Whisper Lake (The Turning Book 2)
Page 11
Celine moaned, and looked over to see Ty, who was looking at her with a mixture of shock and concern. "What the Hell…?"
"It's nothing," Celine lied. "Just a dog bite, that's all."
The sheriff's face grew stormy. "You point me to that dog and I'll make sure it doesn't bite anyone ever again."
"It was a stray. Besides, you got bigger problems."
Doctor Keen was wrapping Celine's leg in a bandage now. Ty sighed and turned his attention to the doc. "I spoke with Rachel," he said in a low voice. "She was in the ladies' room when it happened. Heard a crash, came out to find the fire spreading quickly. Got ahold of an extinguisher but it moved way too fast…"
Keen nodded. "I'm sure she did the best she could."
Ty put a hand on the doc's shoulder. "Firemen found the remnants of a Molotov cocktail, tossed through the window."
Keen stopped wrapping for a second, then resumed. The sheriff looked over at Celine. "I want you to come by the station tomorrow. I think what happened here's connected to your attack at the Wayside, as well as the assault on Mattie Hearn." Mattie… mom had told Celine about her before Ghost came to the trailer. CJ again? It didn't seem to fit…
"Why?" She asked.
"It'll be better discussed in private," he replied. "Hey, I meant to ask you yesterday, did Jason ever turn up?"
Celine hesitated. Jason's… situation, if that had been him (yeah it was him and he tried to fucking eat you) was still something she needed to wrap her head around. Maybe he had attacked her, but whatever he had turned into—and yes the words sounded stupid even as she thought them—Jason was still there, or at least enough of him to break off the attack. Would he turn back into himself again? She had to know more, and until she did, the less anyone else knew the better.
"No," she said finally.
"Shit, hon, I'm sorry. Me and the deputies will get on that right away. We'll need to notify the Army, as well."
The Army… Celine hadn't even thought of that. They'd consider him AWOL. From what she understood, the military didn't take missing soldiers lightly.
Just then Kyra's loud voice broke out from nearby.
"OH MY GOD, girl, what kind of shit have you gotten into now?" Kyra stuck her head in on Celine's left. She looked over at Ty and said "Oh hey, sheriff" then immediately turned her attention back to Celine. "I saw your Jeep! What the fuck happened? You got a dented door and your top's been ripped to shit."
There were times when Celine wished Kyra would keep her fat lips shut. She searched for some kind of explanation. Keen had stopped wrapping again and was looking at her. But Ty was the one who scrutinized her the closest. "A tree fell on it. I'll get it fixed."
"A tree? Fuck!" Kyra blurted.
It was a lame ass explanation and Celine knew it. From the look on Ty's face, he knew it too.
***
Roughly an hour later Ty was kicking off his shoes in the foyer of his home. Christ, what a day.
His joints ached. His muscles were stiff. He sat down at the kitchen table and went through his mail. Junk, mostly. He checked the answering machine. No messages. On his way out of the kitchen he put on a pot of coffee. Then he went and checked on the downstairs bathroom…
Ernie Chalmers, the town's most reliable handyman, had gotten pretty far along. When a pipe had burst two weeks ago Ty had just about lost his shit. The money he had been saving for a trip to Cabo got sucked into this project—tearing out walls and re-tiling. But the sheriff had to admit, it was looking pretty damn good. And, he was getting a larger shower out of the whole mess (although when Ernie had asked if he should install a bench and grab bars, Ty had just about decked him).
Ernie looked to be getting close to halfway through with the remodel. At least something in the sheriff's life was showing progress. Ty returned to the kitchen table and as he sat waiting for his coffee, he considered whether he should head back out later and keep watch on the kid's apartment. Couldn't hurt. Relying solely on CJ would be foolish. The kid was, so far, a mystery. Ty had run a background check on the name he used at the apartment complex and came back with nada. For now at least, he had no probable cause to search the place.
The coffee was ready, thank God. Ty got up, poured a steaming mug and padded to the door he kept locked when Ernie was working. Fishing a key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and made his way down to the basement/den, and his favorite overstuffed chair. He would enjoy a few minutes of relaxation and then hit the road. He settled into the cozy seat, letting his coffee cool, and gazed at the pictures of his daughter that lined the walls of his sanctum sanctorum. He thought about the Doc's office, the attacks, and what appeared to be an escalating cycle of violence by some pro-lifer nutcase. It was a source of indescribable frustration.
The victims' accounts and canvassing for additional eyewitnesses were nothing but dead ends. Ty had faxed what little information he had to all neighboring law enforcement agencies, looking for any similar cases. Tomorrow he would cast the net a bit wider, and include photos of the Molotov fragments. If that didn't work, he still had a few other tricks up his sleeve. What had him most concerned was Celine. First an assault, then a dog attack and a smashed up Jeep?
What have you gotten yourself into?
He would need to keep a closer eye on her. She had always been headstrong, and he worried sometimes that having more balls than brains would get her into trouble. And now it seemed that Jason might not be around to protect her. Tomorrow he would talk to Jason's mom and try to get more information.
