Orphans of Wonderland (20 page)

Sounds of the city filled the silence until Dorsey said, “Never thought Lonnie would go first.” He let the cigarette dangle from his mouth, then put his hands in his coat pockets. “Maybe me. Or Trent, that crazy bastard, but not Lonnie.”

The day was overcast and bleak, and in a few hours it would be dark. Joel didn't want to be there once night fell. He didn't want to be anywhere once night fell.

“I used to bust balls, call him Deputy Dog. He'd get so pissed.” Dorsey smiled, took a drag on his cigarette and exhaled through his nose. “Remember how he'd get so pissed he'd start laughing? Could always make Lonnie laugh.”

Joel wanted to smile too, because he did remember that about Lonnie, but he couldn't seem to summon it. “Dorse,” he said, “we need to talk.”

He looked out at the playground and street beyond, his smile dead. “Yeah.”

“Did you know Lonnie was in contact with Trent before his death?”

The sound of Trent's name caused him to turn back to Joel. After a moment he looked away again, then shook his head no. “I didn't think anybody saw or heard from Trent in forever. You sure about that?”

“Relatively.”

“Lonnie would've told me.”

“If he felt he could've. He did talk to you about what was happening to him, didn't he?”

Dorsey puffed his cigarette. “Nita didn't like him coming around. He was having problems and it upset me. I…I started having nightmares.”

“About what?”

“Hadn't had them in years. It was one of the things I loved about being out at sea. Never had them out there. One of the most dangerous jobs in the world, but I never felt safer in my life. Before or since.”

“What were the nightmares about?”

“You know what they were about, Joel.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Dorsey finally plucked the cigarette from his mouth. “I thought it was over,” he said, his voice beginning to shake. “Lonnie did too—shit, we all did—but then it started up again. Whatever got to Lonnie triggered it, I…”

“Triggered what, the nightmares?”

“He was seeing bad shit.” Dorsey flicked the cigarette away. “
Demons
.”

“Were you seeing them too?”

Dorsey looked at him, his face a grimace of pain and terror.

“Are you seeing them right now?” Joel pressed.

As if in answer, the wind blew paper and refuse across the otherwise empty basketball court. A few blocks away, a siren blared, then faded.

“Everything was okay for a long time,” Dorsey said, wincing. “Wasn't it?”

“I thought so.”

“Why now? After all these years?”

“Ever heard of Tuser Industries?”

“No. What is it?”

“Company over in the south end.”

“What's it got to do with us?”

“The name Pete Fernandez mean anything to you?”

Dorsey shook his head.

“Fernandez worked with Lonnie,” Joel explained. “But he and Lonnie were both also involved with some sort of program over at Tuser Industries. I think Lonnie might've even been unknowingly recruiting for them and brought Fernandez into the fold. Either way, they're serious people, man. Dangerous people. They were experimenting on him and others there. Mind-control experiments, Dorse.”

Dorsey dug out another cigarette and lighted it, this time with shaking hands. “What the hell's that even mean?”

“Something happened to us.”

“Keep dazzlin' and I'm gonna start calling you the Amazing Kreskin.”

“Hilarious.”

“Beats crying.”

“Dorse, whatever happened, it happened to all of us—when we were kids—and whatever it was, it's connected somehow to what was going on with Lonnie at Tuser and what's happening to all of us now.”

Dorsey manically smoked his cigarette a while. “Have you seen them?” he finally asked, his voice nearly a whisper.

“No,” Joel said. “But I…back when I had my problems, I thought…I thought things like that were inside me, inside my head and…talking to me.”

“But not anymore?”

Growls and whispers at the very edges of his perception
…

“No. Not anymore.”

He opened his coat enough to reach his free hand inside and pull out a piece of paper. It was folded up to about the size of a business card. Dorsey put his smoke in his mouth and, using both trembling hands, unfolded the paper. “Sometimes if I draw them, they get out of my head for a while.” Placing it across his knees, then smoothing it out, he held it up for Joel to see. “This is what they look like.”

Done in pencil, a crudely drawn series of frightening humanoid figures filled the paper, their limbs long, distorted and extended, as if reaching out for him. They looked exactly like the ones Lonnie had drawn in his notebook.

But this drawing included something more.

In the upper right-hand corner was a much smaller but clear depiction of a car and four stick figures lying down in what looked like grass or weeds.

