But he wasn't going to do that. Oh, no. Because first, she had to understand exactly what was going on. She had to understand that he made the rules.
Beside him Ted was remarkably steady on his feet, almost excited. Faint strains of music from the jukebox came from inside, the neon rope that spelled out the name of the bar painting their faces with a reddish glow.
Abee nodded at Ted before raising his leg to kick open the door.
Dawson slowed the car to a crawl, every nerve ending on high alert. In the distance, he could just make out the lights of Oriental. He was overcome by a sudden sense of deja vu, as if he already knew what was coming but was powerless to stop it, even if he wanted to.
Dawson leaned over the wheel. If he squinted, he could make out the convenience store, the one he'd passed on his morning jog. The spire of the First Baptist Church, illuminated by floodlights, seemed to hover above the business district. The halogen streetlights cast an eerie glow on the macadam, highlighting the route that led to Tuck's, taunting him with the possibility that he might never make it there. The stars he'd seen before had vanished, the sky above the town was almost unnaturally black. Up ahead on the right squatted the low-slung building that had replaced the original copse of trees, almost exactly central to the curve in the highway at the edge of town.
Dawson scanned the landscape closely, waiting for... something. Almost immediately, he was rewarded by a flash of movement beyond the driver's side window.
He was there, standing just outside the edges of the headlights' beams, in the meadow that bordered the highway. The dark-haired man.
The ghost.
It happened so fast, Alan couldn't even comprehend it.
There he was, chatting up Candy--or trying to, anyway--as she was getting ready to drop off another beer, when all of a sudden the front door of the bar was shoved open with such force that the upper half was torn from its hinge.
Before Alan had time to flinch, Candy had already begun to react. Recognition flashed across her face, the beer bottle halting in mid-delivery. Candy mouthed the words Oh, shit before she suddenly let go of the bottle.
By the time the bottle burst into splinters on the concrete floor, Candy had already turned and was sprinting away from him, a scream rising in her throat.
Behind him, a roar echoed off the wall.
"WHO IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!"
Alan shrank into himself as Candy raced for the far end of the bar, toward the manager's office. Alan had been coming to the Tidewater long enough to know that the manager's office had a reinforced steel door with dead bolts, because that was where the safe was kept.
Cringing, Alan watched Abee zero in on her as he rushed past him, chasing Candy's blond ponytail to the end of the bar. Abee, too, knew where she was going.
"OH, NO, YOU DON'T, YOU BITCH!"
Candy threw a terrified look over her shoulder before grabbing the doorjamb of the office. With a cry, she catapulted herself through the opening.
She swung the door closed just as Abee planted a hand and lunged over the bar. Empty bottles and glasses went flying. The register crashed to the floor, but he got his legs out in front of him.
Almost.
He hit the floor, stumbling, knocking liquor bottles off the shelf below the mirror as though they were bowling pins.
They barely slowed him down. In a flash, he was solidly on his feet and at the manager's door. Alan saw everything, each scene unfolding individually with surreal, violent precision. But when his thoughts caught up with what was actually happening, panic flooded every inch of his body.
This isn't a movie.
Abee began to pound on the door, hurling himself against it, his voice a hurricane. "OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!"
This is real.
He could hear Candy screaming hysterically from the locked office.
Oh, my God...
In the rear of the bar, the guys who'd been playing pool suddenly bolted toward the emergency exit, dropping their pool cues as they ran. It was the slapping sound the cues made as they hit the concrete floor that caused Alan's heart to hiccup in his chest, kicking into gear a primitive instinct for survival.
He had to get out of here.
He had to get out of here now!
Alan shot off the stool like he'd been jabbed with an ice pick, sending it toppling backward and grabbing at the bar to keep from falling down. Turning toward the cockeyed front door, he could see the parking lot beyond. The main road out front beckoned, and he surged toward it.
