The man didn’t leave.
The bells jingled, and Anya saw a tall man step through the door. Looked at her, looked at the clerk. Looked at Boyd.
“Damn, Boyd,” he said, his teeth working on a wad of tobacco as he spoke, “it seems you got yourself in the shit again.”
“I got it handled.”
“Oh, I bet.”
“This your friend, son?” The clerk said. The gun didn’t move. He didn’t move. “You both best be leaving.”
Anya’s hand worked the plastic out of the pocket of her jeans. Emergency or not, it was good to be prepared. Ready.
“See what a mess you made, Boyd? Goddamn, first time you come down to my neck of the woods, and you got someone gunning for you.” The tall man nodded over at the clerk. “We’re sorry, sir. We were just leaving.”
“Damn right you were.” The old man’s posture loosened a little bit as Boyd lifted his hand from Anya’s shoulder. He shifted the shotgun’s aim from Boyd to the tall man in the door.
Anya could feel the man back up, the heat of his presence dissipating as he took a step away from her. Before, he’d been close, almost touching her jeans. It was scary, but kind of exciting.
She wouldn’t tell Miss Ena about that.
“You ready to go, Boyd? We can come back later,” the new man said.
Boyd said, “Yeah.”
And then Anya heard a pistol shot, saw the old man fall, a gash of red staining the boxes of cigarettes behind the counter. But before he was down all the way, a demonic rumble exploded from the shotgun, two pulls, and the tall man’s feet were swept out from underneath him.
“Aw, shit,” she heard Boyd say. Could tell that he was still close, just a step or two behind her. Heard the instructions in her mind, about emergencies, visualized what they’d practiced.
Anya yanked the plastic out from her pocket, pressed the button, and flung her arm behind her, the switchblade searching for something to plunge into.
It found Boyd’s leg, and he screamed and buckled to the ground. A gun clattered across the floor, right across Anya’s line of sight. She could still see a faint wisp of smoke trailing behind it.
“You little bitch,” he said, “that old heretic Ena taught you well.”
She didn’t look back, just ran, mouth dry, chest hurting from the fear. Anya skirted the bleeding, moaning tall man on the ground, and burst out of the general store, into the sun.
Heard Boyd say, “He dead? Oh shit, I think I killed him.”
The heat didn’t matter; she wasn’t thirsty any more.
She just ran up the road, hoping that Rever’s Point was close.
7 | Home
Devin got a text from Tommy just as he stepped in the door, new battery and power cord in tow. He wicked sweat from his brow as he thumbed across the screen to read the message.
late stayin at Becks plice 2n
Figured. It’d been two hours and Tommy was already wasted.
He tossed the empty bag on the ground and went to the bedroom. Slipped the battery in, held his breath.
Normal. No messages, no strange directives.
Devin rubbed his head and sighed. Just someone yanking his chain. He was about to settle into a game of StarCraft when he remembered that he hadn’t shut the front door. Shit. The match was starting.
Whatever. He’d play in the living room.
Devin stepped out of the room and dropped the laptop on the ground.
In the doorway was a girl, covered in sweat and dust.
Her eyes burned as she looked at him, not saying anything. A worn leather backpack was slung over her shoulder.
Devin looked at the ground, at the ruined computer, then back at the young woman. He focused on the space right over her shoulder, because he wasn’t any good at speaking to girls in the eye.
“Who the hell are you?”
The girl took a step inside, and Devin backed up.
“Shower,” she said. “Can I take a shower?”
No. No, she couldn’t. And then, for some reason, Devin heard himself say, “Yeah, right over there. Back and to the left.”
And stared as the girl disappeared into his bedroom, shut the door and cranked up the water.
Devin sat on the couch, then remembered. Got up and closed the door.
Something about those eyes.
Something about them had made him say yes.
He heard the water stop.
He waited a minute and tried the knob to his bedroom.
She shrieked, and Devin dove beneath the kitchen counter as a shoe sailed through the now open doorway. The plywood slammed shut, shaking the house.
This was going to be interesting.
8 | An Awkward Conversation
She stared at him, and Devin stared back.
All she’d said, the only thing she’d said, was about taking a shower. Ever since she’d come out, she’d just sat and glowered at him, eyes smoldering, her whole body about to burst from some pent-up rage.
Devin, for his part, was thinking that it would be best for her to start things off. Though he did have some questions.
First and foremost, about who the hell she was, and what she was doing in his house.
But he didn’t want to lead with that. There was a living human being in his house besides Tommy¸ and she was female.
So he said, “Sorry about that. We—I don’t have a lot of people over, I guess.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay?”
Nothing else, though. Just okay. Devin would take that. She didn’t make a move to run for the door, or throw anything else at him, so that had to be a good sign.
“You want something to drink,” Devin said. “We got beer, I think it’s a Bud or something, but it’s all right.”
She shook her head.
“I’m gonna have one, then,” and he went over to the fridge and grabbed a can from the fridge, cracked it open, the foam dripping on to the carpet.
The girl stared at him.
He focused on the foam, sipping it. Not great, but okay.
