CHAPTER FOUR
"Temperature in Augusta is currently twenty-eight degrees, with heavy snow covering the north-eastern regions. Local time is nine-oh-four p.m. We should be arriving within the next five minutes. Thank you for flying with us, and have a safe and enjoyable journey."
Ms. Lawry sat up in her seat and looked out the small circular window to her right. There was very little to see: just the frost that was icing the glass, and the black clouds that appeared to be engulfing them. Stretching, she yawned silently and peered around. Most of the other passengers were still asleep, legs extended out into the aisles and mouths open, snoring. Stewardesses were rushing up and down the rows, talking amongst themselves in low voices. The plane gave an unpleasant lurch and began its descent through the darkness. Ms. Lawry clutched her head and stomach with both of her hands. Closing her eyes, she gave an unconscious shudder. Flying had never agreed with her.
When the jet came to a stop in the Augusta Airport, Ms. Lawry was able to see the snow that had already coated most of the runway and stationary planes. A few minutes later, she was filing out of the door and up the walkway to the airport, clutching her small bag in her hand. Without a need to visit the baggage claim, Ms. Lawry made her way down the utterly dreary halls to the escalator. She followed the signs to the rent-a-car desks, looking around for someone who could help her. A tall, lanky man with wide hazel eyes came out of a door in the back and stood in front of her, smiling wanly at her.
"Can I help you?" the man asked, his voice sounding nasally and oily at the same time. He gave off an atmosphere of tackiness and vulgarity with his cheap gray suit, overly-shined shoes, and greasy hair. Ms. Lawry had a feeling of instant dislike towards this man.
"I need a small car, the cheapest you have, if possible," she said, taking out her identification.
"How long will you be needing this car?" the man asked in his annoyingly articulated voice.
"Only a couple of days, three at the most."
"Are you sure you only want a little car? We offer a wide range of vehicles, ma'am. Feel free to page through our catalogue." He held out an incredibly thick book to her.
"That's all right," she responded, waving her hand. "I just need an inexpensive car. Quickly, please," she added.
"No need to get impatient, ma'am," the man said, raising his eyebrows and smiling all the while. "We're just trying to make your vacation here more enjoyable, ma'am."
"I'm not really interested in having an enjoyable time. I just want a car." She met his gaze, pursing her lips.
"Please sign here, then, ma'am." He pointed to a dotted line at the bottom of a paper he pulled out of an unseen drawer. "And here," he said, indicating another line. "And here." He put away the paper. "And I'll need to see some registration, along with a driver's license and your credit card or non-personalized check. And photo I.D, ma'am."
"Doesn't my driver's license count as 'photo I.D.'?"
"No." He gave her a small, arrogant smile.
Rolling her eyes, she reached into her purse and got out her papers, along with her school I.D and credit card. The man inspected them all meticulously. "I'm afraid this does not fall into our category of 'photo I.D', ma'am," he told her, indicating the school I.D. "We require that any and all I.D be approved by the government. If this was, it would have a little stamp right there…" he said, pointing to the bottom right-hand corner of the card.
Ms. Lawry narrowed her eyes. "Then I guess I'll take my business elsewhere, sir."
She turned to leave, snatching up her bag on the floor. "N…now w…wait a m-minute," the man stammered, tapping Ms. Lawry on the shoulder. "Let me see what I can do." He grabbed the I.D. and dashed into the back room. Ms. Lawry smiled to herself.
A moment later, he came out of the door. "Does it work?" she asked, her eyes wide in mock-concern.
The man nodded fervently. "Yes, but I had to pull a couple strings. You should be very appreciative, ma'am." He scanned her papers and handed them back to her, blinking profusely. "Your total comes to $69.99."
"Where do I pick up my car?" she asked, brushing her hair out of her eyes as she stuffed the papers back into her purse.
"Right through there, ma'am," he said, indicating a large door on her left. She shouldered her bag and turned to leave. "Have an enjoyable time, ma'am," he called as she walked away.
Ms. Lawry walked through the door and found herself in a large garage. A short black man with large glasses and a thick mustache sat in a chair next to the door. "Hi, there!" he said cheerfully. "Can I see your receipt?" She retrieved the small paper from her purse. "You can pick out any of the cars in spaces marked with yellow paint," the man told her after looking over the receipt. "Let me know when you've made your decision. The key's in the door."
Glancing at the vehicles quickly, Ms. Lawry walked to the closest car, a small silver sports car, and grabbed the key. "This one works fine for me. Can I get going now?"
He looked up and smiled. "That's a good choice. I've always been kind of partial to that car." He got up off his chair slowly. "Yeah, you can get going now, after I give you your receipt back." He jogged over to her and held out the paper. "Have an enjoyable time!"
