Fatal Bargain Page 5

  His right leg felt the air. His hands gripped the sill tightly. He tried not to think of the great distance to the hard, hard earth. He managed to press his knee against the steeply sloping slates and drag the other leg out.

  Good thing I’m not a big guy, thought Zach, who had always before wanted to be a big guy.

  His shoes tried to find the gutter he had seen from the window.

  But all they found was slick roof, and more slick roof.

  His fingers began to ache. He could not grip the sill much longer. He had to put some of his weight on his feet instead of his hands. He kicked, trying to find a footrest.

  Something touched his right hand.

  Something foul and wet, like a moldy leftover in the refrigerator. He hung on only because his life was in the balance. He could not see what touched his hands. After a few seconds, it did not simply touch his fingers. It applied pressure.

  Something was peeling his fingers off the sill.

  Somebody had decided to help him fall.

  Zach began to scream. He tried to shift his finger grip, but the sill was slick.

  He began to fall.

  I’m going to die, thought Zach, quite clearly.

  He tried to dig his fingernails into the punky wood. He tried to haul himself back into the tower. He screamed for the others to grab him, but nobody came.

  With a satisfied little chuckle, the creature peeling him away finished its task, and it leaned forward to watch Zach’s fall.

  The last thing he saw was a face neither white nor black, skin neither tanned nor pale — but absolutely clear. A face that went right through to the other side, all its interior on display, like some horrible living laboratory model.

  And then he was airborne, and screaming his last scream.

  Chapter 6

  MARDEE’S SCREAM COULD HAVE pulled the rest of the nails out of the plywood.

  Kevin could not let go of the wood he had hauled back, or it would snap against her and stab her to the window frame. Mardee was still standing next to him and yet she seemed to be pulled forward, into the house.

  Something was pulling her by the hair.

  Like taffy, Mardee stretched. Her scream went on and on, as if it, too, were being pulled out of her throat, taut like a rubber band.

  Kevin put all his strength into the plywood and actually tore it the rest of the way off the house. He flung it down onto the porch floor. He grabbed Mardee and yanked her back against himself. She did not come easily. It felt as if she had been stuck with adhesive. He whipped her around to face him.

  The scream stopped. Mardee’s face, whiter than any moon or star, was twisted in such horror that Kevin could only imagine she had looked into the scene of a mass murder.

  “What happened?” he whispered. His heart was racing double-time, working so hard he felt crazed with its speed.

  Mardee was as close to him as another skin. “Didn’t you feel it, Kevin?” she whispered. She wet her lips, gasping for breath. “Didn’t you see it?”

  “See what?” He had been busy prying the plywood back from the window. He had not seen much except wood. Why were they whispering? What was happening? What had —

  “A vampire,” said Mardee.

  He was technically rather young, the car thief.

  He had dropped out of school before he was sixteen and spent time in prison before he was twenty, and that had aged him. He was older and more cruel than his actual years.

  There was nothing nice about him. He did not have a heart of gold, he did not feel neighborly love. He did not mind injuring people who got in his way. People often got in his way, and he often injured them. He never thought about them when he hurt them, and he never thought about them afterward. He did not have a conscience.

  What he mostly had was a great need for money.

  It had been a difficult summer. Things kept going wrong. In spite of the people he had hurt, the car thief had not acquired any cash.

  He had no particular destination in mind as he roamed the streets. He had no particular plan in mind. All he had in mind was greed.

  He was panting with it.

  He could think only of money and what he would do with it; what he would buy with it; how much better life would be once he had some.

  He did not normally walk down the valley road. Of course, he did not normally walk anywhere, but he had lost his various forms of transportation, and so he was reduced to this pathetic, loser style of going someplace.

  He had to walk.

  It outraged him that he was on foot. People like him did not deserve this humiliation. Somebody would pay for this, he would see to that.

