by R. L. King
That’s your goal, he told himself. Focus on that sign. Don’t think of anything else. Just get there.
It didn’t work that way, though—that wasn’t the way his mind did things. That was okay—as it happened, having something to distract him from the pain and weakness as he staggered through the trees and across the dirt expanse toward the trailer was likely a good thing. His thoughts kept returning to Roy Darner, gradually reconstructing more details of his time at Morrie’s Roadhouse, filling them in like a repairman patching a series of holes.
At one point he jerked to a stop, nearly falling, as another memory dropped into place. He slapped his chest where his second interior pocket was—where he’d stored the notebook where he’d written down what Darner had told him.
It was gone.
His breath quickened. Had it fallen out?
Or had someone taken it?
He fought his sluggish thoughts, trying to remember how much he’d written down. The image of the man he’d seen in Darner’s mind—the thin-faced man with piercing eyes and light-colored hair—came back to him with startling clarity. But had he written the description down?
He didn’t think he had. He’d been intending to sit in the car for a few minutes, gathering his thoughts and writing down his impressions, before he called Jason.
Thank the gods—if someone had to take him out and steal his notes, at least they’d done it before they got the important part.
A small victory, and not a very encouraging one given his current state, but he’d take what he could get.
He was huffing like a freight train now, sweat breaking out on his forehead and drenching his T-shirt. He often went running for miles at a time back home, and was in far better shape than he’d been a couple years ago thanks to his Calanarian training, but right now he suspected Raider could take him two falls out of three. He might be better, but he still was a long way from well.
Thirst parched him, drying out his mouth, and his stomach grumbled. He needed to get something to eat and drink soon, before he passed out from that.
But first he needed to make that call.
He kept going, refusing to allow himself to stop. His body screamed at him to rest, to pause, even for a few seconds, but he disregarded its demands. If he stopped, he wouldn’t start again. The construction workers would find him sitting in the middle of the parking lot, or passed out on the ground—and that was assuming they even came here today. He didn’t know how long he’d been buried. It could be the weekend by now.
One step.
Two.
Three.
One foot in front of the other. A snippet of a song from a long-ago children’s holiday special slotted into his mind, and he used its cadence to keep him moving. His head throbbed in time with his steps.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, the trailer swam into view and with it the sign, white with bright green letters:
FUTURE SITE OF MARKLEY BUSINESS PARK
GRISHAM CONSTRUCTION INC.
Building Today For Your Tomorrow
He almost sagged to his knees in relief. Now, all he’d need to do was ascend the few wooden steps to the door, and hope he could manage enough magic to pop the lock. It couldn’t be much of a lock, not on a trailer.
Those last four steps were nearly as hard as the whole trip across the parking lot. He gripped the rail tightly, hauling himself as much with his arms as pushing with his legs. Once he tripped, almost toppling over backward, but his grip tightened and he managed to stay upright. By the time he reached the door, leaning against it and panting even harder, he was afraid he’d pass out again.
He didn’t, though. And even better, he did manage the magic to get the door open. It took him three tries, but he did it. He pushed it open, dragged himself inside, and closed it behind him.
The dim space was cluttered with small desks, file cabinets, and stacked papers. It smelled like fresh dirt and concrete dust and cigarettes. Stone sank into the nearest chair, grateful there weren’t any mirrors around here. He didn’t want to think about what he must look like.
His gaze fell on three things at the same time: an old-style business phone, a Milky Way candy bar, and a half-finished bottle of water next to it. He snatched up the Milky Way without thinking, ripping the wrapper off so violently he nearly dropped the bar, and bit off more than half of it. It stuck in his dry mouth, hard to swallow, but it tasted better than the finest meal he’d ever had. He washed it down with the water in one long gulp. For a moment, he did nothing but sit there, sagging in the chair, relishing the flavor. His head was still throbbing, but even that small bit of food and water helped.
Now, the phone. Who should he call?
