The Dark Ones (11 page)

There’s something really wrong with you, Mom
.

“There’s nothing wrong with me, boy.
You’re
the problem.”

She watched her lips move and it occurred to her what any casual observer would think upon viewing this scene . . .

. . .
something really wrong with you
. . .

“
Nothing
is wrong with me.”

She watched her face harden again and felt anger at the tears that spilled down her cheeks.

“I’ll teach you, child. Learn you a permanent lesson.”

He would have to come home at some point. All his stuff was here. And he was a minor. There was no way around it, unless he ran away, and he was too much of a weakling to fend for himself out in the world just yet. His little show of defiance tonight was an anomaly and did nothing to change that essential fact. He’d be back. And she’d be ready for him.

I am going to kill my little boy. So help me, I am
.

The notion filled her not with sorrow or self-disgust, the things one might expect, but rather with a sense of glorious exultation, of freedom within reach.

Yes
, she thought.
Death
is
the answer
.

She would start with her son.

And then move on to her husband. Stupid, useless Kurt.

And she’d top the dance of death off by killing herself.

She began to smile. “Yes. Die, die, die, my darling, we’re all going to fucking die.”

She laughed.

There was a knock on the door.

“Hon?” came the muffled voice of her husband. “Is something . . . wrong?”

Suzie hated it when stupid Kurt intruded on one of her little dialogues with the adversary. He would express the usual concern and suggest she “see someone.” Oh, it made her so mad. When it happened, he always had that same wary look in his eyes, a look that reminded her very much of the expression she’d seen on her son’s face earlier. That look was meant to convey concern, of course, but that was just a lie.
You’re crazy
, was what that look really said.
You’re simply out of your skull . . . and I’m better than you
.

She would not have anyone looking down on her, especially anyone in her own family.

What right did he have to pry? And why was the useless pig of a man out of bed anyway? She gripped the edge of the sink and forced her voice to remain steady. “Nothing is wrong, Kurt. Go back to bed. You have to get up early, remember.”

She heard him sigh.

Asshole
.

“I know, hon. It’s just . . .”

He trailed off and Suzie quirked an eyebrow, waiting for him to finish.

It’s just that I worry about you, hon. I think you should see someone
.

But Kurt McGregor never finished his thought.

A heavy crash from the other side of the door made Suzie gasp. She let go of the sink and staggered over to the door. She grabbed the doorknob and hauled the door open. Her husband’s big body was sprawled on the floor. Suzie stared down at him in uncomprehending confusion for a moment.

Then she laughed.

“Holy shit, Kurt. I was just thinking about killing you and your stupid ticker went and did the job for me.”

It was probably just a coincidence, but she couldn’t help thinking . . . maybe she’d killed him just by thinking about it hard enough. Perhaps she’d become strong enough through her decades of psychic struggle to focus and direct her thoughts in a lethal way.

Yes.

It made sense.

She’d submitted herself fully to the forces of darkness in that moment when she’d decided to kill her family. The adversary was no longer the adversary. Now it was a conspirator. She’d shown herself worthy and now it would assist her, starting with knocking off Kurt.

Perhaps now she wouldn’t have to kill Derek right away.

This development did open up some interesting possibilities. She could play the heartsick widow and he would have no choice but to play the role of the consoling son. It would be the role society expected of him, and, being the weakling he was, he’d fall numbly into it. He’d put on a good show tonight, but she knew the real truth about him. He was a plastic rebel, a suburban wannabe playing at being tough and nonconformist. Also, his defenses would be down in the wake of his father’s death. Breaking him again was going to be easy.

A
lot
of people would be consoling her in the coming days.

One of them might even be Tom Bell. It wasn’t at all unrealistic. She knew he wasn’t really happy with that witch Lydia, no matter what he said in their private texts and e-mails. The fact that those remained ongoing was proof enough of that.

She stood there and stared at Kurt’s unmoving form for perhaps another ten minutes. When she was certain he was beyond any hope of resuscitation, she picked up a phone and punched in 9-1-1.

