Midnight Solitaire (16 page)

“You will.”

“How? I—”

“Kit.” He pushes it into her hand and gives it a squeeze. “You’ll know.”

“I don’t hear the music, Doc. No angelic choirs or chants.”

“Maybe I don’t either.”

“Yes, you do.”

“You sure about that?”

She nods. “I want to hear them too, believe me I do. I just don’t think I can.”

His bloodshot eyes find hers in the dark. “You’d be surprised.”

Kit looks away, unsure of what to do or say.

“Just remember,” he tells them, “either way, the flesh can’t just die, it has to be annihilated. The host is doomed. The flesh dies and the parasite’s bound.”

Greer reaches out, touches Doc’s shoulder. Though she says nothing more and neither does he, many things pass between them in those few cold and quiet moments. And then, shotgun in hand, Doc topples the furniture from the doorway, crouches, then heads out, disappearring into the storm.

* * * *

The snow is to his knees. Doc pushes his way a few feet from the diner but it’s extremely slow going, and with the constant whirl of flakes, he can only see a foot or so ahead of him at most. He stops, exhausted after less than twenty yards, and drops down, hoping the visibility might be greater the closer to the ground he gets.

The motel burns steadily, crackling and raging as the fire spreads from one unit to the next. The office is completely engulfed in flames. The heat hits him in waves, a bizarre feeling in the middle of a blizzard, but there it is. Despite the wind, the temperature is up all across the property, but he knows the fire can only last so long in such conditions, and soon the cold will again take control as ice and snow locks everything down and buries them all.

Doc scans the area between his position and the motel. He can see nothing but night and snowflakes. But he feels The Dealer. He’s close.

Here kitty-kitty.

He looks behind him. He’s not far from the diner but it’s barely visible, a dark silhouette in the snowy night. He turns back toward the motel, scans the area again as best he can.

Come on, you sonofabitch.

Swinging his hips, he throws one leg forward then the other, shifting his way through the snow as a gust of wind slams him, reminding that the heat from the fires offer nothing more than false and transient hope. Doc comes to a stop, out of breath and blinded by snow. He wipes ice from his face with the back of his hand. He can’t risk going much farther or he’ll never make it back to the diner. The heat hits him again and he allows himself a moment to embrace it.

A shadowy form suddenly springs up through the snow in front of him in a spray of powder. The Dealer, arms extended and lunging for him, head and face covered with Luke’s ski mask.

Doc fires but the barrel is at too high of an angle and goes off over The Dealer’s shoulder. While the blast alone should’ve deafened him, The Dealer is unfazed. The wide and crazed whites of his eyes burn through the snow and darkness as his hands find Doc’s throat and clamp down with remarkable power.

Doc swings the shotgun up, slams the butt up under The Dealer’s chin. The blow snaps his head back and his grip softens but doesn’t release. Bringing the shotgun back around, he strikes him with the butt again, this time full in the mouth. It breaks the grip on Doc’s throat and The Dealer staggers back in the snow, blood and teeth flying about with the snowflakes.

Doc racks the shotgun but The Dealer is already on him, punching a hand into his midsection that lands with such force it knocks Doc off his feet and back into the deep snow. But it isn’t until Doc rolls over, frantically kicking his legs and swinging his arms as if to swim through the snow and back to his feet, that he realizes something is wrong. Terribly wrong.

A burning sensation in his stomach fans out into his sides and up across his chest, quickly morphing into a sharp and agonizing pain that explodes through his entire body like a sunburst.

Back to his feet, he seems unable to draw a full breath. The Dealer has vanished. Doc is alone in the storm. He staggers, realizes he’s dropped the shotgun at some point. He also realizes his hands are wet, though not with snow and ice. His midsection is soaked.
Blood, I—I’m bleeding, he—Christ, the fucker stabbed me.

Bent forward at the waist, blood and vomit spray from his mouth as he frantically searches for the shotgun. He quickly finds the barrel protruding from the snow to his right, and battling through what has become excruciating pain, takes it up and heads back toward the diner.

Doc falls face-first into the snow after only a few shuffling steps. He can barely breathe, and he is becoming lightheaded. The wound is bad, and he knows it, but he cannot give in to the pain and fear. Not now.

He pushes on through the heavy snow, hopeful The Dealer is following, toying with him the way a cat allows a mouse to get nearly to the end of its reach before snatching it back for the kill.

Once the diner is within reach, he pushes through the snow and falls against the blown out doorway. Freezing and racked with pain, Doc stumbles into the diner, dragging the shotgun along with him. He cannot see Kit or Greer but knows they’re there, hiding in the shadows near the door to the kitchen and waiting for his signal.

He spins back toward the door.

There, at the threshold, is The Dealer. Standing mere feet away, a large knife in hand, the blade soaked and dripping with Doc’s blood. The ski mask still covers his face, but the yellow eyes have returned, peering at him from the holes in the mask. The opening for the mouth is slick with blood.

So many years
, Doc thinks.
I’ve dreamed about this moment.

He steps back, tries to raise the shotgun but apparently can’t. Instead his legs give out and he falls onto the seat of his pants over by the lunch counter. The shotgun is still clutched in one hand but he can’t seem to lift it, as if he no longer has the strength.

He appears helpless, and The Dealer knows it.

The Dealer peels the ski mask off and tosses it away over his shoulder. His mouth is a bloody mess. Chest heaving, he watches the darkness of the diner awhile and Doc awhile longer still, saying nothing, doing nothing. Just watching.

It looks like a man. Moves like a man. Bleeds like a man.

But this is no man.

“You know who I am,” Doc says, blood slurring his speech. “You remember me. You remember my family. My wife…my little girl…”

He finally takes a step into the diner. “I remember how warm their blood felt on my skin,” he growls. “And I remember they died screaming and calling for you. Right until the end, they thought you’d save them.”

