“I wonder why they took off like that?”
“I don’t know. It was a waste of Blue Nitro.”
Their footsteps fade.
Now that my ear is pressed against the trunk, I can hear noises coming from inside. Something is moving around in there. I slide into the front seat, pop the trunk catch, and the alarm goes off.
News flash: alarms don’t do much good. One night Raf and I set off a bunch of them and hung around, timing reactions. The cops never showed. Not once. It took at least ten minutes for the owner to come – which is about nine minutes longer than it would take us to boost the car. One grumpy neighbor showed up way before the owner – and got so mad he kicked a dent in the front bumper. Raf and I killed ourselves laughing. I bet if we told him we were going to steal the car, he’d have held our coats.
So when I hear the alarm on the Lincoln, I’m not worried about being caught. I’m thinking, Who puts an alarm on the trunk?
I’m out of the front seat, careful. The trunk light is on, throwing shadows around the back of the garage. I peer round the trunk door. Yes, I am worried there might be a cat in there. Old fears die hard.
What I see is a car blanket, and the top of a head of hair. There’s a kid in the trunk. A big kid, not a baby. Good thing the Lincoln has all that space.
The alarm is hooked up to the car horn. Honk honk honk honk! (Sounds like a boring goose telling you about its day: So we were, like, flying along, me and my buddies, and, like, we always fly in this V formation, so there was me, and my buddy Jake ahead of me, and my buddy Ted behind me, and sometimes there was land below us, and sometimes there was water below us, and we, like, kept flying along. Honk honk honk!)
“Hey,” I say over the noise of the alarm.
The kid sits up, a scrawny, pale, pathetic boy with mousy hair and long eyelashes and a striped pajama top.
“Lloyd?” I say.
He blinks, focusing his eyes. “Jim!” he cries.
My first thought is that he’s been kidnapped. Someone is taking children and hiding them in the trunk of his car. Lloyd is his latest victim. There was a case like this, last year. The cops went house to house, and the local TV gave hourly updates.
“Don’t hurt me,” he says.
Is there anyone in my life I treated worse than Lloyd? I don’t think so. It’s not right that he’s here, but it’s right that I am here to help him.
“I won’t hurt you, Lloyd.” I smile at him for maybe the first time ever. “I’m going to help you out of here. Come on, let’s go.”
He shakes his head no. I can’t hear what he’s saying over the noise of the alarm.
I bend closer. “What?”
“I’m supposed to sleep here tonight,” he says.
I don’t understand. “This is a car. You are in the trunk of a car.”
“It’s punishment.”
“No one sleeps in the trunk of a car. You’re confused. Come on.”
Lloyd shrinks away. I reach forward to grab a pajama-covered leg. It feels like a stick under my hands. There are neat round holes in the floor of the trunk. I’m shocked when I realize that they are breathing holes. The kidnapper drilled them so that his victims wouldn’t suffocate.
That’s a yuck, actually – shocked. You’ll see why in a minute.
Honk honk honk honk!
I brace myself against the rear bumper, pulling hard. Lloyd struggles. He doesn’t want to go with me. It’s awful, but kind of funny too. A reformed bully tries to rescue his old victim, and the victim doesn’t want any part of it.
Suddenly he goes rigid with terror. Not because of me. He’s never been this scared of me, not even when I was punching him or peeing on his coat. I drop his legs and turn. A rickety wooden door swings open at the back of the garage. Someone’s inside. The alarm’s been honking for less than a minute, but Lloyd’s kidnapper is not your regular householder. Of course he’s going to come quickly.
“Watch out!” yells a familiar voice from over my head.
“Dad!” yells Lloyd.
There’s a fizzing sound, and my world stops.
CHAPTER 34
I’m on the floor of the garage, and my right shoulder is on fire. I feel like I’ve been stomped by a rhinoceros. The air smells like after-the-lightning. My right side is numb.
The car alarm shuts off. I can hear the blood pounding in my ears.
A man in a dark tracksuit stands next to me. Looks like an old ninja. He’s holding something in his hand. A flashlight or something. His voice is soft and sweet as cotton candy.
