by Bryan Smith
Karen said, “No shit.”
Alicia sniffed. “Well, damn, I guess I’m just a dumb-ass bitch, ‘cause I don’t know what the hell y’all are talkin’ about.” Her hand came away from Dream’s neck. “So maybe one of you should spell it out for my clueless black ass.”
Dream looked at Alicia. “How far do you think we’ve come since we left the interstate?”
Alicia shrugged. “Ten miles? Maybe a little more?”
Dream shook her head. “Try more than twenty.”
She let the information sink in for a moment before continuing. “And when was the last time you drove this far off an interstate exit without seeing an Exxon or a Holiday Inn? Even in a sparsely populated area there ought to be something. A mom-and-pop motel, a general store where you can buy gas and live bait, something.” She paused and noticed the way Alicia’s attention was riveted to her now. “But there’s been nothing, and I do mean nothing. There haven’t been any other cars. There haven’t been any road signs, either. No road signs. No billboards. Nothing.”
There was another moment of silence. An oppressive silence. They could almost feel the night closing in around them. Alicia’s voice was uncharacteristically shrill when she said, “So what are you saying?” There was some anger in her voice, but there was also something very much like the beginning of real fear. “Because you can’t be saying what I think you’re saying.”
Karen laughed without humor. “You bet your ass she is.”
Alicia chortled. “So that was exit 666 back there, huh? We’ve driven off into another dimension.” Another pause; another disdainful chuckle. “Bullshit! That wasn’t the Tennessee portal to the Bermuda goddamn Triangle! You’re both letting your stressed-out imaginations get the better of you.”
“Nobody’s getting worked up, Alicia.” Dream spoke in measured, calm tones. “All I’m saying is, we’re lost in a very rural area. We’ve got maybe a quarter tank of gas. A little less, actually. I don’t know about either of you, but the thought of being stranded out here for the night scares the shit out of me.”
Alicia seemed to relax now that one of her friends was sounding sane again. “Look …” She sighed. “I bet the gas will hold out long enough to get us to help. A quarter tank will get us, what, another forty to fifty miles down the road?” She laughed. “I can’t imagine all this nothing going on another fifty goddamn miles. Can you?”
Dream didn’t want to imagine that. “No.” She shook her head and released a shuddering sigh. “Definitely not.”
Karen snorted. “Nice cop-out, Dream. Well, little Ms. Diplomacy, you’ll have to excuse me, but my own humble opinion is that we’re fucked.”
Alicia rolled her eyes at Dream, a conspiratorial gleam there. Dream didn’t acknowledge the expression beyond a subtle shrug. She didn’t want to rock the boat, not when she believed steady and reliable Alicia was the crucial linchpin keeping them afloat. But she secretly sided with her other friend.
Something wasn’t right out here.
Something unnatural.
Alicia, however, was a confirmed skeptic. She was unable to keep the snide tone out of her voice when she said, “And your opinion has been duly noted, dear.” She winked at Dream. “But I think we should press on now. You up to driving, Dream?”
Dream wasn’t at all sure about that-her stomach still did a little flutter every few seconds-but she didn’t want to relinquish control of her own car to anybody else. The feel of the wheel beneath her hands was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.
“Yes.” The word was a barely audible hiss.
Alicia squinted at her. “You sure?”
Dream answered by twisting the key in the ignition, putting the car in gear, and pulling away from the shoulder of the road. She put the accelerator to the floor for a moment and quickly achieved a good escape velocity. She eased off the pedal after the Accord screeched around a hairpin turn. Karen, who wasn’t buckled in, swayed from one side of the car to the other.
Alicia said, “Jesus Christ, girl!”
Karen groaned. “Damn, Dream, who’d you bribe at the DMV to get your license?”
Dream felt another surge of embarrassment. “Sorry, guys.” There was a plaintive tone in her voice, an unspoken plea that they not be too mad at her. “I’m just a little jumpy, I guess.”
Alicia shook her head and rubbed at red-rimmed eyes. “Ain’t we all?”
