Skin Heat (2 page)

But he was here now. They’d escaped, and he had to forget or he’d go nuts. Some men might want answers or vengeance, but at this point, he only wanted to survive. With some effort, Zeke pushed the past from his mind.

The spare key was still buried in a plastic bag to the side of the steps. He knocked it against the post, and chips of graying paint flaked away along with the loose dirt. Zeke dug out the key and let himself into the house. It smelled musty, felt damp, and it was cold. If he’d taken any longer, the pipes might have frozen.

There was no power, of course, and he needed money before he could get it turned back on. Same with the phone. At least he’d never had cable, so one less thing to miss while he tried to put the pieces back together.

In the kitchen, it smelled worse than musty. In the twilight, he located a box of matches and lit some candles. Everything in the refrigerator had to be tossed. Though he was exhausted—and starving—he found a garbage bag in the cupboard and pulled all the rotten stuff out. He fought the urge to hurl it out the window in a burst of rage.

Control
, he told himself. If he started yielding to those impulses, it would lead down a slippery slope. This, he knew. If he wanted to live in the human world, his instincts couldn’t rule him. He hadn’t eaten in the last twelve hours, and it was a miracle he’d made it back to the farm with no money in his pocket. Though he’d stolen the shoes and clothing, he’d refused to take any cash. He’d just needed to get out of the institutional garb or he would never have found anyone willing to give him a ride. In addition to his feet, three kind souls had gotten him where he needed to go, and he didn’t even know their names.

He made himself carry the bulging bag out to the rusty silver can behind the house before looking for food. Rituals mattered. They would keep him sane and drive away the voices in his head. Like a mental patient, he had to focus on one thing at a time.
Baby steps.

That wasn’t such a bad analogy. He’d been confined like a loon while they jabbed needles in him, shone lights in his eyes, and then seemed disgusted by his lack of response. Based on their mutterings, they hadn’t been pleased with his results, not that he had any clue what those people wanted with him. Most days, he felt less than human. He’d never had a lot of self-esteem, thanks to his family history, but nobody had succeeded in eroding his sense of self . . . until now. It took men and women in white coats with charts and wires and electrodes to make him feel like nothing at all.

Zeke studied the contents of the cupboard. Sparse. He hadn’t bought a lot of food at the grocery. He usually canned his own vegetables, but he hadn’t been around to do it this year. Black despair weighed on him, and he forced that away, too. A can of ravioli should still be good. But he couldn’t make himself wait for it to heat. Instead he popped the top and ate it from the can. It wasn’t until he’d finished that he realized he should’ve used a fork. People did.

Because the farm had its own well, he had water at least, even if he had to use the old-fashioned hand pump. After he cleaned up, Zeke realized he hadn’t noticed the cold. Not like he used to. He wasn’t shivering when he finished. That was a blessing since without power, there would be no hot water, but it was hard to wrap his head around.

He pushed the confusion down as he dried off and found “clean” clothes in his closet. They’d been hanging for a while and the smell bothered him more than he thought it should. Dust all but choked him. The whole way home from Virginia, he’d been troubled by the sense the world didn’t fit: smells were too sharp, colors too bright, noises too loud. And he was hanging on by a thread.

Grimly, Zeke dressed. The jeans hung loose on his hips. If he could ever afford new ones, the waist needed to be three inches smaller. T-shirts mattered less, but he had lost some bulk in his arms and shoulders as well. Where he’d once been strong, his shadow self in the dark mirror looked thin and desperate.

Zeke turned away and headed downstairs, seeking the candles he’d left burning in the kitchen. Most of them needed to be put out. It was then he heard the sputtering cough of a car on the road. But he shouldn’t have.

It was too far away. He’d never heard engines inside before. Not through the windows and across the fields, through muffling trees. In silence, he listened to the vehicle choke and die. He could hear what was wrong with it. Zeke fought the urge to shove his fingers in his ears.

Then he heard a woman’s soft curse.

With every fiber of his being, he wanted to crawl in bed, regardless of how the sheets smelled, and sleep. Without worrying about what would happen to him. He’d escaped that awful place, and he’d prefer to pretend it never happened.

