See Tom Run
Scott Wittenburg
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 Scott Wittenburg
Discover other titles by Scott Wittenburg at www.scottwittenburg.com
This book is available in print at many online retailers (ISBN 978-0-578-00210-1)
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person to share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. The characters and events of this book are entirely the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, or to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
In loving memory of my mother and father.
PROLOGUE
Tom Grayson felt a numbing chill in the night air as he and Tracy walked in deliberate silence toward the parking lot. Fumbling absently through his pockets for the car keys, he was still reeling from what had transpired only moments ago when he arrived at her apartment . . .
"I'm pregnant," she announced flatly without so much as a hello.
"You're what?"
"I'm pregnant, Tom, and you are the father."
"No way!"
"Yes, way," Tracy insisted.
"We always used protection—it just isn't possible!"
"Tom, don't do this to me! Have you forgotten that night after Spangler's?"
Tom flashed back to the night they had hit the obscure off-campus nightclub. Damn! That was the one and only time he and the twenty-one-year-old beauty had made love without a condom—too horny after too many drinks and not a rubber in sight—
But surely he couldn't be that unlucky—
Oh yes he could be, he thought, and that was a fact.
"Okay, I believe you. So what are you going to do about it?"
"I'm going to have the child, of course! And I hope you will be its father."
"Whoa, wait a minute! I'm a married man, Tracy! Or have you forgotten? I'm not even supposed to be here!"
His words stung her like a slap in the face, Tom could tell, and he immediately regretted his brashness.
"I'm sorry Tracy, but you have to know it would be impossible for me to be any part of this. Surely you can understand—"
"All I understand is that you are telling me that you won't be a father to our child."
"But couldn't you just have, an uh—"
"An abortion? No, Tom, I will not have an abortion. Besides being Roman Catholic with parents who haven't missed a single mass since the day they were married, I don't believe in murder—"
Suddenly, the piercing screech of skidding tires in the adjacent alley shattered Tom's thoughts. The two turned in unison to see a car's passenger side door fly open and a lifeless body tumble out onto the pavement. A tall, lanky man sprang out from the driver's side and ran over to where the body had come to rest on its side. The man apparently didn't notice the two of them standing just yards away as he kicked the body a couple of times then got back into the car and sped away.
Tom saw the man's face clearly in the glow of the streetlight.
He and Tracy scurried over to the where the body was lying and huddled over it. When he knelt down for a closer look, Tom saw a young black woman bound with rope, gagged, and unconscious. He gingerly removed the duct tape from her mouth, half-expecting the woman to resist or cry out in pain. But except for a slight flinch, she remained unresponsive.
At that moment, Tom was gripped by a sudden wave of paranoia. If he were to get any more involved with this, Peg would almost certainly find out about his affair with Tracy Adams.
And he wasn't about to risk that happening.
"Let's call 911," he told Tracy.
"But shouldn't we get her out of the alley first and make sure she's okay?"
"We shouldn't move her. She's alive and seems to be breathing okay. She needs a paramedic, not us."
"I guess you're right. I'll run inside and call 911."
"Wait! If you call from your apartment, they'll know you made the call!"
"So what?"
"Tracy, I really don't want to get involved in any of this. Nor do I want you to, either."
Her eyes narrowed. "I get it—you're afraid that your wife will know that you were with me and find out about—our child. I think you're horrible, Tom!"
"Give me a break! I just found out about all of this ten minutes ago and it hasn't sunk in yet! At least give me a chance to absorb the whole concept before letting the whole city know! Besides, we can still help out this girl without anyone knowing it was us."
"And how might we do that?"
"I'll run to the phone booth around the corner. I'll call 911 then meet you back here. Then we'll book up to your apartment and make sure that the squad gets here okay. But we need to hurry before the whole neighborhood comes out to see what's happening!"
Tracy thought a moment, and then replied, "All right. But I don't like any of this one bit. I think we should stay right here until the medics arrive."
Tom ignored her. "I'll be back in a flash."
He sprinted around the corner and called 911 from the pay phone. When the dispatcher asked who was calling, he made up a name, reported the incident and promptly hung up on her.
He rejoined Tracy and hastily led the way back up to her second floor apartment. Once inside, they peered out anxiously from the living room window until the squad arrived five minutes later. Tom waited a moment or so then quietly slipped away before the cops arrived.
Peg hadn't suspected a thing when he arrived home. He called Tracy later that night in a lame attempt to downplay the whole incident. He insisted that the assaulted girl most likely knew the man who had dumped her off in the alley so the cops shouldn't have any trouble nabbing him.
But that hadn't quite been the case, as it turned out.
Not by a long shot.
Tom stared at his hand and debated whether to call spades trump or pass. He had the right bower, the king and a nine of spades, plus an ace of diamonds. He was also two-suited. Frank, to Tom's left, had dealt and would probably call trump if he didn't—and the way his luck had been going in this game, Frank probably had a loner in hearts or diamonds. The last thing they needed was to give their opponents a possible four points and lose the game.
He peered across the table at Peg, who obviously didn't have squat. His euchre partner and wife of eight years always wore her cards on her sleeve. Funny how he was the only one who ever seemed to notice that.
Frank's wife, Julie, had hesitated a moment before passing. Could be a bluff, but Tom doubted it. She could be holding the left bower for all he knew—or at least a decent stopper hand along with her husband.
Screw it, he thought. He was not feeling lucky at all today.
"Pass."
The moment he looked over and saw Frank's smug grin, Tom knew they were screwed. He literally wanted to bust him in the jaw for a split second.
