Missy flinched and jumped, let out a soft gasp. She wanted to close her eyes and make it go away, hide it in the darkness of her mind, but the darkness was already there.
Andy touched her leg. “Hey, you okay?”
The image vanished. “Yeah,” she lied. “Just fell asleep there for a second and startled.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“My mother.”
“Good thoughts?”
She paused. “Mostly. What do you do when you’re haunted by memories?”
Memories. They haunted him daily, constantly. Looping in and out and around in his mind like some old movie reel that wouldn’t stop. His mother. The rats. The fire. Dean Shannon. Ghostly images from his past that tormented him in wakefulness and sleep. He couldn’t escape them.
A memory surfaced then. Dean Shannon. The fight. Such fury. Such hatred and primal rage. Andy had allowed whatever devil resided inside him to have its way. He’d given up control. Was it Dean’s fault? Andy had tried to convince himself it was. As Dean lay there clinging to life, his blood soaking into the dirt floor of the stable, his breaths ragged and uneven, Andy told the dying man he should have walked away, he should have turned his back.
“Hey.” Missy’s hand was on his arm.
“Yeah.” She’d asked him a question about his haunting memories. “Uh, my memories. I don’t do anything about them. I can’t.” He hesitated, gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I live with them.”
Missy sat quietly for a full minute before saying, “I guess we’re all haunted in some way.”
“Yeah, I guess we are. Some more than others.”
“Maybe we’re haunted by memories because we’ve never given them up.”
“What do you mean?”
“We cling to them.” She turned a little in her seat so she faced Andy. “You know, it’s like we continue to feed them. Like a stray dog you don’t want around, but you keep slipping him table scraps. He keeps coming back. Maybe these memories come back because we keep feeding them.”
“I’m not following. How are we feeding them?”
“Regrets. Fears. Anger. They’re all food for these memories. The more we hang on to the feelings that surround them, the longer the dreams hang around. Keep coming back for scraps.”
She made sense. Andy had clung to those feelings and emotions. He’d kept feeding those memories. And they kept coming back for more. “You should sleep while you can. Sun’ll be up soon, and then we’ll stop for breakfast, okay?”
She forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
Missy laid her head against the door and closed her eyes. The vibration of the road rattled her skull against the glass, but she welcomed the distraction. An image of her mother once again flickered in her mind, but this time it was her, not the demon-like creature.
Eventually, sleep overcame Missy, and she drifted into the sea of slumber.
.......
They were in some small town in western Massachusetts. A sign several miles back said Roxbury, but Andy wasn’t sure if this was Roxbury or not. The town consisted of one intersection with a four-way stop, a diner, an operating gas station, and a handful of homes, half of which were boarded and apparently vacated long ago.
Andy steered the truck into the small, busted-up parking lot of Elva’s Eat & Carry and nudged Missy. She stirred, let out a deep sigh, and opened her eyes. “Where are we?”
“Somewhere in Massachusetts. Roxbury, I think.”
She righted herself in the seat and turned her face toward the windshield. “Has daybreak come?”
“Yeah, about an hour ago.”
In the back seat, Belle shifted and yawned. “Hey, where are we?”
“Good morning,” Missy said.
“Where are we?” A hint of irritation to her voice.
Andy turned in the seat. “Don’t like mornings?”
“Where are we?”
“Massachusetts. Elva’s.”
“That’s the name of the town? Elvis?”
“No, Elva’s. The restaurant.”
Belle leaned to the side so she could get a better view out the window. “Is that what you call this?”
“It has food.”
“Let’s hope so. And coffee. I need coffee.”
“You’re thirteen.”
“I’m a thirteen-year-old who needs coffee.”
“Well let’s go see what Elva’s got cooking.”
The three exited the SUV and entered the diner. It was like any other small-town diner. Booths, tables, a counter with stools. The place had not aged well and was in need of an update. There were no patrons or staff in view. A handwritten sign invited guests to seat themselves.
