Dastardly Bastard(41)

“No! You’re nothing more than what we make you!” Her words felt right, comforting, though she had no idea where they came from. This thing, whatever it was, was feeding off of her. If she chose, she could maintain control over it.

She found a focal point, a blinding white light in the darkness—Trevor’s eyes as he had woken up in the tent that morning. His calming baby blues, the serenity in those pools, would be her salvation. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat protesting, but finally dropping away.

Rising from the darkness, Justine found that a soft glow shone on her, bright enough to make her squint against it. “Where is everyone? You’re hiding them from me. I want them back.”

“You will die, child. Find them or not, your fate is sealed.”

“Damn that. I want them back.”

“Then come. But be warned. I can be very unforgiving, child.”

The light around Justine continued to grow until she held the back of her hand to her eyes to shield them. From the retreating black came three sullen figures, walking toward her, arms at their sides, eyes looking straight ahead. They shambled like the undead, their movements jerky and forced. Justine remembered the pictures on Lyle’s cell phone, the shadowy puppeteer while he played with the group. As each one stepped into the light, she began to recognize them. Not knowing what else to do, she went to the smallest body and laid her palms on the sides of his face. Kneeling, she forced him to look at her. Something moved in his eyes, a flame. She thought it could be candlelight. Above the flicker of fire, an Asian woman looked back at her. Justine somehow knew the woman was a key. What the key would unlock, Justine had no idea. Still, she needed to try it.

Justine moved into the memory, ready to fight.





30


THE MONSTER WAS GAINING ON him. Donald struggled to increase his speed. He could feel the thing behind him. He rounded a curve and ran right into a stalagmite. He bounced off the calcium deposit and landed hard on his back, knocking the wind from his lungs. As he strained to sit up, a cold hand pushed him back down. The creature seemed to be upside down. It peered into his eyes, gnashing its teeth, saliva dripping.

Donald recognized the decaying face even though death had not been kind. Her thin hair still held particles of grave dirt, and the body was clothed in its funeral garb.

Donald looked into those chocolate eyes that had been untouched by death. “Sunne?”

“Don’t…” Huff. “Call…” Puff. “Me that!”

“It’s me… Donald.”

“You let me die!” Wretched breath, smelling of age and decay, flooded his face as Sunne wailed.

“I’m sorry. There were too many of them.”

“You were small. Useless.”

“There was nothing I could have done. Please believe me.”

“You could have died with me!”

Donald looked across the table at Sunne. He tried his best to seem taller by keeping his back straight, but his tailbone was beginning to ache.

Sunne smiled. “This is nice place.”

“I’ve been a couple of times,” he lied. Chez Martinique was well above his price point, but he’d saved a little chunk away for college, and scoring that scholarship had freed up a bit of his money.

“Never been to so nice a place.”

“It’s all right.”

“So, you born here?”

“In America?”

“No.” She laughed. “In New York.”

“Oh. No, I was born in California. Fresno area.” Donald sipped his wine. It was bitter, but he pretended to like it.

“Never been to California. I like to go, but maybe you take me?” Her eyes sparkled in the dim lighting of the restaurant, and Donald felt himself flush.

“I’d like that.” Once again, Donald had lied. He’d never go back there.

The dinner courses came and went. Talk about home and life and different cultures changed to more intimate conversation about wanting kids, where they’d like to live, and marriage.

“Do you think…?” She paused, looking nervous. “That kids will be small?”

He almost dropped his wineglass into his lap. “What?”

“Father is small. You are small. You think child from us, together, will be small?”

He could see hope and doubt warring in those brown eyes. He set the glass down, his hands shaking. Fear and anger welled inside him, but he managed to suppress it. “Would that be a bad thing?”

“No.” She sat back in her chair. “I just wondering. Not good subject. I sorry.”

“No. It’s okay,” Donald said, relaxing a little. “Go ahead, get your thought out.”

“It’s hard, and I don’t think you understand.” Her shoulders slumped. “You carry much anger because you so small. My father, also, mad at God. He always say…” Sunne shook her finger at Donald in what he assumed was an impression of her father. “‘This life is hard, Sunne. People, they hate and lie and make you feel less than human being.’ So, I just wouldn’t like our child to feel that badness.”

Donald looked inward at his own hatred and lies and lesser feelings about the world in general. All the years of mocking and taunts had turned his heart to stone, yet it seemed Sunne held the chisel. He placed an upturned hand on the table, and Sunne leaned forward to lay her hand in his.