Dark Corner Read online

  "Got a call from Old Mac today," Jackson said. "Said you up and left with your buddies when you were supposed to be working."

  "I'm not working at that stupid store anymore," Jahlil said. "Old Mac's racist. He treats me like I'm his slave."

  "Old Mac ain't racist, and you know it. I've known him twenty-some years. He's a good man. He did me a favor, giving you a job at his store"

  Jahlil shrugged. That so-what shrug was the boy's re sponse to many of Jackson's points. It infuriated him. Why couldn't they have an ordinary, two-way conversation?

  "I can't keep getting you jobs, son," Jackson said. "I'm using up all my goodwill with the business folk in town"

  "I don't wanna work, anyway."

  "If you're living with me, you've gotta have a job. You got to learn to be responsible, earn your own paycheck. That's the way the world is."

  Another so-what shrug.

  Jackson flexed his thick fingers on the steering wheel. He wanted to seize Jahlil by the shoulders and shake him, to rattle some common sense into his head. Did the boy think that life was only hanging out with his lazy buddies, playing ball, and chasing girls? Jackson didn't know what Jahlil was thinking. That was the most frustrating-and frightening-thing about his relationship with his son. He had no idea what his son was thinking, and the unknown terrified him.

  "What do you want from me?" Jackson said. He was surprised to hear himself speak the words.

  For the first time since Jahlil had climbed in the car, he turned and looked at his father.

  "Huh?" Jahlil said.

  Jackson cleared his throat. "You heard me right. What do you want from me? I can't figure it out at all, so now I'm asking you direct."

  Jahlil shrugged. But then he said, "Stop riding me about having a job. I want to enjoy being a teenager. I got my whole life to work. That's what Mama would say. She wouldn't want me to work"

  Jackson's breath snagged in his chest. If he drew in another breath, he felt that his lungs just might burst like balloons.

  He could not believe that Jahlil had reached into their shared tragedy-Paulette's death-and thrown it into his face like this, to justify his unwillingness to hold a simple job. It was like a desecration of Paulette's memory. The boy could not possibly know what he was saying.

  But I asked him what he wanted, and he told me.

  Jackson slammed the car into gear and screamed back into town. He didn't slow until they reached their house. They rocked to a halt in front of their ranch home.

  "Go in, and stay put," Jackson said. "We'll talk about this later."

  "Whatever, man" Jahlil got out and strutted away.

  Jackson watched his son go inside. He may as well have been watching a stranger, someone else's child. This muleheaded, lazy kid could not possibly be his own son.

  But Jackson could not shake the feeling that, somehow, he was to blame for what had happened to his kid. The problem was that he couldn't figure out what he'd done wrong and how he could work out of this mess.

  Some chief he was. He was supposed to keep the town in order, and he couldn't keep his own family in line.

  Shaking his head, he went back to work.

  Shortly after Chief Jackson left the basketball court with Jahlil, a silver Lexus SUV cruised to the curb. Junior, who was driving to the hoop when he spotted the vehicle, stumbled and lost the ball.

  "Look at that!" Junior said.

  The other players and the guys hanging out around the court turned. Most of them only shrugged. But not Junior. From his lawn-cutting jobs, he knew what kind of car just about everyone in town owned. This one didn't belong to anyone he'd seen before.

  He drifted off the court to look at the Lexus more closely. Someone shouted at him to come back to the game, but Junior ignored him. The silver truck had mesmerized him.

  Andre, his cousin, leaned against the chain-link fence, smoking a cigarette. He was a big guy, around Junior's size. He had a black do-rag wrapped around his head, the end of it trailing down his neck like a ponytail.

  Andre nodded at Junior.

  "That ride goes for about sixty grand," Andre said, coming to stand beside Junior. "You'd have to cut grass for twenty years to save up enough to get that one, cuz ."

  "You ain't lying," Junior said.

  The Lexus truck hummed, idling. The windows were tinted with a weird sort of reflective glass, so Junior couldn't tell who was sitting inside.

  The passenger-side window slid downward.

