My girls’ lives depend on this. I have to make it through.
I squeeze Hyo’s hand between both of mine, and we step through the doorway together.
Immediately, it slams shut behind us.
59
I am alone.
Lying down on white sheets, I look up at a familiar ceiling above me. I know where I am. In Steel’s bed.
Has it all been a dream?
The room is so bright it’s nearly blinding. Maybe this is the dream.
I sit up. I’m dressed in the clothes I was wearing when I entered the shed. I push my finger into my front pocket. The dagger is still tucked there. But where is Hyo?
The brightness of the room begins to fade, replaced by a dark, foggy haze as I shift my legs and stand. At the end of the bed, the trunk sits, unlocked, its latches jutting forward at perfect right angles. I approach, place my fingertips into the crevice of the trunk and lift it. A puff of black smoke rises, and as it clears, I see the trinkets—the souvenirs he took from all of the women he infected, drove mad, killed, or dragged into hell.
What is this place? Purgatory? A waiting room to the other side?
When I look down into the trunk again, a covering of black silk has settled over the items. Instinctively, I reach down and lift the cloth.
A shriek pierces the silence. A hand shoots out of the trunk, and Annalen’s pale face appears as she reaches toward me, straining, fighting against whatever pulls her further into the depths of the chest.
“Annalen!” I grab for her hand, but as I do, the bottom of the trunk drops away, and she descends into the darkness, sliding down a supernatural laundry chute. As quickly as she disappears, the lid slams shut, bashing my forearm. With a battle cry, I dig my fingers into the fissure between the lid and the trunk itself, trying to reopen it. But the latches lock into place and melt into the canvas of the chest.
“No!” I claw at the leather straps and pull until my temples feel like they’ll burst. “Annalen!”
Have I already failed in my mission? Have I missed my one chance to save my children? Annalen’s muted screams stab at the walls of my mind, creating chasms of panic.
“Annalen! Paris!” The bedroom door swings open, and I gape into a darkened hallway. Rushing out of the room, I head for the stairs. Annalen fell through the bottom of the trunk, so traveling down makes the most sense.
Wind whips through the hall and a shadowy form blows past me. As I stare at it, the shadow takes shape. It’s Whitney. She looks over her shoulder and waves me forward. “Come on,” she whispers. “This way. He’s coming. You won’t want to miss all the fun.”
“Where is Annalen? Where is Paris?” I call out to her back as she moves down the hall toward an open door at the end. “I just want to find my daughters, Whitney. Where are they?”
“This way.” She keeps walking, and I trail her. What choice do I have? If there’s even a chance the girls are in this room, I have to take it.
As I enter, darkness closes around me, a heavy black cloak of emptiness. But as I move forward, black curtains draw away, revealing two widely spaced eyes, which I quickly realize are stained glass windows. Below, columns—broad at the top, narrow at the bottom, like fangs. In fact, the entire room creates the appearance of a humongous snake’s head. At the far end of the room, in between the fang-like columns, purple light shines on an ornate chair with dark wood and elaborate carvings. Drawing closer, I spot the lavish decoration adorning the top of the chair. Faces, grotesques—like one might see on the top of a cathedral—but these are human faces, distorted, wrenched in pain.
The chair's arms end in serpents, their heads raised, tongues extended, teeth bared, ready to strike. A throne fit for an evil queen.
Whitney approaches the throne and lowers herself onto the black cushion. As she settles in, her shoulder-length hair shrinks up, her scalp swallowing the strands. Dark stubble sprouts over the lower half of her face, and her eyes change from emerald green to midnight blue.
Steel now sits before me.
Julie’s words whisper through my mind. “It can assume any shape—of the living or the dead. It can even multiply into two or three entities.”
And now it all makes sense. Whitney is Steel. Steel is Whitney. Two heads of the same demon.
The air in the room thins as though oxygen is seeping away breath by breath.
Steel’s cheeks raise with the semblance of a grin. “Hello, Claire. It’s good to see you here, in my true home.”
