Authors: J. G. Faherty
She gripped his hand tighter. “You keep saying that, but you don’t know for sure. We don’t have any real family left, at least not anyone I’d trust to raise my brother. He looks up to you. And I know you’d be good for him. It’s not like it would be forever. Just until he’s eighteen and can take care of himself. Promise me.”
He wanted to refuse. After Clara and Jack, the only time he thought about family was when he cried at night thinking about what could have been.
“I promise.” The words scared him, because he couldn’t imagine a world without Danni in it.
“Thank you.” Her smile sent a rush of warmth through him, and he knew that, win or lose, he couldn’t stay in Hastings Mills a day longer than he had to. The temptation to give in to his feelings was getting too strong. He pulled his hand away.
“I’ve got to go to my room and...prepare for tomorrow. Good night.”
He hated the quizzical, slightly hurt look in her eyes as he hurried away. She’d spend the rest of the night wondering what she did to offend him. But better a tiny hurt now than a much bigger one later.
However, it was one thing to hide his feelings from Danni, and another to keep them from his own mind. Long after he’d gotten into bed, John lay staring at the ceiling and wondering why Fate continued to play her cruel tricks on him.
Deputy Carl Bonaventura slammed down the phone, which immediately started ringing again. “What the fuck’s going on tonight? We’ve got another jumper at the Five Mile Bridge. Three bridges in this town, and people jumping off every goddamn one of them at the same time. Who should I send out there?”
Chief Harry Showalter leaned back in his chair, a toothpick jutting from between his lips, and put his feet up on his desk. “Nobody. Why bother? By the time someone gets there, the body’ll be gone anyways. Not like some crazy bitch is gonna wait for the cops to show up so they can talk her down. Best thing to do is pray the bodies wash up far enough down river that it’s someone else’s problem.”
Bonaventura’s eyes darted between the ringing phone and his boss. He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. Showalter’d always been a sonofabitch to work for, but he’d never shirked his duties. And how had he known the jumpers were all women?
Well, if the chief wasn’t going to do something, Carl would. If he could save just one of them... He grabbed his hat and stood up. “I’ll take it myself.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” came Showalter’s voice from behind him. Bonaventura turned and found himself looking down the barrel of Showalter’s pistol.
“Chief?”
“Guess you haven’t noticed we ain’t running things in town no more, Carl. And that means either you’re dumber than a coma patient or the reverend’s words ain’t taken hold on you.”
“The reverend? What’s he got to do with this?”
Showalter nodded. “Guess that answers my question.”
Carl Bonaventura felt a sledgehammer blow to his chest at the same time he heard the explosive sound of the Beretta. He fell backward over his chair, a fire burning in his lungs and heart. The chief’s face appeared above him.
“He’s got everything to do with it, Carl. Too bad you couldn’t see that.”
A black circle replaced Showalter’s face.
This time the explosion brought darkness.
* * *
Cyrus Christian stood on the steps of Our Lady of Perpetual Hope Church and stared out at the town.
My town, now,
he thought, even though it wasn’t quite his yet.
But it will be in a few days. And that’s what matters.
Under the night sky, Hastings Mills bore little resemblance to its former self. The sounds of sirens, howling dogs, gunshots, and screams had replaced the usual quiet. The flickering red glow of house fires made Christian laugh as he pictured the town’s volunteer fire department struggling to put them out. At least a few men would go to the hospital tonight, their skin charred and peeling, their lungs scorched, their scalps blistered and hairless.
He cast his unnatural gaze to the east, where Town Hall sat dark and quiet. Showalter and his remaining men were concentrating on what Christian deemed most important, keeping Hastings Mills as isolated as possible. Thanks to a well-aimed truck taking out a critical junction box, no outside calls were possible. If he could have taken down the cell towers, he would have. Instead, Christian had settled for the spotty, static-filled reception caused by the storm clouds cloaking the town.
