On to phase two.
I set down the phone, its creepy photos safely stored in memory, and walked slowly to the far side of the bed. I stopped and stood over her, thinking. I couldn't do this—there was no way I could ever do this. My monster had already broken loose once, threatening my Mom and drinking in her fear like a lifesaving elixir. If I took this last step, and went through with my plan, the monster would come out again—I'd be holding the door open and inviting it out, I would relinquish all control to my darkest instincts, and there would be nothing left to stop it from going berserk and burning down the world. I didn't dare doit.
But I had to. I knew that I had to. I'd come too far to turn back, and if I stopped now I'd be sentencing a man to death— whoever Crowley was hunting, he'd kill, because I wouldn't be there to pull him away. And if I didn't go through with it tonight, I'd never go through with it at all, and Crowley would kill again, then again, then again, and again, and again, until there was no one left. I had to take a stand, and I had to take it now.
I took a deep breath and slipped the case off of Mr. Crowley's pillow, holding it over Kay's head. I hesitated, just a fraction of a moment, while the monster raged inside and pleaded with me, begged me, swore at me to do it. This was what the monster was for, right? This was why I'd let it out in the first place—to do the things I couldn't. I stared at Kay a moment longer, apologized silently, and let the monster go.
My hands opened the bag and pulled it over the old woman's head.
She stirred, startled into consciousness, but I had plenty of time to tug the bag down firmly to her collarbone. She grunted something, still half asleep, and thrashed out with an arm. Her blow was weak. I reached out and ripped the clock radio away from the wall, popping the cord out of the socket, and bashed her on the side of the head. Mrs. Crowley choked on a scream, turning it into a half groan, and rolled toward me out of bed.
I bashed her again, the thick radio slamming hideously into the pillowcase, and when she didn't stop moving, I bashed her a third time. I hadn't intended to hit her at all, but her feeble resistance was all it took to shock me into action. I was trying to knock her out, which always looked so easy in the movies— just a quick smack and you're done—but this was prolonged and brutal, smashing the radio into her head again and again.
At last she was still, sprawled grotesquely on the floor, and I stood over her gasping for breath.
I lunged for her again, eager to finish her off—hungry for the visceral impact of weight on bone, and the megalomaniacal thrill of having a victim completely in my power.
I stooped over her, but grabbed the edge of the bed at the last moment, pulling myself back and forcing myself to look away.
She's mine!
No. My ski mask was suffocating, just like the pillowcase on Kay. I ripped off my mask and gasped for breath, fighting for control. I leaned toward Kay again, and had to wrench myself away, stumbling against the wall. I felt like I was playing one of Max's video games, fumbling with unfamiliar controls and watching as my character on the screen ran helplessly in circles. The monster roared again, and I punched myself in the side of the head, savoring the sharp pain in my knuckles and the dull ring in my head. I fell to my knees, breathing deeply, and a haze seemed to fall over my eyes. I ached to attack again, desperate, and the monster laughed. I couldn't stop.
I raised the clock radio again.
My hand stopped in the air, knuckles white around the radio, and I thought about Dr. Neblin. He could talk me out of this. I could barely think, but I knew that if I talked to him right then, it would save my life and Kay's. I didn't think about the consequences, I didn't think about the evidence I was leaving, I didn't think about the confession I was about to make—I simply curled up on the floor, pulled out the business card Neblin had given me, and dialed his home number.
It rang six times before he picked up. "Hello?" His voice was tired and scratchy—I'd probably woken him up. "Who is this?"
"I can't stop."
Dr. Neblin paused for a moment. "Can't stop . . . John? Is that you?" He was awake almost instantly, as if recognizing my voice had flipped a switch in his head.
"It's out now," I said softly, "and I can't put it back in. We're all gonna die."
"John? John, where are you? Just calm down, and tell me where you are."
"I'm on the edge, Neblin, I'm off the edge—I'm over the edge, and falling into the hell on the other side."
"Calm down, John," he said. "We can work through this.
Just tell me where you are."
"I'm down in the cracks of the sidewalks," I said, "in the dirt, and the blood, and the ants are looking up and we're damning you all, Neblin. I'm down in the cracks and I can't get out."