Part 4 (1/2)

I opened my eyes. His eyes seemed to blaze with that cold light. It flared and sparked around his frame, billowing from his head and shoulders and fingertips. He still hadn't moved.

But Russ had. While my eyes were shut, he'd shuffled toward the darkness. He stretched his arms, reaching for something I couldn't see. He had a shocked, confused smile on his face.

”But why didn't you call?” Russ peered into the shadows. ”If you had just let me know you were coming, I could have picked you up at the airport.”

I glanced in the direction he was staring. There was nothing there that I could see. I turned to Christy, but she seemed oblivious to us both. Weeping, she knelt in the middle of the road, wiped her eyes and nose with her hands, and repeated, ”I'm sorry,” over and over again.

”Don't be silly,” Russ said, smiling. ”It's no trouble at all.”

”Robbie,” my grandfather called. ”Don't worry about them right now. I need you to come closer. It's hard to see you.”

Ignoring him, I ran after Russ. He was just a few feet away from that thin razor line where the darkness became the absence of light. His smile had grown broader, and he nodded in response to something I couldn't hear.

”Sounds good to me,” he said. ”I missed you, too. You don't know how much. Let's go back to my place. The past is the past.”

”Russ!”

He paused but didn't turn to face me. I hurried to catch up with him and grabbed his wrist. He turned to me as if half asleep. The confused smile was still on his face.

I squeezed his wrist. ”Where are you going, man?”

”Robbie?” He blinked. ”Hey, I want to introduce you to somebody.”

”There's no one there, Russ. It's a trick.”

”Are you nuts? She's standing right there. Look!”

I did, and she wasn't. I told him so. Then I told him about my grandpa.

”Robbie,” my grandfather interrupted, as if on cue. ”Hurry up now. Enough of this foolishness.”

”Shut the f.u.c.k up,” I shouted.

”Who are you hollering at?” Russ seemed puzzled.

”My grandpa. You didn't hear him, right? And I bet that you can't see him either, can you?”

Russ nodded, frowning. He glanced into the darkness and then back at me.

”And I can't see or hear whatever it is you see out there,” I explained. ”They're not real, Russ. We're hallucinating. It's like a bad acid trip.”

”It's not...not real?”

”No. It's just the darkness. Something in the darkness is f.u.c.king with our heads, man.”

”She's not there.”

It wasn't a question, but I shook my head anyway. Russ rubbed his eyes and hung his head. His shoulders sagged as if he'd been bearing a heavy load. I heard him sniffle and figured he was getting ready to cry. I was about to give him some s.p.a.ce and check on Christy-who was still kneeling in the middle of the road-when Russ stopped me.

”Look at this.”

He shone his flashlight beam at his feet. I glanced down and frowned. A series of weird symbols had been spray-painted on the road, on both sides of the yellow dividing line. I bent down and examined them. The characters and shapes formed a picture of some kind, but I couldn't figure out what it was. It was roughly shaped like a square. A door, maybe? Open or closed; I couldn't tell which. The red paint was still fresh-not wet, but bright and s.h.i.+ny. A white, crystal-line substance had been poured along their edges, outlining them. I wet my finger, touched the stuff and then tasted some. It was salt. I got the feeling this wasn't just graffiti. The design seemed more deliberate than that. It wasn't like anything I'd ever seen before. There was a snake winding around a cross, several stars, some crescents, and something that looked like it belonged to the local Freemason's lodge. There were a bunch of other symbols that didn't look like anything at all-at least nothing I'd ever seen. Something had been written across the top. I a.s.sumed it was Latin but had no way of knowing for sure. The symbols looked like runes of some kind-maybe something you'd find on an eighties heavy-metal alb.u.m cover-a cla.s.sic from Iron Maiden or Blue Oyster Cult or Slayer. Or a diagram from one of those paperback spell books from the metaphysical section of the bookstore. I'd always found those a little suspect. If there was a book that really let you summon demons and s.h.i.+t, would it be wise to ma.s.s produce it and sell it at Barnes & n.o.ble for seven bucks?

Here's what the picture in the road looked like. Now, keep in mind, I'm no artist. If it looks like a little kid drew it, that's because I can't f.u.c.king draw. Before this, the only thing I've ever drawn was stick figures in school and the occasional crude genitalia on various bathroom walls. This is neither. I've tried to draw it from memory, so some of the details might be a little off. But for the most part, I remember it looking like this:

”What is it?” Russ asked me.

”I don't know. Some weird a.s.s s.h.i.+t, whatever it is.”

As we studied the graffiti, my grandfather appeared again.

”Get rid of it,” he urged. His voice was louder. Almost frantic. ”Take a sledgehammer or a jackhammer or something to it. Dig up the ground around it. If you love me, you'll do it. Get rid of those silly doodles, and then we can be together again.”

”No. I told you to f.u.c.k off.”

”Who are you talking to?” Russ asked me.

”My dead grandfather.”

”What?”

”I told you. That's who I saw in the darkness.”

”Is he still there?”

I nodded.

Russ sighed. ”My ex is still there, too.”

”Ssshhhh,” the darkness hissed. the darkness hissed. ”Robbie, you've got to get rid of it.” ”Robbie, you've got to get rid of it.”

Ignoring the voice, I stood and walked over to Christy. She was still crying, but she hadn't moved from her spot in the road. She looked up when I approached. Black mascara ran down her cheeks. I offered her my hand and helped her to her feet. She brushed dirt and debris from her jeans. Then I pulled her close.

”You know it's not real, right? Whatever-whoever you saw out there in the darkness? They're not real. It's just a trick.”

She sniffled against my chest. ”I know. That's why I'm crying. It was my dad, Robbie. He talked to me and everything, but I know it can't be him.”

”I saw my grandfather.”

”Are we going crazy?”

”No,” I whispered, ”but maybe the rest of the world is.”

The shadows laughed with my grandfather's voice. The echoes boomed out over us. Then the sound faded. Those familiar smells-aftershave and pipe tobacco and arthritis cream-vanished with them. I suddenly felt nauseous. I grabbed my stomach with one hand and gritted my teeth.

There was a burst of light on the horizon, coming from the direction of town. As we watched, a pickup truck approached. Its headlights cut a swath through the murk. It must have belonged to one of the firemen, because it had emergency lights mounted on the roof of the cab. They flashed yellow and red as it approached. Somebody tooted the horn. The truck had a roll cage on the back and oversize tires. Its sides were coated with dried mud. Somebody had been off-roading with it recently. We stepped out of the way. The truck slowed as it neared us and sidled alongside. The engine ran loud and choppy. There were two men inside the cab. The driver rolled down the window and peered out at us.

”You folks okay?”