by Pawlik, Tom
Howard took a breath. “Well, either way, it’s getting dark. I got to get them generators running.”
Howard left and Mitch leaned his aching head back to consider this new development. He recalled Nathan’s revelation and warnings from the week before, telling Mitch he was having some kind of out-of-body experience. Telling him that he needed to leave the farm. Well, Mitch had tried to leave the farm, and look what happened.
Mitch watched the floodlights come on across the compound. He could see Howard walking from the barn to the maintenance shed, checking cables and generators, whistling a cheerful tune.
He seemed to have already gotten over the incident and was now back to his former, chipper self. Mitch found it more than a little odd but decided he wouldn’t make an issue of it. That was Howard, after all. He did, however, begin planning his second escape.
And this time, he knew exactly how and when he would do it.
25
JIM MALONE WAS SITTING in his living room when Annie arrived home at three o’clock. She brought in groceries and was busy telling him about her day. But Jim’s mind was wandering.
He’d been debating what to do about Devon. He kept telling himself to forget the whole thing. Forget Devon. Forget about Conner. None of this was any of his business anyway.
But also nagging at him was a soft inner voice, urging him to see it through. Or at least to dig further. To find out more. The phone call from Darnell had certainly revealed some compelling facts, and Jim couldn’t help but feel he had some deeper role to play in the whole thing. Still, he had never been comfortable getting involved in other people’s lives. He’d always been one to mind his own business.
Annie was in the kitchen, putting away the groceries while their two younger kids were scrapping over the Playmobil set in the living room. Miniature pirate figures, a ship, and a million accessories lay strewn across the carpet.
Jim sat in his chair by the window, oblivious to the din and the clutter. His mind was starting to shut down. It’d been nearly twenty-four hours since he’d had any sleep. He had gone to visit Devon that morning right after getting off work. Between Jim’s third-shift job at the warehouse and Devon’s schedule at the juvie center, it was the only visiting time slot Jim could swing without being a relative or from the probation office.
At least he’d have the weekend to rest. His workweek didn’t start again until Sunday night. His brain had been running on adrenaline and coffee most of the day, but right now he was tired of thinking.
He looked up to see Annie in the kitchen doorway. Her red hair was pulled back and she was wiping her hands on a dish towel. “So how did it go with Devon this morning?”
Jim hesitated. “I’m not sure you’re going to believe me.”
Annie sat down on the couch across from him. “Why? What happened?”
Jim took a deep breath and began telling Annie about the day’s events. His chance meeting with Conner Hayden, his bizarre encounter with Devon, and the eerie details he had learned from Darnell.
At first Annie looked like she thought he was kidding, and it took Jim several minutes to convince her that he was in fact telling the truth. Her face grew solemn. Jim couldn’t tell if the expression was because she finally believed him or because she had just concluded he was crazy.
“You really think there’s something supernatural involved?”
Jim shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”
“So did you call Conner?”
“I had his business card, but his secretary said he’s going to be out of the office for a while.”
“There’s got to be a way to get his home number. On the Internet. Or I’m sure his office has it.”
Jim shook his head. “I already tried; they don’t give out that information.”
“Did you tell them it was important?”
Jim grunted. “They said they could relay a message, but I didn’t know what to tell them.”
“You have to let him know what’s going on. He obviously knows Devon. Maybe he’ll know where to find him.”
“I know,” Jim said. “I left them our number. But in a way I’m hoping he won’t call. Part of me doesn’t want to get involved.”
“But think about it,” Annie said. “This isn’t just a coincidence. There was a reason we were at his office that afternoon. And why you were there to save Devon that night. And there’s a reason you’re involved now.”
Jim sighed. “I just wish God would let us know what it is.”
Of the two of them, Annie had always had the stronger faith. She was the one who initiated bedtime devotions and prayers with the children. She was the one who had to remind him to say grace before the family meals. And she was the one who made sure everyone got up and ready on Sunday mornings in time for church.
Jim had never been very comfortable with all that himself. He’d always felt awkward somehow, talking about God in front of other people. Even his own kids. But then he’d never had a role model as a kid. He’d never even met his own father. Never learned how to actually be one.
After a moment Annie leaned forward. “Jim, we should pray.”
“For what?”
“Help,” Annie said. “Wisdom. Some kind of clue as to what to do about all this.”
Jim rubbed his eyes and leaned his head back. “How about for the cops to find Devon before he does anything stupid.”
“Well, yeah. That too. Have you called his probation officer?”
“No. But look, they’re just going to tell me not to get involved. I mean, it really is a police matter.”
Annie sat back. “I know, but if God brought you into both of their lives for a reason, maybe it’s to help in a way the police aren’t able to.”
Jim nodded. It was like she was reading his mind. “I’ve been thinking that same thing all afternoon. And there’s only one other person I can think of who might need our help right now.”