"I've got a loner in hearts—a frigging lay-down loner in hearts!" Frank declared triumphantly.
Tom watched in horror and awe as Frank splayed his cards on the table for all to see: a jack of hearts, a jack of diamonds, an ace and king of hearts and an ace of clubs.
"I believe we just won the game," Frank added, not missing a beat.
Tom groaned, "Screw this! I knew I should have called spades!"
"Then why didn't you?" Julie asked.
"Because I'm an idiot."
"No comment," Peg said.
"Oh well, it's just a game," Tom said, with more than a trace of cynicism.
Just then, Kelli entered the room and tugged at Tom's sleeve. "Daddy, can you please tell Tyler to quit pulling my hair. He's acting like a little shit again!"
Tom tried his best to keep a straight face as he reprimanded his five-year-old daughter, but he didn't have much luck.
"Now you watch your mouth, young lady. Your little brother is not a little—what you just said. And if I hear you swear again like that, I'll take your toys away from you for a whole day!"
"Oh, Daddy, you will not! And if you can call him a little shit, why can't I? What's the difference?"
"The difference is," Peg said, "That your father needs to watch his mouth around his kids, that's what. Now don't let me hear you swear like that again Kelli or I will take your toys away for a week! Now go tell Tyler to come in here right this instant."
"Okay, Mommy," her daughter replied with a frown.
Kelli left the family room and Peg's eyes burned into Tom's like hot pokers.
"You have got to quit cursing around the children, Tom! My having to endure that sewer mouth of yours is one thing but I will not let your affliction be passed on to my children!"
"Sorry, dear," Tom replied. "I'm working on it—honest! Kelli must have heard me call Tyler that under my breath earlier today after I saw what he'd done to my iPod headphones. Neither of the kids were in the room when I said it—Kelli must have been eavesdropping."
"Yeah, right."
Tyler came into the room, his head hung down forlornly.
"Do not pull your sister's hair again, Tyler." Peg said.
"I won't, Mommy, I promise. I'm sorry."
"Okay, then. Tell Kelli you're sorry, too."
"I will, Mommy."
Tyler sauntered out of the room
"Anyone need another drink?" Tom asked.
"I could use a Seven-Seven," Julie said.
"New Year's Eve isn't until Wednesday, Jules. Don't you think you're celebrating a bit early?" Frank said to his wife.
"This will be my last one, Frank. I can't help but notice that you're on your third beer already. So what makes you so special?"
"I can handle my booze—you can't."
Julie scowled. "That's a crock."
"Whatever."
Tom got up and headed out of the room. Frank followed behind and paused for a moment in the living room.
"How's it going, pumpkin?" Frank asked his four-year-old daughter, Brittany. "Are you and Kelli having a good time?"
"Yes, Daddy. Guess what! We just decided that we're going to be fashion models when we grow up!" she gushed. The two girls then commenced to sashay around the room as if they were doing a runway show.
"Perish the thought," Frank sighed as he followed Tom into the kitchen. "I don't think I'll ever be ready for the teen years, Tom. I've been dreading that the very moment I found out we were having a girl."
"I know just what you mean," Tom replied. He opened the fridge and saw that the Seven Up bottle was nearly empty.
"Looks like we're out of pop. I'll go to the store and get some more."
"Want me to join you?" Frank offered.
"Nah, that's okay. You hold down the fort and I'll be back in a bit."
"Okay."
They returned to the family room and Tom gave Peg a peck on the cheek.
"I'm going to run to get more Seven Up—we're fresh out. Anything else anyone needs?"
"Can you get me some cigarettes?" Julie asked.
"Sure. Marlboro Lights, right?"
"Yes, here, I'll go get my purse."
"Forget about it, Julie. As much as I don't want to be a party to your suicide, I will spring for the little killers for you."
"You're a dear, Tom."
"I know it. Back in a flash."
"Be careful, Tom. The roads have surely gotten slick by now," Peg cautioned.
"I will."
Tom went to the closet, took out his coat and gloves then left through the side door. The snow was coming down hard and it looked like Columbus was finally going to get its first blizzard of the season.
Excellent, Tom thought. It was about time.
He got in and started the engine then grabbed the ice scraper lying on the back seat floorboard. He went about the task of clearing the windshield and windows, taking his time as he did so. The frigid air felt good and he was in no particular hurry to get back to the others.
As he backed the Jeep Laredo out of the driveway, Tom found himself pondering his present dilemma. He had in fact been thinking about it the entire day—dismayed to discover that even the euchre game had failed to relieve the incessant nagging thoughts.
Was he doing the right thing? Or should he tell Frank the whole ball of wax and let fate take over from there?
"Yeah, right." he breathed out loud.
Face it, Grayson—this is a no-brainer!
He reached the supermarket and pulled into the parking lot. The Jeep's interior was still uncomfortably frigid so he left the engine running, hopped out and pressed the lock button on the key remote.
Once inside the neighborhood market, Tom began searching for the soft drink section. Although he'd been here countless times, he couldn't recall where it was. He stopped agonizing over his thoughts long enough to walk the entire length of aisles, peering down each one until he finally located the beverage section near the far end of the store.
Tom picked up a liter of Seven Up and headed toward the checkout lanes. He paused at the cigarette counter long enough to pick up Julie's Marlboros then joined the throngs of people waiting in line. It was obvious that New Year's Eve was just around the corner when he observed the enormous amounts of wine, champagne and beer piled up in the carts.
