Psycho Within Us (The Psycho Series Book 2) (48 page)

Kaley
turned to address the Mondo Bitches.  She said, slowly, “Don’t—talk—about—my—sister.”

The girls paused mid-laughter, and exchanged glances.  Nancy snorted.  “Why?  What’cho stankin’ ass gonna do?”
  The two girls returned to their laughter.

“I’ll kill you.”

The girls hesitated.

Laquanda was still smiling, but she looked a little uncertain.  She glanced at Nancy, her leader, her only friend, her source of power.  “You’ll, uh, you’ll
kill
me?” Nancy said, stifling another laugh.

Kaley shrugged.  “Maybe.  Or maybe I’ll do something worse.”

“Worse than killing?  Like what, you stupid skank?”

The words came coldly from Kaley’s lips without her permission.  They formed somewhere in the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind, and seemed to have a mind of their own. 
Like conjuring up Nan’s good graces, or Mom’s cold, commanding voice, Kaley now summoned a righteous venom she’d only ever found in Spencer.  “I’ll reshape your bones,” she said.  “I think I can do that, if I try hard enough.  I can do that.  Change things around me.  I think that’s why doors are opening between this world and another—I warped the fabric.”

Nancy and Laquanda exchanged glances.
  “Uh, okay, freak,” Nancy said.

But Kaley wasn’t finished.  “
You know how people usually say threats like, ‘I’ll fuck you up’?  Well, I actually will.  I’ll give you somethin’ like elephantiasis, give you a big head, then shrink your bladder so you have to pee every ten minutes, maybe push your intestines around and put your asshole on your belly so you shit from your belly button.  I think I can go further, though.  Some kind of skin disease, or something to make all your hair fall out.  And your teeth?  I think I make those rot right outta your face.  But maybe I can go even further.  I think maybe I can give you a dick—a big, long, floppy, uncircumcised dick.  And balls to go with it.  Do you understand?  I will
fuck you up
.”  She said that last through gnashed teeth.

Nancy smirked.  “I think somebody needs a chill pill.”

“True dat,” said Laquanda.  “Bitch better check herself befo’ she wrecks h—”  She was cut off with a choking sound.  All at once, she started gagging.  A low line of drool and foamy saliva were pushed from her face.  Her cheeks puffed out, and her eyes went wide.  The tongue came flopping out, swollen and dripping with pus, like a massive ham covered in sores.

Kaley smiled. 
Shannon smiled. Yes…yes, she could feel Shan someplace not too far away, tapping into Big Sister’s moment of terrible triumph.  The power they wielded felt even more intense with each passing moment.  Shannon had heard what Nancy and Laquanda were saying about them.  The insult had harmed Kaley, and had traveled along the Connection to touch little Shan.

Together, the sisters gloried in the moment. 
The quaking anger inside of them moved out from Kaley, into the water, sending vibrations and ripples along the walls and into the pools on the ceiling.  The sensation was the everlasting delight of seeing an enemy down on their luck, of sexual release, of having a migraine suddenly retreat.  “The opening between worlds waxes and wanes with my emotional state,” she said, quite calmly, though still smiling.  Laquanda had fallen over, clutching at her throat.  The tip of her tongue swelled until the point of it started to burst.  The tip split, and out poured a substance that looked like milk mixed with blood and bits of meatballs.  Kids were screaming, Nancy had leapt back, giving no aid to her “friend” in her greatest time of need.  Kaley stood, looking at Nancy.  “Is this what you want?  Because I can keep going!  I can ride this train of power and I can let the door open, and, oh
GOD
, Nancy, you will see something then!  You’ll see another fucking world—”

“What’s happening?” shouted Mr. Watson, pushing through the throng of fleeing kids.  “What’s going on h—
Jesus
!” he breathed.

“—another fucking world, Nancy!  Is that what you want to see?  I can show you!”
she said with cold abandon  Kaley’s mind opened gratefully, and just as she had absorbed all the trauma from Peter like a sponge, she now squeezed that sponge dry, emptying its contents into Nancy.  “Do you see?  See what world I’m talking about?  But there’s more, Nancy.  So much more!”

“Oh my god,”
Nancy said, sobbing and falling on her ass, crawling to the corner beside the broken jukebox.  “Please…” she whimpered.  “Please…no…no…no…no…”  Each
no
became weaker and more pathetic.

