You're Next

Chapter 29

Kat had retreated into a ball of fear and resentment in the back-seat. He needed to get them somewhere private before he explained to her about her mother. At least that’s what he told himself. Maybe he was just at a comprehensive loss for how to break the news. While driving he’d done his best to make his voice work and comfort Kat, but she was smart enough to take his generic reassurance as worse news, so finally he’d shut up, locking down his body to keep his grief from exploding out of him.

He pulled into a gas station, a dark voice needling him: The last time I filled up my tank, I had a wife. Taking a few steps from the truck, he flipped open his phone to call Shep. There Annabel was in the screensaver picture: the photo he’d snapped of her in the kitchen the morning he’d found out about Green Valley. He remembered the warmth of the sun across his shoulders, how she’d rolled her lotioned hands in his.

What?

Your hair. Your eyes.

The last quiet moment they’d shared before the PVC pipes, his decision to indulge the governor’s lie by lying himself, the hell that choice had brought down on them.

For the benefit of forty families, think you can smile for a few cameras?

That smile had cost him Annabel.

His thumb twitched, wanting to call her. Catching the instinct – and the blast of reality that came with it – was a fresh hell. It couldn’t be real. He couldn’t do it without her – navigate through this threat, parent, live.

He hauled his attention back to the eight-year-old waiting, needing him to take care of her. Shep. Game plan. He realized he had to use the sleek black Batphone, so he swapped them before dialing.

Shep picked up on the first ring.

‘My wife is dead.’ Saying it caused Mike’s face to break. He turned away from the truck, did his best not to double over.

Shep said, ‘What?’

Mike glanced over his shoulder, but Kat was still buckled in, staring blankly into space. He forced the words out. ‘She’s dead. William and Dodge made a threat against Kat, and I took the bait. I went running to her and left Annabel open. I left her alone.’

‘Who?’

‘A guy, William’s brother or cousin. I killed him.’

The memory set Mike’s teeth on edge. The vibration sent from the man’s skull through the omelet pan had left his arm throbbing, the kind of bone-deep ache you felt getting jammed by a fastball. The sound was inhuman. It was a construction-site noise, the complaint of material yielding. He had taken a man’s life. He had no remorse and would do it again unflinchingly, but the hard fact of it extinguished something in his chest.

Shep had spoken – ‘How do you know he’s related to William?’ – and it took Mike a long moment to retrieve the question.

He thought of that grainy Kodak of his father at the age Mike was now. How Dana Riverton had laid it beside the newspaper photo that had announced Mike to whoever had been waiting for him to appear. ‘Resemblance.’

‘He planned to kill Annabel?’

‘She fought.’ The man’s words played again in Mike’s head. You couldn’t just listen and sit on the couch and wait for him to get here. ‘He wanted to kill me, not her.’

‘So why misdirect you to Kat?’

‘So he could… I don’t know… have time to set up in the house. So it would be quiet and no one would know. Maybe he wanted them there for leverage. To get me to talk.’

‘About what?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘What happened after you killed him?’

‘A cop showed up – Rick Graham. They were in on it together. Graham called to warn him I was coming.’ Mike explained about the incoming call and how he’d phoned back. ‘Graham came in to kill me, I think. To clean up. I grabbed Kat and took off. So I’m probably wanted by the proper authorities now, too, because of how I left. I don’t know who I can trust.’

Shep said, ‘Money.’

‘I can’t think about that right now. I haven’t even told Kat yet. Later we can-’

‘There won’t be a later,’ Shep said.

‘Okay. Okay.’

‘You have your gun?’

‘No. That’s the one Annabel-’

Shep cut him off. ‘You need to turn off your cell phone – not this one but your original one. It’s under your name, and they can track it if you leave it on too long.’

Mike powered it down, glancing around. Vehicles flew by on the busy intersection. Two underage kids smoked by the drive-through car wash. A woman left her VW Beetle at the gas pump behind him and waddled to the convenience store.

Shep was talking. ‘-and your truck.’

‘My truck?’

‘You’ve got satnav, right? That means they can track you down through your own GPS system. Get rid of it.’

Discarding the truck seemed like losing a last, essential part of himself. The passenger seat still retained Annabel’s settings – slid forward toward the dash, slight recline, headrest low on its prongs. Crumbs from a PowerBar she’d eaten en route to the award ceremony were still caught in the leather seam.

‘Right now?’ The gas pump clicked off, and Mike tugged it from the tank.

‘They’ve gotta deal with a private company for the trace. It’ll take them some time to pull a warrant. Money first. Go.’

Shep hung up.

