The Bookshop From Hell

by David Haynes

  Dan pushed Ryan back, creating some space between them. “What’s this all about?” he asked. “You two used to be buddies.”

  Ryan laughed. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “Fuck you,” Sam repeated. Behind him his girlfriend, Emily, stood watching on. She had a strange grin on her face. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. It looked like she was enjoying herself. She caught Dan looking at her, straightened her expression and ran her fingers through her hair.

  “Well?” Dan asked, looking at both boys in turn.

  Ryan shrugged. “I just told him what I’d heard. That’s all.”

  “You shut your mouth!”

  Dan had heard enough. He just wanted them gone now. “Listen, I don’t really care for rumors…”

  “Oh, it’s not a rumor, sir,” Ryan interrupted. He also looked like he was enjoying himself. “His precious girlfriend has slept her way through four members of the offensive line. And that’s just this week.”

  Sam stepped forward and threw a punch. Ryan avoided it easily.

  Dan could feel his own temper rising. He turned and forcibly shoved Sam in the chest. He staggered into the thinning crowd.

  “You do that again and I’m taking you straight to the principal. You got that?” he shouted.

  Sam looked shocked.

  “I said, have you got that?” Dan yelled.

  He nodded. Beside him, Emily was now definitely smiling. Her eyes looked full of mischief.

  “Only reason she’s not made it to the defensive line yet is…”

  Dan turned and grabbed Ryan by his jacket. A smell of stale sweat and dirt drifted off him.

  “One more word,” he said. “One more word, Ryan.”

  Ryan smiled back at him. He shrugged. “Like I said, it’s just a bit of fun. That’s all.”

  Dan turned his attention to the crowd. “All of you, get out of here. Now!”

  There were a few murmurs, an excited buzz at seeing a fight, but they gradually drifted away until there was just the four of them left. Him, Ryan, Sam and Emily.

  “Right,” he said. “You go that way, and you two go that way. Understood?”

  None of them said anything. They just walked away. Emily tried to take Sam’s hand but he shrugged her away. It looked like there might be some bridges to build there. He would have to let the principal know, probably give them both detentions, but for now the problem was gone.

  He took a deep breath and started walking back to the classroom. JJ was standing in the doorway. He didn’t wait for Dan, just walked past him.

  “JJ? You want to…”

  “It’s true,” he said. “She was on the football field this morning, behind the gym. I saw Tim Peach kissing her.” He slowed down. “She even asked me to meet her later. She must be desperate.”

  Dan was too shocked to stop him. Emily Carr? She was a lot of things, but not that. She and Sam had been together forever. It just didn’t seem likely. Yet if he were ever to give credence to a rumor, JJ was the only one he’d listen to. The kid had never lied to him.

  And that look on Emily’s face. He’d never seen that before. What did it mean? She looked like she was reveling in the attention, in the fight that was taking place in her name. Under her banner.

  He exhaled loudly and walked back to his classroom. He couldn’t remember ever having a day like this before. The adrenaline was leaving his body now. He felt exhausted, ready to go home, but it was only the end of first period.

  “Dan?”

  He looked up. Principal Fisher stood in the doorway. She didn’t come in, just waited on the threshold. His spirits slumped even further. What had she come to see him for? He didn’t think he could face any more questions from the two detectives.

  “Was there some trouble in the hallway just now?”

  “Oh, it was nothing, just…”

  “Good,” she cut him off. “I’m calling a meeting after school today. All staff are expected to be there.”

  “Sure,” he replied. “What’s it about?”

  She swallowed and hissed air out between her teeth. “Another one’s gone.”

  “What?”

  “Nicole Stewart. She didn’t come home from school last night.”

  “Oh, Jesus.”

  “We’re all going to help with the search.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll help anyway I can.”

  Fisher gave him a flash of her teeth, an attempted smile, then walked off down the hallway.

  Dan slumped in his chair and stared out of the window. What the hell was happening?