“You said it was a Bud,” she said after watching him for a couple minutes.
“What?” He looked at her and then looked at the can.
“You said it was a Bud, short for Budweiser. It’s a Miller Lite.”
Devin scrunched up his eyes and peered at her. Was she serious? She couldn’t be serious. But she looked serious. Had he screwed up? Shit.
“Uh, my bad,” he said. “Tommy usually drinks Buds.” He took a sip, then added, “Budweisers. Tommy drinks Budweisers.”
“Why’d you lie?”
Devin laughed and almost spit the beer out across the room. But she wasn’t kidding. And he tried to get it together, but had a hard time.
“You’re serious.”
“Why?”
“You can’t be serious,” he said. “I didn’t lie.”
“But you said—”
“Can I ask you something?”
She crossed her arms, but didn’t say anything. Devin took that as a sign to continue.
“What the hell are you doing in my house?” It seemed like an appropriate time to get back around to that part of the deal.
“Devin Travis.”
“Yeah?”
“That’s you.” She wasn’t asking, she was stating a fact.
“Last I checked,” he said. “What’s this about?”
Her eyes scanned the room, and then fell on a picture up on the mantel. Him, Tommy, Mom, Dad. At high school graduation.
She sprung to her feet and yanked her bag off the ground.
“Wait,” Devin said. It wasn’t him. This girl was weird. But was it him? Jesus, he just didn’t know. “You’re just gonna leave?”
As she went out the door, her fingers glided over a small table covered in takeout menus. She grabbed the first one in the stack, for Texas China, and tossed it back at Devin. He scrambled to catch it while trying to figure out what the hell she was up to.
&nb
sp; “I don’t get it,” he said, and watched her run through the front yard, start dashing up the sidewalk. He followed her out a couple steps, but wasn’t going to dart after her in the summer heat. “Nice meeting you?”
“Be there in an hour,” she called out as she ran, “not safe in your house.”
And then she was gone, disappearing into the Texas sun.
Devin shuffled back to his house, looking at the menu for Texas China. That place sucked. She came all the way to his house just to invite him there?
But she knew his name.
Lots of strange people these days, it seemed, knew his name.
He’d go.
Not like he had any other pressing plans.
Devin scrambled for a pen. He had an hour to get ready. How far was Texas China? Ten, fifteen minutes? Better make it fifteen.
He wrote leave by 7:45 in the menu’s margin.
As if he needed a reminder.
9 | Pay Phone
Anya searched around town for fifteen minutes before she stumbled upon an old payphone in the alley behind a ramshackle Laundromat. Her eyes searched the ends of the narrow street for any signs of the two men who had attacked her. But they were gone, at least for the time being.
She brushed her hair from her eyes, sweat just beginning to trickle down her forehead again, and recited the numbers as she punched them in.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
“Hello,” Miss Ena said, “who’s there?”
“It’s me,” Anya said. “It’s Anya.”
“Of course, child. Are you all right?”
Anya wasn’t sure. “I’m not hurt.”
“Did anything happen?”
“I went on the bus, and I almost lost my notebook.”
“Yes,” Miss Ena said, gentle, but moving the conversation along, “but what is troubling you, child?”
“They shot him,” Anya said.
“Shot who?” Miss Ena’s voice rose.
“Don’t be angry with me. Please.”
“Oh, child, I’m not angry with you. I could never be angry with you.”
That wasn’t true—Miss Ena had gotten upset with her a few times, when she didn’t understand basic things—but Anya decided not to talk about it.
“I went into a store because I was thirsty. And a man followed me. Placed his hand on my shoulder. And then.” Anya stopped, felt tears welling up in her eyes. Now she knew why Miss Ena had shielded her from the world. It was horrible, filled with bad people. Ones that wanted to hurt her, just like Miss Ena had said.
“And then what,” Miss Ena said, voice firm, but filled with concern, hope that the story didn’t end up bad.
“And then, the man behind the counter, he told him to leave me alone. And another man came in, a tall one, and I hurt one of them, just like you said I should if I had to.” Anya’s eyes flitted down to her jeans, where the switchblade had been, and noticed a streak of red where she’d rubbed her fingertips after stabbing the man.
She brushed at it, but the stain didn’t fade.
“Are you being chased?”
“No. I don’t think so.” Anya stopped sniffling and refocused her mind. “You said they wouldn’t find me.”
“Is that an accusation?” Anya didn’t answer, but felt a little guilty. Then Miss Ena said, “I’m sorry, child. I didn’t mean that. This news has been very upsetting, is all. I didn’t mean to put you in danger. I thought it was safe.”
“They said you were a heretic.”
“A heretic? I see.”
“Is it my fault?” Anya went over the trip in her head, the itinerary. Get on the bus in Jamestown. Don’t talk to anyone. Get off outside the Rever’s Point limits. Had she made a mistake when the bus driver handed her the notebook? Had he looked at it and told them where to find her? No, he seemed like a nice man. Not like the two in the general store.
“It’s mine, child. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sent you. I thought it would be good for you, help you grow after all these years with me, but…”
“I’m not a child any more,” Anya said.
