Tears of No Return (10 page)

She found a corner spot, far away from other vehicles, hoping if she passed out that nobody would see her and call for help, thinking she was in need of it.

Shutting the car off, she brought her hands to the side of her head and squeezed. The pain was like a thousand needles puncturing her skull. She tried not to scream, but had to, letting out an ear-piercing wail. She knew what would happen next, praying for the blackness to come. Until then, she would have to endure the torture.

Unconsciousness never came. Instead, the pain loosened. She had never felt anything so delightful. Within minutes, the agony had evaporated completely. Karen couldn’t believe it. She glanced around, mad little cackles of laughter bursting through her lips. Was it over? Had her body finally accepted Josh’s unwanted gift?

Sitting for a moment, not trusting her body, Karen waited to see if the pain would come back. After a couple of minutes, only the giddiness of relief returned. It was the first time that day she had felt something other than terror.

Her stomach grumbled. She was hungry. No,
starving
, as if she hadn’t eaten in days. And she was craving meat—hamburger or steak. When was the last time she wanted a hamburger? Years, at least. Opening the car door, she got out and began walking toward the rest stop building.

Karen kept her head down, not wanting to make eye contact with any passerby. When she reached the building’s entranceway she hesitated then opened the door and went inside.

The place was bustling with activity. It sounded as if she’d walked into a beehive, the air a gigantic buzzing of words. She looked up, taking in the cavernous room. The ceiling extended skyward and had to be at least four stories. A number of eateries lined the far walls. Tables and chairs filled most of the floor area. People were chatting and laughing. Kids giggled, complained, and cried. Everyone was talking at once. Karen glanced from person to person, each individual’s thoughts coming through loud and clear.

So many voices all talking at once, and Karen could hear them all. She’d visited crowded places before and never heard a louder group. Someone wanted to leave their children at their mother’s house. Another man adored the woman he was with, feeling bad at the same time for cheating on his wife. Babies were hungry, screaming for their parents to feed them. A man farted, feeling relief until he realized he shit his pants. A woman, who’d ordered a salad really wanted a pizza but was afraid her husband would call her a fat ass. Another man was planning to kidnap Karen. Her eyes went wide, fear gripping her body like an icy hand, at hearing her name.

She stumbled backwards, bumping into an elderly man and his wife, needing to leave the building.

“Excuse me,” the woman barked.

Karen turned to look at the woman. Her expression was one of anger. The woman then called Karen an asshole and a fucking idiot. Karen was about to respond, but noticed the woman’s mouth hadn’t moved.

“Sorry,” Karen said. “I need to get out of here.” She turned and flew out of the doors, then ran to the side of the building, away from people. Her head stopped buzzing as the voices could no longer be heard. She was alone.

Peering around the corner, back toward the building’s entranceway, Karen saw people coming and going. No voices could be heard. She concentrated on a particular man and within seconds she heard him thinking. He needed to pee urgently and was worried he might not make it to the rest room in time.

Next, she looked at a young man about twenty yards away. He was thinking about stopping at Blue Moon, a strip club, on his way home. His wife hardly did it for him anymore.

Another couple walked by, about fifty feet away from where Karen was standing. She concentrated on them, but heard nothing. Continuing to look from person to person, Karen was startled from behind when she heard a noise. Spinning around, she saw a man coming from a door.

“Whoa,” the man said.

The guy worked at the place, according to his attire—dark blue overalls—and the broom in his hand. The man’s bulging, frog-like eyes scanned Karen from head to toe, taking in every inch of her body. The odor of cheap whiskey filled the air around her. Having connected to the fellow, she saw that he thought she was a hot piece of ass and would love to do her. His eyes stopped on her rack, hypnotized, and he considered hitting on her.

“I’m married,” she told him and walked away.

She stood by a thick stone pillar that held up the higher parking level. There was no way she could go back inside. There were too many people, and she had no control over what she could block out and what she couldn’t. The place was like a giant think-tank, but at the same time she was ravaged with hunger. She began probing people as they walked by, hoping to find someone who would help her.

