The Boys Are Back in Town (13 page)

Will kept going. The waiter shouted at him. Lolly called his name.

A number of couples on the dance floor heard the commotion and stopped. Others spun around them, heels clapping on the floor, oblivious to the freight train rolling toward them. Will James was not a large man, but his shoulders were broad and he had a steely determination as he strode purposefully onto the dance floor.

Caitlyn saw him first. Her eyes widened with shock and she stopped dancing, pushed back from Brian, and gaped at Will, a quiver of distaste curling her lip.

“Will?” she said.

As Brian turned toward him, Will sped up. The guy had time only to muster a look of confusion and then Will lunged for him. With a grunt of exertion he sprang upon Brian, momentum carrying them both down to the ground.

Brian's head bounced off the floor with a loud crack.

N
UMBER 76
P
ARMENTER
R
OAD
was dark save for a single light that burned in Kyle Brody's bedroom. His parents were out for the night, celebrating the birthday of Vernon Basque, a creepy little weasel who was one of his father's business partners. Kyle was glad they were gone. He paced in his room with the window all the way open and took a long drag on a cigarette he had stolen from the pack on his dad's dresser. He knew smoking could fuck you up, but it wasn't like his parents could give him shit with a straight face, not when both of them still smoked.

Kyle strolled from one end of the room to the other like an animal investigating new surroundings. He paused at the center of the room and stared at the blazing orange tip of the cigarette. A plume of smoke puffed from his lips and he scowled at the butt in his hand.
Gotta be an idiot to smoke,
he thought.

But he took one last drag on the cigarette before dropping it, still lit, into the Pepsi can on his bureau. It hissed as it struck whatever soda was left, and smoke swirled up out of the can.

“Jesus,” Kyle whispered. He massaged his temple with the palm of his hand, feeling a headache coming on.

How the hell did I get pulled into this . . . whatever it is?
he thought.
What am I supposed to do?
Two questions, the first of which was vital, the second of which was just stupid. He had instructions regarding what he was supposed to do now.

There was nothing funny about it, but the thought made him laugh.

A chilly breeze blew into his bedroom and Kyle shivered, but it occurred to him that there might be more to it than the chill. He stood beside the bureau now, regretting having put the cigarette out. Across the room, half a dozen magazines were spread out on his bed.
Hustler. Penthouse.
A couple of
Playboy
s, but he only ever got the ones with famous girls in them. He had inherited the others from his friend Devon, who had too many of the things, all passed on to him from his older brother. Truth was, Kyle thought the
Hustler
s were sort of nasty. The others were pretty good, though.

But there was something else on the bed.

Kyle kept the magazines in a brown legal expandable folder he had taken from his father's study. When he wasn't looking at them, he stashed the folder deep in the closet under the stairs, where there was an opening into a crawl space.

He had been thinking about that crawl space all day, since even before he had left for the football game. A dreadful tickle had been dancing up and down his spine, drawing his mind back to it again and again. He had brought the note to freaky Will James at the Homecoming game, trying to avoid thinking about the damn thing, about how yellow and dusty it was, about how it had gotten into the hole in the storage area in the first place. But he couldn't avoid it forever, couldn't not think about it. And when he did, that train of thought had led him back to the other place he stashed things in his house.

Would he find something there as well, with the
Playboy
s and
Penthouse
s?

After the game he had come right home, telling his friends he didn't feel well and just needed to get some sleep. His mother had made a sausage pasta dish for dinner that Kyle loved, but he barely tasted it as he ate, just waiting for them to leave, silently willing them to go. And simultaneously wishing they would stay home, so he wouldn't have to check the hiding place in the closet under the stairs.

But they went.

And he looked.

Now, in his room, he stared at the thing that he had found under the stairs, wondering what would happen if he ignored it. The dread that filled him then was far worse and something twisted in his stomach.

Just leave me alone,
he thought, hating the infantile whining in his own head.
I don't want any part of this, whatever it is.

But he understood the truth, that he didn't have a choice. He had been singled out.

