Orphans of Wonderland

by Greg F. Gifune

  “I’ll be in touch.” Joel offered his fist. “Be safe.”

  Dorsey bumped his fist against Joel’s. “Ain’t no such thing.”

  Chapter Twenty

  As night drifted over the city, Joel stood on a corner across the street from the Whaling City Shores Nursing Home and Rehabilitation Facility, a three-story rectangular building that looked like a hospital out of the 1930s. Drab and run-down and located in a less than prime neighborhood, this was not a place that housed the wealthy or privileged. Though a few renegade snowflakes still sputtered about, the temperature had gotten a bit warmer, and the air now felt more like rain.

  Watching the facility, Joel dialed Katelyn Burrows’ number. This was beyond her, and for her own safety, she needed to be removed from anything that might happen from this point forward. He owed Lonnie that, and the only way to assure his daughter was out of the equation was for Joel to sever his ties with her as quickly and with as much finality as possible.

  “Katelyn,” he said when she answered, “Joel Walker.”

  “Hello,” she said tentatively. “How are you making out?”

  “I was going to come by and see you so we could talk face-to-face,” he lied, knowing this would be the first of many, “but I have some things back home I have to attend to.”

  “You’re going home?”

  “Katelyn, I’ve looked into things as best I can. I even spoke, off the record, with the police. I know you don’t have a lot of faith in them right now, but within the next few days—if not sooner—they’re going to be in touch with you regarding your father’s murder.”

  “Have they discovered something new?”

  “Odds are they’re going to tell you that their investigation has led them to believe Lonnie was killed in a small-time drug deal gone wrong. They don’t know who did it yet and they may never know, but Katelyn, you need to listen to them.”

  “And why would I do that? You and I both know that’s nonsense.”

  Joel drew a deep breath and did his best to sound sincere. “A few days ago I would’ve agreed with you. Now, I think you need to listen to what the police have to say. You need to accept it, understand it for the horrible and senseless tragedy that it was, and then you and your husband need to move on with your lives. Start a family of your own, be happy. It’s what Lonnie would want.”

  A long silence, and then, “What changed your mind?”

  “The police weren’t at liberty to go into much detail since it’s still an open investigation, but after looking into things myself and speaking with one of the detectives directly, my advice is to listen to what they have to tell you.” A cold blast of wind blew along the avenue and slammed into him. He turned his back to it and pressed the phone tighter against his ear. “It’s over, Katelyn. It is what it is. I’m heading back to Maine tonight. I’ll drop Lonnie’s keys in the mail to you.”

  “Mr. Walker, can I—”

  “Joel.”

  “Mr. Walker, may I ask you one more question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you telling me the truth?”

  Joel watched the cars pass along the avenue. None were the Crown Vic. “Yes.” When she offered no reply, he said, “Lonnie was a casual marijuana user. I believe he may have been suffering from some serious depression and paranoia. That may have been what the pills the police took were for. I think he wound up on the wrong street with the wrong guy at the wrong time and paid the price for it. We may never have all the answers, Katelyn, or even any that make sense to us or in any way make us feel better. But that certainly appears to be what happened.”

  “When you agreed to do this, you told me—”

  “I told you not to get your hopes up. I did my best. I’m sorry.”

  “If I get additional information, should I let you know, or would you rather I leave you alone?”

  “I’d rather you remember and take comfort in how deeply your father loved and adored you. And I’d rather you get on with your life, Katelyn.”

  “All right. Then I’ll let you do the same. Thank you for your help.”

  Before he could say anything else, Katelyn hung up.

  With a sigh, Joel put his phone away. You might hate me right now, he thought, but I may have just saved your life.

  Waiting for a break in traffic, he hurried across the street to the nursing home just as an icy rain began to fall.

  Once he made his way across a large front parking lot, Joel entered through two sliding doors. A security guard greeted him in the foyer. Old and frail enough to be living there, the guard looked up at him from the plastic chair he was sitting in but said nothing. Behind comically thick glasses, the old man’s gigantic eyes blinked at him.

  “Evening,” Joel said. “Reception?”

  The guard returned his attention to a crossword puzzle book he was working on. “Straight ahead, son,” he muttered.

  Joel went through another doorway and down a short hallway to a reception desk, where a woman in a flowered top was chatting on a telephone. As she saw Joel approaching, she held a finger up, signaling him to wait. When she’d finished, she hung up and smiled at him pleasantly. “Yes?”

  “I’m here to see a resident.”

  “Who is it you’d like to see?”

  “Theresa Pierce.”

  “And you are?”

  “Joel Walker.”

  “Your relation to Ms. Pierce?”

  “Friend of the family.”

  “One moment.” The woman consulted her computer, clicking at the keyboard before her with bright red fingernails. Frowning suddenly, she pointed to a nearby waiting area and said, “You can have a seat over there and someone will be with you shortly.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “If you’ll just have a seat, someone will be out to talk with you shortly.”

