Sticks and Stones (23 page)

Jack’s face was pale over his brother’s shoulder, muted in the dim lamplight. His wounds looked like a patchwork pattern. His breath rasped out, short and shallow, wounded and making her chest hitch.

She hated seeing them like this.

Danny didn’t say a word, just pressed his lips to the top of her head, then tilted her chin up to press his lips there, too.

Jack groaned.

They separated. Danny got him Tylenol and Sandra got him water, and then she sat down beside him, resting her stretched-out leg against his ribs, trying to ease the pain and let him relax. When he fell asleep, Sandra looked over across the room at Danny and wondered what they’d do next.

Somewhere out there, Jeremiah was waiting.

Chapter Twenty-Three

They didn’t
see Jeremiah Epps for five weeks.

Jack recovered slowly. They spent two days at the motel after their hospital breakout, before the chance of being found
– by Jeremiah or
the police
– forced them to move on. Jack dozed on and off in the backseat of the car, face slightly strained and pale from the never smooth-enough roads they traveled.

Danny drove real nice and slow.

Jack dozed in and out and usually went right back to sleep when they reached their new motel, pillows and blankets rolled up on either side of him. Sandra couldn’t say he looked exactly boyish when he slept, but he looked younger with his hair all in spikes, drool sliding down his chin. So exhausted he kept forgetting to untie his boots.

Sandra pulled them off, set them near the wall so no one would trip over them, and crawled on top of the opposite bed, working the television remote with the volume nearly on mute while Danny went searching for food. She tried not to be too worried – he’d taken his gun along. And his knife. And he knew what Jeremiah looked like now. He wouldn’t be so quick to help someone, either, even if it was some little old lady crossing the street.

Because they just didn’t know these days.

Some people just had dark eyes. And some people had black ones. And how was anyone supposed to know the difference?

Jack mumbled something that sounded like gibberish and Sandra settled on an ocean documentary that she was sure would wind off into some charity event in a few seconds, televised celebrities asking for money the Sloans and she didn’t have. The blankets smelled like fabric softener and the room was warm enough to make her drowsy, a background chorus of blue whales echoing quietly through the room.

She didn’t know when her eyes closed. She wasn’t even sure if she was asleep. The blankets were still under her palms. The pillow was bunched high behind her head, body tilted, warm, stagnant air on her face. It didn’t feel like dreaming, yet she couldn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t hear Jack. She couldn’t hear the television set.

There was smoke.

Thick and billowing. Grey and rancid, not at all like cigarettes. It filled Sandra’s lungs and clogged up the room, burning black and leaving grime on her skin.

Danny opened the door and Sandra took a deep breath, opened her eyes and sat up. She hid one trembling hand beneath her thigh, curled the other tight around the remote. Danny carried a bag full of takeout cartons, the smell of sauce and noodles and chicken making her stomach churn. She took the carton he gave her, picking until she could push it aside under the pretense of being full.

She caught Danny staring and didn’t think he was fooled.

Daylight faded behind the flimsy curtains. Warm and restless, Sandra let her eyes close again, and breathed in smoke until it settled into her bones and turned them to ash.

“Hey,” Danny’s hand rubbed her shoulder, a gentle squeeze as he leaned over, pressed dry lips against her forehead. “G’morning. I’m going to go out. Get a paper. And coffee?” He made it a question but Sandra shook her sleepy head. “Okay.” Danny kissed her again, big hand on her hip, bed dipping as he stood up from the edge. He was in between the two beds, giving the still sleeping Jack a look as he left.

He took the key – locked the room behind him.

Sandra drifted, staring at the strangely shaped water stain on the ceiling. The air felt cooler than it had been the night before.

On the other bed, Jack looked as flushed as her, hair stuck to his head. One arm had worked out from the blankets. The glass of water was empty and the Tylenol they’d left on the middle table was missing.

Slipping from her covers, Sandra leaned over, tugged his blankets lower and made her way into the bathroom. Some cold water on the face, a toothbrush and toothpaste and her hairbrush did wonders in making her feel better. And then she crawled in next to Jack and waited until Danny returned.

He came back bearing donuts and coffee with three papers tucked under his arm, two of them journals published by small business publications. She peered over his shoulder, getting multicolored sprinkles on the back of his shirt as he spread the papers out over the empty bed. He pushed her away when some fell down his neck.

