Valley of the Shadow (9 page)

    The woman wrinkled her nose, as if smelling an unpleasant odor. “Umm . . . A, no one can see the congressman without an appointment, and B, we’re not making any appointments at this time.”

    Conner smiled, trying to seem personal and professional at the same time. “I completely understand, and I would have gone through the normal procedures to see Congressman Kent, but this is a personal matter concerning his son, Mitch.”

    She sighed deeply and pursed her lips. “Are you that lawyer? I told you Mr. Kent does not wish to discuss his son’s condition with you.”

    Conner nodded. “Yeah, see, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I don’t wish to discuss any legal issues. I’m not here on business. As I mentioned, I know Mitch personally and wanted to speak with his father. I talked to Mitch on the night of his accident. I know they’ve had personal issues and I just want to try to help.”

    “Mr . . . Hagmen, is it?”

    “Hayden.”

    “Mr. Hayden, the congressman is very ill and unable to speak with anyone right now.”

    “Well, can you give him a message? I’m just trying to find out if he’s made any decision on disconnecting Mitch from life support. I just—see, Mitch isn’t dead and I wanted to let him know there’s still hope.”

    The young woman sighed again. “Mr. Hayden, I don’t know what your angle is, but this is an extremely personal matter—”

    “Yes, yes, I understand that. That’s why I need to speak with Mr. Kent. Just for a few minutes. As I said, it’s extremely urgent.”

    “And as
I
said, he is too sick to speak with you.”

    “I just want to implore him not to disconnect his son. Please! He’s not dead. I firmly believe he can be saved.” Conner started crowding the door, trying to catch a glimpse of Walter somewhere inside. If he could just get the congressman’s attention. All he needed was a minute.

    The woman placed her hand firmly against Conner’s chest. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. And if—”

    “I will, I promise; I just need a minute—”

    “And if you don’t, I will have you removed from the premises. Is that understood?”

    “Please give him that message then, won’t you? Please tell him not to disconnect Mitch.”

    “Mr. Kent has already made final arrangements for his son.”

    “Final arrangements? What do you mean? What arrangements?”

    “I’m afraid that’s none of your business.”

    “He’s going to disconnect him? Is that it? Please just tell me.”

    She turned and called to someone inside. “Eric, can you come and escort Mr. Hayden off the premises?”

    Conner threw his hands up in frustration. “I don’t need anyone to escort me. Just promise me you’ll give Mr. Kent that message. Please? I’m begging you.”

    The woman stepped aside as a tall, block-shouldered guy in a suit emerged. He appeared in no mood to talk but grabbed Conner’s arm and started to lead him back to his car.

    Conner called over his shoulder, “Don’t you understand? I’m his friend! I’m trying to save his life!”

THERE WAS NOTHING
like the feeling of a shave and a hot shower in the morning. Howard stood in a white T-shirt, peering into the upstairs bathroom mirror. He rubbed his cheek, inspecting his leathery though freshly shaved skin, and ran a comb through his hair one last time. Then he slipped on one of his plaid shirts and buttoned it to his chin.

    It was just after eight o’clock and noises drifted up from outside—voices and shuffling feet. Howard went to the bathroom window overlooking the farm compound and the forest beyond. Mitch and Jason had started another game of basketball on the makeshift court they’d constructed. Jason had been with them for nearly a week now, and he and Mitch had become fast friends. Earlier in the week, they’d raided a sporting goods store for the hoop and backboard and mounted it over the entrance of the maintenance shed, where there was a concrete apron just big enough for half-court games.

    Howard rubbed his jaw as he watched them play. Mitch clearly had the benefit of size and strength, but Jason was quicker and more agile. They had played numerous games over the previous few days. Mitch had admitted he wasn’t very good, but he said he needed to have something to do other than sit on the porch or play cribbage. Howard missed the cribbage games, but as long as this helped to keep Mitch’s mind off taking a vacation, he was all for it.

    As Howard stood watching, a gust of wind moaned through the rafters and rattled the window. A moment later a soft voice came from behind him. Deep and airy—almost as if out of a dream.

    “Beloved.”

    It made the hairs on his neck stand up.

