Lucas is hurt, too, she said as the boy whod saved her life was helped down from the second floor window. Lucas was the last to leave the haunted house. Hed made sure everyone got out first.
The sheriff nodded. Make sure hes stable and put him in my car, too. I can get them both there faster than the ambulance can.
Two firemen followed his orders.
Lauren looked over her fathers shoulder as Lucas moved clear of the shadow of the house. Shed had far more than the little adventure shed wanted tonight. When her father set her in the back of his cruiser, she wondered at what point shed gone wrong and swore for the rest of her life shed never do something so dumb again.
One of the men from the volunteer fire department bandaged up Lucass arm and wrapped something around her leg. The sheriff oversaw the loading of the other two injured, then returned. She could almost feel anger coming off him like steam, but he wouldnt step out of his role here. Here he was the sheriff. Later hed be one outraged father.
Wrapped in blankets, she sat in the backseat of her fathers cruiser with Lucas and watched everyone load up like a small army. Mrs. Patterson had tripped in the darkness, and two firemen were taking her home for treatment.
She looked over at Lucas sitting a foot away. He was leaning his head back, not seeming to notice that his forehead dripped blood. Hed saved her and helped bring out Tim. She realized hed passed her to Reid so he could go back for Tim. No one was patting him on the back and saying things like great job as they were to Reid.
Lauren seemed to have been labeled poor victim and Lucas was invisible.
You saved me tonight, she whispered. Why didnt you tell my dad? He thinks this whole thing was your fault, thanks to Reid.
The truth isnt worth crossing Reid. Let him play the hero. All I care about is that youre all right. If I spoke up, I might not have a job tomorrow. One word from Reid and the foreman will take me off the list of extras hires, or worse, tell my father to find another job.
Were alive, thanks to you. She was touched that he worried about her. The cut on my leg isnt deep. But I owe you a blood debt for real now.
I know. His white teeth flashed. Ill be waiting to collect it. Youve got to save my life now.
Her father climbed into the car without saying a word to them. He spoke into his radio and raced toward the county hospital, half an hour away.
Lauren didnt feel like talking. She knew the sheriff was probably already mentally composing the lecture he planned to give her for the next ten years. Worry over her would be replaced by anger as soon as he knew she was all right. Shed be lucky if he let her out of the house again before she was twenty-one.
In the darkness, she found Lucass hand. She didnt look at him, but for the rest of the ride, her fingers laced with his. They might never talk of this night again, but they both knew that a blood debt bound them together, and sometime in the future shed pay him back.
CHAPTER FOUR
Yancy
THE GREYHOUND BUS pulled up beside the tiny building with Crossroads, Texas, United States Post Office painted on it in red, white and blue, and Yancy Grey almost laughed. The box of a structure looked like it had been rolled in on wheels and set atop a concrete square. He had seen food trucks at county fairs that were bigger.
This wasnt even a town, just a wide spot in the road where a few buildings clustered together. He saw the steeples of two churches, a dozen little stores that looked as though they were on their last legs framed in the main street, and maybe fifty homes scattered around, not counting trailers parked behind one of the gas stations.
A half mile north there stood what looked like a school, complete with a grass football field with stands on either side. To the east was a grain elevator with a few buildings near the base. Each one was painted a different shade of green. Yancy couldnt see behind the post office, but he couldnt imagine that direction being any more interesting than the rest of the town.
This is the Crossroads stop, mister, a huge bus driver called back to Yancy from the drivers seat. Were early, but I guess that dont matter. Post office is closed Sundays anyway.
Yancy stood and moved down the empty aisle as the bus door swished open. Hed watched one after another of the mostly sorry-looking passengers step off this bus at every small town through Oklahoma and half of Texas. He didnt bother to thank the driver for doing his job. Yancy had been riding for ten hours and simply wanted to plant his feet on solid ground.
You got any luggage? the driver asked. Its been so long since Oklahoma City, I forgot.
No, Yancy answered as he took his first breath of the dawns damp air. Just my pack.
Good. The driver pulled out his cigarettes. Normally I stop here for breakfast. That café across the street serves an endless stack of pancakes, but since there are no cars out front, I think Ill move on. Ill be in Lubbock next stop, and thats home.
