Chapter Twenty-One

 

I had known for a while that my days were numbered, but now I had something I’d never had before—a timeline.

Fifty-two hours.

The radio saw my future and returned my fate. In fifty-two hours’ time, I would be attacked. I would fight my attacker. And only one of us would leave the fight alive. On the bright side, I was favored to survive. On the not-so-bright side, “survival” encompasses a huge territory of less-than-ideal scenarios. I’d already survived two life-or-death encounters that cost me body parts, and one that cost me a friend. Assuming I emerged victorious, what would even be left of me?

I thought through my options. I could shut the place down, get in my car, and leave town for the day. But whatever threat was coming for me might not just cancel its plans. It could follow me. It could wait until I came back. It could go after my friends. If I stayed here, if I confronted the mystery-attacker, then at least I had a warning. I knew the when and where. If I ran, then all bets were off.

This was an important decision, but hey, I had fifty-two entire hours to plan! I didn’t have to decide anything right away. No need to rush. I had time. I work better under pressure anyway.

Fifty-two hours became fifty-one before O’Brien showed up at the gas station to find me squeegeeing blood into the center drain by the drink machine. The smile on my face probably looked out of place, but I just couldn’t get over how much easier this was without a crutch.

Who died?” she asked a little too nonchalantly.

A handsome boy named Tiko,” answered Jerry from his spot behind the counter where he was typing away at my laptop, even though I had no memory of logging in for him.

I explained to O’Brien what went down with the goons. She listened carefully to my story, then she asked, “Are you hungry?”

I wasn’t, but that didn’t exactly mean anything. I didn’t always feel hunger the way normal people do. Normally, I take a meal in the middle of my shift, but after coming in to cover all the extra day shifts, my routine was out of whack. I tried to remember if I had eaten anything all day and soon realized the only things in my stomach were coffee and stress. Considering how much I’d been walking recently, I knew my calorie deficit was alarmingly above average.

What time is it?” I asked.

She gave me her mom-look and answered, “Six o’clock.”

AM or PM?”

PM.”

Damn. “Well, in that case, yes. I think I’m very hungry.”

 

***

 

Jerry volunteered to stay behind and run the register for us in exchange for a double cheeseburger. Now that the generic man and his interesting friend had moved on, I couldn’t see any problem with leaving Jerry by himself. Except for the possibility of the goons coming back. Or the fact that he’s been known to get his tongue stuck to the wall inside the cooler. Or… well, any of a hundred other things. But it had been almost twenty-four hours since I’d eaten anything solid, and if I was going to survive my upcoming duel, I would need the energy.

At first, I was relieved that O’Brien even invited me out. Ever since the carnival, a small amount of my mind had been continuously nipping at my more conscious thoughts like a fire alarm’s low battery warning, reminding me that something important needed my attention as soon as I could spare it. We’d left things in an awkward place, and I didn’t know how to make it better. My relief was slightly premature, though, as I learned the moment her cruiser hit the main road and she said the four words with more potential for inducing anxiety than any other in the history of the human language. 

We need to talk.”

I swallowed the newly formed lump in my throat and uttered a nervous, “Okay?”

Let’s go somewhere safe first.” There she was, using that word again, like it had any meaning in this town. 

I guess that’s all this invite was, a way to get me out of the gas station, away from the spying eyes and ears and who-knows-how-many listening devices that had been replanted since Benjamin’s last sweep. The drive felt longer than normal, thanks mostly to the agonizing silence. It didn’t help that my imagination was being a real asshole, offering up way too many theories about what it was we needed to talk about. Why can’t she just tell me now? Why can’t she at least give me a hint? Maybe she’s worried her car is bugged, too?

Somewhere safe” turned out to be our trusty grease dive, Marilyn’s. After the racist diner incident, I no longer questioned why this was her go-to. It was clear that Wallace had her back. He also had a shotgun. I had to admit, there weren’t many safer places in this town for a woman with as many enemies as O’Brien.

