screeched off down the street into the night.
An hour down I-10 going west, they pulled into an all-night roadside diner. They sat at a booth by the window, ordered chocolate sundaes for the little kids and coffee for themselves, and stared silently into their own thoughts.
It was finally Robbie who spoke first. “Are we gonna move again, Dad?”
That was, of course, everyone’s question—resolve themselves to an over-the-shoulder life of half-ignored fears, half-repressed memories, ready to pick up and run every few years? Every time it found them? Whatever it was?
Everyone looked at Steve.
“Well, son . . . I don’t know.” He sighed at the admission and tried to include them all in what he perceived as his own private loss of will. “I guess . . . we’ll have to think about it.”
Diane didn’t want to leave, now that the first flush of fright was past. This was no sterile tract house of Sheetrock and PVC; this was her mother’s home. Diane’s home. They couldn’t just . . . walk away. “Where can we go?” she demanded.
“Disneyland!” suggested Carol Anne.
“Don’t be such an infant,” Robbie scolded her.
“Then how about Knott’s Berry Farm?” Carol Anne goaded her brother. She hated it when he tried to act like an adult. She didn’t ever want to be an adult. Adults died and got scary.
“Okay, you two, settle down,” warned Diane. She had enough to think about without monitoring them. She took all the change from her purse and handed it over. “Here, go play the videos.”
The kids ran off to the other end of the diner, leaving Steve and Diane to sort it out.
“Steven, what are we going to do?”
“I’m thinking,” he lied. He was wallowing.
Behind them, at the counter, sat two overweight, T-shirted, redneck women, the younger one in hair curlers, the older one in her cups. “You’re just a pack o’ trouble, Momma,” the younger one was saying. “Why you messin’ around with that bum is beyond me.”
“Cuz I likes him, that’s why,” replied her sullen momma.
Diane tried to ignore their rising voices. “Steven,” she said, taking his hand across the table, “we’ve got to go somewhere. We can’t just drive around.”
Steve was feeling trapped.
The woman in hair curlers stood, saying to the other, “Well, Momma, don’t be bringin’ him to my house. That’s all I can say.” Then she turned and, without any preliminary, walked directly over to Steve and Diane. She spoke softly, and her voice changed character completely. It was Jess’s voice. “Listen, children,” it said, “you can’t run from this thing. It has made contact with you and will stop at nothing. You must fight him head-on. Stay together. Be loving. Be brave.”
Diane turned pale. “Mom?!” she whispered.
The woman suddenly shivered, blinked, and looked at Diane as if seeing her for the first time.
“Mom?” Diane said again.
The woman made a face. “What? I ain’t your mom, lady.” Her voice was pure redneck again.
“You okay, Elspeth?” shouted the older lady from the counter.
“Yeah, I guess,” said the younger. The two of them left, looking back at the Freelings as if perhaps the police ought to be called.
“I need a drink,” said Steve, and signaled the waitress.
He finished the beer quickly, neither of them talking. Then, in the cold light of the mercury lamps, they all walked out to the parking lot. Parked next to their station wagon was a battered blue pickup truck; sitting on the bumper of the truck was Taylor.
“What do you want?” Steve said suspiciously.
Taylor nodded toward the diner. “She told you the truth.”
“Who?” Diane came up quickly. “You mean those two women?”
“You in cahoots with that girl?” Steve accused angrily.
“I don’t cahoot with anyone.” Taylor smiled.
“Is that right? Then why are you following us?”
“I came to help.”
“We don’t want your damn help!” Steve exploded. “We don’t want anyone’s
An hour down I-10 going west, they pulled into an all-night roadside diner. They sat at a booth by the window, ordered chocolate sundaes for the little kids and coffee for themselves, and stared silently into their own thoughts.
It was finally Robbie who spoke first. “Are we gonna move again, Dad?”
That was, of course, everyone’s question—resolve themselves to an over-the-shoulder life of half-ignored fears, half-repressed memories, ready to pick up and run every few years? Every time it found them? Whatever it was?
Everyone looked at Steve.
“Well, son . . . I don’t know.” He sighed at the admission and tried to include them all in what he perceived as his own private loss of will. “I guess . . . we’ll have to think about it.”
Diane didn’t want to leave, now that the first flush of fright was past. This was no sterile tract house of Sheetrock and PVC; this was her mother’s home. Diane’s home. They couldn’t just . . . walk away. “Where can we go?” she demanded.
“Disneyland!” suggested Carol Anne.
“Don’t be such an infant,” Robbie scolded her.
“Then how about Knott’s Berry Farm?” Carol Anne goaded her brother. She hated it when he tried to act like an adult. She didn’t ever want to be an adult. Adults died and got scary.
“Okay, you two, settle down,” warned Diane. She had enough to think about without monitoring them. She took all the change from her purse and handed it over. “Here, go play the videos.”
The kids ran off to the other end of the diner, leaving Steve and Diane to sort it out.
“Steven, what are we going to do?”
“I’m thinking,” he lied. He was wallowing.
Behind them, at the counter, sat two overweight, T-shirted, redneck women, the younger one in hair curlers, the older one in her cups. “You’re just a pack o’ trouble, Momma,” the younger one was saying. “Why you messin’ around with that bum is beyond me.”
“Cuz I likes him, that’s why,” replied her sullen momma.
Diane tried to ignore their rising voices. “Steven,” she said, taking his hand across the table, “we’ve got to go somewhere. We can’t just drive around.”
Steve was feeling trapped.
The woman in hair curlers stood, saying to the other, “Well, Momma, don’t be bringin’ him to my house. That’s all I can say.” Then she turned and, without any preliminary, walked directly over to Steve and Diane. She spoke softly, and her voice changed character completely. It was Jess’s voice. “Listen, children,” it said, “you can’t run from this thing. It has made contact with you and will stop at nothing. You must fight him head-on. Stay together. Be loving. Be brave.”
Diane turned pale. “Mom?!” she whispered.
The woman suddenly shivered, blinked, and looked at Diane as if seeing her for the first time.
“Mom?” Diane said again.
The woman made a face. “What? I ain’t your mom, lady.” Her voice was pure redneck again.
“You okay, Elspeth?” shouted the older lady from the counter.
“Yeah, I guess,” said the younger. The two of them left, looking back at the Freelings as if perhaps the police ought to be called.
“I need a drink,” said Steve, and signaled the waitress.
He finished the beer quickly, neither of them talking. Then, in the cold light of the mercury lamps, they all walked out to the parking lot. Parked next to their station wagon was a battered blue pickup truck; sitting on the bumper of the truck was Taylor.
“What do you want?” Steve said suspiciously.
Taylor nodded toward the diner. “She told you the truth.”
“Who?” Diane came up quickly. “You mean those two women?”
“You in cahoots with that girl?” Steve accused angrily.
“I don’t cahoot with anyone.” Taylor smiled.
“Is that right? Then why are you following us?”
“I came to help.”
“We don’t want your damn help!” Steve exploded. “We don’t want anyone’s
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