Midnight Is My Time

by Mike Dellosso

  Andy shrugged. The conversation made him uncomfortable. He was his father’s son and yet he wasn’t. He didn’t want to be like his father. “Apparently, he embraced his differentness. Used it to do some very bad things. Hurt people.”

  “Including your mother?” Missy knew the type all too well. From what she’d told him so far, she’d endured more than he ever had.

  “Yes. Even my mother.”

  “How did he die?”

  “I don’t know. My mom would never go that far in the conversation. She’d change the subject before it got to that point.”

  Belle leaned closer. “Was your dad a mutant like you?”

  Andy stared at her for a few seconds. “I’m not a mutant.”

  “Then what are you? No one has strength like that. Except maybe Wolverine.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind. So you’re different than your dad but not that different. Just different in a different sort of way.”

  Again, Andy stared at her. “I’m beginning to wonder why I brought you along.”

  Belle sat back in the booth and spun the sugar packet. “You two are full of enlightening information.” She nodded her head toward Missy. “You have no idea about anything.” Then to Andy. “And all you know is that your dad was different but in a different way than you’re different.”

  Missy turned her face to Belle. “And who are you? Where did you come from?” She looked in Andy’s direction. “Why is she even here?”

  After a brief awkward silence, Andy said, “She helped me find you. I couldn’t have done it without her.” It was the truth too.

  Belle continued to spin the sugar packet. Andy put his hand over it to stop the spinning. “How did you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Where to turn. Where the house would be.”

  Belle shrugged. “I don’t know. I just felt it.”

  “Like a magnetic pull?”

  “Yeah, something like that. I sense things.”

  Andy smiled. “Like a mutant?”

  “What kinds of things?” Missy asked.

  “Things. About people, places. Just feelings.”

  “Like?”

  “Like what kind of people they are, what kind of place it is. When I saw you talking in the gym last night, I knew right away that those two dudes were no good. I knew they were up to something. So I kept my eye on them. Then when you”—she pointed to Andy—“woke up this morning, I knew I needed to help you. I was the only one who could.”

  “So you’re different too.” Andy smirked. “But a different kind of different than our different.”

  “I guess,” she said. “You’re like superheroes or mutants or something. I’m not like that. I can’t breathe fire, and my bones aren’t made of iron.”

  “But you see people,” Missy said.

  “But not dead people.”

  “No. You see them for who they really are.”

  “What about the folks in this bar?” Andy glanced at the other patrons. “Anyone catch your attention?”

  “Yeah, creepy dude over there on the stool. If you weren’t here, big guy, he’d have made a move on us already. He’s a creeper, for sure.”

  Just then an older man sitting at the bar stood, put a few bills on the counter, and walked toward the door. As he passed the creepy guy, he turned and glanced in the direction of the threesome’s table.

  When Andy’s eyes met the older man’s, a chill raced down Andy’s spine. There was a familiarity about him that immediately gnawed at Andy’s mind. Where did he know him from?

  “Wait here,” Andy said. He slid out of the booth as the old guy exited the building. Dashing through the room, Andy wove around tables and reached the door in a matter of seconds. He pushed open the door in time to catch the mystery man getting into his truck, a late-model Dodge.

  The man fired up the engine, but Andy got there before he could step on the gas. Andy positioned himself in front of the truck, both hands on the hood, and stared at the man. He knew this guy. Somehow and from somewhere, but he couldn’t place him.

  The man stared back. He couldn’t have been more than sixty, but age had not been kind to him. He’d lived a hard life, weathered many storms.

  “Who are you?” Andy asked.

  The man said nothing. He shifted the truck into gear.

  “I’m not moving until you tell me.”

  The man rolled the driver’s side window down. “I’ll run you over.”

  “No, you won’t. You know you can’t. Who are you? How did you know we’d be here?”

  After a few tense beats, the man relaxed behind the wheel. “I was a friend of your mother’s.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Names aren’t important.”

  Andy recalled his mother talking about a Ben Baxter, the pastor of the church she attended as a teen.

