“About Evan?”
Risely nodded.
“What is it?”
“Maybe you better just come.”
Bonnie started to shake. Her heart fluttered like a captured sparrow. There was something about Risely that just wasn’t clicking for her.
Damn it, Shep, why did you leave me alone?
“Shep will be back soon,” she said without much force.
Risely looked at her and said nothing. He waited.
“Damn it,” Bonnie said. “Damn it, Shep.”
She went back to the dresser, snatched up the keys, latched the door behind her, and followed Risely out to his car.
The rage took Shep as he sat in the car. It started as a pinpoint of red heat behind his eyes, and within seconds he exploded into a black tidal wave that engulfed him, washing everything inside of him with its hate.
He had left Garagee tied, gagged, and alive in the drugstore, but for three seconds, as he sat there with the engine running, Garagee’s life was again in danger. Shep nearly gave into the boiling black caldron of his emotions and returned to the store to murder the pharmacist.
But he did not.
He sat in the car, feeling the vibration of the engine in his clenched teeth, squeezing the steering wheel as if it were somebody’s throat.
In a few minutes the rage subsided enough to allow him to drive, and he put the car in gear and pulled out into the street.
When he arrived back at the motel he remained in the car a few minutes, calming himself. Bonnie didn’t need to see this. No telling how she might react to this side of him.
He knocked on the door and waited for her to open it. When she did not, he peered through the window. No sign of her.
He knocked on the window. He could see that the bathroom door was open. She was not showering.
Something was wrong. Damn it, something had happened. He should never have left her alone!
He ran down to the motel office. The girl behind the counter looked up, startled, as he barged through the door.
“I’ve locked the key in the room,” he said.
She looked at him and blinked and turned to the key rack behind her then looked at him again.
“Sixteen?”
“Uh huh.”
“Your wife went out, that was all. Here, I’ll give you the extra key, and you can return it when she gets back.”
Shep stared at her. He could feel a vein twitching on his temple. The girl must see it.
“Went out?”
“With Sheriff Risely. He came by and got her. I saw them leave.”
He wasn’t getting it. Something wasn’t right.
“What do you mean, came and got her? Did he take her out?”
She looked at him like he was wearing a space helmet with antenna.
“She went with him. They got in his car together and drove away. That’s all I saw.”
She placed the spare key on the desk. Shep took it and went back to the room. He opened the door very carefully, and pulled out his gun before he went in.
The place was empty. After he checked the bathroom he tossed the gun to the bed. From his case he dug out Jeff’s letters and photograph. He spread them out around himself.
She had gone with Risely.
Bonnie, Bonnie, Bonnie, Bonnie.
The rage came back in a flood and he dropped down to the bed. His head pounded with blood.
He should never have trusted Bonnie. Never.
For all he knew, she might even be one of them.
One of them:
The thought made him close his eyes and groan.
Could that be right? Could she have fooled him so thoroughly?
He lowered his head to the bed and pressed his face to Jeff’s letters.
“Jeff,” he said softly. “Jeff.”
He stayed that way for a few minutes, until the rage again subsided, then he got up and went out to the car. He opened the truck and with both hands pulled out the canvas bag. He carried it back into the room.
He closed and locked the door. He pulled the blinds, closed the curtains, and turned the lights on.
Sitting on the edge of the bed he unzipped the bag. The smell of death rose to meet him.
He reached in and began to pull out the guns. An assault rifle, an Uzi he had nearly had to kill for. Three grenades on a canvas belt, purchased with a fortune in owed favors.
His years on the force had served him well. He’d picked up the hardware on the street. Most of it untraceable. And that which he hadn’t been able to find, he’d had sources who could.
He checked the arsenal carefully. Checked it again. Loaded and readied every piece. Held and caressed the cold metal. Death.
Vengeance come a calling.
He kneeled by the bed and pressed his face to the photograph of Jeff.
We’ll both rest soon, little brother.
He closed the case, pushed it under the bed. Turned off the bathroom light. Turned off the main lights.
Then, bereft of the heat of rage, motivated only by buried hatred so hard and so cold that nothing could melt it, he carried his canvas bag of death out to the car.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The moment Risely pulled out of the Marchmount Motel parking lot, Bonnie knew it had been a mistake to go with him. His assurances and friendly manner disappeared as they hit the blacktop.
He drove through downtown, past the sheriff’s station. Bonnie looked back at the building as they passed.
“Where are we going?”
Risely said nothing and kept driving. He drove to one end of town, turned into a Mobil station, turned immediately back onto the road, and headed downtown again. He shook his head and muttered something under his breath.
“Sheriff?”
“You know,” Risely said, “sometimes things aren’t what they seem.”
He looked at her from the corner of his eye, then turned back to the road.
“You said you had found something about Evan.” Bonnie’s voice shook as she spoke, and she gripped the armrest on the door to steady herself.
As they passed downtown, she glanced at the sheriff’s station again. She saw movement beyond the glass door.
“Maybe you should take me back to the motel. Shep should be back soon.”