It opened up for Nancy, that other world.  It opened up and devoured her.  She saw many things hiding that she’d never dreamt.  Dangers.  Dangers hiding everywhere.  Delighted rapists and killers huddled behind
every corner, like a spider inside her shoe, ready to bite.  Liquid hate.  And laughter.  The most lascivious grins.  Tremendous howls coming through chattering teeth, some razor-sharp and others broken.  Shapeless evils swirling in a black pool, beckoning her to join in.  Hands pawing at her.  And other things crawled around her, into her mouth, through her ears and into all other orifices, they even made a few new ones, though no one else saw them.  Only her.  Only Nancy.

“No, no, no, noooooo!”

Kaley relished it. 
So, this is what they all feel
. 
This is what Dmitry felt when he had my sister
.
  This is what Spencer feels when he stands over a defeated enemy
. 
This is what Nancy feels when she belittles a quiet little mouse like Charity
. 
This is what Mom feels when she escapes into meth or coke
. 
This is what Zakhar felt when he forced himself onto Peter
. 
I can see why they like it
. 
God, it feels so good!  To finally have control over something!  To finally have—

“What’choo doin’, stupid girl?”  That voice came out of nowhere.  It was not the Prisoner, and it was not the Others.  It was…
Nan?
  “Jes what the hell you think you’re doin’?”

Nan?

“You one o’
them
now?  Izzat it, you stupid,
stupid
chil’?”

“Get outta the way!” shouted Mr. Watson.  “Give me some room!  Oh…oh, Jesus.  Jesus Christ, somebody run get the nurse! 
Get the nurse!
”

Nan?

“If ya can’t beat ’em, join ’em.  That it?  That yo plan, stupid girl?” she said, speaking to her from just over her shoulder.  “You think it ne’er occurred to me that I was alone, that the world was filled with hate an’ that they was somethin’ wrong with
me
, not nobody else?  I could blister yo stupid li’l
be
-hind!”

“Nan…I-I-I…”

“ ‘I-I-I’ nothin’, girl!  You let that girl go!  Ya hear?  You let her go right this instant, or I swear befo’ God I’ll forsake you forever!”

Kaley did.  Like the school bell, Nan’s voice had an instant effect.  There was no delay, only reaction.  Nan said jump, and Kaley was programmed to say “How high?” just like in the days whe Nan used to go for a good, thorny hickory and stripe Kaley’s legs when she misbehaved.  Kaley never forgot to obey Nan. 
Like Pavlov’s dog
, she reminded herself. 
Some sounds, some voices just cut through all other thoughts
.

The moment she released Laquanda Everest,
she also lost her Connection with Shannon.  With that Connectoin severed, left with only Laquanda’s fear, Kaley started to cry.  The poor girl’s pain and panic washed over her, and she fell to her knees.  Laquanda wasn’t dead, but she was going into convulsions, choking on some of the liquid busting from her tongue and leaking down her throat.  The Others had started dancing in the water all around.  They were just on the other side, working excitedly at the new openings she had provided for them. 
I gave them exactly what they wanted
.

“It was her!” Nancy screamed.  She was running into the arms of her teacher, pointing at Kaley.  “She said she was gonna kill us!  It was her!  It was her!”

“Everybody outside!” cried Mr. Watson.  The doors were flung open, and in came Nurse Anderton.  “Over here!”

Kaley felt arms around her.  A teacher was lifting her—it was Mrs. Thompson, an eighth-grade science teacher.  Kaley could barely stand.  Her legs had turned to water and she was virtually paralyzed by Laquanda’s fear.  She didn’t know how she ended up outside, she just knew that people made a gap for her to
pass through.

Across the courtyard, through the double doors, into the school’
s east wing hallway.  She finally collapsed in front of a set of lockers, curled up into a fetal position, and wept for Laquanda Everest.

Shcherbakov hopped in the car, and said nothing to the driver.  The driver was the same large man with a shaved head with big, fat ears that had picked him up with Zverev at the private airstrip just a little over four hours ago.  The Wolf didn’t inform the fat man of what all had gone wrong these last few hours, and the fat man didn’t ask.  A professional.  Beside him in the front seat was another such stoic individual, a brawny fellow with curly black hair who said, “Where to?”

“Just drive north, follow the road back to
Ekaterininskaya Ulitsa.”

“That roads closed.  We had to come from
Kurakina to get—”

“
I
know that,” he said, more than a little perturbed.  “But he came from Ekaterininskaya Ulitsa and likely doesn’t know it was closed, so he probably went back the way he came, the only way he knows.  Unless I miss my guess and he’s more familiar with this town that I thought.”

The curly-haired fellow nodded curtly
to his partner, who put on the gas.  No sooner had they got underway than Shcherbakov’s phone vibrated.  He didn’t have to look to see who it was.  “What have you got?”

