A Night Without Stars (7 page)

“I don’t… I don’t understand.” I had never been much of a technology whiz. Not like Travis. The kid was a certifiable nut when it came to computers. He knew everything about them. How they worked, how they operated and, apparently, how they could be broken.

“What do you use the internet for?” he asked. 

I scrunched up my nose. “Uh, I don’t know. Facebook. E-Mail. Funny cat videos on Youtube.”

“Exactly. And that’s what the majority of the population does too when they get on. With this hack, you can still do that. Everything that existed prior to seven o’clock last night is still there. Status updates. Websites. Search engine results. Cat videos. Which are creepy, by the way.”

“They’re not creepy,” I protested. “They’re hilarious. Did you see the one where the cat flips off the table and lands in the trashcan? You should watch it. I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants.”

Travis’ sigh was long and suffering. “What I’m trying to say is whoever did the hack did an almost perfect job. They have complete control of everything. People will notice eventually, but I’d say they have at least forty-eight hours before everyone really figures it out. Until then they’ll think it’s just a glitch, like I did at first. Even if they know it’s more than that they can’t post anything about it, because the system isn’t allowing any new input. Even the backdoors are closed.”

I mentally added ‘broken internet’ to my list of Things That Are Wrong. “Where are you now?” I asked. “Can you come over?”

“After dinner,” he said. “Mom’s making lasagna.”

Dinner? Was it really that late? I looked at the clock hanging on the wall by the kitchen. The long spindle pointed to six. The short one to three. My stomach picked that exact moment to growl testily, reminding me I hadn’t eaten anything today except for ice cream. “Bring me leftovers, okay? I’ll be here.”

“See you in an hour or so.”

“Sounds good.”

The long spindle was now all the way up to the eight, and there was still no sign of Travis. Dad had shuffled in around seven, grunted a hello, picked up a cold chicken wing, and disappeared into his room. I hadn’t heard a sound from him since, which wasn’t a surprise. He would stumble out in time to catch whatever late night game was playing on TV, polish off the rest of the beers in the fridge, and pass out on the sofa.

Oh, the exciting life of a drunk.

I considered calling my best friend, but the last time I’d interrupted his family at dinner time his mom picked up. It wasn’t a conversation I cared to repeat.

When the phone rang I jumped for the second time, nearly upending the plate of chicken wings. After making sure they were safely in the middle of the coffee table I snatched up the phone from where it’d fallen between the two sofa cushions. “Hello?”

“Lola, it’s Travis.” His voice was muffled, as though there was something between his mouth and the receiver. I rolled my eyes.

“Are you hiding in the closet again? Travis, don’t be such a baby. Your mom isn’t going to beat you if she finds out you’re coming to see me.” Bringing my legs up I sprawled lengthwise on the sofa and toyed with a button that was coming loose from one of the cushions. “It’s time you told her about our relationship. Do you want me to do it? Give her the phone. I’ll tell her all about the wild crazy sex I’m having with her—”

“Lola, shut
up
.”

My jaw literally dropped. I know you read that a lot in books and you’re probably like ‘yeah right, no one’s jaw ever
drops
’, but mine really did. Travis and I had teased each other mercilessly over the years but never, not once, had he ever told me to shut up.

“W-what did you say to me?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding miserable, and I felt my feathers un-ruffle the tiniest bit.

“Good. You should be.”

“It’s just that you were talking so loud and I was afraid he would hear.”

That got my attention. Travis may have been terrified of his mom, but his dad was a pushover, which meant his father wasn’t the ‘he’ in question. Plus it wasn’t even his weekend to come visit. I sat up and hunched forward, clutching the phone tight against my ear. “Travis, where are you?”

He spoke so fast and so quietly it was hard to understand. I only caught every third or fourth word. “…the way, you know? And… he would be… Not who he says… help me.”

My palms were slick with sweat, making it difficult to hold the phone. I gripped it extra hard. My thumb pressed a random number, and the resulting beep made me jolt. “Travis where are you?” I asked again, even as I dreaded what the answer would be.

