"I didn't want you to worry."
"Worry?" she asked, her eyebrows raised. "Why the fuck would I worry, Trey?" she spat. "Why would I worry about you two assholes playing vigilante? Why wouldn't you want me to know you were going out there to get yourself fucking killed?" A tear dripped off the end of her nose. "You didn't want me to know," she said in a vicious whisper, "because you knew I'd talk you out of it."
For a moment, Trey said nothing. Finally, he nodded. "And I didn't want you to worry that I'd finally gone insane."
She barked an unhappy laugh. "Finally?" She shook her head. "Jesus, Trey. I can't believe you dragged Dick--"
"No," he said, "you are not going to make this my fault, Carolyn." He clenched his fist, the knuckles cracking. "Dick was going to go with or without me. Period."
"What?"
Trey nodded. "We both needed to know." He drew in a deep shuddering breath. "We both needed to see."
"Why, Trey? Why couldn't you--"
"Because it could have been Alan!" Trey shouted. His voice broke as his son's name crossed his lips. He shook his head at the shocked expression on Carolyn's face. "Because, it could have been my boy," he whispered. "It could have been our boy, Carolyn."
Trey broke down and held his head in his hands, unable to stop sobbing.
Carolyn let it go, helping to calm him down. After a tandem shower, they'd fallen into bed and into one another's arms. Carolyn had fallen asleep soon after. But not Trey.
He left Alan's bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him. He walked down the carpeted stairs and into the foyer. He looked out the windows toward Dick's house. Dark. Cold. Empty. He brushed a hand against his face, wiping away a stray tear. That thing could have killed them both. Could have.
Why hadn't it? Trey glanced at his study door. His machines would be waiting for him, sleeping quietly like the rest of the house. He thought about Googling monsters. Who the fuck knew what the thing was? There was no name for it. No hint as to where it had come from.
What had Dick seen, he wondered. Had he seen the same thing Trey had? What if it was still just his brain sliding into that delusional state, seeing something that wasn't really there?
The thing...what if it was just a man? Just a man holding a knife, and snarling in a foreign language? Could be just a man. The guy who cut the tattoos off those people, he was just a man. Not some monster from a horror movie. Just a man. Yet...
Trey shivered. The Grubby Man was just a man too, although it had taken him decades to realize that. Not a monster, just a man. A mentally ill man.
"Like me," Trey whispered. His own voice made him shiver. The sound of it, so weak and raspy, seemed to echo in the foyer.
"I believe in human monsters," Dewhurst had said. Trey nodded to himself in the darkness. The Grubby Man. The Ice Cream Man. Human beings who did monstrous things.
Trey yawned and looked at the stairs. His wife would be snoring. His son would be curled up in the blankets still, perhaps rolling in his sleep to a new position. Trey took one last look out the window and then made his way to the second floor.
He walked to the linen closet and paused with his hand on the knob. He took a deep breath and opened it, half expecting a pair of green eyes to stare back at him, and opened the door. Nothing but bed linen. He exhaled and tried to ignore the pounding of his heart.
He pulled a heavy blanket and a spare pillow out as quietly as he could. He didn't bother closing the door. Walking heel to toe, he once again entered Alan's room. He put the pillow down next to Alan's bed and slowly lay down on the carpet. Once he was covered in the blanket, he closed his eyes, listening to Alan's breathing. In no time at all, he was finally asleep.
Chapter 54
Trey felt pressure on his chest and opened his eyes. A face was nose to nose with him. He choked back a scream before he realized it was Alan. "Hello, Daddy," Alan chuckled. "You're not supposed to sleep in my room." The boy was crouched atop him, each leg to the side with his rump on Trey's bladder. Alan kissed his father's nose and then giggled.
"You," Trey groaned as the boy slowly bucked up and down, "better get off me if you don't want me to pee all over you!" Each word exploded with a puff of air.
Alan squealed and then leaped off his father.
Trey moaned and rolled on to his side. "Now I really have to pee!" he whined.
