“Might as well have a cup of tea while we’re waiting?”
It didn’t make any difference if they smoked in the kitchen or the locker room. Margaret would either be fine about it or a bitch. Jane found she didn’t really care one way or the other.
Marion went from cupboard to cupboard until she found an old tin kettle for the gas burner. Wendy and Jane scooted up onto the stainless steel counter.
Wendy didn’t smoke, but she took a cigarette when Jane offered. They sat smoking. Wendy coughed, but she didn’t complain.
They didn’t speak while the kettle boiled. The tips of their cigarettes bobbed up and down each time they took a drag. The smoke lay flat across the room. It made Jane think back to when she was a kid, sneaking a cigarette in the back of the old cinema, watching the smoke in the light from the projector. She remembered thinking, back then, as now, how it looked like the top of the sea, something flowing, hilly. Something you couldn’t see under, no matter how hard you tried. But it was just smoke. You could see right through it.
The kettle whistled, and Marion made them tea. Jane swept her cigarette ash off the counter into the saucer. Even if it was an emergency, there was smoking in the kitchen and there was taking the piss.
Even so, she lit another.
“OK,” said Jane.
“OK?” said Marion.
“We get George to board the windows up. The rain can’t get in if the window’s boarded up. All the doors are locked from the inside.”
“Seriously? Come on.”
“Wendy, you didn’t see it, so you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Easy, Jane,” said Marion.
Jane threw her cigarette down in the sink. “Easy? The fucking rain is fucking the fucking residents.”
Marion bit her lip, but she couldn’t stop herself laughing.
“What!”
Marion laughed until tears fell from her eyes.
“Fucking … fucking …”
“Fuck off.”
Marion roared with laughter. She just couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to laugh, but now she’d started, it was like something broke inside her.
Jane was angry, but Marion’s laughter was infectious. She couldn’t help herself. She joined in, unwillingly at first, and then she was in tears too. They laughed and cried, their shoulders shaking.
Wendy looked from one to the other, then back again.
“You two are fucking mad.”
Which made them laugh all the harder.
Jane laughed until she felt like her head was about to burst. It hurt right up in the base of her skull. She tried to stop. She knew she needed to stop laughing. She just couldn’t help it.
“I’m going to wait by the door,” said Wendy, and she slid off the counter. She left them to it.
She walked to the front foyer, angry but not really knowing why. She felt like she was the butt of some joke she just didn’t get.
She was standing there, arms crossed tightly across her chest, when there was a knock at the door.
Ordinarily, the buzzer would ring throughout the home, but with the power out, it wasn’t working. She didn’t want to open the door on her own. She was creeped out enough by what had happened. She wasn’t about to open the door without some backup, not in the middle of the night.
She shouted down the hall. She didn’t know if they heard her over their laughter. She stomped down the green-tinged hallway and poked her head around the door to the kitchen.
“OK, joke’s on me. The police are here. Are you coming?”
Tears were pouring from the girls’ eyes, but they didn’t look like they were enjoying it anymore.
“OK, Wendy. We’re coming.”
Jane slapped Marion’s arm. “Come on. Pull yourself together.”
Wendy had always been jealous of people who were easy with each other. She wasn’t comfortable letting herself go like that. She turned away, letting them follow her so they wouldn’t see her face.
They were still giggling when they got to the foyer. The police were still knocking on the door.
“Hold on,” she said. She looked at the two girls, questioning.
“Open it. It’s fine.”
She opened it. There was a lone policeman standing in the pouring rain. Rain was dripping from his cap and down his coat. He had the most amazing black eyes Wendy had ever seen. Her heart started beating faster, and then he smiled.
“Ma’am. Been having some trouble?”
“You could say that,” said Jane, from Wendy’s shoulder. “Come in out of the rain.”
“Thank you. I don’t mind if I do.”
“We’re at our wits’ end,” said Marion.
“That’s what I’m here for. Were you the one who called it in?” he asked.
