Thunder Road

by Thorne, Tamara

  That’s when he spotted the Bronco turning in to the Madland lot.

  He drove past, then pulled over. No one else was on the road, so he doused his headlights and hung a U-turn, then cruised back to the lot and parked across the road in the shadows of a road sign.

  The Bronco parked under a sodium light, making it easy to confirm that it was Alex Manderley who exited the vehicle. A moment later, one of the small gates opened and Carlo Pelegrine came out. Alex handed him something, a bottle of wine maybe, and the two went through the gate. He heard Carlo relock it.

  He’s gonna do her! Excited, Justin briefly considered going to spy, but common sense won out and he decided he’d have to come back later, after he’d taken care of his own business.

  78

  Tom Abernathy

  IT WAS FULL DARK NOW, AND THERE WAS NO DOUBT ABOUT IT, Tom was mightily worried about Marie Lopez.

  In the stable the sheep bleated hungrily, and Tom rose from the glider, stretching and twisting. He left the porch just as thunder cracked in his ears and vibrated under his feet. As he trotted toward the stable, lightning, strobelike, briefly lit his path. He paused, sniffing the air, smelling the coming rain.

  “Marie, where the heck are you?” he muttered, unlocking the stable and going inside to feed the flock and the dogs.

  The job didn’t take too long, and he soon returned to the open door and listened. He had thought he heard the whine of engines while he was doing the feed, and now he caught it again, faint but real, to the north. As he stared at the mountains, three helicopters rose above the ridge that hid Rattlesnake Canyon. Spotlights moved back and forth beneath them, and suddenly they clicked off and the choppers banked and flew away to the northeast.

  Marie’s in that canyon. The thought hit him with such jolting force that he immediately locked the stable, then went to the corral and freed Belle.

  The crescent moon shone brightly to the southeast, and the going was easy at first: east on Thunder Road, then north up the trail into the Madelyns. When he reached the hills, he had to choose between the easy but slow, winding sheep path and the steep but direct hiking trail. After only a moment’s hesitation, he decided there was enough moonlight and too little time before the storm to take the safer trail. He turned Belle and began the ascent, Tom fighting his impatience to let the horse decide the safest speed.

  79

  Carlo Pelegrine

  DINNER HAD GONE BETTER THAN HE EVER EXPECTED, THE FOOD delicious and the conversation easy, and now Carlo and Alex sat on the sofa across from the fireplace, sharing a bottle of merlot and watching the flames lick and flicker around the logs. Carlo was especially pleased that, though he was fascinated by Alex’s flawless skin, and had spent the evening so far in a nearly constant state of mild arousal, he felt little of the old, dangerous fire in his blood.

  “Carlo, you’re an incredible chef,” Alex told him. “Where did you learn to cook like that?”

  “I worked as a chef for a time before I came here.”

  Sipping her wine, she smiled at him. “Where did you grow up? What sort of child were you?”

  A knot of anxiety formed in his stomach. Had he actually believed she wouldn’t ask these questions? He knew better than that, and now, as he looked at her, he didn’t want to lie, but he couldn’t afford to tell the truth. “I was a quiet, nerdy kid,” he said finally. “Nothing the least bit interesting. What about you?”

  “Me?” She laughed. “The same. Quiet and shy. When I was a little girl, all I wanted was a telescope and science fiction books, so all the other girls thought I was weird.”

  “What about the boys?”

  “I was taller than all of them. And smarter. It was a deadly combination.” She hesitated, her smile fading. “Then there was the racial problem. My dad was an African-American air force officer stationed in London when he met my mother, who’s English, French, and Japanese. The combination wasn’t good for my social life.”

  “You don’t sound bitter.”

  “I’m not. My parents were—are—incredibly supportive, so no one ever quite convinced me that there was anything truly wrong with me—but I knew other people thought so.” She sipped her wine. “I remember reading a science fiction story when I was about eleven or twelve. It took place in the future, and all the races were mixed so that everyone was a sort of tan color. I read that story over and over because the heroine was described as looking very much as I did. It made me feel proud instead of ashamed.” She paused. “I loved science fiction stories about aliens, too. I always identified with them.”

