Gary didn’t wait for Ethan to respond. He quietly slipped out the door like a cockroach in search of a new home.
Ethan stared at Claire, searching her eyes, but she kept them steady. Finally, he said, "Are you okay?"
"I think so. Just freaked out."
"We need to tell the police," Logan said.
She shook her head vehemently. "I'm not talking to anyone. He didn't hurt me. I'm fine."
Ethan and Logan looked at each other. "Maybe she's in shock," Logan said.
She whirled on them. "I am not in shock! He wasn't going to do anything to me. He was just trying to scare me."
"Why?" Ethan asked.
"I don't know. Maybe because he's crazy." She turned and walked toward the front of the store.
"Claire!" Logan called. She kept walking.
"What if he attacks you again?" Ethan asked, following her shadow.
She kept her back to him. "He won't."
"How can you be so sure?" Logan asked from next to Ethan.
She had to change the subject and quick before she spilled the truth. She turned around. "Where did you get that gun, Ethan?"
This seemed to peak Logan's interest, too. He looked at Ethan.
"So I have a gun," Ethan said, shrugging.
"Why did you bring a gun tonight?" Logan clarified.
Ethan raked his fingers through his hair. "You never know when you might need one."
"But who does that?" Claire said.
"It came in handy tonight, didn't it?"
"But it wasn't necessary," Logan said. "We could've taken that guy. You could've accidentally hurt someone."
"If I hurt someone tonight, it wouldn't have been an accident. Now let's get out of here." Ethan took hold of her hand; the grip was surprisingly tight.
She followed after him, wondering who it was she was falling in love with.
NINETEEN
Every part of Albert trembled. Sweat had broken all over his body hours ago and the liquid was hot as it raced down his naked skin to puddle on the floor of his room. He couldn't hold on much longer; already his head was beginning to tingle from the lack of oxygen, and it was impossible to take a deep breath. He could only pant. Like a wounded dog.
It all began when Albert saw Gary harming Claire. Anger and rage had cracked his sanity’s foundation just enough to allow Gage to escape. Slowly. Painfully. Scraping at him from the inside out, like a dead man clawing his way out of a grave. Albert was trying everything mentally possible to keep Gage contained, but he simply wasn't strong enough anymore.
Gage had seen how Gary had hurt Claire too, leaving the finger marks on her arms that she had tried so hard to hide. But Gage was angry for a different reason. He didn't care about Claire's safety. He cared that someone else was causing harm to what he thought was his alone. No one should frighten Claire but him. No one should lustfully touch Claire but him. And lastly, no one should crave her the way he did.
Albert could sense all of these mad thoughts from Gage and it terrified him. He was afraid of what Gage might do. And he was terrified that once Gage was released, he might never be able to contain him again.
A clock on the wall ticked. Slowly. The crisp, sharp sound reminded him of his mother's voice. "One day your battle will come,” she’d said once. “You will face your demons and you will lose.”
Albert refused to believe her, convinced he'd prove her wrong and show both his parents that he was worthy to exist in the world. But in the last hour, as the clock sung its monotonous tune, doubt had crept into his mind. Maybe he wasn’t such a good person after all.
He thrust his head back, his nails digging into the wooden seat of the chair. Gage was coming. His voice whispered in Albert’s head, speaking of revenge. Of pain. Of blood. The words seared themselves onto his mind. And then his heart. The pain became too great and he cried out. A sound of the tortured. The battered. The conquered.
And then there was silence.
Gage inhaled deeply and raised his head, smiling. Freedom. As if a caged genie finally freed, he stood from the hard chair and stretched. Muscles rippled in a wave across his body. He went to the window and opened it. Night's air raced in and twisted around him, cooling his skin. He took a few deep breaths before he moved around the room, preparing for the evening.
