Mason (14 page)

Hunter wasn't the only one planning to leave town. In fact, Gene Avrett had been making plans for the last two days to do that very thing. He'd wanted to wait until the weekend, but that wasn't in the cards now.

Gene stared at the television set, watching a late-breaking report on the morning news. He balled his hands into fists when the video footage of a familiar house played on the screen. Dusty Smith's body had been found late last night by a neighbor who'd caught a nasty odor while walking through the side yard separating his house from Dusty's place. A video of that very yard played on the screen before the anchorman returned to shake his head somberly in a wholly insincere gesture. Gene fumed.

If that Neanderthal Hunter had been competent, Gene wouldn't have cared about the discovery. But
Hunter failed, and it would only be a matter of time before Denton fingered Hunter and his crew for her assault. Hunter might hang tough. Even if the district attorney offered him a sweet deal, he might keep his mouth shut, but Gene wasn't going to bet his freedom on a
might
. Besides, Denton
might
remember a night not long before her attack when she was walking down Pecan Street, and she happened to see Gene standing on a porch. And oh hey, that just happens to be the house where they found the rotting body of a known drug dealer.

So Gene would go to the bank and close the account he kept under his real name. It wasn't much money, not even a fraction of his assets, but it would get him far enough down the road before he had to worry about going hungry. Gene turned off the television and began packing a small bag with the things he would need for the trip. He carried the bag outside and placed it in the trunk of his car, but he wasn't quite ready to leave yet.

Inside the house, Gene walked down the hall to his brother's room. He pushed open the door and slipped inside. For a moment, he paused to look at Mason's things—the toys on the windowsill, the child's desk with its brightly colored pencil box, the bed where Gene had left the decaying remains of his brother's favorite pet so many years ago. He wished his brother was here, but
Mason had left the house early. Gene wanted to say good-bye, and he had no intention of making it pleasant, but the doorknob ruined that for him too.

Still, Gene knew Mason kept a little money in his dresser. It wasn't enough to fill up Gene's gas tank, but it was Mason's, and Gene wanted it. He crossed to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer. He lifted the neatly stacked T-shirts under which Mason kept his allowance.

Instead of money, though, Gene saw a picture. The paper was nearly black, but at its center three disgusting dog-creatures bared their fangs at him. Gene lifted the sheet and found another gruesome drawing beneath, and another under that. Dozens of the dark and disturbing images greeted his eyes. Each one was so realistically drawn, it might have been a black-and-white photograph, if it weren't for the otherworldly nature of the subjects.

It seemed his little brother was truly losing it. The brat must be eager to follow their daddy to Crazytown.

Good
, Gene thought.
Let them lock the little freak up
.

He was replacing the pictures in the drawer when the doorbell rang. Gene's blood raced. His first thought was that the police were wasting no time and had come to ask him questions about Dusty Smith.

Gene crossed the room and leaned over his little
brother's bed to look out the window. There by the curb he saw Hunter Wallace's car, sitting like a tumor on the road.

He wasn't happy to see it. Things were falling apart. The ass had sent a dozen emails, which Gene refused to open. Hunter had been calling his house and his cell phone. The police could trace those calls, and now the idiot was outside.

 

“You should'a called me back, man,” Hunter said, stomping over the threshold past Gene and into the living room.

Gene noted the fury in Hunter's eyes. “What's the problem?” he asked coolly.

“The problem?” Hunter roared. “The cops are sitting outside of my house, and my friends are dropping like flies. How's that for a problem?”

“Keep your voice down,” Gene cautioned. “The house is empty, but we do have neighbors.”

“I don't really care,” Hunter replied. “You sent us after Denton, and now she's screwing with our heads. She's making us see things. She turned Lara's brain to mush and did the same thing with Lump's face. Ricky's paralyzed, man. He's never going to walk again. This morning I woke up and about pissed myself because I saw her in my room, like right over my bed. And
then all these birds came in. You sent us after a witch, man. And now you're going to pay up, and I'm getting the hell out of here before she learns some new trick.”

