Crossing Bedlam (12 page)

“You should have told me you were awake, honey,” she whispers, running a finger along his scars. Taking his hands, she stops him from touching anything more than her arms and face. “I would have put clothes on because I don’t want to make you too excited. The doctor said you need to get some rest and avoid exerting yourself. Are you feeling better? You’ve been having a rough week with your condition.”

“What condition?” Lloyd asks, enjoying the view when the woman goes to put a white robe over her apron. He runs a hand through his hair and finally realizes that there is a ring on his finger. “More importantly, who are you? Last thing I remember, I was in a bar talking to a big trucker and drinking. Everything got fuzzy after a few hours. Now I’m in suburbia with, pardon my language, a fucking beautiful woman wearing very little in the kitchen.”

“That’s so sweet,” she replies, returning to give him a peck on the lips. She lets Lloyd’s hands wander a little around her sides, but clasps them behind her back when he tries to move them under her clothes. “My name was Emily Stein and now I’m Emily Tenay. You’ve been here for a month and I’ve been taking care of you. We fell in love and two days ago you decided that we should be married. I was so happy and a local preacher did the service. As for your condition, you were slipped tainted alcohol by that trucker who stripped you of all your belongings. He brought you out here and left you for dead at the abandoned high school. The poison has made a mess of your memories and your heart is weakened, but you’re getting stronger every day. I hope that you can leave the house soon.”

His headache returning, Lloyd frees himself from Emily and takes a seat at the small kitchen table. The way his body aches and his mind continually loses focus makes him think there is a good chance she is being honest. Examining his arms, he sees areas where intravenous needles have been injected and secured. The spots are tender and sore, so Lloyd assumes he has only recently been taken off the fluids. His concentration breaks when Emily sits on his lap and massages his neck, her breath tickling his skin. Sweat trickles down his face and his heart beats so hard that he expects it to explode, the sensation ending when his pouting wife moves to another chair.

“That was intense and kind of sad at the end,” Lloyd admits, rubbing his chest until the pain goes away. Taking another sip of water, he gladly accepts a homemade cookie from the plate that is pushed toward him. “Not sure why I can’t go outside. Is this place radioactive and I’ve yet to build an immunity? I’d ask if you have a tail or some kind of mutation, but I saw enough of you to see that you’re perfect. Going by my luck lately, I’ll guess that my condition makes it so that we haven’t consummated anything.”

“We tried, but you fell unconscious for two days before we could get very far,” Emily explains with a tired sigh. Adjusting her robe to show more cleavage, she leans forward to brace her hands on Lloyd’s legs. “I know this is hard for you and most of our time together is nothing more than a blur. If it helps your mood, we bathe together and I try to do little stripteases before we go to bed. I promise to do a special one tonight since you’re having a lucid day. Maybe we can push a little further if our luck holds out.”

“Sorry, I stopped listening after you mentioned being hard, came back for striptease, and then all I heard were breasts,” the grinning man states, mildly surprised that the woman blushes and turns away. Inching his chair closer, he tries to touch her bare legs and stops when his body shudders. “What happens if I try to go outside? This condition is very vague, which brings up questions that I can’t hold onto for very long. It doesn’t help that your eyes are amazing. At least the few times I’ve looked at them.”

“You would become overstimulated if you stepped outside,” Emily says, rising from her chair to put the dishes back in the cabinets. Fearing that the view of the backyard will cause trouble, she draws the curtains and loosens her robe to distract her husband. “Not that it is much better with me here, but I can help you maintain control. Wandering away means you could pass out somewhere and make me a widow. Can I trust you to stay in the house when I’m away? I work at the local supermarket to bring in food and fuel for our generator. There are puzzles and plenty of books in the library. If you prefer television then I have a decent DVD collection in the den.”

Lloyd rubs his eyes and yawns, his energy already fading. “Thanks. Actually, I have one last question. I was traveling with a young blonde that is more like an adopted sister than anything you have to worry about. Do you know what happened to her?”

