Shoulders slumped, Jason said "I just meant that I ended up worrying more about that than finding your dad, and I'm sorry. Okay, I'm sorry."
He knew she'd fly off the handle, and—based on what she told him before asking if he'd known, when she said that she'd nearly killed Boil's dispatcher—he'd been right. At least it was out in the open now. That was something.
"What else did you tell the agent?" He asked, trying to change the subject—a tactic that rarely worked but in this instance he got lucky.
"I told her I was convinced that Boil was responsible for Dad's death," Celine said. "She already knew about the investigation but she and Trumbull don't have a connection between Boil and the Haversaws."
"What else did she say?"
Wiping a hand over her tired face Celine said "Not to go anywhere near Boil. And then Trumbull fired me. Very politely."
"Damn," Jason said.
"Yeah."
On one hand, Jason felt partially responsible. On the other hand, the outbursts—first at the medical clinic and then this latest—were Celine's own fault. The two of them stood for a moment in silence.
"We gotta stop doing this. Stop… not telling each other things," Jason said.
"Huh," Celine replied. "Yeah no shit."
Jason wrapped her in his arms. She returned the embrace then said "I better get going. I'll be back to get you."
Watching her go, Jason chastised himself. He had fucked up. But then, so had she. Tonight… maybe tonight they could both make up for their mistakes.
Tonight they were going to get Ghost.
***
CJ felt like an idiot.
He was sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed in the center, smaller section of the medicine wheel: "Self." From here, the old man had told him to think about each spoke, or direction. To consider the spirit animal represented at the end of each, and to think about the different aspects of his life. Jack had told him that every stone symbolized some different part of the human cycle from birth to death.
At first, CJ had sat and thought about how much he wanted to jerk off again. He had spent the last two nights in an actual bedroom, sleeping on an actual bed. Just a sheet, blanket, and a broke-down nightstand. The old man locked him in at night but CJ didn't care. At least he had some privacy. Now that he was getting his strength back, he was getting horny again. Last night he had spanked his monkey three times. It was a great distraction, took his mind off the other thing he thought about nonstop: how good it would feel to shoot up.
He heard footsteps and opened his eyes. Soon a shadow blocked the light of the setting sun. It was Alice. She was wearing moccasins, blue fuzzy pajama pants with yellow stars on them, and a white t-shirt that barely covered her enormous belly… and her enormous tits.
"Hey," she said, causing him to look up at her face. "You ain't escaped yet?"
"Not yet," CJ replied, then nodded toward the fat Indian across the street. "Jack said his neighbor would tell him if I tried to leave."
Alice laughed, "Bear? He can hardly see past his belly. He's nearsighted. Diabetes."
CJ looked back over, thinking about when he first saw the Indian. Jack had waved to him, but also shouted "hey." Shaking his head, CJ said. "No shit."
"Yeah. Don't worry, he would have tried the same thing on me, except I already knew Bear."
Standing, pointing at the stones, CJ said "Jack made you do this too?" He got a closer look at Alice, at the tattoos on her forearms—an intricately detailed pattern of intertwining feathers and tribal design on her left, the words "Native Pride" in flowing script, with a dreamcatcher on her right.
Alice nodded, raising her right hand and shaking loose a cigarette from the packet she held. She dug a lighter out of her bra and lit the cig, then shook one more out toward CJ, who snatched it eagerly.
Holding the cigarette in his lips while Alice lit it, CJ took a deep drag, then removed it and said "I don't think I'm doing this right."
"However you do it is the right way," Alice said. "For you, anyway. Didn't Jack tell you that?"
CJ shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, he got pissed."
Alice took a drag and said "Being out here by the tree puts him in a mood. Can't blame him."
"What do you mean?"
"You didn't know about his family?" Alice asked. CJ shook his head.
"Oh shit. Yeah… his daughter got high as a kite, took off and jumped into the Willamette River. Jack's wife couldn't take it and hung herself from that tree…" Alice turned toward the weeping willow and pointed at the closest branch, which swooped down like a giant snake. "That branch right there."
