DOM#67A
LOSTON, COLORADO
AD 1999
8:10 PM MONDAY
Fran went to the door, smoothing her hair self-consciously. The bracelet Nathan had given her got caught in her hair, though, and she only ended up messing it badly.
Great.
John was late, more than an hour late, and she wasn’t very pleased with that, but even so, she couldn’t help but be happy that he’d arrived. She wanted to look her best.
She planned to tease him a bit, of course, couldn’t let him off the hook too easy, but then she would quickly move to the more important business of having a good time with him.
She opened the door, and the teases died on her lips as she saw the barrel of a gun, inches away from her face.
"May I come in?" asked John.
She nodded, stunned, stepping back to allow him entry. He walked through the door, keeping the gun trained on her, dead center. He carried it like he knew what he was doing, and she had no doubt that he’d put a bullet in her head if she so much as sneezed.
"John," she managed. "What’s going on?"
"I was kind of hoping you’d be able to tell me."
"I don’t...." The presence of the gun unnerved her. It seemed to grow larger before her eyes, the bore enveloping more and more space, quickly becoming a black hole that sucked everything into it.
She flicked her eyes to John’s face, and thought she saw a trace of sympathy flash across his visage. Then it disappeared, replaced by a cold, methodical calculation.
"Sorry about the gun. I hope it’s not necessary."
"Necessary? John, for God’s sake, what’s going on?"
"I saw this guy when I was a kid. And then almost twenty years later, in Iraq. And he hadn’t changed a bit. Not one hair any grayer. I was going to talk to him, but before I got the chance, he was killed. Blown up in a helicopter."
"What does this –"
"And then I saw him again a few days ago. Very alive and still the same. After thirty years, still the same."
John stopped and waited, peering intently into Fran’s eyes. She looked back at him, not exactly sure what was going on, and noticed for the first time how disheveled he looked. His clothes hung loosely on him, and his shirt was torn, a great rent that began somewhere on his lower back and continued around to his belly.
Blood stained his hands. Lots of blood. More was scattered across his shirt and some had dried on his knees, as though he had knelt in a pool of it.
She didn’t know what to say so she waited. A moment later John lowered his gun. She exhaled, suddenly aware that she had been holding her breath since he entered.
"Sorry," he said. He stuck the gun in the waist of his pants. "Every other person I’ve told that to has gone nuts and tried to kill me."
The words, "Are you insane?" almost popped out of Fran’s mouth. But then she looked at John, looked at his face and his eyes that held no madness. Fear, yes. Confusion, definitely. But they were clear of the clouds of darkness that she had seen before.
She had seen madness before, the night that Nathan died. In the eyes of the two men who had come for her, she had seen evil and madness. John’s eyes held neither. So she bit back her question and exchanged it with another:
"Would you mind telling me what exactly is going on?"
***
Malachi watched as Deirdre looked through the papers that now littered the police station. They had spent the first five minutes after John escaped looking for clues of his whereabouts or anything else they might find useful. The search proved to be fairly easy; the sheriff’s papers were all filed methodically and each paper was triple-indexed as though it were the most important document ever produced.
"I found his address," she said.
"No good," he responded. "He’d stay away from there. He’s gone to the girl."
He glanced over at Jenna, who sat next to Todd’s body, holding his hand.
"I can’t find her name in the town register," said Deirdre.
"Of course not. They wouldn’t be that stupid."
Next to Todd, Jenna pulled out a small book. She opened it and began reading. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow –"
Malachi’s short laugh cut her off. "You can’t pray over a thing like that. Not over such a monster."
Jenna’s face bleached. She looked at Malachi, shock dulling her gaze. "I didn’t know. I didn’t know." She was silent a moment, then gulped and her eyes cleared a bit as she asked, "What about me?"
"What about you?"
"Am I...," she nodded at Todd’s body, unable to say the words.
Malachi laughed again. It was a cold sound, as devoid of warmth as a glacial cave. He brought out his gun, pointing it at Jenna. "Do you want to find out?" She waited a moment, then shook her head. "Good. Because we need you. Now get over here and help us find that devilspawn of a girl. Help us find Fran."
DOM#67A
LOSTON, COLORADO
AD 1999
8:15 PM MONDAY
In the small town of Loston, things were usually quiet. That was part of the appeal. Part of what kept people there: it was quiet. People could keep to themselves, if they liked.
Secrets could be kept.
Everyone in Loston had secrets. Some knew what some of theirs were. But nobody knew them all.
Tonight, though, the characteristic quiet of the town was broken by several unusual noises. Not everyone heard them, and those that did just nodded to themselves and called the noises a backfiring engine. They all knew that guns had been fired, and not for hunting, because the shots came from the middle of town. But for some reason, not a single person who heard the noises felt any inclination to investigate or even to call someone about them.
Instead, all the folks of Loston did one thing: they sat. They sat on their chairs in darkened living rooms, darkened bedrooms, darkened kitchens. All the lights in Loston were out, and the people sat in darkness.
And watched.
They looked out their windows, waiting.
***
What am I waiting for? thought Mertyl Breckman. She didn’t know. She only knew somehow that she needed to sit quietly, sit tight, and watch hard. Harder than she watched over tardy students asking for a hall pass. Harder than she had ever watched before.
She wondered if she was watching for whoever it was she had been warned of. Several times in the last days and hours, she had heard the words flit through her mind: "Someone is coming." She did not know where the words came from, but every fiber of her being told her that the words were real. A warning. Had the person - the someone - at last come?
She did not know. But she would watch, from her spot in front of the large window that faced onto the street. She would find out what was coming.
She had forgotten to turn on the heater before taking her place in the chair, but she didn't feel the room grow cold around her. Nor did she feel the arthritis depart her joints for the first time in fifteen years, as though her body was getting ready for something.
Changing.
She felt nothing, in fact, and in a few moments thought no more of what she was doing. She would know what to do when the moment came. Until then, she would sit, and wait, and watch.
Someone is coming.
***
The sentiment echoed in the mind of Dallas Howard, who had been glad when Kaylie didn’t show up to school. That rather surprised him; when Mr. Trent had her sit next to him on her first day at Loston High, he thought he had died and gone straight to heaven. But still, when she failed to show up after that, he felt a strange sense of relief in the pit of his stomach. It was as though her very existence was somehow wrong, and a deep-seated part of him knew it.
At the moment, though, Dallas felt neither relief nor adolescent sexual tension. He felt surprisingly little, in fact. He sat before his second floor window, looking onto the deserted street in front of their house.
He knew without being sure how that his parents were in the living room, sitting before the bay window, surveying the same street as he.
What am I looking for? he thought. Someone, came the answer.
Someone is coming. Someone is here.
***
All of Loston was quiet.
They had all changed.