Watch

by Cass J. McMain

  “Two weeks,” Scott said quietly. He’d be free again right after Thanksgiving.

  Chapter 12

  It has been years and still it is yesterday. When I close my eyes, I fear they will never open. When I open them, I fear they will never close. What if he has destroyed me already? Would I even know what I had become?

  By the time the two weeks were up, Scott was half stir-crazy. He begged his mother to let him walk to the park.

  Pam looked him up and down. “It was snowing. It’s cold and wet out there. Why don’t you just stay inside and watch some TV?”

  “It’s not that cold. It’s just around the corner. I want to go out and play. I’ll wear mittens. Please?” He made prayer-hands and jumped up and down in front of her.

  “I know, you’ve been bored to death. Grounding isn’t much fun, is it?”

  Scott bit his lip and shook his head. It hadn’t been any fun at all. Just school and home, home and school again. Thanksgiving had been miserable, though at least his mother had relented and allowed him to join Todd on the couch to watch holiday movies. When the commercials came on and he talked excitedly about the things he wanted for Christmas, she had shaken her head at him and said she would “have to see.” Boys who steal aren’t nice, she’d said. She told him that boys who steal get coal and toenail clippings. He and Todd had shared a look then, and Todd whispered that she was kidding. Scott hoped she was.

  The best part of the whole two weeks had been the day it snowed and Todd came in and played a board game with him for a while. Mostly he’d been alone in his room, playing with his superheroes and his toy cars. For a while, he’d pretended to be a hero, breaking up a ring of car thieves, and flying the cars back to their owners. Then he’d pretended to be one of the thieves instead, driving cars right out from under the noses of the hapless superheroes. He even ran over a few of them.

  No, being grounded hadn’t been fun.

  “Please?” he begged again. “I want to make snowballs. I won’t get wet!”

  His mother blew air out in a huff, but nodded. “Fine, fine. I know it’s been rough on you. I want you to remember this next time you’re tempted to take something that’s not yours, right?”

  Scott nodded enthusiastically, and Pam went on, “Alright, get out of my hair. Just to the park, just for a while. And wear your coat, and your mittens, and your hat. If it starts snowing again, you come right back here.” She pulled him to her hip in a light hug. “I don’t think you’ll find many kids to play with out there, though. Too cold.”

  He struggled away and took off before she could change her mind. He didn’t mind being alone. He just wanted to be somewhere else.

  ***

  The park wasn’t deserted, but there weren’t many people there – only a couple of kids on the swings. The snow had mostly melted except for little spots here and there. Scott considered the swings, then veered off toward the monkey-bars.

  He climbed to the top of the bars and wedged himself in, looking down at the area. Pretending he was a king. Below, the swings went to and fro. On the other side, the giant tires loomed, looking like traps.

  Scott was afraid of the tires. His mother told him spiders lived in them, and that mosquitoes bred in there in the spring. He’d never seen the mosquitoes, but he had seen a spider in one of the tires once, so maybe she was right. They were dark, and scary enough without spiders. Scott sat above them and looked down, pretending there was a prisoner inside them, one he ruled over and could destroy at a moment’s notice.

  Watch him, guards. Don’t let him out. Set the spiders on him. Scott grinned and rearranged himself, easing his hips through the bars and turning around slightly. An old man showed up at the bench across the way, and sat, watching the kids play. He saw Scott watching him back, and saluted him lightly.

  Scott turned away and gripped the bars, climbing up high again. From here, he could see most of the park. He wished he could get even higher. He might be able to see his street; maybe even his own house. He stretched his neck, wondering how much higher he’d have to get to see that far. Maybe if he climbed one of the trees.

  The kids on the swings jumped off into the dirt and ran to play on the carousel. Scott never liked the carousel; when Todd pushed him on it, he always went too fast and Scott felt like he’d fly right off the edge. But the swings were now open. Scott began climbing down from the bars. He was almost to the bottom when he saw Loop coming.

  “Hey, pussy. Where’s your mommy today?”

