one to talk to, but the truth was that he was scared.
In the daytime, there was no problem. He was king of the car lot. He could be working alone, the whole street could be empty, the whole damn town could be abandoned, and he wouldn't give a rat's ass. But at night it was a different story. At night, he remained a prisoner on the steps of the office, looking over the shiny metal roofs and hoods, peeking through the windshields and windows trying to detect signs of movemenL He would come down from the steps if a browser came by, using the o1> porumity to look behind whatever vehicles had seemed suspicious to him that evening, and he would do the same thing if Steve stopped by, but otherwise he would remain in the office or on the steps, waiting, worrying.
Hinkley stood on the steps now, wondering if someone had crept between the Nova and the Impala on the north east corner of the lot while he'd been on the phone a few minutes ago. He stared at the two cars, at the two cars immediately in front of them, but saw nothing, no shadows no movement.
Did a vampire even have a shadow?
That was what he was worried about. A vampire. The vague fears he'd previously held had coalesced into concrete form within the past week, and had made these past couple of nights a living hell. Once again, he cursed Tanner for making him work evenings.
He glanced to his left, toward the desert. Past the buildings, the sand was purple with dusk, and those sections of hill and butte which had been so clear and so clearly defined only moments before were now little more than hulking amorphous shapes against the darkening sky.
The vampire could be anywhere, He realized. In one of the canyons, in the arroyo, by the river. Behind one of the cars. There was a honk from the street, and he jumped, nearly slipping off the step.
'Popl'
He looked up to see Steve sticking his head out of a police cruiser parked in the middle of the street. 'You scared the shit out of me!' he yelled.
'Sorry!' Steve grinned. 'I just came by to tell you that I can't stop in tonight! Too many things going on! I'll try to swing by again, though, a little later!'
Hinkley nodded, smiled, and waved, his stomach sinking as his son drove off. His heart was still pounding, and he tried to catch his breath as he scanned the car lot. He had a bad feeling about tonight.
Turning, he walked up the last two steps into the office and closed the door. He switched on the portable black and-white TV on the desk, and sat there, one eye on the
TV, one on the lot, nervously twisting the jade ring on his right pinkie .... Immediately after stepping outside onto Miss Atwood's porch, Emily knew that it had been a mistake to walk rather than drive.
The night air was freezing, more like December than October, but it was not the cold that convinced her she had made a mistake--it was something else, a feeling in the air, a sense that this night was different from others. She had never believed in ESP or pre monitions or any of that psychic stuff, but this was not like a vision. It was something she knew, something she felt deep in her gut, and it frightened her.
She buttoned her jacket against the cold and took her daughter's hand.
'Come on,' she said, 'it's freezing. We'd better get home.'
Pam turned around and waved to Miss Atwood through the window. The piano teacher waved back.
They lived only three blocks from Miss Atwood, but tonight those three blocks seemed like three miles to Emily. She hurried her daughter along the cracked side walk toward home. l ''Miss Atwood said that I'm good enough to start in the advanced book next week,' Pam said. Emily, smiled, tried to appear interested.
'That's great.' Something was definitely the matter. The night was cold, but it was not windy. She could hear wind, however, and water, and the sounds seemed to come from all around them, not from any particular direction. There was something threatening and unnatural about the combined noises, and she wanted to run down the sidewalk, across the street, and around the block all the way home, locking the door behind her and pulling all the curtains. It was only her own high heels and Pam's presence that kept her from doing so.
Pam continued to chatter on about her piano lesson, going aver mistakes she'd made, difficulties she'd mastered, things her teacher had said, but Emily paid attention to none of it. Her eyes were on the night around them, on the houses that looked abandoned, on the saguaros that looked like people, on the bushes that looked like animals. Nothing seemed right tonight, nothing seemed normal. Her perceptions had been altered, heightened, and everywhere she glanced there was danger. The sounds of wind and water increased in intensity. Then she saw it.
At the end of the block, standing unmoving beneath a weak streetlight, was a large overweight man.
She stopped walking, holding tightly to her daughter's hand. Pam gasped at the force with which her mother held on to her and stopped as well. She'd been talking about how she was looking forward to the advanced piano book because it had more popular songs, but she stopped talking, as she followed her mother's gaze.
'Mom?' she said, her voice frightened.
Emily motioned for her daughter to be quiet. She took a tentative step forward, waiting to see if the figure moved, but the overweight man remained still. She'd been hoping he would step more fully into the light, that she would be able to reassure herself that nothing out of the ordinary was happening here, but her own chills and Pam's voice told her that was not the case. She stared at the unmoving silhouette at the end of the block. Something about the form was familiar but she found that despite the familiarity she was frightened.
'It's Elvis,' Pare said softly. What?'
: It's Elvis.'
So it was. Emily's heart leaped in her chest. She recognized the figure now. Elvis. Elvis Aaron Presley. The King. The King of Rock and Roll.
They stood stock-still, Emily holding tightly to her daughter's hand.
Between here and the corner, the side walk was a chiaroscuro mosaic, the square sections of cement divided into what looked like huge black-and-white tiles, lightened by porch lights and street lamps, darkened by shadows and night.
She had dreamed of meeting Elvis for most of her life, had faithfully bought every Enquirer and Star that proclaimed Elvis alive, praying it was true, that he had gone into hiding, become part of the federal witness protection program, that he really had been spotted eating at Burger King.
But she knew now, with that same gut certainty that had earlier told her this night was dangerous, that Elvis was dead and had been since
1977.'
And that he was standing at the end of the block.
The figure turned, faced them, and now she could see the white suit, the black hair, the sideburns.
'Morn,' Pare said, and there was terror in her voice. 'Let's get out of here.'
Elvis started toward them, moving through the shadows and light, a labored lumber that would have been comical were it not so frighteningly odd.
'Mom!'
The King lurched toward them, grinning at Pam.
'No!' Emily screamed, jerking her daughter by the hand.
And then Elvis was upon them.
Angelina worked slowly but with purpose. There was no hurry. Her sons, David and Neal, were safely within the padlocked storage shed and there was no way they were going to get out.
She used the wire cutters to snip the strands of clothes line that stretched across the small backyard. Mr. Wheeler was right. If she was ever to get into heaven and save her soul from the eternal torment of hell, she had to abide by the word of God.
And, according to the Bible, if her sons disobeyed her, they were to be put to death. The Lord did not tolerate disrespect to parents.
She heard David crying within the shed, heard Neal yelling, pounding on the door in a desperate effort to get out. She smiled to herself as she snipped the last strand of clothesline and let it fall to the dirt.
She'd called Wheeler this afternoon and told him of her decision to put her sons to death for their transgressions, for David's refusal to brush his teeth after dinner and Neal's unwillingness to make his bed, but the pastor had suggested that she offer her children to the Savior as a sacrifice and let Him decide on their punishment. Her heart had swelled when she'd heard those words. The idea that the Lord Jesus Christ would deign to visit her humble trailer filled her with jubilation, and after she'd locked her sons in the storage shed, she'd set about cleaning
