Valley of the Shadow (28 page)

    Howard only smiled and nodded toward Nathan. “Your friend here has shown you things. Things that perhaps you’ve had some trouble believing.”

    “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

    “You’ve seen sights that have shaken your entire view of the world.”

    “Which world?”

    Howard chuckled. “This world, Mitch. The old world you knew, the world of flesh and bone, is only a cheap imitation of the real thing. Like a dim shadow of a deeper, greater reality.”

    “I just want to go back.”

    “Back?” Howard repeated. “Back to your miserable flesh? You stand at the brink of a realm more amazing than you can even imagine. What you saw was only the dimmest edge of what truly lies beyond. I can show you more of it. I can show you everything.”

    Nathan struggled to his feet. “We need to go.”

    Howard’s eyes glowed. “He wants to lead you back into darkness and pain. Sickness, frailty. Trapped inside a broken body. You may never even wake up.”

    “Mitch, don’t listen to him.”

    Howard held out a hand. “I can help you become what you were meant to be. Everything you were meant to be. It’s your choice.”

    Mitch shook his head. “You’re a liar.”

    “Liar? Me?” Howard said. Then he looked at Nathan. “And you think he’s been honest with you?”

    “He showed me the truth. He let me know what was really going on.”

    “Truth?” Howard’s mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. “Do you think he’s shown you the whole truth?”

    Nathan coughed. “Mitch . . .”

    Mitch frowned. “What are you talking about?”

    Howard just shook his head and sighed. “He hasn’t told you, has he.”

    “Told me what?”

    Nathan tugged at Mitch’s arm. “Don’t . . .”

    Mitch looked from Nathan to Howard. “What are you talking about?”

    Howard seemed to loom closer, rising on the current of sand beneath him. “About what happened to you. About how you got here.”

    Mitch stared at Howard now. What was the old guy trying to do? This was some kind of a trick. Howard was just trying to confuse him. To keep him from leaving. “He showed me. He told me what happened.”

    Howard raised an eyebrow. “Ah, yes. You were in an accident of some sort.”

    “On my motorcycle.”

    “Yes, yes. You were on your way to pick up… Linda, was it?”

    An image flashed inside Mitch’s head. The lights shining in his face. The headlights coming toward him. “I got hit by a truck.”

    “And now you’re in a hospital. In a coma. Barely clinging to life.”

    Mitch said, “He told me all of that.”

    “Did he now?” Howard chuckled softly. “But did he happen to mention who was driving the truck?”

AT LONG LAST,
Devon pulled into the hospital parking lot in Winthrop Harbor. His palms were sweating, his heart pounding.

    Pale Man sat in the back, humming a song. Devon thought it might’ve been “Hotel California” but he couldn’t be sure.

    Pale Man had led him on an erratic, seemingly haphazard route up from the city through the northern suburbs and nearly to the Wisconsin border. They had avoided most of the major highways, partly to evade police, but also to avoid any of Karenga’s people who were most certainly out searching for him. They had occasionally hidden the car in several construction sites and parking lots for up to an hour at a time before continuing on. It was as if Pale Man knew where every police cruiser in the greater Chicagoland area was located at any given time and he was meticulously directing Devon to avoid each one.

    As the day wore on, Pale Man himself was growing increasingly irritable. He kept referring to other “projects” he had going on and an overall schedule he needed to keep. Like he was some corporate executive with all kinds of irons in the fire.

    Devon’s mouth was dry as he and Pale Man slipped across the lot toward the hospital. “So, man, how am I supposed to kill this guy? A gun won’t exactly be subtle.”

    Pale Man snorted. “Use your imagination, chief. The gun was for your protection. Just in case we ran into any cops or other unsavory types. Our friend is in a vegetative state. I don’t think it’ll take much.”

    “How am I supposed to get up to his room? They ain’t gonna let me just walk in and see him.”

    “What, you don’t think they’ll believe you’re a doctor?” Pale Man led Devon down a quiet hall to a supply room and shut the door. “ICU is on the third floor. Let’s get you out of your gangsta costume and into something more appropriate.”

