Chain Letter Omnibus Page 24

  Tony walked back out to the track and began to run around the cinder oval. His pace was slow at first, but it wasn’t long before he found his rhythm and began to pick up speed. Soon he had his stride stretched almost to full. He was breathing hard, but it didn’t feel hard. It was a release for him—driving his body forward, around and around the track. The exercise was like a penance—for all the real and imagined crimes he had committed. He ran a mile, then two, three. He ran over four miles, and by the time he stopped, every muscle in his body was limp. He staggered into the center of the field and plopped down flat on his back in the grass beneath the warm, clear sky. He didn’t remember closing his eyes. His last conscious thought was of wanting to float up into the heavens, to leave the world behind.

  Then he was asleep.

  In his dream he was floating in an alien sky.

  The space was not blue, but red and purple, filled with heavy pounding sounds and thick smoke that stank of sulfur. In this abyss of unpleasantness he floated like a drifting balloon, fearful of passing too close to a hidden flame. It wasn’t as though the place was hot. It was simply that the threat of painful fire existed, just as the place existed. But perhaps it was the faint cries he heard in the distance that invoked his fear. They didn’t sound like human cries, or rather, they sounded like cries of creatures that might have once been human but had now become twisted and evil. He didn’t know how this sense came to him. It was just there, as he was there, without explanation. The consciousness brought no relief. It only deepened his horror.

  His drifting continued. Yet he began to feel that there was a destination to his course. He sensed rather than saw the great wall that lay before him. He knew it was a wall to separate him from where he was and where he could end up—if he made the wrong choice. But as horrible as the space was in which he was floating, he knew that beyond the wall there existed true despair. For it was from there that the cries emanated. The cries that prayed only for a death that would lead to nonexistence.

  Yes, there was definitely a wall ahead. He could see it now. It was dark, but not so thick that he couldn’t catch a sense of what was on the far side. . . .

  · · ·

  Tony awoke to find a sky the color of twilight above him. At first he couldn’t believe he’d slept away the entire day. But then he sat up and looked around and the evidence of his eyes couldn’t be denied. It was no wonder, actually. It had been so long since he’d rested.

  Tony got up and walked to the fence that enclosed the stadium. He had trouble scaling the wire mesh—his limbs felt oddly disconnected from his torso. It took him half an hour to walk back to his car on the far side of the park, although the car was less than a mile from where he had slept. By the time he got behind his steering wheel, his legs were cold and he had a headache. He had been getting so many headaches lately that he kept a bottle of Tylenol on his dashboard. He took out a couple of tablets and chewed them slowly without water. They left a bitter taste in his mouth. He remembered then that he’d had a nightmare while lying in the center of the football field. But no details of it came to him.

  Tony was putting the bottle of Tylenol back onto the dashboard when he noticed the scrap of paper sitting there. He picked it up and studied it in the stark halogen light from a nearby street lamp. It was Sasha’s phone number. He smiled at the memory of her, and the smile felt like a welcome stranger on his face. She had told him to call him some night when he needed a massage. What was wrong with right then? He checked his watch. It was only seven o’clock. He needed someone to talk to, other than the people in the group. Certainly he didn’t feel like talking to Alison. He couldn’t get over how she had wanted to hand him over to the police, even before they were certain Fran’s death was anything more than an accident. Alison had a thing or two to learn about devotion.

  Tony took out his phone and dialed Sasha’s number. He didn’t really expect to catch her in. It was, after all, Saturday night. She was an attractive young lady, and she probably had a line of men waiting outside her door.

  She answered on the third ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Sasha? This is Tony. I met you at the mall the other day. Do you remember me?”

  She took a moment, then said, “Tony, yeah, sure I remember you. How are you doing?”

  “I’m all right. How are you?”

  Her voice was warm and easy. “Fine. A little bored. What are you up to?”

  “Nothing. Actually, I was wondering if you were doing anything?”

