Orphans of Wonderland (16 page)

Joel nodded. He knew what Sal was referencing without actually saying it.

“But he got worse, started talking all this crazy shit, conspiracies and how the government was coming to get us all, crap like that. He came by, said he was going to the desert to live by himself until the end of the world, 'cause it was coming soon. Poor bastard did too many drugs. You ask me, it rotted his brain, scrambled it all up, you know? Last time I seen him, to be honest, I didn't really want him around me. He was bad, Joel. Real bad. I'm talking full-throttle, motherfucking
crazy
.”

“And that was it, he was gone just like that?”

“Never saw him again.” Sal stood up. “Why, what's Trent got to do with all this?”

“I was told Lonnie was in touch with Trent not long before he was killed.”

Sal flashed a questioning look. “Told by who?”

“Somebody that worked with him. The information's solid, and I believe it.”

“Lonnie never said shit to me about Trent being back in the picture.” Sal thought a moment. “You tell the cops this?”

“No. Far as I can tell, they're going to pin Lonnie's murder on a drug deal gone bad or something along those lines.”

“Dickheads. Wasn't no drug deal, I'd bet my life on that.”

“You got any theories, Sal?”

He seemed surprised at being asked, but rather than answer, disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a fresh beer. “Like you, I was born and raised here. It's my home. I love it. There's no place like it. We got our share of assholes, but mostly there's good people here.” Like a black cloud passing over the moon, something dark and deadly crossed Sal's face. “There's darkness here too, though. Who knows that better than us? It was here long before we were here, and it'll be here long after we're gone. We all know it. We all feel it. We all live with it. And we all look the other way. We pretend it's not there. But deep down we know better, don't we? We knew about it from the time we were kids. Back in the day, you found out what goes on in that darkness. Maybe somewhere along the line, Lonnie found out too.”

A heavy burst of wind rocked the house.

“Did Lonnie tell you something before he was killed?”

Sal remained standing but was having trouble staying still. “He was seeing shit, did you know that? Said there were things after him.
Demons
. It was crazy.”

“Crazy like Trent?”

“No, not like Trent.”

“I don't understand.”

“See, Trent thought he was fine and it was everybody else that was crazy.” Sal looked down at the floor. “But Lonnie…Lonnie was going nuts…and he knew it, Joel. The poor bastard knew it.”

Joel had another swallow of beer. “Did he ever mention a Tuser Industries?”

Sal shook his head. “No, don't ring a bell.”

“What about a man named Jerry Simpson?”

“Never heard of him.”

“Does the term
number stations
mean anything to you?”

“What's that?”

Joel put his beer can down on the coffee table. “Still working on it.”

“I know Lonnie was into something, like you said. I just don't know what.” Sal squared his stance. “But if you do, you need to tell me, man.”

“I'm still trying to figure out what's real and what isn't.”

“Good luck with that.”

“It's like years ago, when I was investigating the cult thing. Some of what I ran across was so insane, so impossible, and yet there were these kernels of truth that couldn't be denied. It makes you start to second-guess everything, but sooner or later, you come to realize that not everybody can be crazy.”

“You sure?” Sal asked.

“No. I wish I was, but I'm not.”

“Seems that way sometimes, don't it? Look at us. Trent. Lonnie. Even you.”

“I'm not insane, Sal.”

“Maybe not now.”

“Maybe not ever.”

“They put you away for it.”

“Afraid you'll be next?”

Sal flexed his arms, then shook them loose like he had years ago before he'd pound on his heavy bag. But he wasn't intimidating anyone. Even after all these years, they knew each other too well for that. He was afraid, just like the rest of them, because he'd been hanging on by his fingernails for years, and it was only a matter of time before he lost his grip. It was who they were, what they knew.

And what they didn't.

“What do you want from me, Joel?”

It took everything he had to get the words out. “Do you ever think about it?”

Sal stared at him with dark, angry eyes.

“The black car,” Joel pressed, “do you ever think about it?”

For what seemed an eternity, only the wind answered.

The big black Cadillac at the top of the street…

“I still dream about it sometimes,” Joel admitted.

Sal walked over to the bay window, looked out at the street. “Me too,” he finally said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “But we always said we'd never talk about that again.”

Just…there…motionless…the windshield and windows tinted dark and impenetrable…

“Maybe it's time.”

“There's nothing to talk about. We don't even know what happened.”

