The Well Part 12

"Tell me where she went," Sergeant Ring said.

"I don't know, I told you."

"Bulls.h.i.t." Sergeant Ring leaned forward, shifting his belt under his gut, as if the donuts got top priority. His breath reeked of stale beer; his eyes were red and bleary. Even I recognized the hangover in him. "I know you're dating her. That makes you bad guy number one. Maybe I should lock you up."

"Not a chance. I watch CSI and Law & Order," I said, ready to be out of there so I could look for Megan myself. I couldn't trust these guys. For one, Ring was a total alcoholic. He could barely raise his own kid and crashed his car into his front porch last summer. Why would I think he could find Megan? For another, the whole well-and-creature story was completely unbelievable-and at this point, I didn't even know for sure that's what was responsible.

But since she'd been gone, there had been no slime and no calling from the well-and to be honest, that was more worrisome than this cop's threats. "You can't hold me without a good reason. And all you have is guesses about nothing."

Sergeant Ring leaned in even closer, so close I could tell he needed a Mento as much as he needed a bigger belt. "I'll give you nothing, punk. Tell me where she is."

The door opened, and a young, skinny cop walked in, like a "before" picture of Mike's dad. "His parents are back. This time with their lawyer."

Sergeant Ring cursed. Foiled again by the ambulance chasers. "I'll be watching you," he said, wagging a finger in my face, "wherever you go, whatever you do. You forget to tie your shoelace in gym, I'll be taking pictures. You order an extra milk at lunch and forget to pay for it, I'll arrest you for stealing. I'm going to be your new best friend, Cooper."

I had fifty smart remarks I could have sent back but didn't. This guy thought I'd killed my girlfriend or, at the very least, helped her run away. If I talked back, he'd keep me longer. All I wanted was to go look for Megan. I knew exactly where to start my search.

All these hours, the well had been silent.

Why?

Was I too far away? Or was the creature busy with Megan?

Or-and this was the option I prayed for more than anything-had I wounded the beast so badly that it was dying in some crusty corner and thus was unable to do anything but moan and shrivel away?

When I got out of the room, the lawyer kept asking me if I'd said anything. StepScrooge Sam just glared at me, as if I'd ruined his whole day. I probably had. Whatever.

My mother stood next to Sam, very quiet. Mad? Wishing I was heading off to juvie? I couldn't tell. She said one word total-"Here?"-when they told her to sign some paper so I could be released. That was it.

The lawyer walked us out, said goodbye on the steps, and told us he'd be in touch later, and the three of us headed off to the car.

Like a big happy family.

Or a Photoshopped image of one, anyway.

No one said anything until the car was in gear and StepScrooge Sam had it cruising to about forty. "Where the h.e.l.l is Megan?"

"If I knew, would I be here?" I slammed back against the rear seat and wished he'd shut the h.e.l.l up.

"Watch your tone, young man," Sam said, his voice so low, it could have been a Doberman's growl. "Do you know what that vampire attorney is costing me? Just to keep your a.s.s out of jail? Show your grat.i.tude."

I bit my lip. I did a lot of that whenever I was around Sam. Lucky Faulkner-the older one, only a year away from college.

"Some cops came to the house when you were being questioned," Sam informed me. "They wanted to search the grounds. I told them to get the h.e.l.l off my property."

"Why did you do that?" I asked, alarmed.

"They didn't have a warrant, Cooper," Sam snapped. "Don't you know better than to let the police in without a warrant?"

I did know that-of course I did. But part of me hoped that someone other than me, with the means to help Megan, would find her. And that couldn't happen if StepScrooge Sam wouldn't even let anyone search the property.

"Besides," Sam said, "it's not like they would find anything, right?" He seemed to be challenging me to disagree with him.

But I couldn't. After a full day of protesting my innocence, I was too tired to fight with Sam. "Right," I said weakly.

"When we get home, I have a list of things waiting for you to do. There are consequences to your behavior, Cooper. And your att.i.tude."

After what I'd just been through, what did he expect me to be, all sunshine and smiles?

"And if you step out of line," Sam continued, "there will be rule enforcement."

I knew what that meant. It was code, understood between just him and me, for privilege yanking. The last time I'd "stepped out of line," which to Sam was going to a party without permission, I'd spent three days in my room.

Ate my meals in my room.

Did my homework in my room.

Never left it, except to go to school and to p.i.s.s.

And when the three days were over, Sam left me a note. A detailed list of yard ch.o.r.es involving shovels and rakesc.r.a.p they'd do on a chain gang-keeping me busy for another three days.

"Are you hearing me, Cooper?" Sam asked now.

