The Spic was stealing glances up into the trees, no doubt trying to pick Owen out of the shadows. His face wrinkled in an angry rictus that Owen had no trouble reading. If he found Owen’s silhouette, the Spic would send his last couple of rounds at it. Leave me alone, he thought at the Spic. Don’t give me away! It’s better for one of us to live than zero, right?
Bugeyes screamed as the enemy rounds thudded into his torso. He flung his hands up, sending his CAR-15 spinning high into the air. When Owen turned his eyes back to the Spic, Ramirez was staring right at him, face twisted with hatred. Moving as little as possible, Owen shook his head. The Spic’s eyes narrowed, and he aimed his own CAR-15 at Owen. Before he fired, something black streaked in from the sky. It wasn’t like a shadow, it was like something solid. Opaque and solid. Whatever the thing was, it shoved Owen behind the tree trunk, so hard that he almost fell again.
Ramirez opened up, and bullets slammed into the tree trunk flinging wood and bark away like shrapnel. The distinctive chatter of the ubiquitous AK-47s intensified for a moment, and then silence fell. The VC chattered away in the darkness and Owen held his breath, blind—the blackness surrounded him—but by the noise they made, the VC were coming out of concealment and picking through his teammates’ belongings.
“Don’t move, Owen,” said a strange voice in his ear. The accent was unlike anything he’d heard before—all slithering sibilants and cacophonous consonants. It was impossible to tell if the voice was male or female, it could’ve been either.
“Shh!” he whispered, terrified that the VC in the clearing below would hear.
“Don’t worry. You are under my protection. They won’t hear or see you.”
Owen shook his head, wondering if his mind had snapped.
“You are sane,” whispered the voice. “Would you like revenge?”
Owen didn’t care about vengeance, but he did want to kill more gooks. He nodded.
“I see,” said the voice, sounding amused. “I’ll make you a bargain, warrior.”
Here it comes, thought Owen. The catch.
“You don’t expect something for free, do you, Owen?”
Owen shook his head, a sly grin on his face.
“Yes,” said the voice. “Yes. I’ll help you here, now. Later, I’ll ask you for a favor.”
“A blank check?” laughed Owen. “You must be kidding.”
“I assure you I am not. But don’t worry, Owen. The favor will be something which suits you. Something you enjoy.”
“Sure, sure,” said Owen. “It’s a bad bargain, but what the hell. Let’s do this.”
The voice said nothing, but Owen had the distinct impression that the blackness found him both amusing and pleasing. The opaque blackness surrounding him grew translucent. VC were milling around in the clearing, chattering at each other like monkeys.
“Go ahead,” said the voice. “Kill them. Kill them all.”
“Are you nuts? They’ll kill me in seconds.”
“No, Owen. They’ll never see or hear you. Trust me in this.”
“What, are you going to turn me invisible?”
Something tapped his M40A1. “Kill them, Owen. They won’t see or hear you.”
Owen looked at the men milling around below him. Fuck it, he thought and shouldered the M40. He worked the bolt, jacking a round into the chamber. He sighted on a man at random, zeroing in on the base of his skull, just like Uncle Sam taught in sniper school. He squeezed the trigger and then leaned back behind the tree trunk.
The VC went nuts. They chattered like pissed off monkeys and fired their weapons into the darkness. But none of them fired at Owen, or even in the direction of the tree.
“Oh, hell yeah,” he breathed. “I can get to like this.”
“Told you so, Owen.”
Owen thought the voice sounded just a bit smug, but he didn’t care. He was invisible! He leaned out and shot another Vietcong, this time in the face. When the man’s brains exploded out the back of his head, Owen laughed aloud.
“Kill them all,” whispered the voice.
Owen didn’t need to be told twice. He fired the internal box magazine dry and reloaded. The VC were shrieking with terror and either running around without purpose or firing their AK-47s wildly into the surrounding trees. He leveled the rifle at the guy shouting at the rest of them and pointing out lanes of fire. He squeezed the trigger, and the top of the VC’s head turned into a red mist.