He took a sip of his coffee and looked at the photos, more determined than ever to catch this prick. What kind of duplicitous shitbag made a statement about the sanctity of human life by beating women and burning down buildings?
One more case that didn't make sense in a lifetime of senseless cases. Sometimes he wondered what the point of it all was. Even if he could change the world tomorrow, he was too damned old to enjoy the outcome.
Of course, it wasn't about him. Hadn't been for quite a long time. He smiled at the nearest image of his daughter and raised his mug. All for you, baby girl, all for you.
***
Once dawn broke, Celine had lain in bed for over an hour thinking about the previous night. Images of Jason with eyes reflecting the glare of the flashlight, his face distorted, had flickered through her mind. What exactly had she seen? Was the thing that ripped into her Jeep and bit her really Jason?
She had half expected to wake up and find that it had all been a dream. But the bite marks on her ankle left no doubt. Doc Keen had said she should see about getting stitches, but in the first light of morning the damage didn't look nearly as bad as it had the night before. The swelling was minimal, although there were faint, snake-like lines beneath the skin, squirming out from the puncture wounds. The pain had become mostly a dull ache, and she had only the slightest limp when she walked. All in all, she felt okay. In fact, she felt pretty damn good.
Throughout her morning shower, Celine had thought of what to do next. She had so many questions, and though she had notions of what the truth may be, it was clear to her that only one person would have answers. The same person who had apparently dug his way out of a grave and then changed. She remembered what Jason had told her of the accident that got him sent home, or rather what he didn't say. He hadn't given her any details, hadn't wanted to talk about it. She also thought of what Jason had said to her, just a few nights ago in the Wayside: that he didn't know what was happening to him; that he didn't belong in his own skin; didn't know who he was, or who he would be in a few days or a week…
Celine hadn't known who—or what—he was the night before. Not exactly. If it had been him…
You know it was.
Either way she knew what had to be done next. She took another sick day and drove her fucked-up vehicle back out to the last places she had seen him: first to where the attack had occurred. She had stopped there and stayed in the vehicle while calling Jason's name out. She didn't think the thin
g that had come after her the night before would still be there in the daylight. But she was ready to take off just in case.
Regardless, there had been no answer. She got back into the Jeep and drove to Speakers' Mill.
She had walked back onto the old mill's main floor and called Jason's name. At first she was greeted only by silence, but after she had called out a few more times he had answered from somewhere deeper inside, telling her that she should just leave. Celine's heart had skipped as she continued searching, eventually finding him near the entrance to the old boiler room. There were large, rusted engine pieces and the massive, twenty-foot shell of a horizontal boiler, situated just past a gaping, sixteen-foot hole in the floor where the giant flywheel that powered the line shaft once sat. Jason had been huddled next to the boiler room doorway, knees tucked up under his chin. He had put his pants and shoes back on, but he still looked sick— pale and shivering.
As she began removing her coat to put around him he waved her off. "I need you to talk to me," she had said, "about what I saw last night…"
"You can't keep coming here," he had replied. "You could have gotten hurt." She had decided not to press further about what had happened after she left, instead saying "I want you to tell me about Iraq."
"Why? What good—"
"Because I have a right to know the truth and I'm not leaving here until you tell me exactly what happened to you there."
Jason had shaken his head, remaining silent and not meeting her eyes. Her temper flared and she blurted "Goddamnit don't you think after last night you owe me an explanation?"
He regarded her silently for a long while. Finally, just before Celine was ready to leave, he had given in and told his story…
He spoke of Iraq; of reading her letter, a POW transfer, and an unruly prisoner who spoken of the full moon. He told her about Serrano's truck and dead bodies, and of some man-thing that had bitten him. Then he told her about the nightmares.
She now sat near the giant hole in the floor, trying to process everything he had said, forcing her mind to push past the craziness of it all. No matter how many different ways her brain tried to attack it she kept coming up with the same result: she had to trust her memory and believe in her sanity. What Jason had told her, and what she had seen last night, all lined up even as insane as it was.
She had been sitting cross-legged. She stuck out her left foot and rolled up the pant leg, revealing the bandage. "Do you remember what happened after I left?" she asked.
He looked at her leg. His eyes became distant—
"I… remember… running through the forest…"
His eyes grew wide. "Oh Christ," he said and crawled over, reaching out as if to touch Celine's leg, then thought better of it. "Jesus, Babe… I told you it wasn't safe."
"But you stopped," Celine pressed. "There was enough of you in there to realize. I saw it in your eyes." Celine pulled the leg of her jeans back down, remembering back to every wolf-man movie she had seen as a kid. If this was true—and it had to be, didn't it?—if it was…
She swung her leg to the side and leaned forward. "Will I— will the same thing happen to me, thirty days from now? Because you bit me?"
Jason was looking very carefully at her. Assessing. Finally, he said "I don't know. If I had to guess… yeah." Tears welled in his eyes. "I'm sorry. Christ Babe I'm so sorry…"
Celine smiled and shook her head. "I'm not. I know that CJ tried to kill you. Buried you out here…"
Jason leaned back. "Yeah but there's more to it. CJ lost his nerve. Boil's right-hand man pulled the trigger."
