Cain's Blood (17 page)

III

dependent variable n.
(1) two related variables that are dependent on each other are known as
dependent variables. the variables that are free to roam are known as
independent variables. the independent variable and dependent variables are plotted against each other in a two-dimensional graph when
carrying out a scientific experiment. the vertical axis of the graph is
used to plot the dependent variable.

GeTTING CLOSer

G

oebel Park. Days before, a mother and her two children
had, it was believed, vanished here. The cops and volunteers with all their accompanying dogs and helicopters and
news vans and Ohio university rOTC guys had, for now,
vanished with them. four days after the disappearance and still hours

before daybreak, it was only Castillo and Jeff here. even the woman’s
abandoned SuV had long since been towed away.
“What you looking for?” Jeff asked in the dark.
“Don’t really know.”
Jeff watched Castillo as the man stood alone in the vacant picnic
area. The guy hardly moved, and almost vanished in the night’s shadows
himself, staring at different parts of the park.
Maybe he’s totally nuts,
Jeff
thought.
Why should he be any different?
Guy never slept. Like ever. he
stayed up until three in the morning and was up again before sunbreak.
It was totally weird. And the few times he had actually slept.
WTF?
It’d happened twice now. The first time, Jeff thought he’d imagined it. But now . . . just the night before, Castillo’d woken up totally
screaming. The most god-awful sound Jeff had ever heard, and his first

158
GeOffrey GIrArD

thought had been to bolt out the motel room door, but he’d been too
terrified to move. Afraid Castillo would jump up and shoot him, or snap
his neck. So he’d lain as still as possible, pretending to be already dead.
All the while, he’d been able to feel the guy staring at him in the dark.

eventually Castillo had settled back into bed, his face to the wall
away from Jeff, but the army assassin had literally been trembling. This
ufC-built badass with the guns, tats, scars all over, and amazing staredown.
Trembling in fear
. In the darkness, Jeff had been able to hear the
guy’s breathing going a hundred miles a minute, and it had gone like
that for a good hour. funny thing was, you’d think someone would
never have been able to sleep again after hearing something like that.
But Jeff’d ended up sleeping soundly for the first time since he’d left
home; since his old life. Because it was the very first time he’d thought
of Castillo as “normal.” As human.

Not like me,
Jeff thought now.
he drifted away from the empty swings and Castillo with deliberately slow steps, hopefully away from his own thoughts.
“keep close,” Castillo cautioned. “We’re outta here in a minute.”

Jeff nodded, stopped to shove the swing bridge that connected the
two halves of the huge wooden castle swing set. Watched it swing back
and forth in the darkness. Cozy midsummer wind snaked through the
thick grass, surrounding him. he heard night bugs chittering. And frogs
maybe. Or an owl.

Or the ghosts of a mother and her two children screaming.
Castillo said the woman’s husband had been brought in for questioning. Castillo also said a boy had been found murdered in Vincent,
Ohio. That this guy was sixteen (
like me
), played varsity volleyball, and
caddied at Pinehill Golf Club. his name was howell. rick howell.
Students from his school were crying and stuff on TV, saying what a
supernice kid he was. No one understood why someone would beat a
person like that to death.
But none of them had seen his father’s notes. Like he had.
They didn’t know richard howell was the clone of some guy
named richard ramirez, the Night Stalker, a guy who’d murdered and
raped, like, a dozen families or something. Would his classmates still be
crying and carrying on if they’d known
that
? If they knew the truth?
h
Owell.
The Starry Night
. Van Gogh’s most famous painting. Jeff’s dad had
taken him to see it at a van Gogh exhibition at The Museum of Modern
Art in New york.
VINCeNT van Gogh. Vincent, Ohio.
Really?
Yes,
Jeff answered himself.
Really
.
Another clue just for me.
As if he was the one who was supposed to
stop any of this single-handedly.
Or, maybe,
Jeff thought,
is it to help free
the others?
Were he and his dad supposed to be together even now, unleashing teenaged serial killers onto the world?
Then why’d he leave me? And why won’t he see me?
Jeff looked back, found Castillo preoccupied with the empty gravel
parking lot. “A minute” was clearly going to become five or ten, though
he knew Castillo wanted to get in and out as soon as possible. No telling
when all the others might return.
With Castillo clearly lost to his own thoughts, Jeff wandered further
away, bearing toward a small skate park down the pathway. eager to
truly free his own mind. Of everything.
No such luck.
Whether Imagination, fear, exhaustion, or Insanity—maybe all of
the above—he didn’t know. he knew only that the New Truth had been
lurking in the darkness waiting for him. Waiting to show him things.
By the time he got back to Castillo, he was surprisingly calm again.
Castillo gave him some shit for wandering off, but not much—
probably saw something in Jeff’s face that said leave it alone—and then
they were back on the road again.
“Was it them?” asked Jeff.
“Don’t really know.”
“yeah, you do.” Jeff closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Not that there
was much difference. his nightmares had all entered the real world
anyway.

