Velvet Rain - A Dark Thriller (14 page)

“Kain?”

He ignored Lynn’s call. “Hold him,” he said to Ryan. Beakers snarled and flew into a barking fit. “Hold him.”

The boy wrestled with the big animal. He seemed quite put off as he knelt and slung an arm around him. He looked up with bold eyes. Slightly bloodshot, a tad this side of saffron, they cast a burning glare that said,
Stop messing with my dog, mister … stop messing with
us.

The pickup slid to a quick stop, a wall of dust spewed up behind. The driver got out. Dressed in jeans and a faded yellow T-shirt, topped with a wrinkled Yankees cap, Ben Caldwell started for the veranda calling out for Beaks. The dog kept on in a frenzy.

“
Kain?
”

“Ma.”

“I said not now, Lee.”

Kain knew what the girl was on about. It would be but a moment before Lynn or Ryan would be on about it as well.

“Is everything all right?” Lynn said, wavering.

“I was worried about your dog. I heard the truck coming up fast.”

She looked out and saw the driver making his way to the steps. Ben Caldwell was walking strangely, lumbering as if his legs were made of rubber. “Yes … he
does
drive too fast,” she said, making sure the boy could hear.

“Sorry, Mrs. Bishop.”

“There’s no reason to come charging in here like that. One of these days you’re going to be sorry you did.”

Ben Caldwell lowered the brim on his cap. Kind of kicked at the dirt a little.

“You okay, bud?” Ryan said.

“I think my legs fell asleep.” Benny was rubbing them now. He motioned to the growling dog. “What’s with him? And what’s with his eyes?”

“I don’t know,” Ryan said flatly, and
his
eyes met hard with the drifter’s.

The shortstop recognized the face behind the screen door, and just as he was about to say,
Hey, it’s the Little Ghost,
he was interrupted.

“Let’s go, Ben.”

Ryan limped as he led the dog into the yard. Beaks settled with distance, but the dog wobbled in its stride, as if the muscles in its legs had stiffened; suddenly, it seemed a hundred years old in human years. Ben Caldwell followed, he too, hobbling like a man old before his time, and between complaining about his aching muscles and the
god-awful heat,
as he called it, suggested they take the dog with them into town. Ryan agreed, and the boys helped the aging shepherd into the back of the truck. Ryan cast the drifter a narrowed glance before he got in, and before Kain could step out and apologize for upsetting the dog, the pickup sped off as quickly as it had come.

“Oh, that Ben Caldwell,” Lynn said.

Kain stole another glance at the deck before heading back to the kitchen. Lynn joined him and sat across from him. Lee-Anne stood near the stairs. Kain regarded the girl for but an instant. He was in deep. Way too deep.

“Ma?”

Lynn was looking at Kain with obvious concern. “Are you all right? You’re a little pale.”

“Just a headache.” Not a lie. His head was pounding, and his blood was still boiling. He hadn’t Turned very far, but it felt as if he’d gone back a lifetime.

“I have to say,” she said, “I feel a doozy coming on myself …”

“Something wrong?” She had a puzzled look on her face. And more.

“It’s the strangest thing. I was just thinking about Benny. Did you see the way he was walking?”

“I think he said his leg fell asleep.”

“My legs feel the same way. Not asleep, though.
Achy.
”

“
Ma.
”

Lynn looked up and did a double take. Lee’s fair skin was sunburned. The girl held up her hands and turned them to show the backs. The same reddish tan.

“You too, Ma.”

“
What
—
?
”

Lynn Bishop took stock of her own hands and rose in a start. She seemed to stumble in her mind as she considered this latest piece of a growing puzzle; you could see the wheels turning behind her eyes, the confusion. There was a small mirror in the hall, and she checked herself in it. She uttered a nearly silent
omigod,
then returned to her seat. She held the look of a woman who has suddenly lost faith in all she holds dear.

Her eyes met her guest’s and stayed there.

“How long were you outside?” Kain said. “Watering the plants, I mean.”

“Ten minutes. That’s all. My hands weren’t like this.”

“Mine, either,” Lee-Anne said.

“Are you allergic to anything? Maybe you came in contact with something.”

