Memere dipped a chip in the bowl and stared at the guacamole on the end for a long moment. “Snakes get de bad rap on account of de Bible. But serpents be de guardians of good. Dey see ever’ t’ing wit dem eyes. I’m gonna set a snake on you boss,” she said thoughtfully. “Gonna set a serpent against him dat don’ know how to stop.”
Sweat broke out on Jules’s forehead, and he wiped it away with his sleeve. “You fucked with the wrong man, you old bitch. You and that grandson of yours. Jimmy Torrio is nobody to screw with. When Jimmy’s done with Jake Crowley and that boy of yours, I’m personally gonna blow your brains out.”
“Why for you wait, then, hunh?” teased Memere, smacking another chip between toothless gums.
“Your time’s coming,” said Jules, shoving the pistol back into his holster.
HEN MANDI HEARD PIERCE splashing around in the tub she rushed to the door. He was halfway out of the bath, climbing the tile wall, slapping the shower curtain aside. His face was deathly pale when she grabbed him by the shoulders. He tried to shove her away, and she shook him. But even as his body went limp his fingers raced beneath her palms.
It’s here!
There’s nothing here but us.
Pierce nodded violently, his chin beating against his chest like a drumstick.
She signed into his palm. There’s nothing here!
He scratched along the wall, jerking a towel from the rod and wrapping himself in it. His face was a mask of fear, embarrassment, and hurt. Mandi stared at him with a sinking heart. He knew she didn’t believe him, and she was the only one he had to trust.
“There’s nothing here,” she whispered. “Nothing.”
When he finally calmed a little she eased him onto the edge of the tub and dried him off. Then she handed him his robe, and he let her put his slippers on his feet.
“There’s nothing here,” she muttered again, staring around the bright, windowless bathroom. But Pierce seemed so sure, so terrified. She hugged him, and he hugged back hard. She stroked his face, and he shrugged.
Finally she took his hand and signed. I’m right here. Always. Nothing is going to hurt you again. I won’t let it.
He pulled her close, and she stroked his back, feeling the familiar burn growing within her, her hatred of Rich welling in her throat. She placed Pierce’s hand on the door, and he took over from there, finding his way down the hall and into his room without bumping into the wall once.
Nothing but door. That was what Pierce said when he made it through one of them without touching the jamb. She finally managed to settle in the living room with a paperback she’d been trying to finish for weeks. But every time she looked down at the words on the page they blurred and twisted, and she finally realized that she’d been reading the same sentence over and over.
Albert’s home lay a hundred yards through the trees beyond her window. On the other side of the house it was probably three times that far through the woods to the highway. To the spot where the girl had been murdered. She was still staring out into the storm when a distant streak of lightning lit the sky, and she wondered if she’d allowed her stupid pride to place Pierce in danger. Since Rich had left she hadn’t wanted a gun in the house, and even if she had one, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to use it on a human being.
She glanced at the phone and then out at the car.
Not yet. She wasn’t ready to freak out yet.
But what if a stranger knocked on the door right now? What would she do? The thought of something terrible happening to her, and Pierce being alone and helpless in the house, not knowing . . .
What was stopping her from snatching Pierce and climbing in the car? Was it Jake?
She had to admit that was part of it. Maybe a big part. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she couldn’t take care of herself or her son.
But her fear was beginning to overcome her pride.
Pierce lightly traced his fingertips across the rough cardboard covering the window. It was damp and cool, and now and then he could feel the wind brush it. An almost imperceptible vibration ran through the floor and then was gone, and he assumed it had just thundered.
But the sense of dark presence that had assaulted him in the bathroom was still out there, as well. Breathing slowly, opening himself to the night outside, he could sense it moving. It seemed almost as if it were lost. Or hunting for something.
Or someone.
The thought sent a quiver up his spine.
