I shake my head. “No. But I never let you come with me before.”
She settles back on her heels. “Well, then.”
“It’s too dangerous!” I exclaim. “I don’t want to risk you just because I’m afraid.”
“He can’t kill all of us,” Juwan says. “We’ll all come home with you.”
“What?” I say faintly, but Sanjay is nodding.
“Good idea,” he says. “I have a change of clothes in my gym bag.”
“Me too,” Juwan replies. “In my car.”
“I’ll just wear something of Sasha’s,” Lili decides. “Oh, I know! That red shirt. I’ve always wanted to borrow it.”
“You guys—” I say helplessly. “You can’t—”
“Well, we can,” Lili answers. “We’re going to.”
“Still gotta get through the rest of the shift, though,” Juwan points out. “And that killer is just sitting out there, waiting for Sasha.”
Sanjay is already smoothing down the front of his Deli-Lishes apron, making sure it isn’t spattered with too much grease and ketchup. “I’ll wait tables,” he says. “Sasha, you can cook. At least until Our Friend the Murderer is gone.”
Sanjay and I have traded chores before, on days he’s too restless and claustrophobic to hunker down in the kitchen all afternoon, or I’m feeling particularly unsociable. Armand doesn’t like it, because he’s all about rules and predictability, but Kenny doesn’t care as long as somebody takes responsibility for all the important jobs.
It’s as if just by thinking his name, I’ve summoned him, because suddenly Kenny sticks his head through the door and exclaims, “What the hell, people! Get out here and take care of the customers!”
And we all scatter and take up our new or our accustomed tasks. I’m still a little dazed, but I’m able to focus on what I’m doing and I don’t mess up any of the orders—at least not badly enough to cause anyone to send a plate back. It takes me a while to realize that my despair has lifted, not all the way, but enough to make me think I can see my way out of the darkness.
I’ve never faced the killer before with friends at my back. Maybe they can save me. Maybe they can help me save myself.
* * *
—
After our shift ends, the four of us climb into Juwan’s ancient Ford. It’s so old and decrepit that if I had known Juwan in my previous life, which I hadn’t, he would have been driving the exact same car.
“The hell, J?” Sanjay says as he tries to avoid putting his foot through a rusted-out spot on the floor in the back seat. “How can this thing even run?”
“Don’t see you with a car to your name,” Juwan says as he starts the engine. The whole vehicle shakes so violently it seems like it’s trying to vibrate into teleport mode, but it doesn’t actually break apart into tiny pieces, as I expect.
“I’m taking public transportation till I can afford a real car.”
“This is real enough to get us where we’re going.”
In fact, we make it safely to my apartment, which is much too small to house four people for the night, and which also doesn’t contain any food. No one wants to make a shopping run because they don’t want to leave me alone to face a crazed assailant. Eventually, we order pizza while Lili dashes out to the nearest convenience store. The men stay behind to guard me, and Sanjay explains how to use the weapon he plans to give me in the morning. Turns out it’s a stun gun, not a Taser, but it still sounds like it will be simple enough to operate.
“Once he’s on the ground, kick him in the balls,” Juwan advises. “Then he’ll never get up to follow you.”
Dinner is pretty festive, since Lili picked up a couple of six-packs while she was buying breakfast food, and then I distribute people around the apartment for sleeping. Lili is sharing my bed with me, one of the guys gets the couch, and the other has to sleep on the floor. Sanjay loses the coin toss, so he makes a little nest out of all the blankets I can rustle up.
“Slept on worse,” he says.
Juwan wriggles on the lumpy couch. “Not sure I have.”
I blow them kisses from the doorway of the bedroom. “See you in the morning,” I say. “And—thank you.”
* * *
—
Juwan drives me and Lili to work on Thursday; Sanjay hops onto the L so he can swing by his apartment. As we walk from the car to the door of the diner, Juwan and Lili flank me on either side, shoulders close enough to touch.