26
OVER THE NEXT TWO DAYS, Mitch managed to stow several items in the back of the milk truck, out of sight. A few tools, a small hand pump and gas can, as well as his duffel bag. His plan was to sneak over to the Harley dealership in Harris during their next round of gas collection. He’d get himself a bike and make a quick getaway. Whatever that thing was that had attacked him, he figured he’d have a better chance of outrunning it on a motorcycle than in Howard’s old pickup.
At the end of the week, they returned to Harris. This time they began in the northeast quadrant of town and worked their way toward the center. By midday they had collected enough gasoline, so Mitch made his usual excuse.
“I’m going to browse books over at the library,” he said, trying to sound casual. Earlier, he’d managed to sneak his bags from the truck when Howard wasn’t looking and stash them inside one of the storefronts.
“Big surprise there.” Howard rolled his eyes. “I’ll head over to that grocery store we passed on our way into town. We need to stock up on food.”
“See you in an hour or so.” Mitch waved him off. “Don’t forget the Slim Jims.”
After Howard had gone, Mitch retrieved his bags and jogged to the Harley shop. He forced his way in through the service entrance and then began to explore the showroom. There were several options to choose from. His initial impulse was to pick the sleeker, more maneuverable Night Rod, but he opted instead for one of the cruisers in the Touring series. At the front window was a beautiful Road King Classic. Mitch dusted it off, then stood back and eyed the side carriers. The extra storage would be more useful at this point. And the ride would definitely be more comfortable.
After five minutes of searching, he discovered all the keys in a drawer behind the counter. He quickly found the key to the Road King and began checking the oil, coolant, and brake fluids. They were all satisfactory, despite how long the bike had been sitting. There was a bit of gas in the tank, but Mitch knew he’d need more. Then he recalled a van parked out back that they hadn’t sipho
ned yet. Mitch found several gallons still in the tank. He transferred five gallons into the Road King and prepared to get it running.
The battery was dead, so Mitch wound up struggling with the kick-starter. It took him another twenty minutes to get the bike running, but he finally stepped away, dripping with sweat as the V-twin roared to life.
Mitch packed his tools and other belongings into the side carriers and found a leather jacket on one of the sales racks. Then he backed the Road King out of the showroom, into the attached service garage, and out the rear bay door.
He took off down a side street opposite the direction Howard had gone. He checked his watch. It would be almost a half hour yet before Howard returned from the grocery store. He’d surely spend another ten or fifteen minutes searching for Mitch at the library and the bookstore. By then, Mitch would be long gone.
The wind tugged at Mitch’s hair. He didn’t know exactly where he was going, but he found himself smiling. It sure felt good to be on a bike again. It had been five years since he’d left his old Harley on the dock back in Illinois. That had been far too long.
Mitch gunned the accelerator but kept an eye on his rearview mirrors, scanning the sky behind him. He hoped he had a large enough head start.
With every mile he traveled, Mitch found himself becoming more and more alert. And he was becoming more aware of the sensation. As if he were slowly waking from a long sleep. He began calling up images, delving into dormant memories of his life before…
Before all of this happened.
He could picture Linda again. Vividly. Almost like he was looking at her photograph. His chest began to ache as a growing awareness washed over him. He realized how long it’d been since he had seen her or since they had spoken. And he was now keenly aware of how badly he missed her.
He recalled the night of the storm. The clouds rolling across the sky, like billows of black smoke—lights flashing inside. A bright light blazed in his face just before he had blacked out.
His breathing quickened as the memory grew more vivid. Not a light. Two lights. Mitch’s heart pounded. Two lights?
Headlights.
Coming right at him!
Mitch squeezed the brakes and the Road King skidded to a halt on the empty highway. Mitch just stared blankly ahead. His chest heaved. It was only a flash of a memory, like the flare of a gunshot. He could see the headlights swerve toward him. He’d seen them coming but hadn’t been able to veer out of the way. His mind raced. It was a truck. It had swerved as if to avoid something and then crossed into his lane. It happened too fast to react. Almost too fast even to remember.
Mitch looked behind him. Then to the road ahead. But it was empty. Silent.
Nathan was right. Mitch could recall the flash of the headlights. He had been hit. He looked at his hands, patted his chest and legs. He should be dead.
How was it he was able to recall things better now? Did it have something to do with his proximity to Howard? to the farm?
The farther away he got, the clearer his thinking was becoming.
He checked his watch. He’d been traveling for over half an hour. Howard would probably be pulling up to the library about now. He’d have only a few minutes before the old guy suspected anything.
Mitch snapped the bike in gear and tore off, faster now than before.
Mitch increased his speed. He was doing well over eighty now, but the road jogged and curved. And still, miles of open farm fields surrounded him.
Should he find shelter? Should he just keep traveling? Doubts started peppering his mind.
He suddenly felt an overpowering sense of nakedness. Exposure. As if he were the only object moving across a vast stretch of desert. Nowhere to hide. Easily spotted from the sky.
A road sign indicated that he was approaching another town. New Castle. Four miles. Mitch decided he’d be better off finding some kind of shelter.
