Was that too much to ask?
No. Of course it wasn’t. It was only logical.
Stephenie looked a Carrie for a second, maybe two. Her eyes shifted and her shoulders lifted. She resembled a cobra that had been backed into the corner, ready to lash out, ready to strike.
There were two people sitting together at a table on her right: Karen Peel and Denise Renton. Stephenie recognized Karen as the corpse that was outside; slumped against the yellow school bus with her jaw smashed apart and her hands covered in blood. And Denise––why, that was the zombie from Jacob’s front yard, the one that lifted its finger and said, ‘Quoove beanbade,’ with a phlegm-soaked voice and a head shaped like a smashed cantaloupe.
Stephenie cringed, pulling away from the woman.
She said, “Stay away from me! All of you! Just get the hell away, you hear me? STAY BACK!”
She snatched Carrie by the hand and pulled her tight against her body.
“Mommy,” Carrie complained.
But Stephenie wasn’t having it. She considered allowing the girl to use the washroom for less than a half-moment, and even that was too long. Carrie wasn’t going into the bathroom in this place! No way. Hanging out in this hell-trap was a ridiculous idea; it wasn’t going to happen. No chance. Not on her watch. She wasn’t risking an eternity in hell so Carrie could take a goddamn piss.
She said, “Carrie, that’s enough so be quiet. I know something you don’t, babe. Okay? Don’t be frightened; don’t be scared. I’ve got you. Oh yes. Mommy’s right here. Don’t worry about a thing.”
“But I’m not worried, mommy. I just need the bathroom!”
“Enough!” Stephenie backed towards the door, pulling Carrie along with her.
She looked at the person standing closest: Susan Trigg.
Susan was wearing her yellow waitress uniform with the loose button shirt. She had a pencil in her hand that said EMPIRE PENCIL CORP on one side and 2 HB on the other. Her nametag sat just above her right breast. And when Stephenie glanced at it, she could envision Susan lying on the floor in a pool of blood with her skull cracked apart like an egg, her brains covered in bone fragments, and that stupid nametag sitting on her bloodstained shirt for all the world to see.
Susan stepped away nervously, and that was good. Stephenie didn’t want her around anyhow, especially when she was carrying that fucking pencil in her hand.
Stephenie’s eyes shifted towards Craig Smyth. Like Susan, he was also standing. Craig looked nice, dressed in his clean white shirt, leaning against the counter, in the place he’d fall if someone were kind enough to slam an axe into his chest and split his ribcage apart.
Craig swallowed loud enough for the entire room to hear, and placed a hand on his throat right after.
Stephenie looked past Craig to Jennifer Boyle, who was standing behind the counter, in front of the storage room.
Jennifer looked frightened. She also looked different. She had two arms now; both were attached and seemed to be in fine working condition. Stephenie wondered if Jennifer knew she could wind up sitting on the floor behind the counter, exposing her little pink underwear as blood dribbled from the place her arm had once been.
Stephenie looked away from Jennifer.
Her eyes found Angela Mezzo.
Angela was sitting in a booth across from her husband Alan, next to her son Mark. She was holding her happy-face mug in her hand like it didn’t mean a thing. The mug was smiling, just smiling. And in the booth, behind the family, Stephenie could see Lee Courtney sitting with David Gayle.
Oh, she didn’t like David. She remembered him sitting beneath the painting with his face locked in terror. She remembered the way his eyes rolled open when she stepped out of the bathroom.
She looked away from David, who looked so nice in his light-pink shirt. Her eyes swept across the room. They were all here, it seemed. All the would-be monsters were accounted for.
She could see Julie Brooks, the woman that had been sitting in her car.
Julie was talking with Gary Wright, the cook that had lost his legs. Strange enough, he had legs now. Oh yes he did. He had a pair of legs that were big and fat and could use a little exercise.
