Soultaker (17 page)

“Do you think it’s all the women in Rockville?” Will asked. “That would mean thousands of them. Shit, they can’t
all
be involved. Can they? Every mother? Every sister? Every adult female? Every little girl?”

Kelsey shook his head. “No. Of course not. I don’t think so. I mean, that doesn’t sound…feasible. But let’s say there’s a large number involved. The fact that both your mother and my sister just happen to be involved in this points to a large-scale operation. I don’t believe in coincidence. Still, I’m guessing Myra’s followers have to be, at most, in the hundreds, not thousands. And consider this—she’s actively disliked by a large percentage of the chicks at Rockville High.”

Will found himself nodding along as Kelsey spoke. “Cindy Wells.”

Kelsey jabbed a finger at Will. “Yes! Cindy has never been hostile to Myra. But Myra popped her in the jaw. Why? Who the fuck knows? You know what?” He snapped his fingers. “I bet Slater’s got a fucking black hood in his office!
That’s
why he didn’t suspend the cunt!”

Will groaned. “Great. What if Slater’s just the tip of the iceberg? I bet other people with authority are involved. Cops, businessmen. Hell, maybe even the mayor.”

Kelsey’s eyes widened. “Aw, fuck. You were right, man. We are fucking fucked. Maybe we should just phone in a bomb threat to the school tomorrow afternoon and get out of town.”

Will didn’t say anything for a while. He didn’t believe something as simple as a phoned-in bomb threat would do the trick, especially if Slater and other Rockville High administrators were in on the whole mass murder plot thing. He was trying to recall something, a word, some strange name his mother had used before Kelsey showed up. He’d been so frightened at the time it had scarcely registered. Now, for some reason, remembering it seemed vitally important.

Then it came to him: “Lamia.”

“Say what?”

“Something my mom said before you showed up: ‘Lamia richly rewards willing sacrifices.’ ” The memory of the exact phrasing made him shiver. “Jesus, that’s creepy. Who, or what, the fuck is Lamia?”

Kelsey resumed pacing, but at a more thoughtful pace this time. “My God, maybe that’s it.”

“The hell are you talking about?”

Kelsey stopped in the middle of the kitchen again. “Say the names, Will. Repeat them, run them together. Lamia, Lamia, Mia, Mia, Myra, Myra…”

Will shook his head. “No. They don’t really sound alike. That’s a big stretch.”

“Is it?” Kelsey crushed the empty Dr Pepper can in his hand and retrieved a fresh one from the refrigerator. He popped the
tab and chugged. “We’re dealing with a cult, right? Every cult needs a figurehead, a leader. Evidence indicates Myra is that leader. Maybe she’s a for-real demon, maybe she’s not. Maybe the demon acts through her. The name ‘Lamia’ rings a vague bell. Let’s get on your dad’s computer and do a Google search, see what we can come up with.”

The idea galvanized Will. He finished off his soda and moved toward the archway that led to his dad’s office.

Kelsey started to follow his friend, but came to a dead stop in the center of the kitchen. Something stirred within him, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He sensed a presence behind him, something trying to move without making a sound.

Kelsey saw Will step through the archway.

The presence behind him shuffled closer, not so furtive now.

Kelsey tugged Blake Mackeson’s .38 from his waistband. He heard Will shriek, then reappear through the archway, backpedaling and stumbling as something closed in on him. Kelsey’s breath caught in his throat. He had a terrible knowledge that he would have to kill again if he wanted to live beyond the next few moments. He gripped the revolver in both hands, whirled around, and pulled the trigger. The big, concussive boom rocked him again, but this time his aim was true. A big, machete-wielding man stood prepared to cleave his head in two. The bullet slammed a hole through the middle of the black hood that obscured the man’s identity. The would-be assailant flew backward and crashed into another hooded man. This second man knocked the body of his comrade aside and charged Kelsey. Kelsey stood stock-still, adjusted his aim, and fired again, just as this new attacker tried to decapitate him with a strange double-bladed axe.

Something struck his back.

Will, stumbling into him.

Kelsey spun about, saw that this next attacker was too close, and jabbed the barrel of the gun into the man’s stomach. He yanked the trigger twice and watched the man skip backward.
He’d fired the gun four times. Two bullets left. Strike that. Five times. He’d forgotten the shot in Will’s room. One goddamn bullet left. He hoped like hell there weren’t many more of these hood-wearing motherfuckers skulking about.

