Night in the Lonesome October

by Richard Laymon

  I suddenly, finally, understood. So I climbed out with the bag, swung the door shut and turned around. Lois was staggering toward the rear of her car. ‘Sure you’re okay?’ I asked.

  She said, ‘Come here. Help me.’

  I hurried around the rear of her car. She hobbled toward me as if hardly able to stay on her feet. Though her hair was mussed, I saw no sign of blood or any other injury. Her blouse dropped off one shoulder.

  ‘Help me over to the curb,’ she said.

  I put an arm around her. Supporting much of her weight, I walked her away from the wreckage.

  All around us, people from nearby houses were rushing down their porch stairs, running across their lawns. Many of them wore robes. Some of the women had curlers in their hair. I spotted three people with cellphones.

  In a quiet voice, Lois said, ‘You came by after the crash. You’re just a good Samaritan. Blend in, then disappear before the cops show up.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Anybody still in the car?’ a man called out from somewhere behind me.

  ‘It was just me,’ Lois told him.

  A woman with a cellphone yelled from her front lawn, ‘Police and ambulance’re on the way!’

  ‘Anybody hurt?’ asked a husky man running toward us from the other side of the street.

  ‘The woman might be hurt,’ I answered.

  ‘I’m okay,’ she protested. ‘Just... shaken up.’

  ‘What about the van?’ an elderly woman asked. ‘Anyone in it?’

  ‘Somebody better check.’

  ‘It’s mine,’ a man said. ‘Nobody better be in it. How the hell’d this happen?’

  ‘Herman, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Gonna matter to my insurance company. Anyone see how this happened?’

  He was answered by a chorus of ‘No,’ and ‘Didn’t see a thing,’ and, ‘Heard this awful crash.’

  ‘Let me help,’ a man said, hurrying over to us.

  ‘Here,’ said someone else. ‘Here.’

  I relinquished my hold on Lois and two men hustled her over to the curb and eased her down on the grass.

  Someone far away yelled, ‘Has anyone called nine-one-one?’

  Different people shouted, ‘Yes!’ and, ‘Taken care of,’ and ‘Already done.’

  ‘Nobody saw how it happened?’ The man sounded peeved.

  ‘Oh, hush up, Herman.’ The woman had to be his wife.

  On the strip of grass between the curb and the sidewalk, a small crowd was gathered around Lois.

  ‘Where do you hurt?’ someone asked.

  ‘An ambulance is on the way,’ said someone else.

  ‘You’ll be fine.’

  ‘Don’t try to get up.’

  ‘Just lie still, dear.’

  ‘Any broken bones?’

  ‘Would you like me to call anyone for you?’

  ‘I’m sure the ambulance’ll be here any minute.’

  ‘I’ll go get her a blanket.’

  That last voice was mine. Nobody looked at me, but I heard a couple of people say, ‘Good idea.’ Then the voices faded as I hurried across the street with the leather satchel swinging by my side.

  By the time I heard any sirens, I was more than a block from the scene of the accident.

  Chapter Sixty-three

  Safely away, I had no idea what to do next. My head was aching again, my chest hurt from being struck by the air bag and my legs were shaky. I felt weak and trembly all over.

  I was on my own. No companion. No car. Little or no hope of rescuing Eileen.

  Thanks to the bike hag.

  Miserable bitch!

  Almost as if she’d pedaled in front of us on purpose to make us crash.

  Nobody’s that nuts. It’s a miracle she wasn’t killed.

  Good thing she wasn’t, though. Lois would’ve really been in trouble if she’d struck and killed an old woman on a bike. Hitting the parked van wasn’t nearly so serious. She might get cited for speeding. Her insurance rates might go up. No big deal.

  Hope she’s all right.

  She probably is, I told myself.

  But what am I going to do?

  Hurting and depressed, I longed to return to my apartment and go to bed.

  Can’t give up.

  Besides, even if I had to go home, I didn’t know where to find it.

  Let’s figure out where I am.

  I walked to the next corner and looked up at the street sign.

