Soultaker (3 page)

Stu set a fresh Grolsch on the bar in front of Jake. “So…what brings you back, man?”

Jake picked up the bottle, but didn’t immediately drink from it. He rolled the cool glass between his hands and stared into the open mouth of the bottle. “You know my mother had another kid by that asshole Hal, right?”

Stu grunted. “Yep. Trey. He reminds me of you.”

“Yeah? That poor bastard.”

Jake took a big swallow of beer. He’d allow himself one more beer while he talked with Stu; then he’d get out of this place. He had enough discipline left to do that, he hoped. Because he was pretty sure he’d be here for the night if he stayed for even one more drink beyond that.

A blonde girl with nice legs displayed pleasingly in a short skirt and ass-lifting platform heels leaned over the bar next to Jake and ordered a Long Island iced tea. While Stu mixed the drink, the girl glanced Jake’s way. She looked maybe twenty years old, with straight white teeth, pretty blue eyes, and marvelous cheekbones. When she smiled at him, Jake forgot about everything else for a moment.

“Hello.”

“Hey. Haven’t seen you here before.” Her voice was sweet and lilting, but she sounded a little tipsy. “You’re kinda cute for an old guy.”

Jake chuckled. He was thirty-nine and not quite ready to shuffle off to the old folks home. But it was all about perspective. From this chick’s point of view, he was old. And maybe she was right. He didn’t like to think about that looming milestone birthday, but it was right around the corner and coming up fast.

He tipped his glass at her. “Thanks. I guess.” He drank some more Grolsch. “I’m new here. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

Jake shrugged. “I grew up in Rockville, but I’ve been gone a long time.”

Her brow furrowed some. “You back to stay or just visiting?”

“Definitely just visiting. But I’ll be around a while, taking care of some family business.”

The girl’s smile returned. “Wonderful. I’m Bridget Flanagan. I’m a student at RCC.”

Jake tipped his glass at her. “Jake McAllister.”

She accepted the finished drink from Stu and sipped tentatively from a thin straw. “Lovely. Well, Jake McAllister, hang out at the Grill enough and we’ll see each other again. But now I must be off.”

“Good-bye.”

“Ciao.”

Jake watched her return to a table occupied by several other college-age girls. She moved like she knew he would be watching her, swaying her hips a little more than she normally would.

Stu laughed. “Work that ass.”

Jake watched her smooth her skirt and fold herself into a small chair. “I’m way too old to be flirting with a girl that young.”

Stu indicated the nearly empty Grolsch bottle in Jake’s hand with a nod. “You ’bout ready for another?”

Jake tilted the bottle and studied its remaining contents. It still held another good swallow or two. He sighed, remembering his pledge of only minutes ago. “No. This is it for to night, I think.”

“So, why are you back, Jake?”

Jake sipped some Grolsch. “My mother called me yesterday, begging me to come back to Rockville. Her ‘baby,’ this is Trey we’re talking about, this is the term she uses for a kid almost out of high school…anyway, her ‘baby’ has apparently suffered some sort of massive psychological trauma, something he won’t tell her about no matter how much she pries. My opinion, just living with her is plenty trauma.”

Stu’s expression was grim. “I hate to say it, but I agree. Her and her old man aren’t gonna win any popularity contests, put it that way. Trey, though, is a good kid, from what I know of him. Smart, like you. So you’re here to put the boy straight, huh?”

Jake laughed. “I guess. My mother, God knows why, has
this idea I’m some kind of paragon of maturity and success. She thinks Trey looks up to me. Which is funny, I haven’t accomplished shit, other than escaping this place. But go figure, she reckons my mere presence will be enough to steer Trey back to the straight and narrow path. Pure bullshit. If I’m the kid’s role model, he’s already in trouble. Luckily, I’ve got an alternate plan.”

Stu poured a Bud draft for a factory worker and passed it across the bar. “What, hire a hitman to whack his parents?”

Jake smirked. “Now, that ain’t a bad idea. But no, what I have in mind is nonlethal but hopefully just as final. Trey graduates from Rockville High in a little over a month. I’m gonna hang around until then, play the role model to pacify Mom, then, when Trey has his diploma in hand, I’m gonna put him in my car and get him the hell out of Rockville.”

