Perennial (9 page)

Lewis
is about to say something but changes his mind. Instead, he simply shakes his
head and walks back toward the truck.

Lewis makes a
U-turn on Wilkins and a right onto the service drive. We still haven’t seen
another vehicle, but we begin to see more people. Lewis says they’re Perennial
addicts coming to Oval City to score the purple powder that is destroying their
minds and lives. It’s hard to see faces in the darkness, but the majority are
young males. Like Aruna, they’re far too thin. Lewis says Perennial suppresses
your appetite. Perennial addicts don’t think about food. All they think about
is securing the next dose of Perennial. Lewis says he gained thirty pounds in
three months once he quit using.

He turns
right on the next block, another dark street, this one called Alfred. I notice
him double-checking the door locks as he powers up the windows nearly all the
way, leaving barely two inches of open space for us to take in the sounds of young
lives gone downhill. A few addicts turn and eye the truck, suspicious and
probably thinking we’re cops. They squint from the headlight glare, a
depressing display of sad, pale, hollow, and paranoid faces.

“They
look like death,” I say.

“Some
of them aren’t too far away from it,” Lewis says. “Whatever you do, don’t open
your door for anybody. We’re doing this as fast as possible.”

The four
empty apartment towers are so close they could step on us. Lewis turns left
onto a street called Brewster Loop and tells me it’s the street that gives Oval
City its name.

“Also
known as the Gateway to Hell,” he says. “Brewster Loop is the only way in and
out by car. Get ready, Alix. It’s showtime.”

He accelerates
as we pass the first tower on my right, and I instantly understand why my
father’s job is so depressing and stressful. Groups of shady, dangerous-looking
men eye the truck, evil grins plastered across their faces as they wave us
over. Lewis says they’re some of Face’s low-ranking Perennial dealers, who
assume we’re kids from the suburbs here to buy.

As
we pass the second tower, my eyes gloss over with tears when I notice a few
scantily clad, strung-out young women standing on the various corners, their
glazed eyes giving away their addictions. Each girl reminds me of Aruna, and I
can’t help but wonder where she is and how she’s doing.

“Hookers,”
Lewis says. “The dealers get them addicted and make them sell themselves.”

“I
know how prostitution works, Lewis.” I wipe tears from my eyes as we round the
halfway point of the oval. “It’s just that I’ve never seen prostitutes in
person before. What makes them try it in the first place? The drug, I mean.
What made you start?”

“Everybody
has a different story,” he says, constantly shifting his gaze from one side of
the street to the other. “I think it goes back to how you talked about your
parents on that Niagara Falls trip. They raised you right. My parents didn’t
raise me that way. All they did was drink and fight. I was angry and looking to
get back at them. That’s why I started using.” He pauses. “Or take somebody
like Aruna and her sicko stepfather. Who wouldn’t want to run away from a
situation like that?” We approach the third tower, where dark figures pass by several
of the blown-out windows on the higher floors. “Girls like Aruna run away to
the big city and end up with bad men who take advantage of them.”

“Are
you saying William was bad?”

“No,”
he says. “William had demons, but he was the best thing that ever happened to
Aruna, and Aruna was definitely the best thing that ever happened to him. They
were beautiful together, Alix. She was helping him get clean, but then Face
came along and blew it all apart.”

A
bloody-faced man wearing a white tank top and cutoff blue jeans stumbles out of
the entrance to the third tower and collapses in the middle of the road in
front of us, where he rolls onto his back and screams toward the sky, his face
contorted in pain. Lewis has to hit the brakes hard to avoid running the man
over.

“Oh
God,” I say. “We need to help him.”

“No,”
Lewis says. “We need to get out of here.” He swerves left to maneuver around
the man, taking half of the truck up the curb and onto the dead grass, Lewis
pointing toward tower three and saying, “See what I mean?”

I
watch in horror as three men emerge from the entrance, each of them carrying
what looks like a police-style club. Two of the men spot the man in the road, rush
to him, and continue a violent beating that obviously started inside the tower.
The third man just stands there, staring at the back of the pickup as we pass.
I crane my head to the far right, watching him as he reaches for something in
the back of his waist.

It’s
a handgun. I don’t even have time to warn Lewis. He raises the weapon, and a burst
of orange erupts from the gun barrel as he fires at us, followed by a loud
crack and the sound of a bullet piercing the metal of the truck somewhere in
the rear.

“Lewis,
he’s shooting!” I yell, turning and ducking low in my seat. “Get us out of
here!”

“Told
you this was a bad idea,” he says. “Hold on tight.”

