Get ahold of yourself. She's just making sure the wound didn't get infected.
"There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Nurse Chapel placed a vial of blood in the tray, taped the cotton swab to his arm, and took off the tourniquet. Jason attempted a smile. Chapel gave him a wink before walking away.
Keep it together. Just keep it together.
If he had been bitten by some Iraqi wolf-man—are you even listening to yourself—then what were the dreams? Some kind of message? And if so, from whom?
Jason thought of the nightmare, of the dark relic Serrano held, and the corrupt aura that emanated from it.
"They found something, out there in the desert…"
He had felt some malign intelligence reaching out to him through that chunk of… whatever it was. Something powerful, something that predated civilization, maybe even human existence... something that terrified him more profoundly than anything he had seen or felt or experienced in his relatively young life.
The tent felt suddenly colder. Jason spent the next several hours doing everything within his power not to fall asleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Careless Whisper bar sat on a low hill above Whisper Lake.
Celine had never been much of a history buff, but before her father had hit the road for good, he had filled her head with factoids and anecdotes about Whisper Lake and Oregon history. Much of that info had permanently implanted itself in her brain, whether she had wanted it to or not.
Logging had been integral to Oregon history since the establishment of railroads in the 1880s. By the time of the Great Depression, lumber mills, paper mills, and planing mills throughout the state counted in the hundreds. By the 1940s the number of mills was over a thousand.
Speakers' Mill, located just over a mile north of Whisper Lake, had been a family operation built around the turn of the century. The mill had been successful for many years. Logging underwent a sharp decline in the late 60s, however, and profits plummeted. Further tragedy struck when the mill owner's only two sons died in Vietnam, leaving no heirs to the Speaker throne. The father, Joseph, exited the mortal plane two years later. His wife Estelle filed for bankruptcy shortly after, and Speakers' Mill had remained abandoned ever since.
Celine was slightly more interested in the history of the Careless Whisper. Back when Speakers' Mill was thriving, the bar atop the hill had been named the Wet Whistle. Shortly after the closure of the mill, the Wet Whistle was sold as well. Though the logging industry went into recession, patronage from the nearby town of Whisper Lake was sufficient to convince one small business owner after another that owning the tavern might be a lucrative venture. The bar changed hands, and names, four different times before a local furniture maker took over in '86 and named it after his favorite George Michael song.
In the past few years timber harvesting in the mountains around Whisper Lake had resumed, and business at the bar picked up. H.G. Boil and his trucking company had revitalized the area as well, but for the most part Boil's truckers steered clear of the Careless Whisper, opting instead to hang out at bars in town. That suited Celine just fine.
Though the Whisper had been refurbished (mostly with furniture made by the owner,) it hadn't risen above "hole in the wall" status by any means. It was, however, a warm place to gather with friends on cold nights, shoot some pool, and drink your worries away.
A light rain pattered the parking lot where Celine's red soft-top Jeep Cherokee sat with a handful of other vehicles. It was now two days since Celine had told CJ in no uncertain terms to fuck off. It had been warm that night, at least for Oregon in February, but the abnormal high pressure system had moved on and the familiar February chill had moved back in.
Inside, Celine was trying to sink a particularly obstinate eight ball and win five bucks off her best friend Kyra. Despite the bar's namesake, Brian Johnson of AC/DC was the voice wailing from the jukebox, declaring loudly to all who would listen that he was "Back in Black."
Even when trying to lose, Kyra was a better pool player than Celine. Still, it was sweet of her best friend to try and cheer her up. Earlier in the day Celine had received a phone call from Jason's mother, who had gotten a call from Jason the night before while Celine had been at work. Jason had been in some kind of accident in Iraq, but from what Mrs. Emblock said (in as few words as possible) Jason was going to be just fine. The good news was that he was expected to be coming home, maybe within the next couple weeks.
What had upset Celine was the thought that she (and by extension CJ,) may have been at all responsible for his getting injured. Had her letter affected his concentration at some key moment? She would know more when he got back, but for now his being wounded was just another blow to the gut, and one she desperately hoped was not her fault.