A low hissing sound emanated from the spray paint can as Kent held the button down and aimed it at the side of Mark Bell’s old Camaro, slowly spelling the word
FAG
in large, looping letters.

“Bell is gonna freak when he sees what you’ve done to his car.”

Kent Hickerson glanced over his shoulder at the person hovering behind him. “That’s the idea.”

“I don’t know, man. I don’t like these assholes, either. But I’ve seen this guy in action. He’s no joke. He hit this one dude in the parking lot at McDonald’s harder than I’ve ever seen anyone get hit. It was just POW! Like in the movies. One punch. The other guy went down hard. A tooth came out of his mouth.” Brett Hogan shook his head. “I’m just saying.”

“You’re saying you’re afraid of . . . hell, I don’t know what he thinks he is. Some weird combination of goth, metalhead, and old-school greaser. None of it’s real anyway. Bottom line, he’s a fake. A pathetic phony.”

“A phony with fists of steel.”

Kent sighed. “I’m telling you, you’re giving this guy too much credit. High school’s gonna end soon and guys like him always give up their stupid little poses when they have to start dealing with the real world.”

“When they have to fucking work for a living.”

“Exactly. Not much call for brawlers in the modern job market.”

“Well . . . there’s the UFC.”

Kent chuckled. “Maybe, but his realistic options are limited. He’ll find that out soon enough. Meanwhile, it’s about time he got knocked down a peg.”

“And you’re big plan to do that is to spray-paint
FAG
on his car?”

Kent shook the can again and painted a crude rendering of a penis. “This is just the opening salvo in a war, my friend. I’m gonna talk to Moose tomorrow—”

Brett groaned. “Oh, man . . .”

“I know, I know. He’s a Neanderthal.”

“That’s an insult to Neanderthals.”

“I know, okay? But Moose likes me. He’s always laughing like a goddamn hyena at every little thing I say. Point is, I may not have fists of steel . . . but I know people who do.”

Kent took a step back to admire his handiwork. The red spray paint against the car’s faded black paint job would be hard to miss in daylight. The thought of Mark having to drive the old heap to school with
FAG
painted in big bold letters on the door made him crack a grin. But the grin faltered as he had an annoying thought.

He’ll probably just skip
.

Fuck it. It didn’t matter.

This is just the opening salvo
.

Every righteous struggle needs a leader and Kent knew he was the only student at Ransom High up to the task. The defacing of Mark Bell’s car proved that. A good general knows when the time has come to meet the enemy on his own turf and terms. This was a shining example. He’d come out late at night, just like them. Had committed a petty criminal act, just like them. Things so out of character they would shock anyone who knew him.

Brett clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get gone before they get back.”

Kent shrugged the hand away. “Not yet. There’s more work to do.”

Brett groaned again. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. Do you know where Natasha Wagner lives?”

N
INETEEN

The musty living room was fully furnished. Mark aimed the Maglite’s beam at a long sofa and stepped farther into the room. Natasha stayed right beside him, clutching loosely at his left arm. The hardwood floor groaned as they moved, sagging a little with each step. This place had been closed up a long time. It was possible the wood beneath their feet was rotted to a dangerous degree. There could be extensive termite damage. But it was holding up so far and he wasn’t about to be the one to suggest they abandon this expedition over safety concerns. Everyone else seemed cool with the risk, so what the hell.

Mark shifted the arc of the flashlight’s beam, revealing more of the room’s interior. There were end tables to either side of the sofa. A lamp sat atop the one nearest them. Natasha let go of his arm and reached under the lampshade to turn the switch. Nothing happened, of course.

Fiona arched an eyebrow. “Did you really expect that to come on?”

Natasha shrugged. “No. But I thought of it and just had to try it.”

“Like Mount Everest, it was there?”

“Yep.”

