Red Right Hand (6 page)

“You have seen me in my true form. I am not the worst of my kind. There are things on the edge of the darkness, things we are trying to stop, that would use this world as a feasting board. They would spill every drop of humanity's blood until it runs a river for them to bathe in. Your race would be gristle in their teeth and meal for their bread.”

An image of Nyarlathotep's true form charged to the front of my mind, making me close my eyes and shake my head. It rattled behind my eyelids, horrible and terrifying and lodged deep in my cerebellum. That image, the thing I saw, would fuel nightmares for years to come. I could just feel it. The thought that there might be more of his kind out there, and even worse than him, turned my guts into ice water.

But that finger bone, that child … “You aren't any better, not if you can use a thing like that.”

Daniel's hand touched me again. “Maybe we should…”

“Shut up, Daniel.” Pulling the parking brake, I turned the car off. I didn't look over, didn't look around, just kept my hands on the wheel and stared straight ahead. “I'm done here. Find someone else.”

I meant it.

Silence filled the car, broken only by my strained breathing, the cooling tick of the engine, and the rustle of the angelic pelt the Man in Black wore as a coat. It fluttered around his legs, quietly
fwap
ping in the dark.

Headlights shone over the hill ahead, cutting through the dark like a pair of spotlights. They grew brighter as the vehicle they were attached to drove relentlessly our way.

The Man in Black turned in the bucket seat. Dark eyes looked past me.

“Daniel Alexander Langford.”

I watched in the rearview mirror as Daniel turned toward him, his eyes wide and unblinking.

An eighteen-wheel semi truck burst over the hill.

“Step out of the car. Stand in the road.”

Stiff-shouldered, Daniel reached for the door handle.

The semi cleared the crest of the hill, barreling over, picking up speed on the other side.

My throat closed in terror as I realized what was about to happen. I couldn't speak, couldn't scream
NO.
My fingers scrabbled desperately at the safety lock button. It engaged with a
click
from all four doors.

But Daniel had already pulled his handle.

He stepped out of the car, shutting the door behind him. He took three long steps and turned, his eyes closed as he stretched out his arms in supplication.

The semi roared down the hill.

He'll see him, he'll see him, the driver will see him and stop.

Daniel stood in the road, dressed in a black hoodie and dark jeans, in a puddle of darkness between wide-spread streetlights. We were only a few feet away, and I could barely make out the shape of his face.

I grabbed my door handle. I had to get out, to get him. There was time. I could get him out of the road.

Pain clamped around my arm, jerking me against the seat. Black spots fuzzed my eyesight as all the air rushed out of my lungs. Nyarlathotep leaned toward me, his face drawing close. Under his red right hand the pain turned cold, an ache stabbing deep, straight into my bones. His face thinned, drawn into a feral mask. Sharp, jagged rows of teeth meshed as he hissed between them. “You chose this, Acolyte, so you will watch.
This
is the price you pay for disobedience.”

He shoved me, making my head jerk toward the window. My eyes fell on Daniel, standing still in the street, docile as a Hindu cow. The headlights of the truck threw his silhouette into harsh relief.

The driver saw him, the semi's air horn blaring out into the night and brakes locking in a scream as thin asbestos pads tried to stop twenty tons of vehicle rushing headlong at eighty miles per hour.

The truck didn't even slow.

My mind jolted with images of roadkill, burst organs and shredded fur.

Thirty feet.

Acid geysered up the back of my throat.

Twenty feet.

My heart clenched like a fist.

Ten.

I screamed.

“ALL RIGHT, I'LL DO IT! I'LL DO WHAT YOU WANT!”

Nyarlathotep let go of my arm. The fingers of his red right hand flashed together like matches being struck. The skinless hand made the same
crack!
my father's snapping fingers used to make. A burst of light slapped me in the face, searing my eyes, flash-frying my optic nerve. The world went white, then red, then black. I blinked away tears, and my vision returned like a slowly developing photograph.

Daniel sat in the backseat, the same look of serenity on his face.

