Backtracker

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  A vermilion slime coated the crust; he didn't know if the gluey film was the woman's blood or the awful discharge of his own abscesses.

  Though his hands hadn't fully transformed, he could see that they were on their way. Inky blotches stained his palms and the backs of the hands, extending as far as the knuckles.

  Whimpering, he shut his eyes tightly.

  It was going to happen. He knew it now, without a doubt: It was going to happen. Bit by bit, he would decompose; just as he'd feared, his entire body would molder and suppurate, irrevocably putrefy.

  It was going to happen.

  How far had the rot already spread? He didn't want to know. He didn't want to look under his clothes; most of all, he didn't want to look in a mirror.

  His face.

  What if his face was already...

  With a sudden surge of will, he shot his eyes open and spun to face the wailing cupboard. He knew that he had to get on with it, had to finish; his fear and despair were formidable, but he couldn't surrender to them, not yet.

  He was rotting; he was running out of time. That was all the more reason to hurry, to push himself to complete his mission. After all that he'd been through, he couldn't allow himself to shirk the holy crusade which gave meaning to his suffering.

  With newfound strength, the Miraclemaker strode purposefully to the cupboard. He flung open the door, and the shrieking from inside was immediately amplified.

  For an instant, he stared at the child. Its face was scarlet and crinkled, its mouth wide as it howled; its tiny fists and feet twitched and wriggled in the air.

  The Miraclemaker nodded. Power swelled within him, and he knew that he could do it, do what he'd come to do.

  He reached for the infant.

  *****

  Chapter 48

  Like burglars stalking the site of a heist, Dave and Billy crouched low and furtively hustled from cover to cover. With Billy leading the way, they darted from the clump of hedges near the car to a tumble of lumber a few feet away; from there, they sprinted several yards to a pile of brick and cinder block.

  After scurrying to a heap of tree limbs and rusted scrap metal, they paused. Squatting in the mud, they surveyed the terrain; there was no more decent cover between their position and the house, no junk piles large enough to conceal them.

  As he waited for his partner to proceed, Dave shivered. The rain was still pouring, and the cold wind gusted steadily; he'd only been out of the car for a minute or two, and he was already soaked to the skin.

  Not only was he drenched and freezing, but his nerves had gone haywire; his trembling was due as much to his extreme agitation as to the climate. He was well into a full-fledged panic; he was so overloaded with worry and fear that he felt as if he might seize up and collapse at any instant.

  His mind was wheeling in a hundred different directions. He was besieged by conflicting and equally powerful imperatives: he felt compelled to run away...and also to push ahead and get it over with; to whack Billy over the head with a hunk of wood and go on alone...and to whack Billy over the head and drag him back to the car, then race off and never return to 41 Park Road.

  Dazed by the flurry of clashing compulsions, he took no initiative of his own, instead deferred to Billy Bristol's leadership. When Billy scooted from the pile of limbs and metal to the corner of the house, Dave silently followed.

  For the moment, they were out of the line of sight of anyone inside. Flattened against the wall, they wouldn't be easily seen from the two high windows on the side of the house and they were hidden around the corner from the front bay window.

  Lingering at the spot, Billy pressed an ear to the siding; Dave listened, too, but could hear no sound from within the house.

  Turning to his friend, Billy shrugged, then bobbed his head toward the front of the house. Crouching, he started around the corner.

  For an instant, Dave hesitated; then, he went after his partner.

  *****

  Chapter 49

  "Hi, Mikey!" cooed the Miraclemaker, cradling the child in his misshapen, rotting arms. "How are you? How are you?"

  The screaming child writhed in protest, squirmed fitfully in its captor's grip.

  "Aw, what's the matter?" the Miraclemaker asked playfully. "Do you want your mommy? Is that it? You want your mommy?"

  The child continued to yowl and kick, floundering blindly as a wounded bird struggling in vain to take flight.

  "Well, here she is," warbled the Miraclemaker, strolling over to stand by the woman's corpse. "There's your mommy, little Mikey. She's sleepin', see?" Laughing then, he lifted the infant to his face, roughly shook the bawling child.

  "Aw, I'm sorry!" he crooned mischievously. "I lied. Your mommy isn't sleeping...she's dead! I killed her so I could have you all to myself!"

  Turning the child around, the Miraclemaker lowered it toward the corpse, let it dangle just inches from the bloody wreck.

  "Isn't she pretty?" he purred delightedly. "Don't you like her better now? You should!" Gently, he dipped the child lower, allowed its feet to patter upon the woman's mauled face.

  "You see? I made her pretty, just for you! I know how you like your mommies!"

  Kicking senselessly at the gruesome mess, the baby shrieked.

  "Oh, come on," the Miraclemaker drawled chidingly. "You can't fool me! I know you like her better this way! I know how you are!" Chuckling, he shook the child over the woman's head. "Doesn't this look familiar? Huh? Doesn't this ring a bell, Mikey?"

  The child just writhed and screamed.

  "Aw, you're no fun," groused the Miraclemaker, sweeping the infant back up into his arms. "I go to all this trouble to give you a little thrill, and all you can do is cry. You just aren't any fun, you little bastard."

