“The mirror,” she repeated, as if doing so would help her understand better. “What did it say?”
I ran my fingers through my hair. “You spy, now you die.”
She stood up, starting pacing, then stopped and turned toward me. “Why didn’t you tell me about all this?”
“Because I didn’t want to scare you. But after tonight, I knew I had no choice.”
“You should have told me.”
“Okay.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “No. You
“
She stared at me for a moment, came back to the couch, sat down, then stared at the floor instead. She whispered, “Jesus Christ.”
“I know.”
“What the hell do we do
“We stick together. At least that way we can watch each other’s backs.”
“Okay. Then what?”
“I don’t know. But I think we’d have an easier time figuring out our next move if we got some sleep.”
“Yeah—that’s just not gonna happen. I mean, seriously, Pat. After hearing all this, you honestly think I can sleep?”
“I’m exhausted, and you have a concussion, for crying out loud. Neither of us is in any shape to make logical decisions right now. Get back in bed. We’ll figure things out in the morning.”
She didn’t get up, didn’t say anything.
“Hello?” I said.
“I’m thinking.”
“Stop thinking and get some sleep. At least try.”
She was about to say something but stopped herself, then got up and headed back toward her room.
I leaned back and closed my eyes, trying to imagine how to get us out of this mess.
But I didn’t get far, because CJ screamed from the other room. I jumped off the couch and ran to her, found her standing in the bathroom doorway, visibly shaken, eyes opened wide.
Hanging from the shower curtain rod by a strand of rope around its neck was a small doll, no bigger than my fist. A little boy doll. Dripping with what appeared to be blood, and a note tacked to its chest that read:
I put my hand on CJ’s back. She startled and let out a gasp.
“Pack up your things,” I said, “We’re getting out of here.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Nowhere to hide. No place safe, not even CJ’s house.
The hanging doll pretty much clinched it. Someone had been there before we’d ever arrived. That meant they knew we were coming, and
My rental car was still drivable, more or less. It had suffered substantial damage to the side and rear during our dance with death, and now had an annoying rattle. But we were alive. My insurance would take care of the rest.
I stared out at the open road as the headlights carved a path into darkness, without so much as a clue as to where we were going or what to do next. CJ rode open-eyed next to me: any chance of sleep now fell into the slim-to-none category.
“Any ideas?” I said.
“Yeah. I’ve got lots of them. Which one would you like?”
“How about where to stay for the night?”
“Sorry, that went out the window around the same time the strangled Kewpie doll showed up in my bathroom.”
“How about a motel?”
She allowed herself a mild laugh, but nothing about it showed any amusement. “Not in Corvine, that’s for sure. There’s only three, it wouldn’t take them long to figure out which one we were at.”
“Okay. How about somewhere off the beaten path?”
She yawned. “There’s a little hole-in-the-wall town called Jerome about twenty miles up ahead. There’s a motel, I think. Can’t guarantee it’ll be livable. Or even clean.”
About fifteen minutes later, we rolled into town—or something like one: a gas station, a drive-through liquor store, a drive-through post office, and drive-through cleaners. Seemed folks here didn’t like getting out of their cars much. The main road brought us to a bridge so old and rickety that I feared we might not live to see the other side.
“I told you,” CJ said in a singsong voice.
“I didn’t think it would be quite this bad.”
If it hadn’t been for the sign, I might have mistaken the motel for an abandoned warehouse. The place looked dark. And empty.
“Think they’re even still in business?” I asked. We walked toward something white hanging down from a rafter, which eventually revealed itself as an office sign.
“There are two other cars in the lot,” she offered. “They have to belong to someone.”
“Yeah, the two people who work here, probably.” I pulled on the door: locked. Peered inside. Saw nothing but darkness.
“Push the button,” she said, nodding toward it.
I did. Heard a buzzing sound inside. Looked at CJ.
She shrugged. “It works. That’s a good sign.”
“Or not.”
A light flickered on, and a shadowy figure appeared toward the back.
CJ said, “Hooray.” But the expression on her face—and tone of her voice—implied the opposite.
More lights came on, and the shadowy figure became a man. He cupped his hand against the window and peered out at us, his eyes tired and squinty. He was a heavy-set guy in his fifties with messy hair, an unshaven face, and a neck that looked like a pile of pre-oven pizza dough. All nicely packaged in a wife-beater t-shirt with stains down the front.
“Nice,” CJ muttered under her breath.
“Zip it,” I muttered back.
He opened the door, said nothing.
“Have anything available?” I asked.
He burped under his breath, motioned toward the parking lot, and said, “Does it look like we got a waiting list?”
Then he walked back into the office. We took this as an invitation to follow.
“All that and charm, too,” CJ whispered. “Catch me, I think I’m falling in love.”
I elbowed her, then to Pizza Neck, “We need a couple of rooms.”
“Well, it’s your lucky night. I just happen to have about twenty. Take your pick.”
My room smelled nasty, like a cross between stale socks, stale air conditioning, and stale cigarette smoke. A few seconds after hitting the light switch, I heard a knock on the connecting door.
“Hate it here,” CJ said, standing in the doorway, expression stoic, arms pulled tightly to her sides. She came in without waiting for an invitation. “Did you see the bathrooms.” It wasn’t a question; it was a declaration.
“That bad?”
“The dirt has dirt on it, and what’s not completely filthy is corroded. I’m calling this a serious case of the nasties. Who stays in a hole like this?”