  “Ben Baxter.”

  The man said nothing.

  “Are you Ben Baxter?”

  The man looked like he wanted to say something, like he had confidential information he was itching to share but couldn’t. He tightened his lips and looked around the empty parking lot. “No. I can’t say anything more. Not yet. You’re going to have to figure this out on your own. That’s the way it has to be. Now please, let me go.”

  “But you knew we’d be here. At this bar on this day.”

  Again, the man responded with silence.

  “I’m not moving until you tell me how you knew we’d be here.”

  “I just knew. I needed to make sure you both were okay.”

  “How did you know?”

  “He told me.”

  “Who?”

  The man pointed a finger heavenward. “You better get back inside. Your companions are gonna need you.”

  Andy stared at him, debating whether to let him go or not.

  “Scruffy at the bar’s been eyeing them up since you all walked in.”

  The creeper.

  “Will we see you again?” Andy asked.

  The old man smiled. Some of his teeth were missing, but it was a nice smile that wrinkled his eyes at the corners. “I hope so. Get to Boston. I’ll meet you there, and when the time is right, I’ll tell you what you need to know. I can’t talk now. Not here. Not now.” He nodded toward to the bar. “Now go. They need you. Now.”

  Andy lifted his hands from the truck’s hood and stepped to the side. The man drove by without another look at Andy.

  Inside the bar, Andy found creeper guy at the table, leaning on it like he owned it. His face was inches from Missy’s.

  Andy quickly crossed the room and stood behind the guy. “Back off, dude.”

  The creep turned and straightened his back, stuck out his chest. The smell of alcohol clung to him like a cheap cologne. He was a full four inches shorter than Andy and probably forty pounds lighter. When he noticed Andy’s face and Stetson, his mouth split into a wide smile. “Where’d they find you, the cowboy freak show?”

  Anger tightened Andy’s fists but he relaxed them. He didn’t want to hurt this guy. He was drunk and feeling a little too sure of himself. Instead, Andy turned a quarter turn, hoping to relieve some of the tension that had built between the two by disengaging. He redirected his attention to Missy and Belle. “You two ready to go?”

  “Who do you think you are, huh?” The creep didn’t know when to walk away.

  Andy turned back to face the guy. “I’m the guy telling you to back off. Walk away and go back to your beer.”

  “Man, I’m not going anywhere unless I have one of these young ladies on my arm.”

  “Then it’ll be a broken arm,” Andy said.

  From across the room, the bartender said, “Hey, guys, you got issues, take ’em outside.”

  “We were just leaving,” Andy said. He stepped forward into the creep’s space to force him away from the booth so Missy and Belle could exit.

  But creepy-guy didn’t like being maneuvered. He tried to hold his ground, but And
y was too big and bulky for him to stop. Instead, he dug in his heels, shifted his weight forward, and tried to head-butt Andy in the jaw. Andy was too quick, though, and saw the move coming. He sidestepped, caught the guy off-balance, and shoved him forward. The creep stumbled for a couple steps, his center of gravity too far out in front of him, then lost his balance and fell into another booth.

  Andy turned to Missy and Belle. “Now leave. Head for the SUV. I’ll be right behind you.” He knew the creep wouldn’t take being humiliated with a good attitude. Alcohol had a way of amping someone’s pride to unhealthy levels.

  By the time Missy and Belle were halfway across the room, the guy had climbed to his feet, cursing and spitting blood. He’d apparently hit his mouth on the table and busted his lip.

  Andy had placed himself between the girls and the creep and backpedaled across the bar.

  The creep looked around, found them near the door, cursed again, and charged Andy.

  It was an unfair match. Andy knew that. He simply shoved the man, who lost his balance again and this time stumbled into a stool and knocked it over, falling on top of it.

  The bartender waved Andy out of the building. “Go on. Get. I’ll take care of him.”

  Outside, the sky was still dark, but the lot seemed darker. The one sodium bulb that illuminated the area had gone out.

