Darren turned and looked back at it. Some of the coal rolled and settled, but it just burned on quietly. Darren squinted, watching the patterns in the flame change in front of him and the mix of dark black coal and soot-stained bone burning in the chamber.
“Why do you do that?” Randal said.
“Do what?”
“Stare into the fire like that.”
“It’s something to do,” Darren said, turning his attention back to it.
“It’s horrible,”
“I dunno,” Darren said. “I think it’s kind of pretty.”
The upstairs door opened. Darren could feel Randal begin to shiver from across the cage. Darren supposed he should be frightened too, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop him from coming, so all he focused on was the fire in front of him.
The cage door squeaked open, and the Shadow Man ducked his head inside. He glanced towards Randal, and just as his weight shifted to go for the boy in the corner, Darren stopped him in his tracks.
“Take me.”
“What?” Randal said, but he’d had already been forgotten. The Shadow Man stared down at him, and after a moment he nodded and reached out for Darren.
“No, stop it!” Randal said, crawling across the floor of the cage. The Shadow Man kicked at Randal, knocking him back onto the ground where he lay still. He dragged Darren out by a handful of tattered shirt. He didn’t struggle, but he didn’t walk either. He just hung limply as he was dragged across the floor, never taking his eyes off the flames.
The Shadow Man stood Darren up with one hand and grabbed the chain hanging from the ceiling with the other. Darren raised his hands and stood on his tiptoes, letting the chain wind tightly around his wrists. Now, seeing him fully by the light of the furnace, Darren remembered seeing him around the neighborhood before. He’d been limping down the street and Darren’s mother told him that it was impolite to stare.
He let go of Darren’s shirt, and Darren blinked away pain and tears as the rusty chain bit into his wrists with all his weight. Corwin walked over to the furnace and knelt in front of it.
He bowed down, rolling open the bundle of cloth that lay on the floor and revealing the instrument Darren knew all too well.
The cane.
He got back to his feet and began to walk slowly around Darren. The familiar ring of the blade being drawn echoed around the room.
“You see Him, don’t you?” His voice whispered in Darren’s ear.
“I think so,” Darren said through gritted teeth. He could feel a trickle of blood run down his forearm.
“I remember the first time I saw Him. I was down here working, staring off into space, and there he was. I didn’t know what it was at first, so I got my parents to come and look, but they couldn’t see it. They said I was imagining it, that it was all in my head because of all the things I’d already seen. But I knew! I knew He was real, and soon I could hear Him too. He said I had to make others see, and I tried! I tried to make my parents see, I tried so hard, but they wouldn’t! So I did the next best thing. If they weren’t going to worship Him, they’d feed Him. After that I knew what I had to do.
“I had to either bring him food, or bring him those that can worship him like I do. So which one are you? Are you food, like the others, or do you believe?”
Darren didn’t say anything, and then he felt it against his chest. Something sharp.
“Tell me.”
Darren screamed as the blade slowly dragged down his chest. It started high, just below his right armpit and was drawn down across to the opposite hip. His shirt fell to pieces, and blood trickled down his chest and pattered on the basement floor like rain.
“He needs the blood,” Corwin said. With a flick of his wrist, he shook the blade towards the furnace, sending an arc of blood through the air. When the blood landed in the fuel chamber, the flames erupted in a volcanic burst.
“Oh, He likes you. He wants more.”
Corwin dug his fingers into the open wound, fishing out more tasty morsels for his furnace-god. Darren screamed in pain and then something knocked into the two of them with so much force that Darren swung forward, feet leaving the ground. Corwin toppled over, the blade falling to the ground and something screaming and kicking latched onto his back.
Something named Randal.
As Darren swung back from the impact, he realized that it had pulled down the piece of pipe the chain had been wrapped around. His feet were now able to fully touch the ground. He grabbed the chain hanging above his wrists, dug in with his feet and pulled with all his might. The chain shivered and then gave way, dropping Darren to the ground with one end still wrapped around his wrists.
Randal was shrieking at the top of his lungs, hanging on Corwin’s back swinging as hard as his tiny arm could muster. Corwin got to his feet, and with a shrug he flipped Randal to the ground next to Darren.
Darren tugged at the chain wrapped around his wrists, trying to get himself free. Corwin towered over the two of them, glowering down at the stunned Randal. Corwin reached for him, but the boy kicked up and into the man’s groin. Corwin doubled over, dropping to one knee, and Randal scampered to his feet.
“Let’s go!” Randal yelled.
Before he could break for the door, Corwin’s arm snaked out, grabbing Randal’s collar with one hand and pulling him back.
“Little bastard,” he snarled, smashing Randal’s head down onto the ground. His head lolled backwards and Corwin slammed it down again, the boy’s eyes rolling back into head as he fell into unconsciousness, blood leaking from the back of his head. Corwin reached for where the blade had fallen, but there was nothing there.
Corwin turned and looked over at Darren, and then to the blade the boy had in his hands.
Corwin opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Darren swung the blade as hard as he could.
Mark threw the blanket off his head and was blinded by the light. At first he thought it was the furnace flames, but then he realized it was the morning sun beaming down into his face.