Mike crouched in a private office at the bank, moving stacks of hundreds into a black vinyl bag the prim-mouthed bank manager had provided. Kat was waiting in the driver’s seat in a front parking space, locked in, one hand at the ready on the horn.

‘Can we provide some other service, Mr Wingate, to make you reconsider?’

‘This isn’t about your service.’

‘It seems a shame, given your recent influx, to-’

‘Why can’t I withdraw more?’

‘I think under the circumstances, our producing three hundred thousand dollars cash on zero notice is rather impressive. With computerized banking we don’t stash as much cash in the vault as we used to. As I said, I’d be happy to arrange for a transfer of the balance to any-’

A cautious knock on the door, and then an attractive woman in a crisp pantsuit opened the door a crack. ‘Excuse me, sir. You have a phone call.’

‘You know very well, Jolene, that when the door to the back office is closed-’

‘I was told it’s very important.’

A red light blinked on the telephone sitting on the corner desk.

The manager stiffened. He nodded at Mike and turned for the desk.

Mike threw the remaining bundles into the bag and walked briskly out.

‘Daddy, why are we here? These people are scary.’

‘We’re going to catch a ride out of here in a second, Kat.’

‘Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?’

‘Yes. Yes, I am. Soon.’

South of Devonshire in Chatsworth. The shortest distance to the shittiest neighborhood. Weeds rose through cracked sidewalks, vining their way through fallen chain-link. Kicked-in front doors were spray-painted with blood reds and metallic greens: INS with a Ghostbusters bend sinister through it; gang symbols; the see-no-evil monkey with his two cronies. Clustered in doorways, meth heads vibrated, skeletal arms poking from puffy jackets, blackened fingers working toothless gums. Falling dusk gave the whole stretch of sordid real estate a haunted-house vibe.

Mike was horrified that he’d brought Kat here. But he was more horrified of what might happen to her if he allowed whoever was chasing them to catch up.

The gleaming Ford crawled along, drawing stares, a few people shouting at them, their words blurred to senselessness by the purr of the engine. A knock on the back window startled Kat into a shriek. A bony face loomed, caved cheeks and suppurating smile, the outside door handle click-clicking against the lock.

Mike accelerated, the bony face falling away, and turned the corner. An elderly man backed an ancient Volvo out of a driveway and Mike pulled tight behind him, blocking him in. The man climbed out indignantly to meet him, scraggles of gray hair fringing the drooping line of his jaw.

‘Boy, don’t you think you can intimidate me. I been living here since before your daddy’s-’

Mike held up three hundred-dollar bills. ‘This is for you to wait for us. Two minutes. We’ll come back. I’ll pay you double this to give us a ride.’

‘I was born at night, boy, but not last night. You want more’n a ride for that money.’

Mike stuffed the money into the man’s wrinkled hand. ‘Just a ride.’

He drove back to the worst run of meth houses, stopped in the middle of the street and climbed out, leaving the driver’s door open and the engine running. Slinging the bank bag over a shoulder, he scooped up Kat from the backseat as he used to when she was an infant. Terrified, she buried her face in his neck. He jogged with her, her breath steaming against his throat.

Reaching the quiet intersection, he looked back. Stick figures circled the pickup, flickering past the bright beams, heads cocked. It would only be a matter of time. And Dodge or William or Graham could spend the night running down a junkie joyride while Mike got Kat somewhere safe.

He turned and jogged to where the elderly man stood waiting.

He and Kat cut across Jimmy’s ragged front lawn, dodging car parts and a rusting lawn mower that had deteriorated into the brown grass. Mike had asked the old man to drop them off several blocks away, and they’d run to cover the distance.

Kat hid behind Mike’s back as he rang Jimmy’s bell.

Jimmy tugged the door open, facing away toward the interior. ‘-get the damned armchair off the front lawn.’

A disembodied feminine voice. ‘Why should you care?’

‘Because I ain’t havin’ no duct-taped La-Z-Boy on my lawn, that’s why.’

Shelly appeared in the hall, pale slender fingers forked around an ash-heavy cigarette. ‘You’re a credit to your race.’ Her gaze shifted, taking note of Mike before Jimmy did, and then she pinched her bathrobe closed and trudged back out of sight.

Jimmy’s head swiveled. ‘Wingate? What the hell you doing here?’

‘I need help.’

‘Fight with the wife? Shit, I don’t blame you. Ever since Shelly and I got back together…’ Jimmy growled a low note of frustration. ‘You know when she wants to have sex? Tomorrow. That’s when.’

Kat moved into view behind Mike, and Jimmy said, ‘Shihoot. Hi, sweetheart. Didn’t see you.’

