Blood Trance

by R. D. Zimmerman

  “Let him go,” said Loretta.

  I started to move to one side, to push past her, but she kept her hand held high. I began to say something, but didn't know quite what that would be.

  The librarian, a man with glasses, in his late twenties, hurried up behind me, said, “What's going on? Was anything stolen? Should I call the police?”

  Forcefully, Loretta said, “No.”

  I caught my breath, added, “It's all right. I… I just wanted to talk to that man. He did nothing wrong.”

  “But—”

  “Everything's fine,” I repeated to the librarian. Then to Loretta, I said, “Come on.”

  I took her by the elbow, leading her past several gawkers, past the checkout desk, and into the lobby where we could more easily talk. We passed the large staircase that descended to the parking lot, and crossed to a large window that overlooked the sea of cars. Just as we reached the glass, I spotted him out there, trotting between cars, making toward the edge of the lot, then disappearing into the trees of a neighboring lot.

  “I know who that is,” I said pointing to the figure.

  “Oh.”

  “That's your brother, Billy, isn't it?”

  She didn't reply, merely stood by my side, staring at the spot where he'd vanished.

  “He's in trouble,” I said. “And I need to talk to him.”

  Loretta still did not reply.

  “Billy's not homeless. He ran away because he had to.” I added, “He ran away because he killed someone, a little girl, and the police are now after him.”

  She spun, her eyes pinched with anger, and demanded, “Who told you that?”

  “Helen.”

  Her voice was so low it was barely audible as she said, “Bitch.”

  This was going to take some careful negotiations, I realized. Loretta was undoubtedly as tough as she was stubborn. I had to choose my words carefully, take the proper tack, to try to get her to open up.

  “Loretta,” I began, “you wrote my sister, saying you needed help and that it was a matter of life and death. Your letter upset Maddy and worried her very much.”

  Loretta brushed back a bit of hair as she stared at the floor. Her face was reddening with shame. Good, I thought. Press on.

  “That's why Maddy asked me to come down here; she wanted me to see if you were all right. But you're not. Something's wrong. I know that for sure, not only from what you told me but from some other things. The other night someone rammed my car and ran me off the road. Then last night someone hit me over the head.” I bowed my head, showed her the bruise. “See? See where I was hit? I followed your sister down to the Octopus Car Wash and someone hit me with a piece of wood. I was knocked out completely.”

  Her eyes filled with worry, and she looked at my wound, half extended a hand, mumbled, “Oh. Oh, no.”

  “Yeah. I could have been killed, too, but I was lucky. I know I shouldn't have done that, followed Carol Marie, but how else was I supposed to find out what's going on if no one will tell me? Maddy would want me to try everything.”

  Loretta turned back to the window, stared out over the expanse of parked cars below.

  I gave her my last pitch, gently saying, “If you're in trouble and you need something, Loretta, please let me help you. If you've changed your mind, though, and you don't want me around, I'll leave. I'll check out of my motel this afternoon and head back north. I won't bother you anymore, and I'll tell Maddy that you want to handle it on your own. It's your decision; just tell me what I should do.”

  She clasped her hands together. As she bowed her head, her flat, grayish hair fell over her face. Then she started shaking her head.

  “Oh, God, I don't know. It's all so confusing,” she whispered. “I don't know who to talk to.”

  “You can talk to me. Maddy can't be here, so she wants you to talk to me. I'll tell her everything you say and get her advice. Maybe later we can call her, too. Would you like that? Would you like to talk to Maddy?”

  “Yes. I want to talk to Dr. Phillips. She's very smart, and I really need some help. You see, Billy's in… in…” She hesitated, turned away, then started over. “Billy's in so much trouble. Not just with the police, either. I'm afraid someone's going to kill him.”

  “Ray Preston?”

  Loretta nodded her head.

  “Loretta, do you think I could speak with him? With Billy, I mean?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I guess so.”

  “Good. How can I find him?”

