NEARLY THREE THOUSAND miles from Colorado, completely unaware that Lorraine wasn’t the only one of her kind, Joe Trefíll sat in the motel room and stared at the sleeping child. She’d come awake briefly a few hours earlier, just after they’d arrived. She sat on her bed in silence, staring at him with those weird olive-colored eyes of hers. Creepy eyes, Joe thought. It was like she could read everything in your brain. He had wanted to slap her, to make her stop staring. Then he remembered the whole reason he’d rented this room for two days was to give her head wound time to heal. He was grateful when her eyelids began to flutter and she fell back on the bed, asleep again.
Trefill was sitting sideways in one of the room’s two chairs, feet propped up on the dresser. An old John Wayne western was on the television, one with a box that promised the latest in movies after the insertion of a certain number of quarters. He had bought a package of peanuts from the vending machine at the end of the building, and now he sat eating them one by one. He’d have to get dinner at some point, he supposed, though he hadn’t managed to figure out how he’d do it without someone spotting him.
Damned pain in the neck. Why had she run away, anyway? He hadn’t hurt her or threatened her in any way. It was those hoodlums in the city. Or maybe it was the gunshot he’d fired off. It didn’t matter. Lorraine had run away, and had been taken in for a few days by that old lady. Trefill was glad she’d died. At least no one could identify him.
He crumpled up the peanut bag, tossed it at the waste-basket, and missed. He didn’t bother to pick it up. Instead, he swung himself off the chair and went to the night table. He pulled out a telephone book and opened it to the Yellow Pages. No particular kind of food appealed to him, but he decided on Chinese because that was the nearest place.
Not wanting the hassle of bringing Lorraine with him, he went into the bathroom and found a large towel. Taking a knife from his pocket, he made slits in the tightly woven ends and then ripped the towel into four equal strips. He carried these into the bedroom.
Lorraine was awakened by the feel of someone pulling at her legs. She tried to sit up, but found she couldn’t move. She stared at Trefill as he tied her to the bed with strips of white towel. A strange taste of wet terrycloth made her realize he’d gagged her with a washcloth.
She glared at him, as she’d done before, but he didn’t look back. He went about tying her without a word. She’d tried earlier to bring the monster back, the one Marty said she’d created to scare the landlord. She glared, fire burning in her mind, fury making her turn red. Where was the monster? Why couldn’t she stop this man?
Where was Marty?
The effort had been too much after her head injury. She’d passed out cold again.
Trefill straightened up. “That ought to hold you. I’m going out for Chinese food. I’ll be back in half an hour or so. Don’t even think about causing trouble. You think I was lying about this being official government business? I wasn’t. And there are people backing me up every step of the way. They’re watching the building right now. So if you’re a bad little girl and you try to run away, you’ll be caught and punished. Understand?”
Lorraine simply glowered at him.
“Be good,” Trefill said.
Then he was out the door.
Lorraine struggled against the ties, but they were much too tight. So she lay back and closed her eyes and tried to call Marty. To her surprise, this time he answered.
Where were you? she demanded. I need help!
I’m sorry. Sometimes . . . sometimes they do things to me and I can’t communicate.
Lorraine moaned, the sound muffled by the gag in her mouth. She stared up at the ceiling and tried to picture her captor in another setting. But she couldn’t. She only knew she was terrified of him.
Marty, what am I going to do?
You have to get away from him.
I can’t! He has me tied up! I tried and tried to make a monster come, like in the apartment, but I couldn’t
You are too young to work on your own. You need the combined strength of other minds. I will help you this time, and you’ll succeed.
Lorraine did not answer right away. She wriggled a little, trying to get comfortable. Then she thought to Marty:
What were they doing to you?
They put a needle into me. It has some kind of strange medicine inside and it makes me feel weird. I can’t communicate when that happens.
Are they going to do that to me?
They aren’t going to catch you. When we are all together, we’ll be too strong for them.
When are we going to be together?
Soon. You’re so close now . . .
At that moment the door opened. Instinctively afraid of Trefill, Lorraine cut off all thoughts to Marty. She stared at the man as he set up cartons of Chinese food on the dresser.
Wait until he unties you. Be ready . . .
Lorraine was too nervous to answer him. Trefill came to the bed and began to unfasten her ties. She wiggled into a sitting position and tried to pull the gag from her mouth. Trefill grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t misbehave,” he said. “You leave that alone for a minute.”
Lorraine stared at him. He began opening the containers. She could smell the food from across the room, and realized she was famished.
“I didn’t know what to get you,” Trefill said, “but I figured you’d like lo mein. Most kids I know do. Now, I’m gonna take off your gag and give you something to eat. Don’t even think of screaming. No one is near enough to hear you, and I’ll get mad. You won’t like me if I get mad.”
He pulled out the gag. Lorraine gasped, sticking her tongue out to get rid of the horrible taste of wet washcloth. Then she took the food container and began to eat. Trefill parked himself in front of the TV, his back to her. He switched on the news.
The weather reporter was just finishing his promise of rain. Lorraine was watching a commercial about dog food when Marty came into her mind again.
The time has come to get rid of him. Think, Lorraine.
Instantly Lorraine recalled what had happened to the hoods in the subway and to the landlord. She directed her full thoughts toward Trefill, staring hard at him.
Trefill’s hand came up to the back of his head and brushed as if to get rid of a fly. But the sensation that something was touching him wouldn’t go away. He turned quickly and shot Lorraine a warning look, but the child only glowered at him. Freaky little bitch, he thought.
He turned back to his food. The pressure on the back of his head increased, spreading around to his temples. It was a strange, fizzy sort of feeling—like when your foot falls asleep. Trefill squinted and rolled his neck; had to be a headache coming on.
You can’t eat the food.
Lorraine’s thoughts shot into his brain as if sent by a hypodermic needle. Trefill gasped and looked wide-eyed into the container in his hands. He couldn’t eat it, not now! If he ate it, something terrible would happen!
“Stupid,” he growled, “it’s food, just friggin’ food!”
And his eyes didn’t see anything but his dinner.
But his mind insisted that the container was full of danger, of evil, of disease.
Don’t eat! Don’t eat! Don’t eat!
“Damn!”
The room began to sway around him, the fizzing in his head changing to the buzzing of bees. Bees that stung, over and over, leaving burning pain behind. Trefill cupped his hands over his ears, the takeout box falling to the floor. He screamed in agony against pain that wasn’t even real, a worst-case scenario of “Chinese restaurant syndrome” from lo mein that did not contain even a dash of MSG.
Lorraine climbed slowly from the bed, staring at him, unable to believe she’d done this to him.
Lorraine! Get up! You have to run now!
Lorraine didn’t argue with Marty. She jumped out of the bed, raced to put her shoes on, grabbed the money valise, and headed for the door. As Trefill struggled with unreal fears and pain, she ran down the dark road to dubious safety.