Bad Things Page 8

  Kate is a vision. The lights of the candles flicker off her face, her smile, her body. Dibs can barely contain himself.

  “You didn’t have to go through all this again,” he says, moving into the house and wrapping his arm around her. “I’m not really worth—”

  “I’m getting tired of lighting these sexy candles over and over again.” She smiles, then lays one on him. “We going to do this thing, or do I get to go to sleep finally?”

  “It won’t take long.” Dibs picks her up.

  “That’s right.” She laughs, snapping her fingers. “I forget.”

  They share a laugh, a kiss, some eyes as Dibs carries her back to the bedroom. There’s a comfort between them, an easiness that set in almost from the second they met. Looking at her, he has almost completely forgotten about the town and all its quirks and problems. The thoughts of dead livestock and jacked-up rose bushes vanish from his thoughts. The white-hot anger he had minutes ago about that son of a bitch Darius Voss has all but faded into the background.

  Right now, it’s only him and her.

  They’re about to make sex.

  The light in the bedroom goes out. Billie Holiday stops singing the blues. Dibs looks to the alarm clock by the bed. It’s out too.

  Dibs sets Kate down on her feet, but they still hold each other close. Turning, they look out the large bay window in the living room. It gives them a wide-angle view to almost the entire town of Stagstone. Small rows of houses are lined up here and there. Some gather in an almost perfect square subdivision, while others are scattered around parks and various small businesses. The town square is in the distance to the east. Voss’s big-money mansion sits like a lighthouse on a ridge to the west.

  They all share one thing in common at the moment. One by one the lights go out, going dark one after the other. The streetlights flicker then explode, popping like bubble wrap. Dogs bark out into the void with unbridled fury. The faint, far-off sound of a car crashing can be heard. The town is blanketed in almost total darkness, only the moon and stars to light the night.

  Dibs and Kate stand among the candles, holding one another tight.

  "Well, shit." Dibs looks to Kate. Hard to shake the fact she's an absolute vision among the candlelight. He thinks of her minus the fancy underwear she has on. He thinks of last night. Thoughts of making sweet sex with her run across his limited-track mind. In the back of that primal brain of his is the idea that all of the events of the day, coupled with this sudden darkness, might be a problem. A big one. A big problem the chief of police should probably deal with.

  They lock eyes.

  Dibs shrugs. “Probably just a power thing.”

  Kate nods. “Probably.”

  They lock lips. Fingers and hands fumble. Clothes fly. Moans mixed with filthy you kiss your mother with that mouth? type words and phrases fill the air.

  Dibs’s phone falls from his pocket, bouncing across the floor as his pants drop, revealing his massive boner. It bobs and throbs, creating a dancing shadow puppet on the living room wall. As the phone skids to a stop, the screen lights up. There are sixty-five missed calls from the station. One text.

  THERE’S A CREEPY JESUS DUDE HERE!!!!

  Chapter Twenty-One

  "I've enjoyed my short time in your town, Carol," Mr. King says, taking a sip from the cup of two-day-old coffee Carol offered her guest.

  “Oh yeah, King?” she asks, looking him over. “Where’d you come in from?”

  “Ohhhhh…” King’s eyes flare, then look away from her. “Place you’ve never heard of. Long, long way from here.”

  “Right.”

  Uncomfortable silence.

  She looks to her phone, checking to see if that dick Dibs has called her back. He has not. Carol thinks of grabbing the shotgun from the rack on the far wall. Not for protection from Creepy Jesus/Mr. King; he’s behind bars in the holding cell with his hands properly cuffed. No, she wants the shotgun so she can blow Dibs’s balls off when she sees him again.

  “You said something.” Carol twirls her hand, inviting him to elaborate. “Something about killing a few things tonight.”

  King nods.

  “Care to juice me in on the particulars?”

  He nods again.

