But then again, if it was a cat, perhaps it liked to play with its food. It was a gruesome idea, but one that might explain why Dream Eric still lived.
The beast lay collapsed on its side, its eyes glazed and staring up at the rock walls of the canyon. A drying pool of blood had spread around it.
In his dream, he’d kept going, managing somehow to remain on his feet, all the way to the canyon’s far end. He hadn’t seen another predator.
What could have killed this thing?
But then it came to him. What was here that wasn’t here in his dream?
Isabelle answered the question for him: THE FOGGY MAN
Yes. The foggy man. And given that he’d just put in an appearance back at the factory, it was obvious that he didn’t have that big of a lead on him. He would have only been by here in the past hour.
The foggy man had dispatched the cat that would have nearly killed him had he arrived two days ago when he was supposed to. Had the foggy man, then, just saved his life? That would be an ironic twist in all this.
But the three golems had been more than proof enough that the foggy man wasn’t here to protect him. Likely, the cat had merely inconvenienced him as he passed through. The foggy man was probably sure enough of himself that he didn’t feel the need to let the cat finish him off.
Still clinging to the pointed rock, just in case, Eric left Fluffy where he lay and continued on.
Above him, the walls began to recede and withdraw and the rocky ground gave way to soil and trees. Soon, the canyon began to give way to a forest where he recalled making his way from tree to tree as the cat prowled along behind him at a distance, watching him, waiting for him to topple over.
His cell phone began to vibrate in his hand. It was Isabelle.
“That was terrifying!” she announced as he lifted the phone to his ear.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t warn you. I’ve never heard of anything like that in the fissure before. I had no idea it was out there.”
“Don’t worry about it. I can’t expect anyone to know everything. Not even you.”
He kept looking around, still expecting to see something stalking him among the rocks. Fluffy’s mate, perhaps.
In his dream, he struggled to keep going, staggering, fighting to remain conscious. He was beginning to think he was about to recall every detail of his own, gruesome death.
But it wasn’t long after the last remnants of the canyon were out of sight that he came across a paved, two-lane road. And there, about a hundred yards to his right, stood a small gas station.
“I see something,” he told Isabelle.
He remembered stumbling toward this station in his dream, somehow still on his feet, desperate for help.
He also remembered what Father Billy said about being helped by the “gas station attendant” and that he would likely meet him later in his journey. Clearly, coming across this place was no coincidence.
“That’s an odd place,” Isabelle observed.
“What?”
“There’s something strange about that place. What is it?”
“It’s just a gas station.”
“Weird… I couldn’t quite tell. It’s different.”
“Different from the other places in the fissure?”
“It’s different from anything I’ve ever seen.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s hard to explain. I don’t really get it. It’s just dif—”
The phone went silent.
“Hello?”
But Isabelle was gone again, apparently cut off.
But he always had a connection to Isabelle.
Uncertain what this meant, Eric pocketed the phone and looked around. Miraculously, he still seemed to be alone. Nothing had tried to kill him yet.
He made his way along the shoulder of the quiet road. At the same time, his memories unraveled and he saw himself bleeding and weak as the longhaired beast tracked him from the cover of the trees.
He remembered thinking that his only chance was to find help at the gas station. If no one was there…
He shuddered at the memory. It was so vivid. Every emotion, every throbbing pain, as clear as if he were feeling it right now.
He kept looking down at his hand. He could see it as it was, intact and strong. And he could see it as it would have been, wrapped in his tee shirt, blood dripping through the fabric, so much smaller than it should have been.
He felt sick.
The gas station was deathly silent. The building was in need of paint, the parking lot needed repaved. But the place had a clean look that the deserted buildings back at the resort and the farmhouse lacked.
There was an old, white limousine backed into the woods next to the building. It was badly rusted around its wheel wells and the paint was blistered on its roof and hood. It looked like the sort of thing the owner of a place like this might have as a side business, except that he doubted anyone would want to rent a junky limousine. That pretty much defeated the purpose.
As he drew closer, movement in the trees caught his eye, startling him. But no danger lurked in the branches. Instead, a large hawk flexed its wings and stared down at him.
He wondered if this could possibly be the same hawk he’d been seeing all day. Ordinarily, that would be preposterous. There were likely thousands of hawks out here. The countless acres of fields made for ideal hunting grounds. But the idea of being followed all this way by a single hawk didn’t seem so unlikely given all that he had seen.
Eric walked past the pumps to the door. He knocked. At the same time, he remembered knocking in his dream, pleading for someone to come to his aid.
Both then and now, the door opened and a broadly grinning man only the size of a ten-year-old boy stood staring up at him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Running a bit late, aren’t you?” said the man.
Father Billy had described the gas station attendant as a “little guy” and had not been exaggerating. He did not possess the stout, dwarfish stature associated with most little people, but was instead perfectly proportional. He was simply quite small.
Eric stared down at him, distracted. In his dream, he recalled this man taking him by the arm and leading him inside. Instead of, “Running a bit late, aren’t you?” he had instead said, “Aren’t you in a sorry state.”
Not sure what else to say, he rubbed tiredly at the lump the foggy man left on his head and replied, “I’m sorry.”
“Well, come on in.”
The gas station office was small and cluttered. The little man moved a box from the seat of a dusty chair and invited Eric to sit, which he did. Immediately, he recalled sitting in the same chair in his dream, except he’d been on the verge of passing out.
His eyes drifted to the large window that offered a view of the pumps. In his dream, he recalled seeing the beast out there, crouching among the trees on the other side of the road.
“You look remarkably whole. I half-expected you to come in missing a limb or two.”
Eric stared at him, surprised. What was that supposed to mean? His eyes dropped to his hand, the vivid memory of his missing digits in the dream left a burning knot deep in the pit of his stomach.
Opening an old refrigerator, the little man said, “Here, have a Coke,” and promptly passed him a can.
Eric felt numb. The can was cold against his hand. His mouth was dry. He was thirsty. He hadn’t had a thing to eat or drink since he left home early that morning. Although he’d promised Karen he would stay caffeinated, he never stopped for coffee. He hadn’t felt the need. He was wide-awake. “Thanks,” he said weakly. He opened the can and took a long drink.
The gas station attendant walked around his desk and sat down. He didn’t say anything. He merely peered back at him with that constant smile.