Dark Season: The Complete Box Set (150 page)

Chapter Six

1925.

"This is a dark day," I say, leaning my walking cane against the wall as I sit next to the bar. "Give me a whiskey."

Saying nothing, Henry unscrews the lid of a bottle and pours me a small shot. Henry's always been the kind of man who'll happily pour you a drink and take your money, but he'll give you a dirty look while he's doing it. I've known Henry since we were both children, and he hasn't changed. He was an ass then, and he's an ass now.

"Fill the damn glass," I say, downing the drink as soon as he's pushed it over to me. "Another," I say, looking over at the window. The street outside seems mostly empty, with just a few people strolling past. I imagine word of Adelaide's death has well and truly spread by now, which means there'll be more hysteria about Lawrence. This is the last thing I needed; perhaps it's time to rein Lawrence in a little, though I have no idea whether the people of Devil's Briar are capable of addressing the situation in a mature and rational manner. Perhaps their panic will never end.

"That's three women dead," Henry says, passing another whiskey to me. "Three seems like a nice, round number. Maybe it'd be better to stop there."

"You don't know what you're talking about," I spit back at him, downing the shot before slamming the glass down onto the counter. "Another."

"I know people are getting nervous," he replies. "You keep saying you have the situation under control, but..." He fills up the glass and sends it back my way. "Don't take this the wrong way, Albert, but folks are gonna start questioning whether they can trust what you say."

"No-one's questioning me!" I reply, filled with loathing for Henry's petty, low sniping. If he has something to say, he should come right out and say it, instead of constantly peppering me with these snide little remarks. "Not one person in this whole town has said a word against me!" I pause, staring at Henry's sly smile. "Name them!" I say after a moment. "If anyone has spoken out against me, name the bastard and I'll go straight to him! He can say things to my face, and then we'll see whether he's brave!"

"It was just a friendly warning," Henry says. "No need to get all hot under the collar." At that moment, the bell in the reception area rings. "Excuse me," he adds, before setting the whiskey bottle next to me. "Help yourself to free refills," he says. "On the house."

Taking another shot, I glance over my shoulder as he heads through the door. For a moment, I get a glimpse of the divine Victoria Paternoster standing by the reception desk. That young woman's figure is so fine, I just want to strip her naked and show her what a real man can do. My moment will surely come, just as soon as I've negotiated a betrothal arrangement with her uncle.

Suddenly I hear something smash behind me. Turning, I see that one of the glasses has dropped to the floor and shattered. Lawrence Evans is standing by the bar, grinning at me.

"What are you doing here?" I hiss, looking back through to the reception area and seeing that Henry is still busy talking to Victoria.

"Sorry about the broken glass," Lawrence says in that rough, common voice of his. "I figured it'd be a good way to get your attention."

"You can't be seen in here!" I insist. "There are people hunting you down, boy. We agreed that you'd lay low in-between incidents. I need you in one piece, not hanging from the nearest lamp-post!"

"I can take care of myself," he replies, filled with the confidence of youth. Lawrence has long been the kind of young man who believes he can get away with anything, and perhaps in my dealings with him I have encouraged such a view. "I'm more worried about you," he continues. "People are talking. Loose tongues and all that. There are even some who wonder whether you'll still be in office this time next year. I must say, I'm starting to wonder whether I'm in business with the right man."

"I didn't have you down as someone who listens to the gossip of housewives," I say, smiling.

"Never underestimate a housewife," he replies. "A housewife has the ear of her husband, and she knows which way the wind blows. I fuck a lot of housewives around here, old man, and I can promise you they're chattering away about you. Your sheen is starting to wear thin."

Without my walking cane, I limp across the bar until I'm face to face with the upstart. I reach into my pocket and pull out some notes, thrusting them into his hands. "Here's your money," I say. "Now listen to me. I will not -"

"You stink of whiskey," he says with a laugh, conspicuously counting the money before putting it in his shirt pocket. It's almost as if he thinks I might cheat him.

"Listen to me!" I hiss, making sure to keep my voice as low as possible. "We have an arrangement, and it's one that suits both of us. If you want to break that arrangement, you're free to do so, but be in no doubt that ultimately you're the one who'll suffer. After all, you're the one who has blood on his hands."

"Who's the nice young lady in the blue dress?" he asks suddenly. "I saw the way you looked at her. I need to learn her name, maybe I can -"

"You leave her alone!" I say firmly.

