Then there was Holly’s terror, forcing him to the edge of a meltdown. They paused at the wide intersection with the Strip, and Holly gazed longingly past the towers of cheerful lights toward their casino, wondering if she would ever see her parents or Kaylee again. Elijah gripped the steering wheel and accelerated onward. Luckily the entrance to the interstate was straight ahead. He looped around the ramp, onto the elevated highway.
And then the gun in his pocket wiggled. This wouldn’t have startled him so much, because they did hit an occasional bump on the interstate. But Holly was concentrating hard on that gun, willing it to move, using her mind to tug it toward the opening of his pocket. If she was successful, it would tumble to the floorboard and she would make a grab for it under the steering wheel while Elijah dared not take his eyes off the road and kept driving.
Of course, Holly could concentrate on the gun as much as she wanted and nothing would happen, because people couldn’t move things with their minds. So when Elijah thought it really did shift a quarter inch upward in his pocket, defying gravity, he nearly jumped out of his skin.
Another bump in the road had jostled it, he assured himself, gripping the steering wheel harder with sweating palms. He stared into the traffic, focusing on the eighteen-wheelers zooming past them rather than on Holly tugging at the gun and now shoving him a bit, trying to push him out the door of the car. She wasn’t moving him at all, and she knew this. She didn’t really want to kill him. But she had no idea Elijah not only sensed she was trying to shove him but also actually felt little pushes on his shoulder.
This was crazy—and not your run-of-the-mill mental adolescent dysfunction crazy, either, but Las Vegas, midnight interstate, telekinetic showgirl, mind-reading carpenter crazy. He wasn’t sure anymore how long he could withstand this hell he’d constructed for himself. The drive to Icarus was ten hours.
The gun made its biggest movement yet, its hilt clearing his jeans, spilling out of his pocket completely. As he felt this, he also sensed Holly seeing her chance. He put one hand down to grab for the gun, his reflexes slowed and his hand missing its target because his eyes were on the traffic and his head was too full of everything.
Fuck. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the blur of bright spangles and brown hair as she swept up the gun and pointed it at him, plastering her slim body against the passenger door, as far away from him as possible. “Pull over and let me out,” she gasped, big dark eyes hard under false lashes.
Shit, shit, shit. He was the shittiest kidnapper ever. But not that shitty. “I’m not going to let you out on the side of the interstate. Not while you’re wearing that. And the gun isn’t loaded.”
She didn’t believe him. He was telling her that to convince her to put the gun down. She leveled it at his ear. Her finger twitched on the trigger.
“Aim it away from me if you don’t know how to work it.” Keeping one hand on the wheel, he used the other to point the gun away from both of them and off the road, toward the tops of the palm trees peeking from behind the concrete barrier—but her hands were shaking, as was her mind, and his, so he turned his attention back to the traffic before he got completely disoriented.
“We’re going to Icarus, Colorado,” he told her. “That’s where they make Mentafixol. I can’t go through life crazy like this. My pills have gone missing for almost a week now, and nobody seems to be able or willing to do anything about it. I’m driving to Colorado to get some before I land in an institution. And I’m taking you with me, because without Mentafixol, tomorrow you’ll be just as crazy as I am now. I don’t want that to happen to you, Holly. I don’t want you to have to go through what I’m going through. I want to get medicine for you and for me. And at the very least, we can go crazy out of the state, where you’re less likely to sabotage your own publicity. You want to start your own magician act soon, right?”
“Is that all?” she shrieked. “Is that all you want from me?”
He glanced over at her. Her dark eyes were wild, and the Strip glowed through the window, shining in her curls. The enormous billboard advertising her dad’s magic act with her likeness crept up behind her and flashed past her shoulders.
She was relieved Elijah didn’t plan to kill her. She was touched that he said he wanted to save her. But she didn’t trust him. And there was something dark and ugly and twisted in her head too, something very unbecoming a pretty twenty-one-year-old innocent: disappointment. I’m driving to Colorado to get some echoed in her mind.
