Crush (11 page)

“I knew it,” David said.

The heavy kid stomped toward them, but Jonathan was already stepping back, slamming the front door. Kirsty lunged forward and turned the locks. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the chain. Twice, she failed to fit the metal knob into the clasp. Finally Jonathan moved her aside and quickly slid the chain into place.

David pounded on the door. “Kirsty!” he shouted.

“David,” Jonathan said. “You have to stop this.”

“Shut your damn mouth, you back-stabbing dickhead. I want to talk to Kirsty.”

“Go away, David,” Kirsty said, her voice cracking with fear.

“Just let me talk to you,” David pleaded through the door.

“Come on, man,” Jonathan said. “Just stop. You're acting crazy. You can't keep doing this.”

“Shut up!” David roared. “She was my girlfriend. Mine. You had no right to do this. Christ, after all I've done for you, you pull something like this? It's SAW, man. Totally SAW. How could you? How could you do that to a friend?
To your best friend?
You didn't even like her. You only want Emma.”

Jonathan looked at Kirsty. A flash of hurt played over her frightened expression. She lowered her head.

“Kirsty,” Jonathan whispered.

“It's okay,” she said, not looking at him. “I already knew that.”

“Kirsty! Open the door. Come on. I just want to talk.”

Jonathan turned to Kirsty and grasped her shoulders. “You have to call the police,” he said. “Just tell them someone is trying to break in, okay?”

Kirsty nodded her head slowly and eased out of his grasp. Jonathan returned his attention to the door. “David,” he said, “we're calling the police. You
“I'm not going anywhere.”

Jonathan didn't know what else to say. He leaned against the door, feeling miserable. He was jacked up on adrenaline, but he also felt bitter sadness. His best friend was a killer, a murderer with dark powers. No matter what else happened, his best friend was gone. The realization hurt worse than anything he could remember.

A touch at his shoulder startled him, and he spun to find Kirsty.

“He did something to the phones,” she said. “There's no dial tone. Just static.”

“You're going to be sorry,” David said through the door.

Kirsty ran into the living room. Concerned, Jonathan followed and found her standing at the window, holding an edge of the curtain back.

“He's leaving,” she said.

“What about those things?”

“They're still out there.”

“Okay,” Jonathan said. “Grab the emergency kit. We'd better get ready for a fight.”

 

Jonathan pulled a fireplace poker from its rack. He tested the weight in his hand and slashed it
through the air once, like a swordsman preparing to duel. Kirsty grabbed the bag from the floor and checked through its contents.

“Do we have the duct tape?” Jonathan asked.

“Yeah. It's here on top.”

“Okay, do you guys have a basement? Someplace without windows?”

“The basement has windows on two sides. A lot of them, but they're small.”

That wouldn't work, Jonathan thought. Likely, these things could creep through just about any space they wanted. They had no bones or muscle to give them bulk.

“What about a closet?” Kirsty asked.

“Too small,” Jonathan said. “We might be trapped in there for a long time. What about your room?”

Kirsty's eyes lit up. “No. My mom's room. It has a window, but we can block it. If they manage to get into the bedroom, we can still hide in the bathroom. We might need water or something anyhow.”

A window shattered at the back of the house. Jonathan's heart leaped into his throat.

“That's the kitchen,” Kirsty whispered. “God, they're in the house.”

“Come on,” Jonathan said. He put his hand on her lower back and pushed her toward the stairs.

They ran, Jonathan one step behind Kirsty. At the bottom of the stairs, movement caught Jonathan's eye. He turned to look down the hallway. Two of the Reapers glided into the hall from the kitchen. They rippled and spun as if caught in a violent ocean tide. But they continued forward, jostling for space in the narrow hall.

“Run!” Jonathan yelled.

They pounded up the stairs. On the landing Jonathan turned with the poker raised above his head, ready to bring it down on the attacking phantoms, but he didn't see them. He scanned the foyer with his eyes and tried to hear the rippling of their bodies through the thundering pulse in his ears.

