by Allie Gail
Heard? Heard what?
Oh, no. Cold dread sinks like a stone in my middle as I shake my head.
“Her niece...grand-niece...I dunno, somethin' like that, went into labor this morning. She's poppin' out twins over at the hospital in Montrose. So yeah, Sonia went there. Not sure why, they ain't her kids, amiright?”
Oh! Oh, God. That's a relief. I was thinking...well, never mind what I was thinking.
“Montrose? Is that close by?” I don't even know why I'm asking. It's not like I could just show up there. What if Sonia were to go nuts again, right there in the hospital?
“Mm, it's about an hour and a half drive.” Taking a deep drag off her cigarette, the girl turns her face to blow the smoke away from me. “I'm guessing you must not be from around here or you'd have already known that.”
“I'm not. I'm just here...visiting.”
“Vacation, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“How do you know Sonia? Someone recommend her to you or somethin'?”
“She gave me a reading yesterday. I was hoping to see her again.”
“Ah. I get it.” She bobs her head up and down with a knowing look.
“How do you know her?” I ask curiously. This chick doesn't look or sound as if she's from around here, either. Not even close.
“Me? I helped out in her shop last summer. Easy cash under the table, y'know?”
The honking of a horn startles me, and I hear a guy's voice hollering out the window as he drives past. “Hey Markie! Shouldn't you be studying for that calc test?”
Laughing, the girl flips a playful middle finger to the honker before turning her attention back to me.
“I've been savin' up for a car,” she continues. “There's this sweet little 1964 Plymouth Valiant I've got my eye on. Rebuilt engine, original chrome and interior...let me tell you, it's a beauty. So badass. All it needs is a paint job. Looks just like the one I used to have, back in the day.”
Back in the day? The girl barely looks old enough to be driving now.
“What happened to it?” I ask, more out of politeness than anything.
“Smashed it head-on into a power pole. Totaled, just like that. Bye-bye, Prince Valiant! Didn't do much for the pedestrians I ran over, either. Whole road looked like strawberry jam spread on toast. Which is ironic, isn't it, since they were toast. Guess they picked the wrong night to be out for a stroll!” Giggling, she hitches her shoulders in a guileless shrug before adding, “Don't drink and drive, right?”
Yeesh. Talk about a dark sense of humor. I've met kids like her before – those so desperate for attention that they make up outlandish stories hoping to impress people.
I don't have time for this. I'm not her guidance counselor. I have my own problems.
Instinctively, my eyes shift in the direction of the Rover. Silas is nowhere in sight, so I figure he must still be sitting inside. Watching me like a hawk, no doubt.
Lowering my voice, though I don't know how it could possibly matter, I whisper, “I don't suppose you happen to have a cell phone I could borrow?”
“A what?” The girl – Markie, was it? – leans in a little closer, presumably to hear better. Her perfume smells spicy, like a mixture of clove and patchouli.
“A phone. Mine's...I forgot it. At home. I just need to call my brother real quick. It'll only take a second, I promise.”
“Your brother? Oh, you mean Russell?” She blinks her heavily made-up eyes in a pretense of innocence. And for a moment, just one tiny moment, I could swear those green cat-eye irises flicker red.
I suck in a quick gasp. Then I think I stop breathing altogether.
And the thing that strikes me as most horrifying in that first moment of clarity is not that she's a demon, not that she knows who I am, but that her sickening claim to vehicular homicide is probably very much a fact.
“Now why would you wanna go and do that?” she chides in her clear, musical voice. “Do we really want Russell fuckin' Sterling bringin' his nosy ass all the way up here just to interfere in stuff that doesn't concern him?”
My mouth falls open. Breathe, Judith. Breathe. For the love of God, before you pass out, breathe!
“N-no,” I stammer, while all the blood rushes from my head. “I wasn't going to-”
“What, did you think you could just waltz right outta here? Give big brother a ringy-ding to come and get you like he's pickin' you up from pompom practice? I don't think so, cherry bomb. It ain't gonna be that easy. Don't you know we're watchin' you every minute? And I know, you bein' the sweet unselfish martyr and all, that you don't want someone else payin' the price for your screw-ups. Now do you?”
