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Nick awoke feeling used and dirty. His dreams had been disjointed and bizarre; as if he experienced someone else’s thoughts. The sights and sounds of sacrifices and people in dark robes flitted through the shadowy recesses of his mind. Ancient temples reminding him of Stonehenge. Chanting. The magician.
It felt like something dropped him into the rushing waters of a madman’s thoughts. It took all of his willpower to cling to the slippery rock of his own rationality to keep from being swept away in the alien flood.
Now that he was awake the images lost their vividness, but the voices still passed through his mind like phantom stations on a radio receiver drifting in and out of tune. If he concentrated he could block them out, but if he relaxed they came floating back.
In spite of the specter of the voices, Nick felt better. The bump on his head still ached, but his headache had passed. Today he planned to go through the want-ads of the Globe to look for a job—any job at this point, then he'd start pounding the pavement.
After climbing out of bed and throwing water on his face, he went to the kitchen for coffee. Mike grunted and lowered the newspaper, regarding him with a blurry-eyed stare. "Look what the cat dragged in," he mumbled.
"Morning, Nicky" his mother said from the stove. "You want some eggs?"
"Just coffee. Hey, Mike, can I see the paper when you're done?"
"What you gonna do, look at the pictures?"
"Funny."
His mom set a cup in front of him. "Don't you two get started this morning."
Nick took a sip and looked up. The headline caught his eye.
SECOND DECAPITATION IN CHARLESTOWN
HEADS STILL MISSING
His throat went dry. "Mike." His voice felt husky. "Can I see the front page?"
The paper lowered and Mike glared. Nick expected trouble, but to his surprise, Mike handed him the front section without argument. Taking it with trembling hands, Nick scanned the headline, following it down the page, stopping at the picture. The skin on the top of his head felt like it tightened and crawled backward across his scalp. Time seemed to freeze, suspending Nick inside a thick bubble-like cocoon, then the dream returned in a lightning flashback.
The girl in the picture.
The same one he saw sacrificed in his dream.
The words My God! went through his head. He wanted to voice them, but his mouth wouldn't work.
A subtle whisper caressed his thoughts.
Andrasta.
"Nicky, what's wrong?" This voice sounded stronger than the first. Somewhere outside him. "Nicky, what's the matter?" More urgent. A hand shaking him. "Nicky!"
He blinked and the kitchen swam back into focus. His hand rose as if under its own power, then his voice returned. "I'm okay," he said breathlessly. "I'm okay, mom." He put his hand on his chest and took a long, trembling breath.
"What's wrong with you?" she said.
"Mom. I know you're not going to believe me—but the girl..." He pointed to the paper. "I saw her killed."
"What?"
"In my dream." He had trouble catching his breath. "I banged my head. Started hearing voices. Then I dreamed the murder. I saw the girl in the picture. Saw them kill her. The magician tried to get me. That's when I woke up."
"Nicky, what on earth are you talking about?"
He heard the edge in her voice. Way to go, stupid, he thought. Now you've got her upset.
"That's it. I'm taking the day off. You're going to the hospital..."
"Forget it, Louise." Mike set down the sports page. "The kid's on drugs. Can't you see that? That's why he fell down the stairs. If you take him to the hospital, take him to rehab. Turn him in for treatment. He's probably having one of those flashbacks from smokin' that crack shit."
Nick forced himself to breathe slower. "I'm all right. I don't do drugs.” He stared at Mike. “I bumped my head. Had a nightmare, that's all."
His mother gently stroked his hair. "Maybe you should stay in bed today."
He looked up and saw the alarm in her eyes. "I'm all right." He picked up the paper and turned to the want-ads. "I want to hit the streets today. See if I can find a job."
"You sure?"
"Jeezuz, Louise, quit babying the kid, he's wimpy enough as it is. He can take care of himself."
Wimpy enough to whoop your ass, slim. "Hey, ma, for once I agree with Einstein. I don't need to be babied. Go ahead and get ready for work. I'll be okay, really."
She gave him a lingering look, then went back to the stove.
