Crucifax (6 page)

Until, perhaps, now.

Something caught Grady's eye. It might have been the reflection of a passing car's headlights, but he thought he saw a flicker of light through a space in one of the boarded side windows of the empty building.

Grady turned and headed in that direction again.

There it was again; it looked as if a light were being passed back and forth on the other side of the window.

Grady picked up his pace.

It made sense; the kid got caught trying to break into a house, so naturally he'd want a place to hide. Grady couldn't figure out how he'd gotten in, though. The building was locked like a safe, as far as he knew.

Grady approached the window quietly and leaned toward it, cupping a hand to his face as he peered between the boards.

He could make out a fire-ravaged wall with a large chunk missing. A soft yellow glow, like candlelight, flickered in the darkness, shimmering over the wall, shifting back and forth, as if someone were walking around inside with a candle.

"Gotcha," he breathed, walking around to the front of the building.

The glare of neon and fluorescent lights and the bright headlights of the cars on the boulevard made Grady squint. What used to be the glass double doors of the entrance was now a wall of boards and locked chains. No one had gone through here. He kept walking, passing the front windows, all of which were still secure.

He turned right at the faded, crooked sign that read parking below a painted arrow and walked along the side of the building to the parking lot in back. His shoes crunched on gravel and broken glass as he switched the flashlight on again.

There were no windows on this side of the building for Grady to check, so he hurried along the wall and rounded the corner. Shattered beer bottles and empty six-pack cartons were strewn over the parking lot; there was a pile of cigarette butts where someone had emptied a car's ashtray. Apparently the kids used the lot for partying. There had been no complaints, though, so Grady figured they were keeping a lid on it.

He went to the rear entrance. It was still firmly boarded. He pounded the heel of his palm against the boards once just to be certain. They thumped solidly, and Grady heard a quick shuffling inside the building. He hurried to the nearest window and peered between the boards.

This window looked into a different room than the last, but the golden shimmer of light was still dancing on the walls. He heard the shuffling again, and the glow became brighter, as if it were drawing nearer the window.

In an instant, the room became dark. It was more than just dark; it suddenly seemed to be gone.

Grady lifted the flashlight and shone the beam between the boards, nearly dropping it when he saw a wide, glistening, golden eye gazing back at him.

"Okay," Grady barked, stepping away from the window and unsnapping the flap of his holster, "come on out of there slowly, and let's see some I.D. This is the police."

He waited, his hand resting lightly on his holstered gun.

Someone inside laughed at him. It was a quiet, dry laugh, like the sound of a small animal slowly being crushed.

Grady swept the beam back and forth over the wall until it landed on a half-open door. It was the employee entrance. The boards that had been nailed across the doorway were lying on the pavement, broken and splintered. As he approached the door he saw that the steel eyelet through which a padlock had been fastened had been torn from the door and lay on the ground beside the broken lock.

"Jesus," he muttered, carefully pulling the door open. The door hung loose from the top hinge and scraped against the pavement as it moved.

The doorway opened on a dark corridor with a door on each side. Grady took one step and froze when he heard a voice whisper softly in the darkness.

Two people?
he thought, taking his gun from the holster and holding it cautiously at his side.

"One more time," he said loudly. "Come out slowly and identify yourself. I've drawn my gun."

Another low chuckle.

Yellow light flickered beyond the doorway to his right.

Grady moved forward, lifted his gun, and sidled into the room, bits of rubble making crackling sounds beneath his shoes.

Across the room, a lighted candle in a small holder stood on a wooden crate.

He took two steps into the room, sweeping his flashlight beam back and forth across the blackened walls. Something shuffled before him, but he could see no movement.

—until he looked down.

The floor was shifting.

Specks of light glistened up at him.

He shone the beam at them and quickly realized that the specks of light were really eyes.

Hearing footsteps behind him, Grady spun around to face a
tall, dark figure in the doorway.
"Holy
—" he blurted. A hand knocked the flashlight to the floor. It hit with a crack, and the beam disappeared.