  She looked back at me, her pale face expressionless. “Well, I know where he's having dinner.”

  Chapter 20

  Loretta explained it all, gave me directions and a time, but she refused my offer to take her home. She said she wanted to spend more time at the library, but I didn't believe her. I suspected she either wanted to walk home—perhaps she feared traveling in my car—or didn't want Helen to see her with me. From her vague response, I sensed it was something like that. It occurred to me, too, that Loretta might be meeting someone else.

  I returned to my motel room and wasted the rest of the afternoon reading the paper, starting a book, talking briefly on the phone with Maddy, who nothing short of interrogated me. She wanted names, descriptions, places. Reactions. She asked me if I thought Loretta was stable or in any way a danger to herself. I replied that Loretta was just as odd as ever but not likely to hurt herself, at least not as far as I could tell. It was the others—namely Billy and Ray—that I feared, for while I had nearly gathered all the pieces, I couldn't fit any of this together, couldn't assemble it into one cohesive picture. I wondered, too, what I had missed, what I had neglected to take notice of.

  “You're doing an excellent job of reporting,” chimed that bolstering voice, the one that seemed to come from behind me, just over my shoulder.

  If nothing else, I had big eyes and a pretty good memory, and as I readied myself to leave at about five, I told myself to be sharp. Maddy was going to want a complete, detailed report on all this as well. And wasn't this, I thought as I brushed my hair, a hell of a lot better than my former career of technical writing? My last big project at work had been writing an installation manual for a desktop computer, which was about as dry as you could get.

  Just before exiting my room, I hesitated. If nothing else, I was becoming paranoid, and I stopped by the window, lifted the curtain slightly, and peered out. My small red car was parked down below. Nothing wrong there. I scanned the rows of cars, noticed nothing really odd until I eyed the very last vehicle. A large auto, dark brown, it was unpleasantly familiar. Very much like the one that had rammed into me the other night after leaving Loretta's.

  There was no other choice. I couldn't stay trapped in my room. As if I didn't suspect a thing, I stepped out onto the walkway that ran in front of all the rooms, locked my door, turned, and made for the open staircase. I purposely didn't look toward the end of the parking lot as I crossed to my car and started it up. I purposely moved slowly out of my space, as well, and drove to the front of the motel. This was like fishing, and I wanted to make sure I'd been caught.

  I checked my rearview mirror. Nothing. No movement. Was I wrong, needlessly worried? I feared something, a murky figure, someone I'd seen before and who I was sure was now back there, lurking. There was no sign of any movement, though. Not until the very last moment, when I turned left in front of the main office. Just as I rounded the corner, I saw the prow of the large brown car begin to move like a huge shark coming to life.

  I passed slowly beneath the portico in front of the office, bounced over a speed bump, continued straight, and turned not right onto the main road but left and back around the motel. I waited until the last moment, though, to make the turn. Waited until I was sure he was coming, for I wanted to be seen and tailed, at least for a short while. So as I saw that huge, formidable nose of a grille make the bend behind me, I passed around the far corner, down past another row of rooms. Pressing on the gas, I sped up. Raced on. Hurried down to the far end
of the motel. There was another way out of there, a small service road. I'd seen it earlier. A single lane of pavement that led over a ditch, past some trees, into the rear of a gas station.

  I glanced in my mirror. He saw me escaping, rushing out an unexpected route. In an instant his car was lunging forward, charging after me. I swerved right, steering into the service road that led to the gas station. As fast as I could, I drove around the back of the small, square building, dodging parked cars. I swerved around the front, where a truck and a sedan were parked at the gas pumps, steered around them and past a gawking worker, and then I looped the building. In seconds I emerged once again at the rear. And there was the huge brown car now zooming from the motel and down the narrow service road. I took direct and hasty aim, zeroing in on it with my small red car like some kamikaze doomed to death. I didn't slow, didn't jam on the brakes, and I saw the car barreling down on me, saw the figure behind the wheel growing more familiar with each moment.

