Staring at me, stricken with abject fear.
At just a few feet away, I can see his face clearly. I’m positive that up until the accident, I’d never seen this kid before in my life.
“Who are you?” I shout at him.
He snatches up the ball and takes off running. Just as quickly, I sling my door open and clamber from the car.
“Not a chance!” I yell and chase after him. “You started this! You’re not getting away from me this time!”
Still clutching the ball, he beats a path toward the lake as if his life depends on it. I follow on his heels, but the kid’s a speed demon, covering ground at a rate that makes it difficult to keep up.
Several feet ahead, he dashes into a cluster of scrub oak, but I stay on him through the tangle of jagged twigs that poke and scratch and snap into my face. I claw my way out, but all I find past the clearing is more mystery. There’s no sign of the boy, not even the sound of his footfalls. I look to my left, then to my right. On each side, tall and sturdy boulders surround me, far too steep and slick for him to climb. Clamping a hand to each side of my head, I look out at the lake and observe the undisturbed water, smooth as glass.
Gone. Again.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME?” I shout out to the boy. But the only answer I get is my same question, reverberating back as a whispery echo.
A thunderous crash goes off, and my stomach sucks up into my throat, because I recognize the sound of metal crushing on impact.
“Oh God, my car!”
Then the glass shatters, and then the blinding light explodes.
73
It takes less than two blinks to realize that I’m flying up the road.
The road? What in God’s name is going on?
It’s not only the minutes taking leaps—so, too, are circumstances and events, quickly eddying into the path of utter disorder and confusion. With my mind decomposing so rapidly, any effort to keep track of reality is a job unto itself. I have to get this plan into place before my world collapses.
I jam a foot onto the gas pedal and feel my body jerk back as the car shoots forward, reeling me at unforgiving speed toward home.
I drive recklessly up my street, careen into the garage, then pull to a screeching halt. Jenna’s car isn’t here. She’s probably picking up Devon from school, which will work in my favor. I’ve got no time to talk right now, no time to explain, just plenty of work to do.
I burst through the door and into the house. I rush up the staircase and toward my office. Inside, I get busy logging on to my work account to extract the information I’ll need.
An hour later, I have at my ready—scattered about the floor and pinned to the walls—a full-blown paper arsenal of facts, figures, statistical data, and maps, detailing Loveland’s infrastructure, along with anything else I could gather to track Donny Ray’s daily patterns. I’ve also gathered the blueprints for this house and marked all points of vulnerability in red. In effect, I’ve got a war room equipped with information I’ll use to keep Devon safe.
I move to the window and part the curtains to see if the security patrol has arrived. Not yet, but I expect them shortly. From the office closet shelf, I pull down a metal lockbox. After opening it, I reach for my gun and slide out the magazine. If Donny Ray does manage to make it to this house, that bastard won’t live past our driveway.
Things are going smoother than expected. I’m pleased. All that’s left to do now is study up on the information I’ve gathered, make certain it’s ironclad.
A car pulls into the driveway. I spring from my chair, then relief gives me a dose of calm when I hear Jenna’s and Devon’s voices coming from the kitchen. I can’t talk to them right now, can’t afford any interruptions. With so much work to get done before morning, the clock is banging double time inside my head. I scramble to the door, turn the lock inside the knob, then get back to work.
About ten minutes later, I hear the pitter-patter of Devon’s feet on the staircase, accompanied by Jenna’s steps, firmer and more anchored. My son scurries off to his room, and shortly after, two raps hit my door.
“Chris?” my wife says. “You in there?”
“Hi, honey.” I shuffle some papers, more for effect than actual purpose, then the doorknob jiggles.
“What are you doing in there, and why’s the door locked?”
“Oh, that.” I force a laugh and hope it sounds casual enough. “I’ve got a big project starting up tomorrow. At work. It’s extremely important. I have a lot of research to get done this evening. I didn’t want Devon busting in and disturbing me.”
“But what about dinner?”
“Too busy. Can’t come down right now.” To evoke further credibility, I hit the print button, and the machine rattles off pages. I slam a desk drawer. “Just go ahead without me, and I’ll grab something later.”
“I can bring you up a plate.”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I’m fine for now, really.”
Finally, some peace, and I’m relieved, but then Jenna knocks once more.
“Honey, please!” I yell at the door. “What is it? I’m trying to work in here!”
“Sorry to bother you again, but I forgot to tell you something earlier,” Donny Ray says. “You’re wasting time with all that bullshit. Loveland is history. The war’s right here.”
Wood cracks and the walls around me boom into a powerful quake as Donny Ray violently and repeatedly slams his body against the door.
74
I snatch up the gun from my desk, then charge forward, shouting, “GET OUT OF MY MIND! I’LL KILL YOU, GODDAMN IT! YOU HEAR ME?”
With gun aimed high and ready to fire, I yank open the door, but when I see what’s on the other side, my stomach clenches.
Jenna stands in the hallway, face blanched by shock, staring at the gun in my hand. She doesn’t speak, but her quivering lips tell me all I need to know.