  “No. Why? Did you want to stop by?”

  “Not if it would be inconvenient.”

  “It’s no problem. Come over. Maybe we can go out and have a drink together.”

  “That sounds like fun.” Tony worried if he’d be able to get into a bar. He’d never been in one before. “Where do you live?”

  Sasha gave him her address. It wasn’t far from where he was. He said goodbye and hung up. He found himself smiling again. The thought of Alison tried to enter his mind, but he pushed it away.

  · · ·

  Sasha lived in a new apartment complex not far from the mall where they had met. She greeted him at her door wearing black pants and a white blouse. Her maroon hair hung long down her back. Her green eyes shone as she looked at him, and her lips were a wonderful red around a friendly smile. Sasha invited him in.

  “Forgive the mess,” she said as she strode from the living room into the kitchen. The apartment was small but neat. The only mess was a couple of paperbacks and a half-filled mug sitting on a coffee table. The furniture seemed to be of high quality. Tony briefly wondered if her family lived in the area, and if they helped her out. He wasn’t entirely sure what her job at the hospital was. She seemed a tad young to be a nurse.

  The apartment had a faint medicinal smell to it—not alcohol, something else. He asked her about it as he sat at her kitchen table. She had made coffee and wanted him to have a cup before they went out. The question seemed to embarrass her.

  “Is it noticeable?” she asked.

  He wished he hadn’t asked. “It’s not bad.”

  She forced a laugh. “To tell you the truth, I think it’s me. The smell of the clinic gets on my clothes and in my hair. I can’t get it out. The only time I don’t smell is right after I’ve taken a shower.” She glanced over at him. “When I’m naked.”

  Tony grinned. “I guess I caught you at a bad time, then.”

  Sasha brought him a mug of steaming coffee. “It’s a good time. Do you take it black or with cream?”

  “I like a little milk and sugar in it, thank you.”

  Sasha turned back to the refrigerator. “I like it scalding hot and black. I like to feel it burn my insides as it goes down. Pretty weird, huh? All the girls at work drink it the same way.”

  “What exactly do you do at the hospital?” Tony asked.

  “As little as possible.” She brought him milk and sugar. “I’m thinking of quitting my job and leaving the area.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad.”

  She sat across from him and regarded him with her big green eyes. “Why?” she asked seriously.

  He shrugged. “I just met you is all. You seem like an interesting person.”

  She liked that answer. “How did you like the way I asked you out at the mall?”

  “Did you ask me out?”

  “I did and you know it.” She regarded him closely, in an oddly penetrating way that made him nervous. “But I could tell you liked me. I knew you’d call.”

  Tony blushed. “Does this mean I don’t get a massage?”

  Sasha blushed as well and was even more beautiful. For the blood gave color to her face, which was quite pale.

  “You can have a massage and then some, Tony,” she said.

  · · ·

  They didn’t go to a bar but to a nightclub that played music at several decibels above the comfort level. The lighting was a trip—brilliant strobes that were sequenced with the guitars and vocals. Tony had neve
r been to such a place before and found it exciting. Sasha could really dance—he could hardly keep up with her. Her endurance was extraordinary. They danced fifteen songs in a row before taking a break. She ordered drinks for them while he ran off to the bathroom, and she paid for them. Maybe she did know he was under twenty-one and didn’t want to embarrass him by asking. They each had a margarita and a screwdriver—heavy on the lethal fluids. Sasha downed her drinks and ordered another couple while he nursed his first one. He paid for this round, and no one asked any questions. Sasha lit up a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke in his face. He was surprised a nurse would smoke.

  “Are you having fun?” she asked. It was hard to hear her over the music.

  “I’m having a great time,” he called back.

  She continued to peer at him, holding the fire of the cigarette close to her hair. “Something’s on your mind,” she said.

  “No,” he said. “I’m fine. I’m glad I’m here with you.”

  She nodded. “I want you to tell me about it later.”

