The Calling (38 page)

I asked what this meant for him.
 

“This lawyer, his name’s Gray, he’s already talked the families into suing me, the county, even the school district. My supervisors say I don’t have anything to worry about, but I can tell they aren’t one hundred percent sure themselves. They know how the system works. They know how fucked up everything is. Even if I do end up coming out of this clean, it’ll be months, years, before that happens. And by then I’ll probably have spent all my savings and be in debt thousands of dollars.”
 

He paused, shook his head again, and muttered, “Just because I was doing my fucking job.”
 

My uncle went back to staring down at his mother. In the silence, the only sound was the machines beeping. I glanced up at the screen, watched the green lines sloping up and down. I thought of today, of this past week, of my entire life. How it had all come to this point—my parents dead, Joey gone, two teenagers shot, and me sitting in this chair beside a woman I barely even knew.
 

“Dean, can I ask you something?”
 

He didn’t even look at me when he said sure.
 

“Who owns Shepherd’s Books?”
 

I knew this wasn’t the right time or place for such a random question, but it was something I needed to know. Something that’d been gnawing at me ever since I read Mrs. Porter’s obituary. I still couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid. And though I knew it really was Gerald Alcott, I had to hear it from someone else, someone who lived here and possibly even knew the man.
 

The question didn’t seem to faze Dean at all. Still staring ahead, he took a breath and said, “Shepherd’s Books? That’d be Gerald Alcott.” He paused. “Why do you ask that?”
 

I shook my head. “Just curious.”
 

As I went to rise from my seat, Dean cleared his throat.
 

“About before, what I said about you being bad luck.” He spoke without looking at me. “I wish I could say I didn’t mean it, that I’d just been caught up in the moment. But then I’d be lying. Because after everything that’s happened since you arrived—with Mr. Cunningham and his son, with the mess today at the high school, and now Mom—I have to ask myself if any of this would have happened had you not been here. And the more I think about it, the more certain I am that somehow it all comes back to you.”
 

“What are you saying?”
 

He turned his head to meet my stare. “That I want you back in Lanton as soon as possible. That despite you being my nephew, I never want to see you again. And it’s not because I dislike you—because I don’t—but because every time I see you I feel like something bad is going to happen. And today just proves it.”
 

I didn’t know what to say. As much as I wanted to disagree with him, to tell him he was wrong, I simply couldn’t. I couldn’t, because deep within my soul I knew he was right, and it scared me. It scared me to death.

Chapter 34

T
he gravel parking lot was deserted. I turned off my low beams as I pulled in and parked in front of the porch. The lights were on upstairs. I expected the side door—the bookstore’s entrance—to be locked and that I’d have to kick it in. It wasn’t. The knob turned just fine, and then I was inside and heading through the shelves and cardboard boxes of books that still reeked of stale paper and dust.
 

He must have heard me on the steps, because when I opened the door he’d already gotten out of his recliner. His eyes were wide and expectant, but when he saw me they narrowed. He growled, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, barging in on an old man like this? You best leave now before I call the Sheriff.”
 

I stood there and surveyed the living room. It looked just like it had the last time I was here, only those piles of old newspapers and
Life
and
Time
magazines were back on the threadbare couch. The TV was on, its sound muted.
 

“Sit down,” I said.
 

“After you leave my house I will. Now get, before I call the Sheriff and have—”
 

“Sit down, Gerald.”
 

This made him stop. His dry face paled, his mouth dropped open.
 

“What—what did you say?”
 

“I said sit down, Gerald.”
 

He took a slow step back, then another, until his legs bumped against the recliner. He sat with a heavy
humph
, like nearly all the life had been punched out of him. “How ... how do you know my name?”
 

I shook my head and shut the door. The space between us was maybe ten feet, but it wasn’t far enough. Rage caused my body to shake and the only thing I wanted to do now was take the knife that had been in my glove box, the one now in my back pocket, and stab him in the heart.
 

Instead I crossed my arms and said, “You have no right to ask me a fucking thing. So before you speak again, remember that I know everything there is to know about you. I know what really happened to you in 1953. I know what happened to your family and the reason behind it. And I know about Samael.”
 

His eyes widened for just an instant, giving me my confirmation.
 

“Let me guess. He came to you and gave you a choice to pick and choose lives, and you chose your own.”
 

“No.” His voice trembled. “No, that’s not what happened.”
 

“Then why don’t you tell me what happened, Gerald? Explain to me why seven children were burned alive in that stone house. Explain to me why those children’s mothers and fathers were all murdered in their beds. Explain to me why all the firstborns are dead now except you.”
 

“The curse—”
 

“Yes, I know all about the fucking curse. But tell me what makes you different. Why are you still alive?”
 

Tears had begun to form in his eyes. He wiped at them, with no real sense of purpose, as he stared down at the throw rug.
 

“I—I had no choice. He came to me and asked me if I wanted to die. I—I was only a young boy then, only fourteen. Dying was the last thing I wanted. So he told me to start a rumor about Reverend Beckett, about him and—”
 

“My grandmother.”
 

He looked up at me and nodded slowly. “Yes, him and Lily. But Lily and I were friends. I even had a crush of my own on her and didn’t want to ruin her reputation. So I kept her out of it but still spread the rumor that he was involved with a young girl. And then ... then they were all dead.”
 

“But that doesn’t answer my question. Why are you still alive?”
 

