by Chris Cooper
“Is that necessary?” Izzy asked. “Pretty sure light won’t keep the wolves at bay, and it’s an awful waste of energy.”
“At least we’ll be able to see him coming if he does,” Oliver replied. “With Gary out of commission, there are only two officers left to protect the entire town, and we have no way to get a hold of them. We’re sitting ducks, so we might as well waste a few kilowatts if it gives us a fighting chance.”
Izzy waved a hand dismissively.
Anna tapped the bat on the living-room floor. “Let them try to break in. At least one of us will be ready.”
Izzy, Anna, Oliver, Asher, Nekko, and Pan all sat in the living room together. Something about the fire made Oliver feel safe. He knew the flames offered no true protection but let himself live the fantasy for a moment.
Wind howled over the hillside as darkness fell on Christchurch.
A knock at the door startled them all. At first, they waited, hoping the person on the other side would go away, but the knocking persisted. Oliver crept to the window as Anna grabbed her bat.
As he peered through the curtains, Eric shouted, “It’s me! Let me in.” He was standing on the mat, brushing snow from his overcoat and kicking his shoes clean.
“Come in,” Oliver said, holding the door open. “We just made coffee.”
Eric appeared to be too revved up to sit, and the firelight cast a shifting glow on his face, exaggerating his tired expression and droopy eyes.
“We don’t have the resources to look thoroughly, but we haven’t found the girl. If she was inside—well, the place is a total loss.”
“How’s Gary?” Oliver asked.
“Doing okay. I think he’ll be fine, but he lost a decent amount of blood. He’s going to be weak for the next few days, but at least we’ll be able to take care of him without a hospital. Could have been much worse, and I’ve been driving around all evening but haven’t seen the man.”
“Have you checked the train station?” Oliver asked. “The woman said she’d taken a train in, and that old train is probably still parked there.”
“It is, but the thing is locked tight, and the station is empty.”
“So what do we do? Just sit here and wait for him to show up at our door?” Oliver asked.
“I’ll be making the rounds this evening.” He pulled what appeared to be a bright-orange toy pistol from his pocket. “Since the phones and radio are down, there’s no good way to call for help, but if you run into any trouble, just fire this from the window. Will or I should see it.”
“A flare gun?” Anna asked.
“You’re kidding, right?” Oliver asked.
Eric’s expression soured. “Look, a flare is the best we’ve got for now, unless you want to learn to use smoke signals, and I don’t have time for that.”
Oliver took the gun from Eric.
“Just click the hammer back and pull the trigger,” he said.
“What if the man breaks in?” Izzy asked.
“I have a gun,” Oliver replied.
“What? That silly little sword that shoots bullets?” Anna replied.
“It’s better than nothing,” Eric said.
Oliver cocked his head at Anna. “Better than Izzy’s bat, at least.”
“My bat saved our keisters last year, if I recall correctly,” Izzy said.
Eric chuckled. “Just stay inside and use the flare. I won’t be far away, and if I find anything, I’ll let you know.”
“How?” Anna asked.
“I’ll be back,” he replied.
Oliver let Eric out the front door then locked it behind him. “I’ll be upstairs if anyone needs me. Who wants the first round of flare duties?” he asked, holding up the orange plastic gun.
Izzy shot a hand up in the air.
“We have one cartridge, so no practice rounds,” he said.
Izzy smiled. “I wouldn’t think of it.”
He handed the flare gun to her and headed to the third floor.
Although he’d buried the weapon at the bottom of his closet, hoping that covering it with old shoe boxes and clothes would somehow reduce the chances he’d ever need it again, he still felt the sword like a heartbeat—much like Poe’s story of the tell-tale heart. The guilt he felt for Mercy’s death and for leaving Gideon and Briarwood behind was so strong that it seemed to shake the floorboards some nights.
He pulled his dirty-clothes hamper out of the way and tossed a few shoeboxes aside. He’d kept the oblong object bundled in a cloth, which he peeled away carefully.
