“What?” Levi asked her. “Are you okay to drive?”
“I’m fine. Just wondering if you were going to tell me what’s in the trunk?”
He shrugged. “Salt. You know, like what you put down on your driveway in the winter. It’s just a bag of salt.”
“We drove all the way out here for a bag of salt?”
“Yes…”
Shaking her head, Maria drove away.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Levi.”
“I do,” he said. “I only pray that it actually works. The Lord fed hundreds with one loaf of bread. I’m hoping He will do something similar with one bag of salt.”
“What? Like a dump truck load?”
He shrugged.
“If it’s that important, why don’t we get more?”
“Because we’re already running out of time. I would if we could, but you and Adam are both exhausted, and you need to sleep. You need your strength for what is to come. Otherwise, the entity can take you easier. And I need to prepare. There are many hours of study, memorization, and meditation ahead before we can confront it. And prayer. Believe me, I’d rather not stop at your home. I’d rather go straight to the hollow. But we have no choice. I only pray the delay doesn’t cost us.”
Rather than responding, Maria stared straight ahead, watching her headlights beat back the darkness.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ken awoke at seven, mumbling and incoherent. The hazy vestiges of a dream departed—he tried to remember it, but failed. Something about Deena. She’d been at the Ghost Walk. The last remnants vanished as his alarm clock blared. Ken fumbled for it, knocking an empty bottle of Stella Artois beer off the nightstand. It hit the floor without breaking and rolled under the bed, coming to rest against more empty bottles and some dirty socks. Ken pressed the snooze button and fell back to sleep for another ten minutes. When the alarm went off a second time, he sat up and stretched.
Yawning, he slid out from under the sheets and put his feet on the floor, flexing his toes in the thick, red carpet. Deena had picked it out, just like the rest of the home’s furnishings. Some of Ken’s friends had suggested that he redecorate now that she was gone—one step toward moving on with his life. But Ken balked at the idea. Things like the carpet were all he had left of her. Everything else had long since waned—her hairs in the shower drain, her scent on the pillow, lipstick-stained cigarette butts in the ashtrays. These things were fleeting. He was left with her sanitary napkins, still sitting beneath the bathroom sink. Her shampoo and conditioner, sitting lonely and forlorn in the shower caddy. A half-empty bottle of water, still wedged in the back of the refrigerator. Even after all this time, he clung to them, refusing to throw any of it out.
To see her, he had to rely on photographs and memory—and dreams.
Dressed only in a dirty pair of yesterday’s boxer shorts, he padded into the bathroom and pissed. Then, still yawning, he brewed a pot of coffee and checked his cell phone. Terry and Tom hadn’t called him overnight—or if they had, then he’d slept through the ringing phone. His cell phone showed no missed calls and no new voice mail. Ken didn’t know if that was good news or bad news.
While the coffee brewed, he took a quick shower and got dressed. Breakfast was a banana and a bowl of cereal. Then, sipping a cup of coffee, he called Terry’s cell phone. After four rings, it switched over to voice mail.
“
“Hey, man. It’s me. Just wondering what happened last night. I’m assuming everything turned out okay, or else you would have called. Anyway, I’m heading out to the Ghost Walk now. Get some sleep. I’ll see you later on today.”
He hung up and poured some coffee into a plastic travel mug. For a moment, Ken considered calling Terry’s house, but didn’t want to risk waking his wife up. She was apparently already displeased with the amount of time her husband had been devoting to the Ghost Walk. Instead of calling, Ken turned the coffeepot off and reached for his jacket. As he was preparing to leave, his cell phone rang, playing Garth Brooks’s “Friends in Low Places.” He answered, hoping it was Terry. Instead, it was the dispatcher of the rental agency, letting him know that a flatbed truck loaded down with portable toilets was at the Ghost Walk, waiting for him to sign for delivery.
He apologized for the delay, silently cursing them for being so early. Who accepted delivery at seven thirty in the goddamned morning? While he was still on the phone with the dispatcher, his call waiting beeped. Then it beeped again. After he’d hung up, he checked his voice mail and found new messages from one of the caterers and a representative from the local NBC affiliate who wanted to film the grand opening.
Sighing, Ken headed out the door. He called the caterer back as he climbed into his truck. The man wanted more space than he’d been allotted. While they spoke, the call waiting continued to beep.
It was going to be a long day.
They pulled up in front of Maria’s apartment just after seven. The sun was climbing into the sky. To Maria, the world seemed very normal. Kids waited for school buses. People drove to work. An elderly man raked the leaves in his yard. Halloween decorations adorned many of the neighborhood homes. She tried to reconcile all of this with the fact that hiding in the midst of all this normalcy was a world in which people stepped out of flaming holes in the air and disembodied, sexless voices left messages on digital voice recorders. A world where Amish magicians read minds and viewed the past, and midlist paperback writers buried spell books after killing their wives. It was too much for her. She needed sleep.
They roused Adam. He was groggy and incommunicative as they led him to the front door. Levi carried his extra clothes and supported him while Maria unlocked the door. They walked inside. Levi glanced around while Maria got some clean sheets and pillowcases from the closet and fixed a place on the couch.
