Chapter 45
Teetering on the Fulcrum of Fate
STILL RATTLED FROM the incident on Chandler Trace, we gather outside of Professor Wadlow’s house. We journeyed here in heavy silence, my mind filling with dark contemplations of everything I’d seen. At Wadlow’s house there’s no sign of Brady, and all is quiet on High Street. I check my watch, already five past noon.
“Maybe he stood us up.” Tee paces back and forth, his quick steps cutting a path through Wadlow’s grass. He narrows questioning eyes on Robby.
“He wouldn’t do that. He’ll be here.”
My wary eyes meet Robby’s as I mull the severity of the accident we witnessed. “You think he made it?”
“Don’t know, man. Didn’t look good.”
Devin shakes his head. “Was like he planned that. I mean…how did Sammy know exactly where to put that trash can?”
Disturbing images of the violent collision assail my mind. The memory plays on loop, revealing one subtle gory detail after another. The suddenness of the accident didn’t allot sufficient time for my mind to process the event. Details that didn’t even register at the time well up from my subconscious. My abdomen clenches at the memory of a gag-inducing detail, the boy’s arm bent at a ninety-degree angle midway up his forearm. I wince. The more I try to suppress it, the more it envelops me. And then the whistling. Oh shit! The whistling.
“Guys, that song… That song that Sammy was whistling as he walked away. It’s the same one I was singing the night Margo showed up in my bathroom.”
“That’s some weird shit.” Tee bites his bottom lip as his eyes widen.
“Maybe he is this thing. You know, the skin-walker.” Gotta be. Right?
“I don’t think so.”
“What? You were the one who was so convinced it was him, Robby. And now? Now that we see him do some weird ass shit for the first time? Now you don’t think it’s him? Unreal!” Tee expels the words like compressed steam.
Devin shoots Robby a crinkle-faced gaze. “Yeah. What gives, dude?”
“It’s just a feeling. It’s hard to explain.”
Tee scowls at Robby. “Well try!”
“Okay. So, when we were watching him before all that happened, something didn’t sit right, but I can’t really place it.”
“What? That he’s a freakin’ moron? I mean, come on. He hit the mailbox with his cast. Dumbass!” Tee smirks.
“Wait.” A sparkle collects in Robby’s eyes like the build of a wave. “That’s it. Exactly!”
Tee puffs a blast of air through his lips. “What’s it? That he’s a moron?”
“No. He hit that mailbox with his cast and yelped in pain. Seems to me, if he is this thing, then why wouldn’t he just change forms and then regenerate…”
Devin’s lower jaw lunges. “Oh shit! That’s true!”
“I mean, why would he need to have a broken arm in the first place? And for that matter, why wouldn’t he have changed forms when you hit him with the skateboard?”
“Holy crap. That makes total sense.” Robby’s right. How didn’t I think of that?
“But it’s got to be related.” Tee shakes his head and frowns. “That was just too weird back there.”
“Maybe,” Robby concedes.
“And the talking…who the hell was he talkin’ to? There what’n’t nobody there,” Tee baffles.
Devin nods. “That was weird.”
A car coming to a stop on the street brings our conversation to a halt. Driven by instinct, we’ve gathered on the driveway near the window where Tee broke-in without realizing the irony of our action. Our new status as invited guests no longer warrants the behavior of intruders. We creep up the driveway to get a better view of the street.
“That’s Angela’s car,” Robby pipes in surprise.
“What the hell’s she doing here?” Tee spouts as he begins an indignant march.
“Tee, wait.”
Tee ignores Devin and continues on. He puffs out his scrawny chest, taking determined strides, steely resolve in his eyes.
As they emerge from the car, Angela locks onto Brady with a googly-eyed gaze, an affectionate smile drawing up the corners of her lips. Brady’s cheeks ripen in response to this smallest of intimacies.
Tee huffs and marches to Angela. “What? Are you guys like an item or something now?”
Both Brady and Angela’s cheeks fill with color, their eyes running from Tee’s. Ohh… Looks like it. This won’t go well. Fires roil in Tee’s eyes, a scowl warping his expression.
“Unbelievable.” Tee vents.