Will stared at him, wide-eyed and shaking. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

“Calm down. We’ve got to leave.”

Will trilled nervous, high-pitched laughter. “Oh, hell yeah. Let’s get moving.”

Kelsey shook his head. “Not yet. Follow me.”

He led the way through the archway this time, leading with the pistol. They rushed down the short hallway and entered Blake Mackeson’s office. Kelsey’s stomach flipped at the sight of Will’s father, who was still duct-taped to the leather chair. His throat had been slit. The gaping wound looked like a second mouth. Kelsey wrenched his gaze away from the hideous tableau and rushed over to the still-open gun cabinet. He shoved shells into his pockets. Then he opened the .38’s cylinder, filled the chambers, and snapped it shut.

He looked at Will.

Will’s gaze was riveted to his dead father. He was sobbing.

Kelsey gripped him by the shoulder and stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the dead man. “We’re going, Will. This sucks. I know. But we’re fucking going.”

He tightened his grip on Will’s shoulder and turned him around, steering him toward the archway. Another hooded figure surged through the opening.

“Goddammit!”

Kelsey shoved Will aside, took aim, and fired.

And missed.

The bullet punched through the throat of yet another hooded man, but Kelsey didn’t see that. He was too consumed with his imminent death. The man he’d missed was fast. And strong. He seized Kelsey’s wrist with one hand, twisting the gun away as he swung his other hand around. A big hunting knife sliced through the air on a precise, direct arc toward Kelsey’s temple.

But the man’s aim faltered.

The air exploded out of him and he bent over at the waist. It took Kelsey a moment to realize that Will had propelled himself headfirst into the man’s midsection. Will was on the floor, dazed by the impact. Kelsey touched the .38’s barrel to the top of the gasping man’s head and pulled the trigger. Blood and brains blew out the back of the man’s head as he toppled backward.

Kelsey extended a hand to Will and helped him to his feet.

“Move!”

They got out of the office in a hurry and made it through the kitchen without encountering any more of the hooded assassins, then left the slaughterhouse that had been Will’s home. As Kelsey fumbled with the keys to his Oldsmobile, the sound of sirens rose in the distance.

“Shit!”

He managed to locate the right key and get the door open. Then he reached across the seat and unlocked the passenger-side door. Will slid into the passenger seat and yanked the door shut. Kelsey got the engine running just as the first flashing lights appeared at the far end of the street. Leaving his headlights off, he put the car in gear and backed out onto the street.

A quick glance in the rearview mirror put the closing cruisers at three blocks away.

He shifted gears again, stomped on the gas pedal, and slipped away under the cover of darkness.

For a while, the only sounds were the hiss of tires on asphalt and the receding sirens.

Kelsey finally exhaled. “Fuck. We got away. I don’t believe it.”

Then it came—the hitch in Will’s breath.

He cradled his face in his hands and sobbed for a long time.

Kelsey kept his mouth shut. No words of comfort could possibly be adequate. He kept his eyes on the road and allowed his friend the opportunity to vent his grief.

They watched television. The late news played like a series of reports from the front lines of some new war. It was crazy. All this shocking news coming out of the formerly sleepy community of Rockville, Tennessee. In addition to the police station massacre—a story that had even made the national news—sketchy reports were coming in of yet another mass killing in Rockville, this one in an affluent neighborhood called Oakdale. One channel showed a live scene from a helicopter—police cars and ambulances with flashing lights jammed the street in front of an opulent home.

Trey groaned. “Jesus.”

Jake glanced sideways at him. “What’s wrong?”

Trey’s face twisted with worry. “I know that house. One of my best friends lives there. Will Mackeson. Fuck.”

Jake watched the footage of sheet-covered bodies on stretchers being loaded into ambulances with increasing dread. The names of the dead hadn’t been released yet, but things didn’t look good for Trey’s friend. One of the reporters said, “According to a police source, there is no one alive in the residence.” The reporter’s permed blonde hair shifted minutely in a stiff evening breeze. “Very grim news, indeed, for a town that’s already endured so much tragedy this evening.”

