Wayward
Page 73
“You didn’t mean it.”
“I thought Mr. Pilcher was good. I thought he was God.”
“It’s not your fault. He took advantage of you. Of every kid in that school.”
“What happens now, Dad?”
“Son, I don’t know, but no matter what, from this moment on, our lives are our own again. That’s all that matters.”
People began coming up to see the dead aberration.
It wasn’t a large one, just a hundred twenty pounds. Ethan figured its small size had kept the effect of the tranq dart going longer than he’d planned for.
It was past midnight, and he was looking out over all the people whose lives he had just immeasurably changed when he heard the sound of a phone ringing in the lobby.
He climbed down off the stage and moved up the aisle, pushing through the doors leading out of the theater.
The ringing was coming from the box office.
He sat down behind the ticket window, lifted the receiver to his ear.
“How you doing, Sheriff?”
Pilcher’s voice sounded whiskey-thickened and uncharacteristically happy.
“We should meet tomorrow,” Ethan said.
“Would you like to know what you’ve done?”
“I’m sorry?”
Pilcher spoke more slowly, deliberately. “Would you like to know what you’ve done?”
“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
“Do you now? Well, I’ll tell you anyway. You just bought yourself a town.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what that means.”
People were coming out of the theater and gathering around the ticket window.
“You don’t know what that means? Means they’re yours now. Each and every one of them. Congratulations.”
“I know what you did to your daughter.”
On the other end of the line—silence.
Ethan said, “What kind of a monster—”
“She betrayed me. Me and everyone in this mountain. She put the residents of Wayward Pines in danger. She didn’t just tell people about the blind spots in town. She created them. Sabotaged everything I—”
“Your daughter, David.”
“I gave her every opportunity to—”
“Your daughter.”
“It had to be done. Maybe not the way it was done, but… I lost my head.”
“I’ve been wondering—why have me investigate her murder? Find her body in the road? I assume you orchestrated that. What did you possibly hope to gain?”
“Alyssa never gave up Ballinger’s group. I didn’t think you’d really investigate your former partner unless you thought she’d actually killed someone. And you should’ve come to the conclusion it was Kate. You would’ve if you’d searched her house. I had Alyssa’s murder weapon stowed in a toolbox in Kate and Harold’s shed. You were supposed to find it, but you never even searched, because I guess you never really thought she did it. Well, doesn’t matter now.”
“How do you sleep at night, David?”
“Because I know that no matter what I’ve done, it’s all been in the service of creating Wayward Pines. Of protecting Wayward Pines. And there’s nothing more important. So I sleep just fine. I have a new nickname for you, by the way.”
“We need to meet,” Ethan said. “We need to talk about what comes next.”
“Light-bringer. That’s my new nickname for you. Translated from the Latin, Lucifer. Do you know the mythology of Lucifer? It’s quite apt. He was an angel of the Lord. The most beautiful creature of them all. But his beauty? It deluded him. He started to believe that he was as lovely as his maker. That perhaps he should be God.”
“Pilcher—”
“Lucifer led a band of angels in revolt against the Almighty, and I want to ask you a question now… how’d that turn out for them?”
“You’re a sick man. These people deserved their freedom.”
“I will share with you that it did not turn out well at all. Do you know what God did to them? He cast them out. He created a place called hell for Lucifer and all his fallen angels.”
Ethan said, “And who am I in this fairy tale? Lucifer? And I suppose that makes you God?”
“Very good, Sheriff.” He could hear Pilcher smiling through the telephone. “And if you’re wondering where to go to find this place of everlasting torment that I’m about to create for you, I would say look no further.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Hell is coming to you.”
A dial tone blared for two seconds in Ethan’s ear.
Then all the lights winked out.
25
1040 Sixth Street
Wayward Pines
Three Years, Seven Months Ago
On their last day together, she prepared his favorite meal.
All afternoon in the kitchen—slicing, stirring, mixing.
The simple act of keeping her hands busy somehow carrying her from one moment to the next.
But she had to focus, because the second she dropped her guard, it all came crashing down on her.
Three times, she’d lost it.
Crumbling to her knees.
Her sobs filling the empty house.
It had been so hard here.
Scary and lonely, and ultimately, hopeless.
But then he’d arrived. Like a dream.
They’d found comfort in each other, and for a time, everything had been better. She’d actually been happy in this strange little town.
The front door opened, closed.
She set the knife down on the cutting board.
Dried her eyes on a dish towel.
Turned to face him.
He stood across from her at the kitchen island.
Said, “You’ve been crying.”
“Just a little.”
“Come here.”
She went to him, wrapped her arms around him and cried into his chest as he ran his fingers through her hair.
“Did you talk to them?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“No change.”
“It’s not fair.”
“I know.”
“What if you just said—”
“I don’t have a choice in the matter.”
“Can’t you—”
“Don’t ask me. Please.” He lowered his voice and whispered into her ear. “You know I can’t talk about it. You know there are consequences.”