I can’t imagine they’ll want to keep up this protective detail more than another day or two, but I am unutterably grateful for the effort they are making now.
When we push our way inside, Armand is behind the counter, restocking the register. His expression is severe.
“There was another creepy guy here yesterday?” he demands.
Kenny must have called him last night, which is surprising, ’cause Kenny and Armand don’t really like each other. “Sasha’s killer,” Juwan says.
Now Armand’s expression is thunderstruck. “Her killer?”
“From her previous lives,” Lili explains. “All of them.”
Armand is staring at me, incredulous, and I stare defiantly back. “They believe me,” I say. “Even if you don’t.”
“Did he try to kill you yesterday? Did he threaten you? Did he say anything to you?”
I hunch my shoulders and head to the kitchen to get my apron. “He said he wanted the meat loaf,” I say over my shoulder. “But I recognized him even before he said a word.”
“Sasha,” he begins, but I don’t wait to hear what he has to say. I just push through the kitchen door and steady my mind for the day.
* * *
—
After all this, how does it happen that I am alone on the street not five hours later? Why do I think it will be okay if I make a quick, solitary run to the nearest ATM? Lili is taking care of a boisterous table of ten, the guys are busily preparing the orders, and I don’t even think of asking Armand to accompany me. If the other three come home with me again, as they say they will, I want to be able to buy the pizza and beer. I want to show them how much I appreciate their help. And the ATM is only two blocks away. I can almost see it from the Deli-Lishes doorway.
I do remember to bring the stun gun. I carry it in my hand, hold my arm close to my body, try not to look like I’m expecting a monster to jump out at me from every alley and doorway. A cop car cruises by, and I just barely refrain from waving. Hello, Officers! Glad to see you on duty this afternoon!
The ATM is located inside a little glassed-in lobby that you can only access with a debit card, which makes me feel even safer. I’m the only customer, so I take a moment to check my bank balance—too low—before withdrawing a hundred bucks. Behind me, I hear the beep of the door lock disengaging as someone else swipes a card, and I spin around, suddenly flooded with adrenaline. But it’s just some tall, well-made-up woman carrying a designer bag and wearing a resentful expression. I can’t imagine anything going on in her life is worse than what’s happening in mine, but I give her a sympathetic smile anyway as I sidle past. She nods, not smiling in return.
Outside the glass foyer, I shoulder my purse and turn back toward the diner. Maybe we won’t get pizza tonight; I think everyone likes Chinese. Even Greek. There’s a little place down the street from me that has cheap moussaka and spanakopita for takeout. Another six-pack, maybe a bottle of wine, and we’re set.
I step past the dark, narrow space between two tall buildings, and a hand grabs my arm and yanks me into the shadows. I gasp and flail around, too startled to scream. Another arm comes around my rib cage and crushes me close, and now I can’t draw breath to yell anyway. My assailant is behind me, so I can’t see who it is, but the power in the grip makes me certain he’s male.
Well, I’m certain it’s my killer.
Not again not again not again.
The h
and on my shoulder moves to take my throat in a choke hold, and the arm around my middle tightens even more. I can’t breathe, but fear has gifted me with a lunatic strength, and I begin twisting and kicking wildly against him. I suddenly remember the weapon still clutched in my hand, and through my blurring vision and my frenetic struggling I try to remember how to engage the switch, even though I can’t see it. I swing my arm back in a sloppy arc, feel the nozzle connect with his body, and press hard.
There’s a buzz, a flare of light, and a howl from my attacker, who loosens his grip and staggers back against one of the brick walls. Panting, I whirl around, weapon raised and ready to use again. I’m also balancing on one foot, remembering what Juwan said. Once he’s on the ground, kick him in the balls. But he’s still upright, not even whimpering with pain, so maybe the charge has run down. Maybe the voltage hasn’t disabled him at all, certainly not long enough for me to get away.
But as soon as I take a good look at him, I’m paralyzed. I couldn’t run even if he were flat on his back, dead.
