Repairman Jack [09]-Infernal (32 page)

Jack said, “I want it gone, Tom.”

“Okay, then, I’ll put it back in the chest, lock it, and that will be that.”

Jack’s expression remained fierce. “Be my guest.”

Tom reached for the Lilitongue, then hesitated, his fingers only inches from its surface. What would it feel like now that it had been awakened? Would he feel a vibration? Or even more disturbing… a pulse?

He forced his hands forward and touched it lightly with his fingertips. No vibration, no throb… but it sent a peculiar feeling through him, a hint of instinctive revulsion that quickly passed.

And damn if it didn’t feel warm. Almost like… skin temperature.

He pressed his palms against it, got a grip, and pushed down, aiming for the sea chest.

The Lilitongue didn’t budge.

He pushed harder, grunting with the effort, but it was like trying to move a house.

Tom looked at Jack. “Give me a hand here.”

“Okay, but it’s not going to do any good.”

Together they pushed. Tom could see Jack’s face crimsoning with the strain—mirroring his own, no doubt—but together they achieved no more than Tom had alone.

“It won’t budge,” Jack said. “Trust me, it won’t move up, down, or sideways. It’s fixed in space. The proverbial immovable object.”

“Then we’ll need an irresistible force.”

“How about your stupidity?”

“Hey—”

“You weaseled it in here and now I’m stuck with it.”

“There has to be a way.”

“Yeah?” Jack reached down behind the couch and came up with an aluminum bat. “Try this.”

Tom took it and hefted it. Heavier than he expected.

“So you still play baseball?”

“It’s a versatile item.” Jack pointed to the Lilitongue. “Go ahead. Take a swing.”

“I don’t want to damage it.”

“You won’t. Trust me. Take a big swing.”

Something in Jack’s tone set off a warning bell. So instead of a big swing, he gave the Lilitongue a light tap.

Nothing beyond a dull
thunk
.

A harder tap.

Another
thunk
, plus a metallic ring from the bat.

“Come on, Tom. Don’t be such a wimp. Swing for the bleachers, big guy-”

Wimp, huh?

Tom raised the bat above and behind his shoulder, then let loose, putting his arms and body behind it, giving it everything.

He heard a loud
clang
from the bat and felt a stinging vibration run through his hands and up his arms.

“Shit!” He dropped the bat and rubbed his palms as he glared at Jack. “You knew that would happen.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah. Been there, done that. Hurts like hell, doesn’t it.”

Damn right. And the pain hadn’t come from the Lilitongue. It would have been the same had Tom slammed the bat against a sidewalk.

He stared at the unmarred, unmoved, unperturbed Lilitongue.

“Tough son of a bitch, isn’t it.”

“I want it out of here, Tom. Out.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

“Well, I can’t do anything until I know more about it, and I can’t learn much on a Sunday night.” He shook his head. “Maybe I should have listened to that girl on the dock.”

9

-81:02

Jack felt a chill.

“What girl? What dock?”

“Remember that hallucination I told you about? That was it. I’m not exactly sure where the real left off and the unreal began.”

“Tell me.”

“It was in Saint George’s. When we were gassing up. I was standing on the aft deck, minding my own business, when out of the blue this girl, this local teenager, starts talking to me.”

“What do you mean, ‘out of the blue’?”

“I didn’t see her coming. I just look up and she’s there, standing half a dozen feet away on the dock.”

An uneasy feeling crawled through Jack’s stomach.

“What’d she say?”

“Some nonsense about throwing it back in the water, but never said what ‘it’ was.”

The uneasy feeling had graduated to gripes.

“Did she—?”

Tom waved a hand. “Wait-wait. That’s not the crazy part. Here’s where I think I lost it: For no reason at all she pulls up her shirt.”

“She flashed you?” Jack felt a faint tinge of relief. “I see where the hallucination comes in. Who’d want to flash you?”

Tom didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile. “She wasn’t showing me her boobs, she was showing me her belly. And…” His voice trailed off.

“And?”

Tom looked away. “And she had a hole through her—clear through her.”

Jack felt as if he’d been hit with a bucket of ice water. He’d seen someone with the same thing not too long ago.

“Where—where was the hole?”

Tom jammed his fingers into a spot a couple of inches to the right of his navel.

“Right about here. I tell you, Jack, it was the weirdest goddamn thing. I swore I could see right through her.”

Jack felt himself swaying, and not because he was at sea. He closed his eyes.

“Did she have a dog with her?”

“Yeah. Ugliest mutt I’ve ever—”

In a flash Jack found himself next to Tom, grabbing his wrist and shouting.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

Tom blinked at him, startled. “What’s with you?”

“That was a warning, asshole!”

“From a teenage girl? Cut me a break!”

“That was no ordinary teenage girl. What did she say?”

“I told you—”

“Her exact words.”

“Let go, for Christ sake. How’m I supposed to think with you grabbing me?”

Jack released Tom’s wrist but didn’t back off.

“I’m waiting.”

“All right. She had this Jamaican accent and she said… let me see… I t’row it right back in de water, me.’ Yeah. That was it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

In the past sixth months four women with dogs had crossed his path—three of them old, one about his age. He’d gathered that they were all linked, but to what, he didn’t know. Some had got him into trouble, others had warned him of trouble to come. He didn’t know their agenda, but to a woman they all knew more about Jack’s life than they should. And the last one, who’d called herself Herta, had had a tunnel through her, front to back, just like the one Tom had described in the black teenage girl—a girl with a dog.

