Whisper Lake (The Turning Book 2)

by Micky Neilson

  Shutting his eyes tight, Jason lowered his head, panting. "Shit. Shit, sorry babe…"

  On the jukebox, "Total Eclipse of the Heart" concluded.

  ***

  Celine had been pissed. She had every right to be. She had kicked him off of her, gone to clean up, then came back and called him every name in the book, and a few that Jason was pretty sure weren't even in the book. She had made him clean the window and the table, and then they sat; her on one side, him on the other. He had looked out at the moon…

  For a moment became lost in it. As it looked down on him, he wondered how much it had seen over the course of its existence. He wondered how much knowledge it might possess, how many secrets it kept, locked away, always in sight but forever out of reach.

  A loud noise snapped Jason back to the here and now. He looked on the table to see a bowl with ice cream and a spoon. Celine had one as well. She sat back across from him but close enough to the edge that she could put her feet on the seat next to him. She had put her shirt back on.

  He hadn't even heard her get up. How long was he zoning out? Celine was eyeing him steadily.

  "I'm sorry," he said again.

  "What's going on with you?" She lifted her bowl, took a spoonful of ice cream and stuffed it in her mouth.

  He took the handle of the spoon and rubbed it between thumb and forefinger.

  "You can talk to me, you know." Celine took another spoonful and talked through it. "Look I know that some of the things that happen, with what you do, being in a war… you don't want to talk about, I get it. But it's not good to just bottle that shit up."

  "People died," Jason said, his voice hoarse.

  "I understand that," Celine answered. "But if you don't tell me what's going on I can't help you."

  Jason felt his eyes moisten. "I don't know what's happening to me," he said. "It feels like… I'm losing my grip. The past few days sometimes it's like I don't even belong in my own skin." His voice was breaking. "I don't know who I am anymore. Fuck, I don't know who I'm gonna be tomorrow, two days from now, next week…"

  Celine withdrew her legs, scooted out of the seat, brought her bowl, and came and sat next to him. She reached up and pulled his head to her shoulder. "You're a warrior. And what you're up against right now is just another fight. The last person you want to lose a fight to is yourself." She looked down, held his cheek, and tilted his head so he could see her. "But you're not fighting this alone. We'll figure it out, okay? We'll figure it out together." She held his cheek. "I love you, fucker."

  Jason closed his eyes. "I love you too," he said.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Clearcut Cemetery occupied a wide knoll halfway between Whisper Lake and Speaker's Mill. It was here that Jason's dad had wished to be buried, alongside his own parents who had lived within walking distance of the mill during the glory days. Back then, the cemetery was just at the edge of town. Now the borders of Whisper Lake had shrunk to the point that Clearcut Cemetery was several miles from the nearest inhabited home.

  Jason parked by the gate and walked toward the Emblock family plots. It was quiet here, save for the occasional gust coming in from the west. After returning from the Wayside last night, he had passed out and enjoyed a few hours of dreamless sleep. Then the nightmare of Death Highway had returned. It played out the same as before— the blackened vehicles; the bodies (including the Iraqi Republican Guardsman), the gigantic moon, Serrano holding Alphabet's head and saying "The Far Reaching One is bound by the Lady of Sorrow," the burned corpse turning its head on creaking tendons... However, where the dream had ended in Germany, it continued last night.

  The body of the Iraqi guardsman had stirred— twitching as it sat up. The charcoaled corpse in the truck crawled out through the passenger window. The moon had drawn closer and Serrano smiled and said "she requires tribute." Then there had been movement all around Jason, the myriad bodies had begun to shift and rouse. The Iraqi guardsman stood on his one intact leg and hopped forward, dragging his severed foot behind him. Jason had shut his eyes as tight as they would go and willed himself to wake up in the name of anything and anyone who might listen, please just wake up. Then he had felt something brush his cheek, something cracked, warm and smelling like charred meat…

  Mercifully, he had awoken, his heart beating so hard he thought it might give out altogether. The posters helped soothe him—he had found time to dig most of them out and pin them up. Old clothes, his old cassette tapes, his boombox, even Dad's hunting rifle—which Jason needed to buy new ammo for—had made it back into his room.

