Safe Haven(55)

On the other side of the  highway, distant pinpricks of light appeared at the horizon, slowly  separating and growing larger, forming headlamps of oncoming cars. They  grew brighter until they flashed past. In the rearview mirror, red  lights receded into the distance.

Heat lightning crackled to the  south, making the sky blink like a slide show. Off to the right was a  farmhouse, lights on downstairs. He passed a truck with Virginia plates  and rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the fatigue he felt. He  passed the sign indicating the number of miles to Wilmington and sighed.  He still had a ways to go.


Katie's eyelids fluttered as she  dreamed, her subconscious working overtime. Bits and pieces, fragments,  trying to connect with each other.

The dream ended, and a few  minutes later she tucked her knees up and shifted onto her side, almost  waking. Her breathing began to slow again.


At ten o'clock the  lot was nearly empty. It was just before closing time, and Kevin walked  around to the front of the store, squinting at the light coming through  the front door. He pushed the door open and heard a bell jingle. At the  register was a man in an apron. Kevin vaguely recognized him, but  couldn't place him. He was wearing a white apron, the name ROGER  stenciled on the right.


Kevin walked past the register, trying not to slur his words. "I ran out of gas up the road."

"Gas cans are along the far wall," Roger answered without looking up. When he finally did, he blinked. "You okay?"

"Just  tired," Kevin said from the aisle, trying not to draw attention to  himself but knowing the man was watching. The Glock was in his waistband  and all Roger had to do was mind his own business. At the far wall,  Kevin saw three five-gallon plastic cans and reached for two of them. He  brought them to the register and put money on the counter.

"I'll pay after I fill 'em," he said.

Outside,  he pumped the gas into the can, watching the numbers roll past. He  filled the second and went back inside. Roger was staring at him,  hesitating to make change.         

     



 

"That's a lot of gas to carry."

"Erin needs it."

"Who's Erin?"

Kevin blinked. "Can I buy the damn gas or not?"

"You sure you're okay to drive?"

"I've been sick," Kevin muttered. "Puking all day."

He  wasn't sure whether Roger believed him, but after a moment, Roger took  the money and made change. Kevin had left the cans near the gas pumps  and went to pick them up. It was like lifting cans of lead. He strained,  his stomach churning, pulsating pain between his ears. He started up  the road, leaving behind the lights of the store.

In the  darkness, he set the cans down in the tall grass just off the road.  After that, he circled back behind the store. Waiting for Roger to close  up, waiting for the lights to go out. Waiting for everyone to fall  asleep upstairs. He retrieved another bottle of vodka from the car and  took a sip.


In Wilmington, Alex began to perk up, knowing he  was getting close. It wouldn't be long now, maybe half an hour before he  reached Southport. It would take another few minutes to drop off Joyce  and her daughter, but then he would be home.

He wondered if he  would find Katie waiting up for him in the living room or whether, as  she'd teased, he would find her in his bed.

It was the kind of  thing that Carly used to say. They might have been talking about the  business or whether her parents were enjoying Florida, when out of the  blue, she'd announce that she was bored and ask him whether he wanted to  go to the bedroom and fool around.

He stared at the clock. A  quarter after ten and Katie was waiting. On the side of the road, Alex  saw half a dozen deer frozen on the grass, their eyes reflecting the  headlights, glowing like something unnatural. Haunted.


Kevin  watched the fluorescent lights above the gas pumps flicker off. Lights  in the store went out next. From his hidden vantage point, he watched  Roger locking the door. He tugged on it, making sure it was secure,  before turning away. He walked to a brown pickup truck parked on the far  side of the gravel lot and got in.

The engine started with a  whine and squeak. A loose fan belt. Roger revved the engine, turned on  the headlights, then put the truck in gear. He turned onto the main  road, heading toward downtown.

Kevin waited five minutes, making  sure Roger wouldn't turn around and come back. The road in front of the  store was quiet now, no cars or trucks coming from either direction. He  jogged over to the bushes, where he'd hidden the cans. Checked the road  again, and then carried one of them to the back of the store. He did the  same with the second can, setting them next to a couple of metal  garbage cans filled with rotting food. The stench was overwhelming.

