The Mall (31 page)

Then as he cleared the second floor landing and had a clear view of the perfume department on the first floor, he saw him, standing there in the plain sight with a huge dumbass smirk on his face.

Just standing there.

Wait-a-goddamn-minute, he thought in utter confusion.
 
It’s that other dark-skinned Mexican punk.
 

But how..?

Albert came to a halt, sucking in a lungful of air, sparks dancing across his eyes for a moment.
 
Then the kid was gone.
 
The first floor below was empty.

He heard a faint zip like the sound of a shower curtain thrown open and he felt a stab of the most intense and brutal pain he ever experienced.
 
When he looked down, he saw a long shiny object resting half inside and half outside the side of his uniform, darkness blooming around the exit point like a burst ink pin.
 
For a brief instant, he wondered who could be throwing ink pens down at him when the pain wiped rational thought from his mind.

Turning around, he began to scream and wave his hands over his head.

“Wait-wait-wait,” he bellowed like a child imploring a bully.
 
He gazed up and caught a glimpse of sneakers clearing the railing between the up and down escalators that crossed at one point directly halfway between the two and realized with mind-blurring fury that he had been ambushed from behind.

The steps of the escalator swam before his eyes, and he realized, as he lost his balance and began to fall backwards, that he was passing out high atop a stairway.
 
For one brief moment of clarity, he was grateful that he wouldn’t be troubled by the white-hot pain gnawing a hole in his side, before he folded to one side and felt one of the sharp metal steps stab relentlessly into his shoulder.

He peered up drowsily and saw a shadow and an indistinct face hovering over him.

Payback’s a bitch, Pig!

Tucking the crossbow to his side, Chance slid away from the railing of the down escalator and sought cover by dropping back down onto the steps into a sitting position.
 
He pulled the butt of the crossbow snug against the crook between chest and arm and used all his strength to pull the steel bow back until it locked into place.
 
Sliding two darts from the holster around his waist, he loaded them into position with shaky fingers.

This thing was a helluva lot easier than the one he and Jesse had fired over in the woods behind the school.
 
That crossbow—one that used to hang on the wall above his big brother’s stereo before he went away to college—had been ancient and nearly impossible to set.
 
This one was so freaking simple to use that a ten-year-old could manage it.

Speaking of a ten-year-old, he wondered if he’d gotten here in time.
 
He had heard that fat ass goon calling out to the kid, and that cock-sure tone of his voice had driven him almost manic with righteous anger.
 
In his fifteen years, he’d never wanted to hurt another living person more.
 
And now he had,
hadn’t
he?
 
Maybe he’d even killed the bastard!

His heart galloped in his chest.

There was no sound from below.
 
The screaming had stopped and he could hear no footsteps.

Surely it was a trick.

Slowly, Chance used his elbows to walk himself backwards up the steps, keeping an eye on the spot where the escalators crossed,
waiting
for the crazed security guard to pop up like a deranged jack in the box.
 

When he reached the top, Chance crawled cautiously around the corner and checked one way then the other.
 
It appeared to be clear of lunatics.

You nailed that piece of shit, dude!

Chance snorted derisively, the sudden noise in the undisturbed silence, momentarily stunning him.

He slowly climbed to his feet and trotted around the corner to the opposite side where the up escalator let out.

Up-down.
 
Same difference when it’s stopped.

Chance peered down into the darkness below.
 
He couldn’t see anything past the halfway mark of the steps.
 
A dark trail snaked down several steps before disappearing into the shadows.

Was that blood?

You should go down there and finish what you started.

Chance placed a foot gingerly on the first step and craned his neck.
 
To him, the shadows seemed aware of his presence.
 
It was the same feeling he used to get walking through the game booth alley at the Texas State Fair, feeling the keen awareness of the carnival barkers, staring a bit too brazenly at a potential mark, promising him all sorts of unimaginable dark treats if he would just step up to the counter at try his luck.
 
Here was that same dreaded possibility.

Come on down and see
, the shadows seemed coax.

No way
I’m
going down there, he firmly decided.

