Desolation
Kelly was a quick study, but even so her ability to decipher the messages hidden in graffiti could only take her so far. Ronnie was better at it, and Linda was better still, but Warrick was the master. He was the one who’d told them all about it, after all. Graffiti was the cave painting of the modern world, he’d told Kelly after she’d taken her first trip in the van.
That had been her recruitment, she supposed. Once she was part of the group, one of the gang, he felt comfortable telling her his secrets. A town’s history, its true history, he said, could be found in the scrawls and crude pictures hidden from the prying eyes of the disapproving authorities, those to whom whitewashing a wall was the same as whitewashing a mind. They could paint over the truth as many times as they wanted, but the truth could always be scrawled anew.
Kelly found declarations of love and accusations of infidelity, she found boasts of conquests, of prowess and of physical exploits, and she found pictures of genitalia that were suspect in their accuracy.
“Look at this,” said Linda, pointing to a drawing of a thin man with a wide, smiling mouth, too big for his head. There was an artistry to it, some genuine talent, but there was something else – something about that smile that unnerved Kelly. Linda took a picture of it with her phone.
“Got something else,” Ronnie said. “A name – Donnie Welker. Says here the Narrow Man got him in 2003.”
Linda hurried over, documenting the message.
They found five more references to the Narrow Man, and then Warrick said, “Found it.”
They crowded round him. On the wall, almost at the corner and faded, yet isolated from the other scrawls, almost as if nobody dared paint over it, was a short rhyme.
The Narrow Man, the Narrow Man,
He’ll sniff you out, you know he can.
Counting, counting, one, two, three,
Your name he’ll call, his face you’ll see.
Tap at your window, tap at your door,
You can hide no longer, run no more.
The Narrow Man, the Narrow Man,
He’ll drag you to hell, fast as he can.
“He’s here, all right,” said Ronnie.
“Look at this,” said Kelly, waving to a group of kids hanging out in the trees behind them. “We have an audience.”
Two bounded over. A few of the kids backed away, but most of them made a fuss over the dumb dog as he licked their hands and rolled on to his back so they’d scratch his belly.
Kelly and the others walked over.
“Hi there,” she said. The kids regarded her warily. “Could you do us a favour? Me and my friends were wondering what that Narrow Man thing is all about. We’ve heard of him, we’re kind of geeks for this sort of crap, but we’ve never seen anything so concentrated as this.”
Some of the kids, the ones who were wary of the dog, glanced at each other and walked away.
One of the other kids who stayed gave a shrug. “So what’s the favour?”
“Actually, less of a favour, more of a … job, really.” Kelly took out a crumpled ten-dollar bill. “What can you tell us about him?”
“He’s a story,” said the kid.
“What kind of story?” Ronnie asked.
“Creepy bedtime story.”
“He’s the boogeyman,” said a girl.
“Yeah, that’s it,” the boy said. “The boogeyman. Comes out and snatches away naughty boys and girls.”
“What about the rhyme?” asked Linda.
“Just something we used to say. Something fun.”
Warrick took a treat from his pocket, tossed it to Two. “He ever snatch away anyone you know?”
“Are you stupid or something?” the boy asked. “He’s a story. He’s not real.”
Warrick jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I think whoever drew that picture thought he was real.”
“My cousin drew that,” said a smaller kid at the back, “and you don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s a nursery rhyme. Just something kids used to say.”
“What about the counting, counting, one, two, three thing?” Ronnie asked. “What’s that mean?”
The kids looked at each other uneasily, until Ronnie produced another ten.
The first kid tracked it like a heat-seeker. “Everyone in town votes,” he said. “If you misbehave, parents and teachers and whatever will write your name on a piece of paper and put it into the box in the square. They do it to scare the younger kids into doing what they’re told.”
Kelly frowned. “And what are they voting for?”
Not to be outdone, the girl spoke up. “The Narrow Man comes for whoever gets the most votes. Or he’s supposed to, anyway. But everyone knows the votes are never counted.”
