Lure (5 page)

Sam wasn't certain what he meant by it, but he didn't seem to care as he cast her a leering grin on his way to the oven. Stacked on top of it waited a handful of deliveries. He looked at each of the yellow slips. "Damn, Franco, why you taking out of town deliveries at this time of night?"

"Just take that last one and then take off for the night," Franco said. "I'll square out with you tomorrow."

"It's 'square up', man, and I've got plans for tonight. The party's at my place. I got girls coming, and no one leaves until the keg floats."

"I'll take it," Sam said. "All the dishes are done."

"I was going to have you mop the floor," Franco said.

"I can do it fast, and then take it."

"Yeah, let her take that one. They never tip anyway," the redneck said on his way out, the in-town deliveries in his hands. Sam tried to remember his name, she thought it was Brian, she knew where he lived, since his neighbors had occasionally called to complain about his wild parties. The sound of a V8 with glass-packs thundering to life rattled the pictures on the wall, threatening to send the little league trophy plaques crashing to the tiled floor. Then the redneck dropped it in gear and the rear end of the car seemed to sink down as the tires broke loose and smoke filled the air. As the Chevelle turned onto Rt. 49, the only thing louder than the exhaust was the sound of AC/DC
Back in Black
. Franco tuned the stereo to 94.1 WYSP in Philadelphia, somehow knowing that was the station playing that song, and they rocked it out while finishing the cleaning. Sam played a mean air-mop, and Franco lip-synched from atop the counter.

* * *

Telephone poles and trees were all that Sam could see alongside the arrow-straight Jericho road. Occasional modular homes and trailers lined the roads, with small farms mixed in.
Lunatic Fringe
by Red Rider came on the radio, and it set an eerie mood in this heavily wooded landscape. Only her headlights illuminated the roadway; if she had car trouble, she would be left in complete darkness. Ahead, a series of hills created an optical illusion, making the road look like the back of a sea serpent. Unable to resist, Sam stepped down harder on the accelerator. It felt almost like a roller-coaster ride, with a sense of weightlessness as she crested each hill.

Lives had been lost on this road, and Sam suddenly felt the hand of death on her shoulder. Amazed at how quickly she could go from exhilarated to terrified, Sam drew a sharp breath and turned the wheel with more force than advisable at high-speed and when cresting a hill. The darkest shadow, like a hole in the world, stood in the center of her lane, pointing at her. Sam would have screamed, but she was too busy driving. Her guts clenched, and her heart raced. The Camaro left the roadway and flew sideways for a brief moment, and then the tires reconnected with the blacktop. Jacking the wheel back hard to the right, Sam did what she could to control the spin. Lights shown into the driver side window, and Sam saw the pickup coming straight toward her. The Camaro slowly responded to her input and was sliding backward into her own lane at high speed when the truck flashed past, its tires squealing under heavy braking. With a flick of the wheel, Sam sent the Camaro into another 180-degree spin that righted her; she had come terrifyingly close to clipping the pickup in doing so.

Sucking in rapid and shallow breaths, Sam felt tears spring to her eyes and her hands trembled. Behind her, she saw the pick-up's brake lights. Without another thought, she put her foot to the floor. She knew it was a stupid thing to do, but something had triggered her fight or flight mechanism, and she had chosen flight--it was a humbling realization. So, too, was the realization that her hallucinations were continuing. That had to be what they were. She had kidded herself all along, claiming that it had been ghosts or spirits she had seen.

Insanity. Could anything be more terrifying than to no longer be able to tell what is real? A cluster of mailboxes marked the end of the dirt road that Sam had been looking for, and she was caught by surprise. Slamming on the brakes, she remembered the insulated pizza bag on the passenger seat an instant too late. It had somehow stayed in place during her spin, but slid forward out of her reach and slammed into the dash. After completing the turn, Sam pulled the pizza bag back onto the passenger seat.

The Camaro chattered over the ripples left in the dirt road by rainwater, and Sam had only a vague sensation of control. Her car shimmied along as if it was on ice, and she slid the car sideways when the narrow driveway she was looking for appeared. Sending a cloud of loose gravel into the air, she straightened out the car on the steep downhill driveway that gave her enough momentum to make it up the sandy uphill climb that led to the house. People who lived this far out generally liked to be left alone, and there was nothing welcoming about the place. The porch and downstairs were dark, and only a dull glow from an upstairs window gave any indication that someone was home. Sam left the car running and lights aimed at the side door.

When removing the pizza from the bag, she noticed that the box was heavier on one side than the other, so she held it at and angle and gave it a little shake. She felt the weight move back toward center. Walking toward the front door, she had an eerie feeling, like she was the idiot in a horror film. She could almost hear the people in the theater yelling, "Don't go in there!"

She didn't know what the place looked like in the daytime, but at night it looked like a haunted house. With those thoughts in her head, she heard growling in the darkness. Moving between her and her car, a dark silhouette that resembled a small horse blocked the light. Sam walked backward toward the house and caused an echoing racket when she backed into a pile of rusting sheet metal that sat alongside the walkway. The dog moved toward her, and Sam climbed the pile of metal, while yelling, "Hey! Get your dog! Hey!"

A moment later, the light beside the door came on, and Sam noted that it was about time. Anyone with the least bit of courtesy would have turned that light on when they ordered the pizza. And what about that dog, she asked herself. What kind of asshole leaves Cujo out to greet the pizza delivery person? None of the questions left her lips. The man that answered the door looked like an angry bear stuffed into a pair of overhauls. His bare chest was as big around as a barrel, and his beard looked like steel wool.

The rotweiller ran to the man's side, its cropped tail wiggling back and forth.

"She don't bite."

