Pushing himself up, Rob stood to his full height and stretched his back. "I saw my son out there, with those things." His eyes were still wet with tears.
Norm placed one hand on his hip and pointed at Rob with the other one. "Mister, I don't know what you seen out there tonight, but I can tell you straight out you try that little stunt again and I'll lock ya in the basement."
Rob looked at Juli then at Norm. "What was that out there? The hand."
Juli said, "Darkling."
"Come again?"
"The screams, the hand. Darklings."
He turned his full attention to Juli. "And Jimmy."
She didn't say anything, but the way she broke eye contact with him made it apparent she wasn't in his corner when it came to Jimmy's whereabouts.
"I know what I saw," Rob said. "I heard him too. Didn't you?"
Norm had disappeared and now returned toting a shotgun. "Sorry I have to do this to you folks, but we really can't take no chances of you going for the door again and puttin' us all in danger." He sat at the kitchen table, gun propped between his thighs, Rose across from him.
Carl lumbered his frame to the recliner and eased into it with as much grace as a camel getting on its knees. Apparently he planned on spending the night in the chair.
"You can't keep us hostage," Rob said.
Juli started unfolding one of the blankets. "He's right." She looked over at Rob. "I'm sorry." And after a short pause, "You mind taking the floor?"
The floor was about as comfortable as a bed of screws. Rob had spread the blanket out for some padding, but the bare boards still dug into his hips and shoulder blades. He couldn't sleep anyway. His mind was churning like a steam locomotive going full tilt. He knew the figure he saw was Jimmy. It felt nothing like a hallucination. But then again, the last vision didn't either, and he had questioned whether he was officially losing his mind, whether that sacred line between reality and fantasy was being blurred beyond distinguishing. And if it really was Jimmy-which he was now convinced it was-how had he gotten here? What was he doing out there with those things?
And what was out there? Juli called them darklings. Rob's first thought was that they were some form of mutants suffering from some horrible deformity. Maybe the product of inbreeding or incest. Things like that weren't unheard of in remote hick towns like this. It would explain the seclusion and secrecy of the town. An image of that hand, childlike in size but with that tight earthworm-colored skin and those elongated fingers, played in his mind. It was anything but childlike.
Lifting his arm, Rob pushed the light button on his watch. It was a little after ten. He could hear Norm and Rose at the kitchen table whispering softly, the hiss of their words making it sound like they were speaking a foreign language, one not of this world. The recliner squeaked and moaned as Carl shifted his weight in it. On the sofa, Juli's breathing had already deepened and slowed. Sleep had come easy for her. He'd wait until the house was quiet to make his escape. He didn't care what was out there; he had to get to his son.
He wished Kelly were there. She was always the voice of reason. She would know what to make of all this. He knew what she would do first, though; it was always what she suggested to do before anything else: pray. That was her thing. Rob remembered a day when he prayed regularly. As a kid he'd pray every night before bed, sincere prayers too, the kind children pray innocently and out of untested faith.
Then something happened, he couldn't remember what, but his faith was tested and found to be wanting. Fear moved in and pushed faith out. That's when the praying stopped. Not that he never prayed. When Kelly and Jimmy first went missing, he prayed all the time, nonstop. Begged God, pleaded with Him, bargained, made promises, wept and screamed and sometimes lay totally exhausted and spent and not knowing what to say. First came the news about Kelly. Then Jimmy. And again, his faith had proven to be frail, and fear had taken hold of him.
But they were wrong about Jimmy. He was still alive. And he was in Darlington.
Fighting heavy eyelids, Rob held his breath and listened. The kitchen was quiet. Carl was motionless and snoring softly. Rob was just about to make a move for the door when the sound of a chair scraping along the kitchen floor froze him. Someone walked across the kitchen, paused, then back to the chair. He'd have to wait longer. His eyelids were leaden, though. Sleep was fighting to overcome him; his body begged for it. And he wanted so badly to give in and drift off. But he couldn't. He had to stay awake. Scolding himself for even thinking about sleep, he opened his eyes wide and pumped his fists to get some circulation going. But still his eyelids were tugged down, and eventually, no matter how hard he fought, he gave in and succumbed to sleep.
