“Candy,” I called out anxiously, “Candy…can you hear me?”
She didn’t respond.
“Listen,” I told her. “It’s all right, everything’s OK. Don’t be frightened. Just come over here…”
Her eyes never moved.
“Mike?” I said.
“I’ll get her,” he said, crawling out from behind the sofa and slithering across the floor. “You watch the car.”
There was a lot of stuff building up in me now, stuff I hadn’t felt before—fear and anger, cutting together like broken knives, grinding themselves into something I couldn’t control—and as I turned away and stared into the headlights again, the blinding light burned madness into my eyes. The music pounded through my head, throbbing blood, like a bursting heart…and I wanted to see faces. Darkness. Bodies. I wanted to crash through the window. I wanted to scream at the mist and run through the night and tear the trees down to the ground…
I wanted Gina.
I wanted Candy.
I didn’t want to die.
I wanted…
Nothing.
Sudden silence.
The music had stopped. The engine was quiet. The headlights blazed mutely in the deadening hush. There was nothing to hear, just the hum of the aftersound echoing the night, and—from across the room—Mike’s whispered pleading with Candy.
“Please…” he was saying to her, “for Gina’s sake…just show them you’re here. All you have to do is stand at the window with Joe. I won’t let Iggy do anything to you, I promise.”
I glanced over and saw them standing together at the counter. Candy hadn’t moved. She was still dead to the world, still lost in what was left of herself. Mike was beside her, holding her lifeless hand, gazing desperately into her lifeless eyes.
“Hey!” called a voice from the car outside, snapping my attention back to the window. “Hey, kid—you listening?”
I shielded my eyes against the lights again, trying to see who was calling out. It didn’t sound like Iggy.
“Open the window,” the voice said.
I hesitated.
“Do it,” Mike whispered from across the room. “Do as he says.”
I fumbled with the catch and opened the window. The headlights brightened and my breath turned white.
“Where is she?” the voice called out from the car.
Now that the window was open I could hear a lot better, and I was fairly sure it wasn’t Iggy.
“What?” I called back.
“You heard—where is she?”
“Where’s Gina?” Mike whispered.
I didn’t know what he meant. Was he asking me where she was? Or was he telling me to ask
them?
I wanted to ask
him, but I couldn’t. They were watching me. They’d see me talking. They mustn’t see me talking…
What should I do?
My mind started racing, panicking, trying to think…
And then my mouth opened and I heard myself say, “Who’s asking?”
“What?
” hissed Mike.
“What?” said the voice.
“You heard me,” I said. “Who
are
you?”
“Christ…” muttered Mike.
Inside the car, someone laughed—a cold, hard laugh that shrank my heart—and I suddenly thought to myself,
Shit, what are you
doing?
What are you
saying?
What the hell are you
thinking?
No questions, Iggy said…no
questions…
But then
his
voice called out, as deep and dark as the night, and the sound of it was weirdly comforting.
“We had a deal, boy,” he said calmly. “You just blew it.”
“The deal was with
you,
” I called back, “no one else. All I heard just now was a voice. It could have been anyone. I had to make sure it was you.”
“You sure
now?
”
“I don’t know…I can’t see your face…”
“I can see yours. I could drop you right now.”
I suddenly realized how vulnerable I was—framed in the window, lit up like a Christmas tree…I was a sitting duck. If Iggy had a gun, he couldn’t miss.
If
he had a gun? Of
course
he had a gun. Would he use it, though? That was the question. Would he shoot me? I didn’t think so…not until he was
sure
that Candy was here…
No, I didn’t
think
so…
But that didn’t make me feel any better. Every cell in my body was screaming at me to
move.
My heart was hammering,
my senses primed. I could hear everything—Mike and Candy breathing hard, the cooling tick of the engine, the faint rustle of dead leaves—and I could see without seeing…through the lights…into the car…I could see all the bodies, the heads, the hooded eyes…
I could see Gina.
Watching me.
Waiting…
“All right,” Iggy called out, “that’s it—get the bitch in the window
now.
You got ten seconds.”
“Gina first,” I said.
“What?”
“I’m not doing anything until I see my sister.”
“Another five seconds and you won’t
have
a sister.”
