I can compete with a Cabbage Patch Doll, she reminded herself.
“What about you?” Ryan asked. “What’s your first-grade team like?”
“Very nice. They’re all about my age except for one. She’s a bit older. Still sweet, though. Kind of like a mom to all of us, I guess you could say, although I doubt she’d like us referring to her as such.”
Ryan mimed locking his lips.
Rebecca smiled. I like him, she thought.
***
They were three rounds deep, Rebecca sporting a healthy buzz, Ryan fine. Rebecca had taken the risk of asking Ryan whether he minded if she had a cigarette. He’d said he didn’t mind, even adding that he too was guilty of bumming a smoke or two over a few drinks, although truth be told, it had been years since he’d done so. Still, he wanted her to feel at ease and went as far as to bum one from her tonight.
“My mom would kill me,” she said as she lit his first and then her own. “She spent all this money on those patches for me so I could quit.”
“You’re a stealth smoker,” Ryan said.
She exhaled and laughed.
Ryan exhaled and fought the urge to cough.
“So do you think you might ever take me out on a date-date?” she asked.
“A date-date?”
“Like an official date. You know, picking me up for dinner and a movie and stuff.”
And stuff. Woohoo, baby.
“I drove you here, didn’t I?” he joked.
She wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t count.”
Ryan took one last drag from his cigarette, then put it out prematurely, the cigarette buzzing him more than the beer. He took a swig from his beer and said: “I think a date-date might be fun.”
“Great-great,” Rebecca said. “When-when?”
Ryan smiled. “I don’t know. Tomorrow night? Dinner. Then maybe Jaws after? Followed by a late-night dip in the ocean, of course.”
She laughed again.
“I’ll tell you what,” Ryan went on, “I’ll take you back to your car now. We can go home, get some well-deserved sleep, and then I’ll call you tomorrow—after you give me your number, that is.”
She grinned. “Deal.”
“And of course I’ll pick you up,” he added.
“Who said chivalry was dead?”
He laughed, took her hand, and gave it a little squeeze. Rebecca grinned again.
21
Rebecca kissed him.
When Ryan pulled up alongside her car in the school’s lot, she immediately leaned over and planted a big one on him. It took him off guard, but he liked it. Liked it a lot. He kissed her back, this one longer, a little tongue action.
“You okay to drive?” he asked when they pulled away from one another.
“I’m fine. Thanks for the drinks. You sure you don’t want any money?”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up,” she said, and kissed him again.
They kissed a final time before Rebecca exited his car and drove off in her own, waving goodbye as she pulled away.
***
Rebecca drove home on a cloud. She felt an immediate connection with Ryan. Nothing felt labored or routine. Sure, the wine helped, and it certainly helped her attack him in his car (something she would maybe feel silly about in the morning), but the booze certainly did not affect his behavior, and she’d sensed a reciprocal connection. She had, hadn’t she? Or had the wine affected her perception of that reciprocal connection?
Just shut the hell up and enjoy the moment, girl.
***
Rebecca gone, Ryan stood by his car for a spell, both arms resting on the roof, chin resting on his arms. He could not see the school sign from where he stood, but it had since been fixed and now read “Pinewood Elementary” once again. For now.
A part of Ryan told himself to get into his car and drive home. To savor the feeling of a successful first date (but not a “date-date,” he thought, and immediately smiled) and call it a night.
Another part told him to head towards the school. He had a key now and could be inside the building in a matter of moments. But why would he?
Digging. Karl’s words in his head as clearly as if the old man was standing next to him. Then his own words countering right back: Digging got those people killed, didn’t it? Ryan shook his head. No. Nobody killed those people. They killed themselves.
Ryan started towards the school, stopped, and stared. It stood dark and ominous in the distance. A freaking elementary school dark and ominous. Absurd.
He took a few more steps forward—casual, probing steps. And those steps continued to accumulate, almost without his say. He felt like a kid creeping up on the spooky house in the neighborhood, friends behind him, goading him on. Only there weren’t any friends to goad him on. Something inside him was doing the job just fine, something he couldn’t quite comprehend.
Whatever it is that lives here was brought here. Karl’s words again, now like a whisper in his ear.
Ryan now stood before the school’s main entrance. He felt eyes on him and turned. Dusk had left. His vision was becoming impaired with the growing night, yet he spotted no one. He was alone. He wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing. He turned back towards the entrance.
What the hell would I do in there anyway? Where would I dig? How would I dig? Would I visit the teachers’ lounge and hope to see my three friends seated at the table again?
A feeling of silliness came over him. The silliness brushing aside the invisible hand that had inexplicably carried him to this spot, the precise way one inexplicably does things in the dream world against better judgment. And Lord knows he’d become an expert in that bastard world this past week. Was he dreaming now? No. No, he was sure he wasn’t. He could still taste the beer. Still taste Rebecca.
“I am not dreaming,” he said aloud. “I am in control. And this…this is utterly ridiculous.”
His own voice sounded good in the dark quiet, his convictions in his voice even better. He turned and headed back towards his car, refusing to give the school a final glance.
