The Calling (30 page)

“Yeah, so?” He waited a moment, looking paranoid, before shaking his head. He started to laugh. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything? You’re not just trying to fuck with me because I’m lit, are you?”
 

“I know what you’re planning to do.”
 

“You do?” He laughed again. “Who told you? Was it Chad?”
 

“How can you laugh about something like that?”
 

“What do you mean? It’s gonna be hilarious. We’re gonna be legends after tomorrow’s over.”
 

My body trembled and my heart pounded and I couldn’t help it, I actually jumped up from the chair as I shouted, “But people are going to die!”
 

Something changed in his face. “Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?”
 

“You can’t do this, John. It’s not right.”
 

“The fuck? Just who the fuck do you think you are? You can’t tell me what to do.”
 

“But—”
 

He lurched from the bed, pointing what was left of the roach at his door. “Get the fuck outta my room.”
 

I didn’t move.
 

“I thought you were cool but now I don’t know what the fuck to think anymore. My fuckin’ old man tries telling me what to do, and I’ll tell you the same thing I tell him. Go to hell.”
 

It was enough. The realization I’d blown my chance hit me hard. There was nothing else for me to say or do to try to change his mind. For a moment I even considered threatening him with calling the police, but feared that would enrage him and his plan even more.
 

Without a word I left his room and headed downstairs. Sarah sat on the couch, one leg pulled up under her body. The TV was on but she didn’t appear to be watching it, as she had her book opened before her.
 

She said, “Was John just yelling at you?”
 

“Yes, he was.”
 

“What happened?”
 

“You don’t want to know. But Sarah, can you promise me something?”
 

“What is it?”
 

“Don’t go to graduation tomorrow.”
 

“Are you kidding? John’s graduating. I can’t miss that.”
 

“Please, don’t go. Just stay home. I—”
 

But I couldn’t tell her what I knew, just like I couldn’t tell the medics how many pills Denise had taken, or Steve how I knew about Jack Murphy and his daughter. It was a terrible curse Joey had given me, being able to know something but not being able to say what that something was, that I wondered just how much longer I could go before I lost my mind. And knowing this, as I stared back at Sarah, a name flashed unbidden through my mind. Jeff Snyder was the name, a quiet boy from school that Sarah had known for two years and had once had a crush on. That crush was now gone, had been for a while, but tomorrow he was speaking and she wanted to see him, wanted to see him up on stage more than her brother getting his diploma.
 

“Yes, Chris?” Her head was tilted, her blue eyes watching me curiously. “You what?”
 

“I ... I just don’t want you to go.”
 

“But why?”
 

I’m afraid something bad is going to happen. I’m afraid thirty-four people are going to die, maybe more, and I don’t want you there. I don’t want you there because I’m afraid one of those thirty-four people will be you
.
 

“Never mind,” I said. “Look, I should go. I’ll see you later, okay?”

•
 
•
 
•

“W
ELL
?”
MOSES
SAID
, standing in the shade of the Rec House, a cigarette between his lips.
 

I shook my head.
 

“That’s okay.” He took one final drag and dropped the cigarette to the ground. “I’m sure you did your best.”
 

I wanted to believe him, I really did, but I kept seeing that dark look in John’s eyes and hoped I hadn’t somehow caused more lives to suffer. “So now what?”
 

“Now I’m going to take a drive into Elmira.”
 

I asked him if he wanted me to come along.
 

“Not this time, Christopher. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
 

“Tomorrow?”
 

“Of course. Graduation starts at noon.”

•
 
•
 
•

D
EAN
CALLED
LATER
that night. Grandma and I had just finished dinner and I was helping her with the dishes when the phone rang.
 

“Chris, I wanted to let you know I might not be able to take you back like we discussed.”
 

At first I wasn’t sure what he meant. Take me back? Then, after a moment, I remembered about returning to Lanton tomorrow. Dean had mentioned me returning home last night on the way back from Denise Rowe’s house. But with everything that had happened since of course it slipped my mind.
 

“Chris, are you there?”
 

“Yeah. So ... should I go back by myself?”
 

“Like I said before, you’ve already made the trip alone so I know you can do it again. But I’d just rather I went with you too. I’d feel more comfortable that way, and I know so would Mom. The plan was to start out early tomorrow morning, so after I made sure you were settled I could head right back since I work Sunday. But if graduation goes over too long, we might have to put off heading back to Lanton until Monday.”
 

I sensed an edge to his voice and asked, “Graduation?”
 

He sighed. “Some nutcase called Elmira High’s principal and said he was going to assassinate Mike Boyd at the graduation tomorrow, so they’re tightening security. A guy I know from the city asked me to help out undercover, and since I already owe him a favor I said I would.”
 

As he spoke I turned my attention out the window to Moses Cunningham’s RV.
 

Dean continued talking in my ear: “So you might as well pack your things. I’ll try to give you a call later in the day.”
 

And he hung up.

•
 
•
 
•

W
HEN
I
LEFT
my grandmother’s trailer later around ten o’clock, I intended to see Moses. I wanted to ask him if it was really him who’d called in the assassination threat. So as I stepped out into the cool summer night—the breeze and the insects quiet—I started to turn left to head toward his RV when movement caught my attention up toward Half Creek Road.
 

I turned at once and saw a shadow entering the Rec House. And even though I knew it was impossible, one name materialized in my mind.
 

Joey
.
 