  “I often feel like an alien myself,” Carlo agreed, “although I don’t quite understand racial tension,” Carlo began. “My parents sent me to church—Catholic, naturally—but it never completely took. I’d think a lot about why we were here, and what God was. No one’s answers ever satisfied me. I mean, can you imagine going and sitting around on a cloud playing a harp all day, or spending eternity shoveling hot coals for the devil?”

  Alex laughed. “No, I can’t. Those are human inventions. ‘We can know what God is not, but we cannot know what He is.’”

  “Saint Augustine,” Carlo said, smiling. “More wine?”

  “Please.” She held out her glass. “So what do you believe?”

  “As I started delving into other philosophies, I became more and more sold on reincarnation—not the kind where you come back as an insect, but the kind that answers the big question, ‘Why are we here?’ to my satisfaction.” He took a deep breath. “Christianity bothered me because it made no mention of reincarnation, whereas it’s an integral part of virtually all other religions. Then I found out that way back when, the Church removed a number of items from the Bible that they didn’t want the common folk to know. Reincarnation was among them.”

  “Reincarnation takes power away from organized religion,” Alex agreed. “It maintains that you’re responsible for yourself, instead of groveling on your knees to a God defined by power-hungry humans who run a church that will forgive you if you turn over enough of your income and play by their rules.”

  An overwhelming surge of affection washed over Carlo, and without thinking, he edged closer to her. Their shoulders and thighs touched, and she made no move to pull away. “You sound like you buy reincarnation yourself,” he said.

  “If I buy anything.” She set her glass down, leaning forward. “As a scientist, I’m naturally a skeptic, and I’m not willing to commit completely to anything I can’t prove. Like the UFOs. I believe they exist, partly because of reports from unimpeachable sources, primarily because I’ve seen them. But I can’t take the opinion of the majority of enthusiasts and say that I believe the phenomena are from another planet, because there’s no way to know. Even if I saw the creatures or walked on a craft, I couldn’t pronounce they were not of the earth because there’s no proof. They might be other-dimensional. They might be angels, fairies, leprechauns, or all of them, for Pete’s sake, or they might be a glitch in a Jungian cosmic consciousness.”

  She sat back and smiled. “I guess my point is that there’s never been a time when I didn’t live for information, and I’ve always felt that, for me at least, learning and growing is the primary purpose of life. How could we learn much of anything in just one go-round at this, in just one sort of body?”

  “It’s a strong argument. It explains the differences between people.” He paused. “Their soul ages, if you will. I have several clients who come to me for advice, and it’s frightening because they have utter faith in what I say. If they were into an organized religion, then they would be the ones who believed everything the church says, no questions asked.”

  “That kind of faith is silly,” Alex said. “And frightening.”

  “I know.”

  “How do you handle such responsibility?” Alex asked, refilling their glasses. “It would scare me to death.”

  “It scares me at times. I try to convince them that the Golden Rule—endemic to every religion—is the one
we should live by. And I try to keep their glasses half-full. Most of the searchers who come to me have half-empty ones.”

  “That’s nice, really nice. Do you ever make mistakes?”

  “With. clients in general? I’m sure I make some, but I try my best not to. I never preach negatives.”

  “What about with your own life?” Alex asked. “I mean, if we’re here to grow, that automatically means making mistakes. Do you have any regrets?”

  He studied her dark fathomless eyes, knowing now that she wouldn’t pry if he gave her some truth. “Three. And you?”

  “One or two.” She broke eye contact, obviously uneasy.

  “Would you like me to read your palm now?”

  “Yes, please,” she said, her voice relieved.

  Carlo put his glass aside and took the hand she proffered. His own hands trembled as they touched her skin, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “A lovely hand, full of life,” he murmured, lightly running two fingers across the heart line, the life line. “Full of love.”

