Darkness on the Edge of Town (18 page)

“That may be,” the man admitted, “but we must still follow scientific method. It’s all we have.”

“But why? Why waste time with this?”

The man’s voice took on an impatient tone. “I’m a scientist. Scientists study things, don’t they?”

“Excuse me a moment,” Christy said. “I don’t feel so well.”

Before I could stop her, she ran back inside the pet store and headed for the rear of the building. I started to go after her, but then the man continued his explanation.

“I started with seven gerbils. Then seven hamsters. And now seven mice. After the lizards, I’ll try the kittens. Like I said before, though, I’ll need to find more helium. Bigger balloons, too. I’m never going to get a kitten off the ground with these little things, let alone a baby.”

Russ coughed. “A baby? A baby
what
?”

“Well, a human baby, of course. An infant. What did you think I meant? As I said, we need to determine how the darkness reacts to different living things. We can’t just use animals. Luckily, the woman who lives next door to me is still in town. She has a newborn. A little girl. Cute as a button. She’s only a few weeks old, so she should be light enough to—”

Russ raised the rifle, put the stock in the hollow spot between his armpit and his shoulder, and pulled the
trigger once. The shot was very loud. My ears rang. The man stood there for a moment and then toppled sideways onto the pavement. His mouth hung open, that last sentence now permanently interrupted. He made a dry, rasping sound and his tongue convulsed. Then he was still. There was a dime-sized hole in his forehead, but as he fell, I noticed that most of the back of his head was gone. Blood rushed from the wound—not jetting or spurting like in the movies, but gushing like water from a spigot. Tiny fragments of his scalp and skull lay scattered on the pavement.

“Holy shit,” Cranston gasped. “Oh, holy fucking shit, man. You just shot him.”

Russ lowered the rifle and nodded. “Yeah, I did. You heard him Cranston. He was crazy.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt he was crazy. But still…you
shot
him.”

“If I hadn’t shot him, there’s no telling how many people he would have hurt. That mother and her baby at the very least. You telling me we should have let that happen?”

“He could have been lying about them,” Cranston said. “I mean, if he was crazy, then how do we know for sure that they even existed?”

“Maybe they didn’t,” Russ replied, “but there are still plenty of others left alive in Walden. Plenty of babies. He could have just as easily gotten a hold of one of them.”

Cranston and I looked back at the body. Blood still pumped from the hole in his head.

“I don’t know,” Cranston whispered. “I just don’t know anymore, man.”

I didn’t know if he was talking to me, Russ, or himself, so I said nothing. Instead, I just stared at the man’s
body and watched the blood pool on the sidewalk and run down into the gutter, pushing dirt and leaves and other debris before it. Russ was right. I knew he was right. And that was the thing. I didn’t feel bad about what had happened. Not a pang or twinge about him blowing the crazy guy away. I should have felt something. I’d just watched Russ murder a man. But at that moment, I was more concerned about Christy. The dead man was nothing more than an unpleasant curiosity. I wondered if it was the darkness making me feel that way, or if I was just adapting to our situation.

“Jesus Christ,” Cranston said again. “We’d better get inside before somebody comes.”

“Who’s gonna come?” Russ waved his hand around in a sweeping gesture. “There is no law and order, Cranston. We’re it. We’re all there is. You think the people out here roaming the streets are going to enact revenge on us? They could care less about this asshole. It’s one more body for them to scavenge.”

As I watched the gutter run red, I wondered where the blood went once it fell through the storm drain and down into the sewers. They had to be blocked, too, right? If the darkness surrounded the town from all sides and above, then didn’t it stand to reason that it ran beneath us, as well?

Before I could mention it to Russ and Cranston, I remembered Christy and decided to check on her. I left my neighbors talking in the street and ran inside the store. I breathed through my mouth, but it didn’t do much to cut the smell. The animals were worked up—either by my presence or the gunshot or both. They whined, barked, and meowed, pawing at their prisons as I passed by. I ignored them. It was hard to do because they were so damn cute, but Christy was my main concern. I’d begun
to think that she was right. Looking around the store, staring at all the innocents who’d been trapped here and were still alive—it made sense to free them. Even the feral ones. Their odds still weren’t very good once they got outside, but living as a stray was better than slowly starving to death inside a cage.