He was only vaguely aware that Abee was pounding and shouting that he was going to kill Candy if she didn't open the door. He barely noted the overturned tables and chairs. The only thing that mattered was reaching that opening and getting the hell out of the Tidewater as fast as he possibly could.
He heard his sneakers hitting the concrete floor, but the cockeyed door seemed to be getting no closer. Like one of those doors at a carnival funhouse...
From far away, he heard Candy scream, "Leave me alone!"
He didn't see Ted at all, nor did he see the chair that Ted heaved in his direction until it smashed into his legs, sending him sprawling. Alan instinctively tried to break his fall, but he couldn't stop the momentum. His forehead hit the floor hard, the impact stunning him. He saw bursts of white light before everything went black.
Only slowly did the world come into focus again.
He could taste blood as he struggled to untangle his legs from the chair and turn over. He felt a boot step down hard on the side of his face, the heel cutting sharply into his jaw as his head was pressed to the floor.
Above him, Crazy Ted Cole stood pointing a gun right at him, looking faintly amused.
"Just where do you think you're going?"
Dawson pulled the car to the side of the road. He half-expected the figure to vanish in the shadows as he stepped out of the car, but the dark-haired man stood in place, surrounded by knee-high grass. He was perhaps fifty yards away, close enough for Dawson to notice the windbreaker rippling in the evening breeze. At a sprint, even fully clothed and running through high grass, Dawson could reach the man in less than ten seconds.
Dawson knew he wasn't imagining the stranger. He could feel him, could sense him as plainly as the beating of his heart. Without taking his eyes from the man, Dawson stretched his arm into the car and turned off the engine, killing the headlights. Even in the darkness, Dawson could see the splash of the man's white shirt, framed by the open windbreaker. His face, however, was too vague to make out, as always.
Dawson stepped from the road, onto the narrow gravel median beside it.
The stranger didn't move.
Dawson ventured farther into the meadow grass, and still the figure remained, unmoving.
Dawson kept his eyes trained on him as he slowly began to close the distance. Five steps. Ten. Fifteen. Had it been daylight, he knew he would have seen the man plainly. He would have been able to make out the distinct features of his face; but in the darkness, those details remained obscured.
Closer now. Dawson moved deliberately, feeling a wave of disbelief wash over him. He was as close as he'd ever been to the ghostlike figure, near enough to reach him in a single burst.
He continued to watch, debating when to break into his run. But the stranger seemed to read Dawson's mind. He took a step backward.
Dawson paused. The figure paused as well.
Dawson took another step; he watched as another step backward was taken. He took two quick steps, his movement mirrored precisely by the dark-haired man.
Throwing caution to the wind, Dawson broke into a run. The dark-haired man turned then and began to run as well. Dawson sped up, but the distance between them stayed eerily constant, the windbreaker flapping as if trying to taunt him.
Dawson accelerated and the stranger veered, changing direction. No longer running away from the road, he began to run parallel to it, and Dawson followed suit. They were heading toward Oriental, toward the blocky squa
t building at the head of the curve.
The curve...
Dawson wasn't gaining, but the dark-haired man wasn't pulling farther ahead, either. He'd stopped changing directions, and for the first time Dawson had the sense that the man had some distinct purpose in mind as he led him forward. There was something disconcerting about that, but lost in the chase, Dawson had no time to consider it.
Ted's boot pressed down hard on the side of Alan's face. Alan felt his ears being crushed from both directions and could feel the heel of the boot cutting painfully into his jaw. The gun pointed at his head appeared huge, crowding everything else from his vision, and his bowels suddenly went watery. I'm going to die, he suddenly thought.
"I know you seen this," Ted said wiggling the gun but still keeping it aimed. "If I let you up, you ain't gonna try to run, are you?"
Alan tried to swallow, but his throat wasn't working. "No," he croaked out.
Ted shifted even more weight onto the boot. The pain was intense and Alan screamed. Both his ears were on fire and felt like they'd been flattened into paper-thin disks. Squinting up at Ted as he babbled for mercy, he noted that Ted's other arm was in some sort of cast and that his face was black and purple. Dimly, Alan found himself wondering what had happened to him.