Angela takes a moment to collect herself. “Well, hey to you too, Tee.”
“Don’t hey me. What are you doing here?”
“I invited her,” Brady trumpets, his face hardening with resolve.
“Why? This is such bullshit!”
“Tee, come on. I can help,” Angela coos.
A wonky grin overtakes Robby’s lips. “Hey, Angela.”
“Hey, Robby.” Angela flashes a pleasant smile.
“No. Unh-uh. Nooooo…This is total bullshit.”
“Come on, dude. What’s the big deal? Maybe she can help.” Robby’s starry gaze lingers on Angela.
“How can she help? She doesn’t even know what’s going on.”
“She does now.” Brady tosses the verbal grenade in Tee’s direction.
“What…the…hell? You told her? Why?”
“Cause she needed to know. You don’t want anything to happen to your sister, do ya?”
“Well, no. Of course not.”
“Well, okay then. Now nothing will, ‘cause now she knows what we’re up against.”
Tee frowns and his posture slumps. Angela wraps an arm around his shoulder and leans into his ear.
“Tee, I promise I won’t get in your way. I know this is your thing.”
Tee hoists a half-smile and wriggles out of her hug. With Angela and Tee’s body language indicating an armistice, Brady leads our group to Professor Wadlow’s door. He gives the door several firm, backhanded knuckle raps. The third hit nudges the door on its hinges, and it slides off the doorjamb. Brady’s eyes widen as the door creaks open several inches. He cranes his neck, careful to keep his body outside while peering into the opening. I contort my gaze through the gap, the steady thump of my heart quickening its pace. Tiny dust particles dance in the air, moseying in a spotlight of sunshine slicing into the darkness through the cracked door.
As Angela moves closer in behind Brady, he extends his arm and presses his palm to her stomach, impeding her progress. Brady gives the door a light push with his shoe, and it opens without any resistance.
“Professor Wadlow,” Brady calls out through the opening into the silent still of the house, but no one responds.
Robby presses in closer behind Brady. “Shouldn’t we go inside?”
“Something’s wrong. I’ve been here a hundred times, and this is the first time this door hasn’t been locked.” Brady’s eyes grow wider as they flit about the home’s interior, and he finds himself in the crosshairs of Robby’s narrowed eyes. “What? Professor’s damn near OCD about it. He’s chain locked me out before when I’ve just stepped outside to get his mail. Something’s really wrong.”
“Maybe he just forgot.” Tee pushes a puff of air through his lips. “Dude’s old.”
“He doesn’t forget. Not this.”
Robby jockeys for a better view and can’t get one. He crosses his arms on his chest.
“Well, we can’t just stand here.”
Devin’s head perks up at Robby’s comment. “Yeah. Maybe he fell and needs our help.”
“What if it’s the thing? You know. The thing. The skin-talker.” Angela’s voice quavers.
Tee erupts in laughter. “You would say that. That’s all you ever do is talk, talk, talk. Skin-talker? Don’t ya mean the skin-walker?”
“Shut up, Tee! HA. HA. Laugh it up. Yeah, yeah. The skin-walker.”
Robby marches forward. “Look, we
don’t know anything yet. And, we’re not going to know anything unless we go in there.”
My heartbeat accelerates. I retreat a couple of steps.
“Maybe we should split up, some of us go inside and some of us stay out here. You know, to keep watch.”
“Bock, bock, bock.” Tee’s face beams at me, a big grin forming as he rocks his head like a bird. With his arms bent and flapping, hands on his rib cage, he starts doing a ridiculous, exaggerated bird walk. “Bock, bock, bock.”
“Chicken shit.” Robby coughs the words into his hands.
“What?” My face radiates heat as a surge of blood washes into it. “Think it’s a pretty good idea for someone to stand watch is all.”
“Bet you do!” Tee hops from foot to foot, tilts his head in a sideways slant, and taps his nose into my chest several times like a pigeon collecting breadcrumbs in its beak.
Angela gives Tee a nudge on the shoulder. “Cut it out, Tee. This is serious.”
“Yeah. And it is a good idea,” Brady reprimands.
“See.” Angela celebrates with a gratified smile.
