Authors: Anthony Izzo

The Dark Ones (14 page)

BOOK: The Dark Ones

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“That she died. Cancer of the ovaries. He kept a picture on his dresser, black hair, blue eyes. It could have been my mom, so I never questioned it.”

“How could he conceal this?”

“We moved a lot. Fresno, Portland, El Paso. Every few years, he said he needed to find work, that the construction jobs were drying up. I’ve gone to a dozen different schools.”

The poor girl. Here she had lived for years under the illusion that her mother was dead, and that the man she had known all along was her father. Why would someone do this?

“Who was my real father?”

Laura was still having trouble absorbing this. There were tests they could run, and she was already planning to contact the lab at the hospital in order to confirm it. But she had seen the birthmark, the pictures, the resemblance. “I’d like to say I knew him.” She felt her face reddening. “But I met up with a guy after a Van Halen concert and we hooked up in the parking lot. I’d had too many wine coolers and he was higher than a satellite. His name was Rick.”

“Don’t be sorry,” the girl said. She got off the couch and came to Laura and Laura stood up and embraced the girl, who returned her hug fiercely. This was her daughter, or at least that’s what some form of maternal instinct told her. It felt right, like Sara was hers. She had heard theories about bonding and instinct but had never believed them until now. The hell with blood tests.

“I screwed up that night, or at least that’s what I thought. But I got a beautiful little girl out of the deal. My father was nervous, scared, but not mad. He helped me out, paid for my schooling. Jesus, I don’t know what to think. I did good until they snatched you from me. I just turned my back for a goddamned second.”

Sara, her face pressed into Laura’s shoulder, said, “I’m not leaving you again.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” Laura gently pushed the girl away. “My next move is to find this Dresser jerk. I’m sure the FBI would like to have a word with him.”

“No, please don’t. I’m mad at him, too, but he’s a good man. Besides, I have a feeling he’ll come looking for me.”

“Sara, he lied to you for years. He took you from me.”

Laura went to the rolltop desk and took out a legal pad and red pen. “Did he mention anyone else? Give me some names.”

“I can’t. I don’t want Dad—or Dave, arrested.”

“He kidnapped you!”

Sara recoiled. “I’ve had a good life. I’m just confused. Shit, I’m fucking baffled, to be honest with you. This really rocked my world. But don’t turn him in.”

“That’s an understatement. I need more names, information.”

“Do you think I could get something to eat? It might help my memory.”

What would it hurt? It had been a mystery for sixteen years. Another hour while they had a meal wouldn’t hurt. But she would still find this Dresser, and when she did, he would be better off if they locked him in San Quentin.

Laura gave her a sly smile. “Let’s eat.”

They sat in the kitchen after finishing grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. Laura had garnished it with dill pickles and potato chips, and although it was far from gourmet cooking, in her book you couldn’t beat grilled cheese and a pickle on the side. The meal reflected her style of living, as did the kitchen. It had a butcher-block table for two. The counter had a coffeemaker, toaster, and microwave. She owned four plates and four sets of silverware. There were no magnets on the fridge, no sunflower paintings or plaques with cutesy aphorisms on the walls. It was strictly functional. With most of her time spent at the hospital, she didn’t see the need for clutter and fancy decorations.

Sara helped her wash and dry the dishes, and when they were in the drain, Sara asked if she could clean up. She still had smudges on her face and dirt under her nails. Laura hoped to hear her tale, but only if she was ready to tell. Laura got her out a white towel and a pair of blue sweats and a T-shirt that read
PENN STATE
. She then directed Sara to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, Sara came out looking freshly scrubbed and vital. With her glasses off, the resemblance to Laura was striking. They could have been sisters separated by a few years.

“Did your memory improve with that meal?” Laura asked.

Sara twirled her hair with her finger. “Yeah, there was one other thing they talk about sometimes.”

“Who’s they?”

“David and Reverend Frank. Once in a while when they don’t think I’m listening, or when Dave’s on the phone, I hear him talking to someone. More and more in the past few weeks.”

“Why would that be suspicious?”

“A couple times, I enter the room, and if Reverend Frank is over, they get real quiet all of a sudden, like they were talking about me, but they’re not. It’s the guy.”

“You get his name?”

“I think he’s from Buffalo. First name is Charles. They call him Charlie, or the Gray Crusader, then laugh about it like it’s the funniest damn thing in the world. Hey, you okay? Your face is as white as that wall.”

