by Brian Keene
“Yeah,” Adam sighed. “About a half dozen of them, actually.”
Levi arched his eyebrows, surprised at this revelation, but he stayed quiet.
“They weren’t part of the book,” Adam continued, “but I kept them anyway. Didn’t understand a word of them, but they were sort of interesting to look at. There were some pretty gruesome drawings on them. That’s why I recognized that thing you did with the fire.”
“Thank you, Lord,” Levi whispered. “Your name be praised.”
“Excuse me?” Adam blinked.
“Do you remember where you hid the book?”
“Sure.”
“I need those pages, Mr. Senft.”
“Call me Adam. And that’s it? That’s all you need—the papers? That’s all I need to do to help?”
“Yes, Adam,” Levi said. “Just that, and one other thing.”
“What’s that?”
If Levi heard him, he gave no indication. Instead, he began leading them out of the underbrush and into the field. Maria heard him muttering to himself.
“A necessary evil…”
“Levi,” she called. “Wait up.”
They followed the magus into the field, stepping out into the night.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was almost midnight when the last of the Ghost Walk’s volunteers drove away. Ken, Terry, and Tom McNally stood in the center of the field, watching the taillights fade as the departing workers pulled out onto the road. The wide-open area now seemed very empty. The sudden silence was unsettling. In the darkness, it was easier to understand why the forest spooked some people.
“There’s still no sign of Cecil,” Tom said. “Unless he was here and I didn’t see him?”
Terry and Ken looked at each other and then shook their heads.
“I didn’t see him,” Terry said. “How about you?”
“Me either,” Ken agreed. “Although, with the spotlights and everything, it was kind of hard for me to pick people out of the crowd. You’re sure he didn’t tell you where he was going, Tom?”
“Nope. And his truck is still here. Don’t know how else he would have gotten home. Guess he could have caught a ride with someone else. But it seems like he would have at least told me first.”
All three of them glanced toward the parking area. Sure enough, Cecil’s old pickup truck was still sitting in the same spot, alongside Tom’s Dodge Charger, Terry’s Jeep, Ken’s truck, and Russ and Tina’s SUV. The thin moonlight reflected off the vehicles.
“Russ and Tina’s Chevy is still here, too,” Ken observed. “Anybody seen them?”
Terry frowned. “Now that you mention it, no. What the hell is going on? First Sam and Rhonda. Now this.”
Ken shook his head. He had a sinking feeling in his gut. The ground started to spin, so he closed his eyes. He had never been wearier.
“Maybe they’re still in the woods,” Tom suggested. “We should look. I keep imagining Cecil lying out there after having a heart attack or something. Last time I saw him, he was going off into the woods to piss.”
“Yeah,” Ken agreed, looking up again. “Terry, go grab some flashlights. We’re not leaving here until we find them. Tom, while he’s doing that, call their houses. See if they’re home, just in case they got a ride with someone else. And call Tina’s cell phone, too.”
“If she’s in the woods, it won’t work.”
“Call it anyway. It’s worth a try.”
“Whatever you say, Ken.”
“Hold on a minute,” Terry said. “Look, Ken. You’ve been up for how many hours?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do. You look like death warmed over, man. We’ve got a big day tomorrow and an even longer night, and you’re gonna have to be on top of your game. An operation this size—there’s going to be a million little things that need your attention tomorrow night. You need some rest, before shit starts catching up with you.”
“Like what?”
“Like that cop, for instance. Did you remember to call him back?”
“I did. Got his voice mail and left him a message.”
“And when did you finally remember?”
Ken paused. “After the walk-through tonight.”
“That’s my point. You’re tired, Ken, and you’re starting to slip. Now, I know you’re worried about Cecil. We all are. And we’re concerned about Russ and Tina, too, although I’m willing to bet they’re okay. It’s this place. These woods, and all the bullshit history that goes with them. It just has us a little spooked. Chances are they’re fine. But just in case, Tom and I will go look for them. You go home and get some sleep. You need it worse than we do.”