Only he couldn’t leave the lady out there alone on a country road. That was how most horror movies started. With a low growl, he slammed out of the house.

The last step bowed a little under his weight, but he leapt clear before it snapped.
Fast. Too fast. Should’ve taken some damage there.
But he balled that up and refused to think about it. Instead he’d focus on doing something good. He realized he should’ve gotten a jacket, but he didn’t need one and there was no point pretending.

Zeke covered the distance at a run, even with weariness weighing on him. When he ran around the bend where his driveway met the county road, he saw a car pulled off on the dirt shoulder. This time of night, with the headlights on, he couldn’t tell what color it was. The woman he’d heard cussing must have gotten back inside.

He jogged toward the vehicle and then slowed, so he didn’t frighten her. Scents of gas and oil, burnt rubber and hot metal nearly overwhelmed him. Zeke took a few seconds before he approached. God only knew how he looked to her, probably like a crazy mouth-breather appearing on a lonely road.

“You okay?” Clearly she wasn’t. But he didn’t have the command of words he wanted or needed.

She was smart, cracking the window only enough to reply. “Car trouble.”

“Call somebody?”

“The battery in my phone died. Do you have a cell I could borrow?”

He shook his head. “Wish I did.”

Not that he had anyone to call, or the money to pay for one. But it’d be nice to help her right now.

“Service station three miles that way,” he said, jerking his head. “I’ll go.”

“Do you have a car?”

Damn. He did. The truck might not run, after sitting for so long, but he’d left it parked at the farm. It hadn’t even occurred to him to drive. He’d
wanted
to run. The realization sent tension coiling through him again.

“Kinda. Be back soon.”

He turned then and headed back the way he’d come. The farm was closer. It made no sense that he hadn’t thought of checking things out in the truck. Maybe they’d broken his brain.

It took him a little while to find the keys, and then a bit longer to coax the old Ford into motion. Eventually the motor caught, but he didn’t find driving natural anymore. He felt tense and scared, wrestling the wheel as he sent it down the drive. Sickness rose in his belly, and by the time he got to the service station, thankfully still open, he was covered in cold sweat.

Tim Sweeney, the owner, recognized him, leathery face creasing in a smile. “Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age, Zeke. Where you been?”

“Traveling,” he muttered. “Lady down the road a piece needs a tow.”

“Scooter!” Tim called. “Mind the front. I’m taking the truck out.”

A kid made some noise of affirmation and Tim headed for the parking lot. Zeke followed, hands shaking. He tried to hide it, though the jingling of his keys gave it away.

“I’ll show you.” He got back in the cab and pulled out onto the empty road.

The fear scaled up. He had no place behind the wheel. It was all kinds of wrong. He wished he’d just
run
for help. By the time they reached the site, he barely had a grip on his emotions.

He flashed his lights, and the woman had the presence of mind to signal back, showing Tim where she was. Zeke turned off into his driveway then and brought the truck to a ragged stop before the farmhouse. For long moments he leaned his sweaty forehead on the wheel and listened to the knocking of the engine.

Distant car doors slammed. Voices whispered in the wind.

“Who was that?” the woman asked. “I didn’t get to thank him.”

“Zeke Noble. He ain’t been back long.”

Their voices bled away, swamped by nearer noises. He caught squirrels in the dark trees, and the rustling of bird wings as they settled in for the night.
Crazy.
How he wished it weren’t true, but normal people didn’t hear this stuff. Maybe he hadn’t been kidnapped. Maybe there had been no secret underground facility, just a mental institution he’d managed to slip away from. Maybe he’d simply been locked up for his own good because he
was
nuts. Just like his mother.

 

Blood stained Geneva
Harper’s gloved hands. That wasn’t unusual. She’d just finished operating and her patient looked like he’d be fine. Since he was a big fellow, he was already shaking off the anesthetic. Julie, her assistant, rubbed his head, and his tail gave a weak, corresponding thump. Duffy, a black Labrador, was still groggy, but soon he’d need a cone to keep him from worrying his incision site.

“Dogs eat the strangest things,” she said, not for the first time.

Julie nodded her agreement. “But at least you saved him.”