rOAD TrIP

T
he car held five comfortably.

Al did most of the driving, said it was relaxing. This,
coming from a guy who’d tried jamming a couple needles
into his gouche to see what it felt like. (Like his original
had. It was ALL in his new book.) Ted always rode shotgun: Liked to

hog the radio, could never settle on a song for too long, and followed
their journey on the map with each town they passed. “Butlerville,” he’d
announce with some secret satisfaction only he understood. “Vernon
is next.” henry sat in the back with Jeff and John. They kept the nurse
tied in the trunk.

The car’s AC was cranked and the windows down unless they
were hot-boxing. (They’d gotten a bunch of pot from that emily girl.)
The new Avenged Sevenfold CD was in the player. The floorboards
were covered with candy wrappers, crumpled Taco Bell bags, a couple
of empty beer cans. (All bought with money they’d taken from her
mom.) henry smiled in memory. emily had thought she’d be joining
them after serving up her sister and mom like that. And she had, for a
whole day almost. Because this girl thought she was the shit, someone
important now. Like them. (And the stupid hole was wrong on every
count.) he’d kept asking Ted all day if he could kill her. eventually, Ted
had let him help.

Indiana rushed by. No particular destination anymore. There was
this one kid about an hour away and another near St. Louis who they
were supposed to free. And it wasn’t nothing to stop, he figured. More
stuff to see. More fun to have. But everyone else wanted to get west
now. California. everyone in a fucking hurry. See the Pacific. Buy more
pot. Maybe find one of those porn stars to party with.

Or even, henry thought, looking down at his new book, try and
visit some old stomping grounds in Texas. The home of the
original
henry. The same places
he’d
once lived and killed.

Maybe Ted and the others were right. Maybe they’d done enough.
Counting the ones Jacobson had helped with, they’d already sent half
a dozen clones scattering into the four winds. Though henry figured
most hadn’t gotten very far. A couple of the kids looked weak as shit,
just didn’t have it. Not that he saw. hell, they’d killed that one kid
themselves: ricky howell, the “Night Stalker” clone.
Total fucking
pussy.
Some seemed down, though. Like John, the guy they’d picked
up in Maryland with Jacobson. Pulled together the goofy clown suit
like his predecessor had made so infamous.
Funny.
Version 2.0 had only
killed four.
So far  .  .  .
yeah, he was happy they’d taken John along.
kind of nice knowing there were others out there.
Like us.
he thought
about the Albert kid, one of the first they’d visited. Jacobson talked to
the boy while they’d raped and murdered his mom in the next room.
he and Ted did.
Fucked up.
It wasn’t the kid’s real mom, though. She’d
been a phony. Just like
all
their moms. A fucking eMPLOyee. Got
a fucking paycheck to play mommy. Basically, Jacobson said she’d
been paid to hurt the kid.
Bitch totally deserved it. They all did really.
his own mom came to mind. eventually, he’d head back east. . . . So,
yeah, most of the other guys, the ones on the gay-ass list Jacobson
had given to them—to Ted, actually, if he was being honest—had
been freed. Mission accomplished. Mostly. A couple more left, if they
felt like it. But fuck it. The other guys, even Ted, had had enough of
that same old routine, driving up to houses and fucking with people.
Deciding if some kid was worth killing or keeping. Basically tired of
doing Jacobson’s chores.
Seriously, fuck him. If he wants the shit done, he
can do it himself.
That seemed to be the consensus.

henry closed his eyes. Tried to rest.
Now, San Francisco . . .
ThAT
Jacobson chore they were all still into. July fourth. God fuck America.
Just pop that can’s tab and watch the fun when the whole crowd went
crazy. Started ripping each other apart and shit.
Totally gonna fuck some
bitches up then
. he wondered if they could wait that long. If
he
could wait
that long . . . but, there again, that was Jacobson’s shit. Jacobson would
totally get credit for those piles of dead people.
Not me.

