Thin Air

assure you. So I’d suggest we roll along.”

“What if I just walk away?” I asked. “What if I go to the police?” I darted a look into the backseat. Sarah slept on peacefully.

“Well, two things will happen. First, you’ll be arrested, because of course I’ll have to give a statement that you shot this poor man and stole his money. Second, your sister will be dead, and it’ll look as if you had quite a bit to do with it. Did you know that statistically most murders are committed by a person close to the victim? Shocking.” He said it flatly, without any emphasis, but I believed him. “All right, even if you’ve lost your memory, you know exactly who I am and what I can do, because there’s ample evidence in the trunk with a bullet in his head. So let’s stop dancing around the proprieties and get on with it, shall we? I need your particular talents for one thing and one thing only, and then, as far as I’m concerned, you can go to hell and take Sarah with you. Are we clear?”

His eyes glittered. There was something feral in him, something pushed into a corner. I didn’t doubt he’d kill. He was right. The body in the trunk was proof enough of that.

I didn’t answer him. I held his stare long enough to promise him a whole lot of things, most of them violent, and then I opened the front driver’s-side door, got in, and started the engine. I considered gunning it and leaving him there in the dust, but all he had to do was make a phone call, and I was a wanted felon with a body in the trunk.

Play along. Find an opportunity. Wait for Venna.

It was risky, but it was the only card in my hand at the moment.

NINE

We buried Mr. Hunter, whatever his name might have actually been, in a shallow, sandy grave six miles from Ares, in a stretch of desert that probably hadn’t had human visitors for ten years, and wouldn’t again for ten more. Eamon and I buried him, that is; Sarah slept on in the backseat, the sleep of the OxyContin-coddled innocent. By the time it was done I felt sick, angry, filthy, and gritty with sweat and sand. I wanted to kill Eamon, in a figurative if not literal sense. He had, apparently, saved my life, even though he’d shot someone to do it. Once again, the sticky gray center with him. I wanted to be able to hate him with a whole heart.

Well, of course, there was the threat against my sister. That helped keep me from doing anything stupid.

We didn’t talk, except that he directed me along Highway 95 to 160, where we turned west. He wasn’t telling me the final destination.

I hated the car about as much as I hated him. The pedal was sluggish, the steering was loose, and it shimmied through curves. Looked good on the outside, rotten on the inside, just like Eamon himself.

I didn’t draw Eamon’s attention to it, but somewhere outside of Pahrump we picked up a tail. Of course, it was hard to be sure-highways by definition had a lot of people traveling the same direction, especially in the boonies-but I did some experimenting with speed, and the white panel van stayed right with me, whether I sped up, changed lanes, or slowed down. He was hanging back, and he was covering up with other traffic, but he was a fixture in my rearview mirror.

He hadn’t been there when we’d dumped the body, though. That had been a clear road for miles, and no chance of being spotted by anything but a high-flying eagle. So if he was hoping to catch us red-handed, literally, he was out of luck. No doubt the trunk would sink us with forensics, if it came to that, and of course I was driving, wasn’t I? And Eamon had made sure that my fingerprints had stayed on the wallet, which was safely in his coat pocket. Insurance.

The weather was shifting. I felt it rather than saw it, a sensation like pressure in my head. I tried to focus on it as I drove, and before I knew what I was doing, I was looking at the world through the lenses that David had shown me. Oversight, he and Lewis had called it. And the world was different when you knew how to interpret the clues.

The car I was driving, in Oversight, was a rust bucket, tainted by indifference. Past the hood, the road glimmered flat black, sparking with little explosions of light-tiny creatures, maybe, living and dying in their own little dramas?-and in the distance the sky was a rolling, strange landscape of grays and blues and orange streaks. More like fluid than air. The orange was pushing its way through. I had no idea if orange indicated heat; if so, that was some kind of warm front, and it was creating all kinds of swirls and eddies and muted flashing chains of energy. Those showed as black streaks, like oil dropped in water.

I’d gotten so engrossed in the strange view that I’d backed off on speed. Eamon growled in frustration. “Are we on a sightseeing tour, pet, or do you actually want to get there?” he snapped. I jammed the accelerator down and checked the rearview mirror. It made me light-headed to look at the world this way, but it was weirdly compelling. The van behind me looked like a scarred battlewagon. Whoever was driving that thing had an intimate knowledge of being in the thick of things. I couldn’t get more than a shadowy glimpse of the interior.

Sarah sat up and yawned, and I nearly yelped. In Oversight she looked horribly distorted-puffy, sick, surrounded by a flickering black cloud edged in red.

I didn’t dare look at Eamon. Some things I just didn’t want to know.

I blinked, and the visions were gone. It was just a road, and those were just cars, and in the mirror my sister looked grumpy, tired, and ill. “I need a bathroom,” she said.

“You’ll have to hold it,” Eamon said. “Nothing out here, love. Nothing but sand and things that sting.”

He wasn’t wrong. We’d taken 372 out of Pahrump, and although there was some traffic, there were no towns. A few clusters of sun-rotted buildings, but nothing that deserved the name of town. We’d seen one Nevada state trooper cruising slowly in the opposite direction, but I’d held our speed to just under the legal limit. No sense in tempting fate, when fate included jail time and possibly even a death sentence.

Clouds boiled up in the west by the time we’d crossed the border into California. Sarah had whined periodically about a need for bathroom, water, and food; I felt the same needs, but I knew better than to encourage her. We raided the polyunsaturated goodness of the snack aisle of a Quik Stop on the outskirts of Tecopa, which was more or less the last call for calories, gas, and restroom facilities.

Night closed in early, and with it came rain. Blinding, silvery waves of it, glittering in the car’s headlights like a downpour of diamonds. In a strange way it felt comforting. I’ve done this before, I thought. I could sense that, although I couldn’t really touch the memory of it. I could sense the energy up there in the sky, feel it rippling through me in ways that I couldn’t begin to understand or explain. It was soothing.

Eamon fell asleep. I kept driving.

And the white van stayed in the rearview mirror all night.

Ever driven all night through a rainstorm?

Tiring.

I stopped the car about dawn, or what would have been dawn if the sun had been able to pierce the cloud cover, and switched places with Eamon. We ate convenience store food, drank stale coffee, and after a while I dropped off to sleep, or at least an uneasy approximation of it, lulled by the steady drum of raindrops on the roof of the car.

I dreamed there was something staring at me from outside of the car window, something that looked like me but wasn’t me, something with my smile and eyes as black and empty as space. I can see you, she mouthed, and grinned with razor-edged teeth. You can’t run. You don’t belong here. I woke up feeling sick and afraid and lost, and it didn’t get any better when reality set in. I was sick and afraid and lost. I couldn’t trust Eamon. I couldn’t trust my sister. And I had no way of contacting anyone who might have had my best interests at heart.

Sometimes you’ve got to save yourself, I told myself. It didn’t make me any less afraid, but I did feel a significant improvement in my ability to keep a stiff upper lip about it.

“Where are we?” I asked. We were in the burbs of a major metropolitan area, and the landscape had definitely changed from flat desert to hilly desert. The rain had stopped, but the weather was still cloudy and-by the feel of my window glass-blood-warm. Eamon, still driving, looked tired and annoyed. Sarah was asleep again. I felt in the