“We’ve reported your car stolen to the authorities
, as well as given them a description of him,” Zverev said.  “That should limit him some—”

“He’ll switch vehicles as soon as he can.  We’re lucky if he hasn’t done it already.  Have you found out anything about the—”

“The other rental cars, yes, that’s what I was just getting to.  We ran that VIN number you gave me.  The Camry belonged to Tsulukidze-Cherkasov Car Rentals, on the outskirts of the city.  You were right, he did rent out three other cars from them—a black Samara sedan, a dark-blue Samara hatchback, and a Kalina wagon.”  All Russian-made vehicles, all Lada-manufactured cars.

“Please tell me you’ve got somebody down there at the rental company
, and that you’ve got them to track all three vehicles by GPS.”

Zverev spoke confidently
.  “I’ve already sent someone down there, and we’re getting the locations right now.  Just hold on a moment…”  A few seconds passed, then, “Okay, they’ve just come in.  I’m sending out teams to each one.  But you and Roman and Veniamin are the closest to the hatchback, which is on Malaya Proezd, so I suggest you head there.”

Shcherbakov put the phone to his chest, and asked the driver, “What’s your name?”

“Roman,” he said.

“Roman, do you know
Malaya Proezd?”

He nodded.  “I was born three
blocks away from it.”

“
Do you know any shortcuts?”

He thought for a moment.  “One, maybe.  But it freezes bad in storms like this, so it might be closed.”

“Do you think the chains on this car can handle it?”

Roman nodded.  “I think so, yes.”

“Then head for it.  If the road’s closed, we blast right through it.  Do you understand?  We stop for nothing!”

“Whatever you say.”

He put the phone back to his ear.  “Give my number to the other teams.  Have them call me the instant they arrive at the other vehicles.”

“You got it.”  Zverev was quiet for a moment.  Finally, he said, “What happened out there?  I keep calling the others
but they’re not responding.  Have you seen them?”

Shcherbakov glanced out the window.  He spotted chunks of snow that had been flung around, and tracks cut across both sides of the road, as well as what appeared to be the site of some sort of crash in one of the ditches, but of the vehicles themselves, he saw nothing.  “There’s nothing,” he told
his cousin.  “No sign of them.”

Silence.  “Yuri,” he said.  “Get this man.”

Though he was ashamed of his calamity, he would not voice it.  “Do not concern yourself, cousin,” he said confidently.  “I’ve never failed you even once, and I won’t start tonight.”

10

Spencer checked Zakhar’s phone.  So far, no more calls from Zverev, or anybody else for that matter. 
He knows to stop callin’ now
. 
He knows the others are dead
.  That’s because someone had been to Zakhar’s little hideaway, had seen the carnage left behind, and were on to him.

He’d burst through several orange cones and a set of wooden trusses forming a roadblock, skidded across two lanes of traffic and smacked against three cars to get clear of the docks and
Ekaterininskaya Ulitsa.  The kids in the back had shrieked.  One of them had started to jump out of the car while it was still moving until the biggest girl held him back.

Operating mostly on instinct, Spencer had turned down a few roads, searching for narrow streets, the kind that were ill-lit, and where people might not take notice of a battered car missing windows.  He’d pulled to the side of
a dark street, and finally disarmed the car alarm.

T
he phone still wasn’t getting any reception, but it told the time just fine: 10:02
PM
. 
Been a helluva night
.  He took one last toke of his cigarette, finishing it off, and tossed it out the open window.  He hollered back to the boy, “Gimme your coat!”  The boy understood zero English.  “Your coat, God damn it!  You’re…eh…
kurtka
? 
Kurtka
!  Give it here!”  He knew it was a tactless approach, but he did it anyway.  He grabbed the boy by his sleeve and tugged until the jacket came off.

Spencer
tore off one of the sleeves, and made some strips to go around his bloody hand.  “Fuckin’ burns on my legs, gashes on my hand, an’ four squealin’ brats in my car.”  Something bumped frenetically from within the trunk.  “Make that five.”  He laughed, and sang, “An’ a partridge in a pear tree.”

His mind was racing.  Beyond being worried about how the
vory
had found him so quickly, his mind was circling the events at the dock house.  He still had images of that churning darkness that had very nearly claimed him.  It evoked memories of the House of Horrors back on Avery Street, except back then it had been an environment that Kaley Dupré had either conjured up herself, or had summoned from some other plane.  A peek into another realm.  Here, something had actually come through.

Pitbull
, he thought.  He was making another connection with it.  So far, he believed his theory was sound. 
It only makes sense
.