“They named a highway after me.” he looked around again.
“Who did?” snapped Ted from the front seat.
“Cops did.” henry held up his new book. “Some highway in Texas.

he dumped, like, a hundred bodies there. Pretty cool, yeah?”
Ted eyed the book, shook his head. “Stop reading that shit.”
“Jealous?”
“
Encyclopedia of Serial Killers
? you’re fucking retarded. Nothing but a

bunch of ancient history. That guy, the one they named the highway for,
that guy is probably dead and buried fifty years ago. he killed a hundred people. you didn’t. They ain’t named shit for you.”

“Whatever.”
“you guys gotta stop obsessing over old files and those queer true
crime books. Getting chubbies for shit you didn’t even do. And this
guy . . .” Ted pointed. “you and that clown outfit.”
“I thought you liked it,” John said. he seemed genuinely hurt by
Ted’s criticism.
“Dude, I love it. It’s funny as shit and scares the fuck out of the
moms, but it ain’t you. I’m just sayin’ it gets in the way of you figuring
out you’re not
that
John Wayne Gacy. you are
the
John Wayne Gacy.
Get it?”
“No.”
“Man . . . ,” Al laughed, looking over nervously, “I . . . I never know
what the fuck you’re talking about.”
John looked around. “The little kids like the suit. I like it. I thought
you—”
“Then fuckin’ wear it,” Ted spat. “I really don’t give a shit anymore.
Assholes.”
henry retreated to his book. Opened up to a page and stared
dreamily at the little black lines on the paper. Maybe it was time to
finally cut loose. To ditch the others once and for all and finally go his
own way. forget California. forget July fourth. Probably wouldn’t even
go down. They were bound to get caught eventually, traveling together.
how long could the cops ignore a guy in a bloody clown suit buying
gorditas and Mexican pizzas at the drive-through? Maybe he’d fucked
up. Maybe they should have kept the emily girl around a bit longer.
And killed Ted instead, maybe. emily, at least, had been up for anything.
So had Stacey. Nurse Stacey had always liked him best. Maybe the
two of them could take off together. Get another car maybe. Go to
Texas together. fuck like mad. Bet she could fix his arm, too. Basically,
there was something growing on it. Looked like a bunch of tiny little
blisters grouped together. Most of the time, it just looked like dirt. But
when he picked at it, it oozed like a popped zit. The stuff inside brown
and kinda thick. Not like a zit at all. Nasty. It had started a couple days
ago as a cluster of dark bumps on his lower left wrist but was spreading
up his forearm a little bit.
Maybe he’d call Jacobson real fast. Ted and John both had his new
number. And Jacobson always knew what stuff was, and what meds to
take. he kinda wanted to talk to Jacobson anyway. About the shit that
they’d been doing. But the other guys, Ted mostly, said to forget about
Jacobson. They didn’t need him.
henry ran his fingers over the dark growth.
he wondered how David and Dennis were doing. They’d gone east.
New york. Jersey. Boston. Promised Jacobson to pick up a couple of
other guys there.
Maybe I should have gone with them instead,
he thought.
“Maybe they’ll name
this
highway for me,” he said.
No one had heard.
“Name this highway for me,” he said louder. “route 50.”
Ted laughed. “What the fuck for?”
“We could stop for a little bit, you know. Maybe have some more
fun.”
“Don’t wanna stop. What kinda fun?”
“Best kind,” henry replied. “fucking people up.”
“Maybe, maybe. Ok. Now you’re talking. yOLO man. That’s the
shit I wanna hear. Stop living in the past, pussies. This is
our
time now.
Our life. Someone wake Jeff up.”
“What about that house?” Al said.
“Which?”
All their voices had become one voice.
“There. With the swing set.”
They could see the small farmhouse clearly from route 50, though
it would take a couple back roads to reach.
“you and the fucking swing sets,” Ted smiled. “five miles to Barnhill. What’s the vote, mentlegen?”
John squeezed his clown nose and made a hONk hONk sound
with his blood-crusted mouth.
“yeah.” henry’s eyes and thoughts focused on the distant house.
“That’ll do nicely.”
“Okay,” Ted agreed. “Let’s have some more fun.”

NIGhTMAreS ShAreD