You’re mine, you fuck, and you don’t even know it.

“This ends now.”

The Dealer smiles with his bloody gums and broken teeth.

“Bring it, motherfucker,” Doc says. “Come on.”

As he starts toward him, knife raised, Doc suddenly raises the shotgun with both hands and fires.

The impact of the blast throws The Dealer against the wall as his abdomen is blown apart. His face twisted into a confused grimace, he topples over lifelessly and slumps into a sitting position, a wide red wake smearing the wall behind him.

Doc, no longer able to hold the shotgun up, lets it drop down into his lap.

“Doc!” Greer calls from the darkness behind him.

“Stay there,” he gasps, “don’t—this isn’t over.”

Impossibly, The Dealer raises his head, coughs, spits blood and slowly begins struggling to his feet. Still clutching the knife, he stumbles forward, blood and viscera dripping and dangling from his destroyed abdomen.

It isn’t until he is within a foot or two of Doc that he stops and looks back then all around, like someone suddenly under attack by a swarm of bees. He stumbles again and his expression reveals the level of his confusion.

Doc coughs. Blood pours from his mouth and he gags, but he too struggles to his feet.

The wind blows hard, displacing some snow on the floor, enough so that the traces of linoleum beneath become visible.

Along with the markings in chalk Doc made there earlier.

The Dealer’s eyes grow wide and wild. “No,” he says, whispered at first. And then, louder and more panicked. “NO!”

He begins flailing about in an attempt to get back out the doorway but he appears to be blocked by some invisible barricade.

Greer and Kit step far enough from the shadows to see the circle Doc drew on the floor, a circle with a pentagram in the center that has trapped The Dealer within it.

“No!” he screams again. He tries desperately to step out of the circle again and again but is unable to do so.

“Doc!” Greer screams, running toward him. “You’re hurt, you—”

“Stay back!” Doc says, winching in pain.

Greer stops, hands to her mouth.

Back on his feet, Doc reaches a hand out to Kit. “The crystal.”

Kit stares at him as if in a trance.

“Kit, goddamn it, the circle won’t hold forever! The crystal!”

She throws it to him.

He catches it and staggers into the circle with The Dealer.

Blood and bodily fluids spill onto the floor, spattering across the circle, but both men remain standing and facing each other, The Dealer still clutching his knife and Doc holding tight to the crystal, allowing it to dangle and swing free on its satin cord so his adversary is sure to see it.

The Dealer does, and, struggling for breath, wildly shakes his head. “You can’t stop me. I’m going to wear your skin while you still breathe.”

“Better hurry.”

“I’m a god! I—I’m going home! I’m going home!”

Doc reaches for him but The Dealer is ready, and again slams the knife into him. Greer and Kit run to the very edge of the circle but stop just outside it as The Dealer yanks the blade free and stabs Doc again.

He groans, gags and drops to his knees, but he brings The Dealer with him and together they fall to their knees in the center of the circle. As Doc struggles to remain conscious and upright, The Dealer rears back with the knife for a third strike.

Before he can complete the thrust, Greer pulls the commando knife free from her belt, steps into the circle and with a scream of rage and horror, slams the blade into the side of The Dealer’s neck.

It impales him, easily stabbing straight through his throat and trapping the blade in his neck. Greer lets go and scrambles away as Doc grabs the handle and pulls it free. Ribbons of blood spurt from The Dealer’s neck as the knife falls to the floor. His eyes roll to white then back, as the bloodbath continues, flowing from both men now into the circle and filling it with crimson.

Doc wraps one arm around The Dealer’s head, pulling him close so that their bloody cheeks touch. Gurgling and choking on his own blood, The Dealer attempts to pull away but Doc holds him with every ounce of strength he has left.

“In the name of God,” he slurs, “I bind this evil.”

“No,” The Dealer struggles to get free, but Doc presses the crystal to his forehead, which seems to help hold him in place. “You can’t do this you—”

“I bind you, demon, and all your evil works and powers.” Doc chokes, coughs out more blood and nearly falls. No longer strong enough to hold onto The Dealer, he lets go, but the spell has begun and The Dealer remains where he is, thrashing about like a madman, his body jerking about and moving at impossible speeds. “I order you to go where I send you. I bind you and command you to stay there, in the name of God. You…unclean, foul and demonic spirit, are bound forever, for eternity.”

The Dealer becomes still, but for a slow swaying to his upper body. His yellow eyes burn no more, and he remains on his knees, decidedly human eyes transfixed on the crystal now, as it dangles before him.

“Amen,” Doc gasps.

The Dealer falls forward into Doc’s arms. He wraps his arms around him and they both fall back atop each other. As he lands, his hand falls back and out of the circle, the crystal just barely still in his grasp. Eyes slowly dying, he finds Greer and nods.

Tears streaming her face, she nods back, turns and runs for the back.

A moment later Kit follows.

As Doc lies dying in the dark and cold, entangled with the dead body atop him, he closes his eyes, tries to ignore the pain and blood filling his lungs and thinks instead of Karen and Jodi. Of all that was lost, and all he hopes he will find again beyond this darkness, where light dwells and where all that has been lost will again be found.

I’m
going home.

TWENTY

By the time Kit reaches the backroom, Greer already has the door open and is holding it against the wind as snow blows into the stockroom in heavy icy gusts. “Hurry!”

Knapsack held tight to her chest, Kit holds the door with her shoulder and gives a decisive nod.

As demonic growls and cries that sound somewhere between agonizing pain and unimaginable rage echo through the darkness in the diner, Greer pulls the pin and rolls the grenade under the gas tanks. “Go!”