one of the main reasons he’d had the vasectomy.
Christ. If this night would just end. He glanced at Derwin and Griz and Todd, and they didn’t make him feel any better. The only thing that would have eased his worries was if his mama had given birth to quadruplets, and the other three were with him tonight.
These boys were nuts. Derwin wanting to pull a train with Amy Peyton, as if riding April’s choo choo way back when hadn’t caused them enough misery. And Griz, that boy was a sick puppy, pinning a ransom note to the cheek of a corpse. Austin was nuts, sure, digging her up and all. But at least he hadn’t done any weird shit to her after he got her home.
And Todd. Fuckin’ Todd Gould. If you jammed his thumb up his ass and told him he was Little Jack Horner, the fool would try to eat himself.
Jesus. Bat spit into the grave, but the bitch didn’t shut up. If it wasn’t for that little spool of film, and the knowledge of what it could do to him and his family, he wouldn’t be here at all. These guys weren’t worth it. Tonight was the last night. He was quits with these idiots. Guys like these…shit, guys like these had been holding him back his whole life. Wasting his time, getting him into trouble with his old lady. Maybe there was something to Ozzy Austin’s loner routine, after all. Austin had done all right by it, and he was certifiable.
“C’mon, Austin,” Bat whispered. “Let’s get on with it.” The only good thing that had happened was Austin doing Doug Douglas. That would save Bat some work down the road. If things went right at the cemetery, he’d only have Shutterbug to worry about. And that particular worry wasn’t any bigger than Griz Cody’s dick.
But it would be a miracle if this thing worked. What a plan. Grab Austin when he got here, take him out with the. 45 they had stolen from his gun cabinet. It had to be a head shot. Then, when he was dead, wrap his fingers around the pistol and drill the coffin, so that traces of powder would show on his hand. It would look like he had killed Amelia Peyton, and then killed his nutty self. Bat couldn’t sort out the crazy shit that was going on between the two of them. He didn’t have a clue about the games they were playing. And that was good, because he figured the cops wouldn’t see it any clearer.
Bat sighed. Someone would have to go back to Austin’s house, too. Get the note off April’s cheek. Shit. This was too damn complicated. Bat hoped he had thought of everything.
Amelia Peyton sloshed around in a couple three inches of muddy water, and Bat almost said. Hush hush, you little brat, or daddy’s gonna make you hush.
But he didn’t say that. He didn’t say anything.
He jumped into the hole and closed the coffin.
Slammed it closed.
Todd Gould yawned.
It was a nice night, that was for sure. A little colder than last night, but nice. It was quiet. Nice and quiet.
Sometimes it was real quiet at the furniture store. That was nice.
But this place wasn’t like the furniture store. There wasn’t any furniture here at all.
11:38 P.M.
The coffin lid slammed closed, and Amy was trapped in borderless darkness.
April’s coffin, however, was not without borders. Amy’s heels pressed against the bottom wall. She couldn’t move them because her legs were bound at the ankles and the coffin lid pressed against her knees. Her wrists were bound as well, and another rope secured her forearms to her waist so she couldn’t get enough distance to lift the coffin lid. The tight bonds cut off her circulation, and she couldn’t fight the numbness that bloomed in her feet and hands. She could only lie there, the icy water soaking April’s clothes, cold fear snaking through her veins.
A whimper rose inside Amy, but it couldn’t go anywhere. The strip of duct tape that masked her mouth locked the sound inside her. She dipped her face to the side, into the cold water, but the tape didn’t loosen.
And she felt that she would explode. Her breaths came too fast through pinched nostrils, but she refused to surrender to the fear. That was what they wanted. They wanted her weak, beaten.
It’s a little late in the game to start fighting, don’t you think?
The coffin lining sagged above Amy’s face. Dank silk rubbed her nose. Cold drops of water struck her eyes, and she blinked them away. She moved her head, but the droplets only increased.
She closed her eyes and kept them closed.
People did this for fun. Amy had read about it. Sensory deprivation tanks. Floating around in saltwater, getting in touch with one’s innermost concerns. It was said to be very relaxing, but then again Amy was pretty sure that there weren’t too many sensory deprivation tanks that had once been coffins, and no one climbed into one of the things bound up like Harry Houdini.
And no one left four lunatics in charge of the keys.
But all this could change. She had overheard Bautista’s master plan. He wanted Steve Austin, the ex-Six Million Dollar Man who had become an unstoppable mummy in Amy’s own private mythology. Austin had something Bautista wanted. From what she had heard, Amy guessed that something had to be Marvis Hanks’s movie.
Austin cared about April. That much was certain. And, in his mind, at this moment. Amy was April.
The Six Million Dollar Psychotic would get her out of this.
And where would he take her? Back to his basement?
God. What would happen when he realized that she had tricked him? He didn’t want her. He wanted April Destino. He wanted her so desperately that he was willing to chase after her in death. Wanted her bad enough to push himself to the limits, until he found a way to believe that she could still be with him.
Amy struggled against her bonds. Stale water sloshed against the sides of the cramped coffin. Her wig slipped off. It lay beneath her head like the pelt of a dead animal, scratching her neck. She drew a sharp, frightened breath through her nostrils. Air. The word came to her in an instant. There was only so much air in a coffin. She couldn’t afford to waste it.
She lay very still, as still as the dead. Her fingers were completely numb. They were strangers, and her hands would soon be as well. She could no longer feel the gooseflesh dotting her legs. Only the damp cold penetrated her bones. She was dying a millimeter at a time.
This had been April’s fate. Lying in a trailer, a dozen drugs pumping through her veins as she waited for the end. Alone. Then cold in the ground, lying in a tight box in the borderless darkness. Alone.
Amy tried not to breathe.
She wasn’t alone. April was here in the darkness, but the darkness didn’t frighten her. She was dead. She didn’t need to breathe anymore.
For April, the coffin was a suit of armor. She welcomed it.
And suddenly Amy understood April Destino. April didn’t mind being alone in the darkness, because no rapists waited there. April couldn’t see fingers pointing when she masked her pain with drugs, and she couldn’t hear her name spit through laughing lips when she was alone.
Amy’s thoughts were foggy with cold, but her inner vision was clearing. She opened her eyes and stared into the void, blinking as cold droplets rained down from the silk liner.
The void was complete, perfect. It was the only thing there.
Help me, April, Amy thought. I’m scared.
How scared April must have been. Four jocks raping her. Half the people in school thinking she was some dumb bimbo anyway. Maybe someone would have believed her story, if she had mustered the strength to tell it. But she would have had to keep telling it, and then she would have had to face Griz and Derwin and Todd and Bat, and go on facing them until it was over.
Win or lose, she could never be the same.
