Soultaker (12 page)

And Will, of course.

Kelsey froze and stared through the windshield at the empty road ahead.

Fuck
.

He had to get to his friend before
they
did.

His hands steady now, he restarted the Oldsmobile, pulled onto the road, and sped out of Washington Heights.

“Shit!”

Will slammed the phone down in its cradle.

He’d never find out where Trey’s brother was staying at this rate. How the hell long could his mother and that other woman gab? At least Kelsey’s parents had been cool enough to get Kelsey a cell phone. They
cared
about their son. His own parents, well-heeled tightwads, refused to even invest a tiny, tiny little bit of money in a second line. It was ridiculous. His dad was a lawyer. He made twice the combined income of Kelsey’s parents. But the old man wanted to teach him the “value of a dollar.”

“Shit! Shit! Shit!”

Will’s heart slammed in his rib cage. He knew he needed to calm down. Getting all pissed off was no good. It wouldn’t help Trey, and it damn sure wouldn’t do anything to loosen the parental purse strings. He stared at the phone, wondering how many seconds had passed since the last time he’d checked the line.

A minute?

Maybe a little more.

“Fuck!”

He did what he always did when he was frustrated. He turned to the poster of Jessica Alba pinned to the wall above his bed. Jessica, clad in a skintight black leather outfit, regarded him with an expression that was both stern and knowing. He
had a recurring fantasy in which she slipped into his room in the middle of the night and handcuffed him to his bed. Believing he possessed vital information she required for some unknown reason, she interrogated him with a wonderful ruthlessness, strutting about his room on thigh-high black vinyl boots with stiletto heels, resplendent in all that black leather.

He pictured it again and felt a little better.

Until he heard footsteps thumping down the hallway toward his room. He grimaced. These were not happy footsteps. These were not even mildly perturbed footsteps. These were the footsteps of doom, as confirmed by the loud knock on his door a moment later.

His mother’s voice cracked at him like a gun blast: “William Henry Mackeson, open this door this instant!”

Will gulped. Anytime his mother used his full name, he knew he was in for it. He slid off the bed and got shakily to his feet. He drew in a calming breath, crossed the room to open the door, and cringed at the expression on his mother’s face. “Uh…what’s the problem, Mom?”

Alexis Mackeson was livid. Her face was red and her eyes bulged in an almost cartoonish way. She wore a pretty floral-print dress with a scooped neck that displayed impressive cleavage. His mother had a nice figure and she liked to show it off. She flirted with damn near every man she met, and Will suspected she was doing a lot more than just flirting with many of them. With the hours his father kept, she had plenty of free time for infidelity. Once upon a time, Will had loved his mother with a kind of starry-eyed devotion. But that was before he learned some unpleasant truths, including the bitter realization that his mother and father only played at being a loving, happy couple. It was a facade they presented for the world. Alexis looked good on Blake Mackeson’s arm at social functions, and Alexis enjoyed Blake’s money.

Will dreamed of the day he’d be free of their “let’s pretend” world.

She shoved her son backward, stalked into his room, and
threw the door shut behind her. “You little snot. I will not tolerate rudeness. You damn near
deafened
me when you slammed that phone down.” She gave Will a hard shake. “Goddammit, boy, I taught you better manners than that.”

Will sniffled. “I’m sorry.”

At seventeen, Will knew he was too old to allow this kind of treatment. He wanted to cry, but crying was for pussies.

The phone rang.

Will took an unconscious step toward it, but Alexis stopped him. “Oh no, you don’t. You let that phone ring, child. I have to teach you a lesson in manners. Make you see why it’s wrong to be such a miserable little snot.”

The phone continued to ring.

Desperation contorted Will’s face. “Mom, that might be Kelsey. I have to talk to him. Trey’s in trouble. We have to—”

Will was caught off guard by what happened next. She landed a hard backhand blow across his face that knocked him to the floor. Will rolled over and stared up at her, his eyes wide, his jaw aching. He was stunned. His mother had never been the world’s best, but this was the first time she’d ever struck him. She’d never even spanked him for misbehaving as a child. The terror he felt now was something new and awful. For the first time, he believed he truly understood how Trey felt when his parents got liquored up and turned violent.

