With a grimace at the stiffness in her muscles, Casey slowly got to her feet, pressing a palm against the rough bark of the tree trunk to steady herself. The movement caused a dull throb to begin behind her eyes, but it wasn’t as bad as it might’ve been. Far worse was the dryness in her mouth.
Vaguely, she was aware that a man’s voice had joined the music, low and husky, singing with impressive competence. It cut through her grogginess and disorientation like a candle in a darkened room, and Casey straightened, pulling herself together.
“There were three sisters fine and fair…”
Hoping she didn’t look too unsavory, she made her way up the hill, giving a wide berth to the picnic table where the little family sat eating out of McDonald’s bags.
“Where’s my toy?” one of the toddlers—a girl—whined. “They didn’t give me one!”
“Maybe it fell out in the car. We’ll check,” her mother said, but her eyes were on Casey, who offered her a weak smile.
At the top of the hill, Casey paused. Below her, a band was playing to a small crowd, mostly kids in their teens and twenties, in a rudimentary amphitheater. To her right, a narrow paved walkway wended through the trees toward a parking lot full of cars.
“And so in time their numbers grew…”
She watched for a moment as the band played. From where she was, she couldn’t make out many details, but there was something strange about the way the singer moved as he sang; his motions were extravagant and theatrical, as if he spent more of his time as part of a troop of Shakespearian actors than with a garage band playing free concerts in local parks. It was kind of entrancing.
After a moment, Casey tore her eyes away and headed toward the parking lot to find her car, her purse, and her bottle.
She knew, long before she reached the curb that marked the edge of the blacktop, that she had a very big problem. There were perhaps two dozen cars in all, parked in three neat rows. Hers was not among them, and yet she kept walking as the rhythm of her heart increased.
“One young hatchling, siren’s daughter…”
With a horrible sinking feeling, she began walking up and down the rows of cars, even though she could see every one of them from the curb. She stared at each in turn, praying that she had just missed hers, and it would materialize before her eyes like an apparition in the fog.
It wasn’t there.
She stopped at the end of the last row, staring at the beat-up minivan painted a garish pink color that was parked crookedly there. Her car was gone; her purse was gone; and that meant her driver’s license, her phone, and her debit card were gone—and her bottle.
Shit…shit…shit…
She shoved her hands into her jeans pockets, but all she came out with was the remains of a pack of Dentyne and a couple of empty wrappers. She was totally, royally fucked.
Nice going, Case, Emily’s voice said, and Casey had heard those words in just that tone a thousand times when Emily had teased her for some stupid play she’d made on the ice. She felt the corners of her eyes begin to burn, and she scrubbed at them with the back of her hand.
“You bet,” she whispered without thinking. It was what she’d said in response a hundred times, and saying it now made her heart ache.
Far away, she heard the crowd cheering again as the song the band had been playing came to an end. In a daze, she walked down the length of the van and stopped beside the front passenger’s side door, staring at her reflection in the mirror.
She looked like hell. Her hair hung in dirty matted tangles on either side of her face, and the circles beneath her eyes were so dark now they were nearly black. Her complexion was ghostly pale, save for a livid red sunburn across one side, probably from falling asleep in the sun, and her cheeks were far more hollow than they should’ve been. She tried to remember the last time she’d eaten—eaten anything at all—and couldn’t.
Well, that’s that, Emily’s voice murmured.
The thought of calling home and asking someone to come get her made Casey feel sick. She couldn’t go back. The whole point of leaving was to get away from everything…everyone.
But nothing’s really changed, the voice said gently.
“Shut up!” Casey cried aloud, slamming her fist against the side of the van. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” The punch had hurt her hand more than the vehicle, and she turned away in disgust, rubbing her knuckles against her ribs.
Time was what she needed. Time to think and figure out what she should do. Perhaps other options would come to her. If only she had something to drink!
She made her way between the cars, letting her feet carry her toward the music without really thinking about it. Before she’d realized what she was doing, she was sliding onto one of the benches at the back of the amphitheater.
