“Jesus.” The tooth was completely rotted. It was black at the root. He flushed it down the toilet, washed up, and rinsed the blood from his mouth. He chased it with some stinging mouthwash.
Ready for that doctor yet? the ghoul in the mirror seemed to ask.
He turned off the light and slipped into bed beside Marisa. Even in the dim moonlight he could see the fear in her eyes.
He kissed her on the forehead. “It’ll be all right, Mar.”
“Hold me. Just hold me.”
He did. He could still taste that coppery blood. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She sniffled. “What’s happening to him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he just whacked his leg on the bed frame.”
“You don’t believe that any more than I do. And no, I don’t think there’s something lurking under my son’s bed.”
“Then how do you explain the bruising? The scrapes?”
“I can’t. But there has to be another explanation.”
“And the stone? He said it moved.”
“It was dark! What are you saying?” When he didn’t respond, she sat up. “What is it?”
“Nothing. We should get some sleep.”
“Tell me,” she said. “You promised you would.”
“It’s no big deal. I lost a tooth.”
“You and I both know you’re lying.”
“I did lose a tooth.”
“Really? You’re going with that? Stop lying to me, Jared. Stop trying to protect me. I’m not going to break.”
He caught himself before he started tapping.
“Out with it,” she said. “Whatever it is, you need to tell me. Now.”
He didn’t know if he should; didn’t know if he could. The truth was, he didn’t know he wasn’t crazy.
“Now,” Marisa demanded.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay.” He got up for more water. Mostly to splash on his face to wake him up from this nightmare.
When he got back in bed, Marisa took him by the hand. “You’re trembling. What the hell is going on?”
“You’re not going to like it. Just promise me you won’t flip out.”
“Just tell me. Please.”
“Okay.” He paused. “When we were downstairs, did you feel anything?”
“Besides that crippling terror when I saw you holding a gun over my child? No.”
“You know what I mean.”
She shook her head. “No. I didn’t.”
“I did. It was almost as if someone was there in the shadows. Or some thing.”
“Stop creeping me out.”
“I felt it earlier, Mar. I could feel someone watching me. Right here in this room.”
“If you’re trying to scare me, you’re doing a bang-up job. But there’s more, isn’t there? With you, there always is.”
“There’s more,” he admitted. “And this is the really crazy part. The scary part.”
She stirred at his lingering silence.
“Something happened when I tried to pull Kit from under the bed,” he said. “I didn’t lose my grip on him. Something pulled him back.”
~ 99
As on the day of Kyle Duncan’s funeral, it rained on the Tuesday when Sonia Wheaton was laid to rest. The gathered dispersed after the ceremony, and Jared stood in the drizzle under his wide umbrella, pondering. Marisa stood with him and had to give him a gentle shake to snap him out of it.
He took a long last look at the casket. This is just the beginning, he thought.
“It’s not over,” Marisa said. “Is it.”
He didn’t say a word.
~ 100
The search for Artie Fisher—the official search, that was—ended abruptly on the Monday after Sonia Wheaton’s funeral, when Sheriff Kingsley declared it over. Artie’s wife Trixie kept tacking up posters wherever she could, and even turned to local radio to plead for Artie’s return. In desperation she held a candlelight vigil in the park with her two teenage daughters, but the chatter about her missing husband and Sonia Wheaton quickly faded, turning to the mild buzz about Friday. Mayor Campbell had declared it a town holiday, had okayed school closures, and even garnered local financial support for the parade and festivities.
Jared Cole Day was born.
As the parade finally ended around three in the sweltering afternoon, a crowd filled Raleigh Avenue and most of the park, taking in games of chance and a party atmosphere. For his part, Jared sat uncomfortably under a canopy at a conference table, signing one copy of Insanity after another. He’d had his agent ship 500 copies directly to Gwen Cowen for the event, and Gwen had taken care of the rest. Taking advantage of a scheduled break, he slumped back in his stiff chair and rubbed his aching hand. He couldn’t tell if it was stiff because of the signatures or his worsening condition. Every day he awoke to a new, darker stranger in the mirror. Every day he grew edgier, more fearful. He found himself looking over his shoulder in the sprawling rooms and long corridors in his cavernous house, as if something lurked within the walls themselves. He had hardly slept, unable to shake the sensation of watchful eyes.