The tears now fell freely down his face; he had given up even trying to wipe them away. He just sat there, slumped in his chair, shaking his head. I thought briefly about the doors in his mind, how the ones that mattered had never been locked in the first place. They’d been open all his life, forcing him to remember that summer of his boyhood. Then I thought about the room just down the hall, across from the bathroom. The room that smelled of aged paper and mothballs, with all the newspapers and magazines recording tragedies. Gerald hadn’t kept those simply because they were news that needed saving. He’d saved them because Samael loved bringing tragedy and chaos to the world, and each one of those pieces of news was a reminder.
 

“I don’t know,” Gerald whispered. “I swear to you, I don’t. I hate myself for what I did. I hate that they all died because of that rumor I started. I hate that I’ve got no one, absolutely no one at all. I hate that he controls me, makes me do things I don’t want to do.”
 

I said, “Like killing my parents?” and it took everything I had at that moment not to rush across the room and cut his throat.
 

“Your parents?” Genuine confusion filled his face. “I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
 

“Joey then.”
 

He shook his head. “I—I still don’t understand—”
 

“Then how does he control you? What does he make you do?”
 

The old man was silent, staring again at the floor. The front of his shirt was damp from where he’d wiped his hands.
 

“You sold your soul,” I said. “He owns you. You’re his puppet.”
 

“Don’t you think I know that?” Freely sobbing now, his body shaking. “Don’t you think I lie in bed every night regretting the decision I made? But I can’t ... I can’t change it now. What’s done is done.”
 

“That’s bullshit. You could have said no. You could have told him to go fuck himself.”
 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. He’s not—he’s not
human
. He’s beyond our world. I’ve wanted to die for years now, I’ve even tried, but
he won’t let me
.”
 

“How much did he tell you? About his plan.”
 

“His ... plan?”
 

“The thirty-four lives. He gave Joey a choice to save thirty-four lives for the price of one. What do you know about that?”
 

“I don’t—I don’t know anything about no thirty-four lives. But he did tell me to watch out for you.”
 

“Why?”
 

Gerald only shook his head.
 

“Did you know he was going to visit my grandmother?”
 

He looked up at me. “Lily? What happened to Lily?”
 

“Why the hell should I tell you?”
 

“I—I didn’t know anything about her. Why?
What’s happened to her?
”
 

“Don’t act like you care. Just tell me the truth.”
 

“I am! I swear to you!”
 

“And why should I believe you, Gerald? You’re a liar. And liars are right down there at the bottom of the barrel with child molesters and rapists.”
 

“I told you, I had no choice!”
 

“That’s bullshit. There’s always a choice. So what if you’re his puppet? Even a puppet can cut its own strings. When are you going to stop living in fear and just stand up to him? When are you going to be a man for once in your life?”
 

He said nothing and lowered his chin, stared down at his lap. Drops of tears fell down, dampening his shirt even more. It was pathetic really, watching him cry like that, but I couldn’t move from where I stood. Because I knew that if I took even one step forward I would continue until I was right there over him, within striking distance, and with Joey’s present in my back pocket I didn’t trust myself if I came that close.
 

“Tell me something, Gerald. When you finally die and stand before God, what are you going to say to Him? What will be your excuse for everything you’ve done? That you were scared, that you refused to stand up for yourself? My grandfather believed that there comes only one time in a person’s life when they’ll have to make a choice that directs their future. But the more I think about it, the more I think he was wrong. That time doesn’t come just once. It comes all the time. So what if you make the wrong decision? It’s possible to do something about it, to change your mind and try to make things right. So when every time they yawn, you have the chance to control your own fate.”
 

He looked up at me, his eyes red. “Every time ... what yawn?”
 

“Churchyards,” I said, and like that all my anger and rage disappeared. I was able to move again, to take a step forward if I wanted and not try to kill him. But instead I turned, deciding it was time to leave. Right now all I wanted to do was get out of this place, away from his sad, useless old man who’d created his own personal hell.
 

So without a word I left, entering a hell all my own.

Chapter 35

H
e stood beside my car, dressed in the same clothes he wore the night before his murder. The brown slacks and white shirt, his silk tie crisscrossed with red and gold. Even the same brown penny-loafers, the pair I’d gotten him for Christmas. I remembered all the cuts and gashes on his face and body, how the blood had dried to his hair. But now they were gone, like they had never been there in the first place. Everything about him was the same—the stubble on his face, the cleft in his chin, the stance of his body and the part in his hair.
 

Everything was the same except for the black eyes staring back at me.
 

“Good evening, Christopher,” he said, the voice even that of my father’s.
 

“Samael.”
 

The night had gone completely still. No insects, no distant traffic, not even any wind.
 

“What do you want?”
 

“Look at you. Asking me what I want. Just like your grandfather. He figured it out before I visited him. I wonder though how he would have reacted had he not known. Would he have soiled himself like some of the others? Or maybe screamed like a woman? I wonder the same about you, Christopher. I wonder how this moment in time would play out had you no clue I existed at all.”
 

“Well, unfortunately for both of us, I do know you exist. Now what do you want?”
 

“It’s not what I want. It’s what you want.”
 

“Let’s not talk in circles, okay? This whole thing is about you.”
 

“Is it that obvious?”
 

“You’re a piece of shit. Innocent people died because of your, what, games?”