314 Book 2 (16 page)

“What makes you happiest?” asked Kyle as he held up the pipe. “This, or that stupid plastic coin?”

“What coin?” asked Jacker.

“The one in your jacket.”

Jacker searched his pockets until he fo
und the purple Alcoholics Anonymous token. He didn’t remember putting it there.

“That’s the one,” said Kyle. “I’ll trade you.” He offered the pipe.

Jacker instinctually closed his hand around the token. It was important, although he couldn’t explain why. It was only a two month token, and Jacker had been sober for a lot longer than that before he fell back off the wagon a week ago. He had an album of these coins in his closet, kept in a binder as if they were baseball cards. He didn’t remember taking out his two-month coin, and couldn’t fathom why he was carrying it around.

“I think I should keep it,” said Jacker.

“Do you remember where you got it?” asked Kyle.

“It was a long time ago, I think.” Jacker flipped the coin over in his palm several times.

“What would you trade for it?” asked Kyle.

Jacker felt like a child again, haggling with a friend over toys they wanted to trade. “I don’t think I want to give it up,” said Jacker and started to put the coin back in his pocket.

“What about for Debbie,” said Kyle. He again pushed the hair out of his eyes, setting the strands behind his ear. The hole on the side of his jaw was bleeding.

“Debbie?”

“Yeah,” said Kyle. “Give me the coin and I’ll go get her for you.”

“She’s here?” asked Jacker.

“Everyone’s here,” said Kyle as if the question was ridiculous.

Jacker felt ashamed, and looked down at the plastic coin in his hand. “She hurt me. I’m not sure I want to see her.”

“She made a mistake,” said Kyle. “We’re all allowed to make those from time to time. We all hurt.”

Jacker looked back at Kyle and saw that the side of his head was bleeding. It should’ve been a shock, but Jacker knew it was how the boy was supposed to look. He knew that the boy’s head had been smashed into the side of th
e building. Jacker knew this was where his life had turned for the worse, after he went to Debbie’s work and beat up the stocker that she’d been sleeping with.

“We know each other, Hank Waxman,” said Kyle. “We should forgive each other. Don’t you think?”

“You could forgive me for that?” asked Jacker, sad that he’d been the cause of the boy’s shattered skull.

“I could, if I had a reason.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jacker.

“
Show me that you’re sorry,” said Kyle. The blood that trickled down the side of his face looked darker than it should’ve been. “Give me that coin, and we’ll call it even.”

“This?” asked Jacker as he held up the purple coin.

“Yes. If you give it to me, I’ll be the only one you can trust here. You owe me that much.”

“I don’t owe you,” said Jacker as he gripped the coin again.

“Who else can you trust?” asked Kyle. “Not the girls, and certainly not the other one.”

Jacker was confused, and felt muddled, as if he was drunk but couldn’t remember drinking. He had a sense of who Kyle was talking about, but the timeframe didn’t seem right. He recalled a reporter, and her husband, but surely that hadn’t happened yet. Of course, that didn’
t make any sense either. Then he came to a sudden realization.

“This isn’t real.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” said Kyle.

“Dreams aren’t real.”

“No?” asked Kyle as if he was privy to a joke Jacker didn’t understand. “That’s news to me.”

“I know this isn’t how this went down,” said Jacker. “You’re in a hospital somewhere. They don’t know if you’re going to wake up.”

“Story of my life,” said Kyle as the black blood continued to gush from his head.

“How do I get out of here?” asked Jacker. “How do I wake up?”

“We don’t wake up,” said Kyle. “We just linger.”

“What if I give you this?” Jacker held up the plastic coin. “Will this get me out?”

“It certainly won’t keep you in,” said Kyle.

“Take it,” said Jacker.

Kyle looked stunned. “You’re giving it to me?”

“You want it, right?”

Kyle nodded.

“Then take it.”

Kyle reached out tentatively, as if fearing a trap, and then snatched the coin away. He didn’t need to pocket it. Instead, the coin vanished the moment it left Jacker’s hand. It seemed like Kyle had performed a magic trick and he grinned with insane fervor before his teeth began to chatter.

“What’s going on?” asked Jacker.
He stood up and backed away from the stairs. The steam billowed at his feet.

“No one can save you,” said Kyle, although he didn’t mouth his words. His teeth continued to chatter and the skin on his face
melted away. He took a step down and the steam swirled around his leg, twisting up and wrapping around his waist. He put his finger to the hole on the side of his jaw and pressed until his nail dug into the skin. Then he pulled at the flesh until it ripped from his skull. Half of Kyle’s face fell away, revealing a bloody skeleton beneath.

Jacker tried to run, but the steam tightened around his legs, holding him in place. He cursed and tried to pull away, but it was impossible.

“We’ll kill you quick, Hank Waxman,” said The Skeleton Man, now revealed as the flesh disguise was peeled away.

Widowsfield

March 14
th
, 1996

“You okay, Raymond?” asked Desmond of his son. They were sitting at their regular table in the Salt and Pepper Diner, their favorite restaurant in all of Widowsfield County.

Raymond was staring out the window onto Main Street and just nodded as an answer to his father.

Desmond looked over at Grace, their waitress, who was giving their order to the cook in the back. He kept his voice low as he spoke to Raymond, careful not to air their dirty laundry. He liked Grace, but was well aware that the red-haired waitress was useless at keeping secrets.

“Are you upset about Terry?”
asked Desmond of his son. He didn’t wait for the boy to reply. “Don’t let her or that jerk she’s shacking up with get to you. Don’t pay them no mind. They’re dope heads, and don’t deserve your concern. Okay, kiddo?”

“I don’t care about her,” said Raymond.

