“Okay,” Marisa said. “I get it. But I still don’t see how this’ll help. What’s she gonna do? Speak to you from beyond the grave?”
Jared didn’t say a word.
~ 190
Jared and Marisa reached Howard Street, and she slowed as they passed the remains of the Greenwood home. She parked on the side of the street at Number 8.
“Whoa,” she said. “Major déja-vu. It’s Bobby Duncan all over again.”
“I kinda figured you’d feel that way. Sorry.”
Marisa looked over at Rose Tillman’s stoop. There were two-by-fours nailed across the front door. It clearly had been busted after the EMS team had broken in.
“The cops,” Jared said. “They must have sent someone over to secure the home after Rose had been sent back to the hospital.”
“So now what? I doubt she left a note in the mailbox. Or a key to the back door.”
“I’ll have to find a way in.”
“This is becoming a habit. A bad one.”
Marisa went to unbuckle her seat belt, but Jared stopped her. “I’ll go. There’s no sense both of us being charged with B & E.”
He got out into the rain. There were no small windows on the front, just a large picture window, and when he went around to the right side of the house, found the kitchen window was too high to reach. The home was old, with no basement—no lower windows. The back door was locked, of course, but then he remembered the window on the Greenwood’s side. He doubted Rose had had the glass replaced, and as luck would have it, she hadn’t. The window was chest high, and he was able to rip through the plastic easily. He pulled himself up and shimmied through the opening into the dining room. Thunder rolled overhead.
The place was stuffed with old-style furnishings and lifeless paintings in dark bulky frames. There was that usual, unfamiliar smell of someone else’s home, coupled with another: The lingering undercurrent of animal feces. The name of Rose Tillman’s cat escaped him, but it danced on the tip of his tongue. No doubt the thing was still in the house, and more than a tad hungry.
“Andy?” he whispered. Then it came to him. “Amos?”
Nothing. He supposed it could be napping. Maybe outside. Or maybe it was dead.
It’s barely been three days, he thought. No way that cat’s dead. Besides, that smell’s pretty ripe.
He was about to head into the living room when he noticed the heirloom Ansonia mantel clock perched on a short shelf beside the window. Its pearl face was cracked. It listed forward on three stubby legs—the fourth had probably snapped off when it struck the floor. The dismembered leg lay beside the clock. And just as Rose had told him, its old hands were stuck at the time of the blast: 10:51. It was almost as if time itself had stopped that day. As if Torch Falls had fallen prey to a monster so big, it had swallowed the town whole.
He searched the main floor. He had no idea what he might be looking for, had no idea what he expected to find. Marisa was right, they didn’t have time for this, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something here. Even the slightest clue that would lead him to his son. Because the more he tried to figure out where Kit was, the more his head seemed to throb.
Place your hands with God, Rose had said. Well, God, I’m here. My hands are wide open.
Yet nothing leapt out at him. No guiding light came shining down from above. No lightning struck.
He gazed at the small crucifix that hung on the wall near the living-room TV. “Come on,” he whispered. “Just a little help here.”
More thunder came as lightning flashed at the windows. He took the stairs, and at the top step, Amos leapt at him. He let out a yelp and stumbled back down a couple of steps. The cat zipped past, stopping at the landing.
“Jesus Christ,” he moaned, clinging to the railing. He looked down at the animal, and the lightning caught its eyes. They glowed eerily like greenish-gold coins, flickering in step with the random flashes of the storm.
He took a step down, and Amos bolted. “Stupid cat.”
He made his way up and took the corridor to the master bedroom. The bedspread was halfway off the bed, and he figured that Rose had tried to pull herself up with it after her fall. Her cordless phone was on the floor. He picked it up and set it on the dresser.
The room was dim, and so he went to the window and spread the drapes. Facing the Greenwood home—what was left of it, that was—he imagined Rose standing in this very spot, watching Tom Greenwood in his kitchen as he pulled out his stove.
“Why am I here, Rose?”
He turned from the window ready to leave. But just as Marisa had said, there she was.
~ 191
Jared stood in a daze. Surely his eyes were playing tricks in the uneven light; surely the fever was working its black magic. But no. There on the night stand was Rose Tillman, calling out to him from beyond the grave.
He picked up the library copy of Luscious and flipped it open. Rose had placed an envelope inside it. The face read Jared Cole, in fine black ink.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and set the book beside him. He opened the envelope and drew out the letter.
My dear Jared,
I have prayed to the Good Lord that this letter would never find you. But if you’re reading this, I fear that the storm has come.
You’re in pain. More pain than any one man should bear. But you have something deep inside that’s so very special. It can carry you on the good days, and Lord knows, it can bury you on the bad. We’re much alike, we are. Sometimes things come to me. And sometimes they come to you.
You saw something in my eyes that day in the park. I never felt so cold on such a warm day. Not once in ninety-two years. I saw your gateway and that dark shape that came through. It had the devil’s eyes. The devil’s hands. Harm is what it does.
