“And you think what’s in those canisters will kill that thing?”
Denny thought about it. “Well, he believes it. So I guess, yeah, I do too.”
“Good enough for me. We’ll rest here a few minutes, find a way back into the main cave, and we’ll fuck that thing up good.”
Denny couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation, and Paul joined in.
After a few minutes, Denny began to feel drowsy, then he jolted, returning to a full wide-awake state from that mystical place between consciousness and sleep. He was half dreaming about being in his basement, but here he was, huddled against the damp wall of the cave. In the impenetrable darkness, his sense of hearing seemed heightened. The sound of his and Greymore’s breathing was like twin steam engines chugging up a hill. I think I can. I think I can. Denny didn’t know whether to start screaming or start laughing. He wasn’t sure which would be a sign of insanity. The only other sound was water. There was water running somewhere nearby, and water dripping all around. It was maddening.
The sudden light made Denny gasp, then squint against the brightness. Greymore had flicked on his small flashlight and pointed it down, so a small halo of light illuminated both of them instead of shining on one and leaving the other in darkness. He noticed Greymore was looking at him, his expression hard to read. Partly because of the strange combination of light and shadow, partly because of Greymore’s disfigurement. Mostly because his expression was one Denny could not evaluate. Denny swallowed hard, trying to think of something to say to fill the void. I think I can, I think I can. “What should we do?”
Greymore continued to stare at him, a hint of a smile playing on his face now. “Not much we can do, we’ll wait here for a bit. Rest. Then we’ll find our way out.” His smile faded into a grimace as he changed position.
Denny’s gaze fell on Greymore’s shoulder and the widening dark stain. “Paul… you’re hurt…”
Paul nodded, not even dignifying his wound with a glance. “It’s fine. The bullet went all the way through, I felt the exit wound on the back of my shoulder. Muscle damage and some pain, but the bleeding isn’t as bad as it looks.”
Denny shook his head slowly. Paul had been shot and he was talking about it like he got a splinter. His admiration for the man swelled. It was an alien feeling but one that wasn’t new, just dormant. He realized he hadn’t really felt that way about anyone since his father was killed. As much as a wounded Greymore should have made Denny worry about their chances, Paul’s strength filled him with renewed confidence that they would eventually get out of this.
The thought of waiting it out was only slightly more inviting than just trying to get out. He was scared. As much as he fully believed Greymore was not the Butcher, did not kill kids seventeen years ago, and did not kill anybody since getting out, it was all easier to believe the opposite sitting in a dark cave alone with him.
“Did you ever kill anyone, Paul?” The question came from nowhere. It never really entered Denny’s mind to ask, but there it was, popping out of his mouth. And surprisingly clear, no quivering or shaking or stuttering. Like he was asking for the time.
Greymore’s eyes shifted. Not his gaze or direction, but… his eyes. His slightly bemused expression was now gone, replaced by something else. Not something scary, but more wistful, remorseful. “Yes, Denny, I have. But not who you might think.”
Denny felt a ripple of fear, but for some reason he wasn’t that scared. He felt a connection to Greymore, maybe it had been there all along, but now it was about to be out in the open. Denny waited, not really wanting to hear about death and killing, but knowing it would help Paul to talk about it. Knowing it would help change his eyes back from wherever they were looking now.
“I didn’t kill any of those kids, Denny…”
“I know, but…”
“It’s okay, let me tell the story. I didn’t kill any of them. I had never killed anything when they… when he put me away. I used to fish but I’d always throw them back. Never hunted. I just couldn’t conceive of taking a life, animal or man. Hell, I used to catch moths and let them out the window when I was a kid.
“When I got to Braxton… I had never been away from home before. Never been to camp or on sleepovers. Now I was away from everything that felt safe. In a place where everyone else around me had done bad things. Really bad things. But they thought I was worse than them. They thought I killed kids.
“It started out slow. A lot of looks, a lot of whispering. And not just the inmates, the guards, too. Then more little things. Shit in my bunk when I came back from the yard. Smaller portions than everyone else at every meal. Stupid things. They were testing me, seeing how much I would take. And I took it all. Working out was the only thing that kept me sane. I punished myself every day, getting bigger and stronger. And angrier.
“Things had started escalating pretty quickly. Name-calling became shoving matches. Pretty soon fights in the yard, then beatings. Again, guards and inmates, they were all the same, all enemies united against the child-killer. The freak. It all made me work out harder. The workouts were, I don’t know, a pressure valve for the anger I felt. Then they came for me one night. In the showers…”
“Paul, you don’t have to…”
“There were a lot of them. Mostly prisoners, a couple guards. They held me down. Held me while one of them… hurt me. At the same time, others carved up my arms. At first I was afraid I was going to die, and then I wished I would die. I was losing my mind. Right then and there. I could feel everything human shutting down, like a turbine engine… shutting down, losing power. Then the yelling and calling I had been blocking out got through. ‘Who’s next, boys? Who wants sloppy seconds?’
“Then I wasn’t shutting down. I wanted to live and I wanted to make these people pay. For what they were doing to me. For what they wanted to do. For putting me in that awful place. And I snapped. Everything that had built up inside me found an outlet. My hands and feet became weapons. Bodies were flying everywhere until I found the one who had raped me. I got him by the throat and I didn’t let go. I heard things breaking in his neck. I looked into his eyes and watched the life drain out of them.
“I don’t know how long I kept squeezing. The guards had been beating me the whole time. It wasn’t until I was sure he was really dead that I would let myself feel their blows, acknowledge the pain. I woke up two days later in solitary. I had a concussion, broken ribs, bruises everywhere. They had stitched me up before throwing me in the hole. After that, I knew I would get out. It’s not like I had a vision or found God or anything. I just knew. People left me alone, they were afraid. The ‘incident’ as they called it, was swept under the rug. What could they do? The guards were there helping, so my sentence wasn’t impacted.
“After that I was a model prisoner, and the others let me be. I kept up my workouts. I still worked out hard, harder than anyone, but it was different. Before, it was like I had to, like I was preparing for that night… Anyway, it wasn’t long after that when Father McCarthy started coming around. It started as a group thing, and then eventually it was one on one. He saved me. Father McCarthy, not the capital ‘H’ he. Or maybe they both did.”
Denny swallowed hard. Of all the things he had expected Paul to tell him, this wasn’t one. It made his own problems dealing with bullies in school seem laughable. Then again, it was really the same thing, wasn’t it? Different degrees, certainly, but when all was said and done, it was the same. And Paul had overcome it all to return to Haven. To what end? To be trapped in a stinking cave with a scared kid? Denny shook his head, there had to be more. If there was anything he took away from his days in church, it was that God had some grand plan for everything. As the cliché goes “He works in mysterious ways.” Denny had always thought this to be the great Catholic cop-out to explain away things that couldn’t be explained with logic. What kind of plan could put these two unlikely allies in a wet cave, hunting—or being hunted by—some man-made predator?