by Lori Drake
Joey bit back the first retort that came to mind. It involved tender parts of his anatomy and a meat mallet. “It’s late, I’m tired, and I’m cold. You really don’t want to push me right now. Where’s Mom?”
“Patience, like obedience, isn’t your strong point.”
Joey’s fingers tightened on the phone.
“Get to the point, Eric.” Chris’s voice was tight, but for the most part calm.
“Continue east on I-90. Take the Tree Farm Road exit.”
The pump clicked off, and Joey made a mental note of the total. “And then?”
“I’ll tell you when we get there.”
“We?” Joey glanced around. They stood in a pool of light cast by the big industrial-strength light pole between the gas station’s two pumps. The convenience store accompanying the station had two cars parked out front, but other than that, there were no others around.
“Yes. I’m going to stay on the line with you. It’s not far.”
Joey blew out an exasperated breath. “Fine.”
They climbed back into the car, and Joey transferred the call to the handsfree link again.
“Did you stop?” Eric asked.
“Yeah, we needed to get gas, and you didn’t tell us where in Easton we were going.”
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” Eric said, his irritation clear. There was a soft pop, followed by a soft cry of pain in the background.
Chris sat forward in his seat. “Leave her alone, dammit! We’re coming, okay?”
“Get moving,” Eric growled, a hard edge to his voice. “She’s still got nine unbroken fingers. That gives you… nine minutes to get to Tree Farm Road before I have to get more creative.”
Joey slammed the transmission into drive and peeled out of the gas station, glancing around quickly and trusting her sharp reflexes to keep them out of harm’s way. Fortunately, Easton was not a big town. Tree Farm Road was the next exit down the road.
“Turn right, then right again at the next street,” Eric said, walking them through the drive like some twisted parody of a navigation assistant. “See that building on the corner, the green one with the white trim? Park in front.”
It was a truly tiny building, not much bigger than a garden shed. A sign on the front proclaimed it a U.S. Postal Office, while a free-standing sign advised all to “Be Safe.” The irony wasn’t lost on Joey as she pulled into a spot. The parking lot was deserted, as one might expect for quarter to ten on a weeknight.
“Get out of the car. Both of you.”
Joey and Chris exchanged a glance, then did as instructed. Her shoulders were tight, every sense on alert as she scanned the area for threats.
“There are mailboxes on the east side of the building. I left something for you taped underneath the middle one.”
Chris led the way around the side of the building to the mailboxes. They were painted green, like the building, and obviously retired from service. Chris squatted and reached under the mailbox, feeling around while Joey kept watch. The sound of tape ripping free drew her eyes back to him. He pulled a padded envelope out from under the mailbox and straightened with it in hand.
“Go on,” Eric said. “Open it.”
His expression grim, Chris tore open the envelope and shook its contents into his hand. Joey’s empty stomach turned over. It was a burner phone. She had a sinking feeling she knew where this was going.
At least it wasn’t a finger.
“Keep that handy,” Eric said. “You’re going to need it when I call again. Keep driving east on the interstate. Oh, and put your phones in the center mailbox now. It hasn’t been used for a while, but I loosened the door up for you.”
Joey bit her lip and looked at Chris, dread coiled like a serpent in her stomach. When they dumped their phones, they’d be cut off from their family, which was no doubt Eric’s intent. On the upside, when they stopped checking in, the others would come for them. This was also a downside, since Eric had been clear about what would happen if Joey and Chris didn’t come alone.
They must’ve hesitated too long. Another soft pop and cry came from the phone. Eric growled, “Now!”
Chris stepped forward and dumped his phone in the box without further hesitation. It landed in the metal basin with a loud clang.
“Now this one, and don’t you dare hang up first,” Eric said.
Joey lowered the phone and moved for the mailbox, quickly trying to fire off a text in the process. Her wolf ears picked up another pop and cry, and spurred her to dump the phone in the box without finishing. Eric’s laughter echoed in the metal box, and tears stung her eyes. Chris put a hand on her shoulder and reeled her in for a hug. She leaned into his embrace, then inhaled deeply and pulled away to trudge back to the car.