Grady held the gun before him protectively, his skin crawling at the thought of what was at his feet.

"Back up!" he growled.

Must be fifty of'em,
he thought,
whatever the hell they are!

"I said back up, goddammit, the room's full of—of— of… goddammit, outside now!"

"I heard you." The voice was low, firm, and very deep. Deathly pale light outlined the tall man in an eerie glow, seeping through the sunburst of spiky hair that surrounded his head. "They're mine," he said with a smile in his voice.

"Don't fuck with me, man, now back the hell up!"

Grady lifted his thumb to cock the gun, but cold fingers wrapped around his wrist in a steel-like grip, tightening until his fingers loosened on the gun, dropping it to the floor. Grady made a small grunting sound in his throat, expecting to hear the thick crack of his wristbone breaking when the icy grip tightened even more. The stranger stepped forward, pushing Grady back into the room.

"No," Grady whispered, the image of those small, glistening eyes flashing in his mind. He felt something brush his pantleg, and he sucked a sharp breath into his lungs.

When the grip on his wrist loosened slightly, Grady opened his eyes.

The man's thin, finely sculpted face was bathed in the soft light of the candle, and he smiled before opening his mouth wide—wider than seemed possible—and Grady knew he was going to die, it was a feeling that cut through his gut like a
razor as something shot from the stranger's mouth, something long and wet, bursting into Grady's mouth, knocking two of his front teeth from his gums with a sickening crunch as it went down his throat, deeper and deeper inside him, squirming like a fat, agitated worm, making him gag, lose his footing, and tumble backward. His arms flailed as he tried to regain his balance, but he continued falling as he heard the creatures shuffling over the floor below.

Bill Grady's last sensation was that of warm, baby-sized bodies wriggling beneath his back….

PART II

Crucifax Genesis

Seven

September 6

Jeff seated himself at the breakfast table and poured Wheat Chex into the empty bowl before him.

"Morning," Erin said sleepily, her slippered feet
shooshing
over the kitchen floor, then falling silent on the carpet as she brought a plate of toast to the table.

"Hi, Mom."

"Mallory still in bed?"

"She just got in the shower." He poured milk over the cereal.

"She's slow this morning. Was she up late last night?"

A spoonful of cereal froze halfway to Jeff's mouth. "Yeah," he said, then he scooped the bite in and chewed hard.

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth, either. If he could have told his mother the truth without setting off fireworks between her and Mallory, he would have. He wasn't in the mood for the shouting that would ensue. Even worse would be the days of chilly silence that would follow.

As Erin returned to the kitchen for a cup of coffee Jeff nibbled a slice of toast and let his weary eyes close.

Mallory had gone out with Kevin the night before.

"We've made up," she'd told him, "and he wants to take me out."

"Where are you going?" he'd asked, hoping she'd say they were going to a movie or out for a pizza. Something safe.

"I don't know. Out with his friends."

Her last words had kept Jeff awake all night. Lying in bed staring at his ceiling, he kept expecting the worst: a phone call from the police department maybe, or, even more horrible, from the hospital. He'd known that, if Mallory went out with Kevin
and
his friends, they wouldn't be having a burger and fries at DuPar's. That just wasn't Kevin's style.

Erin had come home from work around three and gone straight to bed. Jeff had heard Mallory sneak in at about five.

He'd slept for little more than an hour, and even then he'd passed through foggy dreams of his sister and Kevin Donahue rolling naked and sweaty over a dirty floor in some dark, hidden room as Kevin's leering friends looked on.

"Feel like driving?"

Jeff's eyes snapped open as Erin sat across from him with her coffee.

"What?"

"Well, I figured I'd let you take the car today. I won't need it, I'll be here working. You and Mal can drive to your first day of school in peace, skip the bus. Sound okay?"

"Sure. Thanks, Mom."

"Just make sure you lock it up."

