DMV, page 24
Beverly let out a small cry.
“I’m not saying I believe them. And even they said maybe. But—”
She turned on him, furious. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“We didn’t want to worry you,” Rosita said lamely.
“I’m already worried! Where is this camp?” she demanded.
“That they didn’t know,” Todd said. “Which is why we didn’t tell you. ”
“You didn’t think I had the right to know about my own husband?”
Why hadn’t they told her? Rosita thought now. What was wrong with them?
“Get out of here,” Beverly said, pointing. “I want you out of here.”
“Beverly…” Rosita began.
“Now!”
She was angry, but she did not seem suicidal, and under the circumstances, that was probably the best they could hope for. Rosita and Todd shared a glance, then started reluctantly back toward the car. Rosita decided she would call tomorrow morning, or maybe tomorrow afternoon. See if things had cooled down.
She expected a sardonic remark from Todd as they backed out of the driveway, a Well, that was fun or something similar, but even he seemed to recognize the seriousness of the situation and drove off in silence.
They remained quiet as they headed home. Rosita felt an involuntary chill as Todd reversed the route he’d taken on the way over. Glancing out the passenger window at the few vehicles they passed or that passed them, she could almost make herself believe that she hadn’t seen the person she thought she’d seen in the Camry next to her. It was late, she’d been tired and stressed…
But that white face haunted her, and try as she might, she could not get its grinning visage out of her mind.
****
At the library the next day, Rosita did some research, trying to assuage her fears, and she found that, yes, Will Caskey was not only officially dead but also buried. A small crazy part of her thought it might be worthwhile to dig up the grave to make sure he was actually there, but she understood that the idea was completely irrational, and was eventually able to convince herself that either she’d seen someone who looked like Will, as Todd had said, or her tired brain had invented something that simply wasn’t there.
Still, things continued to seem a little…off. Even here at the library all was not as it should be. Ever since the shooting, several of her coworkers had expressed trepidation about walking alone through the building, not just in Acquisitions, the Local History Room or the Reserve Book Room, but through the stacks in the center of the library’s main space. Such feelings were understandable, and Rosita had experienced them, too. Until now, she’d put it down to a psychological aftereffect of the shooting, a type of PTSD, but thinking about Will Caskey, she was not at all sure that the fears weren’t justified.
Nearly everyone was leery of the front entrance, and even Rosita’s heart rate accelerated when the doors opened and a patron walked in. For the most part, though, it was an unfocused sort of dread she experienced. She didn’t mind working by herself, however, and when John asked her to go down to the overflow stacks in the basement and bring up some books, she had no problem taking a cart down in the elevator.
The metal doors slid open, and she pushed the book cart out into the low-ceilinged repository. Rosita had always enjoyed being alone down here. She liked the cool air and quiet, the comforting smell of the books, the restful sense of solitude.
But not today.
Guiding the wobbly-wheeled cart down the center aisle, Rosita was acutely aware of the fact that if something happened to her down here, no one would know. She might not be found until the next time someone visited the basement, which was not very often. Why hadn’t this occurred to her before coming down here? She could trip and fall and break her leg, she could suffer a stroke or seizure, she could bump her head and get knocked out.
But that’s not what really worried her, was it?
No.
The back of her neck prickled. Rosita stopped the cart, thinking she’d heard another noise besides the tapping of her foosteps and the clicking of the metal wheels, a low drone that might have been another librarian humming a song or might have been…what?
She didn’t want to know.
“Hello?” she said tentatively.
There was no answer.
The repository was silent now, the only sound her own breathing and the faint buzz of the overhead lights, and she pushed the cart forward. Its rattling sounded downright clamorous in the stillness, and Rosita found herself grateful for the racket, minimal as it might be.
She’d known from the call letters on the list John had given her that she was picking up nonfiction transportation books, but glancing down at the printout, Rosita noticed for the first time that all of the volumes she’d been sent to retrieve were about cars. It was a coincidence, it had to be, but it put her in mind of the DMV. Her thoughts drifted to the website she and Michelle had seen on the Reference desk computer, with the cartoon red convertible running people down, then to Will Caskey’s white face in the car next to her last night, grinning malevolently.
Was it her imagination, or were the lights at the end of the basement dimmer than they ordinarily were? The far corners seemed unusually dark, and she was grateful that the books she needed were near at hand, in the center of the aisle. Stopping the cart, she consulted her list and started pulling out the requested volumes.
The droning sound was back, and it seemed to be coming from the darkened area of the room.
It wasn’t someone humming a song, it was a low conversation in a foreign language.
“Hello?” she said again. She expected the noise to stop, but instead it became louder, and there was a fluttering of the lights that corresponded to the cadence of the unfamiliar speech. In her mind, she saw Will Caskey huddled in the corner talking to…something.
