn't fair.”
“Close your eyes,” Roake tells her, reaching out and taking the woman's hands in his own. “Dear Lord, we know that you have not forsaken the town of Pine Ridge, and that you hear their calls for relief. We know that you -”
Stopping suddenly, he shudders as he hears the scream getting a little louder in the distance, almost as if it's trying to drown out the prayer.
“We know that you love all your children,” he continues, raising his voice a little, “and that no matter how dark the hours might seem, your light will shine through and -”
“It's getting worse,” the woman sobs.
“Concentrate,” Roake replies, squeezing her hands tighter. “The Lord has not forgotten this place.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“The Lord never forgets,” he continues. “The Lord loves all.”
“Then why is he letting this happen?” she asks, opening her eyes. “I've been a good Christian woman my whole life, and I've never doubted, not until today, not until...” She pauses, her bottom lip trembling, as the scream continues. “How can that poor girl be left to suffer like this?” she asks finally. “It's been hours now, how can God allow something so awful to happen to a girl who never hurt anyone?”
“You must -”
“Is it the Devil himself?” she asks suddenly.
> Roake pauses, loosening his grip on the woman's hands slightly.
“Is it?” she continues. “Oh Lord, has the Devil come to Pine Ridge? Is he the one who -”
“No,” Roake says hurriedly, interrupting her. “I assure you, it's not the Devil.”
“Then who is it?”
“The man who is doing this to Jessica...” He pauses, trying to work out how to explain the situation to her. For a moment, he considers trying to describe the figure he saw once back in Amsterdam, but he knows she'd never believe him and, besides, he's not sure he can put it into words. “At times like this,” he continues finally, “it's only natural that you feel your faith being tested. I can assure you, however, that the Lord has not forgotten you or anyone in this town.”
“So why won't the scream stop,” she asks, “and why can't anyone find poor Jessica?”
“We must pray,” he replies. “Please, close your eyes again. We must pray together.”
“And that'll help, will it? Prayer will make the evil go away?”
“Please.” He closes his eyes, and a moment later she does the same. “The Devil has not come to Pine Ridge,” he explains, “and the man who is here... He is not evil. He is something far, far worse.”
For a moment, all he can think about is that night in Amsterdam several years ago, when he got his one and only glimpse of the beast. The thought of seeing its face again is almost too much to bear, but he knows he must keep going, even as Jessica's scream continues outside.
Chapter Nineteen
“What do you mean, you saw someone?” Bobby Briscoe asks, opening his notebook before rooting in his pockets, trying to find a pen. “Who did you see? When?”
“It was just a man,” Kelly replies, squinting a little in the sun. “I saw him yesterday and I noticed 'cause, well, I've never seen him before. Not around here, I mean. Usually we don't see many strangers in town, so I kinda took notice. Not like in a big way, but I definitely noticed..”
“No,” Bobby mutters, “we sure don't get many visitors, you're right about that.” Still searching for a pen, he seems flustered for a moment, before giving up and stuffing his notebook back into his pocket.
“Although apparently there's two now,” she continues. “Becky and Louise say some other guy checked into the hotel this morning.”
“They did, huh? Well, I'll be sure to look into that. Do you happen to have a pen on you?”
“Shouldn't you have one?”
“I should, but...” He pauses. “Okay, it's fine, I'll remember everything you tell me. Now just describe this guy, the one you saw last night. Start with where you saw him.”
“It was pretty late,” she continues, turning and pointing over toward the center of the town square. “He was -” Stopping suddenly, she listens to the scream as it continues to fill the air all around them. “Are they still looking for her?”
“We sure are,” Bobby replies, “and we'll find her soon. I promise. In the meantime, tell me about this stranger you saw. It could be important, Kelly.”
“He was walking across the square,” she continues. “It was about nine, so it was dark, and the lights were on in the diner, and in the bar too. Not many people were out, but Mom and Nathan had sent me to the store, so I was coming by this way and that's when I saw this guy, just strolling across the square.” She pauses for a moment, as if she's picturing the scene in her mind's eye. “I thought there was something weird about him at the time. He had kinda long hair, down to his shoulders, and he was old, like, in his thirties or something.”
“What was he wearing?”
She pauses again. “It was dark. I think he had a checkered shirt on, and jeans. He wasn't wearing a coat. I noticed that. He seemed kinda relaxed.”
“And he was just strolling along?”
“Slowly. Like he wasn't necessarily going anywhere, like he was just taking a look around, and whistling too. I don't remember the tune, it was pretty low, but he was just wandering across the town square all by himself, whistling something. He even looked at me, just for a few seconds.”
“He did?”