Four boys on their bicycles…watching…wondering why it's stopped there and looks as if the car itself is staring them down…

“Don't we?”

“Don't go getting all cutesy clever with me, bro.” Sal remained at the window, his back to Joel, his arms hanging at his sides and his hands clenching into fists, then releasing, again and again. “This is me you're talking to. All I know is, nothing was ever the same after that day. That's what I got.”

And then the tires screech and it's barreling toward them, rocketing down the street straight for them, the summer sun reflecting off the shiny hood, blinding them…

“Something happened, Sal. To all of us.”

“We were just kids,” he said suddenly, turning away from the window and stuffing his hands in his pants pockets. “It was just a game.”

“We told ourselves that, but it's bullshit. Something got in our heads and—”

“Why the fuck you bringing this up? I don't see you for twenty years and you come into
my
house talking
this
shit, are you ribbing me? I thought you were here to find out what happened to Lonnie.”

“Sal, listen to me. I think everything might be connected, what happened when we were kids, what I went through as an adult, Trent going off the deep end, Lonnie's murder—all of it. Lonnie was mixed up in some bad shit. At the end, he may have even involved or recruited others. But people were fucking with his head. I think he was involved in mind-control experiments.”

“Mind control.”

“Yes.”

Sal licked his lips, a nervous habit he'd had for as long as Joel had known him. “What in the
fuck
are you talking about?”

“Look, I know how it sounds but—”

“You been to see Dorsey yet?”

“No, wanted to talk to you first.”

“Then leave him out of it. He's got enough problems. Let him be.”

As broken-down as he'd become, Sal was still doing his best to protect them all. Time had stolen a lot, but it hadn't taken that from him yet.

“I can't do that,” Joel told him.

Sal angrily snatched a battered leather jacket from a chair in the corner and threw it on. “You know who killed Lonnie, don't you.”

It wasn't a question, and they both knew it, but Joel answered anyway.

“Not exactly. Not yet.”

“What are you gonna do when you do know?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Awesome. Great plan, dipshit.”

“There's a chance all of our lives could be in danger,” Joel said.

“Yeah? Well, life's a dangerous game, chief. It don't scare me.”

“Yes, it does.”

“Okay, whatever you say, slick.” Sal pulled a ring of keys from his jacket pocket. “I know my life's shit, but it's what I got left, okay? My business, my kids, my grandkid, it's all I got,
cabeesh
? And nobody's taking it away from me. Not old memories, not bad dreams, not some bullshit mind-control maybes, and not you or anybody else. Lonnie's dead, man, and it breaks my heart. It does. Tears me up inside, and if I find out who pulled the trigger, I will
personally
put the fuck down. So when you got something real, you come see me and we'll end this once and for all and make it right, yeah? Until then, no offense, Joel, but fuck off. I don't need this shit. I got enough demons.” He headed back into the kitchen. “I'm going to work. Lock the door behind you on your way out.”

“Sal, wait.”

Joel followed him, but before he could get another word in, Sal had already jumped behind the wheel of one of the cars in the driveway. He backed out, burned rubber and sped off down the street.

The cold air hit Joel like a slap to the face. He hurried across the yard to his car, and was about to get in when he saw a vehicle parked on the side of the road at the top of the street.

The Crown Vic was back.

Chapter Sixteen

Joel stood his ground, watching the car without subtlety. It remained where it was, parked on the side of the road. This time he had an unobstructed and stationary view of the vehicle, and was clearly able to make out two men sitting in the front seat. Both wore dark suits and ties and looked straight ahead as if in a trance, their eyes shielded by dark sunglasses. Had they been at all concerned with being seen, they would've driven off or at least attempted to remain undetected, but it was obvious they wanted Joel to see them this time. So he gave them what they wanted, staring them down for nearly a minute before getting into his car.

Once behind the wheel, he cranked the heater. He was freezing but knew that wasn't the only reason he was shivering. He watched the Crown Vic a while longer in his side mirror.
Okay you bastards
, he thought,
come on then
.

Joel pulled out and turned at the top of the block. By the time he'd made it halfway up the next street, the Crown Vic appeared in his rearview. He crossed through the old neighborhood, less concerned with his tail and focused more on the discomfort and fear rising in him as he approached the crossroads where everything had gone down that day when they were kids.

