All the Inside Howling (Hollow Folk #2)(115)

I woke with a start, jerking upright, banging my knee against the dash as I flailed. The only light came from that little yellow bulb on the dash, washing over Emmett’s hands as he held the wheel steady.

“Whoa,” he said. “Calm down. You’re ok.”

Sucking in a lungful of air, I put my head between my knees. “How far are we?” I gasped.

“From Vehpese? We’re just hitting the edge of town, why—”

“Austin’s. He’s there, right now. Go.”

Emmett nodded, his face grim. As he punched the accelerator, the speedometer surged to fifty, and then fifty-five, and then sixty. Metal shrieked, and the engine ka-thumped, ka-whumped, ka-thumped, and oily blue smoke filtered through the vents. Coughing, I cracked the window, and Becca stirred in the back seat.

“What’s going on?”

“He’s there, at Austin’s. River’s there.” The oily smoke mixed with the darkness, making it almost impossible to see. I lowered the window more and stuck out my head. “Christ, Emmett, drive faster.”

But the old Cadillac was at its limits. The whole car was shaking now, and the yellow caution tape had peeled away at one side, so that it flapped away from the glass. The word BACK fluttered and snapped in front of me.

The Cadillac didn’t have a clock, and I didn’t have a watch, but it must have been late because the main stretch of Vehpese was abandoned. Lights still showed in Bighorn Burger, but no one moved behind the plate glass. The only other life in town were the illuminated signs: the Westminster Chapel of Vehpese (their letterboard read Coffee and Bagels —- Before and After Service), the Outdoor Shop (a sale on sleeping bags), Bang-Bang Taxidermy (a neon light the color of strawberry lemonade flashed CLOSED, illuminating the stuffed head of a bewildered-looking moose). With the Caddy shrieking like the devil’s own mother, we raced across town. Emmett hooked the car hard to the right, taking us onto Austin’s street, and then the Caddy’s shriek changed to a high-pitched but strangely peaceful whistle, and the car shuddered one last time and gave up the ghost.

I threw open the door. “Call the police,” I shouted back, already running.

Emmett was swearing at me, demanding I slow down, come back, wait, anything he could think of. I heard him. I heard every word, clear as a clean window, but I kept running. Austin was in there. Austin. And as I thought of Austin, my mind went to Salerno, with his throat turned to ribbons and the pinkish-white spume between the strips of flesh. Only when I remembered Salerno, now it was Austin who looked like that, and my heart crumbled like it was dry clay and someone was squeezing too hard.

I hit the front door at full speed, and it flew open, sending me tumbling into the stairs. “Austin,” I shouted, scrambling up the steps. His door was at the top of the flight of stairs, and a narrow band of light showed under it. “Austin!” I couldn’t seem to get my hands and feet to coordinate, so I half-ran, half-clawed my way to the landing. “Austin!”

The door swung open, and he stood there in gym shorts and a tank top, his face flushed and his eyes wide. “Jesus Christ, are you insane? Get—”

I barreled into him, carrying him back into his room and kicking the door shut behind us as we went. “Where is he?”

“What in God’s name are you—”

“River. Where is he? The blond kid, where?”

“You’re insane. Is this—are you trying to scare me? Impress me? What the hell is going on?”

Grabbing him by the shoulders, I said, “The blond guy from Jigger Boss. The one that picked a fight with you. Where is he?”

“How the hell should I know? How do you know about that? Have you been spying—”

“Shut up, Austin. Just shut the fuck up. You’re in danger. Right now, you and your whole family. Haven’t you read any of our texts? Didn’t you listen to any of our messages?”

“I didn’t—I was mad—”

“Go,” I hustled him towards the step. “No time for shoes, just go. Emmett’s up the road, he’s calling the police, they—”

The scream came from downstairs. It started off as a scream of pain, but the sound rose higher and higher until it was a single, piercing note of agony. Austin froze on the stairs, and I crashed into him.

“Who else is in the house?”

“Oh my God.”

“Austin, who else is here?”

“I don’t—my parents are out to dinner—”

“Who’s here?”

“Jake. Jake and Temple Mae, they’re watching a movie in the basement.”

Grabbing his arm and a handful of of his tank top, I launched him through the front door. Austin stumbled, catching his balance on the dry grass, and turned towards me.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said. “I can help. My dad has a gun. Vie, he’s my brother—”

I slammed the door and drove the deadbolt home. Austin hammered on the door, and a second scream came from the basement. As before, the scream escalated in pitch and intensity until my eardrums seemed ready to pop. I ran deeper into the house.

The basement door hung open, facing into the Miller’s kitchen, and I paused there. The house’s silence had swallowed up the screams. I grabbed a chef’s knife from the block an eased my weight onto the top step. It was carpeted, and farther down, I could see warm lights and the lopsided tails of a rag rug. They had a finished basement. No creepy, dark corners. No spiders hanging from the joists. No bare cement waiting to crack your head. I took another step down, easing my weight, letting out a silent breath when the stairs stayed silent. No, this basement wasn’t the kind of place that scared little kids. Why would it be? This was the Miller’s house. Everything was nice here. Everything was new. Everything was taupe and tan and oiled bronze, everything could have been pulled out of last month’s catalogue.