So there it was. Justin Corwin’s defeat at the hands of one of his victims. Now he’d come back to exact some sort of revenge and it was typical Mark Watson luck that he’d be singled out as the target.
“Mark, come on! I’m running late!” Joe yelled up the steps.
Mark stumbled to the top of the steps. “You go, I’m not ready yet.”
“Mark, you better get a move on, I mean it!”
“I’m going, I’m going. I can walk.”
“You sure?” Joe said, sounding skeptical. Mark knew that it was well past the time for Joe to leave and there was no way he could afford to stay and debate it with him.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Alright, but you better not be late.” Mark listened to his thundering decent down the stairs and slam of the front door. He waited until he heard the car pull out of the driveway before he turned around and got back into bed.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Joe said, staring down at the note that was waiting for him in his box. Joe: School called, nephew not there, no answer at house. He read it again to make sure that there was no mistaking it but it was pretty clear. That little shit ditched school to go out and do god knows what. Probably cause more fucking mayhem to get him taken back to the police station and cost Joe more money.
“Un-fucking-believable.” Joe stalked through the break room, getting to the phone just before one of the new kids from sorting got to it.
“Hey, man, c’mon.” the kid said.
“Hey yourself, numbnuts. Beat it.”
“Joe, when are you gonna get a cell phone and join us in the 21st century?” Marty said from a nearby table, snickering around a mouthful of sandwich.
“When are you gonna mind your fucking business?”
Joe dialed the house number and waited. It rang a bunch of times, and then he heard himself say to leave a message at the beep. He slammed the phone down in the cradle.
“Walt,�
� he called to one of his buddies just coming in the door, “Cover for me, I have to go home.”
“Again? Jesus, Sal is going to be pissed. What is it now?”
“I have to go kick my nephew’s ass,” he snarled, yanking his jacket off its hook.
He drove home, hoping that kid was just holed up in his little attic space and ignoring the phone. He’d proven to be dumb enough to practically get arrested, there was no reason why he wouldn’t be dumb enough to just be hanging around the house like a useless lump.
He’d lost count of the chances he’d given the little shit. He’d practically begged him not to cause any more trouble, and what happens? They spend a Saturday down at the police station shelling out more money they didn’t have on a lawyer because the kid refused to not get into trouble.
Joe wasn’t sure what he wanted more, for Mark to be home so he could slap some sense into him or for him to not to be so the kid could come back and find his shit strewn all over the yard and the locks changed.
He skidded to a halt in the driveway, and when he turned the car off he took a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath. He’d promised Martha on her deathbed that he’d take care of him. It was the last thing he’d said to her. Not “I love you,” not “You made me so happy,” but “I’ll take care of him.”
Remembering that he’d wasted his last words on that ungrateful little brat was all he needed to blow past whatever small sense of calm and rationality that had begun to develop. He strode into the house and up the stairs overflowing with righteous anger. He tried the attic door, but it was locked.
“Mark! Get the hell down here!” He said, slamming his fist on the door.
There was no response, but he could hear the floorboards squeaking as something moved around up there.
“Dammit, Mark!” he said, pounding on the door. “Get the hell down here or I’m going to break this fucking door down!”
Finally, he heard slow footsteps coming down the stairs on the other side of the door. Joe took a deep breath and he could feel the calm trying to claw its way back to the surface. If he wasn’t careful this could get out of hand fast, and then Mark wouldn’t be the only one with a visit to the police station.
The door opened and Mark stood there, disheveled and blinking at the light. Joe stared at him, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“What?” Mark said.
“You cut school today, that’s what. They had to call me at work, again. How’re we supposed to live if I get fired for coming out and messing with you all the time?”
“Well, why not just stop messing with me?” Mark said, turning to leave.
“Dammit, boy!” Joe grabbed Mark by the arm and spun him back around. “This isn’t a fucking joke! What the hell are you doing?”
“Ow! Fuck, let me go!” Mark said, pulling away.
“Watch your mouth!” Joe let go and Mark stumbled backwards against the attic steps.
“Just leave me alone, okay? I was tired so I decided to stay home. What do you care?”
“No you don’t!” Joe stepped forward, slamming a hand against the attic door, pinning it against the wall before Mark could close it. He moved closer to Mark, pointing a finger right in the kid’s face. “As much as I’d love to just get rid of you for all the trouble you’ve been causing lately, I can’t. It fucking eats me up inside, but that’s the truth. If you’re not going to behave, then I’m going to make you.”
“What are you going to do, hit me?” Mark said, batting away the offending finger.
With a snarl, Joe grabbed Mark’s shirt with both hands, lifted him off the ground and slammed him against the wall. “Don’t you fucking push me! Don’t think that I won’t take my hands to you!” Mark’s eyes blinked open and shut, his head having taken most of the impact into the wall.
“Do you hear me?” Joe yelled again, shaking the boy.
“Fuck you,” Mark said.