“She seems to have gone on without you.”

“Then I guess I’ll enjoy the sexy part of my story and see if I return.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Never mind. You said something about a striptease?”

Emily smirks and takes her husband by the hands to lead him up to the bedroom, her thumbs rubbing his knuckles the entire time. She lets the robe fall to the floor as they move toward the large, soft bed and passionately kiss. Lloyd slips his hands under her apron while she runs her fingers around his waistband. Before anything can happen, a burst of pain erupts in the serial killer’s chest and he collapses onto the mattress.

*****

The smell of hamburgers wafts out of the previously abandoned fast food restaurant, which the Border Collies motorcycle gang calls home. At least thirty bikes are in the dirt-covered parking lot, several of the vehicles having sidecars for their tail-wagging mascots. Not an overly aggressive group, they specialize in local convoy protection and indulge in occasional raids when not kidnapping people for Emily. This lifestyle has helped them maintain a large membership and constant supplies, beef and fuel being their two favorite payments. A single tent is the only other structure besides the restaurant and the dogs rest in its shade with their own food placed within a collection of decorative bowls. If lonely or hungry, the animals wander into the building through a carefully installed doggie door. Every time one of the mascots enters, the people inside cheer and have a drink while the real Border Collie approaches whoever is free to give them attention.

Smoking a cigarette away from the others, Jackman sits in a booth and watches his gang celebrate their latest job. It was an easy raid that he had to miss while delivering Lloyd and the trucker. He trusts the men and women he rides with to operate in his absence, which is why he took an extra day to relax in suburbia. They will be going back to Emily’s territory soon in order to take advantage of the warm showers and soft beds that are a nice change from lumpy bedrolls and cold lakes. He runs a small comb through his gray hair and gives special attention to his thick muttonchops. When a young woman in denim offers him a frothy beer, the gang leader smiles and pushes it back to her while patting the keys that dangle from his leather jacket’s pocket. Closing his eyes, Jackman lets the tension of his position wash away and imagines driving the open road with no responsibility. Before the collapse, he was an accountant who dreamed of riding around the country after a well-earned retirement. With the IRS being nuked and taxes being a local affair that involved trading goods, the middle-aged man has decided it is the perfect time to follow his dreams.

The next round of burgers is being served when all of the dogs come rushing into the building. Excited and bounding around, it takes the bikers several minutes to calm the animals down. Jackman scowls and glances outside to see what has the mascots riled, his eyes widening when he sees his motorcycle has been moved a few yards away from the parking lot. Sliding out of the booth, the gang leader stops when he sees that everyone is looking out the other side of the restaurant. Pushing his way through the crowd, he sees that somebody has written a message on the towering sign. Neon red letters spell out ‘Let’s Be Friends’ and there is no indication of how the writer got up the pole. Minutes pass and nothing happens, so everyone goes back to their celebrating. The dogs remain in the restaurant, but stick to the kitchen where they devour whatever falls on the floor. Jackman is the last person to go back to his seat, his eyes darting around the gathering of people. There is something off about his surroundings, but he simply cannot put his finger on the difference.

“You took something of mine three days ago,” Cassidy says as she joins the gang leader in his booth. Hungry after days of barely eating, she takes the man’s burger and puts her feet on the table. “You stole a tall man with black hair, orange pants, and I think he was wearing a shirt with some clawed guy on it. Anyway, I’d like him back. We have a job to finish and I can’t get very far without him. So tell me who you sold him to and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“As if I’m going to be threatened by a skinny thing like you,” Jackman responds, clapping his hands to bring attention to the intruder. Guns of all sizes are aimed at the blonde, who continues to delicately eat her burger. “You must be in love with him if you’re willing to throw your life away. Now I’ll give you one chance to walk out the door. After that, I’ll move out of the way and my people will turn you into chopped meat.”

