Dominic cursed silently to himself. He had reached another dead end.
“Did you know them at all?” he asked, hoping to get at least some useful information from this friendly woman.
“Not very,” she said. “Especially considering how long we were neighbors. The mother never seemed to come out of the house—I’d see her standing at the window looking outside sometimes. The kids seemed sweet enough, although Leesa was kind of shy.”
This was news to Dominic. He remembered Judy Nyland as a friendly, outgoing woman and wondered what had happened to turn her into someone who never left her apartment. He hoped it did not have anything to do with Leesa.
“Do you have any idea where they might have gone?” he asked, hoping against hope for some kind of lead.
“No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”
Dominic could see on her wrinkled face that she was genuinely sorry. Unfortunately, her being sorry did not do him any good.
“Well, thanks for your help,” he said.
As he was preparing to turn away, the woman laid her hand on his forearm.
“Leesa was going to college somewhere in Connecticut, I think. Maybe her mom moved back there to be near her.”
Dominic smiled. This was something, at least.
“Do you happen to know which school?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t. But Connecticut isn’t very big. How many colleges could there be there?”
Dominic had no idea, but he was going to find out as quickly as he could.
“Is there a public library nearby?” he asked.
The woman gave him directions to a local branch only four blocks away. He thanked her for her help and headed for the library, covering the sidewalk with long, quick strides.
The answer to the question “how many colleges could there be in Connecticut?” turned out to be “quite a few.” Dominic stared at the list he had pulled up on one of the library’s computers. He counted more than thirty—even more if he included all the branches of the state university. The number was disappointing—he had expected fewer. Still, it was something to go on, a starting point at least.
He printed out the list, then folded it carefully and put it in his pocket. It was time to get back on the train. Destination: Connecticut.
27. A NIGHT OUT
Leesa poked through the clothes in her closet, trying to decide what to wear. She was going to some place called The Joint that hosted open microphone nights on Fridays. Andy had been there once with some guys from his fraternity and said it was really fun. Cali knew how stressed she had been lately—Leesa had shared her most recent dream with her—and had insisted Leesa come along, saying a night out having some mindless fun would be good for her. Caitlin was also going, so Leesa wouldn’t feel like a “third wheel” on Cali and Andy’s date.
Cali had said to dress casual and “funky,” and Leesa was not exactly certain what that meant. She was pretty sure none of her stuff was very funky, though. She settled on a purple and black striped sweater and black jeans. She hoped her dark brown Ugg boots might add a bit of funk to her look. Checking herself in the mirror, she thought she looked fine, but fine was probably a long way from funky. Oh, well, she thought, it’s the best I can do.
She stuffed her leather gloves and favorite ski cap into the pockets of her parka and headed down the stairs to Cali’s room. Maybe she would leave the cap on inside the place—perhaps that would be funky enough.
Cali was studying herself in the mirror when Leesa walked in. She was wearing an outfit Leesa remembered well—how could she forget it?—from one of the first parties they had gone to together. Her button shirt was plaid with a Peter Pan collar and rows of skulls and hearts leading diagonally down the front to a frayed edge. She had paired it with a short black skirt that sat low on her hips and red fishnets ripped in several places. Her black platform shoes made her nearly as tall as Leesa. Leesa wasn’t sure she would have been able to stand in those shoes, much less walk in them.
“Is that what you meant by funky?” Leesa asked as she limped into Cali’s room.
Cali grinned. “Yeah… I’d call it hip and funky.”
Cali stepped away from the mirror and gave Leesa’s outfit a quick once-over. Her frown told Leesa all she needed to know about Cali’s opinion of her outfit.
“Don’t you have anything with skulls on it?” Cali asked. “Or polka-dots?” Her face lit up like she had just had a great idea. “Polka-dots are funky. Big ones, anyhow.”
“Ha! Sorry. No polka-dots. And definitely no skulls.” Leesa smiled sweetly. “I guess you’ll just have to deal with the embarrassment of being seen with me.”