“Do you want me to drive a bit?” Chris said, keeping pace with her.
“No.” If she didn’t have something to focus on, she knew she’d go crazy.
As it was, it was going to be extremely difficult to let Roger kill Eric.
Chris had always enjoyed road trips. There was something about being on the open road, a sense of freedom and independence that was difficult to match. This time, it was the opposite. There was no stopping for snacks, no deciding to take the scenic route, just miles and miles of highway with occasional checkins from their sociopathic tour guide. Thankfully, Eric stopped short of offering tidbits of local history or points of interest along the way.
What Eric did do was direct them to a tiny motel on the outskirts of Kennewick. It was after midnight by the time they arrived. Joey parked under the motel’s single lamppost. The light flickered as they sat there, waiting for another call.
“Do you think she’s here?” Joey asked.
“I dunno,” Chris said. “He could just be toying with us again. Maybe he wants us to swap cars this time.”
“Ugh, I hope not.”
“Either way, if there’s another leg to come tonight, I’m driving.”
“Okay.”
That she was willing to let him spoke volumes. He caught her hand and squeezed it, but the phone rang before he could say more.
“We’re here,” Chris answered. He leaned over and tilted the phone so Joey could listen. The phone was so archaic that it didn’t even have a speaker, much less handsfree.
“Terrific,” Eric said. “Right on time. You two tired of each other yet?”
“Quit messing around,” Chris said, fingers tightening on the phone. “Let’s get this over with. Where are you?” He suspected the answer was still “far away,” since Roger hadn’t killed Eric yet, but he played along for appearance’s sake.
“Not there, sorry to disappoint.” There was a pause, then Eric laughed. “Who am I kidding? I don’t give a shit.”
A low growl emanated from Joey, and Chris stroked her hand absently with his thumb. “Okay, then why are we here?” he asked.
“It’s a motel. What do you think? Get some sleep. I’ll call you in the morning.”
The line went dead before either of them could protest.
“Goddammit!” Joey smacked the steering wheel, then dropped her head back against the headrest.
“Well, there’s a dull silver lining to this,” Chris said, slipping the phone in his coat pocket again. “I can check the astral plane for them again.”
Joey sighed, but nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll keep watch.”
“Thanks, but no.” Chris grabbed Roger’s can and unlocked his door. “I’m not saying I’m happy about the situation, but I’d rather not spend another minute in this car. Come on, let’s get a room. I’ll do it once we’re settled.”
“A room, and maybe some food?”
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, but maybe they have a vending machine.”
When they walked into the motel’s lobby, the desk clerk slept right through the jingling bell on the door. He was an older man, heavyset and balding, leaned back in his chair with his feet up on the counter.
Joey smacked a hand against the bell on th
e counter, setting off a sharp and loud tone that jolted the man awake with a snort. He blinked blearily at them and slowly removed his grubby sneakers from the counter.
“Hi. We need a room,” Chris said. “Please.”
The clerk, whose askew nametag red “Carl,” flicked beady eyes between them. “We don’t rent by the hour.”
Chris tensed, half expecting Joey to go over the counter at Carl. He wouldn’t have stopped her if she had. Did that make him a bad person? But she just shot the fellow a look and cleared her throat.
“One room, for the night,” she said, frosty but restrained.
They traded cash for a key in relatively short order, and Chris signed the register—an actual paper register. There wasn’t a computer in sight, which meant there was probably no hope of getting in touch with their family while they were stopped.
“I don’t suppose you have a business center?” Chris asked.
That set off a peal of laughter that dissolved into a coughing fit. Carl spat into the trash can behind the desk, then shook his head.
“No coffee pot, neither,” Carl said, motioning at the can under Chris’s arm.
“What about a vending machine?” Joey asked.
“By the ice machine. No refunds.”