  I plunged the brakes down, just as he did, and we both skidded, stopping only a foot or two short of a head-on. I threw open my door, leaped out, ran around. By the time I'd reached the driver's side of the car, he had slammed his car into reverse and was readying an escape. I trotted alongside him as he started to roll.

  “Stop, Ray!” I shouted at him.

  He glared at me from his moving vehicle, his face flushed with anger. Sure, I might have caught him, but he wasn't trapped. And he had no intention of sticking around. I reached through his open window, grabbed him by the collar.

  I yelled, “Listen, I know you've been following me. Now just shut off your fucking car!”

  He punched away my hand, halted his vehicle, twisting the car key and cutting the engine. I looked through the window, scanned the seat beside Ray. Did he have a weapon? A towel was thrown on the big brown seat next to him. Anything could be hidden beneath that. Both his hands were on the wheel, though. I didn't think he'd harm me, not really, not yet. He had no real need to.

  “Why have you been tailing me? What do you want, Ray?” I asked. “Maybe I can just tell you and save us both a lot of hassle.”

  Ray Preston bowed his head onto the steering wheel, then pulled back, took a deep breath, looked at me. He was a handsome man, a youthful-appearing man, but he looked like shit. His eyes were red and lined with circles. Hair uncombed. Even his perfectly pressed clothes were creased with huge wrinkles. When had he last slept?

  Finally Ray said, “He's back.”

  “Who?”

  “Billy.”

  I didn't want to confirm or negate it, so I said, “I know about the accident. I'm sorry.”

  “Accident?” Ray glared up at me. “Accident my ass, the fucker was drunk! He didn't have a license. And he ran a red light and killed her. He's supposed to be in jail!”

  “I know.”

  “He killed my daughter, my little girl!”

  “I'm sorry.”

  From the driver's seat of his car, Ray studied me. “You know where he is, don't you?”

  “No, I've no idea where he's staying,” I replied, which was essentially the truth. “But I might be able to find out something. Then we can go to the police and—”

  “The police are doing nothing. They let the whole thing drop. They don't give a shit about some drunken, homeless turd! I tried to tell them he was back, but they don't want to hear anything about it. They won't talk to me anymore.”

  I saw his hand move. His right hand. My heart tightened. Shit, was he reaching for a gun?

  “There's just one thing I want to know,” said Ray as he reached for the keys and brought his car to a roaring start. “Why the hell are you here?”

  I didn't know quite what to say, where to start, how to lie, what he should or shouldn't know, and I mumbled, “Well…”

  “I mean, why did your sister send you? To torment me?”

  “Of course not. Don't be ridiculous. She wanted me to do some business down here for her. And she asked me to see you because she was worried about you. I know that much.”

  “Cut the shit,” he demanded. “Just tell me one thing. What's the divine Dr. Madeline Phillips up to?”

  His question so startled me that I was totally speechless. I stood staring at him, dumbfounded, and he jammed his car into reverse, backing away from his question as well as from one that he had just dumped upon me.

  Specifically, was there still more that Maddy knew that I didn't?

  Chapter 21

  Billy was dining at a soup kitchen in the basement of an Evanston church. Once I'd made certain that Ray was no longer following me, I headed off, and the church wasn't that hard to find, an older stone building north of downtown and just a couple of blocks west of Sheridan. When I pulled up, I saw the line of homeless people—including a couple of women and a handful of children—trailing from a basement door and down about half a block. Supper-time. As I parked under the branches of an enormous maple tree, I scanned the large crowd of people and tried to figure out how Billy could have made it all the way over here by the dinner hour.

  As I walked up the sidewalk, I approached the line from the rear. Old men with white hair. A young woman with a filthy and ragged dress. A handful of men who looked as if they might be Vietnam vets, or at least of that age group. It was a depressing and pitiful collection of people who'd fallen through the so-called safety net, landing in the hands of an obviously overburdened and overworked congregation. A few in line studied me as well, one man with a defiant gaze, another with a quick, shamed glance. I examined them all, looked for familiar clothing or that familiar brow, but didn't see Billy.