Cali bent in front of her dresser and rummaged through one of the drawers. She pulled out an orange bandana adorned with big purple polka-dots and folded it into a two-inch wide band.
“Tie this around your head,” she said, offering the bandana to Leesa. “It’ll give your outfit some edge, at least.”
Leesa took the bandana and studied it briefly. The purple circles almost matched the stripes in her sweater. What the heck, she thought, and tied it around her head.
Andy arrived a moment later. His outfit showed why he and Cali made such a good pair.
He was wearing a tight black T-shirt over a gray long-sleeve shirt. The T-shirt had a big gray screaming skull on the front. His black jeans were pretty normal, but they were held up by a wide black leather belt with a giant silver buckle shaped like a winged demon. He was sporting a cloth fedora hat, the kind Justin Timberlake and Jason Mraz often wore. The pale pink and dark brown plaid pattern was eye catching, but the hat was sedate compared to his shoes—bright pink and white checkered canvas sneakers.
“Wow. Cali wasn’t kidding when she said dress funky,” Leesa said, smiling.
Andy grinned and doffed his hat. “You like?”
Leesa laughed. “I’m not sure,” she said. “But I bet Cali does, and that’s what counts.”
“You look great, Andy,” Cali said.
“And you look hot, babe,” Andy replied.
The two of them exchanged a hug and a quick kiss.
“Caitlin should be ready by now,” Cali said. “We can pick her up on the way out.”
They headed down the hallway and found Caitlin waiting in her doorway. She was wearing a plain white shirt and short black skirt over black leggings. A pair of wide, dark blue and black elastic suspenders stretched over her shoulders. Looking at her three companions, Leesa almost felt like she was the one who was dressed weirdly. She could not believe everyone at The Joint was going to look like her friends. At least, she sure hoped they wouldn’t, or she was going to stand out like a sore thumb.
The Joint was a small restaurant and bar located just off campus. It wasn’t too far a walk, but the night was cold, so they piled into Andy’s car for the short drive. He parked in a lot behind the building and they circled around to the front, where they paid a three dollar cover charge and went in. Cali led the way, with Leesa following close behind her.
Leesa was surprised by how small the place was, but the owners had crowded enough tables inside to hold nearly a hundred people. The room was already three-quarters full. The chattering conversations were a bit louder than she would have expected, and she guessed that at least some of the kids already had a few drinks in them.
Leesa recognized the hostess from her English class last semester, and the two of them exchanged quick hellos before the girl guided them to a small round table on the far side of the room. They were closer to the back of the room than the front, but still not all that far from the makeshift stage, which was nothing more than a raised square platform covered with black felt. An old acoustic guitar leaned against the wall at the rear of the stage and there was a beat up piano just to the right.
Leesa studied the people seated near them. Most were college kids, but there were a few older folks sprinkled in the crowd. She spotted a couple of fedoras, some pink and green streaked hair, and a one guy in a bright green, blue a
nd yellow plaid sports jacket he had to be wearing as a joke. She figured he must be a comedian—if not, she felt really sorry for the girl sitting next to him, who seemed pretty normal. She saw a fair number of other people dressed relatively conservatively, for which she was very grateful.
A tall waiter with short blond hair threaded his way to their table. He was wearing a loose white button shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black pants. The dark edges of an intricate tattoo peeked out from beneath the sleeve on his right forearm, but not far enough for Leesa to identify the design.
“What can I get you guys?” he asked.
Andy asked for a beer and the girls all ordered diet sodas. Leesa was surprised but pleased that Cali did not try to use her fake ID to order a drink.
“Have you been here before?” Caitlin asked Andy when the waiter was gone.
“Once. Last semester with some friends. It was pretty fun.”
“Cool,” Caitlin said. She looked at Leesa and Cali. “Any of you Guitar Hero stars thinking about getting up on stage tonight?”
Leesa laughed. “Not a chance. Not in a million years.”
“I might,” Andy said. “You never know. It could be fun.”
“What?” Leesa exclaimed, totally surprised. “You’re kidding, right?”