"I will."

Erin finished her coffee, gave Jeff the car keys, and went to her room. A few minutes later, Mallory came out, hurriedly buttoning her baggy yellow shirt. It hung well below the waist of her turquoise pants, gathered in the middle by a slanted, loose-fitting black belt.

"Grab some toast," Jeff said, standing up from the table. He didn't look at her as he stuffed his wallet in the hip pocket of his blue jeans and grabbed his books and the car keys.

"You're driving?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

Mallory made an annoyed sound—a short burst of air through her nose—and followed him out of the apartment with her bag.

As Jeff pulled the car onto Laurel Canyon, the radio playing loudly, Mallory asked, "What's wrong with you?"

Jeff turned down the radio. "What?"

"I said, what's wrong with you? You're awful quiet."

"I didn't sleep very well last night."

"Yeah, well, neither did I." She sounded testy.

"Get back late?"

"Mm-hm."

"What time?"

"I don't know. Late."

"About five."

From the corner of his eye, Jeff saw her turn to him suddenly, suspiciously.

"You were awake?" she asked.

He nodded.

She turned away and looked out the window, shaking her head. "Jesus," she breathed.

The song on the radio ended and the morning disc jockey went into his Sylvester Stallone impression, getting some muted background chuckles from his a.m. Wake-Up Crew.

Mallory stared out the window silently for a few moments, her jaw working slightly. Jeff had seen her do that before, but only during heated conversations and shouting matches with their mother.

She finally turned to him and asked, "Did Mom stay up waiting for me? No. She wasn't worried, so why should you be?"

"Mom didn't know you were out when she came home, but even if she did, she doesn't know anything about Kevin Donahue."

"Neither do you," she snapped quietly, turning to the window again.

"I know enough to be worried."

Jeff suddenly wished they weren't talking about this. He was tired and could tell Mallory was more than a little annoyed. He was more concerned, at the moment, with the first day of school and being unable to stay up for the Letterman show every night. He didn't care about Kevin Donahue anymore. Mostly because it reminded him of his dreams the night before.

"You know," Mallory said without turning to him, "you really don't know
anything
about Kevin. You
don't.
"

I know what you do with him,
he thought, immediately regretting it. He gripped the wheel a little tighter as the memory of last night's dream came to him suddenly: boys clutching Mallory's round breasts, burying their faces between her legs and slurping like dogs, holding her hair in their fists as they plunged their stiff cocks into her mouth. … And worst of all was the warm moisture he'd felt against his legs when he woke.

Guilt washed over him in a thick, black wave, and he wrung his fists around the wheel. It was a familiar guilt, one that had first visited him two years before and returned with increasing regularity. It was beginning to feel like a constant, despised companion.

The week his father left had been one of the worst of his young life. It had been a bad one for Mallory and their mother, too, of course. But for Jeff, it had brought something more than just the disruption of his family.

The night after his father left, Jeff could not sleep. It was a hot summer night, and he lay atop his covers in his undershorts listening to his mother's pacing footsteps and stifled sobs in the next room, thinking that his father's absence would probably be a good thing. It would be a good thing for him, anyway; Jeff hadn't been on the best of terms with his father since he was a small boy. Dad's attention had been focused on Mallory; he'd doted on her, showered her with affection, bought her loyalty with gifts he couldn't afford. Jeff was surprised he didn't try to take Mallory with him. Jeff knew she was hurting much more than he and probably would for a while.

A timid knock on his bedroom door made him sit up on the bed. Mallory opened the door a crack and looked in.

"Can I come in?" she whispered. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks wet.

"Sure."

She closed the door quietly and stood there a moment, her face turned down. She wore a blue nightshirt that went to her knees and was split up both sides to her waist. Jeff had not noticed, until that night, how well she was filling out. The material of the shirt was stretched taut across her breasts, and her body had developed curves in places that, not long ago, had seemed boyish.

"I can't sleep," she said, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of his bed.