The Atheist's Daughter Read online

  “He stabs me so he thinks he killed me,” Mr. Brass said, his eyes bright. “Man, oh man, you should have seen the look on his face.”

  Kristin thought, If I could kill you, I would.

  She’d never been so angry. Her right hand throbbed, pulsing with each beat of her heart. Glancing at her wrapped hand, she saw a pinpoint of color growing in the center of the gauze.

  His hands clutching his leg, Martin rolled on the ground. Blood leaked from inside his trousers, spreading through his interlocked fingers.

  Yanking the knife from his chest, Mr. Brass tossed it to the floor. “One of life’s special moments, you know what I mean?”

  Dipping a hand into his pocket, he removed a bullet. Smoothly, he reloaded the gun.

  There was a knock at the front door.

  “Too much commotion,” Mrs. Norton said softly. “Noise attracts attention.” Facing Kristin, she whispered, “Call out, say anything, and your mother dies.”

  The front door handle rattled. “Anybody home?”

  It was Liz’s voice. Kristin held her breath.

  “Everyone be quiet,” Mrs. Norton said. “People leave when a house appears empty.”

  Martin moaned, earning himself a reprimanding glance from Mrs. Norton. He curled into a fetal position as the carpet darkened beneath him.

  From outside, Hawkins said, “Don’t have a heart attack, Lizzer.”

  A shuffle of footsteps was followed by the sound of metal meeting metal. To Kristin’s horror, the lock turned and the door opened.

  “I house sit sometimes,” Hawkins explained over his shoulder as he entered. “I’ve had a key for a couple of years.”

  “I should have worn a sweater,” Liz said, following behind him. “Kristin’s mom pumps the air conditioner like crazy. It’s always like a morgue....”

  The pair stopped at the sight in front of them. Mr. Brass gestured with his gun hand.

  “Shut the door,” Mrs. Norton said. After Liz did, she asked the pair, “Did anyone come with you? Is there someone waiting outside?”

  “She’ll know if you’re lying,” Kristin told them.

  Hawkins looked at her, puzzled.

  “We took a cab,” Liz said. “The driver left before Hawkins reached the curb.”

  “Mister Piotrowski?” Hawkins said. “He’s bleeding!” Then, seeing the unconscious Becky on the floor, he said, “Shit.”

  “Nobody has to die,” Mr. Brass told them. “Not yet, anyway. The two of you stand over there, across from the front window.”

  “Kristin?”

  “Do it, Hawk,” she said. Obediently, her friends retreated to the corner of the room.

  “If you’d done as I’d asked,” Mrs. Norton said to Kristin, “if you’d taken the Henbane, we’d be gone by now.”

  “Henbane,” Liz said, alarmed.

  “What?”

  “Henbane is a poison.”

  “What’s going on?” Hawkins asked Kristin.

  “I wish I knew.”

  “If you’re concerned for your friends,” Mrs. Norton said, “if you care for your mother, you’ll do as I ask.”

  Kristin considered the capsules in the box. Clear gelatin shells containing a mocha interior, they didn’t seem like much. Isn’t poison marked with a skull and crossbones?

  She replaced the lid. “Never.”

  “Never is such a long time.” To Mr. Brass, Mrs. Norton asked, “You have more bullets if I need them?”

  “Always be prepared, that’s my motto. Me and the scouts,” Mr. Brass said.

  “More bullets?” Hawkins said. “Why would you need more bullets?”

  Mr. Brass chuckled.

  “Miss Sweet never met this pair,” Mrs. Norton warned her subordinate. “We know nothing about their future. They appear to be healthy but you can’t know about young people. Sometimes it’s not the body that’s the problem.”

  “I could put a slug in the boy.”

  Mrs. Norton reflected on the idea. “Not a killing shot, you understand. Aim for the stomach.”

  Mr. Brass thumbed the derringer’s trigger. Hawkins tensed, his body growing rigid.

  “Don’t,” Kristin said, moving in front of him. “He’s not part of this. He didn’t do anything.”

  “I could do the girl instead, you want,” Mr. Brass told her. “As a favor.”

  Kristin said, “If you’re going to shoot anyone, shoot me.” She stepped closer, her chest nearly touching the gun’s barrel.

  “There’s an idea,” Mr. Brass said. He let his arm drop.