Ted stepped back. "Get up," he said.
Alan struggled to untangle his leg from the chair and slowly got up, almost buckling as a sharp bolt shot through his knee. The open doorway was only a few feet away.
"Don't even think it," Ted snarled. He motioned to the bar. "Git."
Alan limped back toward the bar. Abee was still at the office door, cursing and hurling himself at it. Finally, Abee turned toward them.
Abee cocked his head to one side, staring, looking deranged. Alan's bowels went watery again.
"I've got your boyfriend out here!" he shouted.
"He's not my boyfriend!" Candy screamed back, but the sound was muffled. "I'm calling the police!"
By then, Abee was already walking toward him, around the bar. Ted kept the gun trained on Alan.
"You think the two of you could just run off?" Abee demanded.
Alan opened his mouth to answer, but terror robbed him of his voice.
Abee bent over, grabbing one of the fallen pool cues. Alan watched as Abee adjusted his grip on the cue, like a batter getting ready to walk to home plate, crazy and out of control.
Oh, God, please, no...
"You think I wouldn't find out? That I didn't know what you were planning? I saw the two of you on Friday night!"
Just a few steps away, Alan stood riveted, unable to move while Abee cocked back the pool cue. Ted took a half step backward.
Oh, God...
Alan choked out a response: "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Did she leave her car at your place?" Abee demanded. "Is that where it is?"
"What--I--"
Abee stepped toward him, swinging the cue, before Alan had the chance to finish. The cue smashed into his skull, making the world erupt in blinding starbursts before going black again.
Alan hit the floor as Abee swung the pool cue again, then again. Alan tried weakly to cover himself, hearing the sickening sound of his arm breaking. When the cue snapped in half, Abee swung his steel-toed boot hard into his face. Ted started kicking him in the kidneys, yielding bursts of white-hot agony.
As Alan began to scream, the beating began in earnest.
Running through the meadow grass, they were now closing in on the squat, ugly building. Dawson could see a few cars and trucks out front, and for the first time he noted a faint red glow above the entrance. Slowly, they'd begun to angle in that direction.
As the dark-haired stranger glided effortlessly ahead of him, Dawson felt a nagging sense of recognition. The relaxed position of the shoulders, the steady rhythm of his arms, the high-stepping cadence of the legs... Dawson had seen that particular gait before, and not just in the woods behind Tuck's house. He couldn't quite place it yet, but the knowledge hovered ever closer, like bubbles rising to the surface of the water. The man glanced over his shoulder, as if attuned to Dawson's every thought, and Dawson got his first clear glimpse of the stranger's features, knowing he'd seen the man before.
Before the explosion.
Dawson stumbled, but even as he righted himself, he felt a chill pass through him.
It wasn't possible.
It had been twenty-four years. Since then, he'd gone to prison and been released; he'd worked on oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico. He'd loved and lost, then loved and lost again, and the man who'd once taken him in had died of old age. But the stranger--because he was, and always had been, a stranger--hadn't aged at all. He looked exactly the same as he had on the night he'd been out running after seeing patients in his office, a day on which it had rained. It was him, and he could see it now: the surprised face Dawson had seen as he'd swerved off the road. He'd been carrying the load of tires that Tuck had needed, returning to Oriental--
It was here, Dawson remembered again. It was here where Dr. David Bonner, husband and father, had been killed.
Dawson drew a sharp breath and stumbled again, but the man seemed to have read his thoughts. He nodded once without smiling just as he reached the gravel drive of the parking lot. Facing forward again, he sped up, parallel now to the front of the building. Dawson felt the sweat as he stumbled into the parking lot behind him. Up ahead, the stranger--Dr. Bonner--had stopped running and was standing near the building's entrance, bathed in the neon sign's eerie red light.