“Sorry, Dad,” says Lloyd. His voice seems to come from far away.
“Sorry doesn’t mow the lawn, son,” says the man in the tracksuit. “You know that.”
My brain is like an engine with a faulty ignition. It’s turning over but not catching. What happened? What happened?
A shadowy figure floats near my head.
“Hi, uh, Raoul.”
I don’t know if I actually say the words, but I think them. Raoul is Marcie’s Mourner. The bearded guy with the whiny voice. It takes me a second to remember his name. He waves at me.
“Maybe next time you could give me a bit more warning,” I say.
He shrugs like, I did my best.
I struggle to sit up. My right arm shakes uncontrollably. The old ninja squats next to me. His hair is wispy, and his mouth is puckered up like he’s about to kiss a baby on election day. “You’re trespassing, puke,” he says. “That’s the second time this month you pukes have broken into my car. I’m going to teach you to respect what is mine.”
He holds out the flashlight, only it’s not a flashlight. Instead of a light, there are two little pointy things on the end, and a small spark between them. The spark makes a buzzing sound.
“This is a stun gun. When these terminals touch your skin, you’ll feel seventy thousand volts running through you. Won’t kill you, but it will put you down, disgusting puke that you are. What’s your name?”
He sounds polite, like he’s telling an old lady the way to the post office.
My name. I’ve forgotten my name. If he gives me a second …
But he doesn’t. He reaches out, and the spark hits me like a hammer. I’m back on the floor of the garage, screaming, before I know it.
“I asked you a question, puke. What’s your name?”
See what I mean about being shocked? Not a yuck at all, really. My head is aching. My mouth tastes funny. There’s something wrong with my eyes, because there are lines of bright light everywhere I look. It’s like I’m peering out at the world through the bars of a cage.
I can’t help thinking back to the times at school, when I’d tease Lloyd by rubbing my socks on the carpet and giving him shocks. He’d pee his pants and start to cry. And I’d laugh.
My turn now.
“His name is Jim,” says Lloyd.
“You know this puke?” Standing up, turning toward the trunk. “You know his name?”
The gentle voice makes me want to throw up.
“Jim goes to my school.”
“Oh, Lloyd.”
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
“Why are you answering your friend’s questions for him?”
“Trying to save you time, Dad. And he’s not my friend.”
“I think he is, Lloyd. You know his name. You answer his questions. I think this puke is your friend.”
“No!”
Feeling and strength return to my arms. My brain is running again. I know that I have to get away from this wacko. I’m on my back near the trunk of the car. I push with my palms and heels, sliding along the cement floor. I do it again. Push by push, I slide up the side of the car away from Lloyd’s dad. He doesn’t notice me – too busy threatening his son.
“Do you like sleeping in the trunk?”
“No, Dad.”
“Want to go back to your own bed?”
Lloyd says something I can’t hear.
“Sorry doesn’t buy groceries, son.”
Lloyd makes that noise again – the whimper that sounds like a cat mewing. Still creeps me out.
What to do? I can’t run. Can’t hide. Can’t fight. I need a place to rest. I’m under the driver-side door, and I remember that it’s unlocked. I raise myself onto one elbow and reach for the door handle. The door opens, and the dome light comes on. Oops. Forgot about that. Quickly I roll into a kneeling position and begin to pull myself into the car.
The trunk shuts with a solid thunk. Lloyd’s dad can see what is going on now, his view no longer blocked by the raised trunk.
“Hey!” he cries.
“Watch out!”
CHAPTER 35
Raoul’s voice, of course. He’s sitting in the passenger seat of the car. I glare at him as I try to lever my body inside.
“You think?” I say. “You think I might be in danger here?”
He holds out both palms like, I’m only doing my job.
“Watch out!” I mimic him. “Really helpful, Raoul. How about stopping the bad guy, huh?”
Raoul shrugs like, I wish I could, but I can’t.
Lloyd’s dad scrabbles around the car. I slam and lock the door just in time. He pounds on the glass. I’m panting from the exertion. I feel light-headed. The bars of light are dancing in front of my eyes.