“Someone needs to stand watch. Angela, why don’t you stay out here.” Brady’s words erase Angela’s smile.
“What? No. I want to go in. Besides, I think Brooks wants to stay out here.”
“No one stays alone from this point on. It’s too dangerous.” Brady’s eyes meet Angela’s. “Angela, can you please just stay out here with Brooks?” Brady delivers a wide-eyed, double bounce with his eyelids to Angela and mute-mouths puh-lease to her.
“Fine. Okay, okay. I’ll stay with Brooks.”
“But guys, I’m good to go in, honest.”
“Pipe down, Brook. Leave this one to the men.” Tee grins as he puffs his chest out.
“Ha. As if.” Angela shakes her head at Tee, dismissing his manufactured bravado. She pauses for a moment, casting a somber-eyed gaze at Brady. His jawline rigid, an intense glimmer in his eyes, he prepares to go inside. “Brady, be careful.”
Brady nods before leading a procession into the house while Angela and I wait outside.
Chapter 46
A Dark Turn
SCANT SUNLIGHT FILTERS through the cracks in the blinds. It collects on the dingy carpet by the windows and affords just enough light for the boys to avoid any obstacles. Brady scans his surroundings for irregularities as they make a quiet advance through the living room. He can find none. Angela looks on from the porch, a simmering pan of nerves, as Brady, Devin, Tee and Robby disappear around a corner.
The familiar disarray of the kitchen doesn’t signal anything unusual to Brady, but Tee’s lips jumble.
“Nasty.”
“Shhh.” Brady presses his index finger to his lips.
“What? Dude’s nasty. How does he live like this?” Tee points to the countertops littered with dirty dishes.
“Yeah, man. Is this normal?” Devin lifts a brow at Brady as he considers the possibility of this disarray resulting from a physical struggle, versus the obvious explanation of the solitary existence of an old man so consumed with his work that he ignores basic principles of hygiene and rudimentary civilization.
“Man, it looks like a garbage dump puked in here.” Tee wears a gleeful grin.
Devin nods at him. “And it smells like it, too.”
“Cut it out, Tee,” Robby grumbles.
“Guys!” Brady gestures with his hands for quiet.
“What? Come on. There’s no one even here.” Tee shrugs and takes a couple of steps forward.
Tee’s shoe strikes a glass bowl. It spins away from him and spills the sloppy, reddish-brown goop it contains onto the kitchen floor before rattling to a noisy stop. Brady freezes, eyes inflating.
Devin’s eyes lock with Brady’s. “What is it?” His voice travels on a hushed whisper.
“Watson.”
Robby tilts his head at Brady.
“Who’s Watson?”
“Professor Wadlow’s cat. That’s his food dish.” Brady’s voice quakes.
“What’s the big deal? It’s just a cat. Matter of fact, I already met that fatty.” Tee snickers with a jovial smile.
“It is just a cat. But something’s wrong. Professor Wadlow only feeds Watson at night. That bowl should be empty.” Brady’s eyes dart in all directions.
Tee’s cavalier demeanor melts away. In its place, a steady drip of anxiety accumulates in his stomach, spawning a wave of apprehensive gurgles. It’s familiar, his body conjuring the same response as it did when they encountered Myron in Shiners’ Gorge. He offers nothing further to lighten the tense atmosphere. He scans the room.
“What’s that?” Tee’s voice trails off.
In the corner of the room, on the edge of the door frame leading out of the kitchen, four parallel gouges in the wall stretch six inches in length. Brady traipses forward, stoops, and runs his finger the length of one of the slits. He peels back the torn wallpaper, revealing the slits cut deep into the sheet rock underneath. Devin’s eyes balloon.
“Whoa, that’s deep bro.”
“These here before?” Robby’s voice wavers as his eyes connect with Brady’s.
Brady shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Brady leads the group through the doorway and into a dining room. They find two similar sets of slits in the walls and one set of four slits dug out of the hard wood floor.
Tee’s eyes flit about the room. “Think maybe we should get out of here.”
Robby smirks. “What happened to all that leave it to the men stuff?”
“Shut up, Robby.”
