Hopper House (The Jenkins Cycle Book 3) (4 page)

S
ometime around three
in the morning, I woke up with a full bladder. Rose didn’t stir, more log than human.

I flipped the light and squinted under the hundred-watt bulbs over the sink, then flinched in surprise—there was a body stretched out flat on the tiles, naked below the waist. One of the hotel maids, strangled with a scarf. So that’s why Ricky hadn’t killed me—he’d only brought two jumbo suitcases, for two bodies.

My guess was Ricky had called the front desk asking for a towel or something. He’d jumped the maid in the hallway and forced her into the room using her key. Then the sick bastard had been content to hide in here waiting. How he got Rachael’s room number was anyone’s guess.

There was nothing I could do about the maid except cover her nakedness and try not to hate myself for only hitting the bastard when I’d had the chance to shoot him. With a feeling of shame and sadness, I finished my business, washed my hands, and returned to the bedroom.

Rachael Anderson had a pretty face for a DA. From what I could tell at the ABA meeting, people really liked her. I didn’t think she was a bad person, like Andre the hired killer. She put the bad guys away for a living, and that’s why the Mob wanted her dead.

Assuming the portals worked the same way for Rose as me, she’d taken one of the good ones. Which meant she needed to be cautious and protect Rachael. Having unprotected sex with strangers was a bad start. Also, she could have simply let Ricky go, or even called the police.

Maybe I was being too harsh on her. Fresh from the Great Wherever, there’s no way to tell what trouble a ride is in, or what the social situation is. In her shoes, I probably wouldn’t have called the police either.

I got back in bed and figured I’d sit out the night, too nervous to sleep, but ended up nodding off anyway. It must have been deep, because Rose woke me hours later with a rough shake.

She was still naked, except now her hair was wrapped in a towel.

“Dan, wasn’t it?” she said.

I nodded.

“Thanks for last night,” she said. “I’m starved.”

She left me there and walked into the bathroom. Seconds later, I blinked, leapt from the bed, and followed her.

She’d shoved the maid closer to the tub, to make room.

“What do you want to do?” Rose said through a mouthful of toothpaste.

I glanced from her to the maid and back again.

“What about her?” I said, pointing at the body.

“Well, we’re not bringing her with us,” she said, laughing, then spit in the sink. “Seriously, what do you wanna do today?”

A weird feeling akin to peer pressure came over me, making me want to act as cool and nonchalant as she was. Not like I hadn’t seen a ton of awful things myself over the years. For now, I needed to play along. I still had a lot of questions.

“Today?” I said. “Maybe we could just talk. I have a lot of q—”

“Or,” she said, “we leave the stiffs here and skip town. I know a nice place nearby. Lemme guess—three weeks?”

I nodded dumbly.

“That’s pretty standard,” she said. “Though I once met someone who only got a week at a time. Total lunatic. You ever run into a guy named Lazar, just shoot him. Otherwise, he’ll act friendly and try to murder you when you’re not looking.”

“Lazar,” I said. “As in Lazarus?”

Rose laughed. “No, Dan, he’s not Lazarus.” She stopped suddenly and whipped around to look at me. “You’re not religious, are you? Because that’d be awkward…”

I glanced at the maid. “Not religious, no. But I don’t know why I keep coming back. Can we not talk in here?”

“Don’t you want a shower?” she said. “You have
me
all over you.”

I shook my head and left the room—and caught sight of Ricky, heaped under the window.

“Rachael’s not a bad woman,” I said when she came out. “We need to get these bodies out of here, then clean up so nobody finds the mess.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Did you know Rachael before I hopped in? Is that the problem?”

I shook my head.

“Then why do you…? Oh, I see. A do-gooder.” She laughed. “I used to worry about stuff like that, but that was a long time ago. Now I just live and wait to live again. So much simpler. But I still enjoy company.”

I looked around the room, not trusting myself to speak. She couldn’t be telling the truth about not caring, otherwise the Great Whomever wouldn’t send her here. But I wasn’t about to call the only person I’d ever met like me a liar.

Rose frowned at Ricky’s body. “I always come back horny and hungry, and I want waffles.”