Jack roused at the smell of coffee. Sandra let her arm be used as leverage, and then sat beside him as he sipped from his cup. Jack’s thigh felt like a furnace. He kept one arm wrapped around his ribs and she was careful not to get him in his side with her bony elbow. She got sprinkles on him, too. But he was getting sprinkles everywhere himself and didn’t complain. Using his free arm, he switched his donut every few bites with his coffee, resting them on the bedside table. There was no napkin, and bits of chocolate melted into the bedspread.

“What’re you doing?” Jack paused between mouthfuls.

“Looking,” Danny said.

“For what?” Jack had more coffee, finished his donut, and motioned with his hand for Sandra to bring the pastry box closer. He had a smear of sugar on the corner of his lips.

“More deaths.”

Jack grimaced, swallowed his last bite like it got stuck in his throat and chugged the rest of his coffee back as though he wished it was something stronger. Danny set the paper aside with a sigh.

“Are they even looking for him?” Jack asked, and Danny grimaced

“That’s swell,” Jack said, smile big and false. Danny finished up his coffee. Jack stole the last donut and locked himself in the bathroom.

He didn’t fall in the shower and Sandra considered that a good omen.

Nothing else certainly was.

~

Another city away and Jack discovered just how sympathetic the diner and pit-stop women could be. Even beat up, he had the women flocking to his side. There were, of course, the few that scoffed and rolled their eyes at the ridiculous story he told them – kidnapped by a polite psychopath, held hostage, saved in the nick of time by his big brother and his girl. Others hung onto him – you couldn’t make that kind of shit up. Besides, he had the proof right there on his face. And if it was a lie, well, they knew his type. He was just passing through, a man of adventure, full of mystery and intrigue. Just what they preferred.

Jack amassed a lot of phone numbers. He never called – but that was never the point.

Another flash of his charming smile and white teeth and an older woman with a brown ponytail walked away, promising free dessert. Sandra was pretty sure it only applied to Jack. If she were pettier, she’d steal it from him. But then he’d try to grab it back and hurt himself. He already tried to do more than his body could handle. Jack’s smile took up half his face when Marybeth came back. It looked slightly grotesque, scars and bruises bunching all up.

Marybeth smiled back like he was the cutest thing she’d ever seen.

Daniel snorted into his coffee.

Jack got his cake, chocolate, and dug in with gusto marred only by the pained lines around his eyes. He wasn’t moving much, but it was enough. Heck, breathing was enough. A paper had been tucked under his plate. It wasn’t a bill. Jack made a sound, full of triumph, and this time it was Sandra rolling her eyes.

“They want to mother you.” Danny had another paper open. Sandra never saw him handing over any money for them.

Jack made a face, tucked the phone number into his shirt pocket with a grin at Marybeth, who was across the room and wiping down the countertop. Her cheeks dusted pink and she looked down, seeming grateful when a new customer walked in.

“Anything?” Jack asked. Sandra shuffled her plate to the side and rested her cheek on her closed fist. She expected Danny’s shaken head as he pushed the paper aside, ink staining his fingertips black.

Jack shoved the last bite of cake in his mouth in lieu of figuring out something to say. Danny’s expression was aggravated, eyes fluttering across Jack’s bruised face.

“At least there hasn’t been a surge in obituaries,” Sandra said, and the look Danny gave her spoke words.

Jack snorted a laugh, and then pressed a hand to his ribs with a scowl. “Don’t do that.”

Danny slapped a hand to the table and gently pushed Sandra’s shoulder to get her moving. “Let’s go.”

“Slave driver,” Jack huffed, but he had nothing to complain about. They all knew they were heading back to their room so he could sleep. “That was good cake.”

“We can come back tomorrow,” Danny said, and Jack grinned at Marybeth’s shy face.

~

Sandra was in a convenience store.

There were wire racks spread against the walls, and along the aisles. She sat behind the counter, in a gray shirt with sleeves and the collar lined in blue. She held a magazine in big hands.
Alien born to 60 Year Old Chicago
Woman
, it said, complete with poorly digitized photograph.
Oh
good
, Sandra thought, at least she was learning the important news of the world. Her inner disgust clearly didn’t make the man set the paper down. He did turn the page. A photoshopped picture of a man with three noses stared up at her.

Oh Lord.

One of the overhead lights flickered and buzzed. The man’s nails were bitten down, chapped, with red fingers and rough palms that caught against the cheaply colored pages of the magazine. Radio music came faint through the back of the store. A country singer mourned the death of his red Chevrolet.