“Get out of my car, you puke!” he shouts.
I give him the finger. Raoul does too. His beard moves. Raoul is actually smiling – for maybe the first time since his girlfriend fell off the roller coaster.
Lloyd’s dad bites his lip so hard that blood comes out. Nice guy. Nice scary guy. I’m safe for now, but not for long. Really, I’m not much better off than Lloyd. Maybe I should help him along with myself.
Help Lloyd. The idea swims into my brain like a sick fish in a pool of sludgy water. Help Lloyd. The idea of running away again – leaving Lloyd as I left Raf – is beyond awful. I can’t let Lloyd spend any more of his life with this guy. I just can’t.
Help Lloyd. But how?
His dad runs around the back of the car. I crane my head and see his silhouette in the open doorway at the back of the garage. He disappears.
“Appreciate the company, Raoul,” I say. “But I wish you’d do something.”
He pats me on the shoulder. I can’t feel it.
My head is full up with headache, like a sink full of water. Bands of light are zigzagging in front of my eyes. I remember Dr. Driver said flashing lights were serious. Go to the hospital, she said.
Yeah, sure. But first I have to help Lloyd. My life has come down to that one thing. Help Lloyd. But how? Scrooge had it easy – all he had to do was buy Kermit a turkey. I have to slay Grendel here.
An idea works its way past my headache into my mind. Simple, effective, and well within my power. Illegal, but so what. I duck under the steering column of the big Lincoln and empty the tools out of my pocket. Lloyd’s dad is calling the cops or getting his car keys. Either way I’ve got about a minute. But a minute’s all it takes. Flashlight in my teeth, I isolate the wires I need, strip the insulation and twist them together, and feel the familiar jolt of electricity running through my hand as the engine catches.
I have to smile, despite my headache. Here I am trying to save Lloyd by stealing his car and running away with him. How reformed am I?
Of course, I don’t know how my plan will work out in the long run. I don’t know where Lloyd and I will be next week, or even tomorrow morning. I don’t know what we’ll do for food, or money, or anything. But Lloyd will be at least one tankful of gas away from here. And anywhere – anywhere on this planet – is better than here. I know I’m doing the right thing. It’s a strange comfort.
I shift into Drive.
“Watch out!” calls Raoul. Big eyes. Worried expression.
“Now?” I say. “Why should I watch out now? We’re safe in the car. What can happen now, Raoul?”
I don’t get it. I take my foot off the brake and the big car moves majestically out of the garage. For about a second, the trip is going well.
CHAPTER 36
Then there’s a sickening crash, and my side of the windshield goes all spiderwebby as the glass cracks and splinters. I put on the brakes. Another crash bends the windshield in toward me. I don’t know what to do. I can’t drive blind. A third crash, and most of my side of the windshield disappears in a rain of glass bits. I can see. Not that I like what I’m looking at. Lloyd’s dad is kneeling on the hood of the Lincoln in his tracksuit, holding a piece of pipe like a baseball bat. He must have run around the garage and grabbed the heaviest thing he could find.
I hit the accelerator and spin the steering wheel. The car jerks forward and to the left. Lloyd’s dad slides across the hood. I stomp on the brakes, which should send him flying off the side of the car, but he manages to hang on to the far doorpost as the car skids to a stop.
It’s weird to drive with a huge hole in your windshield. Like swimming with your mouth open.
Lloyd’s dad snarls at me, his teeth flashing white under the flickering streetlight. He lets go of the doorpost to reach for me. I straighten the wheel and put the car in reverse. This move catches him by surprise. He slides away from me, clutches at a windshield wiper, breaks it, and flings himself forward to land spread-eagled on the hood. One hand snakes toward me, grabbing first the dash and then the steering wheel. The other hand follows.
Yes, that’s right. Lloyd’s dad and I are holding the steering wheel from opposite sides. I’m sitting in the driver’s seat. He’s lying facedown on the hood.
“Don’t say it!” I tell Raoul, who is still beside me. “I know.”