  Beaumont and Pittman.

  ‘Huh?’

  I didn’t know either street.

  ‘Shit.’

  Standing at the corner, I looked in all four directions. The streets were bordered by lampposts and large trees. A wind was blowing the trees. The pavement was alive with waving shadows. I saw no approaching vehicles, no people. The houses looked pretty much like hundreds of others I’d seen while roaming the town. Old, middle-class homes, a mixture of one and two stories. Most had lights on, if only at their porches, but several were dark.

  Where the hell am I?

  I’m not lost, I told myself. This just happens to be the intersection of a couple of streets I’ve never heard of. Pick a direction, any direction, walk another block or two, and I’ll find myself back in familiar territory.

  What if I don’t?

  Left seemed like a good way to go, so I crossed Pittman Street and began walking up Beaumont. Or down Beaumont, perhaps, since I didn’t know whether I was going north or south.

  Maybe I can figure it out.

  Yeah, sure. The way my head hurt, the way I ached and trembled all over, I hardly felt capable of thinking at all.

  But I tried.

  Before our brief pursuit of the pickup truck, we’d been cruising the east-west streets, making our way gradually southward. After Lois took off chasing the pickup, she’d made a right turn. But which way had we been going just before that? East? Seemed like east, but I wasn’t sure. If it had been east, a right turn would’ve taken us southward.

  But if we’d been heading west, the turn would’ve taken us to the north.

  So which way?

  Doesn’t matter. Even if I could figure out where we’d been at the time of the crash, I’d fled from the scene in a daze, focused only on getting away, paying no attention to my route.

  Don’t worry about it, I told myself. I won’t be lost for long.

  Not far ahead was another intersection.

  I came to it and stopped. Still no traffic, no people. Only the shadows moved. And the limbs of the trees. And the leaves in the trees. And the leaves that had fallen off and were blowing through the night, some flying by as if on missions, some skidding and tumbling along the pavement.

  I stepped closer to the signpost, shifted Lois’s heavy leather bag to my other hand, and tilted back my head.

  Beaumont and Johnson.

  Johnson?

  I’d never heard of that street, either.

  Moaning, I stepped off the curb. Might as well continue in the same direction.

  This can’t go on much longer, I thought. It’s not a huge town and I’ve explored most of it. I’m bound to reach a familiar area pretty soon.

  Familiar? It’s all familiar. Just not familiar enough.

  I’d probably been on Beaumont Street before, but hadn’t paid attention to its name.

  I’ll recognize the next one for sure.

  I got there. To the left, a truck was parked at the curb. Not a pickup, but a large, boxy Ryder truck that blocked much of my view in that direction. To the right, the street had shadows and blowing leaves and parked cars and houses and nothing that gave away my location. So I lifted my gaze to the street signs.

  Beaumont and Hamner.

  Impossible. Another street I’d never heard of?

  Where am I? What if I’m not in Willmington anymore?

  Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. But chills crawled through me and my skin stiffened with goosebumps.

  Take it easy, I thought. I’m still in Wil
lmington. Nothing weird is happening. I temporarily don’t know where I am, that’s all. It won’t last much longer.

  I stepped off the curb and began to walk across Hamner Street. Bring-bring-bringgg!

  I jerked my head to the left, toward the sound of the bicycle bell. Saw the Ryder truck. Took a step backward as the bike came out from beside it, speeding toward me, the grinning old crone hunched over the handlebars, her bony knees pumping up and down as she cranked the pedals.

  Bring-bringgg!

  She’d come out of nowhere, this hag, this witch in her spandex and ballcap, and now she was suddenly bearing down on me like a nightmare phantom, awful as what lurks under the beds of terrified children, freezing my blood, bringing a scream up my throat.

  The scream was nearly out when her hand came off the handlebars and flapped, waving me back. ‘Outa my way!’ she squawked.

  Outa my way?

  Outa my WAY???

  Not a nightmare phantom, a pushy old bitch!

  She zipped past me, missing me by inches, leaving in her wake a cloying scent of rose perfume.