    He had heard it before. Countless times. His stomach tightened. Resisting the impulse to turn around, Howard kept his eyes forward, out the window. He nodded down toward Mitch and said, “He hasn’t talked any more about leaving. Not since this Jason kid showed up.”

    “He must not leave,” the voice replied.

    “It’s been a long time,” Howard said. “He’s getting restless.”

    “We can’t let him go, beloved.”

    “What about this Jason? He ain’t going to be around forever. And once he’s gone, Mitch’s urge to leave will be even stronger. What then?”

    Howard turned, but the bathroom was empty. He looked in the mirror again. His reflection gazed back at him, eyes white and soulless. Then the image spoke. “He has so much anger, this one. Deep inside. So much hate. We love it. We cannot let him go.”

    Howard turned away, his jaw clenched. They used to long for his fellowship alone. They used to be content with him. Jealousy began to roil inside him. “And what about me? I’ve always been faithful to you. Haven’t I always been faithful?”

    “You have, beloved. Ever faithful.” The voice grew tender. “But are we not always hungry? Do we not always seek more?”

    “Yes,” Howard grunted. “You never have enough.”

DEVON MADE HIS WAY
on foot through a maze of alleys and side streets. His mind was a fog of hate, fear, and desperation. Hate for the people trying to lock him away. Fear of what was happening to him now and the cold, dark force that seemed to be controlling him. And desperation to find answers.

    Devon wasn’t sure exactly where he was headed and only half recalled the most recent events that had brought him into the streets. He had managed to overpower the paramedics as they were wheeling him into the hospital. They didn’t put up much of a fight. After all, it wasn’t their job to guard him, just transport him. The only thing that seemed clear to him now was a pressing desire to get away.

    But Devon felt exposed. He’d escaped with only his jeans, shoes, and white T-shirt. He needed to find a jacket. Sweatshirt. Anything.

    His mind flashed with brief, terrifying images of his life over the last two months. Bizarre aliens constantly watching him—hunting him. Strangers with familiar faces. Friends he could no longer remember. Shreds of half memories, like a giant puzzle with its pieces in a continual state of flux. As if floating about in space, bumping into one another at random, but never congealing into a final picture.

    And a voice inside him, like a distant rumble of thunder, never fully audible but never fading away.

    
Run!

    His chest pounded as he jogged a zigzag course through the city, pausing behind Dumpsters, avoiding main thoroughfares. Always sticking to side streets and alleys. Unsure of his final destination, his only pressing thought was to keep moving.

    North.

    There was someplace he was supposed to be. Out of the city. There was something he was supposed to do. He had to find transportation.

    He was jogging through a narrow alley when an arm flashed out from behind a Dumpster and clotheslined him squarely across the neck. Devon fell back onto the cracked asphalt, his head spinning.

    He swore and sat up. A tall, thin man stood over him, glaring down. His skin was sickly pallid and his face so gaunt it was almost grotesque. Long black hair hung down over his eyes. He was clad in tattered, mismatched clothing: a brown wool overcoat with the elbows frayed, torn-up jeans, and gloves with the fingers missing. His eyes seemed to glow a pale yellow-white under the dark strands of hair hanging in his face.

    Devon recognized him. The guy in the crowd. And from inside his mirror.

    “What do you think you’re doing?” the stranger hissed. His face was a mask of utter contempt. “I help you escape and you just take off? What are you going to do? Run around the whole city dressed like that until you get caught?”

    Devon pointed a shaky finger at the man. “I . . . I seen you before.…”

    The pale man grinned; his teeth were brown with decay. “So you remember me. Maybe you’re not as stupid as you look.”

    “What do you want?”

    “I have a job for you, chief.”

    “What are you talking about? What job?”

    The pale man leaned close. “Just a little project. I’ll tell you more when you need to know it.” He reached down and plucked Devon off the ground, dusting him off. “There you go. First you need to get dressed. Follow me.”

    He clutched Devon’s arm and herded him through the alley. His grip was like ice. They followed an erratic path along more side streets for several blocks. Soon Devon found himself back in what felt like a familiar neighborhood. Streets with rows of brick-faced apartment buildings and storefronts with wrought iron rails across the windows.

