Four
“We should get going,” Tim Clark said to his older brother. Being fifteen, Brian had the final say on most things, given that he could beat the holy crap out of Tim if he wanted. Presently, Brian was hunched over an M-80, which their cousin had brought from Pennsylvania. Brian had been burning to set it off since he’d gotten his hands on it.
“Brian, come on, it’s getting dark.”
“Don’t rush me,” Brian said.
Darkness was setting in, the shadows growing long. Crickets chirped in the woods surrounding the property. Tim looked at his watch: 8:19. The watch had been a gift this year for his thirteenth birthday.
Tim looked up at the old Morgan Powerhouse. It seemed to have a thousand windows, nearly all of them broken. The twin smokestacks towered over the property. In the daytime, it was a cool place to hang out, blow off fireworks, and talk girls. They also watched videos on Brian’s iPhone that would make Mom cringe. But now they were surrounded by rusting pieces of equipment, piles of broken concrete, and the building itself. Anyone or anything could be in there watching. “Who do you think killed that runner?”
Brian flicked the lighter, popping the flame. “Some psycho. He’s probably long gone.”
“What if he’s around?” Tim asked.
“I’ll kick his ass. Ready for this?”
Brian lit the wick and scampered backwards. Tim ducked behind a big piece of machinery and Brian joined him. The M-80 blew and Tim clapped his hands over his ears. Brian laughed maniacally.
“Now can we go?”
“Don’t be such a douche,” Brian said. “I got one more M-80. Let’s find something to blow up.”
Getting darker. The powerhouse was at the end of a deserted road. Fields stretched in all directions beyond the property. Brian got up and headed off into the chest-high weeds.
“Did Carrie Bauman really let you feel her tits up here?” Tim said.
“Yep.”
“What was it like?” Tim said.
“It was goddamned epic. Get a girlfriend and maybe you’ll find out. Here we go,” he said, stooping over. He picked up a rusty coffee can. “This will do.”
Brian removed the last M-80 from his pocket. He came out of the weeds, crouched down, and set the can over the M-80. He pulled the wick out, exposing it from under the can.
Tim heard footsteps in the power house, someone shuffling on the concrete. “Bri, someone’s in the powerhouse.”
“It’s the wind,” Brian said.
“There’s no wind right now.”
“Jesus you’re a baby.”
But he knew what he heard. He looked at the black maw of a door. He could see someone cloaked in the shadows. “Brian, someone’s there.”
The man darted from the shadows. Tim got a glimpse of a dirty trench coat. He caught a whiff of something like hot garbage as the man breezed past him.
Brian, still hunkered down, looked up and saw the man. Tim spotted the huge knife come from under the coat. The guy grabbed Brian’s hair, yanked back, and slashed the knife across his throat. Tim screamed as the blood poured from his brother. Warm liquid soaked his underwear. He’d pissed himself.
Brian fell forward, his face smacking the ground. Tim broke for the powerhouse and stumbled through the doorway. He was in total darkness. Instinctively, he turned right and banged his knee on something hard. He let out a whimper and hobbled along.
His foot caught something solid and he fell forward on the concrete. Tim heard footsteps from behind. He started to crawl away, but cold hands closed around his neck and he was jerked to his feet.
Regina Clark gnawed on her right thumbnail while she held the phone to her ear with the other hand. It was nine-thirty and the boys were a half-hour late. She’d texted Brian twice and called his cell three times. They’d said they were going bike riding, but she knew they were likely hanging at the abandoned powerhouse.
Being the criminal geniuses they were, her sons wrongly surmised that Regina had no idea about the powerhouse. She was an adult, and therefore, an idiot. She knew they went there to shoot off illegal fireworks and look at dirty videos on their phones. She’d heard rumors that a middle schooler had snuck a six-pack of beer up there, but it was unconfirmed.
She hadn’t intervened, as she hadn’t suspected them of drinking. Plus, too many kids sat around the house chained to electronic devices. Regina didn’t love the idea that someone might have brought beer, but she was glad to see her boys getting out in the fresh air.
Except now they were late and someone had been killed last night. She figured if they were home by dark, they’d be fine. Now she felt like the world’s worst mother for letting them go out.
That was it. She grabbed the keys to the Kia and headed for the garage.
The road out to the powerhouse sent a chill through her. Dark as a closet, there was trash strewn at the sides of the road. The road hadn’t been used on a regular basis since the power company was in operation back in the 50’s.
Every few years the town council had a meeting to discuss funding for demolishing the powerhouse. The cost, with asbestos and environmental cleanup, was always deemed too high. So it still stood.
She came to the weedy lot where employees once parked. Looking at the powerhouse, she reflected that if Dracula had designed a power plant, it would look like this. There were weird gargoyle-looking statues jutting from the upper stories. Lots of shadowy arches and ornate designs in the concrete. She thought the place dated back to the late 1800s.
The stacks were so high you had to crane your neck to see the very top. She wanted to get the boys and go
