Darkhouse (Experiment in Terror #1) (20 page)

He put the car in reverse and sped the car out of the driveway.

“I was born in 1988, for your information. Can’t you count?” I spat back at him. I was not in the mood for teasing of any sort.

He turned to me with an excited leer. I could tell he
was
in the mood for teasing.

“You’re
only
a child of the nineties if you had your teenage years during that decade. I mean look at you, all Doc Martens and Converse and leggings.”

“You’re the one with the eyebrow ring,” I shot back. “I think it’s better to emulate a time period you haven’t properly lived through. Otherwise, you’re just holding on to the past.”

He laughed. “I have no past to hold on to.”

He flipped his MP3 player on. To my surprise, Billy Joel came on. “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant,” to be precise.

Dex began to sing along.

Here was the infamous voice of Declan Foray. It was smoother, deeper, and more powerful than Joel’s. It seemed to float over the words, vibrating with rich tones. It was gorgeous, hypnotic....and so out of place.

He continued to sing until he noticed me staring at him. I must have looked very confused.

Dex turned down the volume. “I do this in the mornings. So where did you want to eat? I saw this great stereotypical diner in town that must serve the blackest coffee this side of the divide.”

“Sure, sounds good,” I said as he went straight back into song, snapping his fingers and wiggling in his seat.

He did this every morning? I looked at the clock. It was eight-thirty a.m. Where on earth did he get the energy to put on a musical at this hour?

I wasn’t complaining, though; it was fascinating to listen to and to watch, once I got past the weirdness of this spontaneous and strange direction. I didn’t think it was possible to outshine Billy Joel, but Dex was doing so as he was speeding down the coastal highway toward Tillamook.

He smiled and sang to me, it seemed.

My heart skipped a beat again. Did he know the quickest way to charm the pants off of me was to sing to me?

“I didn’t know you could sing,” I lied.

“No?” he eyed me suspiciously. “I suppose there are a lot of things you don’t know about me, kiddo. But you will...in due time.”

Right
, I thought sarcastically. I knew that after this weekend there wasn’t going to be any more time for us.

A short while later, and after a couple more Billy Joel songs, which Dex unfortunately did not sing his way through, we pulled up next to the diner in Tillamook.

Dex was right about it looking stereotypical. It had a seventies orange awning with God-awful faded font on top: Tilly’s Diner. Painted on the dark, tinted windows were images of coffee cups, bacon, and eggs done up in that pebbly glass paint, peeling at the corners. I couldn’t tell from the outside if it was even open; looking down the foggy, rain-logged street I couldn’t imagine anyone actually being alive in this town, let alone having breakfast.

As we entered the diner, the smell of fat and griddled meats hit my nostrils. The door chimed loudly and echoed across the restaurant. There were a few patrons surprisingly, but not surprisingly they were ragged-looking seniors. We made our way to a table in the corner, which was covered by a green plastic tablecloth. The light was dim and terribly unflattering.

“This is charming,” I said, sliding in the padded booth across from Dex.

“It is, isn’t it?” he said, without a trace of sarcasm.

A rotund waitress came by. She had thick glasses, a bulbous red nose, and seemed to lack a chin. I couldn’t look at her face too long without feeling nauseous, so I looked at her nametag: Nancy.

Nancy tossed two laminated menus across the table at us with a hint of contempt. I smiled uneasily at her, and she did not return the sentiment. She turned her attention to Dex.

He flashed her his sly joker smile.

“Good morning, Nancy. How are you on this gorgeous day?” Once again it was spoken with utmost sincerity.

Nancy looked at him suspiciously. “Tilly’s big plate breakfast is on special today. Want coffee?”

“We both do, yes, please,” Dex said, not even bothering to see if I agreed. I guess he knew that much about me so far. I knew he could sing. He knew I liked coffee. We were like old pals.

Nancy left without acknowledging the order.

Dex looked down at the menu and wiggled his brows. “I think she likes me.”

“You would think that,” I said somewhat viciously. I couldn’t help myself.

Dex put the menu down and looked up at me with a strange look in his eyes. “Are you OK?”