  ‘Look out where you’re going!’ I shouted.

  She raised her right arm, middle finger extended toward the sky.

  That did it.

  I shouted, ‘All right!’

  She glanced back just in time to see me sling the long strap of the bag over my shoulder and break into a run. ‘Yeeeee!’ she squealed. Facing forward, she raised her skinny butt off the seat and pumped faster.

  I dashed after her, the heavy leather bag swinging beside me, bouncing against my flank. At first, I gained on her. Then she was picking up speed, pulling away from me.

  That’s it, I thought. She’s gonna get away. I must’ve been nuts to think I could outrun someone on a bike ... especially hauling luggage. Whatever Lois had in her bag - guns, flashlights, ammo? - must’ve weighed a good fifteen pounds.

  Nuts, all right. I’m chasing an old woman! What if I do catch her? Do I beat her up? Turn her in to the police for causing Lois’s crash?

  Moot point, I thought. I don’t stand a chance ...

  The distance between us seemed to be shrinking.

  She’s slowing down?

  Of course, I thought. She’s an old woman. She’s wearing out. Down on her seat again, too tired to keep standing on her pedals.

  I was still probably fifty feet back when she turned a corner. With a detour across the corner of a lawn, I cut her lead in half. I ran harder. Closed in. Harder. I was fifteen feet behind her. Ten. I poured it on, got closer to her and closer, my feet flying out, almost touching the rear tire of her bike.

  I’ll give it a kick, I thought. A good, hard kick on the side of the tire and down she’ll go.

  Don’t do it! She’s an old woman!

  She made us crash! Made it so we can’t save Eileen! It’s all her fault and it was all on purpose!

  Just as I kicked out at her rear tire, she sped up. My kick missed. My foot went out too far and came down crooked and somehow I tripped all over myself and went down.

  Chapter Sixty-four

  The worst part wasn’t my fall. The worst part wasn’t the jarring pain of my body striking the pavement or the burning in my hands and elbows and knees as I skidded. Nor was the worst part my blazing, thudding headache.

  The worst part was after I’d pushed myself up to my hands and knees, when I raised my head and saw the old woman turn her bike around in a small, wobbly circle and start pedaling toward me.

  Out of breath, I couldn’t curse or yell. I did, however, hear myself make a panicky, whimpery sound.

  She pedaled harder, picked up speed, squealed, ‘Wheeeee!’ as she raced toward me.

  I grabbed the leather handles of the bag and scrambled to my feet.

  Guns in the bag, according to Lois. But it was shut with half a dozen zippers. No way to pull out a weapon in time.

  Wouldn’t shoot the old bitch if I could.

  Probably.

  Hunkered over her handlebars, grinning like a lunatic, she looked as if she had every intention of running me down with her bike.

  Bring-bringgg! Bring-bring-bringgggg!

  As she bore down on me, I readied myself to make a last-instant dodge to one side or the other.

  She’ll have a fifty-fifty chance ...

  I launched the bag straight at her face and leaped to the right. The bike would’ve mowed me down, anyway, but it swerved aside at the very last moment as the old woman caught the heavy leather bag - not in her face, but in her two hands.

  I stumbled, steadied myself against a parked car, and turned around.

  Sitting up straight in her seat, the bike hag coasted away down the middle of the street not touching the handlebars at all- holding Lois’s bag high above her head like a trophy.

  I had enough breath to cry out, ‘NO!’

  The hag answered with a distant, ‘Hee-heeeee!’ and lowered the bag in front of her.

  I was in no shape to chase her. My fall to the street had damaged me more than the car crash. The knees of my jeans were torn. So were the elbows of my shirt sleeves. My knees, elbows and palms felt as if they’d been smacked with bats and scraped raw. They burned. My head pounded and blazed. But I had to go after the old woman. I couldn’t let her get away with Lois’s bag- and guns.

  About fifty yards ahead of me, she began to pedal. Though I ran as fast as I could, it wasn’t fast enough. I could feel blood trickling down my shins.

