Sheila Norcross trotted to the huddle, and then did something that erased all doubt, all self-denial. It was awful and simple and convincing, so much more conclusive than any physical resemblance or any school record. Lila witnessed it from her place on the bleachers and understood that she and Clint were ruined.
As soon as Lila closed her eyes on the approaching animals, she felt the onset of true sleep—not padding, slithering, or bobbing, but rushing at her like a driverless sixteen-wheeler. Bright panic sparked her nerves, and she slapped herself. Hard. Her eyes flew open. There was no snake, no white tiger, no gabbling peacock. There was no gigantic banyan-esque tree. Where it had loomed in the center of the clearing was an oak, a fine old eighty-footer, magnificent in its own way but normal. A squirrel crouched on one of its lower limbs, chittering at her crossly.
“Hallucinating,” she said. “This is bad.”
She buttoned her shoulder mic. “Linny? Are you there? Come back.”
“Right here, Sheriff.” The voice was tinny, a little broken up, but there was no static. “What… do for you?”
The sound of the power lines—bzzz—was discernible again. Lila hadn’t realized it had disappeared. Had it disappeared? Boy, she was messed up.
“Never mind, Lins, I’ll get back to you when I’m in the clear.”
“You… right, Lila?”
“Fine. Talk soon.”
She took another look over her shoulder. Just an oak. A big one, but still just an oak. She started to turn away, and then another brilliant green bird exploded upward from the tree, heading west into the lowering sun. In the direction the other birds had gone.
Lila closed her eyes tight, then fought them open again. No bird. Of course not. She had imagined the whole thing.
But the tracks? They led me here.
Lila decided she would not let herself care about the tracks, or the tree, or the strange woman, or anything else. What she needed to do right now was get back to town without falling asleep. It might be time to visit one of Dooling’s fine pharmacies. And if all else failed, there was the evidence locker. And yet…
And yet what? She’d had a thought, but exhaustion had melted it away. Or almost. She caught it just before it could go completely. King Canute, that was the thought. King Canute commanding the tide to run backward.
Some things just couldn’t be done.
Lila’s son was also awake. He was lying in a muddy ditch on the far side of the road. He was wet, he was in pain, and something was digging into his back. It felt like a beer can. All that was bad enough, but he also had company.
“Norcross.”
That was Eric.
Eric fucking Blass.
Jared kept his eyes closed. If they thought he was unconscious—maybe even dead—they would run away like the chickenshit cowardly assholes they were.
Maybe.
“Norcross!” This time his name was followed by a boot prodding him in the side.
“Eric, let’s get out of here.” Another country heard from. Kent Daley, sounding whiney and on the edge of panic. “I think he’s out cold.”
“Or in a coma.” Curt’s tone seemed to indicate that this wouldn’t be such a tragic outcome.
“He’s not in a coma. He’s faking.” But Eric sounded nervous himself. He bent down. Jared’s eyes were closed, but he could smell Eric’s Axe cologne getting stronger. Jesus, did the guy bathe in the stuff? “Norcross!”
Jared lay still. God, if only a cop car would come by, even one driven by his mother, embarrassing as the explanations that followed might be. But the cavalry arrived only in the movies.
“Norcross, I’m going to kick you in the balls if you don’t open your eyes, and I mean really fucking hard.”
Jared opened his eyes.
“Okay,” Eric said, smiling. “No harm and no foul.”
Jared, who felt he had been badly fouled—both by the car that had creased him and by these guys—said nothing. It seemed the wisest course.
“We didn’t hurt the skeevy old lady, and you don’t look too bad, either. No legbones sticking out through your pants, at least. So we’re going to call it even. After you give me your phone, that is.”
Jared shook his head.
“You are such an asshole.” Eric spoke with kindly indulgence, as if to a puppy that had just piddled on the rug. “Curt? Kent? Hold him.”
“Jesus, Eric, I don’t know,” Kent said.
“I do. Hold him.”
Curt said, “What if he’s got, like, internal injuries?”
“He doesn’t. Car barely skinned him. Now hold him.”
Jared tried to squirm away, but Curt pinned one of his shoulders and Kent pinned the other. He hurt all over, his knee was only the worst of it, and there was really no point in fighting these guys. He felt strangely listless. He supposed that might be shock setting in.
“Phone.” Eric snapped his fingers. “Hand it over.” This was the guy Mary was going to a concert with. This guy right here.
“I lost it in the woods.”
Jared looked up at him, trying not to cry. Crying would be the worst.
Eric sighed, dropped to his knees, and squeezed Jared’s pockets. He felt the rectangle of the iPhone in the right front and pulled it out. “Why do you have to be such a dick, Norcross?” Now he sounded petulant and put-upon, like why are you ruining my day?
“There’s a dick here, but it’s not me,” Jared said. He blinked hard to keep the tears from falling. “You were going to pee in her ear.”
“No, he wasn’t. You’re disgusting to even think that, Norcross. It was a joke,” Curt said. “Guy talk.”
Kent piped up eagerly, as if they were actually having a reasonable discussion, and not sitting on him and holding him down. “Yeah, it was just guy talk! We were just playing around. You know, like in the locker room. Don’t be ridiculous, Jared.”
“I’m going to let this go,” Eric declared. As he spoke, he tapped away at the screen of Jared’s phone. “Because of Mary. I know that she’s your friend, and she’s going to be a lot more than my friend. So it’s a draw. We all walk away.” He finished tapping. “There: erased the video from your cloud, then emptied it out. All gone.”
A gray rock stuck out of the ditch, looking to Jared like a gray tongue going nyah-nyah-nyah. Eric hammered Jared’s iPhone on it half a dozen times, shattering the screen and sending pieces of black plastic flying. He tossed what was left onto Jared’s chest. It slid off into the muddy ditchwater.
“Since the video is gone, I didn’t have to do that, but Mary aside, I need you to understand that there are consequences for being a sneaky bitch.” Eric stood up. “Got me?”
Jared said nothing, but Eric nodded as if he had.
“Right. Let him go.”
Kent and Curt stood and backed away. They looked wary, as if they expected Jared to spring up and start swinging like Rocky Balboa.
“This is over for us,” Eric said. “We don’t want anything more to do with that moldy old cunt back there, okay? It better be over for you, too. Come on, you guys.”
They left him there in the ditch. Jared held on until they were gone. Then he put an arm over his eyes and wept. When that part was over, he sat up, slid the remains of his phone in his pocket. (Several more pieces fell off as he did so.)
I am a loser, he thought. That Beck song, it must have been written with me in mind. It was three against one, but still—I am such a loser.
He began to limp home, because home was where you went when you were hurt and beaten.
CHAPTER 10