From Darkness Comes: The Horror Box Set (58 page)

"
It ain't like that, Sheriff."

The Sheriff frowned.
"How the hell do you know what it is or ain't, son? Were you there when whatever happened to that girl happened?"

"
No," Pete admitted.

"
So how do you know who done what?"

"
She told me."

"
Don't matter what she told you if her mind's half-gone now does it?"

Pete shrugged.

"Hell boy, if I told you a bear chewed on my foot would you believe it?"

"
I guess so."

"
Why?"

"
Because…you're the Sheriff."

"
And you figure I wouldn't lie to you."

"
Sure."

"
You believe everythin' that girl tells you because maybe you got your eye on her, am I right?"

Pete felt his cheeks grow warm.
"I dunno."

"
Yeah," McKindrey said with a grin. "That's it all right. She could tell you the sky's green and the grass's blue and you'd believe it if you thought she were gonna let you into that sweet pink paradise of hers."

"
What does that mean?"

"
Never mind. It don't matter. What does matter, son, is somethin' you may not be aware of."

"
What?"

"
Her sister thinks you kidnapped Claire."

Pete
's mouth dropped open. "No…She asked me to take her here, I swear it!"

McKindrey hushed him.
"I believe you. I do. But a whole lotta folks won't, and the longer you stay down here foolin' around, the deeper the shit you're in's gonna get."

"
I wouldn't kidnap no one."

"
Course you wouldn't, but folks'll suspect you're sweet on that girl, and they'll know she ain't right in the head, so they'll reckon you told her to come down here so you could have her to yourself."

"
That ain't how it is."

"
But that's what they'll say. They'll ask themselves why a rich white Northern gal like that would come all the way down here with a poor young buck like you, and they'll come up with all sorts of awful notions. Then
you'll
be the bad guy."

"
Claire'll—"

McKindrey limped away from the car and put his hands on the boy
's shoulders. Like a lame dog, he kept his wounded foot slightly raised. "Listen," he said in a quiet voice. "Claire won't do shit for you when you need it. You need to forget about her before she hangs you out to dry. See, the folks who done this to her are long gone, way out of her reach, so she needs to punish someone. That's why she's here. She can't stand the fact that no one's gonna swing for what they did to her, so she'll maybe lead you inside that house, let you fuck her, then she'll cry rape and claim you tried to kill her just like you did before."

Alarmed
, Pete shook his head. "Sheriff…I took
care
of her. I drove her to the hospital."

"
Sure you did. And she'll say you did it out of guilt for what you did to her after killin' her friends and havin' your way with her. She'll say she was confused, thought someone else did it, but when she saw you at her house it all came back to her. Then she'll say you dragged her into your truck and brought her back here." He shook his head in sadness. "And who's gonna say otherwise? Wellman might have backed you up, but he's dead. Your Pa too. Who else is gonna prove what you say is the truth?"

No
, Pete told himself.
You don't know Claire. She wouldn't do that to me
. But as he had already realized earlier, though he had committed himself to the task of protecting her, at the back of it all, he
didn't
know her at all, and hadn't liked what he seen since arriving at her house. She was cold, and weren't cold people capable of the kinds of things McKindrey was suggesting now? Nevertheless it seemed impossible that he could be so completely wrong about someone. But why would McKindrey lie?

His head hurt from the strain of trying to make sense of it. He was torn between the desire to stay and look after Claire
, all in the hope that she would show her appreciation for his efforts, and heeding the Sheriff's advice to avoid the kind of nightmare the man had detailed for him as the most likely reward for his loyalty.

"
What do I do?" he asked.

McKindrey nodded as if Pete had answered a math problem correctly.
"You get goin'," he said. "They're only interested in the girl, not you, unless you give them reason to be. Head back into town and wait for me in my office. Stella's there, she'll make you a nice cup of somethin'."

"
What are you goin' to do?"

The Sheriff sighed and put his hands on his hips.
"Talk to her, I expect. See if I can get her to come with me without makin' things hard. We need to get her back to her people."

"
Why can't I wait and get a ride from you?"

"
Because I don't want you around if she decides to make up another one of her stories. Least if you're with Stella, she can vouch for you, you know?"

Pete shook his head.

"She can say you were there and not here," McKindrey explained.

"
You ain't gonna hurt her, are you?"

"
No," McKindrey told him. "Not even a little bit."

*

Breath trapped in her throat, a hand over her nose to keep the foul stench away, Claire stood by the grime-encrusted window, listening. She hadn't been able to make out what the Sheriff had said to Pete, but whatever it was, it proved enough to convince him that he was better off leaving her. She watched, incredulous, as the boy cast one final longing glance back at the house and started down the path toward the road, and the truck. McKindrey, looking like every hillbilly sheriff she'd ever seen on TV, stood with his hat tipped back away from his forehead, fists clenched on his hips, monitoring the boy's progress. All he was short was some chaw. She could clearly imagine him leaning over and spitting a great gob of tobacco juice into the dirt.