Without a great deal of relief, Sam climbed down slowly, trying to avoid the sharp edges. Unable to formulate a response, she just opened the pizza bag and pulled out the box.

"Twelve fifty."

The man handed her exact change, turned around, and after the rottweiler slid past him, closed the door.

Sam was walking back to her car when the door opened behind her and the dog charged back out, barking. "What the hell is this?" The man held the open pizza box. What was inside didn't really resemble a pizza; it was more like an inside-out calzone. "Gimme my money back. I ain't payin' for this."

* * *

Grease ran down the side of Sam's face as she tried to eat something that only vaguely resembled a piece of pizza, while driving a country road. She'd always wondered what Chicago style pizza would be like, and she figured this was pretty close, and it was too good for words. Heart's
Magic Man
came on the radio, and the music carried her along, helping her to feel a little better and forget the shadows that remained just out of sight. She could feel them watching her, but she ignored them. While licking the grease from her fingers, another figure appeared, this one alongside the road and, as Sam was pleased to see, very alive.

The young man turned and put his thumb out while shading his eyes from her high beams. She stepped on the high beam switch and hit the brake. The young man started running and was at the door by the time Sam had moved the rest of the pizza to the back seat.

"Thanks for stopping," he said, his voice had the timber of fresh pubescence. He was lanky, but he looked like he'd fill out eventually. He climbed in.

"Where you headed?"

"Just up the road a bit. A guy's having a party. There's supposed to be a keg. You going?"

One beer couldn't hurt.

"Turn right just before that little church. It's on the left."

No directions were necessary. The place was lit up; cars filled the yard and most of the horseshoe drive. Sam pulled in and shut off the car, which had been running a little hot. It dieseled for a moment, before finally slamming to a halt with a gunshot-like backfire.

Grabbing the pizza box, Sam followed the young man up to the back steps of the small house. The church across the grass was not much larger.

Most of the people inside were crowded around a kitchen table large enough for maybe four people. A game involving dice and full cups of beer was in full swing.

"Three man!" someone yelled, and Sam watched redneck Brian chug a beer. He looked a little green, but then he saw Sam and became distracted. After a long belch that drew applause, he said, "What up, ghost girl?"

"I brought a seriously messed up pizza. Mind if I grab a beer?" Sam put the pizza box down and people descended on it like locusts. Within minutes the box was empty, and those who spoke all agreed that pizza ghost bitch rocked.

"No one leaves until the keg floats," Brian said, "and up next is naked stair diving."

After grabbing a beer, Sam sat on Brian's lap. "So, you gonna show me how to play this game?"

"Fresh meat is three man!"

Chapter 4

Wondering why there was duct tape over her nipples, Sam groaned and reached for her aching head. As soon as she moved, she began to feel the rug burn. What had she been thinking? What had any of them been thinking?

How she had gotten home, Sam had no idea, but she was at least on her bed. There were no sheets or pillows, as those had been packed away, but she had woken up in worse places.

There remained the problem of the duct tape. It appeared to have no intention of coming off on its own, and Sam again wondered how she had managed to end up with industrial strength duct tape over her breasts. Thinking of it like a band-aid that must be removed, she gave it a quick yank. "Oh… Ow… Son of a bitch!"

Shells charged into the room a moment later, and she found Sam sitting on her mattress, topless and with one breast covered with shiny silver tape. "Dude. What the hell happened to you last night? Three guys carried you in here wrapped in a blanket at four-o'clock this morning. And what the hell is up with the duct tape?"

"Naked stair diving," Sam said. "There was a keg that refused to float."

Shells nodded with a look of understanding, while Sam pulled on a t-shirt. "Happens to me all the time. Oh, and I landed a little graphic design gig for a hundred and fifty bucks. How are you doing?"

"I took a twelve dollar loss on a lopsided pizza, but I got it back in beer. Aw, man, my head."

"Hudocks or Seagraves?"

"Seagraves. I need a cheesesteak. And it's been a while."

It was a short ride to Tillbury, and Sam pulled into the parking lot of Seagraves Sub Shop. Eddie and Carol worked behind a single, L-shaped counter; Eddie working freshly cut beef on the grill, and Carol wrapping up subs.

"Hey there, Sam," Eddie said when he turned and spotted her. "It's good to see you. You haven't been around for too long. What can I get you? Cure for a hangover, perhaps?"

Sam just nodded.

"I'll take one, too."

"Sure thing. Coming right up."

"We were really sorry to hear about everything that's happened to you," Carol said, her voice soft and kind. "We've been worried about you."

"I'll land on my feet," Sam said, pushing her sunglasses back up to the bridge of her nose. "I always do."

"Two hangover cures," Eddie said, and he placed two long cylinders wrapped in paper on the top of the counter. "Ut oh."

Sam followed his gaze to look out the window into the parking lot where a LAC police car sat behind Sam's Camaro and Officer Winter waited, leaning against his car.

Carol handed Sam her change, and she grabbed their cheesesteaks. "Thanks. I'll see you soon."

"Good luck," Eddie said with a shake of his head. "Girl can't catch a break."

He may not have intended her to hear that last part, but the statement nearly brought a tear to her eye. For one brief instant she felt sorry for herself, but the sight of Officer Winter ignited her ire.

"Cure for a hangover?" Officer Winter asked.

Sam didn't answer.

"Did you know that you are often still drunk when you wake from an all night binge? I know where you were last night, and we saw them carry you into your house at 4:15 am. I could take you in right now and give you a breathalyzer."

"She didn't drive here," Shells blurted. "And I didn't drink anything last night."

"I see. And is this your car?"

"No, sir."

"And is your vehicle parked at Ms. Flock's residence?"

"Yes."