She felt hot and sick all at once. It couldn’t be. But hadn’t Dad referred to himself as a “Gray Crusader” on more than one occasion? Usually when he was off to a Common Council meeting, charging off like some half-assed Don Quixote on a quest to save the brewery.

“Laura?”

“The man you just described,” Laura said, “is my father.”

Laura approached the phone. She stared at it as if it might jump from the table and bite her. The wall clock ticked in the background. It was like waiting for the chaplain and guards to enter your cell, waiting for that long walk to Old Sparky. Would calling her father clear up the mysteries that had plagued her for the past sixteen years? She wanted to know and she didn’t.

“Are you going to call him?” Sara asked.

Laura reached out her hand, wiggled her fingers. There was no good excuse for not calling other than the fact she was completely terrified at the moment. She realized she might not know her own father completely, and while that scared her, the fact that he may have known the whereabouts of her little girl scared her more.

She picked up the phone and dialed. She let it ring nine times. His machine came on. “Dad, call me. As soon as you can, okay?” she said, voice cracking.

She hung up the phone and turned to Sara, who sat on the edge of the couch, arms crossed. “Well?”

“I’m off tomorrow. We’ll go look for him.”

In the spare bedroom, Sara turned down the sheets on the twin bed. There was a television in the room and she had flipped through the news stations and thought she might catch a story about Joanne’s death. There had been nothing.

Laura entered the bedroom with a pink and white afghan. “It can get chilly in here. Keep this on the bed.”

“Can I ask you something?” Sara said.

“Shoot.”

“Why are you waiting to talk to your dad?”

“Another day won’t make a difference. It’s been this many years. I guess I’m just glad to have you back.”

“I suppose we can find him tomorrow.”

“Are you worried about it?”

Sara smoothed out the comforter. “The sooner, the better, I guess.”

“Are you scared?”

She knows something, Sara thought. “Why?”

“I don’t mind telling you I am.”

Scared of what? “I don’t follow.”

“You. Back in my life after all these years. Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited and happy and I feel like I could fly to the damned moon, but where do we go from here?”

Sara didn’t have the answer to that. “I guess it’s just important that we’re together again.”

“We’ll take it slow, okay?”

“Get to the bottom of this.”

“Starting with David.”

Laura gave her a hug and whispered, “I am glad you’re back; you have no idea. We’ll find our way, won’t we?”

“Together.”

CHAPTER 11

Dave drove the truck over the last hill and Routersville came into view. As they dipped down the long hill, the rows of ranch houses at the edge of town spread before them. Beyond that was Main Street and the brick clock tower that marked town hall. The main road jogged again in the distance and led to an extruding plant and above it a hundred-foot-high smokestack that rose like a castle tower. As the road rose again on the far side of town, his eyes were drawn to it. The armory, constructed in 1911, had turrets and high walls and two massive steel doors that opened into an archway. It looked as if it had dropped in from a fairy tale. It had most recently housed National Guard units, but was now abandoned except for a minimal maintenance crew.

He had been through here one other time and guessed that it took a grand total of five minutes to travel Main Street end-to-end. That was Routersville, blink and you miss it.

“Doesn’t look like much, does it?” Frank said.

“Not exactly the big city.”

“But important, no doubt.”

They started through the outskirts of town, where every house seemed to have a pickup truck in the driveway, many of them sporting stickers that said things like BUSH/CHENEY and
I OWN A GUN AND I VOTE
.

“Where does Chen live?”

“Off the main street. Near the clock tower,” Frank said.

They entered the business district and passing through, David noticed all the buildings were the same neat red brick. The businesses, with names like Ruby’s Diner and The All Niter Laundromat, had potted plants out front, mums or other brightly colored flowers. The moldings and doorways were all painted a clean white and the signs for the businesses were scripted in the same elegant gold on hunter green. David figured it must be a town ordinance, as many small towns liked to keep things uniform, especially if the buildings had historical significance.

They approached the clock tower, which cast a long shadow across Main Street, and Dave couldn’t help feel a chill as the truck passed through the darkness, however brief. It made him think of last night at the hotel. Would they follow him and Frank right into town? There hadn’t been any sign of them after the hotel.

“Up here. Greenview Lane.”

Dave signaled right and turned down Greenview. Like the rest of Routersville, Greenview Lane was hilly, and many of the homes had driveways that wound upward from the road. As they drove, a sudden gust of wind rattled and shook the trees. It sounded almost like a hiss, and Dave had the urge to get inside. He knew it was silly, and it was only wind, but he felt bad things were coming down the road.

