The Bookshop From Hell

by David Haynes

  “What the hell’s gotten into her?” Megan asked. “She was never like this before. She wasn’t interested in boys at all. Not really.”

  “Hey,” he said, finally getting to the point. “You know what you should do, to get back at her for treating you like this?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t be bothered, Ryan. I just want to get out of this place and start out somewhere new. My parents are already…”

  “You should write a letter to Megan’s mom and dad.”

  “And tell them what? That their little girl is a bitch, that she ditched her best friend because of her uncle? Her mom and dad are as bad. They used to be friends with my parents but now they won’t return their calls. Pathetic.”

  “No, no, no. I mean, you can put all that in anyway but I was thinking of something better than that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Tell them that pure and innocent Emily isn’t exactly pure anymore. Tell them Bob Fletcher fucked her in the back of his car up at the lake. Tell them she’s given half the school an STD. Tell them everything!”

  Megan’s brows furrowed and then straightened again, a smile washed over her lips. “Now that might be fun,” she said. “Her dad will go crazy if he thinks someone messed with his little girl!”

  Ryan smiled. It was just a little fun, a way to bring Megan closer to him again. It was also about revenge and keeping things sparky around Silver Lake. He liked it better this way.

  “You fancy a drive up to the lake this weekend? I’ll pack a picnic.”

  He heard Megan swallow. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m ready for that just yet.” She turned her head and looked directly at him. “Let’s just take it slow this time. Is that okay?”

  He smiled down at her. He had time to wait. He might have a little fun while he waited. His story said he should keep playing, make hay while the sun shone and all that. Yes, he had plenty of time, and Megan was definitely going to be worth waiting for.

  38

  Dan watched Paul Weaver’s truck complete its fourth circuit of the town. He could no longer see the orange tabards that Paul and Brad usually wore. Now it looked like they were wearing shirts. Quite what they were doing was anybody’s guess…security, maybe? They seemed to spend the early part of the night driving round and round in circles. He didn’t care anyway. Let them do what they wanted. As long as it kept them out of the house for a while.

  Lori’s move had been postponed for a day. Last night, the night of the robbery at the diner, they had both been so exhausted by the time they spoke to the Rainworth PD that it would have been a bad decision to try and rush it. So here he was, waiting for the right moment to go move her from the house she shared with Paul and bring her to his place.

  Dan still felt exhausted. Not only from last night but from the horrific events at school today. It was like the town had turned into somewhere different, another place, somewhere that only existed in one of his horror books. Somewhere right out of the pages of a Stephen King or Richard Laymon book. It seemed almost impossible to believe what was happening. Maybe someone had put something in the water to change people’s behavior, or maybe it was just their real nature shining through. School was closed for the rest of the week, to the students at least. Some of the staff would go in and finish some marking or prepare lessons for when it reopened. Right now, he couldn’t imagine it would ever open its doors to the kids again.

  He watched the tail-lights on Paul’s truck disappear, and checked his watch. It was now or never. He drove straight to the library where Lori had closed up. She was waiting by the doors when he pulled in.

  “They’re still riding around,” he said.

  “Good, means he’ll be out all night.” She climbed inside.

  He looked at her. “You sure about this?”

  She nodded. “Let’s go.”

  He drove quickly, avoiding the predictable circuits Paul was taking. It took a little longer but he didn’t want to take any risks. If Paul came home while Lori was moving out there would be trouble, and he didn’t want any part of that. Not with the town the way it was.

  He pulled up, checking both sides of the street before turning off the engine. “We need to make this quick.”

  “Don’t worry, I don’t have much and it’s ready to go. He probably won’t even notice.”

  Dan doubted the latter part of her comment. Very much.

  He followed her inside, waiting in the lounge while Lori went to the bedroom to pack. It was clean and tidy but he knew that was Lori’s work and not Paul’s. His contribution was probably the smell of stale cigarette smoke that hung in the air.