That was her job, after all, and she was good at it. Leaving Julie to clean up, she went to wash her hands and then she checked her schedule; the day looked pretty full. In ten minutes, she had a poodle coming in for routine vaccinations, but Kady didn’t like needles. She’d need the muzzle.

Most places had a couple of vet techs, a receptionist and office manager, maybe even a couple more doctors in the rotation, but Paws & Claws ran on a skeleton crew, which meant it was pretty much herself and Julie, five days a week. And she stayed on call for weekend emergencies, too. It was exhausting, but this was what she’d always wanted, and she didn’t regret any of her choices. There had been problems, of course, but she didn’t want to think about her string of bad luck today.

She
did
regret that she couldn’t seem to keep an attendant on staff: someone to clean the cages and kennels, wash the pets, take the dogs out for walks, and handle general maintenance, like replacing lightbulbs and painting lines in the parking lot. But two men had quit in the last three months alone. It wasn’t glamorous work, admittedly—it was tough and menial, but if you liked animals, it could be rewarding.

And it wasn’t like Harper Creek was overflowing with jobs. Her dad had been steadily laying people off at the mill for the last year. As a result, Neva expected an influx of applications from men who used to work maintenance there, but so far it hadn’t happened. Puzzling and upsetting, but she didn’t have time to reflect on why things weren’t working out like she’d thought.

Mrs. Jones was here; she could tell by the yapping in the foyer. She came out of her office, tucked just around the corner from the waiting room. Julie’s desk sat in the waiting area, so she handled the hellos, if she wasn’t working on a pet; her friend expressed anal glands, cleaned ears, and clipped nails on her own. But before she started any such services, Julie pulled all the medical histories and put them in order in the file holder outside the exam room. Neva snagged the first one.

File in hand, she smiled as she waved Mrs. Jones back. “How are you and Kady doing today?”

The other woman smiled. “Well, I’m old. Kady’s lively as ever.”

“You’ll outlive us all.” She led the way back to the exam room.

If only dealing with a cantankerous, spoiled pet comprised the worst of her worries. She made small talk while she fastened the muzzle and then prepared the shots. If Julie wasn’t cleaning up from surgery, she’d have already done this. But there was no point in wishing for more help. Some nights she cleaned the place before going home, too—and her mother never tired of telling her it was beneath her.

Harpers don’t work like you do,
Lillian would say, clad in one of her endless pastel suits. Neva had never been clear if she meant with animals or just the whole idea of employment. It didn’t matter; she had long ago resigned herself to the fact she’d never be the daughter her mother wanted. Nor could she make up for the son they’d lost.

It hadn’t always been that way, of course. She remembered when Lillian was less concerned about appearances, when she laughed more freely. But Neva had been a lot younger then, and Luke’s loss had only frozen her mother more. Putting those thoughts aside, she went to work with the vaccines.

Naturally, the little dog yipped more than the shots warranted; in response, Mrs. Jones hovered and cooed. Tiredly, Neva feigned cheer as she finished.

“Same time next year?” she said with a smile.

“I will if you will.”

Neva let the old woman deal with the muzzle while she disposed of the empty vials. Mrs. Jones was a good client; she always bought all the boosters, not just rabies. People like her kept the clinic in the black. Barely. It was a matter of pride for Neva that she made ends meet without touching her trust fund. Not that she could anymore, in any case. Her parents had it frozen after their last argument.

The rest of the day went quickly. More appointments. More pets. Neva gave shots and examined sickly animals. Most just needed minor treatments or medicine, except a dog she took as a walk-in near closing time. He was clearly in bad shape.

“He’s not eating or drinking,” the man told Julie. “I’m at my wit’s end.”

She didn’t recognize him, and in the two years since she’d been open, she’d thought she had treated all the animals in the area at one time or another. Of course, some people didn’t believe in spaying or neutering or regular vaccines. They only brought the pet in if it was sick—and sometimes not even then. So while he filled out the new-patient intake card, she assessed the dog from across the room and winced. Neva braced herself to deliver bad news—she’d learned to recognize the look of a dying animal. He wasn’t a big breed, maybe thirty pounds, and he showed mixed heritage in his fuzzy dun coat.