Wonderland (18 page)

TWENTY-THREE

Under the Clown Museum

B
lake had been out of food for a while now. How long, exactly, he couldn’t say, but he knew that every part of his body was hurting. He was doing his best to stay hydrated, drinking as much water as he could every chance he got, but it wasn’t enough. The candy bars, cookies, and wrapped sandwiches hadn’t lasted more than a couple of days, and he was in agony once again.

Food and escape were all he thought about, all day long. He could see why solitary confinement was an effective punishment. Deprived of everything but the basics, you could drive yourself mad just sitting alone all day, being forced to think your thoughts. There was nothing to distract you, nothing to keep you from mentally dying, and the time dragged so slowly it felt as if the world had stopped spinning on its axis.

But at least guys in prison got an hour a day outside in the fresh air, where there was sunshine. At least guys in prison could read books to pass the time. At least guys in prison—murderers, child molesters, drug dealers—had three square meals a day, clean clothes, showers, and warm blankets. They were not subjected to endless hours in the dark, where there was no concept of day or night, and you had only the stench of your own body to keep you company.

Blake was wracked with another spasm. He clutched his stomach and moaned. Holy fuck, the hunger was terrible. It was almost as if his entire body was eating itself to stay alive, and no amount of water would make the spasms stop. He cried out again as the pain overtook him, then started to sob into the bare mattress.

Anything was better than this. Anything.

A small sound caught his attention, a rustle of some kind. Blake forced himself to calm down so he could hear it. The only light in the tunnel was coming from the corridor to the right of his cell, and he’d assumed it was a slowly dying lightbulb based on the way it flickered. Sometimes he heard sounds coming from that direction, too, like the Wonderland jingle that had played when he first woke up here. But since he’d never heard it again, he thought maybe he’d imagined it.

But the rustling sound right now was real. Trying to ignore the cramps in his legs, Blake got out of bed and walked toward the metal bars. On the cement floor, a one-liter Camelbak thermos was rolling toward him, coming from the same direction where the lightbulb occasionally flickered. The thermos was not unlike the one Blake kept in his backpack at all times. Made of transparent blue plastic, he saw right away that it wasn’t filled with water. Nor did it appear empty.

Crouching down, he reached between the bars of the cell and picked it up. Several mini candy bars were stuffed inside, the same ones that had been tossed to him by his captor the other day. He twisted off the lid and shook them out. There were five—three Twix and two Three Musketeers. Tearing the wrapper off of one of the Twix bars, he ate it quickly, and then ate another.

Forcing himself to stop, he looked out into the tunnel, where it was dark.

“Hello?” Blake called out, not feeling it was necessary to shout. He kept the volume of his voice moderate; wherever the candy bars had come from, it couldn’t have been too far away. Nevertheless, his voice echoed slightly throughout the tunnel. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

No answer.

“Hello?” He didn’t dare speak any louder, for fear that whoever had brought him here would come back and take away the food that quite possibly he wasn’t allowed to have. “If you’re out there, please say something. Hello?”

Still no answer. He emptied the bottle, putting the candy bars into his pocket. He screwed the lid of the thermos back on and placed it on the floor outside the bars. It hadn’t rolled very fast when it had appeared in front of his cell, so when he rolled it back, he did his best to approximate the same speed.

“My name’s Blake,” he said. “Thank you for the candy bars. Whoever you are, I’d really like to talk to you.”

Another moment of silence passed, and then softly, music began to play. It was coming from the same direction as the candy bars had, and that’s when Blake realized that the dim flickering light he’d seen was not from an aging lightbulb. It was from a TV.

It hit him then, and he felt like smacking himself for not realizing it sooner. There was
another
cell beside his, and whoever was in it, their TV worked. There was a comedy on, judging from the faint sounds of canned laughter. Instantly Blake was jealous. A working TV would make all the difference down here. Just to be sure, he reached up and pushed the button on his own TV again, but it still didn’t turn on.

Another hunger cramp seized him, and Blake unwrapped his third candy bar. The other two he needed to try and save, because who knew when he’d be fed again. Whoever was in the next cell probably had his own ration, and Blake would have to do better the next time his captor arrived with food.