Oh, Jared. You’re so afraid you’re going to fail. Afraid you’re too late to save your child. I can’t see where he is, but I know that he’s alone. Alone and afraid. I wish I had more, but I don’t; that’s the way it is sometimes. It’s not all silver and gold.
You need to be mindful, now. The storm will come for you, as it has for us all. But if you have the will and hold faith in your heart, the storm will serve you. It will save you.
My time has passed. No regrets. But there is one thing I wish I could take back. I’m so sorry I couldn’t take away your pain. You’re sick with sorrow, Jared. Let go of the guilt. Your soul is worn. Set it free.
Rose
P.S. If you find my Amos, listen to what he tells you. And if you can, set him loose. Set him free.
Jared folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope.
What the hell was this? It was like a bad joke of connect the dots. A map without landmarks or directions.
He went to the window and glanced at the ruins next door. The rain was coming steadily now.
“What are you trying to tell me, Rose? Where is my son?”
It hurt to think. His limp brain seemed to limp more than it ever had. He pounded the window sill in anger, and nearly drove a fist through the glass in his rage. Only once prior, in the dark and the rain, had he felt so helpless.
Breathe it out.
He turned around, half-expecting to find Judd standing there, mocking him. But what he saw made him start: Those eyes, those ghoulish coins, staring up at him from the corridor. They flickered with the lightning, and then they were gone.
He rushed into the hall and saw the cat at the top of the stairs. “Amos?”
The tabby meowed, those greenish-gold eyes still haunting him. He took a step forward, and the cat bounded down the stairs. He followed, cutting through the living room, trailing all the way to the back door. Amos meowed again, and he opened the door. The cat hesitated, and just when he went to close the door, Amos bolted into the rain and disappeared.
Jared locked the door and made his way back to the living room. From the front window he saw the Land Rover. Saw the cold look of fear in Marisa.
He sta
red at the envelope that was still in his hand. Again he tried to think. Again came the pain. The harder he tried, the harder it became. Kit could be anywhere, and time was running out.
Breathe it out.
He shut his eyes and drew slow, deliberate breaths, so desperate to understand what Rose Tillman was trying to tell him.
His eyes shot open.
“Oh my god.”
~ 192
Jared hurried out the back door and got soaked as he made his way to the Land Rover. Lightning forked across the horizon.
“Well?” Marisa said, animatedly. When he didn’t answer right away, she asked him again, more forcefully.
He drew the envelope from his back pocket.
“What’s that?” she said.
“… Rose.” He handed her the envelope. “Now I know why she insisted on going home after her fall.”
Marisa read the letter. “Oh my god. How? How does she know these things?”
“Now do you believe me?”
“I … I don’t know. Where’s my son, Jared? Where is he?” She started to weep.
“It’s Judd,” he said. “Judd took him.”
“Judd? Wh—what?”
“Easy, Mar—” He went to put a hand on her leg to comfort her, but she slapped it away.
“What the fuck are you talking about? Judd?”
“Silver and gold,” Jared said. “His rings.”
“That’s insane. That … that can’t be right.”
“Can’t it? At what point do the coincidences stop being coincidences?”
Marisa sat silently, withdrawn.
“Mar? Mar.”
“If he lays a finger on him, Jared, I swear to God I’ll—”
“I know. I know. But we have to keep our heads right now. Agreed?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Why would he do this? Why?”
“Because of me. Judd lost his best friend in Artie Fisher. He’s got a lot of friends in this town. He’s hurting, and he blames me. In a way, he’s right.”
“You’re defending him?”
“Of course not. But you asked.”
“So he’s hurting us by hurting Kit? He’s a bastard. A fucking bastard.”
“We need to go.”
“To Judd’s?”
“He’s not there. You know he’s not.”
“Then where? All it says in the letter is that Kit’s alone.”
“There’s only one place I can think of. The falls.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Judd’s dying, Mar. The falls meant everything to him. He told me that if he could, he’d get buried there.”
“Jared—”
“I know. Let’s move.”
Marisa headed for Main Street. She had to put the wipers at full speed. Thunder cracked.
Jared picked up his phone. The battery was dead. “Do you have yours?”
“Oh, shit. It’s at home. My battery’s low, too. Who were you going to call?”
Jared dug out a cable from the glove box and connected his phone to the charging outlet. “I wanted to call the cops. Not that they could help right now. Hell, there might not even be any cops left. But I need it for something else.”
“What?”
“Rose’s cat. He gave me an idea.”
“Are you serious? By that point in the letter, I figured she was totally senile. What are you saying? That her cat spoke to you?”
“He kinda did.”
“Did you hit your head in there?”
“What the hell?” Jared said, pointing. The community center was in flames.
“This is crazy,” Marisa said. They carried on past it, and then she hit the brakes. “Oh my god!”
They watched in horror as two cars at the intersection ahead collided head-on at high speed. There was a deafening crash that resonated inside the Land Rover.
“Jesus,” Jared said. Both drivers had ignored the four-way stop from opposing directions; both were dead. “Get us out of here, Mar.”