If the wheel’s a clockface, my hands are at nine and three o’clock. Lloyd’s dad’s are inside mine, at about eleven and one. His fingernails are rimmed with dark blood. His knuckles are white with the strain of holding on. We reverse down the alley. I try to keep one eye over my shoulder, to steer, and the other on Lloyd’s dad. The speedometer creeps up.
If I stop, he’ll end up in my lap.
He wrenches the wheel to my left. The car veers drunkenly. I straighten us out. He does it again. There’s a hydro pole in the mirror. It looks real close, and the mirror says, OBJECTS ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR. We miss the pole by a finger. I straighten us out again.
I have no plan. All I’m doing is reacting. I’m aware of Lloyd in the trunk. I don’t want to smash into something and hurt him. I’m aware of my headache, sloshing around inside me.
We’re angled toward a garage with a yellow door. I yank the wheel around. Too far! I pull to straighten us out, but Lloyd’s dad is pulling in the same direction I am. Instinctively, I slam on the brakes, and we skid into a half-donut – what Raf calls a croissant. That’s when the car ends up turned around so that it’s facing away from where you were going. It’s a stunt turn. I’ve pulled a few of them, fooling around in parking lots. This is my first one in reverse. I don’t know how I manage it in the narrow alley.
Lloyd’s dad is lying sideways across the hood, hanging on to the wheel with only one hand. His feet are dangling over the passenger side of the car. This is my chance. If I speed forward and then jam on the brakes, he’ll fly off like a stone from a slingshot. I shift into Drive. The big old engine roars. The way is straight. The speedo gets up to forty real fast. I have my foot on the brake pedal when Lloyd’s dad brings his free hand around. In it is the stun gun. He must have had it in the pocket of his track pants.
Raoul and I cry out together. The horrible old man lunges through the windshield, his arm at full stretch. The blue spark touches my hand.
I see things in vivid depth and in slow motion. A wooden fence on my left. Lloyd’s dad slipping sideways, his eyes wide and scared. Flashing lights in my mirror. I also see stuff I shouldn’t see – stuff I can’t be seeing. The pain bubble running up my arm, exploding in bright colors all over the inside of my skull. The hydraulic system transmitting force to the pistons and callipers on the disk brakes of the Lincoln. The muscles in my arms
and shoulders working together to turn the steering wheel sharply to the left.
Now the action speeds up. The wooden fence buckles and folds, and we’re bumping across a backyard with trees and bushes and a real fountain in the middle. Floodlights blind me and we crash. I close my eyes to turn off the world.
When I open them, Lloyd’s dad is lying in the wrecked fountain with his neck at a funny angle. I am slumped low in the seat, staring into the side mirror at a face that looks like mine. I press the trunk release button with my good hand. And close my eyes again. When I open them this time, Morgan the Slayer stands in front of the car, grinning in at me through the hole in the windshield. His filed teeth glisten in the bluish spotlights. Even at this distance I can feel the heat coming off him.
Oh crap, I think.
He is not here for me, though. He strides over to the fountain and picks up Lloyd’s dad by the scruff of the neck. He shakes him hard, twice, the way a dog kills a rat. Tucks him under his arm. And leaps into the air.
All right.
I stagger out of the Lincoln. Emergency vehicles choke the laneway. Lights flash, walkie-talkies echo. There are uniforms all over the lawn. One of them is helping Lloyd out of the trunk. I hope he’s okay. Two or three more check the body in the fountain. Two women stand on the back porch, hands to their faces, horrified. Mother and daughter, maybe. Look like they live here. A black-and-white dog races around, wagging its tail. The daughter calls the dog to her. Come, Scipio, she says.
The air smells wonderful. Dew-wet grass. Some kind of sweet flower. I take a deep breath and feel myself relaxing. I’m tired and I have a headache, but the bands in front of my eyes are gone. I feel – this sounds bizarre – pretty good.
A loud voice tells me to step away from the car, and I do. And then to raise my hands in the air, and I try to. I get one up, but the other arm won’t move from my side.
And then we all go to the police station.
Me & Death Page 12