  With that, he carried the child across the kitchen, heading for a doorway which he'd earlier blocked with the stove. Placing his captive on the counter, he took a moment to muscle the stove away from the doorway.

  "You just aren't any fun," said the Miraclemaker as he returned to the child. Scooping it back into his arms, he grinned down at the wailing, twisting thing.

  "But don't worry," he said gleefully, tickling the baby's chin. "You will be."

  *****

  Chapter 50

  Cautiously, Billy and Dave crept along the front of the house, taking care to crouch below the level of the wide bay window. Both partners braced themselves against the siding, for the mud underfoot was treacherous; in some places, the surface was so slippery that their feet skated and threatened to shoot out from under them.

  When they had crossed three quarters of the window's length, Billy paused, thrust a hand back to signal Dave to stop and wait. As he'd done before, around the corner, Billy pressed his ear against the siding and listened; shivering, Dave mimicked the motion, strained but heard nothing from beyond the wall.

  Pulling his ear from the siding, Billy shook his head; slowly, then, he raised himself from his crouch, edged his face toward the rim of the window.

  Dave didn't duplicate this move. He felt a sudden, irrational fear that if he put his face to the glass, the window would shatter and Larry Smith would burst out at him.

  Ever so slowly, Billy slid his head upward. When his eyes passed the frame and reached the base of the glass, he stopped; he stared directly ahead, then peered along the window's length to the left. Methodically, he looked to the right, then tipped his head back to scan the full height and breadth of the panes.

  Finally, he dropped back to a crouch. Glancing over his shoulder at Dave, he shook his head, then resumed his advance along the front of the house.

  Satisfied that there was nothing to see in the window, Dave didn't steal a look for himself. He did hesitate for a second, however; the urge to run away took hold of him, nearly broke the deadlock of compulsions fighting for control of him. Adrenaline rushed through him and he almost bolted...but he quickly lost his nerve and again went after his partner.

  At the window's edge, the corne
r of the upper extrusion of the split-level house, Billy paused. Still crouching, he gazed furtively around the corner as Dave came up behind him.

  After a moment, Billy stepped out, abandoning the concealment of the corner. With Dave close behind, he moved stealthily toward the front stoop.

  Billy swung one foot onto the stoop; before he could boost himself up, though, Dave grabbed his shoulder.

  Billy's head spun around and he cast an irritated frown at his partner.

  "Hey, wait a minute!" Dave blurted in an urgent whisper. "We aren't just gonna' walk right in the front door, are we?"

  "Yes, we are," said Billy Bristol. "You have a better idea?"

  *****

  Chapter 51

  Keys; the Miraclemaker got the whole way to the garage before he remembered that he needed the keys.

  With a disgusted sigh, he placed the screeching infant on the cement floor, then marched back the way he'd come. He wasn't happy about retracing his path; he didn't think that he had much time left, and every delay was potentially disastrous.

  Fuming, he stomped from the garage into the murky, cluttered basement; on his way through, he knocked over a stack of boxes, spitefully shoved them though they weren't obstructing his route.

  As he clomped up the bare, wooden steps, he cursed himself for forgetting the keys, then cursed himself for wasting time tormenting the child. All the taunting and gloating had been unproductive and unnecessary; even if the infant had been able to comprehend a word that he'd said, the Miraclemaker shouldn't have indulged himself in bullying with time so short.

  He topped the steps, then stormed through the messy family room. Like most of the house, the room was in a state of epic disorder, jumbled with beer bottles, pizza boxes, baby toys, clothes, dirty dishes. A partially assembled playpen sprawled in the middle of the floor; as hurried as he was, he took a step out of his way to kick the thing, flipping it over and sending it crashing into a pile of beer cans.

  Stalking through the doorway into the kitchen, he glanced at the woman, felt a surge of satisfaction upon viewing his handiwork. He almost went over to search her, then thought better of it. She'd been toting the baby when she'd arrived; her husband had opened the front door, so he was the one with the keys.

  Impatiently, the Miraclemaker rushed into the living room, heading for the husband's corpse.

  *****

  Chapter 52

  "I don't wanna' just walk in the front door!" gushed Dave, tightly gripping Billy's shoulder. "What if he's in there?"

  "That's the whole idea, isn't it?" Billy whispered angrily. "That's why we're here, isn't it?"

  Dave's eyes were wide; his heart was hammering, his panic escalating. "There has to be a back door, right? Maybe we can go in through the garage!"

  "Right," Billy said disdainfully. "And what if Larry isn't in there? What do we tell the people inside when they see us sneaking around in their house?"

  "What do we tell them if we just walk right in the front door?" argued Dave.

  "Don't worry about it!" hissed Billy, twisting out of Dave's grip.

  "Wait!" shot Dave. "What if he's in there?"

  Billy boosted himself onto the stoop. "That's what this is for!" he retorted, patting the lump under his shirt, the gun which he'd stuffed into the waist of his bluejeans. Keeping his hand at his belly, near the butt of the gun, he took a step toward the front door.

  *****

  Chapter 53

  Squatting between the corpse and the front door, the Miraclemaker patted the pockets of the dead husband's bluejeans, then the breast pocket of his flannel shirt. He jostled the man's limp hands, fished around under his body...but he couldn't locate the keys.

