The Mouth of the Dark Read online

  Although the pain of his injuries had contributed to his spotty sleep, he attributed most of it to what had happened in the alley. Those kids had been so strange, with their sharp teeth, blood-smeared faces, and hunting knives. And that name the black-haired woman had called them – dog-eaters. That had to be some kind of gang name, right? They hadn’t really been—

  Meat-thief they’d called him. He remembered hearing a whine come from deeper in the alley, and they did have blood on their faces as well as on their knife blades.… He didn’t want to believe it, but deep down inside, he knew dog-eaters was the right term for them. What the hell were they? The woman had acted as if they weren’t anything out of the ordinary to her. And that jar of hers – the vessel – the one she’d claimed held the screams of a hundred dying men.… The dog-eaters had seemed to believe her claim. It was ridiculous, of course, but then why had the teens taken her seriously? Maybe it was some kind of weird prank, and the three of them had been working together. That explanation made the most sense. So why didn’t it feel right?

  Several of the other patients had been called back to examination rooms while he’d been thinking, and he figured his turn was coming soon. He decided to try his best to put last night out of his mind. Whatever had been really going on, he supposed he’d never know the truth behind it. Life was like that sometimes. Strange shit occurred without any apparent rhyme or reason, and once it was over with, that was it. Nothing to do but shrug and move on. That was exactly what he intended to do, and he might have succeeded. But then she walked into the waiting room: the black-haired woman.

  She was dressed so differently from last night that at first he wasn’t convinced it really was her. She wore a navy blue suit jacket and matching slacks, a white blouse, and glossy black shoes. Her hair was up in a ponytail, her makeup was minimal but effective, and she wore a pair of small pearl earrings. She looked every inch a professional woman, and not like someone who saved hapless middle-aged men from sharp-toothed killer teenagers. She carried a thick black case in her left hand. When she reached the reception counter – after passing him without any sign of recognition – she knelt slightly, put the case on the floor, and straightened again. He had no doubt it was her, though. He recognized the unmistakable scent of acorns coming off her. Jayce listened closely as the office manager greeted her.

  “Hey, Nicola. Here to see Dr. Vikram today?”

  So…she was a pharmaceutical rep. Not a profession he would’ve guessed for her based on last night’s encounter.

  The office manager – whose name Jayce could never remember – was a heavy-set woman in her forties with red hair that was so bright he suspected she dyed it. She smiled at Nicola and seemed genuinely pleased to see her. She brought a clipboard from beneath the counter, on it pieces of paper with a series of pre-printed lines. She slid the clipboard across the counter to Nicola and handed the woman a pen. Nicola signed the sheet and then handed the clipboard and pen back to the office manager.

  Nicola smiled. “If the doctor’s not too busy this morning, I’ve got some samples of a new decongestant I’d like to give her. It dries you up so fast, they should’ve named it Sahara.”

  The office manager laughed.

  “Things have been hopping around here all morning, but I’m sure she can find a couple minutes to see you. Go on back.”

  Nicola thanked her, took hold of her case – which Jayce assumed contained her samples, brochures, and the like – and headed to the door that separated the waiting area from the examination rooms. She opened it, stepped through, and then she was gone. Not once had she looked at him.

  He considered going up to the front counter and somehow trying to get a look at the sheet she’d signed, so he could learn her full name. But he didn’t know how to convince the office manager to let him. He’d need some kind of excuse, and he couldn’t think of one. The truth wouldn’t do, that was for certain.

  “Excuse me, but the woman you just let go back to see the doctor. Nicola? She saved me from a pair of knife-wielding dog-eaters last night, but she didn’t tell me her last name. I’d really like to thank her, so if you could just let me take a peek at her signature.…”

  One of the physicians’ assistants opened the door to the examination area and stood in the doorway. She was younger and thinner than the office manager, with short black hair.

  “Jayce?” she called.

  He started to stand, but then he stopped himself. If he went back to an examination room now, Nicola would most likely be gone by the time Dr. Vikram had finally finished with him. Since he didn’t know Nicola’s last name, he would have no way of finding her, and he wanted to talk with her about last night. Needed to, desperately.