He pulled on a black Bandon High sweatshirt and positioned the hood over his head. Then he pulled out Albert’s cell phone and typed a man's name into an online directory. The address became as permanent as his hate. Before he left, Gage punched the nearest mirror, shattering it into a million pieces. Time to spread the pain, he thought and jumped from the window.
Gage raced through the forest, a predator hunting its prey. The woods were still except for the sounds of his hurried footsteps crunching leaves. His fists punched through branches. His breath poisoned the air. There was only one image in his mind. The eyes of the rat claiming Claire as his own: Gary.
It didn't take him long to reach the other side of town to an area Albert’s friends called "white-trash land". There were about forty trailers lined next to each other. Most of them looked like they'd survived a tornado, but just barely. The lawns were littered with trash: a broken doll, a bike missing a tire, an overturned garbage bin. He counted at least three soiled diapers.
Gage stepped over a splattered watermelon. The city should have this place condemned. Maybe he would visit the Mayor later and have his own private town hall meeting.
He found the home he wanted at the very end of the trailer park. If one could call it a home. Half of it looked the same as the others, but the rest of it had been pieced together by plywood and roofing tin. Apparently, the idiot could only afford half a trailer.
Gage wondered what Gary did with his money from his job at Bodian. He didn't have to wonder long. Peeking into the only window without boards crossing over it, he saw Gary sitting on a seventies floral sofa, a belt cinched around his upper arm, injecting something into his arm from a syringe. When he sat up his eyes bulged and seemed to vibrate within their sockets, but what Gage didn't expect were the veins on Gary’s face. They looked swollen and stretched his skin thin.
Gage waited to see what might happen next, but when Gary fell back into his seat, mouth open and eyes fixed on the ceiling, Gage got bored.
Because of the close proximately of neighbors, Gage didn't break the door down like he wanted. A much quieter entrance was needed, even though he preferred the louder, more attention-grabbing kind. He approached the front door quietly and turned the doorknob. It was unlocked, which didn’t surprise him. He quickly slipped inside and closed the door.
Gary didn't move. Didn't bat an eye. Just stared at something beyond the universe. Gage wondered how long his eyelids could stay open like that before they dried up and turned to dust inside his skull. It was tempting to find out, but he couldn't take all night.
Gary’s place was a wreck. Piles of newspapers and garbage were stacked high against every wall. Either he was a hoarder or they'd purposely been placed there to try and keep the trailer warm. On the ceiling Gary had taped pictures of nude women in provocative positions.
Gage moved into the cramped kitchen to see what he had to work with. A drawer revealed three spoons and forks and one sharp knife. He chose a spoon. And inside a refrigerator that smelled of beer and cat urine, he was happy to find lemon juice. Luck seemed to be smiling upon him.
After gathering a few more items: cheese grater, apple slicer, salt, and a toilet brush, he filled up a tall glass with water. He took the items and stood in front of Gary, whose eyes were now closed. Gage took a sip of the water and tossed the rest of it into Gary’s face.
No reaction.
Gage leaned in close to inspect Gary. His breath, smelling like rusted iron, puffed into Gage’s face. He grimaced and straightened. A few seconds later, he took his finger and pressed it into Gary's cheek, smearing the wrinkled leather-like skin around a sharp cheekbone. Gary’s eyelids fluttered, but remained closed.
Gage frowned and stepped back. How could he torture him if he wasn't awake?
He glanced down at the syringe on top of the cardboard box. Lying next to it was a vial. Gage picked it up and noticed Bodian Dynamic’s logo on the side. He inhaled its top; it smelled of ammonia and something else bitter and foul, not the same stuff Albert had stolen from Bodian. What else were they into?
He glanced down at his clock. Four more hours until sunrise. Best get started. At some point, Gary would wake up and when he did, he would wish he hadn't.
Gage guessed right. Five minutes into his torture, Gary woke up screaming. Of course his screams were muffled through a tennis ball Gage had found and stuffed into his mouth. It looked extremely uncomfortable, and he was pretty sure he had broken Gary’s jaw when he had jammed it in.
