“Wow,” she said. “You’re tall.”
He nodded. “Been that way my whole life, darlin’.”
Everything started to make sense. His disappearing cookies, the condition the place had been in when they arrived, the abandoned Mercedes in the parking lot, the strange noises from upstairs. There had been other folks here the whole time. He had to talk with them.
“Shelly, darlin’,” he said.
“Yeah, Quirky?”
“I think I need to talk to your parents. Can you bring me?”
“Okay.”
Corky allowed Shelly to guide him through the hotel. They entered the main hall, passed the fountain, and climbed the stairs. He couldn’t help but chuckle, remembering the heated discussions they’d had when Larry and Hector accused the second floor of being haunted. We hear whispers, they’d said, and tapping, like little feet running across the ceiling. Doug and Horace, of course, had been staying up there, and they insisted it was nothing but the moans of an old structure adjusting to the cold. The rest, however, weren’t convinced. None save the old scientist and young Marine had set foot up there since. Knowing the sounds had been real, that they were the movements of his new little friend and her frightened family, made the whole episode seem rather hilarious.
Looking down at her he still found it odd how similar this Shelly was to the one from his past. Again his guilt swept up on him and in that moment he made a solemn promise to himself. I don’t care if one ain’t related to the other. I’m gonna watch over this girl. I’ll keep her safe. That’ll be my penance.
They reached the top of the stairs and worked their way down the long corridor, past room after unoccupied room. They stopped in front of a door that had Janitorial Supplies stenciled on it.
“This it?” he asked.
Shelly nodded.
The sound of voices reached his ears. They came from downstairs. It seemed the guys were awake. Someone yelled – it sounded like Luis – and he heard feet pounding up the staircase.
“Guys,” shouted Corky, a wide grin plastered on his lips “It’s all right. I’m up here. Looks like we haven’t been alone after a–”
The door they were standing in front of swung open. Corky’s smile vanished. From out of the darkness leapt a living shadow. It had horns on its head and held a long pole. At the end of the pole was a spade. Just like that Corky was brought back to his earlier terror. He’d been wrong to think he could cure his shame so easily. This was his penance, for Lucifer himself to emerge and drag Charles Ludlow and all of his misdeeds into the pit where he belonged.
The shadow lunged at him and swung its scepter. Shelly screamed in the background. The hard edge thumped him square in the face. His head snapped back. He collapsed against the wall, which caved in under his substantial weight. Again a rush of warm liquid than ran down his chin, this time in much greater quantity. His vision faded. He heard agitated voices. Once more Shelly screamed.
It turned into a din of terror that he couldn’t handle. Corky uttered one final, pathetic cry, and passed out.
* * *
His head ached and his eyes felt crusty. He opened them to find the fuzzy image of a man standing over him. His vision slowly came into focus. Lips appeared first, ragged and cracked. They were moving. It took a few seconds for his brain to understand what his ears heard.
“Good morning, Charles,” a familiar voice said. “I’m glad you’re finally awake.”
Corky sat up. When he did so blood rushed to his brain and he thought he might keel over. He steadied himself, bracing his hands on the edge of the mattress until the sensation passed. When it did he felt a throbbing tightness in the middle of his face. He touched his nose. Intense pain tore through him. He threw his head back and screamed.
“Be careful, Charles,” said Horace. Corky opened his eyes. He was in his room on the first floor. The old man leaned over him and placed a hand on his knee. He wore a concerned smile on his wrinkled face. “You have quite the injury, you know. Best not to touch it.”
The dizziness returned and Corky doubled over. He didn’t know how he’d come to be in this state and it frightened him. “What happened?” he asked with a shaky voice.
“You don’t remember?” asked Horace.
“No.”
“Try.”
“Well, I had this nightmare, I think.” He concentrated. He could see only the blur of an image and nothing more. “Maybe something about the devil or something.”