Kyra had a fairly close circle of college friends that Celine hung out with, but never really felt a connection to. They were a bit more on the straitlaced side, and on multiple occasions Celine felt that they judged her for her lifestyle and overall attitude. For the most part she didn't give a fuck what they thought, but they were Kyra's friends so she tried not to piss them off too often.
Four of them huddled around a circular table near where Celine and Kyra were shooting pool, nursing their microbrews. One in particular kept eyeballing her like she was a second-class citizen: Kyra's newest boyfriend, what was his name—Colin? Carter? Connor, that was it.
Celine handed the house cue off to Kyra, who had just lit up. She took out her cigarette and looked down at it, wide-eyed. "Oh shit, sorry!"
"Mom smokes all the time," Celine said.
"Yeah but you've been doing so good. We're not taking any chances." Kyra took the cigarette and put it out in an empty beer bottle at the table. She returned and shot at her last stripe ball, which banked three times and dropped into a side pocket, causing Kyra to exhale loudly and slump her shoulders.
"You suck at trying to lose." Celine polished off her third glass of Pabst. "Oh and you know if I kick the habit this time, you're next!"
The door adjoining the parking lot opened. A chill washed over Celine, but it wasn't from the cold air.
CJ walked in, looking like he just rolled out of bed, his arm around some dirty, blonde, strung-out hoochie mama. Kyra walked over and whispered to Celine "I thought he was in Canada?"
Celine's voice dropped an octave. "Guess he's back." CJ looked over at her and smiled, showing just about all of his yellow teeth.
"Back in Black" concluded on the jukebox, and was apparently the last song in the queue. Celine donned her jacket, snatched her purse off the table (apart from where Kyra's friends were holding court,) and fished out three fives, handing them to Kyra. "For the drinks. We'll call the game a draw."
Kyra took the money reluctantly. "You don't have to leave."
"Yeah, no reason we can't all hang out…" CJ's grating voice interjected. He was standing at the foot of the pool table now. The hoochie mama clung to his side like a koala bear hugging a tree, her eyes wide and blank. "You can resist the urge to be an asshole for an hour or two, right?" CJ said as he took a drag on his cigarette, blowing smoke in Celine's general direction.
Celine reconsidered taking the cue stick from Kyra. She would love nothing more than to break it over CJ's head. She adjusted the purse on her shoulder instead. "Got some news today, dickhead. Jason's coming home."
CJ hesitated slightly before answering. "Oh yeah?"
Celine nodded. "Yeah. And when he does, I wouldn't wanna be you." She didn't want to tell him that Jason had been wounded. She wanted CJ afraid.
The room grew more silent as conversations at the bar ceased. CJ took another drag. "You really think he's gonna buy into your bullshit? Me and J are tight. No matter how hard you try, you're not gonna fuck that up."
Celine turned to the dim-eyed blonde. "You know Junior here tried to fuck me while my boyfriend, his best friend, is in Iraq?" she said, nodding toward CJ.
CJ thrust his cigarette toward Celine's face. "Shut you
r fucking mouth."
Celine kept ignoring him, focusing on the now-squirming hooch. "How much is he paying you to hang on his arm?"
"What would you know about it, bitch?" The blonde said, eyes darting nervously.
"I know plenty. You know he's got herpes, bitch?"
CJ leaned forward, jabbing out with the cigarette. "Shut up or I will fucking end you!" Kyra stepped in and shot a hand out to CJ's chest, pushing back.
Celine narrowed her eyes at CJ, smiling. "Didn't know I knew that, did you?" She swiveled her head to the hoochie. "He bragged about it to Jason."
The blonde found something interesting in the corner of the room to look at. She was holding CJ tighter. CJ nodded his head as if he were about to drop a bomb. "Maybe Jason makes shit up sometimes..." Celine turned back to him. "Yeah?"