  17

  More than a hundred and fifty people, including the police, turned out to help with the search for Nicole Stewart.

  The numbers increased with each missing girl. For Melody Adams, only a handful of volunteers had walked the streets. It wasn’t as if anything bad could have happened to her. This was Silver Lake after all, and nothing bad ever happened here. For Samantha Riley more than fifty came, and now it felt like half the town was out looking for Nicole.

  Neither Melody’s nor Samantha’s bodies had been found. Apart from the shred of Melody’s dress, there was no evidence with which to start an effective investigation. More officers came from Rainworth to help Detectives Ronayne and Burton. Things had moved on apace since the bloodshed at Alex’s house.

  All of Nicole’s classmates were there, plus most of the staff and a good helping of kids from other classes too. The kids gathered and talked nervously while the police handed out their instructions. It was cold and getting colder; the sound of gloved hands being rubbed together added punctuation to the detective’s words.

  They could have waited until the morning to start the search, waited for the sun to replace the flashlights they held, but nobody wanted to wait that long. And even if the police had told everyone to go back home, they wouldn’t have listened. People would still have wandered the streets and the yards, but they would have done it without the guidance from those who knew what they were doing and had seen it all before.

  Once the town and the residential areas had been searched, they would have no choice but to wait for the morning to search the land surrounding the lake. It was too dark up there for even the police to go looking at night. There were rumors that the authorities were going to send in divers or even dredge the water.

  *

  Chris Newsome had lived in Silver Lake for the last ten years. He was a landscape gardener by trade but there wasn’t much call for a man like him in a small town like this. Ten years wasn’t long enough for him to be trusted like a local man, so he was forced to supplement his income by doing odd jobs around town.

  There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do: clean windows, rake yards, mow lawns, a bit of painting and decorating here and there, and once he even drove a package all the way up to Canada for someone. That paid well, too well for just delivering an ordinary parcel, but he asked no questions. He made small deliveries too, loaded unwanted furniture onto his truck and took it wherever he was told. He liked to drive. Just him and the road. The radio in his cab was busted so it was always nice and quiet, just as he liked it.

  Driving also gave Newsome the opportunity to partake in one of his other interests. He called it Blacktop Skittles. Anything on the road was fair game. Birds, dogs, cats, vermin. He once even hit a deer, although that had been a mistake. It damaged the truck. He still had the dent on the hood as a memento. Not that he didn’t stop when he hit something. He always stopped. He stopped to take something to remind him of the animal. He even had a points system and kept the tally on his kitchen wall at home. So far, he was up to three hundred and fourteen.

  But that number was increasing quickly now. Far quicker than if he’d just been driving around the state. He could go several weeks without an accident. He wouldn’t have thought to try something different until the job painting that sign at the new bookstore. That experience changed things for him.

  Now Newsome was on this search for the missing girls. Beside him were a cou
ple of guys he barely knew. They mostly ignored him but he didn’t care. His interest was waning and it had only been minimal to begin with. But he wanted to come out, he wanted to go to parts of town he’d not yet been to on his sojourns.

  Some of the lampposts had posters wrapped around them. The ones that hadn’t been put inside weatherproof sleeves were soaked and falling apart. Newsome stopped and stared at them. There were quite a few, and he was proud to say most were his work. He smiled.

  “What the hell are you grinning at?” said Cheadle, one of the guys he was with.

  He turned away. “I wasn’t grinning.”

  “Sure looked that way to me.”

  “Fuck off, Cheadle,” he said, spitting on the ground.

  “We’re not out here for fun,” Cheadle said. “We’re looking for that girl.”

  “And who’s looking for all these?” Newsome asked. “All these poor puppies and kitty-cats. Who’s trying to find them?” He grabbed a few of the posters. “There’s got to be ten here, maybe more.” He suppressed his smile.

  “What? I don’t give a shit about cats and…”

  “You would if it was your dog, or your cat that had gone missing.”