"Jesus," CJ said.
"I know," Alice uttered as she breathed out smoke. Her eyes widened then, as she reached a hand down to her lower belly. "Ooh."
"You okay?"
"Yeah. Little rascal's kickin' like Van Damme."
Holy shit she's into Van Damme. That's hot.
"How long til…" CJ pointed at her stomach.
"Little over a month," she said, a wide smile overtaking her face. It was a great smile.
"Alice!!" Yelled an ancient white-haired lady in a flower print dress, standing on the front porch of her house. "Get your ass back here!"
"Shit," Alice blurted, dropping her cigarette to the ground. "She's gonna smell it on me. Oh well. Gotta go. Good luck, I'll see you around."
Alice turned to walk away. "Hey," CJ said. "How do you do it, stayin' off the dope this long? Is it this thing, did it work?" He once again indicated the stones.
Squinting one eye, Alice considered. "Kinda, I guess. I think the main thing was… I just stopped hating myself."
Alice stepped carefully back toward her house. CJ watched her go, and then looked across the street at Bear. He considered running away once again… then thought about the fact that if he did, he wouldn't see Alice anymore. He crushed out her cigarette, stamped on his own, stuck both of them under a rock, and went to sit back down in the center of the circle.
***
"The girlfriend put that fed bitch onto me," Boil said. He was standing at his kitchen island chopping vegetables. They were in his cabin, one of three homes Boil owned in Whisper Lake. The boss was in his boxers, sunglasses off, wispy hair sticking out in all directions, the overhead light gleaming off the top of his belly. "Asking all kinds of fucking questions. Fishing."
"What do you need me to do?" Carter asked.
"Jack shit!" Boil swiped the knife at a basket of oranges, sending one of them rolling out onto the floor. "With that broad sniffin' around I need you focused and ready to go when the time comes. When the heat's off. Where were you anyway?"
"Had family business to take care of," Carter answered evenly. His scars from the attack on Mastroni's villa had almost fully healed. Two misshapen bullets had been pushed out from his body; the others had been through-and-through. There had been muscle soreness but aside from that, there was nothing. No more vulnerability, no more weakness. Now there was only the hunt and the kill. What more? What existed now to challenge him, to test him?
The answer of course, was another being like him. Like the man who had changed right before his eyes at the Haversaw house.
"You feel any different?" Boil asked. He drew close and Carter saw something in those snowman eyes that had never existed before, a mixture of fear and fascination. "I feel good," Carter said. "Better than I've ever felt." Boil slapped his arm with the hand not holding the knife and barked out a gusty "ha ha!"
He walked back over to the island. "When you start feeling the urge to piss on a fire hydrant you let me know." Boil chuckled. "Once the ammo comes in that'll be one thing but you, you're my backup. I want you ready."
Carter imagined facing off with one of the only living things that might still pose a threat to him… and the anticipation stirred the beginnings of something wholly foreign within him; something he supposed could be described as excitement.
"I'll be ready," Carter said.
***
<
br /> Celine hadn't asked Jason what was in the backpack when she had picked him up at the turnoff to his house. The ride over had been spent in silence. When they finally got to the junkyard and scaled the wall, Jason spent a good five minutes searching through the wrecked cars until he found a van, same make and model as his mother's. Then he had taken off his backpack and removed a ratchet set and flashlight.
You've got to be shitting me, Celine had thought. They had come here to talk with Ghost and Jason was looking to steal a starter for his mom's van.
"Hey, two birds and all that," Jason had said.
Celine shook her head now as she crouched behind a smashed-up VW bug, watching the RV in the moonlight. A guard stood just outside; a skinny, bow legged man.
Her thoughts drifting, Celine found herself wondering who pulled the trigger. Who was it exactly who had killed her father? The muscle-head, or Boil himself?
She was still pissed at Jason for not telling her. Why would he be stupid enough to hide something like that?
Because he was scared of what you would do.
