Prowlers - 1 (24 page)

"If I want to see ten o'clock, I'd better," Molly replied. When Courtney began to rise, she waved the woman away. "No, no. Sit. Let me get it. I know my way around in here by now."

Courtney went back to her paper and Molly poured herself a cup of coffee before slipping into a wooden chair at the table. They sat together in silence a few minutes, and Molly observed Courtney in her natural element. She read the Travel section and the Arts section, but she paid special attention to local news.

'Anything?" Molly asked.

"Nothing," Courtney replied. "Not a single word."

A tiny fist of fear and suspicion grew in Molly's gut. It was almost inconceivable to her that the fight with the "wolves" from the previous day, despite all the witnesses, had not made it into the paper. The police had done a truly spectacular job of covering it up. She only hoped they were as thorough in trying to put a stop to the carnage.

Those thoughts led to others, and Molly was forced to grapple with her fear. How many more Prowlers were there? Were she and Jack still in danger? She supposed that until she was certain the creatures had been destroyed, those fears would linger. The only choice she had was to go on with her life, try to be alert, and hope for the best. The alternative—living each moment as if the creatures were stalking her, hiding away from the

world—was crippling even to imagine. Molly could not imagine living like that.

She wasn't built that way.

On the other hand, there was no shame in being careful.

After another contemplative sip of coffee, she looked at Courtney again. "Where's Jack?" she asked.

His sister raised her eyebrows as she glanced up from her paper. "Hmm? Oh, he's off at the fish market. We've got to have fresh fish. I've been sort of handling it this week, with everything that's happened, and he said it's his turn."

Molly nodded. "You guys do an amazing job of running the place. I know it isn't easy, but you make it look easy."

"Well, Jack has taken on more responsibility the last couple of years. That's been a relief, and Bill is always a big help. He pretty much runs the bar, takes care of scheduling, all that. But we can never seem to find enough reliable people who aren't going to bail on us when school starts or when that job at Starbuck's they've been waiting for comes through."

Molly chuckled at Courtney's sarcasm. "Good help is hard to find," she said.

"You're not kidding. Even here," Courtney added. She gestured toward Molly's coffee mug with an expression of regret. "I've got English muffins, half a dozen kinds of cereal, fruit, juice, and three-day-old bagels to choose from, but I'm sorry to say you'll have to help yourself. I wish I could make you a real breakfast but

I've got to get downstairs and take an inventory, see what we can run as specials today."

Still sleepy, Molly pushed her hands through her tangled hair and swept it back away from her face.

"That's okay," she said. "I should probably be getting home anyway."

As Molly lifted her coffee mug to her lips again, Courtney shot her an inquisitive look. "Why?"

Molly glanced at her in surprise. "Huh?"

Courtney shrugged. "Just what I said. Why?" Her gaze wandered a bit, as though she was suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. "I don't want to get presumptuous on you, Molly, so stop me if I do. Just tell me to shut up and I will. But what the hell do you want to go home for?"

"That's a terrible thing to say!"

"Yeah, it is," Courtney agreed. She grabbed her cane where it leaned against a chair and took her empty coffee cup over to the sink. With a sigh she rinsed out the mug and put it into the dishwasher. Then she turned to regard Molly again, her expression tender and sad.

"It is a terrible thing to say. But it's also true. Maybe you never think about it because you figure until you leave for college you don't have any options. But I think you've been through enough. You live in a neighborhood I'd be afraid to walk a dog through, with a mother who barely knows if you're there or not. You've just lost two people you really cared about to unimaginable violence, and you've seen some things that must have made you start questioning the whole world. I know

these monsters have my mind spinning, wondering what else is out there, realizing I don't know half as much about life as I thought I did."

Molly stared at the floor, unwilling to meet Courtney's gaze. "Yeah. Thanks for laying that out for me. What am I supposed to do about it?"

Courtney hobbled to the table and leaned on her cane as she bent to lift Molly's chin, forcing her to look up.

"Stay here," Courtney told her. Then, as if embarrassed by the sentiment, she turned away, leaving Mofly staring at her back in astonishment.