On the right side of the restaurant, Eric Wilde sat alone in a booth near the restaurant’s big front window. He was dressed in a cheap blue suit that made him look like a used car salesman. Apparently Eric––wanna buy a used car?––Wilde was in the middle of ordering something to eat. He had a menu in his hand and a waitress standing beside him, holding a glass of water.
The waitress was Dee-Anne Adkins. She was the bitch with the broken nametag that tried to bite Stephenie when Stephenie was getting a pencil rammed into her ankle by that other bitch, Susan Trigg.
Dee-Anne’s nametag wasn’t broken now, Stephenie noticed. It looked just right.
Stephenie looked at the last person she could see: Wayne Auburn.
Wayne was sitting in a booth, dining alone. He sat next to a window that wasn’t too far from where Stephenie was standing. He seemed more handsome now that his skull wasn’t opened up like a Venus flytrap and his brains weren’t wedged into the gap between his eyes. Shame he was wearing a red-checkered shirt that looked like a tablecloth and a pair of jeans that were two sizes too tight. Wasn’t doing a thing for him.
Susan lifted her pencil and waved it at Stephenie. She said, “Lady, are you all right?”
Stephenie pulled away. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just stay away from me and you’ll be fine too.”
Susan gave her a strange look, lifting a hand and raising an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means stay away from me or I’ll fucking kill you.”
Susan’s mouth fell open; she seemed both shocked and insulted.
Stephenie didn’t care. She turned around and made for the door, dragging Carrie unhappily along.
3
As Stephenie pulled Carrie towards the car, Carrie said, “Mommy? What are you doing? Why are you being mean? I have to go to the bathroom, mom! Let me go back inside!”
“Carrie, enough! We’ve got to get out of here!”
Stephenie opened the passenger door, escorted Carrie into the car and slammed the door shut. Then, as she was making her way to the driver’s side of the car, she heard a voice and nearly jumped right out of her shoes.
“Fill ‘er up?”
Stephenie spun around quickly.
It was the gas attendant, dressed in his blue overalls.
Stephenie remembered seeing the man lying on the floor with his head split open. She remembered the enormous amount of blood that had leaked out of his skull and onto the cheap linoleum tiles, not to mention his left eyeball sitting on his cheek, smashed apart and looking like apple flavored Jell-O. He looked so different now. He looked so… alive. And not only that, he had the aura of a nice guy. He had a warm smile and a gentle face. His dark skin made him look handsome––not in a rugged way, in a clean-cut way. He looked like the type of guy you could take to your parents and they’d say he was a keeper.
Stephenie said, “What?” It was a reflex. She might have meant it in a ‘what do you want’ kind of way, but the attendant took it in a ‘pardon me’ kind of way.
He said, “How much gas do you need, Miss? Do you want me to fill ‘er up?”
“No.” Stephenie plunked herself into the car, slammed the door and said, “No gas.”
“Oh,” the attendant said, looking rightfully confused. After all, she was parked beside the pump and most people that park beside a pump need fuel. “Well, what can I do for you? Want me to check the oil or something?”
Stephenie got into the car. She looked at the gas gauge.
EMPTY.
She eyed the restaurant. Nobody was coming outside. Nobody was sneaking out the side door either. The people inside had gone back to their meals. No doubt, they were talking about the crazy woman that had come into the restaurant with the little girl. They probably felt sorry for the girl and wondered if she was
being mistreated. Oh well; that was all right. Let ‘em wonder. They didn’t know what Stephenie had been going through. They didn’t know what was at stake. Those idiots didn’t know anything. Let ‘em fuckin’ wonder. Let ‘em fuckin’ think whatever they––
“Miss?”
Stephenie looked at the gas attendant. Then her eyes snapped towards the gas gauge again, wondering how far she’d get on an empty tank. Not far, that was the truth of the matter. A couple miles, tops.
Reluctantly, she said, “Okay, fill it. And make it fast. Real fast.”
The attendant looked at her strangely. “Sure thing,” he said, with an undertone that screamed: Get a life, lady. “Regular?”
“Yeah. That’s fine.”