As the thought of New Year's Day entered his mind, Tom considered it's profound symbolism. If he were to do what he should morally do, this New Year would mark the beginning of a whole new life for him: the end of his comfortable existence with his wonderful wife and kids in their quaint but beautiful home in suburban Worthington, and the likely termination of his job as art history professor at Capital State College. And to think that he had just received tenure this year . . .
His turn came and Tom paid the cute young cashier with his check card and headed for the exit. He sneezed loudly along the way and cursed his sinuses—how long had it been since he'd been able to smell or taste anything? What he had once thought was a head cold had now become full blown sinusitis. Peg was pushing him to see a doctor about it and he had to admit he was getting tired of not being able to breathe half the time. Maybe he'd go have it checked out after all, he resolved dismally.
The snow was coming down hard now—in fact it was a full-blown blizzard. Tom could barely make out his Jeep parked just twenty yards away.
He got in and stared out at the driving snowstorm. Instead of pulling away, he sat there mesmerized by the wintry scene and resolved that he must come to a definite decision about Tracy Adams. He already knew what the answer would be, but the moral aspect continued tugging at him hard, making it difficult to fully and unequivocally commit to it.
Unfortunately, the fact that Tracy was pregnant with his child wasn't the only issue here—as if that weren't enough.
He had to consider the other person involved in this as well—the poor black girl who had been dumped off in the alley over a month ago. Tom learned from Frank, who was a trial lawyer, that the young woman had in fact been abducted and raped but had no clear memory of what her assailant looked like. The police were looking for anyone who may have possibly seen the woman's attacker or his vehicle on the night of the crime.
This had really thrown Tom for a loop. And as guilty as he felt about not coming forth with any info for the police, he was still too paranoid to even consider getting involved in the investigation.
Once it became public knowledge that the police still had no leads in the case, Tracy started calling Tom on a daily basis to update him on her pregnancy and beg him to go with her to the police station to report what they had witnessed.
But Tom didn't want to hear any of this. He just wanted everything to go away.
A week ago, apparently fed up with his noncommittal attitude toward their unborn child and the rape case, Tracy gave him an ultimatum. If he didn't take responsibility for his actions, she would go to the police by herself and give her account of what they had seen that night. She assured Tom that she would keep him out of the picture, so he needn't worry about being involved. She would have their baby all by herself, without any involvement from him whatsoever, and he would never be allowed to see their child or be a part of its life.
In essence, she was telling him that he would be off the hook.
Tom could hardly believe what he was hearing—he was absolutely elated. For not only would he get out of having to testify in a court case, he wouldn't have to worry about his little secret ever being found out. All would be good again!
Or so he thought.
His conscience was gnawing away at him. The girl obviously loved him and her feelings were hurt. Although that certainly wasn't his fault—he'd made it clear to her all along that he loved his wife and would never leave her—it nevertheless wasn't making him feel any better about this.
But the clincher was that Tracy still hadn't gone to the police in all of this time. Her threat of reporting the incident had just been a bluff—a last ditch effort to heap the maximum amount of guilt on him in hope that he would relent. She wasn't going to go to the police unless he accompanied her—that much he was certain of now.
So in essence, the burden of dealing with this whole mess fell on his shoulders.
Damn! he thought. If only he had never accepted the girl's offer to go out for "an innocent beer" that day. None of this would have ever happened. But he had let her incessant flirting win him over and make him forsake the first cardinal rule of teaching: never get personally involved with a student. And now he was paying the price for allowing the ill-fated May-December romance to go on as long as it had—
Tom's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the absolute fury of the raging storm that was now obscuring virtually all visibility outside the Jeep. Knowing that Peg and the others would be concerned, he threw the gearshift lever into drive and carefully pulled out of the supermarket parking lot.
He kept his speed at around 20 miles per hour as he deftly navigated the Jeep over the snow-covered roads through the blinding frenzy. Ten minutes later, he pulled into his driveway and parked. Clutching the grocery bag, he got out and headed for the side door.
The first thing he noticed when he entered the house was that the laundry room light was not on. Glancing over at the light switch, he saw that it was in the 'on' position, yet the fluorescent ceiling light was out cold. Odd.
Then he noticed the deadly silence.
The kids had been noisy all afternoon while at play in the living room. Perhaps they were back in the family room with the adults.
He entered the kitchen. The lights were out. The light switch was on.
The storm must have killed the power, he thought. He removed the liter of Seven Up from the bag and took Julie's cigarettes with him into the dark living room. As he neared the family room, he could feel his heart beating faster as the overwhelming silence began to register full tilt.
When he entered the family room, he was utterly shocked at what he discovered—
Not a soul was in sight. The card table was just as it had been before he left—the playing cards strewn around in random stacks, the half empty bowl of chips sitting near the center and everyone's drinks, including Peg's half finished daiquiri, sitting there among the rings on the tablecloth. Three of the chairs were pulled away from the table about the distance they would be if they were occupied. When he noticed this, Tom felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck.
It was as if they had all vaporized.
Then he chuckled to himself nervously. Surely this was some kind of gag. A little pre-New Year's prank dreamed up no doubt by Frank, the perennial jokester. That had to be it!
Tom decided to play along.
"Here are your coffin nails, Julie," he announced to the empty room. "Oh, imagine that! The damn things must have already killed you and your cancer-ravaged body has been carted off to the morgue. Oh well, I guess I better find out where everyone else is and let them know that we need to start making your funeral arrangements."