Kit had fared better. He hadn’t had an incident in the last week, and so far as Jared and Marisa knew, he had slept through the nights. Maybe, Jared figured, he had been wrong at Sonia’s funeral. Maybe it wasn’t the beginning. Maybe it had been the end.
He didn’t believe that for a New York minute.
The fever had come and gone in random fits. He had eaten more food than he could stand, and had still lost another five pounds. His thirst never quit. He had lost a second tooth just this morning, and another abscess had developed on the other side of his mouth. At breakfast, chasing his bacon, eggs, and toast with six chocolate donuts, he discovered a shiny new penny: His fingernails had taken a lovely hue of ash.
He chuckled to himself. Through it all, he craved not a single puff of a cigarette. He even tossed his “crisis Camels.” It was ironic, given the poisons in those little assassins. It was far more likely that the gateway would take him out, long before they could.
A young boy ran past him, chased by a dark-haired girl holding a half-eaten candy apple. His eyes followed them a moment, when his gaze turned to the columns of posters tacked to the aspens that lined the avenue. He had to wonder if Artie Fisher would ever be found.
Rose Tillman came up to him. She held a lace parasol, shading her from the sun. A curled pink ribbon adorned her silver hair, one that matched her nails and her flip-flops. She looked as frail as she had on her front stoop beside the Greenwood’s ruins, but those emerald eyes held life. Her soft smile was infectious and trusting, but he had to wonder if she’d spring another surprise on him. Tell him he was going to die, or something.
“Good afternoon, Rose,” he said brightly. He shook her hand. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Big doin’s,” she said, admiring the goings-on. “Not too shabby for a local boy.”
“Thank you. It’s a little overwhelming.”
“Ahhh, you deserve it. Besides, it’s nice to see some life around here for a change. The Falls is such a stale old place. We’re proud of you.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Can I get you anything? I doubt it’s as good as yours, but I think they’ve got iced tea at one of the booths.”
“Oh, no thank you,” she said, tapping a bottle she had strapped to her fanny pack. “But there is something else.”
“Of course. What is it?”
With an impish grin, she regarded the short stack of books on the table. Most were being sold at a booth near the fountain, but Jared had kept a few for display. One of them stood cradled in a metal book stand.
“A book?” he said. “Really?”
“You keep the blood flowin’,” she said. “I got a copy of your first book from Merritt DeWitt down at the library the other day. I always liked a good vampire story. You’re almost as good as that Stoker fella.”
“Rose, you never cease to surprise.” He signed the book with a
grin and handed it to her.
“Thank you! How much do I owe you?”
“Not a chance,” he said. “It’s the least I can do for the best oatmeal raisin cookies I ever had. The best.”
Rose blushed, and then she gave him a gentle peck on the cheek. “Oh, if you were only forty years older.”
Jared smiled, but those bright emerald eyes seemed to falter. He saw more than a glimmer of concern in them. “Rose?”
She paused for a breath. “You be well, Jared Cole. You be well.”
He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but she thanked him again and moved on. She’s an odd bird, he thought. Still—the way she had looked at him—it didn’t sit right.
Not at all.
~ 101
Jared scanned the bustling crowd in search of Marisa and found her near a booth across the way. She looked pretty in her print summer dress, and he chuckled when two older men gave her second and third glances as they walked by.
Sarah Coleman stood with Kit. His right arm was cocked, about to toss a baseball into a basket trying to win a prize. Jared tried to will a good throw, but Kit missed by a mile.
He glanced to his left and felt something thick clog his throat. Oh, shit.