“Of course not,” Miss Ena said, “but old habits die hard. And what of the Dreamer? Devin Travis?”
“I’ve seen him.”
“You did?”
“Yes. You don’t believe me?”
“Of course I believe you, child. It’s just that—I’ve been searching for him for so long, I almost thought that he was a myth. He’s my white whale.”
“He’s pretty skinny.”
Miss Ena laughed. “It’s just an expression.”
“I don’t get it.”
“In time, child, in time.” Miss Ena drew in a deep breath. “Are you with the boy now?”
“No,” Anya said, and then explained why, the picture she’d seen upon his mantle.
“I see. That…complicates matters.”
“I told him to meet me at Texas China. In forty-three minutes.”
“Well, I won’t hold you, then,” Miss Ena said, “but child?”
“Yes?”
“Do be careful. There are other people who want to find the Dreamer as well.”
Anya hung up the battered receiver and did another scan of the alley. Nothing except a stray cat. She started towards the animal, but it bounded away, underneath a dumpster, and hissed at her when she tried to talk to it.
Remember the task she had been given.
It was important.
She had to bring the Dreamer to Miss Ena.
10 | Texas China
Devin ran the comb through his sandy blonde hair, parted it, then brushed it the reverse direction. Tussled it. No good. He had to take a shower.
He tested the water and leapt out.
She’d used all the hot water. Goddamnit.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror. All right. Teeth could be a little straighter, closer together. That was nitpicking. She’d come here for him. He must have something interesting going on.
Devin mussed up his hair and went to the closet.
After some back and forth, he settled on a T-shirt and jeans. No need to look overeager. Even if his heart was yammering, and he felt like he was going to pass out. His phone rang, and he jumped.
Then he realized this girl—this pretty, nameless girl— didn’t have his number.
He looked at the screen.
“Yeah, Tommy,” he said. “What do you need?”
“Devin?”
“It’s Devin. You called me.”
“Right,” Tommy said. “It just doesn’t sound like you.”
“You all right, man? You sound a little funny.” Not drunk, more in pain or distress.
“What? Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine. I just wanted to tell you, I’m gonna stay with Becks for a couple of days.”
“All right. Yeah, sure.”
“You’ll be fine without me?”
“I’m fine,” Devin said. “I’m meeting a girl.”
“No shit, buddy. Make sure she doesn’t have a dick.”
“Fuck you, man. She’s all right.”
“Good for you,” Tommy said. “You need to get laid.” He laughed, and then started breathing shallow, like he was all out of breath.
“You don’t sound good, Tommy,” Devin said.
“Just got in an altercation over a game down here,” Tommy said. “Someone cracked me in the nose with a pool cue. Cheap shot. I think my nose is broke.”
“You go to the hospital?” Tommy was all he had. Devin didn’t want him getting in stupid bar fights.
What if something happened?
“Nah, it’s not that bad,” Tommy said. “I’m still pretty. Becks says so, at least.”
“If you—”
Devin heard another man in the background shout at Tommy, say something that Devin couldn’t hear. Then the line went dead and the called ended.
Devin stared at the phone for a moment, then flipped the lid shut. Tommy getting cracked. There wasn’t a guy
under thirty in all of Rever’s Point that he hadn’t tried to fight. Still managed to look all right, get ladies.
The girl.
Be cool, Devin tried to repeat over and over, as he checked all the lights, made sure the oven was off, the door was locked. Just be cool, man.
He shuffled up the sidewalk, towards the strip mall, throwing his shoulders a little back.
Fake it ‘til you make it.
And just be cool.
11 | Takeout
The girl just stared at the number four Devin had bought her like it was radioactive. Didn’t say anything. No expression. Nothing.
“You don’t like it,” Devin said. Shrimp rolls. No one liked the shrimp rolls. Dumb move.
“I’m not sure.”
“I don’t know what that means.” So much for cool.
“I’ve never had them before.”
“They’re kind of nasty,” Devin said, and then wondered why he said it. “But I figured you might like them.” Following it up with another gem. On fire.
Her eyes snapped up to meet his, and he saw them glint. Anger. Curiosity. He couldn’t tell what. Little pale emeralds. Maybe he should’ve lead with something like that. Tommy would have done that. Girls loved that shit.
“I don’t know what that means,” she said.
“Forget it,” Devin said. “Just forget it. I’ll eat them.” He reached out and hooked the corner of the white cardboard cup, started to drag it over. Her hand clamped down on his wrist, coming out of the air like an executioner’s axe.
“Explain,” she said.
He looked at her hand, then back at her face. Explain. That was good, coming from her. Still, Devin said, “You just seem different, is all. How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
“No shit, me too. What day?”
“What day?”
“I wanted to know which one of us is older.” Inside his head, Devin asked himself what his end game here was. It was like he’d never spoken to another human being in his entire damn life.
“The seventh of July.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No,” she said, like she wouldn’t do that, ever.
“I was born on the seventh, too.”
“Coincidence,” she said. “There’s a one in—”
The Last Dreamer Page 3