  In the other room, Lori was emptying her closet. She was working quickly, piling everything into bags.

  “Dan?” she called.

  He walked to the bedroom door. “You finished?”

  “What do make of this?” She was staring into the closet. “I was just grabbing my shoes out of Paul’s closet and found this.”

  He stepped in and looked inside, to see a random collection of police equipment. For a moment he thought it was fancy dress, or maybe some role play they enjoyed. Then he saw the bloodstained shirts. One of them still had a number and name badge on it. It belonged to one of the police officers he’d helped put on a stretcher the other day.

  “Jesus,” he muttered. He didn’t want to think about why Paul had a dead cop’s bloodstained shirt in his closet. There were other things in there too but he didn’t look closely. He just wanted to get out of there. He knew Paul was crazy but this was something else.

  “We need to get out of here.”

  Lori nodded. “Here, take this.” She handed him a bag. “I just need to do something.”

  He turned to walk out but Lori stayed where she was. “Come on!”

  “I can’t leave like this,” she said. “I know what he is, Dan, but I need to tell him before I go.”

  “What?”

  “A note, I need to leave him a note. Tell him what I think of him.”

  He put the bag down. “No, look, there isn’t time and he won’t…”

  “I’m doing it,” she said. “I just need to find a pen and some paper.”

  She reached into her nightstand, rummaged through the contents and then sighed. She glanced up at Dan and then walked around the bed to Weaver’s nightstand.

  *

  Paul Weaver didn’t feel good. Something wasn’t right. It was all the more marked because of how great he’d felt over the last couple of weeks. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  “Do we get a day off?” Brad asked. “I mean, we are entitled to time off, aren’t we?”

  Paul sighed and shook his head. “This isn’t like a normal job, not that you’d know much about one of those. This is a vocation. A lifestyle. We made the choice to do this, Brad, and we’re going to see it through.”

  “See what through? There isn’t anything to see through, Paul. We just keep riding around, trying to find someone to put in the back of the truck. We’re not doing anything that anybody else couldn’t do. We’re not even real cops. It’s like Halloween wearing this. And it’s too damn tight.”

  “You think anybody else could’ve caught Pope last night? You think just anyone could do what I did?”

  “Well, no but…”

  “So shut your pie-hole and let me do my job.”

  He felt more tetchy than usual. It was becoming a real struggle not to open the door and kick Brad out of the truck while it was still moving. He could do with a new partner.

  He drove through the residential streets closest to the park. The streets were quiet, getting quieter by the day. That was good. What they’d done to Pope had caused a bit of a stir, a disturbance, but if it kept people off the streets then it was a good thing. It meant he was doing his job.

  “Who’s that?” Someone was coming out of a front yard carrying a sports bag.

  Paul stopped a little farther down the road, adjusting his mirror to see better. The man paused when he
saw the truck, half-turning in the opposite direction as if he was unsure which way he wanted to go. It made him look like someone who needed to be checked out.

  Paul climbed out of the truck, his police shirt on show and his newly acquired Taser strapped to his waist. He caught a reflection of himself on the door mirror. Under the streetlights, he looked like a battle-weary cop on just another night-shift. The feeling that something was missing temporarily vanished.

  The man looked him up and down as he neared. His eyes narrowed.

  “You’re not cops,” he said. “Why you wearing uniforms?”

  Paul recognized the man. He wasn’t a buddy, didn’t drink in Sandy’s, but he’d seen him around town. “Chris Newsome. I guess you weren’t aware of the curfew?”

  “Curfew? Give me a break.” He tried to keep walking, but Brad opened his door, hitting him in the arm.

  “Sorry about that, Mr. Newsome. Guess I didn’t see you there.”

  “You’re out past curfew,” Paul said. The thought of a curfew hadn’t occurred to him until last night. He’d been reading and it just sort of popped into his head. It was a great idea in his opinion, a perfect tool in this situation. “Curfew starts at nine and stops at 6am. Anyone out between those times is subject to any controls law enforcement see fit.” It felt good to spout sentences that sounded like laws. He thought he was pretty good at it too.