Dawson drew near, focusing on Dr. Bonner, just as the ghost turned and entered the building.
Dawson sped up, bursting through the doorway of a dimly lit bar seconds later, but by then, Dr. Bonner was gone.
It took only an instant for Dawson to register the scene: the toppled tables and chairs, the muffled sound of a woman screaming in the background while the TV continued to blare. His cousins Ted and Abee bent over someone on the ground, beating him savagely, almost ritualistically, until they suddenly stopped to look up at him. Dawson caught a glimpse of the bloodied figure on the ground, recognizing him instantly.
Alan...
Dawson had studied the young man's face in countless photos over the years, but now he also noticed the striking resemblance to his father. The man Dawson had been seeing all these months, the man who'd led him here.
As he took in the scene, all went still. Ted and Abee froze, neither of them apparently able to believe that someone--anyone--had suddenly arrived. Their breaths came in rasps as they stared at Dawson like wolves interrupted during a feeding frenzy.
Dr. Bonner had saved him for a reason.
The thought rushed into his head in the same instant that Ted's eyes flashed with comprehension. Ted began to raise his gun, but by the time the trigger was pulled, Dawson was already diving out of the way, taking cover behind a table. He suddenly understood why he had been brought here--and perhaps even what his purpose had been all along.
With every gurgling breath, Alan felt as though he were being stabbed.
He couldn't move from the floor, but through his blurriness, he could just make out what was happening.
Ever since the stranger had burst into the bar, craning his head around wildly as if pursuing someone, Ted and Abee had quit beating him and for some reason turned their entire focus on the newcomer. Alan didn't understand it, but when he heard gunshots he curled himself into a ball and started to pray. The stranger had thrown himself behind some tables and Alan could no longer see him, but the next thing he knew, bottles of liquor were sailing over his head at Ted and Abee while gunshots ricocheted around the bar. He heard Abee cry out and the muted sound of cracking wood as pieces of a chair splintered around him. Ted had scrambled out of sight, but he could still hear his gun firing wildly.
As for himself, Alan was sure that he was dying.
Two of his teeth were on the floor and his mouth was filled with blood. He'd felt his ribs snapping as Abee had kick
ed him. The front of his pants was damp--either he'd wet himself or he'd started to bleed because of the blows to his kidney.
He distantly registered the sound of sirens, but convinced of his imminent demise, he couldn't summon the energy to care. He heard the banging of chairs and the clank of bottles. From somewhere far away, he heard Abee grunt as a bottle of liquor connected with something solid.
The stranger's feet raced past him toward the bar. Immediately thereafter, shouts were followed by a shot, shattering the mirror behind the bar. Alan felt the slivers of glass rain down, nicking his skin. Another shout and more scuffling. Abee began a high-pitched wail, the shriek ending abruptly with the sound of something being smashed against the floor.
Someone's head?
More scuffling. From his vantage point on the floor, Alan saw Ted stumble backward, narrowly missing stepping on Alan's foot. Ted was shouting something as he caught his balance, but Alan thought he heard a trace of alarm in his voice as another gunshot echoed through the small bar.
Alan squinched his eyes shut, then opened them again just as another chair came flinging through the air. Ted fired another wild shot toward the ceiling, and the stranger bull-charged him, driving Ted into the wall. A gun rattled across the floor as Ted was thrown to the side.
The man was on Ted as Ted tried to scramble away out of his sight line, but Alan couldn't move. Behind him, he heard the sound of fist against face, over and over... heard Ted shouting, the hammering against his chin making the sound rise and fall with the blows. Then Alan just heard the strikes, and Ted was silent. He heard another, then another and another, slowing.
Then there was nothing at all but the sound of a man's heavy breathing.
The howl of sirens was closer now, but Alan, on the floor, knew his rescue had come too late.
They killed me, he heard in his head as his vision turned black around the edges. Suddenly, he felt an arm grasp him around his waist and begin to lift.