Premonitions

by Jamie Schultz

  Karyn ran through the short list of people who might help her. There was Benny, if she could find him. Crystal and Deke, maybe. If they didn’t feel like shooting her instead. There was—

  Another phone went off, this one a few tables away. It offered a shrill, out-of-time counterpoint to the nasal Beethoven still coming from the first one.

  A woman walked by the front window—thin, rangy, with chin-length dark hair and a faded jean jacket. Anna. Karyn hunkered down in her seat, dropped her head forward, and covered her face. I can’t deal with this. I don’t have to deal with this. Why now? She peeked out between her fingers.

  It wasn’t Anna at all. Didn’t look remotely like her, in fact, other than the jacket. This woman’s hair was a stringy blond, her build not as spare.

  A third phone started ringing, then a fourth, then several more joined in. It was becoming impossible to hear the voices over the din, yet nobody else seemed bothered.

  Karyn closed her eyes and concentrated on slowing down her breathing. Sometimes that helped. When’s the last time I took my medicine? She ran back the calendar in her head. What was today? Saturday? Hadn’t she taken the last of the stuff just the day before yesterday? Could it already be this bad?

  No wonder she had somehow failed to leave town. In the back of her mind, the sensible part of her had insisted she keep close to her supplier. Still, that wasn’t going to do her any good with twenty-six bucks to her name, less the cost of breakfast. She’d be making snowmen in Hell before Adelaide would spot her on credit.

  Another deep breath. The nagging ringtones diminished in volume, though there was something odd about the sound that didn’t reassure her at all. The sounds became muffled, swallowed, rather than simply switching off or decreasing in volume.

  Karyn opened her eyes.

  The whole left side of the room had plunged into sucking darkness. The wall on that side was gone, with only blackness in its place, and the blackness exuded darkness and shadow into the room. Close to it, people became vague and indistinct, turning into shadows themselves.

  In the darkness, something writhed.

  Panic threatened to close up Karyn’s throat, to make her heart squeeze into a bloody fist. This isn’t really happening, she reminded herself. It’s a warning of some kind, that’s all.

  The darkness moved forward, swallowing another table. The ringing sounds from over there diminished as the people seated at the table disappeared into the shadow. A woman turned and cast Karyn a look of hatred so severe it made her flinch before the woman faded away.

  The back wall of the diner, the one behind Karyn, sank into blackness. She clutched the edge of the table until her knuckles whitened and her fingers ached.

  This isn’t happening. This is not happening.

  Something—a tentacle, or the wet hand of a rotting cadaver—reached out of the blackness and touched her ankle.

  It was too much. Karyn screamed. The shades in the diner leered. She launched herself from her seat, upending the small table. Glass shattered and cutlery flew, and she felt a faint twinge from the shallow cut in her calf, but she ignored it all as she fled for the door.

  Shouting and noise came from behind her as she flung the door open and ran out onto the sidewalk. She barely stopped herself before she ran into the street. A quick, panicked look around showed her cars speeding past, people shuffling along in the lunch rush, a cop checking the parking meters. Almost normal, except for the way the radios screamed from the cars as they rolled by, except for the way the inside of the diner had become a black cloud inside the window, like a fish tank full of ink.

  A bell jingled, and the door to the diner swung open. Karyn screamed again. Passersby turned to look at her. The women were all Anna, the men all Tommy. He wore the shirt he died in, bloody hole and all.

  She turned to run and collided with a man on the sidewalk. He fell back, an irate expression on his face—and she recognized him. It was Drew, the former cult member they’d put on a bus for Seattle.

  That’s not really him.

  He stepped toward her, and Karyn shrank against a parking meter as he approached.

  “Hey,” he said, “are you OK?”

  Nail walked by, flecked in blood from head to toe. Karyn tried not to stare. “Do I look OK?”

  He paused, a wry grin on his face. “I’ve seen okayer.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I—I get distracted sometimes.” Who the hell is this? She wished the Drew mask would disappear and she could figure out if this was somebody she should be afraid of, or a genuinely concerned passerby who ought to just move on.

