Night Terrors Read Free Page B

the opportunity to bring him home. Give him a proper burial.”
    â€œAnd I meant it.”
    Chief Block raised his head, like a bull roused from a deep slumber. His small eyes burned.
    â€œThen show us where he is, Currim! Now . Or maybe you don’t get to come back from here, either.”
    Currim pivoted toward me. “You hear that shit? See why I wanted you along, Doc? To protect me. Make sure these fuckers don’t do somethin’ awful to me, just for the hell of it.”
    â€œNobody’s going to hurt you, Wes.” I stared at Block. “Kinda defeats the purpose, right, Chief?”
    I turned back to Currim. “Now why don’t you show us where Ed Meachem is, okay?”
    The prisoner shook some snow from his sleeves and straightened his shoulders.
    â€œSure,” he said casually. “Why the fuck not?”
    I saw Randall’s hands ball into fists, but he kept himself in check. Currim indicated the porch, and then led the way up the three wide, snow-carpeted steps.
    The front door was unlocked, and though the interior was dark and cold, it was a relief to be out of the storm. No lights were on, so Randall pulled his departmental flashlight from his belt and clicked it on.
    Meanwhile, Chief Block reached for a wall switch and flipped it up and down. Still no lights.
    â€œSorry, Chief.” Currim smiled. “Most o’ the bulbs went out a while back. Never got around to replacin’ ’em.”
    Block’s only response was a thick grunt, a throaty sound threaded with as much weariness as disgust.
    Guided by the flashlight beam bouncing jerkily down the darkened, wallpapered hallway, the four of us headed into the bowels of the old house. The air thick, heavy as a shroud. Stale smells. Muffled sounds. Barely discernable shapes—a wicker chair, a ceramic-bowled table lamp—emerging from the shadows, as if summoned from some bleak, distant past.
    â€œHoly shit…” Randall’s voice was barely a whisper. The sergeant was clearly spooked. And, I thought, with damned good reason.
    The old wood floor creaked beneath our feet as we moved forward. Carefully, more hesitently now. Beyond the beam of the flashlight, there were only shadows.
    I felt my chest tighten. The hairs on my forearms were standing up inside the sleeves of the parka.
    â€œLet’s go through here, okay, guys?” Currim leaned against an opened door at the end of the hall. “I think you’ll find what you’re lookin’ for in here.”
    Randall spoke again under his breath. “Prick.”
    Ignoring him, Currim grinned and stepped into what appeared to be the living room. The three of us followed.
    Randall’s light swept the room, revealing the shapes of old stuffed chairs, a coffee table, and a cold, long-unused fireplace. A broad, stained area rug, bunched at the corners. Brass floor lamps, with fake Tiffany shades. All straight out of the fifties.
    Beyond the single, wide picture window, the storm raged on. Rattling the dust-coated blinds tied to opposite sides. Through the ice-encrusted glass, I could just make out the uneven yard, scalloped with snow. Some spindly trees, pencil-stroke branches bending in the wind.
    â€œWhat’s the idea, Currim?” Block planted his feet, bristling. “I don’t see nothin’.”
    Currim frowned. “Must be the wrong room. My bad.”
    Randall lifted his flashlight like a cudgel, its light flaring off the ceiling. I thought he was going to bash Currim’s head in. God knows, I wanted to do it myself.
    â€œYou better not be jerkin’ us around here, Wes!” Randall took a menacing step toward the prisoner. “I mean it, asswipe, I’ll just—”
    â€œI have half a mind to let ya, Sergeant.” Chief Block sighed heavily, eyes narrowing. “I’m done playin’ games, Currim. Where the fuck’s Meachem?”
    Currim snapped his fingers. “Damn, now