Christian clapped his hands and a bolt of lightning arrowed down with a thunderous roar. On the south end of town a massive oak, its trunk split and flaming, tumbled over, setting a field of corn ablaze. By morning, the farmer’s entire crop would be nothing but steaming ashes, driving him to beat his loudmouth brother-in-law into oblivion.
Letting his mind flow out farther, Christian drank in more of the town’s despair and anger and fear. People huddled inside dark houses, shaking children clutched in adult arms unable to promise protection from the invisible evil creeping through the night. Elderly men and women cried out as their hearts seized and their bowels loosened. House pets and family members alike turned on each other in sudden fits of senseless violence.
Nothing can stop me now.
“Do you hear that, John Root?” he shouted at the night. “You’re too late! The town is mine!”
* * *
John, Danni, and Mitch sat in the living room in shorts and T-shirts, drinking glass after glass of cold water and watching the glow of fires brighten and dim at different points across the town.
“He wants to destroy everything,” Danni whispered.
John didn’t respond, afraid of saying too much. While Danni was correct in her statement, he knew there was more going on, even if he didn’t know the specifics. Safe to say, though, whatever came next would be far worse.
“I want to be there when you kill him.”
John turned toward Mitch. “You shouldn’t think like that.”
Something in his tone must have alerted Danni.
“John? You do intend to kill him, don’t you? That’s the point of us risking our lives tomorrow.”
“It’s not that simple.” He didn’t want to get into a long philosophical discussion on good and evil, alternate realities, and gods and demons.
They deserve some kind of explanation, though.
He took a sip of water and hoped he had the right words.
“He can’t be killed, not the way we think of it.”
“Then what are you going to do?” Danni’s tone said, in no uncertain terms, that it had better be something worth the risks they were taking.
“I’m going to try and force him out of our world for a while, send him someplace where it will take him years, maybe decades, to get back from.”
“What if it doesn’t work?” Mitch asked.
“Then I can at least drive him away from this place. Keep the town safe.”
“But wouldn’t that mean he’d just start over somewhere else? Kill other people, in some other town?”
The boy is too smart.
“Yes, Mitch, that’s possible. But if I do my job correctly, it will be a long time before he’s strong enough to return to our world.”
“How will you know if your spell works, and he’s really gone?”
John shrugged, knowing his answer wouldn’t please Danni or Mitch. “I won’t. I’ll have to spend the rest of my life waiting and watching.”
“You’ve had to do this before, haven’t you?” Danni’s expression held more empathy than curiosity.
“No. But my mother battled him on several occasions. The last time...killed her, like her mother before her. I was there when it happened.”
“I’m sorry.”
In the darkness, her hand found his and he gripped it, allowing himself this one small moment of intimacy.
“John?” Mitch’s voice, on the other side of Danni.
“What is it?” He moved ever so slightly, but Danni understood and let her hand drop away. Back to the real world, where there was no time for personal feelings.
“I still hope you kill him. I think it’s okay for me to say that, ‘cause he’s not human.”
“I agree,” Danni said.
Although he hated hearing the boy talking so casually about killing, John didn’t argue the point further. “I’ll do my best.”
Unspoken was the question in everyone’s mind.
Would his best be good enough?
Billy Ray was pouring his morning coffee when Cyrus Christian entered the kitchen. For Billy Ray, it’d been another exhausting night filled with nightmares of flaming eyes and strange beasts that rose from the oceans to devour entire cities. Each time he woke up, sweating and shaking, the howling of dogs and the tortured wail of sirens greeted him, letting him know the separation between dreams and reality might not be so great.
So he was already on edge when Christian’s voice, only a foot or two behind him, startled him into spilling the coffee.
“Billy, I have a list of things for you to do today.”
“Jesus Christ!” Billy Ray put down the pot and shook hot coffee off his hand. “Don’t sneak up on a—”
Without warning, Christian’s face was next to his. Something moved deep within the black pools of the man’s eyes, making Billy Ray think again about his dreams. He tried to back away, but the counter blocked his way.
“That’s not a name to speak around me, Billy. Understand?”
