Husk (12 page)

Even so, that didn’t mean his discovery couldn’t be a memorable one.

CHAPTER 15

Mallory settled into bed that night with a smile. It was only the second night in her new room, but already she felt cozy and at home.

True, she still missed being close to all her friends, but for now she set that concern aside and focused on the more cheerful thoughts of her day with Tim.

She shook her head as she recalled the insanity of their introduction, grinning at the memory of meeting him while wearing only a bath towel—then snickered at the fact he’d been the one embarrassed by the moment. She smiled into the dark, recalling how he’d tensed when she’d laid her hands on him to get the splinters out of his skin. Maybe that’s what made him stand out in her mind, his strong yet humble nature. She felt like she could actually be herself around him, and not have to posture for his attention or fear embarrassment if she did something silly.

She was about to close her eyes when a dim light and the sound of muffled voices drew her attention to the hallway. Listening, she made out her father’s voice speaking to BJ.

Getting out of bed, she walked down the hall to her brother’s room and stopped at the doorway, squinting from the light.

“
What’s going on?” she asked.

Her dad knelt beside the bed, talking softly to BJ. The boy had scrunched himself under the covers the way kids do when they turn their beds into havens from monsters. He’d been acting mousy ever since his experience in the pool, but she figured that was understandable enough.

“
BJ just had a bad dream, that’s all.”

“
Voodooman was here,” BJ whispered.

Mallory raised an eyebrow. “Voodoodude?”

“
It was just a dream,” her dad repeated.

“
No,” BJ insisted. “It
was
Voodooman. But he didn’t look like before. He looked … more scary. L-like a regular guy, b-but gray … gray and empty.” His voice wavered with fright. In one hand he clutched the small penlight their dad often used to dispel the shadowy disguises of BJ’s nighttime monsters, revealing ordinary objects misconstrued in the dark by his overly imaginative mind.

“
It’s okay,” her dad assured him. “I’ll stay right here until you fall back to sleep. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Mallory yawned. “Well, I’m going back to bed. G’night, Dad. Night, Munchkinboy.”

She shuffled down the hall to her room.

Outside, a car drove past. Its headlights swept across the window, and in the split-second moment when the light passed over her bed Mallory saw what hid within the darkness.

A girl.

A girl with short purple hair. Splattered with blood.

Mallory gasped and the girl’s head snapped up. She gazed back with black shark eyes, baring bloodstained teeth in a hideous snarl.

Shock stole Mallory’s voice, and no sound came when she opened her mouth to scream. She wanted to run, but her gaze remained fixed on the girl by her bed, on the dried blood splashed across her bone-white skin and crusted around two overlapping letter Ks that had been cut into her forehead.

Kale Kane
a voice whispered in Mallory’s ear.

The girl lunged.

Before Mallory could find her voice, the girl shot over the bed on all fours with the speed of a springing spider.

DAD!
Mallory tried to yell, but the girl crashed into her, knocking her across the hall, through the bathroom door. She landed on her back, head bouncing off the tile floor. Her teeth clattered. Her vision blurred. At the same time, the girl’s full weight crashed down on her chest, knocking the wind out of her lungs and setting off a tremor of paralyzing agony inside her body.

Pain pinched her throat, seized her limbs.

Pinned under her attacker, Mallory could only gaze upward as the girl’s dead-white face loomed into her vision, black eyes gleaming. Her lips parted, revealing those bloody teeth.

“
Dad—,” Mallory managed to get out when she heard her father call her name, but then the black-eyed girl clutched her jaw with one hand, forcing her mouth open and—

Aghk!

—
shoved her other hand into Mallory’s throat.

A new pain exploded inside her chest.

Pain beyond pain.

Hell.

And with it came a terrible revelation: the girl gazing down at her was dead. Mallory knew it without doubt. Through the horror and torture her mind still detected the cold touch of the girl’s skin, the stiff feel of her flesh.

She dead! She’s dead, and I’m next!

All she could do now was thrash about, clenching the muscles of her abdomen, trying again and again to lurch the hand up. She jerked from side to side, kicking and flailing, and—

“
Mallory,” her dad cried. “Wake up!”

She jerked awake, still trying to lash out, stopped only by her dad restraining her arms.

“
Mallory!”

Now the room came into focus. She saw her dad at the bedside, BJ huddling behind him, looking scared.

She stopped thrashing, relaxed. Lingering fear kept her heart pumping at a runner’s pace, but she managed to calm her breathing and sit up. Her dad released her and she wiped sweat-soaked bangs off her forehead.

“
Are you okay?”

Too embarrassed to say anything, she merely nodded. But with the nod came a sob, and with the sob came tears.