The sound of Gary’s smothered voice was music to Gage's ears. He loved it more than he did the sight of Gary's blood, which glowed a bright red as it ran in rivers down his arms. Gage could've continued for hours more, but when the first of the sun's rays crawled beneath the taped cardboard on the window, Gage knew he had to leave.
He bent down, directly in front of Gary. His eyes no longer appeared to be bulging from their sockets, but now looked like they'd collapsed. Gage could barely see his pupils beneath lowered eyelids. His color was death-pale, and his skin, which had once been drenched in sweat, was now dry and flaking. At least the parts that weren't covered in blood.
Before Gary took his last breath, Gage whispered in his ear, "Claire is mine.”
TWENTY
Rats. As big as dogs with foaming saliva, dripping from razor sharp teeth. This was what Claire was dreaming about when a loud pounding woke her up. She sat up, gasping for air.
There it was again. Someone at the front door, knocking like the house was on fire. She glanced at the clock, 8:30 a.m., and blinked. It took her a moment to register what she'd just read. 8:30 a.m.! She was late for school! Claire threw off the covers and pulled on a pair of jeans from off the floor.
"Claire," a familiar voice shouted from behind her front door.
"I'm coming," she said to no one. Before she rushed to answer the door, she punched her faulty alarm clock.
"Where's the fire?" Claire asked when she opened the door. She was about to smile, but couldn't when she saw Smith’s face. "What's wrong?" He was staring at her as if she had a stake coming out of her chest.
Smith placed his hand on the door jam as if to steady him. His face was pale, and his legs looked like they were about to give out beneath him. "I'm so glad you're here," he said.
"Where else would I be?"
"Where everyone else is, at school."
"Well I would be if my stupid alarm would've gone off."
Smith looked past her into the living room. "Where's your mom?"
Claire stuck her head out the door and looked toward the garage. Her mom's van was parked out front. "She had to work last night, so I'm sure she's crashed. You want me to get her?"
"No. I’ll talk to her later today. It's you I want to see."
"Smith!” a voice called out from around the side of her home. “You're going to want to see this!"
"Who's that?" Claire asked and stepped onto the porch. The sun shined bright, but the air was surprisingly cold. She shivered.
"Doug," Smith said, walking down the stairs.
Claire followed him. "What's your deputy doing snooping around my house?" If she puffed hard enough, she could see her breath.
Smith didn't answer. Instead he walked to the back of her house and spoke quietly to Doug.
"What's going on, Smith?" She came up behind him and froze. On her bedroom window was a bloody handprint. She stumbled back.
Smith took hold of her hand before she fell. "It's okay. Everything’s going to be fine."
She jerked away from him. "What the hell is going on?"
"Maybe you should tell me," he said, suddenly becoming just as defensive.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
His expression softened and he took a deep breath. "What do you know about Gary Lewis?"
A knot formed in Claire’s throat. She tried to swallow it but couldn’t.
Smith continued, "He's a man in his forties. Lived over on Clover Street in the trailer park. He worked as a security guard at Bodian Dynamics. Do you know him?"
She nodded but said, “No.”
“Which is it, Claire? Do you know Gary Lewis or not?”
This time she said, "Sort of."
"How?"
She looked at the smeared handprint, her eyes blurring a bit, then turned around searching the woods behind them. They seemed to be alone. She looked back at Smith. "I fought with him at the festival last night. Is that his handprint?"
"What did you fight about?"
The morning light held the maroon-colored flakes of blood pressed to her window. It reminded her of her first day of kindergarten. She had made a handprint with red paint as a gift to her father. She later destroyed it.
"Claire?"
She bit the inside of her lip, wondering how much to say. She was hoping to speak with him in private about Gary, but something serious had obviously happened and it had to do with her. Better tell him everything. Besides, Smith had helped her once before.