There were several empty rows in front of her, safely serving as a buffer between her and the other spectators. No one noticed her, and that was just fine with Casey.
The musicians were a ragged bunch, all wearing jeans and t-shirts featuring cartoon characters that must have been popular twenty years before they were born.
The guitarist was clearly the oldest of the group, and his face was dominated by a shaggy red beard that gave him the air of a mountain man pulled unceremoniously out of time. Beside him, a hefty, tomboyish black girl was beating the shit out of a set of drums that had seen better days. There was a bass player as well, a plain-looking skinny kid with a tattoo on his arm, but it was the singer who kept drawing Casey’s gaze.
He was tall, slim, and of some mixed racial heritage that Casey couldn’t quite work out. Though he was clean-shaven, his dark face was framed by curtains of long jet-black hair that hung well past his shoulders. His shirt and jeans were so tight, Casey could see his muscles moving beneath them as he moved—and he never stopped moving. Watching him make his way to and fro across the little concrete stage was like watching water flow. He wasn’t dancing; nothing about the way he weaved between the other members of his band, a microphone clutched in one hand, could be called dancing. It was liquid grace—like water being poured between two glasses without a drop spilt—and it was absolutely mesmerizing.
Casey watched and listened, forgetting for a while about the fact that her car was gone. The music wasn’t great, but it was good enough. It was the man—boy, really—who captivated her.
Too soon, the performance ended, and the audience began to disperse. Casey didn’t move. She watched as the musicians and a few of their friends began packing things away.
The singer helped the others, disassembling the drum kit and and coiling up wires. Even doing these menial tasks, there was something fascinating about him. Every gesture was just a little too grand; every twist of a wrist or flick of a finger, a little too graceful. It was beautiful—like watching someone in a dream.
At last, they began hauling stuff away, and Casey reluctantly got to her feet. It was time for her to figure out what she was going to do. She supposed she’d have to find a phone somewhere that she could use to call home. Her stomach clenched. How could she go back? She’d left because she’d never wanted to see those places again. She’d left to get away from the darkness that had been swallowing her up since Emily had disappeared. Emily had been her anchor; Emily had been someone to be strong for. Casey had loved Emily—loved her as much as she’d loved anyone. But she’d needed her, too. More, she’d needed Emily to need her. She always had.
They’re looking for you now, you know, Emily said, just like they’ve been looking for me.
“Shut up,” Casey muttered again.
“Sorry?”
The voice behind her made Casey jump, and she turned to find the singer standing just a few feet behind her and very much alone.
“Nothing…nothing…” she stammered, stepping away. How had he snuck up on her like that?
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, sincere concern in his eyes—and what eyes! They were a strange golden brown, unlike anything she’d ever seen. H
e spoke with a slight accent that had been wholly absent while he’d been singing. Casey couldn’t place it for the life of her. Indian, perhaps, or Filipino. It could have been almost anything.
“It’s okay,” she said. Her voice sounded strange in her own ears, and she realized that, as far as she could remember, this was the first time she’d spoken to anyone apart from herself since leaving Minneapolis—since that creepy guy who’d asked her for money.
“You just looked…well…lost…or upset, maybe. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
For a moment, Casey stared at him, not sure what to say.
“I’m fine,” she said at last.
“Oh. Okay, then.” They looked at each other for another long moment, then the boy turned and started away.
“Wait!” Casey called after him, and he looked back over his shoulder.
“You’re right,” she said quickly, taking a few steps toward him before she could lose her nerve. “I am lost…and upset. Can you give me a ride somewhere?”
The boy smiled. “I suppose that depends on where ‘somewhere’ is.”
“Just somewhere safe, where I can make a phone call and wait for someone to come for me.”
