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  “It’s one o’clock in the afternoon,” Remmie said. “You gonna start drinking already?”

  Anthony hurled Remmie a bottom-shelf-hedonist gaze as he opened the Thrifty Light one-handed. A fountain of beer spurted into the air, followed by tiny buds of expanding bubbles that trickled over and dripped to the floor. He gave her another once-over and took a swig, downing at least half the can in one gulp.

  “I’m drinkin’ because I don’t have to work today.” Anthony turned to Kyle. “What is this? You find this girl at a church social or something? She’s insulting me. You should never let your woman treat your friends like that.”

  Remmie folded her arms, her eyes on Kyle.

  “Goddammit,” Kyle said. “If you two are going to hook up just do it! But I don’t want to know anything about it. I like you, Remmie, but I don’t have that attitude”—Kyle pointed at Anthony, wiggling his finger—“that!”

  Anthony casually took another swig of beer, finishing the can.

  “Are you insane?” Remmie said. “I’m not hooking up with that!” Anthony was the kind of guy who claimed to bed every girl he met. And Kyle was apparently the kind of guy who believed him. The only reason she didn’t knee Anthony in the nuts was that they needed to know about the guys who came to his door. Something Kyle had apparently forgotten about already.

  There was another knock at the door and Remmie felt as though ice crystals were forming on her skin.

  Kyle leapt to the door, but Anthony pushed him aside and looked through the peephole.

  “Those are the guys that came by earlier,” Anthony said.

  Now Remmie pushed past Anthony and looked. There were a couple of average-height, boxy young guys, a surfer blond and a bass-player-bushy brunet. They were dressed in white shirts and what appeared to be slacks, like a couple of religious types ready to share the path to redemption. There was another knock and she stepped back from the door.

  A voice came from outside. “We know you’re there. We just want to talk.”

  “Should we open the door?” Anthony said.

  “No,” Remmie whispered.

  “Why not? And why are you whispering?”

  From the way he spoke, Remmie was sure that the beer Anthony had lifted wasn’t his first that morning. She put her hand on his chest, blocking his path to the door. “No.”

  He looked down at her hand, grinning as he stepped back and leered at Kyle. He appeared mortified, yet oblivious to the fact that possibly armed and dangerous strangers were on the other side of a flimsy door. Remmie was thinking of making a run for the window.

  Wait. They’d never bothered to lock—

  The doorknob turned and the door burst open. The three jumped backward as if knocked by the impact of a shock wave. The men stepped in, blank looks on their faces, and shut the door.

  “Hey, you guys can’t just walk in here,” Anthony said.

  The brunet guy snatched Anthony’s wrist, twisted his arm, and threw him to the floor.

  “I have a bad disc in my back,” Anthony said, his voice suddenly leaping an octave.

  The blond guy tossed Kyle on the couch. Remmie thought of screaming but then remembered how little it had helped to scream at the Thursday Twilight.

  Shooting would be much more effective.

  Her arm snagged the backpack from the kitchen counter on her way toward the bedroom. She slammed the door and barreled over the bed, reaching into the backpack. The blond guy followed her with speed, almost breaking the door down, but she was quicker. She pointed the gun at his crotch, her limp finger shaky over the trigger.

  He stopped in mid stride, like he was posing as a soccer trophy. It would be easy to pull the trigger, her finger almost beyond her power.

  “Everything okay in there, Rich?” the brunet guy called from the other room.

  Rich smiled through narrow teeth. Remmie took a step toward him. He stepped back.

  “Turn around and walk, Rich,” she said.

  They returned to the living area. Both Kyle and Anthony were sitting on the couch, looking like schoolboys lined up for the paddle.

  The brunet man eyeballed the gun like he’d just eaten at a restaurant and realized he didn’t have his wallet. He looked at Rich like he was the guy who’d stolen the wallet.

  “It’s okay, Jack.” Rich seemed calm, too calm, bulbous eyes unblinking.

  Remmie’s mind suddenly jumped to what Victor said about the Dames controlling people.

  Anthony looked at the gun. “Oh, thank God—”

  “Shut up,” Remmie said.

