Soulstice (7 page)

Reggie stayed silent. The Vour inside Quinn had spewed so many lies in the past. It had lived inside the shell of another
boy for who knew how many years, and everything it said or did or
was
had been sculpted from lies.

“What can I say, doll? The hunter has become the hunted.”

“The other Vours want to destroy you?”

“Hurt, maim, torture. And then, when they’re done having their fun, yes. Destroy. For good.”

“Sounds fine to me,” Reggie said.

Quinn patted her bare foot, and her skin crawled at his touch. She remembered the power it possessed, the freakish ability
it had to conjure terrible and paralyzing fears when in contact with a victim. She kicked his hand away.

“What do you want?”

“Simple. Revenge.”

“On me?”

Quinn cupped her cheek with his hand.

“Eventually, maybe. But no, not now. My beef is with my brethren, and I need your help.”

Reggie shook him off.

“Never.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” He slithered up the side of the bed like a snake, his icy eyes opened wide. “I don’t care
what you want, or what you think.”

He touched her foot again, and Reggie could not move.

“You will give me exactly what I need, Reggie. And when you do, maybe I’ll spare your family. Maybe I’ll spare your sanity.”

He tickled his fingers up her calf like a spider’s legs.

“Maybe not.”

Reggie squirmed and slapped his hand away. She wanted to scream, she wanted to hurt him before he could hurt anyone else,
but her muscles could only tremble beneath her skin. The fear felt like a straitjacket.

Quinn stood up and stretched.

“I can’t believe you don’t see the beauty of this partnership. Bringing down the Vours is as good for you as it is for me.”

“You’re an evil bastard.”

“I know.” Quinn walked to the bedroom door. “But we have a common enemy now. Sweet dreams, princess. I’ll be in touch.”

  
6
  

Reggie sat huddled at the head of her bed. She could barely stretch out on her mattress, much less sleep. She turned on all
the lights.

Quinn was alive. And he had been in her bedroom. Reggie tried to shake the terror away.

She’d read through two study guides, a magazine, and four comic books by the time the sun rose, and then she decided to clean
her room. Finally, at 8:30, she thought it was late enough to call the Coles’.

Their answering machine picked up after a few rings, but as Reggie was leaving a message she heard a click, and Aaron’s mother’s
voice came over the line.

“Oh, Reggie, is that you? I’m sorry, we’ve been screening our calls. There’s been some press.”

“Is Aaron okay? Is he home?”

“He’s home, yes.” Dr. Cole’s voice was strained. “We got him out early this morning.”

“Is it… would it be all right if I came over?”

Reggie could hear the woman’s hesitation.

“Please,” Reggie begged. “Just for a bit. I’d like to see him, see if there’s anything I can do.”

“And I’m sure he’d like to see you,” Dr. Cole replied. “I guess that would be fine.”

As Reggie was pulling on her jeans the memory of Quinn’s fingers creeping up her leg turned her stomach. She attempted, unsuccessfully,
to block it out. So instead, she spent most of the fifteen-minute walk over to Aaron’s house trying to figure out how to tell
him about Quinn. Or if she should even tell him at all.

But all thoughts of Quinn vanished when Reggie rounded the corner onto Aaron’s block. Dr. Cole had vastly understated when
she’d said there’d been “some press.”

Parked cars and TV news vans lined the street in front of the Coles’ house. Police held back the crowd milling on the edge
of the lawn, and a few cameramen had set up across the street. Local media had found out about a possible new lead in the
Quinn Waters case. Reggie imagined a mob of townspeople gathering like the angry villagers from
Frankenstein
, with Aaron as their monster. The stores downtown were probably having a rush for pitchforks and torches at that very moment.

She cut through a few neighboring backyards and made her way to the Coles’ back door. Aaron’s father answered, his face taut
with concern, but he smiled when he saw it was Reggie.

“Hello, Reggie. I was worried you were one of the reporters. Come on in.”

“Oh, Reggie!” Dr. Cole pulled Reggie into a bear hug when she saw her. Her eyes were red from crying.

Reggie had often found solace with the Coles, in no small part to Aaron’s parents, who treated her like their own daughter.
Dr. Cole was a locally well-known therapist who had a weekly radio show on a community channel, and Mr. Cole was an engineer.
They were kind and intelligent, and Reggie relished the normalcy of their household, where voices were never raised, meals
were home-cooked and on time, and both parents were around to kiss their son goodnight.

She looked around her. The house was spotless as ever, but all the drapes were drawn, and jazz played from the sound system
to drown out the activity outside.

“How is he?”

“He’s got bruises all down his arms. The Wennemack Police are going to have one hell of a lawsuit on their hands when I’m
done with them.” Dr. Cole sighed. “He’s been in his bedroom since we got back. He won’t talk, he won’t eat—and you know Aaron
always has a healthy appetite. He’s exhausted but can’t sleep.”

“When did you guys get home?” Reggie asked.

“Sometime around two,” Mr. Cole said. “I thought they were going to keep us there all night, but then that Mr. Bloch showed
up.”