“I’m here for Paris and Annalen. I don’t want anything else from you. I just want my girls.”
He chuckles, combs a hand through his black beard. “Hmm. That’s a simple request.”
“Please.”
Steel pushes his mouth into a pout. “Please.” He chuckles again. “The last time I heard you say that word, it was accompanied by ‘harder, deeper, Steel!’”
“Shut up.” Heat rushes into my face. “You are vile. I’m so sorry I ever met you.”
His eyebrows shoot up as he drums his fingers against the carved serpents. “I’m sure you are. As for me, however, I fared pretty well. Let’s see...” He turns his eyes to the ceiling and lifts his hand, using his fingers to count. “One, two, three, four, five, six souls, and oh, what the hell, let’s count the baby too—even though I didn’t get to keep that one. And now. . .” He motions toward me with fingers tipped by long black fingernails. “Now I have you here. And I hear there are other Amber Mills residents roaming around too. Yes, I have done quite well in this neighborhood, but even when I first scoped it out, I could tell it was ripe for the picking. Lots of secrets, gossip, strife, and angst. The devil’s playground.”
My vision swims. “I am here to get my daughters. And then we’re all leaving.” The words tremble on my tongue. I say them because that’s what I want more than anything. But right now, I have no idea how that’s going to happen. I have no idea how to find Annalen or Paris or Hyo, for that matter. I have no idea how we’re going to get out of here alive. “Let us go, Steel.”
He scratches his chin. “One of these days, we should probably be formally introduced—I mean, especially since we’ve already traded every body fluid imaginable.”
Julie’s words flicker through my mind. Find out the demon’s name.
“So, what is your real name?”
He rights his head. “Ah, so you figured that out—my aliases.”
“Wasn’t that hard.”
“You’re such a good liar, Claire. But you know that. It’s one of many reasons I chose you.”
I glare at him. “Why did you choose me?”
“I like redheads.” He grins. “Oh, come on, Claire. You were easy prey. And Steel Nolan seemed like the perfect dead soul to mimic for my purposes.”
“What purposes?”
He sits forward in his chair. “Let’s play a game, shall we?” He waves a hand in the air. “Cat and mouse. Right now, you’re the mouse, and I’m having a hellishly good time torturing you.” He trails his fingers over the carved serpents. “Snagging you, your girls. I needed a disguise that would appeal to a thirty-nine-year-old divorced woman with four children, who was hungry for sex and didn’t even know it. I think I made a good choice.”
Without turning my head, I try to orient myself, gauge my surroundings. I think I’m in a back bedroom, but I can’t be sure. This could be medieval Rome for all I know. When he speaks, his voice echoes slightly.
“In his life, Steel was a handsome specimen—evil to the core, but that’s what made him easy to inhabit when he was living. That’s the beauty of all of this, you see. I get to use people on both ends—while they’re living and even once they’re dead.”
“Did Steel really kill all of those women?”
“Yes. Except Grace Castille. That was Silas Crouter’s work.” His smile widens. “Ah yes, Silas was another great choice of mine, I think. He tortured you quite admirably.”
The third head of the demon. Silas. Keep asking him questions. Fin
d out his real name. “Why did you choose Whitney?”
He cocks his head from side to side, considering. “She was a mess when she was living. A perfect candidate for the psych ward. By having her life mimic yours, I got to expose your weaknesses, vulnerabilities—the lies you told yourself. And since Whitney had such—” he twitches his mouth back and forth “—an early connection with Steel, she seemed the right choice for the job.”
“She was Steel’s teacher. I know he had a sexual relationship with her. Did he kill her too?”
“Whitney was Steel’s first. She was his donation to the cause. He didn’t strike the death blow, but he arranged the meeting, if you get my meaning. That was his first taste of what it was like to commit murder, watch it, be a part of it.”
My stomach twists. I can’t stand this. The evil in this chamber is overpowering.
Again, he strokes his beard. “You know, Claire, we are, in some sense, one flesh.”
“No, we are not. You have no part of me.”
