Dastardly Bastard(50)

He spun around and found Justine behind him, bent at the waist, trying to catch her breath. Then, he saw a closed door that hadn’t been there before. Turning around, he found the scene had changed. The home had been completed and was occupied. Specters roamed the floors, traversed halls with paneling that hadn’t been there just a moment before. The ghosts silently milled about, bumping into one another, yet passing through walls with no trouble.

Through the throng stepped the boy with the eye patch. His one good eye stared, and Lyle felt his heart skip a beat. Something was wrong with the kid, but Lyle couldn’t pinpoint what it might be.

“Do you like my collection?” the boy asked. He tilted his head quizzically.

“Who are they?” Justine asked as she stepped up beside Lyle.

“They are the memories I’ve collected throughout the years. Those who have come and gone, throwing shadows, being bad.”

“What have you done, Scott?” Justine talked to the kid as if she knew him.

Lyle didn’t like where the scene was going. His father’s voice sounded in his head, stern, no nonsense, telling him to stop being so scared. Lyle puffed out his chest, trying to look brave.

“I’ve only done what I was allowed to do. These are the remains of the lost. I have taken their bad memories away. Left them empty. Most people are empty. Did you know that? That’s how the shadows find purchase. They hide in the darkness. But He sees it. He calls them to Him. Like He called me.”

“Scott. No.” Justine was shaking her head. Lyle wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the right words.

“Don’t you remember the poem I wrote? I left you so many clues. You chose to ignore them.”

The ghosts of the lost stopped. Every one of them stared at Lyle and Justine with hollow eyes.

“What do you want?” Lyle asked.

“It’s not what I want, Lyle. It’s what you want.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want to be left with that hole in your heart? Those painful memories of a dead father, and now a dead mother?”

“You killed my mother! I don’t… you can’t…” Lyle fumbled for words. Emotions were crashing against his foundation, threatening to sweep his legs from under him.

“The Bastard must be fed, or the world will know true pain. Imagine if you couldn’t tuck away your saddest, most devastating memories. Think what it would be like to wonder, constantly, what you might have done to change things. It would eat away at you. For your own benefit, the Bastard eats those memories.”

“My father’s memory doesn’t hurt.” Lyle was very certain of that. There was something in those words, something more powerful than Lyle could ever hope to be.

“I’m here, Brody,” Dad said, even if it was Lyle’s own inner voice. He would call it Dad for now.

“You’re selfish.” Lyle felt tears gathering in his eyes. “You use this… this place to suck us dry. You think you’re helping, but you’re not. I want all my memories, even if they do hurt. They’re all I have left of him. Just because you’re hungry, it doesn’t give you the right to make us your buffet.”

Justine spoke up. “Why are you still hiding?”

“I’m not hiding, Justine. I’m right here. You wanted me. You got me.”

“You’re not Scooter.”

“What did you call me?”

“Scooter. Your father used to call you Scooter. What? You don’t remember?”

“Shut up.” The statement was quick. Lyle saw the boy’s face twitch as if he’d been slapped. “The boy’s name is Scott.”

“The boy? He’s the boy now, huh?” Justine actually laughed. “Your slip is showing, asshole.”

“You need to leave, Brody.” Dad came out of a wall. “Things could get bad.”

Following Justine’s lead, Lyle said, “My dad’s dead.” He turned from the Dad-specter and balled his hands into fists.

“You still believe you have control over this, child?” the boy growled. “What makes you think any of you will leave this place alive?”

“Because you’re still hiding,” Justine said. “Show yourself. If you can.”

“Your weak wills would not be able to withstand my presence. I am the end of all things. The fallen blessed. Omeg—”

“Yeah. Gotcha. Still not impressed. Why don’t you show us what exactly it is that we would be so scared to see?” Justine grabbed Lyle’s hand. He was glad. Even if she wasn’t, he was scared damn near to death.

“I will devour you, child. When I am done, I will feed your bones to the chasm.”

“Prove it.”

Lyle looked up to Justine, more in awe than anything else. She stared down at him, squeezing his hand. “Hold on, kid. Time to put up or shut up.”





37


“I WOULD SUGGEST YOU GET up, Mr. Simmons.”

Mark was hallucinating. That wasn’t Annabelle’s voice. Perhaps the splinters in his leg had found an artery, and he’d lost too much blood.

“You’re not imagining this,” Annabelle said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Mark raised his head. Annabelle was beautiful again, her head whole. She smiled as she reached and brushed something off his cheek. She was down at his level in a catcher’s stance. Given the girth of his stomach, he was a good two feet off the ground when he inhaled, almost eye to eye with her.