Andy led Missy and Belle to a table near the door.
Moments later, a waitress exited the kitchen area. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen, thin as a pole and pale as goat cheese. She approached the table and stopped five feet away. Stared at Andy. “Just the three of you?”
“Yes,” Missy said. She must have sensed the girl’s unease at the sight of a disfigured man, a blind woman, and a young teen. None of them had showered or groomed themselves since they’d left the shelter.
The girl snapped the gum in her mouth. “What can I get for you then?”
They gave their orders, and the girl promised it would only be a few minutes.
When she left the table, Missy said, “First order of business after this is to find a place where we can shower.”
“You got that right,” Belle said. “You’re puttin’ off some pretty ripe odors there, big guy.”
Andy shrugged. He’d noticed, but there was nothing to do about it.
“Campgrounds always have showers,” Belle said.
“First, we find some gas, then find a shower,” Andy said. “There’s got to be a campground nearby.”
The meal came, and they all dug in, had their fill, drank their coffee. With her plate clear and third cup of coffee drained, Belle sat back and sighed.
“Full?” Andy sipped the last of the coffee from his own mug.
“You betcha,” Belle said.
“How ’bout you, Missy?”
“Oh yes. The eggs were great.” She’d ordered two eggs, over easy, and home fries. “Just what I needed.” She wiped her mouth with the napkin and sipped at the hot tea she had ordered. Then she said, “Can we talk about something?”
Andy straightened in his chair. “Sure.” He glanced toward the kitchen but saw no one. The entire time they’d been in the diner no one else had come through the door. He thought it strange that the place had no customers. But then again, the town probably consisted of no more than twenty people. There were outlying areas, of course, but the restaurant had no doubt been limping along for years following The Event. It had found a way to survive, though. Andy hoped it wasn’t by serving outdated food.
Missy’s eyes darted around Andy’s face. “Do you think Trevor had been targeting us?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, from the time we picked him up along the side of the road, do you think he intended to kidnap me all along?”
“That dude was bad news, I’ll tell you that,” Belle said.
“I don’t know,” Andy said. He had wondered the same thing, though.
“If he did, why?” Missy said. She’d obviously been thinking about this, and it bothered her.
Andy reached across the table and placed his hand on Missy’s. “It might be that he was just some guy looking for a ride at the beginning, but then he concocted that plan and found an accomplice to go along with it.”
“He fooled me,” Missy said, her voice dropping in volume. The thought of being duped by such a cruel, evil person noticeably bothered her.
“Not me,” Belle said. “Dude was evil from the get-go. I mean, like, Hannibal Lecter evil.”
“Who’s that?” Andy said.
Belle rolled her eyes. “Never mind.”
Missy finished he
r tea. “I get the feeling he wasn’t some loner gone rogue.”
“What do you mean?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. I feel something coming, like Colin and Trevor are part of something bigger—two actors, different scenes, but same play.”
Andy looked to Belle. “What do you think?”
She held up both hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m not a big-picture girl. I can mark the creeps, but forget it when it comes to plans.”
“Well, regardless,” Andy said, “I think we need to be extra cautious, watch each other’s backs.”
Missy smiled. “We’re a team.”
“Like the X-Men,” Belle said.
“Now let’s get outta here.” Andy stood and placed a few bills on the table. “We need gas and showers.”
.......
Outside the diner, the man watched from across the street as the SUV drove away from the restaurant. He knew they were headed toward the campground, and he knew they’d find overpriced gas at the Mobil station just outside of town. He knew it because the voices told him so. And the voices never lied. They were never wrong.
When the SUV was out of sight, he got in his own truck, started the engine, and headed northwest. Toward the Stay N Play RV Campground.
