“Damn,” Crow said. “So we don’t know what state Mark’s in.”
“No, we don’t,” Jonatha said, “and bear in mind, we don’t know how much of the vampire legend is even true. We’re really fishing in the dark here and for every bit of reliable folklore—if we can call it that—there’s a hundred times as much nonsense, bullshit, and storytelling embellishment. We could be wrong about all of this.”
“Swell.”
“Now, there’s one more thing. In a few of the older stories, if a person is brought to the point of death but not killed outright they can simply transition into a vampiric state without going through the process of actual death. You follow me? In those cases the person retains their soul and true personality only as long as they drink animal blood, but should they take so much as a taste of human blood their human soul is pushed out and the demonic spirit takes over forever.” She paused. “I know this doesn’t apply to your brother or sister-in-law, Val…but in going over everything with Newt I can see that we don’t actually have proof positive that Ruger or Boyd actually died prior to becoming vampires. They could have transitioned.”
“So what?” Crow asked. “Does any of that matter?”
“Well, the vulnerabilities are different. A vampire who has transitioned instead of dying is usually stronger. Much stronger…and the more they feed the stronger they’ll become. So if Ruger transitioned, then he could be even stronger now than he was when you last encountered him.”
Crow sighed and bent forward so he could bang his forehead on the desk a couple of times.
Newton said. “What do you want us to do now? You want us to go with you to meet the cops?”
Crow looked at Val, who shook her head. “No,” he said. “Why don’t you find out everything you can about how to stop these bastards? I mean, can we rely on any of the usual stuff? Crosses, holy water…?”
“No, that’s all Bram Stoker stuff. Fiction.”
“What I figured.”
“Garlic is good, though. It’s deadly poison to vampires. It weakens them and if it gets into their bloodstream it might be fatal. I’ll ask some of my guys about it.”
“Good, we’ll offer them garlic bread next time we see one.”
“I’m sorry, Crow…Val…I thought I’d be able to find something comforting…”
“Actually,” Val said, her voice tight, “you’ve at least told me what I need to know for now. Keep researching this, Jonatha. Right now you’re the most important person in the world to us.”
Jonatha looked at her, head tilted to one side. “But…no pressure, right?”
Val actually smiled. “No, of course not. Another sunny day here in Pine Deep, America’s Haunted Holidayland.”
“I should have stayed in Louisiana. All we have there are killer hurricanes.”
Crow and Val turned to Weinstock, who had been silent throughout, his face buried in his hands. “Saul?” Crow asked.
Weinstock raised his head and gave them the bleakest stare they’d ever seen. “I need to get Rachel and the kids out of this godforsaken place.”
Val nodded.
“Can we stop the Festival somehow?” Newton asked.
“No,” Crow said. “Sarah Wolfe won’t even discuss the matter. All she says is that the town lives or dies on this Halloween.”
“Christ,” said Newton, “she’s not joking there.”
(2)
Mike fled into the night as if all the demons of hell were in close pursuit. His life seemed to be nothing but horror and flight from it. No matter how far he went, no matter what direction he took, it always seemed to circle back around to another, far worse horror.
And now this, the worst of all.
Legs pumped the pedals, hands clutched the ribbed rubber grips, lungs heaved, and pulse hammered furiously. His shirt snapped and fluttered as he rode, and though he was unaware of the chill of the air against his bare forearms, his heart was heavy with black ice.
With each hill he climbed, his legs ached more and more.
He could not think. Could not bear to think.
All he could do was fly. From horror toward nowhere, through the shadows that opened wide to receive him.
The Bone Man stood in the road and watched the boy fly, feeling the eerie déjà vu that was actually memory. He had stood here before, had watched the boy flee before. It had ended badly that time.
It would be worse this time. Halloween was in two days. There was no turning back for anyone now.
(3)
When the manhunt for Ruger and Boyd was at full burn, all of the town’s former and inactive police officers had been called back to duty, but just as the threat diminished the Halloween season kicked into full gear and most of the officers remained on the job. Tow-Truck Eddie Oswald liked working as a part-time cop, partly because he loved his town—despite its tradition of celebrating the pagan holiday—and he hated the wretched excesses of the un-Christian tourists who had to be kept from running amok. The other reason he liked the job was that it gave him yet another reason to be prowling the streets and roads of the borough in his hunt for the Beast. He needed to complete that task to both honor and appease his Father, whose wrath had turned to a cold and disappointed silence in Eddie’s head.
He drove the main drag now, alone in his cruiser, neat and tidy in his crisp uniform, his sidearm a comforting weight at his hip. His mind, however, was an untidy mess—a ransacked room where hope and trust in his own judgment had been thrown to the floor. Doubt seemed painted inside his brain like some vandal’s graffiti. For a while he thought he’d known the direction of his purpose; for a while he thought he’d known exactly who the Beast was and in which body he was hiding. Now the only thing of which he was certain was that he was now completely uncertain…and uncertainty in his holy purpose filled him with shame.
“Base to four.” The sudden squawk of the radio made Eddie twitch and he snatched the handset up.
“Four,” he said, “what’s up, Ginny?”
“Got a job for you, Eddie. Domestic disturbance.”
Great, just what he needed. Eddie sighed. “Give me the rundown.”
“It was just called in a few minutes ago. FedEx guy heard a fight, someone screaming, and then saw this kid go running out of the house, face all bloody.”
So what? “Give me the address.”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to go there. Polk’s already there. He called in and told me to tell you to go looking for the kid. Jimmy said you’re the only one free, so you catch this one. Lucky you, huh?”
“Yes, lucky me. Okay, Ginny, do you have anything on the kid? Name, description…”
“Name is Sweeney. Michael Sweeney. Age fourteen, red and blue, five-six, slim build. Probably on a bicycle.”
Eddie jerked upright. “Repeat that name, please?”
“That was Michael Sweeney. Last seen wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt with some band label, FedEx guy thinks it might have been The Killers. The neighbor said the kid had a bloody nose and there was blood on his hands and the front of his shirt. He was reported to have left the scene on a black mountain bike.”
“Michael Sweeney,” Eddie said, tasting each honey-sweet syllable.
“Last seen heading south toward A-32. Probably making for a friend’s house.”
“Out into farm country,” Eddie murmured. “How long since he fled the scene?”
“Say ten minutes. If he’s heading out to one of the farms you should have no problem finding him.”
“I’m on it,” he said and hung up.
Michael Sweeney. Covered in blood. The image was so delicious that tears filled his eyes.