Valley of the Shadow

by Pawlik, Tom

  For his part, Jim—despite any lingering doubts—couldn’t just leave Devon to himself. Or to whatever forces might be at work.

  But Winthrop Harbor? It was nearly in Wisconsin. It’d take a good sixty minutes just to get up there, and it might all be a complete waste of time. There was no guarantee Devon would show up after all. Frankly, chances were better that he’d been there already. The kid had escaped yesterday and had been on the run all night. But his life might be in danger. So if there was still a chance to track him down, Jim knew he had to take it.

  They headed north but needed to make a stop first.

  Annie spoke up after a minute. “I can’t help feeling this is just a little crazy. I mean… what are the odds he’ll even show up there?”

  Jim shrugged. “I’d tend to agree. But after talking to Conner, I’m becoming more convinced there’s something else going on.”

  “So why not just call the police up there and have them keep an eye out for Devon?”

  “We may eventually need to do that, but I doubt they’d move on that kind of tip unless they get a compelling reason. And I’m guessing the police don’t find supernatural scenarios too compelling.”

  Jim had stopped believing that he’d been drawn into this whole story through a completely random set of events. There was a reason he’d been there to save Devon the night of the shooting. There was a reason he’d been on that street at just that particular time.

  He and Annie had been contemplating the malpractice lawsuit for the stillbirth of their infant daughter. It was Hayden himself who’d pushed the suit in the first place. But they’d decided to take the weekend to think it over and pray for direction. Annie was always big on prayer, while Jim was more prone to action. Together they normally balanced each other out. But that night, Jim had been frustrated. The thought of a large settlement had him salivating. They could’ve potentially won a million dollars or more. A lot more if it’d ever made it to court.

  But Annie wasn’t convinced it was the right thing to do. She felt her doctor had done everything humanly possible to save their daughter. Jim had argued she could have done more. Their discussion had grown so heated that night that Jim had lost his temper. He’d said some things he regretted. But rather than apologize, he’d gone out to fume. To stew over the predicament.

  Annie had decided God ultimately had some reason for their tragedy, but Jim couldn’t swallow that. What purpose could God have for bringing a woman through nine months of an uneventful pregnancy only to take her child at the last moment? What possible purpose could something so terrible serve?

  Jim had been angry with a doctor who wasn’t able to save his daughter. He was angry at himself for being more concerned with the money than with the loss of their child. He was angry with his wife for accepting the tragedy without question. And he was angry with God for allowing the whole thing to occur in the first place.

  But ultimately that event had led him here. Led him to Conner, to Devon, and now to Mitch Kent. Jim wasn’t sure what the outcome was going to be. Or what God’s ultimate purpose was. He wasn’t sure when or if he’d ever know. But he was beginning to see that every event in their lives—good or bad—offered them a choice. And every choice led to other events. And more choices.

  But one thing he was growing sure of. None of them were accidents. Annie was right. Everything did have a purpose.

  59

  “WHO’S COMING?” MITCH SAID. “Howard?”

  “Death.” Nathan stared at the black sky in the east. “Death himself is coming. We need to leave.”

  Mitch turned back to the old woman and waved his hand in front of her face. “C’mon, lady. Wake up!”

  Nathan seemed to be growing agitated. “Mitch, there’s nothing you can do for her. She can’t even see you.”

  Mitch shook the woman gently, but she didn’t notice him.

  Nathan grabbed Mitch by the shoulder and spun him around. “We need to leave now!”

  Mitch glanced back at the sky. The black patch inside the clouds was spreading wider, stretching north and south and creeping slowly westward. Soon it’d be overhead. Soon it would fill the entire sky.

  Mitch started up the bike, Nathan climbed on the back, and they roared off down the deserted street.

  Nathan pointed out turns and directions as they went.

  “We’re not far now,” he said in Mitch’s ear. “Once we get out of the city, the two mountain ranges converge. That’s where we need to go. That’s the edge of the world.”

  Mitch gritted his teeth. “What do we do when we get there?”