"Daddy has to pee-ee! Daddy has to pee-ee!" Alan sang, dancing from one foot to the other. He stopped as Trey stood up. His smile dropped. "You know what, Daddy?" Trey blinked at him. Alan leaned forward. "Now I have to pee!" Alan ran giggling from the room.
Trey sat up. His bladder really did feel like it was going to explode. He headed out Alan's door, not bothering to pick up his blanket or pillow, and stumbled into the hallway. He walked into the bedroom. Carolyn was already gone and it was nearly 730.
Trey cursed as he made his way to the master bathroom. He flipped up the lid, held himself, and paused, waiting for the stream to start. His bladder burned, the pressure more uncomfortable every second until the plumbing started to work.
"Daddy?" Alan's voice called from the hallway. "Are we walking to school?"
Brow furrowed, Trey turned his head slightly toward the open door. "Why wouldn't we?"
"It's cold, Daddy. Very cold."
Trey grinned. "Tough. Put on some warm clothes, kid. And deal."
"Okay!" Alan yelled back.
As soon as he finished and tucked himself back into his pajama shorts, Trey turned to the closet. The closet. Since the hospital, he hadn't felt nervous about entering it. He knew there was nothing there but clothes. Trey smiled. "Wonder if there's room in there for my stuff?" he said aloud.
Without turning on the light, Trey walked into the large closet. The walk-in was at least three times larger than the space the Grubby Man had kept him in. Trey sighed. "Fucker," he said softly and walked back out.
No time to take a shower. He'd have to get dressed quickly and get Alan some breakfast. Trey stripped off his pajama bottoms and walked naked to the chest of drawers. He pulled out a t-shirt, a pair of socks, thought about underwear and decided against it. He was going to wear jeans anyway. Dressing in silence, Trey wondered how Dick was doing. That was a call he'd have to make once he got Alan to school.
"Alan?" Trey called as he pulled on his socks. "Are you dressed?"
"Yes, Daddy!"
As he stepped out of the bedroom, he pulled on a sweater and made his way to the stairs. "Come on, kid, let's get you some breakfast."
They sat at the table. Alan wolfed down his mini-wheats while Trey drank coffee. Alan put down his spoon, crunching the last of the cereal between his teeth.
"Daddy? Is Dick going to be okay?"
Trey took another sip of the coffee. "Yeah. I'm going to go see him today, kiddo."
"Will you tell him I said hello?"
"Sure will," Trey said. "You about ready to get to school?"
Alan's brow furrowed. "Why were you sleeping in my room?"
"Because," Trey said, putting down his cup, "Mommy kept stealing the covers."
The boy giggled. "That's not why."
"Yes it is."
"No, it's not," Alan said, still laughing.
Trey leaned forward, his face inches from his son's. "Because I wanted to be in the same room as you. That's all."
"Why?"
"Just wanted to," Trey said. "You got a hat?" Alan pulled a snow cap from his jacket pocket and waved it in his father's face. "Good. Let's do it."
They walked out the door and into the cold. Trey shivered. Alan donned his gloves in silence as they made their way down the driveway. Trey cursed himself for not bringing gloves and a hat himself. Alan stopped in the driveway staring at Dick's house.
"What's wrong, kiddo?" Trey asked.
"Dick's not home," the boy said. "Does that mean his house is lonely?"
Trey laughed. "Yeah, something like that." A black SUV passed by the driveway, heading to the T. Trey never could remember the nei
ghbor's name. "Come on, kid. We gotta get moving."
They walked in silence. Many cars and SUVs passed them on the way out of the neighborhood or on the way to the schools. Although most of the children on their block were much older than Alan, the high school and middle school weren't far from the elementary school. It made every school morning complete bedlam for traffic, and always reminded Trey how happy he was not to drive.
Trey slowed his pace as they came upon a stop sign. The James Keel notice was still up, but a new one had joined it. Another picture of another boy below it with the word "MISSING" in large type. "Bryan Greely," Trey said aloud. He looked down at Alan. "Do you know him?"
Alan looked up at Trey and shook his head. "No, Daddy. But I think he goes to my school."
Three bodies. At least three bodies in the warehouse.
