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  “This is perfect out here,” she said, her voice a soft murmur. We stopped by the pond, and a cool evening breeze stirred through the open windows. “Let’s never leave.”

  I stroked her cheek, her long ebony hair. “I second that motion.”

  I left the radio on low and we climbed into the back seat. We both laughed; there was no graceful way of doing it. Then, as we faced each other, the laughter subsided. We reached to one another, touching tentatively. Our hands fumbled first over and then past buttons and zippers … hoping to please one another, ourselves. Trying to impress each other with skills we hadn’t yet attained. Trying not to do anything embarrassing. Just trying.

  We’d been through this routine … how many times? A dozen? Two dozen? It still made my stomach heave in joyously queasy lurches, and I wondered if she could tell.

  Later she dozed in my arms, or at least pretended to do so. I gazed out toward the pond. Moonlight shimmered silver on the surface, and when the wind blew, the stirring trees sent dappled moonlight dancing through the car. The radio played us soft lullabies.

  Let’s never leave.

  I was about ready to make this place my permanent address when I looked through the windshield at the grove. I could see that huge tree standing guard, armed and dangerous, and had the unsettling feeling that it knew what I was thinking.

  I’ve been waiting a long, long time.

  “C’mon, Val, wake up.” I shook her lightly. “Wake up.”

  She murmured something into my chest, a groggy sort of whimper.

  I pinched her nostrils shut. “It’s my birthday. Talk to me.”

  Val thrashed and jerked her head up to glare at me. “You meanie.”

  Then she grinned and kissed me and reached for the glove box. She came back with a couple packages of Keebler crackers. Fooling around always perked up her appetite, and so we kept the car stocked with crackers swiped from various salad bars. Once in a while I couldn’t help but wondering if she had any other little caches in some other car.

  “How’s the job?” she asked.

  “I’ll survive. Rough start, though. How’s yours?”

  “I’m getting hooked on French fries.” Like half the girls in town, it seemed, Valerie worked fast food. Burger King, in her particular instance. “I’m gonna be so fat by the end of summer you’ll never want to take me out again.”

  I pinched her rump; definitely no excess. “You keep paying my way like tonight, and I’m yours forever.”

  “Just a gigolo,” she said, and I bowed.

  We chattered on a while longer, until she suggested going back to her house. And as I glanced at that sentinel of a tree before us, that sounded like the evening’s best idea. We rearranged our clothes and climbed back into the front seat.

  Valerie’s mom was still up when we got there, but quickly made herself scarce. Nice lady. In their family room, Val presented me with a package that proved to be a couple albums I’d been threatening to get. Would this night never end? Then she popped a tape into the VCR and we watched one of my all-time favorites, National Lampoon’s Animal House. I laughed like I’d never seen it before. Two hours later, finally, we stood on her front steps in an easy embrace.

  “Call me in a day or two, will you?” she said.

  “Sure. Save a night for me next weekend?”

  She cocked her head coyly; she invented that look. “We’ll see.”

  We swapped goodbye kisses, and then I was back out in my car, heading for home. All in all, the night had been an unqualified success.

  So far.

  The entire trip home consisted of side streets, narrow little lanes with rows of sleepy houses. Many of the blocks were thickly lined with trees that grew huge and shady by the curb … neighborhoods that forever worry the parents of small children, because if their kid should suddenly pop out from behind a tree into the street, why, the driver of an oncoming car might never have time to stop.

  Just as I didn’t. The fact that he wasn’t a child was no consolation.

  He simply stepped out from behind a tree and stood there. In that split second when I knew what was going to happen and felt my heart clawing its way up my throat, it looked almost as if he were waiting for it.

  I jammed on the brakes but it was far too late. The tires squealed as my car fishtailed. I leaned heavily into the wheel and tried to steer around him, but the right side of the grill and fender smashed squarely into him, sending him sprawling back like a tackling dummy. And surely he couldn’t have made that big a jolt pass through the car. He disappeared from sight as the car skidded to a halt.

