Read I Don't Want To Kill You Online
Authors: Dan Wells
I Don't Want To Kill You (20 page)
I stalked down the hall to the fridge, where Mom had stashed the corsage she bought me. ‘I don’t want a picture.’
‘But you have to get a picture!’ she said, following me through the house. ‘This is my baby’s first dance!’ I glared at her. ‘I mean my handsome young man’s first dance! Of course I need a picture.’
‘So you can never look at it and accidentally delete the memory card?’
‘That only happened once,’ she said sternly. ‘And no, it’s so I can show everyone.’
‘ “Everyone”? Who’s “everyone”? All the friends we don’t have, or all the family that aren’t here? Lauren left work an hour ago without even coming upstairs, and Margaret didn’t come in at all, so I can’t imagine they care about seeing a picture of it. And if Dad wanted to see my first dance he gave up his shot a few years ago.’ There was a knock on the door, which gave me the perfect opportunity to look away from my mother’s stunned face. ‘That’s probably my ride.’
I opened the door and saw Brad Nielsen, Rachel’s date, standing out on the landing. ‘Oh, good,’ he said, ‘I wasn’t sure if I had the right door. I was half-afraid I’d open this up and find a bunch of dead bodies or something.’
‘The mortuary’s downstairs,’ I said. ‘And nobody’s dead right now.’
‘Well, that’s good to know,’ he said, and waved politely at my mom. ‘Hello, Mrs Cleaver, how are you?’
How could anyone not know if someone in town is recently dead or not?
I thought.
It’s the only interesting thing that ever happens around here.
I thought.
It’s the only interesting thing that ever happens around here.
‘Hello, Bradley,’ said Mom. She’d regained her composure after my outburst, and now raised her camera. ‘Stand close.’
‘No, Mom,’ I said. ‘No pictures.’
‘But your friend’s here now,’ she said, waving us together. ‘Smile!’
‘I don’t need a picture with—’ the flash snapped ‘—another guy. That’s great, Mom, thank you. Send that one to Dad and tell him we’re going steady.’
‘Sweet!’ said Brad. ‘Don’t worry, man, they take photos at the dance; we’ll get some of those. How is your dad, anyway?’
‘He’s awesome,’ I said. ‘He’s currently my favourite parent.’ I pushed Brad back onto the landing and shut the door behind me, then led him down the stairs to the side door and out into the night air. It was the last week of September, and already the evenings were darker and cooler. We got into Brad’s car – he had the best car out of the four of us – and drove off to pick up the girls.
‘It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?’ said Brad. I looked over at him.
‘A long time since what?’
‘Since we did anything,’ he said. ‘We used to hang out all the time in elementary school; what happened to all that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What was that game we used to play, on that thing in the playground? The big wooden thing?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘No, it was a game you made up, with that ramp thing made out of tyres, and we had to call the pockets, like in pool, and then try to jump into the right one.’ He laughed, and the memory came back – fuzzy and immaterial, like a memory of someone else’s life. Kids at recess, laughing and shouting and jumping and falling, playing all day without a care in the world.
‘That barely seems like us any more,’ I said, watching the cars and houses and people roll by outside.
It’s a different world, now, and darker. It’s full of demons – real live demons that want to kill us all. It’s hard to imagine that anyone could ever be that carefree again.
It’s a different world, now, and darker. It’s full of demons – real live demons that want to kill us all. It’s hard to imagine that anyone could ever be that carefree again.
‘I know what you mean,’ said Brad. ‘It’s like, we used to pretend to do things, but now we’re actually doing them – we have jobs, we play sports, we go to school. I mean, of course we did those things before, but now they mean something; now it’s not just football in the street, it’s football on the big field with lights and announcers and the whole town watching.’
I stared blankly out the window – different houses than I’d seen a minute ago, and different cars, and different people, but still somehow the same. Blocks and blocks and miles and miles, all the same.
Lights and announcers. Is that really as far as your ambitions reach?
Lights and announcers. Is that really as far as your ambitions reach?