Gene couldn't help but laugh. Not because he didn't believe what Hunter had experienced, but because the tattooed idiot had come to such a wrong conclusion.

“She's not a witch,” Gene said. “In fact, she isn't even the one doing this.”

“The hell she's not. We put a hurt on her, and now she's paying us back.”

“It's not her,” Gene said. “I assure you.”

“Then who the hell is it?”

“Mason,” Gene said. His smile faded. “My freak brother is doing this. And if you'll calm down, I'll tell you how. Come upstairs.”

 

Gene handed Hunter the pile of drawings and leaned on Mason's dresser. As Hunter looked through the grim images, Gene remained silent, marveling at the skill—the
only
skill—his little brother had.
What a tremendous gift
, he thought. The pictures themselves were no more harmful than a light breeze, but oh, the damage they caused. Lara and Lump and Ricky could attest to that.

What a perfect weapon. People were slaves to the visual. Movies. Television. The internet. Images were
all powerful, and Mason could build any image he chose.

If Gene had been blessed with such a talent, the world would be a very different place. But no, Mason was the privileged one. The brain-dead doorknob, a dolt who couldn't multiply five times five, had been given this extraordinary gift. Of course, the fool was wasting the talent—for a girl. What would you expect? To Mason a cookie was a treasure. A friend who could tolerate his endless ramblings was priceless. Somehow he'd discovered that Hunter and his group were responsible for Denton's attack, and with the ridiculous bravado of immaturity, Mason imagined himself her hero.

“I saw these birds,” Hunter said, handing one of the drawings to Gene.

“I thought as much.”

“But how's he doing it?” Hunter asked.

“I'll tell you when this is done.”

“Oh, it's done,” Hunter said. “It's
so
done. I'm out of here.”

“Don't be an idiot,” Gene said. “Now that we know what Mason is capable of, we can use it. He'll do what I tell him. I'm family, after all.”

Hunter returned the pictures to the drawer. He closed it slowly, uncertain.

“Why did you send us after her?” Hunter asked.

“What difference does that make?”

“I want to know. I
deserve
to know, after all of the shit I've been through.”

Gene thought about it. He searched for a lie, still unwilling to reveal his crime to Hunter. But instead of a lie, he found a piece of the truth. “Because she liked him,” Gene said. He found his jaw tight and anger welling deep in his stomach as he said it. “She treated Mason like he was something special, just like my parents did. She found his stupidity charming. She made him happy, and seeing it made me sick.”

“And you wanted her dead for that?” Hunter asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” Gene said. And it was as true as his need to have a witness removed.

“That's sick,” Hunter whispered. “Damn.”

“I have had to sit back and watch the world bend to that bastard's will my entire life. I even tried to kill him myself, because I know what he really is. He is a monster. Plain and simple. I think he's proven that now.”

“So, what's the plan?” Hunter asked.

“You find my brother,” Gene said. “Tell him you'll hurt Denton if he tries any of his tricks. Take him somewhere quiet…. Take him to the Old Bracken Bridge. No one's ever there. You threaten him. Really put the fear of God into the freak. Then I show up and save him. After that he'll do whatever I tell him, even if it
means driving Ms. Denton out of her mind. Problem solved.”

Hunter nodded his head. Apparently the plan sounded good to him.

Wonderful
, Gene thought. Because that wasn't the plan at all.

Cassie was talking about Eric because Rene had asked, but Rene wasn't really paying attention. She'd thought some normal conversation would help alleviate the sense of dread filling her. It didn't. As Cassie described her second date with Eric—“We went to Molina's. It was totally romantic”—Rene thought about Lara and Hunter and the others. She knew they were responsible for her attack, but she couldn't remember them doing it. She didn't even have a flash of memory about it. Certainly nothing she could tell the police beyond a feeling. Still, these were kids she knew, kids from her own school. How could they be capable of something so vicious and hateful? How could Lara?

