Dead Spots (7 page)

“We run.”

 

CHAPTER 5

The cozy atmosphere inside the café was as unsettling as its ruined interior had been scant minutes before. Guardedly, Mackenzie studied the faces of the people tucked into the booths or around tables, eating and chatting. The voices of the customers mingled in a miasma of accents, some Texan, some not. Families, couples, workmen, and a giggling group of teenagers barely glanced her way.

Candy, the waitress with the big blond beehive, motioned toward an empty booth. “Take a seat. I'll be right with you.”

Grant touched Mackenzie's arm lightly, signaling for her to follow with the jerk of his head.

Remembering her phone, Mackenzie fished it out of her tote and stared at the screen. She still didn't have any service.

“That won't work here,” Grant said. “Really, we should eat now. I'm starving.”

Mackenzie ignored him. She approached the counter and waited for another waitress, this one with a huge Afro and gold eyeliner, to notice her.

“Can I help you?” the waitress asked, lifting a finely sculpted eyebrow. Her name tag read:
DEVONA
.

“Can I use your phone?”

Devona tilted her head, glancing toward Grant as a serpentine smile spread on her lips. “Of course you can!” She reached under the counter and pulled out an old black rotary phone. Plunking it down on the counter, she said, “Be our guest.”

Thick dust covered the phone and spiderwebs decorated the dial. The cord was twisted into a knot and covered in grime. Mackenzie lifted her eyes to see Devona watching with a coy smile on her face.

Becoming aware that the diners at the counter were also observing her, Mackenzie shifted on her feet uncomfortably. If she was having a breakdown, none of this was real. There was nothing to fear. Apprehensively, she reached toward the receiver to pluck it from its cradle.

“Don't,” Grant said sharply, his hand covering hers. His blue eyes glowered at the waitress.

Devona tilted her chin upward, smirking.

“We should eat first.” Grant's tone was almost angry, but his belligerence seemed squarely aimed at the pretty waitress watching Mackenzie with an intensity that was unsettling.

“I just want to call…” Mackenzie's voice trailed off. Who did she want to call? Tanner? Estelle? 911? What would she even say? That she had gone insane and was trapped in a mirage?

“Just … let it go for now,” Grant urged.

Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand.

Devona's smirk faded slightly, but then she shrugged. “I'll leave it right here if you need it.”

Mackenzie uttered a subdued “thank you” and followed Grant to a booth. She hadn't even been aware of the din of the café disappearing until the silence was broken. The jukebox restarted, Jim Morrison's voice rising above the returning chatter. The rustle of many bodies turning away from observing her interaction with the waitress sent fresh shivers through her body. Gripping the tote ever more tightly, she trailed Grant, her gaze steadfastly resting on the spot between his shoulder blades. Dread flitted through her when she caught a few furtive glances from the people clustered around the tables.

Grant slid into the booth on the side where he'd be facing the door while Mackenzie sank onto the bench across from him. Her view was of big-pane glass windows bordered by pink gingham curtains, the jukebox, and a corner table where a lone customer sat waiting for her order. The young woman was probably around Mackenzie's age, with gleaming blond hair that was brushed to perfection around a sweet face with slightly rounded cheeks and big brown eyes. The woman's immaculate appearance—from her pink sweater to her white lace blouse and carefully manicured fingernails—resembled an ad in a magazine more than actual reality.

But then again Mackenzie's grasp on reality had obviously faltered in the last fifteen minutes.

What if she was in the dilapidated café seated on a torn vinyl bench, its rotting stuffing filled with dead insects? What if the table was really strewn with dead leaves? What if there was no one actually sitting across from her? The barrage of terrifying thoughts produced a slight, frantic gasp from her lips and she covered her mouth with one hand.

“Don't, Mackenzie,” Grant said firmly, yet kindly. “Hold on. Don't break down.”

“I'm imagining you,” Mackenzie protested.

“No, you're not.” Sliding his hand across the table, Grant clutched hers. “You're not imagining me.” He squeezed her fingers until she cried out and tugged her hand away. “See. Could a hallucination do that?”

Rubbing her hand, she grimaced. “Maybe. I don't know. I've never lost my mind before.”