  A bald-headed black man wearing shades and a gray suit sat behind the steering wheel. He was real sharp and rich looking, the kind of man Vicky Queen liked, Junior thought.

  Classical music piped out of the vehicle. Junior had never known anyone to listen to music like that, for fun. This guy was kinda different.

  "Good afternoon, gentlemen!" the man said. He had a booming voice, and the strangest accent Junior had ever heard. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

  Junior pointed at himself and Andre. "Us?"

  "Approach the vehicle, please."

  Junior looked at Andre. Andre shrugged, took another pull of his cigarette. Both of them stepped closer to the Lexus.

  The guy turned down his music.

  "What you want, man?" Andre said.

  The man smiled. He had teeth like someone in a Colgate commercial-they were a perfect, shiny white. The contrast of his teeth and his dark skin was striking.

  "Would you be interested in a job?" the man said. "It would be for one night only. It will be hard work, manual labor, and that is why I am seeking the services of two strong young men such as yourselves."

  At the mention of a job, Junior leaned closer. "What kinda work you want us to do, mister?"

  "Digging," the man said. "As I stated, difficult manual labor."

  "Digging for what?" Andre said.

  "You will be compensated well for your efforts," the man said. As though by magic, a gold money clip that held a thick wad of bills appeared in his fingers. "Each of you will be paid two hundred fifty dollars."

  "Two hundred fifty dollars!" Junior said. It would take him a week to earn that much money. "Just for doing some digging?"

  "That is correct, gentlemen. I will require your services this evening, at nine o'clock. Are you familiar with the residence named Jubilee?"

  "Oh, uh, yeah," Junior said. "Up on the hill."

  "Shit, that crib is haunted," Andre said. But he kept his eyes on the dollars that the man casually held. "And you ain't answer my question. What we gonna be digging for?"

  The man sighed. The money vanished. He looked away from them.

  Junior's heart clutched. He could feel two hundred fifty dollars about to slip out of his grasp.

  He pushed Andre aside and stuck his head inside the truck.

  "Mister, we'll do the work. Don't mind my cousin."

  The man flashed his dazzling smile. "It is good that you are so industrious, young man. Please arrive at the gates of Jubilee promptly at nine o'clock tonight. Make certain that you are wearing boots and work clothing. I will supply everything else that you will require."

  "Yes, sir." Junior bobbed his head. "We'll be there"

  "Until this evening, gentlemen." The passenger-side window came up. He cruised away, the Lexus purring like a panther.

  Andre watched the truck leave, frowning.

  "Junior, I don't know, man. Folks be saying that place is haunted. And that nigga still didn't say what we was gonna be digging for."

  Junior scratched his head. It was kinda funny, wasn't it? He'd heard stories about the Mason place being haunted, but he'd never set foot inside the house himself. And Andre was right: the man hadn't said what they'd be digging for.

  But two hundred fifty dollars was a lot of money. Andre didn't have a job, but he had two kids and was living with a woman, so he needed the money as much as Junior did.

  "That is a lot of cash, though" Andre threw his cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with his foot. "All right, cuz. I'll pick you
up at a quarter to nine. Then we'll go check out this gig."

  "I'll be ready." Junior smiled. Already, he was thinking about how, with two-fifty in his hands, he would be much closer to buying his pickup truck.

  Kyle awoke at sunset.

  Contrary to popular perception, vampires did not sleep in coffins. They preferred beds with mattresses-the more comfortable, the better. What sane creature slumbered in a wooden box intended for the dead? Myths amused him sometimes.

  He was in the master bedroom suite of Jubilee. The shutters-a custom design that guaranteed protection against daylight were tightly closed, allowing deep shadows to dwell inside. But his vision was perfectly attuned to the darkness.

  There wasn't much in there worth seeing. Like the rest of the residence, this room ached for a renovation. Mamu had done a commendable job of cleaning the house to make it somewhat livable, but this was, by far, the most wretched room in which Kyle had ever slept. Numerous wooden planks were missing from the decaying hardwood floor. The walls, riddled with peeling paint, appeared leprous. The ceiling fan had lost at least two blades, giving it the look of a junked propeller. Cracks veined the windows.