Chapter 20
The shower was cold as ice. When they’d pulled into the campground, only three algae-covered campers were parked in lots. The campground had long ago turned off the utilities. The bathrooms were no doubt fed by a well, and someone had left the electricity running to the pumps so water could be available. That was kind of them. Unfortunately, that same electricity didn’t power the water heaters, and no one had bothered to connect the lines.
Although the water was frigid, the shower still felt good. It had been days since Andy had bathed in any way, and getting the grime and sweat off his body was worth enduring the cold water.
The girls waited outside in the SUV. Andy had placed Belle behind the wheel and given them strict instructions to keep the doors locked; if anything went bad, she was to floor it to the next town north. He’d catch up with them. If all went well, they were to shower after him while he kept watch.
Sticking his head under the water, the coldness momentarily took his breath away. When he closed his eyes and held his breath, he was met with an image of violence and gore. Dean Shannon’s mangled, bloody body. So much blood. Andy pulled his head from the shower spray, wiped the water from his face, and opened his eyes. Was that a noise outside the bathroom? A thud—like something large dropped or a car door slammed shut.
Andy shut off the water and stood there naked, listening, shivering. He had no towel, and the paper towel dispenser was empty. He’d have to air dry.
There, he heard it again, this time clearly and loud. A thud. Definitely the sound of a car door shutting. The sound was followed by a shriek. Missy.
Andy stepped from the shower and, still dripping wet, pulled his clothes on as quickly as possible. He rushed from the bathroom to find the building surrounded by pickups and SUVs. Five of them.
In the middle of the clearing around the bathroom stood six men of varying ages and builds. And in the middle of the men stood Missy and Belle. Belle’s shirt was torn, and she had to hold her hand over her chest to avoid being exposed.
“Well, hey ho,” one of the men said. He was large in the shoulders and chest, thick neck; he wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a ball cap. “Look who’s feeling all nice and clean.”
Andy sized up the men. Besides the big guy who was apparently the ringleader, there were two older men, fifties, thin but tightly wound. Both had beards and graying hair pulled back into ponytails. The other two were younger, less than thirty. One couldn’t have been more than twenty—he barely had facial hair—and was thin and soft. He appeared nervous but intense; a film of sweat glistened on his face. The other sported a goatee and close-cropped hair. He was wiry and lean, athletic.
Two of the men held shotguns.
Andy clenched his fists and tightened his jaw. He wondered how many he could take out before a shot was fired. But they had the girls, and he didn’t want any harm to come to them. He’d have to move carefully, patiently, and wait for the opportune time to present itself. When it did, he’d show no mercy.
The ringleader held Missy by the arm as if she were an insolent child. “Amber told me there was a freak in town, but I never expected this. Hoowee, we got a regular circus clown here, boys.”
Amber. The waitress.
Andy stood his ground, moving neither forward in a show of aggression nor backward in an act of submission. “Let them go.”
The ringleader laughed. He looked around at the other men. The man holding Belle, one of the older men, pulled her closer to his side and put his arm around her shoulders. “Or what?”
“Let them go,” Andy said again. He stared hard at the ringleader, ignoring the older man’s question.
The older man repeated, “Or what?”
Andy scanned the men again, meeting their eyes. Something odd about the young guy on the end. He held neither of the hostages nor one of the guns. He stood with his arms hanging loosely at his sides. His eyes seemed hollow, like the lifeless eyes of a shark. Dead to kindness, dead to any kind of conscience. Dead to the world. Andy felt like he knew the man from somewhere.
“Maybe he didn’t hear ya, Moe,” the ringleader said.
Moe squeezed Missy’s arm, bringing a short yelp from her. “It’s your move, freak.”
“It’s your move,” Andy said. “I can stand here all day.”
The ringleader smirked and looked around at the other guys. “Here that, boys? We got ourselves a regular standoff. Freak-show here thinks he’s John Wayne.”
“Maybe we should just cut him down,” the wiry man with one of the guns said. “Like in those old westerns.”