  She looked at him. “Familial or romantic?”

  “Both.” It occurred to him that she might think he was handing her a line, so he pointed out to her the configurations of her palm that told him these things.

  “I love my work,” Alex said. “But I haven’t had any romantic interests in many, many years, and I know there won’t be any in the future. I wasn’t cut out for it.”

  “It’s the same with me.”

  “I gave up romance,” Alex said softly, “because I always hurt those I loved.”

  Carlo’s hand shook so badly that he had to let go of hers. He nodded, his throat too dry. “Me too,” he whispered. “How long has it been for you?”

  She hesitated. “Ten years.”

  “Not so long,” he replied softly. “It’s been twenty for me.”

  She tilted her head slightly as she gazed at him. “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  “I don’t know why I accepted your invitation, Carlo. I shouldn’t have.”

  “And I shouldn’t have extended it,” he whispered, “but I couldn’t help it.”

  “Neither could I.” She looked down at her hands. “All that reincarnation talk. Maybe we’ve known one another before. Been lovers . . .” She laughed lightly, a false sound.

  He barely heard her last words, they were so soft. All he knew was that he had to break the growing tension before it killed him. “I, ah, think I should clear the table,” he announced as he rose. “I hate leaving dirty dishes in plain sight.”

  She smiled. “I’ll help you.”

  “No, relax. This will only take a few minutes. Why don’t you check out my bookcase.”

  “I can’t resist an offer like that.” Her smile was relaxed and she stood and crossed to the wall of books.

  As he stacked the last dish in the sink, he knocked a paring knife off the kitchen counter and, without thinking, swooped his hand down to catch it before it hit the floor. “Gotcha,” he whispered, then felt the sting as the blade bit into his fingertip. Dropping the knife in the sink, he turned the water on to wash the blood away, but he must have hit a small artery because the wound welled scarlet again and began dripping.

  “Damn.” He snagged a paper towel and wrapped it around the finger while he looked in the cupboard for his box of Band-Aids. He found it, opened it, and saw that it was empty. “Damn.” There was another box in the bathroom, but he didn’t want Alex to see what he’d done—he felt clumsy and stupid—so he wrapped the towel tighter and walked quickly through the living room, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

  But she turned, a book in hand, then saw the towel. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “It’s nothing. Just a little cut. A Band-Aid will fix it right up.”

  She stepped closer to him, a fathomless look in her eyes. “Let me see,” she whispered.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “I’m a doctor.”

  He grinned. “Of astrophysics.”

  She smiled back, her pupils huge now. “Picky, picky.”

  She gently took his hand in hers and led him back to the sofa. They sat, and she began unwrapping the finger slowly, so slowly.

  She paused for several seconds when she got down to the bloodstain, then finished unwrapping the finger and set the towel aside. Blood oozed sluggishly from the cut as she studied it. She dabbed the blood away with the towel, then slowly lifted her head to meet his eyes. “I’ll kiss it and make it better.”

  He couldn’t read her, had no idea what to say except, “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, I do. I was thinking about what you said, that we’re here to grow. There’s more to life than books.” Holding his hand in both of hers, she brought the wounded finger to her lips. And kissed it. Then she looked up at him, his blood dotting her lips, and finally he recognized in her a lust akin to his own. She parted her lips and the tip of her tongue appeared to cleanse the blood from them.

  Carlo shuddered as her mouth closed around the tip of his extended finger. He felt her tongue tickling his flesh, then she slipped the digit deeper and deeper into her warm mouth, until she made love to the entire finger. As she sucked, moving her soft lips up and down, swirling her tongue, Carlo lost track of everything but the sensations of her mouth and of her other hand, resting firmly against his erection.

  He lifted his free hand to her shoulder, feeling, touching, then up to her neck. He nuzzled under her hair, kissing her skin, tasting it, as a connoisseur tastes wine, lost in the heady aroma and flavor.