  “Jayce?” the physician’s assistant called again.

  This time he stood, but instead of walking toward the examination area, he headed for the front door and stepped through into the parking lot.

  ***

  For the next fifteen minutes, Jayce sat in his Altima, keeping watch on the entrance to the doctor’s office. Several people exited during that time, but not Nicola. He was beginning to think she’d left by an employee entrance of some kind and he’d missed her, but then she finally emerged. It was a bit chilly this morning, in the mid-forties, but the cold didn’t seem to bother her. She walked to a Honda CR-V, put her case on the passenger seat, then climbed into the driver’s seat, turned on the engine, and began backing out of her space.

  Jayce turned on his car, feeling a small thrill of excitement as he did. He knew it was foolish, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never tailed anyone before, and he felt like he was a character in a spy movie. He thought about the dog-eaters again, their teeth and their knives.

  Wrong kind of movie, he thought.

  Dr. Vikram’s practice was located in an office park, set apart from the main neighborhood. The access road curved around in a large U, and there were a number of neighboring businesses. A dentist, a Realtor, a vet, a financial planner, and a lawyer. Nicola turned right as she left the parking lot, and Jayce backed out of his space and hurried to follow, hoping he didn’t look like he was hurrying. There was no posted speed limit on the access road, but people normally drove around 30 mph, given how narrow the road was and how sharply it curved. Nicola drove faster, though. Probably because she had other stops to make, Jayce thought. He hung back a bit, not wanting to ride her bumper. He was tempted to take out his phone and try to get a picture of her license plate, just in case they became separated in traffic, but he realized it was a stupid idea. Not only was there a chance that she might glance at her rearview mirror and catch him taking the photo, but once he had it, what could he do with it? He wasn’t a cop, and he didn’t know any. If he couldn’t get access to a vehicle registration database, the plate number would be useless to him.

  Nicola turned right onto Montillo Street. There was usually a steady stream of traffic on this road, and today was no exception. Jayce couldn’t afford to wait to pull out after her if he wanted to prevent any vehicles from coming between them. So he hit the gas and whipped his steering wheel to the right. He made it onto the road just before a red pickup would’ve cut him off. The driver blasted his horn in irritation, but Jayce ignored him and concentrated on following Nicola.

  She stopped at two other doctor’s offices, and she spent 10 minutes at one and 20 minutes at the other. Both times Jayce tried to park as far away from her as possible, but at the second doctor’s the only space available was right next to her. Seeing no other alternative, he parked next to her vehicle and waited. She hadn’t recognized him at Dr. Vikram’s office, so he figured there was a decent chance that she wouldn’t notice him when she returned to her car. Still, he didn’t want to take chances, so he considered ways that he might be able to hide when she came out. He couldn’t just duck down in his seat. That would look stupid and it would draw her attention. He decided that his best bet was to lean across his seat
when she returned to her car, his face averted, and pretend to root around in his glove box for something. He opened the glove box so he’d be ready when the time came, and he was startled when someone tapped on the driver’s side window. His first thought was that Nicola had come out sooner than he’d expected and had seen him, and he desperately tried to think of an excuse for why he was following her as he turned to the window. But it wasn’t her, and Jayce was so surprised that for a moment all he could do was stare.

  The man was tall and stocky. He had plenty of weight on him, but he was solid-looking rather than fat. He had a thick shock of brownish-blond hair and sported a 1970s porn star mustache. His neck was so thick it looked like his head had sprouted directly from his shoulders. His eyes were blue but they seemed too small and set too far apart. His ears were folded back against the sides of his head, and his thick lips resembled a pair of earthworms lying one on top of the other. The man’s eyes were fixed on Jayce, their blue cold and intense. He raised sausage-thick fingers and tapped on the window again, harder this time.

  “Get out of the car,” the man said, voice low, tone dangerous. When Jayce didn’t respond, the man made a fist and slammed it against the window, the impact causing a small crack to appear in the glass. The man’s face reddened with fury.