Stu’s eyes widened. “Really? You sure he’ll go along with that?”

“Don’t know. Gonna give it a shot, though.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Stu’s whiskered mouth. “That’s a pretty bold plan. Maybe even a little crazy.” The smile broadened. “Shit, it might even work.”

Jake sucked down the last of the Grolsch and pushed the empty bottle across the bar. “I won’t force him to come with me. I’m just gonna roll the dice and see what happens.”

“Where will you be staying while you’re in town?”

Jake sat back on his stool and rubbed fatigue from his eyes. “Man, I’m bushed. I figured I’d look for some kinda weekly rental type place.”

Stu snapped his fingers so abruptly Jake almost slid off his stool. “Nah, fuck that, man. You can stay with me.”

Jake blinked. “But—”

“I’m serious. And you don’t have to worry about imposing. I rent a house in Washington Heights. Plenty of room.” Stu grinned. “And the price is right.”

Jake frowned. “Ah…my, um, funds aren’t…”

“You asshole, I ain’t chargin’ you.”

Jake thought about it a moment longer, then nodded. It wasn’t like he had a lot of options. “I appreciate it, man.”

Stu nodded. “Not a problem, bro. Hang out a bit longer. I’ll fetch my extra house key from the Jeep when I get a chance.”

Stu poured some more drafts and set another Grolsch in front of Jake. Jake was drinking it before he realized he’d broken his pledge. He decided not to worry about it. He’d been looking for an excuse to postpone the meeting with his mother anyway. It could wait one more day. A little more time to mentally prepare himself couldn’t hurt. Rationalization firmly in place, he cast his gaze about the Grill and saw Bridget Flanagan giggling with her friends. Something about the way she cocked her head when listening to one of her friends reminded him of someone else. He frowned, unable to place the dim memory, then it came to him.

Moira Flanagan.

The love of his life—once upon a time.

Bridget was her kid sister.

If anything, Bridget was even prettier than Jake’s former love. Looking at her had the uncomfortable effect of stirring some of the old lust he felt for Moira. An image flashed in his head, disturbing and vivid—Bridget kissing him, fondling his crotch as Moira always so boldly did when they’d made out in her bedroom at her parents’ house. Jake wrenched his gaze away, not wanting the girl to see the desire in his eyes.

Jake looked at the bar.

His heart raced in his chest.

And he thought,
Oh God…Moira
.

Bridget was having a good time. She liked to mess with people. Get their motors running, build up their expectations, then crush them. The old guy at the bar, for instance. Her new work in progress. She looked forward to seeing him again. Being a guy, he was gullible. It would be easy to lead him on, make him believe she wanted his old ass. The look on his face when he learned the truth would be well worth the effort. Something within her found deception of any type enjoyable. The girl across the table, a petite brunette with a pixie-style haircut, was another good example. Thinking of Bridget as a confidante, she’d tearfully confessed her sexual confusion to her the night before. Bridget fended off the girl’s tentative advances while professing profound respect for her courageous decision to out herself. Which, it turned out, wasn’t what the girl wanted at all. She just wanted to “experiment,” she claimed, and she begged Bridget not to ever tell anyone else about the episode. So Bridget made a solemn vow to take the secret to her grave if need be.

The memory made Bridget feel delightfully wicked.

“You guys want to hear something shocking?”

The women seated around the table looked at her with expressions of expectation. The girl across the table looked troubled. Not quite alarmed. Not yet. Just troubled. Her name was Jordan Harper. She believed Bridget was just about the sweetest girl in the world. Or so she’d told Bridget.

Jordan stared at her. “Bridget—”

Bridget smiled. “Jordan’s a dyke. She came on to me last night.”

The revelation was like a grenade rolled into the conversation. All giggling ceased. There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence. The silence was broken by the ragged sob that tore out of Jordan’s throat. “I can’t believe you. You said you wouldn’t tell.”

Tears streaming down her face, the girl bolted from the table and ran out of the bar.

Bridget laughed.

Angela Brooks gaped at her. “That was so mean.” Then she grinned. “It was fucking beautiful.”

The others laughed.