  At least Loop was alone. Scott set his hands to the bars and tried to climb out of reach, but Loop grabbed his ankle and jerked him down easily. Scott scrambled in the dirt, and Loop hovered over him, grinning.

  “What, you don’t wanna play with me, faggot?” Loop kicked loose dirt over Scott’s legs. “C’mon. Get up.”

  Scott got to his feet and looked around for any sign of help. There was nobody in sight. Even the old man was gone. Loop grabbed Scott by the neck and shoved him toward the tires. Scott yelled and struggled vigorously, and Loop kneed him in the back.

  “Shut the fuck up. I’m gonna kick your ass. You got me in trouble before, and now you get the payback.”

  “When? I never got you in any trouble.”

  “Liar.” Loop grabbed the smaller boy’s arm and jerked it up between his shoulder blades. Scott cried out, and Loop jerked harder. “I’m gonna break your legs, and then I’m gonna stuff you in the tires and leave you there to die.”

  Scott shrieked, but could not free himself. Loop laughed, pressed him up against the side of the closest tire, and punched him low in the back. Scott crumpled at his feet, and Loop aimed a kick at his belly.

  It didn’t land. Scott opened his eyes. The old man who had been sitting on the bench was there, and he had Loop by the throat.

  “Not nice to pick on little boys, is it? What’s your name?”

  “I don’t have to tell you nothing, pervert. Fucking pervy old—”

  The old man moved swiftly, and now Loop’s face was pressed to the tires, and he had a knife at his cheek. “You don’t have to tell me what, little boy? Alright, how about this other boy here tells me your name? I think he’ll tell me.” He turned an eye on Scott. “Won’t you?”

  Scott blinked up, bemused and scared. “He’s… that’s Loop. Well, Lupe. But they call him Loop.”

  “Alright, Loo-pay,” the old man said mockingly. “How about I carve a hole in your face? You like that idea?”

  Loop wormed around ineffectively, and the man dug the knife in harder, making a dimple in the skin. The boy squealed. “No! Lemme go. Lemme go!”

  “Aw. Lupe doesn’t like the way I play, I guess.” He moved the knife quickly down.

  “How about I cut your throat instead, you think that’s better?”

  Loop broke down and cried. The man laughed and shoved him down in the dirt. “Get out of here, you little shit. If I ever see you again, I won’t ask any questions.”

  “You… I’m…” Loop began, but didn’t finish. He turned and ran.

  Scott still sat in the dirt, and the old man helped him to his feet. “Think I scared him?”

  Scott nodded, not sure what to say. He wiped at his lip, which was bleeding, and looked at the ground.

  “Scared you a little, too?”

  More nodding. “Yeah, I guess.” Scott looked up at him, and at the knife in his hand. “You were really fast. Like whoosh, whoosh! I wish I was fast like that. How’d you do that, so fast that way?”

  “Practice. Lots of practice. See, look.” He took Scott’s arm in one hand and held the knife in the other. “A little pressure here, and you’re forced to turn, see? And then, snick! The knife comes up.” He walked Scott through the motions a couple of times, slowly. Then he did it rapidly and had the knife at Scott’s throat, pressing in. “You’d be dead four times by now, right?”

  Tears came to Scott’s eyes and his face grew red, but he only nodded.

  The old man let him go. “You’ve got blood on y
our lip,” he said, pointing.

  Scott’s tongue snaked out and licked it off. He grinned at the old man, and the old man grinned back. “I like the taste of blood,” Scott said.

  “Everyone does. They just don’t admit it. Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

  They walked. “How do you know where I live?”

  “I’ve seen you around.”

  “Oh.” They were silent for a moment, walking. “Do you live around here?”

  “Nope.” The old man shook his head. “I’ve got a motel room in town. I’m just here visiting. I came to town for a funeral a couple months back, decided to stay and catch up with some people I haven’t seen in a while.”

  “I was at a funeral, too. Before. When my grandpa died.” Scott turned around and walked backwards for a few steps, eyes up at the old man. “It was creepy, but there was no coffin. They made ashes out of him.”