A single snowflake appeared in the sky, slowly spiraling down toward the basketball court. Joel and Dorsey watched it ride the wind, dancing for them before making its final descent to the pavement. Just like the thoughts and visions in their heads, more would follow. This was only the beginning.

“I never told anyone,” Dorsey said softly.

“Me either.”

Dorsey smoked the rest of his cigarette, then flicked it away. Smoke swirled around him like rolling fog. “Nita knows something happened when I was a kid, but she doesn't know what. Never been able to tell her.”

“Do you even know yourself?” Joel asked.

He folded up the paper and slid it back into his coat. “The car.”

“To this day Sal still says it was all just a game.”

“For years I had myself convinced that's what it was. Bunch of kids lying down in the grass, pretending we were…”

“We were what?”

Dorsey shrugged. “We were gone a day. A whole day, man, just…gone.”

“We were in that car, weren't we?”

“I think so.” Dorsey ran a hand across his mouth and sighed. “We weren't in the field the whole time, I know that much. We never even set up our gear.”

“What did they do to us, Dorse?”

“I don't know, but whatever it was, it wasn't the first time.”

The revelation slammed Joel like a punch to the chest. He'd never thought of it before, yet the moment the words registered, he knew Dorsey was right.

“Whoever they were, they already knew us,” he continued. “It wasn't like they came across some random kids and made their move, dig? They knew we'd be there. They knew
us
. They'd taken us before, plenty of times, just not all at once.”

A tremor shuddered through Joel's body. “Why do you say that?”

“I remember being in a place. It was all white, like a hospital maybe. I was on a gurney and these people were wheeling me down a long hallway. I remember the lights overhead passing by real slow. I dreamed about that for years before the day with the big black car. But when I remember that weekend, I remember the same thing happening, like in the dream. I feel it, and I know it's something I felt before. Not once, but a lot of times.”

“Do you remember anything else?”

“Being afraid.” Dorsey seemed to come back from wherever he'd been in his head and quickly dug his cigarettes out again. “Now it's just the dreams. I don't know how much more I can take, cuz. I'm scared all the time.”

Joel remembered Pete Fernandez telling him the same thing. He decided to test the waters and cast a line. “What about the numbers, Dorse, the sounds?”

“They're in my head too,” he said. “Falling through my mind like…”

“Rain?”

Dorsey looked at him with equal parts terror and hope. “You too?”

“No, but I have the dreams. The numbers and sounds were things Lonnie suffered from, and so does the guy he worked with I told you about.”

“There's a message in them but I don't know what it is. It's just out of reach. Like whispers you know you heard but can't make out.”

On the other side of the fence, three young guys in heavy jackets walked parallel to the playground. Joel watched them until they turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

“It's like sometimes the whole goddamn world's inside my head,” Dorsey told him. “And it's all in flames.”

Joel wanted to comfort him somehow, but it was beyond that. It had been for a very long time.

“Like the shit you ran into in your book.” Dorsey took a hard pull on his cigarette. “You think all that went away? What, evil got cured? That cult disbanded and they're all living good lives now, baking cookies and shit? That what happened to those fucks? You
proved
connections existed between them and a nationwide group of sick-ass motherfuckers. That all went up in smoke, dissolved into nothing, huh? The psychos that slaughtered that poor Portuguese girl—what—they went straight? Shit, listen to people now and you'd think none of it ever happened. You'd think the Devil's the good guy in all this and the rest of us are crazy.”

Joel nodded but refrained from answering, the fear he'd felt back then boiling to the surface, strangling him along with all the rest.

“That's the beauty of evil,” Dorsey said. “It hides for a while, that's all. Waits. Changes. Comes back. Stronger. Meaner. Not a villain anymore, but the hero. And we all open wide and swallow it down.”

“Like the dreams,” Joel said.

“Like the dreams.”

“I need to find Trent. I need to know what he knows. We all do.”

“Sal says Trent's nuts.”

“Maybe so. Maybe we all are. But this is no game, Dorse. Whoever these people are, they killed Lonnie, and there's a good chance they'll come after the rest of us too. I've already been threatened. I've seen firsthand what they're capable of, and it's hardcore, man. Serious hardcore.”

“What are they going to do, kill us like they did Lonnie? We're already dead, cuz. Been dead for years, just didn't know it. We all died in that field back home. Didn't none of us get out of there alive.”

“I'm going to end this,” Joel told him. “One way or another.”

Something shifted in Dorsey's face. He smoked his cigarette a while. “That's what Lonnie told me,” he finally said. “Last time I saw him alive.”