    They emerged from an alley onto a side street where Devon finally spotted several faces he recognized. A group of teens had congregated outside a drugstore to smoke. Hoods up, heads down, hands in pockets.

    Pale Man pointed to the group. “I think you know one of them. Go get his jacket.”

    One of the kids spotted Devon and pulled away from the rest. He wore an oversize black hooded jacket. He took a few steps toward Devon, eyes narrowed. Then his face brightened. “Yo, Devon. What up? Whutch you doin’ here?”

    Devon drew close and studied the boy’s face. He knew this kid. They had been friends once.…

    Pale Man leaned into Devon’s ear. “His name is Travis.”

    “Hey, Trav,” Devon said in almost a whisper.

    Travis grinned. “What up, brah? You get out? When’d you get out?”

    “Don’t chat; just get his jacket,” Pale Man whispered.

    “Jacket,” Devon heard himself saying. “I need your jacket.”

    “Dude.” Travis snorted. “I ain’t giving you my jacket.”

    Devon felt a sudden rush of anger well up inside him. Like a volcano, he could feel himself trembling, ready to explode. But cold. He was freezing cold. His throat grew tight. With a surge of power, he grabbed Travis by the neck and pulled him close. Devon felt like he was holding a rag doll in his grip. Like he could snap the kid’s neck with one hand. The world seemed to turn red and his rage felt nearly uncontrollable. He heard a growl coming from his throat.

    “I need your jacket!”

    But it wasn’t his voice. Deep and gravelly, it didn’t even sound human.

    Travis’s eyes widened. He tried to speak but could only manage a gargled whisper with Devon’s fingers around his neck. He fumbled with his jacket and let it drop to the sidewalk.

    Pale Man closed his yellow eyes for a second and he breathed in deeply. “Mmm, that feels good.” He stepped back and curled up the corner of his mouth. “That’s what we like to see, chief. A little fire in the belly.”

    Devon released his grip on Travis, picked up the jacket, and slipped it on, pulling the hood up over his head, low across his face. He cast a quick glance at Travis, crumpled on the sidewalk, gasping for air. Then he turned away and disappeared back into the shadows of the alley.

MITCH COLLAPSED
on the porch steps. His jeans, T-shirt, and long, sandy hair were drenched with sweat. They had started basketball around eight that morning and played three games up to twenty. And now Mitch was beat.

    Jason stretched out on the grass next to the steps, equally drenched. “Dude,” he said between breaths, “I’ve never played that much in one day. I’m gonna be sore tomorrow.”

    Mitch grunted in agreement and guzzled a pitcher of water, letting it drip down his chin, neck, and chest.

    In the week since Jason had first shown up, they’d started playing a game or two every day. Jason seemed to be all about sports. More to the point, Mitch decided, he was all about sports
bars.
His interest seemed primarily an excuse to hang out with his buddies for drinks after the games. He played softball in the summer and basketball during the fall and winter months. And what he may have lacked in height, he claimed to more than make up for with talent. Though Mitch was finding that it was more energy and bluster than actual physical prowess.

    Initially Mitch wasn’t much of a challenge, but over the last few days, he’d developed better ball handling and shooting techniques and was starting to become a serious threat. Every day he got a little better. And every day drew them into fiercer competition.

    Jason sat up and ran his hands through his hair. He stared out at the court for a moment, then sighed. “Me and my brothers used to play two-on-two every day during the summer back home. My dad put in a full court slab for us in our backyard.”

    “Sounds like he got his money’s worth out of it,” Mitch said.

    Jason nodded. “Yeah, he played in college and coached our high school team, so you can imagine basketball was a big part of my life growing up.”

    “Did you play in college?”

    “Me? Nah. I did okay in high school but never was big enough to get noticed by any college scouts.” He shrugged. “Which is okay. My game was always baseball. I just never had the heart to tell my dad.”

    Mitch was silent for a moment. “Did you get along with your old man?”

    “Yeah, he was cool. I guess his father was kind of abusive—y’know, a drinker. So my dad really went out of his way to avoid making the same mistakes with us.”