  Although Kyle had the means to renovate the property, he would not waste money on the effort. They planned to live in this town for only a few weeks. He had instructed Mamu to purchase new beds, linens, special blinds, and necessary appliances and furniture, but to leave most of the mansion in its present, dilapidated condition. For Kyle, it was a welcome change from the opulence in which he had lived all his life.

  He rose from the king-size bed. He wore black silk nightclothes. He slid on a matching pair of house slippers that awaited beside the bed.

  There was a knock at the door.

  "Come in," Kyle said.

  Mamu stepped inside. "The sun has set, monsieur"

  "I've noticed." Vampires had a biological clock that synchronized their bodies to the rising and setting of the sun. Mamu was aware of this, yet believed that he had to notify Kyle each day. Kyle did not mind. Mamu was a man of rigid habit.

  "How did you sleep?" Mamu said.

  "Wonderfully. The bed was comfortable. Thank you"

  Mamu smiled, but Kyle sensed that his friend's question had another meaning.

  "I sensed a haunting spirit, though I did not see it," Kyle said. He smiled. "It was afraid of me"

  "Ah," Mamu said. "It knew that you are not a man"

  "You are safe as long as I am here, my friend," Kyle said. He clasped his hands and strolled across the room. "I'm hungry. Come with me and tell me of your progress"

  As they left the room and descended the spiral staircase, Mamu filled him in on what he had accomplished that day. Everything was prepared for the work they were to begin in a few hours.

  Flickering white candles illuminated the hallway and rooms. Kyle despised electric light.

  In the kitchen, Kyle retrieved a packet of blood from the refrigerator. Mamu had procured two new refrigerators. He stored his own human food in the other one.

  Sipping blood, Kyle opened the door to the basement and navigated the stone steps, Mamu following behind him.

  Candles burned in the cellar, too.

  "Ah," Kyle said, pleased.

  A large bed occupied the middle of the area. It appeared to have come from a hospital, as it had railings along the side to prevent one from rolling off the mattress. An IV rack stood beside the bed, though no bag of fluids hung from the hook-yet.

  A big pine entertainment center stood several feet in front of the bed. It contained a twenty-five-inch television, a combination DVD/ VCR player, a stereo system, and a collection of films and audio recordings. The media library was composed mostly of documentaries on historical topics, though a handful of popular films and programs were included: Dracula, starring Bela Lugosi, Interview with the Vampire, featuring Tom Cruise, and the best of Dark Shadows, the TV show with the fascinating vampire, Barnabas Collins.

  "Is this what you had wished for, sir?" Mamu said.

  "This is excellent. You've outdone yourself." Kyle approached the bed. He smoothed the crisp linens, fluffed the thick pillows. He was as giddy as a child, his nerves crackling with energy.

  Laughing, he suddenly leapt across the cellar to a short staircase that led to a set of wide, wooden doors.

  "Where do these lead?" Kyle said.

  "Outside," Mamu said. "They are storm doors. I have placed a new padlock upon them"

  "You are too much, my friend." Kyle noted that there were no windows in the chamber. Splendid.

  Kyle had learned patience in his long life, but for once, he could not wait. He could not wait until later tonight, when he would, finally, meet his father.

  David could not remember ever having such an enjoyable first date.

  He'd picked Nia up at seven, and they had driven to Southaven, twenty minutes north of Mason's Corner. They had dinner at a Southwestern-style restaurant, then visited the multiplex cinema to see a movie.

  After the film a typical summer action flick full of explosions and one-liners they stopped by a cafe for dessert.

  "We had peach cobbler at lunch, and now we're eating cheesecake," Nia said. She giggled, dangling her fork. "Are you trying to put some weight on me, or what?"

  "You are a little skinny."

  She threw a napkin at him. "Hey, you said I was in great shape"

  "I was only trying to make a good first impression." He laughed, then grew serious. "I wouldn't change one thing about you"

  She gave him the full effect of her lovely eyes.