My blood runs cold, freezing in my veins. Russell...
“You really should go on back now. Ain't nobody here gonna help you. Least of all Sonia.” Grinning, she slings an arm over my shoulders and starts walking, dragging me stumbling along with her. “And I expect Mr. Price is gonna want his tasty little cream puff all ready and waitin' when he gets home. He's been enjoying the hell outta you, hasn't he?”
I can barely lift my feet. They feel like concrete blocks. Everything around me is shimmering, fading into a hazy fog. I can hear voices, laughter, the sound of traffic passing by, but none of it seems real. It all reaches me like an image on a movie screen. Distant and untouchable.
Silas is waiting beside the SUV. Giving us a nod, he opens the door for me before grinning that horror-movie grimace of his.
I pause to look at them, the two of them, so different in every physical aspect and yet revoltingly identical in every way that matters.
Then I climb in. Automatically. Like a programmed robot. What else can one do when being extorted by literal monsters?
The girl – correction, demon skank – pops her ebony-and-purple head in to offer one more cheerful jab.
“Oh, just thought you'd like to know. That whole thing with Sonia? It's bullshit. Ain't no preggo grand-niece or twins or any of that. Nope, bitch is dead. Kicked the bucket and gone ten toes up. Don't that beat all? Check this, some lunatic broke into her house last night and sliced her throat open, ear to ear. Kr-rkk!” She drags a burgundy nail across her neck to illustrate. “'Course, nobody's found her yet. Downside to not havin' any family – nobody gives a shit, amiright? Bright side, though. At least her cats will have somethin' to gnaw on for a while. Meow!”
This isn't happening. No way is this happening. I clutch my stomach, feeling sick.
“But hey! Bet you're wonderin' how I know all this. Want me to let you in on a little secret, cherry bomb? Wanna know how I'm privy to all this inside information?”
No. I don't. More than anything, I don't.
Smirking, Markie takes another drag off her cigarette and then flips it around to gaze aimlessly at the burning ash.
“'Cause I'm the one who killed her.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The return trip, conversely, is over in no time at all.
I guess that's because I spend it more or less in shock. There's no concept of time anymore. It's hard to think. To know what to think. What to feel. I never expected this. Never wanted this. Everything is falling apart, unraveling faster than an anchor dropped in the ocean, and I never saw it coming.
Or maybe I did.
Maybe I did, and I chose to shade my eyes from the truth.
Now Sonia is dead. Viciously murdered in what should've been the safety of her own home. Why? Because she knew something? What could she possibly have seen that would warrant such swift and brutal retribution?
I struggle to recall what she said. Her exact words. All that comes back to me are bits and pieces, fragments that bear no particular context.
What have you done?
You'll be the death of us all!
He will tear your soul apart...
No safe place to hide...
A shudder sends my body into tremors. What did she mean? What did I do that was so terrible? And why am I
being so closely watched? I don't get it. It's not like I'm someone important. I'm just a random small-town girl who got caught up in a tidal wave of madness. Who was stupid enough to accept an outrageous proposition. All because I was trying to help. Damn it all, this wasn't my idea – all I did was agree to a tradeoff. Tit for tat. Quid pro quo. It wasn't supposed to be any more complicated than that.
It wasn't supposed to turn out this way.
No one was supposed to die.
I don't even notice when we reach the house. Not until Silas opens the door for me, and I turn to gaze at him blankly. As pathetic as it sounds, I wish he would speak to me. Just tell me what's going on. Give me some clue as to what part my presence plays in this macabre, twisted game.
But he doesn't, he won't, and I know better than to ask.
Anger is rapidly boiling up within me. The kind of heated frustration that comes with confusion. With lack of control. My eyes narrow, and I glare into the tinted screen of his sunglasses as I step out onto the ground. Fuck him anyway, the ugly bastard. Who does this jacked-up crypt keeper think he is? What gives him the right to hold me hostage?
