Bad toy, p.29
Bad Toy, page 29
part #2 of Sunflower Series
“Sometimes I wish that, too,” she said. “Would things have been different? I don’t know. Probably not. But I know it hurt you, and when I replay it in my head, I pretend I went with you instead of him.”
“You know what they say. Blood’s thicker than water.”
“Are you pouting?”
“I don’t pout.”
“Just try to understand. Okay?”
Now Howie did break eye contact. Long enough to turn in his seat so that he could face her. “I need you to trust that I’m not just being mean. I have Tommy’s best interests in mind.”
“What’s your master plan?”
“It’s better if you don’t know.”
“Why?”
“It’s just better that way. Do your parents still do movie night on Tuesdays?”
He already knew the answer. Since time immemorial, Doug and Marsha Wilkins had gone out to the movies every Tuesday night like clockwork. It had been on many a Tuesday night that Howie had snuck over to the Wilkins’s house to see Tommy or Shelby, knowing that their parents were gone.
Shelby said, “You know they do.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“You and Tommy will be home tomorrow night?”
“Yes. Why?”
Howie did the math in his head. “They won’t be back until at least, what? Eight-thirty, nine o’clock.”
“Are you asking?”
“Just thinking out loud. Think you and Tommy can find your own way to school tomorrow?”
“We’re not completely helpless. But why? You aren’t going?”
“Probably not.”
“You’re starting to worry me.”
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. I think.”
“Howie…”
“Gotta go.”
She grabbed her backpack off the seat, but before getting out, she leaned forward quickly and kissed him. It only lasted a second, maybe less, and by the time he realized what was happening, it was over. Another of those mysterious things about Shelby, you never knew how she was feeling. It made him dizzy, but always left him hungering for more.
“Maybe you should just leave it alone. Have you thought of that? Let it work itself out.”
Howie watched her go into the house. He considered her advice, and for moment may have even considered taking it. But only for a moment.
4
The first thing Susan asked after he had laid it all out was, “Have you told anyone else what you just told me?” Her advice was that if he hadn’t, he should most definitely keep it that way. Sunflower was small, but not far away there were places with hospitals, more specifically there were places with mental hospitals, run by people who had probably heard lots of stories similar to the one Howie had just told, and if he didn’t want to end up in one of those places, it was Susan’s recommendation that he keep his mouth shut.
“I’m not crazy,” Howie said.
Susan said that most (if not all) crazies said that when they were accused of being crazy.
“Five people have gone missing within a week or two. All of them kids, all of them from our school. Don’t you think that’s a mighty big coincidence?”
Susan didn’t. She didn’t think it was coincidental. They were, she reminded him, friends of hers. More or less. It hadn’t started out that way. The way it had started was that she had fallen into that crowd to save Tommy’s ass, but after you got to know them they weren’t that bad. Dylan Murphy was a creep, but Sully was funny, Patrick was polite, and she went through the other names, listed their virtues, and when she was finished Howie pointed out that she was talking about all of them in the present tense when she should be referring to them in the past tense. They were all gone, remember? Susan told him she didn’t need reminding, thank you very much. Was it weird? Check. Unusual? Highly. Did she think the disappearances were somehow related? Most definitely. It would be far stranger if they weren’t. But…
“…that doesn’t mean I think it’s supernatural,” she said.
Susan didn’t have a desk in her room. Instead of a desk, there were two dressers. Earlier, Howie had asked where she did her homework. The answer was either the kitchen table or on her bed. She had pointed to a smooth rectangle of wood, perhaps three-quarters of an inch thick, that was propped against the side of her bed. When she needed to, she would take it and sit on the bed with the board on her lap.
The lack of a desk didn’t make things awkward. The lack of a chair made it that way. Not knowing what to do with himself, Howie had stood in the corner. Susan sat on the floor, back resting against the bed. From her position, she had to look up at Howie and she tired of that quickly.
“I don’t bite.”
Howie sat down next to her. That made it awkward. For him. Something about being in such close proximity to another girl, in another girl’s bedroom no less, brought on intermittent pangs of guilt. He also didn’t like having to turn his head to look at her.
“…I didn’t say it was supernatural.”
“Uh, you just finished telling me that a teddy bear is on a killing rampage. That’s not supernatural?”
“It might be. Or it might not be. It could be the other thing I talked about.”
“Entanglement.”
“Yeah.”
“The so-called scientific explanation.”
“Yeah. Did Tommy ever talk to you about physics?”
“Lots.”
“He didn’t believe me about Quint, but if he did, I think he’d prefer the entanglement theory.”
“Why me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Tommy’s your best friend and he doesn’t believe you. Shelby’s your girlfriend…”
“More or less.”
“… and she doesn’t believe you.”
“Correction. She didn’t say she doesn’t believe me.”
“What made you think I should be next in line to hear this craziness?”
“Simple. I took a gamble that you still gave a shit about Tommy.”
“That’s all?”
Howie hesitated.
“Howie…”
“I told you about how Quint is fueled by Tommy’s hatred. That’s my belief anyway. That Quint’s lifeblood is Tommy’s anger, Tommy’s pain. Tommy liked you a lot, Susan. That night you went with them, it crushed him.”
