Dastardly Bastard (9 page)

17

DONALD’S HEAD FELT ALL FUNNY, as if fish were swimming around in his gray matter. Everything after moving past Marsha and Lyle was lost to him. All he could remember was cursing and the boy hearing it. Fast forward to Jaleel asking him what he’d said. Other events were stricken from the report. Before that, nada, zip, zilch, zero.

Poof! Gone!

The tour guide had lost his marbles, spinning around and singing some bullshit nursery rhyme Donald had never heard. He’d seen the kid try for the edge, then Tubby taking the fall instead. The black girl had lost her shit. There was a commotion over the kid’s phone.

Sporadic images fired and misfired inside Donald’s head. Nothing seemed real anymore. It all felt disjointed, as if he were looking at life through a cracked fishbowl. Again he thought there must be aquatic life floating around in his brain. Something seemed…
fishy
.

Strange
. Even as he stood watching everyone watch the woman on her cell, he couldn’t focus his attention. Those damn fish wouldn’t calm down!

“Pssst!” came from behind him.

The group was in front of him, every one of them, so the sound made him jump. No one should be further down the slope.

Donald turned slowly, looking over his shoulder.

“Pssst, Squirt!”

Donald could see him clearly down there at the bottom where the trail curved out of sight behind an outcropping of rock. From a jutting of stone, Tubby peeked his head out, smiling.

“Squirt! Over here.”

Tubby’s head disappeared behind the rock face.

Donald tried to wrap his mind around what was happening, but those blasted fish cut through his thoughts again. He felt like a marionette, an unseen puppeteer moving him along.

He’d seen the fat guy go over the side. If the chasm really was as deep as Jaleel had pointed out—the fact that no one had ever been to the bottom—Donald felt sure there was no way Mark could have survived his tumble into the abyss.

The thought occurred to him that he should tell everyone he was going to see what Tubby wanted. It seemed like a good idea, but he was already to the outcropping and had turned the corner.

Twenty feet ahead, the back of Tubby’s shirt shimmered like asphalt in the middle of July. The big guy moved at a brisk clip, walking much faster than Donald thought a man of his size could. Tubby was headed for a flat area that looked three times as wide as the current trail. The guard wire stopped there, commencing again ten feet further down the trail. Donald felt like he knew the place.

“Come on, Squirt.” Mark waved over his shoulder. “This way.”

Donald followed absentmindedly. Not caring about what lay ahead, he let the fat man lead him down the trail.

Once Tubby arrived at the larger section, he sat down on an abutment of rock that looked, oddly enough, like a throne, armrests and all. Tubby smiled, beckoning Donald. “Wanna show you something, Squirt.” Tubby’s voice was silky smooth, almost erotic. His words sang to Donald, caressed his ears, penetrated his mind. They burrowed, those words, snaking around, becoming more than just spoken things.

Donald closed the gap, his small legs burning. The walk had been arduous, and he would be glad to finally have a seat next to Tubby, even if it meant him sitting on the ground. He just had to get there.

The puppeteer pulled, making the final few feet easier.
Now, if only the fish would go away
, Donald thought.

“Look, Squirt.” Tubby pointed to the gap in the guard wire. “A bridge. That’s why it stops. They made an opening for the bridge.”

Donald turned to look out over the chasm.

“Don’t you wonder where it leads, Squirt?” Tubby asked from his throne.

The bridge looked like a relic from centuries past. Made of wooden slats that were cracked or completely missing in places, the thing looked as if it might crumble under the weight of a sparrow, let alone a person stepping onto it. Braided twine held the entire thing together.

At the opposite end of the bridge was another flat section. Set within the rock face across the chasm at the end of the bridge was an opening Donald guessed to be six feet tall and just as wide. The arched cave entrance reminded him of a hungry mouth, open and waiting for its meal.

It looks dangerous
, Donald thought, the voice in his head sounding hollow, tinny.

Donald turned around to tell Tubby as much, but the fat man was gone, along with the throne of rock.

“Tubby?”

“Over here, Squirt!”

Donald pivoted slowly, a pressure making him feel as though he was underwater, and found Tubby standing in the middle of the bridge, waving.