Sandra managed to see the pumps outside, empty of cars. The windows were big and clean, with a glass door. A fly buzzed against it.

She watched cars appear and disappear on the road from the corners of her eyes, a fade in and out like a movie projection that jerked and flickered. The sky was filled with buildings and skyscraper clouds.

The cashier shifted, and turned a page.

A pigeon dove into the lot, caught an updraft and soared back out again. A sidewalk shimmered, then was gone. Sandra’s chest felt heavy. A cloud moved into the sky, a projected reel-strip right in front of the store.

What is this?

The man’s fingers were cold.

Another pigeon soared down. It hit the pavement and didn’t get back up.

Sandra wished she could move. Her throat felt thick. The walls inside bulged. The man behind the counter didn’t react, didn’t see. They curved wrong, like the plaster was alive, curling inward and down, moving toward them.

Her heart started pounding so fast it should’ve hurt. Except it didn’t. Because the man wasn’t afraid.

Jeremiah Epps walked in.

Behind the counter, the cashier looked up, looked back down, and turned another page.

Jeremiah smiled.

When Jeremiah turned and walked to the farthest aisle, he kept his head down. He went to the cooler, pulling out a pop bottle. The cap unscrewed and the soda hissed. He was drinking when he reached the counter – put his head back down when he was done. He pulled a chocolate bar out of the display rack and plopped the rest of the drink in front of the register. The cashier sighed, lowered his magazine in a rush of rustling pages and scooted closer to the cash machine.

“Nice day,” Jeremiah said. Sandra wished she could lean away, wished the man would notice Jeremiah’s not-quite-right smile, his dark, flashing eyes.

The cashier nodded, mumbled, “Sure is,” sounded tired. Sandra felt the scar on his cheek when he scratched at it. Jeremiah glanced at the camera overhead – smiled some more.

“Can I ask you something?”

The clerk finished punching the items into the register, looked back up, and, without enthusiasm said, “Sure.” Jeremiah motioned him closer. The man followed, leaning over the countertop.
No,
Sandra warned him inside his head.

The blade slid in. Blood spattered down. It missed Jeremiah’s shirt as he leaned back.

Sandra couldn’t catch her breath. She gurgled. Her throat felt raw. Gaping. Her fingers moved there, tried to hold the edges together and stop up the leak.

Jeremiah never stopped smiling.

The clerk fell over, head glancing off the counter top as Jeremiah picked up his bottle of pop and walked out the front door. On the floor, Sandra wheezed, noticed the dingy tile turn to black, to nothing as she fell through.

The smoke swirled.

She woke gasping.

~

“Do you have his name?”

Sandra shook her head.

“A street?”

Another shake. Danny sighed.

“What about the store chain?”

Sandra breathed out hard, shook her head again, and slumped onto the bed. She could feel the gash there, right above the hollow of her throat, sliced from side to side. “She doesn’t know,” Jack said. “Give it a rest.” Sandra was kind of surprised, because he looked just as disappointed.

“Something felt wrong,” she told them.

“You mean, other than having your throat cut out?” Jack asked, then sighed when she threw him a dirty look. “Are you sure it was even a vision – maybe it wasn’t really—” he cut off a second time at her frustrated expression, words all running together. His eyes said
sorry
. His lips said, “I want to find him.”

“I know.” Sandra fell back onto the bed, carefully, because no matter what he said, Jack’s ribs still hurt. “I
know
. I want to, too. It’s just … I didn’t see anything that could help. So why? I mean, why see that? I
hate
this.”

Jack’s fingers touched her elbow.

“We’ll keep looking.” Danny’s eyes were kind, so understanding, and Sandra wanted to go over there and kiss him. But Jack’s fingers were still on her arm, so she just settled, dug the back of her head into the thin pillow.

“We’ll find something,” Danny assured her. “Even if we have to stop in every convenience store from here to New Mexico.”

Her laugh was muffled by her arm, which was just as well, since it sounded a little like a sob.

~

On average, there were convenience stores every five blocks in a big city. Given the number of cities and small towns within no known radius, that was a large number of stores. And gas chains. And even more employees.

“I don’t even know which city it’s in. Or even if it
is
in a city,” Sandra complained to Danny. They were in the middle of downtown, slowly checking stores off a mental list. The last one had red tiles on the walls. The one before had been painted yellow.