Hellhole (13 page)

MAX EXPECTED HIS BRAIN TO REACT
the way it had the last time Burg scared him into another plane of existence—with that high-pitched, screaming sound buzzing through his head. But this time he just stiffened and squeezed his eyes shut. His mom was going to be killed right in front of him, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. He'd tried to protect her, and he'd failed.

Then his mom spoke.

“Hey, Audie,” she said, a tight smile in her voice. “Long time no see.”

Max opened his eyes, thinking that dementia had finally begun to settle in his mother's poor brain, but he was way off. For standing in the same spot Burg had been, holding the box of fish sticks, was unmistakably Audie. A perfect replica.

Lore, poking her head out of the closet, shot a look at Max that silently but clearly stated,
WHAT IN THE EVER-LOVING CRAP IS GOING ON?

I DON'T KNOW
, Max eye-yelled back, then glanced at his mom.

She, in turn, was giving Max a look that said,
I am SO mad at you but will maintain this pleasant charade in the presence of guests
.

Burg-Audie just smiled politely, twisting a finger through his newly acquired dreads.

“I didn't realize you had company, Max,” his mom said tersely. And then Max watched in horror as she crossed the room to lovingly embrace the unholy evil that had become the bane of his existence.

After the hug, during which Max had to fight to keep his quiche down, his mother held Burg-Audie at an arm's length. “You sure have sprouted up, girl,” she said in a tone that was at once cheerful, forced, apologetic, and embarrassed. “You taller than your dad yet?”

Burg laughed in a way that was so identical to the way Audie laughed that Max couldn't help but gag.
How did he get it just right?

“Not yet,” Burg replied with a shy smile. “And I'd better get home before he sends out a search party.”

Max's mom leaned against the wall to support herself. “Fair enough,” she said. “Hey, tell your parents I'm sorry that I haven't—” She paused, a pained look pinching at her mouth. “Tell them I said hi.”

“Yes, yes, she'll tell them,” Max said, grabbing Burg by the elbow and dragging him toward the front door. “But for now I really have to concentrate on this project.
Thanks for the video game you let me borrow, Audie,
” he said, delivering the exposition as loudly and obviously as he could while simultaneously grabbing a video game off the shelf and handing it to him. He opened the front door. “I'll see you tomorrow at school!”

“Sure, Max,” Burg-as-Audie sang, giving Mrs. Kilgore a wink. “I guess the lovebirds want to be left alone, huh?”

Max's mom's eyebrows shot up. “The what now?”

An odd, forced laugh came out of Max's throat. “Ha! BYE, AUDIE.” He shoved her outside and slammed the door.

His mom gave him a horrible look. “What has gotten into you, Max?”

“Nothing. I mean, I don't know. I mean—” His brain began shuffling through the litany of plausible excuses:
I'm overtired. I'm cranky because I haven't eaten. I'm a dumb, self-conscious teenager who does dumb, self-conscious teenagery things
—
that's the one!

“Uh, the thing is,” he said, arranging his face in an abashed expression. “There's a girl coming over soon. To work on the calc project with me. That's what Audie meant by lovebirds, but ha-ha, it's not like that! It's just for school. She'll be here any minute.”

His mom frowned. “Isn't it kind of late?”

Max shook his head. “Nope.”

He left it at that.

“Okay.” She smiled uncomfortably. “Well then, work hard. Have fun. Other momly advice.”

“Thanks! We'll try to keep it down.”

She went back to her room and closed the door. Max watched her go, then, remembering that he'd just casually deposited a being of the underworld on his front stoop, dragged the fake Audie back inside the house. As he did, the air around her blurred, as if she were being censored for television. Max stared, trying to figure out how this was happening, but found that his eyes couldn't quite focus. But it was all over within a couple of seconds anyway; when the fuzziness cleared, Burg was back to his regular oafish self.

“Dude,” he said. “Your mom is hot.”

Max let go of him.

“At least I
think
she's hot,” Burg continued. “It all happened so fast. Further observation is required.”