And it frightened him.

C
AITLYN SCREAMED.
There were shouts and curses, and a number of hands tried to reach for Will, tried to tear him off Brian.

“You fucking lunatic!” Will roared, spittle flying from his mouth as he squeezed his hands around Brian's throat and slammed his head against the floor a second time, then a third. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

Brian's face reddened and his eyes began to bulge. Will hauled back his right fist and struck him, knuckles shattering Brian's nose. Blood spurted from his nostrils and Will hit him again and again, pain shooting up his arm with every blow. Will knew he was still shouting, but if words were coming from his mouth even he did not understand them.

Tears burned his eyes. Tess had been raped.
And Ashleigh
. . . He squeezed his eyes tightly closed and punched Brian again, blindly, feeling swollen, pulpy flesh beneath his fist. He could not even think about the changes in Ashleigh.

His eyes snapped open. Baring his teeth with a ferocity he could not contain, he grabbed Brian by the hair and bent over to shout in his face. “Lebo. You fucking killed Lebo! What did he do? What did he ever do to you?”

The last word was choked off by an arm that wrapped around his neck from behind. Will was pulled off of Brian and he struggled, swinging, lashing out with fists and feet and elbows, trying to get back to the evil bastard responsible for the savage mutilation of reality that had gone on over the past few days.

“Will! Will, just stop it!” Nick snarled in his ear.

It was Nick who was holding him, Nick who had him from behind. But he wasn't the only one. Eric was there as well, and the two of them swung Will around so he was abruptly face to face with the rest of them. Lolly and Pix were both there. Caitlyn. Danny and Keisha. And Ashleigh, hollow eyes filled with a despair that broke his heart again, and he knew that part of that despair had been his fault.

“Will, what are you doing?” Ashleigh asked.

The manager he had seen on his way in appeared now at the edge of Will's field of vision. The man looked smug, nostrils flaring as he announced that he had called the police and they were on the way. Caitlyn whimpered at this but she would not look at Will again. She went down on her knees beside Brian. Several other people were there on the dance floor beside him; one of them loudly announced that he was unconscious.

“You don't know,” Will whispered, gazing into Ashleigh's eyes, barely able to speak for the pain in his heart. “You don't know what he's done.”

“You're gone, Will. You're fucked in the head,” Nick growled.

“Will, talk to me,” Eric said, his voice level, the calmest of all of them. “Please, man. Did you take something?”

All along Danny had gazed at him sadly, shaking his head. Now he squeezed his wife's hand and stepped forward. He tapped Nick's arm and in response first Nick, then Eric, let go of Will.

“You don't understand,” Will whispered, looking into Danny's eyes.

Danny's eyes were a bright, guileless blue. There was only compassion in them now. “I do, Will. I do. I'm sorry I got pissed at you last night.”

For a moment hope surged up within Will. Could it be he wasn't the only one who had felt it, felt this slippage, this shuffling of the deck? But then Danny put his forehead against Will's and there was something odd in his expression, a kind of dark void, a hopelessness that Will had never seen in him before.

“You need help, bud. I just didn't get it, last night. Didn't see it. You need to get a handle on things. Something's going on in your head. You've been acting freaky all weekend. We're scared for you, Will.”

Hands were placed on his back and arms and Will's heart sank. They were all there for him. He had just ruined the night, eviscerated whatever pleasant thoughts any of these people had ever had about him, and yet his friends were there for him. But they simply did not understand.

Danny pulled back and looked at him. “You're not right in the head at the moment, bud. We gotta get to the bottom of it.” He glanced at Keisha. “I'm sorry, baby. You stay. Eric and Ashleigh will take you home.”

Keisha was a kind, understanding woman. “It's all right. We'll be OK. You go.”

Most of the crowd was back to busily minding their own business. The music was still playing. The refracted lights from the chandelier cast unearthly slivers of light around the hall. With a groan, Brian Schnell woke up. Will started toward him.

