I wasn’t exactly feeling so great myself. Reality hit hard: who we were dealing with, what we were up against, and that Bill could still be alive.
I took my eyes off the road every few minutes to check on CJ. Finally, I said, “What are you thinking about?”
She kept her gaze straight ahead, but I doubted she was seeing much. “Three guesses.”
“Bill?”
“Smart boy.”
“Smartass.”
That made her smile. Just a little.
“Care to share your insights?” I asked.
“Just that Jean may not have been so crazy after all, at least where Bill was concerned.”
“She seemed to know a lot about him,” I offered.
“Yeah. I wonder how.”
We stopped at a hole-in-the-wall barbecue/beer joint on the outskirts of Virginia, Texas called Shea’s Hog Heaven. Nothing heavenly about it, but the hog part certainly fit. Not exactly what I’d call Texas dining at its best—not even at its worst. Maybe somewhere just beneath that.
I watched CJ mindlessly stab at her food, never once bothering to take a bite. Finally, she looked up at me with deadpan eyes and said, “This shit looks like shoe leather. I can only imagine what it tastes like.”
I stifled a laugh. She was still grumpy, but her dry humor seemed to be making a comeback. It was a good sign.
She tossed her fork onto the plate, rolled her eyes, then said, “Not that I’d eat it even if it was suitable for human consumption.”
I gazed around the room. The company wasn’t much better than the food. In one corner sat a robust dude who seemed to be wearing his meal more than eating it. In another corner, two guys covered in tattoos were shooting pool. From the looks on their faces, you’d’ve thought they were solving world hunger. Serious business, that pool.
“A psycho,” CJ finally said. “Guess it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise.”
It was my turn to move my food around the plate. “I’m really starting to wonder if we should pursue this guy.”
“We can’t just quit now. It’s not an option. Not at this point.”
“The man cut his own mother’s larynx out and shoved it up her ass. Do you really need a better reason than that?”
“Not an option,” she repeated, then picked up her fork, went back to stabbing her food. “We’re already invested in this.”
“Invested?”
More stabbing, now, with an irritated look on her face. “You know what I mean.”
We both fell silent for a moment, then she said, “He may not even be there. And he wouldn’t know who we are anyway, right? So what’s the big deal?”
“The big deal,” I said, “is that the town only has four-hundred-fifty-five people in it. How exactly do we keep a low profile in a place like that?”
Our waitress came by, a skinny little twenty-something gal showing the latest in tattoo-wear: a snake that wound its way around her upper arm then slithered into her boob region. I knew this because I could see it peering out from between her cleavage. It looked like it was smiling.
CJ caught me looking, glanced at the boob snake, then rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, “Lovely.”
The waitress narrowed her eyes, then slapped the bill down on our table and walked off without a word.
CJ mumbled, “No, we’re fine. Thanks for asking, though.” She snatched the bill up. “Jeeze. Thirty bucks for lousy service and a shot at ptomaine poisoning? Hardly seems worth it.”
“You’re getting cranky.”
“I’ve been cranky.”
I circled back to the issue at hand. “Are you getting the part about it being a small town? As in, you can’t even buy a loaf of bread without everyone knowing about it?”
“Yeah. I get that. And I still think we can pull this off. Patrick, listen to me. This is what we do. This is who we are. It’s not the first dangerous situation either of us has ever faced, and it won’t be the last, right?”
I offered no response.
“And we have each other. We can do this.”
I studied her face and wondered who this woman really was, and more importantly, how I’d gotten mixed up with her. Tough and angry one minute, fragile and vulnerable the next, she seemed to change like a shadow crossing under the sun. She could drive me out of my comfort zone so easily, like no one had ever done before, and yet I had no idea how.
Finally, I said, “Well, you’re determined, that’s for sure.”
She smiled a little more.
“And I’m pretty sure I’ll regret doing this…if I survive.”
“You’ll survive.”
“Not feeling so confident.”
Then, in that matter-of-fact intonation I was learning to recognize—and sort of hate—she said, “Stick with me; I’ll bring it out of you…one way or the other.”
Chapter Forty-Three
I watched an overpass sign fly above us: Something, Texas. I hadn’t caught the name—they were all starting to look alike, the signs and the towns.
CJ napped on the way to Telethon, probably her first good sleep in days. Of all the times, I thought. We were, after all, headed for big trouble.
But it gave me time to think things over. We needed a plan to keep us alive and safe from Bill, the psycho who, by all accounts, had a heart the size of a peanut. Unfortunately, I couldn’t come up with much. I blamed it on exhaustion, both body and mind.
Instead, I took in the scenery, which wasn’t much to marvel at, but at least it sort of kept me awake. Harsh desert on both sides of the interstate filled with lots of dead stuff and a few rundown outbuildings, most of which looked as though they’d outlived their purpose. Finally, I saw an indication that the next cluster of breathing humans was coming up, a sign that read, Calamity - 10 miles ahead.
Man, they said it.