  “Now.”

  The last thing Jayce wanted to do was confront this lunatic, especially after what he’d been through last night, but if he turned on his engine, put his car in reverse, and got the hell out of here, he’d lose his chance to keep following Nicola. More than that, he’d lose his chance to learn more about what had happened in the alley, and maybe – just maybe – gain some insight into what had happened to Emory.

  He thumbed the switch to unlock the car. When the man heard the locks disengage, he stepped away from the door to give Jayce room to get out. Jayce opened his car door, climbed out, and then closed it behind him. He instantly regretted closing the door. Shouldn’t he have left it open, in case he needed to get away from this guy fast? Too late now.

  The man had stepped far enough back from Jayce’s Altima to give himself sufficient maneuvering room. Smart. Now that the man wasn’t bending down to tap on his window, Jayce could see that he wore a T-shirt, jeans, and heavy brown work boots. No jacket, even though it was still chilly out. His T-shirt was light brown and on the chest were the words I Will Buttfuck Your Soul. Behind him, parked so that it blocked Jayce’s car and Nicola’s Honda, was a red RAM 1500 pickup, engine still running, personalized plates that read OHIO PIG. Jayce recognized it as the truck he’d cut off leaving Dr. Vikram’s office.

  Shit, Jayce thought.

  Before he could say anything, the man spoke.

  “You got a hard-on for doctors or something? This is the third doctor’s office you’ve visited. And why the fuck don’t you get out of your car? Are you some kind of freak?”

  You’re one to talk, Jayce thought. Aloud, he said, “Why didn’t you talk to me before this?”

  The man looked puzzled. “What?”

  “You’ve been following me since I cut you off on Montillo, right? So if you saw me stop at the last two doctor’s offices, why did you wait until now to confront me?”

  What are you doing? Mother said. Don’t antagonize him. He’s obviously crazy as fuck!

  Jayce couldn’t argue with this last part. He was scared, there was no denying it, but he couldn’t allow some road-raging asshole to get in the way of his finding Emory.

  You’ve already been to the ER once in the last twelve hours, Mother said. Are you so eager to go back?

  He ignored her. He knew her ‘voice’ was really just a projection of his own fears and that he was only talking to himself.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  “I was checking you out,” the man said. “Getting the lay of the land, so to speak. I don’t go into a situation without getting intel first, you know what I’m saying?”

  “Actually, I have no idea. But let’s cut to the chase. I’m sorry I pulled out in front of you like that. I thought I had more room, but I obviously miscalculated. Please accept my most sincere apologies.” Then he stepped forward and offered his bandaged hand to the man to shake.

  The man looked at Jayce’s hand as if it were a snake that might be poisonous.

  Jayce knew from his years selling insurance that the best way to put people off balance was to be direct. This man was angry, so instead of allowing his anger to continue building, Jayce would defuse it by admitting he made a mistake and asking for the man’s forgiveness. He liked to think of tactics like this as social kung-fu. He just hoped it would work with ‘Ohio Pig’.

  The man continued staring at Jayce’s proffered hand for several seconds, then he looked up and met Jayce’s gaze.

  “You’re fucked up, man, and I mean monumentally. I can smell it coming off you. You are mixed up in some seriously twisted shit, aren’t you? Well, I ain’t touching your damn hand. I don’t want to catch any of your freak cooties. But I don’t give up easy. I’ll get what’s coming to me, you can be goddamned sure of that.”

  The man backed away, keeping close watch on Jayce the entire time. Then he climbed into his truck, put the engine in gear, tromped on the gas, and roared out of the parking lot.

  “That was weird.”

  Jayce spun around to see Nicola standing between their two vehicles, case in hand, looking at him. She smiled.

  “Want to have lunch?”

  Chapter Three

  “Why not?”

  Jayce is thirteen. It’s Saturday morning, but he’s not watching cartoons. He likes to think he’s too old for them, but the truth is he would love to watch them. He likes superhero ones the best, but there’s only one TV in the house, and his mother – who doesn’t work on Saturdays and Sundays – rules it. He’s free to watch it with her, but he has to watch whatever she picks, and he can’t complain about it. It’s why he spends a lot of time in his room on the weekends.

