Hopper House (The Jenkins Cycle Book 3) (17 page)

“
W
hat took you so long
?” the minister said when I came back.

“Gary wanted to know what happened,” I said. “You know, while he was possessed.”

“What did you tell him?”

I shrugged. “That it was all a drug-induced hallucination, and now he had to hitchhike.”

The minister grunted. “It’s awfully cold out. Should we call him a cab? I hate leaving him here. Nobody picks up hitchhikers anymore.”

“It’s not that cold,” I said. “And there’s a town nearby. We can’t risk you getting arrested for kidnapping. In a couple weeks I’ll be gone, but you’ll still be Anthony the minister.”

“I’m a
priest
, Dan. Why do you insist on calling me a
minister?
”

“Because I’m a demon, and that’s what demons do.”

He didn’t say anything after that. I started the engine and pulled onto the road, trying to forget the way the knife felt scraping against Gary’s bone and sinew. I turned the radio on and tuned to something in range. Wiping off one hand, then the other, I maintained a safe ten-and-two grip on the steering wheel.

“Are you okay, Dan?”

“Wonderful,” I said.

“Where are we going?”

“To the next house.”

“And where would that be?”

Smug bastard…

“There’s a hopper house in every state,” I said. “Right?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Then we’re going to Pennsylvania.” Good a place as any, and my mother lived there. “How many addresses are there in Pennsylvania?”

He pulled the list from under his robes. “Just one. Why Pennsylvania?”

“These hoppers are sort of worthless, unless pushed,” I said. “It stands to reason if the landlord wanted to harm my mother, he’d send someone nearby to do it. He probably has them do all kinds of things, or whatever he can manage. Like with Stephen.”

The minister shifted in his seat. “So?”

“So the hoppers don’t care what he wants—they just want to get high and have sex. Maybe they like a little action once in a while.” I thought about Rose, in Savannah. How she’d jumped my bones with a cooling body in the room. “What they probably aren’t up for is lengthy road trips, though I personally like them. You following?”

“No.”

I sighed. “If we can take out the house in Pennsylvania, and those in the bordering states, put them out of commission…”

From the corner of my eye, I saw him nod.

“I see. It’ll be harder for him to send someone after your mother.”

“Exactly.”

“But all we’re doing is exorcising them, Dan, not banishing the houses.”

“The three places I’ve seen have all been secluded,” I said. “If the pattern holds, it gives us time to do whatever we want. Like burn them down.”

“Now wait just one minute. I am
not
burning down any houses!”

“Then leave it to me,” I said. “And give me that list so I know where I’m going.”

I reached over to grab it.

The minister seized my hand in a white-knuckled grip, making me dizzy and nauseous as the world canted dangerously. I did my best to keep us straight, but we veered off onto the crumbly breakdown lane.

From a million miles away, someone said, “…
where you’re driving, you idiot!
”

Pain flared through my head in response to his fear and rage. Desperately, I slammed the brakes to avoid a telephone pole. Totally not fair. Why couldn’t I have superpowers like that?

A minute later, when things returned to normal, I said, “That was a stupid thing to do.”

“Then keep your fool hands to yourself,” he said, sounding both normal and thunderous at the same time. “We had a deal, and a plan, and if you can’t stick to it you’re of no use to me. We’ll go to the house near Philly and see what we see. But I am
not
burning anything down.”

I shrugged like it was no big deal, then pulled back onto the road heading to Philadelphia.

“You’re the boss.”

W
e drove
until evening and got two rooms, which the minister paid for, and started out early the next day. I noticed he’d put on a new priest’s collar, and his robes were now clean, making me wonder how many sets he’d brought along.

It was just after 1 p.m. when we got to the next house. As I’d suspected, it was secluded, located in an area where rural and urban shook hands and went their separate ways. Just like the last house, this one was by a river.

