Pale Immortal (22 page)

"Gerber was killed almost immediately," Rachel said. Not what a father would want to hear. Not what anybody would want to hear.

"Who's on the case?"

"Division of Criminal Investigation."

"Same people involved in the Gerber case." They both knew how little progress DCI was making. "I can't turn myself in now. I have to find Graham."

"Find Graham?
How?"

"You'd be amazed by what I can get done at night," he said. "When everybody is asleep."

Graham came awake with a jerk, his heart slamming.

Don't sleep. Can't fall asleep.

Last thing he knew, he'd been sitting on the mattress, his back against the wall, eyes open wide as he tried to make out any movement or sound. Now he was lying down.

He shoved himself up.

Still dark. Still night.

The night lasted forever. You never thought about that when you slept through it. You went to sleep and you woke up and that was that. But it went on and on and on.

He'd already lost track of how long he'd been there. Two nights? Three? He thought it was three. A little food. No water. No sleep. Freezing his ass off.

What was he doing here? He couldn't even remember why it had seemed important.

To get away from his mother. Yeah, he knew that. But he'd rather have her beat his ass every day than have to stay here any longer.

Alba had assured him he'd fix things, that he'd figure something out. Like maybe find a decent place for Graham to hide. Maybe a place for him to start over with a new identity. He was almost an adult. He could do that. He could take care of himself.

But Alba hadn't been around.

And this was fucked.

That's all Graham knew.

Something small scurried nearby, and Graham imagined little mouse nails on the floor.

He'd been hallucinating. Yesterday he stepped outside in the woods and thought he saw some people walking around in the graveyard next to the church. Graham had quickly ducked behind the trunk of a tree, and when he looked again, nobody was there.

And hadn't they been dressed kinda weird? In old clothes?

One man had worn a black coat with tails; a woman was in a long, dark dress.

And hadn't somebody been crying?

Yes.

Wasn't somebody crying right now?

He listened intently.

There it was. That high, keening wail. That sobbing.

A woman. The woman he'd told Alba about.

The coyote.

He tried to picture the word in his mind. How did you spell that? He couldn't remember. He couldn't think. He hadn't been able to think clearly for a long time.

"Help me!"

The voice didn't come from Graham's head, but from somewhere outside.

A tremble shot through him, and his scalp tingled. Had he really heard that? Or was he dreaming while he was awake? People did that. He'd read about it. If you went without sleep for too long, you started dreaming when you were awake.

"Help me!"

He let out a terrified sob, then slapped a hand over his mouth.

Oh, God.

He scrambled up off the mattress. Arms outstretched, he moved forward through the blackness, taking high, awkward steps, trying to recall where the holes in the floor were.

He made it to the door and paused, his heart hammering.

She was out there. The crying coyote woman.

Don't leave. Stay here, where you're safe.

Safe?

He was losing his mind here. He was starving to death here.

He squeezed through the narrow opening. As soon as his feet touched soft ground, he took off. To the right was the way out. He remembered that. To the right, past the graveyard, down a lane.

His eyes were open so wide he thought his eyeballs would fall out. His legs ripped through tangled vines, and his boots broke dead twigs. He could make out some shapes that were dark and low to the ground. That were darker than the rest of the darkness.

Bushes? Or cloaked, crouched people?

His arms and legs pumped; his chest rose and fell, and his lungs burned. His foot caught and he was hurtled forward, slamming into the ground, the breath knocked out of him.

"Help me!"

She was closer now. She was following him.

Shit. Oh, shit.

He scrambled to his feet.

Suddenly, off in the distance, appearing and disappearing between tree trunks, a light caught his attention.

He ran for that light, his lungs raw, his legs shaking.

Alba's house. Must be Alba's.

He didn't take his eyes off the light.

He fell. He got back up. He fell again. And got back up.

Don't stop. Don't look back. Just run. Run like hell.

He came to a gate.

Locked.

He climbed to the top, swung both legs over, and dropped to the other side.

