Valley of the Shadow

by Pawlik, Tom

  “So is that why you went to see Pastor Lewis this afternoon?”

  Marta straightened up. “What?”

  “Wh-what?” Conner stammered. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Well . . . ,” Rachel began with some hesitation. “When I got home from school, Mrs. Lewis called—must’ve been while you were on your way home. She said you had left your Bible there. I guess I forgot to tell you.”

  “Nice,” Conner grunted.

  Marta leaned forward. “You went to see Pastor Lewis without me?”

  Conner found himself searching for words. Was this God keeping him honest? Or was it just His idea of a joke? “Look, I was a little frustrated with everything that happened, so I decided maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just visit for a bit.”

  “Without me?”

  Conner stood. He could feel his defensiveness giving way to anger. “Yes.” His voice grew sharp and he leaned over the table. “Yes, I went without you. I wanted to talk to him. Man-to-man. Okay? And you know what? I told him everything too. I figured, why not let the whole world know I’m going crazy? Why not let them all think I’m nuts?”

  He left the dining room, snatched his keys from the kitchen counter, and headed for the front door.

  “Where are you going?” Marta called after him. “Don’t get mad.”

  “I’m not mad,” Conner huffed. “I just need to go out for a bit.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  His anxiety was growing, like a pot coming to a boil. He found he couldn’t sit still any longer. He felt as if he’d just taken an IV of pure caffeine. The sense of frustration that had been gnawing at him earlier was now overwhelming, and he couldn’t keep it bottled up anymore. He was tired of just sitting around. Waiting for answers. Waiting for God. He had to get out of the house. He had to do something.

  And he knew exactly what it was.

  28

  MITCH’S SHOULDERS SLUMPED as he watched the milk truck roll to a squeaking halt at the intersection. Howard climbed out, tugged off his cap, and wiped his forehead with a bandanna from his pocket, a slight smirk on his face.

  What was the old man doing here? How did he know which direction Mitch had gone?

  “Mitch!” Howard called out, peering into the grocery store and then over at the garage.

  Mitch instinctively ducked back from the window.

  “I know you’re here. What . . . you get one of them Harleys? You got the itch to ride again?”

  Mitch inched forward so he could just glance through the window without being seen.

  Howard kept on. “I don’t think you’ve thought this through, Mitch. Whutch you gonna do come nightfall? Build a campfire? You think that’s gonna keep you safe?”

  Mitch remained still. Maybe the guy would get tired and go home. Maybe he just wanted to say his piece.

  Howard’s pleasant expression began to turn sour. His voice grew harsh. “I opened my home to you, boy. I saved you. Gave you shelter and food. And this is how you repay me? Where would you be without me, huh? Where would you be?”

  Mitch could see Howard glaring at the gas station, his forehead gnarled up in a frown. He waited a moment longer, then turned back to the truck. “I can’t be responsible for what happens to you now,” he said as he climbed into the cab. “You keep on this path and you’re on your own.” He slammed the door and leaned his head out the window. “You hear me? You are on your own!”

  The truck chugged to life. Gears ground as the vehicle lurched forward into the parking lot of the grocery store. Howard turned it around and pulled onto the road, back the way he had come.

  The truck growled off into the distance and within seconds, silence returned. Inside the garage, Mitch breathed a sigh.

  Obviously there was something wrong with Howard. Something Mitch hadn’t seen before—or refused to see. Maybe he was still angry that Mitch had ruined his pickup. Maybe he was mad that he’d have to siphon gas by himself from now on. Or maybe…

  Maybe he was just afraid to be alone.

  A gust of wind rattled the big bay door of the garage with a soft moan. Almost like a whisper.

  Someone was standing in the shadows of the garage. Mitch’s hands were sweating. His heart pounded. “What do you want?”

  A voice replied, “Do you have any idea what kind of embarrassment you are to me?”

  The figure stepped out of the shadows, but Mitch had known who it was as soon as he’d heard the voice.

  “Just leave me alone, Dad.”

