“Hey, James,” Greg called.
James snapped out of his drowsy stupor, looked over and saw Greg grinning and waving, “I’ll be right over,” James said. He went over to his pickup and deposited his paper sack before walking over to the gas pumps.
“Arrest any bad guys today?”
Greg grinned. “Now, you know better. There ain’t any bad guys in Newton County. Sheriff Oates ran them all off back in the eighteen hundreds, by God.”
Despite being half asleep, this struck James as hilarious. When his laughter tapered off, he asked, “So you’re kinda takin’ it easy today?”
“Not really,” Greg said. “Some whacked out grizzly got a hold of Edgar Harvey’s cows and I spent most of this morning takin’ pictures of cow guts.”
The gas pump clicked off. Greg turned to take the nozzle out of his car and replace it in the pump so he missed the look of outright shock on James’ face. Before Greg turned back around, the radio in his car started crackling to life, “Unit sixty-three, we’ve got a ten-fifty out on Farm Road 2626, about a mile off Highway One-Ninety.”
Greg leaned in the patrol car’s open window and picked up the radio mike. “Ten-four.”
Greg turned to James. “Well Bill might’ve run off all the bad guys, but he didn’t get rid of all the bad drivers. If you would, tell Sharlah to charge the gas to the county.”
Greg got in the car and sped out of the parking lot with his lights flashing, never noticing the blank look of horror on his friend’s weary face.
The grim reality of what Greg had said hit James like a ton of bricks. Suddenly it felt as if his stomach was tied in knots and his brain was trying to push its way out of his ears. James forgot to tell Sharlah about the gas. He drove straight back to Baldwin’s and told Guy he didn’t feel well and was going to take the rest of the day off.
When James got home, he couldn’t bring himself to tell Angie what was bothering him. He told her he just wasn’t feeling well, but she knew better; she could tell there was something wrong. When James told her he was sick and went to bed, she suspected it was the dreams. They were one of the few things he would flat refuse to talk to her about.
At first he tossed and turned, thinking about the beast in whose head he was taking nightly rides, but his extreme fatigue finally caught up with him. He slept like a rock until sometime in the middle of the night when he started dreaming.
The beast moved slowly through the dense brush until it came to a small creek. It then ambled along the creek’s bank, its clawed feet sloshing in the soupy mud. After continuing along the muddy stream for a few hundred yards, the beast came to a barbwire fence that crossed the creek. The fence did not exactly follow the lay of the land; it bridged straight across the creek, leaving a gap of a little over two feet between the bottom strand of wire and the water, which was only inches deep. The beast easily crawled under the fence and continued along the creek.
The beast only traveled a few feet beyond the fence before rising up on its hind legs. There was a peculiar scent on the wind. It breathed in the air for some time, then turned its head to the right and sniffed again. When it returned to all fours, the beast left the creek and set off in the direction of the scent. The beast ascended a small wooded hill; once at the top, it stood, sniffed the air, then using the increased elevation for a better view, it surveyed the land before it. The underbrush in the area wasn’t very dense, enabling the beast to see through the woods much farther than usual. A light could be seen in the distance. It was a house.
CHAPTER 2
New Prey
When Angie awoke early the next morning she saw that James had finally stopped the tossing and turning that had become such a nightly ritual. The cover was knotted, evidence of earlier restlessness, but James was lying on his side breathing easily. For the first time in weeks, he was sleeping like a rock, so she turned off his alarm.
Angie went into the kitchen and called Guy Baldwin at home. The phone rang seven times before Guy finally answered. “Hello?”
“Mr. Baldwin, this is Angie Taylor.”
“Well, hello, Mrs. Angie,” Guy replied in as pleasant a voice as his three-packs-of-cigarettes-a-day throat could manage.
“Mr. Baldwin, James hasn’t been feeling too well. I was wondering if you could do without him for the morning.”
“Sure,” Guy said with concern in his voice. James hadn’t called in sick since Guy had known him, and now he’d gone home early one day and called in the next. The old man figured it must be serious. Concerned, he added, “Is there anything I can bring you from town?”
“No, thank you.”
“Well, you just tell ol’ James to take the whole day off. I’ll hold down the fort.”
“I will. Thank you,” Angie replied. Guy Baldwin sometimes came off as a crusty old man, but Angie had seen through his rough exterior long ago. The man was a sweetheart. “Good-bye, Mr. Baldwin.”
“Bye.”
James stirred slowly at first, but when he finally stretched his arms and opened his eyes he immediately realized there was too much sun coming in through the window. It was beating down directly onto the bed rather than falling short by several feet as it normally did in the morning. James jerked his head in the direction of his clock and, sure enough, he was late for work. 10:43 a.m. — he was almost three hours late for work. Last night’s dream was temporarily pushed to the back of his mind, and all he could think of was how far behind they were at the shop. James quickly jumped out of bed and got dressed.
When he came out of the hall and into the kitchen Angie was washing dishes. In a questioning, yet still sweet voice he asked her, “Honey, why didn’t you wake me?”
Angie could tell he was not pleased, James didn’t get angry; not pleased would probably be the best description available.
“You were sick yesterday. You tossed and turned all last night, and when I saw that you were finally sleeping well this morning I thought I’d let you sleep in,” she explained in a meek apologetic tone she reserved for James’ rare not pleased moments.
“Honey, we’re way behind schedule at the shop. Mrs. Baker called just yesterday and threatened to take her car over to Larry’s.”
“I’m sorry,” Angie said, then added softly as he headed for the door, “Please stay for breakfast.”
“No time,” James said as he went out the door.
With tears in her eyes, Angie watched from the kitchen window as he walked briskly to his truck without even stopping to play with Lady. She felt angry but couldn’t figure out why or who she was mad at. She sniffled, and despite the tears now rolling down her cheeks, she started laughing.
Angie smiled, patted her tummy. Hormones.
When James arrived at the shop, he found just what he expected to find. He walked in the little windowless room they called the office and there was Guy with his feet propped up on the desk, a cup of coffee in one hand, a chocolate donut in the other, and a cigarette in his mouth.
“Feeling better?” Guy asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Guy Baldwin liked a kid who respected his elders, but when James bought Ike Baldwin’s share of the shop Guy had told James having a business partner call him “sir” made him feel downright ancient. It took James a long time to break the habit, but eventually he did. Now the only time James relapsed into calling Guy “sir” was when something was bothering him.