  It had been almost eleven o'clock when, with some difficulty, he had found a functional enough sense of calm to get ready. Jason had donned jeans, a t-shirt, and flannel and driven to Celine's trailer by noon. The two had eaten PB and J sandwiches and chips provided by Lucie, then talked while Celine had gotten ready for work.

  Mostly they had caught up on things that had happened while Jason was away. Celine admitted she had been smoking again and Jason told her he knew, he had tasted it on her the night before. He told her to stop. She promised that they would talk more after her shift. She wanted him to open up to her, and she wanted them to figure out together how to work through all the things that needed working through. "You open up to me and I'll stop smoking, how's that?" He had agreed.

  Can you help me work through the fear that I'm becoming something other than human? Celine owned one of those calendars, the kind that show when the full moons are (although he didn't really need it—he'd been keeping track on his own). Three days, it had read. Three days until the next full moon.

  He had dropped her off at work, told her he would be going back home to spend time with Mom and Trish before going to the cemetery. But in truth he had made other plans. It hadn't taken much asking around to find out where CJ lived: a run-down apartment off of Walker Street. He had pounded on the door, and when no one answered he had waited for almost an hour in his Duster, with no luck.

  He had driven to the town's only florist, picked up some roses (Dad's favorite) and then passed by all the old haunts that he and CJ had frequented during their misspent youth. He had asked everyone he could think to ask, and come up dry. Hours later there had still been no sign of CJ.

  But he couldn't hide out forever.

  Jason reached the top of the hill and his father's gravestone. He laid the roses down at the stone's base and thought about happier times. When he and Dad and Mom were a real family, when all of them, including Mom, smiled and laughed. Then he thought of his eighth birthday, and how fast it all went downhill soon after, from the time he had seen Dad fall down walking from his truck to the house, to him puking his guts out after dinner even though he hadn't been drinking— and then the diagnosis, brain cancer. Inoperable. Terminal. Six months tops but Dad had barely made it five.

  Mom had withdrawn then, becoming a kind of ghost. She wouldn't smile anymore, and when Jason misbehaved she had locked him away, out of sight, out of mind. She had refused to talk about Dad then and still did now; she ignored the topic, ignored the pain, ignored Jason. But one thing Jason had learned: you couldn't solve problems by ignoring them.

  He heard a motor and turned, expecting to see a truck pull up. Then he realized that he was hearing the motor even though it was still a mile or so away. He could hear the traffic on the interstate as well, five miles away, and he could separate each single vehicle distinctly in his mind.

  And the smells… suddenly he was bombarded by scents: aspen, birch, elm… he smelled shit, too. Animal shit and piss, all coming from the nearby forest. He could smell the soil, smell the smoke of a home fire carried on the wind. He could smell animals… a shit-ton of them. And oil, the scent of oil coming from his old Duster. The breeze shifted and he caught the unmistakable odor of Speakers' Mill. It was a sour, heavy, sickening smell.

  The truck was closer now.

  Jason thought of the sounds he had heard on the plane, and now… now the smells. What did it mean?

  Wha
t do you think it means?

  He knew. At this point, he knew. Felt deep in the core of his being, beyond any kind of denial, that three days from now he would become something other than himself. Something more or maybe less than human.

  You can't solve a problem by ignoring it.

  He decided that tonight he would tell Celine everything. Together they could figure something out. Maybe she could lock him up somewhere three days from now, and maybe the two of them could find some way to work through the insanity.

  A white box truck pulled through the gate and stopped at the base of the hill. A thin man in an orange down vest and blue jeans walked around the front and stood looking up.

  It was CJ.

  Jason's blood boiled. His hands balled into fists reflexively and it was all he could do not to bolt down the hill and rip his old friend's throat out.

  "Hey!" CJ said, as if they were just a couple of old friends who hadn't caught up in a while. "I remembered you always came out here… anniversary o' your dad's death and all. Figured you and me should talk." Dimly Jason's mind registered that another vehicle had pulled off of the interstate.

  Jason walked down a few steps. CJ looked like shit. His eyes were sunken, his skin was pale… and Jason could smell the heroin seeping from his pours, enveloping his body like a cheap cologne.

