“I can’t wait to see his lair.”
“It’s on a par with the places we used to stay, back in the old days,” Cole told Sandor. “Remember the flophouses?”
“Easy feeds,” Sandor commented.
“Yes. But the flophouses were full of people. Royal lives alone.” Was that good or bad, Cole wondered.
“So our little friend likes killing,” Sandor mused.
“He said so. Whether he actually does what he says is another matter.”
“I’m leaning toward no,” Sandor said. “It seems unlikely that he could go around leaving a trail of dead bodies behind him without getting caught.”
Cole had to agree, now, standing out here. It didn’t make sense that a stray could survive with that kind of behavior. Cole had been thrown, too, caught off guard by some of the things the stray had said. He’d let it get to him. Hadn’t used his head.
“Let’s hope he’s just…theatrical,” Sandor added.
“He is that,” Cole said.
After some discussion, they decided it wasn’t wise to leave Gordo behind at the Laundromat. They’d drive over to Royal’s apartment, park in view of the front door, and make Gordo wait in the car. Cole and Sandor would enter the apartment together.
“Um. Should I be worried?” Gordo asked as Cole pulled up to the apartment building.
“No,” Cole told Gordo. “Just be cautious.”
“About what?” Gordo leaned forward. “Does this guy have like, powers or something?”
He was quite in earnest. Cole heard Sandor bite back a snort of laughter.
“Of course not,” Cole said in disgust. “Nobody has ‘powers.’ Jesus. Just stay in the car, all right? And lock the doors behind us,” he added, as he got out of the car.
He and Sandor went up the metal stairs. At the top Cole led the way along the concrete balcony, stopping at the entrance to the lair.
The apartment door wasn’t latched. It wasn’t even shut, but stood a few inches ajar.
He and Sandor exchanged a glance. Cole knocked softly on the jamb. There was no response from inside.
“You sure this is the right apartment?” Sandor asked.
“Number twenty-four.” Cole waited another moment, then pushed the door slowly open.
The mattress was there, but the sleeping bag was gone.
They walked in. Sandor looked around at the bare floors and walls, the empty counters visible in the kitchen. “Do you think you scared him off?”
Cole didn’t answer. He went to check the bathroom. No toiletries, no towels. Not even a shower curtain.
He came back out. He said nothing, just shook his head: No sign.
“I believe our little friend has scampered,” Sandor said.
“Let’s wait in the car for a while,” Cole told him, “see if he comes back. Maybe he just went to feed or something. The sun doesn’t rise for another three or four hours.”
“And if he doesn’t show?”
“We should check back again tomorrow, just in case.”
“What about our feeds?”
“Gordo already fed. It won’t hurt you and me to skip a night.”
They left the front door ajar, just the way it had been, and went back down the stairs. “What did you do to the little fellow, Cole?” Sandor asked.
“Nothing. I didn’t do a thing.”
“I think you frightened him. Maybe he’s shy.”
Maybe he’s crazy, Cole thought.
They waited in the car. Around three thirty, Sandor walked Gordo over to collect his clothes. An hour or so before dawn, Cole went up and checked the apartment one last time. Still empty.
When he was alone in his hotel room, Cole called Johnny. He described the stray, gave his impressions, and repeated their conversation as best he could. “I’ll check the apartment again on the way out tomorrow,” he told Johnny, “just to make sure.”
Johnny had listened intently, making no comments, but now he said, “Was the door unlocked when he first took you to the apartment?”
“No, he unlocked it.”
“With a key?”
“Yes.”
“And you said he had a mattress, and left it behind?”
It seemed rather an odd thing to focus on. “Yes.”
“How big was it?”
“Twin size.”
“What was it made of?”
“It was…I don’t know. It was just a mattress from a bed.”
“So it couldn’t be rolled up and carried with him. And there was no other furniture?”
“No, just the mattress and the sleeping bag. Why?”
“I’m just trying to figure out how he gets around. He travels light—sounds like he could easily be on foot. But he had a key—so it’s likely he was paying rent.”
“Maybe he stole the key.”
“Maybe. That’s quite a risk, to squat in someone else’s apartment. Even if it was unoccupied, it could easily get occupied at any time. Anyway, I’m thinking that if that’s really his home base, and he’s on foot, he may come back. But if he has a car, he’s mobile. And he could be anywhere by now.”
“Do you want us to head back to New York so we can discuss it with the group?” Cole asked.
“I don’t see any point. There’s not really anything to discuss right now. Nothing to make any decisions about. The only thing we can do is look around online to see if we can find any mention of him. Of things he might have done. You just keep on with Gordon.”
“Gordo.”
“What?”
“He likes to be called Gordo.”
“Oh. Okay. Anyway, I’ll let you know if we find anything. Royal sounds like a right crackpot.”
“He was…weird.”
“They all are,” Johnny said. “But this one may be functioning in society, at least enough to have an apartment.”
“I suppose.” The apartment had looked barely functional to Cole. More like a roof over the guy’s head than a home.
No wait, it was a lair.
“If he’s there tomorrow,” Johnny went on, “try not to scare him off. I want to talk to him myself.”
“All right,” said Cole.