"Or what? You're just a fat old man, Albert. If I want to stick my dick in that pleasant young piece of ass, you can't stop me. I'd prefer it if she'd let me in willingly, but we both know I'm happy to force my way if necessary. She's got such a nice, firm-looking body. The thought of running my hands over her peachy little tits, and burying my head in her bushy -"

"Shut your dirty mouth!" I say, raising my voice. "She's a lady! She's a good Christian lady!"

"Is she?" he asks. "Seems to me, you don't know her at all. Why, she might be a dreadful little slut. She might be a devil in the bedroom. I guess there's only one way to find out. Perhaps I'll pay a visit to her one night, and see what she's made of." He grins. "Don't worry. I'll let you know what I find out."

"If you touch her," I warn him, "our arrangement will be over and you'll be at the mercy of the people of this town. I won't save you, and I'll deny having ever dealt with you. I'm sure you can imagine that people would accept my word over yours any day. After all, I'm an upstanding member of the community, and you're a pathetic little murderer."

"Are you threatening me?" he asks.

"I'm
warning
you," I say firmly. "Keep well away from her."

"Or what?" He steps past me and peers through the crack in the door. Following him, I see that Victoria is still talking to Henry at the reception desk. "She sure is fine," Lawrence whispers. "Such soft, pale skin. I can't wait to run my hands over her tits and make her moan like a whore." He turns to me. "You know I could do that, right? You know she'd fall into my arms without much pressure. You, on the other hand... you're a fat old gasket. Maybe you'd be able to give her enough money to get her into your bed for a few seconds, but even then I doubt she could stand to look at you." He grins as he pats me on the back. "Relax, old man. If I fuck her, I'll only do it once or twice, and then she's all yours. Just don't get too pissed if after a month or two there's a little bump in her belly."

"She wouldn't fall for your charms," I say, unable to hide the disgust in my voice. "Victoria's a lady of -"

"Victoria, eh?" he says, smiling. "Nice name. I'll be sure to remember it as I'm sticking my tongue in her pussy."

Turning and walking back over to the bar, I pour myself another whiskey. This business with Lawrence has clearly run its course. There was a time when I thought he could be molded and shaped, turned into something useful; later, I realized he could be a potent weapon; now, finally, I realize he's a liability. Reaching slowly into my inside jacket pocket, I feel the cold handle of my pistol. If I were to be seen to corner the rascal and shoot him dead, everyone would hail me as a hero. Perhaps Victoria would fall for me, and I'd be set for life.

"Don't even think about it," Lawrence says suddenly, stepping up close behind me. I can feel his hot breath against the back of my neck. "Trust me, I'm smart enough to have left a little insurance policy set up. You kill me, you'll regret it. I strongly advise you to take your hand off the butt of that gun you've inevitably got stashed away in your coat pocket, Mr. Caster."

Keeping my hand on the pistol, I drink a shot of whiskey. Lawrence is a lot of things, but he's never been smart. I don't see that he could outwit me, and it's not as if the young man has any friends or family in Devil's Briar. I believe I'm capable of ascertaining when I'm being hoodwinked, and this is one such moment. Lawrence is all about the pose, but beneath his cocky veneer he has no substance. He's only a man. He can be killed.

"You
love
her, don't you?" he whispers. "You're a fat old man, and you've laid eyes on a beautiful young lady and you've managed to fall in love with her." He laughs; again, I feel his hot breath on my neck. "I tell you what, fatso. I'll make you a deal. When I fuck her, which might be tonight if I can be bothered, I'll try really hard to resist the urge to wring her neck when I'm done. I'll leave her alive, bleeding a little, all tingly and covered in -"

"You will not!" I say, turning to him, raising the gun to his face and pulling the trigger. The bang is so loud, I'm knocked back into the bar; at the same time, the side of Lawrence's head explodes with such force that I feel my face sprayed by a fine mist of blood. I stare as he staggers back, and for a moment it seems as if he might remain standing; finally, however, his body slumps to the floor. Startled, I barely have time to compose myself before the door opens and Henry rushes through, followed by Victoria.