He made me uncomfortable. I regretted saying anything and fidgeted in my seat. I turned my attention to the menu.

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t shit a bullshitter,” he said angrily.

Now, it was my time to be surprised. His eyes looked almost venomous. I was even more uncomfortable now.

Thankfully, Nancy chose that moment to come by and slam two cups of coffee on the table, the dark drops spilling over the edges. “Well?” She looked at us, cocking her brow.

“We’ll both have the special,” Dex said, without taking his contemptuous eyes off of my face. I looked up at Nancy and gave her an apologetic look, but she took no notice. Merely sighed and snatched the menus up off the table.

I didn’t even want the big plate special, or whatever it was, but something told me it wasn’t a good time to bring that up. I sucked on my lower lip and gradually brought my eyes to meet his again.

“Remember when you told me I should let you know when you’re creeping me out?” I reminded him. “This is one of those times.”

He held my gaze for a few seconds more before leaning back in the booth and running his hand through his hair. “This is also the time you tell me what happened to you last night.”

Ah. A light went on in my head. Now I knew one thing that made Dex tick—when he didn’t know something. No wonder he was so intent on trying to read my thoughts. If he didn’t know everything that was going on, it drove him nuts. He must be one of those boyfriends who constantly ask you what you’re thinking. It probably drove his girlfriend up the wall.

“OK, then. I’ll tell you from start to finish. Just keep an open mind, refrain from thinking I am crazy or delusional, though I may very well be, and don’t say anything until I am done.”

His dark eyes lightened up a smidge. “I promise.”

I sighed, took a long gulp of the terrible black coffee for strength, and told Dex everything, starting with my dreams, what I made up on the beach, about what Uncle Al told me, and what I saw last night. When I was done, the platters arrived on our table and I was suddenly ravenous from talking excitedly for so long.

I shoved a greasy slice of Canadian bacon into my mouth and said, “And now you know everything that I know. Which is nothing. Happy?”

Dex had stayed true to his word and remained quiet and attentive during the whole spiel. Even now he wasn’t saying anything. He just pursed his lips until he resembled a sexy duck before digging into his breakfast. I tried not to watch him eat, even though I could see from the furrow between his brows that he was deep in thought, trying to make sense of what I told him.

We ate in silence. The longer he went without saying anything, the more torn up I felt inside. Did he believe me? Did he think I was mental? Because if there was anyone at this table who was mental, I knew it wasn’t me. That said, I did have a dead man trying to hand me an oil lamp last night.

“You actually believe all that?” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked slowly. “Of course. It happened. I don’t know how else to explain it but that’s what happened.”

I looked at him closer; my mouth dropped a little bit. Was he doubting this whole thing?

“You think I’m making all of this up? This was your idea.”

He laughed. “Come on, Perry. We didn’t really find anything the first time we were out here. I wouldn’t blame you for trying to make a mountain out of a molehill.”

I could barely form thoughts, let alone speak at his assumptions. “You think I’m faking it?”

“I think you see what you want to see,” he said, and shoveled an entire pancake into his mouth. I was too livid to even consider how gross that was.

I couldn’t help but reach across the table and grab his forearm. I squeezed it. Hard. He looked up at me, pancake frozen inside his wide yap.

“Dex,” I said, with as much intensity and seriousness that I could muster. “I’m not lying. I don’t care about any of this. You found me. In the end, you found me. I’m just telling you the truth. You think that lighthouse is haunted, you’re looking for all the proof, but I’m telling you now that I know it is. It
is
.”

He searched my face, while slowly chewing the pancake until it was gone. I didn’t know what he thought, but there was nothing more I could do at this point.

“Look,” I finally said. “I’ll prove it. Let’s go there right now. Hell, let’s go tonight. We can drive back to Portland after. I need to show you. I need you to believe me.”

He shook his head. “No can do, kiddo. I’ve got to get back tonight.”

“Why? What do you have to do? Is your girlfriend so paranoid that she won’t let you out of her sight for the weekend?”

He was taken aback at that and managed to laugh. “My girlfriend? Jenn doesn’t give two shits if I’m there or not.”

