"You can do that shit on your own time," Celine said around her cigarette. "Now talk."
He did, his eyes never straying from her chest. "I can't do the shit a fully equipped lab can do, you know, at least not yet. But, what I did find was sawdust. And some weird chemicals I couldn't identify without the right—"
Realization struck Celine like a thunderbolt.
"Get out." Celine pulled her bra and shirt down.
"But—"
"I have to go. Now. You're gonna have to walk back." Ghost complained but did as he was told. Once he was out and the door was shut Celine spun the tires in reverse, kicked the Jeep back on the road, and churned up chunks of dirt as she sped off toward Speakers' Mill.
***
"Jason, it's me, Annie!"
He was his thirteen-year-old self again, lying in bed, when he opened his eyes. The TV was on, just like before, the screen nothing but snow. Outside, the wind bayed like an old dog. There was a strike against the window so sudden that it made Jason jump.
"Come on, get over here…" Annie's muffled voice called from behind the closed curtain. Jason sat up, hopped down, and stepped slowly around to the window…
"Let's have some fun…"
Jason stood in front of the closed curtain as the wind howled. "Whatever you want," the voice called over the gale, but it sounded odd. "All you have to do is let me in."
Don't open the window. It's not her don't open it—
In one smooth motion Jason swiped the curtain aside to see Annie, hands pressed against the glass… but her face wasn't there. Instead, he was staring at black hair hanging down over her chest. It took a second to register that he was looking at the back of her head.
The sheer horror was like electricity rippling over Jason's skin as he stumbled back, his mouth working silently like a fish. He needed to scream but his throat had squeezed shut. Annie's hands pulled away, then struck the window with such force that Jason was sure she would break through. When she shouted, her voice wailed out into the storm.
"LET ME IN!!!"
Jason did scream then, and when he opened his eyes he was back in the Buick, back in his adult body with the bottle between his legs. He took several deep breaths to calm his thundering heart. He looked over to the driver's seat but the person there was not the driver, it was Styles. A shudder jolted him as the vehicle struck something.
"Was that a body?" Styles asked, but when she spoke it was with the voice of the driver, and her eyes… her eyes held those same twinkling spots directly in the center.
Outside, there was nothing but desert and a ribbon of highway. The impossible bulk of the full moon was rising over the landscape like a titanic vessel cresting a wave. Jason could feel the raw power radiating from it. You are powerless to resist, it said.
The moonlight revealed a score of corpses wandering through the husks of burned-out vehicles, stepping into the road, reaching. A low moan escaped Jason's throat as he shook his head from side to side, even as the Buick rolled to a stop.
Something struck the window to his right. He turned to see the charred remains of a face, crisped, blackened mouth opening wide.
No.
No!
Jason shut his eyes, shaking his head violently. When he opened his lids it was dark once more except for a sliver of light beneath the closet door. "You can end this," his not-Mother's voice said. "You alone may stem this tide. Pledge me your all; mind, body, and soul and I will deliver you…"
Jason turned away. No. There was something in that strange voice, just a hint of what he sensed as… desperation. No matter what she said or wanted him to believe, this was his choice. These visions… these messages coming to him through horrific messengers. Why?
His subconscious. Warning him.
He reached out and felt it then, in the back of the wall. The smallest crack. Yes, the beginning of the hole he had made into what would someday be Trish's room.
"Do not turn away from me!" There was a pounding at the door, but Jason had already started to pull at the edges of the crack, and little by little, pieces began to fall away. There was more, soft, crumbling material, but he was persistent in digging his way through.
"NO!" Her voice rushed over him, through him, but now the desperation was obvious. He was almost free he could feel it. He dug further but instead of sideways it was like he was forcing his way up… until he felt cool air on his face. The light was blinding at first as he pushed his head through the hole, through the yielding substance…
And out from the ground. Out from the grave CJ had buried him in. His body seized and only then did he realize he wasn't breathing. As if in response to this thought, he sucked in as much air as his lungs would hold. The world was a blur. His head throbbed and his muscles ached. He still wore the same clothes he had been wearing when he was shot. There was a hole in his t-shirt, but not in his chest.