“That’s pretty messed up,” said Warrick.
“It’s a crock of shit,” the girl said, shrugging. “Like everything else people do here.”
“What’s the festival that’s happening on Wednesday?” Kelly asked.
The kids clammed up. Warrick sighed, and gave each of them a ten.
“We don’t talk about it,” said the first kid.
“So what is it?”
“We don’t talk about it.”
“But … dude, I gave you another ten.”
“So?”
They turned to go.
“Wait,” said Ronnie. “What’s your cousin’s name, the one who drew the picture? Maybe we can talk to him.”
“Doubt it,” said the small kid, “but whatever. Give me a twenty, stop your dog from humping my leg, and I’ll tell you.”
AMBER SPENT MONDAY MORNING in Fast Danny’s. Brenda served her breakfast, then juice, then coffee, and then two hot chocolates, and Amber sat at her corner table with her earphones plugged into the iPad, using the cafe’s Wi-Fi to watch all of the In The Dark Places episodes she’d missed while on the run.
She’d hesitated before pressing play on the first one. Her life in the last five weeks had become stranger and much more fantastical than anything she’d ever seen on a TV screen. She’d witnessed true horror. She’d been subjected to true violence. She herself had killed. She herself had eaten human flesh. She had interacted with beings who existed beyond death, who traded in souls and powers beyond imagining, and she was pretty sure she was being stalked by a vampire. What effect could a dumb TV show have on her now?
As it turned out, an astonishing one.
Watching Dark Places was like going home – but instead of the home she’d always known, that cold place of silence and secrets, it was her other home, the home she had made for herself inside the world of the stories she loved. She knew everything about the actors, knew their birth dates and their pets’ names, but as each episode began the actors vanished and their characters appeared, and Amber forgot about the horrors biting at her heels and lost herself in the stories unfolding before her. She interacted with Brenda when she had to, ignored the curious looks of the people who frequented the cafe, and sipped her hot chocolate. The only part of her, the only part, that she did not relax was the part that was keeping her body from shifting into its demon form. That remained vigilant.
When she’d finished watching the final episode of the season – it had ended on a cliffhanger, of course it had ended on a cliffhanger – she took out the earbuds and sat back, absorbing the drama. The cafe was almost full by now, with people eyeing her table covetously.
Brenda saw that she had emerged from the screen, and came over. “Can I get you the cheque?”
Amber thought for a moment. “No, thanks,” she said. “But I’ll take a look at your lunch menu.”
Brenda made a big deal out of sighing, and headed off to fetch a menu. Amber grinned to herself.
She checked her phone, saw no message from Milo, and logged on to the Dark Places forum. Her bandaged hands made typing difficult, but not impossible.
The Dark Princess said …
I have returned …
RetroGamer! said …
Hi Proncess
*princess
Sith0Dude said …
hey
RetroGamer! said …
Damn typos.
Elven Queen said …
Princess!! We missed u!
Thoughts on finale?
Sith0Dude said …
Hey Elven Queen
The Dark Princess said …
Just saw it. WOW.
Though kinda knew they wouldn’t let Gideon die off so easily.
Elven Queen said …
Yeah, saw that twist coming from 3 episodes ago!
Sith0Dude said …
why is everyone ignoring me?
RetroGamer! said …
Was talking to BAC 10 minutes ago
Balthazar’s-Arm-Candy said …
There’s my girl!
The Dark Princess said …
BAC!
The world is a brighter place once more!
Balthazar’s-Arm-Candy said …
How’ve u been doing? Things been sorted since last time we chatted? *fingers crossed*
The Dark Princess said …
Not really, but I’m bravely fighting my way through it!
Sith0Dude said …
ur all ignoring me
Balthazar’s-Arm-Candy said …
Made up your mind about the con yet? Full cast PLUS Annalith’s gonna be there.
Wish I could go.
Elven Queen said …
Not ignoring you, Sith0Dude.