He didn’t know how he could stop it if it returned. But he had to. Because his mother would never even know that it was here until it was too late. The most he could think of to do was keep a watch on it, try to tell when it was coming nearer. Maybe, just maybe he could get his mom to run away. Maybe they could get in the car and go.
Only he knew she’d never believe him until it was too late. A tear of frustration trickled down his cheek, and he wiped it away on his pajama sleeve.
He wished he wasn’t deaf and blind. Wished he wasn’t crippled.
He wished he had a father who was big and strong and brave.
AKE WONDERED WHERE THE DAY HAD GONE. It seemed as though he and Cramer had hardly gotten started, and already the storm made late afternoon seem like early evening. The infrequent lightning bursts only accentuated the growing darkness. As he rounded the bend in Pam’s driveway he had to pull around Virgil’s cruiser in order to park beside Ernie’s truck. He held Barbara’s elbow as Cramer assisted her up onto the porch. When Pam opened the front door Oswald raced through her legs and began exploring the house. Pam guided the old woman to a chair in the living room, and Virgil rose from the sofa to shake hands all around.
“What happened?” asked Virgil, staring at the bandages on the old woman’s arms, legs, and forehead.
“She had an accident at her house,” said Jake. “Cramer and I took her to the hospital. But she wouldn’t stay.”
“How are you?” Virgil asked Barbara.
“How do I look?” she groused.
Virgil gave her a forced smile, then turned back to Jake. “What were you doing up at Barb’s place?”
Jake shrugged.
“Pam tells me you’re helping me out,” said Virgil pointedly.
“Cramer and I went for a drive.”
“Don’t get involved.”
“I think I am involved.”
Virgil frowned thoughtfully. “Because of Albert? Or because of what happened years ago?”
Jake hesitated. “Maybe both.”
“Jake,” said Virgil. “I told you way back then that what you thought you heard and saw . . . I thought you got over all that. Is it starting to come back?”
“I’m not crazy.”
“I didn’t say you were crazy. I just don’t want you taking off on a tangent here and going and frightening a lot of people.”
“I’m not going off on any tangent.”
“Then let me do my job.”
“I’m not stopping you.”
“If either of you get in my way I’ll charge you with obstructing an investigation. I don’t want to do that.”
“Is that what you stopped by for, to warn Cramer and me off again?”
“Pam,” said Virgil, “don’t you think Barb would be more comfortable in her own room?”
Pam nodded. “There’s a small back room down the hall.”
“A back room?” said Barbara, raising her eyebrows.
“I’m afraid it’s all we have right now since Jake and Cramer are using the spare bedrooms.”
“It’s just that Oswald and I don’t like to be cramped. Of course I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Maybe you’d rather I put the roll-away in the living room,” said Pam.
“A roll-away?”
Cramer cleared his throat. “I don’t mind a roll-away.” He stared at Jake, but Jake just smiled. “I’ll bunk in with Jake.”
Jake glared at him.
“Are you sure?” said Pam.
“No problem,” sai
d Cramer. “I was starting to get too comfortable.”
“Good,” said Barbara, turning to Cramer. “Would you show Oswald where the bedroom is so he can get acclimated?”
Cramer looked as though he were about to explode. “Sure,” he said, striding between them like Moses parting the Red Sea. “Come along, Oswald,” he said, waving his hand majestically at the dog, who trailed along disdainfully.
“Where’s Ernie?” Jake asked Mandi.
She frowned. “In the woods, hunting for moose poops.”
“What?” said Jake.
“I thought you knew,” said Pam, laughing. “We take the poops, dry them, lacquer them, and add gold or silver jewelry. Ernie sells them to a bunch of tourist shops. They go like hotcakes.”
“You’re in the backwoods again now, son,” said Virgil, chuckling at Jake’s look of disbelief. “I can’t believe he went out on a day like today, though.”
Pam shook her head. “I told him not to. But you know Ernie. It doesn’t matter if the Deluge comes. He’s still gonna do what Ernie does. He should be home any minute.”