The Man in Black pointed across the dash and out the window with his red right hand. The fingerbone swung gently at the end of my strand of hair, which was curled around two skinless red fingers.

I started the car. The keys jangled in my shaking hand.

“Thou shalt not tempt the lord thy god, Acolyte.” The Man in Black's red right hand fell away, disappearing in the folds of his coat. “Now drive.”

I looked in the rearview mirror. Daniel looked back at me. He smiled. I didn't smile back. My throat still tasted like stomach acid.

I put the damn car in gear and drove, hatred burning in my heart for the Man in Black.

 

9

T
HE LOW-SLUNG BUILDING
sprawling in front of us was on the brink of collapsing in on itself.

It lay end to end in square architecture made for order and expedience instead of artistry. Windows lined the graffiti-covered brick wall illuminated by my headlights. Most of the glass had been broken, replaced with plywood gone gray from exposure. The brown, knee-high grass and weeds weren't enough to hide all the trash scattered on the ground.

I asked, “What is this place?”

It looked creepy as hell.

The Man in Black tucked the finger bone compass into his coat. The coal of hatred in my heart flared again. “It is the lair of an old … acquaintance.” He opened the door, stepping out of the car.

Daniel scooted across the seat, his fingers on the door handle. “You coming, Charlie?” He looked expectant, his face unlined by concern. He looked like
my kid brother climbing out of the car in the parking lot of the county fair, all wide-eyed and excited.

Jesus, he has no idea how jacked any of this is.

For a moment, a split second, the urge to crank the car, jam it in reverse, and
run,
run as fast and as far as my broken-down Honda Civic would take me, sat
hard
in my chest. It lay so heavy my heart felt as though it beat inside a plastic bag filled with syrup.

The Man in Black watched me through the windshield.

He shook his head.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm coming.” I unbuckled the seat belt.

My door creaked, the sound rolling along the front of the building. I'd parked between a jacked-up, piss-off, stereotypical redneck truck that towered over the Honda, its wheels almost as tall as me, and a sleek, high-performance convertible so new it sparkled even in the dim, yellow light of the streetlamp. My eyes scanned the tiny parking lot. Cars of all makes and models, in all states of repair, filled almost every space, crowding next to each other like family at a reunion before the bickering started, before grudges fueled by alcohol sparked fistfights.

Daniel touched my arm.

He needed to stop doing that.

His voice was soft, low. “The Master's waiting, Charlie. We should go.”

“Don't touch me.” My face felt hot. I lashed out. “What's with this ‘the Master' crap? Don't you know what's going on here?”

Daniel glanced at the Man in Black. His hand moved, hovering next to my arm but not touching it. He blinked, long and slow, his eyes closing then opening, locking with mine.

They were clear and bright.

And oh so green.

The anger inside me melted, just a little.

He looked away, running fingers through his bangs in a nervous gesture. “I
don't
know what's going on. All I know is that I feel … weird around him. Something I've never felt before. I want to … I don't know the word to describe it, but if he needs something, anything, I
want
to be the one who gives it to him.” A look passed over his face. “Things are pretty screwed up in my head.”

Damn.

My mind tried to sort it all out. I'd seen Nyarlathotep do things, things I couldn't explain, and he said Daniel had to worship him. I thought about the eighteen-wheeler and the look on Daniel's face as he waited for it to run him down.

Realization thundered in my mind.

He doesn't have any choice. Not one drop.

Daniel's hand touched my arm again. I didn't pull away this time. I couldn't. “The only thing that's not screwed up in my head is how sorry I am for whatever happened earlier. With us. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Whatever I have to do.”

He really means it.

Fingers slid down my arm, warm when they brushed the skin of my hand. “I like you, Charlie. A
lot
. I hope I didn't mess that up.”

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

Daniel wouldn't look at me, his eyes turned just slightly away.

The Man in Black was suddenly there, next to us without moving. “We have things to do.” He turned, his coat flaring out to brush against our legs. Gooseflesh rose where it touched. “Come, Acolyte; come, minion; follow me.”

Daniel dropped my hand and stepped in behind the Man in Black.