Jordan Harper had never been fully accepted into Bridget’s circle of friends. She had no way of knowing it in the midst of her current misery, but she was fortunate to have escaped with just this fresh psychological scar. Had Jordan been deemed worthy, she would have been ritually inducted into the Sacred Circle.

A transformation that would strip her of her humanity.

As had already happened to Bridget and the other girls at the table.

Bridget enjoyed a few more drinks with her friends as the evening wore on, strong, high-alcohol drinks. Her girlfriends deferred to her at every point in the conversation. Although they were Sacred Circle members, they had not yet attained the privileges Bridget had been granted.

They were Novices.

And she was Adept.

She had learned some things, special secrets, the simpler aspects of what Lamia, the Dark Mother, called the Mysteries. She craved so much more. One day she would wield the power of a Priestess, become one of Lamia’s chosen ones, and how glorious that would be!

She eyed the Grolsch-drinking man at the bar, so familiar, and she slid a hand up a bare thigh as she imagined possessing
the ability to reach into his mind and make him do as she pleased. She pretended not to notice his occasional, surreptitious glances her way, but she knew the man was entranced by her. He clearly desired her body. She could, of course, manipulate him sexually, but that would be too easy. And not nearly so fun as the other thing she could do.

She smiled.

And hoped his “family business,” whatever it was, would keep him around until she was able to fully harness the power Lamia had promised would be hers.

Then she would pull his strings.

Make him dance for her.

Fall down for her.

Like a helpless little puppet.

“Crawl.”

Trey fought a brief mental battle against the command, but it was no use. He was helpless. Always helpless. He might have felt despair had he not already endured so much humiliation, but all he felt now was a deep numbness. His momentary resistance was just the flinch of instinct. He knew he was powerless.

He fell to the concrete floor and crawled toward where Myra, nude, straddled the body of a dead security guard. The guard’s head was a bloody pulp. Staved in with a brick. Trey tried to blot out the image of the man’s head collapsing beneath a flurry of blows, but the mental replay unspooled anyway and Trey saw himself slamming the brick down again and again, the motion of his arm controlled by something else.

By the evil thing, the Dark Mother, that lived inside Myra’s body.

Lamia
.

Myra grinned at Trey as he drew near. Her teeth were bloodstained and bits of gleaming viscera were visible on her body. She reached into the dead guard’s body and drew out another loop of intestine.

Trey felt only a slight tickle of nausea.

He’d seen her do too many other awful things, many of them far more depraved, far sicker, than even this. But then
her grin became a leer, a horribly knowing expression, as if she could read his mind.

She laughed. “Come to me like a dog, Trey. On all fours.”

Tears welling in his eyes, Trey rose to his hands and knees and did as she said.

“Sit.”

Trey sat, mimicking a dog’s posture.

Myra proffered the length of viscera.

“Feed.”

Trey whimpered.

He drew the dead guard’s guts into his mouth and began to chew, and as he did he retreated to a remote area of his mind, a corner of his consciousness where his essence, the real Trey, went to hide when the
really
bad things happened. Myra’s laughter sounded dim and far away, like an echo from deep within a dark cavern.

“Do you still love me, Trey?”

Her voice sounded sweeter, a dulcet, almost angelic tone—it brought him back to the here and now. Myra knew when he was shutting things out. Sometimes she allowed it. Not this time. Trey mumbled an affirmative reply around a mouthful of intestine.

Myra stroked his hair. “That’s a good boy, Trey. That’s a good little doggie.”

He really did still love her.

Trey was convinced that the real Myra was the girl he’d always believed her to be, and that her body was being used as a vessel by this thing that called itself Lamia. It was the only way he managed to maintain even a loose grasp on sanity. He refused to believe Myra was some kind of evil incarnate. And he held on to the hope that one day, somehow, he’d be able to cast the thing out of her body.

But it just seemed so fucking hopeless.

He couldn’t even control his own body.

Myra scooped up another handful of dead security guard and pushed it into Trey’s open mouth. “Try some brain soup, baby. It’s good for you.”

Trey gobbled it down.

There was a sound of approaching footsteps behind him.

A male voice said, “That’s all of it. We should get out of here.”