Orphans of Wonderland

by Greg F. Gifune

  Joel was about to snatch the lamp from the nightstand and swing it like a baseball bat when he realized the person tentatively coming through the door was Billy Gill.

  “Joel?”

  “Billy,” he said. “Jesus Christ, what are you doing here?”

  “Yeah, nice to see you too, my man.” Billy finished his entrance, let the door close behind him and then looked around. “Wow, this place is…um…adequate.”

  “The Ritz was booked. What are you doing here?”

  “I talked to Taylor this morning and decided to come check on you. She’s worried.” He walked deeper into the room. “Haven’t made that drive in a while, forgot how mind-numbingly boring it was.”

  Joel lowered himself onto the edge of the bed and slipped his shoes on.

  “What’s the matter?” Billy asked. “You’re moving and groaning like you got hit by a train.”

  “Close. The guy hit like one.”

  “What? Somebody tuned you up?”

  Joel nodded. “Yeah, kind of.”

  “You all right? Did you go to the hospital and get checked out?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine. You look like shit.”

  “You shouldn’t have come here. You need to go home.”

  “Hey, I came all this way,” he said, wandering over to the window. “If you think I’m getting back in that car anytime soon, it’s not happening. Unless I’ve got you with me, in which case you can drive and I’ll take a nap because—”

  “Billy,” Joel snapped.

  “What?”

  “You’ve got to go.”

  He stood there in his cheap and wrinkled trench coat and his cheaper polyester suit, looking uncomfortable and overweight, his comb-over mussed and his chubby cheeks bright red from the cold. “Why?”

  “I’ve got this.”

  “Taylor’s worried about you. Hell, I am too.”

  “She shouldn’t have asked you to come here.”

  “She didn’t; this is on me. She’s worried to death, Joel. I heard it in her voice, so I told her I wanted to give you a call and needed to know where you were staying. Once I had the info, I decided to get in the car and come find out for myself what you’d gotten yourself into. From what I’m seeing so far, kemosabe, it’s not good.”

  Joel got to his feet with a muffled grunt, then grabbed his coat from the closet and laid it on the bed. What was he supposed to say? That an hour or so before, he’d seen a man executed in cold blood right before his eyes? That the man had been so close to him that his blood and brains and God knew what else were all over his clothes and soaked into his skin? That this whole thing was tied to government mind-control programs, secret radio stations and evil entities running around in the dark? That the same men he’d seen kill the homeless man could very well be the same duo who murdered Lonnie and left him dead in the street? That at any given moment those men could come looking for him again, and that this time he might not walk away at all? Or maybe he could tell him about how the big black car that terrorized him and his friends in their youth was somehow connected to this mess as well? Whatever was real, whatever wasn’t, and whatever existed in between, Joel knew one thing for sure. What he was into was deadly, and no place for anyone he cared about.

  “Who kicked your ass?” Billy asked. “Did it have something to do with that license plate you had me run?”

  “Billy, listen to me. I appreciate you coming all this way to check on me. But you need to go home and you need to do it now. Should Taylor ask, you were never here, okay?”

  “What are you talking about? What’s happening?”

  “Go home, Billy.”

  “Joel, I—”

  “Go home.” Joel walked to the door and held it open. “Now. Go.”

  “Close the door and sit down,” Billy said, using his best authoritative voice. “You heard me. Close the goddamn door and sit down.”

  Joel let the door go.

  “Sit down.” Billy pointed to the bed.

  “I’m too fucking sore to sit down.”

  “Fine, then stand up, you miserable prick.” He put his hands on his hips. “Now what is going on?”

  “I can’t tell you everything, I—”

  “Everything? You haven’t told me anything.”

  “It’s not safe here. I need you to get back in the car and go home. You need to keep an eye on things for the next few days, and you need to make sure Taylor’s safe. I might still be able to defuse this; I don’t know. If I can, I’ll be back and everything will be okay. But if in the interim anything unusual or strange happens, or if anyone suspicious shows up or calls or emails or texts or sends smoke signals or fucking carrier pigeons, you need to let me know. In the meantime, you two get out of there and go to your cabin up north. You tell no one what you’re doing or where you’re going, and I mean no one. Hit an ATM on the way out of town and use cash only from that point forward. No credit cards or checks. Don’t use your cell phones. Once you land, stay there until you hear from me, got it? You still have the shotgun?”

  “The shotgun?”

  “Yes, do you still have it at the cabin?”

  “Yeah, I—”

  “Load it. Anyone shows up you don’t know, use it. Ask questions later.”

  Billy frowned. “Christ, what in the hell are we dealing with here?”

  “We’re not dealing with anything.”

  “Oh, we’re not?” Billy held his hands out to his side, then let them slap against his thighs. “You’ve got some granite fucking balls, my man. You’re really going to stand there and tell me my life and your wife’s life are in danger, to the point where I have to round her up and hide her away at my cabin in the woods, and that—oh by the way—I might have to fucking shoot someone, but you’re not going to give me any indication as to why or what’s going on? Really? What the hell is the matter with you?”