He heard a sound—like the release of a spring— immediately followed by a solid metal snap.

Raw, tearing pain ripped through his ankle.

Run. Keep running.

His eyes refocused on the light, which he now recognized as a kitchen window. He launched himself toward it. His leg was jerked out from under him.

He screamed.

She was grabbing him. The coyote woman had him by the foot and was pulling him back. He screamed again and dug his fingers into the ground, trying to wrench himself away, trying to kick himself free.

Clang.

Like the rattle of a heavy chain.

The pain in his ankle was intense. Worse than anything he'd ever felt before in his life.

He curled around and reached for her hands, her claws—and touched cold metal. Something metal was wrapped around his ankle. Something metal with jagged teeth.

A trap. The kind of trap hunters used. Attached to the trap was a chain, the chain attached to the fence.

The inside of his boot felt slick and warm. It took him a moment to realize that it was filling up with blood.

"Alba!" he screamed.
"Alba!"
And then,
"Help me!"

Working blindly, he tried to separate the locked teeth of the trap. Dizziness washed over him, and he blacked out.

When he came to, he was lying on his back, the pain in his ankle so intense that his muscles were bunched, his teeth gritted hard enough to snap his jaw.

In the distance a light flashed.

The house. A porch light. A flashlight.

Thank you, Jesus.

Somebody had heard him. Someone was coming.

He could see the light wending its way toward him, bouncing, getting brighter and closer.

He wanted to go home. Even if it meant going home to his mom. He wanted a bed. A shower. Food. Sleep. He didn't want to die, not like this.

"Who's there?" the man with the flashlight demanded. It sounded like Alba.

"Here! I'm here!" Graham shouted, his voice snagging on a sob.

The man with the light closed the distance between them, until Graham could see that it
was
Alba.

"Oh, my God," he sobbed. "Am I glad to see you. My foot! I caught it in a trap. I'm bleeding all over!"

Funny that he'd tried to kill himself not long ago and he hadn't been scared for a second. But this was different. A trap. A trap meant for an animal.

When Alba didn't hustle, Graham grew impatient. "Hurry! You have to get me out of here! You have to get me out of this thing!"

Who would have put it there? Who would have left something like that there, right out in the open? Right by a gate where anybody could step on it?

He was already imagining being taken to the hospital and having to come clean about running away. He didn't like hospitals, but that was okay. Better than losing his fucking foot.

What was Alba doing? Standing there, looking at him.

"Help me!" Graham shrieked. "Get this off me!"

He was freaking out.

Still Alba didn't move any nearer. Finally he spoke: "I put the trap there."

"W-what?"

"I'm not that strong, and it was hard to set."

"Are you crazy? What were you thinking? Anybody could have stepped in it. I stepped in it. What were you trying to catch?"

"You were supposed to stay at the church," Alba said. "But I was afraid you might get tired of it. I was afraid you might decide to leave."

Graham stared into the blinding light, unable to see Alba's face. But Alba could see his, and Graham's expression had to reflect the sick horror he was feeling, even though his mind was still denying what he'd just heard.

"Last night I caught a feral cat," Alba said. "The night before, a raccoon. But I set the trap for you."

Graham was having a really fucked-up dream.

One of those dreams that seemed more real than real life. One where you could actually feel pain. A lot of pain. In his dream he'd been running and he had gotten his foot caught in a trap. Right now his foot and ankle hurt like hell with a deep, heartbeat throb.

Wake up. Wake up so the pain will stop. So the nightmare will end.

He kept repeating the command until he finally woke up.

Or so he thought, but it ended up being one of those trick dreams. One of those dreams where you thought you were awake, but you were really in another stage of the dream.

His foot and ankle still hurt; he was still asleep.

Open your eyes. Maybe that'll work—just open your eyes.

He did.

Broken rafters above, filthy mattress below.

The church at Alba's place.

Home, sweet home.

But something was wrong. Really, really wrong.