Yancy didnt care what the driver did. In fact, he hoped the fat guy would forget where he left off his last passenger. All Yancy Grey wanted was silence, and this town just might be the place to find it.
For the past five years in prison hed made a habit of not talking any more than necessary. It served no purpose. Friends, he didnt need, and enemies didnt bother chatting. He kept to himself. The inmates hed met and got along with werent friends. In fact, hed just as soon never see any of them again. One of them, a dead-eyed murderer named Freddie, had promised to kill him every time hed passed within hearing distance, and another who went by Cowboy would skin a dead man for the hide.
And the guards and teachers for the most part were little more than ghosts passing through the empty house of his life. He had learned one fact from every group-counseling session hed attended, and that was if he was going to stay out of prison, he needed to plan his life. So hed taken every course offered and planned how not to get caught when he next stepped out into the free world.
He dropped his almost empty backpack on the post office steps and watched the bus leave. Then, alone with nothing but the sounds of freedom around him, he closed his eyes and simply breathed for a while. Hed known he was low-down worthless since he was five, but now and then Yancy wanted to forget and just think of himself as a regular person like everyone else who walked the planet.
At twenty-five, he wasnt the green kid whod gone to jail. He was a hardened man. He had no job or family. No future. Nowhere to go. But, thanks to positive-thinking classes, he had goals.
The first one was simple: get rich. After he got past that one all the others would fall in line: Big house. Pool. Fast car.
On the positive side, he had a lot going for him. Without a plan, he didnt have to worry about holes in his strategy. He wasnt running away from anything or anyone, and that was a first. Hed also learned a little about every trade the prison tried to teach.
Yancy had bought a bus ticket to a town hed once heard his mother say was the most nothing place on earth. Crossroads, Texas. He figured that was where hed start over, like he was newborn. Hed rebuild himself one brick at a time until no one who ever knew him would recognize Yancy Grey. Hell, he might even give himself a middle name. Thatd be something he hadnt had in twenty-five years of being alive.
Yancy had bought a bus ticket to a town hed once heard his mother say was the most nothing place on earth. Crossroads, Texas. He figured that was where hed start over, like he was newborn. Hed rebuild himself one brick at a time until no one who ever knew him would recognize Yancy Grey. Hell, he might even give himself a middle name. Thatd be something he hadnt had in twenty-five years of being alive.
Sitting down on the steps, he leaned against the tin door of the twelve-foot square post office and looked around at a tiny nothing of a town that sparkled in the early light. He might not have much, but he had his goals, and with some thinking, hed have a plan.
He wasnt sure, but he thought his mother met his dad here. She never talked about the man whod fathered him except to say hed been a hand on one of the big ranches around. Shed fallen in love with the hat and boots before she knew the man in between. Yancy liked to think that, once, she might have been happy in Crossroads, but knowing his mother, she wouldnt be happy anywhere unless she was raising hell.
Yancy warmed in the sun. The café would probably be open in an hour or two. His first plan was to eat his fill of pancakes, and then hed think about what to do next. Maybe hed ask around for a job. He used to be a fair mechanic, and hed spent most of his free time in the prison shop. There were two gas stations in town. One might have an opening. Or maybe the café needed a dishwasher? Hed worked in the prison kitchen for a year. If he was lucky, there would be a community posting somewhere around for jobs, and hed bluff his way into whatever was open.
If nothing came up, hed hitch a ride to the next town. Maybe hed steal enough lying around here to hock for pocket money. Six years ago hed caught a ride with a family in Arkansas. By the time they let him out a hundred miles down the road, hed collected fifty dollars from the granny who rode in the back with him. The old bat had been senile and probably wouldnt ever remember having the money in the first place. That fifty sure had felt good in his pocket.
Another time, when he was about sixteen, hed hitched a ride with some college kids. Theyd been a fun bunch, smoking pot as they sang songs. When hed said goodbye, theyd driven away without a camera that was worth a couple hundred. Served them right for just wandering around the country spending their parents money. No one ever gave him a dime, and hed made it just fine. Except for one dumb partner and one smart cop in Norman, Oklahoma.
