Dead Of Winter (The Rift Book II) (44 page)

The man’s black skin had lightened to an almost golden color and his muscles were unnaturally large. His cheekbones rose higher on his face and his forehead sloped away. The teeth in his mouth became pointed, his eyes were vertical slits. And when he roared he sounded like the largest and most savage of wild cats.

He charged. His arms and legs pumped. He leapt over Marcy and the vines that held her, soaring a good ten yards before landing on his feet. One of the tree-beast’s massive adjuncts swung towards him. He jumped over it, again soaring, and buried his shoulder into its scaly hide. He planted his feet on the ground, gripped the thing with hands that now ended in claws, and shoved. The dirt shifted as the creature’s roots struggled to maintain their stronghold within the earth. The gaping mouth, only inches from Billy’s hand, swelled. He reached inside, grabbed hold of one immense, bark-like tooth, and yanked it from its socket. A large chunk of the thing’s innards tore loose. Black gunk flowed from the wound, pouring gallons of it on the forest floor. The tree seemed to howl in pain.

Marcy’s wardens let go of her, retreating back to the edge of the path. She got up on one knee, held her chest, and began coughing. It felt like the largest phlegm bubble ever burst in her lungs. She vomited, but what came out wasn’t liquid but smoke. The smoke trailed in the air like a serpent, heading away from her, until it dissipated in the suddenly brightening air.

Billy turned to her, smiled a feline smile, and then began to scale the beast. Its branches flailed in feeble attempts to stop him but he was either too strong, too fast, or both. His claws dug into its hide, ripping away lumps of brown matter as he climbed. Once he reached the top he stood up in the nook between its two arms, grabbed the skull in both hands, and started to rip it out. It came loose with a sickening tearing sound. Marcy watched as the muscles in Billy’s back tensed and the skull rose from its socket, trailed by the links of a blood-and-viscous-covered spinal column. Billy straightened out and with one final jerk it came free. He held the skull above his head, the spinal cord dangling like a tail, and then leapt. He smashed the skull on the ground with the force of a man trying to drive a stake into the earth with his bare hands. It splintered on impact, breaking into a thousand pieces. The air itself seemed to squeal. Marcy’s body vibrated along with it. She dropped her head between her knees and covered her ears.

Then, abruptly, it all stopped. For a moment she just sat there, confused. It felt like her life was a record and someone had slid a needle across the surface. Marcy uncovered her head and looked around.

The path was bright. The birch in the center was just a tree. Billy stood before it, staring at his hands. His color was back, but when he raised his gaze to her his eyes were still slits. The only sounds she heard were the wind and rustling leaves.

She stood up, feeling normal again, and approached him. She hastily embraced her protector, who must not have expected it because his body quivered for a moment before returning the gesture. When she pulled away his eyes were normal.

“Thank you,” she said.

He shook his head. “It is not over,” he replied.

“It’s not?”

“No.”

“But you just kicked that thing’s ass. You can at least be proud of that, right?”

Billy’s lips twisted into a depressed grimace.

“Why not?” asked Marcy.

He looked at her and she saw the sadness in his eyes. When she heard him speak that sadness expanded tenfold.

“The woman said anger is my gift to you, that it is all I have ever had.”

*
 
 
*
 
 
*

John Terry followed the kid into the banquet hall, cursing the day he agreed to the professor’s plan. It wasn’t enough that he had to deal with his wife’s constant praying. No, now he had the youngster who’d shown up into his room just hours before dawn, ranting and raving about strange happenings with the unconscious girl. This mayhem had to stop. He’d see to that.

The boy led him into the center of the room. Forrest was already there, staring down, his fist planted firmly against his thick chin. John didn’t like the look on his face. He appeared …alarmed.

When he arrived at the scene he discovered why.

The two bodies on the floor were intertwined with each other like lovers. Neither wore any clothes, though when he glanced about him he could see no sign of where they’d been discarded. He heard the boy gasp, echoing the way he felt. Abhorrence tickled the base of his spine.
How dare the sick bastard
, he thought.
Taking advantage of the poor girl like that…

He tried to hold onto his anger but couldn’t. Something wasn’t right about the pair other
than their pose. It was their skin. It seemed off somehow. He frowned, adjusted his glasses, and leaned in for a closer look.

The flesh on both parties had developed a smooth sheen. For a moment he thought he could see the blankets through them, as if they’d become translucent, but upon further inspection, that wasn’t completely the case. He couldn’t see the blankets themselves, but he could
make out a
hint
of them, like silly putty that had been pressed onto a newspaper, rolled up, and then flattened again. He looked up at Forrest, who shrugged in reply.

“This can’t be good,” Forrest said.

“You don’t say,” snapped John. The couple on the floor both sighed at once and he jumped. His heart raced. He reached down and grabbed the professor’s arm. It felt like it was made of stone.

“How long have they been like this?” he asked.

The boy replied. “Well, they weren’t naked before…and I was asleep…so…I don’t know…” He backed up a step and then lowered himself to the floor as if in a trance.

“What should we do?” asked Forrest.

