Bad Things (41 page)

Then, for a brief second, the face went blank, and at the same time the little jack flared with bright color and its face vaguely resembled Robin's.

The words faded as the ousted jack sped away toward the oak.

“Ricky.”

“Robin.”

His brother's face looked like his own now, open and youthful. “Robin? It's you, isn't it?”

“It's me.” Robin coughed. Rick gently lifted his brother's head, letting it rest on his uninjured leg. He wiped flecks of blood from Robin's mouth and pushed the dark, wet hair from his eyes. He looked at the sword piercing the body, back at Robin.

“Leave it,” his brother said.

“Okay.” Rick looked toward the house. Dakota was gone, thank God.

“Every night I came out and watched you, wishing I could talk to you. But I couldn't.” Robin coughed a little more blood. “I wasn't strong enough. Sometimes you heard me, though, didn't you?”

“I did.”

“I thought you did. I thought I heard you answer.” He reached up one trembling hand and felt the contours of Rick's face. A corner of his mouth crooked up. “We're good-looking, aren't we?”

Rick smiled. “Yes, we are. Robin, were you happy with the jacks?”

Almost imperceptibly he shook his head. “It was fun running and moving, but there was nothing else. I wasn't one of them. Their senses are different. There's no taste or smell. You can't touch anything.” As he spoke he took Rick's hand. “I should have listened to you, Ricky. I shouldn't have teased you. I should have believed you.”

“We were kids, Robin. Just kids.”

“Yeah.” Robin's voice broke. “Just kids.”

“Yeah,” Rick repeated, cradling his twin closer. His tears splashed down on his brother's cheek.

Robin reached up and touched a tear with his finger. “It's hot. I can feel it.” He started to cry, until coughing stopped the tears. “Oh, Ricky, I missed you.”

“I missed you, brother.”

Robin's breath hitched a little and the color began to drain from his face. Rick took his hand again and held it against his own beating heart, barely able to see his brother, his eyes were so full. “Thank you for saving my life that night in the oak tree.”

“You're welcome,” Robin said softly. For an instant his eyes drifted, then he seemed to force them to focus on Rick. “Thank you for saving
my
life tonight.”

Rick wiped a bubble of blood from Robin's pale lips. “I'm a little late.”

“Better late than never.” Robin gave him a small smile and coughed up more blood.

Rick wiped it away. “I'm sorry.”

“No, don't be. Wow, this is weird.” Robin seemed to be looking at something beyond Rick.

Rick glanced behind him, saw nothing. “What?”

“I can see some pretty light. I hear Mom and Dad. Do you?”

“No, I don't. Robin?”

Robin pulled his gaze back to his brother.

“People you love are coming for you. They come in the light. The light's good.”

Robin coughed. “I believe you this time.” He smiled slightly. “For once, I can see something you can't. Ricky, thank you. I guess we can talk more later.”

“In another place,” Rick said gently. “Or time.”

Robin said something Rick couldn't understand. His respiration had slowed to a faint hitch that came at longer intervals.

Suddenly Robin squeezed his hand. “Ricky, I love you. I've always loved you.” His hand went limp and his gaze drifted to the beyond.

“And I love you.” Rick bent and kissed Robin's forehead. “Never forget,” he whispered as his brother sighed and set free his final breath. “I love you.”

He closed his brother's eyes and held him, and after a time, he didn't know how long, he carefully eased Robin's head down against the grass. Then, wiping his eyes, he rose and took the pool net from its holder to use as a staff.

He limped around the pool, then paused to look back across it at his brother's still form, then up at Don Quixote, who stared heroically into the night. Rick saluted him, before turning to make his way painfully across the lawn and into the backyard.

Limping up the little walkway to Carmen's cottage, he saw the warm yellow light glowing in the windows. He rapped on the door, and Audrey opened it immediately, kissing him frantically as she and Dakota put their arms around him and helped him inside, exclaiming, loving, accepting him. Berating him, too, he realized happily. Cody, asleep on the couch, woke and tried to climb into his wet lap, but Dakota gently pulled him away, telling him later, there would be plenty of time later.

“You can call the cavalry now, O'Keefe,” Rick said. He suddenly felt so tired that he could barely keep his eyes open.

“Cavalry hell,” Dakota said as Audrey wrapped a fresh dry towel around his leg. “I'm just calling the cleanup crew.” He looked Rick up and down as Audrey draped a blanket around his shoulders. “Piper, dear,
you
are the cavalry.”

Dear Readers:

 

I hope you've enjoyed BAD THINGS. I had a lot of fun writing it. The greenjacks (and Big Jack) are a type of element that ties into the lore of the Green Man. He is an archetypical nature god dating to the earliest humans. The most famous variation is Pan, and it was his horns and cloven hooves that the European invaders assigned to Satan. As usual, the god of the old became the devil of the new.

Sometimes called Jack O' the Green, the nature deity was banished by church of Rome missionaries sent to the British Isles by Pope Gregory the Great in 600 A.D. Pagan artists forced to adorn the churches quickly began sculpting many of their nature deities (primarily the Green Man) into the ornamentation of these buildings. That way the people could secretly worship their own gods.

My next novel is an unusual ghost story. Psychologist Will Banning is haunted by a just-out-of-reach memory from his childhood. Trying to uncover this forbidden secret dominates his thoughts until his attention is diverted by lifelong friend (and should-be lover) Maggie Maewood, who tells him about the strange behavior of animals in her veterinary clinic. Will, having already noticed strange avian behavior, is fascinated.

Then people begin acting strangely too. His office is filled with patients, old and new, exhibiting sudden signs of schizophrenia, seeing ghosts, hearing voices. After one patient tells him something that, on the surface, seems outrageous but has a ring of truth, Will delves deeper and deeper, unconcerned with the danger of asking too many questions.

As always, I look forward to hearing from my readers. You can visit my Web site at
www.tamarathorne.com
.

 

Best,
Tamara

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Copyright © 1994 by Chris Curry

 

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

 

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

 

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ISBN: 978-1-4201-3256-4

 

Previously published under the title
Panic
by Pocket Books.