Marisa’s parents were heading his way.
Catherine Judge was, like her daughter, a beautiful woman, one of those lucky ones who had aged far more than gracefully. She was sixty-four but could have passed for forty-four; she had this eternal youth that seemed to defy the laws of everything. She could be judgmental, but fair. Marisa had told him that, while her parents were of course disappointed in him for leaving her the way he did, her mother understood. Her mother.
Henry Judge could never be so understanding … or forgiving. Henry was, in his own words, “a man’s man,” whatever the hell that meant, a man whose time was the 1950s and not a decade beyond. Henry had never liked him, calling him “one of them artsy types.” To think the man capable of letting bygones be bygones was like a husband telling his wife she looks fat, and expecting her to forget what he just said. Not that Jared believed he deserved any kind of exoneration; he was guilty on all charges, so to speak, because, as Henry liked to say, facts were facts.
He tried to find Marisa again. She was lost in the crowd now.
Just be pleasant, he thought. What’s the worst that can happen?
“Jared,” Catherine said when the Judges came up to him. She sounded genuinely warm.
Jared stuck out a hand to shake, but she hugged him.
“We’ve missed you,” she said, and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been good,” he said. “And to see you, it looks like they can stop looking for the fountain of youth. Apparently, it’s right here in Torch Falls.”
“You always had a way with words,” she said, blushing. “Thank you.”
Jared turned to Henry Judge. He put out his hand.
Henry glanced down at it, then shook it obligingly. “Jared.”
“Oh, Henry, stop it,” Catherine said.
Henry scanned the crowd. “Quite the turnout.”
“Yeah,” Jared said anxiously. He shrugged. “I didn’t know what to expect, really.”
“Well I for one think it’s fantastic,” Catherine said. “You should be proud.”
“Thank you.”
“Where’s Pinky?” she said, using Marisa’s childhood nickname as she scanned the crowd. “Oh! There she is.” She moved closer to Jared and stroked his arm. “We’re good,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Life goes on.” She kissed him again and headed for Marisa, only to get sidetracked by a rack of bright summer dresses.
Jared glanced at Henry. Henry was staring.
“You still doin’ that?” Henry said.
Jared stopped tapping his thigh. “Sorry.”
Henry grimaced. He closed his eyes just for a moment.
“You okay?” Jared said. “Marisa said you were having migraines.”
“She worries too much about nothin’.” Henry moved beside Jared, watching his daughter across the way. “Don’t hurt her. Not again.”
Jared tried to swallow the brick in his throat. “I won’t.”
Henry turned to him. He stuck out his hand, and Jared took it. Henry smiled. “I don’t wanna have this conversation again. If we do, it won’t be anywheres near so pleasant.” He made his way through the crowd and surprised his grandson with a tousle of his hair.
Jared started tapping again.
~ 102
Jared spent the next ten minutes trying to avoid eye contact with Henry Judge. The only thing that stopped him from beelining for his Land Rover was the fact that all this nonsense, all this big doin’s, was for him. Besides, if he did run off, he’d have to keep running—he couldn’t begin to imagine what “anywheres near so pleasant” might be. And didn’t want to.
Gwen Cowen joined Marisa for a chat. Her daughter Jennifer stood with her. Gwen looked attractive in her bright yellow dress, while Jen sported an olive short-sleeved shirt and a pair of blue jean shorts. Her father stood behind her looking around, and when Jared realized that Ricky had spotted him and was on his way over, he found a smile.
He got to his feet and put out his hand. His head was pounding, but he didn’t let it show.
“Gimme a break,” Ricky said with a grin. “We never shook back then, buddy. Sure as shit not gonna start now.” He gave Jared a hug, and Jared hugged him back.
“It’s good to see you, man,” Jared said. “I missed you. All of you.” He patted Rick on the back.
“Me, too,” Ricky said. “And Jimbo was askin’ about you.”
“How is he? Is he here?”
