Perennial (8 page)

“Alix?” the
garbled voice says. “Oh my God. Alix, are you okay? Please just open your eyes!
I’m so sorry. I never saw it coming.”

I
feel my left shoulder shaking and realize somebody’s trying to wake me up.
Lewis. The accident. I’m alive. Thank God.

“Hey,”
I say, opening my eyes. “I think I blacked out.”

“Oh
thank you, God,” Lewis says, running his palm against the side of my face. “Are
you okay?”

“I
think so.” I test my arms and legs, all of which feel good, but then I look at
Lewis and realize he’s still driving. “Wait. Why are we moving? Lewis, did you
flee the scene of the accident? That’s illegal. You can get in big troub—”

“Alix,
just listen and let me explain,” he interrupts. “The truck did a one-eighty,
and we stopped in the middle of the street. The car that hit us kept on going.
The one that was following us turned left and followed the one that hit us. They
took off fast, which makes me think they were working together. Nobody was
around, and I was worried they might come back, so yeah, I left the scene. Just
like they did.”

“Okay,”
I say, shaking the mental cobwebs out of my head and wondering how sore I’ll be
in the morning. “Don’t worry about it. How long was I out?”

“Not
long,” he says, eyes glued to the road as his free hand rubs my shoulder. “A
minute. Maybe less.”

“What
about the truck? How will you explain the damage to your grandpa?”

“I’m
not sure,” he says. “I’ll think of something, but I’m actually glad this thing was
built before airbags became standard. It’s running fine, but I think you’re
missing the point.”

“Which
is?”

“Somebody’s
trying really hard to keep you out of Oval City.”

We head
southbound on the I-75 Chrysler Freeway and exit at Mack Avenue less than
twenty minutes later. Turning left on Mack would take us into the relative
safety of the Eastern Market district, but tonight we have a different kind of Detroit
tourism in mind, and Lewis gives me a dubious look as he passes Mack and stays
on the Chrysler Service Drive.

Anybody
familiar with Detroit knows about the woeful state of its city services. If you
live in Detroit and need emergency police and/or medical assistance at your
residence, you’ll wait anywhere from thirty to sixty minutes before help
arrives. If you need streetlamps repaired, you’ll wait a lot longer. Poor city
services are probably the main reason the city’s population continues to plummet.
One thing I remember from my sophomore Michigan history class is that nearly
two million people lived in Detroit in 1950, but only about seven hundred
thousand call this troubled city home today. Dad says even that figure is
misleading, because most of the people who live here only do so because they can’t
afford to leave. Detroit is an angry city. Morale is in the basement.

For
all the little pockets of urban renewal that have popped up over the past
decade or so, Detroit is essentially a disassembled jigsaw puzzle. There are a
lot of different pieces to the city, but nothing brings them together anymore. For
example, it’s not a pedestrian-friendly city. Like Dad said, you can walk in
certain areas and feel safe, but those areas are few and far between. You can
take the city bus if you don’t own a car, but the city bus is a city service
and therefore notoriously unreliable. In fact, it’s common for the buses not to
show up. There are no subways or trolleys. There is this creaky old elevated
train thing called the People Mover, but it only runs in a small area of the
downtown business district. It’s useless to most residents and therefore empty
most of the time. I guess you could say the Detroit People Mover has never
really earned its name.

I’m
thinking about all of this as we head down the service drive because it
is
downright dark and creepy around here. My stomach is doing flips as we turn
right on a street called Wilkins, where Lewis parks the battered truck curbside.
There’s nothing around but darkness, overgrown fields, and abandoned buildings
tagged with graffiti. I don’t see any cars, and I find it hard to believe we’re
sitting in the middle of the modern Motor City. Honestly, it feels more like
some postapocalyptic warzone in Eastern Europe or something. The only evidence
of any life is the low hum of vehicles whipping along I-75 in the distance and
the twinkling lights of the waterfront buildings along the Detroit River to the
south.

“Is
this Oval City?” I ask, scanning both sides of the desolate street.