A creaking floorboard silences the bickering. The boys whip their heads to the kitchen. Tee’s body trembles.
“What the hell was that?”
“Angela, is that you?” Brady cranes his neck.
“Brooks? Shit ain’t funny, man.” Tee lobs his words in the direction of the kitchen.
No one replies to their calls. The boys huddle tight together like a murder of crows eyeing a hungry hawk. Brady motions with his eyes to the basement door. If Professor Wadlow’s here, that’s where he’ll be. Professor Wadlow spends an inordinate amount of time there, where he’s closest to his work and farthest away from the tangles of social interaction that lie beyond his doors. As Brady clasps the door handle, Robby files in behind Brady, and Devin follows. Tee stands his ground, shaking his head, but Brady ignores the dissuasion and eases the doorknob a half-turn.
“Come on, Tee,” Robby whispers.
Brady flips the light switch at the top of the stairs. The boys make a slow and quiet descent to the basement. Tee follows in tow, trailing a couple of stairs behind. At the bottom of the staircase, Brady searches out the light switch and flips it on, but nothing happens.
“Dude turn on the light,” Tee agonizes.
Brady flips the light switch a couple more times.
“They’re already on. Lights must be out.”
A pinch of sunlight filters through the half-window across the room, casting a mixture of light and shadow into the basement. Due to the proximity of the window to the top of the basement wall, most of the light it affords collects on the exposed, wooden-beam ceiling above. The boys hold their ground as they wait for their pupils to dilate and gradually adjust to the darkness. Something scurries in the far corner of the basement, breaking the silence. Everyone’s head snaps to it in unison, but the murky darkness swallows everything.
“Something’s down here. . . Let’s go!” Tee’s fingers claw into Robby’s shoulder.
Robby clenches his jaw. “We can’t go yet.”
“Professor Wadlow?” Brady beckons into the darkness.
“W.T.F., man? You’re going to get us killed.” Tee takes a retreating step to the stairs. His jugulars throb as hot bursts of blood sizzle through them.
“Professor?” Brady doubles down, projecting his voice even louder.
“Look.” Devin points across the room. Robby traces the path of Devin’s extended finger. With his eyes ad
justing to the dearth of light, the outlines of shadowy shapes materialize from the dark slushy mass of blackness into familiar objects with defined corners and edges. Professor Wadlow’s workbench emerges from the lifting sensory fog.
As more of the details render themselves, the broken glass catches Brady’s eye. Strewn glass litters the workbench and surrounding floor. Some type of pooled liquid rolls drip by drip off the edge of the workbench and collects in a dark puddle on the concrete floor underneath. Robby notices the overturned microscopes and once well-organized workspace that’s disheveled. Brady hurries to it, glass crackling beneath his feet as he approaches. As he surveys the desk, he traces the origin of the dripping liquid to the cabinet above the workbench.
“No. Noooo!” Brady cries out, and he flings a cabinet door open.
As the other boys bolt over, Brady flings open the other cabinet door. Professor Wadlow never synthesized any new batches of the formula, and someone destroyed the existing stockpile. A wave of nausea wrings his stomach.
“Shit. Shit. It’s gone. Ruined!” Brady’s movements are frenzied.
Tee pushes his palms toward the floor. “Dude, keep it down.”
A horrible groan pierces the black. Brady grabs a large shard of broken glass and grips it like a dagger. Anger pours into his eyes. Through the years, Professor Wadlow became like a second father to him. Whatever happened here, whatever this means, can’t be good. He’s seen enough to reason that this is a deliberate attempt to put a halt to Wadlow’s work, and it’s not that much of a stretch to imagine that part of that might include putting a halt to Wadlow, too. And the prospect that someone’s done something to Professor Wadlow enrages him. Brady hoists his glass dagger high above his shoulder and strides forward. A throaty heave, like a large animal struggling to regurgitate its meal, pierces the musty basement air, but it doesn’t deter Brady’s advance.
“Dude! Don’t!” Tee screams before dashing to the edge of the basement staircase. He watches Brady barrel forward, expecting something to leap from the darkness at any moment and rip Brady to shreds.
The Tear Collector Page 24