‘And the girls!’ said Brad, slapping the steering wheel. ‘You think
we’ve
changed, holy cow. I remember when Rachel had pigtails and skinned knees and screamed at the PE teacher every time we played soccer. And Marci was like a total hippie or something, like a feral child, until one day bam! The girls disappeared and these gorgeous women appeared out of nowhere.’
we’ve
changed, holy cow. I remember when Rachel had pigtails and skinned knees and screamed at the PE teacher every time we played soccer. And Marci was like a total hippie or something, like a feral child, until one day bam! The girls disappeared and these gorgeous women appeared out of nowhere.’
Everyone grows up. I thought about Marci’s little sister, Kendra, fours years old with frizzy hair, growing up to be a young woman; filling out, becoming beautiful. Somebody’s girlfriend; somebody’s obsession; somebody’s victim. All grown-up and sexy and dead.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘That’s just the way things go sometimes.’
‘Rachel’s right up here,’ he said, turning down a street and pointing ahead. He parked and ran to her front door while I shuffled into the back seat. A few minutes later Brad led Rachel to the car, opened her door, helped her in, and closed it after her. I watched carefully, preparing to do the same thing.
‘Hi John,’ she said, turning slightly to wave from the front seat. ‘Lookin’ good!’
‘Hi,’ I said. I was starting to remember how much I hated spending time with people; the bigger the group, the worse it got. This dance was going to kill me.
We drove to Marci’s house, and I walked up to the door with my plastic corsage box. The front was open, as always, and I knocked on the screen. There was an instant crash and rumble as her siblings jumped off the couch and ran to see me. The house filled with shouts of, ‘Marci! John’s here!’ and the hallway filled with kids.
‘My sister looks beautiful,’ said Kendra. ‘You’re going to love her, but Mom says she’s immodest.’
‘Back! Back inside!’ said Marci, coming down the hall. She was wearing a long, dark green dress, lifting the hem carefully off the floor as the kids charged past her and back into the TV room. The bottom of the dress shimmered softly in the faint light of the hallway, while the top was an elegant, embroidered corset. Her shoulders and collarbone were bare, with more cleavage than I’d expected after her speech to me the other night.
She opened the door and beckoned me in. ‘You’d better come inside. Mom wants pictures.’
‘Everyone’s going to want pictures,’ I said. ‘You look incredible.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I thought you were going with me because you didn’t have to show off the . . .’ I gestured vaguely. ‘You know.’
‘I’d already bought the dress over the summer. How was I to know I’d end up dating an actual gentleman? Plus there was a really good sale online.’
I held up the corsage. ‘That’s great for you, but there’s literally nowhere for me to pin this. Plus I think your dad would shoot me if he saw me trying.’
‘I’ll do it,’ she said, taking the box as we walked into the kitchen. ‘But this means you have to do your own boutonnière.’ She pulled a little flower box of her own from the fridge, handed it to me, and we pinned on our flowers while her mom laughed and took pictures. We posed, we held hands, I did my best to smile, and finally we escaped back out to the car. Brad threw it into gear, and we were off.
We ate dinner at the nicest restaurant in town – a steak place that, precisely because it was the nicest restaurant in town, was crammed full of high-school kids in rented tuxedos and an explosion of multicolored satin. Marci had planned ahead and made reservations early, probably the same time she’d bought the dress.
I’d spent several months as a vegetarian, trying to keep myself from thinking about dead meat in general, and dead humans in particular. Once I’d found my purpose and focused on killing demons, I’d been able to let some of those rules slip, and I figured it was okay to have a little meat for a special occasion. I looked over the menu and ordered a porterhouse steak – my favourite cut. Brad got the same, and Marci and Rachel ordered salads.
‘I absolutely love your dress,’ said Rachel, reaching over to Marci. She stopped just shy of touching her. ‘So much better than this boring thing I’ve got on.’
‘I love your dress!’ said Brad. ‘You look great.’
‘Thanks,’ said Rachel, flashing him a smile. ‘You’re so sweet.’ Her smile was quick, and her face turned towards him, but I caught a glimpse of something . . . off. There and gone in a flash.
Did Brad say something wrong?
I wondered.
Even compliments are hard to give right in a situation like this. I hate social politics.
Did Brad say something wrong?
I wondered.
Even compliments are hard to give right in a situation like this. I hate social politics.
‘Did you guys hear about the Sheriff?’ asked Brad.