The sight of the weapon caused his stomach to go queasy. The last time he’d fired the gun sword was at Simon the year before, and his aim would have only gotten worse without practice. Does it even still work? He turned the weapon over in his hands, tracing his fingers along the intricate filigree running up the sword’s handle. The leather ammo belt still held more bullets than he would ever need—he hoped. He ensured the chambers were filled with unspent bullets and pulled back both hilt hammers, one by one, just to be sure they hadn't rusted in place.
He tore a piece of paper from his sketch pad and ran the blade of the sword across it, slicing the sheet in half with ease.
Still sharp.
Chapter Five
A tinny echo crept through the town square and over the hill, reverberating off Izzy’s living-room window.
“Did you hear that?” Anna asked as she stuck her fingers through the blinds and peeked out at the front yard.
“Yeah, but what was it?” Oliver opened the front door and stuck his head out while trying to keep his body safe from the cold.
As the sound came again, he held his breath to listen.
“Oliver Crum to the train station.” The voice sounded as though it was coming from a megaphone.
“No way.” He stepped outside onto the front porch.
The voice returned. “Oliver Crum, please report to the train station.”
He turned toward Anna, who gave him a grim look through the crack in the door. “Come back inside,” she said. “You’ll freeze out there.”
Izzy and Asher stood next to her, their arms crossed, bracing themselves from the chill.
“Think it’s the man who started the fire?” Anna asked.
“Who else would it be?” Oliver replied.
“I guess we’ll never know since you can’t go, obviously,” Izzy added.
Oliver thought for a moment. “The guy knows Asher’s staying with us—the officer told him so. It’s only a matter of time before he figures out where we live. Better I go to him than for him to come knocking on our door.” He looked across the room at his weapon, sitting on the table. “Maybe I can put an end to this before the situation gets even more out of control.” He wasn’t sure where this sudden bravado was coming from.
“You can’t go out there. You don’t know what’s waiting for you. And what are you going to do, kill the guy?” Anna stepped toward him. “What if you’re walking into a trap? We’ll be better off sticking together—four against one.”
Oliver wrapped the leather ammo belt around his waist, tightened it, then zipped his coat, ensuring the weapon was hidden under the puffy material. “I don’t know. We’ll have even better odds if we know what we’re dealing with before he comes knocking on our door. Maybe I can figure out how he’s controlling the weather. For all we know, he’s just a guy with a box of matches.”
He stepped through the door before the others had a chance to talk him out of it. He trudged to the side of the house through the snow, but before he could climb into the station wagon, Anna chased after him, bundled up and clinging tightly to her baseball bat.
“What the hell has gotten into you?” she asked, pointing the bat his direction. “Storming off like that…” She put a hand on the driver’s-side door and refused to let him open it.
“I’m sorry,” he replied, looking down at the snow.
“This isn’t how we do things. We’re a family, Oliver.”
“You didn�
�t see Mitch gasping for air in the back of Izzy’s car. The guy was in agony. To think of something like that happening to you three, or anyone—I can’t live with it. Look, I promise… we’ll be in this together, but stay here with them, and let me figure out what’s happening up there first. I’m sure Eric and Will are already at the train station. They’ll have my back.”
Anna thought for a moment then backed away from the door. “All right, but be careful.” She leaned the bat against the car and hugged him. “But leave your loner attitude at the train station. We are in this together.” She hugged him then opened the car door for him to climb inside.
He made the solitary drive to the train station, passing the remnants of The Horseman. Snow covered the rubble, cooling the hot spots and coating the black layers of ash with a frosting of glittery white.
He set his sights on the train station, hoping he wasn’t being foolish for giving the man exactly what he wanted. But he had a weapon strapped to his belt, and taking a chance at the station alone was better than putting Izzy, Asher, and Anna in harm’s way.