  “Because I said so.”

  Valerie Lewis is in her mid-thirties, but she looks older. There are worry lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, and her brown hair holds more than a few gray strands. The fingers on her right hand are yellow from nicotine, but the house doesn’t smell like smoke. She always goes outside whenever she wants a cigarette. She sits on the front porch or strolls through the backyard in good weather. In rain or deep cold, she smokes in the garage. She’s thin, and the baggy clothes she likes to wear – at least two sizes too large for her – make her seem almost cadaverous. This thinness adds to her older appearance, and more than once a stranger, a sales clerk at the mall or one of Jayce’s teachers during conference time, has assumed she’s his grandmother.

  She’s been like this for as long as Jayce can remember. Once, when he was five, he’d gotten curious and, in the thoughtless, unselfconscious way of children, had asked her why she was so skinny. She told him it was because his father had taken the best from her before he left them both. Jayce wasn’t sure what his mom meant by this, and he never asked her again.

  Since it’s Saturday, Valerie wears baggy gray sweatpants and an oversized Bengals T-shirt. Looking at her, Jayce thinks if she pulled in her head, arms, and legs, she could disappear into the cloth, like a turtle withdrawing into its shell.

  “But I’ll be back before dark.”

  Valerie has a thing – almost an obsession, really – about him being outside after dark. The only time she permits it is if she’s with him, and even then, she doesn’t allow it very long.

  There are things in the dark, Jayce. We may not be able to see them, but they can damn sure see us.

  She’s watching a rerun of Hogan’s Heroes, and she doesn’t take her eyes off the TV screen as she answers.

  “No.”

  “Bryan and his mom can give me a ride. She can bring me home too.”

  Their living room is sparsely f
urnished. An uncomfortable love seat that neither of them uses and the overstuffed chair his mother – and only her – sits in. Regardless of the time of year, Valerie is always cold, and so she sits covered in a blanket. In the wintertime she sits under two or three. The only pictures on the wall are framed copies of his school photos throughout the years. Jayce hates having to constantly look at these younger versions of himself. He looks stupid and goofy in each picture, and they prevent him from believing that no version of himself ever existed except the one that woke up this morning.

  There are no photos of his mother or of the two of them together. She used to keep old pictures in a box under her bed, and he found them one day several years ago while she was taking a bath. The photos were loose in the box and most were unlabeled. Many of them were black and white and were of people he didn’t know, men, women, and children, all of them strangers to him. Except his mother. There were pictures of Valerie as a child, a teenager, a young woman. There were no pictures of Jayce or his father. The pictures of his mother fascinated him. She looked so different in them. She smiled in a lot of the photos, and she wasn’t so skinny back then. She looked healthy, and seeing her like that was startling to Jayce and more than a little sad.

  He put the photos away and left her room before she finished her bath, but she must’ve somehow known what he did, because the next time he snuck into her room to look at the photos, the box was gone. He’d searched the house for it, but he never found it again.

  “I don’t trust Bryan’s mother. She drinks.”

  As far as Jayce knows, Valerie hasn’t exchanged more than a dozen words with Bryan’s mom, and then only over the phone and only to tell her that Jayce wasn’t allowed to go to sleepovers or birthday parties.

  “No, she doesn’t!” He has no more idea about the woman’s alcohol consumption than his mother does, but he has to say something. Yesterday at school Bryan was talking about a new movie that had come out called Star Wars. He’d already seen it twice and was going to see it for a third time on Saturday. When Jayce sheepishly admitted that he hadn’t seen the movie, Bryan insisted he come with him. Ask your mom, he said, as if it were that simple. Jayce almost didn’t bother, had put it off until this morning. But now that he has asked and gotten the expected no, he finds himself getting angry. He’s thirteen, damn it. He’s not a little boy. He should be allowed to see a stupid movie if he wants to. He should be allowed to do something.