“What bullshit!” shouted Jason, throwing the paper aside. He coughed and fell back on his pillow. The sweven was on his chest again, digging its claws in. “They can’t get away with that.”
“They already have. It’s totally out of the news.”
“And Hadewych was never mentioned.”
“You haven’t said why he would be.”
“He did it. He used the Treasure.”
Joey nodded. He looked unsurprised. “I figured it was the Horseman, but why would Hadewych attack his own party?”
“To kill his ex-wife.”
“Jessica? No way. He wouldn’t do that to Zef. Would he?”
Jason sat up. “I’ve got to tell somebody.”
“You’ve got to get better. Rest.”
“I can’t rest. The Nightmare’s come back.”
“Is it bad?”
“It’s… intense.” Jason fell back. He could feel himself slipping into it even now. His pillow deepened and the fluorescents fluttered above. The tide was coming in again.
“Just chill awhile,” said Joey.
“I’m chilly enough. More blankets?”
Joey nodded and obliged. The blankets didn’t help much though. “Look here,” Joey said. “You’ve got your remote and I put some music on an iPod. And sorry, I went a little heavy on showtunes. There’s like four Jerry Herman marches. I like the one from Milk and Honey but it’s probably not your kind of—”
“It sounds great. Thanks. What else has been going on?”
“Eddie got expelled.”
“Good.”
“Hadewych went to bat for you with the school. They had a hearing. Eddie and his dad—the cop—showed up with a lawyer. But they lost. One of the Sleepy Hollow Boys ratted Eddie out. Then they all did. And after that it was a done deal. Eddie’s gone.”
“And Zef?”
“I don’t want to talk about Zef.” Joey flushed with anger. “It would just make me sick too. But—speaking of sick—guess who else is in the hospital here?”
“No clue.”
“Dave. My drummer, remember? And get this—he’s in a coma. How cool is that?”
“How is that cool?”
Joey’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You know—he’ll be one of us now. Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t curse anybody before he knows the rules.”
Joey sounded like an enthusiastic kid with a new toy. Jason shook his head. “What about you? You should get a handle on your own Gift first.”
Joey smiled and lifted his knapsack onto the bed. “It just so happens that I’ve been doing my research.” He took out a sheaf of dog-eared comics and spread them on the bed. “Okay. You got your Sandman, which would make me your nemesis, Spidey. Bwahaha. He’s my favorite, except he’s had, you know, one sweater in forty years. You got Petra from X-Men. You’d like her. She’s a mutant born with impressive cleavage. You got Terra, that’s DC Comics. Gaara, that’s from this manga thing. Samuel Sullivan from NBC’s Heroes, Crystal, Geo-Force from Teen Titans and, uh, a few classes of Pokémon.”
“And what can all these do?”
Joey opened the notebook. “From the superpowers wiki: Earth Manipulation, sometimes called Earthbending. Burrowing, moving or shaping dirt, soil, or sand. Lifting rocks. And—get this—geokinetic flight. That’s when you fly”—he paused for effect—”by surfing lava. How awesome will that be? Huh? So, who’s going to be a grave-digging lava-surfing ass-kicking mo-fo? This guy right here.” He cocked his thumbs at his chest.
“Cool. And can you do any of that yet?”
Joey sighed. “No. Frankly, all I’ve done so far is explode a few of my mom’s houseplants. But I’m optimistic.” He turned a page. “Now Dave, as a drummer, is likely to have vibration powers. You got your Vibro, who can make sonic waves—”
“One second. Not to change the subject, but… Kate? Has Kate been to see me?”
Joey looked away. “No. But I started a get-well wall at school.”
“And how many cards do I have?”
“None, now. Eddie tore it down.”
“Great.”
A voice came from the doorway. “Hey! He’s awake!”
Joey and Jason turned. Zef stood at the door. He wore a denim jacket with a fleece collar and carried a tray covered in Saran wrap.
Joey gathered his comic books. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh.” Zef looked at the floor. “I can come back later.”
“Do you have to?” said Joey.
“No. I can stay,” Zef said, eagerly.
“I meant do you have to come back.” Joey stuffed his comics into the knapsack. “You’ve got no business here.”