The girl in the floorboard
was now screaming.  Spencer looked back at her.  She was still bleeding from her arm where he’d clipped here, and she was severely pale.

One of the other girls screamed something in a heavy accent, making it difficult to track everything she was saying.  Spencer did catch the word
bol’nitsa
in there somewhere:
hospital
.

“
Net
,” he said.  “We’re not goin’ to a hospital.”  Then, all the children started arguing at him at once.  Their voices were fingers on a chalkboard, and finally he’d heard enough.  He lifted the Benelli and aimed it back at them.  They all threw themselves back against the seat, gasping.  “You understand this, don’cha, ya little fucks?  I
bet
ya do!  It breaks through all language barriers, and makes the dumbest dog play dead.”  They were silent.  Except for the girl in the floor, who whimpered.  Spencer turned and faced forward again.  “Now, the lot o’ ya, just shut up an’ let me think a minute.”  He checked the cell phone again; still no signal.  That meant no Google Maps.  “Where’s a telepresent bitch when ya need one?”

A long, mournful howl sounded somewhere nearby.  Spencer looked out the window,
and saw a lone canine slinking across the street up ahead.  It glanced once in his direction, then disappeared behind a building.

The storm had lightened up a little. 
But even with the Priora’s heat was blasting, it was doing only a marginal job of keeping the cold at bay because almost every window was shattered.  Snow came pouring through the open windshield and was collecting on the dash, steering wheel, seats and floor.

Looking around at the street, Spencer searched for landmarks. 
He surveyed the neighborhood.  Most of the windows in each building were dark, and all had collected hoarfrost.  Long icy teeth hung from the roof overhangs, and one gutter had fallen away from the building, doubtless from wind and the weight of the ice gathered in it.  Only one late-night traveler was out walking tonight, a large woman laden in heavy coats and a thick scarf that covered her whole head.  A taxi scooted by them very slowly.  The driver and the people in the back gave Spencer a queer look, but the taxi never stopped moving.  It disappeared around a corner up ahead.  Somewhere not too far off, Spencer could hear bells chiming the hour.

“Let’s see. 
Malaya Proezd shouldn’t be too far away from here,” he mumbled to himself.  Then, he turned to face the kids, and brought up the shotgun.  “
Vy gohvahreetzyah pah’ang’leesyah?
” he said:
Do you speak English?
  They gave him dead stares.  “Malaya Proezd?  You know that street?  Eh…
gde?  Gde Malaya Proezd?
”  The kids all looked between one another.  “Eh? 
Gde?
”

Then, his answer came from the most unlikely of places: the floor.  “
E-eta
…” squeaked the wounded little bird.  “
Eta
…
eta nyedalyeko
.”

It was a little garbled, but he
believed he understood.  “It’s near here?  Is that what you’re saying?  Close by?”

“
Eta nyedalyeko
,” she whispered.

“How can you know that?” he said.  Then, he repeated the question as best he could in Russian.

“
Tser
…
ts-tserkov
…”

Spencer searched his memory for something to connect with that word.  Then, he had it.  “Church?  The church bells?”
  The bells were still ringing far off.

“
Da
.”

He nodded.  “All right, my tough little Russian beauty, how far from here? 
You
!” he said, pointing at the boy.  “Lift her up, let her look around.  C’mon, c’mon, up,
vverkh
,
vverkh
,
vverkh
!”  The girl let out a pitiful little moan as the boy eased her up into the seat.  “Now,” Spencer said, “
gde?
Where is it?  Which way? 
V vakuyu storonu?
”

Trembling, she looked around, her eyes blinking lazily behind a
mop of hair the color of honey.  Her upper left arm and part of her shoulder was ripped open, the meat and bone exposed.  Maybe she was in shock, or maybe she was just that tough.  Whatever the case, Spencer only needed her alive long enough to get him home free.  “
Dva kvar’tala
,” she breathed.  “
Patom
…
patom naprava
.”

That was clear enough
.  “Two blocks straight up, then turn right?”  The girl nodded.  “You don’t speak English, so how the fuck do you know what I just said?”  The girl nodded.  “Little bitch.  Better be right.”  The girl nodded.

Spencer
tossed the shotgun into the passenger seat and pulled back onto the street, listing off to one side of the road, losing control for a moment on the ice, then gaining traction.

At the next intersection, Spencer paused, looked back at the girl, and pointed straight ahead with a questioning look.  The girl’s breath was shallow, her eyes opening and closing, opening and closing, but finally she nodded.  Spencer drove on ahead. 