  “Go into the mountain.”

  Within five minutes, they arrived at a narrow street leading between two enormous, decaying skyscrapers. Their lofty peaks were jagged and broken against the gray sky. Behind them, the darkness was approaching. Beyond the towers, the land stretched out wide and flat toward a looming mountain range. It reminded Mitch of the salt flats in Utah.

  Nathan tapped his shoulder. “Haste is a virtue here, my friend.”

  Mitch nodded. “Hang on.”

  He opened the throttle and the Road King lurched ahead. The engine thundered louder as the RPM gauge climbed higher. Cold air blasted Mitch as he accelerated faster.

  98… 100… 105… 107…

  The mountain range before them grew steadily larger. The jagged, black rock looked as if it was jutting straight up out of the sand. The peaks were hidden inside the clouds. The sky in the east continued to grow darker. The wispy leading edges of the phenomenon were now directly overhead, stretching out like fingers toward the mountains. Inside the darkness, flashes of lightning erupted. Red, blue, and yellow.

  Soon the road dissolved beneath them and Mitch found himself navigating the motorcycle across the hard, packed sand. He could feel the Harley wobbling as its tires slipped on the surface. His grip tightened. One mistake could send them skidding sideways across the sand. At that speed, it would grind away their flesh in moments.

  But they had entered a narrow canyon now, as the two great mountain ranges converged toward a single point. Nathan pointed straight ahead.

  “There it is!”

  The canyon came to an abrupt halt. Mitch rolled to a stop at the base of a sheer cliff. He could see the dark opening of a small cave a hundred feet or so straight up. A narrow trail wound along the jagged rock face. There was no way to get the bike up that ledge. They’d have to go by foot. And that would be precarious.

  Mitch shook his head. “We’re not going up there, are we?”

  The clouds were nearly shrouded by the darkness. The eastern sky was completely black. The lightning flashed, illuminating the landscape below it in brief glimpses. A gusting wind moaned through the canyon, driving eddies of sand along in swirling vortexes.

  Mitch swore softly. They were trapped.

  60

  DENSE BRANCHES PRESSED back against Conner as he fought his way through. Every step brought a cacophony of sounds. Crunching and snapping of dry leaves and twigs underfoot. There was even a strange sort of zipping sound as the smaller branches scraped across his jacket. And moving at a slower pace only prolonged the noise, making it more noticeable; it even seemed to amplify the sounds.

  At this point, Conner couldn’t have snuck up on a dead cat. He checked his compass but could only guess he was headed in the right direction. After several minutes the lower brush seemed to thin out and he was able to move a little more freely. And quietly. Also, he was able to see a little farther into the woods.

  There was no path that he could make out. The gloom of dusk was starting to encroach on his vision, but he didn’t want to risk using the flashlight. At least not yet. The temperature had also dropped considerably, and now Conner wished he’d purchased a hat and gloves as well.

  He wandered farther through the woods. He thought he’d had a fair idea where the cabin lay from the satellite images he saw on his computer. It looked roughly a hundred yards in from the edge of the woods. Straight back from the silo
next to the barn. Conner had entered the woods roughly fifty yards to the left of that position and so was estimating the direction and distance he would need to cover.

  But he knew both could be deceiving in a setting like this. He was thankful for his compass but wished he had some way to determine the distance he’d come. Then he stopped and cursed himself again. He should have been counting his steps. If one pace was roughly a yard, he’d be able to calculate his position close enough. But he’d been slogging his way for several minutes now and had no idea how many steps he’d taken so far.

  He stopped to get his bearings. He couldn’t see the field or any of the farm buildings. He decided to take a wild guess that he was maybe thirty yards in from his original point of entry. His initial plan had been to head straight in to the woods along a parallel route until he thought he was deep enough and then cut over to the right. That would make it more difficult to find the cabin. But he figured it was safer than cutting over any sooner. That way he would stay clear of any path—if there was one—directly from the house to the cabin. Conner guessed he would be less likely to run across Owen if he avoided the direct route. And that was one thing he absolutely wanted to do.