“I’ve got the right.”
“Hell you do.”
“As much as anybody.”
“You’re not his friend.”
“I’m his cousin.”
“Third cousin,” Jason interrupted. He rolled to his side, his back to Zef. The tube in his nose pulled out of the wall and the oxygen stopped. Uh-oh.
“You’re not his friend or his family,” said Joey. “You’re his basher. That’s what you are. Get the hell out.”
Zef took another step into the room. “Joey, don’t.”
“Go.”
Jason found the end of the oxygen tube, rolled back, and felt for the nozzle. Where does this damn thing connect?
Zef put the tray down on a chair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you that name.”
Joey rolled his eyes. “You think that’s what I’m mad about? I’ve been called a fag before. Sure, I was surprised to hear it from you, Ma Kettle, since you’re a fag yourself.”
Zef closed the door. “Can you keep your voice down?”
“Nope! Fag! Fag! I don’t care who hears. Hey, Jase, hit the call button so I can tell the nurses.”
Jason pointed at his nose. “I can’t feel my oxygen flow, guys…” He’d lost the end of the tube too.
“I consider that a badge of honor, Zef. I’m a tough little fag and at least I’m honest. It was hard to hear, sure. But I get why you said it. Self-hate. That has always been your problem. And, yeah, it’s bad when you let the pricks at school call me that. They’re your friends and you won’t stand up for me. But I get that too. Cowardice. That’s your other problem. But here’s what I don’t get: how you could deliberately turn someone over to Eddie Martinez.”
“You know about that?”
“Everybody knows! You can charm the disciplinary council, Golden Boy, but word gets around. You threw Jason to Eddie, and then saved your own ass by throwing Eddie to the dogs.”
“He deserved it.”
“And you don’t?”
Jason raised a finger. “Joey? Little help?”
“I went back,” said Zef. “I got Jason out of there.”
“And look at him!” said Joey. “He looks like shit.”
“Thanks,” Jason rasped.
Zef realized Jason’s predicament and came to help. “I’m going to take care of him. I promise.”
“No thanks,” said Jason. He swatted Zef away, found the nub of the oxygen nozzle with his finger, and reattached the tube himself.
“Just get out,” said Joey.
Zef shook his head. “No. Let me—”
“Now!” Joey grabbed the sippy cup and threw it. It hit Zef in the chest and splashed his face with orange juice.
Zef nodded, wiped his cheek, and left.
Jason patted Joey’s elbow. “Finally?”
“Yeah. I’m done with him. That was my New Year’s resolution. Felt good.”
“You sure?”
“I’m fine. I’m perfectly—”
Something exploded to Jason’s left, showering the bed with dirt.
“God damn it,” muttered Joey. “I said no potted plants.”
Kate sat in the waiting room, deciding whether to go in. It was the same row of plastic chairs where she and Jason had waited together last October, to hear about
his grandmother. Nurses kept leaning over her head to pump the sanitizer dispenser, wringing their hands as they walked away.
She was still pissed at Jason, but she hated to see him sick. She’d been thinking about him a lot. Thinking of that night in the stables, how he’d healed Gunsmoke, how brave they’d been together. Maybe—
Zef entered, looking morose. Kate raised a magazine. Not to hide herself; she didn’t care to look at Zef. Or talk to him. Not yet. Maybe never. He’d been sending her texts and voice mails and had even come tapping at her window one night. Red had almost shot him. And Kate had been tempted to let Red do it. She’d ordered Zef away, pulled the blinds, laid in bed—alternately furious and sympathetic and hurt.
Zef sat a few chairs away, slumped, elbows on knees. Kate rose, the magazine still in front of her face, and walked out.
Only in the hall did she notice the title of the article in her hand. It read: “WHY MEN LIE: Ten Tall Tales You’ve Been Told.”
Joey saw Kate exiting through a side door.
Interesting.
He thought about going back and telling Jason. It would raise his spirits. But Jason had fallen asleep in the middle of a sentence. Let him rest. Joey dumped the blanket-full of dirt into an unattended laundry bin and crept away, shouldering his knapsack.
He got a little lost on his way to see Dave the drummer. He turned and spun circles at each intersection, getting his bearings.