“No,” said Jane, “I was the one who saw the man.”
“Where was this?”
“He came in through the front door, then he went up the stairs to one of the residents’ rooms. I don’t understand it. He had to know the codes to the front door and the stair door. Visitors would know that, but the only man who’d come in without ringing the bell in the evening is George, the caretaker, and it wasn’t him.”
Jane was on the edge of hysteria. She was talking too fast. Maybe she’d hit hysteria already. Maybe she’d come through, gone right out the other side. What was the other side of hysteria?
Madness?
“Why don’t we take a look at the resident’s room? Work our way back from there. You sure he’s gone?”
Marion and Jane exchanged a look.
“We think he went out the window.”
“Think?”
Jane nodded.
The policeman nodded right back. Smiled at her.
It made her feel uneasy.
Just freaked out, she told herself. Don’t get daft.
“OK,” she said. “Wendy, would you wait here for Margaret?”
“Uh, no. Sorry. No way. I’m not waiting here alone.”
“I’ll do it,” said Marion.
“You sure?”
“Sure. You and Wendy go up. I’ve smoked in the kitchen and the locker room already. I don’t suppose it will make any difference if I smoke in the lobby too.”
“Will you be all right?”
“I’ve been smoking for twenty years. I’ll manage.”
“That’s not what …” I meant, was what Jane started to say, but she saw Marion’s wink and winked right back.
“This way,” she said to the policeman.
They went up the stairs, Jane in front, the policeman in the middle, Wendy behind.
“Did he touch anything?” asked the policeman as they reached the top landing.
“He must have touched the keypads. Oh. Do you think I just wiped off his fingerprints?”
“He probably wore gloves. Don’t worry about it. We hardly ever catch anyone from fingerprints. It’s all DNA now.”
“Oh,” Jane said.
Then she realised she’d totally come to believe the little lie she’d started out with. The lie that began and ended with a simple intruder. Of course he didn’t leave fingerprints. He wasn’t real. Just a phantom.
Even if she was all the way out into madness, she knew she wasn’t going to tell the policeman about the water, or the rain, or Mrs. March writhing on the bed in ecstasy.
The policeman was waiting at the top of the landing. “Which way did he go?”
“Down the hall. There’s just one room at the end of the hall.”
“I’ll lead the way. Just in case he came back.”
Jane wondered. Would he come back? Would a phantom come back? Was she mad? Was he in the home, right now, in another resident’s room? She wished she hadn’t left Marion alone. What if Marion was mad too? The doors were all locked, but if it was something in the rain?
Just how far into insanity did you have to go to start thinking there was something in the rain?
And if not? If it was true? How the hell could you keep the rain o
ut?
“Officer?”
“Ma’am.”
“He broke the window. I don’t know …” She didn’t know how to say it. If it had been a man, he wouldn’t have been able to climb to the second-floor window. But if it was something in the rain, it was already in there. “Maybe he could get back in that way?”
“I’ll be careful. Just stay behind me.”
He walked slowly down the hall. He was almost silent. There was just the sound of the rain dripping from his coat, hitting the carpet. Soft, so quiet she could have been mistaken. She looked down, saw the drips from his coat hit the floor … then follow him. The water that fell from him went back up, joined his legs. Like splashes.
He was soaking. But he wasn’t getting any drier.
No.
She stopped and watched his footprints. The water flowed across the carpet, black in the dull green glow, then flowed up his trouser leg.
No.
She felt her bladder go. Suddenly she felt like a child again, terrified of being alone in the house. Like all the dark nights when her parents had been out at some party, leaving her to put herself to bed. Turning all the lights on, being scolded in the morning. Never being able to say why.
Her mouth, suddenly dry, wanted to cry out. But she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. She just stopped.
The policeman turned at the end of the hall.
“This room?” he said.
She just nodded.
He looked at her. Smiled. Winked.
“The footprints, right? I can never get them straight. Is that it?”
Jane found she could move. She backed up, straight into Wendy.