He looked into his mother’s eyes and saw nothing but hatred. This was new, too. She didn’t love him, of course, but the pure malevolence in her eyes was horrible. That look penetrated places within him he thought were dead, and he felt his heart break.

The phone stopped ringing.

Her nostrils flared. “Get up so I can hit you again.”

“But—”

She kicked him, the point of her shoe sending a flash of pain down a shin. “Get up!”

Will experienced an epiphany then. He knew something was really wrong with his mother, something beyond her control. Mental illness, perhaps, a chemical imbalance that
could be corrected with the right medications. He held fast to that notion, telling himself that he couldn’t hold this against her, that she wasn’t as evil, as bad, as she seemed now. He just had to get through this somehow and find a way to get her help.

He looked at her again, his eyes wide and pleading. “I’m sorry, Mom. I know I was wrong. I’ll never do it again. I—”

The phone rang again.

Something about the second call, coming so soon on the heels of the first, communicated urgency. Intuition told him it was Kelsey trying to reach him. He had news about Trey, or he’d located Trey’s brother. Or it was about something else, something equally important, and Kelsey needed to talk to him about it right now.

“I’ve got to answer that, Mom. It’s probably Kelsey. We’re trying to help Trey.”

His mom snorted. “Oh, I’m sure it is your little friend. Such a stupid name for a boy, Kelsey. A queer kid’s name. I’m not surprised the little faggot’s up to no good.”

“What?”

The phone fell silent again.

“Don’t play innocent with me, child.” Something in her tone now disturbed him more than the violence. She sounded like a person who reveled in cruelty. To Will, it was as if he was seeing her as she really was for the first time. Another layer had been peeled away, a mask beneath a mask. “You boys are dabbling in things that are none of your business. You know Melissa Hargrove, don’t you? Kelsey’s sister? I was talking to her before your rude interruption. Melissa had a very interesting conversation with Mrs. Cheever from the library.” She chewed her lower lip and studied her son in a way that sent a shiver through him. “What do you know about demons, boy?”

Will gaped at her. “What?”

His mother sneered. “Idiot. Can’t you say anything other than ‘what’? Jesus, the average parrot has a larger vocabulary than you.”

Tears began to course down Will’s face. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t know what was wrong with his mom. He was so stunned by her hatefulness that it took many moments for the implications of her words to sink in. Then it hit him. And now his mom seemed more threatening than ever. He sat up, planted his hands on the floor, and began to scoot away from her.

She giggled like a teenager. “What’s the matter, William? Afraid of your sweet, loving mother?” Her voice became more stern. “I told you to get up, and you best obey me.” Her eyes gleamed with feral intent. “Get up so I can kill you.”

Will’s back met the side of his bed.

His mother took a step toward him.

Will whimpered.

His mother’s sneer became an ugly smile. “You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy murdering you, William. You have no idea how much it will mean for me. Lamia richly rewards willing sacrifices.”

The door to the room flew open. Will felt a surge of joy at the sight of his father regarding them with horror. Blake Mackeson was still in his work clothes—khaki slacks, a starched white shirt, and a maroon necktie loosened around his collar. He looked weary, the way he always did after a day at the office.

“What the hell is going on here, Alexis?”

Alexis smiled sweetly at her husband. “The most wonderful thing, darling. I’m going to kill our pathetic son.”

Blake’s expression changed, became strangely neutral. “Huh. Why?”

“Because he’s been messing where he shouldn’t be messing. Now be a dear and bring me your gun. I’d like to put a bullet through his head right now.”

Blake’s entire demeanor changed. He sighed. Will sensed surrender in that sound. And sadness. Maybe even regret. But Will knew he would do as ordered. He could see it in the man’s posture and in his eyes—he was his wife’s slave.

“Now, Blake!” Alexis snapped. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“Okay.”

His dad left the room. Will slumped against the bed and stared at his mother’s ankles. He should be doing something, maybe attempting a desperate dash to freedom, but he felt too numb to act. Too much had happened. The world he’d known had changed forever.

His mother continued to taunt him. “What’s it like, William? How does it feel to know that all that remains of your life is a precious handful of seconds?” She laughed. “What do you think it’s going to feel like when I shoot you?”