“I did it for him.”
“I know that. Probably even he knows that, but that doesn’t make it better. Tommy would rather have been beaten to death than see you go off with those guys. If you think about it, that’s when all this started. They disappeared right after that.”
Howie thought he discerned a moment of awareness in Susan’s eyes. Nothing that lasted, but for an instant perhaps she believed, because the correlation between New Year’s Eve and the string of disappearances made sense.
“That killed him. And it set off a chain-reaction.”
“You think it’s my fault?”
“Yes and no.”
Susan shook her head.
“Does it matter? You don’t believe any of this anyway.”
“I don’t like being accused of things.”
“I’m not saying your guilty. Let me explain it a different way. That incident on New Year’s Eve, you going with those creeps, for Tommy it’s what I would call a traumatic event. A long time ago, there was a similar event that happened to Tommy. To all of us, really. Right after that, Jason McManus disappeared. On that occasion, I think what set Tommy off was what they did to Shelby.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t want to get into it. It was bad shit. But I think that was the catalyst that brought Quint to life. And on New Year’s Eve, the circumstances were equally traumatic, only that time, you were the catalyst.”
“I wasn’t the catalyst of anything.”
“You don’t have any choice in the matter.”
“Is this some kind of guilt trip?”
“Don’t be so defensive. Do you want to know why I came to you or not?”
“Yes.”
“You’re the catalyst.”
“You already said that.”
“Tommy’s feelings were strong enough that when you did that, Quint came back to life.
“Even if I believed you, I still don’t get it.”
“You can be the catalyst again.”
“You’re being dense.”
Whether she believed or not, he knew she was afraid. She wouldn’t allow herself to believe that there was something supernatural going on, but there was something going on, things happening, to the kids in her class, kids that, for a little while, had become her friends, which meant that being afraid was an appropriate response even without knowing what she was afraid of. He also realized her comment about him being dense was a defense mechanism. She was lashing out at him because at that moment he was the harbinger of her fear.
Still, it pissed him off.
“I’m dense? How do you figure? I’m the one explaining things like I’m talking to a two-year-old. You’re the one that can’t seem to get it through your head.”
“I’m not stupid, Howie.”
“Then quit acting like it.”
“Why are you here?” she shouted.
“Because I want to piss Tommy off! Shit, do you comprehend?”
Silence. Slowly, she regained control of herself. Her voice was calm when she said, “You’re using me.” Not a question.
“You bet I’m using you,” Howie said. “I figure if I can piss Tommy off bad enough, it’ll keep Quint from going into hibernation. He already came to visit me once, but the more I’ve thought about it, the more I think he wasn’t there to kill me. I think it was a warning. His way of telling me not to interfere with business matters. At first, I thought there was a circle of protection. Now…” Howie shrugged. “I don’t know. There might be one, but I’m not sure Tommy has full control over Quint. Quint’s a killing machine. That’s all he does. When business is concluded, he goes down for the big nap. I don’t think he can be stopped in that dormant state. In fact, I don’t think we’ll even be able to find him. He goes away. Don’t ask me where. After Jason McManus disappeared, so did Quint. He was gone for years. Then, after New Year’s Eve, he suddenly shows up again. Tommy said he was looking through storage or something and Quint just happened to turn up. Was he stuffed away in a box for all that time? It’s kind of a twist on this experiment Tommy told me about called Schrödinger’s cat. There’s a cat in a box and there’s also poison gas in there, and the question, is the cat alive or dead, but the real answer is that before you open the box to see, the cat is both: alive and dead. Hurts your brain doesn’t it? I think Quint’s like that, only I think depending on when you looked in the box, he might or might not be in there.”
“You should listen to yourself,” Susan said. “Record it and play it back. You sound crazy.”
“If I’m wrong, they can put in me in a padded cell and throw away the key,” Howie said. “But I’m not wrong. I didn’t believe in deranged teddy bears until I saw one up close.”
“So, you being here…you hope it’ll make Tommy jealous? Why though? You think if he’s mad…what?”
“Wherever Quint goes, maybe the same place his victims wind up, he can’t disappear yet. I’ve got plans for him.”
“What’s wrong with him just going away? Wouldn’t that be enough?”
Howie felt his leg starting to fall asleep. He shifted his position, rubbed his leg to work the pins and needles out. “That’s not good enough. He always comes back.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He’s attached to Tommy. Almost like a parasite. I don’t know if ‘entangled’ is the right word, but that doesn’t matter. Maybe Quint goes away. Maybe his job is done. Temporarily. What about when something bad happens to Tommy again? Suddenly, Quint will show up out of nowhere. It doesn’t matter how Tommy feels about it, he’s losing control. How can you control something when you don’t even know you’re doing it? I’m pretty sure that every time Quint comes out of retirement, he’s gaining more free will. If what’s happened so far is Quint holding back, what happens when he’s completely off the leash?”
“Ridiculous.”
“But true.”
“And you’re going to save the day?”
“I have to try,” Howie said. “Tommy’s my best friend.”