“…and he's so sweet,” Cassie continued. “I mean, he follows me home in his car, like from school? He wants to make sure I get there safe, and he waits until
I'm inside. Plus, and this is way sweet, we meet every morning for coffee before school, and he knows how I like mine, and he has it waiting for me when I get there.”

“It sounds great,” Rene said. And it did. She was jealous. All of this time she'd been holding off, waiting for someone perfect. She'd been mourning the loss of Carter Dane, a boy she hardly knew, and she could have died totally alone because of it. Oh, she knew she wasn't totally alone—she had Cassie and other friends from school, and she had her parents—but there wouldn't have been any boy missing her, grieving for her. That struck her as really sad.

“You know Eric's friend Orin?” Cassie said.

“Orin Unger?” Rene asked.

“That's the one. He thinks you're hot. He's, like, totally crushing on you. He was here three times while you were…you know…before you woke up. He brought flowers.”

“He did?” Rene said, surprised. She'd never really given Orin much thought, but hearing that he'd brought her flowers made her feel suddenly close to him. “He's cute,” she said, her cheeks blushing.

“He is, right?” Cassie agreed. “We should totally double when you get out of here.”

I wish
, she thought.

Rene had spoken with her doctors and knew that
weeks, maybe months, of rehabilitation therapy were in her future. Somehow, she didn't think she'd be dating while she was on crutches. That wasn't even the worst of it. The doctors had shaved her scalp to work on her head wound. She had broken teeth and a swollen face that might never heal right. The whole thing just made her want to cry.

Still, she said, “Maybe. That could be fun.”

Cassie's face lit up happily. Over her shoulder, a shadow fell on the door frame. Mason walked up to the threshold and looked in sheepishly.

“Hello, Mason,” Rene said, glad to see him.

“'Lo,” he mumbled.

Cassie spun around, startled, as if she'd been caught saying something bad about Mason. She patted her chest furiously, turning back to Rene with a scrunched, oh-my-God-he-scared-me look on her face.

“Sorry,” Mason said, his voice low and sounding depressed. He stepped back, out of the doorway.

“Mason,” Rene called. The effort hurt her throat, but she didn't want him to go away. He'd come all the way out to the hospital to see her. Besides, he looked so miserable that she couldn't just let him go.

He poked his head back into the room. “You're talking. I shouldn't-a interrupted.”

“You're not interrupting,” Rene told him. “Cassie was just going to the caf' for some coffee. Weren't you?”

Cassie looked at Rene and shook her head. “No. Eric is picking me up at one and we're going to lunch. I totally don't want to be jacked up on caff, because I get…” Cassie paused when she saw the expression on Rene's face, an expression that said
Get the hell out.
…“And I totally need a cup of coffee before I see him, so I'm going to go get one.”

“Good idea,” Rene said.

Cassie stood from her chair and crossed to Rene's bed. She leaned down and lightly hugged her friend, just putting her cheek next to Rene's. “You're so weird about this guy,” Cassie whispered.

“Your coffee is getting cold,” Rene replied.

Cassie muttered a “hey” to Mason as she slipped past him into the ward. Mason gave her a somber “'lo.”

“Come in,” Rene said. “I'm really glad to see you.”

Mason looked around nervously, as if frightened and knowing he would soon be attacked but not knowing from which direction the attack would come. He took a hesitant step into the room and then paused. He lowered his head.

“Why don't you sit?” Rene said, lifting her left index finger slightly to indicate the chair.

“I shoudn't-a come.”

“Of course you should. It makes me feel better to see you.”

Mason looked at her. His eyes lit up for a moment,
but the spark quickly faded. He didn't say anything. He just sat down in the chair and looked at his hands, which he clasped in his lap. Rene was reminded of Mason sitting on the hillside during the carnival, right after that horrible woman had tried to cheat him out of ten dollars.