“There,”
Lewis says, cutting the headlights and pointing across the street, where four gutted
housing towers stand in the distance like hollowed-out giants. Single-story
structures dot the barren landscape as well, but it’s the graffiti-laden towers
that grab your attention. “It’s hard to believe a lot of good people used to
actually live here.”

“I
don’t see a single light.”

“You
won’t,” Lewis says, head on a swivel as he moves uneasily in his seat. “Unless
it’s a flashlight or a fire.”

“You
okay?”

“Not
really.” He clears his throat. “I haven’t been down here in almost three years.
I was always stoned out of my mind too. This is the first time I’ve been near
this place sober.”

“How
do you feel?” I reach for his hand and hold it.

“Thankful
but terrified,” he says, guiding my hand to the side of his soft but masculine
face and allowing it to rest there. It feels as if I’m touching the world’s
most perfect sculpture.

“Lewis,
can I ask you a question?”

“You
can ask me anything, Alix.”

“Is
something happening between us?”

He
thinks about it and finally nods, saying, “Yes. I think we both know
something’s happening between us.”

I
stare deep into his eyes, thinking that if my life ended at this very moment I
would die the happiest seventeen-year-old girl on the planet.

“Look
…” I trail off, unsure what to say. “I don’t know … it’s just that I’m
so new at this, okay? I’m new to all of this.” I laugh and shake my head to
make sure I’m not dreaming. “I’m sitting here in the middle of a dangerous city
I promised my dad I would never go to without him. I’m with a guy he’s never met,
a guy who just fled the scene of an accident, and I even flushed illegal drugs
down the toilet of my own house today.”

“Don’t
forget about the knife in your pocket, badass.”

“Exactly!”
I say, laughing.

Lewis
laughs too. “So you’re on some quest or something, okay? Just let it happen.
I’m here to help you and keep you safe. You wanted to see Oval City because you
know it has something to do with William’s death. Take a good look. There it
is. And this is as close as we’re getting today, so can we leave now?”

“Yes,”
I say, still touching his face. “Thanks for showing me.”

He
tilts his head to the right and leans toward me. Time seems to slow as he
brings his lips closer to my own. I follow his lead and lean forward to meet
him. He places his palms on either side of my face. My whole body tingles with
the kind of excitement I’ve only felt in my dreams about William. An amazing
feeling of warmth spreads through me as I realize what’s about to happen.

“Lewis?”
I whisper, our lips inches from touching.

“Alix?”
he says, smiling.

“No
games, okay?”

“What
do you mean?” His warm, minty breath washes over me.

“You
know what I mean,” I say. “Something tells me you have a lot of experience in
this department. I don’t. So don’t play games with me.”

“I
would never do anything to hurt you,” he says. “I promise.”

I
close my eyes and wait for him to take over.

And
that’s when something loud crashes onto the top of the truck with an enormous
bang, causing us to flinch and pull away from each other.

“Good
evening, young lovers.”

Terrified,
I look to my right, where a filthy homeless man with a long, unkempt white beard
stares at me through the open window. His rickety shopping cart is full of
plastic bags, dirty clothing, and old pillows.

“Spare
some change for a struggling fellow human?” he says, the foul odors of sweat
and urine wafting into the truck.

“Not
tonight, old man,” Lewis says, turning his head and looking out his window
toward Oval City. I figure the man’s smell is too much for him. “Get lost,
okay?” he adds. “And don’t touch my truck again.”

The
homeless man crouches and peers inside the vehicle. My heart rate spikes. I think
about reaching for the knife but then realize the man isn’t looking at me. He’s
watching Lewis. Well, the back of Lewis’s head anyway.

“Lewis,
it’s okay,” I say, digging into my front pocket and fishing out two dollars.
“Here,” I say to the man. “Take this.”

I
offer him the cash, but he doesn’t take it. It’s as if he doesn’t even see it.
Instead, he’s ultrafocused on Lewis.

“I
know you,” he says to Lewis. “Why would you bring a sweet girl like this down
here?”

“You
don’t know me, old man,” Lewis says, head still turned. “I haven’t been here in
years.”

“You’re
lying,” the man says. “I saw you here last night. I recognize your voice. Why
won’t you show me your face, boy?”