  Joel ran his hands through his hair, crossed the room and began to pace near the table. “In investigating Lonnie’s murder, I’ve unintentionally rattled some cages, all right? And there are some very dangerous types who aren’t happy about it.”

  “There are these people called the police, maybe you’ve heard of them?”

  “The police can’t help me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they can’t.”

  Billy thought a moment. “Are you saying the police are a part of this, or somehow in on whatever it is that’s going on here?”

  “Doesn’t matter. They can’t help me either way. It’s bigger than the cops.”

  “Bigger.”

  “Yes.”

  “Than the cops.”

  “Yes.”

  Billy shook his head and sighed. “Okay, then why not take the hint from these people, quit while you’re still alive and come home?”

  “Because I can’t.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Billy said, stabbing a finger at the air between them, “but wasn’t this supposed to be some basic, half-assed snooping around that wasn’t going to amount to a piss hole in a snow bank? Isn’t that what you told me?”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Well, obviously you were wrong, so cut your losses and jettison your ass out of here.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Am I missing something?”

  “I can’t, Billy.”

  “Joel—”

  “I can’t!” He slammed a fist onto the table. “Goddamn it, you’re just going to have to trust me on this one.”

  “Okay.” Billy took a step back as what little color was left in his face drained away. “Take it easy.”

  “This goes deeper than you can understand. For Christ’s sake, it goes deeper than I can understand.” Joel turned to the window and looked out at the cold af
ternoon and parking lot below. Every car seemed suspect now, every person walking the street a potential threat.

  “I’m concerned, man, okay? Taylor is too.” Billy forced an awkward smile. “With the things you went through before and all, we just—”

  “I’m not crazy.”

  “Never said you were.”

  “I wasn’t then and I’m not now.”

  “Okay.” Billy held his hands up like the victim of a robbery. “But in the past you had problems that made you ill. I need to know you haven’t run into those problems again. Try to see it from my side, okay? I’m not here to hurt you, Joel. I’m trying to help. You look terrible, someone’s physically assaulted you, and you’re talking about this whole thing—whatever it is—being bigger than the cops and going deeper than either of us can know and being dangerous to the point where people could die, and—don’t get pissed but—a lot of this sounds kind of familiar, okay? I’m seeing similarities here is what I’m saying.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I need to know you’re all right. You’re not exactly coming off rational.”

  Maybe because I just washed another human being’s brains off my face.

  “I wish I could tell you more,” Joel said. “But I can’t.”

  “Taylor said you have pills that calm you when you need to—”

  “I don’t need pills.”

  “Look me in the eye.”

  Joel did. “I don’t need my pills. I’m not coming apart like before. I’m not.”

  “Okay,” Billy said softly.

  “Do you really want to help?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then you need to listen to me and trust what I’m saying.”

  “All right.”

  “Please—please, Billy—go home and do as I asked. This is serious shit, and I need you to have my back. I need to know I can count on you.”

  “You know you can.”

  Flashes of the homeless man’s head exploding blinked in Joel’s mind. He squeezed shut his eyes but it only made the images more vivid. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  Billy stood there staring at him, disheveled and confused.

  Joel reached out, took his friend by the shoulders, pulled him in close and hugged him tight. “You’re my best friend,” he whispered in his ear, “and I love you like a brother. I know you’re worried about me, but you need to do like I say. Exactly like I say, Billy. There’s no other way. Now go home.”

  Moments later, from the hotel room window, he watched Billy cross the parking lot to his car. As he pulled away and out of sight, Joel could only wonder if he’d ever see him again.

  There were no guarantees now. There never had been.

  Evil wasn’t in the guarantee business.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dorsey stands in the field, smoking a cigarette and trying to look cool. He can usually pull it off without a problem, but not today. They’ve all tried cigarettes by now, but only he and Trent have taken to them and Trent rarely even inhales. At thirteen it’s difficult to get hold of cigarettes, but Dorsey managed to score an entire pack of Winston Lights for their overnight camping trip. He taps the pack until another butt comes free, then holds it out for Trent, who plucks the cigarette out and stabs it into the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t light it. Instead, he stands next to Dorsey with a perplexed look on his face. Like the others, he attempts to make sense of what’s happening, what has happened.

  “It’s just a game,” Sal says. It is the third or fourth time he’s said it.

  The sun is high and bright in the sky. Joel looks up at it, as if for answers, while the others stand around in a daze.

  How long have they been lying down in the grass? When did they decide to pretend to sleep in the field? Why did they pretend to do that? What game were they playing? Nothing makes any sense, and yet somehow their minds tell them it does. You came to the field and pretended to fall asleep for a few minutes. The game is over now.

  “Stop saying that,” Dorsey finally tells him.

  “What?” Sal asks.

  “It’s just a game.”

  “But it is just a game.”

  Dorsey draws on his cigarette, exhales through his nose. “I don’t feel right.”

  “Me neither,” Lonnie says, nervously running his hands up and down his torso as if searching for wounds.