  “I got that. The distraction thing, I mean. Are you OK? I mean, do you need some help?”

  She didn’t know how to answer. Behind the man, the black cloud roiled and boiled inside the diner. It was starting to seep out through the cracks around the door, and her eyes were drawn back to it again and again. She feared that it would burst forth when the next person opened the door. Everybody on the street wore the face of somebody she knew, and the cars racing past blasted radios that screamed at her in a foul, loathsome language she couldn’t understand. This was as bad as she’d let it get in years, so, no, she wasn’t OK. But who could help her?

  Besides Adelaide.

  “That’s sweet, but—” A woman—another Anna, of course—reached for the door to the diner, and Karyn cut off the thought. She wanted to shout, to lunge forward, slip past Drew, and tackle the woman before she could unleash whatever was behind Door Number One. But there’s nothing there. Nothing. It’s all in my head. Except . . . maybe the door was a helpful symbol, and maybe the thing would come boiling out and swirl around the Anna-faced woman to engulf Karyn and tear her mind apart. It wasn’t real for anyone else, but it might be real enough to her.

  The door opened, and a black tide, like an oil gusher bubbling up from Hell, flooded out.

  Karyn ran. No pause to think or consider—just pure reaction poured out through her heels.

  A screech of tires ripped the air, followed by the hollow pop of metal banging together, and Karyn’s hip caromed off a car that had barely stopped in time to keep from turning her into a wet smear on the road. She spun, cast a quick look over her shoulder, and kept running. Somebody swore. She didn’t care. She hit the sidewalk on the other side of the street and kept going.

  Ten steps and she stumbled over an Anna in bag lady drag, hauling a rusted red wagon. Four more and she bounced off a Tommy, blood on his hands up to the elbows, then a Genevieve. She stumbled, pitched forward, and fell to the sidewalk, erasing the skin from her palms—but she caught herself before her face hit.

  “Jesus, are you OK?”

  She pushed herself to a sitting position and winced as her raw hands scraped the sidewalk. It was Drew. Behind him, no black tide, no Annas or Nails. No Tommys. Something seethed at the mouth of an alley a block or so back, and she shuddered, but it really wasn’t so bad.

  “You asked me that before,” she said, her voice shaking alarmingly. “It depends what you mean by OK.”

  “It was a stupid question both times. Let’s get you to a doctor.”

  Karyn started to her feet. Drew took her arm and helped pull her up. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Pull the other one.”

  “Huh?”

  “Leg. Pull the other leg.”

  “Oh. Right.” She looked distractedly past him, to the alley, and fought the urge to look behind her again.

  Drew sighed. “I don’t mean to be a pain, but I’d feel like a complete asshole if I just left you here. You obviously need some kind of help. A doctor, probably. And, you know—you helped me out before, so it must be my turn.”

  Karyn’s shoulders pulled inward, tense, as though she expected something to attack her from behind. She tried to make them relax, but they weren’t having any of it. This whole scene was a nightmare, and it was
probably going to get a lot worse before it got better—if it ever did get better. It had been years since she’d tried to do this at all, let alone cold turkey.

  “Your turn?”

  “Um, yeah. Maybe you remember—bad scene at the garage? Guns, fire, all that shit?”

  “You’re Drew?”

  He glanced around them. “You know, I was OK with the freaking out, but now you’re really starting to make me nervous.”

  “We put you on a bus.”

  “You put me at a bus station.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t go. I don’t know anywhere else. Tina’s my only family, and she’s here.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I’m crazy?” He twisted his face in a worried, confused half smile. “Look, we need to get you some help.”

  Her normal inclination would have been to tell him where he could stick his help, but this was out of control and getting worse. “OK,” she said, surprising herself a little.

  “OK what?”

  “OK. Take me to get help.”

  “Oh.” Drew frowned, like he was trying to figure out for the first time exactly what that would entail. “You want to follow me in your car, or what?”

