Dark Corner (37 page)

Although it was a peaceful, sunny morning, Jahlil was on
edge. He could not believe that he had agreed to help the
deputy.

He watched Dudu out the corner of his eye. Dudu had a
firm set to his jaw, and his spiderlike hands clutched the steering wheel in a death grip. The man was afraid, but committed to his duty, and Jahlil admired that about him. He couldn't
say as much for his dad. Dad had punked out.

Because Dad was so scared, Jahlil could not help being
scared, too. Anything that frightened Dad was worth fearing.
But Dudu was right: someone had to act. Someone had to
look into what had happened to T-Bone, and the other people
who'd disappeared. It was a job for the cops, and Jahlil,
whether he liked it or not, would probably become a cop one
day. Dudu hit the nail on the head when he said that it was in
Jahlil's blood.

Jahlil was on the fence about whether vampires were real.
No doubt, some strange shit was going on. But vampires?
He wasn't ready to swallow that, yet.

He only hoped that if vampires were in town, they could
not really walk around during the day.

They reached the crest of the hill. Jubilee came into view, swathed in shadows. It was morning, but the place still
looked creepy.

Jahlil's hands were clammy. He had never set foot inside
the house or on the property, and he had no plans to do so
now. He was not going to leave the car. Deputy Dudu could
snoop around all he wanted.

The deputy parked across the street from the gate, in the
shade of a maple tree.

"Here we are," Dudu said. His voice trembled on the last
word.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" Jahlil said. He half
hoped the deputy changed his mind.

"If not us, who?" Dudu said. "If not now, when? Take
heart, my friend. The fate of the human race may well be in
our hands"

More of that loony talk. Dudu sounded like an actor in an
old space adventure flick.

"All right," Jahlil said. "I'll wait in here"

Dudu handed him a walkie-talkie. "Keep it turned on. I'll
have mine with me. If I need backup, I'll request your assistance."

"Man, be careful."

"There's one more thing." Dudu reached forward and
popped open the glove compartment. A shiny handgun was
nestled inside: a Smith & Wesson nine millimeter

"Cool," Jahlil said. "Is that one for me?"

"If you need it," Dudu said. "I'm sure the chief has instructed you in the proper use of firearms"

"Yeah, but I hope I don't have to use it."

"Likewise. I'll return soon" Dudu smiled tightly. He got
out of the car and walked to the gate, his small head bobbing.

Jahlil found a good station on the car radio, switched on
the walkie-talkie, and waited.

The gate was unlocked. Dudu pressed the opening mechanism, a small lever, and the entrance creaked open. He warily stepped inside.

The gate clanged shut behind him. Instinctively, he rested
his hand on his Glock.

He looked around the rambling yard, paying special attention to the ground. He had to stay alert for alien pods. He
had seen photos of such phenomena in the tabloids. They resembled giant eggs and were a surefire indicator of extraterrestrial activity.

He did not spot any pods, yet, but that didn't mean anything. Continuing to sweep his gaze back and forth, he tread
forward across the driveway.

Jubilee loomed in front of him, like an alien mother ship.
Well, the house didn't look like a spacecraft, really, but he
had read stories of extraterrestrials who concealed their ships
inside large homes. This mansion was spacious enough to
contain a starship. They could blow away the roof when it
was time to launch. Of course, if it came to that, it would
mean that they were fleeing the planet. Dudu planned to destroy them before they could make an escape.

He could already imagine the headline in his favorite
tabloid: "Brave Mississippi Cop Prevents Alien Invasion!"
Think of the fame and respect that he'd gain! Instead of
working in this sleepy town, he'd earn an appointment to a
top secret "X-Files agent" position in the FBI, probably out
in Nevada. Books would be written about his exploits. TV
shows would be produced. Fan Web sites would sprout like
weeds.

He would become a legend: Ray Dudu, Earth's Defender.

His fingers tingled on the gun.

Under the tree boughs, he saw small brown mounds spaced
in random patterns. He put the edge of his boot in one of the
deposits. It was soft and mushy. Like excrement.

The dogs had done this. Or rather, the aliens masquerading as dogs.

Gosh, it smelled like dog crap, too. Curling his lips, he
rubbed his sole against a clean spot in the grass.

He neared the mansion. He did not walk across the veranda and knock on the door-only an amateur would do
that. He lurked to a window at the edge of the porch. He
peeped through the glass, cupping his hands beside his eyes
to reduce the sun's glare.

The window provided a view of the big living room. It
had old pieces of furniture, a vast, crumbling fireplace, and
half-melted white candles sitting on several surfaces.

The extraterrestrials evidently had a distaste for artificial
light. But he did not see anything else of interest. He would
continue to circle the property.

He moved slowly, alert for a trap that might snare his
foot. At the corner of the house, he turned to slink along the
side of the mansion.

Towering maple trees stood guard on this side. They cast
cool shadows.

Ahead, there was another window. This one should give
him a look at another room.

He peered inside.

A man stood there watching him.

Shouting in surprise, Dudu backed up and tore his Glock
out of the holster. Hands shaking, he aimed the gun at the
window.

But the man had vanished. Like a wisp of smoke.

Dudu clicked on his radio. He sucked a couple deep breaths,
to steady his voice.

"This is Deputy Dudu. I spotted a suspect inside the house.
He is tall, dark-skinned, dressed in black-"

A chorus of deep growls captured Dudu's attention. He
turned.

Three large dogs stepped out of the shadows: a pit bull, a
mixed breed collie, and a Doberman. Redness burned in their
eyes, and saliva dripped from their jaws in heavy strands.

Aliens masquerading as murderous canines. Like Invasion
of the Body Snatchers.