"Yeah."

My mother sat in the pa.s.senger's seat, stiff as a mannequin, silent. What had happened to her? Not just with the whole trying-to-kill-me thing, but to her in general? She used to be the mom who would rush in and soothe the waters whenever my brother or I had a bad day or c.r.a.ppy report card. Try to make everyone happy with a joke or a silly song or a package of cookies. Now she'd become about as warm and fuzzy as one of those Easter Island stone dudes.

"When you get home, Cooper. No delays," Sam said.

In the rearview mirror, I saw cold, hard eyes that were looking at the road and not at me. "Dude, the cops just verbally pounded me. My girlfriend is missing. I've had a really s.h.i.tty day. And you want me to do my ch.o.r.es?"

Sam braked so hard, my head almost popped off. "Just because you've had a bad day does not mean you can do whatever the h.e.l.l you want. I work hard to keep this family together and the last thing I need is for you to pull this c.r.a.p." Sam stared at the steering wheel in front of him as if he were trying to burn a hole through it. "Do you understand?"

"Jeez, fine, whatever. Take a chill pill." Whatever it took to keep Sam happy, that's what I was going to say. I wanted him to get the car moving again, get me back to the house. Faulkner and I had one cardinal rule-Don't p.i.s.s Sam Off. Break it, and your life sucked. Considering my life already sucked as bad as it could right now, I wasn't about to make things worse.

Besides, I was yessing Sam only to shut him up. As soon as I escaped the four-door prison of his Beamer, screw the ch.o.r.e list-I was going to go looking for Megan.

Finally, Sam swung into our driveway, still yakking about ch.o.r.es. I said yeah about sixty times, hopped out of the car, and tried to run inside, but Sam blocked my way. "What did I say?" His eyes glittered in the porch light.

"Ch.o.r.es."

"Priorities, Cooper. Priorities."

My mother had already gone inside. It was just me and Sam. "Finding my girlfriend is my only priority."

"She'll be fine."

Why was he so convinced? Did he know something I didn't? Suspicion mounted inside me, but I didn't dare question him. I knew what kind of punishment Sam would ex act, and I didn't need that right now. I needed freedom, and p.i.s.sing him off wouldn't give me a pa.s.s.

Sam closed in tighter. "You are only thinking about yourself and your little world. You don't know a d.a.m.ned thing about sacrifice, do you?"

"Uh, no." Was that the answer he wanted?

"I've spent my life building this business. My practice. I've put everything I have into all of this." He waved at the house, the ma.s.sive testament to Jumel success he'd built a few years ago in place of the old stone house that used to be there. "And you are not going to ruin it, Cooper. Do you understand me?"

Did he know what was going on in this house? In the woods? Was he choosing to ignore it all? Or was he part of it? I tried to look in his eyes and see some kind of answer, but all I saw was annoyance.

I nodded again. What the h.e.l.l did Sam have against me?

"You are going to do your part for this family, Cooper." He jabbed a finger at my chest, sharp and hard. "And you aren't going to screw it up, is that clear, Cooper? I'm tired of your s.h.i.t."

"I'm not doing anything. I just want to find Megan."

"Let the cops handle that. You have other priorities." Sam's finger became a knife, sinking deeper into my chest, hurting. "You better remember them, because all you've done lately is make everything around here worse."

"Don't blame me for your problems." I jerked back, away from him. "You're not my father."

A smile spread across Sam's face, the smile that I hated, the one I wanted to smack off his lips. But if I did that, I knew I'd bring an even bigger can of c.r.a.p into my life. Sam had a way of making things more miserable than anyone could stand by taking away privileges and doling them out in dribbles. "Oh, Cooper, I'm something so much better than your father. I don't bury my nose in books and lose myself in ancient, dead poets. I'm not some wimp who can't get out of the way of my chalkboard and claim my place at the head of my family. I'm a man, Cooper, unlike your father, which means I take control and I keep it."

I backed up another step. I'd hated Sam since the day my mother introduced him to us, but now I despised him. He'd never dissed my father like this before. "Watch what you say about my father."

"He's not here. And I am." Sam chuckled. "And so are you. Stuck together, aren't we? For better or worse, our little family."

"You're not my family." I spun toward the steps. Sam grabbed my arm.

"I'm more of a father to you than your father will ever be." He dipped his face in so close to mine, I saw the hairs inside his nose. "And don't you forget it."

Sometimes at night, he could still hear his brother's voice.

The screaming. The cries.

But most of all, the screaming.

Auguste curled into the corner and pressed his fingers into his ears, trying to block out sounds that were two centuries old, that no longer existed in this world, only in his head. Yet he could hear them as if it were yesterday, as if Gerard were here again.