John sat his old bones beside the couple, took off his glasses, cleaned them, and then checked for a pulse he knew he wouldn’t find. He sighed, crossed his legs, and settled in.

“Go get Katy,” he said. “Tell her to bring her bag. Other than that, we wait.”

*
 
 
*
 
 
*

The path wove through the forest and emptied into a clearing. There was a house up ahead at the top of a slight rise – a quaint, one-story log cabin with a wraparound porch upon which a wicker patio set had been placed. A chimney rose from the center of the house and smoke swirled from it, trailing high into the clear, sun-drenched sky.

Billy glanced at Marcy. A smile painted her face, making her look youthful.

“What is this place?” he asked.

“Home,” she replied with a wink.

“It is charming.”

She shrugged and shivered. There was an innocent air about her. Seeing this caused a twinge of sadness to reverberate through his body.

They arrived at the front steps. Marcy began to climb them but Billy lingered behind, hesitant. She turned to him.

“What’s the matter?”

“I am…unsure.”

“About what?”

Bella’s words to him before he faced the guardian echoed in his head. His shoulders sagged.

“Something’s wrong,” Marcy said.

“Yes.”

“Talk to me, Billy.”

He leveled his gaze at her and spoke. “I am unsure of my place. Some time ago I had a vision…at least I assume it to be a vision. It was much like what we are experiencing now. In it there was a woman, and she was ethereal and beautiful. She was similar to you, as a matter of fact. It was she who told me to seek you out, who told me to help you.” He jabbed his thumb behind him. “Back there, at the tree, she came to me again. It was only her voice but it was clear as this day is now bright; not as though she was beside me, whispering in my ear, but as if she spoke from within me, as a part of me. She told me what I had to do. I accepted those instructions, but now I am not so sure.”

“Why not?”

He groaned. “She said I have a fire inside me. She said it has simmered for as long as I have been living, perhaps longer. Her command was to release this fire, to not hold it back. That it is the only way I can help you.”

He paused, and Marcy said, “So?”

“You do not understand. The woman was correct. I have lived my life in a rage. I have tried to harness my loathing, to turn it into something
helpful
, something
good.
But I have lost control in the past, let it overtake me.”

“In what way?”

“A long time ago, I killed a man. I did this coldly, but it was an act fueled by my rage, rage for what he was, rage for the horrors he rained down upon someone dear to me. Because of my actions the light I had to give, the knowledge I had to present the world, was locked away, in both mind and body.” Tears welled and he stubbornly held them at bay. “I have lived so long thinking that my form of justice was not only valid, but righteous. But I have seen the effect my actions have had on those I aimed to enlighten. Because of what I did everything I had ever said or written, all of the wisdom I was sure would change the world, has turned to dust. And now I am told this anger is all I had, all I will
ever
have. I do not wish for it to continue. I do not wish to become a tool for violence.”

Marcy dipped her head and squinted. She walked back down the stairs and grabbed his hand.

“Billy,” she said, “I don’t really know you, but I know people. I always have. You don’t strike me as a bad man. Why don’t we head inside? I’m not sure what’s in there, but it feels strong and powerful and not necessarily
bad.
You’ve been on this journey for a while now. You don’t have to be a tool for violence if you don’t want to be. And besides, don’t you want to see how it’s supposed to end?”

He nodded sheepishly. “Yes.
But what about her words?
I do not wish to remain in darkness.”

“Eh, let it be,” she replied with a wink. “I think you’re overanalyzing things.” She pulled him up the stairs and opened the door. Before stepping inside she stated confidently, “The woman said you have a fire inside. Last time I checked, fire wasn’t darkness. Maybe you should re-think your definitions.”

The interior of the house was woodsy. Hand-stitched placards bestowing positive messages hung from the walls. Billy felt an incredible lightness overcome him. His muscles tingled, his mind hummed. He walked ahead of Marcy and ran his finger across the kitchen table. It was smooth and polished. A vase filled with wildflowers sat in the center of the table atop a Lazy Suzan. There were picture frames surrounding the vase. He spun it and watched the pictures as they rolled past him, telling the story of the house, telling the story of
family
.

He grinned and turned to Marcy, but she wasn’t there. He whirled around, looking in all directions, but she was nowhere to be seen in the kitchen. He strolled into the living room but she wasn’t there either. His wistfulness evaporated and his steps picked up their pace. The tingling in his core intensified. He called out her name. She didn’t answer.

On his way down the hallway he caught sight of a monster from the corner of his eye and stopped in his tracks. He backed up slowly, as if he could gain an advantage on the thing by moving at a crawl. When he caught sight of it again he froze. His mouth gaped.

A large mirror sat atop a slender table. The creature in the mirror stared back at him, emulating his movements. Its flesh was a dark gold, covered with tiny, translucent hairs. Large, sharp incisors obtruded from its mouth. The pupils were black slits surrounded by a pool of amber.

Billy reached out to touch the mirror. When he did, and his hand came into view, he saw the claws at the tips of his fingers, the hairs steadily thickening on his wrist. He snapped his hand back and stared at his reflection.
What is happening?
his
mind cried.
What is becoming of me?