I scuttled across a patch of grass and put my head right against the hubcap. There was a tree beside me, but the trunk was no wider than my hand. I wasn’t counting on it for protection. “Stop shooting!” I shouted. “I’m trying to help you!”
“Can you tell me where my girls are?” There was a dangerous edge to his voice.
“No,” I said. “I’m-“
“Then butt the hell out!”
I heard another rifle shot. The bullet punched a hole through the car door beside me and tore bark off the skinny tree. I hunkered down lower.
“I can help you,” I shouted. I looked back at the diner and saw Annalise sitting by the window. She stared at me blankly. My situation meant no more to her than a dull television show. I saw the top of the cook’s head as he beckoned her to safety.
“I can help you!” I shouted again, louder this time. If Harlan came toward me, I’d be screwed. My tattoos only protected part of me. I wasn’t sure how well they’d hold up against a rifle.
“How?” he answered.
“Look, let me stand up and talk to you. My name is Ray. I came here to find out what’s happening to the kids in this town.”
“You did?”
“I’m standing up now. Hear me out before you shoot me, okay?”
I stood. Harlan had moved toward me into the street. He aimed his rifle at me.
No matter how hard you try, there’s really no steeling yourself to see a brain-damaged redneck point a gun at your face.
He saw my hands were empty, and he started glancing from side to side as if he suspected I was a decoy.
“Harlan, my name is Ray.”
“You said that already.”
I had, but I hoped he would be reluctant to shoot me if he had a name to go with my face.
Harlan was younger than I expected, barely into his mid-thirties. His face was narrow and gleaming with sweat. His long nose curved over a thin, unhappy mouth. His clothes looked like they hadn’t been washed in weeks. He’d have been scary without a gun.
“Harlan, do you know who Justin Benton is?”
“Nope,” he answered. He shifted his grip on his rifle and looked up the street. He was getting antsy. Where were the police sirens? It had been more than two minutes since that first shot.
“He was a little boy who lived in this town. Earlier today, I saw him burn up.”
Harlan burst into tears. The barrel of his gun wavered, then angled toward the asphalt. “My girls,” he said, his voice small and broken with pain. “My girls.”
“Is that what happened to them?” I asked.
“I don’t know. The Monday after Thanksgiving, Lorelei didn’t come home from school. I went nuts looking for her. But… but…”
“But the people in this town acted as though they’d never heard of her. They acted as though she didn’t exist.”
“They’re liars!” he shouted, his grief flaring into anger. He didn’t point his gun at me. “And the next week, my little Marie disappeared from her bed. Right in the middle of the night. And…”
He couldn’t go on. I helped. “And there was a black mark on the floor. A long, scary mark. It led to the door-“
“The window.” He approached me slowly. There was no threat in the way he moved.
“And it disappeared into the dirt. Now no one in town remembers either of your girls.”
“They don’t remember any of the kids! Not even their own!” His face was slack with astonishment. He’d apparently forgotten that he’d just accused the whole town of lying to him. Maybe he’d never really believed it. “Even after they saw it happen with their own two eyes! They still have tricycles sitting in their front yards and Happy Meal wrappers on their dashboards, but it’s like they can’t see them!”
“
“Five times.”
“Is it always kids? Does it happen to adults, too?”
“Only kids. Never adults. My God, every single person in this town must have seen it, but I’m the only one who remembers.” His eyes welled up with tears. The rifle hung loose in his hand. “Why am I the only one who remembers? And why do I feel this pressure in my head! It’s been there for months, since before my Lorelei vanished. It’s driving me wild!”
“Harlan, I’m new in town but I came here to find out what’s happening in Hammer Bay. I can’t promise that I can get your girls back, but I’m going to find out what’s going on.”
I saw hope in his expression. He was a tired man, with a heavy load of grief. He’d been carrying it for nearly half a year, but he wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t recognize a helping hand when it was offered.
“Can you do that?”