  I noticed something else during that moment before impact, although it didn’t register until later. Something about him didn’t look right. Behind his heavy moustache, his face was too pale, too slack, his eyes too lackluster. His movements were too jerky. Not like he was drunk, or handicapped, though. Something else.

  Oh God, please don’t let him be dead, please...

  I clung to the steering wheel, wondering what lay in the street before me. Knowing that as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t keep on going. Time to face the music.

  You’re an adult now, Phil had said. You screw up, your own ass is on the line, not your old man’s.

  But I wasn’t ready to deal with this. Not this.

  I shut off the engine, left on the lights. Hit the emergency flasher. With my heart trying its best to burst through my chest, I stepped out to view what I’d done, stepped out into the awesome silence of one o’clock in the morning. The whole world seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation.

  He lay facedown on the pavement, and I was glad I didn’t have to look into his eyes. One bare foot was splayed out at an odd angle. He wasn’t moving, and didn’t even appear to breathe.

  Oh please oh please…

  No blood either, I then noticed. Although the grill was dented and one headlight shattered, he hadn’t bled.

  I knelt down and, nearly choking as my stomach crawled up into my throat, reached for his outstretched wrist. No pulse. And he felt cold, so very cold. Surely they didn’t cool off that quickly.

  I stood again, shaking, looking for a house with a light on so I could use their phone. I saw one a bit farther up the block.

  He started to move.

  Spotlighted in white and tinted with blinking amber, that pale arm, devoid of its pulse, stretched out from his body. The fingers flexed slowly, then curled into the palm until only the index finger was still extended. I watched, backing against the car, treading the tightrope between terror and fascination.

  It took another moment to realize what that hand was doing.

  It was writing, the fingernail curling back like a wet stamp.

  We’d had no rainfall for two weeks, and a fine coating of dirt and grit covered the street where the body lay. Where it moved. And when it finished, I could read the words etched into the dirt as plainly as if they’d been written on a chalkboard:

  Coming for you.

  I stumbled over to the curb, doubled over by a tree, and the contents of my stomach exploded onto the ground. When I’d finished, ribs wracked with the pain of contractions as I stood wiping my sour mouth, I ventured one more glance at the body. To see if it had any more surprises to haunt my dreams that night. Forever.

  The hand was palm down, rubbing across the dirt. Erasing the words. Then it fell motionless, lifeless once more. Or so I hoped.

  I ran for the house where lights still shone from within.

  Chapter 5

  It took the rest of the weekend to get over the shakes.

  The police showed up after my call, as did an ambulance, and while the medics loaded the poor guy up after he’d been pronounced dead at the scene, I was the center of unwelcome attention. The cops examined the logistics, asked questions I was almost too jittery to answer, smelled my breath suspiciously, had me walk a straight line, heel-to-toe. They looked for identification on the body and found none. They decided against citing me for anything and let
me go. After telling me to drive carefully.

  Had I really seen that guy moving? Writing? Your mind can play strange tricks sometimes. Stress can bring it out, fear…

  Coming for you.

  At home, I woke my parents to give them the news. I sat on the bed between them and spilled the story. And then we just sat there until I’d cried some of it out of my system. Mom told me I’d feel a lot better the next day, that sleep was the best medicine now. She was still thinking it was a simple accident. In no way could I ask her to believe what I thought I’d seen. Sleep…

  But the next day was when the real shocker came.

  We’d gone to church, which helped a little, though I still had a tendency to see only with my mind’s eye … that pale, slack face, the sudden jolt passing through his body as he hurtled back from the car. And worst of all, the movements of his hand, scratching out a message I was no longer sure I’d seen. Simple daylight does a lot to chase away the terrors of the night.

  The phone call came around three o’clock. Mom answered in the kitchen, came down to the family room to tell me.

  “It’s the police,” she said, giving my hand a little squeeze.