Virgil nodded. “Good thing he’s got God on his side. What really happened to Barb, Jake?”
“She fell through the floor of her shed,” said Jake. “Dr. Burton says she has a minute fracture on her collarbone and some pulled muscles. Other than that and a lot of splinters she survived remarkably well, considering the fall and her age.”
He gave the sheriff an abridged version of what had taken place—including the fact that Barbara had thought she heard whispering voices.
“Something evil has come into my home,” announced Barbara.
Jake frowned. “Doc Burton gave her some pretty good pain pills. Barb, you really shouldn’t be up.”
“Pam,” said Virgil. “Why don’t you go ahead and show Barbara her room?”
“All right, Virg,” said Pam, giving him a look but chatting with Barbara as she nudged the old woman down the hall.
“It was probably just the wind, Jake,” said Virgil.
“Cramer and I heard it, too.”
“Did you see anything?”
Jake shook his head.
“Jake, your mother’s death was over twenty years ago. You yourself found the footprint at Albert’s. No curse caused that. And your father . . .”
Jake’s eyes told Virgil he’d gone far enough.
“I know what you told me, Jake. So as far as I’m concerned the case is closed. He’s dead, either way. That part of your life is over. Let it lie.”
“I wish I could.”
“Just leave it alone. Let me investigate Albert’s and the girl’s killings, and I promise to keep you updated.”
“We’re good detectives, Virg,” said Jake.
Virgil sighed. “So? Other than your interesting day at Barb’s place, did you boys find out anything new today?”
“Virg, our asking a few questions isn’t impinging on your authority. Lighten up.”
“Well, I don’t think anyone’s going to be doing any more investigating in Crowley for a few days, anyway. The river’s rising, and if it keeps raining the way it has been the crossing will be closed any time now. You guys just hunker down and try staying out of trouble for a while.”
“Right,” said Jake, walking him to the door.
Lightning burst through the sky over the mountains and thunder rumbled down the valley.
“Leave it alone, Jake,” said Virgil, as he hurried down the steps and ran to the cruiser.
ICH MORIN PULLED THE HOOD UP on a raincoat that was more duct tape than plastic and headed across the lawn—which was more mud than grass—toward the woodshed.
It was fucking ridiculous having to light a fire in early June, but dampness invaded the old trailer through a million invisible openings, chilling the house. And Carly had sat on her butt on the sofa and whined until he couldn’t take it anymore. Sometimes he wanted to pick her up by her ratty blond hair and sling her around like a keychain, but she’d been right for a change. He was cold, too. He just didn’t want to admit it.
So he stumbled down the rotting wooden steps into the yard. Slimy mud stuck to his boots, and he kicked his way through a puddle to clean them. Like that would do a fucking lot of good. He had to go back the same way.
Good. Track it all over the goddamned living room carpet. Give her something to do besides her fucking nails. Bitch must have the prettiest nails on any wide-assed whore this side of Vegas.
Thinking of Carly’s fat butt reminded him of Mandi’s cute little ass, and he rubbed his crotch. But that bit of fluff had been closed to him for years. The last time he’d had any of it he’d had to wrestle her to the ground, and she’d sworn she’d have him arrested if he came around again. For almost eight years now—he’d had it in the back of his mind that one day he was going to do her again, restraining order or no. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more the idea of taking a drive down to see the bitch sounded like a good idea.
He trotted under the roof of the woodshed and tossed his hood back. Water ran from his greasy black hair down the nape of his neck as he stared back toward the trailer, but it was barely visible. Rain struck the ground so hard the drops seemed to be bouncing. It sounded as though he were inside a giant spigot.
He ambled to the far end of the shed, peeking around the corner, but he couldn’t see any farther in that direction than he could back toward the house. With the rain coming down the way it was, the creek could overflow any minute, and the trailer had been washed out once before. Even if it didn’t get high enough to actually swamp the house, there’d still be broken limbs and shit everywhere, not to mention mud and muck to clean up.