With a roar, Joe pulled Mark back and slammed him back into the door again. Mark’s head snapped forward with the impact, and he began to squirm and claw at Joe’s hands. He drew Mark back and slammed him into the wall again, and Mark’s hands stopped their spastic groping and his head leaned forward, limp as the rest of his body. Joe lifted him again, read to drive him back into the door again but he stopped himself, realizing he’d knocked the boy unconscious.
“Shit,” he said, shifting his grip so he was holding him up under the armpits. Without being held up, the boy would just topple forwards and down the stairs. It took him a second, but he realized that probably wouldn’t be the best thing in the world.
Teach him a hell of a lesson though, Joe thought. At least now he knew what it was for his mouth to write a check his ass couldn’t cash. Maybe he’d--
Mark’s eyes flew open and his expression went from slack unconsciousness to twisted rage faster than Joe could process.
With a growl, Mark drove his knee right into Joe’s stomach, doubling him over. He let go of Mark and backed up, trying to catch his breath. Mark stepped forward swinging both fists up into Joe’s ears. Joe screamed, staggering backwards some more as his ears rang with pain. Even in through his pain he was aware for a second that he was standing at the very top of the stairs.
With another growl Mark stepped forward, and Joe reflexively took another step back and only finding empty air.
Joe toppled backwards, one arm waving his for the railing and missing, the other almost reaching Mark, who just stood there. Joe bounced down the steps, the pain from Mark’s blows a happy memory. Things in him bent and twisted, and then his neck hit the wall at the bottom of the steps, the weight of his body bending it sharply with a snap that sent a numbing echo through his body.
Maybe the kid could cash that check after all, he thought, as the numbness sapped away his senses and everything drifted away from him.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
After the blow up with Mark Christine hadn’t ventured out of her hotel room, Aunt Helen bringing her food without asking too many questions. No, it’s not just that my brother is dead and my dad’s seriously fucked up, it’s that my boyfriend is being stalked by a crazy ghost that did this to them.
If I hadn’t liked him, she told herself, if I hadn’t thought he was so adorably cute and harmless this wouldn’t have happened.
She was almost sorry for losing it on Mark, but then she’d remember what he said to her and how good it felt to punch him in the mouth. It was at least doing something that wasn’t sitting in bed and watching shitty TV while her mom sat at her dad’s bedside and her aunt planned her brother’s funeral.
Her phone rang, and when she saw who it was she let out a deep sigh. She hated the idea of talking to him, but knew that if anything being mad at him would take her mind off the fact that she’d never see Ryan again.
“Hey--” she started, but was cut off by the sobbing on the other end of the line. “Mark? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I . . . I . . . Something bad. Something bad happened.”
She bit back a sharp retort. “Was it him?”
“No. It’s . . . oh god, I did something really bad. It was an accident, though! I swear!”
“Mark, calm down and tell me what happened.”
“It’s my uncle. I think he’s . . . I think he’s dead.”
“Oh shit,” she said. “Mark, what did you . . . what happened?”
“He was hitting me, and I just . . . I just fought back, and I didn’t realize . . .” He let out a choked sob. “Oh, god, I thought I was dreaming, it didn’t even seem real, but he fell and he’s not moving . . . Oh God, what am I going to do?”
“Mark, you have to call someone. Call Detective Pres--”
“No! They already think I’m a killer! They’ll lock me away! I can’t . . . I . . .” he trailed off, sniffling.
“It was self-defense,” she said. “They’ll believe you, but only if you call them right now, okay?”
“I can’t!” he wailed, and Christine had to bit
e down on her lip to keep from screaming at him.
“You have to, Mark. It’s the only way,” she said through clenched teeth.
“No,” he said again, his voice getting firmer. “There’s another way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have to prove to them that I didn’t do these things. I have to stop this whole thing, and then maybe they’ll believe me.”
“Mark, that’s crazy! If this doesn’t have anything to do with the murders--”
“Do you think the police will see it that way? Do you think that this time they won’t just lock me up? If they do I’ll never be able to put a stop to this thing, because I know that only I can!”
“Mark--”
“No,” he said, the sobbing completely gone now. “You were right. This whole thing is my fault and I’m sorry, I really am. If I’d done something about it before then maybe I could’ve stopped what happened to your dad and Ryan, but maybe I can do something now before anyone else gets hurt. I have to end this thing, and I’m going to need your help.”
“Mark, I can’t just--”
“He killed your brother, Christine! He walked into your house and killed him, and who knows how many other people over the years. And do you really think he’s going to leave you, or your mother, or your father alone? That he’s not going to keep coming until we stop him? Do you?”
“Mark, we can’t. We don’t know the first thing about how to deal with something like that.”
“It’s his house, Christine. That’s where his power is. If we can shut that down, we can stop him. I’m going to go there now but I need your help.”
“That’s crazy. I can’t just leave, Mark.”
“I need you Christine. I’m sorry for everything that’s happened, for dragging you into this, but I need you. Please. For your brother.” The sobbing was gone, replaced by a wobbling determination that sounded crazy enough to run into the gates of a possibly haunted house on a crazed ghost hunt. Crazy enough that if someone wasn’t there with him he could end up doing god knows what.
Shadow of the Past Page 22
