Dastardly Bastard (25 page)

i liek it when you call me that. :)

liek? LOL.

u know what i meant

DOOR EVEN FAWN

wtf are you talking about? hehehehe

I was just commenting on your wayward fingers. LIEK????

i saw that fool. i mean that door even fawn thing

What?

UGH!!!

Calm down. No need for ALL CAPS RAGE. Nothing is THAT serious, baby.

NO DAWN OR FEVER

their you go again.

First, it’s spelled THERE and second, I really didn’t say anything.

neway :P what are you doing right now?

Talking to you. Best possible activity. Yes, ma’am.

LOL your cute.

You’re…

fine… you’re cute. FOOL! hahahaha

NO WAND FOR EVER

“Now do you see, baby girl?”

Justine stared at the instant message window. The words seemed to make more sense. The nonsense speak the guy was spewing might not be nonsense after all. Justine leaned into the screen, placed a finger over the word NO, and slid it over, the words moving with her touch.

NOWAND FOR EVER

She shook her head. That wasn’t right. She continued to play with them. Her touch put a space in between the W and the A.

NOW AND FOR EVER

Too many spaces. It was right there. A memory, distant, but coming into itself. She made a final adjustment, sitting back against the comfy cushions, reading the words aloud.

“Now and forever.”

Now & Forever

49

JUSTINE’S EYES SNAPPED OPEN. TREVOR was holding her to his chest, crying.

Trevor!

“Baby?” he sobbed. “Please, baby, wake up.”

“I’m here, fool.”

“Oh, thank God!” Trevor pressed his mouth to hers. It tasted of morning breath, but she didn’t care. Justine kissed him back.

“Don’t have time for that!” Donald yelled. The little guy stood a few yards away. Donald wasn’t looking at them. His attention was focused above them, on a battle being waged above their heads. “It’s… it’s not working.”

“You all right now, baby girl?” Nana Penance, still wearing her purple sundress and pink bunny slippers, stood behind Trevor.

“I’m here. What do we do about him?”

“I took care of Papa. I think I can handle this bastard.” She floated up, heading toward the warring throng.

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, Just. You’re the one doing this.”

It occurred to Justine that Nana Penance was right. Even her grandmother’s voice was her own. Gone was the southern twang and broken, unformed words.

Justine got to her feet and backed away a few steps to get a better look at the chaos overhead. She willed Nana Penance through the mass of memories, homing in on the Bastard. Her grandmother’s form began to glow with an aura of brilliant light.

The Bastard didn’t see her coming. Nana Penance glided up behind him, wrapping her sparkling hands about the Bastard’s long neck. The Bastard wailed. Nana Penance bore into the creature, pushing up and in, melting into its form, becoming one with it.

The Bastard retched, heaved, and coughed up molten light. Its black skin crackled and blistered, popped and sizzled. Through the flesh came bursts of flame and smoke. Justine was reminded of a marshmallow that had been left over a campfire far too long. The smell was unbearable.

You gotta burn them off, mostly. You gotta get them to unlatch themselves. Shadows can be dastardly bastards. You just gotta know how to deal with them.

“I am…
forever
!”

“No,” Justine said. “You’re not.”

The Dastardly Bastard of Waverly Chasm exploded. Pieces of charred flesh rained down over the expanse of the padded cell, turning to ash long before ever touching the floor. Gray bits floated in the air. One landed on Justine’s arm. She blew it away without a second thought.

50

JUSTINE LED THE TREK OUT. Silence took over when they passed Jaleel’s body. No one seemed to want to talk about what had happened to the man. What could she say? She hadn’t known him for more than a couple hours.

Once out of the cave, the group let her cross the bridge first. Everyone else followed, traversing the chasm one at a time. When Flat Rock was, once again, under everyone’s feet, Justine watched the bridge slowly fade away. There were no shocked gasps, no questions. She knew why the cave’s entrance and bridge were gone. Because it had never truly been there. Just like the Bastard, the bridge had become a fading memory.

