92. The Movie Star

I’m standing at the edge of a bridge that goes over the train tracks. It’s not far up from the main strip of Solitary. My hands are in the pockets of my winter jacket. My cap is helping to keep me a little warmer. It’s a brutally cold day, the last day of the year. The weather reminds me of Chicago. The sky is clear and getting dimmer. The cutting wind reminds me it’s only going to get colder.

I’m waiting for someone or something. I don’t know what. Maybe this was a ploy to get me to come here. Why, I don’t know.

All I know is the handwritten message I received yesterday.

Go to the east end of the Sommerville Bridge at 5:00 p.m. tomorrow, December 31. Wait there.

Her life depends on it.

The message came via regular mail. The envelope was stamped and addressed to me. Mom gave it to me, assuming it might be from Jocelyn.

There was no name on it, however. No return address.

Nothing except the postmark where it was sent from.

Solitary.

Of course.

The madness exists only in this little strange town. They’re pumping something into the water that’s making everybody crazy.

I can’t keep still, bouncing up and down and moving to keep the blood flowing.

This evening is quiet.

Too quiet.

I stare down the hill toward Solitary. It looks peaceful and innocent, like a little girl on the edge of the road with pigtails and a lollipop, smiling.

Why do I get this sick image of the little girl shoving the end of her lollipop in my eye?

The revving of an engine startles me and sends me to the side of the road. The sound came across the bridge from the west side. It’s a silver SUV with tinted windows. Its lights are on, but I can’t see who’s driving.

It stops, and the passenger door opens.

“Get in,” a voice orders.

A female voice.

The same one who called the other day.

I do as I’m told.

It helps that the pistol is in my jacket pocket. I keep my hand buried inside it, holding on to the gun.

Just in case.

I have barely shut the door when the woman races down the road and takes a sharp left, turning away from the town’s main street.

The woman sitting across from me driving the Mercedes SUV—the new Mercedes SUV, by the smell of it—looks like a movie star. She’s wearing a white winter cap, her long blonde hair falling out of it past her shoulder. A white scarf is draped around her neck, falling onto a long overcoat. Underneath the cap are shades that seem to cover half her face.

She doesn’t look at me, but stays focused on the road.

“What is this?” I finally say as I sway with the turns.

“Just hold on.”

We drive for ten or fifteen minutes. The road we’re on is familiar for a moment, but then she takes a turn or two that make me lost. She drives in silence, as fast as she can. The only thing I can see her doing is looking up in the mirror to see if anybody is behind us.

Soon we slow down and turn down a street that comes to a dead end in the middle of the woods.

She puts the car in neutral, then turns and faces me. “Listen to me,” she says, her eyes hidden away like those of a rock star behind sunglasses. “You don’t have much time.”

“Much time for what?”

“Jocelyn’s life is in danger.”

“Where is she? Who are you?”

“It doesn’t matter who I am.”

The woman looks older, but I can’t tell how much older. She looks tall and slender, her face white as a vampire.

“What matters is that you do what I tell you to do. If they think others are around, they might be scared and back out.”

“They?” I ask. “Who are you talking about?”

“Chris, listen. There are things at work here that you can’t begin to fathom—trust me on that.”

“Who are you?”

“I was a friend of your uncle,” she says.

I stare at her, speechless.

“Robert Kinner. Your mother’s brother.”

“Do you know where he is?”

She shakes her head, remaining silent for a moment.

“Is he involved in this?”

“Listen—I drove us out here so that we wouldn’t be followed. But they’re watching everyone they can.”

“Who?”

“The ring. The leaders. There’s no name. They just are.”

“What do they want?”

“They want secrecy,” the woman says. “That’s all they care about. To keep their secrets from the rest of the world.”

A part of me should probably be freaking out right now. I should probably open the handle to this door and sprint out shouting “Help!” For some reason, however, I’m relatively relaxed.

As relaxed as someone with his hand on a gun might be.

“You need to get their attention somehow. But you also need to not get caught. Just listen. I’m going to leave you here, and you need to walk a mile downhill. Through the woods. A straight shot. No turns, nothing. Just head directly downhill and you’ll see it.”

“See what?”

“An open area in the woods. Used to be a campground. Now it’s used for other things.”

“Other things?”

“You have to be careful not to be seen. But you must try to get their attention. It won’t be a very large group. They always meet like this before the ceremony. Their own version of a prayer meeting. Make sure they know they’re being watched, then get away from them. Get away, and maybe—just maybe—it will work.”

“What ceremony? What will work?”

“I want you to scare them.”

I didn’t pretend to understand. There was only one thing I wanted to know. “Where’s Jocelyn?”

“She’s there.”

“She’s with them?”

“Yes. Trust me.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because of—because of who you are. Because of who your uncle was.”

“I don’t—”

My voice trails off because I don’t know what to say.

She reaches across me and opens the handle to my door. I climb out and then shut it. The window rolls down as those large sunglasses face me.

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Chris. You’ll be surprised what you’re capable of doing.” She shifts the car back into drive and tears down the gravel road.