Half expecting someone to suddenly run out from behind the furniture and reveal their cover, Tom quickly turned around. Nothing. Then he headed through the living room to the stairs leading to the second floor. Most likely they would all be hiding up there somewhere, he thought. He took the stairs at a leisurely pace, giving everyone adequate opportunity to hide themselves. He could almost see the kids, Kelli in the lead, jumping out from behind her parents' king size bed and screaming bloody murder to scare the mortal shit out of him.
He tiptoed to the master bedroom door and opened it slowly.
"Anybody in here?" he said.
He walked past the dresser over to the bed and sat down in it. He fell onto his back and peeked over the edge on the far side. Not a soul.
"Hmm. I wonder if there's anyone in the closet."
He got up, went over to the walk-in closet and opened the door.
"Gotcha!" he cried, his arms outstretched like a ghoul.
But there was nothing but clothes and dark, muffled silence inside.
Tom closed the door and felt his senses sharpen as he left the bedroom and headed down the hall to the kids' rooms. He now realized that his theory was ludicrous — the notion that Peg, Frank, Julie and the three kids had all gotten together while he was gone and decided to play hide and seek just didn't float. It simply didn't seem realistic, especially given the fact that the power was off, which the snowstorm had apparently prompted.
Unless they had decided to trip the circuit breaker themselves, which would be less likely and even more ridiculous. Peg, in her typical level—headed way of running the house, would never have allowed that to happen for such a cheap thrill.
He went to Kelli's bedroom and peeked in. The room was shrouded in semi-darkness but it was clear that nobody was there. He went over to Tyler's bedroom and discovered the same.
The basement was his last shot. Annoyed and put off now by this whole farce, Tom went back downstairs and headed for the basement door located near the entrance to the kitchen. When he opened it, all he saw was absolute darkness. He went to one of the kitchen counter drawers and found a mini Mag-Lite, switched it on and trained the beam on the stairs as he made his descent.
The basement was little more than a large storage room and a place for the rarely used Brunswick pool table. There was also a half-bath and a small area that Tom used as a darkroom for his photography. It took only thirty seconds to determine that the basement was unoccupied.
The silence was intense as Tom went over to the circuit box panel and opened it. He shined the light on the breaker switches and saw that all of them, including the main switch, were on.
So there had indeed been a power failure.
So where the hell is everybody?
Tom closed the panel and went back upstairs, taking two steps at a time. He could now feel his pulse pounding like a drum in his neck as he realized that he was experiencing a keen sense of dread. His wife, kids and close friends were gone—seemingly evaporated from the house!
Coats! He thought. If they had left the house, they surely would have worn their coats.
He ran over to the hallway closet and gazed inside. He saw Frank's gray wool coat and Julie's blue parka along with their kids' winter coats.
Tom's sense of dread now became absolute fear.
In a panic, he ran over to a window and peered out at the street. As expected, he saw Frank and Julie's gray Chevy Tahoe still parked along the curb out front—he recalled seeing it there when he'd returned from the supermarket. He ran over to the front door and stepped out onto the porch. He looked up and down the street as far as could see and noticed that all of the lights in the houses were out, as were the streetlights.
The phone! He thought. He would call the power company and find out what the deal was with this power outage.
But first he would call the police.
He ran back inside and picked up the phone. There was no dial tone. Recalling that the cordless phones didn't work when the power was off, he ran into his study and picked up the old analog office phone on his desk. It was dead as a doornail.
He located his cell phone in his briefcase and booted it up. The sound of the welcoming chime was music to his ears. Now he could finally get to the bottom of all of this.
He stared at the LCD and awaited the welcome screen to come on. When it did, he noted that there were no signal bars showing up as he keyed in 911 and brought the phone to his ear. Nothing but pure silence. He tried again. Nothing.
"Shit!"
Now he was absolutely mystified. There was no power, no phone service and no sign of his family or friends. He stared at the phone a few seconds then flipped it shut and shoved it into his back pocket.
Unsure of what to do next, Tom finally decided to run next door and see if the Chandlers were home. Maybe Bill or Marge would have an idea of what the hell was going on. Maybe they even knew where Peg and everyone had gone.
He fled the house and trudged across the driveway to the Chandlers' front door and rang the doorbell. Realizing that their power was most likely out as well, he knocked on the door and peered through a window to see if he could see anyone. He waited a few seconds then started beating on the door when he noticed their only car parked in the driveway.
"Bill, Marge — are you guys in there?" he shouted.
When nothing happened, he walked around to the rear of the house and peered through the dining room window. There were no signs of life anywhere. Certainly odd, seeing as the elderly couple rarely went out with anyone and their car was here.
Tom decided to try Gary Morris, who lived directly across the street. He knew for a fact that Gary was home because he'd seen him pull into his garage just as he left for the supermarket.
He ran through the driving snow across the street to Gary's and beat on the door.
"Gary, it's Tom!" he cried, wanting nothing more right now than to simply see another human being. He knew that Gary Morris had a penchant for keeping an eye on the neighbors and their goings on. If anyone knew what the hell was happening around here it would be good old Gary.
After another minute of pounding and shouting, Tom ran around to the side of the house and peered into the garage window. Inside he saw Gary's blue '99 Buick. He continued around the side to the backyard gate and lifted the latch. He strode over to the back door that led out from the kitchen and began beating on it. A moment later he went over to a window and peered inside. Tom saw nothing but a darkened room.
Gary lived in a single story ranch that had no basement, only a crawl space. In this tiny house, he most certainly would have heard all of the beating and shouting by now.