“Screw that,” Ken said. “I’m not going anywhere until we know what—”
“Go home and get some fucking sleep,” Terry ordered, raising his voice. Then he softened it again. “If we find anything—if something bad really has happened—I’ll call you right away. I promise. But as worn out as you are, you’ll be helping everybody a lot more if you just get some rest. We need you sharp, man. This is your show. Tom and me can handle this.”
“Damn straight,” Tom agreed. “In truth, I’m betting old Cecil is just lying up against some tree, drunk as a skunk or passed out. He’s always carrying that flask around with him. Drinking that frigging cheap-ass gin. Hell, could be Russ and Tina are out there with him.”
Ken rubbed his chin, lost in thought.
“Go home,” Terry urged him. “Please? You’re exhausted. We’ve got this.”
Ken hesitated. “You promise you’ll call me if something’s wrong?”
“I promise.” Terry nodded. “Have I ever lied to you?”
“Yeah. In the eleventh grade, when you told me you hadn’t slept with Alicia Hartlaub on prom night.”
Terry groaned. “You’re never gonna let me forget that one, are you?”
“Hell, no. She was my prom date, man.”
“And she was good.”
“Fucker.”
“Get going.” Terry punched Ken’s shoulder. “I’ll call you if something’s happened.”
“Okay. Good night. And you guys be careful.”
“We will,” Terry promised.
“See you tomorrow,” Tom said, waving.
Ken walked off to his pickup truck. They watched him go. His head hung low and his shoulders were slumped. He weaved back and forth slightly, as if he were drunk.
“Jesus,” Tom whispered. “You were right. He really is beat.”
Terry nodded. “His ass is dragging, all right.”
Ken’s headlights came on and the engine thrummed. They heard the distant strains of Jerry Reed belting out “Eastbound and Down,” the theme from Smokey and the Bandit. Ken sang along with him. Then Ken tooted his horn and pulled away. They gave him a final wave and then walked toward the storage trailers. As they crossed the field, Tom tried calling Cecil while Terry called Russ and Tina’s house.
“Anything?” Terry asked.
“No. If he’s there, he ain’t answering. How about you?”
“I got their answering machine. I didn’t leave a message, though. Don’t want to worry their kids just yet. Let’s check the trail first.”
“Glad I ate something earlier,” Tom said. “This might take a while.”
“Listen, did you take off work tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Well, shit, Tom! Why don’t you go on home, too? I can handle this by myself.”
“No, you can’t. And besides, I don’t have to be at my desk until nine. I got time.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. This might be a wild-goose chase, but I appreciate the help. Ghost Walk or not, those woods are kind of creepy after dark.”
“Terry, do you really think they’re okay?”
“Do you really think Cecil is laying out there drunk?”
“No. I wish I did, but I don’t. This just isn’t like him at all. I think something’s happened.”
“So do I. I’m not sure w
hy. Maybe it’s those kids going missing, or maybe I’m just tired, too. Or maybe it’s these fucking woods. But I’m starting to get a bad feeling.”
“Me, too,” Tom said. “You think maybe we should call the cops?”
“Not yet,” Terry said. “I mean, maybe we should. But I want to hold off. This time tomorrow night, we’ll be open. The last thing we need right now is law enforcement and search parties traipsing through the woods.”
“That’s pretty harsh.”
Terry shrugged. “I don’t like it either. Hell, Russ and Tina are friends of mine, and old Cecil seems like a good guy. But I’ve got other responsibilities to think about, too. Ken’s been my best friend since high school. A lot of folks drift apart after they graduate, but that never happened with us. He’s like a brother to me. This Ghost Walk means the world to him. It’s the first time I’ve seen him excited about anything since Deena died. If the cops suspect foul play, they could shut us down before we even open. That would kill him. Not to mention the negative publicity.”
“You don’t reckon the police think we had anything to do with this?”