  “What the hell are you talking about? You can’t just decide there’s a curfew. You’re not the police.”

  Paul tapped the badge on his chest. “This says something different. Now, I’m going to ask you, Mr. Newsome, exactly why are you out past curfew.” He checked his watch. “It’s nine-fifteen.”

  Newsome smiled. “Fuck off,” he said and tried again to push between them.

  Brad cranked an elbow into his chin, knocking him sideways, but Newsome didn’t lose his footing. Instead he punched him in the face with his one free hand. Brad’s nose burst and he staggered backward, blood dripping from between his fingers.

  “Owwww!” he bawled.

  Paul had no idea how a Taser worked. He’d been tempted to test it on Brad but he’d threatened to shoot him if he tried it. There hadn’t been the opportunity to practice on anyone else. Yet.

  He drew it from the holster and did what he’d seen the cops do on TV. He pressed it against Newsome’s chest and pulled the trigger. He heard a faint click, a buzzing and then Newsome’s entire body went into a spasm, like he was having a fit or something. Paul kept it pressed on him. It was hilarious! He could see the little blue spark coming from the tip of the Taser, dancing over Newsome’s chest.

  Finally, he pulled it away and the man dropped to the ground. He stared at him.

  “Now, wasn’t that something else?”

  Newsome took several deep breaths before he spoke. “You bastard,” he gasped. “I’ll see you in court.”

  Paul knelt down beside him, holding the Taser in front of his face.

  “I’ve seen what happens when I put this on your chest, but I’m pretty interested in what would happen if I attached it to your balls. Would you like to find out?”

  “No,” he hissed. “Please, no!”

  Paul laughed. He checked the houses on both sides of the road. Nobody stirred. Brad was still holding his nose, blood dripping onto the sidewalk. “Stop fooling around and get over here,” he said. “Put those cuffs on this man. He’s under arrest.”

  Brad blinked, removed his hand. His face was covered with blood. “He’s broke my nose.” He sounded like he had a bad cold.

  “Just get over here before anyone looks out.”

  He didn’t remember this section from his book. He tapped his pocket. That was it – he didn’t have it with him. No wonder he felt a little out of sorts.

  Brad was trying to put handcuffs on Newsome but he wasn’t making it easy. Paul put the Taser to his temple.

  “Are you resisting, Mr. Newsome?” he asked.

  Newsome closed his eyes and was still. They bundled him into the back of the truck, throwing his bag in there with him. It was pretty heavy for sports equipment.

  “The lake?” Brad asked.

  Paul shook his head. “Maybe later. I have to pick something up from home first.”

  He drove quickly through Silver Lake, throwing the truck hard into every corner. Listening to Newsome yelp in the back seat was funny.

  “What you got in that bag of yours, huh?” he asked.

  Newsome ignored the question, wincing as Paul threw the truck onto his street. He jammed the brakes on, sending Newsome into the back of his seat. Without his hands free, he hit it face-first.

  “I think I need to go to the hospital,” Brad moaned. “It hurts real bad.”

  Paul glanced across at him. Blood was dripping onto the upholstery. Not that he was precious about it, but he didn’t like the idea of Brad bleeding all over his truck.

  “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll fetch you a towel.”

  “And Advil,” Brad said. “Bring me a box of those.”

  He waved him away and walked down his path. Lori would be home by now, probably asleep in bed. It was the only time he could stand to be around her now, when she was unconscious. Maybe he should make it a permanent condition for her.

  The house was dark and silent, as it usually was. He knew Lori didn’t want to spend much time around him either. She was nothing like she’d been at high school. Back then she’d doted on his every word and whim. All she wanted to do was please him. Now it was all different. She argued every point, even after he’d demonstrated she was wrong, even after he hurt her. That just seemed to make her more determined to disobey him. He couldn’t work her out at all. And now that teacher, the kid they used to beat up from school, was whispering in her ear, telling her she shouldn’t put up with it, that she should leave. He smiled to himself. Girls like Lori never left, they just accepted their position. Eventually, after a few years of conditioning. You just had to look at Paul’s own folks. His dad had worked on his mom for years before she finally accepted her lot. Things ran a lot smoother once Mom knew her place.