Lynn shook her head firmly. “No. The worst I get is a stuffy nose in the spring. Besides … both of us?”

Kain looked to the girl.

“I wasn’t outside today,” she told him. “And we
weren’t
like this a few minutes ago.”

His eyes were fine—they always were after a Turn, and for that he was always grateful—but he went through the motions of checking his hands. Like his face, they were deeply tanned from his travels, and so did not show the burn that he, too, had received. Sometimes he felt nauseous, but that was rare.

“Maybe your science teacher could explain it,” he said innocently.

Lee pointed to his boots. “What
is
that?”

The drifter made good on a practiced effort to appear surprised. The powder didn’t always show after a Turn, but sometimes it did—sometimes like now—and the further back he dared turn God’s clock, the more of a tell it usually was. All he could do was feign a shrug. He ran a finger along his right boot where the stuff clung to it. He examined the sample a moment, then simply rubbed it off on his jeans as if it were ordinary dust. Brikker had run test after test on it, had found it unidentifiable; the man had proclaimed it not of this Earth.

“It’s a mystery.”

Lynn leaned in for a look. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was talcum.” She served him a small grin. “I would have never guessed.”

“It does look like that,” he said, keeping things light, “but I’m not sure you’d find any in my knapsack.”

Lee said: “What do you think it is?”

“I have no idea,” he said. “I don’t think it was on my boots before I set out. I’m pretty sure of that.”

Lynn raised a brow.

The static was growing; it dizzied. Coupled with the steel hammer pounding in his brain, it was a wonder he was as unruffled as he was. He felt drained, almost fragile; the Turn had done a real number on him this time.

“Could I trouble you for some water?”

Lynn got him a drink, and he drained the entire glass. She got him another, and he drained that.

“It’s the heat,” she said. “Take it easy.”

He nodded.

“I don’t feel so good either,” Lee said, cupping a hand to her stomach. “I think I’m gonna go lie down before I throw up.”

The girl did not look well. Despite her sudden sunburn, she held an underlying pallor. If only he had a dime for every time he saw someone vomit after a Turn. Brikker’s men would have made him filthy rich all by themselves, the puking bastards.

Lee started upstairs, then turned. “We still on?”

He looked to Lynn for approval.

“As long as you’re up to it, young lady.”

The girl nodded and went up.

“Feeling better?” Lynn said.

“A little.”

She got him a third glass of water.

“Not so fast this time, okay?”

He took it slow. The burning inside had begun to ease, but his head still felt as if it had been split with an ax.

Lynn shifted uncomfortably, stroking her arms and legs. She got up for some water moving quite stiffly.

“Would you like some aspirin? I could use some.”

“Please. Thanks.”

She left him to go upstairs, returned shortly with four pills, and they both took a pair. They couldn’t hurt, but Kain figured they wouldn’t help. Only time would, and wasn’t
that
some lovely irony for you.

Lynn eased back in her chair. She looked very run down suddenly. A small sigh escaped her.

“You know something?” she said, and quickly retreated. “Never mind … it’s silly.”

“What …”

She straightened a bit.

“What is it?”

“Well … I’d swear Beaks did this before.”

“The day I showed up.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I thought you said he never gets his fur up.”

“He doesn’t. But I was wrong.”

He had to prod her to go on.

“It was you,” she said. “He was growling at you. Right here in this kitchen.”

“You mean before today.”

“Yes. I can’t explain it, but it’s like … I don’t know … like
déjà vu
or something.”

“Maybe it was another dog,” he said. “Ever have a different one?”

“Well, sure … when I was young, but …”

“There you go. Just mixing up two memories.”

“I guess it’s possible,” she said, looking completely unconvinced.

Static. Small fits of it. As if his brain wasn’t screaming enough already. Screaming what he already knew.

Lynn Bishop had the Sense.

She rubbed her temples. “I’m beat.”

“You might want to lie down, too.”

“I think I might. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all. You should rest. And thanks for lunch.”

She walked him to the door, and he thanked her again. He left her and headed down the steps. He stopped to listen and heard her take the stairs. He waited a moment longer to be sure she didn’t come back down.

The tabby began to limp across the yard when it stopped cold. It turned sharply to the stranger, to the little ghost it had sensed, its eyes burning with bloodshot. The thing hissed, and then hobbled off as fast as its uncertain legs could take it.