She took a deep breath. "A while ago I had to go to Bodian for my life experience class. Gary was working the front desk, acting all sorts of creepy.” She shivered, remembering how his eyes had slid over her. “Anyway, when I finally had a moment to myself, I overheard two scientists talking about a missing drug. They didn’t know I was listening, but when I was discovered, I ran. One of the scientists told Gary to go after me and find out how much I knew."
The pale in Smith’s face was replaced with red, but he remained quiet.
“I hid behind some parked cars and while Gary searched for me, he threatened to hurt my friends if I told anyone. I kept my mouth shut, but Gary’s sort of been following me ever since. I thought he was mostly harmless until last night.”
“What exactly happened?”
Claire wrapped her arms around her chest, her hand pressing lightly over the bruise on her upper arm. She was glad she decided to put on a long sleeve shirt. “Let’s just say it was a very good thing that Logan and Ethan showed up when they did.”
Smith’s face was really red now. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I was going to tell you about it today, but I didn’t want to do it where Gary would see. His threat seriously freaked me out! Speaking of which, whatever you decide to do with him, please don’t tell him I said anything. And Bodian, too. They’re just as scary.”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure what to do about Bodian. I’ll look into your claim of a missing drug, subtly though. Bodian’s known for cleaning up their messes. As for Gary, he won’t be a problem anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
Smith looked back at her window. She followed his gaze.
"Did you see Gage last night?" he asked.
This startled her. "No. Why? Is he in town? What's going on?" Dealing with Gary was one thing, but knowing Gage could be lurking around really scared her.
Smith closed his eyes as if forcing himself not to look at the bloodied print. For a moment, she thought he might never open them. "Over the weekend someone broke into Gary’s home. His girlfriend found him this morning."
She swallowed. "Dead?"
"Yes. He had been severely beaten. Tortured is more like it. It’s the worst crime scene I’ve ever seen."
"And you think Gage did it?"
"The marks we found matched the ones we found at the high school and at the gas station."
Claire remembered him using the word “marks” before. "What do you mean "marks"? Like fingerprints?"
A dark shadow crossed his face. "I don't know. Maybe."
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"There were prints."
"Well?"
"They weren't normal."
&nb
sp; "But doesn't everyone have different fingerprints?"
"Of course,” Smith said. “But the pattern of these weren't right. We haven't seen anything like it. At first, we thought the tech had messed up, but then we found the same prints at the gas station, and now at Gary’s. I don't know what to make of it."
Claire couldn't help it. She had to look at the window again. The deputy, Doug, was pressing a thin plastic sheet over the print. "And what about those?"
Smith shook his head. "We'll know in a couple of hours. My guess is it will match the other crime scenes."
"So, what are you thinking? Gage tortured Gary and then came back here. Why?"
Smith looked at her, his jaw moving as if it didn’t fit right. "I'm worried about you, Claire. I don't want you going anywhere by yourself. In fact, I don't want you going anywhere but school and home, and I'm posting a permanent officer outside."
Despite the fact that her stomach was churning, she put her hands up. "Not going to happen. Our band is going to Seattle soon. We have to practice."
"I think your life is the priority here."
Claire shook her head. "Since when have you ever known me to lay down quietly?" He opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted him. "I'm going to continue doing what I always do, but I promise I'll be careful. And I'll try to make sure I'm never alone."
He tried to speak again.
"And," she said, "I'll check in with you regularly. That's the best I can do." She wouldn’t let any man assert his control over her ever again. Not that Smith was trying to do that. He was trying to protect her, and she realized this. But Gage was trying to control her. Through fear.
Smith looked to the forest beyond. "Clearly I can't make you do something you don't want to, no matter how foolish. I'll talk to your mom about it later and see if she can talk some sense into you."
Claire shrugged. Agree to disagree.
Smith turned away from her and headed back to the front of the house. "You're late for school. Finish getting ready and I'll take you."
She relaxed, always grateful for Smith. "Deal."
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