Helens-of-Troy (51 page)

“
Fuck,” Ryan cursed, looking
around for another point of entry. “Where are the vandals when you
need them?” He noticed a curtain blowing through a classroom
window. “Looks like Bubba forgot to close the window during the
fire drill.” He grabbed the window ledge with the palm of his hands
and proceeded to pull himself up and over the sill and into the
classroom. “And Betty told me nothing good would come out of my
detentions. Thank the fuck for the million pull-ups Coach Skinner
made me do.”

He listened at the door. He could hear
voices down in one direction. He took the other. “There’s got to be
a fucking weapon in here somewhere,” he surmised, as he entered the
gym. The room was dark, making it next to impossible to find
anything. He got down on his hands and knees and crept along the
wall until he found what he believed to be a storage locker. He
tugged at the mesh door, but it didn’t give. “For cryin’ out loud,”
he muttered, “can’t I catch a fucking break?” He slid his hand
along the mesh until he found a space where it gave some slack. He
used his fingers to grasp it and pulled with all his might, wincing
as he did so. His shoulder still hurt like hell. Eventually the
mesh gave way, and Ryan was able to make a hole big enough to shove
his upper body through. His quick search produced three items: a
basketball, a javelin and a baseball bat. “Weapons drop. Lives
added,” he chuckled, quoting his favorite video game.

In the boys washroom, both Ellie and
Gaspar could hear the commotion coming down the hall. The wraiths
and their two prisoners soon entered the room.

“Well, well. Look what the cats dragged
in,” Gaspar laughed, looking at what the wraiths had done to Jacey
and Tom. “It’s Scarface and Chrome Dome. Thanks for coming to my
party, but it’s a little late for Halloween.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tom told
him.

“Now, now, potty-mouth” Gaspar sneered,
“don’t go all ballsy on me. You’ve been spending way too much time
around the other one. Speaking of which, where is the foul-mouthed
behemoth?”

“Right here, fucker,” Ryan announced,
standing in the doorway, his arsenal of weaponry in his
arms.

“Do we have a problem?” Gaspar asked,
looking at him. “You seem rather irritated. Do you need to get in a
little exercise before your death sentence?”

“Yes we have a problem,” Ryan said,
turning towards Colin. “Dude, you’re supposed to be at the
hospital, guarding my mother.” He palmed the basketball and threw
it towards the wraith. “Dodge ball,” he said, hurling it towards
the demon’s head hoping to stun him. It made contact, but the
impact didn’t even make Colin flinch.

Tom positioned himself for the rebound,
hoping to get a chance to take the other one out. The ball wound up
hitting him in face, sending him down to the ground.

“Now?” Ryan asked him. “After all these
years, now you want to get in the game? You’re not Samson. You need
your hair, dude.” He looked over at Jacey and noticed the gash on
her face. He was going to kill the sons-of-bitches that did that to
her, if it was the last thing he did. His eyes searched the room
frantically for Goth-Chic, and he was momentarily relieved to see
that she appeared to be unharmed, despite being chained to an
over-sized sink. He winked at her, in an effort to let her know he
was going to do everything possible to get them all out of this
horror show.

Sensing Ryan’s momentary distraction,
Gaspar moved towards him and ripped the baseball bat from his left
hand. “Let’s see how many sports you’re good at,” he
taunted.

The vampire’s movements caught Ryan
totally off guard, causing him to inadvertently drop the javelin
from his right hand as well. So much for being heavily
armed.

“Swing low, sweet chariot!” Gaspar
sang, swirling the bat first above his head, and then outward from
his body like he was a batter warming up at the top of the first.
“I know,” he sighed, “I never was much good at this. I’m about to
strike out,” he told Ryan. “Maybe once, maybe twice. But I’ll hit
something eventually.” He took a practice swing in the direction of
Ryan’s kneecaps. “B-b-b-batter up!”