The police? No. Not yet. Too many questions. Had anyone called about the rental car when it hadn’t moved from the parking lot? Was anyone looking for him?
Verity? No. She couldn’t do anything, and he didn’t want to worry her.
There was really only one answer for who his first call should go to. After that, things got a lot murkier—but that was all right. He’d have help.
With a shaking finger, he tapped the familiar number and waited while the phone rang. Please pick up…
“Hello?” Jason’s voice sounded sleepy but somehow urgent, like he was waiting for a call.
“J…Jason…” His voice sounded impossibly raspy and ragged, and he wasn’t sure he was even coherent.
There was a long pause. “Al? Holy shit, is that you?”
“It’s…me. I…need help, Jason.”
“Where are you?”
He looked around. “Not…sure, entirely.” His searching gaze landed on a dirt-smeared pad of paper. “Construction site. I…broke into a trailer. Grisham Construction.” With a couple of false starts—why wouldn’t his brain cooperate with simple things?—he read off the address. “Not…sure that’s right, though. Might be their…main address. No! Wait!” He remembered the sign—he’d certainly spent enough time staring at it on his journey here. “Future…site of…Markley Business Park.”
“Okay. Okay.” Jason sounded brisk but somehow frantic, too. In the background, another voice—probably Amber—spoke. “You sit tight, Al. We’ll get to you.”
Something seemed wrong about that. How could Jason come to him? He was in Indiana—or somewhere near it, anyway—and Jason was in California. He couldn’t come through the portal. It would take too long to get here the mundane way. “I…can’t wait here that long, Jason. They’ll find me.”
“Sit tight,” he ordered. “We’re close to you, and we’ll be there as soon as we can. We just have to figure out exactly where you are.”
Wait, what? “You’re…here?”
“We’re in Gary. Al—where have you been? You’ve been missing for three days.”
17
Stone lost track of time while waiting for Jason and Amber. He started out by slumping in the chair, but his muscles were weak and his head was still hurting, so finally he found the only clear space on the floor and stretched out there. Before he did that, though, he risked staggering around the small trailer, gripping desks as he went, and eventually located a tiny break area with a mini-fridge. Inside he found three energy drinks, two bottles of water, and two of fruit juice. On top was a shoebox with bags of chips, Slim Jims, and candy bars. He was tempted to try the energy drink, but decided that was a bad idea. Instead, he grabbed a bottle of water and another candy bar, and left a twenty-dollar bill from his coat in their place.
He was drifting, half-asleep with his coat bunched up under his head, when the door rattled and then opened. He jerked up, afraid the construction crew had arrived, then sagged in relief when Jason’s familiar face swam into view.
As soon as Jason spotted him on the floor, he went pale and his eyes widened. “Oh, my God, Al. What did they do to you?”
Stone winced as pain shot through his head. He couldn’t even think of a smart-ass remark. “Good to…see you, Jason.”
Amber, hovering behind
him and looking every bit as concerned, pulled out her phone. “We need to call an ambulance. I smell blood.”
“No.” Stone forced more volume into the word and raised a hand. “No. No ambulance. No…hospital. It’s…all right.”
There was barely any room for Jason to crouch next to him, but he managed. “Al, you’re messed up. You look like shit. You need a doctor.”
“No,” he insisted again. “Please…just…are you staying somewhere? Take me there. Where…are we, anyway?” Surprisingly, it was becoming easier to keep his thoughts straight. Despite the stubbornly lingering headache, he still thought he might be feeling better. Maybe it was the water and the candy bars. Breakfast of Idiots.
Jason exchanged glances with Amber. “About five miles outside Gary. Dude, you’ve got to tell us what happened. Where have you been for three days? Why are you covered with dirt?”
Stone looked past them, toward the door. “Listen…I’m grateful to both of you for getting here so quickly—but we need to…get out of here. I’ll…explain everything, but we’ve got to go.”
Both of them looked dubious, and he knew there was a good chance they’d overrule his objections and take him straight to an emergency room. He didn’t have the energy to fight them, so he hoped he was wrong.
