Slice (38 page)

O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
T
WELVE

H
ow long had she been out?

Paulette staggered out of the woods, clutching her stomach. She seemed to have just woken up, and the memory of the last several hours was a blur.

She'd been in the shack.

She'd found the papers.

Then the man came in—

Paulette removed her hand from her stomach and looked down. The moonlight revealed her hand was covered in blood.

“I've got to warn Jessie,” she whispered, and began trudging again up the hill.

She remembered now lying on the floor of the shack, pretending to be dead, waiting for the man to leave. When he finally did, she managed to sit up, and used a shirt from his bag to bind her wound, stanching the bleeding—although not completely, as it turned out. Somewhere in the woods she'd fallen, and lost enough blood that she'd passed out. She should have died on the spot, bled to death.

But she'd opened her eyes and seen Howard sitting beside her. He was as young and handsome as she remembered. Behind him, some distance away, his helicopter was smoldering, sending a long black column of smoke into the air.

“Get up, Paulette,” Howard told her. “It's not time.”

“But I've been waiting for you,” she said.

He smiled. “Indeed. So I can wait a little longer myself. Get up. Go home. Jessie and Abby need you.”

When she'd awoken, Paulette had tightened the shirt around her. Her wound was deep, but it was clear it hadn't—miraculously—affected any vital organs. If she could keep pressure on it and limit the bleeding, she'd survive until she could get to a doctor.

She had to survive. She had to make it back to the house.

She had to warn Jessie.

She staggered up the hill and made it to the house.

Her niece looked horrified when Paulette walked through the door.

“Aunt Paulette! Thank God!” she shouted. “But you're hurt!”

“I'll be okay,” the older woman said with difficulty as she flopped onto the couch. “We just need to stanch the bleeding.”

Jessie pulled open her aunt's shirt and affixed a large adhesive bandage across the wound. “I'll call an ambulance,” she said.

“Wait, Jessie,” Paulette said. “You've got to listen to me first.”

Jessie looked at her with wide eyes.

“Emil did this,” Paulette said. “I saw him at the shack. I found papers that he'd used to get across the border. He was using a different name, but the photo was definitely him. I was trying to get out of there and warn you when he came in and stabbed me, leaving me for dead. I think he may have been drunk or high. That was why he didn't realize he hadn't finished the job.”

“Oh, God, Aunt Paulette,” Jessie said, hugging her aunt. “I'm so sorry.”

“Listen to me. You've got to take Abby and get out of here.”

“That's what I've been telling her,” said John Manning, as he came through the door. “We're leaving now for a hotel. I'll take you to the hospital first, Paulette.”

From outside they suddenly heard a loudspeaker booming from one of the police cars: “Everyone off the street! Go back to your cars and leave now! Everyone off the street!”

“What's going on?” Jessie asked.

“I don't know, but we're getting out of here,” John said. “I've got my car outside. Let's go.”

“Why are we going to a hotel?”

They turned. Abby stood in the doorway of the kitchen, still in her princess costume, minus the cardboard crown.

“Sweetie, you go with Mr. Manning,” Jessie said, picking her daughter up and handing him to John. “I'll help Aunt Paulette.”

As John carried Abby out to the car, Paulette managed to stand by herself. “I think I'm going to be okay,” she told Jessie. “I had a guardian angel looking out for me.” She smiled weakly. “I'm just so glad that we're getting out of here. I'm so glad that you've agreed to go—”

She turned.

Jessie was gone.

O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
T
HIRTEEN

J
essie ran down the hill toward the woods in the dark. Abby was safe with John. He'd get her out of here. Aunt Paulette, too.

But she couldn't leave Aaron.

He must have gone to the shack.

And Emil was at the shack.

He'd kill Aaron.

Jessie had let her son die once before.

Not again.

O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
F
OURTEEN

“
I
suspect my wife is drunk,” Todd told Chief Walters. “Probably passed out. That's why she's not opening the door.”

“I suggest you check on her,” the chief replied, then returned to ordering frightened teenagers back to their cars.