  Sighing, he scanned the site of the killing. There were groceries scattered everywhere, but no bits of metal caught his eye.

  Dropping to his knees, he rifled through the dumped groceries. He decided that the keys had to be somewhere in that litter; probably, the husband had let them fall at the same time that he'd released the two bags.

  The Miraclemaker rummaged through the mess, tossing aside jars of baby food and packs of cigarettes. He dumped out what was left in the grocery bags, vigorously combed through that rubble...with no success. Again, he scanned the area, and again, he could see no sign of the keys.

  Abruptly, it occurred to him that the keys might still be attached to the door; perhaps, the husband had never removed the front door key, and the whole set was still dangling from the lock.

  The Miraclemaker got to his feet and reached for the doorknob.

  *****

  Chapter 54

  Billy only managed to take two steps before Dave scrambled up onto the stoop and latched onto his arm.

  "Wait!" Dave whispered insistently. "Let's just get outta' here, okay?"

  "No!" snapped Billy, casting a furious scowl at his partner. "You wanted to do this, so let's do it!"

  "I don't wanna' do this anymore!" Dave said emphatically, shaking his head. "I was wrong, okay? This is a stupid idea! Let's go call the cops!"

  "Forget it!" lashed Billy. "If that son of a bitch is here, this might be the last chance to nail him! By the time we call the cops, he might get away for good!"

  "You were right before!" sputtered Dave. "He'll kill us! This is crazy!"

  "Damn right it is!" hissed Billy, whipping his arm from Dave's grasp. "I'm outta' my mind for being here, and you're outta' your mind for coming up with the idea in the first place...but I just don't care anymore!"

  "I'm sorry!" Dave whispered frantically. "Let's just go! Please?"

  Slicking back his soaked hair, Billy snorted. "If you wanna' go, then get going," he said coldly. "I'm gonna' get to the bottom of this shit."

  With that, he turned toward the door.

  *****

  Chapter 55

  As the Miraclemaker's hand touched the doorknob, he happened to look down, and he spotted the keys. They lay near the door's frame, in the carpet along the baseboard; he didn't know how he'd missed them in his thorough search, but he was glad that they had finally appeared.

  Stooping, he snatched them up and darted out of the living room. Propelled by his awareness of swiftly diminishing time, he raced for the garage, the child, the final miracle.

  *****

  Chapter 56

  Billy Bristol stepped forward. He had to stand on tiptoes to look through one of the pair of small, square windows mounted in the front door.

  His head shifted as he looked around, examined what he could see through the tiny window. He gazed ahead, then to the right, then to the left; he stretched himself higher and directed his eyes downward.

  And he froze.

  Stretched taut on tiptoes, head tilted down, Billy froze. As if every muscle in his body had suddenly turned to stone, he remained locked in position, didn't even twitch.

  Terrified, curious, torn, Dave took a step forward. Eyes fixed on his friend, he wondered what Billy had seen, wondered if it was something significant. He was afraid to find out...was likewise compelled to know immediately.

  For a long moment, Billy didn't move. When at last he withdrew from the window, he looked pale and stunned. Stepping away from the door, he slowly ran a hand over his rain-plastered hair.

  Affected by Billy's dazed look and its implications, Dave didn't speak, didn't ask what he'd seen. For a moment, both partners remained silent, just stood there as the rain rushed upon them.

  "Well...," said Billy at last, and then he paused. He took a deep breath, slowly released it; he drew a hand over his mouth and chin, shook his head.

  "Well," he continued, his voice low and subdued. "We came to the right place, anyway."

  "Why?" Dave asked steadily, struggling to restrain his surging hysteria. "What did you see?"

  "Enough," nodded Billy.

  "Did you see Larry?" Dave asked in a strained whisper. "Is he in there?"

  "He was," nodded Billy.

  Dave stared at the door. "What do you mean?"

  "
I mean congratulations," shrugged Billy. "You were right about where he was going next. You were right about the names and all that."

  A chill flashed up Dave's spine. He continued to stare at the door.

  Sighing, Billy placed his hands on his hips and gazed down at the stoop. "When we go in," he said softly, "just keep your eyes on me, okay? Look at the back of my head or something. Don't look down, man. You'll be better off if you don't look."

  "What is it?" asked Dave.

  "A guy," said Billy. "It's, uh...it's pretty bad. It's a lot like that kid back at Wolf's Rock."

  Dave's gut twisted. He remembered red and white and red.

  Most of the face was gone.

  "We've gotta' go in," sighed Billy. "We've gotta' finish with this shit. Just look at the back of my head."

  Dave stared at the door. He tried very hard to remember why he'd come to 41 Park Road.

  "Okay," said Billy. "Let's go." Grabbing Dave's arm, he started forward.

  Dumbstruck, Dave allowed himself to be pulled toward the door. Part of him cried out to resist, to avoid whatever atrocities waited in that house...but he felt as if he'd lost all willpower, as if the whole situation was so overwhelming that he'd simply shut down. In lieu of a rational response, he relinquished control of his actions to Billy.