“Ohhh, an ice machine,” Joey said, feigning excitement. “This really is a classy place.” She threaded her arm through Chris’s as they turned to go.
They found the ice machine on the way to their room. The vending machine beside it was a relic from another era; it didn’t even take bills. They had enough change between them for a protein bar and a bag of pretzels, which Joey tore into as they headed off in search of their room.
They found the room at the far end of the building, which wasn’t very far at all. It was a short, squat single-story building that looked like it was constructed in the fifties and hadn’t gotten around to falling over yet. The paint was peeling and the windows were dirty enough on the outside that curtains seemed almost superfluous. The air was crisp and dry; they’d left the moisture behind them on the other side of the mountains.
Inside, the room was surprisingly clean, though the carpet was threadbare and stained, and the decor was like something out of the seventies. There was one bed, a dresser topped with an ancient television, and a bathroom—no frills, not even a complimentary bottle of shampoo. The odor of cigarette smoke lingered, tickling Chris’s sensitive nostrils. The smell permeated the room; it was going to be like sleeping in an ashtray.
Chris set Roger’s coffee can on the nightstand and sank onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. It’d felt good to stretch his legs, but he couldn’t deny that he was tired. Joey offered him the bag of pretzels and he took one from it. She shook the bag and frowned at him, so he took a second before he stretched out on the bed, fully clothed. Joey left the bag of pretzels beside him and walked over to investigate the radiator.
The pretzels were stale, but Chris ate them anyway. His stomach rumbled for more, but he left the bag where it was and tucked his hands in his coat pockets.
“I’m going now,” he said.
The sounds of Joey fiddling with the radiator stopped. “Okay. Be careful and, uh, hurry back.”
Chris closed his eyes and slid out of his body without further ado. The stale cigarette smell vanished, telling him he’d successfully crossed onto the astral plane before he opened his eyes. He didn’t pay his surroundings much mind, but his eyes did linger on Joey. His feelings for her were a tight ball in his chest, jumbled with all the others that vied for his attention in this place. Torn between hoping there were some pretzels left when he got back and wanting to put her needs before his own, Chris closed his eyes once more and focused on finding his mother.
Recalling how difficult it’d been to find Joey when she was far away, he did his best to push aside the growing frustration when his initial efforts didn’t bear fruit. At least now he knew she was alive, or had been a few hours ago. Somewhere. He tried again and again, willing himself to her side, taking that step and moving no more than a pace ahead.
After a bit of this, Chris tried to find Eric instead. That didn’t get him anywhere either. Chris wasn’t sure how far he was from home, but given that they’d driven for over four hours, it was considerably more than ninety miles. Just to be thorough, he tried his father, his brothers, even Cathy. All to no avail. For now, they were well and truly on their own.
Well, not entirely alone. When Chris opened his eyes that last time, shoulders slumped in defeat, Roger stood by the bed. He hadn’t noticed the ghost there before, but he was there now.
“I don’t suppose you’re having any luck finding Eric either?” Chris asked.
Roger shook his head. Anger burned in his eyes, a dull flash of bright red in an otherwise muted landscape. Chris tilted his head and studied the shade. He hadn’t interacted with Roger much in the weeks since their initial meeting. Not directly, anyway. Most of it had been through Dean.
“How’s your daughter?” Chris said.
“She’s good. Stronger every day.” The red in Roger’s eyes faded into more of a dusky rose hue.
“I need to ask you a favor.”
Roger smirked, irises fading into a steely gray. “Of course you do.”
“You’re probably going to find Eric before we do. When you do, would you please help us find him before you kill him? I don’t know if you’ll cross over right afterward or if you still have business with the living, but there might not be much time. I need to find my mom. Our mom.” He motioned to where Joey sat, oblivious to the conversation going on around her.
The spirit hesitated. “If I do, you’ll give my ashes to my girls, whether I’m still here or not.”
Chris’s mother’s safety for Roger’s freedom. It was probably as good a deal as Chris would get. “Okay.”