When he had cleared enough dirt from his eyes to see, he found himself in the twilight of the fading day. How long had he been buried? The smell— the smell here was overpowering. Chemicals. They saturated the ground all around him. The fog-shrouded air was thick with them. He was swimming in chemicals. And the sounds—creatures moving through the nearby structures, the ruined remains of the lumber mill… and a vehicle approaching, still a few miles away.
***
What do you hope to find, anyway?
The truth was, she didn't exactly know. Maybe she just should have gone to Ty, told him what the kid found… but she couldn't shake that dream, and the belief that it held a message. That she was meant to be out here, navigating the maze of overgrown, jarring, foggy logging roads that led to Speakers' Mill.
At the very least she might be able to see where…
Where they buried his body.
He's not dead. I don't know how I know that, but I do.
After more than an hour, as darkness settled over the misty woods, Celine arrived at the Speakers' property. She blew past the "Warning!" and "Keep Out!" signs that floated out of the haze. High schoolers were naturally drawn to old abandoned structures—especially when they were told specifically to avoid them—she and her friends had been no exception. The smell—the sickly pungent stench that crawled through her windows now—had always given her a headache. Even back then she and the other kids would never hang out for too long.
She skirted the outer periphery of the log pond, a kind of big lake where they kept the felled timber before hauling into the mill. Back when the mill was constructed, they had dammed the nearest creek and diverted the water here. The dam was long since gone, and the pond was just a massive depression in the earth. As Celine circled the property, her headlights cut through the fog and stabbed at the trees and foliage that had begun to reclaim the land. She finally came to the cement fire wall. This was where they burned the sawdust to prevent the spread of the fire. She slowed the vehicle, stopped, and left the keys in the ignition while keeping the headlights on. Then she grabbed a flashlight from the glove box.
In the east the sky had begun to brighten with the full moon's advance. Celine stepped out and took a closer look around the wall. The smell outside the Jeep was especially foul.
Pulling her coat tighter, she walked around the edge of the barrier, looking over toward the sawdust shed and the elevated slab bin. A white mist obscured the rest of the mills' structures. She swept the flashlight, in tight arcs at first, then wider sweeps. Her beam at last revealed a mound of upturned earth several feet toward the tree line. Celine ran and when she came closer, she saw a hole with fresh soil piled around it. With her heart in her throat, she shined the flashlight down into the earthen void…
Empty.
Just then she heard a crash from somewhere inside the mill.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Celine had walked around the sawdust shed, through an open cutout in the siding of the rough drying shed, and on to the main deck of the "old mill" section of the property. She stepped around some collapsed roofing and machinery rem
ains as she proceeded deeper in, toward the area where the old mill and new mill structures joined.
Despite the missing patches of roof and the open wall sections, it was dark as hell. Celine swept her flashlight over the large, mostly empty space where carriages, pulleys, rollers, planers and saws had once performed their work. "Hello?" She called.
Thin shreds of fog swam through the open space. Pieces of old equipment, debris and wood littered the floor. There was something else as well—discarded shoes. Celine's breath caught: they were brown hiking shoes… just like the ones Jason wore.
"Jason?"
As she hurried into the new mill there were heavy creaking sounds. Celine flicked the light toward the noise. Behind some scattered junk she caught a flash of eyeshine, like when a cat or dog's eyes reflect headlights. Drumbeats pounded in Celine's chest. The eyes were there and then suddenly gone. The thing was on the move, rushing further into the gloom.
Celine followed, and found dirt-caked blue jeans and a flannel—the same that Jason had been wearing—near a coil of rusty cable.
There was another sound then and as she ran up her light showed her the form of something writhing on the floor.
It was covered in dirt— no, hair. Celine could barely make out a ripped t-shirt on its upper torso. Her heart stopped as those eyes turned once more to her, the wild eyes of a beast, but also unmistakably the eyes of…
"Jason!"
