the light of the dashboard, he examined his hands. So they're shaking. So what? The green flicker made them look like the hands of some alien creature.
Usually he drove to a diner a few miles along the highway, but tonight...
I need to watch the streets. The wind yowled like a dying wolf. Earlier, he'd spotted a shabby luncheonette but knew it would be closed at this hour, and other establishments he'd seen-- variety store, pharmacy--had apparently closed forever. But he recalled a convenience store where he'd bought some coffee and figured they would have sandwiches at least. As he eased the car out of the lot, his teeth began to chatter.
He headed away from the beach, the Volks shivering through the deserted streets. Could've sworn it was just down the block here. The oil light blinked red, a permanent feature, and the speedometer glimmered too faintly to make out. No hint of warmth rose from below the dash. By the time he spotted the glare of the convenience store, his head throbbed from the cold.
A pickup truck without wheels angled at one corner of the lot, an oil spot spreading beneath it. Stepping out of the car, he turned up his collar. A decal on the glass door read PULL, SO he tugged several times before pushing inside.
He blinked at the sheer brightness. 'How you doin'?' He coughed. 'Bad out there tonight.' The clerk never looked up from a tabloid on the counter, but something like a sneer flickered on his lips. 'Do you make sandwiches?' The clerk jerked his head at a hand-lettered sign that read DELI CLOSED. 'Oh.' The deli apparently consisted of half an unlit case of packaged luncheon meats.
I'll find something. He wandered the tight aisles, but items on the shelves wouldn't stay in focus. No, I can't get sick now. And his vision seemed to blur. I'm just hungry. That's why I feel weak. Under the fluorescent lights, all the packaged foods gleamed in queasy, garish shades. Maybe I should try to talk to this guy again. Empty-handed, he returned to the front of the store and leaned against the counter. You never know who might tell you something useful.
Flakes of skin curled in the folds of the clerk's face. 'Yeah?' The protuberant eyes moved constantly, at first conveying an impression of active mental processes, then merely of habitual agitation.
'So how are you tonight?'
No response.
'Uh...do you have pipe tobacco?'
The man made a rude noise and reached behind him without looking. The packet he tossed on the counter was clearly labeled with a price more than double what it should have been.
He paid, disgusted with himself. 'Uh...thanks.' A few months ago he'd have spoken with this man, possibly managing to draw from him some fact about the background or circumstances of the town, something that could have helped in his search, but now the energy seemed to have dried within him. He could barely force himself to talk, couldn't shake this marrow-deep fatigue or the dizziness and the feeling of...
A form darted at the edge of the lot: he glimpsed it through the glass wall. Don't look. He jerked his head down, trying to track the movement peripherally. Behind the pickup truck...somebody crouching? He pocketed his change. 'Thanks again.'
Leaving the store quickly, he moved along the strip of sidewalk, casually strolling away from his car. So now he's stalking me. The wind thrust at his back. So let him. Frost stung his ears. Let him catch me even. He quickened his pace. Might be the only way.
Darkness thickened with every step as he plunged into a side street. I'm invisible here. But the driveway he picked his way across seemed to be graveled with shell particles that shone like freshly fallen snow, and his every tread crunched loudly.
He halted. Approaching, a noise like no human footstep grew louder until a paper bag blew past, scratching and scooping loudly along the sidewalk.
Shaking, he laughed aloud. Christ, man. He scanned the block behind him. You're losing it. The houses here seemed smaller, closer together than most others he'd seen. What am I doing out here in this wind? He hurried back toward his car, deciding to drive out to the highway after all. Find a diner. Then get some rest. It had been days--he couldn't remember how many--since he'd slept more than fitfully. Got to be able to think straight tomorrow. Confusion now could be fatal, he knew.
But where the hell am I? He rushed to the corner. Christ. Nothing looked right in either direction. How could he get lost so fast? Leave it to me to get turned around in such a small town. He huddled onward. I could get frostbite or something, wandering around out here. The wind numbed his face, and it seemed the streets altered before him, became a maze of corridors. From every direction came the roar of the surf. Maybe I've finally snapped. Steam rose from a sewer grating to swirl like fog. Maybe this is the end of the line for me.
Mist streaked as a blaze of cold struck at his face, and he clamped his hands over his ears. A few doors away, a thick gleam bulged at a mottled window, flickering: no frills, just BAR with specks crawling in the neon. Salvation.
Wet heat enveloped him the instant he opened the door, and he stood blinking. The lights, though precariously dimmed, still revealed more people gathered inside than he'd so far seen in all of Edgeharbor, and they all stared back at him.
Each stride drummed against the boards. Her toes ached in the running shoes, and despite the temperature, her chest and stomach grew damp with perspiration. Damn, this wind. She adjusted the earmuffs under her hood. I've got to get off the boardwalk while I still have skin left. Catching hold of the rail, she spun onto the stairs and quickstepped down to a landing. Some nights, it dies away down lower. She leapt the rest of the way to the beach, landing lightly in a crouch, then plodded across dense, choppy sand to the harder soil by the water. Hell, this is no good either. The chill drove her back like a whip. I can't believe it got so terrible so fast. Just last week I could still make it all the way to the cannery. Turning her back to the sea, she sprinted. If I cut under the boards here...
She came to a dead halt and stared into the dark as the feelings of dread she had been fighting for weeks engulfed her. For an instant, it seemed she had become part of the night somehow, part of an inky cloud that swirled up from the sea to threaten the town and the scattered human beings left in it. I've got to keep moving. Fighting off morbid fancies was a skill she had worked hard at acquiring. Or I'll cramp up. She stepped closer to the boardwalk, and the hand she held out vanished as though chopped off.
No way I'm going under there. Breathing hard, she jogged in place a moment and started back to the stairs.
Her leg muscles ached as she climbed. I must be out of my mind. She dashed diagonally across the walkway and down the opposite ramp. Running out here on the worst night of the year. If this isn't obsessive-compulsive behavior, I don't know what is. But she understood all too well why she had to run tonight, knew exactly what she was compensating for. She'd been allowed no active role in today's events, not even marginal participation, and her frustration and humiliation demanded an outlet. First big case to hit this town ever, and what am I doing? Zip.
Faint blue moonlight flooded the empty lot. This is my town, damn it! She had to stop thinking about it, had to concentrate on the run. Crossing the lot almost soundlessly, she turned the first corner to escape the wind, then cut over to an alternate route along a smaller street. My time stinks tonight. Maybe I can make it up on the home stretch. Her heart pounded. I'm still jumpy as hell. Maybe I'll cheat and take the shortcut out past the amusement park. As she wove in and out of divots of light beneath random street lamps, every noise, every gusting motion made her gasp. Got to get my nerves under control.
Empty crates, bundled newspapers and other flotsam of the streets lay scattered around a yawning trash