  His last victim hadn’t been nearly so sweet.

  “Oh, God,” he cried, pulling away, his erection shriveling. “No! I can’t!”

  Alex let go of his finger and jerked away too. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “I don’t understand,” he began, knowing he’d hurt her.

  “I’ve always been afraid of my own passion. I’ve tried to kill it, but it never quite dies. Maybe it shouldn’t.”

  “Why are you afraid of your passion?” Carlo asked gently.

  She smiled bitterly. “I guess I’m a control freak and I can’t stand losing control. I’d better go before I lose it again.”

  She started to rise, but he pulled her back down. “No. Alex, I’ve never desired anyone as I do you.”

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but stared at her lap. “Sometimes my fantasies scare me,” she said, her voice a whisper. “That’s why I ended all my relationships. I wanted too much.” She looked up at last. “And romance and career don’t go together. I learned not to even think about relationships . . . until I met you. Now I can’t seem to get sex off my mind. Do you want me to leave?”

  He took her hands in his, so overwhelmed that he could barely find his voice. “No. I don’t want you to leave, Alexandra. When you say you’re afraid of your passion, what is it exactly that scares you?”

  “Hurting my partner.”

  “Physically?” he asked, surprised.

  She smiled slightly. “Mentally and physically. What I did just now, for instance. Blood is dangerous. AIDS, infections. When I want something, I stop thinking. I just act.”

  “What you don’t realize is that I understand. My reasons for abstinence aren’t so different from yours.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I, well, when I was a child, I loved to spread glue on my hands, let it dry, then peel it off. I’d do the same thing when I got sunburned. I have a fetish for skin.” And by the way, I murdered three women. “My passion is like yours. It takes me over. It’s something—well, I just can’t talk about it. Alex, you should leave now, and never come back.”

  “Do you want me to leave?” she asked quietly.

  “No.” He hesitated. “But it’s dangerous for you to stay.”

  “Could you really be that bad?”

  “Worse than I can tell you. I could lose control.”

  “So could I,” Alex said. “Do you think . . .”

 
“Think what?” he prompted.

  “That self-control comes with age?”

  “It’s true that we’re not teenagers anymore,” he said slowly.

  She blushed and studied her hands. “When I was nineteen, I got so carried away that I bit my boyfriend. He had to have stitches.”

  “Um, bit him where?” he asked carefully.

  Her laughter broke the tension. “His arm! When I was twenty-three and in love, something like that happened again, so I gave up men. Even when I didn’t lose control, relationships were hard. I don’t mean to, but I seem to intimidate men. They all want to compete with my job for my attention.”

  Carlo took her hand. Her sins were nothing compared to his, yet she seemed to feel them so much. “I’m not intimidated,” he said gently.

  “Carlo?” Alex asked, taking his hand. “Do you have any candles?”

  He nodded, puzzled.

  She brought his cut finger to her lips and kissed it gently. “And matches?”

  Trembling, he nodded again.

  “Where?”

  “In the linen closet, middle shelf on the left.”

  She rose and walked toward the hallway closet, then turned back to look at him. “I think you’ll enjoy this,” she told him. “Very much.”

  He didn’t know whether her words thrilled or terrified him.

  80

  Tom Abernathy

  “DON’T MOVE, MISTER,” MARIE LOPEZ WHISPERED FIERCELY.

  Tom heard her rifle cock very close to his head. “Don’t shoot,” he whispered. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

  “Tom! Christ!” she hissed from the darkness beneath the rocky outcropping. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  “The feeling’s mutual.”

  “Shhh! Come on. Get under here, quick! Belle too.”

  The thin moonlight caught her face briefly and he saw just how spooked she really was. He peered into the darkness of the cavelike overhang and realized that he could hear, but not see, Rex somewhere behind her. “I tethered Belle in that copse of Joshuas on the other side of the ridge,” he told her as she took his arm and led him into the darkness. “The moon’s too far gone to cast much light, and I sorta figured you might be here.”