Tom went back over to the kitchen door and tried it. It was locked, just as the front door had been. He made a quick decision: he would bust out a window and go inside. Gary was either dead somewhere in there or had vanished mysteriously like the others. He had to find out.
He spotted a snow shovel leaning against the siding and picked it up. He went over to the kitchen window and poked the handle through a single pane of glass near the middle of the frame. The muffled tinkling sound of the shattered glass was all but lost in the raging snowstorm. Tom reached in and turned the latch, hoisted up the window and stuck his head inside.
"Gary—it's me, Tom! You in there?"
When no reply came, Tom slipped fairly easily though the window and onto the linoleum floor. It was dusk now and he could barely see his way around in the kitchen. He rummaged through the drawers until he located a flashlight and switched it on. The first thing he did when he spotted the wall phone was try it. The line was dead. He replaced the phone and went into the dining room.
Tom knew the house well. The living room was straight ahead and the two bedrooms and bath would be to the right. He felt his heart race in his chest as he moved cautiously into the living room.
He flashed the light around the entire perimeter. Gary's easy chair was in its usual position in front of the television. A neatly folded newspaper sat on the coffee table and the remote control rested on a small table beside the chair. Tom went over to the television and touched the screen. It was still warm, just as he had expected it would be.
But where was Gary?
Tom felt like a nervous cat burglar as he crept slowly toward the hallway where the bedrooms were located. He knew that the first room on his left would be the spare bedroom. He peered inside and saw nothing but a single bed, nightstand and a dresser. He walked past the bathroom to the only remaining room in the house. The door to Gary's bedroom was closed. Tom took a deep breath and turned the doorknob slowly, dreading what he might find on the other side.
"Gary?" he called softly, startled at the sound of his own voice in the eerie silence of the house.
He swung the door open gently.
He aimed the flashlight first on the queen sized bed then all around the room.
Nothing. No body. No Gary.
He was gone, just like the rest.
Tom felt his heart sink like a lead weight.
Where in the holy hell is everybody?
At that moment, something inside Tom snapped.
Like a raging lunatic, he tore out of Gary Morris's house across the yard to the Williams house and beat on the door furiously with both fists.
"Mike, Carol—open the door! It's Tom Grayson! Please come to the door and talk to me!"
He only waited a moment before turning the doorknob to see if it was locked, which it was. He ran over to their driveway and saw the Williams' teenage son's Mustang parked behind Carol's Sonata. Mike's Explorer was parked out front on the street.
Tom sprinted back to the front door.
"I know you guys are in there—answer the damn door!" he cried.
In a fit, Tom ran around to the side of the house and looked through a window for any signs of life. Then he ran around to the backyard and tried the sliding patio door. Miraculously, it slid open.
Not really expecting to find anyone there, Tom entered the Williams house as though he lived there.
"Just dropping in to see if anyone in this fricking neighborhood is still around — hope you don't mind!" he hollered as he sashayed across the family room into the kitchen. He picked up the phone, which was of course dead, then made his way throughout the house. There were signs that someone had been home recently—the television in the den was still warm as was Jason's iMac in his bedroom. But, just like everybody else, the entire Williams family had apparently vanished from the face of the earth.
Tom entered the living room and plopped down on the soft leather sofa. His mind was awhirl, trying to put all of this into some sort of reasonable perspective.
It wasn't possible to do.
He considered the facts thus far. It was a fact that every person he had tried to locate since returning from the supermarket was gone. Where they had gone, he did not know. And, they all appeared to have been in their homes before their sudden disappearance. Everyone involved also shared the following circumstances: the power to their homes was off and their phones didn't work.
Theories, Mr. Grayson?
He had none.
Deductions?
He hadn't an inkling.
What to do now? What would be the most logical thing to do?
Tom pondered this for a moment. He only came up with one obvious answer: he had to find out if anybody, anywhere was still around, period.
And he needed to do it pronto, before it got any later.
Because the last thing he wanted to do tonight was go to bed in utter darkness and total isolation, knowing that when he woke up nothing will have changed.
Tom exited the Williams home and returned to his home. It was pitch dark inside so he gathered up several candles and placed them throughout the house. Afterwards, when he tried the phone again only to find it was still dead, a thought suddenly came to mind: his iBook! It ran on battery power—maybe he could get on the internet!
Smiling to himself at the prospect, he went over to where his laptop computer was plugged into the wall near his fax machine and clicked opened the lid. He recalled that it had been a bit low on power that morning so he had attached it to the charger. It should be fully juiced up by now.
He pressed the power button and held his breath as the computer booted up. Once he saw the desktop, he clicked on Safari in the dock and watched the application appear on the screen. When the window opened, he clicked on the Yahoo bookmark tab and waited.
Two seconds later, a new window appeared.
You are not connected to the internet. Check your . . .
Tom leered at the screen. Oh, but yes I fricking am connected, you sonofabitch!
Then Tom laughed out loud lamely as he realized his folly.
But of course you aren't connected to the internet, you idiot! Because although your ethernet cable is connected to your computer, it is connected on the other end to a dsl modem which in order to work requires not only ac power, which you ain't got, but a working telephone line as well, which you also ain't got—
Tom shut down the computer with an agonizing groan. He now realized that in spite of his impending dilemma, he was totally exhausted. He could feel the wind in his sails starting to wane.
He sat the laptop down and went into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water and chugged it down. He knew what he had to do next. And he was going to have to do it now, in spite of his fatigue and in spite of the fact that the blizzard outside showed no signs of letting up.