It took him several seconds to realize where he was, as unlike the other part of town, this area had changed drastically since his youth. He slowed the car and, due to the heavier traffic, pulled over and parked. Across from him there had once been a huge, open field. When the carnival came to town each summer, that's where they'd set up, but where the field once resided there now stood a large supermarket and considerable parking lot. And the crossroads, rural and desolate years ago, was now home to numerous businesses and residential properties.

But Joel knew where he was. The sweat breaking across his body despite the cold told him so.
Hold it together
, he told himself.
Hold it together.

The Crown Vic drove right by him and continued on until it was out of sight.

Joel looked to the supermarket. All he saw was the old field on that strange and frightening summer afternoon all those years ago…

He clenched his hands into fists and tried to will them to stop shaking.

They see the big black Cadillac at the top of the street. On their bicycles, and saddled with camping gear and sleeping bags, they wait; watching to see what it might do next. Surely there has to be a reason it's sitting there in the middle of the road, its black windows and dark windshield mesmerizing…like a dream…

And then the screech of tires, and it's hurtling toward them, the glinting sunshine reflecting off the body and shiny chrome…

“Look out!” Sal screams, hopping off his bike and leaving it there as he runs for the side of the road.

Dorsey and Lonnie follow, abandoning their bikes and scrambling out of the way in a frenzied rush, as Trent and Joel do the same.

The Cadillac swerves, avoiding their bikes and gear, then rushes by in a blur of black and silver, shooting off down the straightaway and out of sight.

Baffled and relieved all at once, the boys slowly return to the middle of the street to stand up their bikes and gather their things.

“Everybody all right?” Sal asks as he walks back over to his bike.

“Yeah,” Joel says. “What an asshole.”

“The fuck is that guy's problem?” Dorsey snaps. “Prick almost hit us!”

“That was fucked up.” Trent throws his sleeping bag over his shoulder and walks his bike to the side of the road. “We need to get the hell out of here, you guys.”

“Bullshit,” Sal says. “We came to camp in the field and that's what we're doing.”

“Yeah, it's cool.” Lonnie reaches for his bike. “Come on. We all got an overnight pass; let's not blow it just because some jackoff tried to scare us. Besides, he's long gone now anyway.”

But the big black Cadillac isn't long gone. It's already turned around and coming back for them.

Joel sees it first. The car moves slowly this time, creeping toward them. He looks around frantically, but there's no one else on the road, no one else in sight. They're alone with this car and whoever's inside.

He's frightened, more frightened than he's ever been in his life.

And his fear is justified.

As his surroundings blurred, Joel realized his eyes had filled with tears. He angrily wiped them away, but they were quickly replaced. The more he tried to calm himself, to stop the shaking and tears, the worse both became.

“What the hell is wrong with me?”

He slammed shut his eyes and let his forehead rest on the steering wheel as he drew a series of slow, deep breaths and practiced the focusing and breathing techniques the doctors had taught him when anxiety attacks took hold of him.

After a few minutes, he felt himself slowing down, his emotion coming back under his control and his fear lessening. Now all he wanted was to get as far away from this place as possible, and that's exactly what he did.

With his fear giving way to steely determination, he headed for New Bedford. It was time to up the ante and go directly for the belly of the beast.

Before he'd reached the town line, the Crown Vic returned. It followed him all the way to New Bedford, but once he crossed into the south end of the city, it vanished into heavy traffic and was gone.

Following his GPS, Joel eventually found himself on a lonely dead-end road not far from the water. Deserted, the side street was littered with old mills closed and abandoned long ago. Left to rot, many were barely standing, the parking lots weed infested, cracked and neglected. There were no residences here, just a ghost town of dead and decaying factories. A little more than a mile in, at the end of the road and housed in a converted but still-dreary old mill building, stood Tuser Industries. Except for one small sign attached to the chain-link gate out front, there was no other signage or markings indicating what the establishment was. A handful of small buildings were scattered about the property, with the main facility located in the center of the complex. The entire property was encircled with electrified and barbed wire fencing, and a uniformed guard sat in a hut just outside the front gate.

With a strong sense of dread hanging in the cold air, Joel rolled to a stop. The guard, a large, swarthy man in mirrored sunglasses, who didn't exactly strike him as the accommodating type, stepped out of the hut and cautiously approached his car.

“Can I help you?”

“I'm here to see Jerry Simpson in human resources,” Joel answered in as curt a tone as possible. He was done with formalities and niceties.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Do I need one?”