That coal of hatred flared hot and sharp behind my breastbone as I followed the two of them into the building. I swore in my heart that somehow, some way, I would fix this. I would find a way to get Daniel away from the Man in Black, no matter what I had to do.

Walking into the run-down, burned-out hotel, I hoped I'd have the courage to keep that promise.

 

10

D
ARKNESS FILLED THE
inside of the building.

Not pitch-black, but gloomy. Spooky.

Shadows cast by a multitude of burning candles danced along every nook and cranny. Tallowed light filled the room with a runny yellow glow.

In its glory days the place had been a “no-tell motel,” a haven for third-rate romance and low-rent rendezvous. A feeling washed over me: impressions of desperate passion and sweaty flesh pressed to service empty souls and broken hearts. It swept around me like a graveyard breeze and left me feeling cold and a little shaky. The magick inside me had cooled to a low simmer but was still there, bubbling away.

We walked through the lobby, check-in counter on the left, dust-covered square furniture on the right. Candle wax had dripped from the edge of the counter in a glacial waterfall of various colors and lengths. Wax stalactites hung, some only an inch or two from
the lip, some forming lumpy columns that stretched all the way to the floor. They piled across and spilled over the sign under the counter with raised lettering that read Pinecrest Inn.

Looking around, I took in the acoustic tiles falling from the drop ceiling, sagging and broken. Yellow insulation spilled out of the black openings like sulfuric cotton candy. Trash lay in piles on each side of a candlelit path that led deeper into the hotel and, all I could think was:

Fire hazard much?

A sour, clotted smell hung in the air. Part candle soot, part ripening meat. Nyarlathotep didn't stop. He strode along the path of candles, his coat flaring like bat wings, snuffing candle flames as he went. In the gathering darkness he became a silhouette, the shape of a man carved from starless midnight. As the gloom deepened, he seemed to stretch and grow. It was a trick of the light.

I hoped it was a trick of the light.

Candle glow glimmered along his red right hand, edging it starkly like a drop of blood on a sheet of black velvet.

Daniel followed him, close behind.

I hurried to keep up, not wanting to be caught in the dark. The thought made the skin under my shirt crawl with tiny electric jolts.

I'd caught up to only two steps behind them when we rounded the corner and ran into the line of people.

They stood, front to back, men and women of all shapes, sizes, and social standings, stretching down the hall leading to a room whose doorway had no door. Some of them turned as we rounded the corner, naked hatred pulling their faces into snarls.

A man in a black cowboy hat, a plaid shirt, and dark skintight jeans growled, an ugly animal sound rolling from deep in his chest. Red and purple spots mottled the caramel Aztec skin of his throat, spilling up onto a jaw clenched like a pit bull's, baring square, unnaturally white teeth. I watched foam fill his lips, spilling out of his mouth as though he were a rabid dog. He took a step toward us, hands curled into ripping claws.

Nyarlathotep's fist flashed, cuffing the man across the cheek in a casual backhand.

He fell as though he had been shot.

The line shuffled forward, the person behind him stepping on his back with her six-inch, thousand-dollar, spiked heels.

“What are all these people doing here?” I asked.

The Midnight Man kept walking. “They are here to worship.”

I looked behind us at the line of people, taking note of their details, cataloging them in my mind. A man in an Armani suit texted on his cell phone; a mechanic with grease on his coveralls and skin hooked his grimy thumbs in drooping denim pockets as his fingers tapped his thighs in some rhythm I couldn't catch; the woman in the high heels had her legs spread to shoulder-width, keeping a ramrod-straight spine centered over the six-inch spikes; a tuxedoed groom grinned ear to ear while arm in arm with his white-gowned bride; a man older than my grandfather stooped in a set of striped pajamas; three cheerleaders in their uniforms looked unblinkingly at the brightly glowing screens they held; two soldiers in their uniforms held hands; a human so covered in filthy rags they had to be homeless hung on a pair of dented crutches … The line had over twenty people in it, and none of them fit with one another. The diversity disturbed me for some reason I couldn't identify.