They’re running out of air. The cop is struggling to get loose. He’s trying to knock his cell phone out of his belt. Janie knows he wants to call his wife. She tries to get his attention. He looks into her eyes, and she concentrates on his pupils. Ask me to help you, she thinks as hard as she can think. Though she doesn’t know how he will be able say it with the cloth stuffed in his mouth.
She hears a muffled plea and realizes it’s good enough. “Yes! That’s it.” She unwraps the gag, and realizes she spoke out loud. Cool. “Now.” She stares into his eyes again. “This is your dream,” she says. “You can change it. Get free.”
He looks at her, his eyes wild.
“Get free,” she encourages again.
He struggles and cries out.
And his arms and legs break free.
He lunges for his phone and calls 911. Closes his eyes, and the vault lock magically appears on the inside of the vault. A piece of paper floats down from nowhere with the information on how to open it.
He does it instantly.
And everything goes black.
5:19 p.m.
Janie’s back with Cabel. He’s touching her arm. “You okay, Hannagan?” He slips outside and returns, hands her a paper cup full of water, and she drinks it greedily.
She is shaking only slightly, from adrenaline more than anything. “I did it. I helped him,” she says. “Oh, God, that was cool! My first time for a tough one like that.” She grins.
Cabel is smiling wearily. “You’ll have to explain that one later,” he says. “If you’re still speaking to me.”
“Oh, Cabel. I…”
Captain comes back into the room and closes the door.
“Tell me what you saw, Ms. Hannagan. If you would, please. Rabinowitz says it’s okay.”
Janie blinks. She can’t believe Captain is taking her seriously. She tells her everything she witnessed in the vault.
There is a long.
Long.
Pause.
“Hot damn,” Captain says finally.
She tosses her half-glasses on the desk. “How’d you do that? You’re…you’re…”
She hesitates.
Continues, almost as if to herself, in a voice tinged with something. It might even be awe. “You’re a regular Martha Stubin.”
6:40 p.m.
Cabel and Janie are snarfing down grease-burgers and fries at Frank’s Bar & Grille, next door to the police department. They sit at the counter on round red bar swivels, watching the cooks fry burgers five feet away. It’s one of those old-fashioned places, where you can get a malted milk shake.
They eat with abandon, minds whirling.
8:04 p.m.
They are back at Cabel’s house. Cabel shows her around the two rooms she hasn’t seen: his bedroom and the computer room. He has two computers, three printers, a CB radio, and a police scanner.
“Unbelievable,” she says looking around. “Wait—wait one second…. Do you live here alone?”
“I do now.”
“How—”
“I’m nineteen. I was in the class ahead of you until ninth grade. You may remember.”
Janie remembers him flunking into their class. “It was before I knew you,” she remarks.
“My brother pops in now and then, just to see if I’m staying out of trouble. He and his wife live a few miles away. They moved out, thankfully, when I turned eighteen.”
“Thankfully?”
“It’s a really small house. Thin walls. Newlyweds.”
“Ah. What about your parents?”
Cabel lounges on the couch. Janie sits in a chair nearby. “My mom lives in Florida. Somewhere. I think.” He shrugs. “Dad raised us. Sort of. I guess my brother actually raised me.”
Janie curls up in her chair and watches him. He’s far away. She waits.
“Dad was in Vietnam, at the tail end. His mind was messed up.” Cabel looks at her. “When Mom left, he got mean. He pretty much beat the shit out of us….” Cabel looks at the table. “He died. A few years ago. It’s cool. Yanno? I’m over it. Done.” Cabel gets up off the couch and stretches.
Janie stands up. “Take me back there,” she says.
“What?”
“Show me. The back of the shed.”
He bites his lip. “Okay…” He hesitates. “I haven’t, you know. Been back there in a while. It was—used to be—my hiding place.”
She nods. Gets her coat. Tosses his coat to him. They go out through the back door.
Crunch on the frosty grass.
Taste the air for snow.
When they get close, he slows down.
“You go ahead,” he says. He stops at the edge of a small, dormant garden.
Janie looks at him. She’s afraid. “Okay,” she says. The grass grows long and squeaks as she walks through it.
Janie slips away into the darkness and disappears from Cabel’s view behind the shed. She stops and peers at the shed, getting her eyes accustomed to the darkness. She sees her spot, where she leans against it in the dreams, and stands there.
Looks to the left.
Waits for the monster.
But she knows now that the monster died with his dad.
She crawls to the corner, to view the place where he comes from.
She sees it, vividly.
Cabel, leaving the house. Slamming the door.
The man on the steps, yelling. Following.
The punch to Cabel’s face.
The lighter fluid to his belly.
The fire and screaming.
The transformation.
And the monster, running toward her, with knives for fingers. Howling.
She’s starting to freak out, in the darkness.
Sucks in a breath.
Needs, desperately needs, to hear it was just a dream.
He’s sitting on the back step. Quiet.
She walks to him. Takes his hand. Leads him inside.
The house is dark. She fumbles for a lamp, and in its glow, they cast shadows on the far wall. She closes the curtains. Takes his coat, and hers, and hangs them over the chairs in the kitchen, and he stands there, watching her.
“Show me,” she says. Her voice shakes a little.
“Show you what? I think you’ve seen it all.” His laugh is hollow, unsettled. Trying to read her mind.
She reaches up, unbuttons his shirt, slowly. He takes in a sharp breath. Closes his eyes for a minute. Then opens them. “Janie,” he says.
His button-down is on the floor.
She pulls the T-shirt up. Just a little. She watches his eyes. He pleads to her with them.
Janie slips her fingers under his T-shirt. Touches the warm skin at the sides of his waist. Feels his shallow breathing quicken. Draws her hands upward.
Feels the scars.
He draws in a staggering breath and turns his head to the side. His lip shadow quivers on the wall. His Adam’s apple bobs below it. “Oh, Christ,” he says. His voice breaks. And he is shaking.
She lifts the shirt, pulls it over his head.
The burn scars are bumpy like peanut brittle. They pepper his stomach and chest.
She touches them.
Traces them.
Kisses them.
And he’s standing there. Weeping. His hair floating up with winter static. His eyelashes, like hopping spiders in the dim light. He can’t take it.
He bends forward.
Curls over like a sow bug.
Protecting himself.
Dropping to the floor.
“Stop,” he says. “Please. Just stop.”
She does. She hands him his shirt.
He mops his face with it.
Slips it back on.
“Do you want me to leave?” she asks.
He shakes his head. “No,” he says, and shudders in gripping sobs.
She sits next to him on the floor, leaning against the couch. Pulls him to her. He lays his head in her lap and curls up on the floor while she pets his hair. He grips her leg like a teddy bear.
11:13 p.m.
Janie wakes him gently, fingers through his hair. She walks with him to his bedroom. Lies down beside him in his bed, just for a few minutes. Puts his glasses on his bedside table. Holds him. Kisses his cheek.
And goes home.