Danny flat-handed Will's chest, stopping him cold. His eyes were hard and unrelenting. “Don't even think about it. We're going. Now. Before the cops get here.”

Will drew his hand across his mouth, the copper tang of Brian's blood on his lips, the ache in his knuckles deep and sharp. What an idiot he had been, to think that what had to be done could be done here. Brian had to be stopped, prevented from hurting anyone else, but there was no way Will was going to be able to accomplish that with Danny Plumer playing nursemaid.

Will blinked and took a few short breaths before meeting Danny's steady gaze. “I'm going. You stay.” When Danny began to argue, Will held up a hand. “No, shut up, listen. I've fucked up this night enough. I'm not taking you away from your wife. I drove myself here, I can get myself home. I'm not high. I'm not on anything. You want to talk to me, call me in the morning or just come by.”

He pointed at Brian, saw Caitlyn helping him to sit up, and could look at them no more. Will felt the bile rise in the back of his throat, his stomach clenching, but he forced himself to stay calm as he focused on Danny again.

“That guy, if you knew what he's done . . . and I'm not talking about Caitlyn here . . . if you knew . . .” Will shook his head. “Just call me tomorrow. If fucking Schnell wants to press charges, you all know where I live. Tell the cops they can find me there.”

Later he would realize it was pure astonishment that caused them to let him go. Not a few mouths were gaping, not one of them knowing what to say as he turned and strode across the dance floor. A path cleared before him. He saw Martina, a look of sympathy etched on her face, but most of them looked vaguely embarrassed, as though just knowing him was something they felt ashamed of in that moment.

The manager blocked his way. “You can't leave. The police are on the way. You can't just—”

Disbelief erupted out of him as a burst of laughter. Will stared at the man. “You're kidding, right? I broke a few plates. Send me a bill. You're not the guy who got a beating.” Unbidden, a sneer came to his lips. “Course, if you want a real reason to have me arrested—”

The manager stepped instantly from his path. “Crazy bastard,” he whispered, but he did nothing more to prevent Will from leaving.

It was all so very unlike him, but Will knew that was a false assumption. The foundation of who he was had been altered. His life and his past were changing. It stood to reason that he himself might well be changing too.

Just before he walked out of the banquet hall he glanced toward the bar where he had seen Stacy before. She wasn't at the bar, however. Other than Will himself, she was about the only one in the entire room who was in motion. She was walking across the room toward him, moving swiftly to get to him before he could leave.

Will flinched, paused a moment with his head turned away from her. He swallowed, his throat tight, trying not to imagine what could happen to her, what had already happened to Ashleigh and the others.

“You all right?” she asked.

He turned. Somehow she had crossed the distance between them in just a few seconds. She gazed up at him with an expression that seemed equal parts sadness and bewilderment.

Will's left hand fluttered up as though he were trying to erase something from the space between them. “Don't,” he said. Then he met her eyes. “No. I'm not. Never been worse.”

Her face changed then, but not in the horrid way that Ashleigh's had. This was natural, organic. Into her features crept dark resignation and hard-won wisdom. There was no doubt in Will's mind that Stacy had lived through difficult times and he saw them now, etched in the crow's feet around her eyes, the tiny lines at the corners of her mouth.

“Anything I can do?”

Will shook his head. “I don't think so.”

She took this in, then nodded sagely. “You'll tell me about it sometime.”

It wasn't a question, but he nodded in agreement nevertheless. Then he pushed out through the double doors and into the foyer of Papillon, brightly colored butterflies all around him, tangles of white lights illuminating the path of his exodus. He went out the door and into the night, feeling in his pocket for the keys to his Toyota. The chill night air cleared his head, trying to wash away the old memories, all the images that didn't jibe with the world around him, with this new reality.

But Will was not going to let them go.

The lot was lined with the dark, silent hulks of a hundred cars. Nothing moved but the wind. Will strode amongst those cars, keys jangling in his hand. He reached the Toyota and unlocked it, but as he opened the door a wave of nausea and despair rose up in him. He steadied himself against the car, one hand on the roof.