  “Small world.”

  Scott frowned. “What’s that mean?”

  The old man laughed and shook his head. “It just means that everyone has things in common with everyone else.”

  “My mom says I have her eyes.”

  “You do.”

  “You know my mom?”

  “No. Just guessing.”

  “Do you have any kids?”

  “I have a daughter, but I haven’t seen her since she was little.”

  “Yeah,” Scott said sadly. “I haven’t seen my dad either. Since I was little. I don’t remember him.”

  “Well, sometimes it’s just as well kids don’t know their fathers. Only good ones are worth having around. I wasn’t a good father, so…” he trailed off. “Better without me.”

  Scott shrugged. “Do you think Loop will come after me again?”

  “He might. If he doesn’t, someone else will. People are always going to be there, you know. Chasing you, out to get you. You need to practice, learn to defend yourself. Here, take this.” He drew a knife out of his pocket, a smaller one than that which he had used earlier. “A boy needs a knife. Especially a boy like you.”

  Scott looked at the knife, a wide grin on his face. “Cool!”

  “It opens here, see? It’s just the right size for a boy; this was mine when I was about your age. But be careful. It’s very sharp.” He demonstrated this by running the edge along the tip of his finger. Blood leapt out in a red line, and he licked it off, smiling.

  “See? Everyone likes the taste of blood. But these days you have to be careful. Blood used to be clean and pure, like water. Now, it’s dangerous. Full of diseases. And DNA. If you cut anyone for real now, it’s very risky.”

  They drew to a stop on the corner. Scott took the knife, ran his finger along the handle. It felt just like the stolen one. But this one wasn’t stolen. This one was a gift.

  “Wow, thanks. Hey… what’s your name?”

  The old man looked down at his feet, then off into the distance. He shrugged.

  “Edgar,” he said. “My name’s Edgar.”

  PART FOUR

  Chapter 1

  Someday, they’ll find this journal. Who will they think was the madman?

  Brenda looked up from the magazine she was reading. A customer approached the counter with an armload of books and set them down.

  “Find everything you needed?”

  The man nodded and shrugged at the same time. “I guess so. Couple of unusual titles in there.” He patted the stack of books, then tapped the one on the bottom. “I’ve been looking for that one for a while.”

  Brenda glanced down. “That’s probably one of Cork’s,” she said, pulling it out and opening it. “Yep. In fact, most of those look like hers. Consignment deal, you know.” She pulled a notebook out from under the counter and began checking the books. All of the books the man had selected were on her consignment sheet.

  “Good day for Corky, looks like,” she said, writing up the ticket.

  “So these all belong to one person?”

  “Corky. She works here.” Brenda pointed with her pencil to the inside cover of one of the books. “See that green dot there? That’s how I can tell it’s on consignment. And it says ‘CM’ in the dot, see? That’s how I know which consigner.” She slapped the book shut and opened the next one. “Not like it would be a mystery anyway, all the vampire books are hers.”

  “What about the others? There were a bunch of vampire books over there in the same shelf; were they all hers?”

  “Yeah, probably.” She looked up at the customer. He had a big scar across his forehead and a small one on his chin, and he had tattoos all up his left arm. “Corky brought in way over two hundred books to sell. She inherited them.” Brenda grinned and leaned closer to whisper. “All of them were vampire books. Every one of them.”

  “You serious? Two hundred?”

  “Yep… in fact, see here?” She spun the consignment sheet around and turned the page. “All of these, and the ones on the next page, and… this column here.” She ran her finger down the rows. “All of them! Some freak collection, right?”

  Her customer peered at the list intently. “What do these checks mean? Sold?”

  Brenda nodded. “Yeah. After we sell them, we mark them off and pay her half.”

  “Half. Hmm…” The man trailed off, looking at the list. One title was scribbled over, illegible. No checkmark. He pointed to it and looked up at Brenda. “What’s this one here? I can’t read it.”

