The Truth Collector (Demon Marked Book 1)

by Corey Pemberton

  Paul pushed past him and started opening doors. He started at the edge and worked his way around the room one door at a time. Their knobs turned without resistance. Paul opened them quietly, peeked in, and shut them a few seconds later.

  He didn't stop until he'd made it about halfway around the circle. He left one door open there, pointing into a hallway with pink walls.

  Malcolm looked at the pianist. “Is that it? Are the girls in there?”

  But the pianist only played and sang. “Pretty pink for the pretty girls.”

  They left him there singing, crying, and apologizing all at once. He promised to be better. He swore he'd do whatever it took to make them happy.

  “Who's he talking about?” said Paul.

  “I don't know. But I'm pretty sure it isn't anyone we want to meet. Come on.”

  * * * *

  Where the last corridor was long and ornate, this one looked like it belonged in a medieval dungeon. Malcolm and Paul crossed a floor of cold stone. The rocks that comprised it were jagged, sending them stumbling across uneven patches. The piano man's tune still played, echoing off the stones. Someone had strewn mismatched wallpaper along the sides and even the ceiling. Scraps of fuchsia and rose mingled with magenta and salmon. Different sizes and hues jutted out from stone surfaces, competing for their attention like they were in some kind of twisted home improvement store.

  Once they were a few dozen steps into the corridor, the stone floor gave way to wallpaper too. Then it was almost impossible to tell up from down… or if they were even moving at all. Malcolm looked up and found Charlotte watching them through the little hole in the ceiling. She had her face pressed close to the mirror. Malcolm locked eyes with those huge browns and jerked his head down the hallway. She backed away from the mirror and adjusted the angle of her flashlight.

  A streak of light appeared down the hallway. Charlotte shook it up and down and around the pink walls. She beamed the light all the way to where the corridor ended abruptly at a wall with a single torch flickering in a sconce.

  Paul sighed. “Crazy bastard led us in the wrong direction.”

  Malcolm watched the light, focused on that flickering torch. Charlotte pulled her light back and led their eyes along the corridor. She did it slowly this time… until it revealed a little gap in all the pink. Malcolm grabbed Paul's arm.

  They watched as she bounced the light up and down, signaling them.

  Then Nora began to cry again.

  She probably hadn't even stopped. But the way she did it this time made Malcolm prick up his ears.

  This time was different – louder.

  This time the sound wasn't coming from inside his head, but out in the world beyond.

  “Nora!” said Paul, sprinting down the corridor. Malcolm took off after him. They ran for the light at the end of the tunnel. They ran for the girl who would set them free.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  She looked at them with the same strange eyes Malcolm remembered.

  “I remember you,” she said. “From the park.”

  Malcolm and Paul stood against a door leading into what looked like a little girl's bedroom. There was a bunk bed inside. Nora lay on the bottom bunk huddled beneath a pile of sheets and blankets. Her hair was combed – it even had a little bow in it – and her face was clean. She looked just the same as before…

  Before someone plucked her from her old life and dropped her into something new.

  Malcolm and Paul rushed into the room, leaving the door open just like they found it. They stood beside the girl's bed with their battered bodies and ripped clothes. Malcolm reached out and touched her little hand and squeezed it.

  It was real.

  She was real – as real as any of this was.

  Nora squeezed his hand back. “You're hurt.”

  Malcolm shook his head. “It's not so bad.”

  “Are you okay?” said Paul.

  The girl looked at their faces for a long time before she finally spoke. “I'm okay. But not if I stay here. Not if they hurt me like they hurt the other kids – like they hurt Carol.”

  Something stirred in the top bunk.

  Malcolm and Paul leaped away from the bed, but the little girl didn't let go of Malcolm's hand so he ended up taking her and half her blankets with him. They watched something writhe around on the mattress.

  “She's awake,” Nora said. She pulled her hand away, climbed on top of her bed, and stood on her tiptoes to look over the edge. “Hi, Carol. My friends are here.”

  “Nora,” said Paul. “Wait!”