He took the subway downtown and went from business to business filling out applications, then spent the afternoon in South Boston applying for work at the fish packing houses on the waterfront. As long as he kept his mind occupied, the voices remained at bay, but as soon as he settled into a quiet moment, they drifted back.
He didn't look forward to going to bed that night.
Though dusk approached when he reached Shawmut station, Nick didn't want to linger there. The cops might still be looking for him, but he wasn't ready to go home yet either. He didn't want to think about what would happen when things got quiet. He decided to take a walk.
Starting off along the transit, he spotted Obie's shopping cart, still unclaimed. Someone had made off with his blankets and possessions, leaving his orange Hefty bags. It wasn’t like Obie to leave his cart. Not for this long. Maybe he was at that new rescue mission. Could soup kitchen food be that good? He started walking again. If something's happened to Obie nobody would know. Nobody would care.
He saw a cop car parked half a block up the street. Nick didn't think they'd hassle him, but decided to play it safe, slipping into a side yard and hopping a back fence. The next street over looked deserted as streetlights winked on. Good. He stepped up his pace, anxious to put distance between himself and the cops, ending up at Wainright Park.
With the exception of a lone shopping cart tipped over in a corner and scattered bits of broken glass, the basketball courts looked dark and deserted. For some reason, Nick felt drawn to the upended cart. A trash bag full of smashed soda cans spilled onto the blacktop, along with a bundle of ratty looking blankets and a paper bag stuffed with clothes. He smelled old piss and flashed on Obie's cart abandoned by Shawmut Station. Like Obie's, this one seemed out of place without an owner. He picked up the bag of clothes between his thumb and forefinger, wondering if the cart’s owner was hanging out with Obie. Maybe it was time to check out that rescue mission near Town Field?
A beam of light blinded him.
"Don't move!"
Shit! Nick dropped the bag. His breath stuck in his throat. Jesus, scared the shit out of me!
"Keep your hands where I can see them."
He saw his hands shaking in the glare of a flashlight beam. Get a grip. He forced himself to breathe. The light bounced toward him.
"Well, well, look what we've got here."
Nick recognized Sully's voice before he saw his short, wiry hair and pockmarked face.
"Fucking Powers." Sully directed the beam of the flashlight into Nick's eyes. Nick put his hand up to block the light.
"Been taking any joyrides lately?"
"What're you talking about?"
The light lingered a moment longer, then switched off. "You and Arbing. The other day. Gold Camaro."
Nick shook his head. "Don't know nothing about it."
"You don't, huh? Well we popped your buddy, Joey."
"So?"
"So, he told us everything. We know you stole the car." He lowered his voice. "Why don't you tell us your side?"
Now that the light was out, Nick's eyes began to adjust. He studied Sully's gaunt features and dark hollow eyes. He's full of shit, Nick thought. Trying to weasel it out of me. Joey wouldn't snitch. "If you already know, why you asking me?"
Sully pulled out his gun, grabbed Nick by the arm and pushed him up against the fence. "Okay, smartass. Put your hands on your head, turn around and spread 'em."
Sully kicked his feet further apart and patted him down. His hands seemed to linger a little too long below Nick’s waist. "I don't know what you think you're gonna find. I ain't got nothing."
"Listen, maggot." Sully turned Nick back toward him and put his face in Nick's.
Bad breath.
"I know you stole the car and I know you're the one I chased."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Sully flipped on the flashlight and pointed it at Nick's head. "Then where'd you get that bump?"
"I fell."
He nodded. "You're the one I chased."
Enough of this shit. "Look, I have someplace to go. Either bust me or back off."
Sully gave Nick a hard-ass stare. Nick returned it.
"Yo, Sully," a voice said from out of the darkness. "There’s an O.T. over on Adams, let's go."
Sully looked toward the voice, then turned his attention back to Nick. "You think you're getting away with something," he growled. "But let me tell you something, punk. You ain't."
His partner yelled again, louder now. "Come on. Let’s go!"
"I'm going to nail you for that hot box." Sully started to leave, then stopped. "If I don't, I'll find something else to nail you for."
Nick stuck up his middle finger as Sully disappeared into a flurry of blue lights.