A few more renegade flakes fell from the sky, riding the wind.

“Trent's mother's in a nursing home here in the city,” Joel said.

“He was never that close to his mother.” Dorsey's cigarette was smoked down to the filter. He stared at it as if he'd only then realized it was in his hand. “Think about it. None of us were close to our parents. Before that day or after.”

Joel nodded. Dorsey was right again. “Still, she might know where he is.”

Dorsey flicked the butt away. “You think he's close?”

“I think he might be.”

They were quiet a while. The snow picked up but still wasn't accumulating.

“There isn't as much of me left as there used to be, but I can still rumble pretty good for an old man.” Dorsey smiled sadly, as if he'd remembered something. “You need me, I'm here. Sal too.”

“Sal didn't seem too receptive.”

“You let me worry about that stubborn-ass guinea.”

Just like old times
, Joel thought.
He can call Sal that all day, but let someone else do it and it's time to throw.
It brought back so many happy memories, it made him want to smile. Almost.

Instead, screams whispered to him from the farthest reaches of his mind, dragging him back to the dark, and the madness that nested there.

“I'll be in touch.” Joel offered his fist. “Be safe.”

Dorsey bumped his fist against Joel's. “Ain't no such thing.”

Chapter Twenty

As night drifted over the city, Joel stood on a corner across the street from the Whaling City Shores Nursing Home and Rehabilitation Facility, a three-story rectangular building that looked like a hospital out of the 1930s. Drab and run-down and located in a less than prime neighborhood, this was not a place that housed the wealthy or privileged. Though a few renegade snowflakes still sputtered about, the temperature had gotten a bit warmer, and the air now felt more like rain.

Watching the facility, Joel dialed Katelyn Burrows' number. This was beyond her, and for her own safety, she needed to be removed from anything that might happen from this point forward. He owed Lonnie that, and the only way to assure his daughter was out of the equation was for Joel to sever his ties with her as quickly and with as much finality as possible.

“Katelyn,” he said when she answered, “Joel Walker.”

“Hello,” she said tentatively. “How are you making out?”

“I was going to come by and see you so we could talk face-to-face,” he lied, knowing this would be the first of many, “but I have some things back home I have to attend to.”

“You're going home?”

“Katelyn, I've looked into things as best I can. I even spoke, off the record, with the police. I know you don't have a lot of faith in them right now, but within the next few days—if not sooner—they're going to be in touch with you regarding your father's murder.”

“Have they discovered something new?”

“Odds are they're going to tell you that their investigation has led them to believe Lonnie was killed in a small-time drug deal gone wrong. They don't know who did it yet and they may never know, but Katelyn, you need to listen to them.”

“And why would I do that? You and I both know that's nonsense.”

Joel drew a deep breath and did his best to sound sincere. “A few days ago I would've agreed with you. Now, I think you need to listen to what the police have to say. You need to accept it, understand it for the horrible and senseless tragedy that it was, and then you and your husband need to move on with your lives. Start a family of your own, be happy. It's what Lonnie would want.”

A long silence, and then, “What changed your mind?”

“The police weren't at liberty to go into much detail since it's still an open investigation, but after looking into things myself and speaking with one of the detectives directly, my advice is to listen to what they have to tell you.” A cold blast of wind blew along the avenue and slammed into him. He turned his back to it and pressed the phone tighter against his ear. “It's over, Katelyn. It is what it is. I'm heading back to Maine tonight. I'll drop Lonnie's keys in the mail to you.”

“Mr. Walker, can I—”

“Joel.”

“
Mr. Walker
, may I ask you one more question?”

“Of course.”

“Are you telling me the truth?”

Joel watched the cars pass along the avenue. None were the Crown Vic. “Yes.” When she offered no reply, he said, “Lonnie was a casual marijuana user. I believe he may have been suffering from some serious depression and paranoia. That may have been what the pills the police took were for. I think he wound up on the wrong street with the wrong guy at the wrong time and paid the price for it. We may never have all the answers, Katelyn, or even any that make sense to us or in any way make us feel better. But that certainly appears to be what happened.”

“When you agreed to do this, you told me—”

“I told you not to get your hopes up. I did my best. I'm sorry.”

“If I get additional information, should I let you know, or would you rather I leave you alone?”

“I'd rather you remember and take comfort in how deeply your father loved and adored you. And I'd rather you get on with your life, Katelyn.”

“All right. Then I'll let you do the same. Thank you for your help.”