The guard considered Joel a moment. “Your name?”

“Walker.”

“First name?”

“Mister.”

The guard turned on his heel and returned to the hut, where he grabbed a phone. After having apparently spoken on it for a few seconds, he emerged again from the station and approached Joel's car. “Mr. Simpson's gone for the day.”

“It's not even noon yet.”

The guard stood there, expressionless and silent.

Joel looked up at his own face reflected in the guard's mirrored sunglasses. “Is he expected back tomorrow?”

“I wouldn't know, sir.”

“Yeah,” Joel said, powering up his window, “of course you wouldn't.”

The guard remained where he was, watching Joel as he turned the car around and headed back out the way he came.

He'd only driven a short way when he saw the Crown Vic. It was parked diagonally in the middle of the street, blocking his way. Joel stopped several feet from the car, his heart racing. Tuser Industries and the guard were no longer visible in his rearview, and on either side of the road, abandoned rundown buildings with blown-out windows stood amid overgrown weeds and garbage.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Here we go.”

Joel watched as the passenger side door opened, and then the driver's side. Two tall, thin, tidy-looking men with short haircuts stepped out of the vehicle. In their dark suits and black shades, they looked like Secret Service agents straight out of central casting. The passenger was older, with vacuous good looks and dark hair graying at his temples. The driver, a bit taller and with broader shoulders, was a moonfaced blond with a flattop.

Keeping it hidden from view, Joel grabbed his phone, activated the video camera option and hit Record. Then he slid it back into his jacket pocket as the two men made a slow, casual approach toward his car.

Like cops, they separated and took different sides of the vehicle. The older one came over to Joel's side while the blond moved around to the passenger side. Doing his best to appear cool and collected, Joel pressed the button to lock all the doors, then dropped the window about an inch. He could feel Flattop's eyes on the back of his neck but hoped his sunglasses helped hide his fear.

“Good morning, Joel,” the older man said with a smooth, deep voice.

He wasn't surprised they knew his name, but hearing one of them speak it was still disturbing. “Who are you?”

“Do me a favor and step out of the vehicle, would you, Joel? So we can talk.”

“How about you show me some ID first?”

“No need to be so formal.” The man smiled, revealing teeth too white and straight to be real. “My name is Mr. Novak.” He pointed to his partner. “And his name is Mr. Kavon.”

Kavon
. Strange name, Joel thought. “K-A-V-O-N?” he asked. “Sounds like his name is the same as yours, only spelled backward. That's quite a coincidence.”

“How very perceptive. But I'm afraid I don't believe in coincidences, Joel.”

“Not sure I do either, so you know what? Let's go ahead and be formal. Show me some ID.”

“Why don't you step out of the car, Joel? We'll get this all worked out.”

“All what worked out? Who are you?”

Mr. Novak's smile faded. His voice remained smooth, friendly, completely nonthreatening but condescending. “Step out, Joel.”

“What do you want? Why have you been following me?”

“Step out, Joel.”

“No, I don't think so.”

“Why make this more difficult than it needs to be? We just want to talk, Joel.”

“Isn't that what we're doing?”

“Step out, Joel.”

“Show me ID or we're done here.”

Novak produced a small device from his pocket and pressed it against the door. The moment it made contact, all the locks disengaged. Before Joel realized what had happened, the man had opened the door and was motioning for him to get out. “Go ahead and step out, Joel.”

This time he did, as Kavon slowly made his way around the rear of the car so that he and Novak had Joel bookended.

The cold air was jarring, and Joel immediately began calculating which avenue of escape would give him the best chance. Could he outrun these men if he bolted for one of the abandoned factories?

“There we go,” Novak said. “Wasn't that easy?”

Hands in his jacket pockets, Joel tried to position his phone as casually as possible so that it would better pick up the audio. “What do you want?”

From behind, Joel felt a strange pinch on the side of his neck. His brain told him to spin around toward Kavon and to reach for the source of pain, but his body refused to cooperate. His feet felt as if they'd been cemented to the road, and his arms dangled at his sides, dead and immobile.

It was then Joel realized Kavon had stuck him with a needle.

He tried to call out but couldn't, and as a tingling sensation flooded through his entire body, the world blurred. Strange rushing sounds surged in his ears, and he felt himself falling.

The last thing Joel saw before darkness claimed him was Novak's creepy, smiling face.