  But the girl ignored him. She climbed the ladder with ease and crawled in the top bunk next to the girl who lay there motionless. “She sleeps a lot,” Nora said. “But I like her. She's nice.”

  Malcolm and Paul looked at each other and shrugged. They walked back to the bed, looked over the edge and found the girls lying together on a little twin mattress. Nora and the other girl cuddled like they were on a sleepover. Except the other girl was hardly a girl at all, but well on her way to womanhood. Her hip jutted from the mattress, and budding breasts pushed against the t-shirt she wore. She lay on her side perfectly still as the younger girl ran a finger through her hair.

  Malcolm leaned forward and waved a hand in front of the girl's face. Her eyes didn't follow when his fingers passed. They didn't move or even blink. She stared at something in the corner of the room that no one else could see.

  “She doesn't talk much,” Nora said. She whispered something in the girl's ear. “I think she's shy.”

  “Was she here when you got here?” Malcolm said. “When the bad man took you?”

  The girl looked at the ceiling, thinking. “Yeah. It's her room. Mistress Rebecca said we could share. She's nice too.”

  “Mistress Rebecca?” said Paul.

  “Forget it,” Malcolm said. “We came here to take you home, Nora.” He looked up at the little hole in the ceiling and found Charlotte pressed against the mirror. Her eyes were wet with tears, shimmering in the lamplight.

  The girl leaned over the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around Malcolm's neck. “Don't leave me here.” Hot tears dribbled onto his face. “Don't let them keep me. Mistress said if I'm a good girl I can go home later. But I think she's lying.”

  Malcolm picked her up and pulled her off the bunk bed. “Come on. Let's get you out of here.” He put her down and pointed at a pair of slippers next to the doorway. Nora moved quickly, obeying without a word. Once the slippers were on she stopped to tug at Paul's pant leg.

  “Can Carol come too?”

  Paul looked at Malcolm and arched his eyebrow.

  “No,” Malcolm said. “I don't think so. Now come on, Nora. We have to get out of here.”

  She made her hands into tiny fists and started pounding Paul's leg. “Please? They're hurting her. I want them to stop. Please let her come.”

  Malcolm shrugged. He turned back to the bunk bed and reached for the older girl's arm. “Let's go. I guess you're coming along for the ride too.” She let him pull her down from the bunk, limbs limp and eyes fixed on the corner of the ceiling. When he put her down she staggered into the pair of slippers Paul put in front of her.

  “Carol,” Nora said. “Those are on the wrong feet. Sometimes it takes her a second.” She bent down and helped the girl match her slippers to the right feet. Then she looked up at them with the hint of a smile on her face. “When do I get to see my mommy and daddy?”

  “They...” Malcolm said.

  “I don't….” Paul said.

  She stared at them without flinching. Those big brown eyes had the same effect as a six-pack of beer. They made you sloppy. Careless. Unable to mask the truth. “That man who took me here – the bad man – did he hurt them?”

  “We can talk about it later,” Malcolm said.

  Her look grabbed his balls and squeezed so tightly he felt his stomach churn. That pain spread to his heart, his lungs. It spread until it washed over him and covered everything in a
skintight coat. Finally he had to look away from her. He lowered his head and bit his lip.

  “What's the point of this?” he whispered, turning his eyes to the woman hovering above them. “What's the point of bringing her back to a world where she has no one?”

  She didn't answer.

  Paul led the girls through the doorway, pulling Nora along while she pulled Carol. Malcolm looked down the hallway from where they came, then back to the end where the torch flickered. “What now?” he said, looking up at Charlotte and shaking a fist. “What now, huh?”

  She angled the flashlight so it bathed the little girl. The girl held out a hand and ran it through the dust motes floating there. When she looked up she gasped. “Charlotte!”

  Charlotte looked down at her and waved.

  “I know her,” Nora said, pointing and jumping up and down. “I met her in the park too. A long time ago with mommy. She lets me feed the squirrels.”

  Paul put an arm around her shoulder. “We're going to see her very soon.”