I glanced into some of the cages as I walked by and noticed that some of the dead pets had been partially eaten by their fellow prisoners. I shuddered. Maybe the darkness was doing the same thing to them that it had to us. Maybe all the animals had already gone bad. Maybe it wasn’t that they were turning feral. Maybe they were just fucked. Maybe their plaintive whimpers and cries were just an act to lure us into opening the cages. Then a little Jack Russell terrier turned around in his cage and wagged his tail as I walked past him. He was too weak to do anything else, but he certainly seemed friendly enough. I stuck my finger through the cage and he licked it happily. His tail wagged back and forth. When I pulled my finger back out, he whined.

“I’ll be back,” I whispered. “You just sit tight, little dude.”

I made my way to the rear of the store, training my flashlight on the walls as I went so that I wouldn’t trip over anything. There was an open door in the back wall. It looked like it led to an office or back room. I saw flashes of light coming from the open door. Probably Christy’s flashlight. As I got closer, I heard rustling noises and the sound of metal filing cabinet doors being yanked open and slammed shut.

“Come on. Come on! Goddamn it, Brandon! Where is it?”

The voice was Christy’s. She didn’t sound sick or scared or worried. She sounded angry. And frantic.

“Where is it?”

“Honey?” I stepped into the room.

Christy spun around and gasped, dropping her flashlight onto the floor. Her hand went to her chest. Her eyes were wide and startled. She stood in front of a row of filing cabinets. Next to them was a large metal desk. It was covered with papers, books, fliers for pet food and medicine, empty coffee mugs, and other miscellaneous debris. The drawers of the desk had been pulled open, and it was obvious at first glance that they’d been rifled through, as had the mess on top of the desk.

“Robbie. Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry.” I shined my light into her face, and she flinched. “What are you doing back here?”

“I was…I got sick out there. And then I had to pee, so I was looking for the bathroom.”

“But the toilets don’t work.”

“I know. But what the hell was I supposed to do? Just piss in the middle of the store? It stinks bad enough out there already.”

I studied her. Christy and I had been together a long time, and I knew her pretty well. I knew what made her happy and what made her sad. I knew her turn-ons and turn-offs. I knew how to rub her back and shoulders in just the right way and how to make her come really fucking hard. I knew her favorites foods, her favorite smells, and her list of all-time favorite you-can-have-these-while-stuck-on-a-desert-island songs. I knew that she’d gotten the small crescent-shaped scar on her knee in the fourth grade when she fell onto some gravel while playing tag. I knew her other scars, too—the ones the rest of the world couldn’t see. I knew where they were and what had caused them. I knew what scared her. What monsters from her subconscious she saw
when she closed her eyes at night. I knew what ghosts haunted her. I knew when she was pissed off, when she was tired or cranky, when she was on her period, or when she was struggling with a bout of depression or low self-esteem. I knew when she tried to hide those things from me. I knew when she needed to get high. But most of all, I knew when she was lying to me.

And that was what she was doing now.

Lying.

The question was why? I thought I knew the answer to that, too, but I needed to hear it from her.

“Christy.” I kept my voice low and calm. It was a struggle. What I really wanted to do was smack her upside the head with the flashlight and demand to know why she was bullshitting me. The urge was almost overpowering. I could see the act play out in my head, like a mini-movie or something. A vision.

All at once, I knew where that vision was coming from. The darkness. For the first time since its arrival, I was aware of the darkness inside my head. Maybe its physical form was still out there beyond Dez’s sigils, but a part of it—some psychic manifestation—was inside of me. I could actually feel it—tiny, invisible fingers poking and prodding at my brain. Disembodied appendages, looking for a way in. Seeking emotions to turn into weapons. Trying to make me snap and kill so that there would be one less person left alive in Walden. The sensation was nauseating. My stomach churned. Bile burned my throat. Managing not to puke, I took a deep breath and tried to speak again.

“Christy. Hon. What were you doing back here? And please don’t lie to me. Okay? Whatever it was you were doing, it’s okay. I’m cool with it. I just need to know what’s going on.”