After a few more minutes, he came upon the town. He slowed and cruised past several houses. This town was smaller than Harris. Much smaller. It was little more than an intersection with a gas station on one corner and an old mom-and-pop grocery store across from it. Ten or twelve small houses were clustered along the side street, dingy and overgrown with weeds, paint peeling from the clapboards. There was nothing here that could provide any real shelter. But it was either this… or keep riding.
Mitch pulled into the gas station and circled around back. After a few attempts, he managed to kick in the rear maintenance door. The wooden jamb was soft with rot. Once inside, he opened the bay door, pulled the Road King into the service area, and closed everything up again.
He kept watch from inside, his heart was thudding in his chest. Several minutes crept by. Nothing moved outside.
Maybe the mysterious black creature wouldn’t show up this time. Mitch really had no idea what it was or how it managed to find him during his previous escape. It had simply appeared out of nowhere. Mitch tried to formulate some kind of strategy. But his mind was bristling with too many memories and too much fear.
Ten more minutes passed and eventually Mitch’s heart rate began to slow. He paced from window to window, keeping an eye on the road out front. He figured he’d wait five more minutes and then leave. He didn’t feel any safer inside this place than he did on the road.
In fact, the farm had been the only place he’d felt safe.
Though not necessarily safe. Just numb. An absence of any feeling. Part of him longed to go back and slip into that numb state again. But something—like a small voice—urged him to stay the course he’d taken so far.
A low rumbling brought him up from his thoughts. Mitch peeked outside again. It was the sound of a car approaching. Though it sounded bigger than a car.
It sounded more like a truck.
27
CONNER PICKED AT HIS SUPPER, thinking of ways to explain his day to Marta and Rachel. He had freaked Devon out with his unannounced visit to the juvenile center, he had managed to almost get himself fired from his job, and then he had nearly been arrested after acting like a nutcase at Walter Kent’s house.
And probably worse than all of those things was the fact that he had gone to visit their pastor. After all of Marta’s pestering to set up a meeting, she’d probably be most upset that he’d visited Lewis without taking her along. But Conner couldn’t wait for her to get home. The sense of urgency he felt was too strong. And while the talk with Pastor Lewis had been more helpful than he’d expected, in some ways it had only made those feelings worse.
Marta and Rachel exchanged the usual small talk about their days. And Conner did his best to appear casually interested. Normal. Or as normal as possible.
After several minutes, Marta turned to him. “So did they give you a caseload yet?”
“Mmm, not yet. But I’ll get involved in something soon enough. I’m just enjoying the grunt work at the moment. You know, not all the pressure.”
“Right.” Marta apparently interpreted that as sarcasm. “So did you talk to Henry? Just tell him you’re itching to get back in the game. Or haven’t they gotten home from Maui yet?”
Conner swallowed. “No, he’s . . . he’s back. He flew in a few days ago.”
“Well, talk to him. Tell him you’re ready. He’ll give you something.”
“Yeah . . . I will. I’ll mention something to him.”
“You are ready, aren’t you?”
“Sure. Yeah.”
Conner knew he had to change the subject, and quick. He couldn’t talk about work. Not now. He’d never be able to hide his frustration over what had happened. Or his discomfort. Marta would sniff that out in a heart—
“What’s wrong?” Marta’s eyes narrowed.
“What?” Conner looked up, tried his best to seem nonchalant. He cleared his throat. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Marta wasn’t buying. “Connie, what happened?”
Conner caught Rachel’s eyes darting back and forth like she was watching a tennis match. He forced a laugh. “Wha
t makes you think—?”
“Connie…”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Conner put down his fork and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. He could feel Marta’s gaze but did his best to avert it . . . without looking like he was trying to avert it.
After several tortuous moments of silence, Conner took a breath. “Well, I did talk to Henry today.…”
“So what happened? Wait . . .” Marta leaned forward. “You didn’t tell him what you told me this morning, did you?”
Rachel glanced at Marta. “Tell him what?”
“Actually,” Conner said, “he called me into his office.”
“And you told him?” Marta gaped. “Everything?”
“Told him what?”
Conner hated when Marta wore him down like this. It was like she was the lawyer and he was the hapless defendant. “I didn’t intend to at first. But he said people were complaining that I was acting like a zealot, and—”
“A zealot? They said you were acting like a zealot? You’ve only been back a couple weeks!”
“—so I had to defend myself. I had to tell him.”
Rachel slapped her palm on the table. “Tell him what?”
Conner rubbed his eyes. He was tired and on edge at the same time. Part of him badly wanted to sleep, but another part felt like jumping up from the table and doing something. Anything.
He looked at Rachel. “There was more to my . . . my heart attack than I told you about.”
“More?” Rachel blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean there was more to my experience . . . y’know, when I was dying. More that I saw and did.” Conner bit his lip. “A lot more.”
Rachel looked at Marta. “Did you know about this?”
Marta shrugged. “I just found out this morning.”
Rachel’s head swiveled back to Conner. “Well, what happened? Why didn’t you tell us before?”
“Sweetie, it’s all very bizarre and creepy. And frankly I was afraid I was going crazy.”