The attendant unscrewed the gas cap and lifted the nozzle from the gas pump. He put the nozzle into the neck of the fuel tank and pumped gas.
Carrie said, “Mommy, what’s wrong?”
Stephenie took Carrie by the hand and said, “Nothing babe. Nothing’s wrong. Not now. Everything is going to be just fine. You’ll see.”
“I have to go pee-pee mommy.”
“Carrie, do you love me?”
Carrie’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
“Then trust me, okay? We need to get out of here right away. You can pee in two minutes at the side of the road or the next place we come across.”
“Awww,” Carrie whined, uncharacteristically. She wasn’t like most children in the protest department. Not now. Hal’s death, for better or for worse, made her grow up in a real hurry. She didn’t cry about the little things these days, meaning the whine wasn’t spoiled brat behavior but a result of her being physically uncomfortable.
Stephenie knew; it broke her heart to hear Carrie sound that way.
She said, “How does this sound, babe? Tomorrow I’ll make it up to you, big time. We can go to the toy store and buy whatever you want.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes,” Stephenie said with a smile. And she meant every word. If they could get out of this nightmare in one piece she’d be more than happy spend the day at Toys ‘R’ Us, spending every last cent she had. “I’ll buy you whatever you want. We can go to the movies too, if there’s anything good playing. But please, don’t give me a hard time, okay babe? I love you so much, but please, we have to get going as soon as we can.”
Carrie wanted to agree, but it was hard. She wasn’t putting on an act. The coke she had begged for and drank (against her mother’s better judgment) had gone right through her. She said, “But I hafta go pee, mommy. It’s going to come out in my pants soon. Honest it will. I don’t know if I can hold it!”
Stephenie looked at the restaurant, wondering.
The attendant removed the nozzle from the car and returned it to the gas pump holster. He approached the window and said, “That’s comes to $53.50.”
Stephenie dismissed the idea of entering the restaurant (she couldn’t really believe she was even considering it), gazed up at the attendant and said, “Okay.”
She turned and looked into the backseat. The purse was there, lying on its side. The contents were spilled across the cushion.
Stephenie stopped what she was doing. Slowly, her eyes grew large and her hands tightened into balls. She wondered why her contents were lying across the cushion.
She thought, I threw my purse into the backseat in a huff.
When?
When I was looking for my phone.
And when was that?
After I saw that everybody was dead.
And what does that mean?
Stephenie turned her head slowly, cautiously. She looked at the attendant.
He smiled.
Stephenie smiled back, trying to hide her fears. But they were back. Oh yes sir, they were back and making her skin crawl. This little scenario wasn’t adding up. It wasn’t adding up at all. How could her purse be knocked over if she had returned to a time before she knocked the damn thing over? How could that have happened?
And what did Christina say to her?
Once Carrie gets through that door, just remember, you’re still in hell. But if you can stop Carrie from entering, you can drive away, home free. You and your daughter can lead a normal life, live happily ever after.
But Carrie did step through the door, didn’t she?
The attendant said, “Uh, Miss? That’s $53.50.”
A hot flash came, followed by a deep, shaky breath. Stephenie said, “Just a moment.” She lifted her wallet, which was lying on the seat, four inches from the purse. (And oh God, it shouldn’t have been there. It should have been inside the purse. Inside––not outside.) She opened the wallet and looked for cash. She only had two twenties. “Shit,” she whispered. Then she said, “Do you take Visa?”
“Sure do,” the attendant said with a grin. “Visa, MasterCard, American Express… we take most everything.”
Stephenie handed the man her Visa card, wishing she had enough cash. If she had had enough money, she would have handed it over and told the man to keep the change. Now she had to wait.
The attendant walked across the lot and into the gas station, strolling along like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Mommy,” Carrie said.
“Babe, please. I don’t want to hear it.”
“But––”
“Yes, I know. You have to go to the bathroom. Just hold it for two minutes.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Just… I don’t know. Stand beside the car and go.”
