Chapter 33
Malcolm didn’t realize he was humming until Jennie snapped at him.
“Can you cut that out? What the hell are you so happy about, anyway?”
“Just passing the time,” he said. “Trying to figure out how to get out of here.”
Jennie stood up from the bunk on what had become her side of the cell. She went to the bars and held on as if to keep from drowning.
“I think violence is the only answer,” she said quietly.
Malcolm had been lying on the other bunk, hands behind his head. Her suggestion didn’t move him. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. It’s one hell of a risk.”
Glancing out into the short corridor, she came to his bunk and sat on the edge, studying his eyes. “I expected an argument.”
Malcolm propped himself up on an elbow. “We might have a little more time to spare, but not much. Alfie and the kid are out there, which means the monsters aren’t far away.
Probably hiding in somebody’s cellar or something.
If we’re here when the sun goes down, we’re dead, and when they find Maggie’s body—”
“They might not. The dust I covered her with—”
“I’ve been shot and I’ve been stabbed, but no matter how much pain was involved, it happened fast and I knew it was over.
I would either die or I’d heal. I know some hard men, soldiers who are almost like monsters themselves, but even those guys have limits.
They’re human, and so are we. They start in with real torture, I will absolutely tell them what they want to know, and so will you. ”
Jennie nodded slowly. “So how long can we afford to wait before we don’t have a choice?”
“Another hour at most.”
“Then we’d better start figuring out how to get the drop on them.”
Despite his humming and the way he’d reclined on the bunk, Malcolm felt a dreadful urgency in his bones.
A woman capable of doing what Jennie had done last night, coming to their rescue the way she had—not to mention traveling the world and educating herself about the occult—would not have left it until now to think about an escape.
He knew that his sister had been considering options all along, that she’d have suggestions, and he suspected they would be similar to his own thoughts.
Feign illness, or start assaulting each other, or yank the young uniformed cop toward the bars, smash his head against them until he dropped, then take his keys. So many things could go wrong.
“There’s still Violet,” he said.
“We have no idea where she’s gone,” Jennie replied. “If she’s smart, she’s a hundred miles from here.”
Malcolm shot his sister a hard look, not so much at the suggestion that Violet didn’t love him enough to stay and fight but the idea that she didn’t have the courage. Malcolm knew she did.
“She’s out there somewhere, trying to figure out how to help,” he said. “You can bet on that. Which means if we get out of here without her help, we’re going to have to find her before we can skip town.”
“If she’s around, like you say, she’ll know when it happens,” Jennie assured him.
Malcolm agreed. “What about Alfie and the kid?”
Jennie blinked. “What about them?”
“They’re not like Elias. They’re puppets. They’re not in control of what they’re doing. I just think if we can help them, we should.”
“Maybe you’ve forgotten the stakes.”
“I haven’t,” Malcolm assured her.
Footsteps echoed beyond the bars, silencing them.
Detective Hope appeared in the corridor, wearing a thin smile. “Awfully quiet in there. You guys having a little sibling quarrel, or just worried about talking in front of me?”
“Just impatient,” Malcolm said. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” the detective said. “Something about you two makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. You’ve got secrets, both of you.”
“Don’t we all?” Jennie asked.
The detective narrowed his eyes. “I shouldn’t like you. Too clever, by far. But I find I can’t help myself.”
Jennie laughed. “You’d be the first. I’ve never been the charming one.”
Hope pointed at Malcolm. “If he’s the charming one, you’re both in trouble.”
Malcolm stared through the bars at him. “Not exactly news. We’re in a jail cell.”
Detective Hope lit a cigarette, taking his time about it, then leaned against the wall opposite their cell. He studied them as if they were under a microscope.
“I just got off the horn with the police in Springfield,” the detective said.
“The survivors from the derailment were taken to the municipal hospital there. Some of them had injuries none of the local patch-up spots could handle. The state police are tallying the casualties. All they’d tell me right now is that the number is very high and ticking upward.
Some of those folks brought to Springfield Municipal were just too badly injured.
The doc I spoke to there … he told me he’d never seen anything like it.
Worse than the war, he said. Like a pride of lions got at them. ”
Malcolm stared at him, wanting one of his cigarettes. “You can’t think we did all that.”