He was bound up tight in some kind of Harry Houdini thing. A chain had been wrapped around his body over and over, his arms left free. The heavy links trailed away to encircle the leg of a nearby pew attached to the floor.

Travis jumped up from the back of the building. "Hey, man. I was startin' to think you was never gonna wake up."

The nightmare was real, the pain in Graham's leg intensified now that he was awake. "Unchain me." His voice came out a hoarse croak.

He tried to sit up but couldn't. Even the slightest movement made the pain a million times worse. Dark spots floated in front of him.

"You pissed him off," Travis said in a voice that was too casual for the situation and made Graham wonder if maybe he was still dreaming. "You can't ever piss him off."

"Who? What are you talking about?"

"Alba."

Graham closed his eyes and let his head drop. He tried to calm his breathing so maybe the pain wouldn't be as bad. It didn't work. If your pain was a ten and it fell to a nine ... that wasn't much of an improvement. "Unchain me," he gasped with drama that would have been embarrassing as hell if he had given a shit about that right now.

"Sorry, dude. I can't."

Graham's mind was a mess, but not such a mess that he couldn't figure out what had happened. "You abducted me."

"No. No, man."

"Yes, you did. And now I'm a prisoner. Isn't that right?"

"No! No, you weren't! Not until now. Not until you pissed him off."

"Don't you mean until I tried to leave?"

Anger surged through him, and he momentarily forgot about the pain. "Come on!" He strained against the unforgiving metal. "Unchain me, asshole! Can't you see how fucking lame this is? How fucking stupid?"

"He told me to watch you and make sure you woke up. I guess you lost a lot of blood. But I gotta get outta here before dark. I can't stay here after dark."

"Why are you doing this? What's in it for you? I mean, I thought we were friends." Bullshit, but it seemed like a good tactic. And Graham had liked Travis more than he liked Travis's buddies.

"We're going to become immortal," Travis said.

Graham always knew Travis was stupid, but he'd never guessed how stupid.

"What does Alba want with me? I don't get it."

"He said you're bait."

Like ransom? Graham wondered.

His mom didn't have any money, but maybe Stroud did. How much did writers make? He'd never really thought about it. The famous ones probably made money, but he didn't think Stroud was famous. He'd never once run into anybody who'd ever heard of him. But then, he didn't hang out with people who read books.

Travis pulled out his cell phone, punched his thumb across some buttons, then lifted the phone to his face. "Yeah, he's awake." A pause. "He seems to feel okay." He turned to Graham. "You feel okay, don't you?"

What the hell?

"Here." Travis crouched down and held the phone to Graham's ear. "He wants to talk to you."

"Sorry I can't be there," came Alba's voice over the small phone. "But today's our dress rehearsal for the play."

Graham's stomach dropped.

Over the past few days Graham's world had become incredibly small. He'd almost forgotten about school and the play. About Isobel.

Alba was roaming around playing cool drama teacher when he shouldn't be allowed near those kids.

"How do you feel?" Alba asked.

Graham had always thought he'd had some experience with insanity—spending his life with a sick woman he sometimes refused to think of as anything more than the Uterus—but Alba took craziness to a new level. The calm normalcy of it all was too much.

Graham blew up. "You crazy son of a bitch!" He wanted to say more, but the rage and frustration exploded in his head and made him dumb and confused. Suddenly he wondered who the real crazy one was here.

"Sorry, Graham," Alba told him. "You seem like a nice kid."

Graham let out a loud sob, distantly aware of Travis hunkered over him, the hand with the phone next to his face. "My fucking foot is going to fall off, and you're critiquing my personality? I'm going to lose my foot!"

"I have to go," Alba said, his voice casual and unchanged. "Someone is here. Hello, Isobel. No, come on in. I was just signing off." Then, back to Graham. "Talk to you later, dude," he said in what he probably assumed was coolspeak.

It obviously worked. Everybody seemed to be falling for it.