Not that she minded. She loved having Sam, and Rex was hardly any trouble. Boys and dogs were good together, both bursting with bundles of energy. Even so, she’d have to call them in soon. It was getting late in the evening for an eight-year-old, and she wanted to set a good example as his grammie.
Spying him through the window, she drew in a sharp breath. An eerie green light spilled from somewhere above, haloing him in a cone of brackish illumination. Stock-still, Sam stood as if transfixed, his head tilted back as he gazed up into the weird light. Somewhere out of her line of vision, Rex barked furiously. The sound made the hair on the back on her neck rise, but by the time she reached the door and wrenched it open, the dog had stopped yapping.
“Sam.” Doreen Sue walked onto the rear stoop just as the green light winked out. Like someone throwing a switch. The jarring abruptness left her off-kilter and lightheaded.
It isn’t happening. Not again. Please God, not to Sam.
Shaking off her vertigo, she sprinted from the stoop and was across the yard in record time. “Sam.” Gripping her grandson by the shoulder, she gave him a gentle shake, drawing his attention from the sky. There was nothing. Nothing she could see. “What are you looking at?”
“Huh?” He blinked as if waking from a fog. “N-nothing. Just a cloud.”
Doreen Sue bit her lip. Sam sounded befuddled and, although he wore a jacket against the crisp October air, he shivered. “Look at you. You’re cold to the bone. Let’s get inside.”
Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, she cast a worried glance at the sky. Nothing is there. Nothing was ever there. “Did do you see where Rex got to?”
Sam shook his head as she led him toward the house.
“All right, you go inside and get warm. I’ll look for him.” The dog’s barking had sounded frighteningly out of control. Nothing like the gentle animal she knew. “I won’t be long.”
Sam hesitated when she held open the back door.
“Grammie?” His expression hadn’t changed, still composed of that same odd blankness as if he moved in a haze.
“What is it, baby?”
“Do you have any paper?”
Puzzled by the question, she cocked her head to the side. “What kind of paper?”
“For drawing. I want to draw the cloud.”
Almost ten-thirty.
Katie Lynch switched on the car radio, hoping for a distraction to pass the time. The lack of streetlights and the absence of other cars on the road made it seem later. Only a few miles outside of Point Pleasant, she looked forward to getting home. Her visit with Maureen Patton, a teacher who had taken an interest in her when she was still in high school, had been enjoyable, but she was ready to call it a night.
Stifling a yawn, she jabbed buttons on the radio, cycling through three stations before settling on “Bette Davis Eyes.” At least Sam was staying overnight with his grandmother. Katie’s mom might not be the most reputable person on the planet, but she loved her grandson to a fault. A blessing for Katie, since Sam had no father in his life. Not that she wanted anything to do with Lyle Mason after he’d refused to take responsibility for his child.
Best not to go there. Thinking about Lyle always ticked her off. She was glad he’d packed up and left Point Pleasant over a year ago. In a small town, it was hard not to cross paths with people you knew.
The song ended as she neared the TNT. An old World War II munitions site tucked among dense woodlands, the place was eerie during the day, downright creepy at night. Spotting a car off the shoulder, she slowed to a crawl. The front end of a blue Impala was angled into a shallow ditch, head and taillights dark. A faded “Big Brother is Watching You” sticker was plastered at a lopsided angle on the rear bumper.
Jerome Kelly.
Although the interior of the car was dark, she spied the bulk of someone slumped over the steering wheel. Quickly, she maneuvered off the road and slammed the gearshift into park. A ghosting of cold air struck her in the face as she bolted from the car and raced for the disabled sedan.
“Jerome!” Frantically, Katie rapped on the window. When he gave no response, she popped open the door. A combined reek of stale cigarettes and fast food assaulted her.
With the dome light illuminating the interior, it was impossible to miss the fat beads of sweat clinging to Jerome’s face. Several wire-bound notebooks and a dozen balled up burger wrappers littered the passenger’s seat. He groaned and shifted.
“Jerome, what happened? Are you all right?” He had no obvious signs of injury and seemed too young for a seizure or heart attack, but what did she know? She’d heard Jerome was a heavy smoker, and tobacco habits exacted a toll.
With a hand on his shoulder, Katie guided him back against the seat. “Jerome, it’s Katie Lynch.” He didn’t seem to recognize her. “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head, working his mouth in an attempt to speak. No blood, thank God. But in the harsh glow of the dome light, his face looked waxy. If only another car would drive past. Her knowledge of first aid was limited to the minor cuts and scrapes an eight-year-old drummed up.
“Jerome,” she tried again.
He closed his eyes, one hand bunched tightly into a fist. “Cold.” Drawing a breath, he pressed it to his chest.
“Are you in pain?”
He mumbled something unintelligible and rolled his head fitfully.
“I’ll get help.” She was going to have to drive to town, find a pay phone, and call an ambulance. She could attempt to take him to the hospital, but feared moving him in the event he had a spinal or neck injury. Especially as disoriented as he appeared. “Don’t worry. I’ll have someone here before you know it.”
She started to turn away, but he snagged her wrist and held fast. The panicked edge to his expression terrified her.