  “I don’t drive.”

  He nodded, but, thankfully, didn’t offer any commentary. It didn’t take much imagination to guess that anybody who screamed at phantoms and ran out into the middle of a busy street for no apparent reason probably shouldn’t get behind the wheel of an automobile.

  “Well, uh . . .”

  “You have a car?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Great. There’s somewhere you can take me.”

  Chapter 15

  Anna smoothed out her jacket and tried to slow her breathing. She’d spent all night trying to track down Karyn, with no luck, and finally she’d taken a break. There was other shit that needed doing, even if she couldn’t really concentrate on it. She’d made a couple of phone calls, and she’d been invited to come to Sobell’s club downtown that evening. It was the kind of club that didn’t have a sign out front or flashy lights or even a name, the kind of place you went only when invited—and, if you were smart, you did your best most times not to get invited at all.

  Anna had heard all the stories. Sobell practiced black magic here. A virgin was sacrificed once a month. Nightly orgies were the rule, and the mayor showed up every week to indulge in a kink that, depending on which rumor you believed, fell somewhere between mildly bizarre and downright unholy. Anna’s idea of a good time was a can of Bud and a roomful of slightly drunk, happy, chattering people—sex parties and blood rituals were, generally speaking, right out.

  Yet here she stood. That was the trouble with being the woman who knows somebody who knows somebody. Sometimes the final somebody at the end of the trail of somebodies wanted to meet in person.

  The club took up the top two floors of an office building—an outrageous use of prime office space, but Enoch Sobell could do what he pleased. It had a spectacular view of the city, and, as a bonus, the business district was pretty empty at this time of night. Anna supposed that counted as additional privacy for Sobell’s guests.

  She met a security guard at the loading dock near the building’s back entrance. The guy checked her ID against a list, mumbled a few words into a headset, and opened the door.

  “Straight back. Take the elevator to forty-eight.” He didn’t frisk her or anything. Rather than take comfort in that, Anna found it unsettling. The guy probably knew she was unarmed, whether through a hidden X-ray scanner in the doorframe or through more occult means. Or maybe he was just relying on Anna’s reputation for not being crazy or stupid.

  The door clicked shut behind her, and she swallowed thickly. Panic threatened to break loose, and she was suddenly convinced that the door was locked. She pushed the bar and it opened.

  The security guard looked at her, annoyed. “What?”

  “Uh, is there a bathroom?”

  The guy shook his head in the universal you sad asshole gesture. “Upstairs. Forty-eighth floor.”

  “Thanks.” Anna let the door shut again. The only light in here came from the white-and-red exit sign hanging above the door and the glowing green buttons of the elevator controls ahead. She fiddled with her jacket again, then crossed the short hall and hit the UP button.

  The elevator doors slid open immediately, letting out a flood of low red light. Anna guessed that the inside of the car was originally supposed to be some kind of chic ultracontemporary design, all mirrors and chrome, but the red light edging the top and bottom bathed it in a sick, bloody radiance that turned her stomach. All the reflective surfaces just made it worse.

  She got in and pushed the button for forty-eight. The elevator rocketed upward fast enough to upset her already queasy stomach, and she wondered for a moment if she would throw up. That would look fucking great. Step out into Enoch Sobell’s private club with puke on my shirt. Maybe they’d shoot me for lowering the tone.

  Perversely, the thought helped her get control of herself. By the time the car started to slow, she was standing straight and she felt almost steady again. Still, she wished Karyn were there to tell her what to expect, let her know that everything was going to be all right.

  Except it’s not.

  The doors opened.

  Anna’s heart rate shot up, and she could feel the pounding in her chest, but when she looked out, the only shocking thing was how normal everything seemed. Expensive, yes, but normal. The whole floor was open, affording a nice view of the city from anywhere in the single huge room. White marble covered the floor, and tables so black they looked like holes dotted the space. A round bar area occupied a space just off the room’s center.