“I thought Mr. Pilcher was good. I thought he was God.”
“It’s not your fault. He took advantage of you. Of every kid in that school.”
“What happens now, Dad?”
“Son, I don’t know, but no matter what, from this moment on, our lives are our own again. That’s all that matters.”
People began coming up to see the dead aberration.
It wasn’t a large one, just a hundred twenty pounds. Ethan figured its small size had kept the effect of the tranq dart going longer than he’d planned for.
It was past midnight, and he was looking out over all the people whose lives he had just immeasurably changed when he heard the sound of a phone ringing in the lobby.
He climbed down off the stage and moved up the aisle, pushing through the doors leading out of the theater.
The ringing was coming from the box office.
He sat down behind the ticket window, lifted the receiver to his ear.
“How you doing, Sheriff?”
Pilcher’s voice sounded whiskey-thickened and uncharacteristically happy.
“We should meet tomorrow,” Ethan said.
“Would you like to know what you’ve done?”
“I’m sorry?”
Pilcher spoke more slowly, deliberately. “Would you like to know what you’ve done?”
“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
“Do you now? Well, I’ll tell you anyway. You just bought yourself a town.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what that means.”
People were coming out of the theater and gathering around the ticket window.
“You don’t know what that means? Means they’re yours now. Each and every one of them. Congratulations.”
“I know what you did to your daughter.”
On the other end of the line—silence.
Ethan said, “What kind of a monster—”
“She betrayed me. Me and everyone in this mountain. She put the residents of Wayward Pines in danger. She didn’t just tell people about the blind spots in town. She created them. Sabotaged everything I—”
“Your daughter, David.”
“I gave her every opportunity to—”
“Your daughter.”
“It had to be done. Maybe not the way it was done, but… I lost my head.”
“I’ve been wondering—why have me investigate her murder? Find her body in the road? I assume you orchestrated that. What did you possibly hope to gain?”
“Alyssa never gave up Ballinger’s group. I didn’t think you’d really investigate your former partner unless you thought she’d actually killed someone. And you should’ve come to the conclusion it was Kate. You would’ve if you’d searched her house. I had Alyssa’s murder weapon stowed in a toolbox in Kate and Harold’s shed. You were supposed to find it, but you never even searched, because I guess you never really thought she did it. Well, doesn’t matter now.”
“How do you sleep at night, David?”
“Because I know that no matter what I’ve done, it’s all been in the service of creating Wayward Pines. Of protecting Wayward Pines. And there’s nothing more important. So I sleep just fine. I have a new nickname for you, by the way.”
“We need to meet,” Ethan said. “We need to talk about what comes next.”
“Light-bringer. That’s my new nickname for you. Translated from the Latin, Lucifer. Do you know the mythology of Lucifer? It’s quite apt. He was an angel of the Lord. The most beautiful creature of them all. But his beauty? It deluded him. He started to believe that he was as lovely as his maker. That perhaps he should be God.”
“Pilcher—”
“Lucifer led a band of angels in revolt against the Almighty, and I want to ask you a question now… how’d that turn out for them?”
“You’re a sick man. These people deserved their freedom.”
“I will share with you that it did not turn out well at all. Do you know what God did to them? He cast them out. He created a place called hell for Lucifer and all his fallen angels.”
Ethan said, “And who am I in this fairy tale? Lucifer? And I suppose that makes you God?”
“Very good, Sheriff.” He could hear Pilcher smiling through the telephone. “And if you’re wondering where to go to find this place of everlasting torment that I’m about to create for you, I would say look no further.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Hell is coming to you.”
A dial tone blared for two seconds in Ethan’s ear.
Then all the lights winked out.
25
1040 Sixth Street
Wayward Pines
Three Years, Seven Months Ago
On their last day together, she prepared his favorite meal.
All afternoon in the kitchen—slicing, stirring, mixing.
The simple act of keeping her hands busy somehow carrying her from one moment to the next.
But she had to focus, because the second she dropped her guard, it all came crashing down on her.
Three times, she’d lost it.
Crumbling to her knees.
Her sobs filling the empty house.
It had been so hard here.
Scary and lonely, and ultimately, hopeless.
But then he’d arrived. Like a dream.
They’d found comfort in each other, and for a time, everything had been better. She’d actually been happy in this strange little town.
The front door opened, closed.
She set the knife down on the cutting board.
Dried her eyes on a dish towel.
Turned to face him.
He stood across from her at the kitchen island.
Said, “You’ve been crying.”
“Just a little.”
“Come here.”
She went to him, wrapped her arms around him and cried into his chest as he ran his fingers through her hair.
“Did you talk to them?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“No change.”
“It’s not fair.”
“I know.”
“What if you just said—”
“I don’t have a choice in the matter.”
“Can’t you—”
“Don’t ask me. Please.” He lowered his voice and whispered into her ear. “You know I can’t talk about it. You know there are consequences.”
