Soulstice (23 page)

Suddenly, Aaron was floating in the middle of the ocean, with no land in sight. He flailed his arms and kicked his legs trying
to stay afloat, but he couldn’t keep his head above the surface. Salty brine seeped into his mouth with every gasping breath.
Shark fins, like giant black blades, cut circles through the water.

He told himself to push back, to resist, but the water still surrounded him. He tried to imagine dry land under his feet,
to feel the solidity he knew was beneath him in reality, but found only the frigid depths. A great white shark with a Vour’s
black boiling eyes exploded from the waves in front of him. The monster’s cave of teeth crashed down on him, and he screamed
as the world turned red…

“See?”

Aaron lay sprawled on his lawn, clutching his chest and gasping. Quinn hovered over him and shook his head. Reggie pushed
him aside and knelt down by her friend. He noticed Machen’s gun tucked in her waistband.

“You’ve done everything you can do, Aaron. I know you feel betrayed. I didn’t mean for it to happen this way. I didn’t want
you to have to deal with this—with him.”

“Bullshit,” Aaron gasped. “You sound like Eben.”

He was right. She’d become what she loathed. But it was too late for regrets.

“If I don’t come back, you and Eben need to finish this.”

“You won’t come back. You’re a fool for trusting him, Reggie. Don’t go alone. Take me with you.” Aaron tried to get up, but
he was still too weak.

“You can’t even stand, Aaron. What would happen if you came with me? You can’t help me with this part. I’m sorry.”

Reggie walked back to the passenger side and got in. Quinn glanced at him from the driver’s seat and winked. Then he gunned
the engine and the sedan sped off, leaving Aaron behind.

After he’d regained some of his strength, Aaron pedaled his bike furiously, the breeze cool against his sweat-soaked face.
His lungs still burned from Quinn psychically drowning him, and his tailbone ached from when the Vour knocked him down. In
the last hours of the day, a purple and gold sunset bruised the sky. His backpack, stuffed with the weapons he’d stolen, was
slung over his shoulders, and he tried to keep from jostling it too much.

He could think of only one place to go, one person who could help him.

Aaron knew visiting hours would be over at the hospital, so he rode the elevator up and down until a group of doctors got
off on the third floor. He followed them out, hiding behind them until he’d passed the nurses’ station, then he sprinted down
the corridor to Eben’s room.

The light in the room was dim, and the old man was asleep. Aaron stood over him, marveling at how feeble he looked, with all
the tubes poking in and out of him. His lips and nostrils were tinged black, giving the impression that he’d accidentally
wiped pen ink across his face. Aaron hesitated—could this shell of a warrior really do anything to help him now?

Eben’s eyes fluttered open. He did not look surprised to see Aaron.

“Come to see what living death looks like?” he asked.

“Eben, I…”

“Oh come, boy, spit it out,” Eben said gruffly.

“It’s bad. Reggie’s just done about the stupidest thing in her whole goddamned life. And I couldn’t stop her.”

He told Eben what happened, and, by the time Aaron finished, the old man had already pulled the oxygen tube out of his nose
and the IV out of his arm. He tried to stand but his balance was off, and Aaron had to catch him.

“Whoa, whoa, Eben. You can’t go anywhere like this.”

“Like hell I can’t. Where did they go?”

“The forest preserve behind Thornwood Hospital. Something’s back there, but I’m not sure what—”

“That’s good enough. Get my clothes, would you? Showing up in one of these backless numbers won’t inspire much fear in our
enemies.”

  
19
  

Black-barked trees towered over them, their thick canopy of leaves blocking out all but the slightest trace of the moon. They
were driving down a path through the woods a few miles beyond Thornwood, and every once in a while Reggie could see a glimmer
of the hospital’s lights through the trees. Finally the brush grew too great, and Quinn parked the car.

“We’ll have to walk from here,” he said.

Reggie nodded and got out of the car. She kept the gun trained on Quinn with one hand and held the heavy black flashlight
with the other. Quinn held up his hands.

“Oh come on, Halloway. You still don’t trust me after all this?”

“Call me cautious,” she replied, hoping Quinn didn’t hear the quake in her voice.

“Just don’t trip and shoot me by accident.”

Quinn led the way through the tangled brush, cursing at the brambles as Reggie followed. An eerie hoot echoed through the
darkness. Reggie knew an owl signified wisdom to the ancient Greeks, but medieval Europeans considered it a bad omen. She
wondered which one it meant tonight.