As he approached, red and blue police lights flashed in the distance.
And I still have two perfectly capable police officers on my side, he thought, trying to reassure himself.
The cruiser sat in the middle of the station entrance, and Eric and Will stood in the crooks of its doors, guns drawn and pointing at an open entrance on the side of the engine of the sleek black locomotive.
“I think it’s me they’re looking for,” Oliver said with a forced grin.
“Just stay back for a minute,” Eric shouted over the howling wind.
A brown dress shoe appeared through the door and lingered for a moment as if testing the waters for itchy trigger fingers.
“Come out now!” Eric yelled.
A man emerged, the leg of his navy-blue pinstripe suit flapping in the wind as he stepped out onto the metal step of the train door. He gripped an old-style microphone, attached to a cord inside the train, and held his fedora to keep it from flying away in the violent wind, obscuring a patch of slicked-back red hair.
“Now, judging by the looks of it, you must be Oliver.” He pointed in Oliver’s direction.
The microphone fed into a set of speakers on top of the train that reminded Oliver of the large tornado sirens perched on his elementary school.
“Doesn’t matter who he is!” Eric shouted. “Put the microphone down and walk slowly toward us.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” the man replied. “We’ve got so much to do and so little time.” He chuckled. “Speaking of time… It’s time for you to climb aboard.” He gestured to Oliver.
Oliver took a step out into the snow toward the train.
“No!” Eric shouted. “Stay where you are.”
“Relax,” the man said through the loudspeaker. “Just need a few moments with the boy. I assure you I will return him in one piece… unless he does something stupid.” His laugh was high pitched and rapid-fire, like a hyena’s.
“It’s fine,” Oliver said. “I’m not the one he really wants anyway.”
“Ooh, it’s like you read the last chapter before the first. Don’t go spoiling it for the rest of them,” the man said.
Oliver stepped toward the train, but Eric approached from behind and grabbed his arm.
“Let go,” Oliver said as he wrenched free. “I’ll be fine.”
When Oliver reached the train’s doorway, the man motioned for Oliver to stop. “Take off your coat.”
Oliver hesitated.
“What? You thought I’d let you onto the train without checking for weapons? This isn’t my first day on the job. Take off your coat.”
Oliver unzipped his coat, revealing the odd-looking sword underneath.
The man laughed. “Leave it with your jacket.”
Oliver reluctantly removed the ammo belt and tossed both his coat and belt into the snow. He held his hands in the air to show he wasn’t holding any other weapons.
The man stepped aside for him. As he mounted the first metal step, a blast of warm air radiated from the doorway. He climbed into the engine and looked back, hoping he hadn’t just made a stupid decision.
As he entered, Oliver noticed the engine didn’t look like an engine at all. Deep cherry hardwood lined the floor, and blackout curtains covered the windows, providing space for a row of bookshelves and display cases.
If not for the dire situation, Oliver would have taken more time to admire the intricate trinkets lining its walls. Still, he wondered how everything stayed in place, considering the entire display was sitting on a train.
“Like my collection?” The man climbed up behind Oliver and hit a button on the wall, which caused the heavy metal door to slide into place. “Was getting chilly out there,” he said, rubbing his hands together.
Oliver clenched his fists. “Just tell me who you are and what you want so I can be on my way.”
“Kitty’s got claws,” he replied, curling his fingers and hissing as Nekko did when Pan got on her nerves. He cackled once more, his head twitching slightly.
Oliver thought of Mitch’s charred body lying limp on the police station’s interrogation table and the woman who likely lay buried somewhere in the rubble.
“You’re a murderer,” Oliver said through gritted teeth.
The man feigned offense and pressed his hands to his chest. “I’ve murdered no one—you can blame the flame for that,” the man said, turning toward a serving cart in one corner of the room. “I’m shocked you came. Thought I would have to hunt you down. It’s very brave of you. Bourbon?”
“No,” Oliver replied.