Will imagined high-velocity lead punching through his forehead. Tears welled in his eyes again.

His mom giggled. “If it makes you feel any better, you were going to die tomorrow anyway. I’ll just be putting you out of your misery early. Why, you could almost call this a mercy killing.”

“You were already planning to kill me? Why?”

“Not me, sweet child o’ mine. Lamia. You would have suffered much more horribly at the Harvest.”

“The what?”

“The Harvest of Souls. Tomorrow afternoon a special assembly will be held at your school. And Lamia will feast. All your friends will die.”

Will didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

His mother had an almost rapturous look on her face. She looked like one of those true believers at a Holy Roller tent revival meeting. Any moment now she’d start clapping her hands and singing a rollicking song of praise. Her eyes were shining and her cheeks were flushed. She swayed a little on her feet, licked her lips, and caressed her hips. There was something more than just a little sexual underneath the faux-religious fervor. It was disturbing, but no more so than anything else that had happened in the last several minutes.

Will heard footsteps entering the room. That would be his dad, returning as ordered with the gun. He closed his eyes and tried to make his mind blank. He knew there would be no last-minute rescue. No chance of escape.

Just make it fast
, he prayed.

He heard a loud, metallic sound, the clack of a gun being cocked.

Then he heard a gasp from his mother.

Astounded, Will opened his eyes and saw a miracle. Kelsey Hargrove stood just inside the doorway to the room. His arms were extended in front of him, aiming a .38 revolver at Alexis Mackeson’s head.

Kelsey glanced at his friend. “Dude, I’m beginning to detect a weird fucking trend.”

Will’s mom snarled like a rabid beast.

She turned toward Kelsey, her body tensing for a leap.

Kelsey gulped. His hands trembled. The barrel of the gun wavered a bit. “Don’t do it, Mrs. Mackeson.”

Alexis grinned. “How nice. This is more than I could have hoped for. Before I kill William, I get to make him watch his friend die.”

She moved with astonishing speed, propelling herself at Kelsey like a shell fired from a cannon.

The sound the gun made was very loud in the small room.

Will screamed.

The world seemed different now to Jake. It had taken on a peculiar, surreal tint. Paranoia colored every thought. He perceived dark schemes and conspiracies behind every word, and a threat in every glance. It was similar in some respects to the way he’d often felt during his brief cocaine period.

He steered his Camry into Stu Walker’s driveway and parked it by rote, like a preprogrammed robot. Even that thought fueled his paranoia. How much control, really, did he have over his own body and its actions? Sometimes very little, it seemed. Yet he had no choice but to keep moving forward.

He entered Stu’s house through the front door and darkness enveloped him. It was as if the world had blinked out, as if he’d suddenly ceased to exist. There was something so comforting—so tempting—about that notion. Then his eyes adjusted to the twilight gloom penetrating the living room windows that overlooked the front yard. His gaze went immediately to the sofa Kristen had been sleeping on when he first glimpsed her.

She wasn’t there.

He groped to the left and found a light switch. Light flooded the foyer and the living room. He locked the front door and went into the kitchen. At a loss as to what to do next, he simply settled into a chair at the kitchen table and closed his eyes. He emptied his mind and focused on the quiet hum of the refrigerator, the low thrum becoming something else as he
eased into a state akin to meditation. It was the gentle obliteration of self and feeling, an ascent away from the hurt and confusion his life had become. Maybe if he stayed this focused, he really could float away. His consciousness, his essence, might disperse in the ether, just cease to be.

The sound of heels on linoleum snapped him out of it. He opened his eyes and saw Kristen entering the kitchen through the garage entrance. The sight of her had a curative effect. He came back to himself in an instant, consciousness and awareness slamming home with jarring force.

She showed him a smile, but it became a frown. She wore crisp black slacks and a stylish blazer over a bright white shirt. A business outfit. Her hair was styled and her makeup was impeccable. She hardly resembled the girl he’d met this morning. If anything, she looked far sexier now. He found he couldn’t say anything to her, at least not right away. He didn’t know how to talk to this new Kristen. Though he was happy to see her, he also felt a stirring of sadness. A woman of this caliber was not meant for the likes of Jake McAllister.