The Dark Princess said …
Haven’t really been thinking about it, but don’t think it’ll be possible. Things are still screwy
RetroGamer! said …
Everything ok, Princess?
The Dark Princess said …
I’m fine. Life’s just weird at the moment and not looking like it’ll ever go back to normal.
Elven Queen said …
Normal is boring.
Balthazar’s-Arm-Candy said …
You back in Florida yet?
The Dark Princess said …
Furthest thing from it. Alaska! LOL
Sith0Dude said …
the north pole?
The Dark Princess said …
Alaska isn’t the north pole.
Is it?
RetroGamer! said …
No.
Balthazar’s-Arm-Candy said …
Penguins live in the south pole, polar bears live in the north pole. That’s the rule.
Look out your window, Princess. What do u see?
The Dark Princess said …
Cars and people. No polar bears or penguins.
Sith0Dude said …
if you can’t see penguins u must be on north pole.
penguins would be everywhere on south cuz of no natural predators.
The Dark Princess said …
I don’t think that’s right, Sith0Dude.
Sith0Dude said …
No LAND based predators I meant. But they are prey to a range of top predators in the oceans.
Some penguins can swim up to 22 mph.
They get rid of saltwater they’ve swallowed by sneezing.
Elven Queen said …
Are you googling penguin facts, Sith0Dude?
Sith0Dude said …
no. just like penguins
Balthazar’s-Arm-Candy said …
How’s Wi-Fi in Alaska, Princess?
The Dark Princess said …
Better than expected! In a cafe right now and just streamed 4 eps without a problem. Say 1 thing for those polar bears, they know their Wi-Fi!
Sith0Dude said …
Most people think penguins mate for life, but Emperor Penguins usually take a mate for one year at a time
Elven Queen said …
Shut up about penguins Sith0Dude.
The Dark Princess said …
Gotta go guys. RL has just walked in.
Balthazar’s-Arm-Candy said …
When will u be on next?
The Dark Princess said …
Hard to say, got a lot going on. Laters!
Milo sat at the table and Amber logged off the messageboard.
“The Hounds still where they’re supposed to be?” she asked.
“They are. I followed one of them when he rode around the outskirts. Every so often, he’d test the barrier. Looks like it surrounds the whole town. We would appear to be safe, but I’m heading back out this afternoon, just to make sure. What have you been doing?”
Amber couldn’t help it. She smiled. “Just chatting with my friends.”
“And how are they?”
“Good. Still reeling from the final episode of Dark Places. It was brilliant. I’d tell you about it, but I don’t want to spoil anything.”
“I’m never going to watch that show,” Milo said, beckoning Brenda over.
“You should,” said Amber. “It’s better than those westerns you like.”
Milo grunted, then gave one of his smiles to Brenda that the waitress clearly appreciated. “Hey there,” he said. “Could I have a coffee, if it’s not too much trouble? Black, no sugar.”
“Regular old coffee,” said Brenda, “you got it. Anything else?”
“Nothing I can think of right now, thank you.”
Brenda nodded, practically curtsied, and hurried away.
“Doesn’t that get annoying?” Amber asked.
“Doesn’t what get annoying?” Milo said.
“That,” said Amber. “Women falling over themselves whenever you smile at them.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, come on. You do that smiley thing and they go weak at the knees every time.”
“That ‘smiley thing’ is me smiling.”
“Yeah, but it’s not, though, is it? You give them the extra big grin to get them blushing.”
“Hate to disappoint you, Amber, but my smile is the same size regardless of who I’m talking to.”
“So you’re telling me that if Brenda was a dude, you’d give him the same smile?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you’re flirting. Just admit it.”
“I admit no such thing because I’m not flirting. You’ll know when I’m flirting with someone because it’ll be really obvious and really bad.”
“You flirted with that lady back in Cascade Falls.”
“Veronica.”
“And did you or did you not get laid because of it?”
