Arms and legs pumping, Billy surged ahead. He'd been serious about heading in a straight line from the middle of the plateau; instead of swinging around the first fissure before him, he hurdled it, leaping across its maw to land running on the other side.
Not far behind, Dave also raced up to the fissure. As he approached it, he saw that the part of the mouth that Billy had cleared was about three feet wide; he knew that he could make it in a running jump, and he desperately didn't want to lag further...but he veered to the right anyway and sprung across at a narrower section.
As Dave ducked his head and kicked up his pace, Billy whipped toward another rift. He still followed his beeline course, didn't deviate though the next break in the stone was wider than the last. The wiry guy had always been quick and agile as a squirrel; Dave knew that Billy could vault the cavity with no problem...but he wasn't so sure of himself.
As Billy neared the rim of the cleft, Dave hastily appraised it and decided not to take any chances. Though he knew that it might put him further behind, he bolted to the left, aiming himself at a tighter slice of the gorge.
Feet puffing over the stone in a quickfire tattoo, Billy shot to the broad lick of the cut. He hurtled to the rim and then launched himself; he pushed off the edge and flew across with legs spread wide, one ahead, one behind.
Dave watched the lift-off, glanced away when Billy's lead foot tabbed the opposite lip of the fissure. Barreling toward the crevice, puffing and nauseous and running on fear, Dave had to focus on his own leap, try not to lose momentum and drift further from his partner.
Arms slashing back and forth, Dave leaned forward and readied for the jump.
It was then that he heard Billy Bristol howl.
There was a sudden, sharp cry...then, the loud smack of something hitting the stone.
Head whipping in the direction of the cry, Dave stumbled to a halt. Even as his eyes flashed to the right, he had a feeling that he shouldn't look.
Billy was sprawled on the stone. Twitching and squirming, he lay there, stunned by his rough landing...but that wasn't the worst of it.
One of his legs still hung over the lip of the fissure. The leg was sliding backward, drawing Billy along with it.
A hand was gripping Billy by the ankle, pulling him into the cleft.
Billy scrabbled on the stone, clawing for purchase, raking his free foot over the surface in a futile attempt to catch a rut from which he could push. The stone was too smooth; he continued to drift back, further into the maw.
Another hand lashed from the trench to grapple Billy's leg. The victim slipped more rapidly toward the gap; his free leg passed over the rim and the second hand punched over to clutch it.
Desperately, Billy gouged at the stone...but it was no use. His legs were dragged over the edge and down, and then the paws from below shot up to hook his waist.
Shocked and terrified, Dave was paralyzed for a moment; a moment was all that it took for the drama to conclude. Before Dave could summon the will to act, it was too late.
"Get outta' here!" screamed Billy. "Run for it!" he commanded, and then the hands yanked him from view. Still flailing, clawing at the air, he dropped out of sight.
In a panic, Dave gaped at the spot where his friend had been...his best friend.
He wanted to run.
Billy had told him to run.
Billy was his best friend.
Dizzy and shivering with adrenaline, Dave took a step toward the place where Billy had vanished. Frantically, he glanced around, looking for a rock, anything that he could use as a weapon.
He jumped like a spooked cat when Billy's voice erupted from the socket.
"Go!" shrieked Billy. "For God's sake, get outta' here!" he wailed, his voice so shrill that it sent a chill up Dave's spine.
Yet again, Dave froze. There was thrashing and scuffling in the rift, the sounds of a violent struggle...and Billy again called to him.
"Go!" he screamed. He released one more cry, an inarticulate syllable...and then his voice cut out.
Suddenly, the noise in the fissure ceased.
Dave choked.
Without thinking, he began to race toward the rift.
Then, he heard another voice.
"No!" came the shout from the trench.
Dave knew. Immediately, he knew who it was.
"Don't go!" continued the voice.
In mid-stride, Dave changed direction, aiming for the far lip of the plateau. The sound of that voice was enough to evaporate all his resolve.