By the time Ms. Lawry got out onto the highway, it was already a quarter until eleven. She pulled over for a moment, checking the map that she found in the glove department. "Jerusalem's Lot, Jerusalem's Lot…there!" she muttered to herself. Judging from the distance between Augusta and Derry, Ms. Lawry estimated the Lot was located about two hours away. She started the car again and got back onto the empty road.
"Almost there, Mark…"
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"And you're sure that's all you saw?"
"Yes, sir…" Robyn stared at the floor, refusing to meet the sheriff's eyes. Mark watched the interrogation from the couch. Sydney's parents stood by the window, out of earshot, eyes bloodshot.
Sheriff Williams, a short, muscular bald man in his forties, called his deputy over. "Did you get in touch with Ms. Evanoff's parents, David?"
The deputy shook his head, blonde curls bouncing every which direction. "They don't have a cell phone, and the clinic isn't answering. I'm not sure why…" He frowned, rubbing his unshaven chin. "We're going to try again when we get back to the station."
Williams nodded and tapped his brown wide-rimmed sheriff hat. He looked over at Mark, who hadn't said a word. "And how did you get into all this? I haven't seen you around…" He got out a new notepad. "Let's start off with your name."
Mark glanced at Robyn, who lowered her eyes. "Mark Petrie. I…"
"Mark Petrie?" The sheriff looked up from his paper, studying Mark's face. "You mean, the Mark Petrie from the news?"
Mark nodded. "I just got here about two days ago. I'm trying to find a relative, but nobody seems to know who she is. You could talk to my friend Grant Burnett if you need someone to verify my story." He glanced around at the officers. "Grant came to the Lot with me."
"How did you get involved in this, though? Do you know Ms. Evanoff?"
"Know her? No, not really. I mean, I met her at this gas station in California. She said she was from the Lot, so I figured…" His voice drifted off, and he shrugged half-heartedly.
There was a low chuckle from behind the sheriff. They turned to see the deputy stroking his chin, smirking. "'I met her at a gas station in California,'" he imitated. "C'mon, chief, you don't believe this kid, do you?"
"What are you trying to say, Summers?"
David Summers took a stride forward, hands in his pockets. "Nothing really, sheriff, except that his account of the incident doesn't make any sense." He glanced at Mark out of the corner of his eye, smirking. "It's suspicious, ain't it? I mean, this guy's here for a day and we already have somebody else missing. In fact, I would even go as far to say that he's probably been here for more than two days…he might have just been hiding out somewhere. The story's full of holes. What, he just happened to find Ms. Evanoff's house and arrive the same night that girl died?" He pointed to the ambulance in which Sydney's body lay with a shaking finger. "You know, this 'Grant' person probably doesn't even exist."
"It's the same with all you small-town, small-minded people, isn't it?" Mark said hoarsely. "You're just wasting your time if you try to hold me accountable for Sydney's death. Just because I'm new, you immediately assume I'm to blame for each single problem." Mark wiped his hand across his forehead. "I mean, didn't it occur to you that Robyn's account backed up every word in my entire story?" He folded his arms over his chest.
Sheriff Williams turned to face Summers. "Leave it alone for right now, David. You'll have your chance later…" Mark heard him mutter.
Summers scowled heavily. "Let me call the place I'm staying at. They'll get Grant, and he'll back up my story," Mark said, taking a step towards them. Williams glanced at Summers and handed Mark his cell phone.
A few moments later, Mark heard the familiar ringing sound faintly through the ear piece. "Hello?" Eva's rich German-accented voice answered.
"Ms. Günter? Uh, hi…it's Mark Petrie. I came in two nights ago, remember? Well, I was wondering if I could talk to Grant…"
"Mr. Petrie," Ms. Günter began, her voice strained with impatience. "I'm a very busy person. I don't have time to be running errands or fetching missing people."
"Missing? He's probably just up in his room…"
"We haven't seen your friend since yesterday. Everyone figured he was with you."
"He's…gone? But…well, um, thank you anyways, Ms. Günter. Sorry I wasted your time." Mark ended the call and handed the phone back to Sheriff Williams slowly. "Grant's not there. No one's heard from him since yesterday," he muttered, his eyes wide in shock. He turned to Deputy Summers. "I guess I can't back up my story after all."
Summers didn't say anything. "You can stay here for now, Petrie, but…but don't leave town," the sheriff said, turning to leave.
"It's not like I could…without Grant…" Mark muttered as they walked out the door. He walked over to Robyn, who was sitting on the arm of the couch. "Are you okay?"