  He continued on for several more minutes, counting roughly seventy paces. Then he cut to the right and started counting again. Now that the woods had thinned out a bit, his visibility was better, and that at least raised his spirits a little. He’d have a better chance of spotting the cabin. Of course it also meant he’d have a better chance of being spotted, as well.

  Conner plodded along as slowly and quietly as he could manage, counting his steps. Forty-one… forty-two… forty-three…

  Then he stopped. Ahead and to the left, something was visible among the trees. He crouched down and crawled forward slowly. He drew up behind the trunk of a toppled tree and peered into the gloom. There it was. Not twenty feet ahead. Dark, sagging, and huddled in a small clearing.

  He’d found the cabin at last.

  61

  NATHAN CLUTCHED MITCH’S ARM and thrust a finger in the air.

  Mitch glanced up the looming cliff and shook his head. “Dude,” he said. “I… I don’t do so well with heights.”

  Nathan wasn’t smiling and he didn’t appear to be in any mood to argue. “Now’s as good a time as any to learn.”

  He shoved Mitch toward the base of the cliff. Mitch swallowed hard and found a few openings in the rock. He grabbed hold and pulled himself up. “This is crazy. I hate heights.”

  “Get moving!”

  They scrambled up several yards until they came upon a narrow ledge. It was less than a foot wide, steep and uneven. Mitch stood, pressing his back flat against the rock, and slid sideways up the ledge. The wind gusted harder now, screaming at times through the canyon. The flashes of light blazed around them, illuminating the mountain in alternating hues of red, blue, and yellow. Sand whipped at Mitch’s face. He could barely see the ledge in front of him. He could hardly tell where to place his feet.

  The ledge sloped upward, zigzagging across the narrow cliff face. All the while, the wind pushed and tugged at them. Swiping at them from all angles. On several occasions, Mitch felt himself stumble and almost fall, only to feel Nathan’s hand on his shoulder, pressing him back against the rock.

  On the canyon floor, the wind continued to kick up sand in rising eddies. The sight was dizzying. At times there was so much sand flying, Mitch could barely tell which way was up. Unable to see more than a few feet in front of him, he was forced to feel his way, inch by inch.

  After what seemed like hours, he felt the ledge widen and level off. He turned to see the cave entrance behind him. He knelt down, pressing his face against the rock. A wave of relief swept over him.

  Nathan crouched inside the entrance, breathing heavily. His hand clutching his chest.

  The wind raged harder now, and after a few moments, Mitch gathered the nerve to peek back over the edge.

  “Whoa.”

  They had climbed more than a hundred feet up from the canyon floor. Below them something odd caught Mitch’s attention. The sand was spraying straight into the air as if from underground. Pouring upward like some sort of fountain.

  Nathan grimaced and coughed. “We need… to go.”

  The undulating pillar of sand grew taller, like a geyser erupting from below. And Mitch could see a lone figure standing on the very top, as if a huge serpent were rising up, balancing him perfectly on its head.

  Mitch knew who it was before he could even recognize the face.

  “Howard?” Mitch moved away from the edge and grabbed Nathan’s arm. “Uh… dude?”

  But Nathan’s breathing grew labored. He winced again.

  “Hey, dude.” Mitch grabbed him by the shoulders. “You okay?”

  Nathan coughed. “I don’t have much… time.”

  At that moment, Howard Bristol rose over the edge, standing on the swirling fountain of sand. His eyes were white, inhuman.

  Howard shook his head. “Well, this is a happy surprise. At last, I’ve found my wayward sheep.”

  Mitch stood. “Look, I don’t want any trouble. But I’m not going back to the farm, so why don’t you just—”

  “I opened my home to you, and this is how you repay me?”

  Mitch’s lips tightened in a scowl. “You lied to me. All those years were just a lie. We weren’t in Indiana.”