  Tony didn’t reply, not directly to her remark, and soon they were back out on the dance floor, and it was all he could do to hold himself upright. He had run too far that morning. He had run too fast. He felt as if he’d been on a treadmill for the last three months, and he wondered if this was his first chance to get off. He really liked Sasha. The whole time he was with her, he hardly thought of Alison, and that was a big relief. He could handle the new Caretaker, he thought, if he could just get his heart free of the pain he’d been feeling.

  On the way home he was tired and drunk. For safety’s sake it would have been better if Sasha had driven. She had drunk twice what he had, but her system seemed to be able to handle it. But it was a masculine thing with him that he had to be the one to drive his car. It was close to midnight. On a long stretch of freeway Sasha again asked him what was on his mind.

  “How can you tell something’s bothering me?” he asked. He had to concentrate on the road. The red taillights of the cars in front of him kept blurring into bloated sunspots.

  “I can see it in your face,” she said simply.

  He glanced over at her. Her mood was more serious than earlier, but still easy. She had a definite presence. When she asked something, it was hard to resist answering her truthfully.

  “What do you see?” he asked.

  “You’re grieving over another girl.”

  Tony was shocked. “Huh?”

  “What’s her name?”

  Tony stared straight ahead. “Alison Parker.”

  Sasha reached over and touched his leg. “You can talk about it. I don’t mind.”

  “There’s nothing to say.” The car suddenly felt cramped. Yet the touch of her hand on his leg was nice. So nice he was able to lie—a little. “She was a girl I used to date. We broke up.”

  “You haven’t broken up completely.” Sasha took her hand back. “Was she unfaithful to you?”

  “No. I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He added, “She’s leaving the area soon.”

  Sasha’s next question hit him like a slap. “Do you think she’s with someone else right now?”

  Tony forced a smile. “I hope not.”

  Sasha leaned closer. He could smell the alcohol on her breath, but it smelled sweet not sour. “You’re with someone. Why can’t she be with someone?”

  “She can. I just don’t think she is.”

  Sasha sat back in her seat. “Let’s swing by her house on the way to my place. We’ll see if she’s alone.”

  He glanced at her, uncertain. “Sasha?”

  “It’s just a hunch I have, Tony. We’ll pay her a visit. Don’t worry. She’ll never know we were there.”

  “But I don’t want to stop by her house.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Chapter Eight

  Alison left the park with a heavy heart. She got in her car and drove aimlessly around town. She felt torn apart. She had pain hitting her from all directions. Her friend Fran was dead. They had to bury her on Monday. The murderer was still on the loose, composing fresh letters and tasks for them to complete. Then there was Tony, her beloved Tony, who treated everything she said with distrust and contempt. She couldn’t understand where his hatred for her was coming from. She had done nothing to him. She only wanted to live her life to the fullest with him still a big part of it. Of course, she had suggested they go to the police. It was the only rational thing to do. This Caretaker was not picking at their weak spots. He was going for the jugular, and he liked the taste of blood. Eventually Alison found herself heading for her house, more than thirty miles from the neighborhood where her friends lived. But when she reached her usual off-ramp, she kept driving. She couldn’t face her parents the way she felt. She needed to get away, to get out of the city. She stayed on the freeway, and when the turnoffs came for the mountain resorts, she took one. The ground rose in front of her, and the air cooled. She saw a pine, then half a dozen. The forest thickened steadily the higher she went. Soon she was driving through mountains of green.

  She finally realized she was heading toward Big Bear Lake. She didn’t want to go there. It was a weekend, and the lake would be crowded. She spotted a sign pointing toward a Green Valley Lake. That sounded nice. She turned left off the main road. Five miles later she caught sight of a crystal-clear body of water. The valley was heavenly and appeared almost deserted. She parked and walked along the water. For the first time all day the lump in her throat began to shrink. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. She took a deep breath and picked up a stone and skimmed it over the glassy water. Five hops—she hadn’t lost her touch.