The cars blocked the intersection, and Marisa drove onto the sidewalk. She turned left and cruised past the theater, then raced round the block to get back on Main.
“The town’s tearing itself apart,” she said. “We’re too late.”
“Keep your head,” Jared said. His own head was pounding. The drop in atmospheric pressure was only making it worse.
They made it out of town, and were on their way to County Road 3 when Marisa reminded him about Rose Tillman’s cat.
“This’ll sound totally nuts,” he said. “But you know how cats get those creepy eyes when you shine a flashlight in them?”
“Spooky.”
“Spooky as hell. They were flashing with the lightning.”
“So?”
“Remember Parker Brooks? His strobe app?”
“Of course I do. So?”
“The gateway opened when Kit had a seizure. When I tried to link up again, I couldn’t.”
“Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
“I am.”
Marisa considered. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re right. What choice do we have?”
“It might work, Mar. If I can induce a seizure and make a connection, maybe we can close the gateway.” He threw up his hands. “It’s all I’ve got.”
“And if we’re too late?”
“One step at a time, okay?”
“All right, suppose we do get there in time. How do we handle Judd? I doubt I’ll be able to stop him. And you’re not in any shape to fight.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Jared said. “Pull over for a minute.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to freak out behind the wheel.”
“The fact that you just said that is freaking me out.”
She stopped on the shoulder. The storm was growing stronger. Gusts rocked the vehicle.
“Okay,” she said, sliding the shifter into park. “Freak me out.”
Jared looked out at the rain. The wipers could barely keep up. “You have to know something about Judd. He carries a knife. A big one.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Not freaking yet.”
“That’s good. But here’s the part where you do.” He hesitated. “My gun.”
“You see this face? This is what freaking looks like.”
“You said it yourself. Neither of us is a match for Judd.”
“This is nuts! And we don’t have time for this!”
“It’s in the back.”
“What? When the hell were you going to lay out this little tidbit?” She shook her head with a grimace, fuming.
“I know you’re upset. But let’s get a little real here for a second. There’s a good chance that I might not make it.”
“What?”
He paused. “I’m weak, Mar. My head’s throbbing. The fever is killing me. I don’t know how much longer I can go on.”
“I can’t do this alone. I can’t.”
“Listen. I know you’re afraid of Kit’s premonition. So am I. After all this, yeah. You bet I am. But I’m not going to give him the gun. No one’s giving him the gun.”
Marisa said nothing. She looked like she might crumble.
“I can’t stop Judd,” Jared said, as if trying to convince them both. “But a bullet can.”
Marisa stared blankly into the storm. A tear slid down her cheek.
~ 193
Judd hobbled along the path. The rain drove hard, and even with the odd bursts of light from the storm, it was growing more difficult to see. Still, despite the rising throb in his leg—not to mention his back—he knew it was only a matter of time before he caught up with the boy.
His hand was still bleeding, but not nearly as much now. The wrapping was blood-soaked. He still couldn’t grip the knife with his right hand, but no matter. He’d make do.
He peered into the gloom, hoping to catch random movement ahead. There was nothing definitive, only the dark sha
pes of the trees and the wind-swept rain. A flash of lightning revealed little more.
He carried on. There were hints of the boy’s progress here and there, small amounts of mud on exposed rocks. Some were footprints, some streaks, telltale signs of the crutches. He was certain he would find Kit soon, for there was no way the kid could make his way down some of the slopes. Not on those stick-legs.
He stopped at the foot of a steep rise. There was no sign of the boy having made it up, but he had no doubt that he had—there was no other route. An old hiking trail branched off the main path, but that was much further along. Besides, the terrain there was a whole lot rockier and well-less defined than this. It wouldn’t take much to lose your way and find yourself wandering off of it. Especially in a storm.
Hobbling up the rise, he stopped twice because of the pain in his ankle. At the top, the trail flattened out for a while, and he kept on.
Where the fuck are you, you little shit?
He was beginning to think he might never find him. But then a flash of lightning lit up the forest, and he caught a glimpse of movement ahead. It was there for an instant, and then it was gone. He was certain it was the boy.
He picked up the pace, but the pain forced him to ease up. He stopped, peering into the rain. Thunder boomed. Rolling lightning helped, and again he thought he spotted something in the colorless gloom. He made another fifty paces, struggling up a slight rise that curved left.
At the top, he stopped just beyond a tall ponderosa pine that stood beside the path. He tried to see his way through the rain. The path sloped steeply, and he wondered how the boy had made it down so quickly. Most of the hillside consisted of bare rock and a half-dozen exposed tree roots cut across it. The thing was, there wasn’t a single rock he could see that had mud on it. It would have been impossible to—
His eyes widened as it came to him. He whirled to see Kit emerge from behind the pine. The boy swung the crutch like a baseball bat. Judd rocked back, taking the brunt of the blow on the side of the head. He cried out, staggering, and cried out again as his ankle screamed when he put all of his weight on it.
Gateway Page 45