Not trusting myself to speak, I just nodded.

She brought Rachael’s purse with her when we went down. And even though we were only going to breakfast, she came dressed to the nines: tight leather skirt, sleeveless black top, slippery smooth nylons, and skyscraper pumps. She didn’t look like any district attorney I’d ever heard of.

There were conference attendees in the lobby, and a few of them stared at her—particularly the ones from last night’s aborted presentation. She ignored them, smiling and bubbling over with good cheer. For my part, I worried what her abrupt departure from a room with hundreds of people would do to Rachael’s high-profile career.

“Everything smells so good,” she said after we’d been seated.

“Yeah, sure, but listen,” I said. “You need to know a few things about your ride.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose said, turning to face me after staring down a waiter carrying a plate of waffles. “What did you say?”

I pulled my own gaze from the waffles—they
did
look good—and said, “Uh, you need to know a few things about Rachael?”

She shook her head. “No, you said
your ride
. What did you mean?”

If realization had an ugly head, it would have reared it. She had no idea what a
ride
was. That was my word for what I’d been doing for so long, because I hated the word
possession.

“When I arrive in a new body,” I said, “it’s my ride. See? Like I’m driving in a car. Only, it’s a person’s body, and I’m the driver. It’s a metaphor.”

Rose laughed. “I know what a metaphor is, you little do-gooder. You really call them rides?”

“Have to call them something.”

She bit her lip, clearly amused. “How do you deal with the giggle factor?”

“What are you talking about?”

“If you’re like me,” she said, “that means you only
ride
people of the same sex as your original body. You ride
men
.” She held up her hands defensively. “I’m not judging. Nothing wrong with riding strange men. But doesn’t it make you want to giggle? Just a little bit?”

As if proving the point, Rose giggled.

“It doesn’t make me want to do anything,” I said, offended. “You don’t understand. When I come into a ride, I—”

Rose covered her mouth and screamed with laughter.

“What’s wrong with you?”

She pointed at me, waving for me to stop. A family of four at another table was staring at us. They looked like they wanted to giggle, too.

Cheeks shining with tears, Rose said, “
You come in the men you ride!
”

I felt a flush coming on. Of all the fantasies I’d had about one day meeting someone I could confide in, I’d never imagined them suffering the same fate as me. But Rose didn’t seem to be suffering at all. She wasn’t worried about her host’s welfare. If Rachael was a bad person, Rose didn’t appear worried about that, either. Calling me a
do-gooder
was as much as saying she wasn’t one. How was that even possible?

“Why so serious?” Rose said, watching my face. “You were more fun last night.”

The waiter arrived and we ordered our food. As usual, I ordered a lot. What surprised me was Rose ordered just as much, surgically interweaving her choices so neither of us got the same thing. I asked for orange juice, she chose grapefruit juice. I ordered pancakes, she got waffles. I chose bacon, she picked sausage. Between the two of us, we could have fed five people.

“So you do it too,” I said after the waiter left. “With the food. Before I died, I had an appetite, sure, and I was chunky. But after … Now all I think about is eating. I get so bored.”

And lonely.

Rose nodded. “We all do, and not just food. Sex, drugs, partying. Even killing. The stuff of life. What else do we have?”

I frowned, not liking what she’d said about killing. She didn’t seem like the type to enjoy hurting people, like some of the people I’d run into over the years.

We were quiet for a time, sipping our juice and waiting for the food to arrive. She filled the time by poking through Rachael’s purse, looking at photographs and other things she found there. At one point, she pulled out a box of condoms and showed it to me.

Because she seemed to expect a response, I said, “Huh.”

“Your little princess isn’t so pure,” she said, waggling her fingers at me. She wore two rings on her ring finger. “Wedding ring, closest to her heart.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s a mass murderer.”

Rose opened her mouth to reply, but then a couple of waiters arrived with our food, piling the table with syrupy, eggy, greasy delights.

