Dead Of Winter (The Rift Book II) (39 page)

The words coming out of Kirsten’s mouth were artificial, so unlike her. Stan’s vision began to play tricks on him. He blinked and there was nothing before him but trees and snow. He blinked again and he was back on his roof, with Kirsten before him while the sun baked his thinning scalp. He covered his ears with his hands and backed away.

“No. Uh-uh. You’re not Kirsten. You can’t be. She’d never talk like a Hallmark card. This is a nightmare, isn’t it?
Has to be.”

“But darling,” began his dead wife.

He threw up his hand. “Please go away. I don’t want to see you anymore.” He turned around and headed back for the window.

Once more his vision fragmented. Some of his surroundings remained like his home, but those segments were now buried in snow or split in half by pine trees. When the window also vanished he spun around, only to see he stood on a rocky, icy ledge. There were screaming voices in the distance.

He glanced over his shoulder as the rest of the dream dissolved. Yet Kirsten still stood there, smiling at him. Her face started to change. It became older, weathered, and then her flesh split. Her body became a decomposed mess. Insect arms burst from her sides, flinging black viscous fluid across the snow. Her neck craned back and a snapping sound followed. The bones in her shoulder caved in as her neck extended vertebrae by vertebrae until it was a foot longer than it should’ve been. The tongue in her mouth uncurled like a party favor.

Stan backed away from the creature. It charged him and the squirming tongue wrapped around his chest, pinning his arms, pulling him towards it. He tried to struggle but it was too strong. The monster forced him perilously close to the rocky ledge while his heart hammered into his throat and his body grew numb. He could see the jagged rocks that awaited him down below. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Please don’t do this!” he pleaded.

“Do what, honey?” his wife’s voice asked.

He opened his eyes. He was back on the roof. Kirsten was Kirsten. She was holding him.

“What the fuck is going on?” he muttered.

*
 
 
*
 
 
*

Hector, pot belly and all, was the first to round the bend. He lost his footing and skidded to a stop. Luis came next, and he obviously didn’t expect Hector to be on the ground because his knee connected with the prone man’s cheek, sending him flat on his back. Hector turned in time to see Dennis follow soon after, and he was able to slide out of the way before the silver fox stepped on his chest.

“Jesus, guys!” he screamed.
“Watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry, man,” said Dennis.
“Didn’t expect y’all to be lying down.”

“Man, fuck you,” grumbled Luis.

Hector raised his hand and silenced them.
“Enough,
amigos
.
Just watch where you’re going next time.”

Luis and Dennis mumbled some half-hearted apologies. Hector grunted and turned away. He snuck up the trail on his elbows and peered over the next rise.

There was Stan.

“Oh shit,” he said.

“What is it?” asked Dennis. “You see him?”

“Yup.
Right up ahead. Get over here and look.”

They did, and they obviously saw the same thing he did, because they both exhaled in a mixture of relief and worry. Stan was standing on the edge of a cliff. He glanced about him as if he’d temporarily lost his mind and was just now regaining his sanity. He began to back away from the ledge.

Hector let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” he muttered.

Then, suddenly, Stan was heading in the other direction. He moved in an odd fashion, as if he wasn’t the one controlling his body. To Hector it looked like he’d perfected Michael Jackson’s Moonwalk. He drew perilously close to the edge once more.

“Stan!” screamed Dennis. “Stanley Clark, get over here!” Hector and Luis followed suit, and they shouted as one to their friend.

Either Stan couldn’t hear them or he didn’t care enough to respond. He simply moved himself closer and closer to certain death. Hector glanced at Luis and Dennis. He saw the same panic he felt in their eyes. With a nod he scrambled to his feet and dashed in the direction of his suicidal friend.

“Get away from me!” Stan screamed, freezing Hector in his tracks.

*
 
 
*
 
 
*

“Get away from me!” yelled Stan. He pounded on the thing before him as its form shifted. One moment it was Kirsten, the next it was the beast with the long neck, lolling tongue, and insect arms, and then it turned back again. The only consistent about the two forms was the invariable, ear-splitting laughter. Both seemed to take great joy in his panic.

He started to feel dizzy. His balance, and his resistance, faded. “Please,” he begged the persistent beast, “just let me go. I want to go home now. Make it stop.”

“Very well,” said the beast.

It released him. Stan closed his eyes. The distinct feeling of air rushing over his face caused him to smile. He knew the sensation well having experienced it when he and Kirsten had gone skydiving on their tenth anniversary. She’d looked so adorable in that green jumpsuit and a helmet that was much too big for her.
Laugh all you want
, she’d told him.
But we’ll see who’s laughing later, when I’m the one who doesn’t crap myself on the way down. Then I’ll make fun of you all the way
hom
–

Stanley
hit the rocks at the bottom of the ravine head first. His skull caved in on impact, leaving no opportunity for fear, or even pain. The rest of him followed, snapping most every bone in his body. Death came instantly.