“I told you, Robbie. I needed to use the bathroom, and I—”

The darkness
pushed
.

“Goddamn it, Christy, I told you not to fucking bullshit me! Do you think I’m fucking stupid or something? You weren’t back here to take a piss. I heard you when I walked in. You were looking for something. Now tell me what it was.”

Her hands curled into fists at her side, but her shoulders slumped and she looked down at the floor. When she spoke, her tone was resigned and quiet.

“Brandon’s stash. I was looking for Brandon’s stash. He kept it back here somewhere.”

“And how do you know that?”

She sighed, but still wouldn’t look me in the eye.

“Because he hooks me up sometimes. I’d come down here during my lunch break or on my way home from work, and he’d hook me up.”

The darkness pushed harder. I felt it spreading inside, enveloping my brain. I had to admit—I liked the sensation. It was almost…sexual. I know that sounds fucked up, but it’s true. Whatever the darkness was doing to me, there was definitely an underlying sexual tone. The more my rage grew, the more pleas urable it felt.

“So you were looking for drugs?”

“Yeah,” Christy admitted. “Weed.”

“All of this for some fucking weed. Do you have any idea how stupid this was? Any idea at all? I mean, Jesus fucking Christ, you know what it’s like out there in the streets. You’ve seen what the darkness is doing to people.”

“It’s still Walden. It’s still our home.”

“It’s a fucking cesspool, Christy! You could have
been hurt. Hell, you could have been killed. We
all
could have been killed. Russ. Cranston. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I—”

“I’ll tell you what you were thinking—you weren’t. Plain and fucking simple.”

Christy’s eyes flashed with anger. She took a step backward and that just enraged me more.

“Were you fucking him?”

“Who?”

“Brandon. Your side dealer. Were you fucking him on the sly?”

“No!”

“Giving him blow jobs, then? Was that it? You suck dick for drug money, babe?”

“Fuck you, Robbie! How dare you?”

I crossed the room in two quick strides and grabbed her wrist. Christy flinched and tried to pull away, but I yanked her closer.

“How dare I? Don’t turn this shit around on me, Christy. You’re the one who fucking lied. You’re the one who gave me that bullshit fucking story about saving all the little animals in the pet store, when all the time you just wanted to find your boyfriend’s stash.”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend. I didn’t even like him.”

“Yeah, but you liked his weed all right, didn’t you?”

“You smoked it, too, Robbie, so fuck off. I didn’t hear you complaining when you smoked a bowl after work. Maybe I should have fucked Brandon. Weed just made you a lousy lay anyway.”

I didn’t realize I’d slapped her until it was over. I didn’t realize I was grinning either. One moment we were shouting at each other. The next, there was a sharp
crack and Christy got quiet. My hand stung. Her cheek turned white and then red.

Christy whimpered.

I laughed.

And I swear to fucking Christ, I heard the darkness inside my head, laughing with me.

“R-Robbie?”

Still grinning, I laid the pistol down on the desk and stepped toward her. Christy backed away and ran into the wall behind her. My fists clenched, then unclenched. Pleasure ran through me like an electrical current. My dick was rock hard.

“Robbie, don’t…”

“You fucking bitch.”

Christy held up her hands in an effort to either defend herself or just warn me away. Whatever her intent, it was ineffective. My grin split wider as I wrapped my hands around her throat and began to squeeze. Christy’s eyes went wide with panic. She stared at me in disbelief. The terror in her expression made me feel wonderful. My whole body tingled. My erection swelled, popping right out of the fly in my dirty boxer shorts and straining against my zipper. I squeezed harder—felt my fingers dig deep into her skin. Felt something wiggle and grate inside her neck. Christy’s eyes bulged. Snot ran out of her nose and down her upper lip. She opened her mouth but made no sound. She reached for me and grabbed my wrists, but I barely felt her grip. Her fingernails punctured my skin. The pain was like a kiss.

And then Russ and Cranston rushed into the room. Cranston slid to a halt and stared at us, shocked. Russ raised the rifle and sighted it, pointing the barrel right at my head.

“Robbie? What the hell are you doing?”

“Stay out of this, Russ.”

My grip tightened further. Christy’s hands began to beat and flail. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and tugged, but I yanked my head free.