Ryan got maybe ten yards when he spotted two large silhouettes in the distance, hovering around his car, the lot’s street lamps telling the story. I’m not dreaming, he told himself again. Whoever those two people are, they are people. Yet his convictions this time offered fleeting comfort, only served to remind him of the crazy lady who’d been waiting for him by his car when he’d left the human resources building that morning. Only served to raise a question that he felt, in his gut, held no good answer: Who were these two guys waiting for him by his car? Better yet, why?
***
Rebecca had turned the car around. The wine had persuaded her to go back and see Ryan. She knew it was stupid, and she knew it was taking things a bit too far too soon, but her buzz, both from the wine and from Ryan himself, were making her choices for her now, and heading back to see Ryan for perhaps one more kiss seemed like a damn good idea. She only hoped her mission wasn’t a futile one. Probably, it was. He would almost assuredly have gone by now, but then she’d only been on the road less than a minute when she’d decided to pull a U-ey and head back to the school. Again, likely a fool’s errand, but she hoped otherwise.
Rolling up towards the school, Rebecca felt the now familiar tingle in her belly when she spotted Ryan’s car in the distance, still parked in the lot. Her tingle growing that much stronger when she spotted Ryan himself. Only…he wasn’t alone? Two men surrounded him, their body language aggressive. She rolled down her window and killed the engine by the main entrance, hoping she wouldn’t be spotted. She could hear the men shouting at Ryan.
Just what the hell was going on?
***
“So, you’re gonna be teaching here, huh?” the first of the two men had asked. He was a big man in jeans and a tight tee to show off his powerful torso. He also appeared drunk.
“That’s right,” Ryan said, extending his hand. “Ryan Herb. Nice to meet you.”
/> The man ignored Ryan’s hand. The second man, shorter, but even broader than the first, spoke next. He too was wearing jeans and a tight tee to display his physique. Unlike the first man, whose head was shaved, the second had wings of black hair poking out of the sides of his backwards baseball cap.
“Don’t you know about this place?” the second asked, a distinct slur to his voice. No surprise that he too appeared drunk.
Ryan searched for the right words, if they even existed. More a peacemaker than a fighter, Ryan had still had his share of stupid scraps with drunken idiots during a night on the town with his buddies. He knew damn well that reasoning with a drunk was the very definition of futility.
“Yes, I do. It’s a tragedy what happened at Highland,” he said.
Shaved head took a step forward. “What happened here,” he said. “It’s the same fucking place. Just cuz they call it Pinewood now doesn’t change a fucking thing.”
Ryan felt adrenaline tickle his gut and add weight to his limbs.
“You know what happened to my buddy’s daughter in this place?” shaved head asked, pointing to baseball cap.
Ryan feared the worst. And a part of him, if the worst truly was the worst, could actually sympathize with their anger. He only wished he wasn’t the current recipient of it. He played dumb anyway.
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t,” he said.
“She was killed,” shaved head said. “Stabbed by another fucking kid in the building you want to work in.”
The worst was the worst.
Both men inched closer. Ryan took a step back. He had the sickening feeling that a physical encounter was imminent.
“Jesus, man, I am so sorry,” he said to baseball cap.
Baseball cap lowered his head for a moment, looking as though he may cry. Ryan felt a tug at his heart. He went to say something else—again, the right words elusive—but would never get the chance. Baseball cap’s head snapped upright and he lunged forward, lifting Ryan off his feet with an almighty shove, Ryan landing hard on the unforgiving concrete butt-first.
Ryan did not attempt to find his feet right away. He wanted to, wanted to scramble to his feet and start swinging, but it would be wrong. Still, he would not be a soccer ball for these two guys as he sat on the ground, so he scooted backwards before getting to his feet, making sure to keep both men in his sights as he did so.
“You took my baby girl from me!” baseball cap spat at Ryan. The man was crying now.
Ryan held up his hands in a pleading manner. “I didn’t take—”
Shaved head cut him off. “It’s fucks like you that want to start things up again! You want to kill more children?! Huh?! Is that it, motherfucker?!”
Ryan shook his head. “Of course not—”
Shaved head reached forward to grab hold of Ryan. Ryan slapped his hand away, instantly regretted doing it, and braced himself for the inevitable.
Baseball cap dove at Ryan’s waist, tackling him to the ground, Ryan’s head whiplashing back against the concrete. The man straddled Ryan’s chest. Heavily dazed, Ryan instinctively brought his hands up to protect his face for the punches that were sure to follow.
Ryan felt no such punches. Did, though, feel the weight of the man on his chest vanish. He rolled to one side, vision wavering. He heard grunts and shouts, saw legs—three pairs now—shuffling violently around his head as the evident struggle above him ensued. Then the fast, retreating sounds of footsteps on concrete, warning shouts—growing distant—accompanying them and threatening reprisal. A short moment later, and there was only one pair of legs next to his prone body. One pair of legs with two exceptionally large feet. A deep voice boomed from above.
“You all right?”
Ryan looked up. A black man, one hell of a big one at that, was extending his hand down towards him. Ryan took it. The man lifted Ryan to his feet with little effort. “Yeah,” Ryan managed, still dazed. “I think so.”