He lifted a couple of small pieces of split wood from the top of the pile and started searching for a larger one to make a good armload. A rustling noise caught his attention, but when the sound didn’t return he started picking through the top of the pile again. Then another rustling sounded. What the fuck was that, a rat? He set the first two pieces of wood on the pile and stood back, up against the rain.
Where’re you at, you little fuck?
Squatting, hands on his knees, he peered in between the spaces in the stacked wood. It was then that another noise caught his attention. He turned slowly, but it seemed to come from all directions at once. It sounded like someone whispering.
He stood up again and closed his eyes. The sound seemed closer when he did that, almost as if a woman was talking sexy to him, breathing right into his face. He opened his eyes and sucked in his breath. He could imagine her warm breath, smell the musky odor of her body, hear her husky voice murmuring in his ear.
But there was nothing in front of him but the rain.
“Too many fucking beers last night,” he muttered.
But he knew he’d heard the sound once before. And the memory sent a chill up his spine. He’d been up at the old Crowley house at the head of the valley snitching some furniture. Carly had told him the place was still full of stuff even though none of the Crowleys had lived there since Jake was a kid. Rich hadn’t believed her at first. What kind of idiots would leave furniture and appliances and stuff in a house no one used? But she’d been right. He’d loaded a couple of dining room chairs on the back of his truck and was going back in for more when the same weird whispering noise came out of nowhere.
That day had been cloudy and cool, and at first he’d thought he was just hearing the wind through the trees. But the more he listened the more the sound seemed to be circling the house. Like a warning. He forgot the rest of the furniture and headed for the truck, racing back down the valley road like a scorched cat. And he’d never gotten up the nerve to go back. He told Carly he didn’t like stealing. She’d looked at him like he had two heads and just stuck the chairs beside the kitchen table. He’d slapped the shit out her for good measure.
He leaned against the stacked cordwood. His fingers roved over the splintery ends as the murmuring filled his ears, drowning out the rain until it seemed as though th
e sound was right under the canopy of the shed with him. Suddenly the noise took on a painful bass tone, and Rich covered his ears. He stared through the rain toward the trailer, considering a quick dash, but the sound was hypnotic, weakening his knees.
As the volume kicked up another decibel, he broke out of his trance. He ran four steps out into the downpour, then stopped as though he’d hit a brick wall. The sound surrounded him like a giant hand, crushing him, pressing so hard on his chest he could barely breathe. The pounding noise seemed to want to get into him. He could feel it beating down inside his ears, trying to pump itself into his gasping mouth, up his dilated nostrils. It was as though something was inspecting him, poking and prodding. He lurched toward the house, but he wasn’t sure he was going in the right direction anymore.
The rain was a slick wall, pummeling the mud around his feet in counterpoint to the heavy bass beat. Suddenly he became aware of something slinking around inside the wet gray sheets. Something huge. It moved like a cross between a giant snake and a cat, almost as if it was a part of the falling water, and Rich made no mistake about its intentions. He’d been a hunter all his life. The thing was stalking him.
“Get back!” he screamed.
He could barely hear his own voice over the roar of the rain and the crazy, airy sounds that were as loud as thunder. He waved both hands in front of him, warding off the half-seen thing as it circled closer. It seemed to be all water, and darkness, and snippets of even blacker shadows.
“Stay away!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.
He caught a glimpse of the trailer as he spun, and he backed in that direction. But just as he was about to make a break for the house the giant shadow cut him off again, and his heart stopped. He tensed, sensing the attack, trying to decide if the thing had any vital points that he could kick or poke, but he couldn’t even tell for sure if it had a head.
He remained frozen for what seemed an eternity, the rain drenching him to the bone, the sound tattooing his eardrums so he was sure he’d never get it out of his head. Then the shadow started circling again. Closer. Close enough that Rich could make out the shape of something that might be a head after all.
In Shadows Page 13