“And if you don’t mind, I’d like you to check back and let me know either way.”
“I will.”
“Talk to you tomorrow then.”
“Yes…but listen, I wanted to ask you something,” Cole said, then hesitated. “Well…never mind.”
“No, go ahead,” said Johnny.
“Do you think we have souls?”
Silence. It was an odd question to ask out of the blue, Cole knew.
He wished he hadn’t brought it up right now. This was a subject more suited to leisurely evenings on the patio at the Building.
“I think it’s a moot point,” Johnny said after another moment.
“I know it is. We can talk about it another time.” Later, in New York—where it was likely to turn into a long philosophical debate.
But Johnny continued. “For us, what we have here is all we’re ever going to have. That’s why we maintain relationships with our fellow hemes. Otherwise there’s no difference between our existence and that of, say, a tree or a rock. And,” he added, “I have to say that if a short meeting with a stray could get you questioning your place in the world, it was a good job you kept him away from Gordon. Gordo,” he corrected himself. “Anyway, call and let me know if he comes back or not.”
“Yes,” said Cole. “I’ll call.”
But the next evening the apartment was still empty.
Royal the stray was also a moot point.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
GORDO seemed a little subdued after his sidewalk-feeding adventure and its aftermath.
But Cole also noticed that he didn’t get rid of his red shirt.
The nights took on a definite rhythm: The three would get up, leave the hotel, then go immediately for a feed. After that the evening was free, and sometimes now they even stayed at a club for a w
hile before driving on to the next town.
Cole finally felt secure enough in Gordo’s ability to not attract attention that he had okayed spending two days in the same hotel in Pittsburgh. Now Sandor wanted to feed in Castile, a medium-sized town off the highway, and so they headed into Ohio. Cole had been this way many times before and didn’t think anything about it till he saw a sign loom up in the dark:
OLYMPIA MALL
NEXT EXIT
It must be a new mall. He didn’t remember seeing it the last time he’d been through here—which would have been what, a dozen years ago? Longer? He would have remembered it with a name like that.
Olympia, Ohio. The settlement of his boyhood was long gone, eaten up by growing towns; but the name remained.
“The college is coming up,” Sandor reminded him. Sandor had urged them to wait to feed in Castile because, he said, wasn’t Gordo ready to hold off a bit? And besides, it was a Saturday night and this was a party school, one of Sandor’s favorites.
Cole held the wheel steady, but most of his attention was now on his surroundings. There was nothing recognizable in the asphalt and concrete rivers that made up the freeway and its ramps. Now he saw the mall itself off on the right; from here it seemed to be mostly parking lot, with skinny lampposts that looked like forlorn twigs bearing luminescent berries. The mall was still open; he could tell because there were plenty of cars sprinkled under the lights.
“Take the next exit,” Sandor said. “Turn right, and you will come to the campus.”
Cole obeyed. He eyed the mall as they circled the edge of it; he was looking for a creek that used to run somewhere along here. Why shouldn’t he? This area used to be his home. And it had been so long since he’d even thought about it—of course he’d have a natural, impersonal curiosity.
There was no sign of the creek. He saw a drainage ditch, lined in concrete, but no creek. Along the road, domesticated little wisps of oak and elm were carefully arranged on the manicured lawns of restaurants and office buildings.
Perhaps, he thought, these trees were the great-great grandchildren of the wild forest that used to be here. Back then, he remembered, the trunks were so big that three or four people holding hands could not get their arms around one. So old and tough that an ax dulled after only a few blows.
The campus was only a few minutes away. “Turn here, turn here!” Sandor said, and Cole pulled the car onto a tree-lined avenue of large houses, each one bearing Greek letters over the door.
They heard the music first, a thumping, blaring haze of noise. Then they saw the barricades ahead, blocking off a side street. As Cole drove past slowly, they could see a mass of people milling around behind the barriers.
“Perfect, a street dance,” Sandor said, delighted. “Looks like there’s a theme: the forties maybe? Do I look all right?” he turned to ask Gordo, who was in his now-accustomed spot in the backseat.
“Um, yeah. You look fine.”
“Great! Cole, if you keep going straight, there’s sure to be a space somewhere down there.”
“Is it okay if I drop you two off?” Cole asked.
“You’re not going to come?” That was Gordo.
“I’d rather go off on my own just for a bit.”
Sandor had been looking eagerly out the window, but now he turned to give Cole a sharp look. “You’ve forgotten how to jitterbug, haven’t you?”
“Of course I remember how to jitterbug. I don’t want to right now, that’s all.”
“Very well then, do as you wish. We will have a good time while you do your romance-novel-cover brooding. Let us out at that corner there.”
Cole stopped the car. Gordo started to get out, but hesitated. “Where will you go?” he asked Cole.
“I saw a mall as we were coming in. I think I’ll try that.”
Sandor opened his door. “Hmf. Malls, is it? Aren’t they a little more difficult than street dances?”
“They’re different.”
“All right. We’ll meet you back at this corner then in a couple of hours?”
“Sure.”
“Come on, Gordo,” Sandor said, sliding out of the car. “Put on your dancing shoes! Metaphorically speaking, of course.”