I wasted no time in sprinting up the drive. When I got to the screen door and opened it (no racket this time) I paused, now second-guessing myself. Had I really seen anything? Or was it just my overstressed imagination? For all I knew Samael waited inside, that perpetual shadow in the corner, ready to give me the choice I wasn’t quite yet prepared to make.
 

I stepped inside and flicked on the lights.
 

Thankfully this time the power worked. The six bulbs in the ceiling lit up right away, only one in the corner flickering off and on before it stayed strong. The Rec House’s interior looked the same as it did the first time I entered. The gaming tables all sat untouched, the clutter still resting on top of the ping-pong table. Even the yellow remote control car lay upside down on the floor.
 

“Joey?”
 

I spoke his name before realizing I’d even opened my mouth, and immediately I felt stupid. I knew better. Of course I knew better. I’d sat beside him when he died. I’d gone with his father to pick up his ashes. But still ... hadn’t I seen something enter this place?
 

“Joey, are you there?”
 

There was no answer.
 

“I don’t know what to do,” I told the empty room. “I can’t do this by myself. Your dad’s trying to help me but I ... I’m scared. Can you help? Do you know what’s really going to happen?”
 

The silence continued. I stood there for a very long time, waiting for anything at all. Even if that one bulb began flickering again I would have been satisfied—though how I would have taken it as a sign, I had no clue. Finally I gave up. Nothing was going to happen.
 

I started back outside, my hand hovering over the light switch, when a soft voice inside my head whispered
you should read it when you get the chance
and I paused. Standing there, I remembered both my dream and the day Joey had brought me here before visiting the Beckett House. I remembered what he’d showed me, how he’d been looking at me with his dark solemn eyes that for a moment I wondered just what was really going on inside his head.
 

Thinking this now, I turned and looked across the Rec House. Stared at the wall where pictures of the Porter family stared back. In the center was Mrs. Porter’s framed obituary.
 

“All right, Joey,” I whispered, starting forward. “What’s this all about?”
 

Five minutes later I found myself in the deserted gravel parking lot of Shepherd’s Books. I’d run the entire way down Half Creek Road. A cramp had formed in my side. I stood before the bookstore/house, half-bent over as I tried catching my breath. I stared up at the dark empty windows.
 

He was in there somewhere—there was no doubt in my mind about that—yet I didn’t know what to do about it. I considered banging on the door, but there was no guarantee he’d answer. I thought about breaking and entering, of shoving my way inside and running up to the second floor and finding him cowered in a corner, as he realized I’d finally figured it out. But what would I say to him? Would I hit him, slap him around? Maybe I wouldn’t do anything because it had been my own stupid fault in the first place. I’d been too naïve and trusting and now there was no turning back.
 

Besides, I told myself as I started back up the road, it’s no use anyway. Had I known earlier in the game maybe it would have made a difference. But now it was too late. Much too late.

Chapter 27

I
t was almost three o’clock in the morning when I heard her outside.
 

I’d been lying in bed since midnight, after staring at the picture of my parents for nearly an hour. I kept trying to use whatever gift Joey had given me to figure out who’d murdered them, but it was no use. I could glimpse into meaningless areas of people’s lives—like what their favorite colors were and how often they clipped their toenails—but when it came down to actually seeing something I cared about and needed to know, nothing came.
 

Finally I set the picture aside and turned off the light. I tried to sleep, but I was too wrapped up in my thoughts of Samael and the thirty-four lives and what tomorrow had in store. I kept turning over and over in bed, settling first on my left side, then on my right, then on my stomach and finally on my back, before doing the positions all over again. I flipped my pillow at least a half dozen times, hoping for the cool side but never satisfied with what I got. I wondered if Moses was asleep. I figured he probably was, as he was used to dealing with these situations, to all the pressure, that getting a good night’s rest was second nature.
 

As I flipped my pillow back over I heard footsteps outside. I froze. My mind ran through the different possibilities of who it could be—Moses, Grandma, Samael, my parents’ murderer, my parents themselves, again in that twisted W. W. Jacobs version—when suddenly the footsteps stopped. Besides my watch ticking next to the bed and the insects outside, there was silence.
 

Then the footsteps started again. After a moment I realized they were now heading away, so I jumped out of bed and went to the door. I wore only my boxers and T-shirt but didn’t care as I stepped outside.
 

She had only gone a few steps up the drive. When she heard my door opening she paused. Her back was to me for the longest time, before finally she turned. In the moonlight I saw her pale face and the tears that lined her cheeks.
 

I whispered, “Sarah?”
 

She started forward immediately, sobbing, wiping her eyes as she met me and placed her arms around me. She hugged me tight. At first I didn’t know what to do and just stood there hesitant, my one arm holding open the screen door while my other arm hung useless at my side. She continued to weep, her body jerking against mine with each individual sob, and instinctively I placed my arm around her and held her, until her sobbing subsided enough so I could lean back and see her face.
 

“Sarah, what’s wrong?”
 

“I ... I’m sorry, but I ... I had a bad dream.”
 

“That’s all right. There’s no need to be sorry.”
 

She continued to weep, pressing her face into my shoulder. After a while I got her to settle down and invited her inside. The trailer was cramped enough for just me but we managed to sit on the bed. She continued to sniff back tears, and I found some tissues and placed them in her hand.
 

I asked her again what was wrong.
 

She looked up at me, her blue eyes piercing in the dark. She made a long sigh and began to speak between hiccups.