And the black car.
Don’t forget the black car…
But she was a fast runner.
She could hide in shadows, dart down alleyways, or tackle anyone who looked like they were going to attack her.
Mom still didn’t know about her midnight runs.
Warren did, though.
And Mace.
Fuck Mace.
Somehow, though, she didn’t think he’d inform on her.
He’d keep it all to himself.
It was their little secret.
She shuddered.
She hated keeping things from Mom.
And she loathed the idea of being in league with Mace. The mere thought of it made her flesh crawl.
Anyway, she had too many midnight runs under her belt to start explaining things to Mom now.
Besides, I get a real kick out of it…
Could be I’m addicted to midnight running.
Can a person become addicted to running at night?
I guess so…
Nearly there now. I can see the two redwoods, their branches reaching out onto the street.
Where’s Warren?
Not here yet.
Deana felt a twinge of disappointment. It had been so romantic, thinking they’d meet up again this way.
And he’d be really surprised, and pleased, that she’d shown up again.
Tonight, when she saw him, she intended to invite him to dinner. She felt a squirm of excitement at the prospect of him coming to her home. Again.
This time, she wanted to show off a little.
’Cause Mom really knows how to throw a dinner party.
She’d look elegant, chatting to Warren. Charming him, but not too much, with her intelligent conversation.
She knows about books, too…
Deana ran on, her mind turning to her wardrobe. Mentally going through all of her clothes, deciding what she’d wear the night of the party.
A really big decision.
Maybe her new black dress with the low square neck? She knew it showed off her breasts and her small waist to perfection.
Well, maybe not that yet. Don’t want to scare him off.
Black’s way too formal, anyway. Because we’ll go somewhere after the meal.
Don’t bank on it, Deana.
Mom’d be suspicious. A new boyfriend and bunking off together already.
Like I did with Allan. The night Gran and Pops came to dinner…
Allan.
Deana West, you are a shit.
Allan dead only ten, eleven days and you’re out on some midnight tryst? Meeting up with a guy you’ve seen only three times before… And don’t forget. He already came to the house the other day…
Mom doesn’t know about that. She’d be real upset to know I’ve had Warren over and not told her about it. Not that anything happened. Didn’t get to discuss Mace, like I’d planned. We just talked about books and everything. Warren told me about his store, and promised to get me a copy of Get Shorty by Elmore Leonard.
And now you’re drooling on about going out with him after the wonderful dinner Mom is gonna put on—specially for the benefit of her darling daughter.
The darling daughter who lies through her teeth.
What a bitch I am… Soon as I introduce Warren to Mom, there’ll be no more lies. Promise.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Christ, it’s even darker up here.
Deana sped up.
The wind had gotten worse. It shook the trees, whipping the leaves around in a frenzy.
Deana shivered but kept up her pace.
It was a night when almost anything could happen.
She ran on, her mind full of Warren. Picturing his face when she invited him to dinner. Hoping he’d say yes—after all, he did say he’d like a date.
Dinner or the movies, he’d said.
Remember?
How could I forget!
What a hoot, she’d thought at the time.
But, admit it, Deana. You were secretly thrilled at the idea of going out with Warren.
Sure. He is kinda sexy, and a date could be a lotta fun. Then Mom suggested dinner…
So here she was, running up Del Mar.
Risking God knows what…
Her heart skipped a beat. She began thinking of the funeral car and how spooky it had looked, crawling along outside Warren’s house, its windows all black and shiny…
She gave a grim smile.
Probably just some jerk, cruising around…
She ran on.
Then, mixed in with the keening wind, she caught a faint whimper. Like a small animal was lost or something.
A hand clawed at her ankle.
Her mouth went dry.
She gasped.
Her knees sagged and she fell—onto a lumpy kind of hump.
The hand slid away.
“Who… What the hell…!”
Shit. She’d landed on a sack of household garbage.
“Goddamn stupid thing to do put your garbage out on the sidewalk,” she muttered.
“Git offa me…”
Deana started at the weak, whiny voice.
She scrambled to her feet.
“My God!… Oh, it’s you!”
Mommy Dearest.
Lying in a heap on the sidewalk.
Clutching Harry, wrapped in a blanket.
The blanket fell open and Harry rolled out, his legs in the air. His eyes jerked around. His mouth hung open, his small red tongue panting against needle-fine teeth.
Harry was in a bad way.
“Help us, please!” Mommy Dearest pleaded. “Had one a’ my derned attacks agin.”
The hag shook her head, her wispy hair floating in the wind. She looked a little confused.
“Should never’a come out t’night,” she muttered.
“Here, let me help,” Deana told her. “Lean on my arm, I’ll take you home. Where d’you live?”
“Back there a ways, dear,” the hag gestured behind her, somewhere up the steep hill.
“Well, hold on to me.” Deana helped Mommy Dearest to her feet. “How about Harry? He looks sick, too. Want me to hold him, too?”
“Don’t y’let him fall, now, will ya?”
“Course not.”
The hag clung to Deana’s arm. Deana held Harry tight, rolled in his blanket. Leaning into the wind, they made it up the hill a little way. The hag drew to a halt outside a fancy iron double gate.
Deana stared through the railings.
The driveway was pitch dark.
A cold shiver ran down her spine.
Could be anything down there…
Mommy Dearest lifted the latch, the gate creaked open, and Deana helped her inside. The hag kicked the gate shut with a resounding clash.
Deana did a double take.
That sure was some kick! Mommy Dearest musta perked up a little.
Still clutching Deana’s arm, the hag limped her way down the drive. Deana held on to Harry. He was jerking around in his blanket, making loud, snuffling noises.
Her heart hammered. Blood pounded in her ears.
Hope to God he doesn’t die on me, ’cause I really gotta go—don’t wanna miss Warren…
They halted outside a huge front door. Dry, straggly growth matted around the two columns either side.
“Jeez,” Deana breathed. “What a place!”
The house was tall, dark, and deathly quiet. It looked like something out of a horror movie. She pictured Lurch, from The Addams Family, opening up the door… and Gomez hovering in the spooky hallway, grinning around his cigar, rubbing his hands together.