He retrieved the flashlight and went around the house blowing out all of the candles. Then he left by the side door and began scraping the freshly fallen snow off of his Jeep. The snowstorm was really raging now.
Visibility was very poor as he drove along Hartford toward the police station. Having driven no less than ten blocks, Tom made a frightening discovery: he hadn't seen a single soul nor a single moving vehicle since he'd left his house. Nor had he seen any lights on or any indication that there was power anywhere — not even the traffic lights were working. It was as if he were driving through a ghost town.
The cold kept him alert as he negotiated the hills and dales of Colonial Hills. The sheer darkness and lack of any movement, vehicular or otherwise, was absolutely cryptic. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was fairly certain that he wasn't going to find anyone no matter where he went tonight. He was and always had been an optimist, but he was also a realist. The fact that he had not seen so much as a single shred of life in Worthington thus far indicated a reality that was, as impossible as it was to conceive, likely.
He nonetheless kept his hopes up as he passed by the supermarket he had been at earlier. There were still several cars parked outside in spite of the pitch-dark. Tom pulled up beside the entrance and threw the Jeep into park. He got out and approached the automatic doors, which failed to open. Inside, he saw nothing but darkness—not even the glow of emergency lighting.
He hopped back in and continued his drive to the Worthington Police department. There was something reassuring about the concept of a police force, he suddenly realized. For if anyone would still be carrying out their duties no matter how horrific or chaotic a situation might be, it would be the local police.
And he hoped and prayed that that would be the case tonight.
There was nearly six inches of fresh snow on the road as Tom swung a right into the police headquarters parking lot. Although he certainly hadn't expected to see the place lit up like a Christmas tree, he was dismayed to find that the station looked as dark and foreboding as all of the other structures he'd passed along the way.
He pulled up beside one of the cruisers and got out. Training his flashlight along the walkway, he reached the door and was surprised to find that he was able to pull it open. But what he discovered inside made his skin crawl.
There was a single red EXIT sign glowing weakly on a far wall beyond the reception area. In the dimly lit foreground, he saw no less than a half dozen desks silhouetted by the eerie red glow, each one equipped with a standard office telephone, a computer tower with an unlit monitor screen, a file cabinet off to the side and an office chair pulled up to it. Complementing the spooky scene was a neat row of walkie-talkies lined up on the desk sergeant's counter beside the police radio array.
There was not a single solitary living soul in sight.
Tom entered the office area. He touched a couple of the computer monitors as he made his way to the rear of the office to see if any of them were warm. When he reached one of the doors, he pushed it open and entered what appeared to be an interrogation room. He went through another door, past the restrooms then saw the entrance to the jail. He checked out the cells, which were uninhabited.
He returned to the reception area and stood for a moment, staring blankly at the deserted Worthington Police station.
So this is it, he thought. He was the only living person in town. Everyone was kaput—not just his family and friends, but his neighbors and even the entire police department!
Jesus, he thought. This has to be some kind of bad dream! It simply can't be real!
He could see his breath in the hazy red light and realized that the police station was absolutely frigid. That was no wonder, seeing as there wasn't any power to run the furnace. It was surely going to be a cold night no matter where he went, he thought.
Disgruntled and clueless, Tom made his way back out to the Jeep. He fired up the engine and turned the heat up to the max. Then he lowered his head and rested it on the steering wheel, closed his eyes and began to pray:
God, please — you got to help me here. I don't know where my family and everyone have gone or what is happening. I need to know what to do. I need to know that wherever they are, they are alive and safe. I don't want to die like this, God, never seeing Peg or my kids ever again. Please God, tell me what to do! Where am I to go?
Where can I find my family?
Tom opened his eyes. He had never been a particularly religious person but he believed that there was a God. And he needed God now more than he ever had before.
Praying helped a little. There was comfort in talking to someone—even if that someone was only a spirit or whatever God was.
But still, it wasn't quite the same as the real thing.
He had to keep moving. He must not let this thing get the best of him. Somehow he was going to find out where everyone had gone, even if he died in the process.
He shifted into reverse and spun out of the parking lot. He headed west toward High Street and turned left, heading south toward downtown. Within three blocks, he started running through the unlit traffic lights, not even bothering to slow down as he approached them. As he cruised past Morse Road into Beechwald, the next neighborhood south of Worthington, he was not surprised to see that all of the businesses were shrouded in complete darkness. He glanced at the dashboard clock. It was only 7:00 PM. And not a single store was opened to the public.
He approached North Broadway in Clintonville and a thought came to mind. The hospital! Riverside Hospital was just a few blocks to the west. Surely there would be some signs of life there!
Elated at the possibility, he fishtailed onto North Broadway and sped as fast as he could toward the hospital, keeping his fingers crossed.
Tom rounded the curve and a smile came to his face—on top of the hospital he saw the brightly lit blue Riverside Methodist Hospital sign.
It was open!
He ran the light at Olentangy River Road and headed toward the main entrance. It was dark in the parking lot but that didn't surprise him. He saw relatively weak lights on in the many of windows, suggesting that the huge complex may be running on emergency power.
He left the engine running and entered the huge glass turnstile. Inside, the lobby was dimly lit and there wasn't anyone at the reception desk. Nor were there any people in the lobby.
Not a good sign.
Perhaps they were operating with a skeleton crew, he thought, due to the power outage.
Tom strode through the lobby until he reached the gift shop, which was also deserted. He went inside and walked over to the counter, aware now that he was totally famished. He grabbed a bag of Fritos off the rack and plunked a dollar bill on the counter. Stuffing a handful into his mouth, he exited the shop and headed down one of the halls toward the emergency room.