She looked up at him fiercely. "What do you think? My best friend was just murdered in my own house. No, I'm not okay." She waved her hand at the door through which "And to top it all off, everyone thinks you did it. I just…" Robyn put her hands over her face. "I don't know who to believe."
Mark took a deep breath. "I'll tell you what's going on. I can't guarantee it won't sound crazy, but…"
Robyn stood up hesitantly and put her hand on his shoulder. "Listen." He looked down at her, his eyes glinting. "Right now, there's nothing you could say that I wouldn't believe."
"Alright." He gave in and sat on the couch. Robyn took the seat next to him. "Three years ago, I stayed in this exact house. That's why I came here. I didn't even know you lived here. Ben Mears, the author, came to the town to write a book. These two other guys, Richard Straker and Kurt Barlow, they were new here, too. They lived in the Marsten House."
"The what house?"
"Marsten. It was named after the guy who built it, Hubert Marsten. He went crazy later on, killed a bunch of little boys, and then shot his wife and hung himself. Ben Mears saw him do it when he was younger. He went into the house on a dare. But ever since that happened…" Mark paused. "Ever since that happened, the house had…it had some kind of evil in it. So when Straker and Barlow moved in…and Ralphie went missing…people began to suspect. I mean, in Hubie's day, all those kids disappeared and eventually were found dead. The house is empty for, like, twenty years or so, and then these guys move into it. Suddenly, one boy's missing and then his brother, Danny, turns up dead." Mark looked Robyn dead in the eye. "People were scared. Pretty soon, it's Dud Rogers, Mike Ryerson, Mrs. Glick…man, the list goes on and on…" He rubbed his temples with his hand. "And then…Danny tried to get me. One night, at my window. In fact, it was that exact same window…"
"Wait." Robyn leaned towards him, eyes narrowed. "Danny? Didn't you say he died?"
"He did." She gave him a confused and somewhat frightened look. "He didn't attack me as a…a living person."
"What?" She stared at him, eyes wide.
"This town has vampires."
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He placed his bag on the conveyer belt, glancing around nervously. Those around him, however, were too rushed to notice the unusually large man. He watched anxiously as his carry-on went through the x-ray machine, checking the security guard's face for any sign of suspicion. It passed through without any problems. The man sighed with relief and stepped through the metal detector undisturbed. He grabbed his bag and hurried through the hall towards the bathroom.
Once inside a stall, he took out a bottle from one of the pockets, along with a small brown rag. The tag on the container was faded but still legible: CHLOROFORM. He stuffed the bottle into his back pocket and stepped out of the stall. A solitary figure stood at the urinals. Smiling to himself, he walked up to the man and yawned loudly.
"Long day?" the guy asked, looking over his shoulder.
"Uh-huh." He carefully got out the bottle of chloroform, opened it, and turned it upside-down on the rag. "Say, where are you headed?"
"Portland. Maine." He waved his ticket at him and zipped up his jeans. "What about you?"
"The same." He launched himself at the unsuspecting man, covering his mouth and nose with the cloth. A few seconds later, his victim collapsed onto the floor, unconscious.
Alan reached down and removed the ticket from the man's fingers. "Portland…" he muttered to himself. He shrugged. "Close enough." He pulled the body to the stall and locked it. Retrieving his bag, he got out a long, thin copper wire and held the man's head over the toilet bowl. Tracing his finger over the man's neck, Alan located the jugular…
A few minutes later, Alan was tightening the last of the screws in the large vent next to the stall. He shone his flashlight into the grates, just to make sure that no security guards or janitors would stumble across the body. Thankfully, Alan had pushed the dead man back far enough that no beam of light would not be strong enough to illuminate the body.
By the time the restroom had begun to stink, Alan would be long gone.
He pushed the handle on the porcelain toilet, watching the dark red liquid dissolve into the water. Then he left the bathroom, carrying newly acquired his ticket with him.
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The frightened gleam in his eyes, mixed with the grim expression set onto his mouth, gave Robyn the strangest emotion. Firstly, she felt a raw sense of denial. Not only was his story ridiculous, it was the raving of a madman. But Mark's reaction to the man in Sydney's room lay fresh on her mind: there had been no hesitation in his attack, only a forbidding knowledge of the matters at hand. And then, for no reason at all, Robyn had an unexplainable desire to laugh. 'Oh, I'm going to giggle hysterically. Just throw my head back and…'
"You don't believe me." He stared at her, disappointment engraved in his face. "You said you would."
"Mark…" She lifted her hand, preparing to place it on his arm, then thought better of it. "Do you hear what you're saying? I mean…" She hesitated. "Do you know what it sounds like?"
