The New Kid (25 page)

April gasped and started to get up.

“Oh my God!”

But Gerald put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back down into her seat as they watched Natalie and Will disappear down the stairs.

“April, they’re teenagers, the kid obviously tied one on, leave him to his misery,” said Gerald, chuckling while Fred and Belinda Halvorson exchanged knowing glances.

“It’s about time he started to grow up. At least he’s with a girl, that’s progress,” he added.

Though she returned to the game and socializing with the Halvorsons, April remained worried. Her instincts told her that Will wasn’t just suffering from some ill-advised teenage dalliance; she knew there was something wrong with her son. But each time she looked at the stairs Gerald grasped her hand firmly and she didn’t argue.

 

Down in the secret chamber Will moaned with pain as Natalie helped him onto the futon and unbuttoned his shirt. This was really not the way she’d imagined first taking a boy’s shirt off. She lifted the defensive “skin” Will had worn underneath and assessed the damage. He was wounded badly, with long gashes across his neck and chest.

“Where do you keep that magic goop of yours?”

“Locker . . . over there. . . .”

Will’s hand shook as he pointed to a foot locker underneath one of the computer stations. Natalie dragged it out and examined the myriad of bottles inside.

“Which one?” she pleaded.

“Yellow label,” said Will weakly.

In moments Natalie was smearing the potion over Will’s wounds, just as she had after the so-called “hazing” incident. Only this time it was much worse and she was terrified that he might not make it. He grimaced and gritted his teeth as it stung his flesh. His whole body was on fire and he felt freezing cold at the same time. Natalie found a first-aid kit and dressed the wounds expertly. As Will looked at her with questioning eyes she smiled faintly.

“My aunt’s a vet in Yakima. I used to help her at her clinic over the summer.”

Will wanted to smile; he wanted to sit up and tell Natalie what a great job she’d done and how brave she’d been and how proud he was of her. But all he could do was suck in a long deep breath and then his body’s natural instincts took over and shut down his mind, pulling him into a bottomless sleep.

For the next four hours Natalie prayed and made deals with any and every deity she could think of to not let him die, to just please, please save Will’s life. She never once took her eyes off him. She was dreaming with her eyes open, conjuring a life lived with this brave and magical boy who’d arrived in a storm of danger. She imagined just walking together hand in hand, no demons and no danger, doing nothing but breathing each other in, talking and pausing every few strides to turn and kiss. Finally, after telling herself no a thousand times, she gave in to desire and slowly and gently pressed her lips to his. She told herself that this kiss, this miraculous stolen kiss, was not the fulfillment of a desire but a means of saving him. She would kiss him back to life.

When Will awakened he thought for a moment he’d died and gone to heaven. Her lips were so soft, her kiss so gentle. At that moment Natalie’s eyes blinked open and she blushed, withdrawing into embarrassment, her face hot, her heart thudding.

“You made it,” she stammered.

“Kinda looks that way. Were you just—?”

“I . . . thought you might need resuscitating,” she offered, echoing Will’s words from the tunnel earlier.
Lame, so very lame
, she thought to herself.

Will was blushing now, too.

“I do. I mean, I did. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Back in the cave. What exactly did you do to get us out of there?”

Natalie felt so giddy at his recovery that she grinned.

“Oh, a little of this, a little of that. You were right about fear, it can be a friend. Although I have to say, I wouldn’t exactly want it as a BFF or anything.”

“You’re the most incredible girl I’ve ever known,” said Will as he sat up.

He removed the dressing and saw that already his wounds were well on their way to healing. He looked again at Natalie and felt a pang in his heart. As sure as his heart was beating he knew he’d fallen for her and wished that somehow things could be different, that they could be leading different lives, normal lives, and not have to be battling the most destructive creature the world had ever known. He was filled with doubts and questions about what had happened in the cave. Why was the Dark Lord spurring him on to kill? Why had Rage been so schizo? Was he just insane or was there something more going on that Will needed to figure out? Why did Rage warn him to get out? And was that really his father in there? Or was it all an illusion created by the Dark Lord? Will was convinced
of only one thing: that he needed time to think, to concentrate, to slow things down so he could see the big picture more clearly.

He sent Natalie home, making her promise to get some much-needed sleep and assured her he would call her the moment anything came up. She looked like she might not believe him but agreed to go. She walked home and then texted to let him know she was safe in her bed.

Once he knew Natalie had gotten home safely, Will opened the
Demon Hunter
game-building program and set about updating the game. Working like this helped him relax and when he was a little laid back he tended to think better. Not necessarily more clearly or more concisely but with more freedom, and right now freedom was what he needed if he had any hope of untangling the web of questions that gripped his mind. Using previously built tunnel and catacomb templates (he’d been in so many that the number of pre-constructed images was nearly infinite), he re-enacted the battle in the silver mine. It took him hours but he went into a zone as his fingers flew across the keyboard and caressed the mouse, dragging and dropping, building, coloring, adding sound and effects. When he was done he rechecked his work and “played” the game. Then he saw the number. The kill number in the upper left hand corner of the game. He’d kicked some serious ass in the tunnels tonight, dispatching with nearly two dozen demons. But the number, his tally, was ominous. He was up to 665 kills. The Dark Lord had urged him on.
Just one more kill, William. One more.
Will’s backbone tingled as he stared at the number. One more kill and he’d have 666.

