Andrew Kaufman - The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted - A Psychological Thriller

We both fell silent for a moment, then she said, “He may not even be there. And he wouldn’t know who we are anyway, right? So what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal,” I said, “is that the town only has four-hundred-fifty-five people in it. How exactly do we keep a low profile in a place like that?”

Our waitress came by, a skinny little twenty-something gal showing the latest in tattoo-wear: a snake that wound its way around her upper arm then slithered into her boob region. I knew this because I could see it peering out from between her cleavage. It looked like it was smiling.

CJ caught me looking, glanced at the boob snake, then rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, “Lovely.”

The waitress narrowed her eyes, then slapped the bill down on our table and walked off without a word.

CJ mumbled, “No, we’re fine. Thanks for asking, though.” She snatched the bill up. “Jeeze. Thirty bucks for lousy service and a shot at ptomaine poisoning? Hardly seems worth it.”

“You’re getting cranky.”

“I’ve been cranky.”

I circled back to the issue at hand. “Are you getting the part about it being a small town? As in, you can’t even buy a loaf of bread without everyone knowing about it?”

“Yeah. I get that. And I still think we can pull this off. Patrick, listen to me. This is what we do. This is who we are. It’s not the first dangerous situation either of us has ever faced, and it won’t be the last, right?”

I offered no response.

“And we have each other. We can do this.”

I studied her face and wondered who this woman really was, and more importantly, how I’d gotten mixed up with her. Tough and angry one minute, fragile and vulnerable the next, she seemed to change like a shadow crossing under the sun. She could drive me out of my comfort zone so easily, like no one had ever done before, and yet I had no idea how.

Finally, I said, “Well, you’re determined, that’s for sure.”

She smiled a little more.

“And I’m pretty sure I’ll regret doing this…if I survive.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Not feeling so confident.”

Then, in that matter-of-fact intonation I was learning to recognize—and sort of hate—she said, “Stick with me; I’ll bring it out of you…one way or the other.”

Chapter Forty-Three

I watched an overpass sign fly above us: Something, Texas. I hadn’t caught the name—they were all starting to look alike, the signs and the towns.

CJ napped on the way to Telethon, probably her first good sleep in days. Of all the times, I thought. We were, after all, headed for big trouble.

But it gave me time to think things over. We needed a plan to keep us alive and safe from Bill, the psycho who, by all accounts, had a heart the size of a peanut. Unfortunately, I couldn’t come up with much. I blamed it on exhaustion, both body and mind.

Instead, I took in the scenery, which wasn’t much to marvel at, but at least it sort of kept me awake. Harsh desert on both sides of the interstate filled with lots of dead stuff and a few rundown outbuildings, most of which looked as though they’d outlived their purpose. Finally, I saw an indication that the next cluster of breathing humans was coming up, a sign that read, Calamity - 10 miles ahead .

Man, they said it.

CJ woke up—or rather, bolted up—as if a bad dream had frightened her. She got her bearings, looked out her window, and said,”Where in God’s name are we?”

“Calamity ahead, both literally and figuratively.”

She looked at another sign as we passed by; it said Calamity had a population of 560. She rubbed her eyes. “Don’t you just love the way they tell you how many people don’t want to live in these godforsaken places? Almost like it’s a warning.”

“Apparently a few do.”

“What?”

“Want to live there.”

“Yeah. The ones who couldn’t get out,” she said with a yawn, her eyes following a semi as it passed by. “And they’re mad as hell about it.”

“Are you originally from Texas?”

“Born and raised.”

“Corvine?”

She laughed. “Hell, no. Dallas. I moved to Corvine to pay my dues. Six years later, here I am, still paying them.”

“How come you never moved on?”

“Oh…I don’t know. Guess I settled, in a way.”

“For what?”

“For…” She stopped. “I’m not really sure, actually. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What did you settle for?”

I gave her a quick glance, then turned my attention back to the road. “Not sure I ever did.”

“You’re avoiding.”

“Huh?”

“You just did it again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The guarded thing. What’s up with that, anyway?”

“I’m not guarded. Is it okay to just not have an answer?”

“Sure.” She gazed out through the front windshield with a combination nod and shrug. “If you don’t really have one. I just think there’s more to Patrick than what Patrick lets us see.”

Our conversation stalled, the rhythmic humming of tires, the only sound.

Chapter Forty-Four

“Mind if we stop at the next rest exit?” I said a short time later, nervously shifting my weight. “Nature’s calling.”

She nodded, shrugged, and kept her gaze ahead.

A few miles up the road, I took the off-ramp, then pulled into a service station. Told CJ to lock the doors behind me and stay put until I returned. After getting a key from the clerk, I headed back toward the restroom.

I was washing my hands when something caught my attention on the floor, under the sink. A child’s fat red marker. I stared at it for a moment.

I had to pick it up.

I had to remove the cap, had to press the tip against the mirror, and very slowly, had to write the letter d.

And then I had to finish the word.

danger

I stared at it for a moment and felt a rush of relief. Did it again. Felt the rush again. Did it one more time. And now I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. I’d started scratching the itch, but the itch was only getting worse.

So I kept scratching, kept writing…

danger danger danger danger danger danger danger danger danger…

It just went on and on, covering all four walls, the stall door, even the trashcan.

I turned to look around as I was leaving. Danger was everywhere.

Walked outside and quickly away feeling relieved of my stress and yet thoroughly disgusted and sick, like some hung-over junkie.

When I returned to the car, CJ said, “Finally! My turn.”

I froze and stared at her. “Huh?”

“I’ve gotta go, too,” she said, irritation in her voice.

I felt a flash of panic, heat rushing through my body, feet heavy as lead. The word exposed blinked inside my head.

“Pat? What’s wrong?”

“I’m just worried about you going alone,” I heard myself say.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied, and got out of the car.

I got out too, followed her.

She turned to look at me. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” I said, struggling against my thoughts and my nerves. “I just… I have bad vibes about this place. That’s all.”

She gave me a lingering stare. “All of a sudden?”

“I think we should get out of here. Quick. Let’s find a restroom up the road.”

She placed her hands on her hips, tilted her head. “I can’t wait until up the road. I have to go now . I’ll be okay. Sheeze . You can watch me go in if you want.”

She turned around and started walking toward the station, and I continued following. She went inside to get the key.