"I've had to live with this for the past three years of my life. I've never told anyone. Not even my best friend." Sighing, he stared out the window. "I don't even know why I told you…" He put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up. "I'm going to go find Grant, then we're leaving. Maybe you'll believe me when half the town is gone."
She stood up next to him, biting her lip uncertainly. "Do you have any proof?" she asked quietly.
Mark rolled his eyes. "Why would I bother going to all that trouble? If there's any part of you that doesn't think I'm an insane lunatic, then you should just come with us."
Robyn shook her head. "Even if I did believe you, I couldn't just leave my town behind."
He nodded. "I know what that feels like."
"I'll help you find your friend, if you want," she said, taking a timid step towards him. Mark shrugged. "Can you drive?"
"I had driver's ed, that's about it. I haven't taken my permit test yet. I just turned sixteen," Mark answered. There were a few moments of undecided silence. "Can you? Drive, I mean."
"No," Robyn replied, chuckling. "I'm only fifteen."
"Eva's isn't too far from here. We could walk…"
The journey to Eva's Rooms for Rent was long and arduous, with merciless winds making the temperature less than twenty degrees. Even with the high noon sun, the two of them could feel the iciness dripping down their spines. Completely unprepared for the weather, Mark had to borrow one of Robyn's father's extra coats. Luckily, he also discovered his old gray beanie in the pocket of his jacket. Together, they began their hike to Eva's. About half-way there, Mark tried to convince her that hitch-hiking was an easier way to travel. Robyn, however, would have none of it. Her lack of enthusiasm in the idea slowed his persisting. An hour later, they stood on the doorstep of the boarding house. "What if he's not here?" Mark asked suddenly, turning to Robyn. "What do we do then? Where else would he go?"
Robyn shook her head, a fountain of golden-red hair spilling out from beneath her hat. "Don't think about that now. We'll cross that bridge when, or even if, we come to it. Let's just get inside." She opened the front door and stepped inside, appreciating the heated building to the fullest extent. Mark came in after her, rubbing his hands together for warmth.
"Hello? Eva?" he called, peering around the hall.
A tall raven-haired man stepped out into the corridor. "You must be Mark. Mark Petrie, isn't it?" He smiled, his lips stretched taut over his shiny white teeth. His nose was long and pointed on the end, shaped much like a snout. With his fluid movements and distinct, even intense features, the first thought that came to Mark's mind as he watched him glide towards them was that this man must have been a wolf in another life. A large, intimidating wolf.
The man held out his hand in one quick, graceful stroke. "My name is Ulric Pierson. I've heard so much about you, Mister Petrie. It's an honor to finally meet the only survivor of the mysterious goings-on at 'Salem's Lot."
Mark looked over his shoulder at Robyn, who was looking from between the two of them curiously. "How did you know who I am?"
Ulric Pierson threw back his head and gave a loud, barking laugh. "My dear boy, you've been plastered on every headline and newsletter in this town for the past three years."
"So, uh, Mr. Pierson…are you staying here, or what…?"
"Mark…" Robyn stepped forward. "Mr. Pierson is the city councilman. He lives up in the house that overlooks the town."
"Then why is he here?"
"Mark!" she hissed through gritted teeth.
"I'm just wondering why he's at the boarding house if he already lives somewhere…"
"To see you, of course," Pierson said, folding his hands across his chest.
"Why?"
"How about we step into the kitchen and have a seat before I get to everything?" Pierson said quickly.
"Wait. I have a question…" Mark glanced over at Robyn, then turned his gaze back to Pierson. "Have you seen my friend Grant around recently? He's tall, albino…kind of hard to miss…"
"Grant, you say?" Pierson stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I think I did see him…yesterday, I believe…"
Something changed in his eyes for just a moment, but Mark caught it. A light seemed to gleam from behind them, illuminating his eyes eerily. A look of what could only be described as hunger overtook Pierson's face as he stared into the distance. It was gone a second later, but for that one instant, Mark felt uneasy. This Pierson guy seemed wrong, somehow.
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Ms. Lawry would have, under different circumstances, taken time to appreciate the subtle change of landscape as she drove down from the mountain in the early morning fog. But as she drew closer to the town, she accelerated the car in her impatience. The fields glistened delicately in the sunrise from the tiny frozen drops of dew that clung to the grass. Dark clouds in the distance began to sweep in at alarming rates, and soon after, an icy wind began to howl softly.
As she drove into town, Ms. Lawry had the distinct feeling that something was wrong in the town. There were no people walking on the sidewalks, chatting at a corner, or standing in line at the newspaper venders. Just a dead silence that swept through the streets. The place gave her the creeps.