    Several minutes later, Devon emerged in green scrubs, head down and pushing a supply cart. He made his way to the elevators, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. But his forehead was beaded with sweat. He felt more out of place here than at any time in his life. His gun was hidden inside the cart.

    “Relax; you’re a natural.” Pale Man chuckled as he walked beside Devon. “Y’know, I think if this whole gangbanger gig doesn’t pan out for you, you should try your hand in the medical profession. I can always use you there.”

    “Shut up.”

    They rode the elevator to the third floor. The doors opened and Devon’s jaw dropped. Pale Man swore.

    They were staring at a corridor full of police.

    Pale Man pulled Devon back into the elevator and exploded in a stream of profanity as the doors closed. Devon’s heart was pounding at the close call. There were at least a half-dozen cops lounging around in the hallway. They hadn’t noticed him standing in the elevator. No one had recognized him—or so he hoped.

    “Hey, man,” Devon said. “I thought you knew where all the cops around here were. What’s up with that? You nearly got me caught.”

    Pale Man just raised a hand. His eyes shone bright yellow. “Don’t…” He took a deep breath and calmed himself. “Don’t get all up in my face right now, chief. I’m not in the mood.”

    “Hey, I’m just saying, you’re not all-knowing after all.”

    They returned to the first floor and went back to the supply room. Pale Man paced around the room, still fuming. “It’s your friend Hayden. This guy’s really starting to get on my nerves.”

    “What’d he do now?”

    “He’s messing with things he shouldn’t be. He must have found out somehow that you escaped. He must have figured out what I’m trying to do. Now shut up; I need to formulate a new plan.”

    Devon leaned against the cart. He almost sighed with relief. “So that means I don’t have to kill the dude?”

    “We’ll get back to Mitch.” Pale Man continued pacing. He looked at his watch. “But for right now, we need to make a slight alteration in our schedule.”

    “Alteration? What are you talking about?”

    Pale Man stopped pacing. “Hayden is like an obnoxious kid. He gets something stuck in his head and he just can’t let it go. Usually I can get people to ignore the things I want them to ignore. Rationalize them away and forget about them. But this guy’s like the spoiled brat who just doesn’t give up.”

    “So why don’t you go bug him and leave me alone.”

    Pale Man let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. “It doesn’t work like that. He’s out of my… jurisdiction. But not entirely out of my influence. If he wants to mess with me, let’s see if we can’t make it as painful as possible.”

    “What are you talking about?”

    But Pale Man was already grinning. “Let’s get back to the car, chief. We have another stop to make.”

    Devon rolled his eyes and swore. “Now where?”

    “Lake Forest. Hayden has a wife and daughter. And I think we should pay them a visit.” He chuckled. “More accurately, I think you need to pay them a visit.”

CONNER WATCHED THE CABIN
from the cover of the trees for several minutes. The window was darkened and the sagging porch shrouded in shadows. It was exactly as he remembered it—except there was no light glowing inside.

    With his gun held ready, Conner slipped across the small clearing and up onto the rickety floorboards of the porch. The glass window was almost completely encrusted with dirt from years of exposure to the elements, and the wood was soft and gray with rot. The little paint that was left was chipped and peeling. Like the few, flaky remnants left after a snake sheds its skin.

    The cabin looked to have been built on a foundation of odd, misshapen bricks. Almost as if they’d been collected from various sources and used in random arrangement. It appeared to have been lived in at some point. Conner guessed maybe it had been used for a hunting shack or for field hands. The roof was bowed and stratified by at least three sets of shingles. As if the solution to any leak was to slap on another patch of tar and shingles to cover the hole. Just enough to get by.

    Conner peeked inside the front window but saw only motionless black shapes. A table and some chairs. The fading daylight had cast the interior in a pall of shadows that seemed to suck all color from the furnishings within.

    He tried the door and discovered it was unlocked. Not that it mattered; a lock wouldn’t have kept anyone out with the wooden doorjamb rotted as it was. It creaked open on rusted hinges and Conner slipped inside.