Rosita was suddenly afraid to remain down here by herself. She had loaded onto the cart only four of the twenty or so books that had been requested, but she wasn’t about to stay and find the rest. Leaving the cart where it was, she hurried back toward the elevator.
She’d come back later with someone else to finish the job.
She pressed the call button on the elevator, heard the lumbering lift start its way down. She’d been hoping it was still here at the bottom, but no such luck. Someone else had used it, and from the time it was taking to arrive, that person had probably gone up to the second floor.
The lights in the basement switched off.
Rosita would have screamed had the elevator doors not slid open at precisely that moment. She rushed into the lighted box, turned around and punched the Up button. As the doors shut, she thought she saw movement in the darkness, black against black. Was it coming toward her? It didn’t matter. She was safe. The elevator was going up.
The metal doors opened on the welcomingly lit main floor of the library. With an audible sigh of relief, Rosita stepped out, feeling liberated by the high ceiling above and the expansive room around her. Michelle was at the Reference desk, helping a patron, and, grateful, Rosita headed over to see if she could be of assistance.
Behind her, the elevator doors closed.
TWENTY FIVE
“Danny! Wake up!”
It was Jill’s voice, but that didn’t make any sense. What would his sister be doing in his room? Dazedly, he opened his eyes. Not only was she sitting on his bed, but she was in her underwear, and that made even less sense.
And it was still night.
Something was definitely wrong.
Instantly, Danny was wide awake. “What?” he said. For some reason, they were both speaking quietly.
She got off the bed, motioning him toward the window. Pulling open the drape, she pointed to the driveway, where a gray Volvo was parked, the front porch light reflecting off its windshield.
“Daddy’s home,” she whispered.
A shiver of fear passed through him.
Daddy’s home
“That’s the same car he was driving when he hit that woman with the stroller.”
“How do you know he’s—?”
“He’s in the bedroom with Mom.” Jill’s voice had dropped even lower. “I heard them talking.”
Danny had never been so frightened. He missed his dad more than anything in the world, and if someone had told him immediately after the heart attack that his father could be brought back, he would have done anything to make it happen. But now the prospect of actually seeing his resurrected dad scared him more he would have thought possible, and he could tell from his sister’s voice and expression, from the fact that she was here, in his room, that she felt exactly the same.
She also said that he had killed a woman and her baby.
That wasn’t the dad he remembered.
“What do we do?” he whispered.
“I don’t know.”
“Should we…see him?”
Jill shivered. “No!”
“We could stay here in my room, lock the door and wait for him to leave.”
“Who says he’s leaving? Besides, I’m not sure a locked door could keep him out. He’s dead.”
Hearing the word spoken aloud somehow made it more real.
“Maybe we should get out of here,” Jill suggested.
“Maybe you better put some clothes on first.”
She nodded. “You come with me.”
It could have been conversation from a bad teen sex comedy, one of those terrible 1980s films that their mom, for some reason, seemed to like, but there was nothing remotely sexy going on here. Jill wanted him with her because she was scared.
Danny nodded soberly. He was scared, too.
He was still in his own pajamas, and he made her turn around while he slipped on yesterday’s clothes. She opened his bedroom door, peeking out. The coast was apparently clear, and she motioned him forward. He was carrying his shoes and socks, not wanting his mom—
and dad
—to hear the sound of his footsteps on the darkened hallway’s wooden floor.
Jill’s room was closer to their parents’ than his, so they had to be quiet. Neither of them spoke as they slipped out and tiptoed up the hall. Once in her bedroom, Jill carefully closed and locked the door, not turning on the light. This time, it was his turn to look away, and he stared out her window at the unfamiliar car in the driveway. They remained silent, and the only noise in the bedroom was the scratchy sound of rough material against soft skin as she pulled on her jeans.
No, that wasn’t quite true.
There was another noise as well, coming from within the walls, a chittering, teeming sound.
He glanced over at his sister when he was sure that she was dressed and saw the look in her eyes.
She heard it, too.
Jill was right. They needed to get out of here.
Taking care to be as quiet as possible, she picked up her wallet and phone from the top of the dresser. Where were they going to go? To one of the neighbors’? Or once outside, was she going to call one of her friends? It didn’t matter. The important thing right now was to leave.
In the hallway, Danny still heard that chittering noise within the walls, but above it, from behind the door of the master bedroom at the end of the hall, came the sounds of his parents. His mom was sobbing—
with joy? with horror?
—and Danny had a sudden urge to burst through the door to make sure she was okay. But then he heard the familiar cadence of his father’s voice, murmuring words he could not understand, and a chill ran down his spine.
He was carrying his socks and shoes, but Jill had slipped on some sandals, and the two of them crept down the dim hallway toward the front of the house.
The door to their parents’ bedroom opened behind them.
It was as though everything was happening in slow motion. Through the open doorway, for a brief second, he saw his mother on the bed in the lighted room, dressed in a pink nightie, her eyes red from crying. Then she was blocked from view as another darker figure stepped in front of her and emerged into the hall.