“Nah,” Ricky said, scratching his day-old scruff. “You know Jimbo. Always workin’.”
“Don’t tell me. Still at the Chop Shop?”
“Where else?”
“Shit. I’m surprised he hasn’t offed old what’s-his-name with a wrench by now. What was that old bastard’s name?”
“Bert Humphries,” Ricky said, rolling his right hand into a stubby fist. Humphries ran the Chop Shop, a classic-car restoration outfit on the south end of town. He lost all four of his right fingers when a ’65 Corvette slipped off a hoist and the frame sliced them clean off. It had been Jim Tate’s first day—and as it turned out, almost three weeks to the day before Jimbo lost his eye.
“Stumpy Humpy!” Jared said, laughing. “Jesus, he was a crusty son of a bitch. Used to chew my ass off if I showed up ten seconds late with his Friday-night pizza, for Christ’s sake. A sunrise pissed him off.”
“Hey, Jare. You feelin’ okay?”
Jared had a sweat going. “Just the heat. It’s brutal.”
“Seriously. You’re not lookin’ so hot. A little gray, actually. And your eyes, man. Like you used to get with your allergies. Only worse.”
“Thanks, Rick. You look like shit, too. Gettin’ old?”
Ricky laughed. “Not as old as you, old man. When you’re ninety-five, I’ll be a spry ninety-four. And still kickin’ your sorry ass at stick.”
“No shit,” Jared said. “But I’ll always be better looking.”
“Yeah. A real peach. Like that faded billboard out on the highway.”
“Jesus, I know. I wish they’d take that thing down. It’s a total embarrassment.”
“Don’t tell the mayor that. I hear he’s got a thing for ya.”
Jared looked at Ricky’s wife and shook his head. He’d have to thank Gwen for that one. “Just the books, I hope.”
Ricky scanned the sprawling crowd. He gave Jared a small shot to the arm. “You made it, buddy. You fucking smoked it. I always knew you would.”
“Thanks, Rick. It’s been a wild ride.”
“I guess it has. Shit, Marisa told me all about ‘Castle Cole.’ Jesus.”
Jared chuckled, embarrassed. He shrugged. “Yeah. It’s home.”
“Hey, ya don’t hafta play it down for me. I never read your books, but I’m your biggest
fan. Always was. You got me through high school, man. I never would have graduated if you hadn’t written all those English papers for me.”
“And I would have never gone out with Marisa if you hadn’t kicked my ass.”
“You had it comin’, dumbass. When a good lookin’ girl asks you out, you say yes.”
“Oh, really,” Jared said, giving him a shot to the arm. “How many times did Gwen ask you out before you said yes?”
“Just the once. After you kept turning her down, I swooped in for the kill.”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s not the way I remember it.”
“That’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it.”
Jared looked over at Marisa with a smile. She caught him looking and smiled back. He raised his hand as if he were drinking, and she got the message. She left Gwen and headed for a refreshment booth.
“It’s good to see you two together again,” Ricky said.
Jared nodded. “Yeah.”
“You two okay?”
“We are. I just wish things had been different the last seven years.”
“Same old Jared. Man, when the hell are you going to stop worrying about shit you can’t control?”
“You’re right. I know.”
“You need me to kick your ass again? ’Cause I’ll do it. Right here. Right now.”
“You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Bet your ass I would. You got what most people never get. A second chance.”
Jared agreed with a nod.
Ricky looked around solemnly, his gaze falling on a cute teenage couple walking by. “It’s a damn shame about Kyle.”
“I know,” Jared said, hoping Rick would leave it at that. He could see in the man’s deep-set eyes that he wouldn’t.
“Jare,” Ricky said. “That thing at the funeral. That shit with Bobby … I … I don’t want to ask.”
“I know you don’t. But I know that you do. And that’s okay. To tell you the truth, I don’t know what happened. Bobby needed someone to blame, I guess. I was it.”
Gateway Page 23