Andy grinned. “Why not?”
“What would you do?” Leesa asked. “Sing? Tell jokes?”
“Nothing so boring. Maybe I’ll recite some poetry.”
Leesa hoped he was kidding. She had never been here, but she was pretty sure this crowd would not react too kindly to a poetry recital.
Movement at the front of the room drew their attention. A tall, dark-haired guy wearing the same white shirt and black pants outfit as their waiter stepped up onto the stage and grabbed the microphone. He tapped the mic with his fingers and waited for the crowd to quiet.
“Welcome, everyone, to open mic night at The Joint,” he said. Some whoops and whistles arose from the crowd. “We’re going to start with our traditional opening act,” he continued when the noise subsided. “Give it up for one of your favorites, Tony Phillips!”
The whoops and whistles grew louder and were joined by applause. Leesa guessed this Phillips guy had a lot of fans here tonight, or maybe it was just a boisterous crowd ready to let loose and have some fun. The cheers continued as a chunky guy with long brown hair stepped up onto the stage. He carried his own guitar, much newer and nicer than the one leaning against the wall. The overhead lights dimmed and he began to play a customized version of Toby Keith’s “I Love This Bar.”
“We got winners, we got losers,” he sang in a deep baritone voice, “pot smokers and boozers. We got freshman, we got juniors, and we’ve got lots of slacker seniors.”
People laughed and clapped, and when he got to the chorus and sang “I love The Joint,” the place erupted. Leesa and her friends laughed and clapped along with everyone else.
When Phillips finished, the MC jumped back onstage and grabbed the microphone. “Tony Phillips, folks!” he said as the applause finally faded. “Thanks for getting us started, Tony. And as always, The Joint appreciates the plug.”
Phillips waved to the crowd and stepped down off the stage.
“Before we open the mic completely, we’ve got one more regular eager to entertain you,” the MC continued. “You know him and you love him. Let’s hear it for the always popular Stefan Handlemenn!”
A slender blond guy dressed in an old black leather bomber jacket and a military cap with a shiny plastic bill stepped onto the stage. The audience began chanting something that sounded to Leesa like “ga…ga” over and over.
The guy set up a music player on a small table, fiddled with the controls briefly, and then stood with his back to the crowd. A driving electronic dance beat began to blast from the player. The rhythm was familiar, but Leesa couldn’t place it. She watched Handlemenn bend forward and do something with his cap. When he spun around, the crowd erupted. Under the cap, he was now wearing a platinum colored, page-boy style wig.
He launched into a surprisingly good impression of Lady Gaga’s “Paparazzi.” The audience loved it, joining in with a rambunctious “papa-paparazzi” whenever he reached the chorus. By the time he finished, a bunch of kids were on their feet, dancing.
The MC returned to the stage. “Thank you, Lady Gaga…uh, I mean Stefan. Wasn’t that something, folks?” The crowd roared once again. “Now, who’s brave enough to follow that performance?”
Apparently, the guy in the wild plaid sports jacket was the only one. His appearance was met with a few groans—Leesa didn’t know if it was for his outfit or because they had seen him before. He pulled the microphone from the stand and walked casually to the very front of the stage. He did not seem the least bit nervous.
“Is everyone having a good time tonight?” he asked. There wasn’t much of a response, but he pushed on. “Did you hear about the guy on the track team who won a gold medal? He was so proud he had it bronzed.” He waited for a reaction, but except for a few groans, the audience remained silent. He seemed to like the groans, though. Leesa guessed any reaction was better than no reaction at all.
He told a few more lame jokes, then stepped from the stage to a mixture of polite applause and not so polite boos.
Before the MC even reached the microphone, Andy was on his feet.
“That’s an act I can definitely follow. Wish me luck.”
Leesa looked at Cali. She did not seem bothered in the least that Andy was heading for the stage. Leesa hoped he wasn’t really going to recite poetry.
