The black woman slapped her. “But it is. It’s real as a motherfuck. Hell, I’m getting more real by the goddamn minute. You didn’t see me last night, but I was here all the time.”
Marcy couldn’t deal with this. It felt like the very fabric of the world was unraveling. Soon she would go spiraling away into some unfathomable void. Which would kind of be okay at this point.
The black woman grinned again. “And speaking of insane, that was some wild display of batshit crazy you just put on, girl.”
Marcy felt bile rise in her throat. “I shouldn’t have done it. Any of it. Something’s really wrong with me.”
“Don’t you second-guess yourself, baby.” The black woman wrapped her arms around Marcy and pushed her rotting flesh against her. “You did what you had to do, and you know it. Hell, it’s the main reason I’ve decided not to kill you.”
Marcy shivered in the dead woman’s sickeningly intimate embrace. “What do you mean?”
The black woman laughed softly. “We’re all going on a very long trip together. Just us girls on the road. Won’t that be fun?”
“Where are we going?”
“To a bad place, Marcy. A very bad place.” She smiled in a way that might have been intended to reassure, but the effect was offset by the sight of more wriggling maggots. “But along the way we’re going to have big fun and see many wondrous things. You have my word on that.”
Marcy frowned. So much for an escape to a tropical paradise. She felt a vague instinct to fight against this, but she recognized the idea as futile and it quickly withered. And anyway, maybe this was the true unescapable destiny she’d sensed was waiting for her beyond this place. “So when are we leaving?”
The black woman’s smile widened. “Oh, soon. Now give me a kiss.”
Marcy sucked in a breath. Then the dead woman was kissing her.
Maggots fell into her mouth and slid down her throat.
Marcy closed her eyes and prayed for an end to the nightmare.
CHAPTER NINE
The old Ford pickup slowed as it passed a green highway sign announcing the last rest station for fifty miles. When its turn signal began blinking, Chad flicked on the Lexus’s blinker and glanced at Allyson. She looked disheveled and tired. They’d talked very little during their three hours on the road, with Allyson sitting very still the entire time and staring straight ahead at the unfurling highway.
He supposed he couldn’t blame her for not wanting to talk. She was a young woman from the suburbs used to a life of relative peace and quiet. Chad, however, had some experience with sudden, shocking violence, mostly from his time in the place called Below, the cavernous underground prison beneath the House of Blood. Even now, three years later, nightmares of that time still occasionally jolted him out of sleep.
And now Allyson, who had swept into his life like some divine angel of mercy, had likely been condemned to years-and perhaps a lifetime-of similar nightly tortures. The thought of it made him grip the steering wheel harder as his anger began to build again.
He hadn’t known the dead men in his kitchen; Jim seemed sure they were emissaries of the long-missing Ms. Wickman. And Chad had believed him. Which was why they were on the road now, bound for some vague destination Jim had assured them would be a safe haven. Citing “security concerns,” he refused to specify the precise location of the place, asking that they instead follow him to wherever it was they were going. It wasn’t that Jim didn’t trust Chad and Allyson with the information. Rather, he refused to allow even the remote possibility of the location being extracted from them via torture should more of Ms. Wickman’s agents intercept them en route to the place. Which was paranoid as hell, but Chad didn’t blame the man.
The old Ford slowed some more and eased off the highway onto the curved white lane that led to the rest station. The parking lot was about half full. People were milling about around the vending machines and talking to each other on the long sidewalk. Other people were having lunches at the nearby picnic tables. A dog ran across the sloping lawn to the left of the rest station, chasing a yellow Frisbee that arced across the sky. Chad felt the knot of tension in his gut ease a bit. After the long, silent hours on the road, it felt good to be among people again. Normal people doing normal things.
He followed Jim’s brown-and-tan truck to the end of the lot. Then he shut off the Lexus and twisted in his seat to look at Allyson. She still had that stunned animal look, her eyes dull and staring at nothing at all.
He put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Honey? Let’s get out and stretch for a bit, okay?”
Her head swiveled toward the sound of his voice. The corners of her mouth dimpled, a smile so soft and weary that it made Chad ’s heart ache for her. “Sure.”
She unbuckled her seat belt and reached for the door handle, stepping out of the car before Chad could reply. She threw the door shut and moved rapidly to the sidewalk, where she paused to stretch her arms and neck. Chad remained behind the wheel a moment longer and watched her, enjoying the simple, supple grace of her lithe body. She caught him looking at her and smiled. Chad smiled back as she reached into her handbag, retrieved a pair of black sunglasses, and slid them on. She waved at Chad and headed for the rest station’s main building.
Chad watched her go, the slight sway of her hips beneath the thin fabric of her dress making his heart race just a little faster. She slipped into a small throng of people standing beneath the building’s pavilion and disappeared from sight.
Then he got out of the car and threw the door shut. Jim was leaning against the side of the old Ford, one booted foot raised and braced against a rust-flecked door. He was wearing dark sunglasses and smoking a cigarette. He turned his head slightly and blew a stream of smoke up at the clear sky. “Nice day.” He tapped the cigarette and ash fluttered to the faded asphalt.“When I was young, days like this would inspire me to write poetry.” He smiled. “Or chase girls.”
Chad raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
Jim chuckled. “Oh, yeah. That or get drunk. Or all three at once.”
Chad grinned and shook his head. “Sounds a little tricky. You know, there are still times when I can’t get over the fact that I know you. Did you ever see that movie made about you, the one where that pretty-boy actor played you?”
Jim smiled. “Yeah. Wasn’t bad…for such a load of shit.”
“Yeah, well, I was a kid when that came out. I saw it a bunch of times. There was a scene in there-”
“You should believe only ten percent of any given scene in that film. There’s some truth, sometimes just a grain of it, but much of it embellished and manipulated for dramatic effect.” Jim flicked away the cigarette butt and reached again for his Winstons. “I don’t mind, of course. It’s what filmmakers do with works based on the lives of real people. The same thing happens in real life. People tell stories intended to convey a particular image or idea about themselves. From what we might call white lies, basically harmless fictions, to wholesale, malicious untruths meant to dupe the victims of con artists and other criminals.”
A frown stole across Chad ’s face as he listened to Jim’s seemingly incongruous oratory about truth and lies. “Um…what’s this got to do with the movie?”
Jim took a drag on his fresh cigarette and said, “Can I ask you a question?”
Chad hesitated. He had a feeling he knew what was coming, but he didn’t want to hear it. It was something insane, a thing he’d attempted to relegate to the darkest, remotest recesses of his mind. But it had remained just beneath the surface, a niggling nag of a notion that kept trying to capture his attention. He wanted more than anything to keep pretending it wasn’t there, and he certainly did not want the idea verbalized. But an image that made the ground beneath him feel slippery intruded on his thoughts-Allyson shoving an overstuffed black travel bag he’d never previously seen to the back of the Lexus’s trunk, then quickly covering it with two more hastily packed bags.