They drove on without speaking for a while. The swooping road traced the winding curve of a mountain. The air was getting thinner, making their ears pop. Dream put on the Accord’s brights each time they neared a particularly hazardous loop of road, always cutting off the high beam after just a moment or two for fear of blinding the drivers of cars coming from the opposite direction.
Dream tried not to think about how pointless the precaution was becoming.
They had the dark mountain road to themselves.
Alicia cleared her throat. “Sorry to dredge this subject up yet again, but you guys have to see my point by now.”
Her voice sounded cheerier than it had for some time. Something about Alicia’s lighthearted tone disturbed Dream, something that hinted of a growing, quiet desperation.
She was careful with her response. “What… do you mean?”
“This.” A wave of her hand made it clear she was talking about something outside the car, and her tone indicated what she meant should be obvious. “All this.”
Dream frowned. “Um …”Whatever was so apparent to Alicia remained a mystery to her. “Alicia, I don’t get it.”
Karen said, “Ditto.”
Alicia made a sound of exasperation. “Jesus, are you both blind?” She rolled her eyes. “The road. Look at it. That’s asphalt. Those yellow stripes running down the middle, one solid, one broken at regular intervals, those are paint.”
And this, Dream thought, is a study in condescension. “No kidding. Your point?”
Another roll of the eyes. “No need to be snide, Dream. I’m only trying to point out the good news all around us.”
Karen erupted. “Stop talking in goddamn circles!”
Alicia winced. “I’m not-“
“Yes, you are,” Karen continued, quieter now. “And not so long ago you were the one wanting things spelled out for you in big block letters. Please, I’m begging you, show us the same courtesy, because we don’t know what you’re babbling about.”
A look of hurt flashed across Alicia’s face. “I’m giving you something solid to focus on, something we should all find reassuring.” She nodded at the road. “This road was paved by men. A road crew working a government contract. That paint was put down by man-operated machines. Same with the guardrails.” She flashed a grin at Dream. “Can you see the state of Tennessee making room in its budget to pave the road to hell?” A laugh, vaguely derisive, stuttered out of her mouth. “I think not.”
It sounded good. Alicia’s argument was a sensible one. But the road kept unfurling before them, a faded gray ribbon walled in on both sides by dense stretches of forest, and the absence of fellow travelers out here in the mountain darkness remained ominous.
Karen said, “Shouldn’t we have run into Chad by now?”
Dream gasped. “Oh, shit. You’re right.”
She’d been so wrapped up in their immediate dilemma she’d forgotten about her suddenly estranged friend, but now awareness of his absence ratcheted up the fear consuming her yet another excruciating notch.
Alicia stiffened beside her, but she didn’t say anything. The stark fact of his disappearance seemed to disturb her into silence. Understandable. Despite everything-the betrayals and harsh words exchanged-Dream found herself worried about Chad.
She began to scan the sides of the road more closely.
Looking for a body.
Goddamn you, she thought.
Where are you, Chad?
He wouldn’t have returned to the interstate, not with the prospect of a hotel room and a bed tempting them all in the other direction. He was on
foot, so they should have seen him already. Maybe whatever had gotten to Shane had gotten to him. Dream thought of the scrawny boy he’d been when she rescued him from the clutches of those jock assholes. He wasn’t much bigger now. compared to Shane, who’d been big indeed, he was a human toothpick.
The image of Shane’s ravaged body came to her again.
She tried not to cry.
She might have been sick again, but a flash of inspiration drove the unpleasant images from her head. She pressed the radio’s power button, turned up the volume, and said, “Karen, you grew up around here. In the area we think we’re in, I mean. Can you remember which radio station had the clearest, most powerful signal?”
Karen didn’t hesitate. “Rock 106, if it’s still around-106.7.”
Dream tuned the radio to the frequency, turned the volume up some more, and said, “So right about now Metallica ought to be piercing our eardrums.”
“Yeah.”
Alicia said, “Girl hasn’t lived here in ten years. The goddamn radio station probably isn’t on the air anymore.”
Dream put the radio on scan. “Watch.”