  His father ignored him. “Why can’t you act like a normal kid? Why does everything have to revolve around you?” He held out a piece of paper. He had that wild-eyed look. Lips all puckered, nostrils flared.

  Mitch rolled his eyes. “What now?”

  “Smoking marijuana?” His father’s eyes were red but fierce. He rattled the paper in the air. “It’s bad enough that you can’t get along with anyone there, but now you’re smoking pot? Do you have any idea what the press will do with this?”

  Mitch frowned. He remembered this conversation. He was sixteen. His first year at St. Anthony’s. He’d been kicked out of every other private school his father had stuck him in. Fighting with students. Disrespect for faculty. Mitch had hated the uniforms, the rules, and the snobbery.

  So his old man had finally enrolled him in a Catholic school. And this was worse than all the others. Mitch hated the teachers, the nuns and priests. They creeped him out more than anything. Mitch didn’t trust any of them.

  And he couldn’t stand the other kids. His stomach churned at just the thought of going to school every day. The creepy building. The musty rooms. Mitch had to do something to calm himself down. So he’d sneak a few drinks from his father’s liquor cabinet in the morning. Scotch, bourbon, Grey Goose, and a variety of wines. He always made sure he never drank too much from any one bottle. And after a while he had actually become a bit of a connoisseur.

  Then he met Sonja Belotti in his sophomore year. Her parents were rich and divorced and tossed her between them like a hot potato. Neither one seemed to want her for very long. She was a bleach blonde with crystal blue eyes who wore tight jeans and black T-shirts. Mitch fell for her hard the moment he first saw her.

  And Sonja was every bit his match at getting in trouble. She was the one who had taken his virginity and his heart. Though really, Mitch had given both to her freely and eagerly. And she was the one who had first introduced him to pot.

  “You think this is funny?” His father’s voice broke into Mitch’s thoughts.

  Mitch found he’d been smiling. It quickly turned into a scowl. “No. I think you’re pathetic.”

  Mitch’s father strode toward him, holding the paper in front of him, shaking it. “You think I’m paying for you to goof off and get high? I’ve got news for you, kid. You are going to straighten up or so help me, I’ll—”

  “Shut up!” Mitch punched his palms into the man’s chest, throwing him back across the garage. “You think I’m afraid of you anymore? I’m not afraid of you!”

  Mitch’s teeth were clenched so tightly his jaws ached. Rage boiled up inside him as he lunged after his father. But he stopped suddenly, staring into the shadows of the empty garage. His chest heaved.

  They were doing it to him again. Messing with his mind. Throwing these hallucinations at him and probably watching how he would react. Maybe they were off somewhere watching him on a monitor, laughing their heads off.

  Mitch shook his head. His anger and frustration were building, but now he had nowhere to direct it. He swore at the shadows of the garage.

  His tirade was cut short by a thunderous noise outside. The monstrous roaring he’d heard before. Part beast, part machine, and unlike anything Mitch had ever known. He spun around to see an enormous black shadow sweep past the bay door windows, around the side of the building, out of sight.

  Mitch scrambled to the window to get a glimpse outside. He had to get out of here. If that thing had found h
im, he’d be a sitting duck in the garage.

  The building shuddered as something pounded the roof. Mitch could hear the joists and rafters cracking. Dust and dirt poured down as a second blow shook the building. He slid open the bay door and ran back to his bike.

  Another explosive bellow blasted from outside.

  Mitch thumbed the starter and kicked the bike into gear as a huge black limb crashed down through the roof in a shower of metallic and wooden debris. He jerked the throttle and squealed out of the garage, onto the road. Mitch glanced in the mirror to see the black creature huddled over the gas station, one of its arms jammed through the roof.

  He turned forward in time to see a flash of light coming right at him. He ducked instinctively as something like a large flare streaked over his head, leaving a trail of smoke tracing behind it. Mitch swerved the bike, skidding to a halt. He glanced over his shoulder as the flash impacted with the creature. A moment later came a burst of light and a thunderous explosion as the creature disintegrated—along with the gas station—in a billowing plume of fire. Chunks of concrete and glowing metal shot up and outward.

