by David Haynes
“You wait here,” he said to JJ. The boy had been silent on the drive over, staring out of his window, watching the town flash by. He nodded in reply. Dan grabbed JJ’s book and climbed out of the car. He took the steps in one leap and banged on the door.
“Castavet!” he shouted. He hadn’t formulated a plan, hadn’t considered his words. He banged again. “Casta…”
The door opened. “Good evening, Mr. Law. I was wondering when you might come back for another one of your visits.”
Castavet was smiling. No, not just smiling, the man was beaming. He nodded down at JJ in the car. Dan barged past him into the store.
“No more bullshit, Castavet. What the hell are you doing here?”
Castavet did what he always did – walk slowly to the counter and take his place behind it. He smiled.
“Have you enjoyed yourself, Mr. Law?”
Dan walked over. “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The little story I’ve weaved about you? Haven’t you enjoyed it? I made you one of the chief protagonists in all this.” He paused. “You were a little passive, I suppose, and I probably should have given you your book when we first met. But then I have to find my thrills where I can these days. Besides, I wanted you to really feel what it’s like to be in one of those terrible paperback books you love to read. I think this way has been more rewarding for both of us. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“You’ve got ten seconds to explain yourself or I’ll…”
“You’ll what? Tell the police that a little old man has been reading scary stories to the children? That he’s warping their minds with sinister tales of horror? Oh no, Mr. Law, I’m afraid that’s all you. I’ve merely been supplying them all with diaries, a way of writing their own stories.”
Dan slammed JJ’s book on the counter. “I’ve got a kid out there who just read this...this empty book and it wasn’t English he spoke, it wasn’t any language I’ve ever heard, and now he’s like a zombie out there. I’ll ask you one last time…”
“Would you like your free book now, Mr. Law? You can see for yourself and I just know you’re going to love, love, love it!”
He reached down and placed a slim volume on the counter. It was exactly the same as all the others he’d seen. Dan tried to look away from it but he couldn’t. Part of him didn’t want to touch it, didn’t want to be anywhere near it, but the greater part needed to see inside, to understand what was going on. To be able to help. He was smart, he was strong, he’d be able to close it when he needed to. He just needed to take a quick glance. Just to see what was written.
“Take it,” Castavet urged. “Open it up and you’ll have all the answers.”
He reached out and opened the book.
He was gone. Lost. He was back at school, being bullied by Paul Weaver and Brad Simmons. They had him pinned down in the washroom at school. He could see it, smell it, feel the anger…but he was bigger than them now, he could…
Something heavy smashed into him, knocking him to the floor.
“My book. My story.” He heard JJ’s voice, saw him snatch his own book off the counter. The boy stumbled away toward the shelves, toward the dark recess of the store.
It felt like he was coming out of a dream. Everything was moving slowly and his limbs felt like they belonged to someone else. JJ. He had to stop the boy. Stop him from reading the rest of the book.
“JJ!” he screamed.
“Oh, ignore him,” Castavet said. “Let’s get back to your story, shall we?”
He lifted the book closer, but Dan closed his eyes. He wanted to look, more than almost anything in the world. He wanted to see what he was about to do to Weaver and Simmons and the rest of the bastards who’d urinated on him. Most of them still lived in town and…and…
“JJ?” he asked. He half stumbled, half fell toward the shelving. “JJ, come out of there!” His mouth was dry. If JJ was back there with his own book then…It didn’t bear thinking about.
Castavet was beside him, his silent footsteps swift, belying his age. He wanted to be away from the man, to put as much space between him and the book as possible. He glanced down. Castavet was still holding on to it.
Dan ran into the darkness. It seemed impossibly deep. The store was small, not much more than a box, certainly nothing like this. He followed the sound of the giggling, moving past the shelves, his footsteps echoing into the cavernous vault high above. In the distance he heard Castavet calling out.
“You might regret disturbing him if he’s not finished reading!”
He had to find JJ. He had to get him out here, take him back to his place. It had been a huge mistake bringing him.