I had a theory on these waterfront views, and it had nothing to do with good investments. Stephen’s comment about tossing him off the pier out back had me thinking this was how hoppers got rid of bodies. They dumped them in the river or ocean and let the current carry them away. Or maybe the morally inclined hoppers (there must have been some) drowned themselves rather than mess up the house and anger the landlord.

The last house didn’t have any exterior cameras, and this one seemed free of them too, so we parked closer.

“No one’s here,” the minister said.

“No cars. But remember the woman from the last house. Two people, one car, and she took the car when she left. Hoppers call a special phone number, and the landlord sends them a cab. My guess is Patrick got a ride there.”

The minister looked angry. “And for a cheap place to stay, they shoot up banks and kill people?”

“Don’t forget drugs,” I said, and edged away from him. When he was mad, his aura pounded me like waves against a sandcastle. “Would you please control that … whatever it is you’re doing? If there
is
someone inside, you’ll put them on alert.”

“What? Oh, sorry. I’m just…”

“I know,” I said. “So what’s the plan this time?”

The minister smiled. “I made a mess of that last one, didn’t I? Sorry about that. I’d spent the previous night memorizing the Litany of Saints. That’s all well and good when you’re dealing with a child in a bed strapped down or held by her mother. Quite another with chains from Hell swooping around and people throwing things.”

Absently, he touched the bandage on his head. After killing Gary, I’d picked up some rubbing alcohol and bandages at a truck stop.

“Let’s see if someone’s home,” I said.

I did the knocking this time, but nobody answered. If someone was inside, they either didn’t answer doors or were too zonked out on drugs to care. The door was sturdy, and the house framed with heavy timber construction. Quite nice, actually.

“Let’s check the back,” I said.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to break into a house. What if the address we have is out of date? What if he sold it? I can’t help anyone if I’m in jail.”

“I don’t think he sells them that often.”

The landlord still hadn’t sold the one in Georgia, despite saying he wanted to move the network closer to Atlanta.

Together, we slipped around the side and approached a wide patio covering half the yard. A tiered sidewalk twisted and turned its way to the river, and from there to a boathouse.

I shook my head at the wasted opportunity. If the landlord hadn’t been such an amoral jerk-off, the hopper house system would have been a nice reprieve from time to time. Especially when a ride’s guilt was readily apparent.

“See that sliding glass door?” I said. “All you do is lift up on one side, and … aw, crap, they have a security stick there.”

“Let’s just come back tomorrow,” the minister said. “Maybe there’ll be someone then.”

Too late—a rock from the garden out front went sailing toward the door. I threw it pretty hard, too. You have to throw it hard or it’ll just bounce off, glass or no glass.

“Dammit,” the minister shouted, “stop!”

His words hammered into me, driving me to my knees. When he reached for me, I flinched and fell back.

“Don’t, please,” I said when he tried to help me up. “Just give me a minute.”

I sat there waiting for my wits to return. My lips felt cold, and when I touched them my fingers came away red. Nosebleed. Not as bad as what had happened to Trevor, thank goodness.

The minister examined the door, which I’d managed to crack but not shatter.

I closed my eyes, then popped them open at the sound of him tapping the door with the rock. Seconds later, a section the size of a beach ball fell inside onto the tiles.

“I thought we weren’t breaking in,” I said.

“Consider it my apology.” He reached carefully through the hole and undid the security bar. After that, the door slid right open. “Oh, Dan?”

“Yeah?” I said, getting up.

“Your nose is bleeding.”

J
ust like the
other two houses, the only visible camera hung from the ceiling facing the front door. A cautious peek from the hallway showed mirrors on the bedroom ceilings and walls. Minutes later, we knew the house was empty.

There was a cache of drugs in the pantry donation box, along with a .22 revolver and a box of ammo. The minister was watching my every move, so I left the gun alone. For now. I still needed something to murder the landlord with.

There was a stack of dirty magazines lying on the coffee table in the living room. The minister pulled off his robes and covered them.