Sirens from behind him.  He glanced in his rearview, saw the flashing lights approaching, and reached over for the Benelli’s grip.  There were two squad cars.  They looked like they were ready to pass him, then suddenly slowed down.  Either the sorry state of the Priora had caught their attention, or someone had reported the car stolen. 
Probably a bit o’ both
. 
Smart motherfuckers, these
vory.

Two short and sharp honks from the horns.  The sirens
whupped
once loudly.  One of the cars came alongside them.  A voice was shouted over the squad car’s megaphone: “
Peretyagivat!
” an officer shouted:
Pull over!
  The car started to pull slightly ahead of him, attempting to box him in.

Then, Spencer had an idea.  In passable Russian, he said, “Hey boy, wave to the police.”  The boy looked at him in the rearview mirror.  “Do it.”  The boy did as he was told, leaning over to the window and waving.  “Now stick your head out and wave to the car behind us.”  The boy did that, as well.

Then, Spencer poked the Benelli out the window and pointed at the police car driving beside them, aimed directly at the cop in the driver’s seat.  He pulled the trigger.  Glass and brain matter splattered across his partner driving, and the car went to one side of the street, slamming into a parked hatchback.

The kids in the back screamed, and Spencer laughed.  Knowing the car was full of children, the cops in the car behind him would never open fire on him
now.  He spun the wheel hard to the left, and the Priora skidded and skated in the ice, doing a one-eighty-degree turn so that he was now facing the remaining cop car.  Spencer locked it in reverse, and floored it.  He picked up speed to about sixty miles an hour before he leaned out the window and fired a shot at the windshield of the cop car.  The Priora swerved, causing him to miss and blast the squad car’s grill.  He cocked once more, fired again, and this time it shattered the entire windshield as planned.  The squad car lost control, and went up onto the curb and smashed into a storefront.

Spencer came back fully into the driver’s seat just a
s the Priora glanced off the front of a van pulling out of an underground parking garage.  He fought for control for a moment, then turned and looked behind him.  He let off the gas, then put the car in neutral to take the pressure off the transmission, cranked the wheel hard to the right, and just when he was about to go straight he put the vehicle back in drive and completed the J-turn.

The tires found
just enough friction so as not to go much more than the hundred eighty degrees he needed to get back on track.  However, there was plenty of slush from the salt trucks, and the Priora hydroplaned until he smashed into another car attempting to parallel park on the left side of the road.

And
Spencer was laughing the whole time, just as the children were screaming throughout.  “Whoooo-hoo-hoo-
hooooooo
!  Did you see that?  Did—you—fucking—
see that
?  Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhoooooo!  A J-turn while shootin’ a shotgun!  He’s a wild man, ladies an’ gents!  Ha-ha-ha-ha-haaaaaaaaaa!  A fuckin’ wild man!”  He was trembling and aroused with excitement.  “God damn, son,” he panted.  “God damn!  That right there was worth the fucking price of admission alone.  Worth the plane ticket over here.  Worth Dmitry carvin’ my face like a pizza.  Worth—every—damn—
bit
!”

He had little time to act now, and he knew it.  More than likely, he hadn’t killed every cop in both cars.  They had probably already called it in, and very soon now
numerous squad cars would be converging on this area.  He was on a timetable now, and this was what it was all about.  Coming down to the wire, pushing the world to its limits, taunting it and teasing it, seeing what it was made of it.

Spencer elected to keep the children for a moment. 
Just in case
. 
Surely they’ll tell dispatch that I got a car full o’ kids
. 
Perfect human shields
.

He continued another block,
and then took the right turn the girl had suggested.  “Yeah…yeah, this looks like it.  Malaya Proezd.  It goes on a long ways from here, if I remember right, an’ I think I do.”  Heart still thumping, he slowed down, found a side street between a row of black-windowed storefronts, and pulled in. 
Looks like everybody’s closed for the night
.

Spencer found a side street that backed up to a large bay door, meant for loading and unloading freight at one of the small businesses.  He got out, took one look at the Benelli, and decided he would take it with him, but
would need to get rid of it very soon.  It was too big not to be noticed if he was walking down the street, and it was almost out of shells, anyway.  He still had his Glock, and a Makarov he’d taken off Zakhar’s pals, as well as one of their little Uzis.  Also in one pocket were the spare shoelaces he’d taken from Zakhar’s house. 
Might still need those
.

Something flitted in h
is peripheral vision, just off to his right.  A pair of glowing eyes.  There one second, then gone the next.  Spencer listened to the wind, to the city sounds, to the sniveling children in the back of the Priora.