  Trent, who has still not lit the cigarette, begins to tremble. Tears spill across his cheeks. He wipes them away fast as he can, takes a few steps away and turns his back so the others won’t see. But it’s too late. They have seen.

  Dorsey and Lonnie begin to cry too. Silently, tears stream down their faces.

  Joel nods as if he understands—even though he doesn’t—and feels tears dripping from his eyes as well. What is the matter with them? What’s going on?

  Only Sal is dry-eyed. “It was just a game,” he says dully.

  “The car,” Dorsey says, like he’s just remembered it.

  The others turn to him. Yes. The car. They’d all forgotten about the big black car. But wasn’t that the last thing they all remembered?

  “The big black car,” Dorsey says, the cigarette smoke circling him.

  “It tried to scare us,” Sal says. “It’s gone now.”

  Lonnie puts his hands to his head, holding his temples. “When was that?”

  “Something happened,” Trent says, pacing about awkwardly. He removes the unlit cigarette from his mouth, then brings it to his lips and takes it away over and over again. “Something happened. Something bad.”

  “When did the car try to scare us?” Lonnie asks.

  Dorsey hangs his head. “I don’t know.”

  “I remember the car,” Joel says.

  “We all remember the car, Einstein,” Lonnie snaps. “When did it happen?”

  “A few minutes ago.” Joel looks to the others. “Right?”

  Dorsey shakes his head. “I don’t…I don’t think so.”

  Trent stares at the trees on the far side of the field like he expects to see something emerge from them at any moment. “Something happened,” he says.

  “Let’s split.” Sal marches away, over to their bikes, which have all been left in a pile in the grass, along with their camping gear. He tosses the other bikes aside until he gets to his own, stands it up and brushes it off. “Stop being pussy squirts.”

  “What happened to the car?” Lonnie asks, barely containing himself.

  “It left,” Sal answers. “It drove off. What the fuck with you guys?”

  “No,” Joel says. “It came back. I saw it turn around and come back.”

  “Me too,” Trent says.

  “Okay.” Lonnie moves closer to them. “Okay, then what?”

  Dorsey stumbles through the grass. “I don’t feel right.”

  “Somebody fucking answer me!” Lonnie screams. “What happened when the big black car turned around and came back?”

  “I don’t know,” Joel tells him.

  “Nothing happened,” Sal says, straddling his bike. “You guys are acting like a bunch of wimps. Letting a car scare you this bad and all crying and shit? Come on, man, you got to be fucking shitting me.”

  Trent spins around and flicks his still-unlit cigarette at Sal. “Eat shit, man! You’re as scared as the rest of us!”

  The cigarette bounces off the side of Sal’s head. He glares at Trent. “What am I supposed to be scared of, dipshit?”

  “How the fuck did we get here?” Lonnie asks.

  “We were lying down in the grass,” Sal says. “What’s wrong with you guys?”

  Dorsey takes a slow drag on his cigarette. “Did we go to sleep?”

  “We were pretending. It was just a game.”

  Trent moves towar
d him. “Say it was just a game one more fucking time.”

  “Blow it out your ass, Trent.” Sal gets off his bike, lets it fall to the ground as he squares his stance. “Any time, faggot.”

  Lonnie cuts Trent off, blocks him from reaching Sal and probably the worst beating of his life. “Knock it off, both of you!”

  “We’re not supposed to do this,” Dorsey says.

  The others turn to him, unsure of what he means.

  “We’re not supposed to talk about it. We’re not supposed to remember.”

  Joel wanders away from the group, trying to sort his thoughts. He looks at his watch. It’s new. His parents got it for him for his birthday this year. It displays not only the time, but also the day and date. “Wait,” he says, turning back toward the others. “Wait, what—what day is it?”

  “Saturday,” Sal says.

  “My watch says Sunday.”

  “So what? It’s wrong.”

  “No,” Joel tells him, “it isn’t.”

  The cigarette falls from Dorsey’s mouth into the grass at his feet. “It’s Sunday morning, cuz?”

  “It’s Saturday,” Sal insists. “We just got here.”

  Trent says, “But if it’s Sunday morning, then…”

  Joel sinks to his knees. “Where were we all day yesterday?”

  “And last night?” Lonnie adds.

  Trent begins to cough. It quickly escalates to choking.

  The others look to him. Panic and confusion paint his face.

  As his eyes roll back in his head, a mass of butterflies pour from his open mouth, swarming the air around him to form a cloud of fluttering wings both horrific and curiously beautiful.

  Much like the chorus of screams ripping to shreds the blissful silence of an otherwise peaceful Sunday morning.

  Joel watched the neighborhood as best he could, scanning the area again and again. Through the large front windows, he saw men in whites working in the bakery across the street. Delivery trucks from the soft drink bottling plant on the corner came and went with regularity. The windows and door of a convenience store a few doors down were plastered with advertisements for discount cigarettes, coffee and breakfast burritos. A liquor store with bars across the windows occupied the next corner, the exterior of the building covered in graffiti.