The quiet whinnying of Dana’s car engine broke through his fear. He turned around and opened the restaurant’s door. The Volkswagen was backing away.
She’s leaving?
The thought alarmed him at first, then filled him with relief. If she actually drove off, he wouldn’t need to stay inside. Spend the night on the porch, maybe. Keep a lookout and make sure he was back inside when she returned.
And if she didn’t come back in the morning, the hike back to town was only a few miles and he’d still win the bet.
The car didn’t turn around. Near the far end of the parking lot, its red brake lights glowed briefly.
It stopped.
The engine went silent.
Roland’s hope died. Dana wasn’t leaving, after all, just putting some distance between herself and the restaurant. She must’ve been nervous about being close to it.
He watched for a while, but the car didn’t move again.
Leaving the door open for a quick escape, Roland dropped his sleeping bag to the floor. He took off his pack and removed the flashlight. With his back to the doorway, he thumbed the flashlight switch. The strong beam shot out. He whipped it from right to left. Shadows jumped and writhed, but no foul shape was lurching toward him.
Roland allowed himself to breathe. He wished his heart would slow down. It felt like a fist punching the insides of his chest.
He shut the door and sagged slightly against it. He locked his knees to keep them from folding under him. His kneecaps began to flutter with a spastic, twitching bounce, as if they wanted to jump off his legs.
Roland tried to ignore them. Aiming the flashlight ahead, he took several steps until he could see around the corner of the wall. The wall extended down the right side of the main dining room. Something just beyond the corner caught his eye. He held his breath until he identified the objects as a stepladder, a lamp, and a vacuum cleaner. On the floor near them were a toolbox, some jars and bottles and rags. He moved the beam away.
A bright disk at the far end of the room startled Roland, but it was only his own light reflecting off a window. He wasn’t alarmed when his light hit the other windows.
Except for the clutter near the one wall, the dining room was empty. He swept his beam back across it, to the wall ahead of him, and to the right. A few yards away was the corner of an L-shaped bar counter. The shelves behind it were empty. There were no stools in front of the counter. A brass foot rail ran its length.
Turning slightly, Roland played his beam over the space between the bar counter and the front wall of the restaurant. A card table stood near the wall. Bottles and a few glasses gleamed with the light. There were two folding chairs at the table.
Crouching, he shined his flashlight beneath the card table.
He stood up. Beyond the table, at the far end of the room, was an alcove. A sign above the opening read, “Rest rooms.”
Roland moved slightly forward until he could aim his light into the space behind the counter.
Returning to his backpack, he took but two of the candles he had purchased that afternoon. He went to the table, and lit them. He let the wax drip onto the table, then stood the candles upright in the tiny puddles. He stepped back. The two flames gave off an amazing amount of light, their glow illuminating most of the cocktail area.
Comforted somewhat by the light, Roland walked past the table. He noticed bat-wing doors behind the bar, probably to give the bartender access to the kitchen.
The kitchen.
Where the killings happened.
The areas above and below the doors were dark. He didn’t shine his light inside. Instead, he entered the short hallway to the rest rooms. A brass sign on the door straight ahead of him read “Ladies.” The door marked “Gentlemen” was on the right.
He needed to check inside each, but the prospect of that renewed his leg tremors and set his heart sledging again. He didn’t want to open those doors, didn’t want to face whatever might be lurking within.
It’ll be worse, he told himself, if I don’t look. Then I won’t know. I might get a big surprise later on.
He took the flashlight in his left hand, wiped the sweat off his right, and gripped the knob of the ladies’ room door. The knob wouldn’t turn. He tried the other door. It, too, was locked.
For a moment, he was glad. He wouldn’t be opening them. It was a great relief.
Then he realized that the locked doors didn’t guarantee that the rest rooms were safe. Probably, the doors could still be opened from the inside.
He shined his light on the knob of the men’s room door. It had a keyhole. A few times in the past, he had gotten into toilets simply by inserting a pointed object into the lock hole and twisting. He pulled up the leather flap of his knife case.
The snap popped open.
Christ, it was loud!
Whoever’s behind the door…
Calm down.
…heard it.
There’s nobody inside the goddamn john.
Roland stared at the door.
He imagined a sudden, harsh rap on the other side.
Gooseflesh crawled up his back.
Leaving his knife in its case, he backed away.
The candlelight was comforting.
He picked up the folding chairs one at a time and carried them to the entryway beneath the rest rooms sign. Back-to-back, they made a barrier that would have to be climbed over or pushed away. He placed a cocktail glass on the seat of each, near the edge. If the chairs moved, the glasses should fall.
Pleased with his innovation, Roland returned to the card table. He picked up one of the bottles. It was nearly full. With a candle behind it, he saw that the liquor was clear. He turned the bottle until he could read its label in the trembling light. Gilbey’s Vodka.
Great.
He twisted off the plastic cap, raised the bottle, and filled his mouth. He swallowed a little bit at a time. The vodka scorched his throat and ignited a fire in his stomach. When his mouth was empty, he took a deep breath and sighed.
If he drank enough, he could numb himself to the whole situation.
But that would make him more vulnerable.
One more swig, then he recapped the bottle.
Crouching over his pack, Roland lifted out Dana’s camera and folded it open. A flash bar was already attached to the top. He stood up and took another deep breath. It felt good inhaling, filling his lungs. They didn’t seem tight like before. In fact, he realized that he was no longer shaking. There was a slightly vague feeling inside his head. Had the vodka done this?
Back at the table, he set down the camera and took one more swallow.
Then one more.
Picking up the camera, he went to the end of the bar. He lifted the hinged panel, tipped it back so it would stay upright, and stepped through the opening. He stopped in front of the bat-wing doors. Beyond them was darkness.
The kitchen.
“Anybody…” He almost said, “here?” but that word wouldn’t come out. He wished he’d kept quiet. His fear had come back with the sound of his voice, a tight band constricting his chest.
He raised the flashlight above the doors. Its beam spilled along the kitchen floor, shaking as it moved.
He smelled the blood before he saw it. He knew the odor well, having collected some of his own in a mayonnaise jar and smeared it over his face on Halloween to gross out the guys in the dorm. His blood had smelled