“I think we could do that.” He turned back toward her and gave a theatrical bow. “My friends call me Jeff.” He offered her his arm with such a ridiculously exaggerated, not to mention antiquated, gesture that Casey almost giggled. It felt rude to ignore it, though, so she took his arm and fell into step beside him as he started off across the park after his friends.
“I’m Casey,” she said.
“A good name.”
He led her to the parking lot where his bandmates were loading instruments and equipment into that blindingly pink van.
The bass player, a boy who looked younger than Casey, spotted them coming.
“Come on, Jeff!” he called. “I’m hungry.” His gaze flicked to Casey. “And who’s the chick?”
“This is Casey,” Jeff said smoothly, hardly raising his voice. “She needs a ride.”
The boy shrugged. “Just as long as we can get some food first.” He turned away to help the drummer girl lift an oversized amplifier into the back of the van.
“Don’t mind Gavin,” Jeff said quietly as they stepped off the curb and made their way through the nearly empty lot. “He’s always hungry after a show.” He tilted his head toward her and offered a conspiratorial little smile. “Actually…he’s just always hungry.” He laughed. “Our drummer is Lisa, and the guitarist is Brent. Are you hungry?”
Casey blinked at him. Actually, she was hungry. Suddenly, she found that she was ravenous.
“Yeah, but I haven’t—”
Jeff waved her words away with another one of those incongruously exaggerated gestures. “It’s on me.”
Casey opened her mouth, a protest forming in her mind, but what came out surprised her.
“Thanks,” she said awkwardly.
“Don’t thank me,” he said, and though his voice sounded serious, Casey caught a twinkle in his eye. “Taco Bell is cheap.”
She couldn’t help herself; she laughed.
As they reached the van, Lisa slammed the back closed and turned to scowl at Jeff.
“Back just in time not to help,” she said, but there was only good-natured teasing in her tone.
Jeff grinned. “Of course. Why would I break the nice streak I’ve got going?”
Lisa rolled her eyes and looked Casey up and down.
“Who’s this?”
“Casey. She’s hungry and she needs a lift.”
“There’s not a lot of room,” she told Casey. “Hope you don’t mind sitting in Gavin’s lap.”
Casey felt heat rising to her face, but Jeff just laughed. It was a strangely musical sound, like something you’d expect to come out of a Disney character, not a flesh-and-blood human being.
“It’s not that bad. Don’t listen to her.”
“If you don’t hurry up,” called Gavin from somewhere inside the van, “I’m going to eat the fuckin’ amp.”
Jeff led Casey around the van and helped her in, as solicitous as Cinderella’s coachman. She was suddenly much more aware of her matted, tangled hair and the fact that she hadn’t showered recently—at least as far as she could remember.
Any seats that may have once been behind the driver were gone, ripped out and replaced with a jumble of pillows and sleeping bags featuring vintage cartoon characters. The faint, pungent smell of pot lingered in the air.
Gavin sat sprawled along the far wall of the van, his back against a large amp.
“About time,” he called past Casey to Jeff. “I’m fuckin’ starvin’, man.” He looked at Casey. “Pick one.” He gestured at the pillows around him. “Scooby’s the newest, so he’s the cleanest…probably.” He smirked.
Given her current state, Casey didn’t think she had much room to be particular, but she found the pillow with Scooby Doo on one side and Shaggy on the other and sank down on it, leaning against the wall of the van behind the driver’s seat.
Lisa climbed in and gave Gavin the same scowl she’d graced Jeff with.
“He’s lying,” she told Casey. “He just wanted to leave me stuck with this piece of shit.” She kicked a blanket with Rainbow Brite emblazoned on it. Looking at it brought a sudden lump to Casey’s throat; her mother had one just like it folded at the foot of the bed in the guest room back at home. She blinked rapidly and looked away. Gavin just snorted with laughter.
“Bastard,” Lisa muttered, and she settled down across from Casey.
In another minute, Jeff had slid behind the wheel, and they were pulling out of the lot, music blasting from the van’s speakers.