“Not a nightmare,” said the old man. “I assure you, it was all quite real.”
Corky groaned. “What’s wrong with me, then?”
“Someone hit you in the face, and hard. With a shovel, as a matter of fact.”
“How bad is it, Doc?”
“Well, you have a slight concussion, which is why your memory is a bit…hazy. In my opinion, though, you got off lucky. Considering how hard you were hit it could have been much worse. It might have been fatal were you a smaller man.”
Again his fingers ventured to his sore nose. “What else?” he asked.
Horace grunted. “One of your orbits is fractured and your nose is broken. I set it the best I could.”
Corky turned his head and stared at the old man. “Is that bad?”
Horace chuckled and said, “You won’t be winning any beauty contests when it heals, if it’s looks you’re worried about.”
“I wasn’t doing that before,” he replied, deadpan.
“Very true.”
Swallowing a huge gulp of air – along with a fistful of pain – Corky forced himself to sit up. The blood again rushed in but this time he felt strong enough to hold back the coming nausea. Horace handed him a glass of water and he drank it down slowly. His tongue felt much too large for his mouth. Another twinge of memory itched.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “I bit my tongue.”
“You did? I hadn’t checked that.”
“No, that’s not it. I’m just…I can’t…oh shit fuckers, dude. I’m drawing a blank. This sucks.”
Horace nodded.
“So what do you know, Doc?”
“About what?”
“What happened to me.”
Horace sat down in the chair beside the bed. “Well,” he said, “it seems there has been a family hiding up in the attic this whole time. The father is the one who hit you. You were upstairs for some reason.”
The itch of memory became a jolt. “Wait…father…family…was there a little girl with them?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“In a room on the second floor. The others are looking after her and her mother. They were both quite shaken up.”
“How about the dad?”
“He is upstairs, as well. He seems to be a little on the irrational side. Stanley tied him up. Doug is watching over him now.”
Corky’s eyes widened. “Can I go see them?”
“Who? The ladies?”
“No. Yes. All of them.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“C’mon, Ho-Bag,” Corky muttered. “I got hit in the fucking face. I ain’t dying.”
* * *
Allison was a living ball of confusion. The voices of the strange men who surrounded her were so loud and abrasive she could barely hear herself think. She clung tight to Shelly, afraid to let go. In spite of what these men told her she still didn’t believe they were completely harmless. They had dragged Tom away and roped him like a rodeo calf, after all. Lord knew what they planned to do to her.
The two Hispanic men were standing on either side of the desk on the other side of the room, yelling at each other in Spanish. A man with glasses and nondescript features paced around the room winding himself into a frenzy. His cheeks were red as rouge. Two older men with long hair – one blonde, one silver – sat behind her on the bed. All concerned were focusing on each other as if she and Shelly didn’t exist. This only added to her fear.
The door opened and the old doctor
– the only one who asked how she felt in the aftermath of those first hectic moments – entered the room. A beast of a man strode in behind him. He had long red hair and a thick beard. His shoulders were wide as two of her, at least. In the middle of his face was a white bandage that leaked crimson. The form beneath the bandage was distorted, twisted to the side and appearing lumpy in all the wrong places.
Allison withdrew. She tried to shrink into the bed and drag Shelly with her. Her daughter was having none of it, however. The tike squirmed and broke free of her grasp. She dashed across the carpet. Allison was too shocked to react with any sort of quickness.
“Quirky!” Shelly exclaimed. She ran into the large man’s leg and wrapped her slender arms around his thigh.
Allison moved to rise when his massive hands approached her daughter’s head. Her throat clenched. She wanted to scream for him to stop, that she’d do anything he asked if only he didn’t hurt her daughter, but something in the way he stroked Shelly’s hair gave her pause. His touched seemed gentle, almost tentative. When he glanced in her direction there were tears in his eyes. They rolled over his pudgy cheeks and were sopped up by his beard. He gritted his teeth and tried to smile.
