Jack_ Secret Vengeance - F. Paul Wilson [60]
Walt looked, made a face, and shook his head. “Nope. Sorry. Can’t raise the dead. Tried a coupla times, but no go. Just as well.” His voice thickened. “Who knows what price I’d have to pay for something like that.”
He sobbed and the sound tore Jack’s heart. He touched his arm.
“Walt?”
Another sob, then, “I’ve paid a big price, Jack. I’ve lost so much of me I can’t even remember what’s gone. I could have had a good life. I didn’t start out as the brightest bulb in the box, but I had some good wattage. Now I’m just a dimwit drunk who’s hanging on only so I can pass it on to the next guy.”
“Next guy?”
“Yeah. Supposedly this thing has hopped from person to person through the ages. Mrs. Clevenger knows all about it. She told me.” Walt turned to Jack. “For a while I had this weird feeling that the next guy, the guy I’m looking for, might be you.”
A lump of ice formed in Jack’s gut. His tongue suddenly felt like old leather.
“Me?”
“Yeah. But Mrs. C said no. It ain’t you.”
Jack relaxed. What a relief.
He pushed his bike off the shoulder and through the brush that hid the trail.
“Come on, Walt. I’ll take you home.”
Didn’t look like he’d get to the school tonight. Too bad Walt didn’t have a touch that could cure a sick lock so it could open.
3
“Hey, lazy pants. Wake up.”
Sounded like Kate’s voice … coming from far away.
Jack opened one eye and peeked over the edge of his bedsheet. Yeah, Kate’s voice, but not so far away. She stood in his bedroom doorway, wearing cut-off shorts, a Philadelphia Eagles T-shirt, and a smile.
“You going to sleep all day?”
“Sounds like a plan,” he mumbled, closing his eye.
Walking Walt home had taken a long time. He didn’t know when he’d sneaked back in the window, but it couldn’t have been too long ago.
“I talked to Jenny.”
Jack opened both eyes. “Yeah? What she say?”
“Not here. I’m going to take a walk down to the lake. Meet me there.”
“Can’t you give me a hint?”
She smiled. “All I’ll tell you is it’s verrrrry interesting. And it explains a lot of things.”
Then she winked and closed the door.
Jack flopped back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling. He felt exhausted.
Sleeeeep … I need sleeeeep.
But how could he sleep after what Kate had just said? And that wink hinted at all sorts of secrets and mysteries revealed.
With a groan he pushed off the covers and rolled out of bed. His jeans and rugby shirt from the early morning excursion lay on the floor where he’d dropped them. He slipped them back on, shoved his feet into his Vans, and headed for the bathroom to throw some water on his face.
Walking through the kitchen a few minutes later, he realized he was famished. A look at the clock told him why: a quarter to ten. He hadn’t eaten in more than twelve hours.
He grabbed a couple of Eggos from the freezer and popped them into the toaster. While they were heating he pulled the carton of milk from the freezer. He glanced around. No one in sight. He had the container halfway to his mouth when his mother breezed in. He lowered it and turned to get a paper cup from the pantry.
“How’s my sleepyhead miracle boy?”
Miracle boy … how could he make her stop calling him that?
“As miraculous as ever, as in not at all.”
She beamed. “Oh, but you are.”
He shook his head as he filled the cup with milk. She’d never stop. Never.
The Eggos popped up. He pulled them out and dropped them on the counter. He slathered one with Skippy Super Chunk, then pressed them together. A little melted peanut butter leaked out one side.
“That’s not a proper Sunday morning breakfast,” she said. “I’ll scramble you some eggs.”
“Thanks, but I’m gonna take a little walk down to the lake.” He banged out the back door, peanut-butter Eggowich in one hand, milk in the other. “See ya later.”
A beautiful morning—hazy sunshine, gentle breeze, birds calling back and forth between the trees. He angled across Jefferson to North Franklin and walked toward Quakerton, munching and thinking about last night.
A few hours ago he’d been pretty well convinced that Weird Walt could truly