She watched the park fall away behind them, happy to be putting off the moment when she’d have to call home. The thought brought an image of her parents with it, and guilt began twisting inside her. It was sharp and raw.
They’re looking for you, Emily’s voice said again. They need you, and you need them.
But that was a lie. Casey needed Emily. The hollow feeling inside her came roaring back, filling her with the familiar black despair, and Casey almost welcomed it.
But I’m gone, Case, Emily said gently. I’m de—
“Shut up!”
Lisa and Gavin’s bickering broke off, and Casey realized she’d spoken aloud. Feeling heat rise in her face again, she turned to find them staring at her. Lisa had a bottle of some amber liquid half way to her lips.
“Not you,” Casey said quickly. “I’m sorry. It’s been…” She trailed off, entirely unsure what to say.
Lisa just shrugged, holding out the bottle. “Want some?”
Awkwardly, Casey nodded and accepted the bottle. The harsh smell of alcohol wafted up from its open neck, and though it wasn’t vodka, Casey didn’t care, as long as it made the voice stop. She drank, closing her eyes as whatever it was burned its way down her throat.
She handed the bottle back and fell against her pillow, watching as Lisa sipped her drink and stared disinterestedly out the opposite window. Beside her, Gavin mouthed the words to the song that was playing. Up front, Jeff and Brent were shouting at each other over the music about the best way to get to Taco Bell.
Casey closed her eyes.
Maybe she wouldn’t call home tonight. Maybe she could just stay with these guys. What was one more night?
Distantly, she heard the song on the radio fade away to be replaced by the DJ’s bombastic voice.
“Still no updates from officials on the mysterious deaths at St. Augustine Medical Center,” he was saying. “But they did confirm that all three victims were drained of every last drop of blood. How freaking weird is that? I saw that on Twitter but totally thought it was made up. Anyway, it puts me in the mood for some Vampire Weekend!”
Despite her misery and lulled by the vibration of the van and the good-natured banter and music around her, Casey fell asleep.
***
In the front seat, Jeff’s eyes
flicked to the rearview mirror, where he could just see Casey’s sleeping form.
Poor girl, he thought and sighed as, hidden by the mass of black hair that fell to his shoulders, one of the antennae at the back of his neck twitched.
The Others
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“No. Go away,” he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the red glare. “You’re not real. I don’t want to see you.”
Haake felt the toe of a boot nudge him painfully in the ribs, and he curled himself into an even tighter ball.
“No. No no no no no…”
“Stop that. Sit up and pull yourself together, Mr. Haake.”
Haake groaned and slowly sat up, the root of a tree digging into his back. He opened his eyes and couldn’t understand why he still couldn’t see anything. Then he realized his hands were covering his face. Maybe that was just as well, since it felt like the whole universe was revolving around his head. The sensation was sickening.
For a moment, he just sat there and thought about lowering his hands, but decided against it in the end. Instead, he spread his fingers just enough to see between them and peeked out.
The world around him was performing some very peculiar tricks, and all the edges were blurry—the ones he could see, anyway. It was still dark. Things seemed to be swaying back and forth too—or maybe they were just swelling and deflating. Yes, that was it. It looked like the trees and brush were breathing. He didn’t like it. Even the moon and the stars were jostling each other for position in the sky above. It made him sick to look at them, so he didn’t.
Speaking of being sick, he did not feel at all well. His head ached dully, and there was a strange pressure on his throat, just below his jaw, that made his stomach roll. He was cold too, shivering so hard that his teeth were chattering a painful staccato in his mouth. But even that was strange, because he could feel sweat streaming down his sides.
“My, my,” Jack said, crouching down beside him. “You are a bit of a mess, Mr. Haake.”
The red glare was gone, tucked away into the depths of Jack’s coat, and Haake was grateful. Moonlight, cold and bright, illuminated the forest, but it seemed to serve more to darken the shadows than to chase them away.
Haven Divided (The Dragon's Brood Cycle Book 2) Page 15