Oh, come on. Stop lying to yourself. You know how to get to Dave’s room. You’re looking for Zef. How stupid are you, Osorio? Let it go, man. Just let it go.
He turned in the proper direction and saw a familiar figure pass by. Not Zef, though. Mather. Usher’s guy. Joey considered calling out, but thought better of it. Mather strolled to an exit and left.
Joey passed Cardiology as he walked. He wanted to stick his head in the door. Hey, what’s up, docs? You need a patient? Right here. Heart needs fixing. It’s all broken and stuff. A bum ticker, popping springs. Tell you what. The thing is more trouble than it’s worth. Just rip it out and I’ll go on my merry way. Cool beans?
He shifted the knapsack full of comics and walked on. He found Dave’s room and knocked, which seemed kind of stupid when visiting a guy in a coma, but maybe Dave’s family was visiting. Best to be polite.
Joey turned the knob and found the room empty.
Damn. He woke up.
He had to get to Dave ASAP and warn him about the Great Curse and all that stuff. Dave would need a guide and a mentor.
Joey power-walked to the nurse’s station and asked about his friend. The girl checked her computer, told Joey to wait, then conversed with a nearby doctor. The man approached. His name tag read, “Dr. Tamper.”
“You’re asking about David Alton?”
“Yeah. I saw he checked out?”
“Are you a family member?”
“No. Just a friend. And collaborator. We have a band together. Hollow Praise? Dave’s our most excellent drummer.”
Dr. Tamper put a hand on Joey’s elbow. “I’m afraid he’s passed.”
Joey went still inside. “No.”
“His heart failed. I’m sorry.”
His heart, thought Joey. His ticker. He saw Dave with his sticks over his head. Hitting them together. Setting the beat. One. Two. Three. Four.
Tamper made a privacy wall with his body, standing between Joey and the hall traffic. “Would you like to speak with one of our counselors?”
Joey shook his head. “No, thanks, I’m… I’m okay. We didn’t hang out. Just… I’m, yeah. I’m okay. Thank you.”
Joey walked away feeling foolish. Not everybody wakes up. You knew that. Jason’s grandmother was in that state. She never woke up, he said, except for a second or two at the end. But Dave was young, like me. I could have died like that too. Why didn’t I? Why Dave and not me? What had been different?
“I beat him,” Joey whispered, but he didn’t understand his own words.
Him who?
Joey’s knapsack of comics felt heavy now, as if he were carrying a child. No. Childhood. Pure childishness. This was the real world, not some comic book. In the real world, people die. A radioactive spider bite would make you vomit and lose your hair. And a gamma-ray bomb? That would blow you to bits—you’d leave a long Bruce Banner shadow across the desert sand. You wouldn’t turn into The Hulk. You’d die. Like Dave.
Joey walked into the waiting room, saw Zef, and ducked into shadow.
And you can’t rip your broken heart out and replace it with an arc reactor, either. You can’t climb into an Iron Man suit and fly away. No matter how much you want to. No matter how much shrapnel you’ve taken.
He closed his eyes and counted the ticks. “One. Two. Three. Four!” shouted Dave. Joey strode into the waiting room. Zef rose, but Joey raised a hand, wishing he had a repulsor beam to fire. He gave Zef a scalding glare, engaged his boot rockets, and rode a wave of lava out the door.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
“Look Me In The Eye”
Jason opened his eyes to the familiar molding of his bedroom ceiling. The shadow of a branch swayed and dipped across the plaster.
He sat up. His pajamas were soaked through. They clung to his chest and arms and back. His blankets felt as if they’d come out of the dryer too soon, hot and humid. He threw them aside and swung his feet to the floor.
Eliza’s robe hung on its hook, watching over him. Cough syrup bottles and Kleenex boxes littered the room. The air smelled of vapor rub.
He felt much better. His fever must have broken in the night. He’d been swimming in and out of consciousness for weeks, waking for intervals of befuddled drowsy existence, chewing ice chips, staring at the TV but unable to follow the plot, eating whatever was passed into his hands—soups, mostly—and falling back into sleep again, into the world of the Nightmare.