Time was melting again…everything was happening too fast, too slow…but it didn’t seem to matter. I was
in
time…in control…in touch with everything. I could hear Mike getting hold of Candy, struggling with her, trying to pull her toward the window, and I could hear Candy resisting him…
“Leave her, Mike,” I said.
“You
heard
him,” he hissed at me. “He’s going to hurt Gina—”
“No, he won’t—let Candy go.”
The struggling stopped.
I stared through the window.
Not breathing, not feeling…
No sound.
No heart.
Just white in the dark, like fire…white in the dark of my heart…a vision in white…in me…through me…
White in the dark.
The headlights went out.
I closed my eyes and opened them again. Mist swirled in the darkness, shrouding the shape of the car—jet-black metal, frosted white…silver catching the moon…and I could see gold and white in the smoked-glass shadows…I could see bodies and heads and chains and eyes…
I could see them all now. Figures in the tinted glass. Two in the front of the car and three in the back, Iggy in the passenger seat…
“Is she there?” Candy asked in a broken whisper. “Is Gina there?”
“I think so…”
I stared…
I think…
The car rocked slightly…the rear door swung open…and a man got out—lean, black, hollow-eyed. I’d never seen him before. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t look at anything. He just casually reached inside the car, got hold of something, and pulled it out.
It
was Gina.
She could hardly stand. The man beside her was holding her up by her arm—not looking at her, just holding her up like an empty sack. She looked terrible—cold, dirty, disheveled…dazed. Drugged. Her eyes couldn’t focus. Her head hung loosely on her neck. She was barefoot and pale…shivering uncontrollably in a thin white T-shirt…
But she was alive.
She was everything.
“She’s there,” I said, as the man bundled her back into the car.
“Are you sure?” Candy asked.
“I just saw her,” I said, without taking my eyes off the car. “She doesn’t look too good, but—”
THUMP!
The sound came from across the room—a sudden dull impact…a breathless groan—and I turned around to see Mike falling heavily to the floor. My heart stopped. The moment froze—Mike not moving, not making a sound, just lying there in a heap…
Christ,
I thought,
he’s been shot…
But then I saw Candy…standing over Mike, her face pale and tense, holding a length of metal in both hands. For a ridiculous moment, I thought it was a sword—a long, blunt, heavy-looking sword—but almost immediately an image flashed into my mind—an image of Candy coming back from Mike’s car, looking surprised, clutching her coat to her chest, and everything became clear in an instant. It wasn’t a sword; it was a steering lock. She’d taken Mike’s steering lock from his car. She’d hidden it under her coat. She’d hit him over the head with it…knocked him cold…and now he was lying there…not moving, not making a sound…
I could see the blood on his head…
Too pink to be real.
I could hear my heart.
And someone shouting outside…
And Candy’s shallow breaths.
“What are you
doing?
” I said to her. “What have you done?”
“It’s all right,” she said, dropping the steering lock to the floor. “He’ll be all right. He’s not dead.”
Her eyes were pale and wild.
Another shout came from outside. I glanced through
the window and saw Iggy getting out of the car…and now I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know
how
to know. I looked over at Candy. She was opening a kitchen drawer…taking something out…moving without any feeling—walking calmly around the counter, across the room, looking into my eyes, coming toward me…with a broad-bladed carving knife in her hand.
I
didn’t do anything. I
couldn’t
do anything. All I could do was stand there looking at her. Looking at everything. Her face, her lips, her cheeks, the almond death of her eyes. Her neck, her legs, the shape of her body. Her sweated skin. The gleam of the knife, her silvered hand…
God…the knife.
She was standing in front of me now, her eyes fixed on mine, her face devoid of all feeling.
What was I supposed to do?
Anything?
Nothing?
I tried to say something, but my mouth wouldn’t open. I tried to reason, but my head was empty. All I could do was have faith.
It’s up to you, Candy,
I thought.
It’s all up to you.
A loud metallic click came from outside. Candy cocked
her head at the sound, then blinked slowly and looked back at me again.
“Stay here,” she said. “Lock the door behind me, then call the police.”
“What?”
She reached up and placed a finger on my lips. “Just do it, Joe…please? Just do it.”