He stood just outside the house, close enough to rest his hand on the clapboard and feel Shields's heart beating through the wood. It was slowing down. He was falling asleep. He imagined the muscle pumping rhythmically, the left side stronger than the right, top half, then bottom half. He visualized his hands wrapping around it, feeling the slipperiness, the firmness, the strength, then squeezing until it pumped no more.
Soon Shields would be no more. He would be driven to insanity and then devoured savagely. And he deserved every bit of it.
The bitter taste of the past two decades of torment and suffering still burned in his mouth. Yes, he had found ways to use the time to his advantage and had exacted revenge on so many during that time, but it was all practice, practice for this moment, for Shields.
A smile parted his lips at the thought of the consummation of all this. His thirst for vengeance would finally be satisfied, and his allies, the evil ones he'd summoned from the pit all those years ago, would be more than pleased. When the time came, they could have the girl. She meant nothing to him, never had. All he wanted was Shields.
Still on the outside of the house, he shut his eyes and dipped into Shields's dreams. This time he conjured images of Kelly. Dear Kelly. Such a beautiful creature and so full of life and vigor. The evil ones wanted her, but he refused and kept her for himself. He had fun with her too.
Shields would be different, though. He was already halfway to insane. He needed only a push or two to fall over the edge and right into the hands of death. But the push had to be perfectly timed, like the different notes of a musical score. Each one has its place and plays a role in the whole.
With his hand still on the clapboard, he began to hum a tune, an old Ukrainian folk song, concentrating on each note, the ebb and flow of the melody. It was a haunting sound, and it stirred something inside him that made him feel so alive.
Soon, when Shields was finally out of the way and the girl was begging for death, he would be unshackled and given the power he deserved, the power he'd been waiting for.
As during the previous night, dreams came and went like traveling salesmen selling their wares with a pocketful of promises. Catching and holding on to sleep was as futile as chasing down a greased pig. Images from the past raced through his dream vision, taunting him, luring, baiting, teasing. Kelly was there, smiling, laughing, crying. Within reach but always just beyond his grasp. In his dream he needed to catch her and hold her for sleep to come, but over and over his attempts proved fruitless.
Jimmy was there too. Running here, running there, always giggling. He was so happy, throwing his head back as he ran, spreading his arms wide. Giggling and laughing wildly. Rob hollered for him to come, but Jimmy couldn't hear him. He was only feet away, but Rob's voice seemed to drop dead after leaving his mouth. Oblivious to his daddy's pleading, Jimmy continued to run and laugh.
Then Rob was in the backseat of a car. Something was over his eyes, blacking out the world. The smell of cigarettes was all around him. He could tell by the muted sound of the tires on the road that the windows were closed. Sunlight warmed the right side of his body. The seat on which he sat was upholstered with textured vinyl. In the front, a man spoke softly. He strained to hear what he was saying, but his voice was too low and mumbled. Nobody responded, so he assumed the man wa
s alone and merely talking to himself.
His arms were behind him, so he nearly had to sit on his hands. His shoulders throbbed like a toothache.
Fear gripped his heart and squeezed. It felt like his rib cage was shrinking and tightening until it was hard to draw in a deep breath. Strange thoughts entered his mind and ratcheted the fear up level after level. Would he ever see his parents again? Was this man going to kill him? Would he torture him first? Maybe his plans were to sell him.
Then he realized what was happening. He was Jimmy. He was seeing the world through his son's eyes. Feeling what he felt. He was in the backseat of a car, blindfolded, hands bound behind him.
By looking down, he noticed a line of light highlighting his cheeks. The blindfold wasn't tight enough.
The car slowed, and the man up front said something again.