  I began picturing myself behind bars, numbers stenciled across my chest, then thought better of it. If I were in trouble, they’d have come in person.

  “Is this Chris Anderson?” A male voice, authoritative.

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Sergeant Levitt at the police department. You may remember me from last night.”

  Portly fellow, looked sort of like Captain Kangaroo. “Sure.”

  He cleared his throat. “Chris, there’s something come up that means I have to ask you a few more questions. All right?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t see anybody else last night at the time of the accident? Either before, or immediately after?”

  “No, not a soul. Did you find out who he was?”

  “His name was Dennis Lawton. Chris, are you absolutely certain?”

  “Yeah, positive. What’s going on?”

  “Dennis Lawton had been missing for nearly a week. He was in his early thirties, lived a few miles out of town. He was reported missing by his girlfriend.”

  And I found him for you. “And?”

  “When he was brought to the hospital, the staff knew something wasn’t right. The ambulance crew suspected it as well. And the autopsy verified it. The man was dead before you hit him, Chris. He’d drowned six days ago.”

  “Now wait a minute, that just can’t be. I saw him walk out in front of me.” True, he did look, well, dead, but… “He walked out there and stood in front of the car!”

  Levitt’s voice was patient, as if trying to dissuade a stubborn child. “It all happened very quickly, am I right? Isn’t it possible you only think you saw him walking?”

  “How else do you explain it?”

  “We think someone found the body, and it was their idea of a sick joke to toss him in front of a moving car. Picked a quiet side street, lots of obstructions to hide behind, late at night. And you were unfortunate enough to be the right one at the right time.”

  “Joke’s on me, huh?” I said quietly. “Sounds like you got it covered.”

  “It’s the only explanation we can think of.”

  “Makes sense.” But you didn’t see what I did. What I know I saw.

  He was still a moment. Then, “There’s no reason to keep you. But if you do remember anything, give us a call.”

  I hung up, hovered in the kitchen for a while. Stared out the window into the backyard. A pair of squirrels went spiraling up a nearby tree trunk. For a moment I envied the simplicity of their lives.

  It was going to take a lot more than Levitt’s logic to convince me that I hadn’t seen Lawton walk out in front of me. In no way had he been propelled by the hands of some morbid prankster. Whether he’d walked under his own power or some other power I couldn’t comprehend, he walked. And if he’d done that, I found it easier to believe I’d also seen him scrawl out that message on the pavement, then wipe it away.

  Coming for you.

  I wondered what it meant, how it all fit together.

  But then, dead men tell no tales.

  Chapter 6

  I was trying my best to put the weekend where it belonged: in the distant past. If I immersed myself in work, family, friends, maybe it would all go away. You can always hope.

  On Tuesday, White Trash Joe let Phil and me slip away early again, so we slapped great clouds of road dust from one another and headed into town to see how Aaron was doing on his first day at Chuck Wagon Steak House. The inside of the place hadn’t changed a bit from my days there: the corral fencing along the serving line, the lassos and branding irons hanging from the walls, the sizzle of the grill. Aaron seemed glad to see a couple of friendly faces. But we were barely past the cashier when a series of brittle crashes rang out, and Aaron looked utterly mortified as he stood amid the wreckage of a half-dozen plates. Within two seconds he was on the receiving end of the wrath of a diminutive little red-haired tyrant named Maurice, who’d been my manager as well as Aaron’s, and would probably be there forever.

  Phil and I spent the rest of the afternoon cruising in and out of town, and he dropped me off at home close to five. I stepped in through the front door and listened at the landing for a moment. The rustle of paper … sounded like Mom was downstairs with the evening Sentinel. I found her in the family room, sipping a California Cooler.

  “What’s the occasion?” I asked.

  She beamed up at me from the easy chair. “I only saved a life today is all. The hotline took a suicide call this morning. I must’ve spent over an hour talking to him, and we seemed to be making some progress. I urged him to get some counseling, and guess what: the mental health center called me a few minutes ago to tell me that he’d actually come in. And they congratulated me on a job well done.”