  King's calmness has Carol off balance. The creepiness is starting to dissolve the more she checks him out as well. He's so damn pleasant and hot, so hot, but still has some creepy to him. She doesn't like this mixed bag of a man at all but, at the same time, still wants to tear his suit off his skin and get weird. Might leave the cuffs on him.

  Larson storms into the station. He slams his things on the desk in a huff. Face is red as hell, fuming. He’s obviously frustrated by the night’s events. More to the point, he’s completely frustrated with Chief Dibs. Carol can see the story in her mind before he tells it. Even under normal circumstances she couldn’t give a shit, but she is glad Larson is here.

  “No disrespect to the chief, but damn, man. What am I supposed to do, huh? Not work the party that earns three times a day’s pay?”

  Carol rolls her eyes, nudging her head toward the cell. All but screaming, look, dumbass!

  King smiles, listening intently as he crosses his legs. He's soaking in every word they exchange while watching them ever so carefully. Studying them. Their expressions, the way they interact, their body language. All of it is being viewed and stored away by King, as if it's the most excellent educational theater ever.

  “Now I’ve wasted most the damn night on the rose bushes of a crazy—” He stops, finally noticing King in the holding cell. He’s more shocked that there’s anyone in there at all. “Who’s that?”

  "Says his name is King," Carol says.

  King waves hello.

  “Okay.” Larson leans in to Carol’s ear. “What’d he do?”

  “Says he killed some people today.”

  “No. Incorrect, Carol,” King interrupts, uncrossing his legs then adjusting his tie. “Killed a few things is what I said. Not only people.”

  Carol and Larson look to one another with blank stares.

  "Only wanted to be clear," King says.

  “Officer Larson,” Carol says with a hack. “Mr. King here was just about to elaborate on that very subject seconds before you buzzed on in here with your bullshit.” She motions to King. “That part accurate, slick?”

  King nods, resting his cuffed hands on his knees.

  Larson takes a seat next to Carol with his chin dropped down low. This is the most exciting and horrifying thing he's ever had happen on his watch. Carol holds up a finger, asking for a moment before King continues. She realizes that Larson is useless in this situation, but still finds some comfort in the fact he's here. Carol moves over to the gun rack and removes a shotgun. She does this for a couple of reasons. The main one being it makes her feel better, but the second reason is that she wants King to read her loud and clear. She might be horny, short and pudgy, but she's strong like bull.

  King waits for her as she puts on the show of pump-loading before taking her seat.

  Carol places the shotgun across her legs.

  Not to be outdone, Larson removes his weapon from his holster, resting it on his thigh.

  A pregnant pause.

  King raises his eyebrows, as if politely asking for permission to continue.

  Larson looks to Carol. Carol nods, then Larson nods.

  “Good.” King leans forward, never breaking eye contact with the members of his captive audience. “We’ve been out there watching for a long time.”

  “Watching who?” Larson asks.

  “All of you.”

  “All of Stagstone?” Carols adds.

  “Yes, sure, but more than that. Think bigger.”

  Carol and Larson are out of questions, confusion smacked across their faces.

  “Don’t confuse your lack of visitors as lack of interest,” King says. “Quite the opposite in fact. No, this place has been studied by many types of beings. Long before you were her
e, while you’ve been here and, I’m guessing, long after you’re gone.”

  Carol and Larson share a look. What in the hell is Creepy Jesus talking about?

  “Let me put it in terms you’ll easily understand,” King continues. His tone is level, warm even, neither condescending nor threatening. “Think of it like avoiding. A choice made. They’ve never been here, yet they know enough to know it’s not a place they want to be. Word gets around and there ya go.”

  Carol clucks her tongue.

  "I don't get it," Larson says.

  Carol doesn’t get it either, but she wasn’t going to say it out loud, so she’s glad dumbass Larson did it for her.

  “This is not a place that holds any interest to most forms of life.” King locks his fingers behind his head, leaning back. “Unwanted relative to the rest of what’s out there, but you know what? I like it.”

  “Don’t know what you’re saying, slick, but I dig those eyes in your head,” Carol says.

