Never Wake (21 page)

The Mustang disregarded the red light, as Troy had, and roared across Burnside. She didn’t look back again, but Troy imagined she could feel puffs of heat on her bare calf as the car eased closer and closer. She wouldn’t be able to outrun a car on Dite. She had to get him out of that car somehow. She had begun to feel the first signs of fatigue brought on by fear when she spotted the ornate gateway leading into Chinatown.

She hadn’t been on this side of town since the eleventh grade. She and an old boyfriend had found a condemned parking structure that was perfect for ditching math class, smoking cigarettes, and making out. She had found the parking structure, but the making out and the smoking cigarettes hadn’t been her idea. She was praying fervently that the city hadn’t torn the parking structure down when it came into view.

“Oh, thank God.” The structure looked dark and dingy and no different than it had eleven years ago. Troy felt like she wanted to stop and kiss its pavement if she hadn’t taken a quick look back to see the Mustang turning the corner behind her.

“Come on, come on.” She forced more speed out of her legs, and she could hear the Mustang speeding up behind her. She swerved down what had been the exit ramp to the parking structure and, although her heart was pounding, it sounded like the grill of the Mustang was seconds from plowing into her back. She braked hard, and despite her speed, it slowed her down enough that she was able to avoid the wooden arm and the large metal teeth sticking out of the pavement.

The lights and anything else valuable had already been removed from the structure all those years ago. If she hadn’t known about the teeth, it would have been hard to see them in the dark. Troy had Dite back up to speed in seconds. She heard the Mustang hit the arm and then two loud explosions and a long loud sequel as the driver hit the brakes. Troy had a brief vision of a large, angry, wounded animal.

Troy was halfway up one of the ramps when she heard his car door open. She was tempted to stop to see what he was doing, but she didn’t. She knew he would get over the surprise and come after her again. She had reached the second ramp when she heard the car door slam again and the sound of the engine being put into gear and then the thump thump thump of the car being driven on at least two flat tires up the ramp.
What the hell is he doing?
Gooseflesh raised on Troy’s arms. She had expected him to give up. Or at the very least, follow her on foot.

You idiot. All you did was corner yourself and make him mad. He can still catch you even on two flat tires
. He wouldn’t care about ruining his rims. He didn’t pay for them.

She didn’t realize what she was going to do until she had reached the empty upper level and saw the short wall that she used to sit on tossing cigarette butts into the creek below. She slammed on her brake, torqued her hips as hard as she could, and once again, let the back tire slide out from under her. Only this time, it came to rest with a gentle bump against the five-foot-high stone wall. As scared as she was, she couldn’t help but think she couldn’t repeat that move in a million fucking years. She threw herself off Dite and over the wall before she could talk herself out of it.

She dropped for what seemed like ages until she landed in some blackberry bushes. Her first impulse was to get up and start running but she was afraid he might follow her. Even with flat tires, he could abandon the car and catch her on foot. She rolled beneath the lip of the parking structure using the wall and the bushes to block her from view. Her shoulder and hip smarted, and she could feel the sharp sting of scratches on her arms and legs. She had to lie on her side to fit into the small space, and her face was pressed into the dirt and gravel. She heard him open the car door. He must not have shut it, because a few minutes later she still hadn’t heard it slamming. She thought she heard him say something, but whatever it was was so low that she couldn’t make it out. She wished that she could see him. Several yellowing cigarette butts lay on the ground, and she wondered how many other kids used this place to cut school.

There was a loud crash, and then a stinging pain just below her right eye, and then Troy was looking at the remains of her bike. He had tossed Dite off the structure. There hadn’t been any time to do anything but leave her there. She had to save herself, right? She had to. Troy reached up and touched the spot on her right cheekbone. In the shadow of the overhang, she couldn’t see her hand, let alone discern if it were blood or tears on it.