He knew who it was.
"We need to talk!" insisted the voice.
Dave kept running.
He knew who it was.
"I didn't kill him!" blasted the voice.
Without looking into the fissure, Dave leaped it at a narrow point. He remembered the kid.
White and red and red and red.
Most of the face was gone.
Glistening.
'Get outta' here!' Billy had screamed...his last request. 'Run for it!'
Dave ran.
He knew who it was.
"Billy isn't dead!" bellowed the voice. "I didn't kill him!"
White and red and red and red.
And more red.
"Talk to me! I swear I didn't kill him!"
Glistening.
"He's alive! He's alive...but I will kill him if you don't talk to me!"
Larry. It was Larry. His voice echoed over the plateau, or seemed to; his words rang in Dave's brain, repeated and repeated.
Alive.
Alive.
Alive.
'Get outta' here!' Billy had ordered.
Alive.
Red and white and red. Most of the face was gone.
Alive.
"Talk to me!" screamed Larry.
Alive.
Alive.
His best friend.
Alive.
Dave stopped running.
*****
Chapter 26
"Come over here!" shouted Larry Smith. "Come over so I can see you!"
Dave was a wreck. Tears streamed from his bloodshot eyes; his body spasmed as he sobbed and gulped for breath. His features were warped in an agonized grimace, an expression of absolute despair and confusion.
"Come on!" hollered Larry, still concealed in the fissure. "I swear I won't hurt you! I won't hurt you, but if you don't get your ass over here, I will kill your buddy!"
Sobbing, Dave covered his face with his hands. It was too much, it was just too much for him; he felt himself buckling under the pressure, trying to shut it out and shut down.
He wanted to run. With his last words, Billy had ordered him to run, and Dave wanted to run, run as fast and far as he could from the madness. He desperately wanted to get away, race to his car, then to the steakhouse, see Billy at the broiler and know that it was all okay and had only been a nightmare, just a nightmare.
He wanted to run...but Larry was making promises, casting hope like a baited hook into a lake. Larry told him that Billy was still alive; Larry told him what he wanted to believe.
Dave wanted to believe. Still, the words had come from Larry, Larry the deceiver...Larry, who had hidden something vile, something inconceivable, from the most intrusive eyes trained upon him for weeks.
Larry wasn't to be trusted. For all his claims to the contrary, Billy could very well be dead; the testimonials and threats might only be meant to entice Dave to his own death.
"Get over here!" shouted Larry. "Do you want me to kill him?"
Dave knew that he should run, just run...and yet, as long as there was a chance that Billy Bristol still lived, how could he run?
If Billy was alive, and Dave chose to escape, Larry might fulfill his threats and execute the captive. In the end, Dave might share the responsibility for his best friend's death; his inaction might have already cost Billy his life, but further hesitation or flight could guarantee the unbearable loss.
Dave didn't want to move one step closer to the rift,
the lair of the beast... but he knew that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he fled and Billy died.
He had to go to Larry.
"Okay!" hollered the unseen tormentor. "No more bullshit! I'm counting to ten! If you're not over here by the time I'm done, I'll kill him!"
He had to go to Larry.
Now, there was a deadline. He was shaking, weeping, sweating, and he remembered the kid and most of the face was gone and glistening and Billy might be the same but he had to had to go.
"One!" counted Larry.
Billy might be dead already, gored and swollen at Larry's feet, an unreclaimable carcass. If he wasn't dead, and Dave complied with Larry's demands, there would be nothing to stop Larry from killing him anyway.
"Two!" counted Larry.
Dave didn't want to go near the fissure; he didn't want to see Billy's body, or what was left of it, and he was terrified that he would have to watch Billy die. Already, Dave was coming unglued, ripping and splintering, wheeling like a tetherless kite toward a black and starless night; if he had to watch his friend die, he might loop off into the darkness and never return.
"Three!" flung the relentless voice from the pit. "Four!"