  "Talk? What's the point?" Jason yelled back. "I don't even know who you are. You're not the CJ I knew."

  The second vehicle had come to a stop about a half mile outside the gate, hidden by the trees. "Come on, it's me!" CJ pounded his chest. "We're brothers, you and me! We're not gonna let some stupid shit with a female come between us, right? Don't you wanna hear my side?"

  Jason raised his arm, finger pointed straight as an arrow at CJ's forehead. "You fucked up and it's because of that shit you pump into your veins…" Jason continued descending, faster now. "Those fucking punks you work for got you all twisted up. Well it's over. You beat on Celine for Christ's sake. Did that make you feel tough? Like a real man? Why don't you try that shit with me?"

  CJ was shaking his head. "No, no, no, no… I didn't…"

  Jason continued: "You and me are going back to town. You're gonna tell Sheriff Barclay everything. You can use the junk as an excuse if you want, tell Barclay what that piece of shit boss of yours is up to, you got it? You're coming with me right the fuck now."

  CJ's eyes had watered, his chin scrunched up, his mouth a down-turned horseshoe. "I can't do that! You got no idea what kind of fix I'm in. I can't have this bullshit, bro."

  "If you won't go on your own, I'll make you go." Jason was six meters away and closing fast. "You're gonna answer for what you did, one way or another."

  The movement was quick as CJ snatched something from behind his back. It took a second for Jason's surprised brain to register that CJ was pointing a 9 mm Sig Sauer at him.

  Jason stopped, glancing at the weapon, then fixed his gaze on CJ. "Come on, who are you kidding?"

  CJ's mouth was still drawn down, chin bunched, and tears running down his cheeks. "I don't want to but I swear to God, I'll do what I gotta do to survive. I'll do it, I'll hate myself cause we grew up together and you're the closest thing to a brother I ever had but I will put a fucking bullet in you!"

  A short laugh was Jason's immediate response. Then: "I just came from Iraq. You think a gun's gonna scare me? Besides, we both know you're not gonna shoot."

  CJ's eyes grew wide, eyebrows lifted as he shouted back "and how the fuck would you know that? I'm not the CJ you knew, right? You don't even know who I am, you said so yourself!"

  Jason shrugged. "Maybe. But I know who you aren't." He spread his arms wide and opened up his chest. "But go ahead, prove me wrong."

  With his left hand CJ reached up, cocked the gun, and held it with both hands. He aimed for the center of Jason's chest. Jason stood still, arms out like the statue of Jesus in Rio De Janeiro. The gun shook. CJ shut his eyes tight, tensed…

  Then screamed his frustration to the wind. Whoever had parked a half mile away was on foot now, approaching the gate. Jason could hear their footsteps; smell their body odor.

  CJ had twisted the gun around, shoving the barrel against his forehead. He didn't seem to be aware of the man approaching behind him.

  It was the meathead from the trucking company. The brick shithouse. He was drawing closer, walking right up behind CJ, and there was something in his eyes… a kind of detached blankness. He was moving fast, his right hand behind his back.

  The muscle-freak passed CJ, who was still out of it, and pulled his hand from behind his back. In his gloved hand was another gun, that he aimed at Jason's chest. However, Jason knew that this outcome would not be the same. He heard the creaking tendons of the man's trigger finger a split second before he heard the shot. There was a punch to his sternum and the world spun. Next thing, he was down on his side, the world fading to a single pinpoint.

  ***

  What the fuck is this??

  CJ's ear was still ringing from the shot fired just a few feet away from him. Jason was down. His best friend was down, right in front of him. Dying. Carter shot him. Jesus, fucking hell…

  Then the fucker swung the barrel over at CJ, who immediately lost control of his bladder. "Throw me the gun," he said. CJ did. The asshole caught it, stuck his own gun into his jacket and pulled the slide back to look inside the barrel. He then ejected the Sig Sauer's magazine. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he replaced the magazine, pulled out his own gun and threw it at CJ's stomach. It bounced off and hit the ground.

  Carter now pointed the Sig Sauer at CJ and said "pick it up."

