Transcription (29 page)

Danielle cracked her knuckles and blinked hard before returning to the page.

She was having trouble remembering how the story had started. She had the picture in her head of the opening of a big exhibit. A proud artist stood in front of her new masterpiece. Patrons became nauseous as soon as they entered the room. When they looked at the painting, they dropped to their knees. An older man fell and vomited on the open-toed shoes of a businesswoman. The scene ended with a teenage boy running at the artist. He held a pocketknife, and screamed for blood.

Once she got that scene down, Danielle began to nod. That was it—she was getting back the spirit of the story.
 

“Now time for a quick explanation,” she said.

Danielle’s hand flew across the page as she wrote. It had been years since she’d written anything longhand. The form was unforgiving, and concrete. Typing was infinitely faster, but the pacing of writing each word gave her time to rearrange sentences in her head before she tried to commit them to the page.

#
 
#
 
#
 
#
 
#

“Are you awake?” Chloe whispered.

“Yeah,” Danielle said. “I was just thinking.” She lifted her eyes from the page. It had been a while since she’d written anything. Honestly, she probably was pretty close to falling asleep. It was a good thing Chloe had gotten up to relieve her.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Chloe asked. She gestured at the notepad.

“It’s one of my stories,” Danielle said. “I changed it completely. Nobody gets hurt.”

“Good.”

“How’s Dr. Frankenstein doing?” Chloe asked. She nodded towards the stairs.

“It’s been an hour since I checked on him. I’ll go see,” Danielle said.

“Let me come with you,” Chloe said. She didn’t follow Danielle towards the stairs. Instead, she tiptoed around the couch and lifted the shotgun from the table. Bo, asleep on the couch, stirred as she slid by him. She paused until he settled back down.

Danielle waited on the first step.

They climbed together.
 

Danielle stopped at the top of the steps and looked down towards the door to James’s room. A band of candlelight flickered under the door.

“What?” Chloe asked.

“It was open before,” Danielle said. “Just a crack, but it was open.”

“That room is drafty. The door is always shutting and opening itself.

Danielle nodded. She moved down the hall and stopped at the door. She put her hand out and gripped the doorknob. Before turning the knob, she listened. Through the wooden door, she couldn’t hear a thing.

Chloe lowered the barrel of the shotgun a little. Danielle swung the door inwards.
 

It wasn’t him.

The man sitting at the desk, carefully moving the pen over the paper, was old, sour, and twisted by anger. His mouth snarled at the page. His eyes, shadowed by his brow, seemed to glow in his head. He pressed the pen so hard into the paper, that the tip seemed to disappear into the page. It might be cutting into the desk.

Danielle looked back to Chloe.
 

Chloe relaxed and lowered the shotgun.

When Danielle looked back to James, he seemed normal again. He looked tired, but it was definitely James. She figured that she must have been fooled by the light the first time.

Chloe motioned for her to back up, and then she pulled the door shut.

They walked back downstairs.

“Get some sleep,” Chloe whispered. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” Danielle said. “You’re not going to do anything until we all have a chance to talk, right?” She glanced down at the shotgun while she asked.

“Of course,” Chloe said.

Danielle nodded. She collected her pad with her story. “If you get too tired and you want to talk, let me know. I don’t mind.”

“I’ll be fine. I got plenty of sleep. You know me.”

Danielle nodded once more and then headed for bed.

When she was gone, Chloe finally put the gun down. She leaned it against the chair and lowered herself into the cushions of the big armchair. It was still warm from Danielle. She shook her head, trying to wake up. Without coffee or a shower, her body rejected the notion.

She put a hand on the shotgun and thought about the man who was in the upstairs bedroom. The mere thought of him should be enough to keep anyone awake. He was up there, composing a horrible nightmare of a story. And, according to his own account, if he didn’t write down the nightmare, he would act it out. Allowing him to stay so close was an assault on logic. Life would be simpler if he attacked. She had a gun and she wasn’t afraid to use it. The rules of their society seemed to be on hiatus, so why shouldn’t she defend herself?