“No,” Terry admitted. “Probably not. But you never know. And if those fucking reporters start sniffing around and asking lots of questions, Ken’s not going to be able to deal with it. Not right now, on top of everything else. He’s got other shit to worry about.”
“Not necessarily. He handled that girl from the newspaper pretty well.”
“Yeah, but she was just writing a fluff piece. Look, I don’t like it any more than you do. And you’re right. My gut tells me we should call the authorities right now. We probably should let someone know. It’s the right thing to do. But humor me just a little bit longer. Let’s have one last look ourselves. If we don’t find them, then we’ll call somebody. At least this way, Ken will get some sleep before we wake him up.”
“I guess you’re right.”
They retrieved two high-powered flashlights from the storage trailer. Terry grabbed a first-aid kit, as well.
“Think we’ll need that?” Tom asked.
“It’s just a precaution.”
As an afterthought, Terry stuffed two road flares into his jacket pocket.
“Another precaution?” Tom’s expression was grim.
“Yeah,” Terry said. “If they are hurt—and I hope to fucking hell that we’re wrong about that—and one of us has to come back up here to call 911, then the other one can light up these flares so the paramedics can find us easily. Especially if we’re off the trail.”
“That’s good thinking.”
“Let’s just hope we don’t need them.”
Terry and Tom began the long hike across the field, heading toward the forest. They zipped up their jackets against the late-night chill and slipped on their leather work gloves to keep their hands warm. The high weeds were wet with dew and their pants quickly became soaked below the knees. Neither spoke much. They were too tired, too cold. Too apprehensive. They tried once again to reassure each other that they were probably overreacting, but secretly, both men were becoming more and more convinced with each passing moment that something was seriously wrong. Their fear grew as they neared the forest, as if the darkness magnified it. Unlike the moonlit field, the woods were draped in shadow. They turned on their flashlights. The beams only penetrated a few yards beyond the trees. Somewhere in the branches overhead, a bird cried out. Both men jumped.
“First bird I’ve heard out here in a while,” Terry whispered.
“That was a whip-poor-will,” Tom said.
“Oh, yeah? That a good thing?”
“My granddaddy used to say that if you heard a whip-poor-will, it was waiting to carry away someone’s soul.”
“Now there’s a cheerful fucking thought.”
“Well, he was drunk most of the time. Used to piss in a coffee can. Nasty old fucker, but I loved him just the same.”
“I think,” Terry said, “I liked it better when we weren’t talking.”
Snickering, they stepped into the forest. Their laughter dried up beneath the trees.
“It’s dark in here,” Tom said. “I can barely see the lime.”
“Yeah.”
“Want to try calling them one more time?”
“No,” Terry said. “Let’s get this over with.”
Walking side by side, they started down the trail.
Maria drove the speed limit, repeatedly checking the rearview mirror for police. She fully expected to see red and blue lights flashing behind them at any second. After all, she was driving with an escaped mental patient in her car. She knew she was probably being silly. Nobody had seen them. But her nervousness remained.
Levi was in the passenger seat and Adam sprawled out in the back. He’d been nervous at first, still unsure about his new companions. But he’d warmed up considerably by the time they reached Interstate 83. Maria had turned the radio on and Adam reacted with joy. He’d told them that he wasn’t allowed to have a radio inside the psychiatric hospital. The only music he’d had access to was whatever the facility’s staff played over the loudspeaker—light jazz or easy listening music, depending on who was on duty. Maria tuned in his favorite station.
He stared out the window as they headed south, bobbing his head to the music and watching with interest as the landscape zoomed by.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see any of this again,” he murmured. “But it’s still here. All of it.”
“Did you think it would all just go away?” Maria asked. “That it would cease to exist just because you couldn’t see it anymore?”
“Maybe. Inside that place, I didn’t know what to think. They fucked with my head pretty bad. Put me on a bunch of different medicines and into daily psychotherapy sessions. They said I needed to face what I’d done. Come to terms with it.”