“Then what’s got your goat, buddy? I thought you’d be happy to be headed out on a fishing trip. I was even hoping to stop by the battleship they’re recreating at the reservoir. I thought you’d be excited to see that.”

“I am.” Raymond continued to stare out the window.

“Then what in blazes is stuck up your craw?” Desmond looked out the window in the direction that the boy was staring. All that was across the street was the Widowsfield Emergency Services building and the local credit union. There was a woman standing in the parking lot smoking, but nothing else seemed of note.

“It’s 3:15.”

“Yeah, I know it’s a bit late,” said Desmond. “We probably won’t get out on the lake today. We’ll get out first thing in the morning.”

“It’s not that,” said Raymond. “The town’s too quiet.”

“Well, most of the kids are still in school, and everyone else’s at work.”

“I don’t know how this was supposed to happen, but I know it wasn’t like this,” said Raymond. The woman across the street flicked her cigarette at the windshield of a nearby parked car and then went into the building.

“What in the blazes are you babbling about?” asked Desmond. “You feeling okay?”

Grace was unwrapping a stick of gum as she walked back to their table. “Like I warned you, Juan’s got to grill up the chicken for your sandwich, Ray. So it’s going to take a couple minutes.”

“Maybe we should just go,” said Raymond.

“What?” asked Desmond. “Boy, you’ve just about lost your mind. I, for one, don’t plan on leaving until I’m feeling sorry for accepting a second helping of dessert.”

“What’s the matter, baby?” asked Grace of Raymond. “You look pale as a sheet.”

“I don’t know,” said Raymond. “I guess it’s nothing.” He grinned up at her and then returned to staring at the digital clock across the street.

“You’d think there was a parade of bikini-clad babes out there,” said Desmond. “Boy’s been staring out that window non-stop since we got here.”

“Looks like just a quiet old street to me,” said Grace. She used the eraser end of her pencil to point to the left. “Looks like the UPS man is making a delivery to the book store. He always spends a bit more time there than it should take to drop off a load of books.” She cackled and winked at Desmond. “I’m not one to go spreading rumors, but if there’s a fly on the wall in that place I’d bet he’s getting an eyeful right about now. Oh, now wait, speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

Raymond stiffened in his seat.

Grace leaned down to get a better view as the UPS driver left the book shop and walked around to the driver’s side of his
truck. “There he goes now.” She whistled and shook her head. “Boy do I love the shorts they make those guys wear. Never in my life have I seen a better set of gams than beneath those brown shorts. Of course, I guess that sort of thing isn’t what tickles the fancy of two strapping young men like yourselves.”

“I’ll take yams over gams any day,” said Desmond
with a smile.

A bell rang as Juan announced, “Order up.”

“Well that wasn’t too long, now was it?” asked Grace as she rubbed her fingers on Raymond’s buzzcut. “I’ll go get your food.”

“What made you want a chicken sandwich?” asked Desmond of his son, curious why the boy had foregone his usual choice of BLT. “Getting sick of the same ole same ole?”

“Dad,” said Raymond as earnest as a boy his age could. “This isn’t real anymore.”

Grace returned with the plates of food and set them on the table. “There we go. I’ll tell you what, kid, that chicken sandwich smells pretty darn good. I might just have to go and give that a try one of these days.
I can’t remember the last time I ordered anything from Juan other than the patty melt. I am just awful about that. You know what I mean? I find one thing I like and I just stick with it, over and over, time and again. You’ve got the right idea, bucko. Life’s too short to get stuck eating the same meal over and over.”

Desmond smiled up at her in a pained way
, his polite way of asking for privacy. She nodded and said, “Well, I’ll leave you to it,” as she walked away.

When she was gone, Desmond asked, “What on God’s green Earth has gotten into you today, boy?
”

Raymond pinched his arm once, and seemed unsatisfied with the result. He pinched again, harder this time.

Desmond reached across the table and swiped his boy’s fingers to the side. “Stop that. What’s wrong with you?”

“
Everything’s wrong here,” said Raymond. “I don’t know how it’s supposed to be, but this isn’t it. This is all wrong.”

The UPS truck drove past the diner.

“What in the hell is that supposed to mean?” asked Desmond.

“I don’t know,” said Raymond as he looked back out the window.

Widowsfield was quiet. It was a normal mid-March day.

“Look at it out there,” said Raymond as he put his forehead to the glass.

“It’s beautiful outside,” said Desmond as he started to eat.

“That’s why I’m scared
.”

Then they saw the UPS truck screech to a stop a little further up the block.

Sometimes the things I remember about Widowsfield seem wrong. Not just the parts that were
warped by The Watcher in the Walls, but everything else as well. Sometimes I would see something that I know was different than it should’ve been. They would be simple things, like the location of a plastic deer on a lawn that I had thought was faced the opposite direction, or whether or not a room I was in had always been carpeted or had been a wood floor the last time I was there.

There are so many little changes that occur in our lives that go almost unnoticed, because if we spend too much time focused on them it will drive us mad. Did I leave the iron on? Was that light on when I left this morning? I could’ve sworn I washed that dish. All these little lapses in sanity are just forgotten, blamed on forgetfulness and faulty memories.

But what if we’re not wrong?

What if t
he Watchers are always toying with us, just a little. Manipulating things to see how long it takes for us to go mad?

I’m reminded of an old Ingrid Bergman film, Gaslight. In it, a woman’s husband attempts to convince her that she’s going crazy by slightly altering her life, bit by bit, until he has her convinced that he’s right, and that she is actu
ally insane. All the while, he’s searching her attic for lost jewels, and the gaslight dims when he turns on the light up there. He insists that the gaslight never dims, and that it’s just a symptom of her madness.