CJ woke up—or rather, bolted up—as if a bad dream had frightened her. She got her bearings, looked out her window, and said,”Where in God’s name are we?”
“Calamity ahead, both literally and figuratively.”
She looked at another sign as we passed by; it said Calamity had a population of 560. She rubbed her eyes. “Don’t you just love the way they tell you how many people don’t want to live in these godforsaken places? Almost like it’s a warning.”
“Apparently a few do.”
“What?”
“Want to live there.”
“Yeah. The ones who couldn’t get out,” she said with a yawn, her eyes following a semi as it passed by. “And they’re mad as hell about it.”
“Are you originally from Texas?”
“Born and raised.”
“Corvine?”
She laughed. “Hell, no. Dallas. I moved to Corvine to pay my dues. Six years later, here I am, still paying them.”
“How come you never moved on?”
“Oh…I don’t know. Guess I settled, in a way.”
“For what?”
“For…” She stopped. “I’m not really sure, actually. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What did you settle for?”
I gave her a quick glance, then turned my attention back to the road. “Not sure I ever did.”
“You’re avoiding.”
“Huh?”
“You just did it again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The guarded thing. What’s up with that, anyway?”
“I’m not guarded. Is it okay to just not have an answer?”
“Sure.” She gazed out through the front windshield with a combination nod and shrug. “If you don’t really have one. I just think there’s more to Patrick than what Patrick lets us see.”
Our conversation stalled, the rhythmic humming of tires, the only sound.
Chapter Forty-Four
“Mind if we stop at the next rest exit?” I said a short time later, nervously shifting my weight. “Nature’s calling.”
She nodded, shrugged, a
nd kept her gaze ahead.
A few miles up the road, I took the off-ramp, then pulled into a service station. Told CJ to lock the doors behind me and stay put until I returned. After getting a key from the clerk, I headed back toward the restroom.
I was washing my hands when something caught my attention on the floor, under the sink. A child’s fat red marker. I stared at it for a moment.
I had to pick it up.
I had to remove the cap, had to press the tip against the mirror, and very slowly, had to write the letter d.
And then I had to finish the word.
danger
I stared at it for a moment and felt a rush of relief. Did it again. Felt the rush again. Did it one more time. And now I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. I’d started scratching the itch, but the itch was only getting worse.
So I kept scratching, kept writing…
danger danger danger danger danger danger danger danger danger…
It just went on and on, covering all four walls, the stall door, even the trashcan.
I turned to look around as I was leaving. Danger was everywhere.
Walked outside and quickly away feeling relieved of my stress and yet thoroughly disgusted and sick, like some hung-over junkie.
When I returned to the car, CJ said, “Finally! My turn.”
I froze and stared at her. “Huh?”
“I’ve gotta go, too,” she said, irritation in her voice.
I felt a flash of panic, heat rushing through my body, feet heavy as lead. The word exposed blinked inside my head.
“Pat? What’s wrong?”
“I’m just worried about you going alone,” I heard myself say.
“I’ll be fine,” she replied, and got out of the car.
I got out too, followed her.
She turned to look at me. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” I said, struggling against my thoughts and my nerves. “I just… I have bad vibes about this place. That’s all.”
She gave me a lingering stare. “All of a sudden?”
“I think we should get out of here. Quick. Let’s find a restroom up the road.”
She placed her hands on her hips, tilted her head. “I can’t wait until up the road. I have to go now. I’ll be okay. Sheeze. You can watch me go in if you want.”
She turned around and started walking toward the station, and I continued following. She went inside to get the key.
I waited there, ran my fingers through my hair, and realized I was sweating. CJ came out holding the key and gave me a quick, troubled glance, then moved on to the restroom.
I watched her go inside, knowing I was about to be caught. My dirty little secret brought out in the light. My world turned upside down. All these years I’d managed to keep it a secret. Now I was about be…
Exposed.
A few seconds later, the door swung open, and CJ came out, her face colorless, her eyes wide, staring right at me.
Exposed.
I lowered my gaze to the pavement in shame, closed my eyes tightly as she moved toward me. Slowly.
Exposed.
“Pat? What the hell’s going on?”
I said nothing. There wasn’t much to say.
Exposed.
“How could you?” she said, voice trembling.
Head bowed, slowly shaking it, “I’m sorry…I…”
“How could you let me go in there? And how in the hell could they have known?”
I looked up. “What?”
“How could they have known we’d stop here?”
I swallowed hard.
CJ crossed her arms, looked away, and shook her head. “Behind us, now even ahead of us…it’s like they know our next move before we do. What the hell? Did they follow us here?” She looked around. “We’ll never get away from them, will we…ever? They’ll never let us go.”
I kept silent.
“Let’s get the hell out of here. Fast.” She began moving toward the car, then stopped and turned to me. “For God’s sake, Pat. Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you go in there,” I said quietly. “I tried to stop you.”
Once inside the car, I locked all the doors, pulled out of the lot, got back onto the road. CJ was visibly shaken; so was I, but for different reasons.