“Sandor,” Cole called. “Keep a close eye on Gordo.”
Sandor turned back, bending over so he could look Cole in the eye. “Don’t worry. He will feed before I do. I promise to keep him safe.” Straightening, he continued, “If you want, Gordo, I will show you some dance steps that will make any girl swoo—”
The car door slammed shut, and they were gone.
Alone, Cole headed back to the mall.
Inside, he walked slowly past the bright storefronts. He briefly thought of his camera, locked away in the trunk of his car—but only briefly. He had always worked strictly in black and white anyway, and the canned lights that angled over the displays lacked contrast and emotion.
Hard to believe that there used to be a forest here. It had been like walking underwater, among those trees. Quiet, because the age-sodden layers of leaves underfoot muffled all noise. Still, because the wind couldn’t reach through the thick canopy overhead.
And dark. Every once in a while a shaft of light would stretch out a finger, as if blindly trying to touch him. But it couldn’t find him, couldn’t see him, for the trees.
He paused. There was a girl working in the window of a bed-and-bath store; she was arranging bottles of lotion or shampoo in a basket. There was a name tag pinned to her blouse, but he did not look to see what it said. When she saw him watching her through the window, she smiled, and he smiled back, as if he had nothing better to do than watch a salesgirl rearrange stock.
Then his vision shifted and he saw the glass between them, with his own shining reflection layered over her. Parts of his body seemed blurred and half dissolved into the background, but his eyes gleamed like marbles.
He turned and walked away.
The floor was featureless tile under his feet. When he was a child, he couldn’t walk more than a few yards in any direction without being turned aside by a looming tree; any path he chose was forced to wind and twist, and he was never sure which direction he was going. None of the children strayed far from the paths in those early, early days.
In the food court, he got in line at the corn dog kiosk to buy a soft drink. He stared at the back of the man in front of him for a while before it occurred to him that he’d better focus on his purpose. He’d indulged himself a little, and it hadn’t done any harm; but now it was time to attend to business.
He pulled his necklace out and let it dangle in plain sight.
“Can I help you?” the girl behind the counter asked when it was his turn. She had on a sort of baseball cap, but it was pink, and the bill stuck out about a foot from her head.
“Just a Coke,” he told her.
“Two nineteen,” said the girl, pushing a drink toward him.
“Thanks,” he said, smiling at her without even thinking about it as he pulled out his wallet. She couldn’t help but smile back, of course.
He paid, and she gave him his change. “Straw?” he asked.
“Oh. Gosh. Sorry.” Flustered, she handed him one.
When he turned around he saw two teenage girls sitting at a table, watching him sideways, one from under dark lashes, the other openly; and when he let his smile loose again, the latter one giggled.
The dark-lashed one was prettier. But the giggling one would be easier. Tonight, he decided, he would take the easier one.
Sure enough, twenty minutes later he was seated next to the giggler, whose name turned out to be Emily. Her dark-lashed friend was buying a pretzel, and when she turned her back, Emily cast a quick glance at him.
“I like your necklace,” she said, still smiling. “Are those nails?”
He hesitated, pretending he’d forgotten. “Oh. Yeah,” he said, looking down to lift the cross from its place below the hollow of his throat. “It was a gift.”
“Well,
I like it.”
“Thanks. Want me to tell you something about it?”
“Sure.”
“It’s a secret.”
“O-kay.” She laughed again, but was still leaning toward him, interested, so, still holding the cross, he drew close to whisper in her ear.
“This won’t hurt,” he told her softly, his mouth just below her ear; and then he pressed the end of the longest nail into her neck. She gave a little gasp, but his lips were already on the puncture, and now she was still, floating in that numb, glassy-eyed state.
He didn’t drink his fill, of course. He fastened his mouth to her skin and swallowing the pulsing trickle, not even enough to slow her heart the tiniest bit before he released her and sat back, the wound sealing as soon as air touched it.
“…and that’s where I got it,” he said, as if finishing his story.
Her eyes focused. “I’m sorry,” she said, confused, “I think I…zoned out for a sec.”
“That’s okay. It wasn’t a very exciting story.” He liked the ones that did that; sometimes they tried to fake it and pretend they had heard everything he’d said. He preferred the honest ones.
The dark-lashed girl came back over with her pretzel, and the three of them spent the next thirty minutes walking around the mall, talking, while he took note of the girls’ facial expressions, their gestures, the slang they used. He noticed it all and stored it carefully away; he might need it sometime.
In the end, Emily gave him her phone number and he said he’d call. He’d said it so often, it wasn’t a lie anymore, just a meaningless pleasantry.
He went by a skater shop and bought a shirt without trying it on. Then he stopped by the bookstore. He didn’t buy anything until he was on the way out and saw the sale table: 75 percent off.
Teach Yourself Manners.
The History of Weaving.
Over 10,000 Names and Their Meanings.
Curious, he picked up the last one.
The book had a cartoon stork on the cover. It was meant to help parents choose the names of their babies. He had seen books like these often, in passing, but had never really looked at one.
He bought the book—$3.87, with tax—before he left the mall.
Night Road Page 13