I have no choice, Auguste. No choice.

And then he'd shoved him and sent Auguste down, down, down, into this fetid pit. To pay the price the land had demanded.

Auguste screamed and buried his head in the dirt, but still the memories came. He begged for peace, sinking his fingers into the earth, pleading with it to free him from the images, but no, they replayed again and again, a warning.

Because today he had dared to think of himself. He had been selfish instead of selfless. He had gotten impatient and crawled to the top, thinking he could take a peek, just one look at what he would have in a few short days- And the land had swooped in with a reminder, like the backhanded slaps his father had given him when he'd stolen a cookie before dinner. Remember why you are here and how you got here.

And who made you pay this price.

Oh, he remembered. G.o.d help him, yes, he remembered. And that was his personal pain, the agony that seeped the strength from his bones.

He'd been fifteen.

In love with Amelia Wescott, the stable master's daughter, who'd lived then in a little cottage at the back of the vineyard.

And completely, utterly unaware of the sinister gift that lurked within the vines that curled around the well. He didn't know when Gerard had found the grapes or if he'd been led here, called by the same siren song that Auguste later used to draw in the others. All he'd seen in those days was his twin brother acting different. Acting odd.

Acting a violent.

Their father, Edmond, ignoring it all. Trying to cultivate the wild vineyard he had purchased less than a year before. Reaping his profits, then turning around to spend them on more. More women to replace the wife he'd lost weeks after they had moved there, as if that could have filled the hole in his heart. More house to hold the things he had bought. More of everything but time for his sons.

One of whom was busy trying to kill the other. While the land, the precious land treasured by Edmond Jumel, helped.

The creature crawled deeper into the depths of his hovel, seeking darkness, escape. But there was no getting away from his memories, not now.

The vines reached out and grabbed him, holding him in place, just as they had all those years ago. The earth rose up and blanketed his body until he became one with the dank, moist, loamy surface below him. The smell invaded his nostrils; particles drifted into his ears, then down his throat, gagging him.

You will remember, Auguste. You must.

Why? he asked-no, begged.

Because this is what you must do to Cooper. It's time the chosen one took your place.

And so he suffered the agony again, the memory replaying it as real as the day it had happened.

He'd been in the stables, about to mount one of the horses and ride over to Amelia's house, his mind only on seeing her blue eyes again, holding her to his chest, knowing the sweet taste of her lips. One foot in the stirrup, one leg rising to swing over the saddle, when he'd been yanked back, onto the hard wooden floor of the barn, then out onto the lawn before he could react.

He'd looked up into a face he recognized and eyes he didn't. "Gerard! What are you doing? Release me!"

Gerard grunted and started to move faster.

Auguste scratched and fought, dug in his heels, tried to twist away, but Gerard kept going, his strength superhuman. They reached the woods, and the fear crawled up Auguste's throat and escaped in a scream that no one heard. He reached for a tree, held tightly, and then- Gerard said something Auguste couldn't understand, and the tree bent down, as if bowing to Gerard's will, and Auguste's grip slid off. Gerard started running, not caring that his brother banged along at his feet like a sack of potatoes. Every tree root, every rock Auguste reached for, became as supple as a blade of gra.s.s.

"Gerard, stop! Please, I beg of you, stop!"

The odd language continued, and so did his brother's furious pace. He had become something other than himself, something with a sinister heart. Auguste could feel it telegraphed in the way his brother ran, the sounds he made, the stony determination in his face. Auguste begged, screamed, cried, to no avail.

And then they reached the well.

Gerard dragged Auguste up by the hair, planting him on the ledge like a sacrifice. Auguste twisted to the right, his riding boots digging for purchase against the soft earth, and then he could feel Gerard's grip loosening, and he thought, Run now, run- Suddenly the vines that curled around the well began to move and grow, like fingers reaching up. Reaching for him.

He opened his mouth to scream again, but before a sound escaped, the vines leaped forward and pinned him in place. One vine curled its grip around his throat and pressed until his windpipe was nearly flattened. Dots swam in front of his eyes and he knew, he knew a He was going to die.

"You are the gift," Gerard whispered in his ear. "The gift he has been waiting for."

What was Gerard talking about? What did he mean?

"You must stay here, brother, and wait for the next one. He will come, at the ordained time, and then you will be free. This is the price Father paid when he bought the land, and now you, Auguste, must pay it for our family. If you don't stay here, this land will die. And all who live on it will die, too."

Auguste's eyes widened and his heart clenched as tightly as his windpipe.

Gerard nodded. "Yes, even her."