“Is that all you wanted?” she repeated.
He eyed her, careful not to let his glance dip to her cleavage. He honestly didn’t know what to say.
“Then why did you threaten me with a gun on a freaking public bus?” she demanded, shaking the gun for emphasis.
“It’s not loaded, but it’s not a toy. Put it in the glove compartment.”
She punched the button on the dashboard in front of her, dropped the gun out of sight behind the folded maps, blinked at the box of bullets, and slammed the glove compartment shut.
He cringed. Rob blowing a hole in the ceiling had left him gun-shy for a lifetime.
Then Holly turned back to Elijah expectantly and folded her arms across her breasts again, showing him not her discomfort but her anger.
“I wanted you to come with me,” he said, “but I needed enough time to explain it to you. I knew I wouldn’t get the chance. I couldn’t risk people overhearing us in the casino or on the bus when we’ve got one foot in the loony bin already.”
“We?” she demanded. “That would be you. You’re the one who pointed a gun at me and kidnapped me. Do you realize you did something crazy to prevent yourself from being crazy?”
“The irony of this does not escape me.” Neither did the fact that he never would have attempted such a stunt if not for his imagined superpower.
His comment made his case. She recognized this Elijah as the one she’d bantered with on the bus, and she relaxed a little. “You really think they have our medicine up there?”
“We’ll know in ten hours. When’s the last time you went on a road trip to save your own sanity? It’ll be fun.”
She laughed and quickly pressed her lips together to quell it. Looking around the car, she asked, “Is Shane okay?”
Elijah nodded. “I didn’t steal his car. He knows where we’re going.” Then, because his stomach still rumbled sympathetically with hers, he reached behind his seat with one hand, fished around for the small cooler, and placed it on her bare thighs.
“What’s this?” she asked. “If it’s Shane’s head, I’m going to be really mad at you.”
“Dinner,” Elijah said.
She unzipped the top of the cooler. His mouth watered with hers, and his brain sensed the aromas of garlic and ginger as she opened the plastic container of Chinese food. Or maybe he actually smelled the food from across the car. He couldn’t tell his sensations and hers apart. She dug in with the plastic fork he’d brought. The flavors exploded in his mind.
“Where’d you get this?” she squealed her approval with her mouth full.
“I made it,” he said.
She drew an imaginary chart in her head and titled it Elijah. Under Pro she wrote Great cook and Funny and, after a pause, So hot. Under Con she scribbled, COMPLETE NUTCASE. She laughed at herself, both in her mind and in real life beside him in the car, a warm, husky sound through a savory mouthful.
She ate. He drove, the lights of Vegas melting back into the scrubby desert from which they’d sprung in the 1940s, the bare mountains in the distance outlined by starlight, and he listened to her thoughts. She would go with him to Icarus. He was right: Better that they both went off their rockers outside Vegas, where she was less likely to be recognized. She didn’t want to do something crazy and ruin her chances at her own magic act. By the time they made it back to town or called Kaylee to rescue them, surely the pharmacy would have their medicine, and these dark days would be over.
Then her thoughts spun in diffe
rent directions, ricocheting at random angles. But her attraction to him—that colored everything else in her mind. He constantly chided himself that his entire hallucination of mind reading was a symptom of MAD, some self-aggrandizing delusion. It was the wishful thinking of the teenage boy he’d been, jilted for a prom date with a girl who’d been too good for him, and wanting to prove she’d been wrong: Someday she’ll be sorry. Now his someday had arrived.
He knew full well that the two storylines progressed in parallel: his delusional adventure story about saving himself and Holly, and what was really happening. He had no way of knowing which was which, or what borders they shared. He could only assume that what he processed as reading her mind was actually information he gained by some other method, like talking to her, or reading her body language, or subconsciously capitalizing on four years of college psychology classes. He could only work with the information he had.