  “He can’t,” Liz said from the corner. “He’s not allowed to hurt you. Neither of them can hurt you.”

  Mrs. Norton grew very still.

  Liz swallowed nervously. “There was this creep in a car, Kristin. This Mr. Locke. He wrote you a letter.”

  Uneasily, Mr. Brass shifted his weight from one leg to the other. His gun continued to point at the floor.

  “The letter was all about his family,” Liz said. “Mrs. Norton and the others, the ones working at the café. He called them, ‘the Unending’.” Apologetically, she added, “I thought it was a joke.”

  “What else did he write?” Mrs. Norton asked.

  “You have rules.” Liz’s voice grew fainter. “You did – something – to Kristin and, now, you can’t harm her. Your masters won’t allow it.”

  “They haven’t touched me, Liz,” Kristin said. “During the time they’ve been here, all the time they’ve been in Winterhaven, they haven’t done anything to me.”

  Liz dropped her gaze.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  Liz didn’t answer, shaking her head.

  She knows, Kristin thought. Whatever they’re supposed to have done, Liz has the answer. It was in the letter. The letter she thought was a joke.

  But look at Mr. Brass. Look at Mrs. Norton. They don’t think it’s funny.

  “Mr. Locke, ever an embarrassment,” Mrs. Norton said. To Liz, she added, “Where is the letter he gave you?”

  “Are you people listening to yourselves?” Hawkins asked. “To the words you’re saying? You need help.”

  Shrugging the shoulder strap from her arm, Liz opened her purse. Removing a sheet of paper, she crumpled the page into a ball and threw it at her captors’ feet.

  Mrs. Norton collected the piece of paper. She smoothed it flat, reading the writing in front of her.

  “Printed letters, poor spelling, betrayal in every sentence,” she said. “It’s not even signed. Whatever shall I do with him?”

  “Can we go?” Mr. Brass asked. “I think we should leave.”

  “Mr. Locke shared a few of our secrets,” she told him, “not all of them. Not the most important ones.” She folded the sheet, putting it in her handbag. “We’ll wait a bit longer.”

  “Don’t waste your time,” Kristin said. “If I took the Henbane, you’d kill everyone, anyway.”

  Mrs. Norton said, “The people here mean nothing to me. Less than nothing. True, yes? You can see?”

  Her mouth remained unchanged.

  “Do as I ask and no one else gets hurt,” she said. “We’ll leave and they’ll never see either of us again.”

  “What about you?” Kristin asked Mr. Brass.

  “I do what she tells me. Not that I wouldn’t mind seeing things end differently.”

  Then it struck her. She finally understood what they wanted and why they wanted it. With a stammer in her voice, she said, “You w-want to absorb me.”

  “Goodness, no.” Mrs. Norton laughed lightly. “Whatever gave you that idea? You’d have no more flavor than a dry biscuit.”

  “She’s already tasted you,” Mr. Brass said.

  “I couldn’t resist,” Mrs. Norton said. “Your soul was so young, so pure. Delicious.”

  “Her soul?” Hawkins asked.

  “Gone now, of course.”

  She’s not lying, Kristin realized. She actually believes this. From the expression on Mr. Brass’ face, he believes it, too.r />
  Where’s Dr. Ron when you really need him?

  Hawkins said, “Gone? What does that mean, ‘gone’?”

  “They think she ate Kristin’s soul,” Liz explained. “That’s what she told Mr. Locke, anyway. That’s what he put in the letter.”

  Hawkins’ lips parted but he didn’t say anything. Closing his eyes, he lowered his head. His mouth moved silently.

  Pray if you think it’ll help, Hawk. Kristin said, “You can’t take a soul. No one can do that.”

  “Your ignorance no longer astounds me, girl,” Mrs. Norton replied. “Besides, you got as much as you gave. Marvelous gifts. Powers, really. Not that I expected you to keep them.” She gave the tiniest of shrugs. “I’m disappointed with the people in your life. When you were a baby, they should have sensed you didn’t belong. You never should have been allowed to live.”

  “You’re not one of them,” Mr. Brass indicated Liz and Hawkins, “you’re not one of us. A little bit of dust, that’s all you are.”

  Mrs. Norton said, “You’re an Other, dear. You belong with no one; you never will. Quit fighting the inevitable and accept your place. End this.”