“Okay…” Jason said. “I don’t like it—not one bit. And if you pass out, we’re going to the hospital. Got it?”
“Yes…fine. Help me up, before the construction people come back.”
“They won’t be here today. It’s Sunday.” Jason bent and grabbed Stone’s arms, hauling him gently up and steadying him as he swayed. “You sure you got this?”
“No…but let’s give it our best go, shall we?”
Amber winced, moving around behind him. “Somebody hit you hard.” She sounded grim.
“Yes…I’m aware of that. Just…let’s go now. Please.”
Between Jason and Amber, they managed to drag him out to their rented Dodge. They helped him into the back seat, where he slumped with his cheek against the window. The cold felt good. As they drove away, Jason’s words came back and a thought chilled him. “You said…I’ve been missing for three days? Does that mean you’ve got Verity involved?”
“Not yet.” Jason kept his eyes on the road, but Amber twisted in her seat to keep an eye on Stone. “For the first couple days we figured you were doing whatever you were doing. But when we didn’t hear from you, we got concerned. I had Gina do a little checking, and she found out they found your rental car abandoned at that roadhouse on the other side of town. That was late yesterday. We hopped the first plane we could get. If we didn’t find you soon, I was planning to call V and have her do a ritual.”
“Did they find my phone?”
“No. You don’t have it?”
“I suppose it’s not good practice to leave someone’s phone on them when you bury them alive.”
“What?” Jason jerked the wheel and the car slewed sideways before he got it back under control.
“Drive the car, Jason. I’ve got no desire to survive being hit over the head and buried in a shallow grave, only to smash into a pickup truck driven by some farmer named Clem.” That was probably more than he should have said at once, and his head warned him not to try it again. “Let me rest, all right? I’ll tell you everything when we get to where you’re staying.”
He could sense their growing concern and curiosity even without aura reading, but they kept quiet until they reached a Holiday Inn twenty minutes later.
Jason eyed him in the rearview mirror. “People are gonna talk if we take you in looking like that. Can you do any illusions, or disregarding spell?”
“I’ll try. No promises, though.” The thought of an illusion brought back more memories. He patted the front of his shirt, but his disguise amulet was gone. Either someone took it because they thought it was valuable—unlikely if they left the wad of cash—or else they knew it was magical. His pummeled brain was in no shape to consider the implications of the latter, though. Instead, he concentrated on settling the disregarding spell over himself, grateful it was one of his least-taxing spells. “There. But hurry, please. I don’t know how long I can hold it.”
Jason slung Stone’s arm over his shoulder, and together he and Amber led him—their drunken friend suffering from a lulu of a hangover—into their first-floor room. They steered him over to the bed and sat him down. “Lie down, okay?”
“Wait,” Amber said. “Let me have a look at your head.”
Stone wanted to argue. The effort of moving that far, even with help, had once again drained his meager reserves, and all he wanted to do right now was slump back and sleep for about six years. He sighed. “Yes, but please make it quick.”
She retrieved a small pack and sat down next to him, pulling out first-aid supplies. Stone didn’t miss the glance she shot at Jason as she leaned in to examine the back of his head.
“Am I going to live, Doctor?” To Jason, he added, “I’m bloody starving. Do they have room service here? There’s a big wad of cash in my coat pocket. Have them bring one of everything.”
“You let Amber take care of you. I’ll go get something. Not sure you should be eating, though, with a hit like that. You might have a concussion, or worse. You really should see a doctor, Al.”
“Just bring me something to eat, will you?”
With one more critical glance at both of them, Jason disappeared through the door.
Amber’s ministrations were brisk, efficient, and gentle without being sentimental. Stone sat quietly, appreciating that she wasn’t mother-henning him like Verity would have done. She retrieved a wet washcloth from the bathroom and carefully patted the spot, returning several times to rinse it out.
“You had us pretty worried, you know,” she said. “Jason was about an hour away from calling Verity and having her hunt for you when you called.”