He smiled in that way of his, the kind of smile that put Celine on edge. "Yeah. Ya know there was this time back in senior year, me and J were hanging out. You missed school that day. He seemed really down, I could tell somethin' was wrong…"
Celine's mouth opened slightly. He wouldn't. He couldn't…
CJ was leaning in, eyes bulging. "You two had been fuckin' for a while and it turned out he got you pregnant. He was all excited about bein' a dad…"
The pupils of Celine's eyes were pinpricks. Her mouth had gotten small and tight, and her hands were balled into fists. CJ continued, hands waving:
"But you didn't want it. Went and had that shit taken care of, huh? So you tell me, does Jason sometimes make shit up, or was he right about you bein' a fucking baby killer?"
Celine did lunge for the pool stick then. Two of Kyra's friends jumped between them. CJ and the blonde backed up. Celine was red, clenching her jaw so tight it seemed she might break her teeth. Her purse had fallen down her arm and she was grabbing it, planning to smash it into CJ's face. Kyra grabbed her wrist.
The blonde was pulling CJ away, saying in a small voice "Come on, let's go over and play darts or something."
With a self-satisfied smirk, CJ led the hoochie bitch to the dart board. Celine stood still for just a moment, tuning out the words of Kyra and her two friends. She glanced over to Carlin, or Colin or whatever the fuck his name was. The man's beady eyes were damning.
Without a word Celine ripped her hand and purse away from Kyra and blazed a path toward the door. Kyra followed.
The parking lot door flew open. Celine stormed out and then stopped, her knuckles white. She spotted CJ's 4x4, parked on the outer edge of the lot, nose facing out to the thin split rail fence and the hill overlooking Whisper Lake. From inside the bar, AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long" blared to life. Kyra walked out and put a cautious hand on her friend's shoulder.
"Hey, talk to me."
There was no thought process involved in what Celine did next.
A little over a year ago, CJ had locked his keys in his truck. He had smashed the driver's side wing window with a rock and never replaced it. Instead of glass there was a triangular cardboard cutout there. Celine walked over and punched her hand through, reaching in to unlock the door.
Kyra curled her hands under her chin. "This is a bad idea, sweetie…"
Celine heard nothing. The rage within her was all-consuming. She whipped open the driver's side door, leaned in and put the stick in neutral…
"I know how you get. Just stop and think about this for a minute," Kyra was pleading now.
Four spaces over, Celine unlocked her Jeep and hopped inside. Kyra jumped back against the wall of the building as Celine backed out, swinging around in a half circle so that the spare tire mounted to the rear of her vehicle was pressing against the tailgate of the 4x4.
With more control than she thought herself capable of, Celine slowly bore down on the accelerator. Her tires took hold and she felt the mass behind her start to give way. Both vehicles rolled until the 4x4 was off the asphalt. There was a pause as the nose of the truck hit the rails of the fence. Celine gave it more gas and the rails popped off. The truck moved on, over the small lip of earth and onto the crest of the hill.
Kyra had rushed to the middle of the lot, watching wide-eyed and grimacing, hands still balled beneath her chin.
Celine could feel the mass separate from the back of her Jeep as gravity took over. She watched in the rearview mirror with grim satisfaction as the truck's roll bar slipped down out of view. There were crunching and crashing sounds growing more distant as the 4x4 obliterated foliage in its descent. Finally, there was a heavy, rewarding splash.
Celine wondered how far into the water it had gone and just how far it would sink. She smiled as she pulled up next to Kyra, whose hands were now over her mouth. Celine rolled down her window.
"You followed me out here, we talked, and then you saw me drive away." It wasn't a question. Celine rolled up her window and hit the accelerator. At the end of the driveway, she stopped, dug out a cigarette, and lit up before pulling out onto the main road.
CHAPTER FIVE
The ceremony had been somber, powerful, and painful.
It had been held in the Damam Air Force Chapel. Jason had sat in the third row, still groggy from lack of sleep and anxiety, holding steady through the speeches and the silences in between. Jason had a written a few words of his own, which the chaplain had read; thoughts that, to Jason at least, seemed disjointed and inadequate. He had been anything but clear-headed when he had written the tribute, still convinced that he was under some kind of surveillance. He still worried that MPs would come and haul him away to a padded room with no windows; locked away with his own affliction, cursed to never see the sun or those he loved again.
