Chapter 36
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX
“You think I know why this guy has a bloody candle?”
“Well, no.” Jack admitted. Afternoon sunshine streamed through the windows and reflected off the countertop with enough ferocity to blind him whenever he made the mistake of looking down. “But you were kind of my only hope.”
Boris glared at Carla, something he’d done quite a lot since their introduction. In her pressed and starched suit, she was completely out of place—too elegant and glamorous for this rundown hotel. Not the normal clientele, for sure.
Jack told himself that Boris’s scowl had nothing to do with jealousy, but a hot ball of nerves appeared in his chest, anyway.
“Your only hope, huh?”
“That’s what I was told,” said Carla, returning Boris’s glower. From her pocket, she procured a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and puffed smoke across the lobby. “You have any ideas?”
Boris crossed his arms over his chest in a way that only served to accentuate the muscles there; Jack tried not to stare at them in front of Carla. “Sure,” he drawled, leaning back in the chair. “Sounds like a satanic ritual to me.”
“A satanic ritual? That’s the best you’ve got?” Carla scowled, took another drag. Lipstick stained the yellow filter like blood.
Boris fumbled under the desk and came up with a battered box of cigarettes. “Give me a light and maybe I can come up with something better.”
“There’s always the bookstore lady,” Jack began, but Carla shook her head.
“Nah. Let’s see what else he’s got.”
Boris took the offered lighter, lifted it to the cigarette between his lips, inhaled so that the cherry bloomed. “That’s it. I just wanted a light.”
“That’s it?” Carla snatched her lighter back.
“You think I’m some kind of bloody candle expert? Hell no. I can tell you that it was either an accident, or it was some kind of ritual. Nobody mixes candles and blood unless it’s one of those two options. Get real.”
Jack winced. “That’s… probably true.”
“I mean, you can ask the bookstore owner. She might know the specifics. Or you can try the library.” Boris exhaled smoke.
Carla shook her head. “The library has, like, seven shelves. There’s no way.”
“Yeah, but they have like, microfilm, right?”
“Microfiche,” said Jack automatically.
“Yeah, microfish,” said Boris with astounding confidence. “Anyway, the bigger question is, why are you so convinced that this matters? OK, maybe some asshole was messing with things he shouldn’t have. So what?”
Carla passed her cigarette to Jack, who took a grateful drag. “Because Enzo knows about the time loop.”
“You think he created it, or what?”
“It’s… possible.” She hesitated. “I—Look, weird shit happens around Enzo, alright? Cats go missing, he wears all this freaky jewelry and always smells like smoke, and I—I just think he’s got something to do with it.”
After taking another pull from the cigarette, Jack said, “You didn’t tell me that.”
“Well, I thought maybe you’d think I was crazy.”
Jack gestured around them. “After all this?”
Boris snickered.
“Fine, Jack, fine. I didn’t think about it, alright?
Everybody in the family knows that Enzo’s creepy.
You don’t wanna fuck with Enzo, because you don’t know what he’s gonna do to you.
Whether he’ll shoot you or cast some kinda curse is up for debate.
” She stormed past them to the coffee station, where she poured a cup with shaking hands. “You just don’t fuck with Enzo!”
“Sounds like we need to fuck with Enzo,” said Boris, catching Jack’s eye and smirking.
Jack shook his head, couldn’t help but laugh when Boris waggled his eyebrows at him.
“You look better today,” he said.
“Yeah, I used your fucking bed last night.”
“That’s fine. I wasn’t in it.”
“I think I know what you were in last night,” said Boris, gaze tracking Carla across the lobby. Something in his expression darkened.
Jack ignored him. “A warehouse?”
“If that’s what the kids are calling it these days, sure.”
Jack rolled his eyes.
They decided to try the bookstore first.
Sirens blared as Jack and Carla stepped from the lobby into the street. An anxious Boris waved them off—as useless as he was, he couldn’t be cajoled from the front desk.
“I can’t lose this job,” he said, when Jack invited him to go with them. “I can’t just leave in the middle of the day. You gotta fill me in later.”
Carla rolled her eyes, snatched Jack’s hand and dragged him out the door. “I hate him,” she seethed, just loud enough to be heard over the screeching sirens.
“I know,” said Jack sympathetically. He hadn’t expected that Carla and Boris would hit it off. In fact, their introduction went better than he thought it would. Nobody got slapped, nobody started shouting. Overall, it was a roaring success. “Sorry, he’s kind of… rough around the edges.”
“Not your fault,” said Carla.
A police cruiser sped past, lights flashing.
“What’s happening? Do you think someone else disappeared?” Jack had overslept and missed the morning news. He’d tried not to worry about it, but there was no denying his nerves were properly aflame now.
“I hope not.”
“Me too.”
As they continued down the main strip and into the heart of the town, the sirens grew louder. Blue and red lights flickered across brick exteriors.
Jack’s heart sank. He exchanged a glance with Carla, who jogged ahead, heels clicking on concrete. He followed at a brisk walk, afraid of what they might find.
The storefront was shattered. Red droplets splattered across the sidewalk. Yellow crime scene tape blocked off the entrance.
Inside, bookcases had fallen like dominoes, their volumes spilled across the floor.
“Fuck,” Carla cried. “Fuck!”
They sat on Jack’s bed, staring despondently at the TV. Stretched out behind them, burrowed under the blankets like some sort of woodland creature, was a softly snoring Boris.
The police refused to answer any of Carla’s questions and looked at Jack like he was an actual maggot that had crawled free from a gaping wound when he tried to back her up, so they made their way back to the hotel, where they found Boris with his forehead pressed to the counter, dead asleep.
It didn’t take much coaxing to get him up the stairs and into bed. Carla grumbled under her breath, but didn’t insist on kicking him out, which Jack took as a good sign.
The five o’clock news started. The shrill jingle cut the still air like a knife.
“A fifty-seven year-old bookstore owner has gone missing in tiny, picturesque Hidden Cove,” began the newscaster after a tedious segment about a car crash, a bank robbery, and a toilet that flooded so badly an entire apartment building had to be evacuated.
“This marks a fifth victim in an overnight crime spree. Officers have stated that there are signs of foul play but have not disclosed anything further.”
Jack chewed his lip. The news segment continued. Hannah and Denise and her husband were missing under the same circumstances. A fifth person, Lisa Costello, had joined the list.
“A thirty-three year-old mother of two has mysteriously vanished. Her husband reported her missing after she never arrived home from work. Police found her vehicle abandoned, the front seat splattered in blood.”
A loud snore cracked the silence. Jack deliberately avoided looking at Carla.
“Five people,” said Jack when the segment ended. “In three days.”
“Yeah,” said Carla gravely. “It’s ramping up.”
“We gotta investigate Enzo,” said Jack. The words tore free of him with great reluctance. Each felt like it was ripped kicking and screaming from his lungs.
“We’re gonna need more guns,” sighed Carla, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“And salt,” mumbled Boris, rolling onto his side. “You’re gonna need some fucking salt.”