Yancy pushed the memories aside. He had to keep his wits about him. Maybe try to go straight this time. He was halfway through his twenties, and hard time would start to take a toll on him soon. Hed seen guys in prison who were forty and looked sixty.
Taking a deep breath, he let the air sit in his lungs for a minute. It felt pure and light. Like rain and dust and nothing else.
A few cars passed as the sun warmed, but none stopped at the café. Yancy guessed the place might not open until eight or even nine on Sunday. Hed wait. With twenty dollars in his pocket, he planned to celebrate. Maybe if they had pie out early, hed have it for breakfast.
One man in a pickup stopped and stuffed a few letters in the outside drop. He tipped his hat in greeting, and Yancy did the same with his baseball cap. It had been so long since hed been in the free world he wasnt sure how to act. He needed to be careful so no one would recognize him as an ex-con. Most folks probably wouldnt anyway, but cops seemed to have a knack for spotting someone whod served time.
Yancy went over a few rules hed made up when he was thinking about getting out of jail. Look people in the eyes but not too closely. Greet them however they greeted him. Stand up straight. At six-one he wasnt tall enough to be frightening or short enough to be bothered. He continued with his rules. Answer questions directly. Dont volunteer much information, but never appear to be hiding anything.
About eight oclock he heard one of the church bells. The day was cold but sunny and already promising to be warm. The dusting of snow from last night was blowing in the street like a ghost snake wiggling in the frosty air. In an hour it would be gone.
He decided to set his first freedom goal. Hed buy a coat. After all, winter was already here. The first year in prison hed been either hot or freezing. If he had a good wool coat, he could be warm all winter, and then if he ever got hot, hed just take off his good coat. He sighed, almost feeling it already covering his shoulders. The old sweatshirt hed found in the lost-and-found bin at one of the bus stops last night was too worn to last the winter.
Yancy smiled, knowing that if anyone passed by, theyd think he was an idiot, but he didnt care. He had to start somewhere. Daydreaming might not get him anywhere, but a goalnow, that was something he could sink his teeth into. Hed listened to all the tapes. He had to think positive and do it right this time, because he was never going back to prison.
Two old men came out of a couple of the small houses across the street. One had a saw and the other carried a folding chair. They must live in the cluster of little bungalows surrounded by a chain-link fence. The sign out front, looking as old as the two men, said Evening Shadows Retirement Community.
As he watched the men, he almost felt sorry for them. In Yancys mind the place looked little better than prison. The homes were in bad shape. One roof sank in at a corner. One porch was missing a railing. The yard had been left on its own for so long it looked like nothing but prairie grass and weeds. A few of the homes had flowers in pots with leftover Christmas greenery, and all had tiny flags tacked up by the door as if theyd been put up as Fourth of July decorations, and no one had bothered to take them down.
Yancy stopped studying the place and decided to pass his time watching the old men. One at a time they each tried to stand on the folding chair to cut dead branches off the elms between the little houses. One kept dropping the saw. The other fell through the opening in the back of the chair and would have tumbled to the ground if his partner hadnt braced him.
Yancy laughed. The two were an accident about to happen, and he had a front row seat.
The second time he laughed, one of the old men turned toward Yancy and pointed his cane like a rifle. You think you can do any better, mister, you get over here and try.
All right, I will. He headed toward them. If one of you break a leg Ill probably get blamed. With nothing to do until the café opened, he might as well lend a hand. Thats what normal people did, right? And Yancy wanted to be nothing but normal.
Sawing a branch that had been scraping against the house was no problem, even with both the old guys telling him how. Yancy had planned to stop there, but they pointed to another branch that needed cutting and then another. As he moved from house to house, more old people came out. Everyone had elms bothering their roof or windows or walls. Before long he felt as if he was leading a walker parade around the place. Every time he cut a branch down, one of the residents would grab it and haul it outside the chain-link fence to the lot beyond.
Listening to them chatter and compliment him was like music to his ears. None of the senior citizens ordered him around or threatened him. They all acted as if he was some kind of hero fighting off the dragon elms that had been torturing them when the wind blew or robbing them of sleep.
We should pile them up and have us a bonfire, yelled the one old man with Cap written on his baseball hat.