Jack_ Secret Vengeance - F. Paul Wilson [68]
“What now?” she said in a low voice.
Jack gave that a moment’s thought, then …
“We ditch the bikes and follow on foot.”
Jack pushed his bike into the underbrush. It wouldn’t have hidden it during the day, but here in the dark it was fine. He turned and found Weezy still standing next to hers.
“I’m scared. That was where…”
“It’s okay, Weez. Wait here.”
He heard her take a deep breath. “No. I’m coming.”
She hid her bike next to Jack’s and followed him onto the hidden path. He walked the right rut, she the left.
They found the car parked facing the dead zone. The engine was off but the headlights stayed on. The wash from the lights silhouetted only one head in the front seat. Toliver appeared to be alone.
Suddenly the driver door swung open. Jack and Weezy dropped into a crouch. Weezy’s hand was cold and damp where she clutched his arm.
Toliver got out of the car and staggered toward the mysterious clearing. When he stepped into the headlight beams, Jack spotted a familiar-looking bottle dangling from his right hand. Only a little clear liquid sloshed within.
He stepped through the ebony spleenwort and into the open area. With the headlights casting weird, elongated shadows beyond him, he stumbled around, kicking at the bare earth.
“What’s going on?” he shouted to no one. “What’s going ON?”
Jack watched in amazement. What was going on?
Toliver dropped to his knees and looked for a moment as if he might be praying.
To whom? Jack wondered. Or to what?
Was he somehow connected to this place where nothing would grow, where animals wouldn’t walk and ants wouldn’t nest?
Then he began pounding the dirt, screaming, “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”
He fell silent but stayed on his knees. Then he screamed again.
“You’re ruining my life! It was an accident! I didn’t mean it! Leave me alone!”
“Who’s he talking to?” Weezy whispered.
All Jack could think of was Toliver asking Mrs. Clevenger about someone being haunted, and Saree’s words about piney blood on Toliver’s hands, and now here he was in the Pines, talking to the air about an accident and for someone or something to leave him alone and—
Weezy’s grip on his arm tightened.
“Listen! He’s … he’s crying.”
Sure enough, tortured sobs were coming from the clearing. Abruptly they broke off as Toliver lurched to his feet.
“You’re not gonna ruin my life! No way! I’m not letting you!”
Then with a wordless scream that made Jack jump and Weezy squeeze his arm even harder, he threw his bottle and smashed it against the big oak beyond the clearing.
As he began to stagger back to his car, Weezy tugged on Jack’s arm and the two of them hurried back to the firebreak trail in a crouch. They hid in the brush until the Mustang rolled by, heading back toward Johnson.
They freed their bikes and followed Toliver’s weaving path. The guy was drunk as a skunk and should have been anywhere but behind the wheel. Jack wondered if he’d make it home before ramming a tree. But he was driving slowly.
“What did we just see?” Jack said.
“I have no idea.”
“One thing’s for sure: That’s one screwed-up guy.”
“I already knew that,” Weezy said. “But he’s losing it. Completely losing it.”
“Sounds to me like he’s already lost it.”
She was silent a moment, then, “I think I want to see what happens at his locker tomorrow.”
Jack’s heart leaped, but only for an instant. Then it crashed.
Great that Weezy was going to be there, but Jack had no way past that lock.
The big show was going to be a bust. Operation Toliver was going to go down in flames.
Crap.
13
He stood in the garage and stared in dismay at the workbench. He’d sawed through the shackle of the second Toliverized lock, but very carefully this time, making as clean a cut as possible, flush against the top of the body of the lock. Then he’d glued it back together, but no go: The seam still looked way too obvious.
He stepped back to the other side of the garage, but he could see it even from there. And the light would be better in the locker area.
He was forced to admit it: Toliver’s lock had beaten him. The major coup