Listen to
me
,
said the voice within his head--the one he knew to be Jesse’s-- in a clear voice.
 
He’s hurt.

Good.

Yeah, that’ll get you a big fat cookie,
Jesse replied
.
 
But he’s not dead.

Come on
, a strange new voice rebutted the familiar one.
 
Go on down and take a look.

Chance slowly backed away from the escalator steps and looked back for the first time.

A body lay in the center of the aisle.

Owen ran toward the grey morning light of the fourth floor entrance of the JC Penney, sliding to a halt in his socks when he saw the chain-link barrier hanging across the set of six doors.
 
He stood immobile and indecisive for a moment, turning and looking back over his shoulder.

Should he go back?

Chance had been speculating where all the blood on the floor had come from, when he heard the slap-slap-slap of the footfalls echoing down from the escalator shaft above.
 
He rose from his crouch beside the decapitated silver Bot and started warily back.
 
He craned his neck, searching the dark opening above him.
 
The pace was too quick to be anyone but the kid.

“Hey!” he hissed, then gritting his teeth in frustration.
 
Man up, you puss
, he chastised himself.
 
He cast a wary look down the escalator then lifted his head and called up in the more forceful voice, “Hey, kid!”

The footsteps stopped.

Silence.

“Can you hear me?”

There was a good thirty seconds, before he saw some indistinguishable movement from above, possibly a head craning over the edge of the fourth floor landing to peer down.

“He’s down!
 
I got him!”
 
But the words sounded shallow in his ears.

He thought he heard the dim echo of derisive laughter from below and couldn’t stop himself from checking the impenetrable darkness again.

“W-What’s your name?” he heard the shaky voice call out.

“Chance Summers.”

Silence as the other digested the information and mulled the options over.

“I’m Owen.”

“Look, kid, if you think I’m going to spend the rest of my life yelling up at you like this, you’re shit out of luck.”
 
Just the sound of those mock words of bravado made him feel better.

Tentatively, he heard one step upon lonely step as the ten-year-old started down the escalator.
 
Then he stopped.
 
“Where is he…now?”

“First floor.”

“Are you sure?” came back the question.

Was he sure?
 
That was the million-dollar question now, wasn’t it?

“He ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he heard himself reply.

Within a few scant moments, he could see a diminutive shadow moving toward him from above.

Suddenly, a horrifying thought struck him.
 
This kid thinks he’ll be safe with me.
 
He thinks I have a plan.
 
In fact, he’s betting his life on it.

The blood fled his extremities and Chance felt sick to his core.
 
I just put another person’s life in danger.
 
Isn’t one death enough for one night?
 
What the hell did I think I was doing coming back here?

He reached the second floor landing and stepped off.

 
Chance listened with a sort of morbid fascination as the ten-year-old drew step-by-deliberate-step closer to him.
 
He watched as if from a third-person perspective as he lifted the crossbow and laid it across his chest, casually heroic.

You poser.

Swallowing awkwardly, Chance dropped the crossbow to his side as Owen peered around the corner at him.
 
He stared down at his shoeless feet.

“What’s that?”

“Crossbow.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“Picked it up at a garage sale,” Chance quipped.
 
“Where the hell do you think I got it?”

Owen smiled.
 
He raised his flashlight and shined it in Chance’s face.

“Yeah.
 
Great.
 
Thanks for that.
 
Now I’m blind.”
 
Shielding his eyes, Chance next asked, “Where did you get the working flashlight? I went through about a dozen before giving up.”

“Upstairs,” Owen gestured.
 
“None of the others worked though.”

Owen started closer, watching Chance with reverent attention as he stepped around the front of the up-escalator and pointed down.

“He’s down there.”

As Owen lifted the flashlight, Chance actually felt himself reach out and come within a hare’s breath of shoving it out of the way, almost as if to avoid seeing what he knew he had to.

Albert Lynch lay on his right side facing the wall of the escalator, his eyes closed.
 
He looked normal, like any other sleeping adult man and for a moment, Chance was glad that he hadn’t been coerced into pumping more darts into him.