  Howard smiled. “Reality here is whatever you choose to make it. And I can show you how to make it into whatever you choose. You can create your own world here. Entirely from scratch.”

  Mitch shook his head. “Why should I trust you now?”

  Howard only smiled and nodded toward Nathan. “Your friend here has shown you things. Things that perhaps you’ve had some trouble believing.”

  “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

  “You’ve seen sights that have shaken your entire view of the world.”

  “Which world?”

  Howard chuckled. “This world, Mitch. The old world you knew, the world of flesh and bone, is only a cheap imitation of the real thing. Like a dim shadow of a deeper, greater reality.”

  “I just want to go back.”

  “Back?” Howard repeated. “Back to your miserable flesh? You stand at the brink of a realm more amazing than you can even imagine. What you saw was only the dimmest edge of what truly lies beyond. I can show you more of it. I can show you everything.”

  Nathan struggled to his feet. “We need to go.”

  Howard’s eyes glowed. “He wants to lead you back into darkness and pain. Sickness, frailty. Trapped inside a broken body. You may never even wake up.”

  “Mitch, don’t listen to him.”

  Howard held out a hand. “I can help you become what you were meant to be. Everything you were meant to be. It’s your choice.”

  Mitch shook his head. “You’re a liar.”

  “Liar? Me?” Howard said. Then he looked at Nathan. “And you think he’s been honest with you?”

  “He showed me the truth. He let me know what was really going on.”

  “Truth?” Howard’s mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. “Do you think he’s shown you the whole truth?”

  Nathan coughed. “Mitch . . .”

  Mitch frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Howard just shook his head and sighed. “He hasn’t told you, has he.”

  “Told me what?”

  Nathan tugged at Mitch’s arm. “Don’t . . .”

  Mitch looked from Nathan to Howard. “What are you talking about?”

  Howard seemed to loom closer, rising on the current of sand beneath him. “About what happened to you. About how you got here.”

  Mitch stared at Howard now. What was the old guy trying to do? This was some kind of a trick. Howard was just trying to confuse him. To keep him from leaving. “He showed me. He told me what happened.”

  Howard raised an eyebrow. “Ah, yes. You were in an accident of some sort.”

&nbs
p; “On my motorcycle.”

  “Yes, yes. You were on your way to pick up… Linda, was it?”

  An image flashed inside Mitch’s head. The lights shining in his face. The headlights coming toward him. “I got hit by a truck.”

  “And now you’re in a hospital. In a coma. Barely clinging to life.”

  Mitch said, “He told me all of that.”

  “Did he now?” Howard chuckled softly. “But did he happen to mention who was driving the truck?”

  62

  AT LONG LAST, Devon pulled into the hospital parking lot in Winthrop Harbor. His palms were sweating, his heart pounding.

  Pale Man sat in the back, humming a song. Devon thought it might’ve been “Hotel California” but he couldn’t be sure.

  Pale Man had led him on an erratic, seemingly haphazard route up from the city through the northern suburbs and nearly to the Wisconsin border. They had avoided most of the major highways, partly to evade police, but also to avoid any of Karenga’s people who were most certainly out searching for him. They had occasionally hidden the car in several construction sites and parking lots for up to an hour at a time before continuing on. It was as if Pale Man knew where every police cruiser in the greater Chicagoland area was located at any given time and he was meticulously directing Devon to avoid each one.

  As the day wore on, Pale Man himself was growing increasingly irritable. He kept referring to other “projects” he had going on and an overall schedule he needed to keep. Like he was some corporate executive with all kinds of irons in the fire.

  Devon’s mouth was dry as he and Pale Man slipped across the lot toward the hospital. “So, man, how am I supposed to kill this guy? A gun won’t exactly be subtle.”

  Pale Man snorted. “Use your imagination, chief. The gun was for your protection. Just in case we ran into any cops or other unsavory types. Our friend is in a vegetative state. I don’t think it’ll take much.”

  “How am I supposed to get up to his room? They ain’t gonna let me just walk in and see him.”