Crying, she clutched her dad in a hug. He held her tight, stroking her hair like when she was young. He told her she was safe and that he loved her and that it was only a dream.

“
Everything’s okay,” he said after she’d gained control again. “You’re safe.”

She wiped her cheeks dry. “I know. I’m fine now.”

“
You sure?”

She nodded.

“
Want to talk about it?”

“
No way.”

He smiled, and she smiled back, even if it was forced.

“
All right, then.” He ushered BJ out of the room and turned off the light. “Goodnight, Mallory. I love you.”

“
Love you, too.”

After they’d gone and she found herself alone in the darkness, Mallory scrunched down in her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, just like BJ.

CHAPTER 16

Harry finally had an excuse to visit the Andersons.

Earlier in the week, when he’d spoken to Jerry during his walk, the man had shocked him with the news that he and Margaret planned on attending church the coming Sunday.

“
Maybe we could all go together?” Jerry had asked, looking sheepish and prepared for ridicule. True, Harry’s jaw almost dislocated from the surprise, but the man had obviously come to him looking for support, and it warmed his heart to hear the Andersons had actually developed an interest in God.

But neither of them had showed.

Harry meant to ask them about it yesterday, but then he’d noticed Father Kern’s car in their driveway and guessed the Andersons had called him for whatever spiritual advice they’d been looking for. The priest stayed for a long time, too, well into the evening, and Harry eventually decided to let the matter rest for the night.

Now he noticed Kern’s car had returned, parked in the exact same place, almost as if he’d never left.

He ascended the front steps and rapped on the door. Like a shot out of some old detective movie, the unlatched door clicked open on the first knock and drifted inward to reveal a scene of devastation: the staircase railing lay in ruin, its banisters reduced to firewood kindling.

Harry stood silent, his gaze taking in the damage.

“
Jerry?” he called. “Margaret? Is anyone here?”

The air inside the house attacked his lungs the second he spoke, tainted by a smell that dredged up memories of Saigon hospitals ripened by the heat. He took a tentative step inside, his gaze fixed on a number of rust-colored smears leading toward the back of the house. His breath caught at the sight, and though his better judgment told him he should run back to his house and call the police, he needed to know what happened to his friends.

“
Jerry,” he called louder. “Father Kern? Anyone?”

He ventured farther inside, following the reddish-brown trail toward the back of the house. It led out the rear door, across the patio, past the barbeque pit. From his place at the doorframe, he focused his gaze on where the marks terminated in the garden.

His mouth dropped open at the sight.

And for the first time in over fifty years, he screamed.

CHAPTER 17

Detective Melissa Humble found the small town of Loretto on the other side of Highway 55, going south on County Road 19, less than three miles from the Pattersons’ house. The neighborhood she’d been called to, a wealthy subdivision comprised of only a couple dozen homes, waited minutes to the east.

Harold Fish greeted her in the driveway of Jerry Anderson’s house. Even before getting out of the car, she recognized the look of absolute shock on his face, an all-too-familiar expression universal to the friends and family of murder victims.

She got out of the car and introduced herself. The man’s blanched face matched the ashen color of his powder-white hair, and his words trembled when he told her about the horrifying discovery he’d made in his neighbor’s backyard. For a second, Melissa thought he might even pass out.

“
Y-you’ll have to forgive me, Detective,” he stammered. “I’ve seen bodies messed up pretty bad before, both what the Viet Cong did to our guys and what we did to them, but that thing in the backyard …”

“
It’s quite all right, Mr. Fish,” she assured him. “Take your time.”

He explained how he stumbled upon the local priest in his neighbor’s backyard, and despite being prepared for it, Melissa stopped short when she saw the man’s body for herself. She lingered in the doorway like a swimmer catching her breath before taking a dive. The priest had been stripped naked and sliced open, propped up like a scarecrow with his decapitated head inserted within a gaping abdominal wound. The brutality of the crime seemed to match the violence of the Patterson killings, but she didn’t notice any obvious calling cards.

The wind gusted and a cloud blocked the sun, darkening the lawn where Melissa stood.

In the shadow, fluttered by the breeze, the flimsy green arms of the corn stalks in the garden appeared to be reaching for her.

* * *

Mallory followed her dad out to the Ford, navigating the front walkway on autopilot. Across the street numerous police cars lined the curb in front of the Andersons’ house. Barrier tape surrounded the front steps and entryway now, and a tall man with a camera circled the one vehicle in the driveway, endlessly snapping pictures.

She’d arranged to meet with Becky at the Mall of America by one—she was already late—but part of her wanted to hang around home and find out what was going on. She thought about the shape she’d seen watching her from the Andersons’ window on Saturday, and the creepy tale her brother delivered moments before almost drowning in the pool.