Todd sighed. He approached the house. It seemed so dark, so ominous. The chief seemed worried. Gert Gorin and Paulette Drew were missing. Surely nothing had happened to Monica, too. . . .

He was angry at her. He wanted a divorce.

But he didn't want anything bad to happen to Monica.

Todd felt a little shiver of fear as he inserted the key into the lock and opened the door.

“Monica?” he called as he stepped inside.

The room was hung in shadows. Todd flicked the light switch, but no lights came on. Was there a power outage? He stepped inside and looked around.

From outside he could hear the disembodied voice of the policeman ordering everyone off the street. Occasionally a pulsing red police light swept through the room.

“Monica?” Todd called again.

He hoped there wouldn't be a scene. He hoped she wouldn't start crying again, or beg him to stay, or throw her arms around him. He hoped he'd just find her sleeping off too much wine. He'd set the security system and then quietly leave. He'd report to Chief Walters that Monica was fine.

But somehow he sensed that wasn't going to be the case.

Suddenly a terrible, inexplicable grief washed over him. “Monica!” Todd called out.

He was about to go upstairs when he heard something behind him.

Todd turned.

A kid in a Halloween costume had wandered in, standing just inside the front door. Todd could barely make him out standing in the shadows.

“Trick or treat,” he said.

“You've got to get out of here,” Todd told the kid. “Don't you hear the cops?”

“Trick or treat,” the kid said again, stepping out of the shadows and into a shaft of moonlight. Todd saw that he was a small boy, wearing a hideous mask with bulging eyes and long teeth.

“Geez,” Todd said. “What the hell are you supposed to be?”

“I'm supposed to be a little boy,” the kid said. “But that wasn't how it turned out.”

Suddenly he sprang at Todd, knocking him to the ground. Todd had time only to notice the dead, staring eyes of Gert Gorin looking at him from across the floor before the little boy on top of him said in a voice that sounded like a very old man, “You made my mommy cry.”

Then he ripped open Todd's throat with his long, sharp teeth.

O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
F
IFTEEN

J
essie arrived at the shack. It was hunched in the dark shadows of the woods like a wounded bear.

“Aaron?” she called as she peered inside from the doorway.

He sat on the cot wearing his Halloween costume—the pumpkin head and the long white sheet. Jessie's heart leapt in relief. Thank God he was okay.

“Come on, sweetie, we're getting out of here,” she said, approaching him. “Come with me, baby. We're going home.”

Aaron didn't budge.

“Come on, Aaron,” Jessie said.

She stood in front of him.

Something was wrong.

She lifted the pumpkin head off of him.

It wasn't Aaron.

It was Emil—crouched down, hunched over, making Jessie think it was a little boy under that sheet.

But it was no little boy. It was a monster.

After all these years, Emil's terrible black eyes stared up at her once again.

“Happy Halloween, Jessie,” Emil said, and grabbed her arm.

O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
S
IXTEEN

“
W
here the hell is she?” John was shouting as he came up the front steps.

“She must have gone out the back door,” Paulette was saying, shuddering and crying. “Dear God, she must have gone looking for Aaron!”

“Damn it!” John was furious. “She's out of her mind!”

Paulette seemed about to faint. She realized she was still losing a lot of blood.

“We need to get you to a doctor,” John said, steadying her.

“No, you've got to find Jessie,” Paulette replied.

“Hey!” John shouted down into the street. “Detective Knotts! We need your help!”

The policeman hurried up the hill. “What's going on?”

“Get some men into the woods to look for Jessie Clarkson. She's gone off in search of the little boy.”

Knotts lifted his radio to call in the request, but John held up his hand.

“And I need you to get this lady to a doctor and the little girl in my car to safety,” he added.

“Okay, Mr. Manning,” Knotts said, putting an arm around Paulette to help her down the hill.

“Let me get Abby first,” Paulette said, and they moved down the porch steps and over to John's car. But even before they'd gotten there Paulette had a sudden premonition of what they would find—or rather, not find.

Abby wouldn't be in the car.

“Abby!” Paulette screamed.

“Hey, Manning!” Knotts called back toward the house. “There's no little girl in the car!”

But now John was gone too.