Roger nodded. “I’ll try.”
Chris couldn’t ask for more than that. He drifted through the bed and settled into his body once more, inhaling a lungful of stale air as he opened his eyes. He coughed and sat up.
Joey patted his back. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I didn’t find her, though. Wherever they are, they’re still out of my range.” He scooted back to sit beside her.
Joey lifted his arm and slid beneath it. “Maybe bringing Roger wasn’t as clever as we thought. Maybe Eric’s trying to stay out of his range.” She shook the bag of pretzels, prompting him to take another.
“You should eat some more too,” he said.
“I’ll be okay.”
“At least eat half.”
Her fair cheeks tinted pink. “I, uh, ate the protein bar while you were gone.”
Chris blinked, then laughed and wrapped both arms around her, pulling her against him. “We’ll get something to eat in the morning. Eric’s got to let us eat.”
“He doesn’t ‘got’ to let us do anything. He has all the power here. But what’s his endgame? I mean, if he wanted to separate us from our packs, he’s done that. So, what happens tomorrow? Do we meet up for an exchange? Which one of us does he want, and what makes him think Mom’ll go along with that?”
“I don’t know.” Chris leaned his head against hers. “You know him better than I do. What do you think he wants?”
She was quiet for several seconds, then sighed. “I don’t know. He’s unpredictable. I think he likes keeping people on their toes.”
“Well, lucky for us, we’re dancers,” he whispered into her hair.
Her laughter was balm for his wounded soul.
7
The broken line down the center of the asphalt was starting to blur. Chris had no idea how long he’d been driving, but it was well after dark and he’d had to put the convertible’s top back up a while ago. Nights in the desert were cold this time of year, temperatures plummeting with the setting sun. The moon hung low at his back, half full and bathing the world in its silvery glow. He’d felt it rise and knew it was there, even without looking. It was the brightest object for
miles around—not counting his headlights, anyway.
There were so many stars in the night sky. The light pollution was virtually nonexistent out here. He hadn’t passed so much as a highway marker in what seemed like forever. Spanish guitar spilled quietly from the car speakers, and he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the beat.
His sharp eyes picked up a light in the distance, shimmering on the edge of the horizon but growing brighter as he sped down the highway toward it. The headlights reflected off a sign some miles later. It read, Hotel Valencia, 15 miles ahead.
A sudden yawn cracked Chris’s jaw open, a wave of weariness coming over him as if summoned by the mere notion of somewhere to stop for the night. He made up his mind then and there. It didn’t matter if the place turned out to be a complete rat trap; there was no telling when the next opportunity for rest might come.
The palatial building that rose up out of the darkness eventually chased any thoughts of rat traps out of his mind. He counted five stories of stuccoed, Spanish Mission-style elegance, with jutting towers and a roofline with peaks and valleys that reminded him of his childhood home.
Chris turned onto the palm-tree-lined drive, admiring the view so much that he nearly missed a flicker of movement ahead. There was a large gray wolf standing in the middle of the road. Chris slammed on the brakes. Tires squealed, and his heart leapt into his throat. The beast stood there, its eyes reflecting the headlights as the car careened toward it.
There wasn’t enough time to stop.
Chris woke with a start, heart hammering and body tensed for impact. The room was pitch dark and unfamiliar, but Joey’s familiar form was snuggled against his side. He blinked, slowly relaxing against the lumpy mattress, and let sleep claim him once more.
A noisy jangle woke Joey from a dead sleep, sending her shooting upright on the sagging motel mattress. Beside her, Chris stirred with a quiet groan.
It took Joey a moment to locate the source of the racket. The old rotary telephone by the bed was practically vibrating itself off the desk. She leaned over and grabbed the handle to shut it up, but it slid from her sleepy grasp and smacked the table before thudding to the carpeted floor. Distantly, she heard someone calling her name as she crawled to the edge of the bed and leaned over to fumble around for the receiver.