My mind goes back to the night I saw him watching me from the parking lot of the gas station. I remember how much it creeped me out at the time. Who knows how long he's been keeping tabs on me? Why the surveillance mission, I don't know, but I do know one thing.
I know that it pisses me off. Enough to snap me out of my stupor.
Lifting my chin, I glare at him defiantly. So he wants to play warden, does he? Well, he's crazy if he thinks I'm going to stand still and make it easy for him.
“Anyone ever tell you, you are one ugly motherfucker?”
His expression remains the same. The dead visage of a corpse. He just stands there with one hand on the door, looking at me. At least, I assume he's looking at me. It's hard to tell for sure with those ridiculous shades hiding his eyes.
“What's the matter? Can't talk? What are you, stupid or something? Where'd you get this host body, anyway? Rob it from a morgue?” I'm on a roll now, completely losing my shit, and I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. “Or maybe you're just too afraid to open your mouth and have everyone find out how truly ignorant you are. Oh, I know! Too many generations of inbreeding, right? Let me guess. Your mother was also your sister, wasn't she? Bet your family reunions were interesting. Only place your parents could get laid, huh? Am I getting close?”
One finger twitches on the door. Well, at least that's some reaction.
“What are you, deaf? Are you even listening to me? Hel-lo! You murdering piece of scum – your mother was a slut! Your father was a stinking, flea-infested wild boar! And you are probably only here because Hell can't tolerate your smell anymore!”
His hand leaves the car door. I brace myself, curling my fingers into fists, prepared for whatever he's about to do to me. Prepared to fight back. Anything is better than the absolute nothing that encompasses this walking cadaver.
But he doesn't lay a finger on me. Nor does he utter a word. All he does is stretch his mouth in that lurid grin and shrug his shoulders as if to say, yep, you got me. It's all true.
I blink, relaxing my fists, uncertain what to do next.
He makes a sweeping gesture with one arm, indicating that we should head inside.
Screw that, I decide. I'm no quitter. I may be captive, I may be out-muscled, I may have completely lost control of my life, but I am by no means a defeatist. And I will not follow him indoors like the dutiful little prisoner.
Instead, I take off in a sprint, making for the guest house. If it's locked, then I'll smash through a window. That is, if Silas doesn't stop me first. It's a long shot, but who knows what I'll find? There's always the remote possibility that I might come across Thaddeus. If he's real, if he's here, if he's human, then maybe he can help me. Or maybe he's in on the whole thing, too. Or dead like Sonia. But I have to at least try. If I don't get some answers soon, I'll go nuts.
To my surprise, the door isn't locked. I fling it open with enough force to send it bouncing off the wall, and step inside without preamble. I find myself in a wide, spacious living room. It has hardwood floors and a stone fireplace exactly like the one in the main house. The layout is open, so I have a clear view of not only this room but a kitchen as well, plus a sliding glass door leading to what appears to be a sun room in the back.
The place is empty.
And I don't just mean in the aspect that no one is here. I mean, it's empty. There's no furniture. No pictures on the walls. No cereal boxes or newspapers or bowls of fruit on the kitchen counters. Other than the window blinds and light fixtures, there is nothing. Nothing at all.
Wait...no, there is one thing. Resting on the smooth, polished floor, as if it was snatched from the window and discarded, is a hand printed For Rent sign.
I gaze down at it, trying to put two and two together in a way that makes sense. But none of it is adding up to anything comprehensible.
From behind me comes an unpleasantly familiar female voice.
“If you're looking for Dr. Belmont, you won't find him here.”
I turn to face Cassandra, my voice coming out all shaky. “Why? Is he dead, too?” I am furious, in a way that overshadows even my fear. These people are sick. Sick! But what did I expect? They're not people at all! They're vile, despicable monsters, something not fit for this world. They don't belong here. They belong in the deepest recesses of Hell, and I pray with every fiber of my being that they are dragged back down to the cesspit they slithered out of. Soon.