“I was -” Suddenly she takes a few steps across the sidewalk, stopping by the fire hydrant. “I was here, and he was right over there by the statue.” She points toward the center of the square. “He was strolling that way, and he glanced at me for a little bit and he smiled and kept on whistling, but he didn't stop.”
“And he didn't say anything?”
She shakes her head.
“And then what?”
“Well then I carried on,” she continues. “I mean, I didn't want to be out too long, 'cause I just wanted to go home and go on my computer. So that's what I did, except I bumped into Jessie Barton on the way.”
“You saw Jessica?” he asks. “She was out too?”
“She was just going to her house,” she replies. “I said hello, she said something back, and that was it.”
“And this was around nine last night?”
She nods. “Maybe nine thirty at the latest.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“She was going home. I told you. She was right at her front door.”
“Did she say where she'd been?”
She shakes her head.
“What was she wearing?”
She shrugs. “Normal stuff.”
“What's normal?”
“Like, jeans and a t-shirt.”
“Huh.” Pausing for a moment, Bobby turns and looks across the town square again. “Are you sure the guy you saw wasn't Darren Cooper? He has kinda long hair and -”
“It wasn't Darren Cooper.”
“But -”
“Darren Cooper's fat,” she continues, “and ugly. This guy was kinda hot, even though he was kinda old too.” As the scream continues, she uses a hand to shield her eyes from the sun and she turns to look over toward the other side of the square. “Whoever the guy was, I've never seen him in town before. That can't be a coincidence, can it? It's a stranger who came and did this.”
“Seems that way,” Bobby mutters.
“Do you think it could have been me?”
He turns to her.
“Who got kidnapped, I mean,” she continues. “Like I said, I saw a strange guy last night. Maybe... What if instead of taking Jessica and doing this to her, he'd done it to me? Do you think I could have been the one screaming right now?”
“Well...” He pauses, before nodding. “I guess so. Sounds like you had a lucky escape last night.”
“Yeah,” she mutters, listening to the scream for a moment longer. “I guess I did, but...”
“But what?” he asks cautiously.
“Nothing, it's just... Do you think it's 'cause she's prettier than me?”
“I'm sorry?”
“Not that she is,” she adds hastily, “just... I mean, if this maniac saw me and then saw her, and he chose to take her, then do you think it was 'cause he thought she's hotter? 'Cause she's totally not.”
He opens his mouth, but the words catch in the back of his throat.
“She barely wears any make-up,” Kelly continues, “and to be honest, the last six months she's been getting just a little plump.”
“Right -”
“So it can't be based on looks, can it? 'Cause if it was based on looks, he'd totally have taken me and I'd be the one who's screaming now. Right?”
He pauses. “Right;” he says finally, clearly a little confused. “I'm sure there was a little more to it than that...”
“I'm not easily offended,” she replies, taking a step back as the scream continues, echoing along the street, “but seriously... Jessica is not all that.”
“Um...”
“I hope you find her,” she adds. “It'd totally suck if she kept suffering like this. People just can't get on with things, you know?”
With that, she turns and makes her way home, leaving Bobby standing alone with his thoughts. He watches her heading away for a moment, before turning and lo
oking back toward the town square.
Chapter Twenty
“Jessica Barton,” Roake mutters as he makes his way along the deserted school corridor, examining the various framed photos of sports teams from over the years. “Jessica -”
Stopping suddenly, he sees her name printed under a photo of a hockey team from the previous term. Taking a look at the image, he sees a smiling, happy-looking girl standing on the left of the back row. A banner behind the players announces them as regional winners of a competition.
“Hello Jessica,” he whispers, unable to take his eyes off the photo. “I'm so sorry you got mixed up in all of this. I promise I won't...”
He pauses, before slipping the frame off the wall and opening the back. Once he has the photo out, he carefully tears the sides off until he's holding just the section showing Jessica's face, and then he turns it around and places it against the wall while he writes on the back:
Jessica Barton
Pine Ridge, U.S.A.
Reaching into his pocket, he takes out his wallet and removes another torn photo piece, this time a black-and-white image of a smiling girl with dark curly hair. He turns this scrap over and reads the scribbled note:
Anna Hoeks
Amsterdam, NL
For a moment, his mind flashes back once again to his debauched, decadent years in Amsterdam, and to his later realization that while he'd been distracted, Anna Hoeks had screamed and screamed for mercy in another part of the city. He remembers stumbling through the hoards of tourists at Dam Square, his hands covered in blood, and he remembers the sense of hopelessness that almost led him to give up. Finally he slips the picture of Anna back into his wallet and takes another look at the image of Jessica.
“I won't let you down,” he whispers. “Not like Anna and the others.”
He stands in silence for a moment. Or at least, what passes for silence. Even in the school's deserted corridor at the edge of town, he can still hear Jessica Barton screaming in the distance.