For a little bit, Susan only stared at him like he had sprouted a third eye on his forehead; stared at him the way you stared at a beetle stranded on its back on the sidewalk, desperately trying to right itself before the savage sun baked it alive. Most people, you couldn’t milk an ounce of pity for that bug out of them. It was survival of the fittest. Life is cruel, get over it.
Fortunately, Susan wasn’t most people. She was kinder than that. “For the record,” she said, “I don’t believe it. Because it’s crazy. Demon teddy bears? Come on.”
“I didn’t say Quint was a de…”
Susan shushed him.
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to help you. I care about Tommy. It’s obvious something is going on. I don’t know how he’s mixed up in it, but at the very least I owe him an explanation and hope he can at least understand why I did what I did. I don’t like hurting people. Especially, when I’m trying to save them.”
“I thought I was the one with the hero complex?”
“Don’t push it, Howie.”
“Quit while I’m ahead?”
She smiled. “That would be my recommendation.”
It would be a long time before she smiled again.
5
It went without saying he couldn’t sleep that night. He hadn’t planned to. His brain was a live wire with enough juice flowing through it he thought it might overload the sensitive circuit.
By 2 o’clock he was exhausted. Desperately wanted sleep. He had double-checked that the window was locked, the curtains drawn, and he had made camp on the bedroom floor again. He laid perpendicular to the bed so that most of his weight was in front of the door.
He thought the prospect of sleep wouldn’t be an issue, but since midnight had come and gone, he had caught himself growing drowsy. It happened by degrees, and once he had glanced at the clock and ten minutes had passed without him realizing it.
Would Quint come for him? He hoped the answer was yes, dreaded being right. All he had to do was get through one more night and tomorrow he would put his plan into action. Quint coming tonight would mean he hadn’t gone into hibernation yet, he was lingering, probably because Howie had been making time with Susan, and Susan was Tommy’s girl, or at least he subconsciously must still feel that way if Quint wasn’t ready to close shop and move on yet. Howie was counting on that being the case.
Around two-thirty he was dozing again. Something stirred him out of sleep. He held his breath and listened.
Scratch. Pause. Scratch. It wasn’t quite a pattern, not that he could discern, but it sounded like someone dragging something sharp along the opposite side of his bedroom door. He continued to listen, continued to hold his breath.
The scratching continued for longer than he could hold his breath. If he had to guess, he would have said it lasted four to five minutes. Then it stopped. He waited for it to start again. Nothing.
Around five-thirty, he decided he was almost an adult, with almost adult-sized testicles, and cracked the door, poked his head out, checked the hallway. The hallway was clear. But on the door, approximately ten inches from the bottom, Howie discovered what the scratching sound had been. A single word had been scrawled into the wood.
The word was STOP.
Another warning.
Quint wasn’t gone yet.
There was a good hour to hour-and-a-half left before his father would emerge from his room. While lower than eye-level, the word carved into the door wasn’t exactly subtle. His parents would notice, and when they asked him about it, the glint of blame in their eyes, he couldn’t say that a possessed teddy bear had done it.
Last summer, his mother had gotten a wild hair and decided to paint the interior of the house. It was an old house, and once upon a time the woodwork might have been immaculate, but over a hundred years of wear and tear, of humans dwelling within its walls – time had taken its toll. After careful consideration, his mother had made the decision to paint over the woodwork. That was why the outside of his bedroom door was antique white. He knew there was a partial gallon of that color stored in the basement for touch-ups. He snuck downstairs, went to the basement, found the paint, a brush, and a flathead screwdriver. He used the screwdriver to remove the paint can’s lid, stirred the paint, carried it upstairs to the hallway. It was a rush job, done in five minutes. The fresh paint screamed absurdly against the old, but Howie held out hope it would match once it dried. If you were close enough, even through the paint, you could make out the letters carved into the wood. It would have to be good enough.
He returned the paint to the basement, washed the brush in the utility sink across from the washer and dryer.
When he was back in his room, he parted the curtains. The first brushstrokes of pink and orange were highlighting a navy sky. He laid down on the floor, head on the pillow, and fell asleep immediately. If he had been awake forty-five minutes later, he would have witnessed his father come out of the master bedroom and pause mid-yawn, a look of confusion passing over his face as he sniffed the air and detected something amiss; an odor that didn’t belong. Charles Schmidt shrugged it off, continued down the stairs to where coffee and the morning paper awaited him.
13. FIGHTING MONSTERS
1
It didn’t take much to get out of school that day. His mother tried to rouse him at seven o’clock, knocking on his door, trying to open it when he didn’t answer (she was paranoid, and she had every right to be, seeing how lately, every parent’s worst nightmare was the thought of going into their child’s room and finding the bed empty). Howie groaned something unintelligible in response, but Elaine didn’t hear him. Fear quickly got the better of patience and logic. She opened the door, encountered Howie’s weight resting against it. This served only to alarm her more than she already was. She managed to get the door open a crack, peeked in and saw the empty bed, and shed her sanity like a snake sheds its skin. Elaine leaned into the door, put her shoulder into it, and it opened, Howie yelling, “Ow!” as she burst into the room. Then: “What are you doing?”
