Velvet Rain - A Dark Thriller (60 page)

NO
—

He saw the first flicker of light against that inky sky; the first flames to fuel his worst fear. He cried out into that dark abyss that enveloped him, cursing the pain, cursing his God, and then, as quickly as his broken body could take him, started to run.

~ 14

Lynn shouted
No,
but it was too late. Already her son was lunging for the beast at her door.

Ray met him head on, and they grappled. Ryan got a hand on his wrist, keeping the knife at bay, but Ray used his ample size to thrust him against the wall. The boy pushed back, and they whipped sideways. Then, in one desperate move, Ryan dug in and pushed, driving them down the steps and into the backyard in a heap.

Lynn bolted to the doorway. She had to back off for the flames, which had climbed the outside walls to the second floor. Ryan was on his feet, but it was clear he could hardly see, the way he was searching with his one usable eye. Gamely, he brought two fists to bear. Ray was on his knees, struggling to rise; his leg was bleeding, his jeans torn along his shin. He slashed at his son, scraping him across the abdomen. The boy slipped back with a small groan. Ryan looked down, saw a thin crimson streak across his splayed shirt, and in the next instant, his father was up and gunning for him.

He backed off toward the shed, but his legs failed him. His father was on him, the knife coming down, and only a near miss saved him. He sidestepped but tripped himself up. Ray lunged at him, and they fell into each other. They struggled, neither gaining the upper hand, and when Lynn cried her son’s name, his chin came to rest on his father’s shoulder. She called him again, her voice rising, and this time he looked to her, his eye wide and searching. He uttered
Ma
—it barely came, for the anguish—and then he slipped to his knees. He fell limp as he hit the ground. Blood spilled from the wound in his side, and when Lynn saw it, she screamed.

Ray Bishop turned, the blood of his son glistening along the blade. He was a monster of dark black eyes, sewn on a mask of fright. His skin was boiled and bubbled, his scar a hideous dead snake. He spied her up and down with the oddest of looks, as if she were a total stranger to him. And then, with a wriggling grin, he took a step back, to bask in the glory of the blaze. He let out a small laugh. He looked completely insane. And if the looks and the laughter were not proof enough, he had broken into song.

“
Can’t you hear it, can’t you please? It’s my heart, I’m on my knees
—”

Lynn spun round in a panic, and the sight she saw next only fueled her fear. Lee was curled up on the floor with her back against the woodstove, her hands fists, her arms held taught against her face. Lynn bolted for her. She had to pry the girl’s arms apart, and when she did, her daughter’s terror gripped her. Lee’s face was stone. Her body quivered. Lynn took her by the hand and tried to pull her up, but at that instant, cried out, as her hair was nearly ripped from its roots.

She lost her footing as Ray dragged her. She slipped hard on her back. She tried to latch onto a chair as he pulled her past the kitchen table, but her grip faltered. Ray stomped on her right hand, crushing the bones in two fingers. Lynn wailed. He kicked her square in the jaw, and she felt a tooth crack and come loose. She spat it out with a thick gob of blood. Scrambling to right herself, she saw the drapes in flames, the fire clawing at the ceiling now. She shouted—
RUN LEE, RUN!
—and Ray snared her by the hair and thrust her head back. He brought the knife to her throat, and just as he did, she shot an elbow to his groin. He doubled as he dropped the knife, and when she went for it, it slipped through her fingers and skidded across the floor toward the door. She crawled for it, nearly had it, only to suffer the agony of his knee driving hard into her back. She hit the floor and was winded. Ray grabbed her head with his big paw and smashed her face to the floor. The impact dazed her. Blood dribbled from her nostrils.

Ray snatched the knife. He took her up by the hair again, went to lift her up, and this time she rolled away from him. She managed to get to all fours, and then, with all the strength she could muster, sprang headfirst into him. Her inertia sent them flying toward the open doorway, and only Ray’s quick hand stopped them from tumbling down the steps. He latched onto the jamb and held them back, but a second effort from Lynn drove them through. She tried to gather solid footing but slipped on a step, and she came down on top of him with a grunt.