Mackenzie almost had on that awful day when she'd stood next to Joshua's grave, her mind fragile, fractured, and ready to explode into a million shards. A scream had clawed its way from her soul to her mouth and only Tanner's comforting arm around her shoulders had kept it silent. She felt that same madness starting to build within her and knew it was time to take back control of her mind. Resolved, she scrounged around in her purse. Withdrawing the bottle of Xanax, she fished one out and swallowed it dry. For a second, she wondered if it would work or if it was imaginary, but she forced the thought away. Her mind needed to believe the pill could make her better so she could regain control. Maybe then she would wake up, or shake free of the delusion.

“What did you take?” Grant asked, concerned.

“A pill for anxiety.”

Cocking his head, Grant scrutinized her. “Do you suffer from it a lot?”

Mackenzie hesitated, then nodded. “This year I have.”

“Just order lunch and don't…” Grant wavered. “Just think about eating lunch and nothing else.”

Candy paused at their table. Her long fake eyelashes fluttered flirtatiously at Grant. “What can I get for you today?”

The menus were tucked behind a wire basket filled with condiments. Grant snagged two and handed Mackenzie one. The waitress remained paused over their table, pad and pen in hand.

“Uh…” Mackenzie was starved, but what would she end up eating? An acorn? Dirt? The food on the menu looked amazing and her stomach rumbled. “I will take … the chicken fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and fried okra. And a diet soda.”

“The same,” Grant said swiftly. “We're in a hurry if you could make that a rush.”

Candy's pink lips spread into an almost fiendish smile. “Of course, darling. Anything for you.” She strutted away on obscenely pink glittery high heels.

Mackenzie glanced toward the perfect blonde finishing her meal. Picking up the napkin on the table, the woman lightly patted her mouth and signaled for the waitress.

“Look away,” Grant directed, tapping his finger on the table to get her attention.

“Excuse me? I don't care if you're a figment of my imagination; don't tell me what to do.”

“You're a very exasperating woman,” Grant groused. “I wish you would just listen to me.”

The remark was similar to Estelle's complaints about Mackenzie's stubborn nature and she bristled. “Why should I listen to you?”

“Because I know what's going on and you need me.” His earnest appearance reminded her of Tanner and appealed to her more than Mackenzie wanted to admit. As Grant fastened his blue eyes on her, she noted the thick fringe of lashes that added to their beauty. He was the sort of handsome you didn't find much outside the silver screen, and it was a little disconcerting. “Mackenzie, I need you to pay attention to what I'm saying. We're very short on time.”

“Why?” Mackenzie looked at him incredulously.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. Her mother would have had a fit. “Because all of this is your doing.”

“My epic breakdown,” Mackenzie sighed. “Gotcha.”

Lowering his voice, Grant said gently, “No, because the dead spots are traps. And like all traps, they have a lure. A lure is something the prey wants or needs. We both need food. We're both hungry. That's why this café reshaped itself. To lure us inside.”

“The dead spot?” Mackenzie couldn't wrap her mind around what he was saying. It just sounded so bizarre. But then again the chances were very high that he was nothing more than an illusion her mind had created. What was the possibility of him making actual sense?

“Dead spots respond to the people they lure into their traps. They read our minds.”

“Dead spots are alive?” Mackenzie squinted at Grant, unsure of what he meant.

“To some degree, yes.”

“What are dead spots? I don't get it.”

“They're doorways into this world, but a little more than that. Sort of like the foyers of this world. The entry halls.”

“And this world is…?”

“The world between the living and the dead. A place where nightmares and dreams come true. So for now, you need to concentrate on just the food, Mackenzie. Nothing else. Don't give it something to twist.”

“Twist how?”

Grant rubbed his brow and exhaled with frustration. “I'm trying to avoid provoking the dead spot, okay? I can't say much more.”

“Everything you say makes absolutely no sense.”

“I was afraid you'd say that.”

As Grant slouched back in his seat, looking worried and a little defeated, she pulled out her cell phone again to check the service.

“Even in my delusions I can't get decent reception.”

Candy set their ice-cold drinks on the table, then teetered away on her high heels to the table in the corner. Instead of handing over a bill, she wrote down a new order for the perfect blonde.