  Joel nodded and wandered over to the waiting area, which consisted of dated, cheap furniture and a bevy of magazines older than he was. Rather than sit, he stood in the otherwise empty area and watched the television suspended in the corner. The sound was turned down but the local news was on. He looked over his shoulder at the double doors and lot beyond. It was getting dark and the rain had picked up.

  “Mr. Walker?” a female voice asked from behind him.

  Joel turned to find a nurse moving toward him. “Yes.”

  “Reception said you were here to see Theresa Pierce?”

  “Yes. I’m a friend of the family.”

  “I’m Brittany Baptiste. I run the unit Ms. Pierce is on.”

  He plastered the warmest smile he could muster across his face. “Hi. I’m visiting from out of town, thought I’d stop in and see her. Haven’t seen Theresa in ages—is everything okay?”

  “I’m sorry,” the nurse said, “but Ms. Pierce had an episode earlier and she’s been taken to the hospital.”

  “An episode? Is she all right?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t go into any detail or disclose anything more regarding her medical condition,” she said. “Sorry. HIPAA laws.”

  “Of course, I understand. Gosh, I hope she’s okay. I’m only in town tonight and won’t be back for quite some time.” Joel sighed dramatically. “Are you allowed to tell me which hospital she’s been taken to?”

  “I’m really not supposed to.”

  “Saint Luke’s?” he asked quietly.

  The nurse pursed her lips, looked behind her at the reception desk, then moved closer and quietly said, “She was transferred over there a few hours ago.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  “She’s a sweetheart. I hope she’s going to be all right.”

  “Me too. Thanks again.”

  The nurse turned and walked off down the hallway from which she’d come. Joel looked up at the television in the corner. A breaking news story banner
flashed across the screen beneath the talking head reading the news. Without volume he couldn’t hear what was being said, but the graphic at the bottom of the screen read: SECURITY GUARD DEAD. Joel frantically looked around, found a remote control lying next to the stack of magazines and aimed it at the set until the volume rose enough for him to hear it.

  “The man,” the newscaster said in his best sorrowful voice, “identified as Peter Fernandez of New Bedford, was a former security guard at the mall in North Dartmouth. Police found the body in a car in the mall parking lot after it was reported by passersby earlier this afternoon that there was someone in the car, covered in blood and not moving or responding. Fernandez, in an apparent suicide, slashed his own throat and was pronounced dead on the scene. Police say he had been deceased for several hours when they found him in the driver’s seat with the car doors locked. Family told Action News 3 that Fernandez had been fired from his job recently and had become despondent due to his inability to find employment…”

  “Not too loud, please,” the receptionist said.

  Joel muted the TV, dropped the remote back atop the stack of magazines and stood there in stunned silence. The terrified face of Pete Fernandez drifted through his mind. God Almighty, he thought. They’re going to kill us all.

  Magic is real, Pete whispered to him, as if from the grave. Did you know that?

  He headed back out, passed by the old guard in the plastic chair and slipped away into the darkness and falling rain.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tell me what you remember, Joel.

  What I remember isn’t possible.

  What do you remember?

  The car…the field…but…I can see it like when it was happening.

  Did the car come back, Joel?

  Yes. It circled back for us and then stopped. We couldn’t see inside because the windows and windshield were tinted dark. Only the back window was clear, but the way the car was parked and facing us, we couldn’t see that yet. Everyone was nervous and didn’t know what to do. Sal was the one that approached the car first.

  What did Sal do, Joel?

  He walked to the edge of the field and started yelling at the car, asking the people inside what they wanted and why they’d tried to run us down. But no one answered or got out. The car just sat there.

  Did you try to run, Joel?

  I wanted to, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t stop looking at the car.

  Did they take you, Joel?

  I only remember wanting to sleep…needing to sleep.

  Do you remember The Wizard of Oz, Joel?

  It used to be on TV once a year when I was a child. I never missed it.

  Do you remember Dorothy and the others running toward Oz through a field of poppies?

  Yes.

  They fell asleep before they reached Oz, do you remember?

  They fell asleep in the field.

  Yes.

  Just like us.

  Yes, Joel.

  But Dorothy and the others woke up in Oz. We didn’t wake up in Oz.

  Where did you wake up, Joel?

  They took us, they…

  Where did you wake up, Joel?

  We were in the car, but I don’t know how they got us inside. I remember standing on the edge of the field and watching the car speed away. I wanted to do something. I wanted to stop them, but I couldn’t because I was in the car too. I could see myself in the backseat, my face and hands pressed to the back window, my mouth open in a scream, I…I was standing at the edge of the field…watching myself being taken away with the others in that big black car.

  Where did you wake up, Joel?

  I can’t breathe, I— I want to breathe, I—we didn’t wake up in Oz.

  Where then? Where did you wake up, Joel?

  In Hell…

  The rain fell in icy sheets, coming down hard and soaking the city. Joel hurried across the lot, visibility low in the darkness and downpour, feet splashing puddles as he went. He’d nearly made the curb when something separated from the darkness to his right, a blur that registered in his peripheral vision just seconds before it slammed into him with such violence that he left his feet and crashed to the wet pavement.