The moon spun languidly around the sun, quickening with every revolution. Night melded with day, purple lightening to blue, until time righted itself. The sun, back where it should be, sat in the middle of the sky. Justine had never been so glad to see a sunny day in all her life.

With all the terrors she had been privy to, finding the body of a different tour guide really didn’t stun her. The name badge on his green polo read “Clyde.” He’d been shot in the head. Lyle was the one who spotted him. The dead man had been stuffed into the bushes at the trail head. Justine thought she knew who’d done it, but if Jaleel had killed Clyde, she knew the man wasn’t to blame. He’d only been a puppet.

Mark used his cell phone to call the police. Two people were missing—or so he told them—and another had been shot.

Trevor held Justine while she cried into his chest, letting everything pour out. There had been so many tears that day, but these felt better, purer. Trevor had saved her from the Bastard. Just the memory of how they’d met, their online conversations, were stronger than anything else. The Bastard included. Nana Penance had gone back inside Justine’s mind, where her memories of her grandmother belonged.

Lyle sat forlorn on the trunk of his mother’s car. He didn’t cry. Justine felt he would come to grips with his loss in his own time. Tragedy had a way of becoming you, taking you over. She hoped Lyle would forget the bad. Remember the good.

The first responding officer was a middle-aged blond-haired woman. Her badge read, “Bay’s End Police Department Officer Jenna Wales.” The woman seemed to center on Lyle first. She wanted to know what
he’d
seen, what
he’d
been through. Justine figured she just liked kids. That was good. Lyle needed a friend.

Donald had come up with the story they would tell. He began with fragments of truth—Jaleel spinning around, spewing nonsense—then moved on to the fiction. The crazy guide had pulled a gun on them. Marsha Lake—a mother protecting her cub—tried to wrestle the weapon from Jaleel, and both had gone over the edge. Donald told it with flair, filling in grand details with intricate lies. Justine found his tale very satisfying. In Donald’s version, Marsha Lake had gone out a hero.

Justine remembered Donald had said he was an author back in the real world. She decided to look up one of his books when she got home.

The group followed the officer back into Bay’s End so they could give proper statements while forensic teams tried to make sense of everything. Donald’s story had been sound, no holes, but investigators had to… well, investigate.

Trevor followed close behind Mark’s tiny car, paying attention to the road. He remained silent, stoic behind the wheel.

But as they passed the Bay’s End city limits sign, Trevor finally asked, “You wouldn’t know what happened to my pants, would you? I’m surprised that cop didn’t ask me why I was half naked.”

Justine could only laugh.

He snaked a hand into hers. Justine kissed the back of his hand, thinking she would never let it go. Never again. His fingers found the engagement band on her ring finger and twirled it slowly.

“Looks good on you.” Trevor took his eyes off the road for a brief moment, meeting her gaze. His smile shone in the light coming through the windshield. She didn’t know if a person could fall in love with someone twice, but it sure felt as though she was doing just that.

“And it always will.” Justine leaned back in her seat and watched the caravan of survivors enter Bay’s End. “Now and forever.”

THE MEMORIES REMAIN

51

LYLE PACKED WHILE GRANDMA BOBBI waited in the living room, a book of cryptograms splayed out on her lap under a working pencil. He barely knew her, but she was all he had left. Mom and Dad were gone. He’d spent a week with Child Protective Services waiting for her to arrive. She lived in Burbank, California, somewhere Lyle had never been. He was certain his life in So Cal would be much different from his smalltown life in Bay’s End, but he was glad to be leaving.

Everywhere he looked, he saw his parents. They were in the back of the closet when he pulled clothes off hangers; in the living room, sitting on either side of his grandmother while she did her puzzle; watching him from the doorway in the hall while he boxed up DVDs from his entertainment center.

Somehow, he was comforted. Their memories remained. The realization was hard to swallow. No matter what you did in life, no matter where you went, memories were created. You just couldn’t focus on the bad ones. Those things were behind you. Gone.

