Donny's Inferno (10 page)

“Ouchy,” Angela called after him. The subway reached the next station, and Donny saw the three men bolt from
the next car and dash for the stairs, Frankie holding a hand to his head.

Angela chuckled to herself and sat down next to Donny again. She returned the money to her bag, sat back, and crossed her legs.

“What is that thing you do?” he asked.

“To freak them out?” She put the back of her hand to her forehead and made a flicking motion with her fingers. “I just unleashed a little terror in their direction. If I give 'em a little, they get nervous. If I go full throttle, I can sometimes make 'em pass out.”

Donny took a moment to absorb the information. “That's amazing, but you wouldn't have had to do it just now if you hadn't started the whole thing.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You created that situation. Nothing would have happened if you hadn't shown off all that money.”

“So? I was just entertaining myself.”

“But I thought you didn't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Intervene. You scared those guys. Maybe they'll think twice about robbing someone from now on.”

She laughed. “I doubt that!”

“Okay, comic book hero.”

“Give me a break.”

“Fighter of evil doers. Sulfur Girl.”

“Shut your pizza hole. I was having fun.”

The subway rumbled on. Another stop came and went, but they were still alone. Donny turned a thought over in his mind, and wondered if he should voice it.

“Angela.”

“Hmmm?”

“Would you do me a big favor?”

She looked at him sideways. “Depends.”

“Would you scare my dad like that?”

She sat up and arched an eyebrow. “You say the nuttiest things.”

Donny's nerves were on fire with the possibilities. “You could scare my dad like you scared those guys. But worse—a lot worse! Tell him he has to go straight, or something awful will happen to him. That could work. It could really work!”

She rested her chin on her knuckles and stared back. “Sorry, kiddo. No dice.”

“But you could save him. You could save his soul!”

“Donny, you're a sweet kid. I see where you're coming from. But that is not the way I operate.”

“But—”

“No,”
she said, and for an instant Donny felt a tiny hint of that beam of terror she could project. His breath caught in his throat. He turned away and looked straight ahead, his hand clutching the front of his shirt.

CHAPTER 21

T
here,” Angela said. She pointed up at the apartment building that loomed overhead. It was four stories tall with five windows across. The brick had been painted years before, but only flakes remained, like peeling skin. Black fire escapes formed a stack of Zs in front of the windows. “Third floor, on the right.”

Donny stared at the dimly lit rectangle. “And this thing—people can't see it?”

“It's not exactly invisible. You might have caught a glimpse of one yourself.”

That stopped the breath in Donny's throat. “What? Really?”

“Have you ever thought you saw something move out of the corner of your eye, but when you looked that way, you didn't see anything?”

“Um. Sure. Hasn't everybody?”

“Did you ever hear something whisper, but you couldn't figure out where it came from?”

“You're creeping me out right now.”

“You ever just get the chills for no reason at all? You'd swear that something was in the room, even though you couldn't see it? Everything's normal, and suddenly, you just got . . .
scared
?”

“Please stop. I'm really sorry I asked.”

“I'm just saying. That's what it's like when one of these things is around. Scoping you out to see if you're vulnerable. You ought to know what we're dealing with. It's a troublemaker of the worst kind.”

Donny looked at the window again. It dimmed for a moment as something moved in front of the light source. “So this whispering thing . . .”

“Murmuros.”

“Murmuros. It lives in an apartment in Brooklyn?”

She shook her head. “Temporary residence. A murmuros roams the world and looks for someone to latch on to. This one's name is Gustus. I chased him in Pakistan and ­Denmark and then Missouri, and I almost had him in Greece. Wherever he goes, he wants to stir up hate, and when he finds a good vessel for making that happen . . . that's what makes him happy. And that's what he's up to right now. He found a patsy, and that patsy lives three stories up, on the right.”

“Patsy?”

“Sorry, old-fashioned term. Gustus found a sucker. A victim. This guy—he's an easy mark for the murmuros. Weak of mind. Inclined to hate. Simple to manipulate.”

Donny heard footsteps and turned to see a man approaching down the alley. A streetlight behind him cast an elongated shadow. “Don't worry, Cricket,” Angela said. “That's Carlos. He's here to help.”

Carlos wasn't very tall, but he was wide and strong. He had a friendly face, framed by a narrow beard that ran along his jawline. Like Donny, he was dressed mostly in black: wool cap, jeans, boots, and leather jacket, and he had a long black bag slung over his shoulder. “Good evening,” he said quietly. He smiled at Angela and then at Donny. “Angela, who's your friend?”

“Carlos, this is Donny. Donny, Carlos.” They shook hands.

“Thanks for your help tracking this one down,” Angela said.

“De nada,”
Carlos said with a shrug.

“Is Victor coming?” Angela asked.

Carlos shook his head. “Still afraid, after the last time.”