Upstairs,  the TV continued to bathe one of the windows in blue light. There were  no other lights and he knew they were naked. He felt the rage well up  inside him. Now, he thought. It was time. When he reached for the gas  cans, he saw four of them. He closed one eye and it was back to two. He  stumbled as he took a step and jerked forward, off balance, swaying as  he tried to grab the corner of the wall to keep from falling. He missed  and fell, landing hard, his head hitting the gravel. Sparks and stars,  shooting pains. It was hard to breathe. Tried to stand up and fell  again. He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the stars.


He  wasn't drunk because he never got drunk, but something was wrong.  Twinkling lights were whirling round and round, caught in an  accelerating tornado. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the spinning got  worse. He rolled to his side and vomited onto the gravel. Someone must  have slipped him drugs because he'd barely had anything to drink all day  and he'd never been sick like this.

He reached out blindly for  the garbage can. He grabbed the lid and tried to use it for balance, but  he pulled too hard. The lid clattered off and a bag of garbage spilled  out, making an unholy racket.


Upstairs, Katie flinched at the  sound of something crashing. She was lost in her dream, and it took a  moment for her eyes to flutter open. Groggy, she listened but wasn't  sure why, wasn't sure whether she'd dreamed the sound or not. But there  was nothing.

She leaned back, giving way to sleep again, and the  dream picked up from where it left off. She was at the carnival, on the  Ferris wheel, but it was no longer Kristen sitting beside her.

It was Jo.


Kevin  was finally able to struggle to his feet and stay upright. He couldn't  figure out what was happening to him, why he couldn't keep his balance.  He concentrated on catching his breath, in and out, in and out. He  spotted the cans of gas and stepped toward them, almost falling again.

But  he didn't fall. He lifted a can, then staggered toward the stairs at  the back of the house. He reached out for the railing and missed it,  then tried again. Got it. He lugged the can of gas up the stairs, toward  the door, a Sherpa in the Himalayas. He finally reached the landing at  the top, panting, and bent over to remove the cap. His head filled with  blood, making him swoon, but he used the gas can to keep from falling.  It took awhile before he could get the cap off because it kept slipping  between his fingers.         

     



 

Once open, he picked up the can and doused  the landing, splashing its contents against the door. With every heave,  the can got lighter, gas spilling out in arcs, drenching the wall.  Getting easier now. He splashed left and right, trying to coat either  side of the building. He started back down the stairs, splashing left  and right. The fumes made him sick but he kept going.

There  wasn't much gas left in the can when he reached the bottom and he rested  at ground level. He was breathing hard and the fumes were making him  feel sick again but he began moving again, with purpose now.  Determination. He tossed the empty can aside and reached for the other.  He couldn't douse the upper reaches of the walls, but he did what he  could. He splashed one side and then circled around the back to the  other side. Above him, the window still flickered with light from the  television but all was quiet.

He drained the can on the other  side of the building and had nothing left for the front. He scanned the  road; no cars were coming from either direction. Upstairs, Erin and the  gray-haired man were naked and laughing at him and Erin ran away and he  almost found her in Philadelphia but back then she was calling herself  Erica, not Erin, and now she pretended her name was Katie.

He  stood in front of the store, thinking about the windows. Maybe they were  alarmed and maybe not. He didn't care. He needed lighter fluid, motor  oil, turpentine, anything that would burn. But once he broke the window,  he wouldn't have much time.

He shattered the window with his  elbow but heard no alarm. Pulling out pieces of glass, he barely felt  his fingers getting cut and beginning to bleed. More chunks, the window  coming apart in sections. He thought the opening was big enough for him  to climb inside, but his arm caught on a jagged shard, deep. He pulled,  tearing flesh. But he couldn't stop now. Blood flowed from his arm,  dripping and mingling with the cuts on his fingers.