The brothers flinched when the phone rang. Again. It had been ringing all night, and Jake was tired of answering calls
from scoop-hungry reporters. What part of “No comment” didn’t these piranhas understand? This time, he stayed where he was. The ringing continued until the answering machine picked up, and yet another reporter left a message and a string of phone numbers.

Jake pushed a button and the television screen went black. He set the remote on an end table and turned to face Trey, whose limp posture made him resemble a rag doll at the other end of the sofa. Trey’s eyes were red and his eyelids hovered at half-mast.

“Why don’t you go on to bed? You can take Stu’s room. Come on.” He got to his feet. “I’ll show you where everything is. We’ll crash and start dealing with all this shit tomorrow.”

Trey’s posture changed in an instant. He sat up straight and scooted to the edge of the sofa. He stared up at Jake, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. “Not yet, okay? I have to tell you some things. You won’t believe any of it, but please listen. There’s this girl—”

Then some kind of seizure rippled through him, distending his jaw and making his eyes and veins bulge and his body shake. The fit lasted just a moment. All at once, Trey’s limbs stopped jerking and awareness returned to his eyes. As he looked at Jake, his eyes were brimming with tears. “She’s back!” He gave his head several emphatic shakes and wailed like a baby.

Then he screamed.

Jake was scared shitless. What had he just seen? Trey was too coherent for that to have been an actual seizure. Probably it was just a delayed reaction to all the day’s trauma. But was Jake really prepared to care for someone as obviously disturbed as his half brother? He wanted to do it. It felt right to do it. But maybe this was a job for professionals. Maybe the kid should be under observation somewhere for a few days, until his mental condition stabilized. It didn’t sound unreasonable, but just thinking it made Jake feel guilty. He had a duty, a solemn obligation, here. He was all the kid had left.

“Trey…are you okay?”

Trey sniffled. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I think I’ll be all right.”

“You sure? You mentioned a girl. Who—”

“Nothing.” Trey stood and tried on a smile that looked false. “You shouldn’t listen to me right now. You’re right. I am tired. I need to sleep.”

Jake eyed him suspiciously, but said, “Fine, we’ll let it go for now. But tomorrow I want you to tell me about Myra. Okay?”

Trey flinched at the mention of her name. He shrugged. “Okay.” His gaze went to the floor, and for a moment his demeanor reminded Jake of the way he’d been at Jolene’s house this afternoon. “I guess.”

Jake wondered whether he should change his mind about waiting till tomorrow. It was easy to put difficult things off. Too easy. He had a lot of personal experience in that regard. It was one thing to make bad choices in his own life. It used to be, he wasn’t hurting anybody but himself if he decided to take a drink. That wasn’t the case anymore. Whether he liked it or not, he had responsibilities and he was determined to live up to them. Still, he couldn’t see any harm in letting the poor bastard have some rest before being made to deal with the hard stuff.

“Look at me, Trey.”

Trey shoved his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Then, as if it took tremendous focus, he raised his head, very slowly, and looked Jake in the eye.

Jake nodded. “Good. You and I are going to talk about some serious things tomorrow, and that includes your girlfriend. Got it?”

Trey shrugged. “Sure.”

“Great. Let’s go get you settled.”

Jake returned to the living room a few minutes later. He was relieved to have his brother out of the way for the rest of the evening. He needed some time to decompress, to finally step down from crisis mode. A beer would hit the spot right about now. He considered going into the kitchen to fetch one, but,
instead, he settled into a recliner, aimed the remote at the television, and watched some more of the news.

Two black-and-white photos, probably yearbook pictures, filled the screen. At the bottom of the screen, the words, ARMED AND DANGEROUS. A reporter was speaking: “The suspects are Kelsey Hargrove, age seventeen, and William Mackeson, also age seventeen. Police are advising citizens not to approach the boys, but to call police immediately if they are sighted.”

“Fuck.” Jake was very glad that Trey wasn’t awake to see this. “The world has gone insane.”

The latest revelation turned his thoughts again to alcohol. Alcohol was good in these situations. It eliminated problems by blotting them from consciousness. The effect was temporary, of course, but that rarely swayed him. He imagined the taste of cold beer filling his mouth, and the shivery sensation of anticipated pleasure almost sent him to the kitchen to fetch a bottle.