Evan shook his head, surprised at the question.
“Have you been telling her anything?”
This time, he just looked at her. “Like what?”
“That your dad was going to give you to some people.”
Evan blushed.
“Do you believe that, Evan?” Grandpa asked.
Evan considered denying it, but the thought of that made him sick. He nodded slowly, Grandma made a small sound and covered her mouth.
“What makes you think such a horrible thing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he ever tell you that?”
“No.”
Grandpa nodded. “Just a feeling, huh?”
Evan didn’t know what to say. How could he explain that he had felt it in a dream, but that it wasn’t just any old dream, that it had been more real than real, and that his dad had been there, and the others, them, just waiting for him.
“You see, she’s putting these thoughts into his poor little head,” Grandma said.
“No she isn’t!”
“Evan!”
“Well, she isn’t!”
“You’re just a boy. And she’s manipulating you.”
“No! It’s true! I know it! I was the one who told Mom!”
“I just don’t believe it.”
“Roberta, leave him alone.”
“But listen to him. Speaking like his mother.”
“Roberta, shut up.”
Grandma stared at Grandpa, face red. She took a deep breath and made a fast sighing sound and shook her head.
“Well, anyway,” she said, “how’s your finger?”
“It’s okay.”
“That dressing looks filthy. Doesn’t your mother ever change it? Come on, I’ll do it right now.” She started to rise.
“I can do it myself.”
“Don’t be silly. I was a volunteer nurse once.”
“I want to do it.”
“You’ll only make a mess of things.”
“Mom lets me do it.”
Grandma looked at him, then at Grandpa, then sighed and sat down heavily.
“Well, in that case, I wouldn’t want to interfere. A mother knows best, after all.”
“Robbie!”
“Well, really.”
Evan pushed away the rest of his sandwich. He had eaten only two of the pieces.
“Can I go upstairs now?”
“Don’t you want to go outside?”
“No.”
“Go on, then,” Grandpa said. “I’ll come up and see you later.”
“Well, really,” Grandma said.
Evan bolted.
Upstairs, he found new dressings in the bathroom, and he slowly unraveled his finger. A strange, sweet smell came from the unwrapped finger. He stared down in horror at the stump, which was now even longer than it had been. The entire appendage was red, and covered in silvery, glistening fluid.
He touched it gently, but felt nothing. He squeezed it. The soft red skin at the end became shiny, and a bead of the silvery fluid erupted.
“Oh, gross!”
If Grandma saw this, Mom would never hear the end of it!
He turned on the faucet and ran his finger under cold water. After a minute, the silvery fluid was gone, and the skin shone pink and clean. It almost looked normal. A real finger, only a bit shorter.
He dried it with toilet paper, and wrapped it carefully in the new dressing, folding and taping like an expert. He was getting good at it, that was for sure.
Back in his room, he lay out on the bed and started reading again. The words swam before his eyes, became a swarm of flies, scattered. He yawned and put the book down.
Downstairs, he could hear Grandma and Grandpa talking as they cleaned up the kitchen. They sounded as if they were arguing, but he found the sounds soothing. He felt fuzzy and warm and comfortable.
The switch came suddenly, abruptly, like a kick. One moment the comfort and the warmth, and the next he was in a bottle, turned upside down, or so it seemed, looking up through the thick glass bottom, and the world was warped and deformed. A fish-eye view. Trees bent around him, the world curved ahead, the sky opened above. There was grass, and gravel.
He knew what he was looking at. It was the front yard of this house, seen from the road. And as he thought that, the view shifted, and he was looking up at the house, only now monstrous and bulging, framed by the gray sky, the windows eyes, the door a square mouth ready to scream.
It’s a dream, Evan thought, just a dream.
But the house came closer, or he moved closer to it, and the details were all so true, the cracks in the front steps, the unevenly spaced numbers on the garage door, that he suddenly knew it was real, and as he thought that the view shifted again, as the bottle-bottom turned up to look at the upstairs window.
His window.
He could feel himself lying on the bed, could feel the quilt beneath him, the book at his hand. He sat up, legs swinging. Swaying, unbalanced, he managed to stand. He guessed where the window was, and with arms held out for balance and guidance, he moved toward it.
From his dream-view below, he saw the figure appear in the window, arms held out. The little boy. Himself, looking down. Small, insignificant, blind.
And then the terror came, because this couldn’t be happening, not even in a dream, it was just too weird. The transition happened again. He swayed dizzily, and his hands pressed the cool glass for support. It took a moment for his vision to settle, to accustom itself to normalcy.
He looked down. Two figures were standing on the drive, looking up at him. Evan stumbled to the bed.
Then, screwing up his courage, he moved to the window again. The figures were gone. On the street, a car’s tires squealed. Evan saw a flash of red.
It hadn’t been a dream. None of it had!
He had recognized one of the figures, one from the dreams. The woman with the red hair, and beside her a young man.
Heart pounding, he fell back on the bed. He rolled over and covered his ears so he could hear nothing.