  Kyle approached Remmie with a sort of reverent fervor on his face, like she was the Virgin Mary.

  She said to Kyle, “You too. I’m in the driver’s seat now and I’m going to get some answers.” She pointed the gun between Rich’s eyes. “Both of you step in front of the fridge. And keep your hands where I can see them. Now.”

  She wondered if the gun was loaded. Or, if that safety thing was engaged. It didn’t matter; the two men didn’t know either and weren’t likely to play the odds.

  Kyle and Anthony stepped to either side of her.

  “Why are you here?” Remmie said to the intruders. “What do you want?”

  They shared a look, hesitant.

  “Victor,” Rich said. “What did he tell you?”

  “That’s not an answer to my question.”

  She stomped her foot. Jack flinched at the noise. Kyle and Anthony flinched too. Rich was unwavering.

  “We’re interested in what Victor’s interested in,” Rich said. “We’re interested in what he knows . . . what he told you.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You know,” Jack said. “What’s present in all of us.”

  Her gun hand started trembling. Jack’s confirmation of Victor’s claim hit her like a fall into iceberg waters. What was really happening? Was Victor telling the truth? Or were these all inmates from Twelve Virgins? The guy at the warehouse had had a gun. These guys pushed their way in. They got physical. Whatever was really going on it wasn’t a joke, and whatever the truth was, it couldn’t be good.

  “We need to call the cops, now,” she said.

  “They can’t help you,” Rich said. “And you’ve already committed acts that make you more a target to them than we could ever be.”

  “You should just tell us what you know,” Jack said, “come with us, and maybe we can strike a deal if you can get us to Victor.”

  “Right,” Kyle said. “And what happens to us, then?”

  Rich and Jack shared a look that made Remmie’s lip quiver. She thought about what a bad decision maker she was, in every area of her life. She thought about how she never acted when she needed to. She looked at Kyle.

  It didn’t look like any good decisions would be coming from that quarter.

  “Let’s go,” Remmie said. “Through the bedroom in case there are more of them.”

  Remmie stood unmoving as Kyle and Anthony ran to the bedroom. Kyle yanked open the window. Remmie took a step back, gun still trained on the two men. Then she abruptly lowered her aim and pulled the trigger.

  The recoil threw her arm back. She’d put a bullet through the refrigerator door. Rich and Jack dropped to the floor, their hands over their heads.

  It would do. Remmie motored to the window.

  They all jumped out and ran toward the parking lot. Remmie held the gun at her chest with both hands, hoping nobody would notice it. She stopped at the driver’s side door of the Trans Am.

  “I’m driving,” Remmie said.

  “This your car?” Anthony said. “You’ve got to be kidding—”

  “Shut up,” Remmie said.

  “Shotgun,” Anthony said.

  “No, I get—” Kyle said.

  “Both in the back,” Remmie said. “Now!”

  She jumped into the car and hit the unlock button for the passenger door. Anthony pounded at the window.

  “It’s unlocked!” she said.

  Anthony
jerked the door open, pulled the front seat forward, and tumbled into the back. Kyle pushed the seat back and hopped in the front passenger seat. Just like she’d hoped he would.

  “Hey, that’s not—” Anthony said.

  “Shut up!” Remmie handed Kyle the gun and shoved the car in reverse, then sped to the street as Rich and Jack emerged from the building and stood in the courtyard like Buckingham Palace Guards.

  Remmie threw the car onto Dane Avenue, shrieking the tires and running a red light. The car moved like a sidewinder in the desert, and she took frequent turns to ensure there was no opportunity to be chased. Her fingers began to go numb, her breaths short and abrupt.

  “Should I call the cops?” Anthony said.

  “No,” Remmie said. “Those guys were right. We’ve got to avoid them. We’ll figure out what to do when I’m confident that we’re not being followed. I’m not sure what to believe at this point.”

  Kyle caught Remmie’s eye, nodding his head toward the back seat. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have Malclenersy.”

  Remmie thought Kyle wanted Anthony out of the car for jealousy reasons. Then she realized that if what Victor had said was true, then Anthony was under control. She didn’t know what that meant, but it could be bad. How did it all work?