She came across a man she hoped was suitable. He looked pleasant and was thinking about eating; nothing else. When she approached him, he held out his arm and said he didn’t have any money. He was lying of course, and was a bit on the paranoid side it seemed.

Karen continued to probe people, feeling a little giddy about her new ability and how handy it was turning out to be. She knew the danger it posed as well, but would worry about that later after she ate.

After another five minutes of sorting through various individuals and trying to catch one alone, Karen found a man willing to help. She explained that she suffered from demophobia, the fear of crowded places. The man held no malicious or judgmental thoughts and was glad to assist her. She handed the gentleman a twenty, and he quickly returned from the rest stop with three hamburgers, a large order of fries, two chocolate milkshakes and a large cola.

After thanking the man, telling him how nice it was to have met a caring person, she hurried back to her car and wolfed down the food. She ate almost everything, leaving only half a milk shake. Feeling satiated, she sat back to relax when her bladder called. “Shit,” she said aloud. This was not something anyone could help her with and there was no way she was going back inside. Grabbing a pile of napkins, she left the car in search of a place to relieve her discomfort.

She went back to the side of the building, which faced the woods. Mr. Worker-Man from earlier was gone, but she worried that someone might come out of the door at any moment. Quickly, she yanked down her pants before she could talk herself out of it.

Passing a garbage can, she tossed the soiled napkins inside. She despised litter-bugs and surprised herself that she even cared about sticking to her beliefs during a time of such madness. It made her feel good, as if a tiny spark of her old life remained. Realizing that she still had plenty of things that were hers—things that no one could take away even in her situation—made Karen smile. She supposed that was the key to staying calm.

Her smile vanished when she saw two uniformed state troopers walking her way. Panic began to take hold; her stomach grew queasy and her legs felt as if they’d turned to rubber. No, she couldn’t flip out. Cops were great at reading people and she needed to act normal. If questioned, she’d say she simply stopped for a quick bite and bathroom visit. Glancing at one of the cops, she caught his eye before quickly looking away. Stupid, stupid. Maybe they saw her peeing behind the building? Maybe that janitor was pissed at her for blowing him off.

Karen reminded herself that the police weren’t after her because there was no all-points-bulletin out for her. If the cops said anything, she’d tell them about her demophobia and hope they’d understand. She could maybe even find the man that had gotten her food. Have him explain what he did for her, even though he was most likely gone by now.

With her eyes looking low, avoiding any and all chance of direct contact, Karen walked toward her car. As she drew nearer to the officers, unable to stop herself, she looked up. One of them was looking right at her. He stood over six feet tall and clearly spent time at the gym; even so, he had gentle, baby-blue eyes that spoke of kindness.

“Ma’am,” he said, touching the brim of his hat as he walked by.

Relief swept through Karen. She didn’t get any thoughts from him and was more than glad they kept going. He must have thought she was pretty. It wouldn’t be the first time. A lot of men found Karen attractive. She’d never let it get to her head. Growing up with pimples and a skinny frame had taught her humility during her high school years, when most guys didn’t give her a second glance, let alone a first.

She quickly spun around, wanting to see what the man was thinking when she zoned in on his partner instead. The man’s thoughts were frantic. He wanted to take off and run to the bathroom where he could scratch his crotch. He had an uncontrollable itch ever since sleeping with some woman he’d met at a bar.

Karen turned back around, continuing to her car, when she remembered something. Someone inside was planning on kidnapping her.

She looked around nervously, probing everyone she could, even people sitting in their cars. Who the hell would want to kidnap her? There was no way the agents could’ve been here before her. Wanting to go back inside and search for the person who had those thoughts, she walked back toward the building.

As she neared the doors, hands almost touching the handles, she felt the buzzing in her brain again. Screw it. She went in.