“Bridge is fine, Squirt! See?” Tubby bounced up and down, his large stomach rolling like a sheet in the wind.

Donald wanted to laugh, but something didn’t seem right. Everything was off. He could feel it. “I don’t think it’ll hold,” he said, although he felt himself moving toward the bridge.

Timidly, he set a foot on the first plank. The wood looked fraught with dry rot, weathered horribly, yet it held his weight enough that he chanced another foot. Letting the plank hold him for a moment before moving on, wanting to make sure he could still jump back if the board splintered and broke, Donald watched as Tubby turned and began walking toward the second flat section.

Flat Rock
, Donald’s mind said.
This must be the area Jaleel told us about. Funny. He never mentioned a bridge.

One plank after another, judging each one’s strength before progressing further, Donald commenced his journey. The rope bridge appeared to be about half a football field in length. It would take him several minutes to cross at the rate he was going. He wasn’t willing to chance the quick steps Tubby was taking. No way.

As if in response to his thoughts, the puppeteer pulled him along quicker. Donald felt his heart sink. He was suddenly very aware that he was going to die.

The fish returned, swimming off with those silly little thoughts. He would be fine. Someone was looking over him. Everything was going to be A-Okay. He just needed to follow Tubby.

“Come on, Squirt! Plenty to see here. Sunne’s waiting!” Tubby called in a singsong voice. He joyfully bounced along, the bridge swaying with his weight.

Though Donald didn’t really mind
‘Squirt’
—he loathed the word
midget—
the way Tubby sang the word made it sound far too mocking. Donald supposed it was leagues better than
Little Person
. He didn’t like being referred to as “little,” period. It was, well… belittling.

Wait
.
Did he say Sunne?

“Who’s waiting?” Donald asked, quickening his pace, or having his pace quickened by his puppeteer. He wasn’t certain which and didn’t really care.

“`Cross wreckage of bridge is where this man lives. Counting his spoils, his eye how it digs!”
Tubby sang.

“Sunne! You said Sunne!” Donald began to run, the burning in his legs ignored. He was mission-oriented, on course, and could not be distracted.

Sunne. Tubby had said, “Sunne!”

“Almost there now, Squirt!”

“Would you stop calling me that!” Donald yelled as he pushed forward. The boards creaked under his small frame, threatening reminders that he should watch his step.

“Just a few more!” Tubby’s voice echoed, bouncing off the chasm’s rock face, exploding up into the sky.

“I’m coming, Sunne!” Donald called, noticing that his own voice did not echo.

Tubby vanished into the dark of the cave. His fat forearm trailed behind him, waving for Donald. “Just this way, Squirt!”

Donald laid one foot back on solid ground, then the other, before turning around to give the bridge one final look.

It was gone, the rotten planks, the aged bit of rope, all of it. Only Waverly Chasm lay before him.

A new voice growled from the cave’s archway, “‘Cross wreckage of bridge is where this man lives.”

Donald spun and came face to face with a living nightmare.

Darkness fell.

18

LYLE LAKE PLACED THE CELL to his ear. A voice he never thought he would hear again said, “Hey, Brody.”

Visions of summer days spent in Bay’s End flooded Lyle’s mind—throwing a baseball back and forth in Rifle Park as Charge, their black lab, ran maniacally between him and his father; Swimming lessons at Bachman High, his father’s hair slick against his forehead, Lyle wishing he’d grow up to be just as good looking as his dad; his head in a trashcan, Dad making slow revolutions with his hand on Lyle’s back after a trip on Space Mountain; a hospital bed, Dad’s face sunken in on itself, machines beeping; Dad whispering one final thing as he looked into Lyle’s eyes, “Hey, Brody.”

“D-Dad?” Lyle’s voice cracked, his vision blurring as the tears came.

“I need you to take a walk,” his dad said.

“What? Where?”

“Don’t worry about that. Just get moving. Run if you have to. Start back the way you came.”

“I-I miss you, Dad.” Lyle looked into his mother’s eyes, remembering her cold words.

“I miss you too, Brody.” His father’s voice sounded more alive, more
there
. “But we don’t have time for this. Get moving!”

