The Dark Ones (21 page)

Lydia leaned forward and grabbed the other woman by the back of the neck.
“Cunt.”

Then she pressed her rival’s face down to her sex.

And she screamed at the first expert flick of Suzie’s tongue.

The trunk of the Lexus was dark and uncomfortable. And too small by far. Greg Fox was trying not to hyperventilate. He had always had a moderate issue with close, tight spaces. Just a little touch of claustrophobia that wasn’t a big deal at all during the normal, daily course of his life. But there was nothing normal about being forced at gunpoint into the trunk of a stranger’s car.

He clawed at his shirt collar, tearing at the thin fabric.

Christ, I’m gonna suffocate in here
.

He pounded a fist against the closed trunk.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me . . .”

Greg wanted to laugh.

Did she really think her fucking prayers would save them?

But then he felt bad for thinking that. Carrie was seeking the only comfort available to her. Her boyfriend had failed to protect her and was too much of a pitiful wreck to provide solace of any kind. She was a religious girl, and it only made sense she would look to God for answers.

“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over . . .”

Greg screamed and pounded his fists against the closed trunk again.
“Let us out!”

“It won’t help, honey.”

Greg sobbed.

“Pray with me.”

He shook his head. “That won’t help, either.”

His breath caught in his throat as he heard a sound from somewhere outside the car. It had been ominously quiet for a while. So quiet he suspected the car was parked in a private garage rather than some public place. He clapped a hand over Carrie’s mouth to stifle another snippet of Scripture and cocked his head, straining to hear any evidence of a presence outside the car. For long moments, there was nothing. Carrie was perfectly still next to him, listening, apparently not so resigned to her fate that she didn’t still hold out some hope for divine deliverance.

Then the sound came again.

Footsteps on concrete, followed by another sound—the jangle of car keys. Greg tensed, thinking maybe he’d take a shot at being a hero after all by leaping out at their captors. Maybe he’d get lucky and somehow manage to disarm the man with the gun.

The trunk lid came opened and the man who’d taken him pointed the gun in his face.

So much for playing the hero. Again
.

The man backed off, waving at them with the gun. “Get out.”

It was just him. His partner, the woman in the sexy green dress, was out of the picture for the moment. The guy’s appearance remained as incongruous as he remembered. He was handsome and fit, with a chiseled jaw and perfect movie-star hair. In his Brooks Brothers suit, he looked like one of those male models from the glossy ads in
GQ
. Or an extra from the set of
Mad Men
. He radiated confidence and self-assurance. He didn’t look like someone who made a habit of randomly kidnapping people at gunpoint. So maybe this wasn’t random. Maybe it was a case of mistaken identity. Maybe Mr. GQ and his hot lady friend thought they had money, or thought they were the offspring of rich people. The idea might have made him laugh had he not been staring straight down the barrel of a gun. If this was some sort of ransom deal, their abductors were in for a serious disappointment. But it couldn’t be a ransom thing. The guy obviously wasn’t hurting for money.

Which could only mean this was about something far more sinister.

The truth of the situation hit home again.

We’re going to die. They’re going to torture us. Then they’re going to kill us
.

The guy cracked a smug smile. “Get out of the trunk or I’ll shoot you in the dick.” He aimed the gun at Greg’s crotch. “I imagine that’d hurt. A
lot
. So you’d better move.”

There was no way around it. Greg shifted his body, raising up at the waist and grimacing at the stiffness in his joints. He took a look around, saw that his hunch about a garage had been correct. He couldn’t see it from this vantage point, but he suspected the garage door was closed. So even without the prospect of a bullet in the back to dissuade him, the possibility of making a run for it was out of the question. He could maybe scream for help, but he doubted anyone who could help would hear him. Again, the looming presence of the gun was the deciding factor in the equation.

Greg really didn’t want to get shot.

In the dick or anywhere else.

He climbed the rest of the way out of the trunk and helped Carrie climb out after him. They clung to each other, shaking as their legs cramped from the long hours in the trunk. Carrie pressed her face into his shoulder and her mouth continued to move, the words coming faster now and at a lower volume, a ceaseless string of half-intelligible Bible verses.