  Malcolm walked further down the hallway and found other gaps between the pink. More doors awaited them. He opened them one after another, revealing bunk beds and canopy beds and even hammocks that looked like they'd been stripped out of ships. Girls' bedrooms of all shapes and sizes – complete with hairbrushes and mirrors and toys. Some beds were made and others had their covers strewn all over the place…

  But none had little girls in them.

  Nora tugged his leg. “They're playing,” she said. “Me and Carol were playing with them. But then her tummy started hurting so I went back to our room with her. She gets lost sometimes if I don't go with her.”

  “Playing?” said Malcolm. He grabbed Nora's hand and squeezed it – a little too hard. She winced and tried to squirm away as he lightened his grip. “I'm sorry. Where were you playing?”

  She pointed towards the end of the hallway. “There. In the play room. It's really fun. There's lots of toys and girls and boys and one time mistress even had a tea party with us.”

  Malcolm squinted and made out the faint edges of a door. Someone had covered it in pink so it blended in almost perfectly with the rest of the hallway. Malcolm scooped up Nora and ran for it. Paul followed with Carol in tow.

  Piano music still played behind them in a hideous stop-start cadence as they led the girls down the corridor. Nora pointed out a little door between two larger ones just before they reached the wall with the torch. Malcolm put her down. “This is where we play,” she said, pushing at the pink surface.

  It opened soundlessly and she slipped through it before they could stop her. But she reappeared a few seconds later, her face serious. “The bad man's in there. He'll get mad if we try to leave.”

  Malcolm looked at Paul. He seemed just as confused as he was. He looked at the girl standing behind them too, but she just held her stomach and grimaced.

  “He's mean,” Nora said. She waved them on with impatient fingers. “But it's the only way to get out.”

  “Wait,” said Malcolm, grabbing her by the shoulders. “You know how to get out?” He pointed back into the corridor. “We came in back there.”

  She looked at him with her big brown eyes. “That's just the front door, silly. This house has lots of doors. I've seen some of them.”

  “House?” said Paul.

  “Yes,” Nora said. “The biggest house I ever saw.” She ran into the tiny opening. Malcolm had more questions for her – questions upon questions – and the girl she'd left them with wasn't exactly a public relations specialist. Maybe there would be time for answers later… but not now.

  He followed after her.

  Malcolm and Paul had to twist sideways to squeeze through the opening. In its past life this place might have been a linen closet – it smelled of detergent and dryer sheets – but someone had stripped out the shelves and turned it into a makeshift hallway. Its floor was perfectly white – so polished it reflected Charlotte's light right into Malcolm's eyes.

  Another door waited for them at the end of this pass-through space. Nora had already gone through it. It was cracked open, spilling light into the cramped space. Voices spilled in too, though they were nothing more than an indistinguishable murmur with the piano song still haunting their ears. Malcolm opened it a few inches and peeked through the crack.

  He covered his mouth with his hand.

  The door flew open before he could stop himself. Into the room he went with his voice high and his hands curled into fists. Driven by some terrible mix of rage and sadness, Malcolm ran. He didn't stop until he caught up with her…

  Just before she sat down at a table full of girls.

  Paul and Carol came in after them, and they gathered around the group of surprised faces. “What is this place?” Paul said, swiveling his head around a room so enormous it never seemed to end.

  Nora smiled. “I already told you. It's the play room! Do you watch a lot of TV? My mommy told me it rots your brain. Just like candy rots your teeth.”

  There were a few disgusted looks from the girls and a single audible “ew.” But others sat at the table with their faces unchanged. Whatever ability they had to make sense of words – much less humor – had been stripped out of them. Girls of all shapes and sizes gathered at the table, watching them. Girls of all races and hair colors. Little girls and girls like Carol – girls almost grown. They watched the strangers with nervous eyes.

  “Do you live here?” one of them said.

  “No,” said another with sun-baked skin, staring at a coloring book. “They don't live here. They don't have the mark.”