  The gap between us grew and grew.

  Off in the distance, she glided around a comer without even touching her handlebars, the bag clutched to her chest.

  By the time I turned the comer, she was gone. I stumbled along for about half a block anyway, then slowed to a walk.

  I’d lost her.

  Lost Lois’s bag and guns.

  Now the hag is armed.

  I groaned.

  I’d thought the heavy satchel would smash her in the face and knock her off the bike for sure.

  Didn’t think, just reacted.

  At the end of the block, the intersection grew brighter.

  Headlights.

  Not waiting for the vehicle to appear, I rushed over to the curb. I was on the sidewalk by the time the lights swung toward me. A tree hid me from them. After the lights swept by me, I peered around the side of the trunk.

  A black van.

  It looked exactly like the van from last night, the one that had stopped for me near the Fairmont Street bridge, the one with the woman behind the wheel and the men in back.

  The van moved slowly along the street in my direction.

  It’s probably not the same one, I thought.

  Then I thought, what if the driver spotted me and she stops and the whole gang leaps out and comes after me?

  Wouldn’t that be sweet?

  Though the van moved slowly, it drove past my tree and continued along the street.

  I stared at its rear, expecting the brake lights to come on.

  Please please please.

  They came on, glaring bright red, and my heart almost stopped. The van slowed down. Then turned right.

  Yes!

  But what if it’s a trick? Maybe I should stay with my tree for a while in case they circle back.

  Good idea, I thought.

  Rest.

  I turned around and leaned my back against the tree and shut my eyes.

  Just give it a minute or two, I told myself. Can’t go on like this, anyway. Besides, what’s the point? I don’t know where I am. I don’t know where Randy took Eileen. The hag rode off with the guns and I don’t know where she is. I don’t know where anyone is. Everything’s all fucked up.

  And where, oh where, is Casey? If only Casey were here. She’s not.

  Oh, there is no joy in Mudville.

  At least I can rest.

  Lying down would be better. Lying on the nice soft grass. But I couldn’t do that without moving and I didn’t want to move. Being slumped against the tree was fine.

/>   ‘I think that I shall never see

  A bed as comfy as a tree ...’

  I’ve got to get going.

  Gotta find Eileen.

  But how?

  No idea.

  Better find a phone and call the cops. Maybe they can find her.

  If only I can find a phone.

  Why not do it Casey’s way—sneak into the nearest house?

  No no no no no no no.

  Remember what happened last time.

  Probably a pay phone over by Dandi Donuts. But where is Dandi Donuts?

  ‘Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

  Through caverns measureless to man

  Down to the sunless sea.’

  No sacred rivers around here. Just the Old Mill Stream, and it’s miles and miles from Dandi Donuts.

  And I have miles to go before I ...

  Don’t fall asleep!

  I won’t. Just resting.

  Stop resting and go find Eileen. Randy’s got her.

  I know I know I know. What I don’t know is what I can do about it!

  Get moving, for starters.

  I can’t.

  Yes I can. Just push away from the tree and start walking.

  In a second. Just give me a second.

  Okay, maybe not right now. But pretty soon.

  Soon.

  Then I felt hands on my shoulders. Moments later, warm, moist lips kissed me on the mouth.

  This is nice, I thought.

  It got nicer.

  Breasts pushed softly at my chest. Her flat belly met mine. She was pressed to my groin. Her legs were warm against my inner thighs. She seemed to be standing between my legs, leaning forward against me.

  I moaned with pleasure.

  I grew hard.

  Her tongue slid along my lips, pushed into my mouth.

  Who could this be? I wondered.

  It’s no one. I’m dreaming.

  Am I? It didn’t quite seem like a dream. The lips and tongue felt so real and wet and pliant. The breasts felt so springy, the belly so warm.

  If it is a dream, I thought, it’s a very good one. Don’t wake up and ruin it. Whatever you do, don’t wake up. If you wake up, she’ll vanish.

  Who’ll vanish?

  The bike hag!