By unspoken agreement, Rose and I didn’t talk. And we respected no boundaries when it came to food. I cut up my pancakes, and she shoveled half onto her plate. I snagged some of her sausage, and she sprinkled salt on my grits, stirred it in, and scooped some into her mouth. I tasted some of her grapefruit juice and made a face.

Ten minutes later, she leaned back and closed her eyes in contentment.

I jerked up suddenly—her foot had appeared between my legs, and she was doing something with it. To my shame, I let her.

“Rachael?” a man said from two feet away.

Startled, I opened my eyes.

It was Sam—the guy who’d introduced Rachael at the presentation.

“
H
ello
, Sam Richardson,” I said, feeding Rose as much information as I could. “That was a wonderful introduction you gave last night at the
organized crime presentation
.”

Sam stared at me as if wondering who I was.

Rose threw me a faintly amused look. “Excellent introduction, Sam. Best one I ever had.”

“What the hell happened to you, Rachael? Why’d you rush off like that? You had everyone worried sick.”

“Something came up.”

“That’s it? Something came up?”

Rose forked a rogue waffle square into her mouth and washed it down with a swish of grapefruit juice. I winced a little.

Still chewing, she said, “Pretty much. Thanks, Sam.” Then she grinned and wiggled her toes against my nether regions.

Sam said to me, “Please excuse me.” He turned to Rose, his expression stern. “You realize we have to revoke your speaking fee. Your attitude convinces me we’re perfectly justified in our decision. And you’ve pretty much burned every bridge you ever had with the association.”

Rose said, “Excuse me too, Dan,” and speared Sam with an appraising eye. “In a couple of minutes, I’m gonna take that tall drink of sexual satisfaction to my room and find out how many licks it takes to get to my soft candy center. Now, unless you’re paying for this wonderful breakfast, kindly go fuck yourself.”

Sam stared at her, mouth agape. He shook his head slowly, turned around, and walked out of the restaurant.

It had been a long time since I’d been publicly embarrassed, but I was now. What she’d said to that guy was awful. He obviously knew Rachael, had some sort of relationship with her, and Rose had ruined it.

“What’s the matter, Dan,” she said in a pouty tone. “You upset with me?”

“A little,” I said, not bothering to hide it.

Rose sighed. “I’m not gonna have that guy lumping along bothering me for three weeks. Bothering
us
. Besides, he didn’t know me—he was an associate, that’s all. I have a sense for these things. I’m much better at this than you.”

“You could have said you were feeling sick and now you’re better. Not like he’ll set up a new meeting for you. You know, when you’re gone, Rachael’s—”

“I know, I know, but she’s
my
skin
.
That’s what they’re called, by the way.
Skins
, not rides.”

Skins?
A repulsive name. I preferred my term.

Rose said, “How many soul gates have you been through?”

“Soul gates?” I said, smiling despite myself. “A little dramatic, don’t you think? I usually call them portals. Or doorways, if I’m waxing poetical. Lots of them. Why?”

“It takes a while before the goody-goody types start arriving. Even then, they’re pretty rare. But when they do, they’re definitely recognizable.”

I leaned forward. I’d been through two such portals. Once, into Nate Cantrell, the lotto winner. The second time, my ex-girlfriend’s stupid husband, Peter. All my other rides had been standard issue awful.

“That’s been my experience too,” I said.

Rose gave my groin a final tweak and pulled her foot back. “Take it from an old pro: whoever Rachael is, she’s not one of the good ones.”

Not quite ready to give up, I said, “Sometimes the Great Whomever’s tricky. Sometimes he throws wildcards or messes things up.”

“What the heck is a great whoever?”

I wondered what she called him. I didn’t think the Great Whomever was God, and referred to him as
him
primarily for convenience. That and I couldn’t imagine a
her
bringing me back after the hell I’d put my ex-girlfriend, Sandra, through.

“The one in charge of this whole thing,” I said, gesturing vaguely around us. “Life again. Other people’s bodies. Killers and all that. Surely you’ve seen how directed this is, haven’t you?”

Rose covered her mouth. “Oh my goodness,” she said. “You think it’s
God
behind everything, don’t you?”

I shrugged. “Not necessarily…”

“You poor deluded do-gooder,” she said sadly, shaking her head. “I should have known when you got all misty over a dead maid.”