“No, it is absolutely not. And what—how did you—why did you turn into Audie?”

“Would you rather I appeared to your mother in my natural form? Give her that heart attack you seem so intent on
not
delivering?”

“No. I just . . .” Max looked to Lore, but she was no help at all, emerging from the closet and watching Burg with wide eyes. “I just didn't know you could do that.”

“Well, I can. And I did. Because the sooner I got rid of her, the sooner I could get back to Battle Scallop—though the judging is probably
over
by now, thank you very
much
—and the sooner my fish sticks could . . . wait a minute.” He leaned in to Max and whispered. “Those fish sticks weren't for the cat, were they?”

“No,” said Max. “Cat food is for the cat.”

“Really? You don't prepare fresh-caught fillets for him for every meal? Served in a goblet? With a festive garnish?”

“Uh, no.”

Burg looked at him in disbelief. “Whatever, Shove. When the feline uprising begins, it's
your
head on a spike.” He crossed to the basement door. “Now, then. As I was saying, I will require some tasty condiments to go with my tasty fish sticks. Tartar sauce, chop-chop!”

“We don't have any,” said Max.

Burg sauntered over to the fireplace poker, which Max had put back in its rightful place after his failed spearing attempt. Without a second's hesitation Burg picked up the poker and hurled it at Max. It stuck in the wall behind him, ripping a couple of hairs out of his scalp as it landed mere millimeters above his head.

Before Max knew it, Burg was in his face. “How are we coming on that house of mine?” he growled, instantly furious.

Max could only squeak out a whisper. “Working on it.”

“Better be.”

With a snort that expelled a cloud of black smoke, Burg pivoted and headed down the stairs, humming a sinister version of the Gorton fisherman song as he closed the door behind him.

Shaken, Max crossed to the posterboard and drew a wobbly circle around the last words he'd written.

“Breaking in it is.”

 

Audie banged on Max's front door eighteen times the next morning. He counted them off as he hid in the hallway, just out of view. Next, she moved on to the window; he heard a couple of taps on the glass, then a pause, as if she were peering in. He cowered further, not emerging even when the microwave dinged.

Finally, after making absolutely sure that Audie was gone, he slunk into the kitchen, grabbed the (by now cold) oatmeal he'd microwaved, and carried it to his mother's doorway.

“Mom?” he whispered into the dark room. “You awake?”

No response.

Max thought nothing of this; sometimes she slept until noon. He crept inside and, expertly navigating through the room using only the scant amount of light the heavy curtains allowed, set the bowl down on a stand.

But as he straightened up, he paused. The shadows on the walls were falling just a little bit differently than they normally did. Something felt weird.

He switched on the light—

And clapped his hand over his mouth to keep from shouting.

Burg sat in the armchair, staring at Max's mother. His face mere inches from hers, he took almost no notice of Max, glancing up only when Max started to make a choking sound.

“What are you DOING?” Max silently mouthed.

“Watching her sleep,” Burg whispered casually, as if this were a totally normal, not horrendously creepy thing to say. “Further observation confirmed: she
is
hot.”

Fueled by adrenaline, Max wordlessly grabbed Burg and dragged him out of the room. “That's it!” he half shouted once they were at the top of the basement stairs. “You are
grounded,
mister!”

“Wait!” Burg looked at Max imploringly and asked, “Can you put in a good word with her for me?”

With that, Max shoved Burg over the threshold and down the flight of stairs, taking a distinct pleasure in each bump and squeal that came from the darkness. “Stay down there! Forever!”

He slammed the door and, not caring whether this would get his throat slit in the middle of the night, locked it.

 

Triple-checked the kitchen door: locked, locked, locked.

Triple-checked the windows: locked, locked, locked.

Ruckus: stationed at the top of the stairs, bribed with an extra-heaping bowl of cat food, with festive garnish. Might keep Burg from breaking down the door and coming upstairs. Last-ditch effort, but can't hurt.

Mom: unharmed. Still sleeping peacefully. Did her cheekbones always protrude that much, though? And were her fingers that bony yesterday?