  No, she wouldn’t allow herself to start believing Victor’s crazy story.

  “Who’s MacKen . . . clenzie?” Anthony said.

  “Shut up and let me drive,” Remmie said.

  FIFTEEN

  REMMIE’S PHONE VIBRATED on the center console. She looked over at Kyle.

  “I just felt my phone vibrate too,” he said.

  As Kyle fiddled with his phone, she wondered what to do. They were headed down Incredulous Parkway, which shot through the middle of town. Every few miles the scenery would repeat itself, same stores, same fast food. Like her life had been until Victor had showed up.

  “It’s directions,” Kyle said. “Victor. I hope.”

  Remmie remained silent, processing all that had happened. She thought of calling her dad, but would that put him in danger? She didn’t know enough about what was going on to know if the risk was worth it. And Victor knew so much about their illness. And he had seemed to believe what he was saying. And he certainly didn’t seem to be in cahoots with Rich and Jack, or the guy from the warehouse. She was at a loss as to what to do.

  She noticed the fuel was below a quarter tank. That was something she could fix.

  “Remmie, what are we going to do?” Kyle said.

  “Anthony,” Remmie said. “What all did those guys say to you?”

  “They didn’t say shit, honest. They only said they were interested in the whereabouts of Kyle and Victor.”

  “When did you talk to them?” Kyle said.

  “This morning . . . before you stopped by,” Anthony said.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Kyle said. “You just said the cops had been by.”

  “The cops came by too, but that was last night. Those guys, Rich and Jack, told me not to say anything.” Anthony pushed his face between the seats. “I didn’t realize you were mixed up in criminal shit, so it’s not my fault.”

  Remmie looked at Kyle. “Would that have been before we met up this morning?”

  “Yeah,” Kyle said. “But what does . . . oh.”

  Remmie pulled into a gas station. As she stopped at an open pump, her eyes rotated to Kyle’s lap. He still held the gun.

  “Please hide that,” she said.

  Kyle eyed the gun like he’d forgotten it was there. “I’ll stick it in the glove compartment.”

  “No. What if we get stopped by the cops? We’ll need to get in there.”

  Kyle pulled the registration from the glove compartment, slapped it on the center console, and put the gun in. Then he hinged his face forward with water balloon eyes. “If we get stopped you just need the registration, and here it is.”

  “Okay, that’ll do.” She wanted to toss him a clever retort, but he was right. She grabbed her phone and looked at the text: “Go west up the interstate and exit south on the Ravdale County service road. Go left about a mile down on the old gravel pit turnoff. Drive to the top and park.”

  “What are we going to do?” Kyle said.

  Remmie still felt lost. The thought of going to the cops felt like going to the principal’s office to report some kids who had taken a prank too far, something that she’d initially been involved in. It had happened to her as a girl and she never did go to the principal’s office and everything had turned out okay. She and Kyle had broken the law, possibly, going into that warehouse, pointing guns at people, touching guns that might have a criminal history. And what would they tell the cops? That this guy claimed there was an alien conspiracy? That a couple of guys burst into Kyle’s apartment and manhandled them?

  Two choices remained: run scared or meet Victor.

  “What do you think, Kyle?” Remmie said, thinking his odds angle might actually help guide her to a decision.

  “I’ve thought through it, and I think the odds dictate we should meet Victor. We’ve got nothing to lose that we probably haven’t already lost. Something shady is definitely going on and it’s way bigger than us. Victor seems to be on the safest side of it all . . . But I don’t know what the truth is.”

  “I agree with Kyle. We should meet Victor,” Anthony said.

  “I didn’t ask you,” Remmie said. “I’m not so sure you should even be with us. Victor may not want you there.”

  “Hey, you got me into this. You gonna dump me to the wolves? What am I supposed to do?”

  “Fine.” Remmie didn’t have the capacity to deal with Anthony at that moment. The decision had been made, and she was just moving forward. The repeated, confining cycles of her life would now be broken.