  It had been that kind of evening-filled with meaningful gazes and flirtatious, yet profound, compliments. Only once in his life had David been similarly at ease with a woman, and that had been two years ago, with his ex-girlfriend, whom he'd thought he would marry. When they broke up, he'd been shattered. She had been his first genuine, mature love. He'd doubted that he'd ever meet a woman like her again. Lightning never struck twice.

  But now, he had met Nia.

  He was a practical guy. He wrote goals in a journal, and executed them. He never attempted anything of importance without thinking it through from beginning to end. He liked an orderly-even predictable life, in which he could main tain control at all times. When he had come to Mason's Corner, the possibility of meeting a woman had never crossed his thoughts.

  But now, Nia.

  Although he had known her for only a day, he could not deny the sense of rightness that he felt in her company. Was it love at first sight? He hesitated to slap a cliched label like that on it. But it was something special, something worth growing and exploring.

  Nia was watching him. He had the feeling that she knew exactly what he was thinking, and instead of making him nervous, he felt warm, accepted.

  "I want to tell you why I left Houston and came back home," Nia said.

  He put down his fork. "Okay. If you feel comfortable sharing that with me "

  "I do," she said firmly, as though reaffirming it to herself. "In Houston, I was stalked."

  He listened. She would share the story at her own pace.

  "This happened after my knee injury forced me to stop running track," she said. "I was teaching at a high school. One of my colleagues, Mr. Morgan, a math teacher, asked me out on a date. He was a good-looking guy, in his thirties, never married, and he seemed really nice, intelligent, and thoughtful. So I went out with him.

  "Talk about the date from hell. The minute he picked me up, he started talking about all of our colleagues. He had strong, negative views of everyone. Mr. So-and-So is a homosexual, he'd say, and we should keep him away from the boys in his class. Ms. This-or-That is a bitch and always has been, and I can't wait until she leaves. He went on and on like that throughout dinner. He was a totally different person in private than he was at school.

  "Our plan was to catch a movie after dinner, but I already had a headache from listening to his nasty attitude. I told him I had to get in early to grade some papers, and asked him to drop me
off. He drove me back to my place, and he made a couple comments about how I was rude for ending our date early. I let it pass. I only wanted to get away from him. But I could've given him a piece of my mind, because if anyone had been rude, it was him.

  "The harassment started the following week. He asked me when we could get together again, and I said I was busy. `Then when is your schedule open?' he said. I told him I didn't know, hoping he'd get the hint. He didn't.

  "He started to leave vulgar notes in my mailbox. Stuff like, `Baby, can I have a private tutoring session with you?' and `You're too damn sexy to be teaching here, you're gonna make me lose my mind.' He never signed these notes, but I knew it was him. No one else had any reason to write them. The messages got cruder and more frequent. I complained to the principal, and she said she was going to talk to Mr. Morgan. She took my complaint seriously, which was something I'd worried about. I thought my complaint might be laughed off. But apparently, this wasn't the first time that this guy had done something like this. He'd been forced to leave his last teaching position because of the same kind of thing.

  "But the principal must not have been all that frightening to Mr. Morgan, because he stepped up his harassment. He called my place at all hours of the night, never saying anything, just breathing hard on the phone. He'd leave a rose under the windshield wiper of my car. And he started showing up at the gym where I worked out. He'd find a spot where he could watch me run around the track, and he would stare at me the entire time.

  "I finally confronted him and told him that I wanted him to leave me alone, or I was going to call the police. He laughed it off and acted like I was the one tripping. `I only want to spend time with you, get to know you better,' he said. `I'm a good man, and I want to prove it to you.' He wasn't worried about my threat to go to the cops. Maybe he didn't believe me, maybe he didn't care. I don't know what he was thinking, really.

  "This harassment went on for weeks. Then, one night I came home and found that someone had been in my apartment. Clothes were all over the place, but my lingerie was missing. I knew who'd done it, though I had no idea how he got into my place. He had a sick, cunning mind.