Maybe. But still… the few times in their relationship when Jason had been dishonest with her, it had always come back to bite him in the ass. He should have known better by now.
Speaking of Jason, where was that distraction he was supposed to provide?
Just then Celine heard a knock against the RV's entry door from the inside. The guard walked over, opened it and stepped back. Ghost came out, wearing rubber gloves, an apron, and a mask like the kind spray painters wore. While the guard waited, he carefully removed all of his outer garments, then continued to strip until he had nothing on but boxers. He placed everything on a tarp out by the vehicle's front wheels. The guard then marched Ghost away.
Celine followed as quietly as she could at a safe distance as the two men proceeded down an aisle flanked by mounds of parts and shells of vehicles. She watched through a car's windows as Ghost walked into a small, one-person trailer and closed the door. The guard sat in a beach chair just outside. He checked his watch and then laid the rifle he carried across his lap.
Minutes ticked by. Celine waited with growing impatience for Jason to create that diversion.
***
Removing the starter had been child's play. There hadn't even been a battery in the van, so no need to disconnect the wire. It had been a tight squeeze underneath, but he had managed. By the light of his flashlight he disconnected the starter and had it in his backpack within less than five minutes.
Then he needed a distraction. Searching by moonlight through the wreckage, he found a heap of junk parts behind an old Cadillac with its roof missing. From the junk pile he took a transmission, hefted it up and laid it in the driver's seat against the steering wheel horn.
***
A long, loud blast sounded from several rows away.
The guard got up and hurried to investigate. Celine rushed to the small trailer and knocked on the door. Ghost opened it, still in his skivvies. His eyes widened. "The fuck are you doin' here?"
"We're getting you out of here."
Shaking his head frantically Ghost said "Oh fuck no, yo. I saw… what your guy is. What he did. That kinda shit ain't even… it ain't right. Not even fucking plausible."
"Look we need your help and you need to come with me. Don't make me force you."
"I ain't goin' no place with you. Hottie or not. I'll yell for the guard, swear to Christ. Two nights from now my shit is done and then they're takin' me to Salem. I'll take my chances. Find a way to escape once I'm away from all this crazy shit."
In the distance, the blaring horn stopped. "You better bail," Ghost said.
Celine thought about dragging the kid, but if he did yell for the guard, there might be more inside the main building. And Carl. They weren't ready for a gunfight. She jabbed a finger at Ghost's face, causing him to recoil. "This shit isn't finished," she said, spinning and hurrying away.
***
Thnk! Shhbmpbmp.
Thnk! Shhbmpbmp.
Serrano was standing in front of the five-ton, surrounded by desert, burned vehicle shells, and charred remains. Though it was the dead of night, the moon loomed like a giant beast rendering himself and everyone around him in its radiant light.
As before, Serrano smiled while holding Szymczyk's head. This time, however, someone else stood nearby… it was the older Haversaw. He was holding out his arm, dripping crimson fluid. To Jason's left, the partially incinerated corpse had slipped through the Ashok Leyland truck window. Unable to walk, it stabbed its crisped fingers into the sand, and dragged itself forward.
Thnk! Shhhffff.
"Blood is the life, blood is the gift," Serrano said.
Thnk! Shhhhfff.
Haversaw joined in: "Blood is the life, blood is the gift."
Thnk! Shhhhfff.
Even Szymczyk spoke, and soon all three were reciting the same mantra:
"Blood is the life, blood is the gift. Blood is the life, blood is the gift. Blood is the life, blood is the gift…"
Thnk! Shhhhfff.
"Wake up," Serrano said. Mom's gonna die."
Jason reared up in bed, trying to shake the dream from his mind. That noise…
Thnk! Shhhfff.
That noise was not only in his dream. It was happening, now. Somewhere up above…
Thnk! Shhhfff.
It sounded like the hallway leading to his mother's room.
He was up out of bed, .22 in hand. He rushed through the living room, to the stairs and up without any thought as to what threat he might face. He only knew that his mother might be in danger. He topped the stairs and saw bare feet, heels up, and ankles on the floor sticking out of his mother's bedroom doorway.