  Landing on his shoulder and rolling through the fall, he scrambled to his feet, disoriented and trying to find his bearings as the form emerged from the dark rain. From behind it came a second figure.

  A slash of headlights from a passing car glided past, briefly illuminating two faces otherwise cloaked in shadows and darkness: Novak and Kavon. Novak was smiling, but it was the knife in Kavon’s hand that drew Joel’s attention.

  “You just couldn’t leave it alone for me, could you, Joel?” Novak said, his voice barely audible above the rain. “So now it’s dying time.”

  Drenched and still trying to catch his breath, Joel took a step back. He could run for the street or try to make it back across the lot to the nursing home entrance, but neither choice held much hope.

  “Go ahead,” Novak said. “Run.”

  Instead, he raised his fists and held his ground. “Fuck you.”

  Novak began to laugh.

  Kavon rushed him, turning the knife back and forth and thrusting it at Joel as he circled away, trying to keep both men in his line of sight. I’m in the middle of a city, he thought. How can this be happening? Where is everyone? Where are the police? But the storm had forced nearly everyone indoors, and those on the streets were driving, their visibility limited and attention distracted by the rain.

  He and the others were little more than shadows in the rain.

  As Kavon closed on him, Joel threw a combination with everything he had. Both punches landed flush on Kavon’s chin.

  Unfazed, he walked right through them.

  Stumbling away, Joel threw a wild backhand, but it was too late. The knife was already moving; he could see it coming for his chest as if in slow motion. At the last moment he spun away, and the blade struck his arm. What initially felt like a hard punch quickly turned to searing pain as Kavon yanked the knife free of Joel’s shoulder. Ribbons of blood flew through the darkness, and Joel’s arm went limp. Numbness exploded and spread all the way to his fingertips.

  My God, I—I’m stabbed.

  In shock, Joel froze, unable to believe what was happening even as Kavon slammed a granite forearm into his face, clipping him with the point of his elbow on the follow-through. Pain erupted across his brow, and Joel felt his knees buckle. Head spinning and stomach turning, he dropped and fell over onto his back, flopping onto the pavement in a splashing spray of blood, ice and rain. Vision blurred, he tried to will himself back to his feet, but his body refused to comply with his mind’s frantic demands. The rain, cold and wet, fell across his face and into his eyes.

  Kavon straddled him, pulled him up into a sitting position, then yanked his head back by his hair and leveled the knife at Joel’s throat. The tip of the blade pricked his skin as Kavon pressed it harder against the flesh, ready to slash Joel’s throat from ear to ear.

  I’m going to die, Joel thought. Here, in the rain.

  Suddenly a shadow dressed in black emerged from the surrounding darkness behind Kavon and, utilizing uncanny speed and efficiency, wrapped arms around Kavon’s head, sliding one beneath his chin and across his throat, the other over his forehead. A single violent twist snapped Kavon’s neck with a loud, gut-wrenching crack. His body collapsed, falling next to Joel in a heap, the knife clanging against cement as it bounced away into the night.

  Still on his back, Joel squirmed away as the shadowy figure was absorbed again into darkness. Another passing car briefly illuminated the area, revealing Novak with a gun in his hand, spinning like a top while frantically trying to locate the phantom.

  But there was no one else there.

  Joel rolled over. Spitting blood, he raised his head and p
eered through the darkness. With Novak still distracted, he struggled back to his feet and staggered away. Light-headed, legs rubbery, and his face and shoulder throbbing with pain, he somehow managed to make it back to his car without falling.

  Fighting the pain, and with one arm rendered all but useless, he sped off, letting the night hide him behind its curtains of darkness and rain.

  Weak and bleeding heavily from his shoulder, Joel fled the city.

  Driving through the heavy downpour, he struggled to remain conscious. Hazy, his vision still slightly blurred, he dropped the window and let the cold air and icy rain spray against his face. He couldn’t go back to his hotel room, and he couldn’t risk going to Sal’s house or Dorsey’s apartment without putting them in more danger than they were already in, so those options were out too. He had to go somewhere no one would think to look for him.

  What seemed like hours but was only minutes later, Joel crossed the Braga Bridge and slipped into Fall River. Eventually he reached Lonnie’s neighborhood, parked a street away, then stumbled through the rain to the apartment building.

  Once inside and out of the rain, Joel looked at Lonnie’s front door and felt a twinge of fear. He didn’t want to pass by that door, and he wasn’t sure he could climb the stairs in his current condition, but he needed to do both or he’d collapse right where he was and be at the mercy of whatever was wandering around in the building.

  Keeping his eye on the door, he dragged himself to the stairs and began to climb. He hadn’t gotten far when he heard rustling behind him. Either something had scurried across the foyer below or things were alive and moving inside that first-floor apartment.

  Without looking back, Joel kept on, fighting to remain conscious until he’d reached Bea’s door and managed two solid knocks.

  Bea opened her door to find him slumped against the wall, battered and drenched, his face bruised and bloody, a gruesome gash more than an inch in length above his eyebrow, and his shoulder and coat covered in blood.

  “Oh my God!” she said, reaching for him. “Joel, what happened?”