“Yes, well…I’d have called sooner, but…” He waves his hand vaguely in the direction of his head. “Did they find my wallet in the car?”
“Surprisingly, yes. The police have it right now.”
He stiffened, sending a throbbing bolt of pain up through his head. “The police are involved?”
“It got reported when they found your car. That’s how we found out about it. Jason will call them off, though—they’ll probably want to talk to you when you’re feeling up to it. Which, from the look of that head wound, might be sometime next week. If you’re lucky.”
“That bad?” Something fluttered far at the back of Stone’s mind, but he refused to pay attention to it now. He’d have time for that later.
“It’s…pretty bad, yeah. I’m honestly surprised you’re not dead, or at least a lot less coherent than you are. I have tons of questions, but I’ll hold them until Jason gets back so you won’t have to explain twice.”
“What I’d really like right now is a good hot shower.”
She looked him over, taking in the head-to-toe grime that covered him. “That’s not a bad idea, but I don’t want you passing out in there and cracking your head again.”
“Better than having Jason catch you helping me. I’ll be fine, Amber. I’ll leave the door open and you can hover outside if you like—I doubt I’ve got anything you haven’t seen before. But I’ve got to do something about this muck. Does Jason have any extra clothes I can borrow?”
“Yeah, hang on.” She dug in Jason’s bag and came up with a pair of jeans and a polo shirt with the Thayer Investigations logo on it. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Never more sure of anything.” In truth, he wasn’t as confident as he was projecting, and he suspected Amber realized that, but he appreciated that she was going along with the charade. With her help, he staggered to the bathroom and gripped the doorjamb. “I’ll leave it open. If you hear a loud thump—”
“I’ll come to the rescue. Don’t worry.”
As he stood waiting for the water to warm up, Stone was once again surprised he didn’t feel worse than
he did. No doubt about it—he still felt terrible. His head still hurt like a gnawing migraine, he still felt woozy (especially now that the sugar high from the candy bars was wearing off) and he still wasn’t one hundred percent sure he could manage the shower without doing a header into the tub. But even with all that—someone had hit him hard enough to make Amber wonder why he was still alive, and apparently he’d been buried for as many as three days, depending on when they got around to it.
Why was he still alive?
He stared at the water coming down from the nozzle without seeing it, as other visions flashed suddenly through his mind:
A crystal spike impaling his chest, stained with bright red blood.
A beer dosed with alchemical drain-cleaning fluid.
In both cases, the people working on him had commented on how lucky he was, how if things had gone differently, or he hadn’t gotten help when he did, he’d be dead.
“Alastair? You okay in there?”
Stone jerked his head up and the visions cleared. “Er—yes. Just waiting for the water.” It was billowing steam now, so it probably wasn’t going to get much better. Gingerly, holding on to the railing, he shucked off his grimy clothes (must burn those!) and climbed in.
The water felt even more wonderful than the Milky Way bar had tasted. He stood under the feeble flow, letting it run over his head and down his body, watching the rivulets of dark grime mixed with blood run down and swirl into the drain. He didn’t even attempt to wash for at least five minutes, content to luxuriate under the stream.
“Al?” This time it was Jason’s voice—he must have come back with food. “You good?”
“Fine. I’ll be out soon. Did you bring food?”
“Yeah. It’s McDonald’s—I know, probably not your first choice. But they were close.”
“I could eat Raider right now. Give me a few minutes.”
Stone didn’t want to get out of the shower, but eventually he forced himself to wash his hair (carefully—every time he touched the back of his head, it sent fresh waves of pain radiating through him) and take a cursory stab at everything else. By the time he stepped out, gripping the rail with a white-knuckled grasp, he felt shaky but better. Getting into Jason’s jeans was harder and he nearly fell, but he wasn’t about to ask for help getting dressed. Finally, he staggered out of the bathroom, hair still dripping. “Better. But I think I need a belt for these trousers.”