10

-80:53

Tom saw Jack’s hands tighten into fists. He wasn’t going to hit him again, was he?

“Damn you,” he said through clenched teeth. Then his fists relaxed. “All right, here’s how it’s gonna play. First thing tomorrow you’re up and on the phone and you’re calling anybody and everybody who might have heard of this thing.”

“Okay, okay. Sure. Nobody wants to find out about it more than I do.”

No lie there.

Jack said, “Don’t be too sure of that.”

Tom tried to put a positive spin on this for himself. Sure, Jack’s pissed, and he’s not the kind of guy you want pissed at you, but look on the bright side: You’ve just engaged a willing helper in your search.

He glanced back at the Lilitongue and—

“Holy shit! Jack! It’s gone!”

“What?”

Tom didn’t have to say any more. Nothing but empty air where it had floated only seconds ago.

But where—?

He dropped to his knees and reached for the sea chest. He tugged at its top thinking, Please be there! Please!

He pushed back the top: empty.

No! He couldn’t have gone through all this just to have it disappear on him. It wasn’t fair!

“Got to be around here somewhere,” Jack said. “Not like it vanished into thin air.”

But it had. They searched every room, every closet, every nook and cranny—nothing.

Tom wanted to scream.

11

-80:41

“I’m too tired, Mom.”

“Just a quick shower,” Gia said.

She’d wanted Vicky to take a bath before going over to Jack’s but Vicky had found one excuse after another to put it off until it was too late.

“I don’t want to.”

She pouted in the bathroom doorway, her right hand behind her, scratching at her back.

Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time Vicky was the sweetest child in the world. But like any child, when overtired she became whiny and uncooperative.

Gia reached into the shower stall and turned on the water. Vicky’s aunts, Nellie and Grace, had installed it three or four years ago. Its modern, one-piece construction sat in stark contrast to the rest of the master bath with its walls of antediluvian tiles and age-stained grout.

Though dead for almost a year and a half now, the aunts remained the official owners of this Sutton Square townhouse. Gia knew they were dead but couldn’t prove it. And so even though they’d left their entire estate to their only blood relative, little Victoria Westphalen couldn’t claim it. Not yet. Not until Grace and Nellie were declared legally dead. Until then, Gia and Vicky occupied the house in a caretaker capacity.

Good thing the taxes were paid out of the estate. Gia never could have afforded them.

“Come on now. You need a little freshening up. I’ll put a shower cap on you so you won’t get your hair wet. Zip-zip-zip, you’ll be in and out and on your way to bed.”

“But Ma-om.” She scratched her back again. “I want to go to bed na-ow!”

“You want to stop itching? Take a shower.”

“Oh, all right.”

Vicky stepped into the bathroom and pulled off her sweater. Her undershirt followed. As Vicky bent to slide off her jeans, Gia’s heart tripped over a beat as she spotted a large round black mark, big as a tennis ball, on her back.

“Vicky! What is that?”

“What?”

As Vicky started to turn Gia grabbed her shoulders and held her facing away as she looked closer. The tennis-ball-sized mark sat on her upper back between her shoulder blades. Black… Sharpie-pen black, with lightly feathered margins. Ugly and… scary.

A huge melanoma? But no. Impossible. It hadn’t been there this morning when Gia had helped her get dressed.

She couldn’t say why this strange mark filled her with such unease. So black… unnaturally black.

“What is it, Mom?”

Gia heard the concern in Vicky’s voice, so Gia did her best to hide her own concern.

“There’s a mark on your back. Did you—?”

“Where?” Vicky twisted her head as far as it would go. “I can’t see it.”

Gia’s hand recoiled as she reached toward it, but she overcame her hesitancy and traced the mark’s outline with a finger.

“Right there.”

“That’s where it itches.”

“Did you lean against anything?”

“No. I mean I don’t think so.”

Gia snatched up Vicky’s sweater and undershirt. Clean. That meant it hadn’t come through from the outside. But where then?

A thought stole her breath: If not from the outside, that left the inside.

Gia grabbed a washcloth, moistened it, and rubbed at the mark.

“That feels good, Mom. That’s right where it itches.”

“I’m glad, hon.”

But she’d be so much gladder if she were making some headway. It wouldn’t wipe off. She hadn’t lightened it even the slightest.

She rubbed harder.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry, hon. It won’t come off.”

Gia had an idea. She went to the linen closet where she grabbed another washcloth and the bottle of rubbing alcohol. She splashed some on the cloth and attacked the mark again.

“Ow! That stings!”

“Just hang on there and let me see if I…”

Gia’s unease expanded to fright as she rubbed and rubbed with no result. The alcohol did no better than plain water. She couldn’t even smear it.

Finally she stopped and leaned back.

“Where on earth did you get this?”

Vicky shrugged as she turned toward her. “I don’t know.”

She reached around and began scratching at it again.

The itch… somehow related to the mark…

“When did you start itching?”

Vicky glanced away. “Oh, a little while ago.”

Gia sensed evasion. Vicky wasn’t a liar. Sure, she’d tell a white one every so often, but her usual tactic was to evade the truth rather than negate it.

But what would make her evasive?

“All right. Do you remember where you were when you started itching?”