Robert Browne - Kill Her Again

She looked surprised. “ My name?”

“It’s Anna, right?”

She nodded. “I know he likes me, but I didn’t think I’d made that much of an impression.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Pope said. “But the thing is, I don’t think he was dreaming.”

“What do you mean?”

“Keep in mind this was all happening while I was trying to get the hell out of there, and at first I thought he was having a nightmare, but in light of what’s happened since, I’d say it was anything but. More of a hypnotic trance, actually. I was able to engage him in conversation.”

“And what did he say?”

Pope paused, wanting to get this right. “ ‘He’s watching her. He’s watching Anna.’ And when I asked him who, he said, ‘The man in the red hat.’ ”

McBride stiffened. “Is this supposed to be funny?”

“Not particularly, no.”

She leaned toward him. “You talked to Worthington. You know what happened.”

“Yes, but-”

“He told you about the man who attacked me.”

“Yes,” Pope said. “But this is straight from Evan’s mouth. Before the attack.”

She shook her head. Pope noticed she had lost some color. “All this really means is that it’s coming back to him. This freak killed his family and he’s remembering.”

“That’s what I thought at first. But why would you be part of that memory? It doesn’t make much sense.”

“He’s confused, is all. Mixing things up.”

“I don’t think so,” Pope said. “And neither will you, once I’m finished.” He paused. “You look a little pale. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, but he sensed it was a lie. There seemed to be a quiet pulse of fear in her voice. She was conflicted and afraid and hiding it about as well as she hid her scar.

The waitress came over with their coffee. McBride dumped cream and sugar into her cup, which surprised Pope. She didn’t seem the cream and sugar type. And the way her hands were trembling, he thought she might want to forgo the caffeine altogether.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

She sighed then, leaning back. “You caught me. I’m not even close to okay. I’m tired, I’m cranky, and I’m still trying to regain control of my body. And once we’re done here, I may have to find a bed somewhere and lie down.” She took a sip of her coffee, grimaced. “So go on. Let’s get this over with.”

It was a nice little speech, but Pope thought she’d left a whole lot out. He sipped his own coffee, which was just as awful as he remembered. Then he said, “When we got close to Ludlow, Evan had another seizure.”

McBride’s eyes widened. “What?”

“He’s fine now. But here’s the thing: It didn’t seem like your typical grand mal.”

“Then what was it?”

“I’m not sure. But as soon as he came out of it, he started shouting. About you again: ‘He’s hurting her. You have to stop him. He’s hurting my Anna.’ ”

McBride frowned. “ My Anna?”

Pope nodded. “He was pretty much on another planet when he said it, but those were his words. Then he told me that the man in the red hat was taking you to the house of mirrors.”

She stared at him a moment, then started to rise. “Okay, that’s it. I think I’ve about reached my bullshit quota for the day.”

Her protest seemed hollow, however, as if the believer was battling the skeptic inside her and the believer was definitely winning.

She moved out from behind the table and stood, but Pope grabbed her wrist. Her tremors were more violent now.

“I know it sounds crazy,” he said, “but I think the kid is psychic.”

“Let go of me.”

“That’s how he knew where you were. When I called Jake and told him, he didn’t believe a word of it, but he went looking for you anyway.”

“Let go,” she said, wrenching her arm free. He could see that her fear had compounded. Despite the air conditioner blasting down on them, she was starting to sweat.

“Look,” he said, “I’m not trying to give you a hard time. I heard what I heard.”

“And maybe you’re as confused as he is. I really don’t need to be getting into this right now. I’ve had a pretty fucked-up night.”

“Just answer one question.”

“What?” She was sweating profusely now and seemed on the verge of a panic attack. Something was going on here that went well beyond the possibility of a psychic kid.

“Have you ever heard of someone called Chavi?”

McBride’s face fell. “What?”

“He seemed to be talking to this person. ‘Is it you, Chavi? Is it you?’ ”

If she’d lost a little color before, she lost it all now, saying, “I have to get out of here. I have to go.”

And then she was across the room and out the door, Pope rising, fumbling for his wallet as he watched her. He dropped a few bills on the table and followed.

In just the short time they’d been in the Spoon, the heat outside-heat he’d spent a lifetime in but had never gotten used to-had grown unbearable. McBride was working her way unsteadily across the strip mall’s parking lot, headed back toward the high school.

He caught up to her, touching her shoulder, and she spun on him, wobbling slightly. Her eyes were filled with tears.

“Leave me alone.”

“What’s going on?” Pope said. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this anymore. It has to stop. I can’t…”

And then she fainted. Dead away.

There were stars on the ceiling.

Anna saw them the moment she opened her eyes. The shades had been drawn and the room, while not quite dark, was dim enough for the stars to shine. They had been carefully painted in Day-Glo yellow against a dark blue sky and were surrounded by multi-colored planets.

Anna turned her head and took in the rest of the room. Posters on the wall: Kobe Bryant executing a perfect three-point toss, Homer Simpson munching on a donut.

The dresser held a TV/DVD combo unit with a stack of Disney movies next it. A gaming console. Glove and baseball. A collection of tiny action figures, lined up for battle.

Obviously a boy’s room. But whose?

As soon as she sat up, Anna knew. On the nightstand next to the bed was a double-hinged picture frame, one side showing a photo of a freckle-faced boy on his dad’s lap-Pope and his son, Benjamin.

The other side was blank.

Was she in Vegas? That didn’t seem likely. The last thing she remembered was Pope getting in her face outside the coffee shop, the sun beating down on her so hard she thought she was going to pass out.

And she’d been crying. The events of the night, the visions, thoughts of her mother, the man in the red cap, the burns on her neck, Pope’s insistence that Evan was psychic, her belief that she herself might be psychic-hell, the last few weeks of her sad, sorry life-had all been too much for her to bear. An enormous pileup of physical and emotional freight that had caused a cave-in.

Overwhelmed was as good a word as any.

But the chances of Pope driving her forty miles to sin city were fairly remote, and this definitely wasn’t a suite at the Oasis.

So, she was still in Ludlow. But where?

Hearing voices from another room, Anna got to her feet and discovered she wasn’t wearing shoes. She found them at the foot of the bed, quickly slipped them on, then moved to the door and opened it a crack, peeking out.

Across a narrow hallway was a kitchen, bright sunlight streaming in through its windows. An attractive woman in her mid-thirties was framed by the kitchen doorway, talking to someone out of sight.

“Look at you,” she said. “When’s the last time you had a full night’s sleep and a decent meal?”