  “It ain’t going to happen to my dog,” said Cheadle.

  “Oh, why not?”

  “Cos he’s too goddamn fat to get out of the yard. These people need a lesson in how to keep their dogs safe.”

  “Just like the parents of these girls then, huh?”

  Cheadle took a step toward him. “You’re weird, Newsome. Anyone ever tell you that? You’ve got a fucking screw loose.”

  Newsome shrugged. He’d already decided he was going to mount the head of Cheadle’s beloved dog on a pike in his front yard. “Whatever.”

  Cheadle walked away, muttering under his breath. It started raining. Newsome could probably slip away and nobody would notice. He could head over to Cheadle’s house, tempt the dog from the yard and then work on him at home, presenting him for Cheadle to find in the morning.

  He glanced about. He could hear voices but there was nobody within sight. Even Cheadle had gone around the corner.

  He dodged behind a fence. He knew how to get across town without going anywhere near the street. Besides, most of town was out looking for the girls so if he did come across anyone, he’d just say he was helping out.

  He didn’t think he was weird. Just because he didn’t like animals, it didn’t make him any stranger than the rest of them. Not like the bookstore guy. Now he was all shades of weird. Newsome thought he was actually going to have to straighten him out at one point. The guy had hired him to paint the sign. They hadn’t agreed a price but when he’d finished, Newsome hit him with a bill for two hundred dollars.

  The guy hadn’t blinked and he thought he should have asked for more. But he invited him into the store and said he didn’t have any cash. That was when Newsome thought he might have to shake him down, see what was in those pockets of his.

  Funny thing was, the guy gave him a book instead. He hadn’t read a book since high school, and that had only been because someone said there was porn in it. There hadn’t been, the book had been a washout and he’d vowed never to waste his time again.

  But when the guy…what was his name? Castavet. When he handed that book over, Newsome knew he had to read it. Castavet looked like he knew a thing or two. Not just about books, but about the way things worked. About what made someone tick. That’s the feeling he got.

  He’d read the book cover to cover, staying up all night to finish it. And when he turned over that last page, he started right over again. It was like the book had been written for him, just for him. It told him what he had to do, what his purpose in life was and how he should do it.

  It was a real eye-opener.

  He reached Cheadle’s yard. The mongrel was on a chain, lying down by the porch. Newsome looked around, made sure nobody was about, and then opened the gate.

  “Here you go, pup.” He fished a stick of jerky out of his pocket and handed it to the dog as he unfastened the lead.

  *

  Ben Cheadle smashed his fist into the radio alarm he kept on his nightstand. It buzzed and then fell silent.

  “Son of a bitch,” he hissed.

  It was the fourth alarm he’d broken this year. Now he’d have to waste time going to the store to pick up a new one. The alarm could mean only one thing. It was six-thirty. Six-fucking-thirty on Saturday morning. He couldn’t remember why he’d agreed to go pick up his mom today. He’d been out looking for that missing kid last night and then he’d hit the bar with a few of the guys. He’d rolled in a little after two, already feeling the hangover.

  But if he didn’t go collect her today, she’d give him months of advice about how to live his life and act responsibility. It was worth the hundred-mile round trip just to avoid that.

  Cheadle shuffled across the hallway, washed and even shaved for the occasion. The old girl still had a pretty nice nest-egg stashed away, not to mention a tidy piece of prime real estate. He just needed to stay on her right side for a couple more years and then he’d be a rich man.

  He drank a quick cup of coffee and looked out onto the back yard. Scout was still asleep in his kennel, too fat and lazy to even get up for something to eat.

  He banged on the window. “Hey, get your lazy ass up and come get breakfast!”

  No movement. He shrugged. Despite himself, and it was very much despite his intentions, he loved the dog. Scout was as uncomplicated as he wished his own life was. Well, the dog would have to wait until later for breakfast. The kitchen was closed.