He paused, glancing at the titles. Each one a name, an author, each volume with a title, just like any library, any bookstore. He recognized none of the names until he hit the letter P.
Linda Phelps – Librarian Ripper. April 2018.
Alex Potts – A Suicide in Two Parts. April 2018.
These weren’t books, not normal books anyway. These were records. Records of the deaths of Alex and Linda. Dan touched the spine of Alex’s book. The faintest brush of his fingers sent a toxic spasm through his body.
JJ laughed again – it echoed in the space.
“I’m coming!” he shouted. He had to get the boy out of here.
More names flashed by, titles and dates from long ago, stretching back over the millennia. More oil lamps glowed faintly, giving off almost no light. The smell was nauseating. He stopped and drew breath. Between the shelves he spotted a pair of sneakers. He ran toward them. Sitting on the floor, leaning against an impossibly tall shelf was JJ. One of Castavet’s books in his hand. His book.
“JJ, come on, we need to get out of here.”
JJ ignored him. His lips moving rapidly as his eyes moved over the pages. Dan reached down, tried to take it off him, to fling it away. He should have destroyed it when he had the chance.
JJ simply turned away, shifting his shoulders. On the shelf above his head, the name Ryan Simmons glowed on the spine, the writing appearing as he watched.
Ryan Simmons – Silver Lake Butcher. April 2018.
Dan glanced over his shoulder. He could hear Castavet’s slow footsteps coming closer.
“He’s a quick reader, Mr. Law. One of the fastest I’ve ever known. He has you to thank for that, for all of your encouragement. One more chapter and then he’s done.”
“No!” Dan roared and reached for the book again.
JJ looked up this time, closing the book gently. “You?” he said. In the gloom, he looked confused, afraid even.
Dan felt the same way. He offered his hand to the boy. “I’m going to take you home,” he said. “I’ll make sure…”
JJ allowed himself to be pulled upright but before Dan had finished, he drew back his fist and punched him in the cheek. It was right on the money, exactly on the bruised cheekbone. The pain was intense, sending white-hot shards of agony through his nerves. He cried out, staggering backward.
“I’ve read it all now. It’s glorious! Utterly incredible! You should have let me finish it earlier.” JJ touched the cover. The way he did it made Dan feel nauseous. It was tender, a lover’s touch.
“I can’t let you do it,” he said, walking toward Dan with his fists clenched. “I won’t let you take his stories away.”
Dan’s vision was blurred around the edges, JJ’s features indistinct.
“JJ, this is wrong. You know it is. The books are…the books are...I don’t know what the hell they are but…”
“Hell is accurate.” Castavet was behind him.
Dan spun around, startled. With his back turned, it gave JJ the opportunity to attack him. He felt the blows on his back, the hollow sounds echoed in the half-light.
“I have to stop you!” JJ screamed. “You’ll take them all away and then there will be none left for anyone to read. No more books!”
Dan spun around, bringing his hands up to his face to protect himself. Behind him
, Castavet laughed. The sound was that of a hyena. It was hideous.
“Stop!” he yelled. “JJ!” But JJ was someone else now. All he could think of was what he’d read, what he’d seen. What lies he’d been shown.
Castavet laughed again. “There’s always someone like you. In every town and every city in every continent. There’s always someone who thinks my books are bad.”
Dan swung a fist toward Castavet’s voice but he had already moved. He was standing beside JJ. He passed something silver to the boy. Something sharp.
“Don’t you see, sir,” said JJ, “it’s you who told us to read more books. And you lied to us. It’s all a big lie. You don’t want us to read at all. You want to destroy them all.” He swept his hands expansively. “All of this? You want to destroy all of this?” He shook his head and tapped his book. “I’ve seen it all, seen you burning them, seen you burning the library down and the school. You don’t want any of us to know as much as you do! Why?” He took another swipe at Dan, but he ducked under it.