“I don’t know what that man did,” said Dr. Cole, “but ten minutes after he arrived we were signing Aaron out and packing him
into the car.”

“With a warning not to leave town, of course,” Mr. Cole added.

Reggie wondered just what cards Eben held, that he’d been able to make good on his promise to get Aaron released so quickly.

“Well, I think I’ll go up then,” she said.

Dr. Cole put a hand on Reggie’s shoulder. “Honey, I just want you to be prepared when you see him. He’s in a post-traumatic
state. Community Mental Health wanted to place him in a hospital. It’s a good thing I know a few people on the board—and Dr.
Unger, of course.” She sucked in her lips and took a breath. “Aaron will be fine, but right now he’s a little fragile.”

“Don’t worry. I just want to see how he’s doing,” Reggie said, thinking that Aaron’s mom had no idea how tough her son actually
was. “Thanks.”

She made her way to Aaron’s room. The door was shut, but she could hear both the radio and the television blaring inside.
She knocked loudly and called out, but there was no answer.

Puzzled, Reggie gently pushed the door open and peered inside. Every light in the room was on, along with all three computer
monitors, the TV, and the stereo. The noise was deafening. Aaron’s bedroom had never been what one would call “tidy,” but
these days it was a disaster. Energy drink cans littered the floor, and a glacier of printouts leaned against the computer
desk. The ripped and tattered remnants of overnight shipping envelopes were scattered everywhere. Reggie assumed they were
from the books piled all around. Every title had something to do with ghosts, psychics, secret societies, psychology, or demonic
possession. The place had once looked like the bedroom of a teenage horror buff and computer geek. Now it seemed more like
the den of an occult-obsessed lunatic.

Aaron slouched in an office chair, wrapped in a blanket. Reggie tried not to stare. His face was drawn and puffy, his eyes
sunken and haunted. Though the blanket covered the bruises on his arms, Reggie could see his ripped fingernails scabbed with
blood, as if he had been clawing at brick walls. He hugged himself, rocking back and forth in his seat.

Reggie went forward and kneeled in front of him. Only then did he seem to notice her.

“When I found out… that
they
had you…” She broke off. “I was so worried.” She put her arms out to hug him, but he shied away from her touch. He shook
his head.

“Sorry.” His voice was harsh and clipped.

“What did they do to you?” she asked.

“What they do. What they always do.” Aaron cocked his head. Reggie could almost see the effort he made to focus. Then he shut
his eyes tightly and twitched. “I can’t see, Reggie,” he said desperately, starting to rock again. “I can’t see out of my
head.”

Dread creased Reggie’s forehead. She had seen Aaron scared before, plenty of times, but never shattered like this. She’d always
thought his was a mind of unbreakable logic, but the Vours had broken it. There was no way she could tell him about Quinn,
or much of anything else, right now. Anger at the monsters that did this to him seethed inside her.

“Shh, shh,” she said, hugging him despite his spasms. “It wasn’t real. Whatever they showed you, it was fantasy. Push back,
remember? Push back.”

Reggie held on to him for a while until Aaron finally seemed calmer. His breathing became more even as his mind fought for
control of itself.

“It’s all starting again, Reg, isn’t it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

“Are you scared?”

Reggie just nodded.

“Me, too.”

At last Aaron fell into a fitful sleep, and Reggie left the room. She left the stereo blasting, however; he seemed more relaxed
when the noise could drown out his thoughts.

Having escaped the media circus outside, Reggie took out her phone to check the time and saw that there were three missed
calls—and that she was a half-hour late getting home. Dad had told her at least fifteen times that they’d be leaving at 9:30
to go for the family therapy session, and it was now just after ten. She pressed the voicemail button with dread.

“Reggie, we’re leaving here in ten minutes. Where are you?”

“Regina Halloway, you better be walking through that door in
one
minute. Call me back
now
.”

“Damn it, Reggie! I asked one thing of you! How could you let Henry down like this? You and I are having a serious talk when
I get back.”

Reggie’s stomach churned with guilt as she pressed the speed dial for her house. The phone rang four times before the answering
machine picked up.

“Shit,” she muttered, quickening her pace. They’d gone. Her only chance was to catch the next bus that ran out to Thornwood
Hospital; she wouldn’t be on time for the session, but she figured this was a better-late-than-never scenario.

Reggie ran the last block, and she was damp with sweat by the time she reached her driveway. Dad’s truck wasn’t there. She
pulled out her house keys, and only then noticed the long, skinny white box tied with red ribbon sitting on her front stoop.

Reggie glanced behind her, but no one was around. She looked at the card on the box. “Regina Halloway” it read, in crimson,
florid script. With a shaking hand, she picked it up and carried it into the house.

Reggie set the box on the kitchen table and stared at it for a few minutes, half-expecting it to explode. Finally, she undid
the ribbon and opened it.

She screamed and pushed the box away. It teetered on the edge of the table and fell, scattering the dainty pink and white
flowers that were inside it across the floor. The flowers were covered in a sticky red liquid.