The Twelve-Fingered Boy (27 page)

They speak as one. It's more than just a chorus. It's as if Quincrux has swollen to unimaginable size and these drones, these zombies, they're his cult and his new flesh and his choir. That whatever evil drives him, whatever desire, surged and throbbed in his chest and then burst forth to find other people to infect. And given half a chance, it would infect the world, everybody, moving like lightning from treetop to church steeple to telephone pole, a dark electricity ready to corrupt all of existence.

I almost wish I had the gun again.

I say, “Quincrux is here. He's just a coward and lets his drones take the heat for him.” I point at the door. “He's probably hiding in the stairwell.”

They take a step forward. All with the same limp.

“No one needs to be hurt, Mr. Graves, if you and Mr. Cannon will just come with me quietly. I have the power to smooth this all over, to make these people forget. To make Mr. Cannon's legal troubles disappear. If only you'll come with me.”

“He's lying. He's gonna feed me to the witch,” I say.

Jack blinks, turns, and grabs my arm.

“This way.”

He runs south. The hospital complex buildings are arrayed on a north–south arc. A neighboring building is close, very close, and I'm worried that Jack wants me to do what I think he wants me to do.

“Stop!” Quincrux's slaves chant. “We can come to an agreement!”

Jack stops right at the edge of the roof and looks back at me. “We get across, he won't be able to follow. Not with that limp.”

The opposite roof is fifteen feet away, and lower.

Oh, no.

“I don't like this, Jack.”

“What're you going to do, stay here?”

I hear the crunch of Quincrux's slaves coming forward.

“I cannot let you leave, I'm afraid.”

Jack pulls me back ten feet from the ledge. I look toward the ruined door, and Quincrux appears in the frame, behind the group of people. He's in his dark suit and hat, but has accessorized with a cane.

“Now,” Jack says, and he tugs me forward.

We run.

When I reach the lip of the abyss, I jump, gripped by Jack.

Everything seems to slow, and I feel a tremendous wrenching on my injured arm as Jack explodes into the air, dragging me with him. But, simultaneously, I feel a massive hammering inside my skull, and I don't even have a chance to conjure up a jawbreaker before Quincrux has gained a foothold in my mind.

I'm trying to fend him off as I plummet over the abyss. My arm is wrenched away from Jack. The lift from his pulse is gone, and I'm falling toward the mirrored face of the building rushing at me.

I can perceive that even Quincrux is alarmed at how fast the building's hard corner rushes at me.

When I hit the edge, I feel my side rip wide open. Even as I scramble to catch hold, it feels like the Dubrovnik woman has stabbed me all over again.

The pain has driven Quincrux out. My bandaged, numb hand slips and my legs swing downward, and suddenly I'm scratching at tar paper and gravel and brickwork as my feet dangle three hundred feet above the ground.

Jack lands lightly on the gravel of the roof and rushes toward me.

It's now that Quincrux resumes his assault. And I'm like tissue paper. He's inside my mind like he's never left. But I've learned a few things since we last met.

I take the fight to him, like I did with Marvin.

I try to possess his body.

His attention wavers, and I'm back in my head again. Which is terrifying because I'm going to fall.

Quincrux shoves all resistance aside. The jawbreaker is shattered, the windows are blown out, and I'm just an observer in the wild blue yonder. Once again. Turnabout is fair play, they say. I guess I deserve everything I get. I'm sure Lacy and the Weasel would agree.

My wounded hand slips from the edge, and I'm left hanging by one arm. I hope Quincrux does something about that.

Jack throws himself onto his stomach and grabs my wrist.

“Don't let go. I have you.”

“It seems, Mr. Graves, we are at an impasse.”

Quincrux's words coming from my own mouth make me feel like I've betrayed Jack. I'm a Judas to my only friend.

“You can release Mr. Cannon, and then flee. I will not be able to stop you, not with your gravity-defying abilities. Mr. Cannon will, of course, fall to his death.”

Jack's brow furrows, but he doesn't need long to figure out what's going on.

“I am quite impressed with your abilities. Having reviewed the videotapes, I knew some of your power… but this! Flight! This is an exciting development.”

“Shut up.”

I'm still there, still seated in the flesh, even though I'm not in control. Quincrux's puppet, I swing my bad hand up and grasp Jack's other arm. Jack shifts his hold, and now both of my hands are clasping his wrists and he's gripping mine.

“I will not vacate this boy willingly, Mr. Graves. In a moment, if we cannot come to an agreement, I will make him release you and fall. Unless you give me your word, you will remain where you are. I have vessels on the way to you now.” I hear a banging coming from somewhere on this roof. It looks like Quincrux's cavalry is here.

Quincrux clears my throat. “He can't hold on much longer. His wounds have reopened, and I—”

My bad hand slips out of Jack's grasp. I feel my arm stretch, and suddenly my shoulder dislocates. It pops right out of the socket like I'm a roasted chicken and someone is pulling off a wing. There's only flesh—muscle and tendon—tethering me to life. The pain is excruciating.

But when it ebbs, I realize Quincrux is out.

“Jack, let me go. You can't save me. But you can save yourself if you run now—”

“No!”

“Go. You can escape. I can't!”

He shakes his head furiously.

The assault begins again. Quincrux rips away at my pain and desperation, and with the last of my strength, I keep him out. I keep him out.