Taken aback by his sincerity, Allison nodded.
The mammoth redhead in denim lowered his gaze. Shelly looked up at him, beaming. “Hey there, darlin’,” he said. “Nice to see you again.”
“Nice to see you too, Quirky,” Shelly replied. “My daddy hurt you.”
“Yeah. But that’s okay. I’ll get over it.”
She smiled even wider. “That’s good. You’re a nice person, Quirky.”
“Thanks, darlin’. You’re pretty swell, yourself.”
Shelly released her grip on the man she called Quirky and rejoined her mother’s side. It took Allison a moment to realize she was standing. When Shelly touched her fingers she jumped.
The large man walked up to her and extended his hand. “Hiya, ma’am. I’m Corky,” he said. His voice shocked her. It had an unusual sweetness to it.
Allison timorously accepted his greeting. His hand engulfed hers like a pitcher plant takes in a fly. “I’m…Allison,” she said. The words came in a staccato.
“Good to meet you,” he said.
“Oh. Yes, me too.”
With the salutation finished Corky withdrew his hand and turned to the others. “So what’s going on?” he asked.
The invigorated chatter rose anew. The strange collection of individuals took turns explaining the situation. It didn’t die down until the silver fox piped in and told Corky the last part of the tale.
“You shoulda’ seen your boy,” he said, pointing at the unspectacular man with glasses. “When we got up them steps and little Shelly was crying and that crazy bugger was hovering over you with that there shovel, Stanny-boy lost it. You shoulda’ seen him. He saw you bleeding and he went fu-” He glanced at Allison and Shelly. “Sorry, he went bonkers. He tackled the guy like a friggin’ linebacker and wouldn’t let him back up. Superfly would’ve been proud.”
“Damn,” said Corky. He winked at the others. “You go, my man Stan.”
Though it was disconcerting to hear these men speak about the overpowering of her husband with such enthusiasm she appreciated the playfulness of their banter. They rocketed comments back and forth, finishing each others’ sentences as if they’d known each other their whole lives. It was the type of repartee she’d missed over the last few months – hell, last few years. Tom had sequestered her and Shelly, torn them away from society. While she thanked him for keeping them safe, for keeping them alive, she still realized that good old human contact was something that couldn’t be replaced.
She just wished Tom would realize it, too.
* * *
The kid sat across from him in the dimly lit room with an assault rifle draped over his lap. He appeared slender yet strong and the cold look he gave off screamed of cockiness. He was obviously military but couldn’t have been more than twenty, tops.
Tom grinned. He knew both the type and mindset – spirited, quick to follow orders, less likely to function effectively on his own. Tom understood this just by looking at him, a character insight that might come in handy sometime down the road.
He went to lift his arm and the electrical cable that bound him wound tighter. It clenched his chest and made it hard to breathe. He muttered and lowered it again and the cable loosened. The young soldier, seeing his struggles, sighed and looked away.
“Hey, kid,” Tom said, “come here.”
The soldier leaned forward. “What?”
“Cut me loose, okay?” pleaded Tom in his best helpless-puppy voice. “I won’t hurt anyone. Scout’s honor.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“No, really. I promise. I really do.”
The kid sat back in his chair. “No,” he said stoically and faced the other direction.
Tom grunted and leaned back in the chair. It was impossible to get comfortable. The cable dug into his skin even over the flannel nightclothes he wore. He snarled and stomped his feet then glanced at the window. He felt like he’d been in that room for hours but the sun was only just then starting to brighten the horizon. It was as if time had stopped moving.
“You have no fucking clue who I am, do you?” he growled.
The kid stifled a laugh. “Enlighten me,” he said.
Tom’s voice raised an octave. “Don’t patronize me, you little shit. You don’t realize who you’re dealing with here.”
“Didn’t you just say that?” the kid said with a grin. “Wow, you’re repeating yourself already. Not a good sign, for sanity’s sake.”