  The SUV waited across the lot, fifteen yards away.

  Belle took Andy’s arm, stopped him and Missy. “Wait.”

  “What is it?” Andy surveyed the lot but couldn’t make much out in the darkness.

  “Something’s here.”

  “Something or someone?” Missy said.

  “Does it matter?”

  From behind the SUV came a rustling, like that of an animal caught in a thicket and trying to free itself.

  Chapter 18

  There’s an eeriness that typically surrounds a coyote in the wild. That eeriness increases exponentially when a pack is present. What emerged from beyond the SUV was not just one coyote but five—all mangy with long, lanky legs and slender torsos. The alpha was larger and jet black, its fur longer than the others’ as well.

  As if they’d discussed their strategy ahead of time, the pack spread out and surrounded Andy, Missy, and Belle.

  Missy must have felt Andy tense. “What is it?”

  “Coyotes.”

  “How many?”

  “Five. They’re surrounding us.”

  The coyotes formed a perimeter around the threesome at a distance of fifteen to twenty feet. All except the alpha paced a small track—mouths closed, ears low, heads dipped—watching the humans with intense curiosity. The alpha stood his ground in a slight crouch, his yellow eyes never moving from their target. An image of Dean Shannon shot through Andy’s mind. Head dipped, fists clenched, feet spread wide, arms tense and ready for action. He’d been a predator of sorts.

  “Do they look friendly?” Missy asked.

  Belle leaned into Andy. “They look like they want to eat us.”

  That same hungry look had flashed in Dean’s eyes.

  “Just stand still.” Andy needed to think, formulate a plan to scatter the coyotes, break up the pack, and cause confusion. That would give an opening and the time needed to rush to the SUV, just twenty feet away.

  The coyotes moved in synchrony, inching closer, tightening the circle to ten feet.

  Dean had moved in a similar manner, circling Andy, stalking him. Eyeing his prey.

  The alpha yelped, and one of the coyotes to Andy’s right bared its teeth, snarled, and let out a sharp bark. It lunged forward, within five feet of Missy, then scurried back to its original position.

  The one to Andy’s left did the same.

  “What are they doing?” Missy asked.

  “Coordinating,” Andy said. “Planning.” Intelligent behavior, but not beyond a pack of coyotes. They hunted in packs and often coordinated their movements for the most efficient attack.

  Belle leaned even closer into Andy. “I thought you said it was over.”

  “It is,” he said. “This is different.”

  “Really? How?”

  Andy had seen a pack of wolves behave in a similar manner shortly after The Event. He’d stood by helplessly as a family was surrounded and stalked and eventually devoured. The wolves had coordinated their movements, communicated through yelps and snarls. It had made Andy physically sick at the time, and the memory of the ordeal now stirred those nauseating feelings. “Maybe it’s not so much different.”

  The coyotes inched closer again, wagging their heads back and forth in an irritated manner. The alpha’s pink tongue darted in and out of its mouth. His crouch deepened.

  Dean’s taunts had stirred something in Andy, something foreign and ugly. Malicious. Something that clawed and snarled and spit and hissed. Andy’s temper was no secret, nor was his unusual strength . . . but this was different. It had its source in some dark abyss buried under layers of his soul.

  Missy tightened her grasp on Andy’s arm. “What should we do?”

  “Can’t you light them up?” Belle asked.

  “No,” Missy said. “I can’t flip it on and off with a switch. I don’t know how to control it.”

  There were too many for Andy to take on at once. If it were just one, even the larger alpha, he might stand a chance, but not against the five. Their attacks would be relentless and would wear him down systematically until he had no more strength. And then they’d devour him.

  But he had an idea. “Can you drive, Belle?”

  “Sure.”

  “What are you thinking?” Missy asked.

  “I can hold them off,” Andy said. “You two make a run for it. Belle, you drive. Head north. I’ll catch up with you.”

  His plan made no sense, and he doubted they’d go for it.

  He was right.

  “No way,” Missy said. “You’ll never make it out.”