Andy shifted his eyes between him and the other older man with the other shotgun. Both appeared comfortable with their weapons. They were seasoned hunters, military veterans, or both. Of course, The Event had forced many to become comfortable handling a weapon.
Taking a quick survey of the area, Andy noted a thin-trunked maple fifteen feet to his right. The tree stood tall and straight, nearly forty feet high, its skeletal branches reaching out in every direction. The ground around the tree was loosely packed and dry as sand. He also noted the ground was littered with stones, leaves, and twigs. The group of men stood about twenty feet away. The SUV sat with the pickups, blocked from any kind of escape forward or backward.
Andy met Belle’s eyes. She knew what he was thinking and nodded in agreement. It was the only chance they had. He’d get only one attempt and he hoped it worked. If it didn’t . . .
As if they had practiced the choreography a hundred times, Andy again eyed Belle. She convulsed and shrieked. Her performance was more convincing than Andy imagined it would be and succeeded in drawing the attention of the men away from Andy long enough for him to bend and pick up a golf-ball-sized rock. In one smooth, precise movement, he threw the rock at one of the gun-toting men. It struck him square in the side of the head. The man grunted and slumped to the ground. The gun clattered to the dirt.
Continuing his sideways momentum, Andy spun and dodged behind the tree as the other shotgun discharged. He had only a second or two. He placed both hands on the trunk of the tree, shoulder-height, and pushed with every ounce of strength he had. His feet slipped on the dry ground, but still, he pushed, his muscles so taut he worried they might tear from their anchors. The shotgun discharged again, but the concussion came at the same time the tree’s trunk snapped just above the ground, and the tree toppled like a felled giant.
The tree crashed to the ground with a cacophony of snapping limbs and cracking wood. The earth trembled, and a cloud of dust rose into the air twenty feet, obscuring the activity around the tangle of splintered, broken timber.
Andy rushed to the site. When he was still fifteen feet away, Belle and Missy broke from the debris and headed, hand in hand, for
the SUV. The blast of gunfire broke the silence. Belle spun and collapsed to the ground. Missy fell beside her, nearly landing on top of her.
Andy stopped, frozen. No. It didn’t happen. He tried to move but couldn’t. He needed to. A voice screamed in his head for him to move his feet, to go to Belle and Missy and protect them, but time seemed immovable, and with it, the events around him.
Missy ran her hands over Belle’s body. She was hollering something. He heard it but couldn’t understand what she was saying.
Suddenly, a blow came to the side of Andy’s head and knocked him over. The world went black. An instant later, light came rushing back . . . along with an intense throbbing. Two men stood over him. The older man who had held Belle and the younger, athletic man who had one of the shotguns. He had no gun now.
Andy rolled and tried to get up, but they were on him like wolves, kicking and punching, cursing and grunting. He continued to roll to get away from their assault and eventually managed to climb to his knees and launch himself at them.
The violence that unfolded was something Andy was glad he would not remember in detail. He was so full of anger, of hate, of rage, that he allowed—even welcomed—the darkness lurking in some deep cavernous corner of his soul to find freedom and fully express itself.
The men never had a chance. Bones broke, flesh tore, blood flowed. And when Andy had finished and stood panting, the two men were unrecognizable.
Missy wailed. “No!”
Andy spun to find the young man standing in front of Missy, shotgun pointed at her head. Missy knelt beside what appeared to be the lifeless body of Belle, one hand on the girl’s head.
“You killed her,” Missy screamed. Tears flowed down her reddened cheeks.
The man tensed his muscles. Andy knew what would come next. There wasn’t time to rush him and wrestle the gun from him. He was a good twenty feet away. As soon as he heard Andy’s advance, he’d pull the trigger. Andy didn’t want to witness Missy’s death. But before he could turn, fire spewed from Missy’s mouth and engulfed the gunman. He stumbled back until his legs buckled. The writhing and screaming that followed only lasted seconds before the man fell silent and motionless.
Midnight Is My Time Page 10