It was their dad.
But he was…different.
Gangly and ungainly, moving almost as though he were a poorly manipulated marionette, he advanced toward them. His head flopped oddly on a stiff neck, and the smile on his face came and went, seemingly uncontrolled, while his rolling eyes were unable to focus on any one thing. He was muttering to himself, but the sounds he made did not appear to be real words.
It was a horrifying sight, a version of his dad Danny could never have imagined, and he was grateful when he felt Jill’s hand grab his and pull him away.
The noise in the walls had gotten louder, and it seemed to be in conversation with his father, growing louder and softer in hellish counterpoint.
They dashed into the living room. Danny wished that he’d put his socks and shoes on ahead of time, but right now he’d be willing to run barefoot over jagged rocks if it meant that he could get away from his dad.
They reached the front door.
“Jill? Danny?” It was their mom’s voice, and Danny looked over his shoulder to see that she’d come out of her bedroom and was standing behind the thing that had been their father. Her face was blanched, her expression one of unmitigated fear.
Jill unlocked the door, yanking it open, and practically tripped over a white cube sitting on the welcome mat before her.
What the—?
Danny, next to her, was equally startled. Whatever it was, it smelled like honey, looked like wax.
In front of their house, a white van had pulled up directly below the streetlight. Two men were getting out, one very tall, the other very short, both dressed in what looked like security guards’ uniforms.
Jill stepped quickly around the left side of the cube, Danny around the right, but before either of them could get off the porch, they were grabbed from behind by arms that were at once familiar and not.
“Daddy!” Jill cried.
Danny turned his head and looked over his father’s shoulder into the house. The last thing he saw was his mom’s white face, her eyes red and wide and terrified.
And then a black bag was pulled over his head.
****
They were herded blindly into the van, and the bags were not removed until they reached their destination shortly before dawn.
Where that destination was, Danny had no idea. In the dim light, it looked like a prison. Squat unpainted cement buildings with metal doors and thin vertical windows lined both sides of the short street on which the van was parked. Well beyond a grove of trees in back of the buildings, a high concrete wall surrounded the entire complex. He saw no people other than his sister and the two uniformed men who had brought them here.
“Welcome to the camp,” the taller one said, and laughed harshly.
Both men got back in the van and drove down the street, pulling into what had to be some sort of garage or parking structure at the far end, next to the wall.
On the long trip over, Danny had put on his socks and shoes—by feel, since he couldn’t see—and was glad that he had done so. He turned toward his sister. “What do we do?”
But she already had her phone out and was dialing.
“Who are you calling?”
“Nine one one.”
The volume was turned up, and Danny heard ringing and then an answer: “What is your emergency?”
“I’ve been kidnapped!” Jill shouted. “Me and my brother! We were taken from our home in the middle of the night and now we’re—”
“You have not been kidnapped, Ms. Wilding.” The dispatcher’s voice on the other end of the line sounded bored.
“I just told you we were!”
“I have all of your information here on my screen. You are calling from the Department of Motor Vehicles re-education camp. Individuals are remanded to this location when they have broken laws, rules or regulations, and it has been determined that formal intervention is necessary. According to the information I have here, you were recommended for re-education by your father.”
“My dad’s dead!”
“Not according to the information on my screen. And even if you had been taken in error or kidnapped, we have no jurisdiction over the DMV.
“We were kidnapped!”
“We hear this a lot, and I understand your frustration, but I assure you, your detention is legally sanctioned. Have a nice day, Ms. Wilding.”
The dispatcher hung up.
“Call Mom!” Danny suggested. “No! Call Grandma! Or Uncle Issac! Or…”
A man was walking toward them from the building in back of Jill. Behind him, its thick metal door was open, and inside Danny could see what looked like a cage filled with naked people. His heart started pounding. A second ago, he’d been nervous and upset, but now he was genuinely frightened. He sidled closer to his sister, both of them facing the man as he approached.
He was smiling and wearing a suit, but the smile did not match the rest of his hard face, and the suit looked strange on him. There was something odd about his appearance, and it took Danny a moment to figure out what it was: his arms were too short. The man was heavily muscled, his shirt and suit jacket tight over his bulky form, but his swinging arms did not even reach down to his belt.
Jill had started to dial again, but the man snatched the phone out of her hand. “We’ll have none of that, thank you.” He threw the phone onto the asphalt and stomped on it with a hard shoe.
“Hey!” Jill said. “You can’t do that!”
“I can and did.”
“That was mine! You have to get me a new one!”
“I don’t have to do any such thing. As long as you are in this re-education camp, nothing is yours. Everything you have is ours. We own you.”
Danny whirled on him, anger surging through his body. “You don’t own us! That’s not even legal! This whole thing’s illegal! You can’t hold us here! I don’t even know why we’re here at all!”