“Who’s still up there, by the way. In
Rachael’s
room. And it’s the Great
Whom
ever, not
Who
ever.”

Rose snorted, eyes dancing. “Some religious fanatic you are—choosing an accusative
whom
over a nominative
who.
”

“It sounded cool at the time,” I said. “Anyway, if it’s not God or a spirit or something, what do you call the guy in charge?”

“It,” she said. “I call the
it
in charge
it
. Or sometimes
them
.” She leaned closer and rested her arms on the table. “Think about it. Coming back like this, to planet Earth, from a strange floaty place? Isn’t it obvious?”

I scratched my chin in thought. “The Book of Enoch?”

Rose gaped at me. “What the … no, you silly goose. Where do you come up with this stuff? It’s
aliens
, Dan.”

“Aliens?” I said, wiggling my fingers like tentacles.

“What else? All our hopping from skin to skin. All those stories of people being abducted into space. The aliens are studying us to see if we’re ready for intergalactic primetime.
We’re
the first ones. It’s a great honor.”

All this time, after more than twenty years, I’d harbored a quasi-religious view of my comings and goings. Though I didn’t think the Great Whomever was the biblical God, he could have been an ancient God, or a benevolent Loki-like spirit. Something on the Outside, beyond our understanding, but definitely spiritual. Not necessarily from the Book of Enoch … but even that was a better guess than aliens.

It just burst out of me—I howled with laughter. People from the other tables stared at me, but I didn’t care.

Space aliens!

“What?” Rose said. “It’s true, you know.”

I couldn’t stop laughing. Like a tiny crack in an overstressed dam, the pressure of the last ten hours came gushing out. My stomach hurt from too much food—and what a sight that would be, me cackling like a lunatic and throwing up everywhere. What would the space aliens think?

When I finally calmed down enough to care about other people again, I noticed Rose wasn’t laughing.

“Hey,” I said, “I’m sorry. But Aliens? Really?”

Rose stared at her hands, her face blank of expression. “You don't have to believe it. Doesn’t make it not true.”

A cool two minutes passed like that. Of course she was upset. She had a belief system, and I’d dismissed it in the most callous of ways.

I considered what she’d said. Alien abduction was a more specific set of beliefs than mine, yet less rigorous than the minister’s. Maybe she was right. Like Rose had said: all those rides, from body to body…

“Hopping?” I said, smiling gently, remembering the word she’d used. “So you like hopping into strange women, huh?”

Rose smiled, but didn’t look up.

When the waiter came, I picked up the hefty tab and paid with cash.

“Ricky actually had a good idea,” I said after he’d left. “He said he’d brought two large suitcases—one for me and one for you. If we can find them, they’d be just the thing to sneak out two corpses.”

Rose shrugged.

“Can I borrow your room key?”

“I suppose.”

She reached in her purse and gave it to me.

“Give me a minute,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

After returning to Rachael’s room, I fished Ricky’s keys from one of his pockets. Grisly work, because his body was stiff and had started to smell a little. As an afterthought, I grabbed Andre’s gun off the table and tucked it under my shirt. Then I rejoined Rose in the lobby.

It didn’t take long to find Ricky’s sports car. We looked in the trunk and found it empty.

“Dammit,” I said. “They must be where he’s staying …
was
staying. Even dead, the guy’s a menace.”

“Well, he must have bought them somewhere,” Rose said.

“That’s right! I saw a Walmart on the way in. Do you want to come with me?”

Rose said, “Sure.”

I scanned the parking lot for Andre’s car. Seconds later, a siren went off. Rose held up her keys, clicked a button, and it stopped. She smiled shyly.

On impulse, I reached over and hugged her.

“What’s that for?” she said.

“Because I’m sorry. And sometimes people need hugs.”

Rose blinked quickly and hugged me back.

“Rose?” I said, taking the opportunity to tease out another question.

“Hmm?”

“How is it possible that, of all the billions of people in the world, you and I appeared in the same room and found each other?”

“Because we
find
each other, that’s how.”