She dropped the fork and empty container back into the cooler, zipped it, and tossed it into the backseat. She wanted to thank him for a delicious homemade dinner, except as a general rule she did not thank her kidnappers. She was still kind of mad at him. Instead she said, “Your plan is to drive to Icarus, Colorado, and go to the drug factory that makes Mentafixol.”
Candy company, he almost corrected her. That would sound crazy, so he just nodded.
“You have the address?”
“I looked it up on the web. It’s on the main street of the town.” He’d broken out in a cold sweat at his computer when he saw that the address he’d pulled from the pharmacy clerk’s mind was a real place. But if the candy company actually made his medicine, he’d probably remembered the address from a pill bottle, back in the heady days when his pills were at his fingertips. And if the candy company didn’t make his medicine, he’d unknowingly remembered the address from some gift catalog in his mother’s apartment.
The upside was, he’d also seen on the web that the candy company was famous for its fudge. If in fact he’d imagined the entire connection between the candy company and Mentafixol, when they arrived, perhaps he could buy Holly some fudge to placate her—especially if she was crazy by then, too.
“I doubt we can walk up to a drug factory and ask for drugs, even with a prescription,” Holly reasoned. She’d been working through the scenario as she talked. Now an awful possibility occurred to her, and her heart thumped harder again. “You’re not thinking of holding up the drug factory?” She folded one leg and braced the toe of her glittering shoe against the glove compartment in case he dove for the gun.
“I’m thinking of casing the joint,” he admitted. “All I know for sure is that we need that drug, there’s none in Vegas, and I suspect there’s lots in Icarus. Beyond that, we’ll play it by ear.”
She decided to humor him. He seemed honestly intent on “saving” her, and she could at least return the favor by keeping him out of trouble. She kicked off her high heels and cranked down the window. She stretched her long legs in front her and put her bare feet out the window, wiggling her toes in the roaring wind. Her pink toenail polish twinkled in the streetlights over the interstate. “So, now that we’re finally being honest with each other . . .” she began.
He winced internally and tried not to show it on his face. He really hated deceiving her about how crazy he’d gone. He wished he were rescuing her for real.
“. . . what does it feel like to be off Mentafixol completely?” she asked. “In case our field trip to the drug factory doesn’t work, I want to know what I’m in for tomorrow afternoon.”
He didn’t want to scare her about what she was in for. He didn’t want to terrify her by revealing his current state of mind, sending her skittering into a convenience store the first time they stopped for gas, seeking the protection of the clerk and the panic button and the shotgun behind the counter. But he didn’t want to lie to her, either. He told her as much of the truth as he could. “I feel like something’s going to happen.”
As he spoke, a rock song she loved whispered through the radio. He dialed up the volume. Sure enough, as if he could really read minds, she relaxed into the seat and lost herself in the beat of the music. The song made the midnight drive through the desert more bearable. She was embarrassed that she’d asked him on a date and he’d responded by kidnapping her. She was humiliated that he’d probably been charming on the bus only so he could stay close to her and pull a gun on her, not because he’d been coming on to her. But to the background noise of this song, she could pretend that it was a normal crush gone bad, and that she wasn’t teetering on the edge of madness herself.
Elijah relaxed too, finally. His head filled with how much she loved this song, especially the cool part coming up. He liked the song himself. Tune after tune they both liked came on Vegas’s best alt-rock station. The weight of the last few days didn’t lift from his shoulders, exactly, but underneath that burden he was at least able to enjoy listening to Holly’s colorful mind.
The rest would wait until tomorrow.
10
Holly welcomed the dawn. Now that she could see in the first sunlight, she had something to occupy her mind besides the impending doom of herself and Elijah. As he sped the car along a winding mountain highway, she spied pinecones and rocks on the shoulder ahead of them and tried to lift them with her mind, just as she’d willed Elijah’s gun to come to her the night before.
Nothing happened, of course. The gun had slipped out of Elijah’s pants when they hit a bump in the road. Her telekinetic power was in her imagination. But as the Mentafixol continued to wear off, exercising her imagined mental muscle gave her skin a euphoric sparkling sensation, just like old times.