"What the hell's going on in here?" Henry shouts, before stopping as he sees Lawrence's body. Turning around, he immediately grabs Victoria and ushers her out of the bar, but I see the look of shock in her eyes as she lays eyes upon the hideous mess of Lawrence's bloodied head. Dear Lord, forgive me for causing such an innocent creature to witness such hideousness; Heavenly Father, keep her purity safe.

Still holding the pistol, I step over to Lawrence's body and peer at what's left of his face. The bullet has blown away much of the left side of his head, and has pushed his left eye to the spot above his nose, making him look somewhat like a cyclops. Blood is pouring from the hole on his temple, and pieces of white brain matter are sprayed across the floor along with small fragments of bone. His remaining good eye stares straight at me, but there can be absolutely no doubt that the man is dead. Feeling my heart pounding in my chest, I take a deep breath and manage to get calm my nerves a little. I walk over to fetch my cane from the corner, but I make the mistake of glancing back down at Lawrence's body; he's still looking directly at me, his eye having moved to follow me across the room. I hurry back over to him, raise the pistol and fire once more into his head. Finally, the bastard is dead.

Leaving my walking cane behind, I struggle through to the reception area and find Victoria sobbing on the couch, with Henry comforting her. Seeing the tears rolling down her face, I'm shocked by the thought that I'm partially responsible for her pain. Then again, her anguish would have been all the greater if Lawrence had been allowed to live, and if he'd been able to force his way into her bedroom during the night. It's better this way. She'll recover from the shock, and soon she'll be in a position to consider a marriage proposal from a great man such as myself.

"Dear God," Henry says angrily, looking over at me, "will you not go and clean yourself up?"

Victoria glances at me and gasps in horror before burying her face in Henry's shoulder. Looking down, I see that my shirt is covered in blood; I reach a hand up to my face and find that I'm caked in Lawrence's earthly remains. Uncertain as to what I should say, I stumble to the exit, not even taking the time to go back and fetch my walking cane. I must get to my house, clean myself up and prepare to tell the people of Devil's Briar that I have saved them from the monster.

Chapter Seven

Today.

"Are you still saying this isn't creepy?" I ask Bill, as we sit on the steps outside the hotel. It's getting late now; the sun has dipped behind the trees, and dusk has fallen across the empty town. The huge cross looms in the darkness, and above us there's a blanket of beautiful stars. All around, there are the empty buildings of a place that was forgotten for so long. Fortunately, I fetched a couple of flashlights from the truck when I went back to get Bill's rucksack, so at least we'll be able to see during the night.

"It's calm," Bill replies. "And peaceful. Not creepy." He takes a drag on his cigarette. "It feels good to be away from the city. There's no-one around for a hundred miles in any direction. We're all alone. How many people can say that they get a whole damn town to themselves?" He turns to me. "Thanks for agreeing to stay."

"It's just for one night," I tell him. "We can work tomorrow during the day, but I want to head home in the evening. Got it?"

He nods. "I'll get a proper team together so we can come back next week. This could be the biggest find for decades. We're going to dig through the history of this town and find out exactly what happened. I want to know everything. Who lived here. What they did. What they ate. What they wore."

"Where they went?"

"Where they
went
," he agrees. "The people of Devil's Briar didn't just disappear into thin air. This isn't another Roanoke." He sighs. "There's a story here, Paula. I can feel it in my gut. Something happened in Devil's Briar. Something extraordinary."

"Careful," I say, "you're starting to sound like you believe in impossible things."

"Something extraordinary and
rational
," he replies, correcting himself. "I don't believe in that supernatural crap any more than you do. Whatever happened here, it clearly killed the town stone dead. The people obviously left en masse, and I want to know why. I also want to know why word of Devil's Briar never spread. This place should be in the history books."

Smiling, I reach over and take his hand in mine. "Thanks to you, it'll get there eventually."

He leans over and kisses me on the cheek. "Thank you," he says.

"You don't need to keep saying that," I tell him. "It's kind of fun poking around up here."

"I don't mean just for this," he replies. "I mean for everything. The past year would've been impossible to deal with if you hadn't... I don't know if I'd still be here."

"Don't talk like that," I say.

"You want to see our room?" he asks suddenly, stubbing his cigarette out on the ground. He grabs his rucksack.

"Our room?" I turn to him, before looking up at the imposing edifice of the hotel. "Right. Sure."

