Devil's Advocate (The X-Files: Origins #2)(22)

Matt opened his mouth to say something, but Gerlach turned his head and smiled.

It was the wrong kind of smile.

It was a dark smile. The shape of the mouth was too happy for the moment they were both in. The teeth were wet. The eyes no longer looked green, as they had before, but now seemed black, as if the pupils had expanded to consume the color of the irises. Everything about that man suddenly seemed to whisper promises of awful things. The passenger raised a finger and twitched it back and forth.

“Now would not be the best time to see which of us dogs has the best bite,” Gerlach said quietly.

Matt sat there, his mouth still open, but his body did not want to move. It was as if his muscles rebelled against the possibility of taking any action at all. His throat was complicit in the rebellion and pushed no breath out to form words of any kind.

“You get this one warning, and then we go to a different place,” said Gerlach. “Am I making myself clear? Just a nod will be fine.”

Matt nodded.

“Good dog,” said Gerlach. He placed his hat back over his face. “Now keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. Look at all those cute little schoolgirls over there. Enjoy the eye candy, but bear in mind that you really don’t want to wake me again until you see the right one.”

A few moments later, there was the sound of a soft, buzzing snore.

Matt swallowed hard.

If the other driver was feeling better tomorrow, then he was going to hand this gig back to him. Maybe he’d put in a transfer, too. Somewhere far away from here. One of the Dakotas, perhaps.

He took a tissue from his pocket and used it to blot cold sweat from his eyes.





CHAPTER 22

Francis Scott Key Regional High School 11:28 A.M.

Although it was a double-period class, Dana was sorry it was over. Science calmed her. As they began cleaning their lab tables in preparation for the end of class, Ethan said, “That was cool.”

She nodded. “It was fun.”

“Cutting up a frog and messing around with its internal organs with a cute redhead,” he said as she placed the scalpel in the autoclave. “Who knew that’s how today was gonna go?”

The word cute hung like a flare between them, and she tried not to look at it. From his expression, it was clear he hadn’t realized he’d said it or didn’t know how a comment like that could land. He was all business.

Dana opened and closed her mouth eight times, but at no point did she have a comment that would have come out in coherent English. She became intensely interested in cleaning the worktable with spray disinfectant.

“What do you have next?” he asked.

“The world’s earliest and stupidest lunch period,” she said quickly.

“Oh, cool. Me too. Want to go together?”

She stared at him. “What?”

“Lunch?”

“What?” she repeated.

“You know, where they feed us really bad food that is, I’m positive, where all these dead frogs end up. Yummy.” He grinned at her. Then his grin faded. “Earth calling Dana.”

“Yes,” she said. “Frogs. Delicious.”

Ethan laughed. “You’re a little bit weird. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“I—”

“Weird is good. Come on, grab your books. We want to get those frogs while they’re still kicking.”

He slung his book bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. Dana took a long moment remembering what legs were for and how to use them. She asked out loud, “What just happened?”

There wasn’t anyone to answer that question, so she followed Ethan out into the hall. They were immediately washed away by the tide of students going to classes, but Dana and Ethan managed to steer themselves in the direction of the lunchroom. Conversation along the way was impossible, though, and they didn’t talk much through the process of shuffling along the line of stainless-steel steam tables. Ethan broke the silence when it was their turn to make a selection.

“Oh, goody,” he said. “We have orange glob, green glob, and brown glop. What’s your preference?”

“Is that Salisbury steak?” asked Dana, pointing to the brown stuff.

“Only theoretically. I’m not convinced it has any origins in nature.”

“I’ll have that.”

The matron behind the counter was bored, indifferent, and unspeaking. She ladled the meat onto an improbably heavy ceramic plate, added overcooked diced green beans and a splot of lumpy white starch.

“Thanks,” said Dana, but the matron gave her the kind of look a butcher would give a fatted calf, and then turned away.

“Let’s flee,” said Ethan, and they took their trays to a far corner of the crowded lunchroom. Dana was sure everyone was looking at her, but she focused on where she was going and did not look back. They had one end of a table to themselves and the other was piled high with boxes of flyers for the spring charity fund drive.

As they settled down to address the challenge of eating that food with some semblance of appetite, Ethan said, “So … you see ghosts.”

Dana nearly stabbed her face with a forkful of meat. She stopped, slapped her fork down, and glared at him.

“So that’s what this is all about?” she demanded. “That’s just great.”