Audie: gone. Saw her get into Wall's car and drive off.

Officially safe to leave. Go.

 

His mental checklist complete, Max ducked out the back door, hopped on his bike, and rocketed out of the driveway, oblivious to the police cruiser whose windshield he instantly found himself sprawled across.

“Christ, Max, watch where you're going!” Audie's dad yelled, getting out of the car. “You okay?”

Max nodded and brushed himself off, nearly cackling at the cruel irony of it all. “I'm fine. Totally fine. Sorry, Chief Gregory.”

Chief Gregory let out a relieved sigh. “You need a ride? Audie said she tried to find you before she left with Wall, but I guess you were in the shower or something—”

“No, that's okay,” Max said. “I like to bike.”

“All right.” Max could see that the chief had raised an eyebrow behind his sunglasses. “Sure you're okay, Max? Audie said you were acting funny yesterday. And you're acting funny right now.”

“Funny?”

Chief Gregory pointed to Max's armpits. “It's not even eight o'clock, and you're sweating through your shirt.”

“I ran out of deodorant!” Max said gaily. “And yesterday—I was just tired. That double shift on Saturday kinda zonked me out.”

The chief nodded slowly. “All right. And your mom—”

“She's fine too. We're all fine. Really, incredibly fine.”

Max got the distinct impression, as he watched the cruiser disappear around the corner, that Chief Gregory did not believe him.

 

Max had been staring at the inside of his locker for so long he was no longer aware that he was doing it. His mind was elsewhere, everywhere, a million places at once.

Slowly he became aware of another presence, someone peering into the locker alongside him. “Anything good on in there?” Audie asked.

Max snapped himself out of his stupor, slammed the locker door, and gave her a toothy smile—the only kind of fake smile he could manage. “Just finishing up a movie. Spoiler alert: Everyone dies.”

“Do they.” Max had expected her to be in her secondary mood, but a smile was tugging at the corner of her lips, leading him to conclude that she was fairly jubilant. He suspected that this had something to do with Wall's return from his weekend college visit; he'd seen them making out in front of the water fountain.

Actually, he'd wanted a drink from said water fountain, as he could no longer count on his salivary glands to provide the amount of moisture his mouth required. His temples were pulsing, his nerves frayed. The effort he'd expended to convince the world that everything was fine in the Land of Max had paradoxically turned him into a paranoid speed freak. He felt as if he'd sprinted to the other side of the world and climbed up Mount Everest, then gotten the shit kicked out of him by an angry mountain goat.

“Are you all right?” Audie said, scrutinizing his bloodshot eyes. “You don't look so good. And what's that on your hand?”

He shoved his ash-stained hand into his pocket. “I'm fine. Just like I told your dad this morning. Why's your family so nosy, huh? Why did you have to tell him I was acting weird?”

“Because you
are
acting weird!”

“I am not,” he said, backing away from her. “I'll talk to you later, okay? I gotta get to calc.”

She put her hands on her hips. “For your Satan presentation?”

Dammit!
Why did he keep bringing up the least believable class in his arsenal? “Yes. That is the one.” He turned around and attempted to scoot away, but Audie grabbed the loop of his backpack and yanked him back.

“OH no you don't,” she said. “Not until you tell me what that church interruption was all about. And why you lied to my face—”

“I didn't.”

“—and why you're
currently
lying to my face.”

The annoyed mood was about to make an appearance; Max could see it happening in real time, like a cloud drifting in front of the sun. He tried to breathe evenly, buy himself time to come up with something that wasn't
quite
a lie but was enough of one to throw her off the scent, even though . . .

Even though he wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her everything. And he would have, if not for what Burg had told him with the visual aid of that crushed Mountain Dew can.

“I think I, uh—I think I lapsed into a fugue state,” Max blurted. He'd seen a special on TV about this once, how people could fall into these special kinds of amnesia trances and forget large portions of their lives.

Audie pursed her lips. “A fugue state? You mean the condition that shady characters on TV shows claim they have when they want to cover up something they don't want other people to know about?”