The Bastard couldn’t be forgotten, but he could be suppressed. Mom and Dad would make sure of that.

Lyle placed his final bit of clothing into his suitcase and zipped it up. His cell phone went off in his pocket.

The screen told him he had a new text. He unlocked the screen and opened the message.

how you holding up???

Between police interviews, Lyle had given Justine his number. Lyle had no way of knowing whether his grandmother was going to keep paying the bill, but it still worked for the moment.

Lyle turned the phone sideways and brought up the keyboard.

hangin in there. u?

making it. just wanted to check in :)

thx

no problem

Lyle’s grandmother cleared her throat from the doorway. She pointed at him with the rolled-up puzzle book. “You about ready?”

“Yeah. Gimme a sec.”

“We have a long—”

“I know. Just a minute?”

“All right. But hurry up.” She turned to leave, but stopped. “I’m sorry. Take your time. We’re gonna be okay. I just gotta get used to this.”

“Me, too. Don’t worry. I’m not such a bad kid.”

“Never thought you were. I’ll be in the living room when you’re ready.”

Lyle nodded. His phone went off again.

u let us know if you need anything… okay?

Lyle looked back up to make sure his grandmother had gone. A smile slowly spread across his face. Mom and Dad stood in the doorway. Their faces said everything was going to be just fine. He agreed.

will do!!!

52

JUSTINE MCCARTHY STOOD WITH TREVOR at Nana Penance’s grave. A warm Georgia breeze played over her skin, killing the chill that had settled inside her. She didn’t like cemeteries.

“We can go if you want, baby.” Trevor wrapped his arm around her waist.

“No, it’s all right.”

Justine knelt, setting flowers atop her grandmother’s final resting place. Beside Nana Penance’s gravestone was Papa’s. Justine remembered her conversation with her grandmother, the talk in the limo. The confession. When she had told Trevor, he hadn’t seemed shocked. He had just reassured her that sometimes bad things had to happen so that good things could survive.

She thought about Scott and how her hands had felt on his neck. She shuddered in Trevor’s grasp.

Could she ever forgive herself? Maybe she could. With Trevor’s help. The fact that what she’d done had been needed did not comfort her. The memory would haunt her for the rest of her life. Yet, she could only focus on the present. Nana Penance didn’t visit her anymore, and Justine thought that was for the best. The old woman deserved to rest. She’d fought the good fight and won.

“There’s only today,” she said, more to herself than to Trevor.

“Don’t forget about tomorrow. You’re getting married, remember?”

“How could I forget?” She stood and kissed Trevor.

“So what are we going to do for our honeymoon?” he asked.

“One thing’s for sure.” Justine slugged his arm playfully. “No camping and no tours. Deal?”

Trevor rubbed his shoulder and smiled. “Deal.”

53

“ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT to go ahead?” Lars Stillstead puffed his cheeks out, exhaling hard.

“Would you rather Jeff get rich off this?” Donald asked.

“You’re a better man than me, Don… oh, sorry,
Donald
. Gotta remember you don’t like being called Don. It’s gonna take me some time to—”

“It’s okay. You can call me Squirt, for all I care.”

“Really?” The shock in Lars’s eyes made Donald chuckle. “What happened to you? You actually look… happy.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re not going to start writing chick lit now, are you?”

That one slayed Donald. He patted Lars on the back. “Highly unlikely, old man.”

“Thank God. I can’t stand that fu—”

“Mister Adams?” A young man with a headset broke in and waved at Donald. “They’re ready for you.”

“Thanks.” Donald turned back to Lars. “Wish me luck.”

“You’re going to need it.”

Donald walked out of the wings and crossed the stage with proud steps. The guy with the headset lowered the microphone to his level, but Donald still had to adjust it. He gazed out over the crowd in the conference room.

Newsweek
had shown up, so had
The New Yorker
and
The Times
. Even journalists—if you could call them that—from the trash mags were present and accounted for. The crowd seethed, a living mass. He didn’t care.