Ray rolled her off; he still clutched the knife. He brought it down, his aim untrue but true enough, the blade just breaching the skin on her left arm. She let out a small shriek. She saw her son, and it was enough to get her moving. She scrambled to her knees, and that was as far as she made it. Ray drove a fist into her face, rocking her to the ground in a fog.

Lynn Bishop saw stars as she looked up. Ray loomed over her like a dark giant, the house ablaze behind him. He held the knife at his side, and just when she thought he would finish her, he palmed it shut and slipped it into his pocket. He muttered some kind of gibberish, shouted
No! Get out!
and then started to sing. His eyes were black and empty. He turned about with a grin and hobbled to the steps. Lynn reeled when she saw the gas can, and when the monster scooped it up and made his way into the mouth of that raging inferno, she let out a silent scream for her daughter … and then the world went black.

~ 15

Lee-Anne Bishop perished. She died four years ago.

The leaves had turned apple and orange, the days shorter, the nights longer, the fall harvest well underway. She had been in her junior year for just three weeks.

She had died in the shed.

She had died twenty-six times since. She counted.

She
saw
the fire; saw it creeping towards her with its deadly fingers. She knew its wrath … how well she did. It would take her, take her and turn her into a hideous freak, and though her mind screamed for her to rise up and run, Run,
RUN,
a bigger part of her screamed
No.

There were worse ways to die.

~ 16

The fire saved her.

Smoke engulfed her, choking her, and she snapped out of her stupor in a coughing fit. Her eyes burned. A great wave of heat overwhelmed her. She saw the flames reaching, clawing towards her along the walls and the ceiling. She nearly screamed.

The girl scrambled to her bare feet. The table was in flames now, and two of the chairs had caught as well. She made a dash for the corridor and instinctively headed for the front door. Fire waited for her outside, but she saw an opening. She was halfway along when part of the awning came crashing down on the veranda in flames. The floor trembled; the entire house groaned. She turned in a flurry, and just as she did, she saw him. Saw her father with the gas can, rising like a demon up the back steps.

She panicked. Felt that scream rising in her throat. Already she could feel his filthy hands touching her. She drew a hard breath and held it, for what she believed was the last one she would ever take. But before she allowed herself to scream, to die again, she closed her eyes and said
NO.

Lee-Anne Bishop bolted for the stairs.

~ 17

Kain stumbled as he passed the guesthouse, his legs giving to their agony. He fell to his knees, out of breath … out of time. Fire engulfed the home.

He was too late. Again.

He turned, suddenly. He thought he heard a resonant din far in the distance; he might have seen fleeting lights. He could not be certain of either.

He got to his feet. He passed the dead cat—he thought perhaps his weepy eyes were playing tricks, but a second glance told him otherwise—yes, its skull was crushed. He made his way toward the veranda, then, realizing he had wasted precious moments trying to make it inside from the front before, veered right and made his way round the side of the house. A moment later, there was a great rumble behind him as half the awning came down in a burning heap.

He pulled up short as he came to the back.

“
Omigod.
”

He went to her. She wasn’t moving. She was breathing, and he shook her gently. She stirred.

“
Lynn.
”

Her eyes opened, and he helped her sit up. She fell into his arms, and he held her a moment. At least God had granted him that.

He moved quickly to her son.

“He’s alive,” he said, finding a strong pulse along the boy’s neck. He checked the wound; it was bleeding badly.

“
Lynn.
”

Together, they rolled Ryan to his side. Kain pulled off his shirt and fashioned a makeshift dressing. Lynn held it on the wound.

“He’s going to be all right,” he said, and before she could say a word, he was up again, and heading for the back door.

~ 18

Ray hovered at the top of the stairs, but he did not linger. The gas he had poured down the length of the flight would ignite soon enough.

He sang as he checked the boy’s room; hummed the parts he couldn’t remember. He closed the door quietly, did the same to his old bedroom, and then stopped outside his daughter’s door.

