The Atheist's Daughter (25 page)

“An artery,” Mrs. Norton said to Mr. Brass, her voice filled with venom. “You hit an
artery
.”

Martin’s lips quivered before he gave a final, wheezing exhalation of air.

Mrs. Norton roared in anger, her mouth suddenly huge and filled with sharp, pointed teeth. Shimmering waves rose from Martin Piotrowski’s body, looping around her crystal body and flowing down her throat. Mrs. Norton’s spine arched and her mouth snapped shut.

Hawkins said, “Did you see? Did you see her teeth?”

Life flowed into Mrs. Norton. Mr. Brass inched away from her, avoiding physical contact.

Hawkins bent to the carpet as Liz crept beside Kristin. 

“Listen,” Liz whispered, “the creep, that Locke, he wrote a bunch of wild things. More than Mrs. Norton knows. There were two pages to the letter he gave me.”

Mrs. Norton took a deep, trembling breath, as her skin turned to pink. Her hair blossomed into view, its tight brown curls fashionably cut.

“I aimed for the old man’s leg,” Mr. Brass told her. “People don’t die from those kinds of shots. They don’t die from a bullet in their leg.”

Standing, Hawkins held the bread knife. Shielding the weapon from Mrs. Norton’s view, he joined his friends.

“I’ve seen Martin Piotrowski’s future,” Mrs. Norton said to Mr. Brass, her words tight and mean. “For him, the years to come were sad and lonely. Every day of his misery will be mine, intensified.” With satisfaction, she added, “I’ll make certain you feel it, too.”

Keeping her voice low, Liz said, “Locke wrote there’s only one thing capable of stopping his kind. You – your blood – is the only thing that scares them. The only thing that can kill the Unending.”

“Take this.” Hawkins pushed the knife toward Kristin. “I can’t stab anyone. Not even them. Not even now.”

Oh, Hawk,
Kristin thought,
you believe I can?

She looked at her mother. A trickle of blood leaked from the corner of Becky’s mouth.

Maybe so.

Grasping the knife’s handle, Kristin slipped its blade through the waistband of her jeans.

Mrs. Norton’s gaze fell on them. “Gathered together, are you? Show some manners, children. Face your guests.”

They did as she commanded.

Mrs. Norton said, “The pills.”

“Enough with the pills,” Hawkins said. As if even he couldn’t believe what he was doing, he slapped the box. The tablets flew into the air.

Mrs. Norton started to cry out when an expression of deep sadness transformed her face. Grabbing at Mr. Brass’s arm, she pressed her face to his chest.

“Get the poison,” she said, her words dissolving into a sob.

The capsules bounced on the floor, separating as they rolled over the tan surface. Liz reached out her foot, slamming a shoe on top of a pair of tablets. They puffed up in a tiny cloud of powder.

“Bye,” Liz said.

Mr. Brass swept the remaining pill into his fist. He brought it to Mrs. Norton.

She wiped at her eyes. “One pill left. Only one. Nausea, cramps, vomiting – at best.”

“I couldn’t stop them,” Mr. Brass said. “You were holding my gun arm.”

“My fault, then?”

His face fell. “Their fault. I’m saying, this was their fault.”

“They must feel quite clever.” To Kristin, Mrs. Norton said, “You can see I have color?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what happens once we’re filled,” Mrs. Norton said. “We no longer need to eat. We have nearly one full year before we must feed again.”

“You do this every year?”

“Then you’re done for now,” Liz said.

Relieved, Hawkins said, “You’ve fed. You can leave us alone.”

“My, but you’re simple things.” Mrs. Norton toyed with a curl of her hair, seeming to find pleasure in its touch. “I meant, we no longer need to fear we might – what was your word? – ‘absorb’ bad meat.”

Slumped beside the easy chair, Becky moaned softly.

“If your mother had done her job all those years ago, none of us would be in this situation, would we?” Mrs. Norton mused. “The world won’t suffer from the loss of yet another bad artist. When we leave here, Mr. Brass, I want you to shoot her in the head.”