A noise snapped her attention to the right and she lifted the shotgun.

It was nothing—maybe a mouse.

Chloe worried about her parents. They were all the way out in California. Who knew what kind of chaos that state was in. Back when the TV stations were still on the air, she’d gotten the impression that California was falling apart fast. Lots of joggers and exercisers had been attacked. The residents had become very territorial in a short period of time. Chloe hoped that her folks had found a safe place to stay out of harm’s way.

Both Danielle and Bo seemed to think that the cultural damage of the previous week would take a long time to repair. Chloe didn’t share their pessimism. People were too accustomed to all their creature comforts. Sooner, rather than later, laziness would overcome fear and people would begin to trust each other and get back to living as they had. She was sure of it.

But, in order to ensure they didn’t end up right back in the same place, Chloe might have to make a hard choice. It might be up to her to eliminate the source of the nightmares. It was just a matter of survival.

She leaned over and checked the clock. It was hard to make out in the dim light, but it looked like she had a couple of hours left on her watch. She decided to make coffee. The grinder might wake up Danielle and Bo, but they would get back to sleep eventually. Once the decision was made, Chloe settled a little deeper into the chair. The hard part—the decision—was done. She could just get up and make it. Any second, she would tap the last of her energy and head for the kitchen. Chloe’s eyes fell shut.

She woke before dawn and blinked. Bo was still asleep. The door to the master bedroom was still closed. There was a little light coming through the window, but not much. Chloe shook her head and stood up. It was time to make that coffee.

In the kitchen, just before she was about to grind the beans, she paused. There had been a noise from upstairs. She crossed the floor quickly, picking up the shotgun on the way. She glanced at Bo on the couch as she passed and then began climbing the stairs. Chloe was on high alert. Her mother always said, “Don’t put your finger on that trigger, unless you’re planning to shoot.”

She was planning. Or, at least she was definitely
not
planning
not
to shoot. It would be easier all around if James gave her a reason. She almost hoped that he would spring into view around the corner. Nobody would fault her for reacting when attacked.
 

At the top of the stairs, she saw that the door to James’s room was open again. Chloe stalked down the hall and pushed the door open with the barrel of the gun.

The hinges creaked.

A candle still burned on the desk, but there was nobody there.

Chloe ducked backwards into the hall and pressed herself against the wall. She swung the gun back and forth, looking for a threat. She stayed there until she verified that there was nobody at the other end of the hall, waiting to pounce on her. With a shaky exhale, she removed her finger from the trigger. With one more little twitch of her finger, the thing would have gone off. Then, once the world was back to normal, she would have had to explain to her parents about the shotgun hole in the wall.

Chloe stood again and moved forward. She checked the corners and slid into the room. With each place she looked—closet, under the bed, behind the desk in the corner—she expected to find James hiding. His papers were gone. She picked up the pen. Chloe decided the room was empty. That left only one other room to check. As she walked down the hall, she comforted herself with the reassurance that he couldn’t have slipped down the stairs unnoticed. The stairs produced a chorus of creaks and groans whenever anyone used them, and she had been right there.
 

She reached for the handle of the other guest room. The door was locked. There was a metal coat hanger downstairs. With the hooked end straightened, it would open the door’s simple lock. Chloe took a step backwards before she remembered the pen. She held the shotgun with one hand and used her teeth to pull the ink cartridge from the pen. She jammed the plastic butt of the cartridge into the lock and pushed until the lock clicked. It was open.

Wasting no more time, she threw open the door and pushed inside.

The window was open. The room was empty.

CHAPTER 23: THREE

“I
WAS
PAYING
ATTENTION
. Who knew he would jump from a second floor window? It must be twelve feet to the ground,” Chloe said.

“It’s not that high,” Danielle said.

“You want to go measure it?” Chloe asked.

