Nursery Rhymes 4 Dead Children (21 page)

Chapter 30

I turned onto Turrell road, flashes of my childhood playing out like a movie in my head—times spent with Rusty, hanging out, a surrogate father really, once my dad had lost himself in God’s doctrine and forsaken all else. My heart ached. Rusty Back Then had been so different than the one who woke me outside the Devil’s Garden a couple of days ago, stinking of whiskey, eyes clear and locked onto something beyond all of us. A man willing to embrace his secrets as if they were treasure. I didn’t know where exactly things had changed in Rusty’s nature, or even my own, or whether we’d ever be like we once were.

Life moves forward, we carry our sins with us, our regrets. Or we let them go…

That’s what I wanted for him, and for me. Just to let them go, keep the heartaches in the past where they couldn’t hurt us or taint the love we had for those who deserved it.

I slowed as the car’s tires left pavement and hit gravel, the road twisting up the mountain outside town. The moon, its light weaker than I’d seen it in a long time—A Death Head Moon, as Mark used to call it, when we’d camp out along the river, just a couple of teens looking at life and trying to suck all the joy from it we could—hung like a shrunken skull above the trees.

I turned into Rusty’s driveway. A feeling of foreboding, like opening the trunk of your car and expecting to find a dead body, slithered over me like a second skin. The screams I’d heard over the phone—the gunshots—bounced around inside my head.

Rusty’s car sat in front of the garage, Duncan’s cruiser behind it, Mike’s Jaguar to the right, closest to the front door. One light burned, toward the back, spilling out onto the side of the house. I shut the engine off and got out, heart hammering in my ears as I ran through a swirl of dead leaves, climbed the steps to the open front door, pistol heavy in my hand. I sucked in cold air and crossed the threshold. The house sat quiet. I crept down the hall, over worn carpet toward light spilling from the room at the back of the house. A strange scent clawed at my nose, raised the fine hairs on the back of my neck. At first I thought it was just blood; until I realized it was something beneath that, something
Otherly
, like Angela, who seemed to smell like freshly turned earth, and something else.

I stepped into the kitchen. Rusty lay sprawled across the floor. My shoulders sagged, feeling numb, waiting for it to hit me, anger, sadness, but disbelief kept acceptance herded in the corners of my heart—knowing that my father’s best friend would never have a chance to right his wrongs, even if they existed only in his own mind, a constant slipping that ended with the man staring into forever, another victim.

Stepping back into the hall, I listened.

Something crashed upstairs. The floor above me shook. A man screamed. I ran back to the front of the house. The staircase shimmered in the darkness, but I pushed myself forward, up, up, up, dread spreading across my chest, legs pumping, sweat salty on my lips.

Wind stirred curtains around a broken window at the end of the hall.

A long line of blood smeared the wall.

My knees threatened to buckle.

Forward. Move forward.

I cocked the hammer of the .38 and moved along the wall, afraid Angela had tricked me, terrified she’d driven nails through Mike’s and Duncan’s hands and feet, two dark forms against a blackened sky, cradling their crosses, paying for my sins.

* * *

Something ice cold pressed against Mike’s lips. It tasted like burning rubber. He coughed as a hand smothered his face, flipped him over, and a tongue like sandpaper scraped his cheek.

A voice, aching, whispered, “Michael. Over here.”

He opened his eyes against a cloudy, gray day. Natalie stood beneath trees at the back side of the estate’s lawn, arms hanging loosely at her side, eyes wide. He whispered back, unable to find any resonance in his voice, any force. “Come back to the house. Mom doesn’t like you out here. We’ve got to help her get things ready for dinner.”

She shook her head, long black bangs slashed across her forehead. Her lips pressed together, parted. “There’s something in the forest.”

His father had told him that, back before he’d disappeared, run away to raise an easier family maybe. Dad had said, “Stay out of the woods, son. Fairy tales are there to teach kids like you a lesson, it’s a warning. Bad things wait for little eight-year-olds who run around in the brush like some kind of animal.” And then Jeffrey Johnston had patted his head and smiled in that way that wasn’t easy to read, where Mike couldn’t tell if he was serious or laughing inside.

He shivered and took a step toward Natalie, who scratched at a tree like a cat sharpening its claws. She showed her teeth, and Mike said, “There’s really something out there?”

“You won’t know unless you come and look.”

He nodded, but didn’t mean to. Something roared and at first he thought it was her, but it was closer, right behind him. His bladder loosened and his pants grew wet and Natalie stared at him as he put his head down, ashamed, wanting to run toward her, and at the same time feeling like that’s what the monster breathing against the back of his neck wanted—to push him away from the manor.

Mike stood his ground, mind whirling, unable to latch on to the right thing to do.

Natalie said, “Mom is going to kill me.”

Mike shook his head and rain fell, soft at first, then harder.

“Yes. Come on. I’ll show you.”

“No.” Tears stung his eyes. “I want Dad.”

Her chin dropped as the rain plastered her hair to her head. “I know. But he’s drifting away. My death is going to push him even further.”

“Stop talking like that.”