Before he could say anything else, Katelyn hung up.

With a sigh, Joel put his phone away.
You might hate me right
now, he thought,
but I may have just saved your life
.

Waiting for a break in traffic, he hurried across the street to the nursing home just as an icy rain began to fall.

Once he made his way across a large front parking lot, Joel entered through two sliding doors. A security guard greeted him in the foyer. Old and frail enough to be living there, the guard looked up at him from the plastic chair he was sitting in but said nothing. Behind comically thick glasses, the old man's gigantic eyes blinked at him.

“Evening,” Joel said. “Reception?”

The guard returned his attention to a crossword puzzle book he was working on. “Straight ahead, son,” he muttered.

Joel went through another doorway and down a short hallway to a reception desk, where a woman in a flowered top was chatting on a telephone. As she saw Joel approaching, she held a finger up, signaling him to wait. When she'd finished, she hung up and smiled at him pleasantly. “Yes?”

“I'm here to see a resident.”

“Who is it you'd like to see?”

“Theresa Pierce.”

“And you are?”

“Joel Walker.”

“Your relation to Ms. Pierce?”

“Friend of the family.”

“One moment.” The woman consulted her computer, clicking at the keyboard before her with bright red fingernails. Frowning suddenly, she pointed to a nearby waiting area and said, “You can have a seat over there and someone will be with you shortly.”

“Is everything all right?”

“If you'll just have a seat, someone will be out to talk with you shortly.”

Joel nodded and wandered over to the waiting area, which consisted of dated, cheap furniture and a bevy of magazines older than he was. Rather than sit, he stood in the otherwise empty area and watched the television suspended in the corner. The sound was turned down but the local news was on. He looked over his shoulder at the double doors and lot beyond. It was getting dark and the rain had picked up.

“Mr. Walker?” a female voice asked from behind him.

Joel turned to find a nurse moving toward him. “Yes.”

“Reception said you were here to see Theresa Pierce?”

“Yes. I'm a friend of the family.”

“I'm Brittany Baptiste. I run the unit Ms. Pierce is on.”

He plastered the warmest smile he could muster across his face. “Hi. I'm visiting from out of town, thought I'd stop in and see her. Haven't seen Theresa in ages—is everything okay?”

“I'm sorry,” the nurse said, “but Ms. Pierce had an episode earlier and she's been taken to the hospital.”

“An episode? Is she all right?”

“I'm afraid I can't go into any detail or disclose anything more regarding her medical condition,” she said. “Sorry. HIPAA laws.”

“Of course, I understand. Gosh, I hope she's okay. I'm only in town tonight and won't be back for quite some time.” Joel sighed dramatically. “Are you allowed to tell me which hospital she's been taken to?”

“I'm really not supposed to.”

“Saint Luke's?” he asked quietly.

The nurse pursed her lips, looked behind her at the reception desk, then moved closer and quietly said, “She was transferred over there a few hours ago.”

“Thank you so much.”

“She's a sweetheart. I hope she's going to be all right.”

“Me too. Thanks again.”

The nurse turned and walked off down the hallway from which she'd come. Joel looked up at the television in the corner. A breaking news story banner flashed across the screen beneath the talking head reading the news. Without volume he couldn't hear what was being said, but the graphic at the bottom of the screen read: SECURITY GUARD DEAD. Joel frantically looked around, found a remote control lying next to the stack of magazines and aimed it at the set until the volume rose enough for him to hear it.

“The man,” the newscaster said in his best sorrowful voice, “identified as Peter Fernandez of New Bedford, was a former security guard at the mall in North Dartmouth. Police found the body in a car in the mall parking lot after it was reported by passersby earlier this afternoon that there was someone in the car, covered in blood and not moving or responding. Fernandez, in an apparent suicide, slashed his own throat and was pronounced dead on the scene. Police say he had been deceased for several hours when they found him in the driver's seat with the car doors locked. Family told
Action News 3
that Fernandez had been fired from his job recently and had become despondent due to his inability to find employment…”

“Not too loud, please,” the receptionist said.

Joel muted the TV, dropped the remote back atop the stack of magazines and stood there in stunned silence. The terrified face of Pete Fernandez drifted through his mind.
God Almighty
, he thought.
They're going to kill us all
.

Magic is real,
Pete whispered to him, as if from the grave
. Did you know that?

He headed back out, passed by the old guard in the plastic chair and slipped away into the darkness and falling rain.