If Dave went to the trench, he might become the third casualty of the day. First the kid, then Billy, then Dave himself, all mauled and faceless and red and more red and how long would it take for someone to find them all the way out there and what would be left of them by then?
"Five!" counted Larry.
Sobbing, Dave looked at the fissure through a mist of tears. He looked all around, squinting at the barren plateau as if he expected to see an answer or someone who could help him; he saw nothing but cold, pale stone.
"Six!" counted Larry.
Shivering uncontrollably, Dave looked to the distant edge of the formation. He could still run, could still get away; Larry wouldn't be able to snare him by any means except trickery. The trench was perhaps twenty feet away; even if Larry shot from it and ran like a deer, Dave would have enough of a head start to outrace him.
"Seven!" shouted Larry.
Run; yes, he would run. He would run away, away from Larry, away from the kid, away from all of it. He would run away, and home would be waiting and he would be safe and he would forget and Darlene would come over and he would smile and no more no more of this. No more chasing, no more craziness, no more blood, no more mysteries...and everything would be okay, back to normal if he ran.
Alive.
His best friend.
Alive.
"Eight!" counted Larry.
What if his best friend was still alive?
What if his best friend was already dead?
What if he had to watch as his best friend was killed?
Too much. It was just too much.
"Nine!" yelled Larry.
"I'm coming!" wailed Dave. "I'm coming!" he screamed brokenly, stumbling toward the fissure, only half-aware that he was speaking or moving.
"You've made the right choice!" shouted Larry. "Now hurry it up!"
Quaking fiercely, Dave wobbled toward the terrible rendezvous. In spite of Larry's prompting, he didn't rush; it took all that he had just to teeter slowly for the rift.
"Come on!" hollered Larry.
Like a drunk or a zombie, a walking dead-man, Dave shambled over the stone. Automatically, he moved to the right, heading for a part of the fault that was many feet from the site of Billy's submergence; though he had to present himself to Larry, he would give him as wide a berth as possible.
"What's the hold-up?" barked Larry.
"I'm coming!" cried Dave. Unwillingly, he hobbled toward the cut; only a few feet separated him from the gash in the rock. Sucking in a deep breath, he tried to steel himself, prepare for what he might see or what might happen; even as he tried to convince himself that he was ready, ready for anything, he knew that it wouldn't take many more shocks to launch him squalling like a baby into a grand new madness. If Billy was dead...if Billy had been maimed like the kid...Dave didn't think that he could sustain any kind of rational thought or behavior.
"Come on!" Larry shouted irritably. "I don't have all day!"
Heart hammering in his chest like a boxer's quick fist upon a bag, Dave paused within a foot of the rim. Closing his eyes for an instant, he drew another deep breath.
Then, he inched to the edge of the fissure and gazed into it.
*****
Chapter 27
Dave felt some small relief when he saw Billy. Some yards away, Billy lay face-up on the dirt floor of the cavity; he wasn't mangled, wasn't even bloodied. Though Dave couldn't judge definitively if he was alive, couldn't tell from a distance if his chest was rising and falling, at least Billy's eyes were shut, weren't winched open in a sightless death-stare.
Dave's heart skipped a beat when he spotted his tormentor. Hands on his hips, Larry Smith loomed beside his captive, gazing coolly from the trench. Goateed and brawny, he didn't look any different than usual, but the sight of him still made Dave want to run.
For a moment, Larry simply stood there and met Dave's stare, didn't say a thing. His expression was neutral, unreadable...but his eyes held a strange intensity.
Eyes still locked with Dave's, Larry sighed and shook his head. Folding his arms over his black T-shirt, he took a single step forward; immediately, Dave tensed, preparing to lunge away if an attack came...but Larry stopped after that one step and leaned casually against the wall of the trough.
"You surprised me," he said at last, his tone steady and familiar. "You know, I had no idea you were following me until I heard you guys up there."
Shivering, soaked with sweat, Dave listened. Terror and confusion chewed up his brain like spinning twin blades.
