The phone chirped again. Behind him, a horn honked. A blue Mercedes crowded his bumper. Kevin punched the accelerator and picked up the phone. Red brake lights cut across all three lanes ahead. He slowed down—the Mercedes would have to chill. He pressed the green button.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Kevin.”
Male voice. Low and breathy. Drawn out to accentuate each syllable.
“Hello?”
“How are you doing, my old friend? Quite well from what I can gather. How nice.”
The world around Kevin faded. He brought the car to a halt behind the sea of red taillights, felt the pressure of the brakes as a distant abstraction. His mind focused on this voice on the phone.
“I . . . I’m sorry. I don’t think—”
“It doesn’t matter if you know me.” Pause. “I know you. In fact, if you really think you’re cut out for this seminary foolishness, I must say I know you better than you know yourself.”
“I don’t know who you think you are, but I don’t have a clue what you’re talking—”
“Don’t be stupid!” the voice yelled into his ear. The man took a deep, scratchy breath. He spoke calmly again. “Forgive me, I really don’t mean to yell, but you’re not listening to me. It’s time to quit pretending, Kevin. You think you have the whole world fooled, but you don’t have me fooled. It’s time to let the cat out of the bag. And I’m going to help you do it.”
Kevin could hardly comprehend what he was hearing. Was this for real? It had to be a practical joke. Peter? Did Peter from Intro to Psych know him well enough to pull a stunt like this?
“Who . . . who is this?”
“You like games, don’t you, Kevin?”
There was no way Peter could sound so condescending.
“Okay,” Kevin said. “Enough. I don’t know what—”
“Enough? Enough? No, I don’t think so. The game is just starting. Only this one is not like the games you play with everyone else, Kevin. This one’s for real. Will the real Kevin Parson please stand up? I thought about killing you, but I’ve decided this will be much better.” The man paused, made a soft sound that sounded like a moan. “This . . . this will destroy you.”
Kevin stared ahead, dumbfounded.
“You may call me Richard Slater. Ring any bells? Actually, I prefer Slater. And here’s the game Slater would like to play. I will give you exactly three minutes to call the newspaper and confess your sin, or I will blow that silly Sable you call a car sky-high.”
“Sin? What are you talking about?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? I knew you’d forget, you stupid brick.” Another pause. “Do you like riddles? Here’s a riddle to jog your mind: What falls but never breaks? What breaks but never falls?”
“What? What’s—”
“Three minutes, Kevin. Starting . . . now. Let the games begin.”
The phone went dead.
For a moment, Kevin stared ahead, phone still plastered to his ear.
A horn blared.
The cars ahead were moving. The Mercedes was impatient again. Kevin pressed the accelerator, and the Sable surged forward. He set the phone down on the passenger seat and swallowed, throat dry. He glanced at the clock. 12:03.
Okay, process. Stay calm and process. Did this really just happen? Of course it just happened! Some madman who called himself Slater just called my cell phone and threatened to blow up my car.Kevin grabbed the cell phone and stared at its face: “Unavailable, 00:39.”
But was the threat real? Who would really blow up a car in the middle of a busy street over a riddle? Someone was trying to scare the snot out of him for some maniacal reason. Or some sicko had randomly chosen him as his next victim, someone who hated seminary students instead of prostitutes and really intended to kill him.
His thoughts spun crazily. What sin? He had committed his sins, of course, but none that stood out immediately. What falls but never breaks? What breaks but never falls?
His pulse pounded in his ears. Maybe he should get off the road. Of course he should get off the road! If there was even a remote chance that Slater meant to carry out his threat . . .
For the first time, Kevin imagined the car actually filling with a blast of fire. A shaft of panic ripped down his spine. He had to get out! He had to call the police!
Not now. Now he had to get out. Out!
Kevin jerked his foot off the accelerator and slammed it down on the brake. The Sable’s tires squealed. A horn shrieked. The Mercedes.
Kevin twisted his head and glanced through the rear window. Too many cars. He had to find a vacant spot, where flying shrapnel would do the least damage. He gunned the motor and shot forward. 12:05. But how many seconds? He had to assume three minutes would end at 12:06.
A dozen thoughts crowded his mind: thoughts of a sudden explosion, thoughts of the voice on the phone, thoughts of how the cars around him were reacting to the Sable jerking along the road. What falls but never breaks? What breaks but never falls?
Kevin looked around, frantic. He had to dump the car without blowing up the neighborhood. It’s not even going to blow, Kevin. Slow down and think.He ran his fingers through his hair several times in quick succession.
He swung into the right lane, ignoring another horn. A Texaco station loomed on his right—not a good choice. Beyond the gas station, Dr. Won’s Chinese Cuisine—hardly better. There were no parks along this section of road; residences packed the side streets. Ahead, lunch crowds bustled at McDonald’s and Taco Bell. The clock still read 12:05. It had been 12:05 for too long.
Now true panic muddled his thinking. What if it really does go off? It’s going to, isn’t it? God, help me! I’ve got to get out of this thing!He grabbed at his seat belt buckle with a trembling hand. Released the shoulder strap. Both hands back on the wheel.
A Wal-Mart sat back from the street a hundred yards to his left. The huge parking lot was only half-filled. A wide greenway that dipped at its center, like a natural ditch, surrounded the entire lot. He made a critical decision: Wal-Mart or nothing.
Kevin leaned on his horn and cut back into the center lane with a cursory glance in his mirror. A metallic screech made him duck— he’d clipped a car. Now he was committed.
“Get out of my way! Get out!”
He motioned frantically with his left hand, succeeding only in smashing his knuckles into the window. He grunted and swerved into the far left lane. With a tremendous thumphe crashed over a six-inch-high median and then into oncoming traffic. It occurred to him that being rammed head-on might be no better than blowing up, but he was already in the path of a dozen oncoming cars.
Tires squealed and horns blared. The Sable took only one hit in its right rear fender before shooting out the other side of the gauntlet. Something from his car was dragging on the asphalt. He cut off a pickup that was trying to exit the lot.
“Watch out! Get out of my way!”
Kevin roared into the Wal-Mart lot and glanced down at the clock. Somewhere back there it had turned. 12:06.
To his right, traffic on Long Beach Boulevard had come to a screeching halt. It wasn’t every day that a car blasted through oncoming traffic like a bowling ball.
Kevin sped past several gaping customers and zeroed in on the greenway. Not until he was on top of it did he see the curb. The Sable blew a tire when it connected; this time Kevin’s head struck the ceiling. A dull pain spread down his neck.
Out, out, out!
The car flew into the ditch and Kevin crammed the brake pedal to the floor. For a fleeting moment he thought he might roll. But the car slid to a jolting halt, its nose planted firmly in the opposite slope.
He grabbed at the door latch, shoved the door open, and dove to the turf, rolling on impact. He scrambled to his feet and raced up the slope toward the lot. At least a dozen onlookers headed his way from the sea of parked cars.