There was a long pause. A muffled cough. And then…

“The Livingston’s, Lola. I went back to the Livingston’s.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Beginning

My best friend was an idiot.

Fortunately for him, I had a soft spot for idiots. Which was why, for no reason other than sheer stupidity (and a strong desire not to see Travis killed or otherwise maimed), I was racing towards the house I’d run away from the night before.

With Travis’ plea for help echoing in my head I retraced my steps, ducking in and out of shadows and avoiding the glow of street lamps like the plague. A sense of unease followed me, nipping at my heels and tickling the back of my neck as I ducked down beside the very same dumpster Travis and I had crouched behind when the world made sense and my only fear was getting in trouble for stealing a car.

The street the Livingston’s house was on stretched out before me, suspiciously empty. It was half past eight on a Wednesday night, but there was a warm breeze in the air and the night was clear. People should have been out walking their dogs or putting out trash or adjusting their sprinklers or doing whatever preppy yuppies did before they went to bed. Instead there wasn’t a soul in sight. In fact, now that I thought about it, I hadn’t seen a single person since I left the apartment.

Once again, I know what you’re thinking. Travis isn’t the only idiot, right? And you would be absolutely correct. But what else could I do? Call the police? Yeah, that worked out so well for me the last two times. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Do not dial 9-1-1 unless you want to hear the crazy lady.

Asking my dad for help was also out of the question. I hadn’t even bothered to wake him up before I left. What was the point? He couldn’t help me. He couldn’t even help himself.

I suppose, looking back now, I could have called Travis’ home phone and told his mom what was going on, but I’m pretty sure we’ve already established I don’t always make the best decisions.

So here I was, all alone, crouched behind a dumpster with my heart threatening to pound right out of my chest. There was a cramp in my right side – an athlete I was not – and I pinched my hip as I scurried down the sidewalk and up the Livingston’s tiny driveway.

The Toyota was still there. I gave it a dirty look as I edged along the side and, forgoing the front door, wiggled my way between a thicket of bushes and the side of the house in an attempt to peer into one of the windows.

Before he abruptly hung up I thought I heard Travis say he was in the living room, but as I paused to untangle the end of my braid from a branch I realized I had no idea where the living room was. In the front or the back? On the left side or the right? On the first floor or the second? Stupid rich people and their big houses.

Hooking my fingers on the edge of the windowsill I hauled myself up on the toes of my battered sneakers and squinted, looking for signs of movement through the dark glass.

Nothing.

My own reflection stared back at me: a frightened girl with wide eyes and a mess of tangled hair. I looked far younger than my sixteen years, and far more scared than I was willing to admit.

I moved to the next window, but the result was the same. If the matching leather sofa set and 60” flat screen TV were any indication it looked like I’d found the living room, but Travis was nowhere in sight. Hissing out an impatient breath I started to duck back down… only to freeze in place when a light flicked on.

Without waiting to see who it was I dropped to my hands and knees, catching a mouthful of leaves on the way down. Spitting them out, I huddled under the window with absolutely no idea of what to do next.

Some hero I was. Travis had been kidnapped and I was cowering in the bushes. I hadn’t even thought to bring a weapon, not that I would have had many options. Dad didn’t own a gun and our set of kitchen knives were so dull they could barely cut a sandwich in half let alone pierce human flesh.

The muffled sound of voices set the fine hairs on the back of my neck on edge. Both were male, one deep and amused, one high pitched and frightened. I was willing to bet every cent in my bank account – fifty-seven dollars, to be exact – that the voices belonged to Travis and… well, whoever Giant Man really was.

Ignoring the scream and pull in my muscles I slowly stood up, and, mimicking every mistake ever made by the dumb blonde in a horror movie, peeked inside the window.

The man with the silver teeth leered at me, his face so close I could see each individual pore on his big ugly nose. “Hello love. Long time no see.”

I should have been ready with some witty retort, or at the very least something intimidating to set him back on his heels and tell him I meant business. Instead I screamed.