“Turn around now. No one needs to get hurt. Just came back for seconds. You don’t mind, do you, if I have another crack at her? You interrupted last time. I forgive you, though.”
“… ng.”
“What’s that? Cat got your tongue?”
Water was welling up in Jane’s throat. Wendy thumped her on the back.
“Jane? Jane?”
But she was drowning.
The taste was vile. It was filling her mouth, her stomach, her lungs.
“Help her! She’s … she’s choking!” Wendy slapped at Jane’s back, but of course it wouldn’t come out. It was in her. Filling her. God. The taste …
The policeman walked toward her as she fell to the floor, clawing at her neck.
“What’s going on?” Wendy, panicking. Her voice thin and reedy to Jane’s ears as the blood pounded in her head. All she could hear was the tumult. The tide.
“Ah, Wendy.”
And Wendy saw, but too late.
“No. Get away from me.”
“Wendy, Wendy. Such a shame. Such a name. A pretty name.”
She couldn’t look away from him. His eyes bored into her. Her knees weakened. She wanted to run, but she wanted to feel him on her. There was something primal about him. A smell, pouring off of him.
“I’ve got all the time in the world, Wendy. Want me to make you wet?”
“Uh …”
He walked closer.
“That’s it.”
She couldn’t help herself. She reached out to him. Then he poured into her. One minute he was a policeman, the next he was a torrent, a deluge. The rain filled her from the outside, then her blood, until it burst and left nothing but a red mist in the air and bones and hair and organs on the floor.
Jane drowned on the floor as Wendy reformed out of the very mist. Wendy pointed her finger, cocked her thumb and shot Jane a wink.
“Sweeter than sugar,” she said to the drowning woman, and licked her lips with a grotesque smack.
*
Chapter Nineteen
Smiley tried to concentrate. Everything was going wrong. It had felt good for a minute. Like all his senses had been racing, soaring up into the sky and way out through the atmosphere into space. Through the fucking heliosphere. Now shit was happening he didn’t understand. Mandy was crying and rocking up against a wall, hidden in shadows. Before, sounds had been distant, almost like music. Not the kind of music you danced to, but the kind that got under your skin and the best you could do to it was nod your head and tap your foot and rock from side to side.
The music was still there, but it had turned to shit. Now the music was too close. It was under his skin. He longed to scratch, but he was afraid his skin would burst like the nonce he’d killed. Like Hippo’s head, cracked.
But he didn’t want to think about Hippo. He didn’t want the noise. He just wanted to listen to the rain. Taste the rain.
His face was turned up, and the rain was pouring and splashing into his mouth. It tasted of heavy minerals. When his mouth was full, he swallowed, his Adam’s apple working up, then down.
Someone was singing. He turned his face away from the rain and looked around. His neck hurt as he moved it. A deep ache. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting like that, head craned back, rain falling on his face. He was soaked through, but the rain was smoothing down the itch.
“The only one who could ever reach me … What was he, Smiley? Can you say ‘Son of a Preacher Man?’”
Someone was walking toward him through the rain. He couldn’t make out who it was. It was dark. The night would have been pitch but for a strange luminescence in the rain.
“The only one who could ever teach me … Who was it now? Come on, son, sing it with me. Sing it, boy. Sing for Daddy.”
Smiley’s father walked through the rain. It was a merry walk. It almost looked like he was dancing.
“Oh wooooh, yes he was. Mmm mmm hmm. Son of a preacher man.”
“No,” said Smiley quietly. A simple negation of fact that somehow made it out through his chattering teeth. It couldn’t be his father. No way.
“Oh, son. You’ve been a bad boy. What’s this? What’s all this, eh?”
“No,” said Smiley, holding out his hand to ward his father off, even though he wasn’t within reach. “I didn’t …”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, boy. What you been doing to that there girl? Eh? You’ve been bad, boy. Going to have to give you some medicine for that.”