Hands pressed against his chest, fingers working in the channels of his heart. Mike touched his sternum, tried to pull the hands away, relieve the pressure building inside him. They dug deeper as something whispered in his ear, its breath hot and fetid, mocking:
Destroyer, wake. The choice is upon you, to turn and run, or stand and fight. The monster you face is me, you, the world spinning, inside, out. Laughter of mad men, tasty treats, crying children, left alone in this big scabbed beast. Welcome home, child. Welcome to the Well of Worship, Patron Saint of Infinite Sorrow.

Mike jabbed his arm out as Natalie screamed, their mother there, dress flapping in the wind, face twitching. “Go to your room.”

He shook his head. She slapped him, once, twice, a third time.

Blood stained his lips and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

The beast whispered,
Choose. You or her.

Mother pushed him down, a shock of pain as his tail bone hit the ground, the manor towering behind him, lightning and thunder overheard. Natalie pulled a knife, just a simple Old Timer that their father had used to whittle, sitting on the porch, alone with his thoughts. She crawled forward as the air turned frigid and rain turned to snow that drifted across the yard. His rage poured out as he slashed, the Old Timer in his hand now, and mother fell to her knees, hands up, fingers splayed, mouth a gash of bitter half truths.

As she bled, spatters across his face, he heard the manor sigh, a bird flutter in the basement, and One of Three of Seven say, “Feed the darkness inside. Let it rush, The Maddening River.”

* * *

I stood at the broken window, green curtains tickling the back of my hand. Peering out onto the roof, I froze, unable to climb through like Duncan had.

The big cop pressed his gun to the back of the serpent-man’s head and pulled the trigger. The booms echoed across the roof and forced me back a step. I grabbed the window and pulled myself out as the monster’s tail flashed up and wrapped around Duncan’s wrist and jerked him forward, sent him sprawling across the shingles, clawing for purchase and sliding toward the gutters, and ground.

I placed a foot outside and the cool night climbed my arms, electricity in the air as One of Three of Seven lifted Mike toward the sky in front of the antenna and then shot him forward, the old television antenna piercing Mike’s shoulders. It let him hang there, head lolling, face pale and slack, and turned on me.

Duncan slid off the edge of the roof and screamed.

One of Three of Seven slapped the roof with its tail.

My bladder felt full, my skin alive with burrowing ticks.

Chapter 31

Mike stood over his mother as she faded into a depression in the ice covered ground that brought back his new friend, the cop, and the girls they had pulled from the spongy soil. He got down on his knees and tore into it with his fingers, screaming in his mind,
Nat!

Her bones were buried shallow. Mike pulled them from the earth and arranged them in the swirling snow as the tempest swelled.

* * *

I said, “This isn’t really a fair fight.”

One of Three of Seven’s eyes flashed like heat lightning as it sat in raven form on Mike’s shoulder, ivory beak pecking at his shoulder, gobbling bits of flesh. Its voice roared like a river in spring when the snow in the mountains thawed, which reminded me of something Mark had said when he’d taken me into the miniature manor and shown me the past and its secrets:

April will devastate you.

The demon met my stare and clacked its tongue. “You’ve fallen to the seduction of the Whore. Our sister has misled so many.”

Sister?

My insides tightened. The back of my eyes throbbed with constant pressure. “How about you pull Mike off the antenna and we go in and have some coffee? Talk this out?”

“The Hierarchy exists within the World Within Worlds and my brothers long for flesh. For worship.” Its tail swayed back and forth like a cat’s. “Will you worship The Fallen Kings? The Brothers’ Seven? You’ve a place among us, a rare privilege. A high priest. A Weaver.”

“Sounds tempting. Let Mike go and we’ll talk about it.”

Its head whipped back and forth, raven eyes glossy. “We can redeem you. Give you power to forget.”

“I don’t want to forget.” I looked down. A knife lay by my foot, point driven into the shingles. I pulled it free and almost dropped it. The beast jumped from Mike’s shoulder and shifted, grew, until its shadow consumed the house. It slithered forward, eyes like polished ebony. I looked past it and saw Angela stroking Mike’s cheek. She kissed his lips. He opened his eyes. Her hand grabbed his and held it between them and placed something in his palm. She rolled his fingers shut and he nodded weakly, his lips drained of blood.

One of Three of Seven, eight feet tall, with the long muscular arms of a man, the serpent’s torso, the raven’s head, snapped its wings open. “Do you believe?”

I nodded. “I believe in redemption, forgiveness, hope. Things I’d thought I lost.”

“Trust yourself too much and you end up like Beelzebub, lonely and broken with no one but a bitch to hear your groveling revelations. You’ve made your choice.”

Angela said, “Your fight is with me, not him.”

One of Three of Seven turned slowly until it faced her. Its wings slapped the roof like thunder. I gripped the knife. Thought, image, emotion—Cat’s disbelief, the dead girls’ eternal cries, a hole in the back of Rusty’s head, Pat’s hand disintegrating and Wylie wallowing in madness and grief—washed over me.