Her first thought was that he was really worried about her, and she needed to put his mind at ease.

“I'm okay,” she said quietly. “You know? I mean it still hurts, and I guess it's going to be rough for a while, but I am okay.”

“You're awake,” Mason noted.

“Yes. And the doctors said I would be fine.”

“I'm glad,” Mason said, but he didn't sound glad.

“You don't have to worry about me.”

“S'pose.”

Maybe Mason already knew she was going to be okay. Maybe something else was bothering him.

“Are
you
okay?” Rene asked.

“I did some bad things,” Mason replied, knotting his fingers together tightly. “I thought I was doing the right thing because someone's got to step up, but I don't know. I think they were bad.”

“You couldn't do a bad thing,” Rene assured him.

“I did,” Mason countered. “I hurt them, and I shouldn't-a hurt them, because it's wrong. Just plain wrong. But I couldn't help it.”

“Hurt who?”

“Just people.”

“Mason, who do you think you hurt?”

“Lara and Lump Hawthorne and Ricky Langham.”

wall arump am

L-L-L-L-L-L

Rene felt an electric charge at the base of her neck. She was certain that these were the kids, in addition to Hunter Wallace, who had attacked her. But did Mason know that? How could he? Did he see it happen?

Oh, this is ridiculous
, Rene suddenly thought.
How could Mason have done anything to those kids?
Lara lost her mind. Ricky and Lump were in accidents. Mason wasn't involved, but still, he felt guilty. Why?

“Mason, you didn't hurt those people. You may have wanted to, but what happened to them wasn't your fault.”

“It was,” he said without hesitation. “I showed them pictures, and they were really scary pictures like the one I showed the lady at the carnival.”

Rene laughed lightly. The poor kid was just driving himself to distraction with guilt. He'd wished bad things to happen to some folks, and when they did, he felt responsible. She knew she shouldn't laugh, though, and it seemed to upset Mason even more, so she stopped and apologized.

And still she wondered why he had even thought to
hurt Lara and the others. So she asked.

“Because they hurt you,” Mason said.

“You saw them?” she asked.

Mason shook his head furiously from side to side. “You showed me.”

“What?”

“I came to visit when you were asleep. I drew you a nice picture, but when I tried to give it to you, I saw what happened. And I know what they did, and it made me really mad, and I hurt them.”

“What do you mean, you saw what happened?”

“You were dreaming mind pictures.”

“And you saw what I was dreaming?”

“S'pose,” he said.

No. Rene was not willing to believe this. Mason reading her mind? No way.

“How did you hurt Lara, Mason?”

“I showed her mind pictures.”

“Mind pictures?”

“I draw them in people's heads.”

“Can you draw me a mind picture?”

“S'pose.”

Rene was about to ask Mason to do it when a beautiful golden retriever jumped onto the end of her bed. She recognized the animal instantly as Mason's old pet Lightning. His fur was yellow and white and his tongue
lolled from a mouth that appeared to be smiling. Lightning lowered his head to sniff at the sheet and then walked forward, stepping on Rene's broken leg, but she felt nothing.

“Are you doing this?” Rene asked. But when she looked at Mason, his head was down, and he didn't respond. “This is amazing.”

Lightning took another step forward, but he began to change. His pretty yellow fur dropped away, leaving black patches of dirt and scab. His teeth crumbled and broke. One of his eyes shriveled up and slid out of the socket.

Rene screamed and the dog vanished.

“Sorry,” Mason said, his voice high and frantic. “I wanted to show you something nice, but it turned ugly. Everything turns ugly. I didn't mean to scare you. I didn't mean to.”

“It's okay, Mason.” Rene's heart beat at a mile a minute. She trembled from the fresh memory of the horrible sight. If what he'd showed Lara and the others was anything like the terrifying dog, she could see how Lump might drive off a road or Ricky might fall out of a window.

