Summer wasn’t there. I glanced around the lot and inside the truck. Nothing. I dropped to the ground and peered under the cars. Nothing, again. She’d vanished.
I walked to the sidewalk, darting through a line of cars pulling in from the street. The store was too far for her to have gone inside, but where was she? I didn’t like that she seemed to have blinked out of existence within ten feet of me. Just like Caramella. Had she transported herself far away? Where?
Even now, as evening was coming on, the traffic noise was ever present. I stepped into a bus shelter for some relative quiet and took out my phone. It had speed-dial buttons, but none had the number I needed. That was only in my memory.
I was feeling jumpy as I dialed. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t figure out what. The phone picked up after four rings.
“Hello? This is Mariana.” She had an accent I couldn’t place, but I was never good with accents.
“This is Ray Lilly. I need my boss.”
“Mr. Lilly, this isn’t how you are supposed to make this request. What is the situation?”
I knew I was breaking the rules, but my instincts were ringing like fire alarms, and I couldn’t ignore them. “I can’t go into it on the phone.”
“Mr. Lilly,” she said in a tone that was almost scolding, “you aren’t calling from an unsecure location, I hope.”
“Considering what I’ve been seeing here, I don’t think a secure location is possible.”
“I understand.” She had dropped the scolding tone. “The phone GPS has given me your location. Return to that location at this time each day for the next four days.” I glanced at my watch. It was just after seven-thirty. “You will be met.”
She hung up and so did I. There was a trash receptacle right next to me, but I was supposed to ditch the phone where no one would notice. And while I couldn’t see anyone nearby …
I swept my right arm away from me and struck something invisible a foot from my elbow. It was sticky, just like Caramella’s slap. I heard a hiss and the scuffle of shoes on concrete.
I grabbed the invisible shape, shoving it toward the bench and knocking it off balance. It suddenly darkened, becoming an outline with a misty blackness inside, just like the Empty Spaces.
Damn. That’s exactly what it was. I was looking into the Empty Spaces.
I would have freaked out if I’d had the time, but the vision vanished suddenly, and I was holding Summer by the shoulders. She was staring at me with wild, dangerous eyes. “Let go of me, Ray,” she said, and grabbed my wrist with her bare hand. My skin began to itch and burn under her grip.
I pulled her to her feet and spun her around. She tried to resist—and she was strong—but she wasn’t as strong as me. I yanked a pistol out of the back of her waistband, then patted the pockets of her gym shorts. They were empty.
The urge to run was unbearable, but I knew it would be useless. They still had Bud’s truck. “Keep away, Summer.” My breath was coming in gasps. I barely recognized my own voice. “Don’t make a bigger mistake than you already have.”
I backed toward the lot, holding the gun on her. My mind was racing. There were no other pedestrians nearby, but someone in a passing car might see me and call the cops. For a moment I tried to imagine what I would say if a patrol car suddenly pulled up to the curb, but I couldn’t focus on it.
Summer stood in the bus shelter with her arms at her sides, watching me. I bolted back into the lot.
Bud was standing beside his pickup, scanning the lot for us. He had a little shopping bag in his hand. I ran toward him. Once he spotted me, he patted the truck bed.
“Back here, Ray. You’re giving off fumes. We’ll get you showered and changed as soon as we can, but first”—he held up the shopping bag—“we’ll mix these and—”
I came up next to him, and he saw the gun in my hand. “Give me the keys, Bud.”
His good-ole-boy grin twisted with disappointment. “I thought you were out of the car-stealing business.”
“Keep back. Don’t touch me. Give me the keys. I’ll drop your truck within a few blocks of the Bigfoot Room, but I’m not going anywhere with you. And don’t touch me. Get it? Don’t touch me! I’m not going anywhere with you!”
“Don’t get all wigged out, Ray. All right? Don’t. Here’s the stuff you need for your skin.” He tossed the grocery bag onto the passenger seat. “Just mix it one to one. And don’t scratch my truck.” He set his keys on the hood.
While he backed away, I picked them up. I wondered where Summer was—I should have made her come with me. I should have made her stay visible. I imagined her behind me, knife in hand. I imagined the point digging into the back of my neck or into my kidneys, and my skin prickled all over. My breath rushed in and out of me, and even though everything was different I felt that same urge to scream that I’d felt that last night in Washaway, just before the killing started. My finger tightened on the trigger.
No. No, I wasn’t going to shoot Bud. I was in control of myself. I was in control.
I climbed into the truck. Bud stood with his hands at his sides. If he’d been one of the shooters inside the Bigfoot Room, and I was ready to believe he was, he had a gun on him that I’d forgotten to take. I was screwing up, and that was going to get me killed. Either that, or I was going to have to kill him. I wasn’t ready for that. I started the engine and lurched out of the spot.
In a mild voice, Bud said: “My apartment keys are on that ring, you know.”
“Within a few blocks,” I told him, fighting the urge to
“Robbie will still want to talk to you.”