Lewis
lowers his head and steps hard on the gas pedal. The sudden acceleration throws
me back into my seat. I keep my head just high enough to see out my window as we
quickly approach the fourth and final tower.

“They’re
not going to kill that man, are they?” I say.

“Maybe,”
Lewis says. “I don’t know.”

“I can’t
get his face out of my mind. All that blood and the way he was screaming.”

“We’re
lucky they didn’t kill
us
.”

“Take
me home,” I say. “I need some time to think.”

“I’m
sorry you had to see that.”

I
spot another cluster of men in front of tower four as we approach. I’m guessing
Lewis is doing at least forty-five miles per hour, which is probably why the
men turn and watch us as we get closer. I stay extra low and pray they don’t
shoot at us. I glance at Lewis, who has both hands white-knuckled to the steering
wheel, eyes focused on the road.

As
we fly past the men, they don’t engage us in any way.

But
what sends my world spinning is the sight of my dad glaring directly at my
window as we pass.

“You’re sure it
was him?” Lewis says. “We were going pretty fast.”

He
speeds across the I-75 overpass on Wilkins and makes a hard left onto the
northbound service drive. We’re next to Eastern Market now and safely out of
Oval City.

“It
was him,” I say, heart thumping as if I’ve just sprinted a mile. “I’m
positive.”

“Think
he saw you?”

“I
don’t know,” I say, rubbing my forehead. “I’m screwed if he did, though.” I
check my phone for messages or calls. Nothing. “My head was barely three inches
above the window. I don’t think he saw me, but the way he glared at us.”
Shivers ripple through me. “It was like he could see me even if I was
invisible.”

“I
doubt he saw you,” Lewis says, merging off the service drive and back onto the
freeway. “Try not to worry about it. He’s an undercover guy doing his job. It’s
not like he was looking for you. He was just staring at a fast-moving truck. He
probably figured I was a buyer hightailing it out of there.”

“I
don’t know how he does it, Lewis,” I say, trying to take his advice and not
think about Dad spotting me. “His job, I mean. How can you see that kind of
stuff on a regular basis and not go crazy? And why wasn’t he helping that poor
man in the street? He had to have heard his screaming. And all the prostitutes,
dealers, and addicts we saw. They didn’t seem to be afraid of anything. Why
can’t my dad just round up the troops and arrest everybody? Or burn down Oval
City?” I put my face in my hands and groan.

“It’s
frustrating, I know,” Lewis says, reaching over and taking my hand in his. “But
the only way to stop it is to get the kingpin. If your dad is working
undercover in Oval City, he wants the same thing we want.”

“Face,”
I say, sitting up as the realization sets in. “My dad’s trying to bust the
Perennial ring.”

“I
think it’s a safe bet based upon what we just saw.”

“I
wonder if they suspect him in William’s murder.”

“Probably
not,” Lewis says. “That’s a closed case as far as law enforcement is concerned.
Suicide, remember?”

“You’re
right,” I say. “Still, if my dad’s working to bust Face, then the difficulty
level on this whole thing just skyrocketed.” I massage my temples with my free
hand. “Ugh. Lewis, I’m getting a headache.”

“Understandable,”
he says, squeezing my hand. “You know what I’m thinking about right now?”

“What?”

“How
I’m going to explain the truck damage and bullet hole to my grandpa.”

He
looks at me, and we both smile. Then, despite the disturbing evening we’ve
experienced, we break into laughter. I suppose it has something to do with the
fact we’re both glad we survived Oval City.

“God,
Lewis,” I say, “do you think I’m going crazy?”

“You
really want me to answer that?”

“Oh,
shut up,” I say, giving him a playful jab to his right shoulder. I see the exit
sign for the upcoming Beaconsfield ramp and finally manage to relax a bit. “Why
do they call him Face anyway?”

“Ah,”
he says, nodding. “I was wondering when you would ask about that. It’s sort of a
joke really. Nobody knows his true identity, so people on the street started
calling him Face. He always wears a freaky mask when he meets people for
business.”

“Wait
a second,” I say. “You’re telling me nobody’s seen Face’s actual face before?”

“Nobody
I know,” he says. “I’ve never met the guy. I just bought Perennial from his
dealers for a long time.”

“But
you said Face destroyed William and Aruna, so surely William knew his identity.
And Aruna, she’s Face’s … I don’t know, girlfriend or slave or whatever, so
she has to know who he is, right?”

Lewis
says, “If William knew who Face was, he never said a word about it to me.” He
shrugs. “As for Aruna … you’d have to ask her about it.”