It’s him. It’s my killer. It’s the last face I see, over and over, back through time, back through decades. He has come here to murder me, and no small toy will stop him, in this life or any other.
“Bitch,” he says, and lunges for me.
This time I manage to scream as I fling my arms in front of me and try to scramble backward. I scream again, and he backhands me across the mouth before he grabs my shoulders and forces me to my knees. A second later, both of his hands are around my throat. I punch forward with all my might, aiming for his crotch but connecting with his thigh, and he hauls back and kicks me in the chest.
And then he slams against the wall as another body shoots between us and rips his hands away from me. I gasp and crawl backward as the newcomer punches my assailant again and again, each time bouncing his head against the unforgiving brick. But the killer is fighting back, and I see the flash of silver in his hands. A knife. The knife that usually cuts my throat.
“Help me!” I shriek, scrabbling out of the mouth of the alley, toward the street, toward sunlight, toward safety. “Help me!”
My vision is unreliable, but the sidewalk seems overfull of pedestrians. A woman screams, and a couple of men start shouting. A siren emits a single warning chirp, and suddenly two cops are charging toward me, guns extended.
“There! There!” I shout madly, pointing at the alley. “He tried to strangle me!”
They leap forward to position themselves on either side of the entrance. “Which one?” a cop asks. “There’s two. One in a blue shirt, one in black.”
I can still hear the sounds of the men punching each other, fists landing against flesh, grunts of pain puffing out of lungs. Still on my knees, I crawl over to peer into the alley. The man in the torn blue shirt is the figure from my nightmares.
The one in black is Armand.
“Blue,” I manage, so stunned I can hardly get the word out. “The guy in black is my friend.”
The cop nods once, then shouts into the mouth of the alley. “Hands up where we can see them! Both of you! Back off!”
Between the shadows and all the bodies in motion, it’s hard to tell what happens next. But it looks like Armand reels backward, hands over his head, while the other man falls to a defensive crouch. The cops start forward, and the killer lets loose a guttural snarl. He grabs Armand, flings him in the path of the police, and takes off running toward the other end of the alley. The lead cop crashes into Armand, shoves him out of the way, and races off in pursuit.
The second cop curses, holsters his gun, and dashes back out, already shouting into his handheld radio, requesting backup. “You—stay here,” he barks at me. Over his shoulder, he looks at Armand, who has stumbled out of the alley. “You too,” he adds, then pounds down to the corner and out of sight.
Armand has one hand to the back of his head and one to his waist, so I know he’s injured. I jump to my feet. “Are you all right? What did he do to you? Let me see!”
“I’m fine,” he says, but when his hand comes away from his waist, I see blood on his fingers.
“We should call an ambulance,” I say, bending over to try to get a better look. On the black fabric, it’s hard to tell, but he doesn’t look like he’s bleeding that badly.
“I’m fine,” he says again. “What about you? Did he hurt you?”
I don’t answer right away. I straighten up, and then I’m just staring at him. That serious face, just now purpling over with bruises. Those concerned blue eyes, focused on me as if they’d never been interested in looking away. “Did you follow me?” I ask wonderingly. “Were you watching out for me?”
Now his expression changes into something that might be pain—not a response to the physical beating, but to something worse. An emotional wound. “How can you not remember me?” he cries. “You remember everybody else!”
I am too stunned to speak.
He gestures at the alley, through which we can spot flashing lights and catch the shouts of police. I think maybe I hear a gunshot. Maybe not. “You knew him the minute you saw him! You knew Lili! How come you didn’t know me?”
I shake my head and try to find my voice. “But you don’t—you never—you’ve never remembered before,” I whisper.
“New York,” he says instantly. “The apartment in Greenwich. You embroidered the pillows on the bed. I hung green curtains in the window so the neighbors couldn’t see in.”
I gasp and almost double over. “Oh God,” I say. I’m going to be sick, but I don’t know why. Maybe because the world is spinning out of control.