I took a deep breath, then ran and leapt on its back, snaked my left arm around its thick neck. Feathers bit my forearm like teeth. Barely able to hang on, I jabbed the knife at its face and felt something give as the blade sank deep and the beast howled and hissed and spun around. I flew off, knife still in hand, and slid down the roof. I wanted to yell to Duncan, to warn him of my fall, but I jabbed the K-Bar into the shingles, five feet from the edge, and jerked to a stop.

One of Three of Seven lashed out with its tail and Angela jumped on top of it, used it like a springboard and clamped to its chest, digging her hands into a large black hole in its stomach, rutting around inside it, tearing.

Her bare back glistened with sweat and they looked like a strange sexual coupling of woman and beast as they spun toward Mike. She drove a knee into its wound, and climbed over his shoulder, onto his back.

Fog spilled from One of Three of Seven’s wounded eye and the gash in its stomach. It stilled, met Mike’s gaze, which glowed a summer sky blue. Mike jammed the key in front of him, hanging from the antenna, and I swallowed, scrambled up the roof and leaned against the siding by the window as a door opened in the air. Wind rushed into the open doorway. I held onto the sill, afraid it would pull me in.

Angela shoved the monster forward, its wings digging trenches in the shingles as the door yawned wider and toppled like a domino. It fell forward as Angela jumped back and One of Three of Seven disappeared beneath as if neither had ever existed.

Thunder boomed in the distance and lightning spider-webbed across thickening clouds.

I said, “Okay. Now I’m a believer.”

Angela put her arms under Mike’s armpits and eased him off the antenna. Blood spurted across her shoulder as she ripped his jacket into long swaths and stuffed them into the holes. She stroked Mike’s hair as she sat and pulled his head onto her lap. Meeting my eyes, she said, “Now we’re in trouble.”

I leaned against the siding and looked at the edge of the roof, wanting to go check on Duncan, but wanting answers as well. “Where did it go?”

“In the Slip. But the brothers are out there, edging along the gap.”

“Which means?”

“They’ll be here before we ever have time to get to the main door.”

Mike shivered. “In the manor’s basement.” He coughed against the wind and his eyes dulled. “It didn’t hurt you, John. It could have.”

Angela shook her head, hair brushing his face. She held him and said, “No, it thinks he’ll serve them.”

“I’m not serving those things.”

Angela said, “I hope not. But we’ll see.”

“So…” I trailed off, irritated by the slight accusation I heard in her voice after I was the one to give her the fucking key. I slid the pistol back in the holster. “What the hell are they?”

“The Hierarchy,” Mike said.

“Okay. That answers all my questions.” I wanted to help Mike, but didn’t like what they were doing, singling me out, like we were on different teams. That shit never panned out for anyone’s benefit.

Angela said, “You should have listened to what it said.”

“It said not to trust you. It said you were its sister.” I dusted glass off the window sill with my boot and sat down, chest tight, whole body shaking.

“No,” she said. “Read between the lines. It said not to trust yourself.”

* * *

Duncan was nursing his leg, using an old stick as a crutch to inch along the lawn when I stepped out onto the porch. The big cop frowned and I thought Jim White should have called the state police by now.

They should be here
.

Duncan said, “Are we all still alive?”

I nodded, unsure how Duncan felt about me, about all the craziness.

The big cop seemed to fold in on himself, as if his body had compressed. “Good to see you didn’t run away. You missed a lot. Where you been?”

“I really don’t know.”

“I hear you. Give me a hand, will you.” Duncan waved me over and threw his arm over my shoulders. “You hurt?”

“No. It’s gone for now.”

“What?”

“That thing. One of Three of Seven.”

Duncan spat and grimaced. “I was hoping I’d imagined that.”

“No, sir. It was real.”

“So, you beat it all by yourself, did you?”

“Not me. I don’t know exactly what happened. But we’re all okay. Is your leg broke?”

Duncan sighed as we stepped to the porch. He turned and sat down heavily. “I don’t know.”

I moved behind him and leaned against the door, trying to get my nerves to settle.

Duncan nodded. “It’s all too much to process for me. My brain is short-circuiting.”

“Yeah. It’s going to be an interesting report you write.”

Duncan laughed, cold.

My gaze settled on Jim White’s yard. I cleared my throat and rubbed my hands together. “I saw the neighbor in the hospital earlier. He said the mayor was over here today and left in a hurry.”

“That so?” Duncan eased his leg out in front of him and rubbed it with a meaty paw. “I guess we’ll have to have another chat with him. I knew we would, deep down.”

The air next to me pulsed and the hair on the back of my neck bristled.

Angela stood next to him, shimmering with pale radiance.
It’s not over. We’re dropping down a rabbit hole now. Things are going to get bad. I can feel it—like I’m sitting naked on a big icy lake with no one else around for endless miles. We’re nearing the ultimate test, Johnathan. Sacrifice. We’ll see if you’re brave, we’ll see which side you choose.

* * *

Mike turned toward the north, sitting on the roof, his heart trapped in a place where the snow slipped inside his boots as he played with his sister’s bones, trying to decipher their secrets. Mother laughed from the maddening house. He looked over his shoulder, brow bent, lips frozen, hands wrapped around a femur. Tears of blood oozed from the window casings and dripped down granite walls.

The bones whispered against his flesh.