“There it is,” Frank said, pointing to a blue mailbox with gold-foiled numbers. “Number eighty-six.”

“We’re not staying long,” David said.

“Engel can’t have found Sara this quickly, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“She’s away from me, Frank. I have no idea how she is. She’s a pretty girl, what if some pervert ...”

“She’s also smart enough to know who to avoid and when to ask for help. She’s on a bus with others. She won’t go wandering off by herself.”

“The sooner we go, the better.”

Dave swung the truck up the driveway, and Chen’s house, like many of Routersville’s homes, was a nondescript ranch, white with powder-blue trim. A cornstalk was fastened to the porch, and a trio of pumpkins rested at the base of the stalk. Dave parked the truck next to a Ford Explorer and the two of them got out.

They approached the front door, which was decorated with a cardboard black cat, its back arched, its eyes pale green. At least Chen’s Halloween spirit hadn’t evaporated with all the news of coming trouble.

Frank rang the bell and footsteps sounded from behind the door. The door swung open and Jenny Chen appeared, a compact Asian woman with a set of brown eyes that could turn your heart to liquid. She wore a blue warm-up suit and matching Adidas sneakers. A fine sheen of sweat covered her forehead.

“Working out?” Frank asked.

“I’ve been cooking for you two all afternoon. Oven’s hotter than, well, an oven,” she said and smiled. Dave thought it was a particularly fine sight to see Jenny smile.

She welcomed them in, giving Dave and Frank each a hug and taking their coats, hanging them on a coatrack. The house smelled of warm bread. Dave felt his stomach rumble.

“Something smells good,” Dave said.

“Homemade bread, roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and a pumpkin pie for dessert. Hope you’re hungry.”

“It won’t go to waste,” Frank said.

An hour later, they sat around the table, the chicken stripped to the bones and half-empty bowls of food surrounding the bird. Dave’s stomach swelled and he felt the pull of sleep start to drag him under. Not wanting to doze off at the table, he said, “What do we know?”

Jenny leaned forward, rested her elbows on the table. “We know they slaughtered the Littles, kids and all.”

“Nothing around here, though,” Frank said.

“I’ve been sending out people to scout,” Jenny said “They’re definitely on the move, using the woods at night where they can.”

“And as far as you can tell?” Frank asked.

“They’re headed this way.”

“How many?”

Jenny pursed her lips, thinking. “Hard to tell.”

“How’s that?” Dave asked.

“You haven’t heard any news lately?”

Dave exhaled air out of his nostrils, realizing he was giving a snort of contempt, but then thinking Jenny had no way of knowing. She looked at him, puzzled. “Sorry. They almost caught up to us at a hotel.”

Jenny’s eyebrows went up. “And?”

“We got away,” Frank said. “Some others weren’t so lucky.”

“How bad?”

“The one I saw was horrible. Not sure about the rest.”

“It’s worse than I thought, then,” Jenny said. “That must’ve been terrible for you.” She placed her hand over his and he couldn’t deny a little jolt of excitement passing through him. A moment later, she removed her hand.

That man pinned to the wall wasn’t so lucky. Dave could still see the horrified look on the man’s face, hear the wet gurgling sounds that escaped him. “So what’s this news?”

“They’ve been busy in a little town called Wickett’s Corner, about a half hour from here.”

“We have none of our people down there, right?” Frank said.

Jenny shook her head. “No, but it’s close enough to us to send a message.”

“Turn on the news, then,” Dave said. “See if anything weird’s been reported.”

“Better yet,” Frank said. “How about we see it for ourselves?”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Jenny said.

“We have to know what we’re up against.”

“It’s getting close to dark.”

“Dave, get your keys.”

Jenny Chen approached the idling pickup truck. She had changed into a pair of jeans, sweater, and a denim jacket with a sheepskin collar. Since she was the smallest, they decided she would ride in the truck’s extended cab, and she had quite a bit of room.

She gave them directions and as the truck wound down country roads, Dave watched every flickering shadow, expecting an attack. The trees seemed taller, cathedral-like, as if built as a monument to some dark god. The normally steady pickup swayed in the wind, and he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. The thought of being back in Jenny’s living room grew more and more appealing.