He takes my shoulder, steadies me, pulls me upright. “You told me everything but I didn’t believe you,” he says. “I laughed at you when I didn’t wish you’d just shut up about it. You were so mad that you kicked me out of the apartment. And then a few days later, you died. Just like you said you would. You died. He killed you. They caught him the next day, did you know that? Caught him and he confessed. He just wanted to know what it felt like, he said. It seemed right. The minute he saw you, he knew he wanted to take your life.”
“Oh God,” I say again. I’m even dizzier now, but it’s all right, because Armand is propping me up, drawing me against him, giving me shelter. I know I should protest, because of the wound in his side, but it doesn’t seem to bother him any, so I don’t let it bother me.
“And I—I made a promise,” he says. “To myself, to you. To him. I promised that if it happened again—if I saw you again in another life, if all of it was true—I promised that I’d remember this time. And this time I’d stop him.”
“Armand,” I say against his chest.
“I remembered you,” he whispers. “But you forgot me.”
I look up at that, all my dizziness disappearing in a wash of indignation. “I did not! The minute I walked into the diner, I knew it was you! But you’d never recognized me before. Why would this time be different? And I couldn’t—” I made a hopeless gesture. “I couldn’t go through it again. Falling in love with you. Telling you everything. Having you laugh at me. Not again. Not this time.”
“It’s all been different this time,” he says, still in a whisper. “So what else might have changed?”
I don’t have time to answer, because suddenly we’re enveloped in a small knot of people. Lili, Sanjay, Juwan, who have apparently left the diner wholly unattended to come tearing down the street after us. They call out my name, they demand to know what happened, they snatch me from Armand’s embrace to pass me from one to the other so they can crush me in a series of ferocious hugs. Somehow I end up back in Armand’s arms, which feels so right to me and looks so right to everyone else that no one even bothers to comment.
“Why did you do that?” Lili cries. “Why did you go out by yourself?”
“I wasn’t thinking—the ATM was so close—but then he was there, he saw me, like he always s
ees me—” The arms around my waist tighten so suddenly that I don’t even try to produce more words.
I can see Juwan looking around. “Where’s the dude now?” His hand is in the pocket of his camo jacket, and I wonder if he’s carrying.
“Cops went after him,” Armand says. “Maybe—” He shrugs and leaves the sentence unfinished.
Lili is staring at something behind me. “That cop, maybe?” she asks, and points.
Armand lets me go and we all turn to face the officer heading back our way. His face looks closed and forbidding, and it’s clear something has gone very wrong this afternoon. Behind him trail three young men, shouting obscenities. He ignores them and comes straight up to us.
“My partner and I are going to need you to make a statement,” he says. “About the man who assaulted you.”
Armand puts his arm loosely around my waist. “Where is he? Did he get away?”
“The suspect is contained,” the cop answers in a clipped voice. “My partner is with him.”
One of the angry onlookers pipes up at that. “The suspect is dead!” he shouts. “Cops just go around shooting anyone they want!”
“Typical day in Chicago!” one of his friends yells out.
I stiffen with shock, and I feel all four of my friends react. “He’s dead?” Armand demands. “For real?”
The officer’s face takes on an even deeper scowl. “Paramedics are on the way,” is all he says.
“Yeah, paramedics are gonna help when he’s already bled out all over the sidewalk!” one of the protesters calls. “You killed that sucker! I got it all on my phone!”
I feel a strangled cry escape my lips, and then I turn in Armand’s arms, hiding my face against his chest. I clutch folds of his shirt in my fists and press them against my mouth, trying to conceal the fact that I’m crying, but everyone can tell anyway. I hear the policeman saying, “Ma’am—ma’am—please—” I can feel Lili’s hands patting at my shoulders while she murmurs that everything will be all right, really it will. Sanjay says, “I’d like to see this dead body,” and Juwan answers, “So would I,” so then the cop moves to head them off.
Fantastic Hope Page 6