  She wasn’t the only one skimming rocks on the lake. At the far end of the lake she could just make out a young man in blue jeans and a yellow shirt dancing his pebbles over the surface, too. He didn’t throw his rocks hard, but they went forever over the water. He had the touch. He noticed her watching him and waved to her. He seemed to be harmless, about her age, with a slight build and light brown hair that was in desperate need of a trim. He smiled as she approached, and a powerful sensation of déjà vu swept over her. Yet she had never been to this lake before. Certainly she couldn’t have met this guy before. She was sure of that—well, pretty sure.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hello,” she replied. She nodded to the rocks in his hands. “How do you get your stones to skip like that? I counted fifteen hops on your last throw.”

  The sunlight shone in his hair and on his shy expression. “It’s all in the wrist.” He demonstrated for her, and the rock took close to twenty hops before sinking below the surface. Once more she was struck by the ease with which he threw them. “See, there’s nothing to it,” he said.

  “For you maybe.” She looked around. They weren’t far from a grass meadow alive with blooming flowers in every color. At the far end of the meadow was a small wooden cabin. It, too, looked familiar to her, but not exactly. It was as if it had been thoroughly described to her, not a place she had ever visited. “Is that your cabin?” she asked, pointing.

  “Sometimes I stay there,” he said, watching her. “You look tired. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  His suggestion was a little forward, but somehow, coming from him, it didn’t seem rude. There was something disarming about the guy. Not for a second did she feel in danger. Quite the reverse—it was very pleasant to stand beside him in the warm sunlight among the trees.

  “I’m just out for a walk.” She chuckled. “I couldn’t drop in on you. I mean, I don’t even know you.”

  He let his rocks fall to the ground and offered his hand. “My name’s Chris.”

  She shook his hand. “I’m Alison.”

  “Ali?”

  She smiled. “My friends call me that.”

  “Ali,” he repeated to himself, and it seemed as if he liked the sound of her name. He turned in the direction of his cabin. “Well, I’m going to have tea. You can join me if you wish.”

  She didn’t want him to
be gone suddenly. “I think I will,” she said.

  The inside of his cabin was sparsely furnished. He put an old black kettle on a wood stove. He lit a fire with a match scraped along the wall of the stove. “It’ll take a few minutes,” he said and stepped back outside onto the front porch, where there were a couple of chairs. He sat down and put his legs up on the railing. After a moment’s hesitation, Alison sat beside him. He scanned the nearby lake and sighed with pleasure.

  “A day like this makes it hard to leave here,” he said.

  “Do you have to leave? Do you have to get back to work?” She believed she had miscalculated his age. He didn’t look much older than she was, but he had an air about him that spoke of greater maturity.

  “I’m only back here for a short time, Ali,” he said.

  “Where are you from?”

  The question amused him. He glanced back at the water. “Not so far from here—if you know how to fly.”

  She laughed. “So you’re Peter Pan?”

  He laughed softly, nodding. “If you like.”

  “What kind of work do you do?”

  He thought for a moment. “I’m a farmer.”

  “Really? What do you grow?”

  “Seeds.”

  “No. Seriously?”

  “I grow them, and then I harvest them when the time is right.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not. She didn’t mind if he was. His whole air was so sweet. He was quite enchanting. He brushed a lock of his brown hair aside and stared at her once more. He was waiting for her to speak.

  “Where is your farm?” she asked.

  “Near here.”

  “In the woods?”

  “In Los Angeles,” he said.

  She laughed again. “I’d like to see it in the middle of the city. What do you grow? People?”

  He continued to watch her. “Yes. You have grown up, Ali.”

  She stopped, confused. “What do you mean?”

  “What I said. You are growing up swiftly. That’s why you suffer so much. Sometimes the faster you run, the more you trip and hurt yourself. But the sooner you’ll reach your goal.”