He stopped at a bank of elevators and pushed the up button, not expecting the elevator to work. To his surprise, the door whooshed open, startling him. Tom stepped inside and pressed the button for the second floor.
The door shut and the elevator began its ascent. The interior was dimly lit but Tom was just glad it was working. When he reached the second floor, he stepped out into another dim hallway.
He walked toward the nurse's station. It was uninhabited. He entered the area and poked around, noting that neither the computers nor any of the other devices were on. Picking up a phone, he heard a dead line.
Finally, he got his nerve up and walked over to one of the patient's rooms. He knocked on the door, waited a moment, turned the doorknob.
The door was locked.
He went over to the next door and tried it. It too was locked.
Tom tried another half dozen doors only to discover that they were all locked.
Apparently, everyone in this place had either been evacuated or vaporized.
Tom took the elevator to the third floor and checked the rooms. They were all locked as well.
Nothing shakin' but the leaves on the trees.
Heaving a distraught sigh, Tom had to concede that the hospital was a bust. Like the police station, another vital community service center that one would expect to be active in an emergency was DOA.
Screw this.
He wolfed down the rest of his Fritos and washed them down with a slug of the lukewarm bottled water he'd snatched from a fridge in the nurse's supply room. Then he boarded the elevator back down to the main floor.
Tom exited through the turnstile and turned to his right, then did a double take—
The Jeep was gone!
CHAPTER 3
Tom quickly glanced around the parking lot and along North Broadway, hoping to catch sight of his Jeep. He saw nothing moving at all. He ran over to where it had been parked and could see the tire tracks clearly in the deep snow where the thief had backed out before moving south toward the exit road from the hospital.
So, he was not alone after all!
His immediate impulse was to find a vehicle he could borrow so he could chase after the driver of his Jeep. There were quite a few cars in the parking lot, every one buried under six or seven inches of snow. He ran over to the first four-wheel drive car he could find, a Subaru Forester, briskly cleared the snow off the door handle and tried it. It was locked. He moved along the row of cars for a few minutes until he finally found a Honda CR-V that was unlocked. He jumped inside and was thrilled to find that the keys were still in the ignition.
The engine was excruciatingly slow in turning over but finally fired up. He jumped out and cleared off the windshield and windows as best as he could then got back in, put it into drive and headed for the exit.
He noticed with relief that the snowstorm had tapered off somewhat as he neared the exit, hoping to ascertain which direction the Jeep tracks led. In the virgin snow, it was clear to see that they headed west toward Upper Arlington. Tom gave the little four cylinder SUV the gas and hung a right in hot pursuit.
As he followed the tracks to Fishinger Road, Tom wondered who had stolen his Jeep and why. The first question was impossible to answer but the second was easy: the guy saw a warm uninhabited vehicle with its engine running in a deserted parking lot so he decided to nab it. Duh . . .
As angry as he was that someone had brazenly ripped him off, Tom nevertheless found solace in knowing that he was not the only human being left on earth. No matter who had stolen his Jeep, that person was apparently alive and well and in the same predicament as he was. That had to be a good thing.
But another mystery was why that person had not tried to contact him. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out that who ever owned the idling Jeep was inside trying to find another living soul in the godforsaken place. Why wouldn't that person attempt to find the Jeep's driver, instead of stealing it and driving off into the sunset?
Unless, Tom thought, that person didn't want to be discovered by him. Which would imply that this person could be a potential foe.
Tom raced as fast as he could along Fishinger, continuing west toward Route 33. He barely took his eyes off the road to glance at the houses that were shrouded in darkness. When he reached the intersection at Route 33, the tracks proceeded west over the bridge toward Hilliard.
Although his adrenalin was pumping now, Tom also felt an overwhelming fatigue coursing throughout his body. This whole situation was so bizarre and surreal that he half expected it to end at any moment. He sure wished it would end, that was a fact.
The tire tracks continued on the same road for a few more miles until they merged onto the southbound entrance ramp to the I-270 outerbelt. Tom slowed down in order to stay on the curve in the road until he was safely on the interstate.
The highway looked like something out of a science fiction movie as he sped south on it, not a single working streetlight illuminating the way. This source of countless traffic backups, headaches and collisions was now nothing more than a pure white, uninhabited landscape. Sort of like Mars—
Tom suddenly saw a pair of headlights about a mile ahead in the northbound lane, coming toward him fast. He stared over at the car incredulously as it whizzed by in the opposite direction on the other side of the median.
It was his Jeep!
On impulse, he hit the brakes and began fishtailing out of control. He nearly did a three-sixty as the Honda spun around like a top. Tom let off the brake and cut the steering wheel in the same direction as he was spinning until the little SUV was finally under control. He slowed down to a complete stop near the berm heading in the opposite direction.
Tom swore under his breath, turned the car back around and proceeded south—the huge concrete divider preventing him from crossing over to the other side.
He looked out for the next exit and suddenly saw an orange sign that read Road Closed Ahead. Tom slowed down a bit until he came upon a huge construction area that encompassed the entire highway in all six lanes. He followed the detour sign to the next exit and quickly got onto the northbound entrance ramp.
As he strained his eyes to spot his Jeep ahead in the distance, Tom thought it odd that the outerbelt was completely shut down southward from this point on. He couldn't recall ever reading anything about it.
Tom was driving as fast as he possibly could and still keep the car under control as he continued in pursuit. He hadn't been able to see the driver when it flew by, but it was clear that whoever it was did not want him to catch up. Which made Tom think that he had best use caution if and when he finally caught up to the thief.