‘Marci and I looked at each other silently; we hadn’t had much chance to talk about it yet, though I’d been working on my own theories all week. The demon had broken her pattern again, in ways we hadn’t anticipated, and that scared me. It meant I didn’t know as much as I thought I did, and that was a very dangerous situation to be in. I was desperate to learn more, and elated that Brad had brought it up.
‘Let’s not talk about that,’ said Marci, and shot me a warning look. I leaned back and sighed, listening as the conversation turned into gossip about the other kids in the restaurant.
Brooke was there, on the far side of the room, in a light blue dress and a matching satin jacket. Her hair was up in a pile of curls on top of her head, and she looked radiant. She was sitting next to Mike Larsen, it looked like, and I found myself hating him passionately.
A troupe of waiters brought out our plates, and my three companions dug in to their food. I stared at mine, suddenly queasy. The meat was red and juicy – medium rare, just like I’d asked – and staring out starkly from the centre was a sawed-off cross-section of bone. It was a piece of the vertebra, perfectly trimmed and perfectly normal, but all I could see - all I could think of – was the parade of severed wrists that had come and gone through the mortuary. Red, juicy meat around a neat central column of bone.
It’s okay,
I told myself,
just eat.
I pressed my fork into it, watching the juices run out from the holes, and I raised up my knife, and suddenly it was Mike Larsen on the plate, dead and bleeding: meaningless food to be chewed up and swallowed. I felt no wave of nausea; no rise of bile in the back of my throat. I knew that those thoughts were wrong, but they didn’t
feel
wrong. It was just another thing. It was the way I’d used to think, in the times before I’d gained control.
I told myself,
just eat.
I pressed my fork into it, watching the juices run out from the holes, and I raised up my knife, and suddenly it was Mike Larsen on the plate, dead and bleeding: meaningless food to be chewed up and swallowed. I felt no wave of nausea; no rise of bile in the back of my throat. I knew that those thoughts were wrong, but they didn’t
feel
wrong. It was just another thing. It was the way I’d used to think, in the times before I’d gained control.
My old thoughts and habits were all creeping back, one by one; my dark side, the part of me I called Mr Monster, was stirring. My angry fight with my mother; my paranoid suspicions of Marci – my urge to kill her that night in her room. It was all coming back. Why? Wasn’t it enough that I was hunting a demon? Wasn’t it enough that I was planning to kill?
Of course not,
I whispered, deep in the caverns of my mind.
I don’t want to think about killing, I want to really kill. I’m a creature of action. Thinking about it will never be enough.
I whispered, deep in the caverns of my mind.
I don’t want to think about killing, I want to really kill. I’m a creature of action. Thinking about it will never be enough.
The room grew dark, and I felt my skin grow hot.
I shouldn’t be here. I have a demon to catch, and here I am wasting my time – and everyone else’s lives – at a stupid dinner before some stupid dance. I’m an idiot. I’m a fool. I’m sitting idly by while Nobody teaches her vicious lesson with a trail of death. I have to act. I have to find her, and I have to kill her. It’s the only way to stop her.
I shouldn’t be here. I have a demon to catch, and here I am wasting my time – and everyone else’s lives – at a stupid dinner before some stupid dance. I’m an idiot. I’m a fool. I’m sitting idly by while Nobody teaches her vicious lesson with a trail of death. I have to act. I have to find her, and I have to kill her. It’s the only way to stop her.
But what then? Who’ll be next after Nobody, and how many people will die before I find that demon?
I pushed my plate away.
‘Something wrong?’ asked Marci.
‘I don’t think I can eat it,’ I said.
I don’t think I can even have it on the table.
I flagged down a waiter and said, ‘Can you take this back?’
I don’t think I can even have it on the table.
I flagged down a waiter and said, ‘Can you take this back?’
‘Is there a problem with it, sir?’
If I blame them, I can dodge the embarrassing questions.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I ordered it medium rare, and this is barely medium.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I ordered it medium rare, and this is barely medium.’
‘Of course, sir, I’ll have the chef prepare a new one immediately.’
‘Actually,’ I said, looking over at Marci, ‘that salad looks really good. Could I just get one of those instead?’
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