At the intersection with the even narrower highway that would finally take them up to Icarus, Elijah stopped at a gas station and bought her a soda—not diet but a real one with full sugar—and a candy bar, her favorite kind. She wondered how he’d known. For the final leg of the drive, she nibbled candy, sipped Coke, and braced her bare feet on the glove compartment to keep herself from sliding into him when he rounded sharp curves. As the tires spun pebbles into the air and over cliffs, she pretended she was moving them herself, and wished she could. It seemed pedestrian, but the sparkles and the sharp morning sunlight on her skin made it ecstasy.
Midmorning, the paved highway petered out into a dirt road and wound around the lip of a cliff and into a tunnel carved from the solid rock of the mountain. He slowed the car as darkness fell on them like a rock slide. He flipped the windshield wipers on before finding the headlights.
Holly tried to breathe normally. Nothing was wrong. It was just a tunnel, and not a very long one. She could see the end, a semicircle of light straight ahead. She panted anyway. She couldn’t move anything in here. She couldn’t move anything anyway—her power was her delusion, stronger and stronger as the Mentafixol wore off—but even if she’d been able to levitate, she would have been no match for this mountain. She sensed the whole huge weight of it above her.
“Hey.” Elijah slid his hand from the gearshift onto her knee. Electricity surged up her thigh. “Keep your eyes on the light.”
She did. She focused on that faraway exit, holding her breath as the light came closer and loomed larger. She thought she might pass out before they reached it. Her whole body sparkled from Elijah’s touch and Mentafixol withdrawal and lack of oxygen.
“And here we are,” Elijah said. When the car broke free from the shadows of the tunnel, he kept his hand on her knee, even rubbed his thumb gently across her skin, giving her something to concentrate on besides her disorientation.
As the sunlight hit her full in the face, Holly gasped her relief and squinted toward Icarus. Elijah had told her its claim to fame was that it was one of the highest towns in North America, making it a minor tourist attraction. He hadn’t mentioned that the entire town seemed to be one long street lined with historic buildings, or that this street was perched on the very edge of the cliff, as if to say towns and tourists and drug seekers had no b
usiness here. From this distance, it didn’t look real. It resembled a model for movie special effects. Godzilla would step carefully over the nearest mountain peak and stomp toward them any second.
She managed to say, “Pretty.”
“Very.” He piloted the car up the street and paused at an inexplicable traffic light, gazing up at the quaint two-story buildings emblazoned up top with the year they were built, Holly assumed: 1878, 1880. They passed the town hall, a bar, a grocery store, another bar, a fire station, still another bar, a hotel with a whole three stories and a restaurant, lots of gift shops, and a bar, as they cruised down the deserted road. A few cars were parked along the sides, but not a soul appeared on the wooden sidewalks in the brilliant summer morning.
He drove almost to the end of the street and stopped the car in front of an adorable two-story wooden Victorian, all gingerbread and lace, with a sign out front painted in careful cursive: TWO MILE HIGH CANDY CO. Holly turned to look at Elijah in question, but he gazed past her at the house. She looked where he was looking. The windows were dark. A hand-printed sign on white paper took up one pane of glass in the door.
“It’s closed,” he breathed.
“Is this the factory where Mentafixol is made?” Holly asked. She hoped he only meant to buy her another candy bar. If he thought their medicine was made at a candy store—wow, he was crazy.
In answer, he killed the motor without putting the car in gear. It lurched forward in one final burp before dying. Before, he’d saved her from a quick stop before by throwing his arm in front of her. This time he didn’t notice. She caught herself with both hands on the glove compartment before her seat belt snapped her backward. He bailed out of the car and jogged past the front bumper and up the sidewalk.
She stared after him, fighting the urge to scream. She hadn’t really believed there was a factory in Bumfuck, Colorado, that made her psychoactive drug, had she? But Elijah had seemed so sincere. He obviously believed the story himself. She had wanted to believe him.
Levitating Las Vegas Page 14