It was all grimly fantastic and frightening. Mason's talent was like nothing she'd ever heard of.

“Can you show me what you saw when I was asleep?”
Rene asked. “Can you show me what happened in the Hollow?”

“No,” Mason said, shaking his head rapidly from side to side. “No. It's ugly. It's an ugly thing.”

“Mason, I need to see it. It will help me remember, and if I remember, no one else needs to get hurt. I can tell the police what happened.”

“Am I in trouble?” Mason asked, frightened.

“No, Mason. You're not in trouble. I won't even mention you, but I have to be able to remember what happened. I
need
to remember. Will you help me?”

“S'pose.”

Rene watched Mason lower his head. She gripped the blankets tightly with her good hand and prepared for the worst.

Suddenly the room went dark. Around her, shadowy trees rose up from the floor, reaching through the ceiling of her hospital room. Gloom crept over the tiles and the lights there, spreading quickly like liquid. Soon, the ceiling was totally gone and a lace of black tree limbs wove above her. She caught movement on either side of the bed, but Rene could barely turn her head.

Then Hunter Wallace's face formed above her….

“You played the wrong game with the wrong players,” Hunter told her.

“Totally,” Lara cried happily. “I can't wait to tell everyone at school about the look on your face.”

Rene looked at the sickening expression of glee Lara wore.

“Why, Lara?” Rene asked. “How could you?”

Across the clearing, Ricky Langham lifted a piece of burned wood from the ground. In front of her, Hunter's face, looking like a great and evil moon, broke into a smirk…. Lump Hawthorne was there too, almost looking ashamed. Almost.

Rene broke to her right. Arms came out at her. She scratched and she kicked, but she wasn't able to get loose.

“Next time,” Hunter said, “you mind your business.”

Then he swung the thick tree branch. It hit the side of Rene's head, cutting her scalp and sending her sideways into Lump Hawthorne. Her vision blurred. She opened her mouth to scream, but another branch crunched against the back of her head. She dropped to her knees and looked up, pleading.

Hunter swung the branch down on the top of her head. She rocked forward but didn't fall. He brought the club down again and again. The world split apart into a dozen nightmarish frames, one lying over another in a dislocating collage. Then they were kicking her. She watched Hunter's boot pull back and bury itself in her stomach. Once. Twice. Three times. Rene coughed in spasms….

And the mind picture ended. Tears spilled from her
eyes and her body hitched with sobs. She closed her eyes, trying to manage the image Mason had returned to her. Her mind connected the picture to that place in her memory that was wiped away, and other memories flooded back. The fear for her life returned, fresh and scalding. It was all there. The pain. The brutality. It hurt so much, but Rene was also grateful.

Now she could tell the police what she knew. Maybe the others had paid for their pitiless behavior, but Hunter would stand trial. He'd go to jail, though part of Rene wanted him to suffer the way his accomplices had suffered.

Rene sniffled loudly and opened her eyes. She wiped her cheeks, took a deep breath, and looked at the chair. She was about to thank Mason, but he was already gone.

“Thank you,” she whispered anyway.

 

Cassie arrived several minutes later, holding a cup of coffee. As soon as Rene saw her friend in the door, she said, “Give me your phone.”

Cassie looked around, surprised. She set her coffee on the chair and reached in her pocket for her cell phone. “What's going on?”

“There's no phone in here,” Rene said. “And I need to call the police.”

“What did Mason do?” Cassie asked, rushing toward
the bed, clutching the cell phone in her fist. “Did he do something gross?”

“No,” Rene said, exasperated. “Mason didn't do anything, okay? He helped me remember. I remember who attacked me. Now give me the phone.”

“Well, who did it?” Cassie asked while Rene punched the first digit of the number.

“Hunter Wallace, Ricky Langham, Lump Hawthorne, and…”—though she hated to say it—“Lara.”

“Oh my, no,” Cassie said with a gasp.

“I know. It's totally impossible, but she was there.”