Loud static blasted into her skull. Karen shut her eyes in an attempt to cut through the noise. It did no good. Deciding not to fight it, she let everything in. Her immediate reaction was to cover her ears, but she remained still. She focused, concentrated, and accepted the buzz as she began probing people one at a time. Twenty people later and she’d heard nothing about a kidnapping. She felt as if her feet were planted into the ground. After a few more minutes she began growing tired and confused, finding it harder and harder to focus. It was time to leave. She closed her eyes and stumbled backwards through the doors.

She went down, smacking her right shoulder on the concrete walk. A man hurried to her, bending to help her up. She thanked him before running off to her car, embarrassed. Whoever wanted to kidnap her was gone. Maybe it was just some psycho looking to abduct any single woman and Karen just happened to fall into his sights. She started the engine and raced away from the rest stop.

Driving north and trying to think of a place to stay, she got off at the Harriman exit. She’d been to the area a few times during trips to the Woodbury Commons outlet and once when she helped a client look for real estate in Orange County.

She took Route 32, a single-lane highway that cut through mostly forested land. With her new ability, or at least until she could get a handle on it, she needed to stay away from cities and largely populated areas.

A few miles before hitting the town of Vails Gate, Karen turned onto Orsmille Road, a dark and twisty back country road. She took the winding curves slowly, the darkness seeming to gnaw away at the car’s headlights, until reaching the hamlet of Salisbury Mills. Remembering the town from her previous trip through, Karen saw that it hadn’t changed. She would have to travel a little farther up the road.

Washingtonville was the next town ahead; a larger municipality, but still small enough for what she needed: a hotel room and the feeling of being safely hidden away.

Ten minutes later, Karen found herself lying on a soft mattress in a motel just on the outskirts of Washingtonville. Checking in under the name, “Madeline Court,” she paid cash.

She glanced at the clock-radio on the nightstand—eleven p.m. It was late, but for some reason she wasn’t tired at all and actually felt full of energy. A product of the gift? She hated calling it that, but it’s what Josh had labeled it. “Gift” was a positive word, so for now she would use it.

She recalled passing a tavern during her real estate trip. O’Hulahans was the name. She remembered wondering why it was spelled that way. Her stomach grumbled from hunger again. Karen couldn’t believe after everything she had eaten at the rest stop how she could be so hungry so soon. The thought of chicken wings and a couple of beers made her mouth water. She left the motel room after checking out the small cuts on her face—they’d pass for scratches—and drove to O’Hulahan’s.

Chapter 12

The pub was smaller than Morgan originally thought. The building was divided in half, with one side dedicated to the restaurant and the other for the watering hole. Morgan sat at the end of the bar near the far wall.

The place was crowded and filled with locals. People milled about, saying hello and nodding to each other the way small town folk do. Morgan didn’t have to worry much in a place like this. Everyone seemed friendly; no tough guys about, seeking to pick a fight. Some people were playing darts on the other side of the bar and a game of eight ball was in progress at the pool table.

Morgan had spent time in Chicago during the ’70s and had learned the game of pool from some of the greats. He was an expert pool player, a real pool-shark. The itch to join in, to fit in and feel normal with the
boys
, maybe even make new friends, possessed him. But after thinking about the possible consequences, he realized he would be better off remaining a spectator.

As the night wore on, the drinking increased and the voices grew louder. A heavy-set mountain of a man dominated the pool table, humiliating all challengers.

Morgan was on his fourth beer from the tap, a local brew out of Newburgh. He always, when in the presence of humans, cut off his drinks at six—more beyond that number could prove dangerous to a supernatural being and the people around him.

He soaked up the atmosphere, pretending to be just one of the guys. He took small pulls from his glass, wanting to prolong the enjoyment he’d so longed for. The music cranking from the jukebox was old-school rock ’n roll, something he truly loved.

“Need another?” the bartender asked.

“Why not,” Morgan said, upending the glass and placing it on the counter. “Great stuff.” The bartender took the glass and refilled it, leaving a thick head of foam, about two inches worth. Morgan nodded and went to accept the drink when the bartender placed a hand over the cup. He glanced up at the server, expecting to see an angry face, for why else would a person do such a thing? But to his surprise, the man was smiling.