Mr. GQ waved the gun at her. “You. Bible girl. Look at me.”

Carrie looked at him.

The man smiled again. “Do you want to live, Bible girl?”

She shuddered. “Y-yes. God have mercy.”

“God has nothing to do with this.” He waved the gun at them. “If you want to live, do exactly as I say. Don’t hold back or hesitate. Understand?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Cool. Here’s the first thing I want you to do. Slap your boyfriend.
Hard
.”

Greg’s brow wrinkled in confusion.
What the hell is this?
He didn’t really expect Carrie to obey the command. She was a very proper, churchgoing kind of girl. A
nice
girl. And definitely about as nonviolent as a person could be. So he was more than mildly surprised when she eased away from him and whipped her hand across his face.
Hard
, as commanded. He staggered away from her, bumping his ass against the Mercedes SUV parked next to the Lexus. He stared at Carrie in a look of wide-eyed shock and saw something else that surprised him. She didn’t look scared anymore. Her expression was the cunning look of an animal desperately pursuing the only way out of a dangerous situation. The difference between this girl and the girl clinging to him only moments ago was stunning, almost impossible to comprehend.

Mr. GQ laughed. “Good. Now kick him in the balls.”

Again, there was no hesitation. Carrie came straight at him, planting her left foot solidly on the concrete as she pivoted at the hip and slammed the heel of her shoe into his crotch. The pain was immediate and world-obliterating, robbing him of his breath for a long moment as he dropped to his knees and clutched at his abused privates. He began to wail as he caught his breath, the pain doubling back on him and bringing forth fat tears that spilled in hot streams down his quivering cheeks.

“Kick him in the face.”

The pain rendered him incapable of scuttling away or acting to defend himself. This time the hard heel of Carrie’s shoe smashed into his jaw. His head snapped backward and thumped against the side of the SUV. Blood filled his mouth and he felt something sharp pricking at his tongue. He gagged and spat something out. The pain again was immense. A tide of nausea caused him to pitch forward and brace his hands against the cold concrete floor of the garage. Now he was staring straight down at the thing he’d ejected from his mouth. It was a piece of one of his teeth.

He lifted his head and stared up at his girlfriend. “I thought you loved me.” It hurt to talk. Every movement of his jaw sent a sizzling flash of agony through his skull. “How could you do this?”

Her expression still had that animal aspect. There was no softness there at all. And no mercy. “I want to live. That’s all.”

Mr. GQ came up next to her and draped an arm over her shoulders. “It’s funny how they turn on you, isn’t it?” He laughed. “You’re young, so I suppose you didn’t really understand about that yet. There’s no such thing as true loyalty anymore. In the modern world it’s a big game of fuck over whoever you need to fuck over to get ahead.”

Greg glared at him. “Fuck you.”

The man smirked. “Oh, so
now
you’re brave. Now that you think you’ve got nothing left to lose, you think it’s time to show some balls.” He disengaged himself from Carrie and aimed the gun straight at Greg’s face. “Get up.”

Greg looked into the man’s eyes and saw his own death reflected there. He got his feet planted under him and started to rise, as instructed. But, instead of standing straight up, he launched himself into the man’s midsection, ramming the top of his head into his stomach and knocking the breath out of him. This brought a fresh burst of agony, but it was worth it when he heard the gun go clattering across the concrete. He slammed the man against the side of the Lexus and fell against him. The man tried to shove him away, but Greg stayed slumped against him, somehow finding the strength to pepper his sides with punches. In his peripheral vision, he saw Carrie going after the gun. And now she had it. It was a miracle. They were going to get out of this nightmare. And then it wouldn’t matter what Carrie had done. He would forgive her, just as God would forgive her. She was a victim, nothing more.

The sense of elation lasted right up to the moment when she pointed the gun at him. “Stop.”

Greg’s shoulders sagged. His fists fell to his sides.

The man shoved him away and snatched the gun from Carrie.

Greg gaped at her. “Why?”

She smiled. “I don’t know. I . . . felt something. It felt like God talking inside my head. He told me what to do.”

Greg groaned. “Fuck.”

Well, this is just fucking great. My girlfriend is fucking fucked in the head. Thanks, God. It would have been nice to know this sooner
.