"Why him?"
Cradling his face in his hands Jason said "I threatened… I threatened to expose everything. The drugs. Stupid. So fucking stupid…"
"Okay," Celine said. "But now Boil and CJ both think you're dead. The Army thinks you're missing. Or at least they will."
Jason looked up, bleary-eyed. "And why is any of this a good thing?"
Celine crawled forward and put both hands on Jason's knee, bringing her face close to his. "They tried to kill you and you didn't die. And you're telling me there's a chance that I'll be like you? Are you kidding me? Fucking sign me up. You have any idea what we could do? We could make a real difference in this shithole town. We can cut that fucker Boil off at the knees; take it all down; make sure CJ gets what's coming to him. We can USE this. You and me…"
Jason was shaking his head. "No! Christ, no, you don't know what it's like…"
"No but you do. You can be my guide. I need you, now more than ever. We need each other. Remember what I said at the diner…."
She grabbed his face and held it in both of her hands, staring intently at those beautiful blue eyes of his. "You're not alone," she said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CJ was supposed to be moving all of the kid's lab crap to the new location. But he had heard Boil bragging about his big announcement, and he knew there would be a narrow window for him to get into the boss's office and look for the gun.
He had driven the box truck off the lot, then down the street to Freddy's Tractor Supply's parking lot, pulling the vehicle behind some trees that still allowed him a view of the terminal. First thing that morning he had shot up, and at that point the H was keeping him fairly even. He waited fifteen minutes before finally seeing Boil's Beamer exit the property.
CJ knew that the dispatcher, Lew, went on break after all the morning hauls were assigned. He also knew that Boil didn't lock his office. There would be a roughly fifteen-minute window for CJ to get in, find the gun, and get the fuck out. He parked and made his way to the dispatch office. If Lew was there he'd have to come up with some excuse as to why he came back… maybe he'd just say he wanted to ask Boil something. Lew would tell him Boil left, and then CJ would have to try again at a different time. Time he didn't have.
Thankfully, Lew wasn't there. He would be in the garage, smoking and shooting the shit with the mechanic, Ramon. Okay, fifteen minutes…
Well, actually, Lew could have gone on break five minutes ago, in which case CJ had ten minutes… or maybe he had eleven, or twelve, there was no way to be sure. Right?
Pull your shit together and get it done.
CJ slipped past the desk to the door of Boil's office. He wiped the sweat off his hand, pushed the door open, took one more look around to make sure no one was watching him, and then went inside and swung the door shut without latching it.
With slow steps he made for Boil's desk, then stopped. Cameras. You never looked for cameras before. Oh shit you dumbfuck look around.
There were no cameras that he could see, but what about cameras he couldn't see? If you get the gun, you get the fuck out of Dodge. It won't matter.
His mouth was dry and he was shaking all over as he rounded the desk. Looking down at the large bottom drawers on either side he saw keyholes. He doesn't lock his office door but what about the drawer? Shit what about the drawer?
Only one way to find out.
CJ bent over, reached out and pulled on the lip of the top left drawer. As it slid open he let out the breath he had been holding. The drawer held a rack for manila folders to hang from. There was a dozen or more labeled "Business stuff." He pulled the folders to the front, making sure the gun wasn't stuffed behind them. No dice. Next he turned his attention to the right-side drawer.
There was a stack of papers at the front, and behind them an unmarked wooden box, roughly ten by eight inches. He pulled it out and set it on the desk in front of Boil's phone. There was no lock, just a lid that opened upward. CJ lifted it…
Inside the lid was something that looked like a little speaker, and next to it some kind of gauge. The box was filled with cigars, lined up like crayons. But there was one, toward the right side, that didn't look at all like the rest. It was shorter and had creases in it. The end facing him was raggedy. CJ reached in, picked it up and turned it over in his hand…
And flung it across the room with a yelp, stumbling back into the wall behind him.
CJ pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. I'm so fucked. Oh God I'm so fucked. I need a hit right now. I just need to get away, somehow just get away—
"What're you up to?" A voice asked from the doorway.
The door was now open, and Carter was leaning against the jamb, arms folded. He looked down at the floor, just a few feet away from him, where Honcho's severed finger lay.
"Boss'll want to have a talk," Carter said.
***
Sheriff Barclay had just gotten back to his desk when he heard that Boil was holding a "town meeting" in front of the burned-up section of Doc Keen's clinic. That sounded like something he didn't want to miss.
That morning he had looked in on Mattie at her home. She had still been unable to speak, but she had seemed well rested and generally healthy. After leaving Mattie's place he had spoken to Jason's mom, Bethany, and although she had confirmed that there had been no sign of Jason for two days, she hadn't seemed too shaken up about it. She also didn't want to file a missing person report. For his part, Ty was still convinced that Jason had just gone off on a bender somewhere and was now too embarrassed or scared of Celine's wrath to come clean. He intended to talk to Celine in the afternoon and if she wanted to file a report, so be it.