The car made its way down the main street slowly, and pellets of ice began to fall from the skies. She Ms. Lawry drove up to the police station, a wide, red building that looked almost like a cave with its low roof, broad, blackened doorway, and dark windows that were stretched along dirt-covered brick paneling. She parked her car right in front of the doors and locked the door securely. The unusually tall steps that led to the building were cracked and unkempt, with roots and weeds growing from the small crevices.
From the look of the town, Ms. Lawry expected the doors to be locked. To her surprise, they opened easily. She peered inside. The walkway directly in front of her was unlit, just like everything else in the town. She stepped in and called, "Hello? Anybody here?"
There was a shout in response near the back of the station, but she couldn't understand what they were saying. The hall just kept getting darker the farther she went in, so she placed her hand against the wall and followed the corridor blindly. About thirty yards later, she came to a turn. Straining her eyes, she saw there was a light near the back of the new hall. Increasing her pace, she began a light jog towards the beacon, which turned out to be the overhead lights of an enclosed office area. Trying the knob, she found them unlocked.
"Can I help you?" A tall, sandy-haired man sat behind a desk. He had a long, handsome face and springy curls that tucked out from behind a wide-brimmed police hat.
"I hope so. My name is Latanya Lawry."
The man held his hand out over his desk, and Ms. Lawry shook it. "Nice to meet you. I'm Deputy Summers."
"Well, Mr. Summers, I just got here from California…"
"California?" He stood up slowly and walked towards her, peering at her curiously. Taking off his hat, he scratched his head. "You're not looking for Mark Petrie, are you?"
"Yes! Yes I am. Do you know where I could find him?"
"At the current moment? No." Ms. Lawry's shoulders slumped slightly. "Maybe if you help me with a problem, I could find some information for you." Summers paused and smiled to himself. "Do you know anyone by the name of Grant? Grant…Burnett, I believe?"
Ms. Lawry shook her head, raising her eyebrows at Summers. "No, but what does that have to do with…?"
"Mark claimed that he came here with this Grant character, a friend of his. Our police staff has yet to find evidence of this man anywhere."
"So just because you can't find him, you think Mark is lying? Why would he mislead you on something as trivial as that?"
"We were questioning him about the mysterious death of Sydney Dayton. He was at the house in which she was staying at the time…"
"You think he killed her?" Ms. Lawry looked at him, eyes wide in shock. "Deputy Summers, Mark would never…" She shook her head in disbelief. "What evidence do you have to support this utter lunacy?"
"Well…" Deputy Summers shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "We don't exactly have any proof that she was murdered, per say. But he got here just at the right time, or you might say the wrong time."
"What do you mean by that?"
"We've been having some…problems in town, you might say. Our mortality rates have gone through the roof. Doctors are talking about a virus, but from what I've seen, illness doesn't begin to cover it. And there have been a number of disappearances in the last couple of days…"
"So you think it's him because he's new in town? I'm new in town, Mr. Summers. Are you going to accuse me of these so-called 'disappearances'?" Ms. Lawry scowled at him.
"Of course not, Ms. Lawry, but we have to take into account these recent happenings." The deputy straightened up and stared her in the eyes.
She glared at him for a moment. "So are you going to tell me where Mark is, or do I have to figure it out by myself? And don't you think I won't…"
David Summers sighed, defeated and tired of arguing with Ms. Lawry. "The last place I saw him was at Robyn Evanoff's house on Colchester. Does that name ring a bell?" Ms. Lawry shook her head. "He probably isn't there anymore, but you could talk to Robyn."
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Summers. I appreciate it," said Ms. Lawry articulately, turning to leave.
"Listen to me, Lawry," the deputy said in a low voice. She glanced over her shoulder. "Once you find him, you better stay here for a few days. I don't want to have to hunt you both down."
Without answering, Ms. Lawry strolled out the door. A moment later, the lights came on with a muffled whirring noise from behind the walls. She turned and saw Summers next to the electrical board, watching her. As she walked down the hall, their conversation floated through her mind.
"He got here at just the right time, or you might say the wrong time…Our mortality rates have gone through the roof…We have to take into account these recent happenings…I don't want to have to hunt you both down…"
She got into her car and slammed the door shut. The engine started fairly quickly, and she backed out into the gray and lifeless street. As she drove down the road, a dark shadow loomed in front of her. She glanced up ahead and saw a hill with a large and daunting house atop it. It appeared to have been built in the eighteen-hundreds, even though the town itself couldn't have been over five years old. With its angled features and twisted trees, the Marsten House seemed to loom over the Lot, ready to topple over on top of the town.
A shiver crept up her spine, and Ms. Lawry shuddered involuntarily.