Lyle moved off to the left, away from his mother’s shaking form. He could hear her calling him, but he didn’t care. She grabbed his wrist, and he twisted away.

His dad barked in his ear, “Run!”

Lyle’s legs shot out under him, and he found himself moving down the trail at a rapid clip.

His ears popped. Something was different. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but he felt queasy. Gravity was off. He felt lighter, as if the world could just slip out from under him, and he would go spiraling out of control into the sky.

“You can stop now,” his father told him.

Lyle came to a skidding stop. Gray dust rose at his feet. Loose rocks scuttled out, disturbed by his shoes.

“What’s going on, Dad?”

“That big guy with the camera, he saved your life. You remember?”

“No. All I remember is mom yelling at me. She said you left us because… because you didn’t want to be a-around me anymore.”

“She didn’t mean it, and you know it, Brody. I left because I died. No other reason. It was my time. You were my everything, boy. You still are.”

“Then why did you leave us? I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t want to go. Lord knows, I wanted nothing more than to watch you grow into a man. I am very proud of you. You’ve taken care of your mother during all of this. You’re a man in my eyes, Brody.”

“Can’t you come back?”

“No.” That word was final, harsher than all the rest, not angry, but stern, as if to hammer it home. “Listen. I know you don’t remember, but that man saved your life. Now he needs you to return the favor. The others saw him fall into the Chasm, but he’s not gone, and he’s far from dead. I don’t suspect they’re going to believe you, but you
must
try to help him.”

Lyle looked back to where the group should have been, but saw nothing but the empty trail. “Where is everyone?” Fear took root, its icy tendrils rummaging around in his guts. “I’m all alone!”

“No you’re not. I just needed a moment with you. Just walk.”

Lyle took a step. His ears popped again.

He found himself at an outcropping of rock. The trail ahead curved to the left. Lyle inched forward, rounding the corner of the rock face.

The tour group was ahead of him.

“But… but how…?”

“I gotta go now, Brody. You do as I say. Find the camera man.”

The telltale hum of a call in progress ceased, and Lyle was left looking at the screen.

CALL ENDED

No other words had ever felt more poignant.

Lyle’s heart shattered in his chest. “Daddy?”

He suddenly became aware of his mother screaming.

She had her back to him, looking the way he had run off, at the place he should have still been. “Where’d he go?” she wailed.

Lyle watched her take off in the opposite direction. He wanted to call out, but she vanished before he could form the words.

Something slammed into him from behind. He dropped forward, and his cell phone slid across the ground. The dustcloud it raised drove him into a coughing fit. Finally, he spit out a lump of black gunk. “Eww!”

“Lyle?”

He rolled over and saw his mother, confusion and fear playing over her face. She looked up, and he followed her gaze.

“That’s not possible,” she whispered. “They were behind me. I left them standing there.”

She was right. It
wasn’t
possible, but there they were, Justine, Trevor, and Jaleel, staring in the other direction. They didn’t seem to have a clue he and his mother were behind them.

“I left them behind me, but now they’re…” His mother’s voice trailed off.

When he looked back at her, she had her hand over her mouth. Probably chewing at her hand again.

19

JUSTINE COULDN’T BELIEVE HER EYES. First, Lyle had disappeared. There one moment, running full tilt, then he was gone.

Next, the boy’s mother had pulled the same trick.

After a minute of silence, the tour guide said, “Where’d they go?”

“I-I don’t… what the hell?” Trevor stammered. Justine saw the utter confusion on his face, and imagined her expression mirrored his.

“Lyle! Marsha!” Jaleel yelled.

“Here!”

Justine thought the chasm’s acoustics were playing tricks on her hearing, but the voice sounded as if it had come from behind her. She spun around and found the mother and her son further down the trail, just past the outcropping.

“What the fuck?” Trevor asked.

“Now I’ve seen everything,” Jaleel said. His shock seemed forced, dishonest, like someone walking in on a surprise party they’d known about in advance.

Lyle and Marsha moved back toward them, coming back up the pathway.

“How did you get behind us?” Justine asked.