Crippling pain set in as the bouquet of survival chemicals polluting my veins diminished. Cracked ribs for sure, deep-tissue bruises in my back, everywhere. I’d bitten my tongue and jammed my neck. My feet hurt. It began to settle into my frenzied brain that I’d commandeered a patrol car, was mostly naked, had helped murder a sworn officer of the law, and worst of all, left ten grand behind. Perhaps I should turn around and retrieve the money, at any rate. Hard to split for parts unknown without a few dollars in one’s pocket.
That’s when the wheel wrenched in my hands. The cruiser slewed violently and I couldn’t work the pedals fast enough to avert disaster. It left the road at forty-five, flipped over, and skidded upside down until it came to a halt in the bushes.
The crash tossed me around inside the cab. Ruined my hair and tore my gorgeous dress all to shit. Might’ve loosened a tooth or two as well. I was partly stunned when Sheriff Holcomb got the driver-side door open and pulled me out and dumped me onto the soft ground without ceremony. He looked pissed. The pistol in his hand accentuated my impression of his mood.
“Nice shooting, Tex,” I said with groggy reproach.
“Jumping Jesus lizards,” he said. “My rig is totaled. Biggest clusterfuck I ever did see.”
“I bet you’ve seen a bunch too.”
He holstered his pistol with an expression of regret.
“What the hell are you doing in Coop’s car? Where is she? I heard a shot. What the fuck happened?”
“Easy, easy. Give her a second.” Beasley emerged from the gloom, rifle in hand. He knelt at my side and checked for broken bones. Contusions, mainly, but I didn’t mind the attention. While he worked, I closed my eyes and related the appalling tale of the past few minutes. I considered editing out the part where I put a slug into Deputy Cooper’s brain — admittedly, it might not have killed her, the wrecking bar swung by a carnival performer who could bench a grand piano was the most likely candidate. Once I started spilling, I couldn’t stop, though.
“Real sorry about your deputy,” I said at the end and wiped my eyes to emphasize the point. “Sorry about the dog, too. He was probably a good dog.”
Beasley stood and faced Sheriff Holcomb.
“Shut up, Von.”
“Screw you, Beasley. I didn’t say anything. She’s admitted—”
“To putting down a murderous psychopath. Damned good at it, isn’t she? All those bodies? I’m sure lab work is going to connect your girl to the crime scene.”
“Shit, man. We all were there. That scene is a mess.”
“Montana’s finest,” I said.
“Put things in order,” Beasley said. “Be the hero who solved the case.”
“Huh. Think the curse is broken?”
Beasley shrugged.
“Can’t see how it matters for you. If it is, you’re sheriff for life. If the situation remains unchanged, nobody outside of our circle is gonna remember anything in a week or two. Besides, there’s Jessica’s not-insubstantial fee. Check under my bed.”
“Yeah? How much.”
“Ten grand.”
“Beasley!” I said, too weak to jump up and slap him.
That did it. The clouds cleared from Sheriff Holcomb’s demeanor. He grinned.
“Okay, then. Okay.” He clapped Beasley’s shoulder. “Yeah, okay. Reckon I’ll mosey on back to camp and straighten everything out.”
Watching the predatory smirk and swagger of the sheriff, his easy acceptance of such a dramatic turn of events, was chilling. How many two-bit criminals had he left in the woods? How many hookers had he strangled and dumped along the highway?
I only exhaled when he tipped his hat and ambled toward town.
“Lean on me,” Beasley said. “I parked not far from here.” He half carried me to his truck and put me inside. He gunned the engine and got us moving.
“I can’t believe you gave that pumpkin-headed sonofabitch my cash.”
He chuckled.
“Von’s gonna be hot. It’s behind the seat.”
I relaxed. A hundred aches and pains faded into the background and I almost smiled. Didn’t last long — the dead cop’s face would haunt my dreams, or worse.
“Where to?”
“Home. Ride with me as far as you want.”
“Oh, is it that easy? We’re done? Weren’t you planning to trap the. spirit in that den? Sure Mary and I didn’t totally blow the whole deal?”
“I’m done is all I know. Gave it the college try. You look sort of spectacular in what’s left of that dress, in case nobody mentioned it yet.”
We continued in silence until we hit the interstate and turned east.
Beasley reached over and patted my scraped knee.
“Yep, it’s over. The moon feels different.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the last thing I’d seen before I booked out of there in Sheriff Holcomb’s cruiser was Deputy Cooper’s grinning corpse, or how its eyelid drooped in a ghastly wink.
Besides, Beasley was right. The moon did feel different. Surely it did.
I gave him a cheery smile and clicked on the radio. Hank Williams Sr.’s lost highway carried me into dreams.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Nathan Ballingrud is the award-winning author of the short story collection North American Lake Monsters, from Small Beer Press. He lives with his daughter in Asheville, North Carolina, where he is at work on his first novel.
Laird Barron is the author of several books, including The Croning, Occultation, and his Bram Stoker Award — winning collection, The Beautiful Thing That Awaits Us All. His work has also appeared in many magazines and anthologies, including The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Lovecraft Unbound, Haunted Legends, and Fearful Symmetries. An expatriate Alaskan, Barron currently resides in upstate New York.
Dennis Danvers has published seven novels, including New York Times notables Circuit of Heaven and The Watch, Locus and Bram Stoker nominee Wilderness, and The Bright Spot (under pseudonym Robert Sydney). His short fiction has been published in a variety of magazines, webzines, and anthologies.
He teaches fiction writing and science fiction and fantasy literature at Virginia Commonwealth University in Richmond, Virginia, and blogs at DennisDanvers.com, where a free novel, Bad Angels, has recently been posted.
Terry Dowling is one of Australia’s most respected and internationally acclaimed writers of science fiction, dark fantasy, and horror, and author of the multi-award-winning Tom Rynosseros saga. He has been called “Australia’s finest writer of horror” by Locus magazine, its “premier writer of dark fantasy” by All Hallows, and its “most acclaimed writer of the dark fantastic” by Cemetery Dance magazine. His collection Basic Black won the 2007 International Horror Guild Award for Best Collection.
London’s Guardian called his debut novel Clowns at Midnight “an exceptional work that bears comparison to John Fowles’s The Magus.”
Terry’s homepage can be found at TerryDowling.com.
Katherine Dunn’s third novel, Geek Love, was a finalist for the Bram Stoker Award and for the National Book Award. Dunn is a prize-winning boxing journalist and teaches fiction in the Pacific University MFA Writing program.