Mackenzie poked at the ice in the fizzing soda with a straw. “It looks real.” Timidly, she took a sip. The ice-cold carbonated drink washed over her tongue, sweet and refreshing. “Tastes real.”

Grant removed the straw from his glass and gulped down every last drop of the liquid.

“Whoa.” Mackenzie was impressed and slightly repulsed. It was very much something Tanner would do. He was a caffeine addict.

“It's been a long time since I had a diet soda,” Grant confessed.

Lifting her hands, Mackenzie ran them over her skull. “Maybe I'm unconscious. Maybe I hit my head. Would I feel an injury in my dreams?”

Unrolling his silverware, Grant laid out the utensils and spread the napkin over his lap. “Mackenzie, even if you don't believe me, humor me. Which means put aside all your theories and concentrate on the here and now. Okay?”

Mackenzie considered his words as she regarded her surroundings. Maybe he had a point. She apparently was stuck for the moment in whatever was happening to her. Reaching into her purse, she withdrew Joshua's blanket and set it on the table so she could search through the rest of the contents.

“That's beautiful,” Grant said with admiration, lightly touching the embroidered flowers.

“I made it for my son,” Mackenzie answered, continuing to shift the rest of the contents around in her purse.

“You're a mother,” Grant said thoughtfully.

“Something like that.” Mackenzie found her journal and set it on the table while she rolled the blanket up into a tight spool. Once the blanket was tucked out of sight, she flipped her journal open to a fresh page.

With the attached pen, she wrote: “Stay calm.”

The simple act focused her mind.

Grant chuckled when he obviously read what she wrote.

“I like lists,” she said defensively.

“It's a good start to a list,” he said with a grin.

Plates full of delicious food were set down on the table before them with a slight clatter.

Candy smiled at them. “Enjoy!”

When Mackenzie stashed away the journal, she noted that it barely shook in her hand. Acceptance of her present circumstances made it a little easier to cope. Certainly she would awaken at some point, but until then she would eat her fried chicken.

Cutting a bite-sized portion with her knife, she savored the smell wafting up from the white meat covered in a crunchy crust. The white gravy clung to the bit of food as she raised it to her mouth. She hesitated. Across from her Grant was hungrily devouring his food, cutting huge chunks out of his serving of chicken and shoving them into his mouth. Bravely, she pushed the food past her lips. The chicken was perfect: juicy, tender, and flavorful. The gravy was just a little spicy. Even if she was just imagining the food, it tasted amazing.

“Here are some fresh rolls,” Candy's voice said.

“I love bread!” Grant grabbed one of the hot, flaky rolls, buttered it, and shoved it in his mouth. Chewing, he smiled, his cheeks bulging. He motioned for her to eat.

Mackenzie really didn't need any urging. Tucking into her meal, she savored each bite.

In the corner, the blonde was devouring a huge burger and fries with great relish. Ketchup dripped onto her pink sweater, but she didn't seem to notice.

Grant leaned forward, snagged Mackenzie's chin with his fingers to bring her gaze back to him. “Just eat.”

“Hey!” Jerking her head away, she frowned.

With a wince, Grant gave her an apologetic look. “I shouldn't have done that. Sorry. I'm just worried.”

“Because we're in a dead spot?”

“Yes.” Grant gave Candy a wary look as the waitress strolled past. “Exactly.”

Mackenzie's eyes strayed toward the corner table again. The blonde's hair was now mussed from her shoving her greasy hands through it to get it out of her face as she crammed half a hot dog into her mouth.

“What the hell…?”

“Stop looking,” Grant growled. He was eating as fast as he could. He smashed the last of his chicken and potatoes between two rolls and bit into the makeshift sandwich.

“But it's just so weird,” Mackenzie answered, her eyes flicking back toward the woman.

The white blouse the gorging woman wore was now smeared with condiments and taco sauce. With greasy hands, she crammed two tacos into her mouth. Mackenzie stared in horror while the woman chased down the spicy food with great gulps of a milk shake. The blonde's buttons popped off her blouse and flew across the café. No one else seemed to notice.