His pressed his face against the cold metal bars, wishing his head fit through so that he could get a glimpse of who was beside him . . . or at least get a glimpse of their TV. The light continued to flicker, dimly illuminating the section of the corridor to the right of him that was normally always dark.

The flickering light caught something in the corridor. Curious, Blake strained to make out what it was. He squinted. Lost it. Squinted again. Saw it. Then felt the horror rise up inside him, threatening to gag him, threatening to unleash the little bit of food he’d just consumed, which he couldn’t afford to vomit up.

A dead body lay about ten feet away.

Its clothes were in tatters, an emaciated grimace carved into its decaying face, and the hollow spaces where its eyes once were stared directly at Blake, seeing nothing.

He screamed.

TWENTY-FOUR

T
he pizza box was in Ava’s hands as Vanessa came down the stairs, and she felt her daughter’s scrutiny.

“Hot date?” Ava’s voice was dry.

“Does that mean I look nice?” Vanessa asked, hopeful.

Her daughter shrugged. “You look all right. Those sandals new?”

Vanessa looked down at her feet. She was wearing black strappy sandals with three-inch heels, black leggings, and a loose gray tunic top. “I bought them a year ago, I think. Haven’t worn them till now. You approve?”

“They’re okay.” Then, grudgingly, “What size are they?”

“Eight,” Vanessa said. “You could wear them. You walk better in heels than I do, anyway.”

“Can Katya sleep over?”

“Again?” Vanessa frowned. “Why don’t you just hang out with John-John tonight? He was looking forward to it.”

“Katya’s an only child,” Ava said. “She’d probably love to hang out with John-John, too.”

“Nice try,” Vanessa said. “You two have been doing a lot of sleepovers. Take the night off and spend some quality time with your little brother. Please.”

“Fine.” Ava took the pizza into the kitchen without a word. Vanessa allowed herself a small smile as she reached for her purse to touch up her lipstick. You never knew which way it was going to go with teenage girls.

Little boys, on other hand, were so much easier. John-John came bounding out of the kitchen, a slice of pepperoni pizza in his hand. He’d picked off all the mushrooms, because some kid at day camp had told him mushrooms were a fungus, and that a fungus was like a disease.

His face lit up when he saw her. “You look nice! Where you going?”

“I told you already. Jerry’s still in town. We’re going to have dinner and talk about work stuff.”

“Can I come? I like Jerry.”

“He likes you, too, but not this time, buddy. You’re going to stay home with your sister and eat pizza and watch movies. You be good and do what she says, okay?”

He frowned and rubbed his head with his free hand, and his little face was so cute she had to refrain from kissing him. He was starting to squirm away from her kisses, which broke her heart. He was growing up way too fast.

“Can we watch
Batman
? It’s on Netflix.”

“Ask your sister. If it’s okay with her, it’s okay with me.”

“Avie, can we watch
Batman
?” he hollered.

“Yeah,” she said from the other room. “But you’re not allowed to talk during the movie. That’s the rule.”

“Okay.” Turning back to Vanessa, he whispered, “She’s bossy.”

“Yes, she is.” She laughed. “Bed by nine, okay?”

“Why?” Her seven-year-old’s voice instantly took on a whiny tone. “Jaden gets to stay up till ten.”

“That’s why Jaden has a hard time waking up for day camp,” Vanessa reminded him. “Remember how his mommy couldn’t wake him and he missed swim time the other morning?”

“I guess. How come Avie doesn’t have to go to day camp?”

“Because Ava’s a big girl and she has a job,” Vanessa said. “When you’re older, you’ll have a summer job, too.”

“I wish I could be at Wonderland all day. I’m going to work there when I’m fourteen.” John-John said this like it was news to her. “I think it’s the greatest place in the world. But not in the Clown Museum like Avie. Too scary. I want to make the roller coasters go zoom. Jaden says his big brother is a roller coaster op’rator and he gets to push the button that makes it go and apparently it’s so much fun.”