  She noticed her fingers tapping that pattern on her knee, and a shard of gloom tore down her throat. As she stepped out to pump the gas, a collective array of goose bumps spread over her exposed skin, resisting a mild chill in the air. She was reminded that it was only March 1. It would get colder as they drove into the mountains.

  The mountains, a change of atmosphere. She forced her thoughts to more lighthearted things. Maybe they could grab some food. It would be fun. Maybe she’d play with the boys a little—flirt with Anthony and watch Kyle squirm. A feeling of sexual power melted her goose bumps. She’d never thought she was much to look at. It was nice to be wanted by Kyle and Anthony.

  The gas pump clicked. A breeze wafted up her body. She never had gotten a chance to take a shower. She wished they sold panties at gas station convenience stores. And, hey, maybe they did.

  She poked her head into the car. “I’m going inside. You guys want anything?”

  “I’ll take a twenty-ounce Turbo Energy Ale if they got it,” Anthony said. “Oh, and a Huddington’s Cream Pie and some Mountain Spuds Old Style Kettle Chips, butter-sausage flavor.”

  “You sure you don’t want a chili cheese dog and some nachos too?”

  Anthony didn’t catch the sarcasm. “Some nachos would be nice, with jalapeño cheese and a dollop of chili. Everything else I said too, though.”

  It was a level of self-absorbed ignorance she’d never seen before. She would grab him the chips, maybe, but nothing more.

  “I’d like a cream pie too, please,” Kyle said, as he offered up a crisp five-dollar bill. “This is for the pie and to help with gas.”

  “Thanks, Kyle.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She flung an expectant gaze at Anthony. He forced a jackhammer burp.

  “You’re a cesspool,” she said.

  She headed inside to look over the snacks. The Peanut-Tee Goodness bars caught her eye. Her dad had introduced her to Peanut-Tees when she was a little girl. She thought of how he’d always been good to her—respected, supported, and trusted her. She didn’t deserve any of it. She felt like a failure—living at home, skipping college, stocking dulse and raw honey at a health food grocery store, s
ick most of her life, and wholly dependent on her parents. She wished she had gone to work that morning, or better still, stayed in bed.

  But none of that mattered now. She was in the situation she was in and would have to buck up and deal with it.

  There was a display of maxi pads at the end of the snack aisle. She grabbed a pack and headed into the bathroom. The pad would take her soiled panties out of the equation and set her up for a few more squirts if need be without consequence. She stuck the pad to her pants and threw her panties in the trash, then bought the snacks, and headed to the car.

  She handed cream pies to the boys. Kyle thanked her with sincere eyes.

  Anthony looked at his cream pie with a befuddled amusement. “Didn’t they have any Turbo Energy Ale?”

  “You’re welcome, Kyle.”

  She maneuvered the car onto the road, wondering if Anthony had cash. Flipping the bill for him all day wasn’t in the plan.

  “So we’re meeting Victor then?” Kyle said.

  “Yeah,” Remmie said. “We’ll take a nice break up there, then we’ll clear things up down here. Maybe they’re all a bunch of loonies that escaped from Twelve Virgins. If that’s true, then we’ll be okay. And if any of what Victor says is true, then we’re better off with him.”

  “You don’t sound entirely convinced about Victor,” Anthony said.

  “I’m not, but that’s what we’re doing.”

  “What did Victor tell you? What do you know?” Anthony said, his words suddenly echoing Rich’s and Jack’s.

  Remmie and Kyle shared a look. Kyle appeared to want to say something, but he kept his mouth shut. Remmie turned on the radio and focused on the road.

  “We don’t know nothing,” Kyle said.

  SIXTEEN

  IT WAS 3 p.m. as the trio began their ascent on the gravel pit turnoff. Kyle peeked out the passenger window. There was an abysmal drop-off. His heart thumped and his feet hummed like a monk’s chant. Snow flurries began to kiss the windshield.

  Turning to Remmie, he was about to demand they turn around. But Remmie’s own determination imparted to him an avalanche of confidence. He had to be strong for her. After all, she could be the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. Yes, that thought would distract him from the ominous cliff on his right.