Standard, Oregon, Years Ago

The last time Hoyt had taken The Boy hunting, he had become so frightened that he had wet his pants. It wasn’t the blood that scared him, he didn’t mind that. It had been the sound of the gun firing. He had heard gunshots on TV and in video games, but neither of those prepared him for the ear-ringing sound, the sharp metallic taste of the air, or the feeling that something that was once alive wasn’t anymore.

Hoyt had made him wash himself in an icy stream before forcing him to ride home with his naked ass sitting on a towel that Hoyt used to check his oil. Everything about that hunting trip came flooding back to him now as he sat shivering in the dark. All of it was the same, the cold, the whispering of trees, and Hoyt’s breath—a combination of caffeine and tarter, mixed with nicotine and milk, overpowered the more pleasant scent of green grass crushed beneath their boots.

“Look at her.” Hoyt handed him the binoculars. “Beautiful, ain’t she, boy?”

“Yeah,” The Boy said as he looked through the lenses. “Yes sir, she is.”

“See how long her legs are? How she kinda prances a little when she walks? That one there ain’t never had no kids. You see what I’m sayin’, boy?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You sure you ready for this? You even awake?”

“Yeah, I’m awake,” he lied. He hadn’t been awake when he’d pulled on his camouflage clothes. He was still asleep when Hoyt had driven them to a dirt road behind a line of houses and had told him to “get out and be careful not to slam the fucking door.”

His eyes were half closed as he followed Hoyt for what seemed like an hour, but was probably more like fifteen minutes, until they got to where they were squatting now.

He would not complain about being awakened only a few hours after he had gone to bed, nor would he ask questions. He wanted to, though.

There were things he didn’t need to ask. Like why Hoyt liked to hurt people. He knew why. Hoyt’s eyes gleamed when he read the newspaper reports about the things he did. He liked to hurt people because it made him feel good. The Boy figured it was a lot like how he had felt when he’d poured the bleach in those drinks. He had felt powerful, as if he could do anything.

“So, what you think, boy? You ready for your first one?” The Boy put down the binoculars; he could already hear Hoyt’s breathing quicken. His skin crawled, but at the same time, his crotch tightened.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ready.”

“Remember, do it real gentle. Same way that little rat dog of hers does when he’s ready to come back in.”

“Okay.” The Boy was shivering now, and it wasn’t even cold outside.

“Now we’re in this together. You’re the same as me. If you ever tell anyone about this, even your friends, it’ll get real bad, real fast. You understand?”

“Yeah, I understand.”

“Good.” Hoyt cupped the back of his neck and gave him a gentle little push. He walked hunched over toward the back door. He squatted down low and scratched at the door, about two feet from the bottom. He felt real bad about what Hoyt made him do to the dog until he remembered that Hoyt had said he would let him try to pick the lock on the next one.

He heard her get up from the table where they had been watching her eat. “What took you so long, sweetie? I had to keep your dinner warm.”

He hoped this didn’t take long.

*

Troy stared unblinking into the darkness. She hadn’t slept, at least she didn’t think she had, but she had drifted in and out of awareness.

He must have left the car up there, because she hadn’t heard him drive away. She almost wished the car hadn’t been disabled. At least then, she would have been able to hear the engine before he could get close again.

The fear that he might sneak up behind her on foot had kept her in her place longer then she intended. That, and the fact that she hated to leave Dite scattered on the ground in this place.

Something took flight from behind her as she scrambled to her feet. The lights in the parking structure had long since been knocked out by kids bearing rocks. She herself was responsible for destroying the one at the entrance ten years before. Shadows would have been welcomed over the utter darkness.

Sharp bushes grabbed at her arm and clothes as she pushed her way out of them and onto the dry creek bed. She heard the pinging sound of metal hitting rocks as she stumbled and then began to run. The moon and stars would have helped to light her path if they hadn’t been cloaked by clouds. She knew the creek was fairly straight and would lead her to a street to the left of the parking structure. She could take that out through Chinatown and follow some of the smaller, less traveled streets back to the Pearl District, back to Emma. All she had to do was keep running.