His heart racing Will logged on to his mainframe and brought up the map again, the map of where he’d lived for the past several years while he’d been relentlessly hunting the Dark Lord. San Diego, California; Corpus Christi, Texas; Greenhaven, North Carolina; Brunswick, Vermont; Harrisburg, Washington. Each city was still marked by a small red circle of light and he touched the monitor, using a screen tool to draw a line from city to city to city, connecting
the dots. When he was done he stared at the hauntingly simple image. It was a pentagram with two points up, the very way that those who worshipped the Dark Lord drew them. The last point on the symbol was the dot for Harrisburg, right where Will was now, right where he’d been led to. And it occurred to Will that perhaps all these years it had not been he who had been hunting the Lord of Darkness but the other way around.

Will suddenly felt like a pawn in the Dark Lord’s vile game. What game the cold-hearted fiend was playing was something Will didn’t know but was sure to find out. He was positive that the answer would not only be painful for him personally but disastrous for mankind as well. He didn’t know how or when but he knew deep in his gut that a very bad rain was about to fall.

Will was exhausted and after checking his town grid for any demonic movement he laid down on the futon and shut his eyes, telling himself it would only be for a moment, he would just rest, not sleep. He didn’t dare fall off the edge of consciousness. No, he would merely give his eyes a break, a few precious minutes to recoup his energy. His body ached from head to toe but lying down allowed his muscles to relax and within minutes sleep overcame him like a balmy ocean wave, pulling him under, softening his world, gently ushering him to a place with no light or sound. He was out like a light and began to snore. And as he snored someone peered into the room and watched him very closely.

T
he tempest began with a whimper the next day, leaves on the trees swaying, moisture gathering in the air. Will’s house trembled ever so slightly as thunder rumbled across the mountains. In the basement Will was still fast asleep on the futon when he woke up in a cold sweat. He felt lightheaded and unsteady, the bones of his body disturbed by a momentum he could feel gathering some distance away and growing closer by the second. The house shook again lightly, the screen door rattling in breezes that huffed out of the nearby woods. Will went to his monitors and scanned them for demonic activity but the grids were clear. He checked the weather and saw all indicators pointing to a relatively calm night ahead. But he knew better. He knew the kind of storm that was brewing would be not only a meteorological event but a metaphysical one as well. Some things you hear. Some things you see. And some things you feel in the depths of your soul. This was one of those.

Will moved quickly through his lab and up the stairs. He peered out the window and saw a sight that he’d prayed all his life he’d never see again: purple clouds forming, bunching together, and pushing across the mountains toward his home. It wouldn’t be long
before the entire house was surrounded. His wrist watch beeped a distress signal and lit up and he raced back down the stairs. The program monitoring demonic movement was coming alive, red dots glowing faintly and then more brightly, now more forming, now the whole lot of them on the move. In his direction.

They’re coming
, Will thought to himself, and he recalled the raspy words of the Dark Lord:
Soon I shall own all who are dear to your heart and then you shall bow down to me as it is written!
Will’s stomach tightened as he came to a horrifying conclusion and spoke out loud to himself.

“Mom!”

He ran to the stairs and took them three at a time. He burst into the kitchen calling out for her.

“Mom!”

They were coming for
her
! As sure as he know there was evil on this earth Will knew this was what was happening. The Dark Lord was coming for April like he’d come for Edward. He planned to make Will an orphan. Will made a move to go upstairs but he was assaulted by a horrible smell and as he turned his head slightly he caught sight of a figure in his peripheral vision. It was Gerald, sitting in the dark in his La-Z-Boy drinking his stinking homemade beer. Except he didn’t just have a little; the cretin was surrounded by a dozen or more pitchers of the stuff.

He croaked out to Will: “There’s nothing you can do to stop the inevitable.”

Gerald cut loose with a belch so loud it shook a nearby frame holding a photograph of Will hugging his mother after a victorious soccer game. Then Gerald released an overpowering batch of gas bombs and drank again deeply, emptying an entire pitcher. As Will’s eyes adjusted to the darkness he could see that Gerald was bloated, his corpulent body swelling as he sucked down more of his homemade grog. And then Will saw his eyes. They weren’t Gerald’s usual
brown and bloodshot but a watery black. And then he saw that Gerald’s left palm held a mouth that was drinking out of its own bucket of beer.

Will shook his head to make certain he wasn’t dreaming. He wasn’t. It was all real and as Gerald continued greedily sucking down the beer he kept swelling up more and more, bloating grotesquely now, becoming so distended and swollen that when he stood the La-Z-Boy was wedged onto his fat ass.

His skin morphed now, flushing from pink to ruddy red to purple and then to a blue-green. He spit and the slobber landed on the carpet, immediately burning it. Will made a move for the upstairs doorway but in a flash the fat beast was in front of him, blocking his path, his lower jaw disconnecting like a python’s as he lunged at Will. A horrible truth dawned on Will as he sidestepped the gaping maw. He’d been living with a demon for years.

“All this time,” said Will, staring at Gerald in disbelief. “You’ve been waiting, biding your time. Why?”

“Let’s just say I’ve been a kind of chaperone, Willie,” replied the Gerald beast. Will hated anyone but his mom calling him Willie and Gerald knew it. As Will’s anger rose within him Gerald sensed the impending conflict and a hideous tentacle erupted from his armpit, snaking out toward Will. The thing was covered with slime and had a barbed tip—poisonous, no doubt. Will ducked, then tapped a code into the retrieval patch on the back of his neck. He dove and tucked and rolled into the darkness of the living room to buy himself the four or five seconds he needed.

Will spoke from behind the sofa.

“I always knew you were a monster, Gerald, I just didn’t think you were one literally!”

“You won’t be so hard on me when the scales fall from your eyes, Willie,” burped Gerald as he detonated a volley of farts, fouling the air with a toxic mini-fog bank.