  The car thief walked onto the site where the shopping mall would soon begin to rise. In the dark, it was a shambles. Piles of dirt and trash. Ruts from immense tires. Metal barrels, old railroad ties, and discarded junk. A few scattered, white-painted barriers making a feeble attempt to close off a huge area.

  He crossed the acreage hoping to find something — anything — that he could steal and sell. Perhaps a backhoe worth tens of thousands of dollars that he could somehow start up, drive off in the night.

  There was nothing.

  He walked toward a huge shapeless stack. It had no shadows because there was no light to cast them. It was not until he was very, very close that he realized the stack had no theft potential; it was a bunch of huge old dead trees bulldozed down and left to rot.

  He was furious.

  He kicked a tree.

  But it was not satisfying to kick a tree. It didn’t whimper, or cry out, try to run, or hand over its wallet. He wanted a human to kick. Something where you could laugh when it cried out.

  He kicked the tree again, and felt no better that time, either.

  But he saw something.

  Something…something large and glossy glittered faintly within the trees.

  He began to work his way around the branches to get at the thing within them.

  It was, thought Roxanne, a vampire without its cloak.

  A vampire without its skin.

  Nothing but the interior: the silhouette of its bones and its organs.

  It seemed to come out from between the shutters, first as flat as a pane of glass, and then thickening, and becoming more visible. It was grinning, its teeth exposed like a dentist’s drawing. It peeled Zach off the windowsill and grinned even more widely as Zach screamed and fell.

  Zach’s screams came from everywhere.

  Then they ceased.

  He could not have lived.

  Well, thought Roxanne, that’s one way to escape being the vampire’s victim. Die first. Poor Zach. Poor, poor Zach! He had so many plans.

  Roxanne found that she was weeping. Her face was covered with tears for Zach. Or was it for herself?

  How selfish am I? thought Roxanne. I will know tonight. We will all know tonight.

  She thought of the vampire’s requirement. Oh, it was truly evil! Not only did they have to witness the “event” — they would have to participate in it; they would have to choose and live with that choice.

  She found that while Zach was falling and her eyes were weeping, her hand and her hammer had continued prying up floorboards.

  “What are you doing?” hissed Randy, hearing the creaks and snaps.

  Roxanne shook her head, but, of course, he couldn’t see her. She had managed to lift a whole length of board and now she shifted her hammer to start on the adjacent strip of wood.

  She had no idea what she was doing, or why. Perhaps since they could not go out the windows, and they could not go out the door, they could just descend right through the floor.

  “What are you doing?” hissed Randy again. Louder.

  Randy’s such a stupid person, thought Roxanne. The vampire hadn’t noticed yet. Roxanne certainly didn’t want him to notice her now — let alone the possible escape route she was uncovering.

  Ten miles away, in an isolated subdivision of only nine houses, a mother and father were furious bec
ause their sixteen-year-old son had not brought the family car home. “He was told to be here now, or else!” said the father.

  “Now, Dad,” said their other child. She was eighteen and sympathetic to lateness. “He’ll be home in a minute. Don’t panic.”

  “I am not panicking, Ginny. I am furious. Your brother is dead.”

  “No, he’s not,” said Ginny reassuringly. “He’s fine.”

  “I don’t mean he’s lying dead in a road somewhere,” shouted the father. “I mean, I’m gonna kill him! I told him to get that car home by nine or die. So he’s dead.” The father stormed back and forth in the tiny front hall. “I should never have let him get his driver’s license. I’m taking it away the minute he walks in the door. He’s dead.”

  “Now, Dad,” said Ginny. “You and Mom haven’t missed much of the party. The Kramers will party till dawn, you know that. If you don’t get there for another few minutes, it won’t be the end of the world.”

  “It’ll be the end of your brother’s world,” said the father. “He was told he could take the car for the first half of the evening but we had to have it for the second half. If he ruins our weekend, I’m ruining his year.”

  Ginny thought she saw a way to get something good out of this situation. “The moral of the story,” she said cheerfully, “is that our family should have a second car.” She smiled hopefully.