Kristin gasped.

“But, first,” Mrs. Norton said, “finish the boy. The red-haired girl, too.”

“Be a pleasure.”

The blood drained from Hawkins’ face. Liz clenched her fists.

Kristin closed her hand over the circle of blood at the center of the gauze. “Why? Why do any of this? You don’t have to. You can just leave.”

“Left alive, your friends will tell tales, won’t they? Someone might decide to listen to them.” A considered look came into Mrs. Norton’s eyes. “Besides, you’ve become an irritant. I rather like the idea of you spending the next few years, trying to explain what happened to the local authorities.”

“You don’t think I’ll tell them about you?”

“I’m certain you’ll try,” Mrs. Norton said. “But will they believe you?”

“Customers tell me you’re kind of the town celebrity,” Mr. Brass interjected. “One of the downsides of spending time in the nuthouse.”

Her hand tightening around the knife’s handle, Kristin felt something wet run from under the gauze bandage and down her wrist.
Shouldn’t I be scared? Shouldn’t I be – like, Hawkins?

But I’m not like Hawk. Not like Liz.

“As your friend said, there’s nothing I can physically do to harm you,” Mrs. Norton admitted. “So we’ll improvise. It’s not a perfect solution but we’ll make it work.”

“Just leave,” Kristin said, “I beg you. I won’t say anything, I won’t tell anyone.”

“A tempting offer but – no.”

Mr. Brass raised the derringer to Kristin’s temple. “Love to do you first.”

“Go ahead.”

“Rules is rules.” Shifting the gun, he aimed past her. “Move over a little, I’ll give your friends a clean death.”

“Mr. Brass,” Mrs. Norton said, fear in her words. “Blood.”

The big man followed her gaze. Fresh spots of red dotted the carpet at Kristin’s feet. When he raised his eyes to the teen’s face, she had the knife held above her head.

A streak of blood ran the length of the knife’s silver blade.

“Do it,” Liz whispered.

Dropping the mouth of his weapon toward Kristin’s stomach, Mr. Brass desperately tried to cock his gun. His thumb slipped and the trigger fell to its base harmlessly. He tried again when Mrs. Norton hit him, hard, across the jaw.

“Rules,” she said.

He blinked at her, uncertainly, as Kristin thrust the knife into his chest. It sliced into his skin with a familiar sound.

Schhhct!

Mr. Brass staggered under the blade’s impact. His knees shook and his legs wobbled. For one terrible second, she thought he was pretending, once again.

His eyes grew bigger. He clutched the knife’s handle, only to cry out when his fingers touched a reddish smear. Where he’d touched Kristin’s blood, his skin bubbled, turning black.

Mr. Brass screamed. The sound rose and fell, the noise echoing as if it was erupting inside an empty chamber. Victim after victim cried out from inside him, a shrieking cacophony of pain.

The teenagers pressed their hands to their ears. Expressionless, as if she’d heard such screams before, Mrs. Norton crossed the front entry. Without looking back, she exited to the street.

In mid-cry, the remaining member of the Unending pitched forward. Suddenly silent, he hit the floor with a thump, driving the knife to its hilt. Face down on the carpet, he lay motionless.

Cautiously, Kristin lowered her hands from her ears. “Is he dead?”

His body jerked. His limbs writhing, Mr. Brass shifted inside of the oversized blue LL Bean shirt. His skin puckered as it shrank, darkening in color. His legs danced, the feet shrinking from their shoes and disappearing inside the length of the jeans. Even his hair changed, silver growing over gray and black as the head holding it sank below the shirt collar.

The three of them stared at the fallen body.

Liz said, “This is beyond wrong.”

Hawkins poked at the back of the shirt. It collapsed, as if the body inside of it was now too small to support the fabric. “Roll him over”

Kristin gripped Mr. Brass’ shirt and tugged. When his dead face rolled over to meet them, Kristin, Liz and Hawkins all cried out.