Kain moved up on the veranda, and as he did, a cawing crow startled him. He knelt down, and then he scattered the faint powder there with his hand. He blew on it gently until all of it slipped between the deck boards. No one would know it had been there—luckily, Ryan Bishop or Ben Caldwell hadn’t seen the thin outline it had made round his boots—at least he hoped they hadn’t—but it wouldn’t be long before someone noticed
this.

His heart sank. He got up and stood at the steps. The crow bolted from the oak, swept past him and started to soar. He watched it for a time, marveling at its broad dark wings against that deep Iowa sky … and wondered if he would ever be free.

~ 14

Ryan Bishop turned in his seat and faced the road. The thick blanket of dust behind the pickup made it impossible to see his home now, and he’d had enough of the view anyway. The Ghost had been messing with his dog, and somehow, the man had been messing with something else. He didn’t know what that something was, exactly, couldn’t pin a finger on it, but one thing was certain. He didn’t trust the drifter. And never would.

The truck rambled along, the driver ever heavy with the foot. Ben had bought the truck last summer from his cousin, Freddie Price, a country singer who had married the older sister of a kid from Winterset named John Wayne. The kid called himself the Little Duke, that’s what Freddie had told Ben, anyway, and Ben always bragged to anyone who would listen about how he was related to the
real
Duke. It was bullshit, most stuff with Ben was, but it was like Ben always said, it ain’t the steak, it’s the sizzle. And besides, telling people he was cousin to the Ringo Kid was a great way to get girls to make out. At least,
go
out.

“We gonna make it?” Ryan was eyeing the fuel gauge. From his angle, the needle had passed the E about a hundred miles back. They were supposed to be on 71, heading north to Spirit to do some fishing (the largemouth were biting this year, despite the drought and the low water levels), but leave it to Ben to have to make a pit stop for gas. Hell, it seemed he had to make a pit stop to
piss
every five miles. The guy had a bladder problem, that’s for sure, and there wasn’t an inning where he wasn’t draining the dragon on the sidelines. Coach Plummer said Ben had more water in him than all the lakes in Iowa.

“Relax,” Ben said, adjusting the radio to another station. “It’s only a couple more miles.” He caught the last few seconds of “Susie Baby” by Bobby Vee and the Shadows, before Paul Anka carried on about a girl named Diana.

“Shit,” he said. “Just missed it.”

“I’m sick of that song.”

“What—
‘Diana’?
”

“
‘Susie Baby.’
”

“
Why?
” Ben Caldwell, an admitted Bobby Vee fanatic, held the stunned look of,
How could anyone
not
like this song?
Ben liked to brag he had actually met the man in Minneapolis, which of course was bullshit, because Ben had never been outside the state. But what was truly annoying about Ben’s hard-on for Bobby Vee (the man’s music, anyway) was that Benny believed, cross-my-heart-hope-to-die
believed,
he was forever linked with the man’s success. Three years ago, just minutes before Buddy Holly’s plane went down in that field in Clear Lake, Ben’s sister had been partying at the Surf Ballroom. She’d made the stone’s throw down Highway 18 to see Holly and the Big Bopper, Ritchie Valens, too, and after the show, had told anyone who would listen she’d blown Buddy a good-luck kiss before he’d left the stage. Well, didn’t Ben think that was just the cat’s ass, his sister saved Buddy Holly. Thing was, Holly canceled his appearance in Moorhead the next night, and didn’t that give a break to a fifteen-year-old unknown named Bobby Vee. The ultimate Caldwell Connection.

“I just am.” Ryan rubbed his eyes. They’d been stinging since they left.
Before
they left. Just after—

Just after the Ghost did something.

It was driving him crazy. The guy did do something, he was sure of it. It was almost as if the bastard had slipped a card from under his sleeve when he was looking the other way. He felt duped, by some very strange magic.

But it was more than that. His mind was racing. It was like trying to build a puzzle in the dark. The pieces were out there somewhere, you could find some of them if you felt around, but you couldn’t find all of them. And even if you did, you couldn’t hope to put them together. Not in any order that made any sense, at least.