NINE
***
The image on his computer screen changed a moment later. It was still, impossibly, his wife, but now she was not screaming that horrible, blood-curdling silent scream. Now her lips were moving, as though she were trying to say something. He couldn't hear it, though, just as he hadn't heard her on the night she was killed...not until it was too late, anyway. He strained to make it out, to read her lips through the flickering pixels that threatened to crowd her face off the screen at any moment.
Then the door to his office flung open with a bang. He looked over and saw Hatty, looking perturbed, then looked back almost instantly at the screen. But it was too late. There was nothing there. The screen was blank.
He looked at the photo on his desk, and was relieved to see it was back to normal as well, his dead family smiling back at him once again as though all was well.
"Ox is out here again," said Hatty.
Jason almost didn't hear her. He was staring at the computer, as though trying to call his wife's image back by force of will, as though by staring he could re-impose the insanity that had somehow fallen over the office during the last minutes.
The computer blinked once, and Jason hoped that his wife's image would return. But no. The screen went dark. Silent.
Dead.
"You're kidding," he said.
"I know," responded Hatty, mistaking the object of his anger. "But you know Ox."
"What?" said Jason. Then he realized what Hatty had been saying and felt anger well up within him once more. George "Ox" Mackey was a good guy, the owner of Rising's general store. But he also had a debilitating fear that had him in Jason's office once a week or more, asking for help. "If you're going to tell me that Ox wants me to get something off his roof..." he began.
"He's afraid of heights, Sheriff. You know that."
"Get rid of him, Hatty," said Jason, and returned to his computer. Still dark.
He stared at the notes he had taken as words flashed on the screen. "Harappan," "Roanoke," "Hoer-Verde," "Chinese army."
"Sheriff," Hatty was saying. "All he needs is-"
"For Heaven's sake, Hatty, he's a grown man and I don't have time to cater to his fear of heights, so please for the love of God get rid of him."
He saw Hatty glance out into the reception area, and caught a glimpse of Ox. The man was aptly named. In his late forties, the man was incredibly powerful of build, and easily seven feet tall to boot. Built like a brick wall that ran away to join a street gang, but his face was kind, and his large eyes were now glistening with concern and worry.
Hatty stared at the big frightened man, then motioned to him to hold on a second before swinging the door shut. Jason barely noticed the movements, still engrossed in the computer's dark screen.
"Sheriff," said Hatty after a moment. "I know you're busy, and I know you're taking this all real personal."
"Hatty-"
"Shut it, Junior!" snapped the older woman, and Jason felt himself obey her reflexively, a habit born of the fact that he - like just about every other middle-aged man and woman in Rising - had at one time been a student in Hatty's elementary school days. Then, as now, Hatty had not been a force to be trifled with.
"Good," she said, nodding approvingly at his instant silence. "Now you listen up, Sheriff, because I'm only saying this once. Everyone here is afraid. The little boy disappearing the way he did has us all on edge. But he's gone, and he's probably dead. And the rest of the people in this town are more afraid than they usually are. Which means they're going to grasp at any straw they can to feel like someone's protecting them. And that's you." Hatty leaned in on Jason's desk, bringing the entirety of her forceful person to bear. "So you take a break from your investigating. Show the town you're here, and that they don't have to be so afraid. And go down to the corner store and help Ox get whatever is on his roof off of it. You're the Sheriff." She paused a moment, then in a quieter voice finished, "You're all we've got right now."
Jason stared at the meaningless words that he had noted for another second. At the dark computer screen. At Sean Rand's writing:
I wiL be FiRSt.
Then he nodded. "You're right, Hatty. This thing has me in knots."
She smiled then, for all the world looking like Jason was her favorite student once more, and had just treated her to a better answer than usual. "I know you're worried, Sheriff. And that's why we love you. But because we all love you, we need you to be here for us. All of us...not just the ones that are gone."
Jason nodded. He stood and went to the door, then stopped with his hand on the knob. "'More afraid than they usually are'?" he said.
"What was that, Sheriff?"
"You said people are more afraid than they 'usually' are." He swung back to stare at her. "I thought the whole point of living in a town like this one is that 'usually' no one is afraid."
Hatty snorted. "Small towns are all about fear, Sheriff. Either fear of leaving, or fear of whatever made you run here in the first place."
"And Ox is afraid of heights." Jason smiled impishly, unable to resist jabbing at his old teacher a bit. "And what are you afraid of, Miss Hatty?"
The old woman laughed, almost a cackle in the gloaming. "Just the dark, I guess. And my ever-more-saggy boobs."
Jason chuckled as well, then opened the door to go help Ox. Before he could leave, however, Hatty said, "Sheriff?" and he swung back to face her once more. "What were you working on?"
"My computer started to act...weird...and...." His voice drifted off. Hatty was holding up the papers on which he had taken notes when strange words started flashing on the computer. He could remember taking the notes clearly, though the words themselves were already fading from his memory.
But even though the words were fading, he knew he had written them. In spite of that fact, however, somehow the words he had written were all gone now. Instead, his page of notes had been replaced by a page on which only two words were written, over and over, in a dark, familiar scrawl:
wE'RE NeXt
Black crayon.
Jason couldn't even speak, utterly dumbfounded at the fear that clutched him in icy gauntlets as he looked at the words. "Sheriff?" Hatty said again, clearly trying to get through to him. When he didn't respond to a direct inquiry, she apparently decided to shift tactics, and said, "Well, never you mind telling me. Just go help Ox."
Jason nodded shakily and turned to go. Then he heard Hatty's parting words: "And let's hope his problems don't end up being just the first crack in the dam."
He felt himself jerk as though being shot, remembering the other words on Sean's papers, the drawings of the little Dutch boy.
Stunned, he left without another word.
And a moment later, he heard a click: Hatty turning on the light.
Scared of the dark.
***
Lenore pulled into the driveway of her small house on the outskirts of town. She looked at it, as she always did before entering. She did not pull into the carport: there were too many hiding places there, too many man-sized shadows that could hide...
(his breath on her, his hands on her, oh, God, his hands)
...anything.
She got out of the car, holding tight to the mace on her keychain, and went carefully to the door. Beside it was a sophisticated security keypad, one that she had had to special order from a store in Seattle. The shipping alone had cost almost a week's salary.
And it had been worth it.
The LED screen on the keypad glowed green, and Lenore took one last look around to make sure there was no one nearby before she switched her grip from mace to keys and unlocked the door.
Inside the house she immediately went to a second security keypad. Same make, but different model, different code than the first one. She typed in the second code, and the LED blinked: "Scanning. No intrusions detected."
Only after receiving this hopeful missive did Lenore move to close the door. She locked it, then secured it by pulling closed each of the three heavy duty deadbolts that she had installed herself the same week she moved in.
She allowed herself a second to relax, but only a second. Then she went from room to room in the small abode, turning on all the lights as she went, once more holding the mace in front of her as she ritualistically checked each room, each closet, even under the sinks. The windows she did not check: they were permanently closed, covered on the outside with cast-iron grating and sealed from the inside.
Finally, the house ablaze in comforting light, Lenore allowed herself to relax. She was back at the front door again, having made her customary circuit that brought her back to the security system for one more check. Still no intrusions detected.
Still alone.
And then she heard a noise.
It was large, a large sound, if that were possible. A sound as of someone scuffling from one room to another in the back of the house.
Lenore felt a chill come over her.
No intrusions.
Windows sealed.
House empty.
But she was not alone.
***