  “You’re saying…what?” Larson chimes in. “You’re from where exactly?”

  “Sorry.” King thinks of a better way of saying this, as if he were trying to explain something to children. “I’m from another part of the dark. A place you’ll never know.” He points a single finger up. “Up and out there.”

  "You are out there, sex bomb," Carol says. "Take your shirt off."

  “Stop.” Larson turns to King. “You’re saying you’re…an alien?”

  King nods, firing a finger gun at him.

  "Think that's what he's saying, Larson," Carol adds.

  “Just thought I’d ask him, Carol. Any harm in asking the man?”

  Carol rolls her eyes.

  "In the simplest of terms, yes," King says, glancing toward the door. "I'm not from around here."

  “Keep going. Don’t mind dipshit here.” Carol has reached a new form of arousal now that she knows he’s a hot-ass alien. She’s read some freaky erotica books about billionaire aliens with large space peckers. “Tell us why you’ve stopped by.” Say it's to screw surly old broads. Say it's to screw surly old chicks. She crosses her fingers.

  “While others don’t want to be here,” King says, “it is a desirable location to us.”

  “Us?” Carol asks.

  "There are a few of us who have been banished by the less open-minded. Outlaws, if you will."

  "Alien outlaws?" Carol's heart skips a row of beats.

  "Five of us." King stands to steal another glance toward the door. "Me and my four wives."

  "wives?" Carol fires up from her chair, shotgun in hand. "That's a load of shit."

  “Where is your Chief Dibs?”

  “What?” Larson asks.

  “He’s the remaining member of the defense here, correct?”

  “Yes, sure, I guess he is.” Carol stomps around the station, fuming over King’s marital status. Four wives? Unbelievable. “I’ve got no idea where the hell Dibs is.”

  "Hmmm." This information bothers King, but he shrugs it off. "We're still on track, but I'd really like to have Dibs here. The plan was to strip defenses to the bone." He thinks, stroking his beard. "New course." King closes his eyes, deep in thought.

  Carol and Larson look to one another on that one.

  King opens his eyes, staring hard toward the door.

  The door to the station opens. Tommy and Danny Christiansen walk in. The meth lords of Stagstone enter the room alive and unwell. They look the same as they did at the trailer, except now their skin is greyer, with a slick coat of sorts to it. As if they didn’t quite get dry from a shower. Their eyes pulse with pulpy red streaks like thick veins.

  Carol stops. Larson shoots up from his chair. Both stand frozen in place as their eyes take in the missing Christiansen brothers.

  Tommy and Danny leave the door wide open behind them. The cold air blows in. Their stares burn out into the void, unaffected by the dropping temperature. They stand silently next to one another. It's as if they are awaiting orders. Drool drips from the brothers’ lips as their jaws clench and their teeth grind. A buzz of energy seems to radiate from them. Under the surface.

  Carol and Larson begin to shake. Carol looks down, noticing Tommy’s hand. Two fingers are missing. The wounds seem fresh, still moist and raw. Red like two half-smoked cigars sticking out from his hand. She remembers scanning Dibs’s initial report this afternoon from his visit to their land. Finding fingers out at the meth trailer. She looks down. Sees Danny is barefoot, missing a toe. Carol grips the shotgun, leveling it on the brothers.

  “Carol,” King chimes in a singsong call. His fingers wrap around the bars of his cell. “We can do this a couple of ways—”

  “Oh, come on. You’re better than that old cliché crap. Fine, wait, let me guess.” Carol pumps the shotgun. “Easy way or the hard way.”

  “Correct.” King bounces his eyebrows. “You see, we tried your cows and other things. Didn’t fill the void we hold. Didn’t feed the beast. No, Carol, we need your insides to survive.” He flicks his tongue off his front teeth with delight. “The blood, all the wonderful swishy stuff down deep inside of you.”

  Larson and Carol move next to each other now, standing back-to-back with guns ready.

  There’s a sound outside. Something else is out there.

  The Christiansen brothers smile.