"Okay," he said as he took Alan's hand, "let's get moving." They crossed the street in silence and continued down the path. The cold began biting into Trey's ears and hands with reckless hunger. He kept one hand in his pocket, the other still clasped around Alan's. "I'm cold," Trey said aloud. "See, this is what happens when Daddy doesn't take his own advice."
"So why didn't you?"
"Because I'm dumb," Trey laughed.
"No, you're not," Alan said. "You just forget things sometimes."
"Sometimes," Trey agreed.
"Daddy?" Alan asked, looking up at him.
"Yes, son?"
"You seem better." Trey said nothing.
The image of the thing from the warehouse, saliva dripping from its exposed canines, flesh pulsating in fevered breaths, filled his mind. Trey shook it off. "I am better," he said.
As they entered the school-yard, Alan stopped and turned to his father. "You going to be here to walk me home?"
Trey smiled. "I will, kiddo. I'll be here."
Alan readjusted his pack. "Okay, Daddy," he said. Trey bent down and Alan kissed his cheek. "See you later."
"Okay, Alan." He watched as his son walked quickly toward the school entrance and joined the horde of students heading in. The school buzzer went off in two sharp bursts. Ten minutes to class. Trey grinned. He'd still managed to get Alan to school early. With a shivering sigh, Trey turned and started back to the house. As he passed more traffic signs, he realized the Greely missing notices were on every one of them.
Three bodies.
The cold bit, but he wasn't certain it was why he was still shivering.
Chapter 55
Just as Trey walked in out of the cold, his phone rang. He pulled it from his jeans pocket, teeth still chattering, and looked at the number. It wasn't one he recognized. Bracing himself for another telemarketer, he pressed the phone and held it to his ear. "Hello?"
"Mr. Leger?"
"Yes?"
"This is Detective Dewhurst," the caller drawled. "May I have a moment of your time?"
Trey took in a deep breath. "Good morning, sir. Sure."
"Are you going to be available today to answer some more questions? This afternoon, perhaps?"
"I'm going to go see Dick," Trey said. "If he's awake."
"Ah," Dewhurst said. "That's actually a good thing. Last I checked, they moved him out of ICU and into a regular room." Dewhurst paused. In the background, Trey heard the sounds of a truck backing up and voices. "What time do you think you'll be there?"
How the fuck was he going to get to the medical center? "I, um, I don't drive, Detective. I'll have to find a way to get there."
"You don't drive?" Dewhurst asked, shock in his voice.
"Um, no. I'd rather not--"
"How do you get around Houston and not drive? That's gotta be a pain."
Trey nodded. "It is, sir. It is. I'll try and be there around 11:30 or so."
"Okay," Dewhurst said. "I'll be there around 12:30. I have to wrap up a few things here first. I have questions I can ask, but I'd rather they be in person."
Trey didn't like the sinking feeling in his gut. Dewhurst sounded anxious and excited at the same time. "Sure," he said. "Sure."
"Mr. Leger?" Dewhurst asked. "You okay?"
With a sigh, Trey clucked his tongue. "Yeah. No. Maybe. Look, I'll see you at the hospital."
"Thank you, sir," Dewhurst said. The line went dead.
Trey pocketed the phone and tapped his foot. He had to get downtown. Fuck. There were only two ways to do it. Take a cab or take the bus. Trey picked up his wallet and looked inside. Five crisp twenties. It would be enough for one way. But he'd have to take the bus to get back. He sighed and went to his computer.
Cab companies in The Woodlands were few and far between, but they did exist--they just cost an arm and a leg. Plus, 30 miles just to get downtown was not a small distance for the meter. Trey pulled up the number for a cab company and started dialing.
Chapter 56
He'd called Carolyn while in the cab and told her where he was going. She asked if he thought he would be home in time to walk Alan from school. He assured her he would. When the cab reached the Medical Center, Trey gave up four twenties to pay the fare. The driver grumbled about the small tip. He felt bad not giving the driver more, but Trey knew he'd have to hang on to the last twenty to pay for the train and the buses to get back home.