“What’s with all the sex stuff?” he said.

Holding a plug of tissue to my nose, I said, “You don’t have to be a hopper to like sex.”

“These demons … they seem different than you. Why do you think that is?”

The room had a big TV, a bunch of video game systems, and a wall full of mostly pornographic movies with a few normal ones thrown in for good measure.

I shrugged. “I’m still not sold on the whole demon angle. Those snakes, maybe. But me? No way.”

He made an impatient sound. “Fine, but why are they different?”

“I’m not sure they are. I haven’t met that many. Just the three, including Patrick. Rose and Stephen were both older than me. More time to get bored, jaded, twisted, whatever. Maybe they were noble and pure like me, once, then time passed and they stopped caring about consequences and God and all that.”

Out of nowhere, the minister fixed me with a baleful look heaped with extra bale.

“Where’s the knife you took from that house?”

I tried to lie to him, but this time I couldn’t.

“Threw it away,” I said, silently completing,
into a rapist…

“What did Nate really tell you about that man?”

“That he was a rotten bastard, that’s what.”

The minister’s voice went flat. “Did you kill him?”

“He was a rapist,” I said. “Went to jail for it. Pretty sure he was still doing it, too. Yeah, I killed him. With the knife. It sucked.”

Moments later, I was staring up at a shower of pink and sexy DVD covers raining down from the shelf I’d grabbed. The minister glared at me, shook his head in disgust, and stalked off.

I got up and lurched into the dining room, which had a big window with a view of the driveway.

The minister said, “When we’re done with this house, I think the best course is for you and I to go our separate ways.”

“Fine,” I said. “Just as soon as you give me the landlord’s address.”

He shook his head. “After what you did? No. And you can stop asking.”

He needed to cool off, so I didn’t press him. We grabbed two chairs and waited quietly there for someone to show up. I stared at the driveway and tried to think of a good name for the Humvee.

Bible Buggy? Ministry Machine? Bummer Hummer? Spank Tank?

Night came a few hours later, and when I looked over at him, the minister had nodded off. I worried he’d fall and hurt his head, so I stepped over, opened his shirt pocket, and pulled out the list.

He opened his eyes, but the list was already in my pocket.

“What are you doing?” he said, staring up at me.

“Why don’t you lie down and I’ll keep watch,” I said. “I don’t know if the cameras run all the time or if they only work when someone punches in at the door. Probably best if you sleep on the couch.”

He nodded and got up. “Wake me when you get tired.”

After he left, I pulled out the list and scanned it with
my
superpowers. I paid particular attention to the address at the top: “Hopper House, LLC,” with an address in Delaware.

I couldn’t remember it perfectly until after I got kicked out, so I memorized the address the normal way: repeating it over and over in my head.

For the next hour, I watched the driveway, waiting for another hopper to show up. For all I knew they only came around once every few weeks. Maybe longer than that. We could be here forever.

“Or maybe just a few more minutes,” I said at the flash of headlights through the trees. Seconds later, a cab pulled up.

The minister lay curled on the couch, facing the wall. I moved to wake him, then stopped at the last second and slipped the list into his back pocket.

“Hey,” I said, shaking his shoulder. “Wake up, we have company.”

He mumbled something, then jerked back, startled from sleep. “What?”

“There’s a cab out there. Now look, whoever it is won’t know you’re not a hopper, so play it cool. I’d like to talk to him. Or her.”

The minister’s brow furrowed deeply into regions pouty.

“Now just a minute. We don’t have the luxury to mess around with this. Let’s just get it done and leave. Now—”

“
Or
we can wait this time,” I said, “try to get some intel. Like the number for that keypad out front. Whatever you do, don’t use my name. Okay?”

He stared at me for a second. “You’re quite right. Good thinking.”

An actual compliment from the man. I smiled like a favored son.

From the front of the house, we heard the door open.

“Hello?” a woman called. “Anyone there?”