“The Clown Museum’s fun,” Ava called from the kitchen. “I get to dress up in a costume and scare people all day. It’s way better than wearing that fugly purple uniform like everyone else.”

“What’s fugly?” Vanessa asked her son.

“It means ugly,” John-John said. “But with an
f
.”

“Oh.” Vanessa didn’t understand. It came to her a few seconds later, and she sighed.
Fugly
was teenage speak for
fucking ugly
. She bent down and gave John-John a kiss on the forehead. He managed to stay still while she did it, but just barely, and not without making a face. “That’s not a nice word. I don’t want you to use that word.”

He squirmed away and went back to eating his pizza.

“I’m locking the door behind me. I should be home around ten. Did you hear that, Ava?” she called.

Her daughter had moved to the living room, where her voice could barely be heard over the sounds of the TV. “Yeah.”

“I have my phone with me. Text or call if anything happens.”

“We’re fine, Mother,” Ava said. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“You know what I’m talking about, Ava.” Vanessa’s tone was stern. They’d had another discussion earlier that day about her daughter staying safe at the park. “You know what I’m working on right now. Do not answer the door, and if someone calls, do not say that I’m not home.”

“I
know
!”

Vanessa took one last look at herself in the full-length mirror and fingered the bouquet of pink roses she’d placed earlier on the hallway table. Then she left, locking the door behind her and tugging at it to make sure it was really secure. She used to do the same thing when they lived in Seattle, and not in a million years would she have thought she’d have the same concerns in Seaside, the smallest, prettiest town in southwestern Washington.

•   •   •

The lights inside the Tango Tavern were low. Vanessa stood near the front entrance for a moment and scanned the room. It was maybe two-thirds full, and she didn’t see anyone she knew. All tourists, all people passing through. Which was why she’d chosen this place the first time.

She had lied to her kids. She wasn’t meeting Jerry for dinner; her old friend had other stuff to do.

Taking a seat at the bar, she ordered a Ninkasi IPA, always her beer of choice when it was available. She was halfway through it when the doors opened and Oscar Trejo walked in. Her heart skipped a beat, then began thumping painfully to make up for it.

He was alone as he said he’d be, dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a button-down with the sleeves rolled up. He walked right up to her, ignoring the admiring glances that several of the female patrons were giving him. He looked good, and smelled even better.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Oscar said. “I wasn’t sure you’d show up.”

“Well, you’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” Vanessa gave him a small smile. “Three voice mails, six texts, and a dozen pink roses. I should have held out for the singing telegram.”

“That would have been tomorrow, had you said no to tonight.” He grinned, sliding onto the bar stool beside hers. The bartender approached. “What she’s having.”

A moment later they were clinking bottles. “To us,” he said.

“I wasn’t aware there was an us,” Vanessa said. “Oz, I barely know you. You barely know me. We had a fun time here the other night, and that’s all it was ever supposed to be.”

“Ouch.” Oscar pretended she had just stabbed him in the heart. “You are not the woman I remember from that night. She was a lot more easygoing than you are.”

“She was also ‘Lynn,’ remember?” Vanessa played with her beer bottle. “Lynn, who didn’t talk about anything personal. Lynn, who wasn’t the deputy chief of police of Seaside. All I wanted that night was some company. As did you.”

“I like you.” Oscar swiveled in his stool so he was facing her directly. “I don’t care what your name is. I don’t care what you do for a living. I like
you
. I know we just met. But so what? When I woke up the next morning and you were gone, I was disappointed, and I’m never
disappointed. Usually all I feel is relief. And then when I saw you again, even though the circumstances were terrible, I can’t explain it . . . I was just so happy to see you.”

He touched her arm. She flinched slightly, and he removed it.

“I’m coming on really strong, I know that,” Oscar said. “But I have a feeling that if I don’t, you won’t take me seriously. And life’s short. I’ve wasted a lot of time doing things that don’t make me happy, and I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to do things that feel right. I want to trust my gut. And my gut tells me that if I don’t go all out trying to convince you to give me a shot, I’ll regret it. And I don’t know about you, but I can’t afford to have any more regrets.”