  Right now, he couldn’t afford to think about that. He would deal with Lori later. At the moment he had a town to police. He had someone under arrest in the back of the truck and as soon as he had his book, Newsome would be dealt with.

  He walked quickly to the bedroom. He barely looked on the other side of the bed, just opened his nightstand drawer and pushed his fingers inside. When the book wasn’t in his pocket, which was only when he slept, it was in here, safe and sound next to his bed. His fingers pushed through the matchbooks, bottle caps and cards. He couldn’t feel it.

  He pulled out and flicked the switch on the lamp. It wasn’t there. The book wasn’t in his drawer. A wave of panic swept across his brain. How was he supposed to live without it, how was he supposed to be a cop?

  “Lori!” he shouted, glancing over to her side. It was empty. He checked his watch. Nine forty-five. She should be home by now. Why wasn’t she in bed?

  His mind was clearing now. She had it. She’d seen him reading it, made some comment. She knew it was his, knew it was important. Bitch. She’d taken it and…and…

  He stopped, looking at the vanity mirror, catching the reflection of himself in his uniform. He looked good. He looked like a cop, strong and steadfast. Cops didn’t question themselves. They knew how to act whatever the circumstance and they didn’t let anyone get in their way.

  Beneath the mirror, propped up against it, was a note. He could see from here that it was Lori’s handwriting. But it wasn’t the note that made his heart thump faster, it was the book, his book. It was sitting on the vanity, which was empty of all Lori’s crap.

  He stamped over to it, taking his book in his hands, exhaling loudly. He held it to him, cherishing the feel of it in his fingers. He closed his eyes, his heart steadying.

  When he opened them again, his eyes settled on the note. He picked it up, reading. She had left him. Plain and simple. The
last line made him smile. If you cause any problems for me, I WILL call the police this time. The police! He was the goddamn police.

  He crumpled up the note in his hand, screwing it tightly into a ball. She couldn’t have got far, she didn’t have a car and there were no buses at this time of night. The nearest train station was Rainworth so she would have to get a cab, or…she had someone helping her out. Someone who lived closer. Someone who’d been whispering sweet nothings into her ear for the last few weeks. A chickenshit teacher who’d been a no-mark pussy at school.

  You couldn’t just go messing around with the local law enforcement officer’s girl, that didn’t…

  He uncurled his fist. The paper Lori’s note was written on. He knew that paper, recognized the feel of it. He felt his mouth go dry, his heart rate climbing in an instant.

  “No,” he whispered.

  She wouldn’t have done that. She wouldn’t. And yet in his hand was a page from his book, his story. No, no, no. She had no right to do this. It was his story. His, his, his!

  He tipped his head back and roared, smashing his fist into the mirror, exploding it, bloodying his fist. The pain brought him back to the now.

  He smoothed the paper out and flicked through the book, trying to find where the page had come from. It was right at the back. He felt sick, his head swimming. There was no ending now. The page was blank, barren of the words he loved, cherished, lived his life by. Gone, they were gone, his life ruined!

  And why? Because Lori had chosen to write a pathetic little note on his paper. He couldn’t give a shit about her, or about her leaving. The teacher was welcome to her. He could have her and do what the hell he wanted with her. But what Paul wouldn’t stand for was the ruination of his life she had caused. The absolute disregard for him and his book. She was going to pay dearly for this. They both were.

  He tucked the book into his pocket and stomped out of the house. He was angry, madder than he had ever been, but he was keeping it in check. For the time being. He still had a job to do. Lori and the teacher would have to wait a little longer.

  “Where’s my towel?” Brad said, as he opened the door.