They stood in the living room. Bo was on the couch, with a blanket still draped across his legs. Danielle stood there in bare feet. Her hair stuck every direction.

“Guys, stop. That’s counterproductive. Who cares how he got away? The question is, what do we do about it? Do we even care?” Bo asked.

“Of course we care,” Chloe said. “He dangerous. We can’t have him out there just wandering around. The first time he forgets to write a story, he might come for us. Let’s not ignore the fact that his father murdered his mother. His best friend murdered his whole family. This man should be considered very dangerous.”

“We can defend this place,” Bo said.

“You’re both missing the point,” Danielle said. “We need him. We need his ability in order to spread the antidote.”

“The what?” Chloe asked.

“The fix for all this trouble. I think he’s the only one who can take a story and make it come true in real life.”

“And how would a story do that?” Chloe asked.

“Have you been paying attention at all?” Danielle asked.

Chloe threw up her hands and paced away.

“All we need is the right story—one with a truly positive message—and we can turn around this spread of violence. We just get people to read it, the same way they read my blog.”

“First,” Chloe said, bending back one finger as she counted, “you’ll never get anyone to read anything. They’re all terrified. Second, what makes you think one story will do it? Third, James doesn’t even really write. He said he’s just be transcribing the old stories from his father. If the story doesn’t come from either his father or from him, then it might not do any good.”

“Then again,” Bo said. “What’s the risk? There’s slim chance it will work, but I’m not sure there’s a reason we shouldn’t try.”

“Because we’ll be putting our lives in danger for nothing,” Chloe said.
 

“Our lives are in constant danger,” Bo said. “Where would he have gone?”

“Nowhere,” Chloe said. “There’s nowhere to go out there but woods. Like I said before, this place is remote. You saw it when we drove in. There’s hardly any development. I bet he’s just waiting out there somewhere. He’s waiting for us to let our guard down.”

Bo walked to the window and looked out across the yard.
 

“Where are the car keys?” he asked.

“I’ve got them,” Chloe said.

He nodded. “All the doors and windows locked?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Nobody goes outside alone. Personally, I don’t think James is dangerous to us, but I suppose anything is possible, given everything that has happened. So if we’re going to the well, or the spring, or even out to the car to check the radio, let’s always go in pairs. In fact, if we can, all three of us should stay together so that nobody is left alone in the house.”

Danielle nodded.

“Can we heat up water and take a bath or something?” Danielle asked. “Otherwise we’re not going to smell great.”

“There’s no tub,” Chloe said. “This place only has standup showers.”

“I think we can handle a little body odor,” Bo said. “Let’s see what we can find for breakfast.”

He started to move towards the kitchen. Danielle and Chloe followed him.

“I wonder what James is going to eat,” Danielle said. “How long can a person live without food? It’s weeks, right?”

“He’ll find stuff to forage on, I’m sure,” Bo said.

Chloe moved to the pantry and began to sort through the cans. She found some peaches, and a can of hash. To that, she added some crackers and instant oatmeal.

The top half of the side door was glass. Danielle moved to that and looked out. Bo began sorting through the cabinets to come up with a skillet for the hash and a pot for the oatmeal. He found matches and lit the burners on the stove.

“You know, it’s a little chilly, but we could take some soap and get cleaned up in the pond,” Chloe said. “I’ve done it before. It’s brisk, but you’ll get clean.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Bo said.

Danielle turned away from the window. She looked over to Chloe. “Wait a second—didn’t you say there was a hermit who lived on the other side of the pond?”

“He’s not a hermit. He just likes to keep to himself,” Chloe said. “He only lives up here in the summers. I’m sure he’s gone now.”

“Maybe that’s where Jim went,” Danielle said.

“How would he know about that?” Chloe asked.

“You mentioned it yesterday,” Danielle said. “We were all there.”

“You did,” Bo said.

“But you guys don’t even know where the pond is,” Chloe said. “I might have well have said it’s on the other side of the moon for all the good it does you. There are a million trails around here, and only one leads to the pond.”