The man grinned. “Got news for you, honey. That’s not God talking to you. That’s my buddy Andras, and he’s really looking forward to meeting you. I think you’ll dig him. I’ll tell you this. He’s a hell of a lot more fun than that God of yours.”

Carrie smiled. “Cool.”

Cool?

C
arrie wasn’t herself right now. Obviously.

Not that knowing that could change anything.

The man waved the gun at an open door. “That way.”

Out of options, Greg started toward the door. A scream issued from somewhere inside the house. His throat tightened and his bowels clenched.

What kind of horror show am I walking into here
?

T
WENTY-NINE

The Ransom Lanes bowling alley had a largish parking lot that was always filled on weekends, and business was robust even on school nights. The young people of Ransom didn’t have a wealth of other entertainment options. There were no movie theaters. The few places that occasionally hosted live music acts were shitty little country bars that didn’t allow underage patrons. No, if you were a teenager in Ransom in a mood to socialize, Ransom Lanes was pretty much it. The bowling alley’s interior was spacious, with lots of room for mingling, and the owners made sure to keep all the recent big hits pumping over the loud sound system. If you got bored of bowling, there was a small billiards room and an even smaller adjacent room that housed a few ancient arcade video games.

Kevin Cooper knew none of these things firsthand. Fiona, however, had hung out here a time or two. It was a long time ago, she told him, maybe a year since the last time, but it seemed unlikely anything significant had changed in that time.

“I still don’t get why you ever came here. I mean . . . it’s lame.”

“I guess. It was before I knew you guys.” Fiona bit down on a black-painted thumbnail and stared at the entrance to the bowling alley, her dark hair falling across her face. “Mostly.”

They were in his Eclipse, which was parked in an angled slot facing the front of the building. After nearly thirty minutes of sitting there, Kevin was beginning to feel conspicuous. He doubted anyone had noticed them or given them a second thought if they had. There was too much activity. Too many people entering and leaving the building. But it was hard not to be a touch paranoid every time his eyes flicked back to the gun. The .38 revolver was wedged into the little tray beneath the radio. And it wasn’t just paranoia he felt every time he looked at the gun.

There was also doubt.

Yes.

A lot of fucking doubt.

He shifted in his seat. “I’m not sure about this.”

Fiona flipped her hair from her face. “What do you mean?”

He lifted his chin. “That. The fucking gun. I don’t really wanna kill anybody.”

Fiona’s features folded into a look of withering contempt. “Are you serious?”

He sighed. “Yeah. I am.”

Fiona slugged him in the shoulder. “You fucking pussy.”

He grimaced. “Ow. Jesus, Fiona.”

She slugged him again. “You can’t pussy out on me now. You have to do this.”

He shook his head. “No. Look, I hate those motherfuckers. I wouldn’t shed a goddamn tear if something bad happened to them, but I’m not gonna murder anybody. I just can’t. That makes me no better than them.”

Fiona looked disgusted. “That’s not what you were saying a few hours ago.”

“I wasn’t in my right mind, okay? I’d just gotten the shit beat out of me. And I’m still pretty fucked up from that. But think about it. We do this thing and it’ll be just like saying they were right about us all along. I don’t wanna be one of those pricks you see on the news, with the interviews with neighbors and shit, all of them saying, ‘Oh, yeah, they were weird kids, all into metal and goth shit, we really should’ve seen this coming, maybe done something about it.’ Fuck that, Fiona. Fuck that right in the ass.”

Fiona stopped looking at him about halfway through this speech. She went back to chewing her thumbnail and watching the bowling alley’s entrance. The ensuing silence became uncomfortable as it stretched through several long minutes. Kevin was close to just starting the car and driving away. It would be the smart thing to do. Another smart thing would be to take that gun and stash it somewhere. He stared at the keys dangling from the Eclipse’s ignition, psyching himself up to just go on and do it. Fiona would be pissed, but she would get over it. Or she wouldn’t. It didn’t matter either way. He had come so close to making the biggest mistake of his life. A thing he wouldn’t be able to take back or make amends for, ever. All that mattered was he’d made the decision to pull back from the brink.