“Oh, but I do. I have that part of you that you willingly gave to me.”
“I gave you nothing. I thought you were someone else.”
“But you see, that’s the beauty of all of this.” Again, he places his hands on the serpents. “Don’t you pretend to be someone else? Regularly?”
What I would give to take back that night at The Destiny Room. If I hadn’t met Steel there, we might never have gotten involved.
“Oh, we would have,” he says, reading my thoughts. “I’d already planned to get you one way or another. As it turns out, it was even easier than I thought.” He clicks his fingernails together. “Humans are wonderful at deceiving themselves. They tell themselves all sorts of bullshit to feel better about who they are. You wanted to believe I was a good guy. You wanted to believe you were a good girl.” He sits back, laughing. “In the bedroom, you were a dirty little bitch.” He arches an eyebrow. “You wanted it so bad. I’ve never met a woman who wanted it that bad. And I gave it to you, didn’t I? Over and over again.”
I breathe in slowly. I know what he’s trying to do. Julie said this would happen. He’ll lie, say horrible things, try to break me down. Don’t play into his game.
He chuckles. “Then there was that night I led you on the chase—when you thought I had Annalen in the truck with me. Little did you know that I would have her.” He sits forward. “And what kind of mother dresses up in slut gear and goes out to a bar to pick up men?”
“You don’t know me at all.”
“Oh, I think I do.” Sitting back again, he drums his fingers against the chair. “You don’t deserve to have Annalen and Paris back.” He runs his tongue across his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll take excellent care of them. I’ll teach them everything I know.”
Longing to tear his face away, see what’s really behind the mask of Steel Nolan, I jerk forward, but my feet don’t go anywhere, and I fall onto my knees.
His laugh ripples through the room. “A little trick I use to get women on their knees. Foot clamps.”
I look down. The toes of my tennis shoes are caught in a metal vice. I struggle, attempt to stand once again, but he clucks his tongue and holds up a finger. “I wouldn’t get up if I were you. Not if you’re planning to beg for the life of your children. You can do that from there. Oh, and while you’re at it, you might want to beg for your own.” He stands, walks toward me. “Because if we’re bargaining here, there will be a cost for me granting you favors. Like, you may need to suck my cock.”
The rip of a zipper sends a shudder of revulsion through me. No, no, no. Clamping my teeth together, I force myself to look up at him. “If you’ll give me my children back...”
Acid rises from my stomach into my throat. How can I do this? But I have to. I have to do anything, anything, anything to save my girls.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “You can do whatever you want to me, but in the name of Christ, you will not touch my children. God will destroy you if you do.” Then I brace myself, opening one eye and then the other.
The demon stands over me, his face hardening. Slowly, he backs away, resumes his seat on the throne, and emits a low growl. “Thanks for killing the mood. I thought you didn’t believe in God, Claire.”
“You’ve changed my mind about that.” My voice shakes.
He tips his head back. “I’ve made my decision anyway.”
I breathe out, trembling with dread. What now?
He draws his fingernails together, the sound of millipedes’ legs clicking. “I’m going to do you an unwarranted favor. I’m going to let you live. And as an extra-special bonus, just because I always liked a redhead, I’ll let you keep your youngest daughter. But I’m keeping your oldest. She’s a redhead too. It’s a fair tradeoff. And I’d much rather start with a fresh one.”
“No!” I scream, trying to get to my feet, but a force catches my hands from behind, invisible but strong. My leg muscles are no match for it, and I remain on my knees. “Please, please. Don’t do this. Stee—” But then I stop. “What is your real name?”
He dips his head. “Since it appears we’re not going to be friends, I’m not sharing that piece of information. Leave, and take your youngest daughter with you.”
“I’m not leaving here without Annalen.”
“Would you rather not leave, then? Or you can go, and both of your girls can stay—with me.” His eyes darken into black, inky wells. “Take Paris and go, or you get nothing.”
How can I leave one of my girls behind?
