The three talked on, Mossy outlining his plan. He would go home and make the poison; tomorrow the boys would take him through the woods to the entrance, then go home and stay away from the lake until they heard from him. Then they would deal with matters closer to home, family matters. He made it sound no more difficult them stopping at the store for a loaf of bread.
Denny knew better. “What if… something goes wrong… you don’t kill it…”
“Then God help us. If I’m not back by dark, you and Billy get Paul and come here. Call the State Police, call the newspapers, keep Crawford out of it. But find someone to believe you. And stay clear of the woods and the lake.”
Denny nodded, a tear slowly sliding down his cheek. He had his own plan that didn’t quite go along with his grandfather’s. Mossy gave Denny a hug, and slipped off into the night like a ghost.
(78)
It seemed to Chris that the light would never turn green. He tapped anxiously on the steering wheel, changed the station on the radio, glanced impatiently in the rear view mirror. Surely the light must be green by now. But when he looked up, the red light stared back. He caught sight of a young woman leaving the bank wearing a tight skirt, and watched her as she walked, how the skirt clung to her ass and how tan her long legs were. She had a mane of blonde hair falling wildly down her back. She reminded him of Lori, of things never to be. The honk of a horn behind him brought him back to the present and he gunned the car forward.
What a jerk, he thought, laying the ultimatum on Jake the way he did. Is that how you help your kid brother? He had been kicking himself since he walked out of the bar last night. He had almost gone back, but in his anger the thought that maybe this time he’d gotten through to Jake sounded logical. Instead, he’d gone to Chandler’s looking for Mossy. Betty told him the old man was out and about, but did he want to stay for a slice of pie. He’d almost declined, wanting to go drag Jake out of the Hat and bring him home to sleep it off, but it was fresh blueberry, Betty teased. Now, in the bright morning sun after a long restless night, he needed to make things right with Jake.
Finally arriving at Jake’s shitty apartment, the feeling eating at his stomach felt like something worse than guilt; it felt like fear. He pulled over to the curb and ran up the stairs to the third floor. Music was blasting from somewhere and the smell of pot wafted through the stairwell. Now that he was so close, his thoughts were running wild, getting the better of him. What if his little sermon had worked, and Jake had gone off half-cocked (literally) to the lake to find the thing himself? As he pounded on Jake’s door calling his name, he was suddenly sure that’s exactly what had happened and that he would never see Jake again. When he turned the knob and pushed the door open, he wished he were right.
He uttered an unintelligible cry when he saw Jake’s body. His brother’s face was a horrible shade of bluish-purple, like a giant bruise, and his tongue lolled from his black lips. Chris leaped across the room and grabbed Jake’s legs, trying to lift him and take the weight off the rope. It was only when he felt the impossible coldness of Jake’s legs that he realized his futility. He fell to his knees, holding his head in his hands as tears of guilt and sadness rolled down his face.
Sometime later, it could have been five minutes but just as easily could have been an hour, Chris got up to call the police. His gaze fell upon the camera and the burden of his guilt became even heavier. The beast had claimed another victim, and this time Chris had been an accomplice. He would not let this go unavenged. As he snatched the camera up and slipped it into his pocket, he saw that there was a note under it. Shit. On the paper, scrawled by his brother’s drunken hand were just two words: I’m sorry.
Chris crumpled up the note and shoved it in his pocket with the camera, then found the phone and called the police.
(79)
Dale Crawford took a long drink from his beer before speaking, his eyes never leaving Buddy and Tony. He knew he had to play this just right if he was going to enlist their help, and he couldn’t take Greymore down alone. But another part of him, the part that was getting harder and harder to ignore, wanted to bash their skulls together. He was sitting on the same rock that Chris McCauley and his girl had been diving off so many years ago. He brought them here to show he wasn’t afraid of anything in the lake.
“This is not just some personal vendetta I have with Greymore, this is about the safety of this town and the children that live here. It’s also about the sanity of my father.” The look that passed between Costa and Dentner did not escape him. It was a look that said “Is this the same guy who was smashing cars with a tire iron and almost raped an underage girl?” Dale went on, sounding more like his father with every word that left his lips. Feeling more like his father. The still-sane sliver of his mind knew this wasn’t a good thing. He spoke with the calmness and reason of an English professor, the conviction of a fire-and-brimstone minister and the sincerity of a seasoned politician or court-appointed defense attorney. “This guy is killing kids, just like he did before, until my dad caught him. My dad knows it but there’s no evidence this time. My dad’s hands are tied and it’s killing him. I came home the other night and found him… he was…” Crawford choked back a sob and took another long pull on his beer. “I found him staring down the barrel of his gun. He was about to eat it.”
He had Costa, Christ the kid was a pathetic sheep, but he needed Buddy. He flipped the empty beer can over his shoulder and heard the satisfying splash. He was daring whatever people thought was in the lake to come get him. And he knew the two clowns in front of him were buying what he was selling. Now, he went in for the kill. “My dad can’t do anything legally, but I can’t let another kid die because it would kill my father. Shit, Buddy, you have a kid sister, what if that freak…” He stopped and grabbed another beer out of the cooler. He wondered what Buddy would think if he knew Dale had once paid a visit to the same kid sister he was so concerned about and ripped her shirt off to feel up her nice young titties. And he would have done more if Mrs. Dentner hadn’t come home. “I’m going to do this with or without you guys, I have to. But we’ve been through some shit together and it would mean a lot to have you with me.”
When the inevitable agreement came from both Costa and Dentner, Crawford outlined his plan as they emptied the cooler.
(80)
The loud knock on the door startled Mossy out of a light doze. He’d worked late into the night and had gotten up early to finish making the poison. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out. He stumbled to the door, wiping his eyes. He expected Denny and Billy but when he opened the door, Chris McCauley burst in. He looked like he’d aged a decade since the day when Mossy had first met him at the gas station. The haggard look and the fact that Chris was holding the bag of camera equipment filled Mossy with a dreadful idea. Hopefully it only meant his brother was back on the bottle…
“He’s dead, Mossy. He hung himself. I’m going in with you.”
Mossy sat down on the edge of his bed and put his face in his hands. How many lives… no, deaths, would he be responsible for? He looked up at Chris and nodded. “This ends tonight for me. I kill that fucking thing or die trying. I can’t ask you to come in with me, but I guess I can’t stop you either. I’ve got so much goddamned blood on my hands…”
Chris stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t blame you for any of this, but you’re right, you can’t stop me. I have to do it for Joe, and for my dad.”