That was news to me. I tried to not let that show.

“No,” he continued, “I’m just done with it. I don’t think I should get any deeper into this whole thing. I’ve got enough footage and, with your permission, I could combine it with what you shot last week.”

“What if I say no?” I countered, arms crossed.

“I’d say you’re being awfully stubborn and acting like a typical young girl who isn’t getting her way,” he shot back. “And then I’d shrug, wipe my hands clean of this whole thing and go home.”

“To your girlfriend who doesn’t even care if you’re there or not?”

He threw down his napkin. “Why do
you
care?”

“I don’t care. I just think you’re chickenshit.”

“Excuse me?”

I could tell the anger was rising behind those eyes, but I didn’t care. I was past caring and beyond angry myself.

“That’s right,” I reinforced. “I think you are chickenshit. You’re happy to call this whole thing off just because you are too scared to go back there because you actually think I am telling the truth. And the truth scares you.”

He leaned in closer across the table and this time grabbed my forearm.

“You scare me, Perry,” he growled and gave my arm a sharp squeeze. “You.”

I eyed his grip. He met my eyes and then very slowly, hesitantly, released me.

“This is going to be a really awkward car ride back home, isn’t it?” I asked, a trace of amusement in my voice. The whole situation was ridiculous.

He sighed and leaned back, pushing his plate away from him.

“I hope I’m driving you as crazy as you’ve been driving me,” I said bluntly.

He shook his head and got out of the booth. “I’m going to go pay,” he muttered, despite the fact that I wasn’t done eating. It didn’t matter, though. I had had enough too—of the food, of everything. At least breakfast was free.

I watched him approach the till and decided it would be a good time to get a breath of fresh air before the hellish ride back.

I walked out of the diner and took in a deep breath. I closed my eyes and looked up at the sky, letting the rain fall on my face and feeling like it was washing away the dust that was accumulating inside my brain.

I exhaled through my lips, slowly and fully. I opened my eyes before I started to feel a bit off balance.

There was a woman, an old woman, standing directly in front of me. She was grinning a bright smear of red, waxy paint. The lipstick was on her yellowing teeth. My breath caught on the way out.

I had seen her before, in the lobby of my office.

I don’t know how long we stood there staring at each other. I felt paralyzed, unable to breathe, move or talk. She didn’t move either, just kept up that demonic grin.

She slowly reached over with a bony hand and placed it on my shoulder. Her hands were covered with many rusted cocktail rings; the white taffeta coat she was wearing had clownish puff balls on it. They were all different colors. Bright yellow, orange, red, blue and green. She really did look like some satanic clown’s aging mother.

She started to speak. Rather, her sticky red lips moved but no sound was coming out. She spoke like this for a few seconds before she finally said, “Declan.”

What about him?
I thought inside my head, the terror competing with curiosity.

“He’s got some stories to tell,” she whispered, her voice low, almost metallic sounding, as if she was speaking through a phone. There was a familiar accent on certain syllables. “He’ll tell you, one day. About what happened to him. You just need to watch him. Watch out for him. Closely. You’re cut from the same cloth.”

She took away her hand, and with her eyes focused on the diner, walked straight inside as her coat ruffled behind her in the light breeze.

I stood still, my breath coming back. I realized I was soaked to the bone from the rain (and maybe sweat); I didn’t care. I looked around to see if anyone else had witnessed what just happened, but there was no one on the wet, grey street.

I looked back at the diner and took a hesitant step toward it, wondering why she had gone in there and if anyone else noticed how fucking freaky she was. I dipped low, trying to see inside through the dark tint and the stupid food paintings. I couldn’t make out anything except a few shadows of people sitting down at their tables. I put my face at the window and cupped my hands around it, not caring if anyone inside saw me trying to be a Peeping Tom.

I had thought I saw some sort of commotion, when the door flung open and Dex burst outside. I jumped a few inches off the ground and almost knocked my head against the glass. He looked around him—pure panic in his eyes—and then spotted me.

He reached over and grabbed my arm and pulled me roughly towards him. “We’ve got to go.
Now
.”