Giant Man’s mouth twisted into a sneer. His fangs glinted in the light, sharper and longer than what I remembered. “What? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Summoning every ounce of courage I possessed – which, if added up, I’m pretty sure wouldn’t total to much more than what was in my bank account – I kept my feet planted firmly underneath of me. This time I wasn’t running away. “Where is Travis?” I demanded. I tried to look past Giant Man, but his large body blocked the majority of the room. At least the window stood between us. To get at me he would have to come out the front door, and by then I would have a pretty good head start. Giant Man might have been huge, but I was willing to bet he wasn’t that fast.

Unfortunately, my theory was disproved when he made a fist…
and punched his hand through the window
.

I screamed again. Glass shattered. I felt shards of it catch in my hair and a bright, brilliant pain bloomed on the right side of my face. When I touched my cheek my fingers came away dark and slick and covered in blood.

Giant Man was bleeding as well. It looked like someone had taken a vegetable peeler to his hand. The flesh between his knuckles was sliced away and my stomach rolled in horrified protest when I saw naked muscle stretching over bone.

“TRAVIS!” I shrieked, ducking sideways when Giant Man swiped at my face with his bleeding fingers. “TRAVIS, WHERE ARE YOU?”

“Lola?” His voice was faint, his reply muffled as though he was speaking through a wall.

I opened my mouth to reply, but I never got the chance. Giant Man snagged the end of my braid. Pulling it taut, he whipped my head around and I slammed up against the side of the house. More glass fell, raining down on my shoulders. It crunched under my feet as I tried to run, but the grip on my hair was strong, and with an ugly laugh Giant Man gave a vicious yank that brought instant tears to my eyes.

My temple banged off the edge of the windowsill. Dazed and disoriented I wobbled in place, fighting the urge to vomit down the front of my shirt.

Movies make violence look simple. They make it look easy. When the hero gets punched in the jaw he might stumble, but he always gets back up. In real life, there is nothing
simple
or
easy
about pain. It hurts. It hurts so much I won’t waste time describing it because until you’ve been there, until you’ve felt the greasy slide of puke and blood backing up in your throat and the pain has numbed you all the way down to your toes, words are a waste.

“Did you think you would get away so easily?” Giant Man’s breath fanned out across my cheek. His upper body and arms were stretched out of the window and his hand was still wrapped in my hair, but his grip had loosened. I swayed drunkenly on my feet, and he laughed. “Did you think you were special? Did you believe you would be
spared
? Foolish girl. No one will make it through the night.”

It’s never good to underestimate your opponent. I had underestimated Giant Man, but he’d also underestimated me. I may have been small and I may have been weak, but I was also stupid. Stupid enough to snatch up a long, sharp fragment of glass and stab it right at the middle of his big ugly face.

My makeshift weapon struck skin and deflected sideways, leaving a thin, shallow line of red in its wake. Giant Man howled and jerked back, clawing at his face with both hands.

“Travis, I’ll come back for you!” I cried, hoping he could hear me, praying he could forgive me. I thought I heard him say something, but his reply was lost to the dull ringing in my ears. I shoved away from the window. Branches slapped at my face and arms as I fought my way through them, forging a new path out to the street. When the soles of my sneakers slapped hard pavement I stopped to catch my breath.

I knew I wasn’t safe, but I couldn’t physically run until I got control of the terror. My breath came in fits and starts. Tears ran down my face, mixing with the blood that still dripped from the cut on my right cheekbone. Using the hem of my shirt I dabbed at the stinging wound. On some level I knew trying to clean a dirty cut with an equally dirty shirt wasn’t the most hygienic of solutions, but right now infection was the least of my worries.

The slamming of a door had me jolting upright. Like a deer in the crosshairs I froze in place, every muscle tightening. I backed slowly into the street, more afraid of Giant Man than being run down by a car. Not that there were any cars. Or any people. 

Everything was empty. Everything was still.

At least until the screams started.