  The line snaked up the side of the church, then turned and dipped down three or four steps and disappeared inside. I stretched my neck, stood on my toes, tried to see over the heads and into the dark chamber beyond. All I could make out inside was a thick crowd of people pushing anxiously toward one thing: food.

  A soft voice behind me said, “Can I help you?”

  She was a nicely dressed woman, blue pants, white blouse. Short silver hair, glasses. When I turned around and saw her I noted all that, understood at once that she wasn't one of them, the hungry. And when I saw the clipboard, I correctly assumed this older woman to be either staff or a volunteer.

  “I'm looking for someone,” I said.

  “Well, as you can see, we have lots of visitors every day. And a fair number of people like you who come hoping to find someone.” Her voice was soft and kind, her manner just shy of timid. “You're welcome to step in and take a look around.”

  “Maybe you can help me. Maybe you know. I'm looking for a man named William Long.”

  “Sorry, we don't have any idea who's here. We don't ask names and we don't ask questions. We open for the dinner hour, and anyone's who's hungry is welcome.” She smiled. “But as I said, you're welcome to step in and take a look around. There's quite a crowd already. Perhaps your friend is here.”

  I followed her down the few steps, past the line, and past the cafeteria service tables, where sandwiches and soup and fruit were being offered. We entered a large room, walls a dull white, the windows few in number and placed high up, and the first thing that hit me was a thick, coarse odor that made me catch my breath. It was a heavy scent, oddly sweet yet definitely sour. When had any of these people last bathed? The place was nearly full, seventy-five, maybe a hundred people seated at the tables, and they should have been talking, even laughing. Instead they were concentrating on the food before them, and an odd pall of quiet hung over the room.

  “There's coffee over here if you want any,” said the woman, nodding off to one side. Then she patted me on the arm. “Good luck. I hope you find him.”

  “Thanks.”

  I started down one side, moving slowly along the wall, my eyes searching for him. Each table had about eight people at it, and periodically someone looked up at me. Like the line outside, most of these were men; in fact I saw only a couple of women in here. I passed all the way down the room, swung ar
ound, went down the middle aisle. Never before had I seen such a collection of lost souls. Bearded men, raggedly shaven guys. Even a boy, a child really, who couldn't yet be sixteen. All of them, too, with hair tangled and matted. Each one of them had a story. Each of them had some hole of pain. I checked each face at each table, wondered from what parts of this great country they had come. But I didn't see him, not Loretta's brother, Billy.

  Just when I was sure that I'd outwitted myself and was totally wrong, I turned, started down the last row of tables. A figure appeared that looked all too familiar. There were only three other guys seated at the table, and he was off to one end eating by himself. I wasn't sure at first, but then I saw the tan shirt, the pants. From the rear, it all looked like it might be him. I wasn't sure until I saw his profile. He looked like his two sisters. The broad forehead, the short nose.

  I swung behind him, came up, and then sat down on the bench across from him saying, “Hello, Billy.”

  His face bearded, he looked up from a bowl of tomato soup, eyes perplexed.

  “Remember me? We met last night at the car wash.” I touched the spot where he'd clobbered me. “Don't worry. I'm all right. Actually we weren't introduced at the library this morning, either. I'm a friend of Loretta's. My name's Alex Phillips.”

  It took him a second, but when he recognized me, his eyes opened wide and he dropped his spoon. He put both his hands on the table and started to get up, but I grabbed his right arm and held on as tightly as I could. I looked to my left, saw the men at the other end of the table anxiously looking our way, wondering what was wrong, why I had come to corner one of them.

  “It's all right,” I said, my voice firm but low. “You don't have anything to worry about. I didn't come to hurt you. I only came because Loretta asked me to talk to you.”

  That kept him from bolting at least, and I sensed the immediate panic leaving his body. He remained on alert though, and he turned, searched the room, tried to ascertain if he was cornered.