The man tonged a large ice cube from an ice bucket.
“To be fair, Mitch might have made it, had you not driven off the road.” He dropped the first cube into a glass tumbler and giggled.
Oliver’s blood boiled, and his fingers itched for his weapon. If only he hadn’t left it in the snow…
“And the officer—well, that’s just poor police training. What kind of podunk town has three police officers and no hospital?” He dropped a second cube into his glass and poured from a decanter. “He should be fine, though. Think I missed the vital organs. The man’s suffered enough, living in this hellhole.”
“But why? Why kill someone?”
“Who? Mitch? Copped a bit of a ’tude when I asked about Asher. Didn’t like his style, so thought burning down his bar might teach him a lesson.” He slurped loudly from the tumbler. “Thought the poor guy could move faster, though. Pity.” He snickered.
“You’re a monster,” Oliver said.
“No, no.” The man set his glass on the table. “A monster would turn away a woman in need of help in a snowstorm.” He pulled a metal lighter from his pocket and flicked the wheel with his thumb, sending bursts of sparks into the air.
The man was an odd assemblage of tics and gestures and stood a solid foot shorter than Oliver. Hardly a super villain.
“And look where we are now,” the man drew closer, “in the same place we would have been had you told the truth. Except now, one person is dead, and the other is bleeding like a stuck pig. So think more carefully before slinging words like ‘monster’ around so freely. And you haven’t even seen a real monster.” The man was spitting as he spoke, and his head twitched back and forth with the beats of his speech.
At first, Oliver looked for a blunt object with which to defend himself, but he swallowed his fear and stepped toward the man, staring down into his beady black eyes. “Where is the girl? Kill her too?”
The man’s angry expression faded. “Kill her? I wish I could kill the bitch. No, she’s very much alive. Too important, unfortunately.”
“What do you mean, ‘too important’?”
“That’s neither here nor there. Come with me to the office.” He picked up his glass from the bar and walked toward the door at the far end of the engine.
He led Oliver to the passenger car. The sound of flowing water caught him by s
urprise. A fish tank ran alongside each wall, filled to the brim with tropical fish and coral.
“I’m a bit of a collector, in case you haven’t noticed,” the man said. “Books, antiques, fish, trains—now people.” He laughed again as he took a seat at an intricately carved wooden desk at the back of the room, sliding a stack of notebooks out of the way and shoving them into a desk drawer. “In fact, you can call me the Collector if you’d like. It’s got a nice ring to it.”
“What’s your real name?” Oliver asked.
“Never had the luxury of a name of my own.” The Collector gestured for Oliver to take a seat.
“I’ll stand,” Oliver replied. “Just tell me what you want.”
“Down to business, I see,” he replied. The man furrowed his brow. “I think you know perfectly well what I came for.”
“You can’t have him.”
“I assure you I’m taking nothing I’m not owed. Since Simon couldn’t follow up on his end of our bargain, I came to claim my fee and be on my way. Bring Asher to me, and your town will be back to normal within the hour.” He leaned back in his chair and gave Oliver a sly smile. “Sound reasonable?”
Oliver stepped toward the man and leaned over the desk. “Asher isn’t an object to be collected. He’s not just something that can be passed from one person to another.”
“Did you see the displays on the way in?”
“What do they have to do with anything?”
“Cabinets full of priceless artifacts, shelves lined with first editions, and tropical aquariums with some of the rarest fish even zoos can’t get a hold of.” He waved his hand at the tanks across the room.
“Why are you telling me this?” Oliver asked.
“I’m accustomed to getting what I want. I’m very good at it, in fact. This train, for example. Saw it in a magazine when I was younger. Always dreamt of owning one myself. I ran into the owner of one a few years ago. Then I ran into him again and again until he was no longer in a state to own a train of such beauty. So I took it off his hands. I think the man still had hands by the time I was done with him. I made a few modifications. He’d kept it in terrible condition.”