Mark turned away from them and spied a dark shape sitting opposite the sofa. He pointed the flashlight at it and saw an old-fashioned television atop a wooden swivel stand. A set of rabbit-ear antennas sat perched on top of it. A plate affixed to the wood just beneath the screen revealed the brand name—Admiral. Taking a cue from Natasha, he pushed the Power button. Nothing happened. It was there. He did it. The old television was sort of cool. Other than the coating of dust, it looked pristine. It could have been a museum piece. He considered returning in daylight to haul it out of here.

Natasha nudged him. “Why do you think all this stuff was left behind?”

“I don’t know.” He turned away from the television and aimed the beam against the far wall. The light revealed a large rolltop desk with its top down. “It’s weird. All this stuff must have been pretty valuable when the place was abandoned.”

Fiona laughed. “Shit, it’s valuable
now
. We should come back during the day sometime and see what we can scavenge. Haul
all
this shit out to a pawnshop.”

Mark found the idea initially tempting, but something about it didn’t feel quite right. It felt sort of like grave robbing. And there was something else. Something sort of crazy. He felt like something was watching him. Something other than his friends.

Something
.

He shivered and tried to shake off the paranoia. It wasn’t easy. This place did feel sort of like an open tomb. Like a graveyard, this was the country of the dead. They didn’t belong here.
Especially
at night. That feeling of being watched didn’t help matters.

He feigned a yawn. “This place is sort of lame. Anybody else bored of this shit?”

Natasha grunted. “No.”

Well, that settles that
.

Mark would no sooner skip out on Natasha than he’d chop off his own hand. He wasn’t surprised she wanted to stay. She was likely enthralled by the deeply spooky vibe of the place. They were all into horror and metal, but for Natasha the interest went deeper. It was her life. Her obsession. She wanted to be involved in the horror business somehow someday. Most would consider this a fanciful aspiration that would soon give way to more realistic goals. But Mark didn’t think so. Maybe it’d be like that for most people, but not for Natasha. Anyone who spent any time
really
listening to her hold forth on the subject would know better. For her, a trip through a spooky old house must be like a trip to Disneyland.

He looked at her pale, angular face. The way the shadows played over her features as the light cast by the Maglite shifted and made her look like a vampire from an old black-and-white movie. Her plump lower lip was painted a dark shade of scarlet. He had a nearly irresistible urge to chew on it. He noted again the way the swell of her breasts stretched the tiny Emily the Strange T-shirt and felt a tightness in his groin.

“You look sort of like a vampire.”

“Oh no. My secret. It’s out.” Her playful tone made it clear she liked this. “What gave me away? Was it my fangs?”

“That, and your insatiable thirst for blood.”

Natasha’s expression was speculative. “I think I know what’s really on your mind.”

“God . . . I want you so fucking bad.”

She kept smiling. “I know.”

Fiona had wandered back from an inspection of the rolltop desk. “Desk is locked. Hey. Stop looking at each other like that.”

Natasha feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Like fuck you don’t. I’m feeling pretty frustrated right now so I’ll get all pissy if you guys go at it while I’m around.”

“Well, you do have options.” Natasha paused a moment. A bit of boisterous bantering audible from one of the other rooms filled the silence. She smiled. “Three of them.”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “No fucking way. They’re cool and all, mostly, but no. It’d be too much like fucking my brother. If I had one, I mean.”

Mark piped in: “I thought you were into Derek.”

“I am, man, but he ain’t into me. I’m not gonna keep sniffing around his ass like a bitch in heat.”

Natasha chuckled. “You
do
sound frustrated.”

“Tell me about it.”

A voice boomed out from somewhere else in the darkness, making them all jump:
“Yo! Markus, get in here, man!”

Mark aimed the Maglite’s beam in the general direction of the voice, which had emanated from the opposite side of the living room. Another room was visible through a wide archway. He glimpsed the legs of a table. The kitchen, maybe?

A big shape came charging through the archway. Too big to be anyone but Jared.
“Mark!”

Mark swung the flashlight’s beam up, splashing light across Jared’s face and making him squint.

“Dude, we found something weird. Well, Derek found it.”