He hit himself again and again and again, and all those books had it totally wrong: there was no numbing, no going away, no mental click so he could float above and let this happen to that boy-shaped punching bag. He felt this, each and every blow, right into his teeth, his bones. With every punch, he heard his breath come in a grunt—ugh, ugh, ugh—as his head whipped to the side, snapping on the stalk of his neck. He could feel the skin tear over his cheek, and there was now blood on his chin, down his throat, and then his vision was blacking as he kept beating himself, Big Earl bellowing with every blow: You want help, you want help, you want—
“Listen to me! You’re Casey!” Rima was right up against the glass, even as Big Earl was still raging, but—impossibly—it was the arrow of her voice, sharp and true, that pierced his terror. “You are Eric’s brother; you are yourself; you are Casey, and Casey would open the door! Do it, Casey! Please, don’t let me die out here. Open the door, Casey; fight him and do it now, do it now, do it—”
I’m Casey. He grabbed desperately at the thought. I’m Eric’s brother—
No, you are mine, boy. Big Earl was huge in his head. You are my blood, you are—
“Casey, fight this!” Rima shouted through glass. “You are your own person!”
Mine, boy! You’re mine and I’ll make a man of you—
“No one makes me! I’m Casey!” Roaring, he drove his fist forward, hard and fast, throwing all his weight into a blow he aimed not for his face but the window. Through a haze of pain and tears, he saw Rima start back, and then he screamed as a bomb of white-hot pain erupted at the moment of impact, streaming through his bones to ball in his shoulder. He felt the skin over his knuckles tear, and now there was blood smeared on the window, and more dripping from his hand—but, he saw, it was his hand once more, his.
And Rima knew … Somehow she knew, but how? No time to wonder. In a few moments, he thought he might not care, because he could feel that one weird rocket of strength ebbing and Big Earl still there, this hulking presence at the edge of his mind, withdrawing, yes, but only as a grudging wave does from the shore: so far, and no further, because the ocean is remorseless and eternal—and it would be easy, so easy to stop fighting, to let Earl swamp him, drown him. It was only a matter of time anyway, wasn’t it? Big Earl was strong—he always had been—and Casey was nothing but a kid, a runt, another mouth to feed, a miserable excuse for a son who would never amount to—
Do it, Casey. Already, he could feel the silver sliver of himself, a Casey that he recognized, going dark, starting to slide away, being pulled under full fathom five. Do it, Casey! Do it now, open the door, save her while you still can and before he comes back, before …
“Do it.” The words were clumsy in his torn mouth. Swallowing back blood, he pawed at the locks, his bloody fingers awkward, but the pain kept him focused a few seconds more. There was a thunk as the locks disengaged. In the next second, Rima was scrambling inside on a wash of frigid air, another scream from Tony, and the stink of gasoline.
“Something’s coming.” Her voice was thin and tight. She wrestled with the handle, her hands in their wool gloves slipping over bare metal as she muscled the door shut. “Something’s out there!”
“What? How close?” Still panting, Casey brought his good fist down on the master lock, then felt around for the flashlight. Thumbing it on, he worked his aching jaw, grimacing at a lancet of pain. His cheek was already swelling, going to be a hell of a bruise, and someone tell him just why had he risked his neck for this girl; why had he been hitting himself? You’re going as crazy as she is. Sucking blood from his torn knuckles, he spat out copper and a gasoline fug. “Did you get a look at it?”
“No. But I heard it. It’s … big, and Tony …” Her back was rigid, and she seemed to be quite careful to keep some distance between them. She flicked him a quick glance, her eyes raking his face, lingering on his jaw. “Listen, Casey, what just happened to you, I—”
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sudden movement, and then something flew into the car, smacking the metal shell with a meaty thud. Startled, Casey jerked his flashlight to the window—and screamed.
“Tony!” Rima shrieked. “Tony!”
<p>ERIC</p><p>A Night Coming On Fast</p>ON THE PORCH, as that horrible scream went on and on, they all stared at the handset he held in a death grip. Before the shriek had even fully died, Eric was shouting into the unit: “What’s happening, what’s happening? Tony? Casey? Casey?”
“Jesus,” said Bode.