“Well,”
I say, shaking my head. “That doesn’t make this any easier either. Face could
be sitting right next to me and I wouldn’t know it.”

“Are
you implying something?” Lewis says, giving me a wink.

“No,
I didn’t mean it like that,” I say. “And then there’s Mr. Watkins.”

“What
about him?”

“There
must be a reason they found him near Oval City.”

“There
is,” Lewis says. “It’s a good place to dump a body.”

“No,
not that,” I say, thinking hard. “He was linked to Perennial somehow. It’s just
something I feel.”

“Maybe
Mr. Watkins was Face.”

“Not
a chance,” I say. “According to Aruna, Face is alive and well. Although she did
mention losing something of William’s, and that she was sorry about it.”

Out
of the corner of my eye, I notice Lewis flinch.

“She
said what?” he asks.

“Aruna
said she lost something of William’s and feels bad about it.” I study him. His eyes
are locked on the road. “I didn’t think much of it because she was so high, but
does that mean anything to you?”

 He
squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “No,” he says, opening his eyes and exhaling
deeply. “All I can think is that maybe she lost some of his Perennial or
something.” He shakes his head a few times. “I have no idea. Look, I don’t
think you’re crazy, Alix, but I do think you need to be careful with every move
you make from now on. You never know who’s watching you. You saw the ugly side
of life tonight. I’m guessing there’s an Oval City in every major city in the
country.” He signals for the Beaconsfield exit and heads up the ramp. “What I’m
wondering is if you’re ready to tell me what’s really motivating you to solve
William’s murder.”

I
remain silent for a few minutes as we travel through the land of the wealthy en
route to my house. All of these beautiful homes and wide, treelined streets sit
less than twenty minutes from a one-block warzone of evil. Do I tell Lewis
about the dreams and visions I’ve experienced during the past forty-eight
hours? Do I mention London Steel battling demonic beasts? What would he say if
I told him William is reaching out to me in my dreams at the request of
Vagabond, who I haven’t even met yet but is clearly the architect of this whole
test I’m trying to pass? Yes, Lewis exhibits his own strange behavior at times,
but he’s human and I’m in love with him. I can’t tell him everything, but I decide
to test the waters a bit.

“Remember
last night on the porch,” I say, “when I told you something was happening to me
and I knew that Oval City, William, Face, Aruna, and Perennial were connected?”

“Of
course,” he says, turning into our subdivision. “And don’t forget about Mr.
Watson and me. You had us on that list too.”

“I
know,” I say. “And so far I’m right. Maybe not so much on Mr. Watson yet, but
what I’m saying is that every person and place on my list connects to everything
else on the list.” Nerves spread through me as I decide how much to tell him. “How
do you think I figured all that out in one day?”

“Beats
me,” he says, turning onto a quiet Maple Grove Street. “You mentioned a blog.
Vagabond’s
Warrior
I think it was. Or something like that.”

“That
definitely helped,” I say. “But let me ask you a question.” I clear my throat
and take a deep breath as Lewis parks curbside a few houses away from mine.
“Lewis, do you believe in ESP?”

“ESP?”
he says, cutting the headlights and turning toward me. “What, you mean like
psychics?”

“Yes,”
I say, gazing straight into his gorgeous eyes now. “Specifically the ability to
use only your mind to see past or future events in somebody’s life, even if
you’ve never met them before.”

“Like
the psychics who channel the minds of murder victims and help police find their
killers.”

“Exactly,”
I say, nodding. “Do you believe in that sort of stuff?”

“Are
you trying to tell me you’re psychic, Alix?”

“No,”
I say, smiling. “Not necessarily. I’m just wondering if you believe in those
things.”

“Paranormal
things.”

“Sure,”
I say. “Paranormal. The unexplainable. Whatever you want to call it. Are you a
believer?”

Lewis
takes my hands and says, “I guess you could say I have an open mind on the
subject.”

“Good,”
I say, feeling pleasant warmth spread through me again. “Me too.”

“Right
now, though, I think we should get back to where we were before Mr. Homeless interrupted
us.”

“Hmm,”
I say, tilting my head as we lean toward each other. “I think I agree.”

Our
first kiss is perfection. I take one last look at his dark, wavy hair and aqua-green
eyes, and then I thank God for blessing me with such a stunning human to kiss.
I lay a palm on his pale face, admiring the high cheekbones for a moment before
closing my eyes at the last possible moment before our lips touch.