“No. No deal. Annalen has to come too. Or . . .” I pause, not sure I can bring myself to say it. “Or I’ll stay behind, and you set my girls free.”
He draws a hand up to his chin. “Interesting proposition.”
Seconds pass.
“Mommy! Mommy!” Paris’s voice echoes above me.
“Paris! I’m here.” I crank my head back and call to the ceiling. “I’m going to find you, baby!” Tears blur my vision as I turn back to him. “Please, I’m begging you. Take me instead.”
He levels his gaze on me, continuing to rub his beard. Then he shakes his head. “No. I’ve already had you. I’d rather have your kids now. Because really, I prefer children. You know what that’s like—don’t you, Lucinda?”
Deep inside of me, a cord snaps. No longer in control of my body or my mind, I spring up, tearing the front of my tennis shoes away as I rip my feet from the clamps and lunge toward him, my arms outstretched. Ready to risk it all, prepared to die for my girls.
But before I reach him, he raises a lever—one of the serpent’s heads on his chair—and the ground is no longer under me.
And I fall through darkness.
60
As I descend, the demon’s voice echoes above me. “Time to pay a visit to an old friend.”
I land hard on my hands and knees, my fingers sinking into muddy grass as rain dribbles down the back of my neck. As I stand, wet strands stream in front of my face. I wipe my hands on my jeans before sweeping my hair out of my eyes.
The swing set. The one in my memory. Its rusted poles form the letter A on either end, and two faded orange and blue plastic seats hang from thick chains weathered with a dark patina.
In the distance, voices. My parents—shouting, screaming at each other. My mother hates what my father has become, accuses him of going to bars, meeting women. He tells her he’s going to leave if she doesn’t stop blaming him. I have come to the field, the swing set, to get away from the fighting. From here, I have a view of the old house—the way it looked before it was abandoned.
I can’t go in there.
But another voice reaches me from far away, from the sky above me.
“Mommy! Help me!”
“Paris?” I turn and start jogging toward the house. “I’m coming, honey.” I have to get to her. I have to get to her before—
I remember what happens in that house, and now I’m going to face it. I run faster through the high, wet grasses. In one motion, my foot strikes the por
ch's wooden boards as I push open the door. Two steps and I’m inside.
The old farmhouse is eerily silent. A worn and shabby interior greets me, but everything is neat and orderly. In the room to my right, there’s a couch with lace doilies draped over the cushions and a table with a silver service. A cup of tea sits on the table, a string streaming from the side. Steam rolls off as it waits to be consumed.
A television with an old antenna plays the local weather station. A weatherman says it will rain for the next three days straight. Then, by the weekend, it will turn to snow. Lights blink from the stereo in the corner as it plays “Cat’s in the Cradle.”
“Drink your tea before it gets cold.”
I jump at the sound of his voice. It’s him. I haven’t thought about him in years. Maybe I’ve never really thought about him. The gravelly sound in his throat sends shockwaves through my body. The man in the leather hat. Silas Crouter. I never knew his name when I was a little girl.
He enters from the hallway, but he looks nothing like the villainous demon in my dreams. He is tall, thin, young, with slightly pockmarked skin and clear blue eyes. He removes his hat and places it on the table by the door. His hair is light brown and thin, and his face looks a little sad as he comes toward me.
“I made that tea just for you. Sit down, drink it up.”
I sit. I lift the cup and blow the steam from the top.
“Don’t get a lot of visitors here, you know. I live alone.”
I don’t talk. I sip the tea. I listen.
“Got a few girlfriends, though,” he says, smiling. One of his front teeth is broken and jagged at the bottom. “But none of them are coming over tonight.”
I sip more tea. I wonder if I should be in his house. But the storm came up so suddenly. There was no time for me to get home.
“Do you like the tea?”
I nod. It’s sweet, warm on my tongue.
He glances around and seems nervous. “My mom used to always tell me that no one would want to be my friend, that I’d have to make my own company.” He points across the room. “So, I did. I got Lucinda over there.”
The Neighbor: A terrifying tale of supernatural suspense Page 29