Rob tilted his head back and found he was able to see out the gap between the blindfold and his cheeks. The world was blurry at best, but he could make out some things. Out the side window they were surrounded by open field. When he shifted to see out the windshield, he saw they were approaching a stand of houses. A sign was up ahead, on the right. White with bold black lettering. As they passed, he shifted again to see out the side window. The sign went by in a blur, but he caught the boldest words: Welcome to Darlington.
Rob awoke with a start. He was breathing hard and was wet with sweat. The house was darker than it had been. He checked his watch: three forty-five. The feeling of helplessness and fear that had gripped him so tightly in the car lingered. Involuntarily, tears came to his eyes. He still had residual images flickering through his mind, like sporadic surges of energy. Kelly. Jimmy. What the world looked like moving by from the backseat of that car.
Rob shut his eyes tight and sobbed quietly. The dream was too real. Too vivid. Too emotional. He wanted to scream, holler, anything to let out this pent-up frustration, anger, and fear. And grief.
Collecting himself and wiping at his eyes, he listened to the sounds around him. Juli breathed evenly and quietly; Carl in the recliner snored lightly but did not move. On the other side of the sofa, in the kitchen, there was no noise, no sound of movement, no talking, no rustle of clothing or paper. Norm and Rose must be asleep.
Slowly and carefully, Rob sat up and pulled his knees to his chest. From there he rolled to his side and went to kneeling, then standing. The kitchen was to his left. At the table, Norm sat slumped in his chair, arms hanging limp at his sides, chin on his chest. Rose was nowhere in sight. The house was lit by only one oil lamp on the hutch in the kitchen, and the soft light was so diffused it was almost pointless. The sofa was to his left, the door directly in front of him.
For a moment Rob stood still, calming his trembling, tingling hands and listening, telling himself how childish it was to be afraid of the dark. The outside world was quiet too. No birds, no squirrels ... no screaming. He'd move slowly across the floor, then quickly throw the deadbolt, turn the knob, and be outside before anyone could awaken and realize what happened. There was no use attempting to sneak out. The click of the deadbolt would stir everyone from sleep. He would just have to make a run for it.
He thought of the darklings and the long-fingered hand and shuddered. His chest tightened; his breathing grew shallow. He almost sat back down on the blanket but forced himself to move forward, to put one foot in front of the other. He could do this for Jimmy. He could do it for Kelly. He had to.
Stepping carefully, as if he were walking on shards of glass, he made his way to the door without a sound. He hesitated, having second thoughts about what he was going to do. He still had time to give it up and return to the blanket and wait for daylight. But what if Jimmy couldn't wait? What if he needed his daddy now? What if two hours was two hours too late? He knew he was being irrational, but he also knew everything about this experience was irrational. The hallucinations that didn't feel like hallucinations. The dreams. The deja vu. The darklings, whatever they were. Did any of it make sense?
He looked back at the sofa. Juli was still asleep on it. She was an odd one too and seemed to know more than she was letting on. He'd come back for her, of course. But right now he needed to look for Jimmy. And for some reason, beyond reason, he felt it had to be now.
Resolving himself to face whatever was out there, be it darkness or darkling, for his son, Rob reached for the deadbolt.
A voice out of the obscurity of the kitchen stopped him. Norm. "You really don't want to be doin' that."
six
OB'S HANDS FELL TO HIS SIDES. A SLOW, HITCHED breath escaped his lungs.
A flame sprang to life in another oil lamp.
Norm stood, the shotgun hanging easily at his waist. On the recliner, Carl stirred, grunted, stirred again. Rose appeared at Norm's side, her sleep-stained eyes still half-closed, hair a teased tangle of gray wire. She wore a well-broken-in baby blue housecoat and matching slippers and carried an oil-lit lantern.
From the sofa, Juli said, "I was dreaming of one wallop of a tip, enough for a cruise to Iceland."
Rob looked at her then at Norm. "I'm leaving. You can shoot me if you want." Back to Juli: "You coming with me?"
She sat on the edge of the sofa, her eyes still clouded with dreams of big tippers and escapes to Iceland. "Am I welcome?"