They came to a clearing where the massive elms and oaks receded. Some rusted and vine-tangled sections of an iron gate surrounded
it. Only a few saplings sprouted from a moonlit field. Among the weeds stood a scattering of mossy stones. Reggie shined her
flashlight on one of them, and realized it was a grave marker.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“Potter’s Field. It’s where the asylum used to bury the dead patients if no one claimed their bodies,” Quinn said. “Half of
these graves are from botched lobotomies.”

A ruined building not much bigger than a shed slouched in the dark meadow’s corner. Quinn headed toward it. “The access point
is over here.”

“If I even
think
you’re up to something funny, I’ll shoot you in the head,” Reggie said, though she prayed she wouldn’t have to pull the trigger.
Machen’s gun felt weighty and awkward, and meant for a larger hand than hers.

“I got it, I got it.”

Years of neglect had sagged the building’s roof, and the bars over its windows were brown with corrosion. Lichen webbed its
bricks, and tall grass rose from its cracked steps. A door made of rotting planks lay on the ground. The doorway stood open,
and Quinn walked inside.

Reggie hesitated. She felt eyes on her, as if someone was watching her from the abandoned graveyard. She looked over her shoulder
but saw only the shapes of the gravestones and nighttime forest beyond.

“You coming?” Quinn called back.

In horror movies, Reggie thought, this would be the point where she would yell at the screen for the heroine to just shoot
the guy already and run. But she had come too far, and there was too much at stake.

She stepped inside the crumbling building and swung the flashlight’s beam around. The floor was dirt, and a filthy puddle
covered most of it. A rusty old mower leaned against the wall beside some broken rakes and a crumbling scythe. She tensed,
half-expecting Quinn to run for one of them and come at her with it. He didn’t.

Near the wall, under one of the barred windows, he squatted down and pulled back the locking bolt from a hinged manhole cover.
Grunting and gasping, he yanked on the lid and swung it up off the concrete lip so that it stood vertically against the hinge.

“Presto,” he said, gesturing at the hole. “Welcome to Hell.”

Reggie cautiously waked over to him and looked into the hole. A ladder led down into darkness, moored into the walls of a
concrete tunnel. It reminded her of the cavern in Keech’s fearscape. She shuddered.

“I couldn’t believe it when I found it. There are miles of access tunnels down there, a whole underground labyrinth,” Quinn
said, scratching his head. “You could get lost and never find your way out again.”

“I wish for once the mad scientists would do their experiments at the beach. I could get a tan
and
fight evil.” Reggie gestured to the hole. “You first. I’ll be right behind you, so don’t do anything stupid.”

“I think we’d both agree going down there is pretty stupid,” Quinn replied, but he lowered himself into the hole and began
to descend.

Reggie realized she would not be able to climb down the ladder holding both the gun and the flashlight, so she slid the pistol’s
safety on and secured the flashlight in the waistband of her pants.

She hurried down after him, resting the wrist of her gun-hand on the rungs to steady herself as she grabbed them with the
other. It was dark and getting colder. The passage’s mouth was a deep gray circle against black, shrinking overhead as she
went down.

“
Ow
, my fingers, watch it!” Quinn snarled. “You’re right on top of me.”

The air grew damper, and the rungs became slippery as they went deeper.

“How much farther?” she said.

“About ten feet or so,” he panted from below. “I hate this place. Wet and cold.” He grunted. “Okay, I’m at the bottom now.”

Reggie thought she must have just a few rungs left, but then her boot slipped off the ladder and she pitched backward. She
tried to hang on with her empty hand, but the bar was slick and her feet couldn’t find the next rung. Her fingers slid off
and she fell to the ground, jarring her knee. The gun clattered out of her hand and skidded across the floor. She heard Quinn
chuckle, and his footsteps echoed in the darkness. Reggie scrambled to her feet.

She swung the flashlight back and forth, but the beam didn’t go very far, and Quinn was nowhere in sight. Her breath quickened.
A tunnel of moldering cement stretched out in either direction, with dank water dripping from the ceiling and pooling on the
floor. A creaking, followed by an echoing boom, came from above. Reggie shone the light up the ladder. The manhole cover had
fallen back into place. She willed herself to believe it had happened on its own, and not that someone else had pushed it.

Black terror blossomed in her chest. She heard a noise and whirled around, shining the flashlight down the left tunnel. Quinn
stood ten feet away with the gun in his hand, pointing it at her.

They’d had to wait until the nurses were distracted, then Aaron helped Eben to the elevator. He was about to press the ground
floor button, but Eben stopped him.

“Lower level parking lot,” he grunted. Even with his cane he had to lean against the wall to stand. His broken arm rested
in a sling.