“Uh, yeah, sure, no problem. Sorry.” Billy Ray leaned back and the eyes seemed to move with him, even though Christian stayed in place.
“Good.” Christian stepped away, his eyes once more only dark, lightless circles. He held out several sheets of paper. “Here’s what I need you to do at the park today. I’ll join you after my meeting with the booth committee.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll get right on it.”
“Do that.” He started to walk away and then turned back, a sly smile on his face. “You look tired, Billy. Having trouble sleeping?”
Billy Ray said nothing as Christian gave a short bark of laughter and left the kitchen.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
Once more, the image of the money in the downstairs closet rose up in his mind, and he forced it back down. Not the kind of thing to think about with Christian so close.
Instead, he chugged his coffee and hurried out into the roaster oven of another summer day.
* * *
“Christian is leaving the building, right on schedule.”
John winced as Danni’s voice came over the walkie talkie, accompanied by a burst of static. Even on the lowest setting, it sounded frighteningly loud as he crouched behind a tree on the hill overlooking Riverside Park.
A hundred yards away, Billy Ray Capshaw was marking off squares of land with sticks and colored tape. Several booths were already up, with more under construction. Although the pattern seemed haphazard, something about it made John feel queasy.
“Okay,” he said. “Get Mitch inside and then head to the elementary school. Stay hidden when you get there, but make sure you can see all the doors. Mitch?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful. Even with Christian gone, there’s always the chance of someone else coming into the church. Get in and out as fast as you can.”
“No problem.”
John’s lips tightened.
That’s what people always say before there’s a problem. Please, God, not this time. Keep him safe. Keep us
all
safe.
As the seconds dragged by with agonizing slowness, John found himself half-hoping the church would be locked and they’d have to come up with another plan, one that didn’t involve Mitch.
He’s just a boy. He...
Crackle-hiss. “I’m in.”
John exhaled slowly.
Another burst of electronic interference. “I’m heading to his office. I’ll let you know when I’m coming out.”
Zzz-pop.
“Be careful.” Danni’s voice.
“No sweat, sis. Back in ten.”
John’s stomach churned as he waited. Down in the park, a pickup truck pulled in. Two men got out and started conversing with Billy Ray. Both men wore tool belts around their waists, and John assumed they were there to help put up booths. He leaned against the tree, taking some small comfort from the shade it offered. Sweat rolled down his forehead and neck, and had already soaked through the front and armpits of his T-shirt. He wished he’d thought to bring a thermos of lemonade with him.
A glance at his watch showed only two minutes had gone by. The plan was for Mitch to slip into Christian’s office. If the office was locked, then the bedroom was a second choice. If he couldn’t get in there, he was supposed to just get out, because they couldn’t be sure anything from the other rooms would actually contain anything belonging to Christian.
“C’mon, Mitch,” he whispered. The dead, stifling air dampened the words, made them sound flat to his own ears. A rivulet of sweat stung his left eye. In sympathy, John’s other eye closed.
When he opened them again, his head was bent forward, his chin resting on his chest.
What...?
Realization hit him. He’d drifted off, lulled by the heat and lack of sleep. Adrenaline surged, bringing him fully awake. He looked at his watch, saw he’d only been out a couple of minutes. No harm. He glanced down at the field, saw the truck was gone and Billy Ray was alone again. Except...
Hadn’t Billy Ray been wearing a white T-shirt? The man standing by the parking lot wore an orange shirt, just like...
The men who’d come in the truck.
John jumped up. He could already picture the scene. Billy Ray saying he was thirsty or hungry. One of the men offering to drive him to the store.
Or back to the church?
“Hell.” John thumbed the talk button on his radio. “Mitch. Mitch, time to leave. Get out now.”
No answer.
“John? What’s the matter?”
“Danni, tell Mitch to get out of there. I think Billy Ray’s on his way back. He just left in a truck with someone.”
“Shit! Mitch! Mitch, did you hear that? Get out! Someone’s coming.”
John waited, but no answer came from Mitch.
“Danni, go to the church. I’m on my way, too, but you’ll get there faster with the car.”