Detective Hope took a puff, exhaled. “Of course I don’t. And I’ll take it a step further. I finally spoke to your friend Paxson Keates back in Elkhart, and he confirms the death of your mother, the way he prepared her body, and that he put you on that train himself.”
He pointed at Jennie with his cigarette. “Mr. Keates seemed a bit confused about you, Miss Wise, but I’m not gonna quibble about that.”
“So you’re going to let us go?” Jennie asked before Malcolm could get the question out.
Detective Hope puffed again, the tip of his cigarette flaring. Whatever comfort he wanted from smoking, the expression on his face said he wasn’t getting it.
“I’m going to let you out,” he replied, “but that doesn’t mean I’m letting you go. On behalf of several police departments, this one included, and the state attorney general, I’m officially requesting that you remain local for several days.”
Malcolm smiled, not trying to pretend he was telling the truth. “We’d be delighted.”
The detective sniffed. He didn’t like it, but he dug into his pocket for the keys to the cells.
“No,” Jennie said.
Malcolm shot her a look. “No?”
But Jennie’s focus was on Hope. “In the dark and the rain, it was hard to tell what was happening to the other passengers. There were … things there, animals maybe, attacking people. But there was also at least one man helping in the killing. A tall Irish-looking guy, orange hair, bushy beard.”
Malcolm’s guts turned to ice. “Jennie!”
His sister glared at him. “Am I lying?”
Detective Hope knew something weird was going on between them, but his confusion looked genuine. “Is she lying?”
Malcolm wanted to shout at her, but he knew what she was doing.
If Alfie and Benjy were still outside waiting, she wanted to clear them out of the way so she and Malcolm could get Maggie’s remains and start north without having to fight their way out of Crowson.
He wished he had an argument, but despite all he’d said about wanting to save Alfie and the kid, they would need that time, and not just to get the body and steal another car. They needed to find Violet.
“There’s no hotel here in town, but you can always stay in Springfield,” Detective Hope said.
“What about our mother?” Malcolm asked.
The detective blinked. “Hadn’t thought much about that. The body’s in a cooler right now. I guess the funeral home would be willing to keep her there until you’re able to carry on to wherever you were gonna lay her to rest.”
Jennie didn’t smile. “That’s fine, Detective, but I’m pretty hungry, so if you don’t mind…”
Detective Hope put the key into the cell door’s lock.
From the back of the police station came the sound of wood breaking. Voices shouted in alarm. Cops called to each other, then started barking orders. Stay back. On your knees. You will be shot.
A single loud gunshot.
“Hurry!” Jennie snapped at Detective Hope, but he seemed almost to have forgotten his prisoners were even there.
The detective shouted for someone to stay back.
He reached for his gun, but too slowly. Benjy hurtled down the hallway, smashing into the detective’s chest hard enough to knock him over.
The gun flew from Hope’s fingers, hit the floor, and spun away.
The boy grabbed Hope by the ears and slammed his head down once, and then again.
Malcolm saw the detective’s eyes roll back to white.
Jennie reached through the bars. Hope had left his key in the lock. She turned it. Malcolm heard the click and Jennie burst from the jail cell, the door swinging open with such force it struck the boy and knocked him off his feet. The key popped out, skittering across the floor.
Malcolm followed his sister. He lunged for the gun, scooped it up, and turned on one knee to aim in the direction from which the boy had come.
Cops were still shouting. More gunshots rang out.
He glanced over at Jennie to see that she’d pinned the boy between the bars of the cell and the bars of the open cell door.
Benjy thrust his arms through, grabbed fistfuls of her hair, and tried to yank her head against the bars.
Jennie resisted, barely. He was so much stronger than he should have been.
The boy grabbed at Jennie’s face, jabbed fingers in her eyes. She cried out and staggered backward, and the kid swung the gate back toward her.
Shouting his sister’s name, Malcolm plowed into her from behind, driving her forward and crunching the boy against the bars. Jennie recovered, angrier now, and joined him in holding the boy trapped there.
Malcolm stepped back and took aim at the boy, finger on the trigger.
Jennie looked at him in shock. Malcolm hesitated. This kid wasn’t a vampire. They had no way of knowing if he could be made whole again, but he was still alive, just a puppet. Malcolm couldn’t kill him.
“We’ll take him with us,” Jennie said quickly.
“To hell with that.” He glanced around. “Where’s the cell key? Lock him up!”