Taking my hand, he leads me into the reception and then up to the first floor. "It's the largest room in the whole damn building," he says as he opens the door and shines the flashlight inside to disturb the darkness. "Welcome to the master suite. It's a little dusty, but I don't think we're going to get away from the dust while we're here. What do you think?"

I step into the room and find that, surprisingly, it's not too bad. It's fairly large, and there's a big double bed over on one side. "We need to open a window," I say, walking over and struggling with the latch for a moment before I'm finally able to slide the window up. A cool breeze enters the room, immediately making the place seem less stuffy. "Give it a few minutes," I say, "and it should feel a lot better." I turn and shine the flashlight across the room. "Nice wallpaper," I add, feeling slightly creeped out by the yellow patterns all over the walls.

"You think you can sleep in here?" Bill asks with a smile as he pushes the door shut and drops his rucksack on the floor. "You sure you won't be listening out for ghouls and ghosts?"

"I'll try to keep my imagination in check," I reply. "Like a good girl." Turning, I see something on the opposite wall. Shining my torch over, I'm astonished to see that it's a small series of check-marks. Someone has been counting off numbers in groups of five, and the marks cover a small section of the wall. Counting them first in rows and then in columns, I realize there are 46 of the damn things. "What do you think this is all about?" I ask. "What happened forty-six times in this room?"

"Something someone wanted to keep track of, that's for sure," says Bill.

Looking down at the little table by the bed, I see a pencil. I reach down, pick it up and add another check-mark to the end. "There," I say with a smile. "Now it's up to 47."

"Bed's firm," he says, pushing a hand down onto the mattress. "We'll have to test it out later."

"Maybe," I say, smiling as I spot something on the wall by the window. "Jesus, look at this," I say, shining the flashlight onto what turns out to be a small painting. It's an old, fairly crude picture of a woman bending over some washing, while a little devil hides nearby. "Talk about some Freudian shit," I say. "You know, I bet the woman in this painting would have loved it if the devil had jumped her and given her a good session in the sack. I bet all the women of Devil's Briar used to hang up their washing and get all quivery at the thought that some horned beast was eying them up."

"What nice young lady doesn't want to be deflowered by a devil?" Bill asks, coming over to look at the painting. He puts a hand on my waist and leans closer, kissing the side of my neck. "What do you think the good folk of Devil's Briar would say if they could see us now?"

"I think they'd be shocked and appalled," I say, turning to him. We kiss, and - as always - it's passionate but slightly forced. Neither of us wants to admit that we're not really feeling it, so we both go through the motions. We're good at pretending to want one another, and soon we're on the bed. Bill unbuttons my shirt and slips my bra away, exposing my breasts. Putting his hand on the side of my right breast, he strokes the skin. I take a deep breath, reaching down to start unbuttoning his trousers and -

"No!" I say suddenly, pulling away and looking across the room. I pull my shirt closed, to cover myself up.

"What's wrong?" Bill asks.

"Nothing," I say, "I just..." I look around, and see that there's no-one here. Taking the flashlight from the table, I double-check. "I felt like someone was watching us," I say after a moment, feeling my heart racing in my chest. "Like, I really felt like someone was right here, in the room, staring at us."

"There's no-one," Bill replies, looking a little concerned. "Seriously, Paula, come on, you know how the human mind works. A place like this is bound to feel odd, but don't take that perfectly natural reaction and spin it into a load of supernatural bullshit."

"I'm not," I say, still glancing nervously around the room. What I felt was more than just 'supernatural bullshit'. I really thought for a moment that there was someone watching as Bill was caressing my breasts. I didn't see anyone, but I got a really strong impression of a presence. Damn it, I feel so stupid.

"The brain processes signals in irrational ways sometimes," Bill continues. "You sense what you think is a -"

"I know!" I snap at him, still feeling uncomfortable. "You don't have to fucking explain how the brain works. I know, okay?"

"Okay," he replies, sounding a little annoyed. After a pause, he reaches out and slips his hand back under my shirt, cupping my breast.

"Not now," I say, pushing him away. If we were anywhere else, I'd be seriously considering moving rooms just to get away from him. Bill has this habit of patronizing me, and treating me as if no matter how smart I am, I'll never be his intellectual equal. We joke about ghosts and monsters hiding in the shadows, but I know he's waiting for me to get creeped out by this place; he wants me to seem weak, and I just gave him a sneak preview by getting freaked out.

"There's nothing here," he says.