  The shock wave knocked Mitch off his bike and sent him rolling onto the asphalt. He covered his head as flaming debris rained down across the entire town. His ears rang with a dull hum. He fought for breath, feeling like he’d been socked in the ribs with a bowling ball.

  Groggy and disoriented, Mitch struggled to his knees. But he felt the ground shifting beneath him. The ringing in his ears began to fade and he managed to suck in an agonizing lungful of air.

  In his haze, Mitch glimpsed someone walking toward him through the smoke, from the direction the flare had come.

  29

  CONNER PULLED UP to the hospital in Winthrop Harbor. It was just after seven o’clock and he figured he should be able to get into the ICU to see Mitch without much difficulty. That is, if everything went smoothly.

  During the last two months, Conner had managed to sneak into Mitch’s room on two previous occasions, but only for brief visits. He had to plan his arrival within a ten-minute window during the change in nursing shifts. Security tended to wane a bit during those times, and Conner found that if he could make himself look like he belonged in the hospital—like someone in the health care profession—he could go just about anywhere he wanted without raising suspicion.

  He wasn’t exactly new at this stunt either. He had purchased a white lab coat and stethoscope when he’d first graduated law school. A clipboard with several sheets of miscellaneous legal forms completed the masquerade. It had served as a pretty reliable method for drumming up business in those early years. Making contact with injured potential clients was always a challenge. A task that called for creativity and innovation.

  Conner stopped in the men’s room to change, then made his way to ICU. He felt a twinge of guilt but quickly buried it in the rationale of his mission to help Mitch. He hoped the end justified his means.

  Conner loitered around the entrance to ICU until someone came out of the doors; then he walked through with a nonchalant but hurried gait, reading feverishly from his clipboard.

  He located Mitch’s room and passed by twice when he glimpsed someone else in the room. A nurse stood at Mitch’s bedside, checking the IV. After she left, Conner slipped inside.

  Mitch lay there motionless, his arms and chest connected to a network of tubes and electrodes. His head was wrapped in gauze and his face was scarred. A breathing tube from the bedside ventilator had been inserted into his throat and taped at his mouth.

  A slight chill washed over Conner and he caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. He thought at first the nurse had returned, but except for him—and Mitch—the room was empty.

  Conner turned back to Mitch and watched him for a moment, listening to the quiet humming and beeping of the various monitors and pumps. He bent down to Mitch’s ear.

  “Mitch?” he whispered, watching for the slightest twitch or sign of acknowledgment. He glanced over Mitch’s chart, trying to make sense of the information, searching for any report of treatment or any indication that he’d been scheduled to be disconnected. He couldn’t find anything relevant.

  He bent down and whispered again, “I’m not going to let you die.”

  “That’s what I tell him too.”

  Conner straightened and turned to see a young woman in the doorway. She was in her early twenties, Conner guessed, and thin, with straight brown hair and large brown eyes.

  She offered him a meager smile as she entered. “I talk to him too. They said it can’t hurt, right?”

  Conner swallowed, not sure what to say. “Umm,” he stammered, “it’s been known to help.”

  She leaned over Mitch and kissed him softly. “Anything new? Any improvement?”

  Conner remembered his doctor’s garb and tried to recover. He cleared his throat and did his best to sound aloof and professional. “Uh… yes. Nothing noticeable, but I’m still optimistic.” He started to sidle toward the door.

  The young woman turned and held out a hand. “I don’t think I’ve met you yet, Doctor… ?”

  Conned smiled and shook her hand, trying to hide his discomfort. “I’m… Dr. Hart… man.”

  “Dr. Hartman? Linda. Linda Wilson.”

  “Ah, yes.” Before Conner could stop himself, he blurted out, “His fiancée.”

  She blinked and frowned. “No . . . we weren’t engaged. We were dating for a while. But… how did you know?”

  Conner felt as if a hundred icy needles had suddenly pricked his neck. “Oh, I . . . I’m sorry. I must’ve… I just assumed…”

  Linda waved it off with a smile. “That’s okay. I don’t think he was quite ready to make that commitment yet.” Then her smile faded. “I just hope he can remember me when he gets better.”