“Keep pushing, boy. Keep pushing.”
“Hey, don’t get mad at me. I’m not the one who can’t control his temper.”
Tom snarled. “Fuck you.”
“See what I mean?”
Again Tom stomped the ground. The chair rocked back and forth but didn’t topple over. The kid never moved. “You know what, you pompous little prick?” Tom yelled. “I’m a very important man. When all of this goes completely to shit, I’ll be the one left standing. Not some pathetic lemming like you!”
The kid rose suddenly. Tom recoiled as he lifted the rifle from his lap, but he only slung it over his shoulder. He then faced Tom, hands on hips.
“Is that so?” he said.
“You bet your ass it is,” replied Tom. “You best remember that and start showing me some fucking respect!”
“You should calm down,” the young soldier said in an even tone. “Your wife and little girl are in the other room. They can probably hear you. Can’t you pull it together for their sake? Oh, and aren’t they a little…young for you?”
“Fuck them, and fuck you,” he muttered.
The kid sighed. “That attitude ain’t gonna get you nowhere.”
“Yeah? Well fuck you again.”
The soldier turned and made his way to the door. “Sorry, man, but I don’t got time for this right now. If you wanna be a little bitch, you can do it by yourself. See ya.”
He walked out. The door clicked shut behind him. “That’s right!” Tom bellowed. “You leave! Go away now, soldier-boy! And don’t come back till you’re damn sure you can handle me!”
He paused. For a moment he felt like something had brushed his ear from the inside. He shook his head. Nothing happened. He continued his tirade.
“And one more thing, fucker! You haven’t seen the face of death! I have! He’s coming for you! He’s coming for all of you!”
Calm, my child.
He heard it that time and fell silent. His eyes darted around the room, searching for a form, an outline, a skeleton in the corner; anything that could speak to him. When none appeared he whispered, “Who’s there?”
The answer came with a surge of heat that set his brain ablaze. Fireworks burst in his eyes. He screamed and thrashed about as the pain intensified. The cable that restrained him burrowed into his arms, legs, and chest.
When t
he sensation rescinded he slumped in the chair, held upright by the restraints, and panted. Sweat dripped from his nose and chin. His hair was sopping. He opened his mouth and the wheeze of a dying man leaked out.
With great effort he was able to slow his breathing. He sucked air into his nose and exhaled through his mouth. It worked. He started to feel normal again.
Normal, he realized, for the first time in quite a while.
One corner of his mouth twisted upward. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. Relieved sobs escaped his throat.
“Hello,” he whispered.
The burning sensation returned, only this time he didn’t fight against it. Instead, he let it wash over him. His body warmed and the fogginess of his thoughts diminished. Beneath the liquid churn of blood in his brain the presence whispered to him once more.
Calm, my child.
“Yes,” said Tom. His voice was low and choked with joyous sniveling.
Excellent.
“Why did you leave me? Never mind. I don’t care. What do you need me to do?”
The manifestation of his long-departed master spoke to him and he listened. In no time at all Tom Steinberg was smiling.
* * *
Corky led Horace, Stan, and Hector down the hall. He found Doug sitting cross-legged in front of the door, his rifle balanced on his knees. His eyes were closed.
“Yo, Doug, what’s up?” Corky asked.
The young marine’s eyelids fluttered open. He looked tired. No, that wasn’t it. Not tired. Annoyed was more like it.
“Just listening for trouble,” he replied.
Hector jabbed his thumb towards the room. “He being a bitch, amigo?”
Doug sighed. “He was. Went nuclear for a bit. Was screaming and shit.”
“I know,” said Horace. “We could hear the racket all the way on the other side of the building.”
Corky placed his ear to the door. The wood felt cool to his hot flesh. “I don’t hear nothing,” he said. “The guy alive? You didn’t kill him, did you Dougie?”
Dead Of Winter (The Rift Book II) Page 18