Celine ran and knelt. He scurried backward across the dust-coated floor on legs that were jointed all wrong. Like they were broken. Gray boxer briefs still clung to his/its crotch. She held the light on him and reached out. "Jesus fuck, what—"
He was bigger, wider across the shoulders and chest, which had undoubtedly caused the tearing of his shirt. A fine layer of dirt-caked hair covered his face, the lower half of which was… swollen? His teeth on top and bottom extended past his lips. When he spoke, it was in a distorted, rumbling voice: "Go!" His body contorted. Jason screamed.
"Let me—"
"NO!" He shouted, causing Celine to recoil. His booming voice echoed through the fog. Saliva poured from his mouth onto the dust. "Get… out!"
He continued to pull away. Celine crawled after him on shaky legs. "What's happening? What the fuck is—" Jason yelled out again, holding onto his right arm with his left hand. Celine shined a jittery light on it; the hand shivered, clenched, popped, and snapped as the fingers and nails extended. Celine held her position on all fours, frozen in shock, her mouth forming a wide O.
Jason grunted, turned over onto his knees and moaned. His back arched as his spine cracked. "Go while you ca—AGGGHHH!!!"
Celine's hand was covering her mouth, stifling the scream that threatened to rip through the frigid air. Tears streamed from her eyes. She removed the hand from her mouth and said "I'm gonna… get help. I'll get help."
She tore her eyes from the spectacle unfolding on the grime-coated floor, then turned and ran.
The flashlight jogged crazily before her as she slipped and stumbled away. Celine made it to the rough drying shed, out through the white mist past the grave, around the firewall, and to her truck. She threw the light into the passenger seat, jumped in, turned the key, and gunned the engine. The Jeep spun around and churned dirt as she tore ass back toward the access road.
The fog had thickened. Trees whipped past on either side. Celine bounced inside the Jeep like a ball in a hopper. She was maybe a mile away from the mill when she saw a dark form cross the lights in front of her, an animal that appeared only for an instant in the milky haze. Seconds later, something struck the vehicle on the right side hard enough to force it into the thick brush at the base of a fir tree. Blood drained from Celine's limbs as she realized that the thing which had struck the Jeep—it's him, it's Jason and he's become something unthinkable—was above now, ripping through the Jeep's soft top. She threw the gear shifter into reverse and floored the gas. The tires spun as the snarling thing outside thrust its head through the decimated remains of the top, its gleaming fangs snapping just inches away.
Jason or not, whatever that thing is, it's going to kill you.
***
Kill.
Out here, further away from the foul-smelling place, Her commands were clear, Her power strong.
He shredded the barrier that stood between him and the tribute, and he smelled her fear.
She… is not food.
She is an other. Others are food.
The other kicked out; his teeth locked on its leg and the divine essence flowed. It was good, and sweet and pure.
And wrong.
Deep within the shadowed corridors of the thing's mind, Jason Emblock endured.
She's not an other. She's a… person. A human being. Someone important to me.
Despite Annie, despite the closet, despite the driver's entreaties, and despite the divine essence, Jason endured.
Celine. Her name is Celine. And I love her.
From the one who attempted to command him, from HER, there was confusion. Confusion, disbelief and rage.
He released his teeth from Celine's leg, withdrew back into the cold night and fled into the hazy wood.
***
It was gone.
It was Jason.
Was it? Whatever it was, it was gone. It had clawed its way through the Jeep's top and shoved its muzzle through, foaming jaws snapping. Celine had twisted around in her seat and kicked with first her right leg and then her left. It had clamped down, seizing her left ankle in its maw.
But there had been in a change in those bright blue eyes; the emotionless glare of the predator had fallen away and there had been an expression of realization. Awareness. The thing had seemed to reach some form of conclusion, and it had released her. It let go and vanished. Celine's heart was still firing like a machine gun.
Stop thinking about it now and concentrate on getting the fuck out of here. Her leg hurt like Hell and she was bleeding a fair bit. She took her coat, wrapped it around the ankle and tied it off with the sleeves. With that done she repositioned herself in her seat, turned the steering wheel, and barely pressed on the gas. The Jeep inched forward and to the left, its motion accompanied by the sound of crunching brush. Celine threw the shifter into reverse and stepped hard on the pedal.