  Conner bit hard on his cheek, cursing himself. Mitch had mentioned that he’d been on his way to propose the night of the accident but never actually made it. He had to get out of here quick, before he made any further gaffes. “Well, we’re not giving up hope yet.”

  Linda’s eyes lit up. “Really? I . . .” She glanced out into the hallway and lowered her voice. “I get the feeling that no one else around here seems to think he’ll get any better. Are you that specialist they were going to bring in?”

  “Specialist? No. I . . . I had heard about Mi—uh… this case and wanted to stop by to familiarize myself with the, uh, with the charts. No. I don’t, I don’t really know anything about this case.”

  Linda narrowed her eyes. “But I heard you talking to him, telling him you weren’t going to let him die. I assumed you were going to be treating him.”

  Conner found himself nodding and sweating. “Yes, well I just wanted to, y’know, offer a word of… encourag—”

  “You’re not really a doctor, are you?” Linda’s eyes grew cold.

  Conner offered up a laugh. “Umm, yeah, but I was…”

  “What do you want with him?”

  Conner continued backing toward the door. “Nothing. No, I was just making my rounds and wanted to . . . y’know—this is an interesting case. So I stopped by for a minute.”

  Linda’s frown turned to a scowl. “I’m calling the nurse.” She pushed past Conner, out into the hallway.

  Conner caught her arm. “Look,” he said in a low voice. “I’m a friend. Okay? No, I’m not a doctor. I… I just wanted to see him. I don’t want anything.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I told you. Just a friend.”

  Linda’s eyes were still icy. “I thought I had met all of Mitch’s friends. How come I’ve never met you before?”

  Conner shrugged. “I only recently got to know him. I’m a lawyer, and I was trying to make sure—”

  “Is he in trouble?”

  “No. No, I just want to be sure he’s getting the care he needs.”

  “A lawyer? What did Mitch need a lawyer for?”

  Conner rubbed his eyes. “He’s not in trouble. I’m a frien
d of the family. Sort of. And . . . it’s a long story.”

  “You don’t think he’s getting the treatment he needs? Are you working on some kind of lawsuit?”

  “No. I just feel like . . . I get the feeling that Mitch’s father may be preparing to disconnect. He may be giving up.”

  Linda’s eyes widened. “How do you know that? Who told you that?”

  “I’ve been trying to contact Walter Kent—”

  “He’s very sick.”

  “Yes, I know. I’ve been trying to warn him . . . to tell him not to give up hope. I can’t explain it, but I really believe Mitch will recover.”

  “But who told you they were going to disconnect him?”

  Conner rubbed his eyes again. This was getting out of hand. He should’ve left when he’d had the chance. He never should have started talking to this woman. How much more could he reveal to her? He couldn’t tell her everything. She’d think he was crazy for sure.

  “I spoke to Mr. Kent’s assistant today. And she mentioned something about . . . final arrangements.”

  Linda backed away, shaking her head. “Final arrangements? What does that mean?”

  Conner sighed. “I don’t know. That’s why I snuck in—to see if I could find any more information.”

  Then a thought struck him. “Wait a minute. How come you’re here? How did you get permission to visit?” The policy was immediate family only inside the ICU. And Kent had made sure the hospital clamped down hard on that rule.

  Linda hesitated before answering, looked down. “I . . . I used to volunteer here. I know some of the nurses and they let me visit in the evenings. They knew we were dating, so they let me come see him when no one’s around. I just come and talk to him in the evenings. And pray.”

  Conner drew a long breath and glanced at Mitch. “Maybe that’s the best either of us can do right now.”

  30

  SMOKE SWIRLED AROUND the approaching figure. Mitch’s vision was still blurry, but after a moment the figure came into focus.

  Nathan strode through the smoke. He was wearing a long black overcoat with what looked like a rocket launcher resting on one of his shoulders. He grinned. “Hey, pretty good shot, huh?”