To her surprise, Andy did not get up onto the stage at all. Instead, he sat down at the piano. She had to admit, he looked pretty cute sitting at the piano with that fedora on his head. She worried this was not a piano music kind of crowd, though. Cali did not seem to share her concern—she was smiling broadly.
Andy started slowly, barely touching the keys. The tune was somber and hauntingly familiar. The low hum of conversation in the room began to quiet, as people strained to hear the music. Andy began to play louder, more forcefully, and Leesa finally recognized the song. It was “Hurt”—the original Trent Reznor version more than the Johnny Cash. The music grew more powerful and the room grew quieter. His playing wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty darn good.
Suddenly, the melody changed. Andy’s fingers started pounding the keyboard and his head was bobbing up and down. Without missing a beat, he had shifted from “Hurt” to “Whole Lot of Shakin’” by Jerry Lee Lewis. When his fingers slid across the keys in a loud glissando, the crowd roared.
“Go get ‘em, Jerry Lee,” someone yelled. “Yee-haw!”
Andy banged the keys for another few moments, then lifted his right foot from beneath the piano and began bouncing his heel on the keyboard, playing the high notes with his foot. The crowd went wild, and Leesa now knew why he was wearing those wild sneakers.
Finally, he lowered his foot back to the floor and finished with a flourish, sliding his fingers along the entire length of the keyboard three times in row. The crowd cheered and whistled as he stood up and took a deep bow, then weaved his way back through the tables.
“That’s my guy,” Cali said, laughing. She stood up and gave Andy a big hug.
“That was amazing,” Leesa said when he sat down.
“Twelve years of lessons,” Andy explained. “Mostly church music and show tunes, but when I learned my assignments well, I was allowed to have some fun.”
“Well, you looked like you were having fun tonight, for sure,” Leesa said. “Especially when you did that thing with your foot.”
He grinned. “Too much?”
“No way,” Cali said. “It was perfect. Just right for this place.” She grabbed his hat and placed it atop her head. “I want to make sure everyone knows I’m with the superstar.”
They listened to lots more acts, some pretty good, some not so good. Only one got a reaction anywhere near as loud as the one Andy received, a pair of girls in sexy
leather jump suits who brought the house down with a sultry rendition of Katy Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl.”
By the time they got back to the dorm, it was nearly midnight. Leesa said good-night to her friends and headed up to her room, pleasantly exhausted. She was glad Cali had talked her into going out tonight—she had not thought about dreams or zombies for hours. She hoped her sleep would be as untroubled as the evening had been. As tired as she felt, she was pretty sure it would be.
Pulling off her coat as she entered her room, she stumbled over her straw wastebasket, knocking it over. Half its contents spilled out onto the floor, including a not quite empty can of soda whose syrupy brown contents were now beading up on her throw rug. Leesa cursed silently. She must have pulled the basket from its normal place beside her desk for some reason before going out and forgot to put it back. Angrily, she aimed a fake kick at the overturned basket and was astonished to see it go flying across the room and crash into her dresser, spilling the rest of its contents.
“What the…?” she said half-aloud as she stared dumbfounded at the basket, thinking she must be even more tired than she thought. Because she was absolutely certain her foot had never touched the thing.
28. COUNTING SHEEP
Leesa sat down numbly on the edge of her bed, her eyes moving back and forth from the soda stain on her rug—where the wastebasket had started—to the basket itself, now lying on its side across the room against the dresser. How had it gotten from one spot to the other? Sure, she had kicked at it after she stumbled over it, but she hadn’t actually connected with it. Or had she? The evidence was right there in front of her, lying against the dresser. She must have kicked it. What other explanation could there be? Wastebaskets did not fly across the room on their own. Unless….
She thought back to the Red Bull can. Maybe the darn thing had actually slid a few inches across her desk. Maybe the can and the basket hadn’t moved on their own—maybe she had somehow caused them to move. She remembered a special she had seen on TV, about a guy who claimed he could move objects with his mind. Maybe she was doing the same thing. But that was crazy, right—moving stuff with her mind? Either that was crazy, or she was. More likely, she was just imagining things.
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