“That’s not really an answer,” I said.

“It took me thirty-five years to run into my first hopper. How long did it take you?”

Hopper…?

“Twenty,” I said. “What’s a hopper?”

“We are. These are our skins, we’re hoppers, and we find each other. Nobody knows why, but it’s special when it happens. Now you know you’re not alone. Be happy with that.”

“Are there a lot of them … us?”

“Depends on what you’d call a lot or a little,” she said. “A hundred? Less? I’m just as in the dark as you. We all are, until we’ve proven ourselves.”

In the dark.

“What was that weird darkness in your eyes. When you first…”

She had me feeling self-conscious.

“Hopped,” Rose said. “It’s okay, you can say it. The darkness is a stasis field somewhere in outer space. Who understands aliens?”

“Got it.”

Still in the dark.

Rachael Anderson owned a Honda with no frills. Not even a rental. Considering Rachael was a district attorney, I wondered if using her own car and not flying down meant something. A show of frugality from a distinguished official. With political types, everything they did could be used against them in the court of public opinion.

Rose declined to drive when I asked her preference, but she seemed a lot happier now.

“So…” I said, wondering how best to ask my next question.

“What?”

“I was just wondering: how long have you been doing this? When did you first die?”

She didn’t reply immediately. “Have you ever been to prison?”

“Yep,” I said. “Horrible place. Can’t recommend it.”

“What’s the first rule of prison?”

Don’t help the guards? Don’t steal from other prisoners? Make friends and stay in a group? Find the biggest guy and punch his lights out?

There were a lot of rules, and none of them…

“Ah,” I said. “Everyone serves their own time.” A moment later, I added, “Sorry for prying.”

Rose reached over and patted my leg.

It was interesting how quickly we’d become friends. Pre-suicide, making friends had never come easily. With Rose, it was like we were the last two people in the world, so of course we’d be friends.

I was working up the nerve to ask another question, but we’d arrived. Then I had to pay attention to all the cars and people pushing baskets.

After I parked, Rose said, “Don’t forget to pick up some hacksaws.”

I couldn’t tell if she was joking.

“I’m not getting hacksaws,” I said. “Just suitcases. One for Ricky, one for the maid.”

“Tell me more about Ricky.”

“A mobster,” I said. “Rachael’s a district attorney, and a mob boss named Lenny wants her dead.”

“It’s always something,” she said and started walking.

I stared at her a second, shook my head, and followed.

It took me ten minutes walking around and backtracking down aisles to find what I was looking for. They didn’t have suitcases large enough for my needs, but I did find some big plastic tubs with lids, on wheels.

After adding a roll of duct tape from the hardware section—and a hacksaw, just in case—I headed to checkout. When I got in line, I noticed Rose standing in an express lane a few registers down.

“Big ones, huh?” the checkout clerk said.

He came around the counter to scan one of the tubs.

“Yep,” I said, angling to see what Rose was doing. She worried me. Frequently.

“Storing stuff, huh?”

“Dead bodies,” I said.

The clerk laughed.

When I went to pay, the clerk called a manager over to look at the hundred dollar bill I gave him. That lasted a while.

Rose walked past carrying a small plastic bag. Was it me, or had she added more sway to her hips than normal? Rose looked back to see if I was watching, smiled, and kept going. I felt another twinge of guilt over her ride, considering what Rose and I had done last night. Then I felt worse because it was only a twinge.

After paying, I nodded at the nice employee waving at everyone and wheeled the tubs outside into the humid Georgia heat. Rose wasn’t by the car when I got there. I looked around and saw her next to a concrete outdoor ashtray with a lit cigarette in her hand, coughing. I went over.

“Hey there, Smokey,” I said, setting the tubs down.

Looking a bit green, Rose said, “Terrible habit.”

“I’ve heard. But is it Rachael’s habit?”

In response, she took another drag—then coughed again several times before giving up and stubbing it out. Her face was shiny from sweat, and not because of the heat.

“Ready to go?” I said. “Or do we need to go back in for some chewin’ tobacco?”

“Now
that’s
disgusting,” Rose said and headed back to the car.