The rest of the VC broke and ran. Owen stayed calm, picked a target, worked the bolt, took aim, squeezed the trigger. Then he picked a new target and started again. He fired the rifle dry and reloaded as fast as he could.
The VC went insane with terror. A few threw down their rifles and focused on running; others tried to take cover behind trees, but they seemed to think Owen was ahead of them so, they crouched down next to a tree, in Owen’s plain sight. Fish in a barrel and Owen let the magic red mist out of them all with a grin plastered on his face. Then, with his new friend, he chased down the rest of the patrol and killed them.
13
A grin stretched across Randy’s face at the memory. “That was the shit.”
“Yes,” said the voice. “And remember the other days. Later. I helped you then, too.” The voice was the same, somewhere between male and female, strange accent.
“You here for your favor?” he grunted.
“I hadn’t planned it, but you could be useful.”
“That boy.” Randy took a shaky breath.
“He’s ours for now. When we finish with him, I’ll give him to you.” The voice was calming, placating.
“You said I’d enjoy the favor you asked of me. I don’t like being stymied.”
“Want to go hunting for us? To reap death and mayhem again?”
Randy discovered he had an erection again. “Like in Nam?”
“Yes. Again, you will stalk the woods, a death god incarnate. Would you enjoy that?”
Randy grinned. “Too fucking right!”
“Then it’s settled. One thing, though. You must not harm any children. Not yet. That’s the only rule.”
Randy made a show of pretending he wasn’t sure, but he was. No question. “You’ll make me invisible again?”
“Of course.”
“The only thing I can’t do is kill kids?”
“Yes. It will be best if you stay inside the confines of the forest unless you are with me, but you like it here.”
“You know it.” He pursed his lips. “There are two kids I want when you finish with them.”
“Toby and Benny.”
“Yeah,” Randy breathed.
“Done and done. But not until we say.”
“Why do you always say we? There’s only one of you.”
“One that speaks to you. One you know.”
Randy chuckled. “One that flirts with me…like in Nam.”
“That too.”
“Okay, but I want to know what this is all about.”
Instead of an answer, the air next to him shimmered, and the darkness enveloping him faded. The shimmer turned into mist in the vague shape of a person. As he watched, two globs of mist thickened and became the greenest pair of eyes he’d ever seen. Then the mist thickened into long blond hair and solidified into the body of a beautiful woman. A beautiful nude woman.
“This time, Owen, let’s do more than flirt,” she said.
“Your wish, my command,” he said and reached for her.
14
Matt Greshin put his leather backed pad into his shirt pocket. The ad had run a few more times than he’d thought, but it hadn’t run since Toby had disappeared. Matt grunted and stretched. He flipped the newspapers closed and suppressed a yawn.
“Uh, Chief? There’s a phone call for you. They said it was urgent.”
Matt sighed. So much for a quiet Saturday. “Where can I take it?”
The short, thin man who had let him into the archives pointed at the editor’s office. “Frank’s not here, I’m sure he
wouldn’t mind.”
Matt grunted and went inside the office. He picked up the phone and punched the blinking light. “Greshin,” he said.
“Matt, it’s Gary Robbins.”
Gary Robbins was the Chief Deputy of Kanowa County—Bobby Jefferson’s second in command. His voice sounded shaky, upset. “Yeah, Gary. What’s up?”
“You should… I’m at Bobby’s house and… Look, someone shot Bobby. They were all set to have a barbeque, but—”
“Gary! Slow down a minute. Bobby’s been shot?”
“Yeah. Him and Meredith.”
“When?”
“Today. This afternoon. Bobby was grilling for lunch… Had an invader. Bobby’s down out back, and Meredith’s inside, shot through the slider.”
Matt put his hand to his temple. “Dead? You’re sure?”
“Well, let’s see, they both have bullet holes in important places like the back of the neck and the eyeball, so, yeah, I’m sure they’re dead.”
“Okay, okay, Gary. It’s a shock that’s all.”
“Yeah. It’s a shock.”
“Who else have you called? Any of the other chiefs?”