Silenced by the touch of her fingertip, I looked into her eyes, searching for an explanation…or just some kind of truth. It was hard to find. There was
something
there, some kind of light in the darkness, but it was almost too faint to see. It was just something, a barely perceptible signal, like a flickering candle on a distant hill…
It was there.
I knew it was there.
I nodded my head.
Candy said nothing. She removed her finger from my lips, leaned forward and kissed me, then turned around and headed for the door. I watched in silence as she slipped the knife inside her coat and pulled the armchair away from the door. I watched her pause for a moment, muttering quietly to herself, and then I watched in wonder as she unlocked the door, flung it open, and ran out into the clearing.
I really didn’t know what she was doing then, and there was something of me that didn’t care, either. She was doing what she was doing. It had nothing to do with me. I was out of it now.
I suppose I
wanted
to care, but the truth is, at that moment, I
was
out of it. Physically, emotionally, mentally…
I didn’t have anything left. I didn’t
know
what was happening. I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know what Candy was. I didn’t care about Mike…
I couldn’t reason.
I couldn’t act.
I couldn’t
connect
with anything.
I didn’t lock the front door and I didn’t call the police, I just stayed at the window and watched. Everything seemed unnaturally clear: the moon hanging high over the trees, its flattened light shining down on the clearing like a spotlight flooding the stage; the blanket of mist hugging the ground; the curtained backdrop of wooded darkness; and, in the midst of it all, Candy running toward Iggy…
And the pistol in Iggy’s hand.
And Gina.
And the rest of Iggy’s crew.
They were all out of the car now. The two from the back had moved off to one side, taking Gina with them. One of them was holding her, while the other one—the one I’d seen earlier—held a gun to her head. I couldn’t tell if the driver was armed, as he was standing behind the open car door. Iggy was about five paces in front of him…ten meters or so from the cottage. His arm was raised, his pistol pointing at Candy.
It didn’t seem to bother her. She just kept running toward him, calling out to him, calling his name…
“Iggy!” she sobbed loudly. “Thank God you’re
here.
Help me, Iggy…
please…
you gotta
help
me…”
She was crying…
Why was she
crying?
I watched her run up to him. I watched his eyes, watching her. They never blinked. His gun never wavered.
“Where’ve you
been?
” Candy gasped, stopping in front of him. “What took you so long? Christ, I’ve been waiting—”
“What you doing?” Iggy growled.
“I missed you so
much
—”
“You ran out on me.”
“No, I didn’t…He
made
me…I didn’t want to—”
“You
shamed
me, bitch. You put me down and left me.”
“No,” she wept, moving toward him—cowering, begging, fawning. “No…please…I didn’t
mean
anything. Joe made me do it…he
forced
me. I didn’t want to hurt you. Why would I hurt you? I need you, Iggy…please…I
need
you…”
He still had his pistol raised, but as Candy inched toward him, lowering herself like a wounded dog, he didn’t do anything to stop her. He didn’t hit her as she crept tearfully under his outstretched arm and buried her face in his chest. He didn’t move as she put her arms around him. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t need to; he had what he wanted.
“I’m dying, Ig,” I heard her say, rubbing her hands all over him. “I really need—”
“Shut up,” he told her, turning his eyes and the barrel of the gun toward me. “Who’s in the house?”
“I just need a little—”
His eyes didn’t move as his free hand whipped down and cracked into the side of her head. She flinched but didn’t let go of him.
“Who’s in the house?” he repeated.
“Just the kid,” she said dismissively. “He’s on his own.”
She rubbed her head and looked up at him. “Please, Iggy…I
really
need a hit. Have you got any stuff?” Her hands started moving over his shirt. “Please…? I’m
dying…
”
“Does it hurt?” he asked coldly.
“Yeah…”
“Good. Now get in the car. I’ll deal with you later.” He took his eyes off her and waved the gun at me. “I got business to attend to—I got smiles to cut.”
“You like a smile?” Candy said quietly.
It was the voice I remembered from the station—sweet and clear, like a shining jewel in the gutter—only colder. A lot colder. She breathed ice, the words of a ghost, and—for a timeless moment—everything froze. Iggy’s eyes, the mist, the night…
Candy’s devil…
Iggy’s heart…
The two of them stilled in the moonlight.
And then her hand swung up in a silvered arc and she buried the knife in his throat.