Maria glanced over at Levi. He hadn’t commented. Instead, he sat with his eyes closed and his hands folded in his lap. His hat was pulled low. She assumed he was meditating.
“They said I had to face my inner demons.” Adam’s voice cracked. “Face what happened. Why Tara really died.”
“Well,” Maria said, trying to sound upbeat, “I guess that’s a healthy form of therapy, right?”
“Healthy? You don’t understand.”
“I’m trying to.”
“Let me give you an example. There was a woman inside named Karen Moore. I knew her from before. We went to the same high school. She graduated a year ahead of me and was friends with this girl I used to date named Becky Schrum. In 1984, Karen was abducted and raped by a cemetery caretaker. He killed her boyfriend, Pat. Slaughtered him right in front of her. You’re young, but maybe you heard about it?”
“No,” Maria said. “I moved here from New Jersey just a few years ago.”
“Well, Karen and another woman were held in an underground warren. They were both raped repeatedly by this guy. Karen ended up pregnant from it. Nine months later, she went nuts. Had a total breakdown. Karen was convinced that her baby was half human and half monster. A ghoul. That’s what she kept insisting—that she was pregnant with a ghoul.”
Maria didn’t respond.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Adam said. “Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Just like me and Tara? The crazy writer guy insisted that his wife was pregnant with a satyr? Well, maybe. But think about this. They made Karen confront her inner demons, and you know what happened? Karen had her whole life ahead of her. And instead of living it, she’s spent the last twenty-five years in a fucking insane asylum. Her baby went to live in an orphanage. No happy endings for either of them. That’s what happens when you confront your monsters. The monsters win. And I’m not going to do that. I know what really happened. I know I’m not crazy.”
“Calm down, Adam,” Maria said. “I didn’t say you were.”
“What do you care, anyway? I’m just material for your fucking book.”
They drove on in silence. Levi remained quiet and motionless. His breathing w
as shallow. Maria wondered if he’d fallen asleep.
“Levi?”
He didn’t answer.
“Wonderful.” She turned up the radio and focused on the highway.
Once they reached the Shrewsbury exit, Levi became alert again, and apologized for his silence. On his suggestion, they stopped at the twenty-four-hour Wal-Mart. Adam told Maria his pants and shoe sizes. Then, while Levi and Adam waited in the car, Maria went inside and purchased him some new clothes—jeans, T-shirt, pullover sweatshirt with a hood, socks and underwear, and a pair of shoes. She also selected a ball cap and a pair of sunglasses. Word of Adam’s escape would break soon enough. They might as well try to disguise him. At the register, while she stood waiting behind an overweight woman who was trying to pay for her Hostess cupcakes and carton of cigarettes with food stamps—and arguing with the cashier when told she couldn’t—Maria got an iced cappuccino out of the cooler, then added two bottles of water for Levi and Adam.
Surrendering to her growing paranoia, she paid cash for her purchases, just in case somebody had spotted her car leaving the area around the White Rose Mental Health Facility and remembered the tag number. This way, the police would have no record of her movements. No way to track them. Of course, there were the store security cameras to think about, but it was too late now anyway. She wondered if Levi could do something about them, and decided he probably could. Maria was starting to think she’d barely scratched the surface of what he was capable of. She considered mentioning it to him, but decided against it. He’d seemed moody and unresponsive since freeing Adam.
She walked out of the store, nodding thanks to the elderly greeter standing next to the shopping carts, who thanked her for shopping and asked her to come back again. As she crossed the parking lot with her bags, she stuffed the sales receipt in her purse. With any luck, she could claim the purchase on her taxes—if she sold the book.
The book, she thought. Yeah, like that’s ever going to happen now. I’m aiding and abetting a murderer—and the ex-Amish magician who helped him escape by creating some kind of flaming hole in time and fucking space. Maybe I can write the book from prison. What the hell was I thinking?