Ryan’s career hopes were a Louisville
Slugger away from being taken from him permanently. Jacey’s hopes
of being a supermodel were all but dashed. Tom’s perfect coif was
lying in the middle of the forest. Ellie was chained to a monstrous
slab of marble, her freedom taken from her before she really had
any freedom to speak of. Not exactly a great day for any of
them.

The wraiths laughed in unison like a
pack of hyenas.

“Goth,” Ryan began, “we have made a
fuckupery of gothic magnitude. I’m so sorry.”

Ellie wasn’t listening. Through a
broken off pipe in the wall beside her, she heard another version
of Sweet Chariot—a hauntingly low, slightly off tempo, whistling of
the tune. She began to sing along to it, almost inaudibly at first,
then getting louder with each stanza until everyone in the room
stopped what they were doing and stared at her like she was crazy.
“Tell all my friends, I’m coming too,” she sang. “Comin’ for to
carry me home.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The Mustang sped down the highway to
the county three road and hung a left. It went down past the sign
that said “Wildman’s Farm”, making another immediate left onto the
road that led to Stillman’s Creek. Helena hit the high beams to
illuminate as much of the unfamiliar area as she could. They were
almost up to the bridge when Helen noticed Ryan’s car, the rear
doors still ajar, parked on the side of the road.

“
Kill the engine,” Helen
instructed her mother as they pulled up close to the
vehicle.

“Kill. I’m feeling a love for that word
right now,” Helena admitted. She parked her car next to the Toyota
and immediately got out of the vehicle. “What is Ryan’s car doing
out here?”

“Maybe it’s still here from the other
night?” Helen offered, joining her mother by the side of her
neighbor’s car.

“Not a chance. Roy would have had it
moved as part of the crime scene. That much I’m certain
of.”

“Well, we know Ryan’s in
jail…”

Helena subconsciously tilted her head.
“Then why do I get the feeling he isn’t?’ She stuck her head into
the back seat area of Ryan’s car and sniffed. “Interesting. I get a
mix of Axe cologne and Paris Hilton perfume.” She sniffed again.
So…I’m thinking Tom and Jacey were here quite recently, in the back
seat.” She also knew that left someone else driving the
car.

“It might smell good in there, but it
just reeks out here. What is that smell?” Helen asked, wrinkling
her nose. “Skunkweed?”

Helena sniffed the air. “It’s coming
from the water,” she said, turning her head in that
direction.

“Phew. It smells like rotten eggs
or…sulphur?” She looked at her mother for affirmation. “Burning
sulphur?”

“You’re right,” Helena confirmed. “I
think,” she said slowly, considering her answer carefully “the
creek is covering the fires of hell.” She watched for a reaction of
her daughter, but Helen had her best poker face on. “Pull your
scarf over your nose. It won’t block the stench out entirely, but
it’ll help keep your senses clear,” she instructed.

“You have a hellmouth near Troy?” Helen
asked, doing her best to keep her cool as she ignored her mother
and plugged her nose with her gloved hand.

“I don’t think it’s so much of a mouth,
but it is definitely a crack in the crust,” Helena suggested. “It
also explains some other things.”

“What other things?”

“This is probably not the time to tell
you,” Helena said softly.

“Great,” Helen sighed.

“Where are the kids?” Helena asked,
looking around. The full moon was allowing her natural eyesight to
scan a good part of the area. She didn’t see any sign of the
teenagers. “This doesn’t look good,” she mumbled, walking back
towards the rear of her Mustang. “I think we’d better prepare
ourselves for the worst.”

“You know,” Helen began, “the writers
of Supernatural gave Dean an Impala for a reason. They were going
to give him a Mustang, but the Impala had a bigger trunk. I read
that somewhere. It might be something to consider next time you’re
in line for a new vehicle.”

“
That may be a valid point
for some people,” Helena replied. “But I’ve been doing this quite a
bit longer than the Winchester men. It’s not the quantity of the
ammo, it’s the quality,” she said, opening the trunk of her
car.