  Her hand throbbing, Kristin raised the lid of the box. Hawkins’ eyes snapped open. “Don’t take the pills!”

  Mr. Brass pointed the derringer at him.

  “It’s just….” Hawkins let the sentence fade. “It’s a sin,” he said, trying again. “A mortal sin. There’s no chance of repentance.”

  “Yeah?” Mr. Brass said, interested. “You think so?”

  A rattling sound gasped up from their feet. Kristin said, “Mister Piotrowski?”

  The carpet around the old man was the color of rust. His head lolled back and his mouth fell open.

  “An artery,” Mrs. Norton said to Mr. Brass, her voice filled with venom. “You hit an artery.”

  Martin’s lips quivered before he gave a final, wheezing exhalation of air.

  Mrs. Norton roared in anger, her mouth suddenly huge and filled with sharp, pointed teeth. Shimmering waves rose from Martin Piotrowski’s body, looping around her crystal body and flowing down her throat. Mrs. Norton’s spine arched and her mouth snapped shut.

  Hawkins said, “Did you see? Did you see her teeth?”

  Life flowed into Mrs. Norton. Mr. Brass inched away from her, avoiding physical contact.

  Hawkins bent to the carpet as Liz crept beside Kristin.

  “Listen,” Liz whispered, “the creep, that Locke, he wrote a bunch of wild things. More than Mrs. Norton knows. There were two pages to the letter he gave me.”

  Mrs. Norton took a deep, trembling breath, as her skin turned to pink. Her hair blossomed into view, its tight brown curls fashionably cut.

  “I aimed for the old man’s leg,” Mr. Brass told her. “People don’t die from those kinds of shots. They don’t die from a bullet in their leg.”

  Standing, Hawkins held the bread knife. Shielding the weapon from Mrs. Norton’s view, he joined his friends.

  “I’ve seen Martin Piotrowski’s future,” Mrs. Norton said to Mr. Brass, her words tight and mean. “For him, the years to come were sad and lonely. Every day of his misery will be mine, intensified.” With satisfaction, she added, “I’ll make certain you feel it, too.”

  Keeping her voice low, Liz said, “Locke wrote there’s only one thing capable of stopping his kind. You – your blood – is the only thing that scares them. The only thing that can kill the Unending.”

  “Take this.” Hawkins pushed the knife toward Kristin. “I can’t stab anyone. Not even them. Not even now.”

  Oh, Hawk, Kristin thought, you believe I can?

  She looked at her mother. A trickle of blood leaked from the corner of Becky’s mouth.

  Maybe so.

  Grasping the knife’s handle, Kristin slipped its blade through the waistband of her jeans.

  Mrs. Norton’s gaze fell on them. “Gathered together, are you? Show some manners, children. Face your guests.”

  They did as she commanded.

  Mrs. Norton said, “The pills.”

  “Enough with the pills,” Hawkins said. As if even he couldn’t believe what he was doing, he slapped the box. The tablets flew into the air.

  Mrs. Norton started to cry out when an expression of deep sadness transformed her face. Grabbing at Mr. Brass’s arm, she pressed her face to his chest.

  “Get the poison,” she said, her words dissolving into a sob.

  The capsules bounced on the floor, separating as they rolled over the tan surface. Liz reached out her foot, slamming a shoe on top of a pair of tablets. They puffed up in a tiny cloud of powder.

  “Bye,” Liz said.

  Mr. Brass swept the remaining pill into his fist. He brought it to Mrs. Norton.

  She wiped at her eyes. “One pill left. Only one. Nausea, cramps, vomiting – at best.”

  “I couldn’t stop them,” Mr. Brass said. “You were holding my gun arm.”

  “My fault, then?”

  His face fell. “Their fault. I’m saying, this was their fault.”

  “They must feel quite clever.” To Kristin, Mrs. Norton said, “You can see I have color?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what happens once we’re filled,” Mrs. Norton said. “We no longer need to eat. We have nearly one full year before we must feed again.”

  “You do this every year?”

  “Then you’re done for now,” Liz said.

  Relieved, Hawkins said, “You’ve fed. You can leave us alone.”

  “My, but you’re simple things.” Mrs. Norton toyed with a curl of her hair, seeming to find pleasure in its touch. “I meant, we no longer need to fear we might – what was your word? – ‘absorb’ bad meat.”