He held his hands up. “JJ, listen to me. Look at me! None of this is true, it’s all a lie, the book, Castavet, it’s all a lie. He’s trying to…”
He lunged at Castavet, arms outstretched. He needed to stop him. Whatever he was doing here, he had to be stopped. But JJ swapped the knife into his other hand and slashed it at Dan’s midsection. He felt the skin unzip beneath his shirt. A warmth spread across his belly.
He yelped and fell back. Castavet laughed again. He had to get out of here. Maybe come back with reinforcements. Maybe JJ would listen to Lori. He had to.
Dan turned and ran. He couldn’t get through to JJ and the longer he stayed, the worse it was getting. For both of them. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting JJ to be running after him, but he wasn’t. Castavet had his hand on JJ’s arm, keeping him close by. His little guard dog. The sight made Dan sick to the stomach.
“What a silly man!” Castavet shouted. “Nobody will believe you, Mr. Law. It seems you’ve gone quite mad!” More laughter, bestial and foul.
Dan didn’t stop running when he left the store, almost tumbling down the steps and into the pre-dawn. His car was where he’d left it but JJ wasn’t inside. He was back in the store keeping Castavet company. Protecting him.
In the distance, the sound of breaking glass, of a muffled gunshot. Of screams in the night.
48
Dan screamed in frustrated anger as he drove back across town. His face was a painful mess but thankfully the cut on his stomach was superficial. It had bled, the blade had been keen, but it stopped quickly.
He had no idea what to do, where to go. If there were police in the town, he’d go straight over there and tell them JJ had been kidnapped, abducted by Castavet. But the cops wouldn’t come from Rainworth. Castavet was right. How could he tell them the books were responsible for the insanity in the town, for the murders, the violence, all those deaths? How could he tell them to lock Castavet away, lock him up forever and throw away the key? It was almost too weird for him to contemplate, and he’d been in the store. How on earth could he expect a cop from another town to understand?
No, he had to get home. Think, but think fast and then get back there. Take some reinforcements, tell people about what had happened, what he was doing.
He slammed his palm down on the steering wheel. How could he do that? They’d think he was mad, and in the current climate probably kill him too.
Lori. He had to speak to her. Goddammit, why had he let JJ come along? He knew it was wrong but the kid wanted closure, he wanted to know what was happening to him and he had every right to do that. He should have locked the car, kept him in there.
“Fuck!” he shouted. It made his entire head swim with pain. He gritted his teeth against it. Bad decisions.
He pulled up on his driveway. The lights were still on and that meant Lori was still awake. Good. He needed her to have a clearer head than he did.
He jumped out and walked quickly to the door, his hand touching the steel handle. A loud thump and then something heavy falling to the floor. He frowned. A voice, faint but audible, growled something. It came from inside his house. It was followed by whimpering. A woman was crying. Lori. It had to be.
He closed his eyes. Paul Weaver. The man was inside his house. He was hurting Lori. As he closed his eyes, he saw what he’d seen in the book, what he’d read and understood. Paul, standing above him, unzipping his fly and urinating down on him. The warm piss splashing on his face, on his lips. The others laughing, slapping each other on the back; congratulating themselves on what Paul was doing to him, how six of them had managed to drag him into the bathroom. Brad Simmons, Paul Weaver, Pete Carr, they were all there and now he was teaching their kids; treating them with respect, trying his hardest to turn them into something more than the sum of their parents’ genes.
He walked back to his car, unlocked the boot and removed the tire iron. He might not have read the whole book…he didn’t know how his story ended…but he was going to write his own ending, and it was going to start with Paul Weaver. He was going to kill him.
Dan charged into the house, the tire iron raised to his shoulder like he was going to bat. What he saw made him pause, just for a split-second but it was enough for Paul to turn and face him.
Lori was tied to a chair, her arms behind her back and her legs tied to the chair legs. A gag had been stuffed in her mouth. There was blood, a lot of blood, a Jackson Pollock spray of it on the wall behind her. What he could see of her face was swollen and bruised, blood dripping down her chin onto her shirt.
Dan roared as he ran at Paul. He swung the tire iron downward as Paul cleared his holster with the gun, trying to break every bone in his cruel fist. He missed, catching only the edge of the gun. It flew from his hand, landing beneath the chair Lori was bound to.