  Out on the front, he could hear traffic on Main Street. The cops were heading out to the lake this morning, taking a few of the guys with them to look for the missing kids. He was glad to be out of that. It sounded grim. Final.

  Cheadle picked up the keys to his truck and pulled on his jacket. He’d lived in Silver Lake for nearly twenty-five years and never once had anything like this happened. The town was going to hell, but with any luck he’d be out of here soon enough. He glanced at himself in the mirror. She couldn’t give him too much shit, he looked okay for saying he was hungover and had only about three hours sleep.

  He stepped off his porch onto the wet grass and froze. He rubbed his eyes, thinking he might still be drunk. He wasn’t. He dropped to his knees.

  Scout was impaled on one of his fenceposts. Or rather, Scout’s head was. His great lolling tongue hung gray and dry from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were blank and lifeless.

  18

  Dan turned off the road, following the track toward Silver Lake. Up ahead he could see the tail-lights of the other cars as they snaked gently uphill. A gray dawn had broken over the town, but up here a mist swirled around the car’s tires as he drove. It grew denser by the mile.

  He didn’t mind giving up his Saturday morning to comb the lake for the missing girls. There had been fewer volunteers for this than for the town search. It was understandable but without volunteers it would take the cops weeks, even months, to cover the ground and the water.

  When he reached the lookout, he was surprised the see the numbers that had shown up. They were gathered around the rear of someone’s truck, drinking coffee. He pulled around the side of it. Paul Weaver and Brad Simmons were there, along with a few other men he recognized. Paul narrowed his eyes and whispered to Brad when he saw Dan. Both had hunting rifles slung over their shoulders. On the other side of Brad was his son, Ryan.

  Dan turned off the ignition and stepped out of his car. The surface of the lake was covered in a thin blanket of cloud. Here and there the leaden water appeared through small breaks in the mist.

  “Didn’t think this was your thing,” said Paul. He was smiling, that same grin that girls thought charming back at school. Only now, his teeth were stained brown.

  Dan shrugged. “The more of us there are the better,” he replied.

  “Shouldn’t you be marking school books?” Brad Simmons said. He nu
dged Paul and the two men laughed. It was like being back at high school again. The other men with them shuffled their feet and looked away.

  Paul took a flask out of his pocket and tipped it into his coffee, then did the same to Brad’s. He offered it around the group but the others all refused. Finally, he turned to Dan. “Don’t suppose you want any?”

  Dan shook his head. He couldn’t see Lori. He was sure she would want to be here. Maybe Paul had hurt her again. He stared at the man. Why the hell was she with him? He was still acting the same way as he’d done at school. Brad was too. The only difference between then and now was the size of their beer guts. They weren’t here to help the cops, or to find the kids; they were here to have a day out, drinking and fooling around.

  Dan looked at Ryan. “I’m not sure you’re supposed to be out here, Ryan. The cops said…”

  “You’re not in school now,” Brad Simmons said. “You can’t tell him what to do.”

  “I’m not telling him anything, Brad. I’m just repeating what the cops told us. No kids.”

  “I just want to help out,” Ryan said. He was as tall as his dad, but without the flab he looked smaller, cowed even. He looked genuine but as Dan knew, Ryan Simmons could make you believe whatever he wanted.

  The truck door opened. Lori got out and walked around and stood beside Paul. She nodded at Dan and gave him a half-smile.

  Paul pulled her in close. “There she is,” he said. “Catching up on a little beauty sleep in there, were you? Gotta say, honey, you look better for it.” He looked at Brad and laughed.

  Dan smiled at her. “You okay, Lori?”

  She nodded but said nothing. To say she looked uncomfortable was an understatement. She looked like she’d prefer to be almost anywhere else at that moment.

  Three more cars pulled onto the gravel parking lot before the police arrived. Detectives Ronayne and Burton climbed out of their unmarked Ford. They looked strange dressed in jeans and polo shirts rather than their usual shirt and ties. Four police cruisers arrived and two cars belonging to the state troopers.