Rob gave her the best smile he could, though he knew it must have looked terribly feeble in the dim light. "I wouldn't leave you with Clint Eastwood here." Then to Norm: "Now you'll have to shoot the both of us."
Carl climbed out of the recliner and positioned himself between Rob and the door. Rob eyed him from top to bottom, sizing up his mass and quickly deciding how best to use the larger man's center of gravity against him. He didn't want an altercation, but nothing, neither gun nor giant, was keeping him from finding his Jimmy.
"Outta the way, big guy," he said to Carl. "I don't want to fight you, but I will."
Carl looked at Norm as if seeking instructions.
This wasn't part of the plan. Had Juli known she was going to wind up on the barrel end of a shotgun toted by a most inhospitable host, she might have stayed home, might have never gotten out of bed this morning. Stepping past Rob, she stood next to Carl, lifted a shaky hand, and placed it on his shoulder. "It's not always wise to stand between a father and his child. Once he's started, he won't stop till he's out that door or dead."
Carl bowed his head low and stepped out of the way. Rob looked over at Norm, who was standing in the same spot, still leveling the shotgun on him. "You don't want to shoot
"Be an awful mess to clean up," Juli said.
"Shut up!" Norm said. "Sit down. I ain't gonna let you endanger this house, my family, by goin' out there and playin' hero or sumptin'."
Rose looked from Norm to Rob. She was holding the lantern chest high, and the light shone up on her face at such an angle that her cheeks appeared as round as apples, her eyes as dark as peach pits. "Maybe if they slip out real fast it'll be OK."
"Can't take that chance, Mommy," Norm said. "Now keep quiet."
Juli looked at Rob. There was an intensity in his eyes that said he wasn't backing down, not from Norm, not from Carl, not from Mr. Shotgun. Whether walking, running, or dodging buckshot, he was leaving this house.
"You coming?" he said.
She nodded. "Can't get to Iceland from here."
He turned toward the door and said to Norm, "You'll have to shoot both of us, you know. You ready to do that?"
Norm's eyes were hot as embers, but there was no malice in them. Juli could see he had no intent to greet a new day with two murders on his hands. Slowly, as if it pained him to do so but also brought great relief, he lowered the gun so the barrel pointed at the floor. "Make it quick, but know this; I ain't responsible for what happens to you out there. Your fate ain't gonna be on my conscience."
"Any words of advice?" Juli said.
Carl took one step toward them. His shoulders were slumped, and there was a look of great sadness in his eyes. "Darklings," he sa
id with a shudder.
Juli touched his arm. "We'll be sure not to make friends with them."
"Light up the darkness," Norm said. "They hate the light."
Rob nodded to him and Rose. "Folks." Then to Carl: "Big „ guy.
"One more thing," Norm said. "You open that door, you ain't never welcome here again. They'll know we helped you and... can't have that."
"Good enough," Rob said and opened the door to the still dark morning.
A tremor ran through Juli as if a cold wind had passed over her, but the air outside was quiet and no breeze entered the doorway. Rob stepped from the safety of the house to the front stoop. With a little hesitation and a ton of apprehension, Juli followed.
Morning was at its deepest point in Darlington and the waning moon at its highest. It looked down on the town like a cataract-clouded eyeball. A static buzz coursed through Rob's body as he shut the door behind him and Juli. The click of the deadbolt being engaged from the other side sounded like gunfire in the quietness of the morning. Neither breeze nor animal stirred. The outside world was a photograph not fully developed. The greenish light of the moon cast muted, odd-shaped shadows across lawns and street.
The familiar heaviness sneaked into Rob's chest, but he pushed back, fighting to resist the urge to turn and pound on the door, begging entrance ... and light.
Juli's hand found Rob's elbow. "Think we should head for the car?"
"You read my mind," he said, scanning the town for any shadow that moved. He pointed to his left where some light glinted off the car's chrome. "Over there."
Crossing the street, he felt dangerously exposed. He wondered how many darklings there were and just what exactly it was they were capable of. Why did Norm fear them so much?
Darlington Woods Page 7