“No. No. Dad … please …”
Smiley’s dad stood before Smiley. Smiley knelt in the flowing water. Smiley’s dad was a big man, and he towered over his boy.
“You been fucking? Eh? Eh, boy? Been fucking a girl? I told you about that, now didn’t I?”
“I haven’t … I swear … I haven’t … I didn’t.”
Smiley’s dad’s hand lashed out, rocking Smiley’s head back. Blood flew from a split lip.
“Oh, son. Why do you make me, eh?” he said as he knelt beside the boy and took his head in his hands.
“There, there, son. You’ve been bad. You can make it up to me, though.”
“Please, please don’t.”
“Shh, now. I just want a favour.”
“Daddy.”
“Boy, you’ve been dirty. You’ve got to make it up to …”
He never got to finish his sentence. He wasn’t planning on Mandy. She screamed and ran at him.
“Leave him alone, you fucking pervert!” She flew through the rain and swiped at his face. Her nails tore a chunk of flesh from his face.
Smiley scooted back and started rocking.
Smiley’s dad laughed as Mandy kicked at him. He moved away so quickly it wasn’t like movement, more like water flowing over smooth rocks.
“Oh, girl. You’ve got the hots all right. He slip you a length?”
Smiley was crying. He couldn’t move. Terror made his legs heavy.
His dad caught Mandy’s face between his hands. She stopped struggling.
“Now, I don’t want what you’ve got, do I? Not when I’ve got my honey, my sweety, my fucking hot piece of cunt waiting for me at the loony home. What kind of husband would I be? First fucking night?”’
Smiley’s dad shook his head, sad, but with a sickening smile on his face.
“Just want you to do
a little job for me. That’s all. Just get up the hill. Number Nine, Oak Drive. Little bungalow there. Nice spot, out of the rain.”
All the time, he held Mandy’s head between his hands and squeezed. She couldn’t scream, but she was gagging, because while he was squeezing, he thrust his thumbs right down her throat. He shouldn’t have been able to do it. But he was doing it just the same, squeezing and suffocating her with his thumbs and speaking to Smiley like there was no effort involved at all.
“Now, it’s just going to be you and Mandy here. That pussy Greg’s fucked off and left you two holding the proverbial bag, eh? Chucked his muck and left you to mop up? Your first life lesson there, girl. It’s OK, son. You don’t have to speak. Just a nod’ll be fine.”
Smiley nodded. Whatever he wanted. Whatever would make him go away.
“Please, Dad. Put her down. You’re hurting her.”
His dad nodded. “I sure am, son. It’s a fine line, hurting.” He tilted Mandy’s head one way. “Killing,” he said, tilting it back. “You want her back? I’m sure if you sweet talk her, she’ll put out again. Sloppy seconds good for you? Young girls and boys are like that, eh? One man’s muck in another man’s cunny and all that, eh?”
“Put her down. Please, Dad. Please. I’ll do anything.”
“Good. And you, Mandy slut? Bet you wish you’d kept your legs crossed like your mummy told you, eh? Eh?”
He shook Mandy’s head for her, making her nod, then let her go. She fell to the ground and curled in a ball, sobbing, holding her head.
Smiley’s dad turned and looked at Smiley. His eyes were black. Blacker than the night.
“Pick her up. Give her a crossy if you have to. Get up that fucking hill. Nine Oak Drive. Remember that?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Now get the fuck away from here so I can clean up your shit.”
Smiley found he could move just fine. He leapt up and ran to Mandy. She was pale and shaking. He wasn’t going to get any help from her, but there was no way he was going to leave her behind with his … father. He pulled her to her feet and dragged her to his bike, then he dumped her over his lap and peddled as fast as he could go. He wanted to get away before whatever the thing was that looked and sounded like his dad decided it didn’t want to be his dad anymore. He looked like his dad but smelled like rain and minerals and muddy puddles and …
RAIN/Damned to Cold Fire (Two Supernatural Horror Novels): A RED LINE Horror Double: Supernatural Page 7