  The coyotes came no closer, but they all bobbed their heads now and flicked their tongues. They were growing increasingly agitated.

  “Can you take them?” Belle said.

  “I can hold them off.” It would be the best he could do.

  “You said that the first time. Can you take them, though?”

  The alpha lunged to within three feet of the threesome and snapped its jaws but quickly retreated. It yelped once, and the coyote to its left did the same.

  “We need to do this now,” Andy said. “On the count of three, okay?”

  Neither of his companions said anything.

  “Really, we need to do this,” he said again. “On three make a run for the SUV.”

  But before he could begin counting, the door to the bar flew open, and a voice bellowed from behind them. “Yah! Get outta here!” A gunshot pierced the still night air and echoed across the vast open space surrounding the bar. One of the coyotes flinched, yelped, stumbled a few feet to its right, then slumped to the ground, motionless. The others scurried into the darkness.

  “Get outta here!” the man yelled. Another crack from the gun sounded. Missy jumped.

  Andy turned to find the bartender standing outside the bar, rifle pointing skyward. “Blasted coyotes. Keep comin’ ’round here lookin’ for food.” He eyed Andy and the girls. “Looks like you were almost their food.”

  “It looked that way,” Andy said. “Thanks for coming when you did.”

  The bartender crossed the parking lot to where the coyote lay. He nudged it with his foot, which produced a weak whine from the coyote. After stepping back a few feet, the bartender pointed the rifle at the coyote’s head and squeezed off another round. The concussion was deafening. The coyote flinched, then lay lifeless.

  Chapter 19

  Belle slept in the back seat of the SUV while Andy drove and Missy entertained thoughts of gruesome and ugly images. She was tired, fatigued from a long, arduous day and night topped off by a frightening encounter with coyotes, but she could not sleep. She’d gone from running from Andy to captivity
by Trevor to being rescued by Andy to facing down a pack of hungry coyotes.

  Not to mention her apparent ability to spit fire. She still could not comprehend how it happened. Scientifically—biologically—it was impossible. Humans do not possess the ability to breathe fire. Her mother told her once that cows belch methane, and some people believed fire-breathing dinosaurs may have once roamed the earth. But humans? No. Not possible.

  Or was it? Maybe not biologically, but she had obviously done it. She’d burned Trevor to death. She had no memory of it, but, well, there it was, the truth. She’d taken his life. She was glad she could not see his burning body, but she had smelled it, that biting odor of burning flesh.

  Andy had said little the past two hours. He was intent on getting as far north as they could before daybreak. Traveling at night seemed safer, he’d said. Fewer prying eyes. They called him a freak but Missy didn’t know why. He’d probably grown used to moving under cover of darkness, hiding whatever deformity he had from the world around him.

  She sensed that he was a tortured man, beaten by his own guilt and self-loathing. He had no faith in himself let alone in anyone else. He needed an awakening; he needed to know how much he mattered in the greater scheme. Missy knew it. She felt it. The leading, the purpose, the love. She’d been led and protected. She’d been led to Andy. No mistake, no spin of fate’s magic wheel had brought the two of them together. There was a purpose for it, a plan. Andy didn’t know it yet, but there was a plan for him too, something important, something way beyond their ability to comprehend. There was a plan for her too. She felt it. But first, she had to get to Maine. She didn’t know what awaited her there, but she knew it would test her to the core of her faith and courage.

  Her mind then went to her mother, and she dwelt on happy thoughts—laughter and smiles and holding hands and cuddling. She focused on the image of her mother. But there was something wrong, something different about the way she saw her mother. Her face, once so beautiful, soft and kind, was now hard and angular, the skin stretched tight. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, her face changed. Her eyes deepened and cheekbones sharpened. Then, as if a light switch had been flipped and some evil light had been cast on her mother’s once sweet face, it changed. This thing in her mind was no longer her mother. The teeth were rotted and sharp, the eyes narrowed and sunken, the lips stretched into thin lines, and the flesh had become taut and gray.