  “But.” King holds up a finger. “There are only seven of us now, and a whole lot of you. We need to grow our numbers. And quickly. My wives can help you join us.” He waves his hand toward the brothers. “Much like my new best boys here. They look happy, correct?”

  Carol’s and Larson's eyes shift over to the brothers. They look more psychotic than they usually do. They bounce slightly on their heels.

  “I’d do it myself,” King continues, “but the biology is all wrong. The females have the power here. It’s different in different places. It’s been a process of illumination ever since we…” King waves off whatever he was going to say next. “Not important. Like I said before. Two ways. Easy or not easy. You can make a choice here.”

  “And that is?” Carol alternates her aim between the three of them.

  “You can ride with us. Become one of us.”

  “Or?” Larson gulps.

  "Or we cut you open from your genitals to your throat and eat all that sweet, sweet meat." King runs his tongue over his teeth. "Now, Carol, please try Dibs again. That's really why I'm here. That's why I'm in this ridiculous cell with these ridiculous things on." King snaps the cuffs from his wrists as if they were made of straw. "Again, there was a plan. Wanted to keep all three of you, meaning you two along with your chief, off guard. A new, crazy prisoner and all that. Be nice to get into his head." He shrugs. "But that idea is gone in the wind. Would have been nice. The math was better."

  “Math?” Larson yelps.

  "Three people allows us to add, let me think...two new friends."

  “I don’t understand,” Carol says.

  “You will.”

  The brothers giggle.

  "Get the chief in here and I'll show you," King purrs.

  "No," Larson says. "Won't do the chief that way."

  Carol stays silent. Thoughts racing through her head. King sees it in her eyes. She’s questioning it. King kicks the bars on the door, busting the cell’s lock free with minimal effort.

  Carol’s eyes go wide. Larson raises his gun.

  Tommy and Danny giggle even harder.

  There's a sound from outside the door. Machinelike and human at the same time. Metallic and childlike. A laugh of young girls mixed with the crunch of steel grinding and humming.

  Carol and Larson look back toward the door.

  Standing outside the station under the stars are four large beasts. All well over six feet tall. Two are pushing at least eight, maybe ten feet. They have dark, slick, black skin coated in some substance that shines under the moon and stars. Their eyes glow in a pulsing bright shade of red. Each grips a weapon that resembles a machete. A clean, razor-shar
p weapon that shines like chrome. The metallic child's laughter rolls out from each of them. Tommy and Danny laugh along with them, connected in their joy of what’s to come.

  King snaps his fingers as if he forgot to explain something. “If I failed to mention it, I’m sorry, but we only need one of you. One joins, then feeds on the other. That’s the process. Not elegant, but most of nature isn’t. That’s the math. If the chief were here, we could have two of you join us while the less fortunate one was feeding meat for the other two.” King scrunches his nose. “Life doesn’t always work out for everyone. Bring in Dibs. You can both live the life you deserve.”

  Carol looks to Larson. Larson can see it in Carol’s eyes. She’s actually considering it. Larson shakes his head—no.

  “Carol.” King presses forward toward her. He sees it all over her face. “Your life? What you call a life? It has not been great. Correct? The disappointments? The what could have beens? Struggles, to put it mildly? You can rule the world with me.”

  “Don’t do it,” Larson yells to Carol, then turns his gun on King. “Get the hell back.”

  King stops, more out of courtesy than fear. “Hey, brother.” King holds his hands up, looking toward his wives outside the station. “Be nice if Dibs was here is all I’m saying. Increases your odds in this new world.”

  As if on cue, the wives' weapons all light up, burning end to end with a bright blue flame.

  Larson and Carol whip around, staring at the flames dancing off the blades. The heat causes waves to rise up into the cold night air. Carol dives for her phone, stab-tapping, working to find Dibs’s number. Larson jumps to stop her.

  King grabs him by the throat, tossing him outside. Larson slam-lands with a crunch of bone at the feet of the wives. He looks up helplessly at Carol.