Helen’s mouth fell open as Helena waved
her hand proudly over the arsenal of weaponry she had stashed under
a blanket. There were knives made from a variety of metals, guns of
varying sizes, bags of salt, a five gallon bottle of water and a
host of other assorted weapons of destruction.

“Whoa,” Helen exclaimed.

“Well, the water and the salt help the
Mustang’s traction in the winter,” Helena explained with sincerity.
“The rear end fishtails a bit in the snow.”

“You always were a good packer,” she
admitted to her her mother, surveying every nook and cranny of the
trunk. One item in particular caught her attention. “Where the hell
did you get that crossbow?”

“This old thing?” Helena asked, pulling
it out so Helen could get a better look at it. The weapon appeared
to be handcrafted out of wood and iron. Although it remained
rust-free, the wooden surfaces were well worn, and the string had
obviously been replaced at some point in time. “I think it’s just
what we need for the job.”

“Well, it’s not like you can order it
through L.L. Bean…”

“Actually, you can get them on line,”
Helena offered.

“Not like that one you can’t,” Helen
insisted. “C’mon. Spill.”

Helena’s glove rubbed the metal surface
with unusual affection. “This one dates back to the Crusades.” She
was almost giddy with delight.

“And you came upon it how?”

“Your grandmother gave it to me. She
had some nasty business to take care of with Henry Tudor and the
Church of England… at least that’s how the story goes.”

“Oh, that’s comforting,” Helen replied.
“Not.”

“Relax. They’re used for sport
today.”

“I’m sure they are,” Helen replied
sarcastically. “You know, for those situations when a rifle with a
scope just won’t do the trick.”

“Do you have a better suggestion?”
Helena paused impatiently for an answer. “I thought
not.”

“But you’ve only got one arrow. Is
there a spare under the utility wheel?”

“I don’t need one, Helen. I never miss.
Besides, I have another use for that,” she said, lifting the spare
tire easily from its mount. Hidden beneath the safety device was a
pair of hand weapons.

“Of course. It’s where you keep the
grenades,” Helen said sarcastically. “Maybe you should tighten the
bolts on that tire lock a little better when when you put the wheel
back on. Or tell your town council to pave the county
roads.”

Helena took an explosive and stuffed it
into her coat pocket, handing another one to Helen.

“Seriously?” Helen asked. “I’m not big
on pineapples.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Helena
asked.

“Okay, okay,” Helen said gingerly
taking hold of the weapon. “Honestly, the things you make me do,”
she said, reluctantly putting it into her own pocket.

“When I count to three, you pull the
pin and pitch it like you’re throwing to the outfield, got
it?”

“Sadly, yes. Are you sure you wouldn’t
rather take a gun? You seem to have more of them in that trunk of
yours than the sporting goods section of a Texas
Wal-Mart.”

“Guns are over-rated,” Helena replied,
reaching into a bag of road salt she had opened for the use it was
intended on the first snowfall of the season. She poured the
heaping handful into her other empty pocket before pulling a small
plastic department store bag from the trunk as well. “I was going
to give this to Ellie for Christmas,” she explained, pulling a
necklace from a little blue jeweler’s box tucked inside. “But I
guess I’m going to have to use it.”

“Is that a talisman?” Helen
asked.

“Some people call it that. I call it a
locket,” she insisted. “I’m just going to open it and put a few
drops of the holy water in it. Holy water is like vanilla. You only
need a little.”

Helen watched her mother remove the cap
from the water bottle and dip her finger into it, allowing a few
drops to be transferred to the necklace’s chamber.

“That huge jug of water you’re lugging
around is holy water?” Helen asked.

“It’s like premium gas to me,” Helena
explained. “I like to keep it filled up.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’ve done
this before?” Helen asked, watching her mother. “I just hope we’re
in the right place to find Ellie, and it’s not just where Tom and
Jacey do what Tom and Jacey probably do out in a place like
this.”

“We’re in the right place alright.
Listen. Can’t you hear it?” She put her finger to her lips
indicating for Helen to be quiet. “If I’m not mistaken, I can here
the low melodic sound of a gospel hymn.”