A chill pressed against Dudu's spine, like another layer of
clothing.

"Three canines are blocking my path to the front," Dudu
said into the walkie-talkie. "I'll try to scare them away, but I
need backup, and I need it now!"

No response from Jahlil. Had the kid wet his pants?

Dudu shoved the radio into the case on his hip. He trained
the Glock on the hounds.

"Back off, mutts!" he said.

The dogs stared directly into his eyes, challenging him.

He swallowed.

They were far too intelligent and fearless to be ordinary
animals.

Another rumbling growl on his right. Two more alien mutts.

Dudu raised the gun skyward, and fired. The bang echoed
across the land.

A normal canine would have scrambled at the sound of
gunfire. These hounds only grumbled, unfazed. They moved
closer.

There were too many for him to take down with the
Glock before one of them tackled him and ripped out his
throat. It would be suicide.

He did the only thing he could think of: ran.

Jahlil was enjoying a song on the stereo when the walkietalkie crackled into life and the deputy's terrified voice came
over the airwaves.

"This is Deputy Dudu. I spotted a suspect inside the
house. He is tall, dark-skinned, dressed in black-"

An Arctic chill wrapped around Jahlil's body. Could it be
a vampire, the one he had seen a few nights ago putting a
body in a truck?

Dudu's voice crackled from the speaker again: "Three canines are blocking my path to the front. I'll try to scare them
away, but I need backup, and I need it now!"

Those vicious vampire dogs. Shit.

The radio sputtered into silence, following soon after by
an unmistakable sound: a boom of gunfire that came from
somewhere near the house.

Jahlil gnawed his lip.

He could radio for Dad, but it would take several minutes
for him to get there, if he came at all. His father was acting
so strangely Jahlil was not sure what he would do. The
deputy needed backup right now

Jahlil opened the glove compartment. His sweaty hand
closed over the gun.

He would notify Dad, quickly, then move out to help
Dudu.

He switched on the police CB radio on the dashboard,
plucked the handset off the hook.

"Dad, it's Jahlil. Are you there?"

His heart pounded a half dozen times before Dad answered. "What are you doing on the radio?"

"I'm at Jubilee with the deputy-"

"What the hell are you doing up there?"

"Dad, there's no time for that! Some dogs are after Dudu
and he needs help. We need you here now. I'm going out
there to help him."

"Dammit, boy, you stay in that car, you hear me!"

"Gotta go" Trembling, Jahlil replaced the handset.

"Stay away from that house, boy!" Dad shouted.

"Sorry, Dad, but someone has to help," Jahlil said under
his breath.

While his dad commanded him to sit tight, Jahlil climbed
out of the patrol car.

He had not heard another gunshot, and he could not see
what was happening around the mansion. The trees blocked
his view.

Gripping the gun, he crossed the road and approached the
gate.

As if they had materialized from the ether, three dogs
raced out of the shadows, barking.

He drew back.

Snapping, the dogs ran up the fence. They were big animals, and their eyes were like burning coals. Saliva foamed
from their mouths. Their teeth appeared to be sharp enough
to snap through iron.

They were just like the dogs that had attacked T-Bone last
night. Vampiric mutts.

He was grateful that the fence was at least six feet high.
But he would have to find another way onto the property.

As he backed away and looked down the deserted road
that twisted in front of Jubilee, he heard a clinking noise.

One of the dogs, a German shepherd mix, stood on its
hind legs. With its forepaws, it tapped the lever to open the
gate.

Unbelievable.

The gate eeked open.

Jahlil spun and ran.

The hounds chased after him.

After he heard his son's frantic call, Van Jackson did not
know how long he stared at the radio. Time had slowed; it
crept forward with the sluggishness of syrup on a winter
morning, and his thoughts were amplified in that segment of
distorted time, looping endlessly through his mind.

He gnawed his fingernail with the feverishness of a trapped
raccoon chewing on a snagged paw.

Gotta help my son and the deputy, but I'm scared ...
gotta help my son and the deputy, but I'm scared ... gotta
help my son and the deputy, but I'm scared ... gotta help my
son and the deputy, but I'm scared...

Ink-black eyes floated into his mind's eye. Eyes as deep as wells. And words, too, delivered with the coolness of a
seasoned killer.

When you leave this place, you will not remember seeing
me or the dogs. When you leave this place, the idea of ever
visiting this residence again will fill you with paralyzing
fear. You will not remember me issuing these commands to
you. You will act upon them as though they spring from your
own consciousness ...

A revelation broke through Jackson's thoughts, like a
cracking rifle shot.

That man at the Mason place has been controlling my
mind.

"Shit!" he said.

He looked at his finger. He had bitten past the nail and
punctured the skin. Bright blood oozed from the wound, and
it throbbed with dull pain.

But he had gotten his mind back.

At last, he remembered visiting Jubilee and speaking to
the tall man draped in heavy black clothes. He had been
there to question him about the disappearance of a young
lady. The man had boldly admitted his guilt-then somehow
erased the incident out of Jackson's mind as though his brain
were merely a blackboard. He'd injected Jackson with a liberal dose of crippling fear, too. Nothing else explained the
irrational dread that had dogged him lately. He had been
brainwashed.

But Jackson remembered everything now. The anxiety
that coiled around his gut this time was not irrational, but
very sensible. They were dealing with something supernatural.
Perhaps a vampire, as Hunter and James claimed, or perhaps
something else. Whatever it was, he had never dealt with it
before.

Now he had to face it. His son and his deputy were up at
that godforsaken house. They'd probably gone there because
he'd been acting like too much of a coward to fulfill his duty.

He would never forgive himself for this.