Risely’s mouth twitched into a smile. Or what might have been mistaken as a smile. His teeth flashed for a moment and then were gone.
“Shep Thomas,” he said, hissing the name.
Pedestrians on the street waved at the car as they passed. Risely nodded or touched his hat in greeting, but he wasn’t really looking. He seemed agitated.
As they passed the motel again, going in the opposite direction, Bonnie glimpsed the yellow of Shep’s car in the parking lot, but she said nothing. Risely did not look that way.
“Sheriff, if you have information that can help me find my son, please tell me what it is.”
She had managed to keep her voice steady, almost harsh, and for the first time Risely turned to look at her.
“Your son is okay,” he said.
Bonnie blinked, not quite believing what she had heard.
“He’s what?”
“He’s fine.”
“How do you know?”
Risely slapped the steering wheel. “I told you, things aren’t always what they seem. Shep Thomas, for instance.”
“You, for instance,” Bonnie said softly.
Risely looked at her again. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. When he spoke it was like a child talking. Bonnie could almost imagine she was listening to Evan.
“Have you ever tried to do something right, I mean something you know is right, good, but when you do it, it turns out you did something wrong, or that you did the right thing the wrong way?”
Bonnie did not know what to say. She stared at him, waiting.
“Real goddamned screw-up we’ve got here,” he said.
“Sheriff, I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”
T
hey had left the town proper now, and the trees had given way to fields that rolled across gentle hills, green with potato leaves. In one large field, an irrigation line worked its way slowly around a circle, spraying water in huge plumes. Far away, across the fields, a dark line of trees marked the horizon.
“They didn’t want to hurt your son,” Risely said.
“Who didn’t?”
He kept his eyes on the road. “The whole thing was screwed up from the beginning. Shep Thomas only made it worse.”
Bonnie was trembling. She sensed she was on the verge of some stupendous, horrifying, dangerous revelation, yet feared that every word from her mouth only pushed her farther and farther away from it. She clamped her lips tightly and gripped the armrest.
“They …” Risely began, then stopped talking as he slowed the car and turned right onto a narrow dirt road. Dust exploded around them, gravel bounced off the undercarriage and sides with harsh pings and clicks.
“Marchmount’s a good town,” Risely said. He seemed a bit embarrassed now, and would not look at her. “We’ve lived with them for a long time. Hell, they’re a part of us, as much as we’re a part of them, I guess.”
“Who?” Bonnie asked, unable to hold herself.
“We call them shedders,” he said softly.
“Shedders.” Bonnie said the word as if it were an insect that had somehow flown into her mouth.
“People are always afraid of things that are different. That’s why they do things the way they do them, I suppose. The shedders, I mean. But sometimes, well, Jesus, like I said, we got ourselves a major league screwup here.”
The fields on either side of them were getting smaller, the distant trees drawing closer. After a while, the fields seemed bare, not even plowed. Gusts of wind raised little puffs of dust, despite recent rain.
“Tell me about these people,” Bonnie said softly.
“I had to wait until you were clear of Shep Thomas,” Risely said.
“Tell me about them, please.”
“They’re not like us. They’re different. They’ve always been different. But they don’t cause anybody any harm.”
“What about my son? They kidnapped my boy! How can you call that good?”
Risely gritted his teeth.
“Like I told you. Sometimes people try to do the right thing, and they go about it the wrong way.”
The radio hissed, and a female voice said something that Bonnie did not quite catch. Risely plucked the microphone from its cradle and held it to his mouth.
“Here I am, Mary. On my way to the farm.”
More static.
“Alone?”
Risely looked at Bonnie. “I have the woman with me.”
Another long static-filled pause.
“Old Betty Price just dragged me over to the pharmacy,” the radio said. “Found Bill Garagee tied up, scared half to death.”
“He’s okay?”
“Uh huh.”
“Thomas?”
“Yup. Garagee said he talked a little.”
“Oh son of a bitch.” Risely banged the steering wheel hard. “Like how little?”
“Told him about the farm.”
“Well, fuck me!”
Sounding slightly contrite, Mary said, “I already called Ben and the boys, and we’re looking for him. Don’t worry, we’ll get him.”
“If he comes out here, there will be trouble.”
“We’ll get him.”
The radio clicked dead. Risely hung up the microphone. He turned to Bonnie and shook his head. “I told you, Shep Thomas is bad news.”
Bonnie looked out the window. I’m sorry, Shep, I should have waited for you.
“Tell me more about these people,” she said.
“No point now,” Risely said. “We’re here. You can see for yourself.”
The trees had drawn even closer on the driver side, and a few seconds later the road turned into them. They passed through a narrow windbreak, and ahead of them appeared the farmhouse. It looked, Bonnie thought, almost dilapidated. The roof was sagging in the center, the chimney crumbling and leaning. Some of the windows had been covered with paper or wood. But the cars and trucks parked around the place, and around the adjacent storage building, were enough to convince her that the place was still used.
Risely brought the car to a stop.
“Where have you taken me?”