Ryan cleared the cobwebs, dusted himself off. He took in his savior, marveling at his size. Ryan was six feet tall. This man had a good four inches on him. He was also twice as wide.
“Stew,” Ryan said. “You’re Stew, right?”
The man frowned. “How did you know that?”
“Karl said you looked like Denzel Washington. He was right; you do. Denzel Washington on steroids.”
22
Rebecca had watched the confrontation and the brief scuffle from her car. She felt helpless from where she sat. Even had her cell phone out at one point to call for help. The numbers were pressed and “send” was about to be pushed when Rebecca saw the big man step in and save Ryan. However, any relief she felt for Ryan’s safety, and it was considerate, was transient in the face of a new mystery: the identity of Ryan’s savior.
Rebecca contemplated getting out of her car and running towards Ryan and the man who’d helped him, but the wine had not dulled all her senses; that of self-preservation was still strong, and although the two men who were fighting with Ryan had run off, they could still easily be close by, could even be coming back with more allies.
And so she felt content to stay put and watch from the safety of her car; however, she would soon discover that she would not be able to watch for very long. Ryan and the big man soon entered the school and were gone.
Rebecca cursed, started her engine, and drove off.
***
Ryan and Stew headed down the first- and second-grade hallway, the school dark and quiet, their footsteps the only sound. As they walked, Ryan explained who he was and why he was there. In fact, he told Stew everything that had occurred to him in the past week; it seemed to have just spilled out with no second-guessing, and to Ryan’s surprise, Stew seemed unfazed by it all.
“So, you’ve been talking to old Karl, have you?” Stew said.
“Yeah—well, more like he’s the one who’s been doing all the talking.”
Stew gave a hearty laugh that echoed throughout the empty halls. “Yeah, once he gets going…”
Ryan had so many questions, yet top priority went to: How did you happen to show up at such an opportune time in such an inopportune place to bail me out? And so he’d asked it.
“I live close by,” Stew began. “I was on my way home when I saw two cars in the school lot. After what happened to the sign out front the other day, I slowed down and parked far enough away to keep an eye out, making sure those two cars didn’t contain vandals with a new can of paint.
“I saw you with a young lady and then watched the lady leave. I was about to leave myself when I saw you start to wander. I thought that was a little odd for a young fella like you to be doing on a Friday night, so I have to admit, I followed you. I guess you know the rest after that. I have a feeling we’re gonna be getting a lot of heat from some folks around here.”
Ryan grunted in agreement. He then froze. Stew walked a few steps ahead before realizing Ryan had stopped. He turned and faced him.
“Wait a minute,” Ryan said. “I don’t wanna go in there.” They were in the cafeteria. Dead ahead was the teachers’ lounge.
Stew gave Ryan a curious look. “I was thinking we could have a soda. Sit and chat for a bit,” he said.
“The soda machine doesn’t work,” Ryan said. “Besides, I just told you what I saw in there the other day.”
Stew put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “The soda machine does work, and I promise the only person you’re gonna see in there is me.”
“So, you don’t believe me then?”
Stew opened the door for Ryan. “I didn’t say that. Come on.”
23
Ryan reluctantly entered the lounge. It looked exactly as he remembered, sans three dead teachers sitting at the table. The soda machine was up and running. Ryan silently cursed it.
“What do you want?” Stew asked as he pulled two one-dollar bills from his wallet and fed them into the machine.
“Whatever you’re having is fine.”
The machine gave definitive kerchunks as their
bottles arrived in the rectangular mouth below. Stew handed one to Ryan and motioned for him to take a seat. They sat across from one another, and Ryan appreciated something in Stew that became apparent after a short moment. The man was not one for small talk.
“There is something here, Ryan,” he said. “Karl might be older than dirt, but he’s right. There is definitely something in this school with bad intentions.”
Ryan unscrewed his soda carefully to allow the fizz to slowly escape. “I’ll tell you what I told Karl, Stew. What I told Jerry Hansen. I don’t believe in ghosts or curses or voodoo or whatever the hell you want to call it. What happened here? Children murdering children? Teachers taking their own lives? Those are things people did on their own accord. Nobody made them do it. How could they?”
“You really believe that? You really believe that children—babies—took the lives of other babies on their own accord? You tell me it happened once and that one child was unstable, and I’ll buy it. But you try to tell me that after three incidents with three different children years apart, and I’m afraid I’m not buying anything. Never mind the suicides.”
“So why did they do it?”
“I don’t think there’s a man or woman on this earth that knows.” Stew sipped his soda.
Ryan sat quiet for a minute. He thought about John Gray. About the boiler room he’d apparently investigated. How everyone who had ever claimed to have seen something here had wound up taking their own lives in horrific fashion.
“John Gray was your friend,” he finally said. He hoped it wasn’t too abrupt, that it didn’t require further prompts.
Stew nodded and sipped his soda again. The fluorescent lighting overhead hummed like a busy hive. And of course the stupid soda machine did, too. Ryan was not ready to forgive the bastard machine just yet.
Dark Halls - A Horror Novel Page 8