“Oh, very much so,” she gloatingly assures me. “He's been rotting four feet under in the woods for some time now. Of course, if you're really that desperate to see him, we could always arrange a visit. I'm sure the maggots would appreciate the company.”
My mouth falls open, a gasp of horror stealing my breath away.
“I'd take you there myself, if it weren't for...” Her voice trails off as if she doesn't want to finish the rest. “Well. Just be glad you're under his protection. Otherwise I'd gut you like a fish and leave you for the vultures to pick clean.”
Why? What did I ever do to you? I want to ask, but right now there are other questions that take precedence.
“Who is Thaddeus Belmont?” I demand.
“Who is he? You mean who was he.” She purses her thin lips, making her pinched face look even more severe. “I don't know, some retired plastic surgeon. Who cares?”
“Is this his house?” I glance over at Silas, who is lurking just behind her. His stoic face offers nothing.
Huffing, she glares down her nose at me. “Once again, you're having trouble differentiating between is and was. Yes, this was his house. It no longer is. Until Dr. Belmont is discovered missing, Mr. Price will be staying here. In the interim, if anyone asks, he's merely renting the guest house. I took care of all the arrangements myself.”
“By 'arrangements' I assume you mean slaughtering the homeowner and dumping his body in the woods like trash.” Jesus Christ – it galls me the way she acts pleased with herself. As if she did something to be proud of! “What's wrong? Too much trouble to rent a house legitimately?”
Her apathetic shrug tells me all I need to know. That a man's life means about as much to her as a cockroach does to an exterminator.
“It really is a lovely place, isn't it?” she murmurs.
Lovely? That's a subjective point of view. This sprawling estate, that just recently had me wide-eyed and dazzled, now strikes me more as a cold, bleak prison.
I want to go home. I want the comfort and security of that ramshackle Kansas farmhouse. I miss the sounds of my brother hollering to me from the room next to mine. I miss the perpetually messy kitchen. I miss the creaking stairs. I miss the peeling paint and the porch that always needs sweeping and the roof that leaks in that one spot in the attic.
Will I ever see it again? Will I ever see Russ or Max or Gabby again?
“Far too classy for a dimestore whore like you,” Cassa
ndra adds with a catty smile.
She can't seem to help herself. I don't know what it is, but for some reason this woman really seems to detest me. Well, the feeling's mutual, I can assure her.
“Wow. Sounds like someone's sexually frustrated,” I retaliate, struggling to keep my voice even. “If it makes you feel any better, Cassie, I'm sure there's someone out there desperate enough to stick it in an over-the-hill dried-up skank like you. If you put a bag over your head and paid them enough.”
It's probably just my imagination, but I could swear I just saw the faint shadow of a smile flicker across Silas's stony face.
Cassandra is not nearly as amused. Her dull brown eyes fix on me with a look of contempt as she hisses, “Better keep a check on that tongue, you mouthy little tramp, if you want to keep it intact. You don't know who you're messing with.”
“Oh? Why don't you tell me then! Just who is it I'm messing with? The bitter old hag that pissed away her life and ended up as one of Hell's lower class peons – is that who you mean?” I'm kicking the hornet's nest here, and I know I should quit while I'm ahead, but it's like my mouth has a mind of its own.
“Silas...” Choosing to ignore me, she focuses her attention behind her instead. “Do you know what I think I'd like to do tonight? I think I'd like to go dancing.” Her eyes cut back to me with a meaningful glower.
My own gaze flits back and forth between the two of them. I suppose I'm waiting for the punchline. Silas seems as mystified as me, though that's just a guess because he doesn't do anything other than tilt his head just a fraction.
“Yes, I think that sounds like fun,” she continues in her saccharine voice. “Don't you? Just strip down to nothing and samba beneath the moon, the way we used to during our esbats. Ah, but those were the glory days. Would you care to join me, Silas? We can go gravedancing over at the Parkland Cemetery in Grainfield. Really kick up our heels.” Her eyes lock on mine, narrowing as she delivers the clincher. “All over the stinking, decrepit bones of Elijah and Amanda Sterling.”