  Her parents gave her a tight-lipped glare.

  Oh, well, thought Ginny. Worth a try.

  Out in the driveway a car appeared. But it was not her missing brother. It was Ginny’s date. “Jordan and I could drop you at your party, if you want, Dad.”

  Her father refused to be mollified. “Your mother and I will wait, thank you, until your worthless brother gets here.”

  Her date bounded up to the door. Jordan was one of these courteous-to-adults types, who wanted to hear the whole story. “Are you worried about your son’s safety?” asked Jordan, getting deeply concerned and worried himself.

  “The time to worry about my brother’s safety,” said Ginny dryly, “will be when he gets home.”

  “Yes, of course, we’re worried!” said Ginny’s mother. “This just is not like him! He’s a very responsible boy!”

  Ginny rolled her eyes. There was no such thing as a very responsible boy.

  Jordan said, “Hey, no problem. Ginny and I will cruise around and find him.”

  Ginny, who had been looking forward to something else entirely, was quite irritated. “Really,” she said, “I’m sure he’s fine. He’ll be here in a minute.”

  “I’d like that, Jordan,” said Ginny’s mother. “I am genuinely worried. He knows what his father would do to him if he’s late tonight. He knows how important it is. So why isn’t he here? Anything could have happened! He could have had an accident! He could be bleeding somewhere!” Ginny’s mother had worked herself up into tears. “He could have been stolen away! We’ll never see him again.”

  Ginny tried to bring a little reality to the situation. “Mom. He’s six-two. He lifts weights. He could bench press an SUV. Nobody stole him away. We’re going to see him again. Probably in five minutes.”

  But Ginny’s date loved this kind of thing. He loved action and heroism. Jordan would much rather cruise the entire city and all its suburbs tracking down a lost child than go to a party where somebody had rented a movie he had probably already seen, and then order pizza, which, after all, he had just eaten for lunch. The fact that the lost child was bigger and stronger than Jordan was did not matter.

  “We’ll find him,” Jordan promised. “Don’t worry! We’ll look everywhere!” He took Ginny’s hand and bounded with her back to the car. Full of enthusiasm, he switched on the engine, revved the motor, crammed the gearshift into first, and left a patch on the street. “Where do we start?” he said happily. He was already looking left and right, peering behind shrubs and picket fences.

  Ginny regarded him stonily. Then she turned on the radio, put the volume where she liked it, and said, “Somebody’s having a party at that horrible old mansion. The Mall House. Maybe he decided to crash that.”

  Her date sighed with pleasure.

  He did not come to a full stop at the end of the little housing division road. He looked swiftly both ways and, instead, accelerated through the stop sign and let his tires scream as he turned left.

  Ginny sighed. It was going to be a long night.

  And all for a brother.

  When you got right down to it — who needed him?

  Lacey could not stop hearing the scream.

  Even though she knew that Zach must have hit the ground by now, must be crushed flat against it, she could still hear the scream.

  Zach! she thought numbly.

  Bobby and Zach were the kind of boys to whom nothing bad ever happened; they were inoculated against trouble from birth. Their lives went smoothly, their complexions went smoothly, their relationships went smoothly.

  And now look. Zach was dead or broken. Bobby was catatonic.

  In the silence of the tower room, into the muffled panting and weeping of the five left standing there, came a new sound.

  A rhythmic series of thuds.

  Steps coming up the stairs.

  Lacey’s heart roared like a locomotive.

  The vampire had not made noise before. Whose step was so heavy? Perhaps a real person was walking up those stairs.

  Could it be the police, coming to see what was going on? To find out who had screamed? Were they about to be rescued?

  Was it some horrible, drug-crazed murderer escaped from an insane asylum?

  Lacey could not bear to look at the door, but neither could she look away. It was as though her eyes no longer belonged to her, but were ruled by some other force.

