“I’m sorry. You just have to trust me.”
Ellis sighed. He looked around at the few others working the farm, then back at Pax. Whatever threat they expected hadn’t materialized. He’d anticipated—he didn’t know what, actually—maybe a modern mafia or perhaps shadowy troglodytes. Instead, they had found Warren, his oldest friend, pretending to be Pa from Little House on the Prairie. For the first time, Ellis questioned if there had ever been a threat. After they caught the killer of Geo-24, everything had been fine until Pax became convinced Pol was an impostor. And why was that? There had never been any evidence of danger.
“Why did you think Pol was an impostor?”
“I…I just did.”
“Pax—I need a little more than that.”
“I know. I just can’t give it to you.” A miserable frown formed on Pax’s lips.
“Why not?”
“Because—because you won’t believe me, and if you do…you could hate me. I don’t want you to hate me.”
“What in the world could make me—”
“I can’t tell you!” Pax shouted.
“Okay, okay.” Ellis held up his hands. Then a thought crossed his mind. “Why do you live with Vin?”
“What?” Pax asked incredulously.
“When I first arrived, Alva insisted you were not crazy. Why would she say that?”
Pax took a step back and could no longer look him in the face. “Alva said that?”
“One of the first things I was told. Why would Alva feel it necessary to assure me you weren’t crazy?”
Pax looked at the ground, at the gravel beneath their feet, crushed stone and dirt. “I’ve had some trouble.”
“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Is Vin there to watch you? That’s why you need permission to invite guests into your own home, isn’t it?”
Pax took a deep shuddering breath while still studying the fine surface of Firestone Lane. “Vin has been very kind to me.”
“Why is Vin there, Pax? What’s wrong with you?”
“You just have to trust me. Ren is a killer.”
“Do you think he’s going to kill me?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what he’s planning, but he’s planning something, and it’s not good.” Pax looked up, eyes pleading. “We should leave. Warn Hollow World.”
“Warn them of what?”
“I don’t know!” Pax screamed, fists tight. A pair of nearby birds took flight at the outburst.
Ellis reached out and Pax folded into his arms. Pax was shaking. “I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do.”
“Do you trust me?” Ellis asked.
He felt Pax nod against his chest. “Yes.”
“Then this is what I think you need to do. You said it was Warren who was after us. Who wanted me to come here. That means no one is chasing us now. So I think you should go home.”
“What? No, I—”
“I’ll stay and talk to Warren and find out what’s going on—if anything.”
“You can’t.” Pax pulled back.
“You’ve had a stressful couple of days. You were almost killed, then suffered a brutal operation, and topped it off with a can of Dinty Moore stew. Anyone would be upset.”
“I’m not leaving you. You don’t even have a portal.”
“You can come back tomorrow, okay?”
“I can’t leave you alone with a killer!”
“Look, I’ve known Warren since I was fifteen! He’s not a killer.”
“He is, and he’s lying.”
“You need to trust me this time. Warren’s not going to hurt me.” He put his hand on Pax’s shoulder. “You go home. Take a nice waterfall shower. Have Cha look at that shoulder. Eat a solid meal, and have a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow at this time, port back here. By then I’ll know a lot more and we can discuss what to do next, okay?”
“Why can’t we both go home, do all that stuff, and then both come back?”
“Because I need to talk to Warren, and…some of what I have to say is private.”
Pax stared. Ellis could see tears brewing. “I’m scared.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“I’m scared for both of us.”
“Go home and rest. Maybe talk to Vin.”
A tear slipped. “Be very careful.”
“I will.”
Pax reached up for the Port-a-Call. “Alva’s right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not crazy.”
Chapter Nine
All in Good Time
“Your friend seems a little upset,” Warren said as Ellis sat back on the rocker beside him.
Pax was gone. Ellis had seen the familiar Gothic dining room through the portal and felt a desire to go along. Pax’s place was already more of a home to him than anywhere he’d known since his childhood, but he did feel better now that Pax wasn’t here. He could speak more freely, and he had some issues to address with his old friend.
“Pax has been under some stress—been investigating some murders.”
“Didn’t think they had those in Hollow World. The hairless been telling me they got rid of murder, death, warfare—both the regular kind and class—death, racism, sexism, poverty, all that shit.”
“Well, someone made an exception.”
“So what’s the bug up his butt?”
“His?”
Warren smirked. “His, her, its—whatever. Didn’t seem like stress. Acted sorta jealous of me. You two trying out some new-age sex toys? I hear they have this thing called a—”
“It’s not like that,” Ellis said, louder than he’d planned.
“Good. I thought maybe you were going native, walking on the other side of the road, so to speak.”
“I said it’s not like that.”
“Just saying, it seemed that way. And you never know. You hear about guys that go to prison and figure they got no choice, you know?”
“Like I said, Pax has just been under a lot of stress. We’ve been through a lot these last few days.”
“Yeah, well, we all have our crosses to bear. But damn, it’s good to see you. I’ve been wondering if you’d ever show up. Thought you might have gotten something wrong and fried your ass.”
The day was winding down. The lazy light of late afternoon reminded Ellis of after-school time, even to that day. Warren was right; it was hot out. He could see the heat waves rising, making the fields blurry, and hear the cicadas whining as loudly as the traffic used to be on old Michigan Avenue. Ellis, who still hadn’t seen a calendar, reasserted his belief that it was mid-to late summer. He could smell the grass and the scent of manure coming from the barn, and hear a horse snorting. There was corn in one of the fields, and it had to be elephant-eye high.
“Like your piece,” Warren said.
“My what?”
“Your gun.” Warren pointed at the holster. Ellis had almost forgotten it was there. It appeared invisible to everyone else. “Lemme see it.”
He only had a fraction of hesitation before pulling it out and handing it over. After all, this was Warren.
The two had met in the tenth grade—when Warren had also been known by just Ren, because two syllables were one too many for high schoolers to deal with, and in 1971 War was as unpopular as Nixon. They had shared a locker that Warren kept crammed with excess football gear that he had refused to leave in the gym. Old number forty-eight—the jersey was always there. In those three years, Ellis didn’t think his friend had ever washed the thing, and he’d had to hold his breath whenever he went for his books. Ellis didn’t care for the moose he had been forced to share space with until Ricky “the Dick” Downs targeted him.