  I grinned and gave her a thumbs-up. “Way to go, Doctor Mom.”

  She tipped the green bottle at me. “Cheers.”

  I started back upstairs.

  “Hey,“ she said sharply. “Where’s my kiss? You’re never too old.”

  I toddled over and bent down to peck her on the cheek.

  “That’s better. But please take a shower before we eat.” She pinched her nostrils shut and leaned away. “What’s on the menu for tonight?”

  “Squash.”

  I clutched my stomach and blew out my cheeks and let loose with a few choice noises.

  “All right, then, zucchini. Does that make a difference?” She sat on the edge of her chair, looking small and defensive in a cute sort of way. She looked very much like the girl in the pictures I’d seen of her and Dad before they were married.

  “I’m not that hungry anyway. Phil and I got off early today, so we went and ate at Chuck Wagon.”

  Mom folded the paper and set it on the coffee table. “How was Aaron getting along?”

  “Uhhh,” I said, squirming, “while we were there, he trashed a bunch of plates.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Did he get in trouble?”

  “Yeah. But if he’s not home by now, I guess he didn’t get canned.”

  “That’s good.” She was biting her lower lip. “You better get cleaned up. Dad and Aaron should both be home pretty soon.”

  I headed upstairs and straight for the shower. The water always felt like a taste of heaven after a day of roadwork. Fresh again, I slipped into jeans and a T-shirt. I’d just wandered back into the kitchen with wet hair when Aaron came in.

  He already looked ready for retirement. His shoulders slumped and his feet dragged. The silly cowboy hat that was standard uniform dangled from one hand and a ring of moist hair lay plastered around his head. And then the smell … a sour mix of sweat and charbroiled steaks, combined with the subtle bouquet of rotting garbage. Aaron had spent some time taking out the trash, this was certain. That rotten, ripe odor was something you never forgot once y
ou’d been exposed to it.

  I whistled. “I hope I didn’t smell that bad when I used to come home from there.”

  Aaron looked my way with icewater eyes. “As a matter of fact, you did.”

  “How was your first day, hon?” Mom said as she came over to hug him. She didn’t flinch at all from that wall of odor. Moms can tolerate some pretty horrendous smells when they have to.

  “Didn’t he tell you?” Aaron pointed at me with his hat. His face looked older, almost lined. Meaner, maybe. “I figured he would’ve given you all the details by now.”

  “Well, Chris did say something about some plates.”

  Aaron’s full attention was on me now, his fists planted against his hips. “I bet you were just hoping to see something like that.”

  “Hey, all we wanted was something to eat,” I said. “The floor show was a bonus.”

  Aaron’s nostrils flared and a muscle in his jaw twitched like a live wire. I honestly think he might’ve hit me if we’d been alone. But Mom, ever the peacemaker, stepped between us.

  “Aaron. Please. I’m sure Chris just wanted to see how you were doing. Now what happened after you dropped the plates?”

  Aaron ran his hands over his oily face, smoothed back his tangled hair. “Maurice took me off the line and sent me back into the kitchen to clean up. I had to mop, and wipe out the walk-in refrigerator, and wheel out all this garbage. That dumpster bakes all day in the sun … I threw up.”

  Mom hugged him again and kissed his cheek. “Why don’t you go scrub this lousy day off. We’ll eat before too long.”

  “Not hungry,” Aaron mumbled and trudged toward his room. He didn’t look at me. A moment later his door latched.

  Mom’s eyes followed him the entire way. She was biting her lower lip again. Then she looked at me, eyes wide and uncertain.

  I gave her a weak smile. “Lots more zucchini for you and Dad.”

  She nodded curtly and turned to the stove. A minute later Dad was home and up in the kitchen. He was smiling, but that faded two steps within. His nose wrinkled, and I could see the gears of understanding turning in his mind.