They crested a hill and Jenny instructed them to pull over. Dave did, and after killing the engine, all three of them piled out of the truck. From the top of the hill, they saw a gray-brown gash in the earth surrounded by rusted machinery and piping that rose up into corrugated metal buildings. They would have to pass through Wickett’s Corner to reach it.

“What’s that?” Dave asked.

“Coal mine. Shut down ten years ago. By most accounts it’s flooded. A few kids died in there, got curious and fell down the shaft.”

This was getting better by the minute. “That end of town, near the mine, not a lot of lights on,” Dave said.

“From what I gather, when the mine closed up, so did most of the town. The main drag’s all boarded up.”

“And the recent visitors didn’t help.”

Chen crouched down and sat on a rock. “Here’s the thing, nobody killed or even hurt, right? But the people down there claim to see things at night, coming out of the mine, coming up to houses, looking in windows.”

“And what do they take them for?”

“Costumes? Hallucinations? Who knows?”

David looked out onto the town. The houses nearest the abandoned mine were among the darkest, while the ones farthest from the mine had lights in the windows. What did they see, the people closest to the mines? The sight of the abominations were enough to make people pack up and leave town.

“I want to see the mine,” Frank said.

“It’s nearing dark,” Jenny said.

“We have time,” Frank said.

“It’s too dangerous.”

“Just a jaunt down there, get some idea of numbers, anything,” Frank said.

“Let me send some of my people out,” Jenny said. “We can’t afford to lose you, Frank.”

“She’s right,” Dave said. He had no doubt Chen would make a fierce and capable leader, but it was not the same as having the Reverend at the helm. He always seemed to know what to do and possessed a well of calm that knew no depths.

Frank was already on his way to the truck. “Start her up, Dresser. We’re checking out that mine. And daylight’s wasting.”

They drove through town, down Veterans Memorial Boulevard. Many of the businesses sported plywood boards across their fronts, and others had the windows covered in soap. Most of them bore faded signs and David guessed they had last been freshly painted when Eisenhower was president.

No one strolled on the main boulevard and David saw no lights in the windows. He kept expecting to see the flash of headlights in front of him or in the rearview mirror, but they were the only car on the road. He supposed the residents had good reason to stay indoors at night, but it was still disconcerting. Wickett’s Corner had a name that implied small-town charm, a place loaded with boutiques and quaint country shops, but instead it was a used-up corpse of a town. He wanted to turn and drive away, not out of fear, but out of the general sense of despair that had settled over him since entering the town.

As if reading his thoughts, Frank said, “Cheerful, huh?”

“About as cheerful as a field trip to the morgue.”

“It wasn’t always like this,” Jenny said. “When the mine was open, it was a pretty bustling town. Builders couldn’t put up homes fast enough and realtors couldn’t keep houses listed. But then the mine shut down. Accidents, safety violations, rumors that it had been mined out. The town died.”

“You’ve done your homework, Jenny,” Frank said.

David looked in the rearview mirror. A wry smile crossed Jenny’s face. “Talked to some of the old-timers, the ones who are either too stubborn or carrying false hope that this place will come alive again.”

They passed through the township proper and arrived at the mine, which was now surrounded by a six-foot chain-link fence. Rolled barbed wire curled along the top of the fence, and a faded blue sign announced
HARBEN MINING CO
.
MINE NO
. 4.
NO TRESPASSING
. Beyond the fence David could make out the yawning mouth of the mine, framed with timbers and covered by a patchwork collection of beams in the hope of keeping adventurers out. He noticed with dismay that some of the beams had been snapped in two and cast away from the entrance.

“Kill the headlights,” Frank said. “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”

“But it’s not dark yet.”

“Better to be safe.”

David pushed in a knob on the dashboard and the lights faded out.

“The gate, shouldn’t it be locked?” Frank asked.

The tap on the window made David’s heart jitterbug in his chest. He turned his head to see a flashlight beam hitting him in the face. Instinctively he put up his hand to block out the light.

He turned the key, preparing to lower the window, confident their adversaries had not begun carrying flashlights. He lowered the window and the man at the window lowered the flashlight.

Dave looked into the face of a man with a bushy white mustache and equally robust eyebrows. Dave saw the twinkle in the man’s blue eyes and thought between that and the white hair, the man would have made a great Santa. He took a look at the silver name badge on the man’s shirt. It read: B. MEYERS.

The guard said, “You’re trespassing. This is mine property.”

“Just checking it out,” Dave said.

BOOK: The Dark Ones

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