It hadn’t been a dream.
When the knock came at the door he flipped to his back. The door opened. It was Grandpa.
“How are you doing, son?”
“Okay.”
“Heard you yelling, or something.”
“I was just playing.”
Grandpa stared at him, and Evan could see that the old man did not believe him.
“Listen, son, don’t you pay much attention to your grandmother. She doesn’t mean to be nosy, or pushy, she’s just worried about you. You understand?”
“Uh huh.”
“That’s good, then. Sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.”
When the door closed, Evan closed his eyes. His heart was still pounding. The view from outside did not come back, but he was sure of one thing.
It had been real!
It was 3:30 and the sun was coming out. The threatened thundershower had not materialized. The air was still heavy and humid. Bonnie prepared herself to count the day’s receipts.
“You gonna be okay here by yourself?”
“Mike, there have been four customers all afternoon, I think I can handle it.”
“If you’re sure. You need a hand, just ring the bell. I’m gonna try and get as much done as possible back there.”
When he had gone, Bonnie turned the register key to the Reading position, and punched the buttons that would start the tape printing. As the tape started clunking ahead, she pulled out the cash drawer and started sorting. As she did so, the bell above the door tinkled.
Wasn’t that always the way it worked? The moment you started doing receipts, the customers arrive.
“It’ll just be a minute,” Bonnie said, still looking down.
“Actually, I wanted to have a chat.”
It was a man’s voice. Bonnie looked up. The cash drawer almost fell from her hands.
“Now, don’t be frightened.”
; It was him! The man in the white shirt and blue slacks who had followed her earlier.
“Leave me alone!”
“Don’t be frightened. I just want to talk.”
He was taller than she had thought, and up close his face was well tanned, rugged. Bonnie felt sick and vindicated at the same time. She had been right to begin with!
“Who are you?” She moved the cash drawer away from the counter.
He grinned, and his white teeth flashed. “Don’t panic. Please. I’m one of the good guys.”
“Get out of here.”
“I understand how you’re feeling. I’d feel the same way myself, and I doubt if I’d be inclined to trust a guy who looked like me.”
“You got that right.”
“But I’ve come to warn you.”
“About what?”
“It’s obvious you feel threatened here. I’m sorry about that, but I wanted to make contact. My name is Shep. Shep Thomas. I’m a cop, from Chicago. Ex cop.
“What do you want?”
“I want to help you.”
“With what? I’ve never seen you before today.” But suddenly she wasn’t so sure. There was something familiar about him, but she could not place it. She had seen him before. Sometime recently.
“I don’t think this is the place to talk. There’s a little bar just down the street. You know it?”
Bonnie nodded, still eying him warily. “Juno’s.”
“Maybe you’d feel better if you came to me, and in a more public place. I’m going to go there now. I’ll wait there until 5:30. I’d like you to come and talk to me.”
“I don’t know what this is all about, but I know I don’t want to talk to you.”
“That’s a mistake, Bonnie,” he said.
The sound of her name on his lips made her uneasy.
“You and Evan may be in danger. I can help you. I’ll be at Juno’s until 5:30. Please come.”
He turned and left the store, the tinkling of the bell following him out. Bonnie slumped against the counter, heart pounding. The sound of the bell attracted Mike.
“Busy?”
Bonnie waved him away. “It’s nothing.”
When Mike had disappeared into the back, she began to count the cash. The register had stopped printing, and she tore off the tape and refitted it in the machine. She miscounted the cash twice, and realized the third time that her mind wasn’t on it. It was on nothing at all. Except Shep Thomas’s words.
He waved her to the table. Bonnie paused in the doorway, wondering if she had made a mistake. A couple pushing in behind her made her mind up for her. She walked over to him.
“Glad you came. That didn’t take long.”
“I asked to get off early.”
She sat down.
“What will you have?”
“Black Russian.”
Shep waved to the waiter and ordered it, and another beer for himself. He watched her silently until the drinks came.
“You said that my son and I were in danger. What did you mean?”
He drew on his beer. “I know your son is being followed.”
“You know what?”
“I’ve seen them.”
Bonnie was so surprised, she could not speak.
“I’ve seen them. I know all about them.”
She could only stare. He reached into his jacket and took out a photograph. He placed it on the table between them. Bonnie looked down at it. It was of a young man, early twenties, good looking in a rednecked sort of way. Jeans and no shirt. A lake shimmered behind him. His torso was well muscled. He was holding up a fish and grinning at the camera.
“That’s my brother. Jeff.”
“I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
“Six years ago he got involved with a group.”
“What kind of group?”
“I don’t know. I know he was frightened. He wrote me a letter and told me so. Next thing you know, he’s dead. Murdered.”
“I’m sorry, but I still don’t understand.”
“Police never solved the case. I had to look after my mother, so I never had a chance to look into it. But my mom died earlier this year, and since then I’ve been sniffing out Jeff’s trail. I know something about this group he was with. I know they all talk about something called the creche. I know they’re a sick bunch. I know they’ll do almost anything. And I know that they want your son.”