Obviously she’d seen the Spank Tank out front. Hopefully whoever saw her on the camera wouldn’t mistake her polite call as confirmation someone else was here.

“In the living room,” I said loudly.

“You boys are in for a treat,” the light-skinned black woman said. She threw us a brazen smile. “I’m a fucking
bombshell
.”

She
was
a bombshell. When she stripped out of her clothes, the minister and I got a good look at both bombs.

“Oh, Good Lord,” he said and turned around.

I hastened to the woman’s side. “Don’t mind him, he’s got this … uh … thing he does, where he pretends to be a responsible adult … know what I mean?”

The woman’s mouth widened in a surprised
O
.

“One of
those
, huh? Whatever gets him off, I guess, so long as he’s … um … vigorous?” She giggled, then grabbed the back of my neck and delivered a hot, sensual kiss, and I swear if the minister hadn’t been there…

“Da … um … Felix!” the minister said.

I shot him a look full of Ginsu knives. The last thing I wanted was one of these hoppers knowing my name. If he screwed up and it got back to the landlord I’d been here…

“Da’felix?” the woman said, giggling. “That’s a funny name.”

“Just Felix.”

“Call me Karen. I’m not into messed-up stuff or whipping or anything like that. We may need to go slow at first, I think my skin’s a prude.” She giggled again. She sure was giggly. “Hey, anything good in the box?”

Not waiting for an answer, Karen went to the kitchen. I followed her. She found the pantry, opened the door, and began rifling through the donations.

“Lots of stuff,” she said. “But I don’t see…”

The minister grabbed my arm.

“Dan,” he said through clenched teeth, “ask whatever questions you have or I’m getting started. Understand?”

“Just give me a minute.”

He grunted. “I’ll be by the window, watching for more.”

“There’s like no weed,” Karen said, still rifling. “Just the hard stuff. I don’t want this skin of mine addicted to anything serious when I’m gone. She’s a goody-goody. No baby pictures, no wedding ring. Found her at a club. She was a little drunk, so I left her car there. Hope it doesn’t get towed.”

That stopped me. Since when did hoppers care about husbands and kids? Or drinking and driving?

Karen glanced back at me. “You know what they say, right?”

“What?”

She giggled again. “Better to get
fingered
than
towed
.”

I smiled, playing along. “Right. So hey, Karen, I have a question.”

“About what?” she said, turning around.

Man
she was naked.

I swallowed. “When you say your skin is a goody-goody, what do you mean?”

Karen shrugged, seemingly embarrassed. “I’m old fashioned, okay? But don’t worry. I take care of me, you take care of you. I don’t judge, and I don’t need it, either.” She slipped past with a little bag of something and headed to the refrigerator. “Hey, someone left pizza!”

Despite the nakedness of the situation, I did find the prospect of pizza just a little bit fascinating.

“What do you plan to do with your skin?” I said. “Considering she’s a goody-goody and all.”

Karen found a plate, stacked it high with pizza, and put it in the microwave.

“What do you mean
do
with?”

“You know, while you’re here.”

She seemed to think about it. “Well … she has an apartment I plan to check out tomorrow. Tonight’s just tonight, know what I mean? If she has a job, I’ll call in sick, say I have the flu. Hopefully nothing gets too complicated with her family. Then I’ll probably come back here.” She smiled prettily. “Why? You wind up in a goody-goody too?”

Rose also liked to use the phrase
goody-goody
. I knew it wasn’t her because Rose always returned in Georgia. Also, the personalities were too different. Rose could be fun—even a bit wild—but never silly.

“So you’re not going to kill her?” I said. “Shoot up a bank or anything like that?”

Karen laughed. “No, Da’felix. I’m not like that. Doesn’t mean I don’t mind a little fun, though.”

She took her plate from the microwave, went to the living room, and sat at a card table next to the ruined patio door.

She looked at the broken glass and frowned. “What happened in here?”