The digital display moved from one end of the spectrum to the other. Then again. And again. There was nothing to lock on. No static. No faintly heard signal. Dream turned it off. “What do you make of that, Alicia?”
Alicia shrugged. “It’s obviously defective.”
Dream groaned inwardly.
Pull your head out of the fucking sand, she thought.
She said, “It’s not defective. And the radio was on before we left the interstate.” She wasn’t arguing anymore, was just stating irrefutable facts, and her voice had grown quiet. She was scaring herself. “And we should’ve seen Chad.”
Alicia pursed her lips. Her brow furrowed. She sighed. “Look, I’m not conceding anything here. There’re reasonable explanations for everything going on.”
Karen laughed. “You bet, Scully.”
“You didn’t let me finish.” Dream, who had been slightly annoyed with her friend’s oblivious attitude, detected a return of reason in her tone now. “Yes, I’m a skeptic. That said, I think enough is enough. We should turn around and head back to the interstate. We’re not accomplishing anything by staying out here and freaking each other out.”
Dream glanced at the fuel gauge. “That’s not an option anymore.”
The needle was already at a dangerously low level, and it dipped a little lower as she looked at it. Another increment lower and they would be running on fumes.
Alicia leaned over to have a look. Concern-and maybe the beginnings of true panic-creased her brow. “Aw, shit.”
Karen groaned. “We’re about to be stranded, aren’t we?”
Alicia settled back in her seat. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“This can’t be happening.” Karen’s voice edged closer to a whine. “Why isn’t there anything at all out here?”
Dream put the Accord’s brights on again and took the car around another curve. The smooth glide of tires on paved road came to an abrupt end, and they were jouncing up and down in their seats as the car rumbled over the ruts of a dirt road. The road still wound through dense stands of trees, but the darkness was no longer quite so impenetrable.
The car’s interior resounded with gasps and shouts.
Dream detected a twinkle of light through the trees.
She cleared her throat. “Hey, guys-“
“Turn us around!” Karen yelled. “Fuck getting us back to the interstate-just get us the hell out of here.”
But Dream took the car around another bend in the road, and the light through the trees grew brighter. The road rose around the mountain at a steep angle, and when they entered a straightaway, they saw a gleam in the middle of a large clearing, barely visible over a hill. Dream pushed the accelerator to the floor again, and the car held steady on the hardpacked dirt.
Alicia gripped her shoulder. “Dream? What the fuck is wrong with you? Turn us around, or so help me-“
The Accord crested the hill and the terrain leveled out.
Karen whistled. “Will you look at that?”
They looked.
The protest at the tip of Alicia’s tongue went unspoken.
The Master’s house loomed before them. An array of klieg lights illuminated its exterior. As they neared the house, a big stone mansion, Dream’s friends reiterated their desire to flee this place, but their pleas barely registered. Dream was looking at the Doric columns rising from the ends of a long porch and bracketing a big balcony that overlooked the front yard.
It was imposing.
A grim sentinel hunched against the mountain.
And yet…
Dream experienced a moment of vivid prescience.
A frisson of familiarity.
She had never seen this house before, had never glimpsed its gambrel roof and gabled windows, but this first peek elicited an odd-and undeniable-feeling.
She felt as if she belonged here.
As if she needed to be here.
She drove on.
The man behind the desk possessed the aloof air of every coolly efficient bureaucrat Chad had ever encountered. He was tall and thin, gaunt-looking, with bony hands and the dark, predatory eyes of a wolf. He wore a black suit over a crisp white shirt and a narrow black tie, the sort of ensemble an undertaker might wear. His bored expression managed to convey impatience, disdain, and haughty superiority all at the same time.
“So,” he said, addressing Cindy in an oily, insinuating voice that made Chad think of Peter Lorre. “I have before me a petition for emancipation .” He nodded at Cindy. “And you, I understand, are the party petitioning for emancipation.”
Cindy nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The man, who Chad had gathered was a warden of sorts, chuckled without humor. “And what have you done to merit this privilege?”
“I’ve served The Master well for three years.”