“No. You’re first. I want you over here, Matt.”
Matt nodded. “Yeah, sure, Gary. Anything you need.”
“I-I only took this damn job because Bobby wanted me as his second, Matt. For, you know, administrative stuff. I don’t want the big chair.”
“We’ll help you through it, Gary,” said Matt. Kanowa is so fucked, he thought. Gary was a good administrator, but a terrible cop. “What can I do right now?”
“I need you over here, Matt.”
“Consider me on my way. What else?”
“I… Matt, I don’t…” Gary’s voice cracked.
“Yeah, Gary. Keep it together, man. Do you want an outside agency involved? The State Police could come down and take over the investigation,” said Matt in a steady, detached voice. Cop mode.
“No, no Staties, Matt. Bobby wouldn’t want that.”
“No, he wouldn’t.” Matt sighed. “I can’t do it, Gary. It’s outside my jurisdiction.”
“I know, I know,” said Gary, sounding miserable. “What am I going to do?”
“Don’t worry, Gary. We’ll figure something out. Maybe the other chiefs will support someone running things in your name for a bit.”
“It’s got to be you, Matt. Bobby would want it that way.”
“Never mind all that for now; let me get rolling. You call the other chiefs and let them know what’s happening, and that I’ll call everyone later.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in twenty minutes or so.”
Matt hung up and loosed a string of profanity that would make any sailor flinch. The way to Bobby’s house was as familiar as the way to his own. They’d been friends for over twenty years, after all. He stopped off at the Oneka Falls town hall and stuck his head in the dispatcher’s office.
“Angie, I’ll be out at Sheriff Jefferson’s house until further notice.”
She flashed a smile. “Barbeque, huh? How come I never get invited?”
Matt grimaced. “Bobby and Meredith were shot earlier today; shot by an intruder.”
Angie’s mouth made a little O, and she slapped her hand over her mouth. “Are they…”
“The wounds were fatal according to Gary Robbins.”
“Oh, Christ,” Angie whispered.
“Yeah,” muttered Matt. “Tell the OIC, but keep it off the air.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
Matt drove out to Bobby’s place, his mind flipping back and forth between memories of driving over for a cookout or a beer, and the other night as Bobby got in Randy Fergusson’s face and told him to start with Bobby. He had a sick feeling in his stomach.
Four cars from the Kanowa Sheriff’s Department fleet lined the road in front of Bobby Jefferson’s house. A big black Cadillac Fleetwood was in the driveway—Gary Robbins car, Matt was willing to bet. He pulled in behind the Fleetwood and killed his engine.
He didn’t want to get out, to go inside and see what he had to see. Unbidden, the image of Randy Fergusson’s face flashed before his eyes. He pounded on the steering wheel once, then again, before he got out of the car and walked around the side of the house.
Deputies walked a search line across the backyard. The hood of Bobby’s fancy gas grill stood straight up, and there was a hole torn out of it. Bobby was on the ground just past the grill, face tilted up at the sky. The yard smelled of steak, blood, and human excrement. Matt shook his head. “Any brass?” he called to the deputies.
“Nothing yet. Found a footprint though.”
Matt nodded and turned toward the house. The sliding glass door had shattered, and broken glass glinted in the afternoon sun like so many diamonds. Meredith Jefferson lay face down on the ridiculous pink carpet she’d insisted Bobby buy. There was a small, pristine hole in the back of her neck and a large puddle of blood seeping into the carpet under her. Gary Robbins stood inside the house, well away from the spreading blood.
“Matt, I’m glad you’re here. Marty wanted to search the yard, and I thought—”
“I saw them. You thought right.” Matt didn’t want to talk, not to a prissy putz like Gary Robbins. He rubbed his forehead with his hand and sighed. “You call the coroner yet?”
Gary nodded. “Old Doc Hauser’s covering this weekend. He’s on his way over from—”
“From Oneka Falls. Yeah. I know him.”