The Medical Center was bustling. Nurses and doctors wearing jackets over their scrubs walked along the wide sidewalks beside the light rail. They held coffee or sodas in their cold hands, looking dazed as they stepped off the train and onto the platforms. Others departed from the medical buildings, heading to the train. Shift change. Trey watched the shivering mass of people as they passed one another.
People on canes, walkers, and crutches wandered the sidewalks, heading to or from their doctors' offices. Tests. Medication. Every one seemed to come here to see a specialist at some point or another. Trey walked through them, heading toward the tall white building jutting from the street.
He thought about entering through the emergency entrance, but one look inside told him that was a bad idea. The waiting room was stuffed with Latinos wearing denim and holding their coughing children as well as street people of various colors hiding in the building's warmth. During the winter months, when the temperature might actually drop below 50, the emergency rooms were filled to the brim with uninsured people.
Trey headed toward the hospital's main entrance around the corner.
The cold air retreated as he walked through the revolving door. The wide foyer was strangely empty save for the counter staffed by two women dressed in white. Trey shivered off the last of the cold, enjoying the relatively warm air. He walked to the counter. One of the two staffers looked up at him with casual boredom. "May I help you?" she asked in a husky voice.
"Hi," Trey stuttered. "I'm here to see a patient." She stared at him and pursed her lips. The pause lingered. "Oh," Trey said and blushed, "his name is Dick Dickerson."
Her lips curved up in a smile, but her eyes were stern. Trey wanted to ask how a stick had gotten shoved up her ass, but said nothing.
"He's in room 334," she said. "Visiting time ends in an hour."
"Thank you," he said.
"Elevator's over there." She pointed toward the bank to the left.
Trey walked toward them and made his way into an open elevator. He stabbed the button for floor three. The door closed and Trey felt the pressure on his feet as the elevator rose. Trey felt a little claustrophobic, but it wasn't the usual weight that threatened to crush his brain into jelly. He wondered for the second time if those days were finally over.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened to a scene of busy people doing busy things. The nurse's station was alive with conversation and clacking keys. Families waited in a row of cushioned seats, all looking as though they hadn't slept in days. Trey stepped out, nervous to see so many people. A cart made its way down one of the halls.
Trey looked up at the signs. Rooms 300-350 were on the far hallway. With a deep breath, Trey walked in that direction.
He passed open doors w
ith people coughing, quiet conversation, and the occasional moan of pain. All the rooms on that side were private, but that didn't change the fact it was a hospital. The sounds of oxygen machines, the beeps of monitors, were all wrapped up in a quiet, but ever pervasive drone.
As Trey reached room 334, he stopped next to the entry. How would Dick react when he saw him?
"Shit," Trey thought, "I should have called." He steeled himself, forced a smile, and walked into the room.
He stopped dead in his tracks. Dick's body was stretched out on the bed, his face pale and haggard. Clear, plastic oxygen tubes snaked up his nostrils. Although he was covered in blankets, he shivered.
"Dick? You awake?" Trey asked from the doorway.
Dick's eyes slowly opened. He turned his head, blinking into the light. A wan smile lit his face. "Yeah," he said in a raspy whisper. "I'm awake." Dick raised his right hand a little, waving Trey in.
"You look like shit." Trey said it with the best smile he could manage, forcing a chuckle as he finished the sentence.
"Fuck you," Dick said back.
"So," Trey said, grabbing a chair and pulling it to the bed, "want to go play some disc golf?"
Dick held up his middle finger. "Suck it," he said between breaths, smiling.
"That's better. You already look more alive." Trey shook his head, his smile fading. Dick looked bad. Very bad. "What they say?"
"Had a heart attack," he said in a breathy whisper. "You know, that thing where your heart fucks up."
Trey nodded. "Yeah, I heard that, but what else did they say?"
Beads of sweat dotted Dick's forehead as well as his face. He shivered once more. "Have a fever," Dick said. "They're not sure what caused it." Dick idly scratched at his chest. "Guess the fucker cut me with something that wasn't sterilized."
Trey sat up. "Dick? Can you tell me what you saw?"
Dick closed his eyes, his face turned down in a frown. "Don't-- Don't know. Doesn't make sense."
"Dick? I need to know, man. What did you see?"
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