Cindy strode closer to the warden’s desk. The armed guards flanking the desk watched her with suspicion. This, after all, was a woman who’d just physically subdued and murdered a man in her cell. She made them uncomfortable, anxious and edgy, but Cindy seemed oblivious to the danger.
She indicated Chad with a nod. “I have an endorsement from Overlord Gonzo, and this one can take my spot in his herd.”
The warden lifted a single sheet of smudged paper off his desk, glanced at it, and flashed those predatory eyes at Cindy. “Do you mean this endorsement? Signed, I see, by your owner and several witnesses.”
Cindy’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. Everything should be in order.”
Chad could not believe what he was hearing. They were speaking in very rational, measured tones-civilized tones-about things medieval and barbaric. The warden’s office added to this perception. It was a large, dimly lit room with an absurdly high ceiling. The desk was the only piece of furniture in the room. The walls were painted a dark green. Chad thought of hospital walls. Prison walls. Institutional walls. Images from movies. The world of make-believe was the only apt frame of reference, he decided. This place was just too surreal. He noticed a coiled hose attached to a spigot in one corner of the room and a rust-flecked drain set in the floor below it. His gaze shifted from the drain to a set of shackles and chains affixed to wall mounts. Then he saw the coiled whip that hung from a peg behind the desk.
He began to tremble.
The warden’s thin lips formed a wet slit of a smile, and he held the piece of paper so Cindy could see it clearly, gripping the upper corners with the thumbs and forefingers of his hands. The multiple signatures were legible from where Chad stood.
The warden tore the piece of paper down the middle, then folded the separate pieces together and tore them again.
And again.
Cindy shook with silent rage.
The man pursed his lips and stared hard at her over steepled fingers. “Oops, I seem to have misplaced it.”
Chad’s mouth opened in an astonished expressi
on of righteous disbelief. He couldn’t believe the audacity of this man. He wanted to say something, to protest, but could think of nothing that wouldn’t sound foolish or naive. He was clearly in a place where the normal rules of decorum didn’t apply. Hell, rules at all didn’t seem to apply. Apparently, if you occupied a position of power in this place, you could just make them up as you went along. Chad’s tolerance level for brazen abuses of authority had always been low, but there seemed no means of recourse here.
They were at this man’s mercy.
Whose distinguishing characteristic seemed to be a lack thereof.
Cindy began to move toward the desk. The tall man’s eyes widened slightly, but he was never in any real danger. A guard interceded, clamping massive hands around her upper arms. She struggled in his grip, realized instantly it was useless, and gave up.
“This is wrong,” she whispered. “Wrong, wrong, wrong.”
Chad despaired at the defeated tone in her voice. It was disheartening to see someone so strong and so spirited beaten so easily. He didn’t much care for what it seemed to portend for him, either, which was total subjugation. He was no coward, but he was self-aware enough to know he was likely no match for anyone down here.
The tall man made a tsk-tsk noise and shook his head. “Such a stupid cunt.” He smirked. “You should know better than to threaten your betters.”
He pushed away from the desk and stood up. Chad was unable to suppress a gasp. The man was even taller than he’d guessed. NBA tall. He removed his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair, then he unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves and rolled the sleeves up.
The smirk deepened, becoming a sneer. “I shall administer your punishment myself.” He licked his lips, again causing Chad to think of a wolf. A wolf about to descend upon a gaggle of undefended chickens. “Twenty lashes.” He chuckled. “No, thirty!”
He removed the whip from the peg, uncoiled it, and snapped it against the floor with a crisp flick of the wrist. He nodded at the guard holding Cindy. “Prepare her.”
The guard pushed her toward the corner Chad now realized functioned as a sort of bare-bones torture chamber. He looked at the drain and the coiled hose again. A shiver went through him. The curiously equipped corner likely served a dual purpose. Torture was just the first phase of punishment. Perhaps, if you were lucky, the only phase. The second phase was certainly execution. The hose was a heavy-gauge one. It could be turned on the prisoner as an additional element of torture, but Chad believed its primary purpose was to drive blood and tissue down the scummy drain.
