It was like being a child again, lying in his bed after being caught, after his mother cried her eyes out, and he’d promised he’d never ever ever do it again. He’d lie in bed and hear her talk to his dad through the thin walls. Telling him that the teacher called again, that they caught him cutting himself with a pair of dull scissors, or that he’d drawn that painting again, the black and red shapes. His mother would sob, and his dad would try to reassure her, tell her that they’d find a different doctor. Someone who would figure out what the problem was.
He’d spend the following week knowing his parents were angry with him, walking around the house as quiet as a mouse, sitting silently at school, doing his best not to attract any attention. And the unpleasant guilt and worry gnawed at his gut like a voracious intestinal parasite.
And now, there it was again. He kept holding his breath and listening. Perhaps he’d hear Daniel talking silently with his father. “Last night he bit that woman like some sort of animal. I don’t know what to do with him.”
But his father was dead, he reminded himself. And Daniel was his friend.
In fact, in all the years they’d known each other, Daniel had never been angry at him. He’d always been so understanding, so gentle. Daniel was the only one who was always there for him, happy to talk to him when he was stressed, reassuring him that his thoughts and desires were normal, that everyone had them.
His friend was changing. It was the tumor. The tumor was changing him.
He suddenly recalled how angry Daniel had been when he’d seen the name Rod Glover on the news. As if it meant something. Perhaps it did.
Perhaps that was the tumor’s name.
No wonder Daniel was acting so differently. Something was devouring him. A ravenous, corrupt tumor. Rod Glover. He imagined the cancer spreading into the brain, destroying it, until all that was left of Daniel was an empty shell, piloted by the tumor.
And as Daniel’s friend, he had to help in that fight. Help Daniel retain himself.
He checked the mirror again, took a deep breath, put his mental costume on, his face slackening, a small casual smile on his lips. He entered the kitchen, opened the fridge, took one of the vials. Perhaps something was wrong with the last one. He shook it, then drank it in a quick, hungry gulp.
Nothing. No momentary relief, no exhilaration.
Behind him, he heard Daniel step into the kitchen. His friend leaned past him into the fridge, took a beer.
“I’m sorry for last night,” he told Daniel.
“Will you stop apologizing about it already?” Daniel growled. “You said you’re sorry ten times.”
Had he? Maybe he had. “I just don’t want you to be angry at me.”
“Not everything is about you,” Daniel said, taking a swig from his beer.
“Then what are you angry about?”
Daniel shook his head. “Nothing, don’t worry about it. It’s not about you, okay? I’m not angry at all. Everything is just great.”
“Okay.” He knew better. He knew about Rod Glover. But he didn’t say anything. It might make Daniel feel ashamed.
“I’m getting worse,” Daniel said. “I thought I’d get better by now, but the pains are worse, and yesterday . . .” He tightened his grip on the beer bottle, and for one fleeting moment it seemed as if he was about to smash it on the counter. But he didn’t. “Never mind.”
“There are some vials in the fridge.”
“Thanks, I’ll pass.” Daniel took another swig. “They still haven’t found the body. There was nothing in the evening news. Nothing on any of the usual websites either.”
“Maybe they found it but haven’t told the press yet.”
Daniel grunted, unconvinced. “Well, I don’t have the time to wait for them. We need to make the call.”
The man in control felt a stab of fear. “Do you want me to do it?”
“No. Someone might recognize your voice. I’ll do it tomorrow, early morning. They already know I’m involved.”
“Okay.”
A tiny grim smile stretched Daniel’s lips. “And we’ll have to go hunting again in a few days. Are you ready for that?”
The man in control nodded. He was more than ready. He needed it. They both did.
CHAPTER 27
Wednesday, October 19, 2016
“Oh, shit,” Zoe muttered as Tatum maneuvered the car into the parking lot of the Kickapoo Woods.
She counted eleven news vans parked in a row. The gaggle of onlookers surrounding the