O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
S
EVENTEEN

C
hief Walters watched as a squad car rushed Paulette Drew to the hospital. A number of policemen were now swarming into the woods, searching for Jessie Clarkson. The chief wondered how many of the residents of Hickory Dell would go missing tonight. Every last one of them?

She suddenly remembered Todd Bennett had gone in to check on his wife. He hadn't come back outside.

She called some of her men to accompany her into the house. Her hand on her gun, Chief Walters ascended the front steps of the Bennett house. She noticed the door was ajar and the house was dark.

Several cops went ahead of her, entering the house with their guns drawn. One of them attempted to turn on the lights but found the switch was not working.

“We need light in here!” Walters ordered.

Powerful flashlights quickly illuminated the room.

The chief couldn't suppress a gasp of horror.

On the floor were the bodies of Todd Bennett and Gert Gorin. Both of them had had their throats savagely ripped open. A couple of policemen hurried up the stairs.

“Another body up here,” one of them shouted down after a couple of seconds had passed. “Appears to be Monica Bennett.”

“Jesus Christ,” Knotts murmured. “How could Deetz do all of this?”

“He's had help,” the chief said. “And I suspect from a very unlikely accomplice.”

O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
E
IGHTEEN

“
L
et me go!” Jessie shouted, trying to yank herself out of Emil's grip.

“I didn't come all the way back here, more than three thousand miles, to let you slip away from me again,” Emil said, tightening his hold on her wrist.

“There are cops everywhere! They'll be in the woods any minute!”

“Is that so? Funny how they've been through here a few times but always seem to miss me,” Emil said.

“Why did you come back?”

Emil grinned. Jessie noticed he'd lost several teeth. He stunk, too. “I had a little unfinished business with you,” he told her.

“What have you done with Aaron?”

Emil spit on the floor. “I don't know who Aaron is, but I
can
tell you that I killed that bitch aunt of yours.” He laughed. “She must have crawled out into the woods to die.”

“Aunt Paulette didn't die! She made it home and she's safe!”

This angered Emil, who twisted Jessie's wrist, making her cry out in pain. “Well, that's more than you'll be able to say for yourself.”

“You've got to tell me what you know about Aaron!” Jessie insisted.

“I don't know who you're talking about!”

“You bastard!” Jessie writhed in his grip. “I've lived in fear of you for too long! Not anymore. Go ahead and kill me, but first you've got to tell me about Aaron!”

“I don't know who the fuck Aaron is!” Emil shouted at her.

“You must! You've been living here with him!”

Emil looked at her oddly. “I haven't been living here with anybody.”

“Aaron,” Jessie said. “Our son.”

“Son?” Emil hooted in laughter. “Oh, I heard you had a kid. But I heard it was a girl. So if you had a son, it wasn't with me, you slut.”

“I did! A son . . . a twin . . . with Abby. You have a son, Emil. And he . . . he looks like you.”

Emil let her go. “What the hell you talking about?”

“Somehow you found a way to bring him back, to torment me. But it didn't work. Aaron loves me. He might look like you, but he's not
like
you at all. He's good and sweet.”

“You're just trying to fuck with my mind,” Emil snarled. “I came back to kill you. Simple as that.”

He pulled a long razor from his jacket.

“That's not the only reason you came back,” came a voice.

Suddenly, from behind Jessie, a figure rushed in. Jessie was violently knocked aside as the figure tackled Emil to the ground.

“Fuck!” Emil shouted. “Manning! We had a deal, man!”

John punched Emil in the face, causing the razor to fly from his hand and rattle across the floor. John grabbed hold of it and while Emil was still dazed, took hold of Jessie and pushed her outside.

“He said you had a deal,” Jessie said, her eyes furiously finding him. “A deal for what?”

“Not now,” John said. “I've just got to get you to safety.”

“I don't trust you,” Jessie said, trying to get away from him. “Not if you have a deal with Emil.”

John looked down at her with intense eyes, holding on to her sore wrist with even more strength than Emil had. “Looks like you have no choice in the matter,” he said. “You're going to have to trust me whether you want to or not.”