Still afraid.
Those words echoed inside Donny's head.

Angela tapped her bottom lip with a finger. “Hmmm. Well, I think we should go for it anyway. We need to catch Gustus before he moves on. Donny can help you.”

Donny wasn't sure how he felt about the “helping”
part. His eyes bulged, but he didn't say anything.

“So, here's what we do,” Angela said. “There are only two ways out of that dump. The door that leads to the hallway, and those windows that lead to the fire escape.”

“Correct,” Carlos said.

“I'll go to the apartment door. If I can get the patsy to open the door, and Gustus doesn't sense me coming, then I can handle this myself. If he heads for the window, you boys will use the net. You have the net, Carlos?”

Carlos patted his black bag. “Right here.”

“What's this fellow's name, anyway, the patsy?”

“Massey.”

Angela rubbed her hands together. “Won't this be fun!”

“Or terrifying,” Donny suggested.

“You're both right,” Carlos said.

Donny looked up at the glowing window. “This thing can sense you're coming?”

“Right,” Angela said. “Kind of like animals. Moments like this are why I need mortal helpers. Gustus won't know you're there.”

Donny felt a twinge in his chest. “That's why you saved me? To do this?”

She reached out and bopped the end of his nose with a finger. “Aww. Also because you sounded so pitiful, calling for help!”

Donny knew from the warmth in his cheeks that his face had gone red. He looked away from her, up at the
fire escape. It began like most of them, one story above ground level, with a ladder that was raised out of reach. He was relieved to find a flaw in the plan. “Angela, there's no way for us to—”

His question was interrupted, and the air forced out of his lungs, as Angela seized him from behind with her hands under his arms. She tugged him down a little and then tossed him in the air. Suddenly the ladder was directly in front of him, and it was simple enough to grab the railing with both hands and plant his feet between the rungs.

If they hadn't been about to sneak up on a monster, he would have shouted from surprise at being launched. Instead he just gaped down, stunned at how absurdly strong Angela was. “Move,” she told him. He climbed onto the landing of the fire escape and watched in amazement as she repeated the feat with Carlos, who must have outweighed Donny by sixty pounds.

“Give me a few minutes to find a way inside,” she called up quietly. “Donny, I'll text you when I'm ready. See you boys later.” She sauntered down the alley and headed for the front of the building.

“Quite a woman,” Carlos said.

“Yeah.” Donny looked around them. It seemed safe enough to talk. Their target was still two stories above, and the closest windows were boarded up with plywood.

“She saved you, huh? Where you from, Donny?”

“Just a few miles from here, actually, Prospect Heights.
At least, I used to be. Now . . .” Donny wondered exactly how to phrase it. “I live in, you know, Angela's place.”

Carlos gave him a much closer look. “You've been . . .
there
?”

Donny nodded. It was still hard for him to believe.

“Wow.” Carlos looked at Donny some more. His head wobbled in a compromise between nodding and shaking. Then he looked down the alley, where Angela had gone. “She haunts my dreams.”

Donny had no idea what to say in response. The best his brain came up with was, “That's too bad, sir,” which sounded even dumber when his mouth said it.

Carlos shrugged and jutted his chin upward, toward the stairs. “Never mind. Let's go. Nice and quiet now, like ninjas.”

Donny pulled the hood over his head. It made him feel stealthier. They snuck up the fire escape, Carlos leading. Donny planted every step carefully to stay silent. His nerves jangled, and it wasn't just because of the demon he was about to see, or the fact that they were creeping like burglars past windows where other people might be asleep. It was also unnerving to find himself on a fire escape again, so soon after he'd done the same thing to avoid a fiery death in the old brewery. If he breathed in deep enough, he still felt the damage that smoke had inflicted on his lungs.

As they approached the third floor, Carlos lowered
himself until he was crawling on his hands and knees. When he was outside Massey's apartment, he raised himself up slowly and tilted his head back so that only his eyes rose above the windowsill, and risked a quick peek inside. He ducked his head and waved for Donny to join him.

Donny felt sweat forming on the top of his scalp. A squeak of metal made him freeze for a moment. His arms and legs quivered. Carlos waved again, more emphatically, and Donny crawled up the last few steps.

“Go on, take a quick look,” Carlos whispered so quietly, Donny barely heard. “That's one ugly mother in there. Did Angela give you the drops?”

Donny nodded. He took a deep breath and let it out, and then slowly raised his head and peeked into the apartment.

CHAPTER 22

T
he apartment was a mess. Dirty clothes were everywhere. Piles of mail cluttered the kitchen table. Filthy dishes were stacked high in the sink. Newspaper stories, ripped by hand from the pages, were taped on the walls and scrawled with red ink.

Massey was hunched in front of an outdated computer at a rickety desk. He leaned in to stare at the screen, and pecked furiously at the keyboard with two fingers. He had a shaved head and wore a stained white T-shirt and sweatpants.