He slowed down at the Hilliard exit where he had first gotten onto the outerbelt and discovered that the Jeep had gone past it. As he sped up again, he noticed that the fuel gauge was near empty. If he didn't have any luck soon, he was going to have to give up the chase before he ran out of gas. The last thing he needed was to be stranded out here on this lonesome interstate.
Tom had driven another four or five miles when he thought he spotted a pair of red taillights up ahead. He began slowing down and when he got closer, discovered that the lights were not moving at all—
The Jeep had run off the road!
He pulled up beside the Laredo, which was still running. It was at that moment that he realized his Jeep had run into a utility pole—just hard enough to dent in his bumper a good half inch or so. He saw no sign of the driver and wondered if he had bailed out. Then he thought he spotted the top of a head lying against the driver's side window.
The head was motionless—
Tom threw the CR-V into park and jumped out. He ran over and gingerly opened the door, careful not to let the person fall out. He was shocked to discover that the driver was a young woman and apparently unconscious.
He gently lifted the girl upright against the seat. She started to moan softly.
"Hey there, are you all right?" he said.
The girl moaned again and then her eyes fluttered open. When she saw Tom, she let out a scream.
"Don't hurt me, please!" she cried, terrified.
"Don't worry, I won't," Tom said. "Are you hurt? It looks like you may have hit your head on the steering wheel."
"You promise you won't hurt me?"
Tom patted her lightly on the shoulder. "I won't, I promise. I just want to make sure that you're okay. What happened?"
The girl seemed to snap out of it somewhat as she peered into Tom's eyes.
"I thought you were somebody else," she began. "Someone has been chasing me for the last couple of hours. He's very dangerous. I thought I'd lost him a while back and then my car ran out of gas on the north side. I ran on foot until I found this Jeep parked at Riverside Hospital. So I got in and drove out here, trying to find a way out of town.
"Then I ran into the road construction and headed back this way. I saw your car and panicked. I guess I started driving too fast—the next thing I knew I lost control and slid into the berm. I braked until I ran into that pole. Guess I hit my head on the steering wheel and it knocked me out."
Tom wondered why the air bag hadn't deployed as he noticed a lump on the girl's forehead in the dim light. It was bleeding slightly.
"You've got quite a bump there," he said. He leaned over to the dash compartment and pulled out a pack of Kleenex.
"Hold this over it," he said, gently placing the tissue on her forehead.
"Thanks. How did you know there would be Kleenex in the glove box?"
Tom smiled. "Oh, my wife always makes sure that we keep Kleenex aboard."
The girl's eyes widened. "This is your Jeep?"
"Yup, sure is. That's why I've been following you."
"God, I'm so sorry! I was just so scared that I didn't give it a second thought when I took it. Of course, I really didn't expect to see anyone else out tonight."
Tom said, "Don't worry about my car—it sounds like you really needed it at the time. Before you tell me who's been chasing you, I'd like to know what you meant by not expecting to see anyone out tonight."
The girl shook her head wearily. "That's going to take some explaining and I am so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open."
"I know what you mean. Let's say we get off of this highway and go somewhere warm. I'll drive."
"You don't know how good that sounds, uh—"
"Tom. Tom Grayson," he said.
The girl smiled. "My name is Erin Myers." She offered him her hand awkwardly. "Nice to meet you."
Tom shook her hand. "The pleasure is mine. How does your head feel?"
"Not too bad, but I wouldn't exactly refuse a couple of Advils, either."
"We'll go to my house and get you some. Maybe we can even find some food to eat."
"Where do you live?"
"Worthington."
"We can't go there!" Erin exclaimed defiantly.
"Why not?"
"That's where he started chasing me—I live in Worthington, too."
"Whereabouts?" Tom asked.
"Near Wilson Bridge Road."
"Don't worry, we're not going that far. Besides, what makes you think he'll find us? And if he does, whoever he is, what could he possibly do?"
Erin shook her head. "Kyle is liable to anything when he's this mad. He would probably kill us both."
Tom was shocked by this response but tried not to show it. "No, he won't. I'll protect you." Spoken like a true superhero.
"No offense, but you don't know just how violent he is. He—"
She stopped herself and closed her eyes. It was clear that she didn't want to go on.
Tom said, "It's okay, Erin. Let's get out of here and we'll make sure that this Kyle character doesn't spot us. I know some pretty obscure routes to my home."
Erin managed a weak smile. "Okay."
Tom helped her out and escorted her over to the passenger side. He checked out the damage to the Jeep, which was minimal, and then parked the CR-V closer to the berm. He debated what to do with the keys and wondered if the owner would ever be reunited with his car again. It was that moment that the full brunt of all that had happened resurfaced in his mind.
He got back into the Jeep and backed away from the pole. "Won't be needing that little Honda anymore—it's about out of gas anyway," he quipped. He glanced at his own fuel gauge, which still had about a quarter of a tank left. Good for about another forty or fifty miles, he estimated.
"Thank you," Erin said.
"For what?"
She looked over at him. "Saving me."
Tom was a little confused by this, but replied, "You're welcome."
They drove a few miles in silence and Tom thought of at least a dozen questions he wanted to ask Erin Myers. He felt it best to wait though—at least until after they reached his house. He caught himself nearly nodding off as he drove through the seemingly endless white vista back to Worthington. He was all but completely spent. The thought of going home, falling asleep, and waking up to find that this had just been an awful nightmare was his greatest wish at the moment.
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