“Wrong. We’ll both be back in town snug in our beds before midnight.”
“I mean, just assuming I don’t chicken out. Which I won’t. You’ll come in at dawn?”
“Just come out.”
“You want to see inside the place, don’t you?”
“No.”
“Well, come in anyway.”
“Forget you.”
The sides of the road were gone, and Dana realized she had entered the parking area. She kept driving straight ahead. At first, she couldn’t see the restaurant. Then the head beams found its stairs, porch, and door. The pale band of a police line ribbon was stretched across the porch posts at the top of the stairs. The door was crosshatched with boards.
Dana stopped directly in front of the stairs and killed the headlights. “Whoops,” she said. “Where’d the restaurant go?”
“How am I supposed to get in?”
Dana bent over, head against the steering wheel, and reached down between her knees. Her fingertips combed the gritty floor mat until they found the pry bar. She picked it up and gave it to Roland.
“You thought of everything,” he muttered.
Twisting around, Dana knelt on her seat and got the camera out of the back. “Take some good ones,” she said. “Especially of the gal. No head. Should be nifty.”
Roland put the camera into his pack. Leaning forward, he swung the pack behind him and struggled into its shoulder straps. He hugged the sleeping bag against his side and gripped the pry bar. “How about turning on the headlights till I’m inside?” he asked.
“Why not.” The lights tunneled into the darkness. “Have fun.”
“You’ll come in for me at dawn,” he said. It was not a request.
“I’m not going inside that place.”
“I think you will.” He opened the door and climbed out. Standing in the rain, he leaned inside. “I’ve got the pictures with me.”
“Give them here,” Dana snapped.
“You may have them in the morning. If you don’t come in after me, you’ll never see them again. But everyone else will.”
“You shit!”
He slammed the door.
When he was in front of the car, Dana blasted the horn and he jumped. He turned around. Glared at her. Then curled his lip above his crooked teeth and turned away. At the top of the stairs, he broke the police ribbon and stepped to the door. He started to pry the boards off.
Dana, furious, watched him. Her heart was beating fast, her breath hissing through her nostrils. She saw herself rush up behind Roland and slam his head against the door until he was senseless. Then she would search him and find the pictures.
But she didn’t move.
Her luck, the creep would probably hear her coming.
In her mind, she saw Roland whirl around and lay open her head with the bar.
She wouldn’t put it past him.
He’s a fucking wimp, she thought, but he’s not exactly stable.
She saw him drag her body into the restaurant.
The thoughts began to frighten her.
Roland got the door open. He lifted his sleeping bag off the porch, glanced back at Dana, then went inside. The door swung shut.
Dana shut off the headlights.
Leaning across the seat, she locked the passenger door.
She reached for the ignition key, intending to turn the engine off. But she changed her mind, shifted to reverse, and slowly backed the car away. She considered leaving. It would serve the shit right, getting stranded out here. If he realized she was gone, however, he might decide to spread out his sleeping bag on the porch. He had to spend the night inside. That was the bet. That was the punishment, the price he had to pay for being such an asshole.
And for looking at the pictures.
He has them with him.
Dana, suddenly realizing she might be dangerously close to the rear of the parking area, hit her brakes. The car jolted to a stop. She set the emergency brake and killed the engine.
When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she found that she could see the restaurant. It was about fifty years ahead of her, a low dark shape the width of the parking lot, black beneath its hooded porch.
It looked forbidding.
And Roland was inside.
Dana smiled. “You’ll have a real good time,” she muttered.
When Roland closed the restaurant door, he stood motionless and scanned the darkness. He could see nothing. He heard only his own heartbeat and quick breaths and the sounds of the rain.
There’s nothing to be afraid of, he told himself.
His body seemed to believe otherwise.
He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to drop the sleeping bag, take off his pack, and get his hands on the flashlight. But he couldn’t move.
Go ahead and do it.
He was sure it would be all right, but part of him knew with absolute certainty that something was hunched silent in the dark nearby. Aware of his presence. Waiting. If he made the slightest move, it would come for him.
The quiet whinnying of Dana’s car engine broke through his fear. He turned around and opened the restaurant’s door. The Volkswagen was backing away.
She’s leaving?
The thought alarmed him at first, then filled him with relief. If she actually drove off, he wouldn’t need to stay inside. Spend the night on the porch, maybe. Keep a lookout and make sure he was back inside when she returned.
If she returned.
And if she didn’t come back in the morning, the hike back to town was only a few miles and he’d still win the bet.
The car didn’t turn around. Near the far end of the parking lot, its red brake lights glowed briefly.
It stopped.
The engine went silent.
Roland’s hope died. Dana wasn’t leaving, after all, just putting some distance between herself and the restaurant. She must’ve been nervous about being close to it.
He watched for a while, but the car didn’t move again.
Leaving the door open for a quick escape, Roland dropped his sleeping bag to the floor. He took off his pack and removed the flashlight. With his back to the doorway, he thumbed the flashlight switch. The strong beam shot out. He whipped it from right to left. Shadows jumped and writhed, but no foul shape was lurching toward him.
Roland allowed himself to breathe. He wished his heart would slow down. It felt like a fist punching the insides of his chest.
He shut the door and sagged slightly against it. He locked his knees to keep them from folding under him. His kneecaps began to flutter with a spastic, twitching bounce, as if they wanted to jump off his legs.
Roland tried to ignore them. Aiming the flashlight ahead, he took several steps until he could see around the corner of the wall. The wall extended down the right side of the main dining room. Something just beyond the corner caught his eye. He held his breath until he identified the objects as a stepladder, a lamp, and a vacuum cleaner. On the floor near them were a toolbox, some jars and bottles and rags. He moved the beam away.
A bright disk at the far end of the room startled Roland, but it was only his own light reflecting off a window. He wasn’t alarmed when his light hit the other windows.
Except for the clutter near the one wall, the dining room was empty. He swept his beam back across it, to the wall ahead of him, and to the right. A few yards away was the corner of an L-shaped bar counter. The shelves behind it were empty. There were no stools in front of the counter. A brass foot rail ran its length.
Turning slightly, Roland played his beam over the space between the bar counter and the front wall of the restaurant. A card table stood near the wall. Bottles and a few glasses gleamed with the light. There were two folding chairs at the table.
Crouching, he shined his flashlight beneath the card table.