Jonathan noticed a broad stain beside the front door. It looked like someone had splashed a bucket of water on the wall. Except the stain moved. It pulsed and shimmied, moving slowly upward. Jonathan stepped back.

Another Reaper peeled away from the wall above the staircase only three feet from him.
Jonathan stumbled back as a grin spread over the creature's transparent face. Jonathan spun quickly, using the momentum of his misstep to drive him down the hall. At the end of the hall, Kirsty stood in an open doorway. She called his name, waved for him to hurry.

Not looking back, Jonathan sprinted toward her. Something cold and moist ran over his neck, and Jonathan raced even faster, driven forward by revulsion and fear. As he neared the threshold, he lunged forward. He tossed the poker ahead of him and dove into the room. Behind him, he heard the thwack of the door being slammed.

He hit the floor hard. Pain flared from his hip to his ankle and back again. But he had no time to entertain minor injuries. Jonathan rolled over and got to his knees. He turned and crawled toward the bag sitting on the floor next to Kirsty. He pulled out the duct tape and tore a long strip free. Above him Kirsty was talking, babbling about something, but he was too panicked to listen. He fixed the strip of tape over the gap between the door and the wooden floor. Then he dug in the bag for one of the bath towels. He rolled it up and slid it tight to the door.
With more tape he secured the towel.

“Here,” he said, handing the roll of tape to Kirsty. “Seal up the edges of the door. I'm going to find something to wedge against that towel.”

The frantic girl did as she was told, but Kirsty's fear was so great and her hands so affected by that fear, she kept sticking the tape to itself. She muttered and swore at her own clumsiness. Across the room Jonathan found a wooden dressing bench. It was barely more than a frame with a cushion but the wood was solid and heavy. He tossed the cushion on the floor and carried the bench across the room. He set the top of the bench on the floor and slid it tight against the towel.

Two minutes later, the door was sealed with ragged strips of duct tape, running around the edges and framing the door in gray. Jonathan checked the seal at the bottom—tape, towel, tape, bench. It should hold, but he had no idea how strong the Reapers were. They could obviously break glass. He had to hope they wouldn't be able to leverage themselves under the door with any real force.

“Okay, now the window.”

“How did you know what things to put in that
emergency kit?” Kirsty asked. She sounded awestruck. “I mean, they were exactly the things we needed.”

“I spent three nights awake, thinking about these things,” Jonathan said. “I imagined a dozen different ways they could get into a house or a room or a car. I guess my imagination paid off for once. Now, let's figure out what to do about the window.”

The window would be tough. It was five feet across and at least four feet high. They might be able to wedge the mattress from the bed in the space, but Jonathan didn't think so. Besides, even if they got it up there, they had nothing to hold it in place. No way tape was going to work on that.

He searched the room hoping to find something that would act as a barrier but found nothing. The dresser was too heavy and not big enough. The walls were bare except for another one of those faded tapestries, and it was too small as well. The only things big enough to cover the window were the blankets, the sheets, and a set of beige curtains hanging from a wrought-iron rod.

So that's what they used.

“Can you hand me the hammer and nails?” Jonathan asked.

Kirsty lifted the emergency bag and hurried to close the distance between them. Jonathan took the hammer and a box of nails from it. He hated standing near the window, felt that at any moment it could burst inward, but he was lucky. It took him three minutes to nail the curtains over the window frame and another five to repeat the process with the duvet and a heavy woolen blanket. The barrier wouldn't keep those things out, not in the long run, but it would slow them down. It should be enough. All he and Kirsty needed were a few seconds to get into the bathroom and lock the door.

Once the window was as secure as he could make it, Jonathan returned to the door and checked it. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed. So far…so good.

“What do we do now?” Kirsty asked, still by the window, holding the emergency kit.

“That depends on what they do next,” he said. “For now I guess we wait.”

 

Everything was so quiet.

Jonathan sat with Kirsty on the bed. Every few minutes he rose and checked the door to make sure the seal was holding. He kept the fireplace poker in his hand, taking comfort in its weight.

“What time is it?” he whispered.

“Almost ten,” Kirsty said. “We've been in here for hours. Do you think they're gone?”