"Anyway," continued Larry, "I haven't hurt your pal. Gave him a couple bruises, I guess, but he'll be all right." With a sigh, Larry glanced down at his victim, then returned his gaze to Dave. "He is alive," he declared firmly, pinpointing Dave's chief concern. "He's out like a light, but I didn't kill him. I could never kill him."
Dave frowned but said nothing.
"That's right," said Larry. "I only told you I'd kill him to get you to come over here and listen to me. I'm sorry, but I knew it was the only way to get you to stick around. I'm sure you're upset, but I hope you'll stay and hear me out anyway."
Dave didn't move. He had to stay, of course; Larry's assurances were no guarantee of Billy's safety.
"What I have to tell you is very important," announced Larry. "You see, I've been lying to you for a long time. To be perfectly honest, I hoped I'd never have to tell you anything...but now, I don't have any choice. I have to set the record straight, once and for all."
Arms at his sides, hands twitching, Dave listened.
"I know what you're probably thinking," said Larry, and he paused, looked away as if pondering what he would say next. "You must think I'm...some kind of psychotic killer," he continued, speaking slowly. "You're probably asking yourself 'Why? Why would he do such a terrible thing?' You probably...hate me. You're probably scared to death of me."
Larry paused again. Brow furrowed, he stared up at Dave as if searching for a reaction; Dave flinched from his gaze, flicked his eyes away to stare at Billy.
"Well, you shouldn't be scared," said Larry. "I won't hurt you...or Billy. That's the last thing I would want to do. As a matter of fact, I can't hurt you.
"I can't hurt you," repeated Larry. "I just want you to listen to what I have to say. I have to explain...maybe I need to explain to someone.
"I don't expect you to sympathize or forgive me. I don't expect you to believe everything I tell you...but I hope you'll try to understand. I need you to understand, because this is almost over--all of it--but it can't end unless you understand and let it end."
As confused and sick as ever, Dave shook and listened silently. He wondered what Larry was getting at, what he was building up to, what new myth the master deceiver was about to spin. Larry claimed to be seeking understa
nding, but Dave thought that he understood enough, enough to know that he shouldn't listen or be anywhere near the monster.
Turning his gaze pensively to the floor of the trench, Larry began to stroke his goatee. "A couple days ago," he said slowly, "I told you some stories. Well, that's all they were...just stories.
"I told you I can see the future, that I have flashes of things that will happen. Well, that was a lie.
"I do know what's going to happen to certain people, but it's not because I'm psychic. I don't have any amazing powers or anything like that.
"You might as well forget everything I told you the other day," said Larry, and then he sighed. "It was all bullshit.
"I never saved a guy's life by predicting that he had die in a fire. I never predicted that my girlfriend in Germany would be raped and murdered. I've never even been to Germany.
"None of it was true," Larry stated emphatically, clipping a hand through the air.
"You see, there were things that I had to do...important things...and I couldn't do them if anyone knew about them. When you kept nosing around...well, I had to tell you something. I had to lie to you.
"I'm sorry about that," sighed Larry. "I hated to do it...more than you can imagine...but I had to."
Standing stiffly at the edge of the cleft, Dave felt a surge of disgust. Larry's confession didn't surprise him...not now, not after the kid in the trench...but the calm with which Larry unveiled his lies, the tranquil sincerity in his tone, filled Dave with revulsion. The man had just committed a brutal murder, Billy Bristol lay at his feet, and yet he spoke with coolness and civility, dared to play at being something other than a monster.
"You know, I have to admit...you're pretty sharp," Larry said admiringly. "Right from the start, you knew that something was up. I made a few mistakes, and you were all over me. I guess I should've expected that. Naturally, of all people, you were the one to catch on.
"I really thought I could steer you away, though. Even when you came up with that video business, I figured I could handle you. I told you what you were already convinced of...that I was psychic...and I made up that long, involved story to explain everything. I'll tell ya', I really thought that did the trick."
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