"Here?"

"You've got a problem with my place?" Courtney asked. She turned and gave Molly a hard look.

"I don't invite people into my life on a regular basis. I'd guess you know that, hanging around with Jack all these years. I like you, Molly. My mother would have said you were 'good people.'

It's awful what happened to Artie, and I guess I feel like now's the time for us to circle the wagons, you know? Stick together. All I'm trying to say is if you don't want to go home, nobody here's going to say you have to. This family has never really followed the rules about what family's supposed to be."

Molly stared in disbelief. Her mind raced with the possibilities. Her mother would not object. Though it saddened her to admit that to herself, she knew it was true. If anything, she would be relieved not to have to factor Molly into her life anymore—if she ever really had. Her mother had been looking forward to her going away to college as much as Molly had.

"I don't know what to say. I wouldn't stay without paying you something. I'd get a job."

"Like hell," Courtney snapped, a frown creasing her forehead. "I told you I need all the decent help I can get. You live at Bridget's, you work at Bridget's. At least until you take off for college."

Molly hesitated, but only for a moment. "I'm trying to think of some reason why I shouldn't say

yes."

"That's pretty silly," Courtney told her.

"Yeah, isn't it?"

Amazed at the sudden turn her life had taken, Molly stood up and hugged Courtney. She remembered how safe she had felt the night before, how in spite of the danger from the Prowlers, she had felt a kind of power in the fact that she had these people gathered around her, a family by design rather than by birth.

"Thank you so much," she whispered to Courtney, her voice breaking as she fought to keep from crying.

"It'll be our pleasure."

Molly froze. She stood back and gazed into Courtney's eyes. "Jack," she said. "What about ... I mean, don't you think you should check with him before you do something like this?"

"Him? Nah, he's a guy. They never say no to having a gorgeous girl around." Courtney paused a second, then laughed. "I talked to him this morning, told him I was going to ask you to stay. He liked the idea. I got the circling-the-wagons metaphor from him, to be honest. He's into westerns."

"I think I need more coffee," Molly said, still stunned by this development.

"Fine. But don't take too long. Jack'll take you back to your house to get some things and talk to your mother. Then, as long as she's cool with it, you're all mine. Or didn't I mention that you're working tonight?"

As Jack sat in his Jeep outside Molly's house—or her mother's house now—he turned everything over in his head. Things were happening too fast. The murders, the ghosts, and now his real life, everything he counted on to help him get through the rest of it, was changing as well. It was all right, though. When Courtney had first mentioned asking Molly to move in, he was a little weirded out. But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a great idea.

They all had to stick together now.

The day had warmed up to more than sixty degrees and sunny, a perfect gem of a day. The pub would be hopping, and after all the shifts he had missed the past week, he wanted to get back there. But it was more important at the moment to let Molly get her life squared away. Jack knew that inside that dingy apartment, she and her mother were likely having it out.

He hoped they were fighting about it, at least a little. At least enough to make Molly feel that her mother gave a damn. A rusted tricycle lay on its side on the sidewalk next to Jack's Jeep, near a

couple of putrid-smelling trash cans. There was no trash pickup on

Sunday, but there the cans were just the same. He kept the passenger window rolled up and tried to ignore the stench. Though he could not have seen anything going on inside, he watched the front door of the Hatchers' building and the windows of the apartment for signs of life. There were none.

When Artie appeared in the seat beside him, Jack let out a yell of surprise and his heart skipped a couple of beats.

"Dammit, Artie. Don't do that!"

The ghost ignored him. Instead, Artie leaned forward and looked out through the windshield at the front of the Hatchers' place.

"Molly's moving in with you, huh?"

Jack frowned, then shook his head, holding up a hand. "Whoa. Whoa, bud. It isn't like that."

Artie narrowed his gaze, but he seemed more sad than angry. "You sure?"

"Totally. Completely sure." Jack stared at him. For once, though he could see through the phantom, he focused on Artie's haunting eyes. "I wouldn't do that to you."