“There are worse ways to go,” she responds, spinning the pin of a grenade on her finger. A murmur of concern runs through the crowd and one of the dogs whines from the kitchen. “I may have hidden a little present in the building along with a nitrous tank that I took off one of your bikes. They aren’t exactly in the same place, but close enough that when the grenade goes boom, the gas will too. It’s fucking amazing how many hiding places there are in this place for something as small as this. You might open a door and find the grenade falling to the floor or jostle a table that frees it from where it’s stuck. So as I said in my message outside, we should be friends. By the way, I like your motorcycle. The black and red design looks better than whatever that thing on the back of your jacket is. Not sure if it’s supposed to be a horse or a starving elephant.”

“It’s a deer, but the antlers were torn off,” the gang leader replies, handing his keys to a lieutenant. He points to where his bike is sitting in the dirt, making sure the larger man knows what he is asking. “I hope you realize that your friend would have been left alone if he kept his mouth shut. Our special client requests that we bring her unmarried men with last names. Not that a man like Lloyd Tenay should go around crowing his identity. Amazing, that a serial killer has a friend out here. Figured you were like him, but didn’t expect there to be a sense of attachment.”

“We have a business partnership, but he does kind of grow on you.”

“He would have to if you’re willing to challenge me for him.”

“Like I said, I can’t do my job alone.”

“Of course. A man like that must be very useful and worthy of your concern.”

“Stalling isn’t a good idea.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I have more surprises that I might forget if you keep dodging my question.”

The revving of Jackman’s motorcycle makes the gang leader nervous and he watches out the window as his man starts to drive it back to the parking lot. The bike makes it a few feet before it explodes and bounces along as a fireball. Pieces of debris crack the east side windows, one of them shattering as an exhaust pipe javelins through the pane. Rolling behind the motorcycle, the rider’s flaming helmet slows down and stops facing the building. A woman screams when she sees that the head is still inside, wide eyes open as if the man knew what was about to happen at the last second.

“I had a box of grenades and left several of them in randomly chosen bikes,” Cassidy announces, tapping her finger on the table. Taking a covered lighter out of her pocket, she casually flicks it open and closed. “This delay is costing me. Had to call an old friend back east and use a favor to keep a Half-Dead off my ass. Still haven’t met the monster, but I’d like to keep things that way. So tell me everything about this client and how she can contain a man like Lloyd. If I like what I hear, I’ll tell you about the other surprise I put in the building’s sprinkler system.”

“You’re definitely a creature of this new world,” Jackman says, amazed by the cunning and viciousness of the young woman. He is about to light a cigarette, but stops when he remembers the threat. “Our client’s name is Emily Stein and she lives in Hillsdale, Michigan. It’s a nice town that’s maybe half an hour north of Pioneer. She’s the only one there, but there’s plenty of food and water from the stores. We bring her specialty supplies and men in return for being allowed to stay in the town between jobs. All I know about her past is that she was going to be married before the collapse. Her husband disappeared in the chaos and the rest of the town attempted to leave for Canada. Probably killed and made part of a plague swamp by now. Anyway, that’s all I know about her.”

Cassidy sighs and takes a bite of her meal, only considering that it may be poisoned after swallowing. “That isn’t all you know. Why does she want these men and how is she keeping them under control? Lloyd would have killed her and wandered back by now if there wasn’t something keeping him there.”

“Could be that Emily is gorgeous and he’s hoping to bed her,” the gang leader bluntly explains while taking an offered drink. With his bike destroyed, he figures he can enjoy some alcohol and not worry about having to drive later. “I’d be tempted myself, but she’s too young and it’s not good to mix business with pleasure. That and she’s fucking crazy. Every man is given a house and she pretends to have married them. All she wants is a husband, which is why she wants those with last names. If the victim doesn’t cause enough trouble to get killed, she plays housewife until she gets bored and moves on to a new victim. The old one is locked in the house and left to starve to death. She keeps them under control by giving them a fake medical condition. She knows how to make this poison that makes their adrenal glands sensitive or something. All I know is that any stimulation makes her victims think they are having a heart attack. We bring them in groggy and confused, so it isn’t too hard for her to trick them.”