The diner was busier than I’d ever seen it. Wallace gave us a professional head nod when we walked in, but a young woman with red hair, white apron, and blue dress was the one who took our orders. Her name tag said “Dorothy,” and her accent said Tennessee transplant. I’m sure she had a great reason to be in our town, but it would be hard to imagine what that was.

I waited impatiently for O’Brien to start the dreaded conversation, to pull the trigger, to put me out of my misery. But she was in no such hurry to get it over with. After we made our orders, she pulled out her phone and went to texting. It almost felt like I was on a bad date. O’Brien was never one to be frugal with her words, and the fact that she picked now to go silent left me to surmise that whatever it was, it was going to be bad. I finally worked up the nerve to say, “I can’t take this any longer. What do we need to talk about? What did I do?”

She looked up at me, put her phone down on the table, took a deep breath, and said, “You were right.”

I was? When? Are you sure?”

What you said at the carnival. It’s not my job to protect you. I mean, it is literally my job to protect you, but I shouldn’t treat you like a child. And I shouldn’t be keeping you in the dark. You deserve to know exactly what’s going on.”

Just when we were getting the show on the road, Dorothy interrupted us with our coffees and some pleasantries about the weather or something. By the time she left, it looked like O’Brien had lost her nerve. It was painfully obvious she was holding on to something but couldn’t get over the hill to actually say it. Instead, she changed the subject.

Those guys who hit the gas station today: any idea what they wanted?”

For once, yeah. Nothing that would stand up in court, but I’m reasonably certain they’re working for Doctor Howard.” She made a face at the mention of his name. “You never did tell me how you knew him.”

I know of him. Between you and me, he’s what you might call a ‘person of interest’ in one or two of my cases. I ran his file, did my homework. Howard has been buying up properties all over town. This is what he does. He moves into a shithole community like this one, collecting just enough of the key resources to where everyone either works for or depends on him. Any holdouts go out of business. Then, when there’s no more competition, he strangles the community for all its worth. Once he’s done, he moves on, leaving a husk of a ghost town behind him. All completely legal, of course. First he collects the businesses, then he steals the town.” Wait… he “collects” businesses? Why does that particular word strike me as holding such an important connotation? “But if he got sloppy and hired a couple of wise guys to scare you into selling the gas station, we might actually be able to use that.”

Hang on,” I said. “How did you know that I own the gas station now? Did Jerry spill the beans already?!”

She cracked an unexpected smile. “This may be hard for you to believe, but I’m actually a pretty good investigator. That kind of thing is public record. I’ve known since day one.”

Dorothy put our food in front of us. O’Brien didn’t wait for me. She finished her whole burger like there wasn’t enough to go around, took a long sip of her drink, and asked, “You gonna eat?”

I wasn’t feeling hungry. My nerves were shot, waiting for her to get this conversation started and over with. “Come on, Amy! You’re killing me! What is it you wanted to talk about? I know you didn’t bring me all the way here for my rad conversation skills.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Rad?”

See? You proved my point. Now tell me already. Whatever it is, I can handle it. I’m ready. Hit me.” I wasn’t sure if I was really ready or not, but with so little time remaining, I was prepared to fake it.

She leaned back in her seat and looked out the window. There was no more stalling, and she knew it. “Okay, Limpy. Here goes.” She looked me dead in the eyes and said. “I need your help.”

That’s it? That’s what was so hard for her to say? I felt both complimented and insulted at the same time. (Compliminsulted?)

Why?”

You might be the last person in town I can trust.”

I am so sorry if that’s true. But why would you think I could help?”

Something weird is happening here. That’s kinda your thing, isn’t it?”

What a perfect example of a compliminsult.

Define ‘weird.’”

She leaned forward, put her elbows on the table, and spoke quietly. “It’s been going on ever since I got back. We keep getting reports of people all over town behaving erratically. Quiet folks suddenly starting fights. Individuals with no criminal records breaking into houses in the middle of the night. Men, women, and children just not acting right. You saw it yourself last week, right there.” She nodded towards the spot where Mr. Racial-Purity had thrown his hissy fit.