Mike said, ‘I need something to drive.’

‘You want your truck back?’

‘I’m in trouble, Jimmy.’

Jimmy looked from Mike to Kat, seeming to register the severity of the situation.

A minute later they were in the quiet of Jimmy’s garage. Mike settled Kat into the passenger seat of the Toyota, the familiar smell of his old pickup a badly needed piece of comfort. He pointed at the toolbox mounted over the wheel well. ‘We need to empty that?’

‘Nah,’ Jimmy said. ‘It’s all your shit anyways.’

‘Can I switch the plates?’ Mike asked. ‘With the Mazda?’

‘It’s Shel’s car, but hell, I pay the note on it.’

He helped Mike replace the plates, and then Mike shook his hand. ‘Thank you, Jimmy. I’ll make this up to you.’

‘Nothing you haven’t done for me already.’

Jimmy stood and watched as Mike backed out. ‘Going to find Just John?’ he called out.

Mike drove off thinking, I guess I am.

The Days Inn required a credit card, so they’d wound up closer to the city in one of the run-down motels across from Universal Studios. From what Mike gleaned, the place catered to thrifty tourists and people looking to rent a bed in hour intervals. A single-story strip of rooms lining a narrow parking lot, it was the Bates Motel sans taxidermy victims. Car exhaust and the screech-and-honk of Ventura Boulevard two blocks away assailed the senses. The front-desk clerk, a collection of tattoos shaped like a man, was only too happy to take a cash deposit.

The overnight parking form asked for a vehicle license number, making Mike glad he’d switched the plates in Jimmy’s garage. In the room he dropped the bag of cash in the corner and emptied his pockets onto the bedspread. Two cell phones, money clip, change, a half-used ChapStick he carried for Kat. He closed the blinds. An internal door connected to a room next door, which he’d also rented so Kat would have somewhere to sleep undisturbed while he conducted whatever grim business the night would hold.

Kat lay curled in the fetal position on the bed, and he sat to pet her head. She made a little noise and shifted so she could hug him around the waist. He bent and gathered her clumsily into his arms, smelling her hair, taking her in. Her warmth. The tiny fingers. The fragile stalk of neck. That smooth skin – not a crease, not a wrinkle. He looked up to keep his tears from falling, did his best to freeze his chest so she wouldn’t sense the shift in his breathing.

He owed her an explanation – now.

He went into the bathroom to shore himself up. Leaning over the chipped sink beneath the flecked mirror, he took his reflection’s measure. He was nearly unrecognizable. Pink-rimmed eyes, pasty flesh, sweat-dark hair swirled this way and that. No wonder Kat was so terrified.

With horror he saw that blood had dried beneath the fingernails of his left hand. He dug at the black crescents with his other nails, shoving his fingers under the stream of boiling water, but the flakes were stubborn and would not budge. He stopped suddenly, steam rising from the sink, moistening his cheeks. The dried blood beneath his nails was the only part of Annabel he had left.

A memory swept through him, so vivid it seemed he could fall into it: the last time they made love, Annabel’s arms crossed at the wrists behind his neck.

I want you to look at me. All the way through.

He cried as silently as he could, banging a fist gently on the lip of the sink. Then he sucked in a breath and forced his face still. Staring down his reflection, he murmured, ‘Get it together. Talk to her.’

He splashed bracingly cold water over his face. He still didn’t like what he saw in the mirror, but it was as good as it was gonna get.

When he stepped out, Kat was sitting against the headboard with her knees pulled up to her chin. She was staring down at Mike’s phone, her face drawn and terrified.

Mike rushed over. ‘We can’t turn that phone on.’

‘I was calling Mom, and… and…’ She started crying.

He snatched the phone from her. The block letters of text message crossed the LED screen.

YOU’RE NEXT.

His stomach went to ice. He threw the cell phone on the floor, crushed it under heel.

She shoved herself farther away, as if to escape the phone’s toxicity. ‘What does that mean? I want to talk to Mommy.’

He crouched at the edge of the bed, took her hands. ‘You can’t talk to Mom right now, honey.’

‘Why not? Why not?’

‘She can’t… she can’t talk.’

‘That’s not an answer. Dad – that’s not an answer!’

‘Honey, listen. Mommy…’ He took a deep breath, let it out as evenly as he could. The last photo he had of his wife was in the phone he’d just smashed into the thin carpet. ‘Mommy is-’

The other cell, the sleek Batphone, rang. Mike snapped it up. ‘Shep?’

‘Yeah,’ Shep said. ‘It’s me.’ A rare hesitation.

‘What?’ Mike said. ‘What is it?’

Shep said, ‘She’s alive.’