She felt cold, and fear which so far had eluded her was suddenly scrabbling at her neck.
Risely got out of the car. He came around to her side and opened the door. She held his hand and he pulled her out.
With an arm through hers, he led her up to the house. Bonnie trembled, and Risely felt it and his grip tightened.
“Don’t be frightened,” he said.
But she was frightened. She was terrified. The feeling of impending revelation had gone, swept away like thin fog in a morning breeze, and what had replaced it was the feeling that she was heading into certain disaster, and danger that had no name.
When the door of the farmhouse opened, Bonnie stopped in her tracks. Even Risely’s tug on her arm would not make her move.
A woman appeared in the doorway. She was tall and slim, with red hair that fell around her shoulders. Her skin was very pale, almost translucent, beautiful.
I don’t know what she wants, but she tries to kiss me.
She stepped aside, and another shape filled the doorway. A man. Larger, softer looking. His face was very round, and his eyes tiny. His mouth seemed to be propped open.
And suddenly Bonnie recognized him. It was the boy/man from the mall, the one who had followed her and Evan that morning. As she looked at him, a string of drool slipped from his mouth. From behind him came two young girls, in their teens, looking worried. They moved to one of the pickup trucks and leaned on the fender, watching Bonnie.
Bonnie heard a whimpering sound, and only when Risely stared at her did she realize it was coming from her own mouth. It was all too much.
With a cry, she turned and ran.
“Hey!”
She heard Risely take off after her.
“Hey!”‘
And then another voice, reaching for her through the almost liquid afternoon air.
“Bonnie! Wait! Don’t run.”
Ahead of her was only field. Behind her trees and the farmhouse. Where could she run to?
She stopped, shoes scuffing in dirt. The voice had been familiar. And she knew who it was before she had fully turned. When she saw that she was right, all her energy dissipated. Her shoulders felt suddenly heavy, her legs like stone.
“Harris,” she said wearily.
“Bonnie, I’m sorry,” he said.
She walked slowly back to the house.
“You son of a bitch. I want to see Evan. I want to see him now.”
Harris looked at the redhead. Constance Morgan. She nodded slowly.
“All right, Bonnie,” he said. “Come on.”
Bonnie had never seen a person in their deathbed, but she imagined that if she ever did, it would look something like this.
Evan was not so much a human being as he was a sack of skin packed with jagged bones. He looked depleted. Depleted. It was the only word that came to mind. Used up. He was a fly with all its juices drained into the belly of a spider.
His voice was so soft it might have been two sheets of paper rubbed together. When he moved, a crinkling sound filled the room. At first she thought they had covered him with newspaper but as he strained to sit up she saw the skin flaking from his back and shoulders.
“Mom?” Evan sounded as if he thought he were dreaming.
She moved to the side of the bed and sat down. She put her arms around him and pulled him close to her, terrified that to squeeze him would somehow hurt him.
“Are you okay?” Her voice sounded cold, and she squeezed her eyes even more tightly as she heard it.
“I feel tired.”
“You’re okay now. I’m here now. Don’t worr
y. Everything is fine. There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing to be scared about. I’m here. I won’t leave you.” The string of assurances slipped out of their own accord. She hardly felt her mouth moving.
“It’s okay, Mom.”
“What?” She was taken aback by his tone. As if he were the comforter.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to be frightened.”
Had her terror been that obvious?
“I’m not.”
She had to be strong for him. Had to be.
She hugged him even more tightly. Her boy was in her arms, that’s all that mattered. She had left him once, given him up, but she would never do that again. She would never let him go. Never. Never again.
They were quiet for a few minutes. They rocked gently on the bed.
“Are you sick?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ll be fine. I know it. If we can get a doctor to look at you, you’ll be just fine.”
Evan said nothing. They continued to rock. He tried to push her away, and she held his hands. His skin was slippery in her grip. There was something wrong with his eyes.
Bonnie’s stomach churned. Gas bubbled up her throat. She pressed a hand to her mouth.
“What have they done to you?”
He seemed ready to answer her question. He was looking at her, and his mouth was moving.
She was still trying not to look at his eyes, all wrong somehow, when he tensed. His eyes, those windows in his face, not his, not anybody’s, not human, widened. He spun on the bed so quickly that Bonnie thought she had missed something, thought for just a moment that she’d hit the fast forward button. He was staring at the window. A soft sound came from his throat, almost like a cat’s meow, or the whimper a dreaming dog might make in its sleep.
“Evan?”
From beyond the covered window came an explosion. Bonnie held her breath. Another explosion.
Craaaaaaa…ck!
Gunshots.
A man’s voice, shouting.
A car’s engine, roaring, metal screaming.
Silence.
Then everything at once. Screaming, shouting, shooting. A louder, deeper-sounding explosion. Pounding footsteps inside the house, and then more silence.
Bonnie got off the bed and went to the door. She pressed her ear to the wood. Nothing. Not a sound. She opened the door a crack and peeked out. Harris was gone.
Nightscape Page 24