With a slow, deliberate movement, Artie drew closer to Jack, pushed his face up so their noses were maybe half a foot apart.

"I'm dead, Jack."

Flustered, Jack drew back a little. "Hell, Artie, I know that."

"We've all been watching you. Keeping tabs. I heard this morning that she was going to move in, and I was

mad at first. And afraid of what might happen. You know what I'm saying, bro?" Artie asked, and searched Jack's eyes. "But the more I thought about it, the more it made me realize that I'm dead."

Jack swallowed, shook his head slowly, but could not think of a single thing to say.

"You're my best friend, Jack. I love you. Nothing can take that away. But Molly, she won't be alone forever. Maybe not even for very long. She's gonna have a new boyfriend eventually."

"That won't mean she doesn't love you," Jack said quickly.

Artie smiled. "She loved me. Past tense, man. Get it through your head, 'cause I'm trying to. You and me, we may be able to talk. You can see me, but in every way that counts, bro, I am past tense. I was. She loved me. One of these days she'll love someone else. I kinda got to thinking, when I heard she was moving in, that maybe it'd be good if that was you."

Jack held up both hands. 'Artie, no man. I'd never do that to you. I love Molly, but not, y'know..."

"Okay," Artie said. 'All right, Jack. But just know that if that's where it goes, if that's where all this takes you, I'm cool with that. At least I'll know that she's with someone who'll treat her right and really love her. It'd be a hell of a lot worse to see her end up with some jerk I don't think I could stand that."

"I won't let that happen," Jack promised.

Again, a thin, sad smile appeared on Artie's face. "I hope that's true, bro. I really do."

Jack's mind spun with what Artie had said. In the back of his mind, he had always been attracted to Molly, cared for her deeply, but she had always been Artie's girl, and even thinking about her like that had been off limits. Still was, as far as he was concerned. "Here she comes," Artie said. Molly's face was red with emotion as she appeared on the front steps with a large suitcase in one hand. Jack wasn't sure how to read that, and he thought it would be best to let her talk if she wanted to, but not to press her. Besides, he had enough on his mind already. His hand dosed around the door handle. "Wait," Artie said.

Jack glanced at him, saw that there was something else on Artie's mind. The spirit was troubled.

"We've been following the Prowlers. Hunting them, I guess. They sense us, a little bit, but they can't see us and they sure can't hurt us anymore," Artie explained. "We've found the lair. We're going to lead you to it. Then we'll have to talk about what's next."

Alarmed, Jack stared at him. "Right now? With Molly in the car?"

"Right now," Artie replied. "She's in it now, Jack I don't want her to know I'm here. Not ever. We talked about that. But she's a part of this, and it's too late to erase that or to start worrying about it. You've got to finish this before the Prowlers move on and start again elsewhere. And they will, you know. Soon."

"Just tell me where and I'll call the cops," Jack told him.

"Are you sure you can trust the cops?"

Before Jack could answer, Molly started walking across the street toward the Jeep. He jumped out of the Jeep and went to take the suitcase from her hand. "You all right?" he asked.

"I've been better. You know what's amazing? My mother was worried about how things would look, me moving in with a guy. It's not even ironic. It's just twisted. How can a woman who lives in this dump and drinks as much as she does and brings home guys whose names she doesn't even know care at all about how something is going to look!"

Inside, Jack cringed at the pain in Molly's voice. He rested a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said firmly. "You and Courtney are saving me from this."

Jack smiled at that and so did Molly. He put her suitcase in the back, and they climbed into the Jeep. When he started the engine and went to pull away from the curb, he saw the ghost of Corinne Berdinka standing in the middle of the street, pointing.

Without hesitation, he followed her guidance.

"We have to make a little detour," he told Molly without looking at her.

"No problem. Where are we going?"

Jack swallowed hard; his throat was dry. "To the Prowlers' lair."

He felt her eyes boring into him as she turned in her seat. "You know where they are?" Molly demanded.

Up ahead, Father Pinksy's ghost had appeared. There were more of them as well. They lined the street like spectators at the Boston Marathon.