Bonnie could not believe what she was hearing. The man before her looked crazy. His eyes were recessed in dark hollows. He looked frightened and dangerous.
“You’re frightening me.”
“Am I? I’m sorry, but I guess I have to. I’ve been looking for these people for a long time. I thought I had them. I thought I’d found their base. A house. But they must have known, and I lost them again. You and your son are all I’ve got left.”
Bonnie ignored that last part. “Who are these people? What do they do?”
His eyes narrowed. He sipped his beer and looked furtively around himself.
“I only know, they’re sick. Freaks. They kill to protect themselves. I know my brother was getting close to them. That’s why he’s dead. For some reason, they want your son. I know that for a fact.”
“I’m going to the police.”
“The police won’t be able to help.”
“But you will?”
“Yes. I’ve helped already. Two of them tried to grab Evan yesterday. I stopped them.”
Bonnie was flabbergasted. “I don’t believe you. I don’t even trust you. Stay away from me, and stay away from my son.”
He started to protest, but the look on her face must have changed his mind. He took a swallow of his beer.
“At least, let me give you the number of my motel.” He scribbled something on a piece of paper and pushed it toward her. “Call me if you need help. If you need anything.”
Reluctantly, she picked up the paper and put it in her purse. Without another word, she left the bar. As she walked over to her car, she checked over her shoulder twice. But Shep Thomas, if he had decided to follow her, was doing a better job of it than he had earlier in the afternoon.
Chapter Ten
Peterson met Bonnie in the lobby of Government Center. He was without his jacket, shirtsleeves rolled up. His underarms were dark with sweat.
“Nice to see you again, Miss Laine. Though I didn’t think it would be so soon.”
“The man who followed me at lunch came into the store this afternoon. He wanted to talk.”
Peterson’s pleasantly skeptical face remained unchanged.
“Oh.”
“He asked me out for a drink.”
“Ah ha!”
“To talk. He said Evan and I were in danger.”
Peterson tugged his chin with thick fingers. “Well, maybe you should come up and tell me about it.”
He took her up to the third floor, then through a maze of identical corridors hung with photographs of past Police Chiefs, commended officers, the occasional politician. They passed a large open area surrounded by glass walls in which many men who looked very much like Peterson were sitting at desks or talking on the phone or laughing.
“Bullpen,” Peterson said. “Come down this way, we’ll find a quiet room.”
The quiet room was like many Bonnie had seen in the movies. A steel door with a small glass portal, pale yellow walls, a single bright bulb on the ceiling, a battered wooden table with a hundred different initials carved into it, two wooden chairs. The room smelled of cigarette smoke and sweat.
Peterson swung his seat around so he could straddle the back and support his arms.
“Okay, tell me what happened.”
She told him about Shep Thomas coming to the store.
“Why didn’t you call us then?”
“I don’t know. I was embarrassed about this afternoon. He didn’t seem dangerous.”
“So you met him at Juno’s?”
She related their meeting in the bar, a
nd the things he had said to her.
“That’s all he said about this group?” Peterson asked. “Just that they’re sick and freaks?”
The light from above was warm on her face, and she felt prickly sweat pop on her forehead. She could imagine how horrible it would be to be interrogated by belligerent police officers in here. No secret would be safe, she guessed, no fear untapped.
“He said something about a creche. He didn’t know anything else. He said he didn’t know much about them at all.”
“A religious group?”
“He didn’t say.”
“No idea at all what they do, where they get their money, who leads them?”
She shook her head.
“Miss Laine, I’ve never heard of them. I’m familiar with most of the groups that operate in the area, and that doesn’t sound like any of them. Or rather, it sounds like all of them. It’s very vague. What was his name again?”
“Shep Thomas. He said he was an ex-cop from Chicago. And his brother, the one that was murdered, was Jeff Thomas.”
Peterson scribbled that in his notebook.
“Do you think Evan could be right? Could Harris have been involved with this group? Could he have offered them Evan for some reason?”
“We aren’t as obtuse as we often seem, Miss Laine. We’ve been looking into what Evan said, and there’s just no apparent connection between your ex-husband and any cult at all.”
“Then why did he disappear? Where did he go?”
Peterson ignored the interruption. “He went to work every day until the day of the accident. Missed a couple of sick days earlier in the month, but nothing strange about it.”
“Harris never got sick.”
“Neighbors didn’t notice anything. His parents thought he was acting a bit strange, but couldn’t finger anything specific.”
“Well something happened! He walked away from a car accident, and left his son in the wreck!”
“Uh huh.” He tugged at his chin again.
“You’ve settled on an explanation, haven’t you?”
“Leaning toward one, anyway.”
“Which one?”
“The original,” Peterson said. “I think that he suffered a concussion, probably amnesia. Just like the boy. He’s out there somewhere, probably confused and frightened. He might even be in a hospital. Jon Doe. We’ll find him.”
Nightscape Page 9