“What? No mommy. Please! I don’t want to go pee-pee in the parking lot!”
“Then do it in your pants, you’re not going inside.”
Carrie started crying. “Mommy, this isn’t fair! I hafta go really bad and I don’t wanna make an uh-oh in my pants!”
Stephenie said, “Carrie…”
But Carrie wasn’t having it. With her hand between her legs and body crouched over, she cried harder and louder and kicked her feet wildly. She even let out a couple of high-pitched shrieks. And when the attendant stepped outside with an evil grin decorating his face, he had a long butcher knife in his hand. Stephenie never noticed. Neither did Carrie. In fact, neither of them realized the man had returned from his duties until after he rammed the blade into Stephenie’s body.
4
The attendant waited for the right moment, just inside the gas station door. When the moment came, he stepped outside quickly, holding the butcher knife low. His feet moved fast. Once he arrived at Stephenie’s open window, he raised the knife up. Stephenie was facing Carrie, so she didn’t see the man approaching, and didn’t know he was there. He stabbed her three times in the upper back within a single second.
Stephenie screamed once; then she lunged forward with her chest pushed out. After that, there seemed to be no air in her lungs and screaming became impossible.
Carrie’s crying came to an abrupt halt. She looked at her mother’s horrific expression: eyes wide, mouth open, face seemingly turned to wax. She could see blood on her mother’s chest, but didn’t know where it came from. She didn’t know what happened, but she understood that something did happen, something bad. She also realized why her mother had been acting so strangely and controlling. Her mother was worried about their physical safety, and she was right to be worried about it. They should have driven away when they had the chance.
The attendant stepped away from the open window, leaving the knife imbedded in Stephenie’s frame. He walked to the front of the car slowly, like he was enjoying himself. When he slapped an open hand on the car’s hood, Carrie jumped.
Stephenie’s eyes watered; she could hardly breath. She tasted blood in her mouth and looked at her daughter’s terrified face, knowing how vulnerable she had become. She couldn’t help Carrie, not in this situation, not with a knife rammed into her back. One of her lungs felt like it had been deflated. Without a doubt she was bleeding internally. In desperation, she tried to reach around and grab the knife, tried to find it with
her fingers so she could pull it out. It didn’t happen. The knife was imbedded into a place she couldn’t reach.
Carrie watched her mother’s face turn white as a trickle of red colored spittle rolled over her bottom lip. She turned her head; looked out the front window.
The attendant was swashbuckling towards her like a cowboy in a spaghetti western. Wasn’t dressed that way though. He wore a blue, one-piece jumper-suit with little drops of blood on it.
Carrie knew the blood had come from her mother.
She screamed then, but not like before. This wasn’t protest screaming. No, this screaming came from deep down; this screaming was based on fear and anxiety, on things she didn’t understand, on things she didn’t want to endure.
The attendant opened Carrie’s door and said, “Hello, darling.”
He reached into the car and grabbed hold of Carrie, handling her with ease. Yes, she kicked and slapped and did what she was able, but it didn’t matter. He lifted her off the seat, turned her around and wrapped an arm around her neck. He squeezed her, just hard enough to stop her from screaming.
Carrie’s eyes blasted open and her bladder let go. Hot urine poured down her legs. She hardly noticed. What she did notice was the fact that she was getting dragged out of the car, away from her mother, away from all feelings of safety, away from the place she wanted to be.
She didn’t want to be with this man––no, not at all.
There was something wrong with him.
With hazy eyes and unfocused vision, Stephenie watched the man (who seemed so nice a moment before) drag Carrie towards the restaurant. She turned away from the abduction and opened the car door. Little black spots appeared in front of her eyes and all at once she felt like fainting. The car door wasn’t locked this time; for that she was grateful. She stepped outside, black spots growing larger, stumbling, feeling like a butterfly that had been pinned to a piece of corkboard for some kid’s science project, and had fallen off the board.
Into Hell Page 19
