The Dark Ones (8 page)

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Authors: Anthony Izzo

BOOK: The Dark Ones
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CHAPTER 7
Sara’s sleep was fitful and while in the throes of a light sleep, she felt the bus slowing down. She knew the other passengers were in danger while she rode the bus, but perhaps she could use the Light to drive off her pursuers again. Every so often, she caught one of the passengers creeping up to peek at her. The heavyset lady, the older man, and Ritchie. As if she were some sort of circus freak.
You expected them not to be curious?
She saw the bus driver swing the Greyhound into a rest stop. There was a pickup truck and a motorcycle parked in the slanted spots. A single sodium vapor light cast its beam on the lot. There was a squat brick building with bathrooms and a few park benches in a wooded area. Why the hell were they stopping?
The brakes hissed and Sara sat up. The driver left his seat, stood, and turned.
“What was that you did back on I-81?” he said.
“Where are we?”
“I-90.” he said.
“So, what was it? You got some sort of weird flashlight?”
“Something like that.”
“What was that? I saw men in the fog. You wanted by someone, the cops?”
“I’m on the FBI’s Most Wanted List.”
“Smart-ass,” he said. “Who were they?”
“I don’t know.”
“And that little light show you put on?”
“Can we just get moving? It’s important I get to Buffalo.”
“I’m not taking you any farther. The other folks on this bus are nervous as a canary in a coal mine, and it’s because of you. You’re going to have to leave the bus,” he said, and pointed to the door.
“You can’t just leave me here.”
“You’re disrupting the other passengers.”
“By snoring too loud? I’ve been asleep.”
He started toward her. Sara gripped her bag, ready to swing it into his gut. “Don’t touch me.”
“You getting off the bus or not?”
Sara stood up and turned, looked at the other passengers. The heavyset woman looked down, playing with her hands. Ritchie caught her gaze and then quickly looked out the window. The old guy was sleeping. “You’re all just going to sit there, then?”
The bus was as silent as an empty church.
“I can call the state police, you know.”
“You’re a real gentleman.”
“Maybe you can hitch a ride.”
She picked up her bag and brushed past him. She paused on the bus steps and looked back at the passengers, none of whom would look at her. “Cowards.”
Sara stepped into the night.
 
 
She sat on the bench, arms wrapped around herself. She had buttoned the jacket up to her neck, but it provided little warmth against the breeze. After kicking her off the bus, the driver had retrieved her suitcase from underneath. Sara had tried getting his name, but he would not give it, and she imagined the other passengers would corroborate his story if she complained to Greyhound. One pain-in-the-ass passenger removed from the bus. Yea for the bus driver.
Leaving home was beginning to seem like a horrible mistake. Hitching a ride didn’t seem like a great idea. The driver of the pickup truck, a bearded man in hunting camouflage, gave her a glance and drove off. The motorcycle rider was a white-haired guy, maybe in his sixties, who had stuffed himself into a set of leathers. It looked like a Halloween costume. The prospect of hitting either one of them up for a ride didn’t thrill her.
After ten minutes on the bench, she decided to move to the alcove outside the restroom. A glass wall partially deflected the breeze, and she felt some warmth creep back into her body. Beyond the rest stop, she watched the cars zip past, making lonely humming noises on the asphalt, all of them unaware of her. Every so often, she heard a branch snap or grass rustle and worried that her pursuers had found her. Since she had not been attacked, she assumed it was a raccoon or deer.
She thought of calling home, having David (thinking of him as Dad didn’t seem to fit at the moment) come and get her, but that would prevent her from finding Laura Pennington. She wanted to see the woman, touch her, embrace her. Her supposed mother. Who had been taken from her. But could she build a relationship with a complete stranger? She wasn’t a little girl anymore, and would Laura Pennington even be interested?
She suddenly felt even more miserable. Her gut hurt and a lump formed in her throat. She told herself to be tough.
A car pulled into the rest stop, and as it approached, Sara saw it was a midnight-blue BMW. It swung into a parking spot and the driver got out. The driver was a blond woman, striking in her features. Long hair, pale eyes. She wore a long leather coat, and underneath that a turtleneck and knee-length skirt. The ensemble was topped off with knee-high black boots. She looked as if she belonged on a runway in Milan.
Sara shrank against the brick wall. The woman approached, her boots clicking on the pavement. Sara smelled perfume and under it, a whiff of cigarette smoke. The woman nearly passed her, then paused.
“Oh, didn’t see you there.”
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Sara said.
“You didn’t. Are you here by yourself? I didn’t see any cars in the parking lot.”
“My bus pulled away without me.”
“You poor dear,” the woman said, and placed her hand on Sara’s arm. “I live nearby. Can I give you a ride?” She smiled, revealing small, perfect teeth.
She didn’t know the woman, but at this point, she couldn’t be choosy about a ride. “Okay. I’m Sara, by the way.”
“Joanne,” she said. “Let me just use the bathroom and we’ll hit the road. ’Kay?”
Sara nodded. She expected the woman to have an exotic name, like Nadia or Eva, but she was just plain old Joanne. Not that she
looked
plain.
Joanne swung the bathroom door open, and the odor of disinfectant and old urine wafted out. “Come on,” she said and got ahead of Sara, taking impossibly long strides. She had no idea what Joanne did for a living but if David saw her, he would no doubt categorize her as a “nut buster.”
Sara grabbed her suitcase and followed Joanne, who took the luggage from her, popped the trunk, and tossed it in. Sara climbed in the car, keeping her travel bag on her lap. The car smelled of new leather and perfume.
Joanne climbed in and started up the car. They pulled out of the rest area parking lot and merged onto I-90. Joanne kept her foot steady on the gas and Sara watched the speedometer creep to seventy-five.
“Nervous?”
“Just that you’re driving like Dale Earnhardt Jr.”
Joanne gave a throaty laugh. “Speed limit’s sixty-five. And I’ve never been stopped below eighty.”
The car cruised along and when they reached the next exit, Joanne flipped on the blinker. They took the off-ramp, made a right and a left at the next exit, down a road called Cherry View Lane.
“So where were you headed?” Joanne asked.
“Buffalo.”
“Any reason?”
“None that I want to discuss.”
“Fair enough.”
They reached a pair of green mailboxes and a driveway and Joanne turned up it. The drive wound up into the hills and there were lights planted in the ground about every twenty feet. They turned right around a bend and Sara saw the house, a huge colonial, all brick. A three-car garage jutted out from one side, and it looked as if they had built living space over the garage.
Joanne reached over and pressed the garage door remote, which was clipped to the visor on Sara’s side. The door opened with a squeak and Joanne pulled the BMW into the garage. She killed the headlights and got out. Sara followed, clutching her bag so as not to scrape it against the car. God knew what a machine like this cost.
They entered the house through the garage and stepped into a large kitchen with an island and a Viking range against the wall. The countertops were done in black ceramic and the appliances were stainless steel. It was, to Sara, sterile but nice.
Joanne set her keys on the counter and removed her coat. “You can set your bag down. I’ll get your luggage out of the trunk.”
She disappeared into the garage and returned with Sara’s suitcase.
There were stools around the island and Sara pulled one out and sat down. Joanne opened the fridge and said, “Would you like a Coke, or lemonade? If you’re hungry I have some Lean Cuisine in the freezer.”
“No, thanks.” A chill passed through her and she shivered.
“Would you like to go upstairs and take a hot bath? You look chilled.”
“Actually, could I use your phone?”
“Sure can. But I bet you’d feel better if you warmed up first. I’ve got plenty of extra towels.”
She felt strange taking a bath in a complete stranger’s house, but it did sound good. Being out in the fall night had given her a good chill.
“I think I’ll take you up on that,” Sara said.
“I’ll show you where it is and get you a towel.”
 