“There's no way to know. We should probably stay here until morning.”

Kirsty scooted closer to Jonathan. Her hip touched his, and he looked at her, trying to smile.
It's okay
, he wanted his expression to say.
We'll be okay
. He put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed lightly.

“I'm just so glad you're here,” Kirsty said.

She leaned closer to him until their noses nearly touched. Then they were kissing. The action surprised Jonathan, but he didn't resist. He pressed his lips to hers, felt the softness and the warmth of her mouth. When her tongue flicked out, running over his, Jonathan responded in kind. He let go of the fireplace poker and wrapped his arms around her. She twisted slightly on the bed to accommodate the embrace and pushed her body
against his. Electric charges flared throughout his body, sending his nerves to dancing. His thoughts melted, and he let himself get lost in the feeling of her body. For a brief moment, all of the dread and panic of the night slipped away.

But it was only a moment. Though he hated to end the embrace, practical thoughts flooded back, demanding his attention. They had to stay alert.

Jonathan ended the kiss and eased Kirsty away from him. She looked at him with happy confusion and tried to lean in for another kiss, but he held her shoulders. “I should check the door,” he said.

Kirsty nodded her head and scooted back on the bed. At the door Jonathan knelt down and checked the tape. It was holding, but he stayed at the door anyway, pretending to examine the towel and the bench, even shaking one of the bench legs to test its sturdiness.

He needed to collect his thoughts. Only the night before, Kirsty was dating his best friend. Sure, they went the way of Brad and Jen, but it had only been a day, and here she was, making out with him on her mother's bed. Was he just a source of comfort for her? Did she expect more?
He didn't know, but he was pretty certain she was an emotional car crash right now, and he needed to be careful.

Besides, he didn't know how he felt about her. Did he feel any genuine attraction to her at all? It certainly wasn't the kind of thing he felt for Emma, but then that was a fantasy, a dream of love. He couldn't consider that real because he didn't even know Emma. He hardly knew Kirsty. Were his feelings simply the result of the night's confusion?

Jonathan tugged the bench leg again. Then he straightened up. He looked at Kirsty, who had climbed all of the way onto the bed and rested her head on a pillow. Her eyes followed his every move. He walked to the window and ran his hands down the fabric nailed there.

“We'll hear the glass break if they try to get in that way,” Kirsty said.

“Yeah,” Jonathan replied. “Just checking things out.”

Kirsty lay on her back, looking at him. Her hair cascaded over the pillow and one of her shoulders. His eyes followed the strands to her breasts. His eyes lingered there a bit longer than they should have, and he forced himself to look away.

He returned to the bed and sat on the edge, facing the door.

“I think they'd already have gotten in if they could,” Kirsty said. She reached up and touched Jonathan's back.

“Probably,” he said, not taking his eyes from the door.

“You know,” Kirsty said. “I was really hoping you'd ask me out that day I saw you at the bookstore. I mean, I liked David, but I really wanted to spend time with you.”

“Really?” Jonathan asked. “Why?”

“We're a lot alike, I think. We're both different from everybody else. I used to look at you in Mr. Weaver's class, and even when he was being a total ass to you, you kept cool. It wasn't like you didn't care he was being mean. It was like you were so used to it, you couldn't bring yourself to feel anything about it anymore. I know what that's like.”

“He was a teacher,” Jonathan said. “We're just kids. There's nothing we can do, so why bother?”

“You can do a lot,” Kirsty said. “You just didn't know it. I mean, look at what you did tonight. You saved me. You knew exactly what to do, and we're safe. If you believed in your own power, you never
would have let Mr. Weaver or Toby treat you the way they did.”

“So you're saying all of this is a good thing?” Jonathan asked with a laugh.

“I think you're stronger now.”

“Yeah, and it only took a few people getting murdered and discovering my best friend was a psycho to do it.”

“I didn't know how strong I could be until my father gave my mom and me that speech. It about tore me to pieces to hear all of that vile crap coming out of his mouth, but it was the kind of shock I needed to become someone else. Someone stronger.”