Vanessa met his gaze. Every word he was saying rang true. She knew exactly what he was talking about. She was filled with so much regret, things she wished she could change, things she’d do over in a heartbeat if she could.

But she couldn’t. In life, there were no do-overs. There was just right here. Right now.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m going to lay it all out, and I want you to listen, okay?”

He winced. “That bad, huh?”

“That’s up to you to decide,” Vanessa said. “I really have no business getting involved with anybody right now. My husband died six months ago, suddenly and tragically. We did not have a good marriage, not for a long time, and then he died, and it’s been hard on my kids, and hard on me. I left my last job on the verge of being fired because a boy I loved when I was a teenager grew up to be the Pacific Northwest’s largest drug dealer and he used our relationship to manipulate his trial, which was great for him because he got acquitted, and terrible for me because it tainted my reputation. I had to call in a favor to get this job, which involved a lot of begging and pleading, neither of which I enjoy or am particularly good at. I moved my kids out of a house and city they loved because there were too many bad memories there, because we needed a fresh start, otherwise we weren’t going to make it. I’ve had more one-night stands than I can count; one was during my marriage, and there’ve been a whole bunch since. The former makes me an adulteress and the latter makes me a slut, neither of which should be appealing to someone like you, who seems to be looking for something more profound than I’m able to give you. I don’t trust anybody, and in general, I think people are liars and cheaters, because I am, and it’s not fair to hold anyone else to a higher standard than I hold myself. I am about the worst person you could ever be with outside of a one-night stand, and if you were smart, you’d get off that bar stool and run.”

A silence fell between them.

“You done?” Oscar finally said. “Because that was a really great monologue and I wish I was as articulate as you, but I’m not. You think I don’t have baggage? You think you can scare me off? I wasn’t looking for your autobiography. I don’t give a shit about your past. We all have one. All I care about, all that matters, is how you feel. About me. Right now. Assuming you feel anything at all.”

“I don’t know how I feel,” Vanessa said. “Mainly because I’ve spent a lot of years trying not to feel things, because feelings suck. But what I know is that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that night. That’s never happened to me, either. And all I want to do right now is stop talking, go back to your house, and get naked with you. That’s what I know.”

He paused for a heartbeat, then said, “Don’t bother to finish your beer, I have beer at home.”

He slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter, took her by the hand, and led her out the door.

•   •   •

“I can’t stay the night,” Vanessa said to him ten minutes later. They were back at his place, standing face-to-face in his bedroom, both fully clothed. Unlike the last time, they were both sober, and the lights were on. “I have to get home early this time.”

“Okay,” Oscar said.

He stared at her a moment longer, then pulled her close and kissed her deeply, his tongue entering her mouth. The kiss wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t exactly gentle, either; it was passionate, and urgent. Instantly, she was aroused. This didn’t feel anything like it had the first time. Even though they were still very new to each other, they were no longer strangers.

His hands moved down the length of her waist to her buttocks, where he squeezed. Her hands found their way under his shirt, and she moved her palms across the small of his back to the little tuft of hair just above his ass that was pleasingly fuzzy. Their kissing grew more urgent, and she grinded herself against him.

Suddenly he pulled back. “No,” he said. “I don’t want us to rush. We might not have all night, but there’s enough time for us to go slow. You said you wanted to be naked with me.” He took a step back. “So get naked. I want to see you.”

Smiling, Vanessa pulled her tunic top over her head. In the soft light of the bedroom, his eyes feasted on her. She unstrapped her sandals, then hooked her thumbs on either side of the waistband of her leggings. Slowly, she inched them down. And then she simply stood there, dressed only in her bra and panties, allowing him to see everything he wanted to see.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said.

She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, letting her breasts fall slightly to their natural drop. Her nipples were pink and erect, and he licked his lips when he saw them. Then slowly, she slid her panties down, allowing him to see all of her. She gazed back at him unself-consciously as his eyes roamed her naked body, pausing on breasts, then her navel, and then the part between her legs, freshly shaved in the shower an hour earlier.