I take a deep breath. "Do we really know that?" I ask. "I mean, sure, this place looks abandoned and empty, but we haven't been door to door, checking every building. I'm not talking about ghosts, Bill. I'm talking about people who might be living here, making this place their home."

"There's no-one," he replies, sighing as if he's talking to a child. "First, the streets clearly haven't been disturbed for years. Second, there's no power, there's no food, there's no water. We have supplies from the truck, but how do you think people would keep themselves alive if they lived here?" He pauses. "Don't get irrational, Paula."

"Don't talk to me like that," I reply firmly. "I'm not being irrational."

"You just thought someone was here in the room with us," he says. "You're letting this place get to you."

"I'm letting
you
get to me," I say. "Look, I don't like being here. I've agreed to stay for one night, and I'll help you with your work tomorrow, but then we have to get out of here. You can come back with other researchers all you want, but my involvement with Devil's Briar ends after we drive away tomorrow. Is that clear?"

"Sure," he says, reaching up to touch my breasts again.

"Not now," I say, pushing his hand away. "We should probably get some sleep. I'm assuming you want to be up early tomorrow?"

Sighing, he heads over to the door. "I'm going to find the bathroom," he says, clearly a little annoyed with me. "Will you be okay in here by yourself?"

"Of course I will," I say. Once he's gone, though, I realize that I was lying. As much as my rational mind insists that there's nothing to fear about Devil's Briar, and as much as I tell myself that there's no such thing as ghosts, there's a part of me that thinks differently. That feeling of being watched was so intense and so vivid; it's hard to believe it was all in my head. Then again, the human mind is a powerful thing. Taking a series of deep breaths, I finally manage to calm myself down. I button my shirt back up, figuring I'd rather sleep with my clothes on tonight, and then I walk over to the window. Outside, the main square of Devil's Briar is shrouded in the dark of night. It's so strange to see all those empty buildings, and to wonder where the people went. Bill's right about one thing: the entire population of a town doesn't just vanish.

Grabbing Bill's rucksack, I sort through the packs of prepacked sandwiches he's brought for us, and I finally pull one out and set it on the table by the bed. Once Bill is back from the bathroom, I go and use the toilet before coming back to the room and getting back onto the bed. Bill seems to have settled down for the night already, which I guess means he's giving me the cold shoulder. Typical. He can be so childish sometimes; I just want to grab him and shake him, and tell him he needs to grow up and talk to me like I'm an equal. I swear, he's the kind of man who views a wife as a kind of assistant.

Although Bill has got under the bedsheets, I decide to sleep on top, so I settle down. I'm not particularly hungry, so I leave the sandwich for now and try to get some sleep. Something about this bed, though, feels very wrong, and I find myself tossing and turning. Even after Bill starts to snore, I find that I'm wide awake. I stare up at the ceiling for a while, waiting for that feeling of being watched to return. Thankfully, I manage to stay calm and although I remain awake for several hours, I never once feel as if there's someone in the room with us. I guess I really
was
just letting the situation get on top of me. Damn it, I wish I hadn't let Bill realize I was getting scared.

Eventually checking my watch, I see that it's just after 2am, which means I've been awake in bed for almost three hours. Still not feeling tired, but not fancying the idea of getting up and going for a wander around the hotel alone, I reach out for the sandwich. In the dark, I struggle to find the packet before finally my hand brushes it and I hear it fall onto the floor. With a sigh, I reach down and try to find the damn thing. My fingers move through a half-inch layer of dust, but the sandwich packet remains obstinately out of reach. I lean over the side of the bed, but I can't see anything on the floor, which means it must have somehow slipped under the bed. Sighing again, I reach under, feeling slightly disgusted by all the dust. We probably should have given the room more of a clean before we slept in here; God knows how much dust there must be in the air, and how much is going to get into our lungs.

Still not finding the sandwich packet, I sigh yet again and get up, grabbing the flashlight and crouching by the bed. I switch the light on and shine it across the floor, finally spotting the packet between the bedside table and the bed itself. I reach down and grab it, brushing off the dust that has already accumulated, and then - as I'm about to get back up - I happen to shine the flashlight under the bed. I freeze instantly, my blood running cold as I realize what I'm looking at. Under the bed, looking straight at me with its hollow eyes and its toothy grin, there's an entire human skeleton.