  Be the police! she thought, and prayed, and begged. Please be the police. Please save us! Please end this! We don’t deserve this! We want to go home! We want our mothers! We —

  Through the door came the vampire.

  His cloak swirled and his stench rose up.

  Under his arm was the burden that gave him weight.

  Zach’s body.

  Chapter 7

  “A VAMPIRE?” REPEATED KEVIN JAMES. He actually began to laugh.

  “Don’t you laugh at me,” snapped Mardee.

  “I can’t help it. A vampire?”

  Mardee pulled back from him. The creep. To think that she was alone with this idiot. Nothing, nothing in the entire world, was more maddening than somebody who laughed at you. Mardee pulled her lips together in a furious pout. She folded her arms over her chest. “Yes,” she said. “A vampire.” Kevin laughed again, and louder.

  It was a Land Rover.

  The car thief grinned widely. Some of his teeth had rotted, and some were missing.

  Somebody had already stolen the Land Rover once, obviously, or it wouldn’t be here. Some fool who had not had the foresight to drive it out of state or provide a closed garage. Some beginner who had tucked it here until morning.

  Well, come morning, it would not be here.

  Land Rovers. That whole class of vehicles made the car thief laugh. Big, high, tough SUVs, bought exclusively by weak and wimpy suburbanites. Big strong SUVs for difficult terrain and steep grades, which would never go anywhere except a parking lot.

  And loaded. These babies always had a great sound system. Air-conditioning. Televisions. Last summer he even got one that had a mini fridge in it.

  The car thief felt around the cracks of the doors. In the complete dark it would not be easy to break in.

  He did not think he had ever been anywhere as dark as this.

  Although he was rarely afraid — he preferred to scare others than to be scared — the car thief felt a prickle on the back of his neck.

  It was not fear. It was not some sixth sense.

  It was an actual touch.

  Fingers brushed his neck.

  The car thief bit back a scream and whirled, ready to strike back.

  N
othing was there.

  He was left trembling, his knees jellied.

  He hated that. It made him deeply angry that anything could frighten him.

  Nothing was there, he told himself. And yet that outraged him. He did not make things up! He did not get scared of the dark!

  His hands went back to feeling around the door. His hands were trembling and sweaty. He ground his teeth together, to get rid of the debilitating fear.

  And again, gently, exploring, lifting the long hair that lay against the neck of his T-shirt, came the touch. Something was actually feeling the back of his neck, imitating exactly the way he was feeling the car.

  He whipped around for a second time, and this time he struck blindly into the air, making fists, fighting it.

  But nothing was there.

  It must have been the tip of a branch. A wavering end of one of these dead trees. It had, actually, felt dead. Even though it had moved, touching him.

  The car thief ran his bare hands through the air, as one feeling for a spiderweb. But he encountered no branch, no web that could have touched the back of his neck.

  Instead there came a new sensation. A smell. A smell like raw sewage. It rose up around his ankles as if he were sinking into some terrible hole.

  He grabbed at the only thing available. The door handle of the Land Rover. He gripped that faint silvery shine.

  And the door opened.

  The Land Rover was not locked.

  The car thief grinned.

  “Let’s go get some ice cream,” said Kevin. The entire evening was so weird. He kept laughing. Who would ever have thought you could have a first date like this? Who could he even tell about this?

  “Your sister is in there with a vampire, and you want to have ice cream?” said Mardee. She was outraged.

  “If my sister were in there,” Kevin pointed out, “she would have said something by now. She had to have heard your scream.”

  Mardee looked at him in astonishment. “I didn’t scream,” she said.

  The vampire carried Zach like a grocery bag. Set him on the floor like a loaf of bread.

  Mildly he said to the others, “This is wasting time, you know. Not that I didn’t appreciate the effort, dear boy,” he added. “It was most interesting. And the scream — quite well done. I like a good scream.” The vampire reflected on this. “In fact,” he said, “I am a connoisseur of screams.”