Read Will the Sun Ever Come Out Again? for Free Online Page B

and reaches for the knob. He almost turns it, but then he realizes the banger is still smiling. He stares at the dribbling mouth. He hears blood patter onto the tabletop. At the edge of his vision he can see the tongue writhing in a puddle of crimson. He shifts his gaze as the severed muscle rears back like a snake, and the sight gives him the strength he needs to leave the tiny room.
    “Help! I need some help up here!”
     
    Walker enters the apartment and closes the door behind him. Out of sight, he finally unsnaps his holster. It comforts him the slightest bit, but he still feels anticipation in his gut like a chunk of ice.
    It stinks in Ricky’s place, stinks right to hell and back. He’s knocked down doors in houses full of dogs that didn’t smell this bad. How long has it been since he’s seen Ricky?
    “Ricky? Where you at?”
    Shadows clog the apartment. Shafts of diseased light pierce the cracked blinds, but darkness hides most of the living room. Walker makes out the couch he knows is always there, the coffee table piled high with empty beer cans and bottles. A glass bong sits in the middle of it all. Discarded foil rests nearby. Sloppy.
    He reaches for the light switch and flips it on. Nothing. He toggles the switch a few times, and Ricky’s weakened voice creeps out of the bedroom.
    “Broke the bulbs, man. Watch your step.”
    Walker does as he’s told. Way it smells, he’s liable to plop a foot down in a pile of fresh shit. He fishes a lighter out of his pocket and flicks it. A tiny flame pops to life. He adjusts it—letting it grow a little—and he starts forward.
    Discarded cans and fast food wrappers fill the floor. He kicks them out of the way, and he hears a squeak as a rat runs from his sweeping foot.
    “Jesus Christ.”
    “Don’t think so,” comes the answer.
    Walker doesn’t want to take his time. He wants to leave the apartment just as fast as he can. He needs to talk to Ricky, though. Needs to know what the dealer knows.
    He reaches the bedroom door, and a smell like an outhouse slams into him. He brings a hand to his face, and the lighter dies. It doesn’t matter, because Ricky has a candle burning on the night stand. It illuminates the dealer’s gaunt, naked body, the wild look in his eyes, and the shit-stained bedclothes he’s tangled in. Its dancing flame glints off the chromed automatic that lies at its base, reveals the melted stumps of the dozen or so candles that have burned down already, their wax trailing down the front of the night stand like a tumor.
    And the candle illuminates the dead girl, too. She’s maybe sixteen, maybe a little less. Her wrists are ragged wounds caked with dried blood. One of her arms rests against the wall, just a foot or so below the smeared words.
    HE STEPPED THRU
    “Hey, Walker,” Ricky says. “Jesus don’t roll here no more.”
     
    2Bit curls into a ball beneath the shower’s burning spray and shivers. Flitting memories cut him like blades. Darkness that moves. Blood. Knives doing horrible things.
    Strange words.
    Writing with his bloody palm.
    2Bit cries.
     
    Megan stands outside the house, at the end of the broken walk. She stares at the empty street while the assigned detective combs through the pile of bodies in the living room. She doesn’t know why she’s out here. It’s not fair. Detective Bagley told her to keep the scene clear, but the street remains empty. Only squad cars line the curb. And she gets to guard them. Bullshit.
    She thinks about the words. He stepped thru. A Darkness Below. What do they mean? She knows it all fits together somehow, and she knows with every last bit of her brain that she can figure it out if they’d just let her look at them some more.
    “You okay?” Christian asks. He’s regained some of his color and doesn’t look so much like bad cheese anymore.
    “Fine.”
    “You sure? That was some freaky shit.”
    “I’m fine. Pinky swear, okay?” She gives him a glare so he’ll get the fucking