“What I did or did not do is none of your business, but that wasn’t flirting. That was talking. I’m okay at talking, when I’m in a talkative mood, and sometimes talking leads to other things.”
“Some people would call that flirting.”
“I call it being friendly.”
The woman at the next table got up to leave, but dropped her purse. Milo picked it up, handed it back to her. She smiled and he winked and she giggled.
As she walked away, Amber stared at Milo. “You winked at her.”
Milo frowned. “What? No, I didn’t.”
“You so did! You actually winked at her!”
“Did I?”
“I can’t believe you just did that.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Milo said. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What’s your flirting technique like?”
“I don’t have one,” she said.
“Sure you do.”
Amber shook her head. “It is literally non-existent, and I use literally both in the literal and figurative senses.”
“You just need practice,” Milo said. “Find someone you’d like to flirt with and strike up a conversation.”
“Like who?” she said, laughing.
“I don’t know,” Milo answered, looking around. He nodded to a young guy across the cafe. “How about him?”
Amber smiled. “I don’t think so.”
“Coward.”
“He’s just not my type.”
“What is your type?”
She shrugged. “Not him.”
Brenda came over with Milo’s coffee.
“Thanks very much,” he said. Brenda smiled and blushed and hurried to another table before she melted.
Milo took a sip, and didn’t meet Amber’s gaze.
“Shut up,” he said.
WHAT HE HAD, and let there be no mistaking this, was a bona-fide mystery on his hands.
A murder mystery, to be exact. How many of those fell into the lap of someone like him every day? A murder mystery with police collusion. He knew what they called that, of course. They called it conspiracy.
Were all the cops in on it? He had no way of knowing. Novak and Woodbury, certainly, and maybe that other one, Officer Duncan. The one that never smiled. He doubted Lucy Thornton was involved – she always struck him as an honest sort of cop. And if Thornton was honest maybe her pal Ortmann was, too. But again he couldn’t be sure. They could all be part of this.
His heart was beating faster all of a sudden. This probably wasn’t a good thing, but for once Virgil didn’t mind. He was taking his pills and that’s all anyone could be expected to do in his position. He had a mystery to solve, after all.
Sure, his paranoia had been getting to him. Every creak in his house was a footstep. Every passing car was a police cruiser, come to silence him. He wasn’t getting much sleep. He wasn’t eating much. But so what? He had important things to be doing, for God’s sake. For the seventh time that day, he checked the windows and doors, made sure they were locked.
He watched an old man in a blue jacket shuffle along the sidewalk, reading from a scrap of paper and then looking up and around. Lost and confused, the same way Virgil spent most of his days. Not anymore, though. He realised, with a smile, that purpose had crept into his life when he wasn’t looking. What an odd sensation that was.
He set about making himself a sandwich. He had to keep his strength up, even if he wasn’t hungry. He laid out his ingredients, but hadn’t even buttered the bread when there was a knock on the door. His good mood soured. That would be Mrs Galloway. Every year she knocked on his door, gave him that condescending smile, and enquired as to his well-being before asking about his plans for Hell Night with all the grace and subtlety of a … a …
Goddammit, he couldn’t even think of a suitable insult.
Walking to the front door, he did his best to stifle his anger. It wasn’t easy. She wouldn’t even call it Hell Night. She called it “the festival” around him, as if he’d never heard the actual name in all of his years here. Condescending busybody that she was. He reached the door, calmed down, put a neutral expression on his face, and then opened it.
The old man in the blue jacket stood there. For a moment, Virgil didn’t know who it was. He was probably around Virgil’s own age. Hispanic. Shrunken. Then it came to him.
“Goat-molester?”
Javier Santorum snarled. When he did so, his false teeth clacked in his mouth. He drew back his spindly arm, his liver-spotted hand clenching into a liver-spotted fist. As a younger man, he’d telegraphed every punch in every fight scene they’d ever had (those in which he hadn’t been replaced with a stuntman) and it seemed his real-life technique wasn’t much better. He swung his fist in a wide, unsteady arc that Virgil could easily have dodged, back in the old days. But now, even though he saw it coming, he was still too slow to avoid it.