A nightmare squatted beside Massey, one long sinewy arm around his shoulder. The murmuros had a monkey's shape with the lumpy, scaly hide of a lizard. His back was turned to the window, so Donny felt safe taking a longer look. He shuddered as he absorbed the features: feet that were clawed, birdlike but with five digits. A short tail that
ended in a leather diamond, flicking from side to side. Bony spikes that ran down his back. Quivering ears that stuck out like batwings.

The murmuros whispered into a cupped hand by Massey's ear. Massey never looked at the thing. He only paused in his typing while the creature spoke, and stared at the wall as if deep in thought. When the whispers stopped, he hunched over the keyboard and typed some more.

Carlos put a hand on Donny's shoulder and tugged him down. “You see it?”

“Yeah. It's gross,” Donny whispered back.

Carlos nodded. “That guy, Massey. He's been spreading nothing but hate on the Internet since this bad boy moved in. Whipping up anger, spouting bad ideas. Suggesting violence as the solution. It wouldn't be so bad, but some people actually read that stuff. A man can do a lot of damage from his computer.” He took the bag off his shoulder and unzipped it slowly. “Let's get ready. Shouldn't be long now.”

Donny jumped a little as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and saw a text message from Angela:
I have entered the Taj Mahal. At the door in five
.

Donny shared the message. Carlos hit a button on his digital watch, and it counted up the seconds and minutes. Then he reached into his bag and pulled out yard after yard of black netting. “Commercial fishing net,” he
whispered, his mouth close to Donny's ear. “Heavy-duty nylon. A shark couldn't get through this.” He gave one end to Donny. “Take your end to the other side of the window. Hold it like this, and pick it up high when I tell you, all the way to the top. But first . . .” He took a pair of clear plastic goggles out of the bag. “So you don't get your eyes clawed out.”

Donny gulped.
Gee thanks,
he wanted to say. Nobody had warned him about the potential for loss of eyeballs due to murmuros claws. He exhaled deeply, put the goggles on, and grabbed the net the way Carlos had showed him. Then he backed across the fire-escape landing until he was in position.

Carlos kept an eye on his watch and held up two fingers.
Two minutes,
Donny thought. He felt his heartbeat in his ears, and suddenly needed a drink of water badly. Time slowed to a crawl. His mind went into overdrive.
How did I get into this? Shouldn't I be wearing a helmet? And Kevlar? What if Angela's early? What if she's late? What if the monster already left?

The last thought gave him pause. He raised his head again, tilting it so only his eye would rise above the ­windowsill. Inside, he saw a water-stained ceiling with a bare lightbulb illuminating the apartment, and then the tops of the walls. He saw Massey bent over his keyboard. And then the murmuros sprang up like bread from a toaster, inches away with only a windowpane between them.

Donny screamed. If he thought the murmuros was hideous from behind, that was nothing compared to the front. A catfish was the closest thing he'd seen to that terrible face—tiny gray wriggling eyes and a wide ugly mouth, fleshy barbs jutting from the jowls.

The murmuros leaped across the room and headed for the door. Massey woke from his trance and reached for something on the desk that Donny hadn't noticed before. A handgun. Massey stood up, groggy, and stumbled toward the windows.

Carlos peered over the sill.
“Dios mio!”

The murmuros flung the door open and slammed it closed again. While it was open, Donny caught a glimpse of Angela on the other side, her knuckles raised, ready to knock. She looked startled and amused at the same time.

“Get down!” shouted Carlos, because Massey was at the window. He raised the gun with a wobbly hand and squeezed the trigger. A shot exploded, and a splintered hole appeared in the window over Carlos's head.

Donny heard a crunch and splinter of wood from inside the apartment. It had to be the door getting smashed open. There was a second roar of gunfire with a different sound—fired in the other direction, Donny thought. He heard Angela's voice. “Idiot! You want to get someone killed?”

Then came another, louder crash. Glass rained on ­Donny's shoulders and bounced off his goggles. The
murmuros had burst through the window. He jumped over the net they'd failed to raise and landed in a crouch, facing Carlos. The creature swiped at Carlos, driving him back, and then turned to head for the stairs, where only Donny stood in the way of escape.

“Oh, crap,” Donny said as the murmuros ran toward him with one arm poised to rake him with claws. An explosion of nerves made Donny do the only thing he thought might protect him: he threw the net up in front of him.

The murmuros charged into the net. Donny ducked low to avoid the swiping arm. The monster was partly entangled, his toes and one hand caught in the mesh. The murmuros hissed, an awful sound made up of a thousand hateful whispers. With his free hand, the creature reached down for Donny, grabbed him by the front of the sweatshirt, and threw him aside. Donny's back struck the railing, his legs flipped up, and his momentum carried him over. Then he was falling, three stories toward the ground.