“Because
you smell like death, okay?” Lewis says, angry. “You might remember me from
three years ago, but I wasn’t anywhere near this place last night.” Lewis
finally turns toward us, eyes narrowed as he glares at the man. “And by the way,
it was her idea to come here. Not mine. So take the cash she’s being so nice to
offer you and get the hell away from us.”

We
hear a round of disturbing laughter and a few blasts of what sound like
firecrackers coming from deep within Oval City.

“We
need to leave, Alix,” Lewis says. “Pocket the money if he doesn’t want it.” He
starts the engine and puts the headlights on.

The man
finally turns his attention toward me, giving me an inquisitive look as he
reaches for my humble donation. I notice a sharp twinkle to his blue eyes.
Despite his smells and sad career choice, there’s wisdom behind those eyes. It
occurs to me that this isn’t your typical mentally ill homeless person. I
misjudged him and assumed the worst.

“Alix?”
the man says, taking the cash and squeezing my wrist lightly as he does so. “You
must be the one they’re waiting for. Funny, but I thought you’d be a guy.”

It
happens the moment he touches my skin. My throat goes dry as white light explodes
inside my head, blinding me. The vision is unlike any so far. Instead of seeing
this man’s past or future, I see something new and troubling, a wall of searing
orange and red fire, the intense heat of which seems to prickle my skin.

The
vision only lasts a few seconds. When I open my eyes, I’m sweating and
breathing heavily. One thing I sense for certain is that the fire represents
evil.

“You’re
not human.” The words come out involuntarily, as if somebody else is speaking through
me. I whisper the sentence so that Lewis can’t hear me above the truck engine.

“Whatever
you say, Alix.” The old man smiles and snatches the two crumpled singles from
my palm. “Thank you. Have a nice night.”

He
turns and proceeds to push his squeaky shopping cart west down Wilkins Street
in the direction away from the freeway, the man laughing and whistling as he ventures
farther into darkness.

“I’ll
be right back,” I say, and I ignore Lewis’s protests as I open the door and hop
out of the truck.

I
don’t follow the strange homeless man. Instead, I succumb to a strong urge to
set foot on Oval City soil, crossing Wilkins Street in front of the truck and
hearing Lewis get out behind me, Lewis calling my name and following me as I step
onto the overgrown brush bordering Oval City.

This
afternoon I experienced visions of Aruna’s past and future. Afterward, my
reading on London Steel revealed things about our world that only a handful of
humans ever see. And now, with the otherworldly reading on the homeless man, I
know that good and evil exist. London hinted at the cause of evil. Demons.
Demons possess human souls and make them do evil things. I know this now. What
did London say about evil in Oval City? Something about it causing bad things
to happen there. I believe her, because nothing but searing fire shoots through
my head as soon as I set foot on Oval City land. Evil lurks below and above Oval
City. Evil gave rise to this land, and evil shall remain here until it’s
defeated.

Perennial.
Face. Oval City. They’re all evil. They all thrive here. I now understand that
solving William’s murder is only part of my test. What Vagabond really wants me
to do is destroy the evil that is Oval City, which means I have to figure out a
way to do something the city of Detroit hasn’t been able to accomplish for years.

The
blunt truth hits me like a massive asteroid: if I want to bring justice to
William and get rid of Face, Perennial, and all the sadness and horror Oval
City has caused, I have to somehow figure out a way to destroy Oval City.

But
how do you destroy an entire city block?

“Are
you insane?” Lewis grabs my shoulder and snaps me back to reality. “This is a
good way to get yourself killed. And what was all that weird talk between you
and the homeless freak anyway?”

“I
was right,” I say, turning toward him.

“Right
about what?”

“Everything’s
connected.”

“You’re
acting weird,” he says. “That guy spooked you. We’re going back to Beaconsfield.”

“No,”
I say, grabbing his hands. “Listen to me. There’s been a slight change of plan.
I need you to drive me through Oval City. I need to see all of it. Just one
quick pass, okay? And please don’t argue about it. I know it sounds crazy, but
I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”