She didn
't know the Sheriff, but now she was alone with him and he could only be here for one reason: to take her back home. She did not wait for him to turn and start toward the house. Instead, she quickly moved away from the window, her eyes watering at the smell of death that seemed to seep through her skin to get at her. In the small beam from the flashlight, she could see what looked like an ornate bed, the cast iron rusted and stained. The filthy mattress in the middle had sunken so low into the frame it was almost folded in two, springs and wires poking out here and there and coated with what looked like dried skin and coarse dark hair. Opposite the bed was a haphazard mound of clothes of every conceivable kind: T-shirts, shorts, underwear, jackets, hats, raincoats, shoes, socks. Fighting the urge to gag, she reached down and began to feel her way through the clothes.

What are you doing? This is insane!

She had thought all along that she had come here to confront her attackers, the murderers of her friends. But they weren't here and yet she wasn't leaving. Even with the means of her departure stalking toward the house, she was still ransacking through old clothing, looking for...

Looking for—what?

For them,
she realized.
For their clothes, for things that belonged to them and were never meant to belong to anyone else. Things that still carry their blood, the scent of their sweat, their perfume, cologne. Their private things. The things that were pieces of them. The things I need to take with me so I won't dare forget.

With her tears came a desperate
, frantic search through the last few items heaped on the floor. She found wallets, purses, a soiled wig, a toothbrush, a pocket mirror and some makeup, but nothing she recognized as anything her friends had once owned.

She fell to her knees
, removed her hand from her mouth.

The noxious smell invaded her. She gagged
, reached for something, anything with which to cover her mouth. Dug a hand into her pocket. And found the phone.

What if he answered?
The memory of that night came back to her and she tore the phone free of her pocket, hit the menu button and raised it up in front of her face. The green glow aided her in locating Danny's number.
The phone was here
, she thought
. He was here. I want it back. I want
him
back
.

Sobbing
, hands trembling so hard she feared she might not be able to keep the phone from slipping from her grip and smashing against the floor, she dialed the number.

Time spun away from her
, the bilious stench forgotten, the bedsprings groaning for a moment as if a ghost had rested its weight there to watch her. Startled, she looked up.

His phone should be dead by now. Or turned off.
But even the promise of his recorded voice thrilled her. A little piece of him she could always keep. The only part of her he'd given her.

The call went through.

Danny's phone began to ring.

It was here. Afraid to believe
, she slowly rose, and lowered her phone, obviating the distraction so she could use both ears to guide her toward the sound.

She stepped out of the room into a narrow corridor carpeted by dust and debris. She turned her head
, closed her eyes and listened.

The phone was not in the house.

The sheds then, maybe.

She stepped back into the room she had just left and peered out through the window
, straining to see through the grime. Annoyed, she scrubbed a rough circle clear with her sleeve. Looked out again. Scanned the yard, but saw nothing, not even the Sheriff.

Then finally
, she located the source of the sound.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Cold filled her.

Danny
's phone was out there, ringing, and now she could see it too. It was on its back, display facing up, the violet glow granting an eerie luminescence to the inside of the Sheriff's car.

"Hell of a way to go," Beau said as he lowered himself to the ground, one bloody hand pressed against his belly.

Finch was breathing
, but only just. Every inhalation felt like he was drawing boiling water into his lungs; every exhalation felt like waves of ice. He couldn't move, and didn't try. The mere idea of it made him want to throw up.

Beau sat back against the tree.
"Kids," he said. "Who'd have believed it."

"
You would," Finch said hoarsely, and tried to smile. He was on his back, the ground cold beneath him. The shaft of the final arrow protruded from his stomach. Blood ran freely. "You could probably have told me how this was going to go right down to the last detail."

Beau said nothing
, and for a moment Finch assumed he had died, but then he spoke softly. "I could, but it wasn't what you wanted to hear."

Finch
's smile faded.

"
Was it?" Beau asked.

"
No."

"
You find what you were lookin' for down here?"

"
I think it found me."

"
Deep," Beau said and chuckled. It quickly turned to a fit of coughing. "Shit...Any time you'd like to call 911 is fine by me. I'm not dyin' here or nothin'. Unless you want me to do the honors."

"
What do you want me to say?"

"
Start with: We're dyin'. They'll probably take the ball and run with it after that."

"
Then what?"

"
Then wh—? Shit, now I get why people in movies tell dyin' folks not to talk. They talk shit is why. They'll send someone to patch us up."

"
So we'll be in full health in prison. Two dead kids lying out here, Beau."

Beau started to respond
, then thought better of it.

"
I'm sorry," Finch said. "I fucked this all right to hell."

"
It was pretty much the only way it could go, right?"

"
Guess so. But I'm sorry for bringing you down here."

"
Hey," Beau told him. "You don't owe me no apologies. I knew what I was doin'."

"
I
didn't," Finch said and smiled.

"
Yeah, no shit. So now what?"

"
I think," Finch told him. "I'm just going to lay real still and rest for a while."

Beau shifted and moaned in pain.
"You always was a lazy sonofabitch. I'm gonna try and get my ass to that cabin. Maybe they got a first aid kit or somethin' so I can sew my stuffin' back in. Hell, maybe they even got a phone."