potential violence and danger. You couldn’t mess with a girl like that. Besides, she was always hanging out with the wrong type.
Like Mark Bell.
Tom Bell was an important man, no doubt about it.
But his son was a world-class troublemaker. There weren’t many people who actually frightened Kent Hickerson, but Mark Bell did. He was big and muscular from years of lifting weights. He had an athlete’s physique, but no apparent interest in sports, which just added to his already high weirdo quotient. Seeing him out there wandering the streets of Wheaton Hills at an hour when any decent person was in bed unsettled him.
The Dark Ones come out at night . . .
Kent had seen the slogan. And he’d heard the rumors about those kids. But he’d never taken them seriously.
Until now.
Seeing them out there offended his belief in the necessity of adhering to a set of rules and regulations. They’d been heading away from Mark’s house, off to who knew where, and he doubted they’d be back anytime soon. Did they do this every night? It was what he’d heard. But when did they sleep? He saw them in school nearly every day. They weren’t ditchers. It was a mystery. And he didn’t like mysteries.
He moved away from the window and grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand. He selected a recipient from his contacts list and keyed in a text message: ARE YOU AWAKE? I SAW SOMETHING .
He hit the Send button.
He sat there and waited for a reply, knowing it might not come. It was possible they wouldn’t be able to discuss this until the next day. But the phone buzzed in his hand a few moments later as the reply came through: AWAKE. CAN ’ T BELIEVE U R THO. WHAT ’ S UP ?
Kent keyed in his response: I SAW THEM. THE DARK ONES. OUT IN THE STREET .
The reply came almost immediately: THE DORK ONES? REALLY? LMFAO! WHAT ABOUT THEM?
Kent hesitated. He didn’t need the kind of trouble the thing he wanted to say might start. But he thought of Mark Bell’s face illumined in the light of the street lamp and felt that unsettled feeling winding through his guts again.
The hell with it.
He punched buttons on the keypad.
WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THEM .
T EN
“Did you see that light come on?”
“Yeah.”
“And that shape at the window?”
“Yeah.”
“Who lives over there?”
Mark laughed. “The Hickersons.”
“What’s so funny?”
Mark shrugged. “You know who Kent Hickerson is, right?”
“Know of him, don’t know him.”
“But you know his reputation.”
“King of the douche bags.”
Mark smiled. “That’s right. He thinks he’s fucking perfect. But he’s so fake.”
“How so?”
“You can tell he spends hours every day thinking about what clothes to wear and how to style his hair. He poses a lot. Like he thinks he’s a model or pop star, indulging the fucking paparazzi. It’s fucking hilarious. I just burst out laughing at the guy at school one day and he got all upset.”
“How come you never told me that before?”
“Because nothing happened. He’s a pussy.”
“You think that was him in the window?”
“Don’t know. Maybe.”
Mark took out the Southern Comfort bottle again. He spun the cap off and took a generous swallow. The alcohol was already acting on his system, igniting the first little tingle of intoxication. He took another swallow and passed the bottle to Natasha, who, as before, knocked back an even bigger helping. He wondered about that. Either she really loved Southern Comfort or she was showing off, maybe demonstrating what a tough chick she was. A girl who could handle her booze, as much as any guy, maybe more. The idea that she might want to impress him was kind of cool.
“You’re staring.”
Mark blinked. “What?”
“You’re staring at me. Like you’re in a trance. Look.” She touched a corner of his mouth, wiped away a speck of moisture with the ball of a thumb. “You’re drooling.”
She giggled.
“Ma-ark likes me. Ma-ark likes me.”
She was
Like Mark Bell.
Tom Bell was an important man, no doubt about it.
But his son was a world-class troublemaker. There weren’t many people who actually frightened Kent Hickerson, but Mark Bell did. He was big and muscular from years of lifting weights. He had an athlete’s physique, but no apparent interest in sports, which just added to his already high weirdo quotient. Seeing him out there wandering the streets of Wheaton Hills at an hour when any decent person was in bed unsettled him.
The Dark Ones come out at night . . .
Kent had seen the slogan. And he’d heard the rumors about those kids. But he’d never taken them seriously.
Until now.
Seeing them out there offended his belief in the necessity of adhering to a set of rules and regulations. They’d been heading away from Mark’s house, off to who knew where, and he doubted they’d be back anytime soon. Did they do this every night? It was what he’d heard. But when did they sleep? He saw them in school nearly every day. They weren’t ditchers. It was a mystery. And he didn’t like mysteries.
He moved away from the window and grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand. He selected a recipient from his contacts list and keyed in a text message: ARE YOU AWAKE? I SAW SOMETHING .
He hit the Send button.
He sat there and waited for a reply, knowing it might not come. It was possible they wouldn’t be able to discuss this until the next day. But the phone buzzed in his hand a few moments later as the reply came through: AWAKE. CAN ’ T BELIEVE U R THO. WHAT ’ S UP ?
Kent keyed in his response: I SAW THEM. THE DARK ONES. OUT IN THE STREET .
The reply came almost immediately: THE DORK ONES? REALLY? LMFAO! WHAT ABOUT THEM?
Kent hesitated. He didn’t need the kind of trouble the thing he wanted to say might start. But he thought of Mark Bell’s face illumined in the light of the street lamp and felt that unsettled feeling winding through his guts again.
The hell with it.
He punched buttons on the keypad.
WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THEM .
T EN
“Did you see that light come on?”
“Yeah.”
“And that shape at the window?”
“Yeah.”
“Who lives over there?”
Mark laughed. “The Hickersons.”
“What’s so funny?”
Mark shrugged. “You know who Kent Hickerson is, right?”
“Know of him, don’t know him.”
“But you know his reputation.”
“King of the douche bags.”
Mark smiled. “That’s right. He thinks he’s fucking perfect. But he’s so fake.”
“How so?”
“You can tell he spends hours every day thinking about what clothes to wear and how to style his hair. He poses a lot. Like he thinks he’s a model or pop star, indulging the fucking paparazzi. It’s fucking hilarious. I just burst out laughing at the guy at school one day and he got all upset.”
“How come you never told me that before?”
“Because nothing happened. He’s a pussy.”
“You think that was him in the window?”
“Don’t know. Maybe.”
Mark took out the Southern Comfort bottle again. He spun the cap off and took a generous swallow. The alcohol was already acting on his system, igniting the first little tingle of intoxication. He took another swallow and passed the bottle to Natasha, who, as before, knocked back an even bigger helping. He wondered about that. Either she really loved Southern Comfort or she was showing off, maybe demonstrating what a tough chick she was. A girl who could handle her booze, as much as any guy, maybe more. The idea that she might want to impress him was kind of cool.
“You’re staring.”
Mark blinked. “What?”
“You’re staring at me. Like you’re in a trance. Look.” She touched a corner of his mouth, wiped away a speck of moisture with the ball of a thumb. “You’re drooling.”
She giggled.
“Ma-ark likes me. Ma-ark likes me.”
She was
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