Dastardly Bastard(52)

As he watched the soldiers attack, Mark was brought back to his childhood. He’d been around five or six and had found an anthill thrumming with life. The soldier ants had fallen upon a wasp. Though the winged bastard put up a good fight, it was felled quickly. The ants crawled over the body of the wasp, stinging him into submission. When the wasp was still, the ants began to disassemble the carcass.

First, the wings—Marsha and Jaleel.

Then, the segmented torso—Trevor.

Finally, they had devoured the entire mass. Pinchers pinched. Arms worked. Mouths fed. Piece by piece the monster was laid asunder.

“You did well, guys. The battle is won. But the war is far from over.”





38


JUSTINE MCCARTHY HAD EXPECTED TO be whisked away again. Yet, she remained, hand in hand with Lyle, watching the ethereal memories disappear.

The boy with the eye patch remained. His face was lighter. The shadows had left him. “I’m sorry?” Scott said. He seemed shell-shocked, distant.

“It’s not your fault.” Justine couldn’t help thinking of Trevor. She should be angry with the boy and his part in the horror, but Trevor’s memory wouldn’t allow it. There was more pressing business at hand. “We need to know where to find Him.”

“The Dastardly Bastard is neither here, nor there.” The boy’s sad countenance gave Justine the information she needed. Though the Bastard was working through him, Scott had no idea what, or who, the Bastard actually was.

“Where did you come up with the poem? The one hanging on the wall back in your… room?” She had almost said cell. Dredging up old memories, bad ones at that, would not serve her purpose.

“It just came to me when Father and I first found the chasm. It was the same time I started seeing… seeing the shadows on people.”

Justine had never been to the chasm before Trevor had taken her, so it couldn’t be blamed for her own abilities.

“I want to know how you fell,” Lyle said.

Scott shrugged. “I didn’t fall. I jumped.”

“But how did you get there?” Justine asked. “The last time I saw you, you were in a… hospital.”

“Father came. He wanted to show me something we hadn’t seen before, something we shouldn’t have missed, but did. It was amazing.”

“The bridge,” Justine said.

“Yes. Dad tried to cross, but he was too heavy. So he let me.” Scott paused, swallowing hard. Justine watched the lump slide down the boy’s throat. “He made me cross.”

“My God,” Justine breathed.

“I was fine. I made it all the way across. Dad was yelling at me, telling me to go inside the cave’s mouth. He said there were wonderful things in there. I had no idea—”

“The Bastard was already controlling him,” Justine interjected.

“The Bastard’s voice is so sweet. Like music. I heard it calling me. So I jumped. I heard my father yelling my name all the way down.”

Justine noticed the walls were changing, decaying around them. Time was filtering in. The more Scott talked, the worse the state of the house became. Wallpaper curled and smoked, charring at the edges. Boards cracked and splintered, collapsing the framework. Dust and particulates rained down over them, but Justine held her ground. She squeezed Lyle’s hand to reassure him. He didn’t look scared. The boy stood brave, intent on hearing Scott’s story.

“He made this house for me, said it was mine.” Scott appeared somber.

“The Bastard?” Justine asked. “Why would he provide you shelter?”

“No.” Scott looked down at the floor. “My father.”

“How long have you been in the chasm, Scooter?” Lyle asked.

“Since 1930.”

Justine felt a cold spreading in her gut. The horror of her realization laid waste to all her hopes. The poor child had been in the dark, in the absence of a caring heart, for over eighty years. She could only assume Scott didn’t know where he ended and the Bastard began.

“Let me show you something.” Scott led them down the disintegrating hall and into a large living room. The coming collapse hadn’t reached there yet. Justine saw a clawfooted couch, circa 1940. She’d seen the same one on an episode of Antique Roadshow. Nana had loved that program, and had even been watching it the day she slipped away. A Persian rug covered the floor. A fireplace gave off faint heat from across the room.

Waverly Fairchild’s head hung above the mantle.

“Oh, my God!” Justine shrieked. “Why?”

“The Bastard gave him to me. A new memory. One where he didn’t make it out of the chasm that day.”

“Jaleel said he moved to Florida. Died at one hundred and four years old,” Lyle said.

Justine had a flare of hope. “If Waverly found a way out, so can we.”

“He let my father leave. Dad spread the Bastard’s evil unknowingly, furthered his grasp on the world. Now, the Bastard is everywhere. He doesn’t just reside in the chasm, though I have no idea where else. For some reason, he needs me. He draws his strength from me.”

Lyle shook his head. “Like a battery.”

“This isn’t right.” Justine was growing sick. The more she heard, the less she wanted to know. “You were a child. You had a gift. It wasn’t a curse. I think the Bastard only heightened powers that were already there inside you.” As Justine spoke, she began to understand. “And now he wants to be stronger. He wants…”