Dressed in the cook’s clothing, the cold face of Susannah Guitierrez stared up at them.

“We killed Ms. Guitierrez?” Hawkins cried.

Kristin yanked on the knife and Susannah’s body lifted as the blade came free. A cracking noise followed the weapon’s escape and she shattered. Her body broke into pieces, like so much caramel-colored marble.

Again, the three teenagers screamed.

The shards holding Susannah’s image crumbled. Melting, they left a trail of flesh-colored particles within the abandoned clothing.

Nothing but dust,
Kristin thought.

“I’m going to need years of therapy,” Liz said. “Years and years of extensive therapy.”

Despite her words, she sounded more excited than shocked. Saying nothing, Hawkins’ face was pale.

Becky moaned and Kristin hurried over to her. Her mother’s eyes blinked open. Her lower lip was split and swollen.

Sounding dazed, Becky said, “Still alive, I guess.”

“You okay?”

Alarm pierced the cloud in her mother’s eyes. “Where’s Mr. Brass?”

“Gone.”

“Mrs. Norton?”

“She’s gone, too,” Hawkins said.

Gone?
Kristin thought.
Gone from here, anyway. Gone for now.

Gone from Winterhaven, too, or will be, soon enough. Escaping with the remainder of her family, the ones at the restaurant. Free to prey on the rest of the world.

Then she decided,
Not if I can help it.

“Good riddance.” Becky’s tongue played inside her mouth. “Damn, I think he got one of my molars.”

“You need to rest.” Hawkins joined her and they helped Becky into her chair.

Becky looked at her daughter. “What is it?”

“I’ve got to go out.”

“Now?”

“It’s important. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

“Not now, honey. Not…I don’t want....” Her sentence trailed off. Yawning, Becky closed her eyes.

Kristin told her friends, “Call nine-one-one, okay?”

“No, you don’t,” Hawkins said. “You heard your Mom.”

Going into the kitchen, Kristin collected the car keys. When she returned to the living room, Hawkins had his arms crossed over his chest. “No.”

“Got no choice, Hawk.”

“Why?” When that didn’t garner a response, he said, “Where are you going?”

“To find Mrs. Norton,” she said.

“Forget it. You’ll never catch her.”

“This isn’t only about her.”

“Let’s wait for the paramedics. Or the cops.”

“Kristin doesn’t have time,” Liz said. “There are more of those – things – waiting at the café.”

“So?”

Kristin raised the knife, still streaked with her blood.

“Oh.” Hawkins gathered his thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he opened his cell phone. “What should I tell the ambulance crew?”

His finger paused, hovering over the key pad.

“Blame everything on Mrs. Norton,” Kristin said. “Tell them she snapped. Tell them she’s evil.”

“I can do that.”

Liz touched Kristin’s arm. “Wait.”

God, I wish I could.
“I’d love to stay here, Lizzer, you know I would. I just can’t.”

“I meant wait,” Liz told her, “until I can get a knife, too.”

* * *

The girls had left and Becky was sitting up, sipping tea, by the time Hawkins finished with the Emergency Dispatcher. He had one more call to make and was pleased when his father picked up on the first ring.

“I’m okay, Dad, really,” Hawkins said.

His father’s sharp response caused the speaker to buzz in his ear. Hawkins responded, “No, not right now.”

He checked on Becky. She smiled at him wanly.

“I’ll get there when I can,” he continued. “I’m kind of in the middle of something right now.”

His father replied heatedly. When he stopped speaking, Hawkins could hear Brenda Parkes in the background, trying to soothe him.

Good for her.
“I’ll be home as soon as I can. Promise.”

His father barked again but in a softer, less worried tone.

“Listen, I’ve got a question for you,” Hawkins said. “A Biblical question. I think I know the answer but I want to make sure.

“Do angels have souls?”

Chapter Thirty-Two