Javier’s fist bounced painfully off his cheek.
“Ow,” said Virgil.
“Yeah,” said Javier triumphantly. “How’d you like them—”
Javier had been a stage magician before he’d become an actor – Javier Santorum, Circus Magician and Escape Artist! – but Virgil had been a boxer, and those instincts never leave you. His left jab had slowed considerably over the years, but it still had that snap to it, and he still landed it with unerring precision, right on the point of Javier’s chin. Javier’s eyes crossed and his legs gave out, and he sat down faster than he’d probably managed for quite some time, and then flattened out on Virgil’s front porch.
“Oh goddammit,” said Virgil.
For a moment, he wondered if he’d killed him, but the rise and fall of Javier’s pigeon chest assured him that no, the idiot was still alive. He couldn’t leave him out on the porch, though. It wasn’t so much that the neighbours might wonder what was going on, but that Javier might get carried off by a bear or something on its way past. What an undignified way to go.
So Virgil prepared himself and, moving slowly, took a good grip on each of Javier’s matchstick ankles. Straightening up even slower than he’d bent down, he got himself in a good position, and pulled. Dragging Javier into the house was easier than he’d expected. The man seemed to consist of nothing more than dried kindling and leathered skin. His head bounced off the doorsill and Virgil grinned.
When he was inside, Virgil closed the door and went to fetch a glass of water. He stood over Javier, then, about to upend it over the other man’s face, when his mischievous streak lit up. He poured half of the water on to Javier’s crotch, and the rest he dumped on Javier’s face.
Javier spluttered, coughed, turned his head away and wiped his eyes. “What the hell … what the hell’re you doing?”
Virgil put the glass on the hall table. “Reviving you,” he said. “You looked dead.”
“That’s how I always look, you sonofabitch. You hit me!”
“You hit me first.”
“You deserved it!”
“Sorry I called you Goat-molester,” Virgil said. “It was the first thing that came into my head, honestly.”
“I don’t need your damn apology!”
“Then why are you here?”
“I came here to kick your ass!”
“You might want to do that from a standing position.”
“Screw you! I’ll get up in my own time!”
“Right. Sure. You wet yourself, by the way.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake …”
Javier struggled into a sitting position, then wiped at his crotch with dismay.
“Need some help?” Virgil asked.
“Not from the likes of you!”
Virgil shrugged.
Javier rubbed his chin. “You sucker-punched me.”
“No, I hit you back.”
“Yeah, when I wasn’t expecting it. I might have concussion. If my brain swells tonight, you’re to blame. Everyone will know you killed me.”
“Not if I leave you out for the bears.”
“There are bears?” Javier said quickly, looking around like he expected one to come ambling through from the bathroom.
“This is Alaska,” said Virgil. “We have everything here. Javier, are you sure you don’t want any help getting off the floor? You’re a long way down, and it’s a long way up.”
“I can do it myself,” said Javier. “Look at you, talking like an old man. You probably need those handles in the tub, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” said Virgil. “I also have a seat in the shower.”
“Ha! Like an old man!”
“Says the guy who can’t get up off my floor.”
“I’m waiting for my second wind!”
“What are you doing here, Javier? Why’d they even let you out?”
“Let me out?” said Javier. “It’s a retirement village, not a goddamn prison camp! I leave when I want to leave! If I want to catch a plane, I catch a plane! Don’t you be treating me like I’m an old man. I ain’t dead yet!” Moving slowly, and carefully, Javier turned over on to his hands and knees.
Virgil watched him. “Did you travel across the country just so you could hit me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Javier wheezed, crawling to the wall. “Hitting you was a bonus. Hitting you made the trip sweeter.”
“So why are you here?”
“The mystery,” Javier grunted. Using the wall to steady himself, he started getting to his feet. Virgil stared at him. He knew about the murder? How the hell did he know about the murder?