  She glanced down. “Oh, that was a mistake. It wasn’t for sale. It was like a diary. But…” She looked sideways and leaned in to whisper again. “Her uncle, the one who left her all these books? He wrote this weird diary about vampires and hunting them.” She paused for effect, then went on, “I read some of it. Guy was sick in the head.”

  The man looked up sharply. “Really? Hunting them? Did he kill any?”

  Brenda raised her eyebrows and shrugged. “He tried to. One of them was his own brother, but I didn’t get to see if he did it or not. Corky took the book back home.”

  “His brother was a vampire?”

  “I guess he thought he was. I don’t know, you know. The guy sounded nuts. What I read of it.”

  “Did it give his name?”

  Brenda hesitated for a moment. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember.”

  The man frowned and shook his head, then muttered something Brenda didn’t hear. He handed her a fifty to pay for the books. “Listen… can I leave my name and number? I’d like to talk to her. The woman with the books. Corky, you said?”

  Before Brenda could reply the man was reaching past her for a notepad and scribbling his name on it. He passed it back to her.

  “Please, just… tell her I’d like to talk to her about her book collection. It’s nothing bad. I’m not a weirdo or anything. I’m just working on a project, sort of. She might be able to help.”

  Brenda pinned the message to the wall by the phone. “Sure, I’ll tell her.”

  The man thanked her and hefted his purchases into his arms. On his way out the door, he stopped to pet Thump, who was lying in a patch of sun on one of the reading chairs. Thump didn’t even open his eyes.

  When the door clinked shut behind him, Brenda reopened her magazine.

  “Freak,” she whispered.

  ***

  Corky returned from lunch. “Hey, Bren.”

  “Cork.” Brenda looked up and shut her magazine. “Busy times, one entire customer while you were gone. Sold about ten of your books, though.”

  “Cool.” Corky and Brenda traded places behind the counter, and Corky settled onto the stool. “All to one guy?”

  “Yeah, listen, he wants you to call him.” Brenda pointed to the message. “He wants to talk about your ‘collection’ as he says. Total freakshow.”

  Corky tugged the message down. “Freakshow? What, the guy?”

  “All tattoos up one arm, big scar on his face. Earrings like hoops, but inside the skin, you know? All stretched out.” Brenda made a face. “Gross. But he did have pretty eyes.
Brown, but just this pale brown.”

  “What does he want to talk to me for?”

  Brenda shrugged. “No clue. Just, you know. He was asking about whose books they were, all those ones, you know. And I told him you had brought them all in… it’s not like a big deal or anything. He said he’s working on a project. I guess it’s about vampires.” Brenda paused, hoisting her purse up over her shoulder. “You gonna call him?”

  “I don’t know.” Corky looked at the name on the paper and ran her index finger across it. Grey Randall. Probably a weirdo. She’d had the vampire books up for sale here for about six months now. It had taken her and Lew almost three hours to go through all the books she had brought back, getting them priced and shelved for sale. Nate had refused to help with them – he thought the books were cursed. The first few weeks, she hadn’t sold any of them. When they did sell, they always seemed to go in groups. Some readers really got into vampire stories, she guessed. One girl had come in every week to buy a couple more of them, and there was the man who had bought three copies of Dracula. She wondered which books Mr. Grey Randall had taken, and pulled the consignment list over to look at it.

  When Corky looked up from this, Brenda had left. Thump leaped onto the counter and began washing his paws. Corky smiled. “Hey, Thumpers.”

  Thump meowed at her. She stroked his back and thought about calling Grey Randall. She mulled it over, and then pinned the number back on the message board.

  Maybe later.

  Chapter 2

  He came back at the end of the month. Corky was in the office, and she saw him at the counter talking to Lew. Scar on his forehead, tattoos down his arm. She stepped back and peeked from behind the crack between the door and the jamb.

  Lew said something, and the man laughed and glanced toward the office.

  Corky held her breath. Could he see her? Surely not. What a deep voice he has. She felt goose bumps rise up along her arms and she put her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes.