Bad Moon Rising. Джонатан Мэйберри

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      “I thought about that, and it’s certainly a possibility—but I feel like he’s dead, that he’s been dead since 1976. Just a gut thing, but it’s what I believe.”

      “So whose voice was it?”

      Crow shook his head. “That’s just it. I suppose it might have been Boyd doing kind of vampire mind-fuck on me, but my gut still tells me it was Griswold.”

      “Which makes sense only if, somehow, Griswold is still here. As…what, though? A ghost? Are we finally adding them to the mix?”

      “Hell if I know. I guess that very last part of it, at least from my end, is the whole Boyd thing. I saw his body, and apart from all the rounds Val pumped into him he had a whole bunch of other bullet wounds. Nine, to be exact, and all of them pretty well healed over. Remember, Jimmy Castle emptied his gun into him, hit him every damn time.”

      “Jeez…don’t tell me that. I haven’t even had a chance to view the body yet.”

      “Now,” Crow said, “now let’s hear your side of this.”

      Weinstock gave him a long, flat stare. “You won’t like it.”

      Crow made a rude noise. “I knew that before we started talking. But I have to know.”

      Weinstock told him everything. Crow didn’t like it.

      Chapter 4

      (1)

      The silence between Vic and Ruger was thick as mud. Vic went back to his workbench and tried to concentrate on how many sticks of dynamite it would take to bring down the cellular phone relay tower. When he was done with that he had to go out and meet a candy maker he knew who was doing some work for him. Treats for Halloween night. There was a ton of other stuff needing attention, and Vic was feeling the pressure.

      Ruger was in the recliner reading a battered old copy of Emily Gerard’s The Land Beyond the Forest. Someone had made extensive handwritten notes in the margin of every page.

      Into the stony silence, Ruger murmured, “I’m getting hungry.”

      Vic’s right finger paused over the Enter key on his calculator; his left hand twitched in the direction of the pistol lying on the table. “It’s still light out,” he said, not turning.

      Ruger was quiet for a while, then very softly—so softly Vic barely heard him even though he straining to hear any sounds coming from that end of the cellar—the killer whispered, “Hungry.”

      The word haunted the air in that dark cellar.

      (2)

      Weinstock rubbed his tired eyes. “How much of this does Val know?”

      “She knows the backstory, the Massacre and that stuff. She knows my theories. I didn’t have time to tell her what happened down in the Hollow yesterday. Not after what she went through herself, still she has to know there’s something strange is happening. You know Val—she’s not stupid or given to hysterics. She knows what she saw last night when Boyd came after her. She kept shooting him and Boyd kept wading through the shots.”

      “Not all of them, apparently.”

      “No,” Crow agreed, “and let’s thank God for that. Apparently the one thing they can’t shake off is half a clip in the skull.”

      “Important to remember,” Weinstock said, almost to himself. “Did either of you mention the…um…‘V-word’?”

      “No, but before the ambulance guys took her she told me that she knew that Boyd was dead. She knew it when he was still on his feet and coming after her. Maybe she hasn’t put the name to it yet, but she knows.” He stared at the closed door as if he could already see Val. “I’m not sure if that’s going to make it easier or harder.”

      “Seems to me that it should make it easier.”

      Crow looked at Weinstock, and there was raw pain in his eyes. “Saul, Boyd didn’t just kill Mark…he bit him. Connie, too.”

      Crow saw the meaning of that register on Weinstock’s face. “Holy God.”

      “I think we have to tell her everything. She’s lost her entire family to this. She has a bigger stake in it than anyone. We have to be straight with her.”

      At that moment there was a tap on the door and a nurse popped her head in. “Doctor? We’d like to bring Ms. Guthrie in, is that okay?”

      Both men leapt to their feet as two orderlies wheeled Val in on a gurney. Her right eye and most of her head was turbaned in thick bandages, and most of the exposed flesh of her cheek, nose, and chin were puffy with dark red bruises. She was dressed in a white ER gown patterned with tiny cornflowers. She saw Crow and her eye widened, but before she could even say his name he’d pushed past the nurse and bent over her.

      “Val!” Crow cried, shouldering past the orderlies. He bent to her, murmuring her name over and over again, kissing her forehead, her cheek, her lips. “Oh, baby! How are you?”

      Val kissed him back, tears spilling from her eye. In a shattered voice she said, “Mark!” and then her voice disintegrated into sobs as he held her.

      After a minute or so Weinstock gently pulled Crow away, and Val was transferred to the bed, hooked up to a fresh saline drip, and plugged into monitors. Weinstock shooed everyone but Crow out of the room. Polk appeared in the doorway, glaring at Crow.

      “Hey, I thought I told you that you weren’t supposed to talk to my witness?”

      Crow wheeled on him and was just about to tear into him when Weinstock stepped between them. “What’s the problem, Jim?”

      Polk’s eyes narrowed on the doctor. “The problem, sir, is that I specifically told Crow that Valerie Guthrie was a witness and that no one was supposed to talk to her until—”

      “Oh for God’s sake,” Weinstock snarled and pushed Polk out into the hall and pulled the door shut. “Not even you can be that thick, Jim. Or am I wrong about that? Are you that much of a blockhead?” Before Polk could answer, Weinstock plowed ahead. “Miss Guthrie is my patient and she is the victim of a crime. Crow is a deputy, last I heard, and until Sheriff Bernhardt himself revokes that designation, then I’ll continue to regard him as such. In the meantime, this is my goddamn hospital. If I hear one more word out of you I swear I’ll have security escort you off the premises and I will file formal chares of trespassing, harassment, and anything else I can get my good friend Judge Shermer to agree to. And I’ll be talking to Gus about this. Now get the hell out of my face before I ask Crow to bounce you off the walls just to make us all feel better.”

      Polk was livid and his balled fists trembled at his sides. Crow shifted position to be within reach of Polk, hoping to God that the cop would take a swing. Bouncing him off the walls really would make him feel better.

      “Crow…?” It was Val’s’ voice, faint through the closed door, but still an arrow in Crow’s heart.

      Polk pointed a finger at Crow. “This isn’t over,” he said with a hiss.

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