Enter, Night

left them-on the console table near the front door, next to her purse. The only light downstairs came from the embers of the fire in Adeline’s study bleeding through the half-closed doors, and a greenshaded library lamp on the other side of the hallway.

Christina took one last look back at the foyer of Parr House, which seemed to have gorged itself on the darkness, both natural and unnatural, until it was bloated. Whatever the source of the monsters that seemed to have stepped out of the storybooks and into her world, they had all been drawn here, to Parr’s Landing and to this awful place. Nothing could live here-could ever have lived here, she corrected herself- except anguish and misery.

Christina wished she had a can of propane and a match. She thought briefly of looking for just that in one of the pantries off the kitchen, but she realized that there just wasn’t time. Every moment she remained in this house, they were in danger. She had to get Morgan to safety, whatever “safety” meant in the middle of this horror.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Christina said. “Let’s go. We never have to come back to this place again.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The Gold Nugget motel was dark when Christina pulled into the parking lot in the snow.

The Chevelle’s headlights played across the windows of the diner, illuminating empty tables and shining through empty water glasses that went dark again when the high beams veered away as she parked the car.

Morgan opened the passenger-side door and looked around fearfully. “Mom, what are we doing here? Where is this place?” She leaned close to her mother, away from the snow and rain that was now falling in an even mixture of both.

“It’s the motel, Morgan,” Christina said, with a calmness she didn’t feel. “It’s the Nugget. It’s where Billy is staying.” She stepped out and locked the car, realizing at once what a futile gesture it was. If those things wanted to get in somewhere, they seemed to just do it. They didn’t ask questions or worry much about locks.

At some point, when I can think about it without going insane, I must take some time to sit down and consider the fact that my gay brother-in-law was just killed by his mother. Oh, but it gets better: he was killed by his mother who drank his blood and then bit his cock off with teeth the size of fingers. Then spat it out.

At which point, a twelve-year-old friend of my daughter’s threw a jar of holy water in the bitch’s face and melted it right off because he’d read it in a vampire comic. Then-wait for it!-my daughter’s friend was carried off by an old man dressed like a seventeenth-century Jesuit priest in one of our history books from school.

I’m living in a monster movie-which is crazy, of course. But crazy or not, here we are.

And it’s dark and I’m cold and there’s no one anywhere around here who can help me except a man I barely know. And if I think about any of this right now, I’ll go right off my goddamn head.

She reached for Morgan’s hand and pulled her along as quickly as she could. “We need to find him, quickly. Let’s hope he left his room unlocked. It’ll give us a place to stay where it’s safe, at least for now.”

“What if he’s not here? What if we have to go back to Grandmother’s house?”

“Morgan, we’re not going back there to that house, ever-no matter what. If Billy’s not here, I’ll kick the door in if I have to.”

In the absence of light from any of the rooms, let alone the diner or the front office, Christina tried to recall which room Billy had entered when she dropped him off a thousand years ago this afternoon. She hadn’t been paying attention of course, because at that time, she and reality still shared mutually agreed-upon parameters.

Christina and Morgan stopped in front of room 938.

“This is the one, I think,” Christina said, trying the doorknob. It was locked, of course, and the room was dark as all the others. “Jesus Christ!” she shouted, kicking the door in frustration. Christina thought for a moment, then said, “Morgan, stay right here. I’m going to break into the office and get the spare key.”

“Mom, no! Are you kidding me? I’m not waiting out here!”

“You’re right. It was a stupid idea. Forget it. Come with me-but stay close, Morgan, I mean it.”

The office, as it turned out, was not locked. It wasn’t even closed. The office door banged in the wind. A cold cup of coffee sat atop the front desk and the floor was littered with shards of broken light bulb glass. Her foot slipped in a pool of something sticky and dark that she couldn’t see, but which smelled like dirty pennies. She wondered what had happened to Darcy Morin, then decided that she couldn’t bear the knowledge right now anyway.

“Morgan, step back please,” Christina said, blocking the entrance to the office with her body. “Stay in the doorway here, but don’t come in. But stay close enough for me to grab you, OK, honey?”

“Mom, what is it,” she asked fearfully. “What’s in there?”

“Nothing, honey, just looking for the key to Billy’s room.” Privately, she was grateful for the darkness-there was nothing she might stumble upon here in the office that she had any desire to see in the light. Under her breath she muttered, “935, 936… aha! Got it!” She took the key to room 938 down off the peg and stepped outside, taking Morgan by the arm. “Come on, honey, let’s get warm! Hurry-hurry-hurry!”

Outside, she slipped the key into the lock of room 938.

Blessedly, there was a click. She pushed the door open and stepped into the warmth of Billy’s room, which smelled of leather and pipe tobacco and kindness, and when she switched on the light, it revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

Billy found them in his motel room an hour later with the doors barricaded from the inside, a chair wedged up against the handle.

He peered in through his window. Christina was sitting on the bed with her knees up. Morgan was in her arms, leaning with her head on her mother’s breast. Morgan’s eyes were closed, but Billy doubted she was sleeping. Christina’s eyes were trained on the door, wide open and alert. In her hands was some sort of silver medal on a chain.

Billy could spot a St. Christopher’s medal at thirty paces. All of the children at St. Rita’s were given one and had been expected to wear it all the time.

Ironic, Billy thought. For the first time in my life, it would have come in handy.

He looked down at his clothes and wondered what sort of a picture he would present if he knocked on the door of his own motel room and asked Christina to let him in. Not a good one, he expected. He stank, and his clothes were covered with dirt and blood. He looked down at his hands, which were the colour of coal dust. I could just leave them in there and not knock. They’d probably be safe. Then he shook his head and sighed. Of course they wouldn’t be safe in there. They’re completely unsafe in there.

He knocked on the motel room door and called out, “Christina?”

From inside, Christina’s muffled voice: “Billy, is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said. “Let me in.”

Christina opened the door and fell into Billy Lightning’s arms. She hadn’t intended to fall into his arms, or any man’s arms, especially not in front of Morgan. But the momentum of her own relief propelled her.

Billy was solid and real and reassuring, and his presence was warm and strong. Christina was tired of being the strong one, and she was dead tired of being afraid.

“Billy, what’s that smell?” She pulled away, wrinkling her nose in distaste. Her eyes widened as she took in his appearance. “Jesus, what happened? Were you in an accident? Are you all right?”

He stepped back, away from her. “Sorry. I should have warned you about that. Look,” he said, pointing at her. “I’ve gotten you dirty.” He reached out to brush the smear of dirt off her pale pink sweater. “Here, let me.”

Christina’s eyes darted to Morgan on the bed, who was watching their interaction with wide eyes, silently.