He listened. Knocked. Nothing.

He tried the knob. Locked.

He spoke the words almost silently.

“
It’s not my life, it’s yours and mine … can’t you hear it? Can’t you please?
”

Suddenly, he dropped the gas beside him. The pain was incredible. He cupped his hands round his ears for the incessant screaming in his head. He cried out, the sound rising above the deep thrum of the new flames below. But then it came, the want and the lust unbridled, the
clarity,
of the Voice.

FINISH IT.

Ray Bishop hummed … and then rammed through the door.

~ 19

Brikker concealed himself in the shadow of the guesthouse as he watched the home come undone. The fire had spread to these strangest of grasses; the tree in the gully could be a Roman candle.

There was no sign of the woman. No sign of Richards. Still, he knew: Richards was inside.

He had seen it in the Turn.

He had also seen the man who had set the blaze; most likely the woman’s estranged husband. And he had also seen—with frightening clarity—the man
kill
Kain Richards.

But as he knew so well, the future was but a bare canvas, yet to be painted by men. Men, like he.

“I want him alive,” he said, and said it only once.

Strong regarded Brikker coolly. He nodded as he drew his weapon, and with eyes narrowed, limped forth to the fiery hell before them.

~ 20

Lynn stopped crying her daughter’s name. Her home, like her fleeting hope that Lee was alive, teetered on the verge of collapse. She could hardly breathe for the smoke and had lost sight of Kain; the flames had swept up behind him just as he had stepped into the house, and she feared he had been swept up with them.

She huddled with her son. The fire was spreading quickly, and already it was devouring much of the grass around them. She had seen grass fires, but this was something else. The grass—what had
been
grass, anyway, for this was more like fine sand when she touched it—was going up like paper in a blazing hearth. A deep rumble shook the doomed home, and just as she looked up, a ball of fire rained down and nearly struck them. The grass beside them went up in an instant. The flames caught the tattered cuffs of Ryan’s jeans, and she snuffed them out before they ran wild.

She shook him, and he stirred. She got him to hold the dressing. She struggled to her feet as she lifted him, releasing a small cry as her broken fingers bore their share of the brunt. Slowly, they made their way round the back of the tool shed. The air was clearer here, less choking, but now that she had a chance to catch her breath, she found it did reek of—

She reeled, biting down hard on her lip to stifle her horror.

Beaks. Ohhhh, Beaks.

Her heart sank. The world
had
gone insane.

She eased her son down, steadying him against the shed. Growing fires had broken out everywhere, including the path they had just taken. More would reach them in minutes. Maybe less.

She looked to her son. He was groggy.

“Can you walk?”

Ryan nodded weakly.

She helped him up, placed her arm around him, and led him away from the pockets of fire. She had no destination in mind, but as she led him down into the gully, she found it too, had started. The oak was a giant torch, the rope on the tire giving to the flames. The tire rolled a few feet and toppled. Cutting a wide path round the property, they backtracked behind the blaze, passed far beyond the shed, and made their way through a long stretch of deep wildflowers that turned to dust underfoot. They came to a clearing near the barn, and just as they did, Lynn slipped into a panic. Though he could barely stand, she rushed Ryan forward and led him inside. She set him down gently and stroked his hair. His good eye closed then, but when she listened carefully, she could hear his faint breathing. The bloodstain near his wound had stopped growing; the dressing seemed to be working.

Lynn tried to settle herself, but the terror that had sent her reeling outside the barn gripped her. She crawled quickly to the open door and dared a glance toward her burning home; she knew hope was lost. A monster of a man stood near the veranda, gun in hand, clearly looking for a way past the flames … but what frightened her most was the one-eyed man skulking behind the guesthouse.

~ 21

Kain crawled through choking black smoke as fire closed in from both ends of the corridor. He could barely hear Lynn’s voice. Her muffled cries were there for an instant, if at all, only to be swallowed by the rising roar around him. Hovering on collapse, he managed to make his way to the burning hell of the kitchen. The smell of gas was unmistakable.