    The flashlight beam swept across the front room and set shadows dancing along the walls. It was cluttered with old furniture, a chest, and an iron stove in the center.

    He stood perfectly still and let the silence cover him. There was no movement inside. Conner moved the light across the far wall and spotted two doors along the back of the main room. He checked to see if they were both unlocked as well. His boots made dull clops across the floorboards and he could feel himself sag a little. As if the cabin had settled on its makeshift foundation, making for an uneven surface.

    The first door was unlocked and revealed a tiny bedroom. The bed was more of a cot, really. A stained and lumpy mattress situated on a rusted bed frame. Next to the bed was an antique dresser. Several knobs were missing. Dozens of spiderwebs dangled precariously in the corners of the room, having captured more dust over the years than insects.

    Conner returned to the main room and swept the light slowly around the perimeter. The cabin itself seemed suitably empty, but Conner knew where there was a foundation, there may be a crawl space or a cellar. And where there was a cellar, there was a way down into the cellar.

    He opened the second door and saw a narrow wooden stairway leading down into darkness. Conner caught a cool whiff of moist earth and swore under his breath. He’d been ready to call it quits and go home. He’d come so close. His stomach churned now and he knew that he wasn’t going home any time soon.

    He descended halfway down the steps and looked around the cellar. Low brick walls and a rough concrete floor. Cans of paint were stacked against one of the walls and a pair of homemade two-by-four shelving units stood along the other. Other than that and a few centipedes, the place was empty.

    Conner inspected the stack of paint cans, moving them to see what might lie behind. Nothing but the brick wall. He shone the flashlight along the entire perimeter until he came to one of the shelving units. It was mounted to the wall and the floor with masonry bolts. The shelves contained an assortment of bolts and screws and a few rusty chains.

    He moved on to the second unit. This one seemed to be looser than the other. Conner inspected it more closely. The legs of this shelf were set into shallow holes, cut right into the concrete floor, not mounted with bolts like the other shelf. The top of the unit was bolted to the floor joists of the cabin. Conner frowned and jiggled the shelving unit again. The bolts weren’t fully tightened. Conner loosened the bolts by hand and lifted the entire shelf up, out of the holes in the concrete. Then he set it aside and inspected the wall behind.

    Conner could see that the floor under the shelf was worn. Numerous scratches marred the concrete. He focused the light on the bricks and could see an outline along a section of the wall where the masonry work had crumbled away. He pushed against that section of the wall, but it wouldn’t budge.

    Then he noticed two of the bricks had small holes cut into the surface, an inch or two in diameter. Conner knelt down and felt inside with his finger. He could feel something metallic inside. A metal bar, running vertically through the bricks.

    Conner sat back for a moment and stared at the wall. The holes were about two feet off the floor and roughly eighteen inches apart. It looked like some kind of door, he knew. But how to move it? How to open it?

    Then it struck him: the chains on the other shelf. He grabbed them and discovered hooks at each end. Conner took a moment to catch his breath. He flipped open his cell phone. This was clearly enough evidence to get the police involved.

    But his phone could not get a signal in his current location. He considered heading back to the car to call, but before he did, he needed to be sure. He inserted the hooks into the holes in the bricks. He twisted them and felt them catch the metal bar inside. Then Conner wrapped the chain around his wrists and pulled.

    At first nothing happened. Conner braced himself and pulled again.

    He felt the wall move slightly. He clenched his teeth and leaned back. Inch by inch, a three-by-four-foot section of the brick wall slid toward him. Conner grunted and pulled until he had created enough of an opening to look through.

    He shone the flashlight into the hole and caught his breath. A powerful stench wafted toward him. He gagged and covered his nose with his sleeve. A small passageway, four feet high, was cut through the dirt and clay. At the far end, maybe ten yards away, it seemed to widen. And in the darkness, a dim orange light glowed.

    Conner felt a wave of fear uncoiling inside him. Death lurked at the end of that tunnel. Death and decay. He could smell it. He could feel it. Just like in his dreams. Conner turned immediately and headed for the stairs. He had to get out of here. He had to get back to his car before Owen showed up. He had to…