  Slumped beside the easy chair, Becky moaned softly.

  “If your mother had done her job all those years ago, none of us would be in this situation, would we?” Mrs. Norton mused. “The world won’t suffer from the loss of yet another bad artist. When we leave here, Mr. Brass, I want you to shoot her in the head.”

  Kristin gasped.

  “But, first,” Mrs. Norton said, “finish the boy. The red-haired girl, too.”

  “Be a pleasure.”

  The blood drained from Hawkins’ face. Liz clenched her fists.

  Kristin closed her hand over the circle of blood at the center of the gauze. “Why? Why do any of this? You don’t have to. You can just leave.”

  “Left alive, your friends will tell tales, won’t they? Someone might decide to listen to them.” A considered look came into Mrs. Norton’s eyes. “Besides, you’ve become an irritant. I rather like the idea of you spending the next few years, trying to explain what happened to the local authorities.”

  “You don’t think I’ll tell them about you?”

  “I’m certain you’ll try,” Mrs. Norton said. “But will they believe you?”

  “Customers tell me you’re kind of the town celebrity,” Mr. Brass interjected. “One of the downsides of spending time in the nuthouse.”

  Her hand tightening around the knife’s handle, Kristin felt something wet run from under the gauze bandage and down her wrist. Shouldn’t I be scared? Shouldn’t I be – like, Hawkins?

  But I’m not like Hawk. Not like Liz.

  “As your friend said, there’s nothing I can physically do to harm you,” Mrs. Norton admitted. “So we’ll improvise. It’s not a perfect solution but we’ll make it work.”

  “Just leave,” Kristin said, “I beg you. I won’t say anything, I won’t tell anyone.”

  “A tempting offer but – no.”

  Mr. Brass raised the derringer to Kristin’s temple. “Love to do you first.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Rules is rules.” Shifting the gun, he aimed past her. “Move over a little, I’ll give your friends a clean death.”

  “Mr. Brass,” Mrs. Norton said, fear in her words. “Blood.”

  The big man followed her gaze. Fresh spots of red dotted the carp
et at Kristin’s feet. When he raised his eyes to the teen’s face, she had the knife held above her head.

  A streak of blood ran the length of the knife’s silver blade.

  “Do it,” Liz whispered.

  Dropping the mouth of his weapon toward Kristin’s stomach, Mr. Brass desperately tried to cock his gun. His thumb slipped and the trigger fell to its base harmlessly. He tried again when Mrs. Norton hit him, hard, across the jaw.

  “Rules,” she said.

  He blinked at her, uncertainly, as Kristin thrust the knife into his chest. It sliced into his skin with a familiar sound.

  Schhhct!

  Mr. Brass staggered under the blade’s impact. His knees shook and his legs wobbled. For one terrible second, she thought he was pretending, once again.

  His eyes grew bigger. He clutched the knife’s handle, only to cry out when his fingers touched a reddish smear. Where he’d touched Kristin’s blood, his skin bubbled, turning black.

  Mr. Brass screamed. The sound rose and fell, the noise echoing as if it was erupting inside an empty chamber. Victim after victim cried out from inside him, a shrieking cacophony of pain.

  The teenagers pressed their hands to their ears. Expressionless, as if she’d heard such screams before, Mrs. Norton crossed the front entry. Without looking back, she exited to the street.

  In mid-cry, the remaining member of the Unending pitched forward. Suddenly silent, he hit the floor with a thump, driving the knife to its hilt. Face down on the carpet, he lay motionless.

  Cautiously, Kristin lowered her hands from her ears. “Is he dead?”

  His body jerked. His limbs writhing, Mr. Brass shifted inside of the oversized blue LL Bean shirt. His skin puckered as it shrank, darkening in color. His legs danced, the feet shrinking from their shoes and disappearing inside the length of the jeans. Even his hair changed, silver growing over gray and black as the head holding it sank below the shirt collar.

  The three of them stared at the fallen body.

  Liz said, “This is beyond wrong.”

  Hawkins poked at the back of the shirt. It collapsed, as if the body inside of it was now too small to support the fabric. “Roll him over”

  Kristin gripped Mr. Brass’ shirt and tugged. When his dead face rolled over to meet them, Kristin, Liz and Hawkins all cried out.