I release Jack's hands.

For an instant, I hang in the air and there's a brightness all around. I fall, tumbling downward, and above all I feel the loss of never seeing my family again. Of never playing Kick the Can with Jack in the woods where we lived for that week. Of never hugging Booth, the big idiot.

I fall. The wind rushes like a tempest in my ears, and I close my eyes for the last time. I can tumble away forever now from the things Moms said. From what Quincrux wants me to become. I'm not those things. I'm nothing now but air and rushing wind and pain. Incarcerado no longer.

A tremor. I shudder, and something passes through me.

The air wavers, my body twists. The world keels over and rights itself. Suddenly I'm rising up.

I'm rising.

I look up, and Jack stands at the edge of the roof, his hair tousled wildly by the frigid wind, his hands out, beckoning me to come to him, like he's waving me over to join his kickball team. He's got a surprised look on his face.

The boy who pushed everything away, he's drawing me in.

I rise.

When my feet touch the roof, we're facing each other. He's panting, and I can see that, even in the cold, sweat is beading on his forehead and wetting his temples.

The rooftop's pounding stops with a boom and a crash. Quincrux's slaves are on the roof now, and they're coming for us.

“Go, Jack. You can make it.”

“No. We'll stick together. Look what happens when I'm not around to look after you.”

I'm too tired to laugh. Blood is seeping through my stolen hospital duds. I can't feel the fingers of my bandaged arm, and the other arm hangs useless and throbbing. I'd almost appreciate Quincrux taking over now so I wouldn't have to feel all this.

Jack comes over to me. He puts my bandaged arm over his shoulder and helps me walk toward the waiting crowd of smiling Quincruxes.

Sirens sound below us. It looks like this party is about to get even bigger. The smiles on the faces fade.

But I don't care. I don't care.

“I guess we can't call you Mr. Explodey anymore.”

Jack snorts.

“Was that like a superhug you just gave me?”

“Shut up, Shreve.”

Quincrux's drones surround us and lead us into the building, back down to earth.

On the inside, some things change and some things stay the same. I can't get inside Booth's head—he's like a steel ball, smooth and impenetrable—and I don't think I'd want to if I could. But I can still get under his skin.

But we're fairly chummy now. He doesn't lurk about, glaring at me, and I don't deal the sweet stuff or manipulate the wards. He's figured out something funny happened, but he's never had the balls to ask me outright. And he's never asked what happened to Jack.

Today is Saturday, which means no class, the commissary does a booming business, and mail call and visitors are allowed—if you have anyone who cares about you enough to visit or send crackers, cookies, or cash.

The notoriety that greeted me when I returned to Casimir faded fast. It didn't hurt that I never spoke a word about what happened to anyone, not reporter, priest, or police. Since the events of last winter I've been the model citizen of Casimir Pulaski Juvenile Detention Center for Boys, home until my eighteenth birthday. Despite my hero status, they extended my term.

The board members were quite ticked off that I escaped from their institution of juvenile rehabilitation and went off and had an adventure, if you want to call it that. You read about adventures, you watch them on TV, but you never realize how hurt you'll be at the other end when an actual adventure craps you out.

So I'll be here for the next two and a half years.

Quincrux may have had a hand in my sentencing, but I can't be sure.

We came down from the roof together, me and Jack. Quincrux's smile faded quickly when we were greeted by a mass of reporters and a squadron of SWAT. It became obvious, very obvious, that he was only going to keep hold of one of us.

You can guess who he chose by process of elimination.

“Mail call!” Red Wolf bellows into Commons. He's not wearing the Native American getup today, thank god. “Bevins! Reasoner! Van Giles!” He whips the letters and cards at the boys. “Whitmore! Washington! Smith!”

He stops, rubs his pate, and then holds out two envelopes to me. I can't help but hope one of them is from Coco. It never is, but I can't stop myself from hoping. She's forgotten me, most likely. I can't blame her. But still, it hurts some.

“Cannon!” He smiles. “I see that you made some friends beyond these walls.”

“Looks like, doesn't it?”

“Only you can let them keep you incarcerado.” Red Wolf leans in and taps his temple with one long index finger. “In here, you are free,” he whispers like a conspirator. He taps his chest. “And in here.”

I look at the envelopes.

The first one, I tear open with eager fingers.

Shreveport,

I thought I'd send you a little something for your birthday. But I didn't know when it was. So I thought I might just send you something. Unfortunately, you're going to have to spend it all in one place.

Your friend,

Jerry A.

P.S. When you're out, come visit. I will buy your ticket. The missus doesn't like Double Shutter. And why should she? She always wins.

 

The card's stuffed with a ten-dollar bill. That's a couple Saturdays at the commissary, at least.

That Jerry. What a guy.

The next letter is larger, thicker. I open it, and a newspaper clipping falls out. Scrambling, I grab it off the floor before anyone can step on it.

Alleged “Twin Killer” Dubrovnik Dies in Jail Incident
Charles Dubrovnik, awaiting trial for over thirty charges related to the kidnap, rape, and murder of three girls, died in the Wake County Correctional Facility in an altercation between guards and inmates. Dubrovnik was found unconscious and rushed to UNC hospital. He was pronounced dead shortly after arrival. Police are withholding evidence until details of the incident can be determined.