  For a moment CJ ignored him, staring blankly at Jason, lying on his side, unmoving with eyes open… was he dead? Jesus is he dead? He can't be dead holy fuck—

  "Pick it up or you die next," Carter said in a flat voice.

  It felt like he was moving in slow motion, but CJ did as he was told. The asshole waved the Sig Sauer's barrel in Jason's direction, indicating for CJ to move.

  CJ walked up the hill on unsteady legs, nearly falling twice. He looked down at his friend, at the blood soaking into the ground.

  Jason was still breathing but it was wheezy. Carter walked up and put a boot against his shoulder, kicking him over onto his back. Those eyes stared blankly at the sky.

  "Shoot," Carter said, "Three times."

  CJ shook his head, tears running down his cheeks, snot running from his nose.

  "Shoot," Carter repeated. "Or I'm gonna take more than one body out of this cemetery."

  I can't do this.

  You have to, you stupid shit. You wanna die?

  Carter raised the Sig and held the barrel to CJ's temple. Shit shit shit… CJ pointed the gun down at Jason's chest.

  ***

  Jason's world was fading. He heard CJ's voice and the voice of the big guy who shot him, as if from a great distance even though they were standing over him. He vaguely registered that the meathead was telling CJ to shoot him.

  Don't do it, I don't wanna die.

  And he didn't, that was the truth. Despite all the shit he had been through in the past month, despite all the paranoia, uncertainty, confusion, and the thought that yes, maybe he was losing his mind; despite all of that he did not want to die. Not now, not like this.

  He heard CJ's agonized voice say "Fuck, bro, I'm sorry…"

  There were three shots, three impacts, and Jason's world went dark.

  PART TWO: CROW MOON

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The kid came into the Wayside around six thirty.

  He sat by the windows, wearing a dark blue hoodie pulled so far over his head only his nose and mouth were visible. In his hands was a puzzle box—it looked like a Rubik's Cube but smaller.

  As Celine approached, she didn't even try to stifle a chuckle. The kid was sitting at the same table Jason had fucked her on top of last night. Oh, little boy, if you only knew. Celine thought of his relentless pounding, the look in his eyes, his refusa
l to stop. Her pussy was still sore. Just another ache to add to the list. What really concerned her though was his mental well-being. She had never seen him like that. Don't worry about it now. We'll figure it out.

  The kid's hands were twisting furiously, working at solving the puzzle. "My name's Celine, I'll be your server," she said. The kid remained intently focused on the cube. "Hellooo?" Celine tried again. Nothing. Finally, she poked him in the shoulder and raised her voice. "Hey. Can I help you?"

  He finally solved the puzzle, stamped it on the table and twisted his head around to eyeball Celine. The single eye that was visible widened. His hands shot up and yanked back the hood. The kid was baby-faced, with freckles and short, curly brown hair. In this lighting his hair looked almost red. Celine pegged him at about eighteen, nineteen at the most. His wide blue eyes were locked on Celine's tits. "Damn, girl, you can help me with anything you want."

  "Let's stick with food."

  The kid's gaze finally wandered up to her face. He smiled, revealing a small gap between his top front teeth. He looked like the mascot from Mad Magazine, Alfred E. Neuman. What, me worry? "You guys do breakfast all day…" his eyes wandered back to her chest, this time to her name tag. Unsurprisingly, he hadn't been paying attention when she had told him her name twenty seconds ago. "…Celine?"

  "Yeah."

  "Okay, two eggs sunny side up, hash browns, sausage, English muffin, orange juice, water, and your phone number." There was that smile again.

  "I hate to burst your bubble, stud, but I've got a boyfriend." And by the way, he fucked me like an animal on this very table. Enjoy your meal! Celine's mouth twisted in a half smile as she spun and walked away.

  Her break lasted all of ten minutes, but it was enough to sneak a smoke (inside the stall, again. Anytime she went out now Burt insisted on accompanying her) and a little reading time. Apparently it had been enough for the kid to finish his meal.

  As Celine brought him his check she glanced out the window and saw Ty's police cruiser parked out front. He was just sitting in it watching the diner. Keeping an eye on me?