*
 
 
*
 
 
*

Tom watched the man jump off the ledge from his hiding spot in the trees. He saw the three who’d chased him slide to a halt and peer over, screaming for their friend. There was such pain and sorrow in their voices it just about drove Tom insane.

What the hell did I just do?
he
thought.

You did well,
his conscience said.

“I did well?” he whispered. “What the fuck does that mean?”

When his conscience didn’t answer Tom stood up, brushed the snow from his pants, and snuck back the way he came. His body ached as if he’d run a marathon and his heart weighed heavy on him. Though he wasn’t
Stanley
’s biggest fan he wasn’t keen on killing him. The only other life he’d taken had been that of Carl Pendergrass, and that fucker deserved it.
Stanley
, on the other hand, seemed like a nice enough fellow. Wound a little tight, perhaps, but still decent. To deal with it he told himself that killing
Stanley
– though he still wasn’t sure how he’d done it – wasn’t his idea. It was the
other
who did it, which removed all liability from his shoulders.

Do not go thinking yourself morally superior
, his conscience scolded.
Remember your place in this world. Remember all the millions who died because of decisions you made. You are not blameless, Thomas. In fact, you are the guiltiest man still alive. You cannot change this.

Tom buried his chin in his chest and walked on. “We’ll see about that,” was all he could say.

*
 
 
*
 
 
*

“FUCK!” screamed Corky. He slammed his fist into the wall, shattering plaster. All the rest in the room backed up a step but no one tried to stop him. This made him even angrier and he punched the wall again. This time blood poured from his knuckles. He collapsed on the ground and held his hand. Blood dripped between his feet onto the carpet. He could feel the tears starting to well up but he’d be damned if he let them come.

Doug walked over, knelt beside him, and placed a hand on his knee. Corky glanced up. The kid looked the way he felt, with shimmering eyes and trembling jaw.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Corky shook his head and then looked around at everyone else in the room. Horace was beside the fireplace, rolling a tumbler of whiskey in his palms. Dennis and Luis sat on the couch, staring at the ground and looking somber. Hector paced back and forth, sobbing, while Larry downed shot after shot at the bar. Allison swayed in the rocking chair, Shelly in her lap. The little girl’s thumb was firmly planted in her mouth while her mother stared out the window. The whole scene was depressing.

Tom strolled in a few minutes later. His expression seemed puzzling. In one moment he appeared to be frowning, the next on the verge of cracking up. He carried with him a tray upon which crackers and cheese had been stacked and he went about handing them to everyone.

When he arrived at Corky, Doug silently slid to his feet and walked away. Corky snatched a single cracker from the tray and munched on it. It tasted salty. In a fit of self-pity he licked his wrecked knuckles with his salt-slathered tongue. Needles of pain shot through his wrist. He leaned back and winced.

“Hurting yourself isn’t going to bring him back,” said Tom.

Corky glared at him. “Fuck you, dude.”

Tom shrugged and turned away from him. “Have it your way, Charles,” he said. “
Stanley
couldn’t handle the loneliness. That’s not your fault.”

“You’re insane,” Doug said. Corky winced again when he heard the kid’s hateful tone. “Don’t go telling us how we should feel.”

Tom’s shoulders sagged. “You guys don’t understand,” he said. “I know you’re hurting, but please don’t take it out on me. I
do
know what it’s like to lose someone, you know. All I have left is my family.”

Hector stopped pacing and glowered at the thin, sickly man. “Screw you,
muchacho
. At least you still got them. What we got?
Nothing.”

An exacerbated air washed over Tom’s pallid face.
“Nothing?
You’re joking, right? Come on now. You guys
are
family. You support each other, and you’ll lean on one another and eventually survive the loss you’ve just experienced. Yes, I have Allison and Michelle, but I want something more than that. I want to be
a
part
of something, to have what you people have
.”

“You do have it,” said Corky. He rose from his spot on the ground and towered over the rest. “You’re part of us now.
Part of the family.”
He pointed at Shelly and her mother. “You guys are, too.”

Tom lowered his head and shook it. “I’d like to think so, but I’m not so certain. The state of your face is enough to tell me otherwise. I know that.”

Corky touched the bandages still covering his nose, confused by the man’s tone. The words were sincere but the tenor seemed off – conflicted, as if he didn’t believe what came out of his own mouth. He brushed it off to the guy not being comfortable and instead reached out his hand.

“Forget that, dude,” he said. “All’s forgiven.
Has been for a while now.”

Everyone else in the room had stood up by then. Their expressions were sober, as if the sadness they felt weighed their cheeks down. They approached Tom and encircled him. Even Doug was caught up in the act.