Snared

“Mark?” she asked.

Something moved under the skin of his back. Low ridges bulged and writhed, distorting his badly scarred skin as if plump eels slid just beneath the surface of him.

“You don’t know me,” he said to the glass.

“I love you,” Lindsay said, growing more frightened by the moment.

“Do you?” he asked, his voice low and hollow as if he spoke into a vast cave.

Mark turned—but it wasn’t Mark anymore.

“This is what Ev saw,” he growled. “Do you love this?”

The face was distorted, as if covered in melted wax. It was thick with ridges and lumps. The eel-like movement beneath his skin grew frantic. His pectorals swelled to an impossible size while his waist shrank in so tightly that the shorts fell from his hips. The creature that was Mark stepped out of the shorts. He raced toward Lindsay, his entire body blurred by his speed.

Lindsay screamed as the terrible creature descended on her, clawed hands reaching for her face.

Then she woke for real.

Lindsay sat up on the marble, her scream still echoing in the vast, empty room. She clutched her blouse together in front and quickly buttoned it against the cold. The windows before her showed the shimmering blanket of night sea and night sky. The fat moon of her dream was still there, hovering high above the water.

But where was Mark?

“Mark?”

She climbed into her shorts and spoke his name again. Icy marble met the soles of her feet, sending chills up her legs. Why was it so cold? They wouldn’t just leave the air conditioner running—not for an empty house. Lindsay hugged herself tightly and wandered through the living room to the dining area. Here, too, she found a wall of glass with a spectacular view of the cove, but instead of finding the panorama beautiful, it frightened her, made her feel removed from the familiar and alone.

“Mark?” she called.

A noise rose behind her, merely a whisper like papers blowing down a sidewalk. She turned quickly, but not fast enough.

Jack’s square face, a red welt at the center of his forehead, rushed through the darkness, his hands already raised to grab her.

Lindsay screamed. She fought, slapping her fists down on Jack’s muscular shoulders as his hands locked around her biceps. She kicked at his crotch, but he lifted a knee, turned slightly and blocked the kick. Her shin collided with his and pain exploded along the bone.

“You can’t do this,” she cried.

“Quiet!” Jack snapped. With a blurring motion, he spun Lindsay and locked an arm around her throat. He covered her mouth with a palm and pulled her tight to his chest. “You foolish child,” he whispered in her ear. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you’ve unleashed?”

Lindsay couldn’t breathe. Jack’s grip did not cover her nose, but she was too frightened to draw breath. It felt like her entire body was made of stone like the floor beneath her feet, except for her heart, which pounded frantically as if trapped inside her body and trying to escape.

Jack walked her forward, back to the living room. She saw Mark standing in the middle of the room. Her captor paused on the threshold, his muscles growing more rigid against her.

Thank god, she thought. Mark would save her. She looked at him hopefully, eyes wide. Dull moonlight painted the left side of his face.

“Jesus,” Jack whispered.

“’Fraid not,” Mark said with a smile. “Don’t think even he could save you now.”

“You have no magic,” Jack said. “You wear the binding signs. I know. I burned them into your back.”

“Yeah, about that,” Mark said, reaching for the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. “I gotta admit that hurt.” He tossed his shirt on the floor and threw his arms out like he was surrendering. “But it didn’t hurt nearly as much as this did.”

He turned, slowly revealing his back.

Lindsay gagged, then felt her throat clamp shut.

The skin on Mark’s back was gone—torn away in long strips, leaving the glistening bulges of his muscles. Blood ran over the waist and butt of his shorts. Bits of flesh hung like thick threads at his sides. Lindsay couldn’t bear to see it, so she looked away into the corner, and there she saw the shredded strips of skin, which were piled up like a bloody old shirt. She swallowed hard and looked back at the boy.

Mark completed his turn, the smile still on his face. “I’m going to take my time with you, Little Jacky. I’ve got a lot of payback due me.” Mark stepped forward, his chest expanding with a deep breath. “Do you remember what I did to that girl in Denver? Oh, she had it easy compared to what you’ve got coming.”

“Stay back,” Jack said, his voice like a loudspeaker in Lindsay’s ear. “Paralyze,” he muttered. “Freeze muscle and bone and blood and breath.”

“Knock it off, Jacky,” Mark said, taking another casual step forward. “You don’t have any of your pills and potions now. Word magic isn’t going to do a damn thing against me, and you know it.”

Lindsay didn’t understand what she was seeing. Mark’s back was gone. How could he even stand up?

She mumbled his name against the thick palm covering her mouth.

“Oh,” Mark said, fixing his clear blue eyes on hers “you still don’t get it, do you? I’m the monster of this story, little girl. Lester Krohl knew it. Barbie sure as hell knew it. I’m the Big Bad Wolf, the Boogeyman, and the Wicked Witch all rolled up into one.”

No, Lindsay thought, her eyes filling with tears. No, it isn’t true.

“Tell her, Little Jacky,” Mark said, seeming to take absolute glee in the moment. “Tell her how very bad I am.”

“He’s one of Lucifer’s spawn,” Jack whispered. “He is evil and darkness manifest unto man. He is a moral disease.”

“And you and your buddies tried to break my groove,” Mark said, now only five steps away. “How long’s it been? Ten years? Twenty?”

“You have been under the brotherhood’s guard for thirty-two years.”

“Well, time flies,” Mark said.

Jack pulled Lindsay back a step and then another. Her head was growing light. She tried to keep from fainting, but already, the room behind Mark’s back spun and blurred, though he remained in focus, unchanged.

“Now, where’s that buddy of yours?” Mark asked. “We can’t have a party without him.”

“I’m here, boy,” Doug Richter said from the open doorway at Mark’s back. He held a shotgun against his shoulder and sighted down the barrel.

“Well, what have you got there?” Mark asked. “A pop gun?”

“Yes,” Doug said. He pulled the trigger, and Mark was lifted from the floor. He crashed into the wall with a sickening thunk and slid to the floor.

Lindsay screamed against the palm, only to find it hastily removed. Jack’s arm left her throat and his hands were clutching her shoulders, pushing her forward.

“We don’t have much time,” Jack said, ushering her away from Mark’s body toward Doug. “Come on. You can’t be here.”

Doug lowered the shotgun and threw out an arm, blocking Lindsay and Jack. “She can’t leave. Not yet,” he said.

“She isn’t safe here,” Jack said.

“What’s happening?” Lindsay cried.

“We have to finish this,” Doug continued. “He has to be bound. We can’t just leave him, and I can’t do this alone.”

Lindsay looked from Jack to Doug. The two older men now appeared heroic to her, not frightening.

“Yes,” he said. Sweat covered Jack’s face, and his burly torso trembled. “Yes. But we have to protect her.”

“The icons,” Doug said. “Do you have them?”