Lewis’s
lips are soft and moist, his breath pure mint. As we open our mouths, his
strong hands move down my ribs and settle on my waist. A wonderful heat spreads
through me, surprising me with the parts of my body it reaches. He’s like a living
William Weed, my Dream Guy in the flesh. I feel my shoulders relax and my knees
weaken. I have to remind myself to breathe. Lewis times it expertly, ending the
kiss but keeping his lips close to my own.

“I
was right,” I say. “You definitely have experience in this area.”

He
smiles. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Really?”

“Really.”
He reaches for my glasses. “It might be easier if we take these off.”

“Oh,
you are a smooth one, Lewis Wilde,” I say, reaching for his hands and lowering
them back onto my waist. “Nice try, but the glasses stay on tonight.” I smile.
“You’re welcome to kiss me again, though.”

“Fair
enough.” He runs his hands along the sides of my ribs and places his warm palms
on either side of my neck. 

It
happens as soon as his lips touch mine for the second time. I’m ready for
another incredible kiss, but I see the explosion of white light instead. I’m
not afraid of the light anymore, so I actually manage to enjoy the kiss and
further melt into Lewis’s arms and lips as I await whatever vision I’m going to
have about his past or future. It occurs to me that I really don’t know much
about him, so I’m looking forward to what my abilities choose to reveal about
his life.

The
fear sets in when the white light morphs into another wall of searing orange
and red fire.

There
it is, just as it happened with the homeless man. Something isn’t right. I
sensed the homeless man wasn’t human. I sensed he was evil in human form. But
how can Lewis be evil? He’s dangerous, yes, but in good ways that have me
hooked on him. Maybe I was wrong about the homeless man. Maybe I’m losing my
abilities already and am no longer able to glimpse somebody else’s past or future.
Maybe the fire represents the fizzling out of my abilities. If that’s the case,
Vagabond’s probably already given up on me and I’ll never meet him. Would that
be so bad? Not really. I never asked for ESP. It just happened. Deep down I
want nothing more than to return to life as it was before yesterday morning.

But
as much as I pray for the fire to go away so that I can enjoy my time with
Lewis, the flames blaze even brighter and hotter in my head, forcing me to
break the kiss and pull back.

“What’s
wrong?” Lewis asks, concern on his chiseled face.

“Nothing,”
I lie. “It was wonderful.” Not a lie. I wipe my brow, surprised to feel a light
coating of sweat. “It’s just that I’m afraid of what might happen if we keep
this up.”

He
stares at me. I can sense his disappointment. I’m disappointed too, but I have
to figure out what the fire visions are all about. I focus hard on Lewis,
thinking back to how he suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the
street yesterday, and then how he pulled his disappearing act when I drove off.
I again wonder how Lewis knew the detail about the police finding Mr. Watkins’s
body near Oval City. I’m still not certain how he knew where my bedroom was either,
and the more I think about it, it’s surprising how unconcerned he is about the
damage to his grandfather’s truck.

And
then something else occurs to me.

“The
homeless man,” I say.

“What
about him?” Lewis says.

“He
seemed certain that he saw you yesterday in Oval City.”

“Don’t
tell me you believe a nut like that.”

“He said
he knew your voice.”

“Alix,”
he says. “He’s an insane old man. He’s probably senile and confusing his
memories. If he remembers me, it’s from years ago. I promise.” He closes his
eyes and groans as he purposely but lightly knocks the back of his head against
the padded seat. “You’re killing a beautiful moment.”

“I’m
sorry,” I say. “Sometimes I’m too paranoid, I guess. But you need to answer
something for me.”

“Like
I said, you can ask me anything.”

“You
know where I live,” I say, reaching for his hand and hoping the fire doesn’t
return. It doesn’t. “You even know where my bedroom is.” I smile at the wink he
flashes me. “Seriously, though, I have no idea where
you
live. I know
you’re from Eastland and living with your grandparents somewhere around here.
But what’s their address?”

“Alix,”
he says, rolling his eyes, “they live at 3116 Bloomfield, okay? Do you want to
go over there right now and meet them? They’re probably sleeping, but I’ll take
you if you’re doubting what I’m saying.”

“No,”
I say, relieved and committing those four numbers to memory—3-1-1-6. They total
eleven, so that’s how I’ll remember them. “It’s fine,” I add. “I believe you. I
just needed to know. And yes, I’d like to meet them, but not tonight. My dad
can come home at any time.” I open my door. The dome light illuminates the truck’s
interior. “Thank you for tonight, Lewis. I mean it. Thank you.”

“My
pleasure.” He caresses my palm with his fingertips. “Can I interest you in one
more kiss?”