I should have felt guilty for what I’d done in that restroom, for what I’d allowed CJ to think, for upsetting her. And part of me did. But the other part, the part that I couldn’t control, was bathing in the release of tension. That part of me thought it was much better for CJ to fear whoever was chasing us than to fear me.
And that part of me won.
Chapter Forty-Five
For the rest of the way, I managed to separate from my act, telling myself I was under extraordinary stress, that it wasn’t me in that bathroom.
That it was the disorder’s fault.
Telethon, Texas finally announced itself with an antiquated clapboard sign. Beyond that, it was no different than anything else we’d seen for the past seventy miles: more desert, more nothingness.
We drove past a service station with no customers, not even an employee in sight, then an old hardware store, and then—to my complete lack of surprise—a drive-through liquor store.
“Welcome to Telethon,” I said, enthusiasm absent from my voice.
“Welcome to hell,” she replied in a tone that matched.
Nowhere to hide. Not even a dumpy diner for strategizing. My stomach hit another nervous jag. Seeing the town made me realize even more what a big mistake this was.
“Just keep driving,” CJ said, jolting me from my thoughts and apparently reading them. “There’s got to be more to this place.”
“Yeah, the other side of hell.”
A few miles later, we hit the other side of Telethon and the Paradise Motel—an oxymoron if I’d ever seen one. Nothing remotely beautiful or tropical about it, just your basic motor inn: a single-story, nondescript, u-shaped affair with twenty or so homogenous rooms facing out.
“Pull in there,” CJ ordered, pointing to a vacant, gravel lot.
“Turning in,” I said. “Bates Motel, here we come.”
“Not funny,” CJ replied.
“Not trying to be.”
I pulled up in front of the office, turned the ignition key to off, then gazed at CJ—or maybe it was more of a glare. “Now what?”
“Let’s go in and meet Norman,” she said with her usual wry smile. “I don’t think his mom’s gonna be around, though. I hear she’s hanging back at the house.”
“Not funny.”
“Not trying to be.”
“Touché.”
We walked in past a rack of literature, presumably about Telethon, although I couldn’t imagine what there was to promote about the place. CJ grabbed a handful and shoved them into her purse.
About ten feet away sat a man behind the counter, fifty-ish and heavy-ish. He lifted his head as if we’d awakened him from a hundred-year nap.
“Looking to stay the night,” I said.
“Single or double.” It sounded like an automatic phrase.
CJ offered me a quick glance, then said, “We actually need two rooms.”
He dragged himself to the rack, grabbed two keys, then dragged himself back. The task looked painful.
I said, “Can we get adjoining rooms?”
“They are,” he replied.
“Is there anyone else staying here?” CJ asked.
“Nope.”
“Why’s that?”
“Off season.”
“When’s in season?”
“Summertime.”
“What happens then?”
“Nothing, really.” He shrugged. “Just …you know…summer.”
“I see,” CJ replied, but the look on her face said she didn’t.
***
Before even settling into my room, I sat on the edge of the bed and started writing forgiveness repeatedly. It hadn’t es
caped me that my urge to list was becoming unmanageable, that I was out of control. I wondered where I’d be, who I’d be with, if the urge hit so strongly that I couldn’t stop it.
I made it to forgiveness thirty-five when I heard a knock on the connecting door. I shoved the pad into a drawer, then opened the door to find CJ waving a handful of pamphlets at me. The look on her face screamed, get me the hell out of here.
“It’s official,” she said. “This place sucks.”
She came in and inspected the bedspread for cleanliness before sitting down beside me. “According to these pamphlets, the town’s attractions are the jail, the water tower, and the train station…oh, and the cemetery. It’s a bad sign, Pat.”
“I didn’t need a pamphlet to tell me that. Did you happen to figure out where there is to eat around here while you were doing your research?”
“In fact, I did.” She opened one up and read it. “We have Covey’s Diner, famous for their cow’s tongue.”
“Seriously?”
“And if that don’t strike yer fancy, well, a half mile on up the road is the Hash House where they serve…” She held out her hand as if waiting for my answer.
“Hash.”
A smile, one of those wry ones again. “Which one you got a hankerin’ for? Besides the tongue place, that is.”
“Three guesses.”
“I’m gonna say hash.”
She pointed at me. “I’m gonna say good guess. We can save the tongue place for our special night.”
Chapter Forty-Six
The Hash House was everything we’d hoped it wouldn’t be: another filthy dive at the end of a dusty road. Country music twanged through ceiling speakers, with sizzling grease doing background vocals. I started to wonder whether Texas had any decent places to eat or if we were just missing them at every turn.
The sign said to seat ourselves, so we found a booth in back. Across the aisle from us sat a kid sporting a t-shirt that looked as if he’d spilled a can of oil down the front. He had a greasy ball cap to match and a serious case of teenage acne. He stared at us with his mouth half-open and a faraway look in his eyes—one that seemed to state the obvious: nobody’s home.
The Lion, The Lamb, The Hunted Page 16