The tires caught and the beat-up Jeep swung back onto the worn-out path. Celine re-shifted and gunned the engine back toward town.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Maybe he could just run. He didn't have much cash, but enough to get a bus ticket or—Who are you kidding?
CJ was lying on his couch, coming down. It had been a long day. When he came home he had drained the abscess in his shoulder and was now shooting up in his right thigh. That did the trick. For a while, anyway. The highs were high but the lows were the fucking worst. Especially because it gave him time to think.
If he tried to run, it would just give Hard Boiled an excuse to hand the gun over to Sheriff Barclay. That's not the real reason, shithead. No, that wasn't the real reason. The real reason was the same reason for every fucked up thing in his life. The same reason his mom had disowned him after he stole from her for the hundredth time. The same reason he'd thought fucking his best friend's girl might be a good idea. The only reason for still being alive, for not wanting to go to jail: so he could look forward to the next ride. The reason he would stay was that if he left, where would he get his H? If he got locked up, how could he get his next hit? The truth was he couldn't stand the thought of being dopesick for God knew how long until he could score.
But in less than 48 hours Barclay was going to force him to make a choice. That was how long Barclay had given him when he stopped him in the box truck yesterday, right? Two days to make an impossible choice. He had asked about Jason, too. CJ had thought for sure he was going to lose his shit but he barely kept it together, and said he hadn't seen him. Whether the sheriff really believed that or not was a different story.
You're screwed every fucking way you cut it. Work with Bar
clay and Boil hands over the gun. Tell Barclay to go fuck himself and when the sheriff lowers the boom on Boil he finds the gun anyway. The fucking gun is the—
CJ sat up. The gun. That was it. What if there was no gun? Take the gun out of the fucking equation and then maybe… maybe there'd be some options. CJ suspected that Boil kept the piece in his desk at work. If he could just take it, get rid of it… it was worth a try. It was a desperate move, but it sure as hell seemed like the only one. Of course if he got caught, he was as good as dead.
You deserve to die. For what you did to him.
Yeah. Maybe. So why not, then, right?
Fuck it.
***
When Celine finally pulled up to the medical clinic, she was worried that she might be losing her mind. Either that, or the world had just stopped making sense altogether.
Already tonight she had seen her boyfriend turn into something… something that was most definitely not fucking human. Then the thing that he had become had bitten her, and now… now all three of Whisper Lake's fire trucks were positioned in front of the clinic. The entire handful of Whisper Lake's firefighters were either hauling hoses or inside the smoking structure, dousing flames. A full third of the clinic had been consumed, but it looked like the firemen had the blaze under control. The fog outside had thinned to a filmy vapor, and a crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle. Among the spectators was Doctor Keen, a distant look of sad resignation on his face.
Five minutes later Celine was sitting on the lowered tailgate of one of the spectators' trucks wincing as Doctor Keen examined her leg by flashlight. He had already washed out the wound and was now taking a closer look.
"Well, seems like you got off pretty easy," Keen said. "Quite the sizable dog, by the looks of this…"
"I feel like shit. Timing couldn't have been worse…." Celine responded, nodding toward the smoking structure.
"It's okay," Keen said. "Gets my mind off of things. Fire's out now. Rachel got out okay…" Celine remembered Rachel, the nurse who worked nights. "Insurance has me covered," Keen continued. Brave words, but they lacked conviction. "Yep, could have been a lot worse, just like this bite. Multiple puncture wounds but you got the bleeding stopped. No damage to muscle or tendons; no signs of infection. If your ankle had been rotated, the bite mighta perforated your femoral vein, which would have been cause for much greater concern. Once the fire department grants me access, I'll get ya some pain killers and we'll need to give you a rabies shot. Then you should probably head into Salem, see about getting stitches."
Whisper Lake (The Turning Book 2) Page 10