 
The bathtub was a claw-foot and Sara took advantage, filling it with piping hot water to the brim. Joanne had told her to help herself to any of the bath beads or lotions in the medicine cabinet. Before she got in the tub, she locked the bathroom door. Her host seemed kind enough, but she felt the extra caution couldn’t hurt.
She soaked for half an hour, and after toweling off and getting dressed, she went back downstairs. The warmth had crept back into her body and she was glad for taking Joanne up on the offer of a bath. Despite her physical comfort, she began to worry again. She was at a stranger’s house in the middle of Pennsylvania and still had no way to get to Buffalo. David had no idea where she was, and what if this woman turned out to be a psycho?
She found Joanne in the kitchen hunched over a stack of papers, pen in hand. A briefcase rested on the floor next to her chair. She took a sip of red wine from the glass on the table and offered Sara a seat.
“What do you do?” Sara asked.
“I’m vice president of sales for Markson Industries. We make gears mostly.”
“Sounds glamorous, gears and all.”
Joanne laughed. “Not so much. The hours are long, my boss is a pit bull, but the pay’s damn nice.”
“I can tell by the house. It’s nice,” Sara said. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
“Why did you help me?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Why did you let me come here? I’m a total stranger to you.”
“I saw someone who looked cold, tired, and wanting a ride. Why do you ask?”
“People aren’t always so nice nowadays.”
“There’s kind people around. Just have to dig a little to find them, that’s all.”
Sara kept waiting for the hammer to fall. For Joanne to kick her out, or say something weird, or pull a knife from the butcher block and threaten her. But she simply read over the papers on the table, writing occasionally and sipping wine as she worked.
“Is there a bus or train station around?”
“There’s an Amtrak terminal in Erie, or if you can wait a couple days, I’m going near Buffalo on business. I’d give you a ride.”
“No, I really need to get there.”
“How about I take you to the train station in the morning then? You can crash here, plenty of room.”
She wondered if Joanne was lonely. The house was a good four thousand square feet, a lot of space for one person. Joanne’s finger did not bear a wedding band, and she saw no pictures of a husband or boyfriend. And Joanne hadn’t mentioned anyone.
“I guess I’ll stay.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Did your bus really forget you?”
Here it comes, she’s going to get weird
. “Why do you want to know?”
Joanne cocked an eyebrow. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were running away from somewhere.”
“They forgot me. I was too long in the john.”
“Okay, then. I’ll show you the spare room. Did you still want to use the phone?”
“Maybe in the morning.”
Joanne led her through a family room and upstairs to the bedroom. The spare room had a queen-size bed with a thick white comforter. There was a dresser where she set her suitcase, and a color television in the corner. A row of windows looked out into the backyard and Sara took a look. In the darkness, she could make out maples that climbed the hill behind the house. She flicked the light off, not liking that she could be seen inside. She watched the woods and a few times she thought she saw the brush move, but then thought it was too hard to tell.
As a precaution, she checked each window, making sure the latch was in place, and then pulled down the shades. To think someone was watching from outside gave her an itchy, tingly feeling on the back of her neck. She changed into a pair of sweats and a Nike T-shirt and slipped under the covers. The first few moments in the bed were spent in nervous anticipation. Outside, the wind hissed, tossing leaves around the yard. A branch snapped. An owl cried out from the woods.

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