Thnk!
The feet slid into the room. Jason bounded down the hall to the entry and looked in.
Trish was on the floor, chest down, in her nightgown. She reached ahead with her right hand and stabbed a kitchen knife into the floorboards…
Thnk!
She used the blade as an anchor to pull herself up alongside her mother's bed.
In one swift move Jason put the rifle down and straddled Trish, holding her wrist and pulling her up off of the floor. She scurried on her hands backward against the wall and Jason crawled over to her. Her mouth was working, breathy vocalizations spilling out. Jason drew closer. Trish looked up at him but her eyes were not her eyes; they were the eyes of the pedophile behind the wheel of the Buick as she said "Let me in!"
Jason shook his head. "No, no, no… you leave her alone, you hear me, you leave her alone!"
Trish closed her eyes and reopened them. They were different yet again, wide, imploring. She dropped her head to her left arm. There were sounds, gnawing sounds, and when she lifted her head again her mouth and arm were both bloody. She raised her right hand to the blood and held it out to Jason saying: "This is for you."
Her arm then fell and her entire body went limp. Seconds later her head shot up, looking left and right and now Trish, the real Trish, screamed loud enough to make Jason's ears ring. His mother awoke with a look of indescribable horror, a look unlike any that he had ever seen on her face. She scurried back into the corner against the headboard, drawing the sheets up to her chin like a child.
Trish was beating wildly at Jason's arms. She thrashed for a full thirty seconds or more, and then fell still. Jason sat on the floor holding Trish tight as his mom put a hand to her chest and tried to catch her breath.
"It's okay, sweetheart," Jason said to Trish, "We're gonna get you some help. Hang in there for me, okay? Just hang in there."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
It had been one hell of a busy day.
Jason had spent the remainder of the night in Trish's room, watching her until sun-up. His mom, unable to sleep, had spent that time alternately praying and packing.
In the early morning he installed the starter in the van. To his immense relief, the engine turned over. Jason had then called Father Dreiling, driven M
om and Trish to his house, and helped get them settled in.
After what happened last night, his mom hadn't put up a fight.
The Dreilings had two children who had moved away years ago, which was perfect… though the rooms were side-by-side. The preacher had listened intently as Jason explained the events of the night before. He promised that between him and his wife Becky, there would be no time that Trish would go unsupervised. Jason stressed that nothing that might be used as a weapon could come anywhere near Trish, for fear that she may harm herself or somewhere else. The preacher said he understood. It was only temporary, Jason told him. The preacher said not to worry and drove him back to the house.
It was a load off Jason's shoulders, especially given what he planned on doing next.
He had spent the remainder of the day at Speakers' Mill, preparing. There was still plenty to do before tomorrow night, but he had knocked a good chunk of items off his to-do list before nightfall. Celine arrived after getting off work at the Wayside.
He had told her of the previous night's events, of his family staying with the Dreilings, and then he had said… "Sorry to say it, but Ghost is gonna help us whether he wants to or not."
And then he told Celine his plan.
***
An hour later, daylight had expired as they sat at Jason's house, where he had dug a two-way radio set—a gift for his seventh birthday, from Dad, so they could use them when hunting—out of the garage. He had spent twenty minutes at the dining room table showing Celine how to use it, and was going through it one more time when the doorbell rang.
Jason snatched up the .22 from the chair next to him. From the living room entrance to the kitchen, the two them could peek out and see the front door. Though the porch light was off, they had left a small lamp on next to the sofa. Jason could barely make out a figure through the door window. The bell rang again, this time followed by a knock.
A hand cupped the door window and a face pressed against the glass. It was Agent Bagby.
"What's she doing here?" Celine whispered. Jason shooshed her.
The agent moved away from the door, crossed the front of the house, and passed the living room windows. Jason motioned for Celine to follow him. As the agent passed the dining room windows they ran through the living room to the back hallway and in, stopping at the doorway to Jason's room.
Whisper Lake (The Turning Book 2) Page 25