“Matt, what should—”
Matt made a savage chopping motion with his hand. “Not yet, Gary,” he said, sounding harsher than he intended. He turned away—away from the hurt-little-boy expression Gary was wearing and away from Meredith’s blood ruining her prized carpet. Bobby had been gut shot and took a second round to the eye. Matt looked back and forth between the abdomen wound and the hole punched through the top of the grill, imagining Bobby on his feet and tending the grill. He turned and looked at where Meredith lay and estimated how many steps she might have taken after the round hit her. Not many.
“Bobby was at the grill, and the first shot took him in the guts,” he muttered. “Marty, you said there was a footprint?”
The deputy pointed to a spot near the tree line, and Matt walked over to examine it.
15
Benny, Mike, and Paul sprinted all the way back to Benny’s house—they didn’t slow as they left the woods; they didn’t slow as they ran across the lawn. Benny flung the sliding glass door open, and the boys piled through it. He slammed the door behind them.
“Mom!” he yelled.
“Benny! What in the dickens are you boys doing?” called his mom from the living room.
“There’s a man in the woods—”
“Is he on fire?”
“Mom! He shot at me!”
“He what? Benny, I’m not in the mood for one of these—”
“He’s not lying, Mrs. Cartwright,” said Mike. “He was up in a tree with a rifle. A hunting rifle.”
“What’s this about being shot at?” asked Jim Cartwright, sweeping downstairs, the newspaper tucked under his arm.
“We were playing commando in the woods,” said Benny.
“We were charging at a pretend gook stronghold,” said Mike at the same time.
“Yeah, and then the tree next to me exploded. There was a crater left in the tree. Mike and Paul thought I did it as part of the game, but I didn’t. It was a bullet!”
Jim took five long strides across the room and pulled the drapes over the sliding glass door. “You boys go in the living room with Mrs. Cartwright.”
“Yeah, and that’s when we saw the guy up in the tree. He was talking or something, but we couldn’t hear him,” said Paul.
“Into the other room. Now,” said Jim, putting his hand on Benny and Paul’s back and giving them a gentle push.
“He acted like a looney-toon and threw the rifle right out of the tree.”
“Yeah, but
he was still staring at me, so I turned and ran like my ass was on fire!”
“Benjamin James Cartwright!” snapped Karen.
“Sorry, Mom, but that’s what I did.”
She gave him a glare, but with an expression that meant he would not get into any real trouble for the swear, then she turned her gaze to Jim. “What are you doing just standing there, Jim? Do something!”
Jim looked from the boys to Karen and back again. “Now, boys, I don’t want you to think I don’t believe you, but I need to ask you if you are fibbing. Even a little bit.”
The boys shook their heads in unison.
“I’d better go see who this man is and—”
“Have you lost your fool mind?! Get on the phone, Jim, and call Matt Greshin. Stop being an idiot.”
A blush crept up Jim’s cheeks, but he didn’t say anything. He picked up the phone and dialed. After a long moment, he pushed down on the switch hook and punched in another number. With a glance at Karen, he said, “Not at home.” He held up a finger. “Yes, this is Jim Cartwright. I need Matt Greshin at my house right now. There’s a man in the—”
He turned away, but not before Benny saw him go pale.
“Are they alive?” he murmured into the phone. “Right. I need someone though. There’s a man in the woods. He shot at Benny.” He said “right” and “okay” a few times and put the phone in its cradle. He looked at his wife’s bare feet and snapped his fingers at her. “Shoes.”
“Don’t snap at me, Jim! I—”
“Now!” he said. “Where are Johnny and Billy?”
“What? They are playing down in the basement.”
“Right. Get your shoes on and get the boys. I’m going to start the car.”
“Jim, what are—”
“Karen, just do it!”
“You don’t have to yell.”
Jim ushered Benny, Paul, and Mike into the garage and got them loaded into the back seat of the Toronado. “You’ll have to scrunch over and make room for Benny’s brothers. Now, it will be crowded, boys, but I don’t want to hear a peep.”
Karen bustled the two younger boys out and glared at Jim. “We have a station wagon, you know.”
“I want the Olds. It’s more powerful in case we need it.”
Nightmare Page 10