Dan lifted the tire iron again, this time aiming for Paul’s head. It was a clumsy effort and with one eye already swollen shut, it was inaccurate. Paul simply ducked out of the way. His police shirt was spotted with blood. Some of it was fresh but most of it was dried – tokens of whoever crossed him, no doubt.
The space was crowded with the three of them locked in a corner of the room. Dan swung low, aiming for a knee but hitting Paul’s thigh. The man let out a howl but remained on his feet. Dan spotted the Taser strapped to his other leg. The gun was out of the way but if he got to the Taser, it would all be over.
He drew the iron bar back again. He needed to get this over and done with fast. The longer Paul was in the fight, the worse his own chances. He roared again and swung, aiming for the largest part of Paul’s body. He rocked to the side, the iron catching him a glancing blow across his midriff. So far, apart from trying to draw his gun, he hadn’t gone on the offensive.
That changed in an instant. As Dan drew the iron back again, Paul dodged behind Lori’s back, putting space between him and Dan, using her as a shield. He now had enough time to get to his other weapon, the Taser.
His hand dropped down. “Fucking pussy teacher. I’m going to whip your ass, just like I did back at school. Pussy.”
As he drew the Taser, Dan threw the tire iron like a javelin. The distance between them was only ten feet and the iron hit Paul at the base of his neck, just below his Adam’s apple. His hand moved up to his throat as he gasped for air.
Dan launched himself across the space. All the anger, pain and frustrated humiliation he still felt after all those years boiled over, erupting in a screaming howl as he crashed into Paul, sending them both to the carpet.
It was dreamlike. The way he pounded Paul’s face with his fists was surreal. It was something he’d dreamed about doing for most of his teens and now here he was, a fully grown man living out one of his darkest fantasies. He was going to kill Paul with his bare hands and he was going to enjoy the hell out of it. Blood splashed against his lips. He paused to lick it off, wriggling his fingers for the next barrage of blows.
Something hit him. It felt like a train had ju
st run over his head. He wobbled slightly and then fell to the side. Paul groaned from under him, clutching the tire iron in one hand. He spat out a mouthful of blood and teeth then got to his knees. He tossed the iron away. It made a loud thump as it hit the wall.
For a moment, the room was quiet. There was not a sound except for Lori’s whimpers. Dan tried to focus on her. She was scared to death. Dan was too but mostly he was angry. He tried to stand. His legs went from under him like a boxer who didn’t know the fight was over. His mind was a fog.
“I don’t need no weapons to fix you,” Paul said. His voice was hoarse and his words slurred, like he was drunk.
He sat on Dan’s chest and put his hands around his throat. The pressure was immense but not enough to break his windpipe. Maybe all those punches had done some damage to the man after all, sapped his strength.
It was enough to suffocate him though. He tried to force Paul’s hands away, lift them off his throat, but the man had all the leverage, all the weight bearing down on them.
His vision, what little was left, started to crowd in, funneling down into a narrow aperture. He flailed, trying to gain some leverage, something to use, but his hands found nothing. Nothing except the fabric of Paul’s shirt, the badge on his breast pocket.
The pocket. There was something in his pocket. It was large and rectangular. Dan lifted the flap and teased the object out. The feel of it, the hideous quality of the binding, told him what it was. A book. A small, leather-bound book.
He tapped Paul on the side of the head with it. It was supposed to be a blow but his strength was leaving him as his vision finally went black. He felt his arm fall back, the book sliding, mercifully from his grasp. At the last moment he opened his fingers, almost flinging the book as his hand hit the floor.
“My book!” Paul screamed.
The pressure on Dan’s throat lifted. He took gulps of air as his vision returned. Paul was scrambling across the carpet on all fours, reaching for the book. “It’s mine!” he shouted.
Dan rolled over. The tire iron was beyond Paul on the other side of the room. He couldn’t get to it, but he could get to the book. He was on his feet, his head swimming, running, falling toward the book. He landed on it just as Paul reached out.
