Page 122 of 1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Forty-Two

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. She dropped thehotdog and shook her head again, but the image stayed put. Backing toward theexit, she looked down a short hall that led to thebathrooms. A tall, thin man in a mask stood there, staring at her, ascrewdriver in one hand, a machete in the other. Behind him lay another deadbody—an elderly gentleman wearing plaid golf pants.

The killer didn’t seem to be in any great hurry as hewatched her, standing motionless. She soon understood why. The glass door ather back was locked. She pressed into it, the handle digging into her spine asshe tried to force it open.

A blue Subaru pulled up to the door, and she turned to poundon the glass. The couple looked on in horror, and she realized there was yetanother body outside. When Sia made eye contact with them, begging for help,their gazes slid past her, and they sped away.

Then she felt him and stilled. The killer stood behind her.His breath stirred the hair at the back of her head. He smelled like motor oiland rotten eggs, but when she looked at the body outside, a middle-aged womanwith blond hair and bright pink Crocs, she knew for certain that none of thiswas real. She would’ve seen that body.

Or so she thought until she saw the trail of blood behindit. The woman had evidently crawled to the front from the back of the store,weakly lifting a hand to press it to the glass. But clearly she could only holdthe position for so long before her hand slipped, leaving streaks of brightred.

Sia knelt and pressed her fingertips to the door. “Is thisreal?” she asked, just as the machete sliced across her back.

* * * *

She had pulled over, spurring Donovan to drivefaster. There were no hotels near where her tracker seemed to sit on thehighway between exits. She hadn’t slept all night. Maybe she just couldn’t goany farther without catching some Zs, but the interstate was no place to dothat.

Of course, these apps were not always accurate. He hopedshe’d exited earlier and was pulled over on a side road. He tried calling, butshe rejected it. Rejected him.

His phone rang, and he picked up, only a little disappointedthat it wasn’t the doc. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“I am,” Teacup whispered. “Kind of. I’m in some kind of filecloset.”

“Why are you in a file closet?”

“Because I’m supposed to be in class. Duh.”

Not one of his finer moments. “What’d you find out?”

“Okay, the Hendersons are visiting relatives in NewHampshire.”

“Really? They don’t seem like the New Hampshire type.”

After a long pause, she asked, “What’s the New Hampshiretype?”

“That’s a great question. What else do you have?”

“Well, their son, Benji, didn’t go with them because offootball.”

“So, he should have been home?”

“I think he’s staying with a friend—a fellow footballplayer. I’m not a hundred percent on that front. Either way, there hasn’t beenanyone admitted to the nearby hospitals fitting his description, and he hasn’tbeen reported missing, so that’s good.”

“It is.”

“But here’s the strange part.”

Donovan tilted his head in interest.

“Benji Henderson almost died five years ago on the very sameday the doc was attacked.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He was playing with some friends near a river and felloff a bridge, breaking his neck.”

“He survived a broken neck?”

“And a drowning. Apparently, the cold water saved his life.According to the article, he was submerged for almost forty-five minutes beforethe rescue team got there and dragged him out.”

“So, he survived both a broken neck and drowning. What arethe odds of that?”