  Other girls nodded their heads in agreement. Then the first girl continued. “Yeah. They don't have the mark like the mean man. He scares me.”

  The tan girl sighed. “Why? Remember what master Maurice said when you got here? No one with the mark can hurt you.”

  “I don't care,” the other girl said. “I want to go home like Nora.”

  “Me too,” came a chorus of voices. “Can we come? Can you take us?”

  But Malcolm's eyes and attention were elsewhere, scanning the room. If he looked at them they'd tug at his heart strings. And when heart strings got tugged you couldn't make the tough decisions that needed to be made. One look around revealed it would take an enormous boat to fit them all. Even if they found a big enough boat to do the job, that was assuming Charlotte could get all of them back in one piece.

  Too many assumptions. Uncertainty covered him like a stinky perfume.

  There were hundreds of girls down here. Some sat at tables talking while others jumped ropes and played in princess castles. Swings creaked as girls kicked them into the air, laughing. A few lay on their backs with their hands behind their heads. Not exactly resting, but staring off into the distance like Carol did.

  “Are we outside?” said Paul.

  “No,” one of the girls said. “This is the play room.”

  “But there's grass and sky and –”

  “Because this place is special,” said another.

  Malcolm looked up and found a sky. It shined down on him polished blue. Too shiny. Too perfect and curved, and there wasn't a cloud or bird in it. “It's paint,” he said. “Someone painted the rocks up there to make it look like we're outside.”

  “But what about the grass?” Paul said. “How can it grow without sunlight?”

  Malcolm shrugged.

  “We already told you,” the tan girl said. “This place is special.”

  Then there was a scream somewhere past the playground. The girls looked at each other in silence, dropping blocks and dolls and crayons. “Hide,” Nora said.

  “What?”

  “The bad man is coming. He's going to find you.” She sat down at the table and pointed at the tiny gap beneath it.

  Malcolm squeezed under and curled himself into a ball. Paul slid in beside him, the girls' shoes sticking their ribs and dangling in front of their faces. Malcolm made himself even smaller, but his feet were still exposed. Th
ey flopped out into the grass next to Paul's shoulder. Try as they might they couldn't shrink their bodies down to little girl proportions.

  “I bet one of the boys is acting up again,” one of the girls said above them.

  The others hissed at her, told her to hush. All of the chatter from before dried up and disappeared.

  They hid under the table for a long time – so long that Malcolm started to wonder if every girl up there had slipped into Carol's brain-dead state. His limbs began to ache and go numb.

  Then there was a jingling sound.

  It was loud, and unmistakable.

  Someone – or something – was walking with a giant ring of keys. The acoustics in the room magnified every movement. That constant jingle filled Malcolm's ears, joining the piano tune still playing there. It was hard to say which one was worse.

  The thing with the keys moved slowly. It pounded one foot then shuffled the other. Not on the grass, but on one of the paved paths between all the green space. It grew louder, and Malcolm felt the girls' legs stiffen.

  All quiet now… except for the ringing keys and the step-shuffle-step.

  Those feet reached the end of the pavement and struggled across the grass. “Hello, girls.” Its voice was almost human, but Malcolm couldn't discern its gender. The sounds those vocal cords made didn't register either way…

  But they were somehow familiar.

  “Hello, sir,” the girls said. They did this dutifully, all the passion sucked out of their voices. That thing came closer. Its steps circled around the table in a wide arc. A few girls gasped, unable to contain themselves at whatever horror approached. Then that thing's arc was narrowing, narrowing until its steps bent the grass next to Malcolm's exposed feet.

  The thing stopped moving. “What are we up to over here?”

  “We were just about to have a tea party,” said one of the girls. A few others murmured in agreement.

  “Is that so?” The bass in those words vibrated the table. Then the thing's feet lifted, hovered above Malcolm's, and touched the grass on the other side. Malcolm didn't dare move – didn't dare breathe. All he could do was listen with his limbs frozen beneath the table. Nora's words echoed in his ears: The bad man is coming. He's going to find you.