  There was nobody in the whole place.

  She stepped out of the elevator and scanned the room again. With nobody in evidence, she decided to head toward the bar and wait. Maybe somebody would come around and get her. Yeah, and take me up to the forty-ninth floor, where all the black magic and sacrificing takes place.

  The bar was empty, too, so she sat on a stool and spun to look out at the city. No sound disturbed the silence, and after a few minutes alone Anna felt her mind returning to its well-worn track. Where the hell was Karyn? Was she OK? With every passing hour, Anna’s anxiety worsened, and the likelihood that Karyn had gotten herself in real trouble increased.

  She’s not a child, Anna reminded herself. But Anna’d been looking out for her for so long, it was hard to imagine how Karyn would get by alone.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hard soles clicking on marble. She turned. The lights were low, but the big man in the expensive suit was hard to mistake.

  Greaser came over to the bar. He didn’t sit.

  “Drink?” he asked.

  Anna dredged up a halfhearted smile. “I’m on the clock.”

  Greaser nodded. “Mr. Sobell’s used to getting what he wants,” he said abruptly, leaving the subject of drinks to die in the dirt. “The way he wants it.”

  “That’s what I’m here about.”

  “I hired you because you have—had—a reputation for being discreet.”

  That drink sounded better by the second. “This job was an exception,” she admitted. “But we got it done.”

  Greaser put his hands in his pants pockets and stared down at Anna. “Who do you think recommended you clowns to Mr. Sobell? What idiot put his own reputation on the line getting you this rather lucrative job?”

  Anna groaned.

  “That’s right. You made me look like a fuckup. I probably don’t need to tell you how much I hate looking like a fuckup.”

  “No.”

  More silence. Greaser’s face loomed like a planet, blocking out most of Anna’s vision. Sweat trickled down her sides.

  “So,” Greaser said. “You have it now?”

  �
��Not on me.”

  A muscle bunched in Greaser’s jaw. “No shit. But you do have it.”

  “Yes.”

  Greaser got right in Anna’s face. The smell coming off him was like hot breath blowing from the den of a waking predator. “You’d better not be fucking with me.”

  “No.”

  “Here’s the deal, then. Mr. Sobell wants to talk to you. If you’re lucky and very good, he’ll agree to pay you the original price. What you do with the money after it changes hands is up to you.”

  “Um, OK.”

  “You’re going to give half of it to me. We’ll call it reparations for making me look like a fuckup.”

  There it was—the sucker punch. Anna sucked in a breath. The others were going to be pissed. But what else could she do?

  “OK,” she said. And a million dollars evaporated.

  “Great. Glad we got that straightened out. Let’s go see the boss.”

  They took the stairs, a set of spiraling black risers that was nearly invisible against the backdrop of the city. The antechamber at the top was a square room paneled in strips of ebony that had been polished to a deep luster. Despite the high ceilings and the room’s overall size, the blackness seemed to push in on Anna. She didn’t feel any better when she noticed that the ebony had been carved with thousands of symbols—floor, walls, and ceilings—until the room looked like an oversize version of one of Tommy’s boxes. She felt a pang, and she wished Tommy were here to explain what the hell all this meant. It could have been anything, she figured, from some kind of awful curse to a glorified burglar alarm to nothing more than a rich man’s eccentricities, no more potent than the writing on the side of a cereal box.

  Greaser took her through a pair of oversize double doors—twelve feet, if an inch, and yet Anna still felt the urge to duck her head.

  The next room surprised her. It was almost a normal office, albeit a large one. Soft white carpet covered the floor, and the walls were lined with a warm, reddish-brown wood. Mahogany, maybe. The only odd note was a series of alcoves along the walls, each with a pedestal on which some strange object had been placed. Anna didn’t look too closely, but she saw a heavy, leather-bound book, a chunk of carved stone that looked vaguely Mayan in origin, a dented helm from the Middle Ages, and more. As she walked through the room, she also noticed a total lack of windows.