Oh God, you don’t think it’s zombies again, do you?”

“‘Zombies’?” She blinked several times. “‘Again’?”

Oh, that’s right. She wasn’t here yet for that. “Never mind. What was your theory?”

At first, I wondered if it was a tainted batch of meth or something along those lines. But now I think it’s much worse. See, whatever’s happening, the sheriff has been bending over backwards to make sure there’s no paper trail and no evidence. The break-ins went away. The cases disappear. I try to ask questions, Clyde jumps down my throat.”

Typical Clyde.”

Yeah. At least it was. Until recently.” She washed a big mouthful of fries down with a big swig of her drink, then continued. “Something’s changed about our dear leader. I suspect he’s getting high off his own supply. He doesn’t show up every day, and when he does it’s in shorts and sandals. Last time he dragged himself into the office, I caught him eating coffee grounds out of the garbage. His brain is fried. He can barely hold a conversation without falling asleep. Everyone knows it, but there are others in the department covering for him. It’s more than just blind loyalty and enabling. I think… I think they’re part of it.”

O’Brien was sounding an awful lot like me all of a sudden. That’s never a good thing.

How am I supposed to help?”

I think whatever is going on, it has something to do with what happened that night you shot Spencer Middleton.”

Yeah, I kinda had that same feeling that this was all somehow my fault.”

That’s not what I meant. I’m saying that I think you know something. I want you to tell me what I can’t remember. What was Spencer doing at the gas station? Why am I having dreams about monsters? Why do I get migraines whenever I try to think of that night? You know, don’t you?”

I shrugged. There was no point in lying. “Yeah, I know.”

Then tell me.”

I can do that, but you won’t believe it. I doubt you’d even hear it.”

Try me.”

I did what she asked. I started at the beginning. I told her everything. By the time I got to Donald Glover, she was looking out the window. By the time I got to Sagoth, she was on her phone. I finally gave up on the story when I received a text message. From her.

Hey, where are you? Where’d you go?”

I cleared my throat. She looked up at me, confusion in her eyes. I pointed at her message on my screen and answered, “I’m right here. Where did you go?”

She put the phone on the table, rubbed her temples, and said, “I’m sorry. I thought… I thought you left… I don’t know why, but I’m having trouble—”

I know. It’s okay.”

Her phone started to ring on the table, and soon, it wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay.

I saw the caller ID before she had the chance to snatch the phone away. The name of the caller wasn’t a real name. Just two words in all caps. “ANSWER NOW.”

She stood up and said, “I have to take this. Finish your food.” With that command, she walked outside to speak to the mysterious caller. The mysterious caller with the same fake name as whoever was contacting Kieffer. Spencer? The Dark God? Someone else? Hell of a coincidence, if that’s what this was.

Can I get you anything, Hun?” Dorothy the waitress stood over me with a pretty smile.

No, I’m good.”

You don’t look so good.” Fair enough. “Is something wrong with the food?”

No, I just don’t have much of an appetite these days.”

Well shoot fire,” she laughed. “I can tell that from looking at you.”

Thanks?” This new waitress sure was lingering. Maybe she’s flirting? I’ve always been bad at catching on when flirting was happening.

Dorothy reached down, grabbed the burger off my plate, brought it to her lips, and took an enormous bite. She pleasure-moaned and swallowed it down with almost no chewing. I still couldn’t tell if this was flirting or not, but either way, I was not a fan. With a high-pitched giggle, she dropped the remainder of the food on my plate and said, “Well, the food ain’t even half bad, so there’s gotta be something wrong with you. What is it? Cop friend break your heart?”

No, I… um…”

Yeah, yeah, demons and secret wars. I couldn’t help but overhear. I think I might can help.” She took a seat across from me, in O’Brien’s spot. Definitely possibly flirting. “Now, the way I see it, you have two options. You can let your friend keep on spinning her wheels, poking her nose around where it doesn’t belong, cohorting with dangerous bedfellows until she gets killed or worse.” A giggle interrupted her speech at the mention of O’Brien’s death. “Or, you can help her to see that everything is how it should be. He’s not hurting anyone. He’s making us better.”