No MPs had come, but his platoon sergeant had arrived to bring him to the service. He stood outside in formation as the names of Serrano, Fitz, and Szymczyk had been called three times each, with no answer given—an underscoring of the reality the men would never answer a roll call again. He had flinched with every report as the command to fire had been given. Seven soldiers fired blanks three times into the air. He had at last allowed tears to flow as the bugle played TAPS.
When it was all over, Jason found PFC Styles sitting quietly in the chapel and he took a seat next to her.
"I need to say thanks. You know I wouldn't be here if—"
Without looking in his direction, Styles waved a dismissive hand. "You come to Georgia, buy me a slice of pecan pie and we'll be straight."
The moment stretched between them. Jason's arm was itching like mad, but at least the pain was gone. Yesterday there had been a dull ache, and today not even that. He hadn't taken his pain pills because he hadn't needed to. He had considered using medication to deaden his senses, simply slip into a fog where the boundaries of reality became indistinct and much less meaningful, but he had to know, had to be certain of what was happening to him. As it stood now, if shit got weird, he couldn't blame it on any drugs. Finally, Jason said "I gotta know what you saw that night."
Styles shook her head, still not looking his way. "I can't say what it was."
"How have you been sleeping?" Jason asked.
A self-assured smile lifted Styles' cheeks. "Just fine. I sleep just fine. Whatever it was attacked us, don't hold no power over me. I will fear NO evil, cause I'm right with God."
She turned to him and her eyes held no judgment, only peace. "Are you right with God?"
Jason thought of the tattoo scrawled across his stomach, the result of a drunken night out with CJ. His tattoo read, in all capital, gothic font: "HELLBOUND." Jason's relationship with his mother had already been on unstable ground for many years, and he felt for sure that the tattoo would be the final nail in that coffin. Somehow, it bothered him even more that his mother had been indifferent when she had found out.
Jason looked away. "I don't know that I am."
"Any time you need," Styles said, "you call me up and I'll pray with you. Any time." She turned to look forward once more. Jason nodded, putting a hand on her knee as he stood. Jason thought very briefly about saying a p
rayer before leaving…
But he had decided a long time ago that when he prayed, no one was listening.
***
Celine stood in front of the bathroom mirror. She didn't spend much time in front of mirrors. For one thing, she had never been classically girlish. She didn't paint her nails or toes, or use makeup. Never saw the point in it, really. Jason always told her she had a natural beauty that makeup would only hide. With him gone there was even less of a reason to get dolled up. Who would she try to impress? Jason was the only one who mattered.
She had always thought of her body as pretty good. She really started to get looks from the boys in her junior year of high school, when her tits finally filled out to a C cup. Her ass was nothing to write home about but with the few men she had been with, she hadn't gotten any complaints.
As she finished getting ready for work, fixing her black hair into a bun, the phone rang. She answered in her mom's bedroom, and waited. Silence. "Hello?" she said louder. More silence. She slammed the phone back into the cradle and returned to the bathroom.
CJ, no doubt. If phone call harassment was the extent of his revenge, wonderful. Celine, however, knew better. A nagging voice inside her head told her that she shouldn't have lost her shit and dumped his truck in the lake. She told that voice to shut the fuck up, frowning at her reflection. That was another reason she didn't spend much time at a mirror; whether she admitted it or not, she didn't always like the person looking back.
She had grabbed her keys, coat, and purse when she opened the door to see Ty Barclay, the county sheriff, out front, bending over to inspect the rear of her Jeep.
"Hey, Ty," she called.
It wasn't terribly cold but Ty was wearing his thick police snow coat just the same. He turned and favored Celine with a smile. He was an old family friend. For as long as Celine could remember he had been a part of her life. Every birthday, every Christmas, he would make an appearance. He had gray hair even then. Now as he made his way to the porch Celine couldn't help but think that he had aged a few years' worth since the last time she saw him.
The Turning (Book 2): Whisper Lake Page 3