The dark was so complete that she could have closed her eyes and been in no more danger of falling. Her mouth was dry and salty. Sweat? She ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth, and the sting of pain confirmed that it was actually blood. The impact of the fall had caused her to bite her tongue.
Don’t think, just run
, she told herself, and for at least a mile, the mantra kept her from becoming crippled by terror.

What about Emma? What if she starts to worry? What if he finds her? I have no way of warning her. Why didn’t I ask Emma for her phone number? Hell, does she even have a phone?

Troy let out a gust of air that could have been a choked sob as light began to cut into the utter blackness. Soon she was able to make out the edge of the creek bed. She scrambled out and paused long enough to make sure that he wasn’t lying in wait for her before she began to run again.

She looked behind her several times, even going so far as to stop to listen for footsteps.
You’re being paranoid. No, not paranoid enough. Remember the woman at the hospital? He tried to decapitate her. You have to be sure you don’t lead that man back to Emma.
Her heart was slamming against her rib cage, and her throat felt raw. Her muscles were screaming in protest after lying in one position for so long and now being forced to propel her body so far and so fast. Her breathing became more and more labored as her fear added a twenty-pound weight to her back. No matter how hard she tried, she kept replaying the sight of the wounds to that woman’s neck through her mind.

She tried to think of Emma, but that brought her to how they had left things. If that man caught her, Emma would be left to think she had simply chosen to walk out of her life.

The argument seemed stupid now. If she had simply talked to Emma, told her the truth, told her that yes, at one time, she had planned on spending the rest of her life with Patricia, that she had had a hard time moving on with her life without Patricia in it, but that she was ready—

Troy slowed her pace and came to a stop across the street from Bike Rite, a store she was familiar with, but would never shop at, even if she could afford its pricy garments. The two large, flat-panel screens that had been one of the store’s main attractions were now broadcasting snow, and someone had thrown something heavy through the front door. But neither of those things were what captured Troy’s attention. Troy’s shoes crunched on the glass as she approached a man lying in front of the store.

The man was lying with his legs sprawled awkwardly out in front of him. His hat was several feet away from his outstretched hand. Troy squatted next to him, taking in his clothing: a pinstriped suit, an overcoat, and what looked like brand new, shiny black shoes.
Come on, what the hell are you doing? You’re what? Maybe fifteen minutes from Emma’s? There’s nothing special about this guy.
Troy stood up, but she continued to stare at his placid face trying to figure out what, if anything, was wrong with him. He was unremarkable. So much so, that if she turned away from him, she doubted she could give an accurate description of him to save her life. Maybe that was what bothered her. She hadn’t bothered to look at the others. It had felt too much like a wake—too much like viewing the dead, but this man’s position had revived her curiosity.

All of the other people she had seen in the last few weeks looked as though they had simply lain down for a nice nap. Their peaceful positions made it easy for her to remember that they were all just sleeping. But this man looked like he had fallen…or maybe he had been disturbed after he had fallen. The thought caused Troy’s fist to tighten.

Calm down; you know he’s out there. The fact that he might have disturbed this poor man should be no surprise to you. He’s far better off than that poor woman at the hospital
. Troy squatted next to him again and hesitated, remembering her horror the last time she had touched one of the sleeping, and shook her head.

That was different. She had seen at least a hundred people just like this guy since then. Troy picked up his wrist. There was an even pulse, and Troy was about to put his wrist down when she noticed that the face of his watch was broken. “Eleven o’clock,” she said aloud and looked at the man’s face. That’s what time the clock in the hospital had said, too. Chills formed on Troy’s arm, and she stood up and backed away from the sprawled figure. She hadn’t worn a watch since she was in elementary school. She lived her life based on how fast she could ride her bike from one side of town to the other. She rarely noticed clocks, but the fact that this man’s watch had stopped at eleven, and so had the clock in the hospital, seemed like an odd coincidence. Troy backed further away from him and ran with renewed strength. Troy forced herself to ignore the sound of her shoes hitting the sidewalk like drumbeats in the dead, quiet streets.