Ah,” I said. Definitely not flirting. I reached for the fork in front of me and grabbed it tightly. “So that’s what this is? More scare tactics? The collector has begun collecting people, and he’s got both the sheriff and Dorothy the waitress on the payroll?”

She put an elbow on the table, rested her chin on her hand, and softly mused, “It’s not just us. Haven’t you noticed?”

What?”

Her voice was a whisper now. “How quiet it is in here?”

She’d had my attention on lockdown from the moment she bit into my burger. Now that I had a reason to take it in, I realized she was right. For a diner this packed, it was awfully silent. I looked around long enough to wish I hadn’t.

The room was full of diners. Most of them locals. None of them were eating. They were all just sitting, staring at us. Wallace was nowhere to be seen. My first thought was that he’d been disposed of, but then I remembered he was probably just in the kitchen slinging hash. Either way, I was alone in the surprise lions’ den. A fork probably wouldn’t be enough to fight my way out of this one.

Dorothy stood, walked up next to me, bent down and said into my ear, “Just sell the goddamn gas station. Unless you want to end up like Vanessa.”

Lady, you are not getting a very good tip after this.”

Oh,” she sneered. “I didn’t realize you were picking up the check.”

We’re going Dutch.”

The front door opened and everyone instantly went back to eating, talking, carrying on as usual. O’Brien was a half second too late to notice. Dorothy walked away, and my brain offered me a cruel idea. Maybe I just imagined all of that.

When O’Brien got back to the table, I could see that she was pissed. 

Let me guess. Work?”

She tossed her phone down, fell into her seat, and said, “Yeah, something like that.” She looked at my food. “Is that all you’re planning to eat?”

I looked at the burger. At the enormous bite Dorothy had taken out of it. No, I definitely didn’t imagine it. “I’m not really that hungry anymore.”

I think you should sell the gas station.”

I looked up at O’Brien. Did those words really come out of her mouth?

What are you talking about?”

I’m talking about being smart. Whatever’s going on around here, it’s dangerous and stupid. There’s no reason for you to get caught up in it. Take the money and run. Get out of town and never look back. There’s nothing here for you.”

She studied my face for a reaction, and I tried my best to hide what I was thinking. What I was thinking, of course, was how O’Brien would never tell me to back down. And in that moment, I was certain of one thing. This was not Amy. It couldn’t be. I wanted to scream at her, “Who are you? What did you do with my friend?” I was positive… positive that this must have been some kind of imposter.

And then, all of a sudden, I wasn’t.

Just as quickly as that certainty hit, it faded away. What was I thinking? Of course this is Amelia O’Brien! She’s giving me good advice because she’s worried about me. That sudden mistrust was nothing more than a chemical reaction in my brain—one of the telltale symptoms of the final stages of my disease. Doctor V warned me that it was only a matter of time before paranoia set in, before I completely lost my grip on the objective universe, before I convinced myself that everybody around me was a monster and I pushed them all away until—

You okay?” Her words snapped me back to this reality.

Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

I could tell.”

I don’t want to sell the gas station.”

You may not have a choice, you know.”

A huge figure lumbered up to our table, casting a shadow on the conversation. I nearly stabbed Wallace with my fork before I realized who he was. 

Everything taste alright?” he asked.

O’Brien tried for polite. “It’s great, Wallace.”

Good,” he said. “Enjoy it now, and remember the way it tastes, because this will be the last time I make it for you.”

Huh?” I asked. Was that a threat? Does he know about my upcoming fight to the death?

Wanted to let you know I’m leaving the restaurant game.” Oh no. “I been working with a business consultant lately. That’s why things are going so well now.” Oh nooo. “I guess he really likes the place, ‘cause he made an offer to buy me out.” Oh noooooo! “And a guy like me can’t pass up a chance when he gets one.”

O’Brien looked my way. We both knew what this meant. It was already personal, but now Doctor Howard was just being mean.