He pushed his hair out of his eyes.
Charley.
Who had been feeding Charley? Was she okay? He stood and tipped forward but caught himself, leaning against a straight-backed chair by the bed. Sticking his feet in some sneakers, he grabbed Eliza’s robe and pulled it over his wet pajamas. He tied it around his waist on his way through the breakfast room and opened the back door.
The cold air felt wonderful on his face. As he crossed the snow-clotted yard he heard barking from the detached garage. What a relief. The dog was alive, at least. Oh, she’d surely been missing him, poor little thing, all alone these many weeks.
He entered the garage and found Zef sitting cross-legged on the floor, Charley in his lap. He was scratching her belly, making kissing noises. “Who’s a good girl? You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”
“You’re kidding,” said Jason. His own voice surprised him. He sounded like a bullfrog. No. Like Valerie. Charley twisted and ran to him. Jason scratched her head and let her lick his fingers.
“You’re up!” said Zef, smiling. “How are you feeling?”
“Pissed off. Stay away from my dog.”
Zef rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome. Somebody had to feed her.”
“Fine. Now get lost.”
Jason tried to lift Charley into the RV but couldn’t. God, he was weak.
“Here,” Zef said, reaching for the dog. Jason elbowed Zef’s hand away and managed on his own. Charley scrambled inside.
“What day is it?” said Jason.
“Valentine’s Day.”
“Time?”
“About noon.”
Jason touched his chin and found a scraggly beard there. Wearing Eliza’s robe, he probably looked like a homeless cross-dresser. “Whatever,” he mumbled, and climbed into the RV.
The inside was a wreck. Someone had torn the mattresses from the bunks. The refrigerator hung open. The calendar lay on the floor and Charley had peed on it. The Scrabble box had exploded its letters so that the carpet looked like alphabet soup.
“Who did this?”
Zef stuck his head into the RV. “My dad. Did you take something of his?
Hadewych knows I took the letter. Shit.
Of course. Hadewych had returned to the storage unit at some point—probably to hide the Treasure again—and had discovered the letter missing. Jason felt a stab of dread and opened the panel behind the wall of the lower bunk.
Agathe’s diary was gone.
“Zef, did you see your father with a book? An old book with a green leather cover?”
Zef pointed. “You mean that one?”
Charley lay among the chaos, Agathe’s diary between her paws. She was chewing on it.
“No. No. Bad dog.” Jason took it. The pages were okay. She had just chewed the seam out of the edge of the cover. Jason sighed. “I thought your dad made off with this.”
“Why would he? I looked at it too. It’s blank.”
So that’s why Hadewych ignored it, Jason thought. Good luck at last. He still had an irrational dread of Hadewych finding the thing. What had Agathe said? “I will put a lock upon it so none but my heir may read it.”
“So you got a new cookie jar?” said Zef. “I looked all over for a replacement. Where’d you find it?”
Jason shrugged. He should have hidden the restored cookie jar, instead of leaving it out on the counter. “Um, she had a second one. In storage.”
He found the Gatewood Guide on the floor and tossed it on the bed. The red ink shouted up at him:
SIE STERBEN AN DER BRÜCKE
The sight of it reminded him of his priorities, his research, and the Dylan letter…
The letter!
“Zef, what happened to my backpack? New Year’s, did you see it? Red?”
Zef frowned. “I think it’s in my trunk.”
“I want it.”
“What’s your deal? Get inside before you catch—”
Jason exited the RV, crossed the lawn, and slapped the trunk of Zef’s car. “You got the keys?”
Zef shrugged and opened the trunk. Jason grabbed his backpack. The letter was inside. Another piece of luck. He caught a whiff of piss. Ugh. His suit jacket was here as well. He threw it at a trash can and the silver owl talisman fell from a pocket and into the snow.
More luck. He’d been afraid the talisman had been left behind in the trash. As he hung it around his neck, the cold circle touched his chest, and he could breathe again. He bounded up the stairs and into the house, feeling stronger with every step. He threw the backpack onto his bed, grabbed the antique key from its hook, descended again, and unlocked the cellar.
Sleepy Hollow: Bridge of Bones Page 37
