Rock 'n' Roll is Undead (Veronica Mason (17 page)

Detective Walker sure wouldn't help me. The police didn’t care as long as they solved the murder. I turned right and noticed a car in the distance behind me. My heart rate immediately spiked. When I looked closer, I realized it was the same car—the mystery hot rod. Not a coincidence. This person was definitely following me, and without a doubt, I knew it was connected to the break-in and murder. It had to be. Did this person want me dead, too?

Whoever this was, I wasn't going to let them follow me. No way did they know the back roads like I did. I was willing to bet on it. I’d learned how to drive on those roads. Not an easy feat with Grandpa Bart spittin’ tobacco out the window as I attempted to shift from fourth to fifth gear. I turned again and punched the gas. Within a couple of seconds, the car appeared behind me again. No doubt about it now, they were trailing me worse than a private eye tracking a cheating spouse. They'd stepped on the gas pedal the same as me. Within a couple of miles, I knew of an old road almost hidden by trees. If I sped up enough, I figured I might be able to make the turn and lose them before they realized what had happened.

My heart raced. My hands slipped on the steering wheel from sweating. I didn't want to wreck my car. That would be an almost worse fate than being caught by the deranged person following me. I spotted the tree up ahead that served as my marker. Gauging my speed and distance, I knew I had to time it just right. There would be no time to slow down. Not much, anyway. My mind raced with thoughts of what would happen if I wrecked. An accident might kill me, but if it didn't, when the person behind me got a hold of me, I'd be dead. This seemed like a lose-lose situation. They had a cure for my life—death.

I glanced in the mirror. The car was gaining on me, fast. As I watched the old Cadillac, I realized I needed to do the same thing as before. Let it get close enough that it couldn't turn too, or put enough distance so it wouldn't see me veer off. It was too late, though. There wasn't enough time. My turn was coming up. In my mind, I braced myself for what was either going to be a brilliant move or a really, really stupid one. I had a feeling it was the latter. My hands shook, but I managed to grip the steering wheel. I counted in my mind. Three, two, one. Turn. I eased off the gas and whipped the wheel. The Bel-Air hugged the curve with a fury. Tires squealed and I struggled to remain control of the four thousand pounds of steel.

When I thought for sure I’d crash, I righted the car and peered through the mirror again. The unidentified hot rod zoomed past, and the screech of its tires echoed in its wake. My leg trembled from anxiety, but I punched the accelerator and made the next left. Up ahead I spotted an old house with a long tree-lined driveway. I didn't know these people and prayed they didn't have a no trespassing sign because I was about to hide out in their backyard. I zipped my car onto the pathway.

The driveway was about four hundred feet long. Some gravel, but mostly dirt that whipped behind the car as I eased down the long trail. Tall oak trees lined the path—their vibrant green limbs shooting high into the sky. They blocked part of my view of the little pond just beyond their edge. I didn't want to speed on a stranger’s property, but no other vehicles were around and not a soul in sight, so maybe I’d get lucky and take cover for a while without a complaint. People had been known to point shotguns at unfamiliar people who had the nerve to creep onto their property. The panic over being caught by the crazy driver was enough; I didn’t need to add the fear of taking a slug. I’d driven into an isolated world—so close, yet so far from the bustle of downtown.

When I reached the end of the drive, I recognized the old farmhouse. It was the one from my dream, and it had been as vivid as it was in front of me at that moment. The weather-beaten clapboard, once white, was now dingy from years of dirt. I couldn’t turn back now though, in spite of having a serious case of the heebie-jeebies. This was the only chance I saw to escape the psychos on my trail. With no one in sight still, I continued on, driving the car around the side of the house, across the grass and coming to rest around back. They wouldn’t see me back here. It was the best hiding place I could think of under the circumstances.

I pulled the Bel-Air as far behind the house as I could. The car idles loudly, so I cut the engine, then grabbed my purse and fished out my cell phone. My heart felt as if it might pound out of my chest. The old house had been in my dream along with the shadowy figure. The realization that my dreams were connected to the visions set in and my stomach churned. I punched in the numbers and hit send. The call wouldn't go through. No service.

Chapter 33

In this day and age there was no cell phone service? You’d think I was on the moon or something. I tossed the phone back onto the seat next to me. No way to call for help. Now what would I do? My mind raced. During my last dream, the dark shadow had chased me and I now prayed that part wouldn’t come true. But the farmhouse had been true. It looked just as it did in the dream.

Until I knew the coast was clear, I had to wait it out. Going back on the road would do me no good. Birds chirped overhead, but otherwise silence surrounded me. I stepped out of the car and navigated around the broken spots in the stone pathway. Bright green moss popped through the cracks. I eased around the side of the house, peeking down the long drive. A rumbling noise rattled in the distance. The sound of the hot rod was easily recognizable. The racket traveled down the road and faded as they continued past. Panic coursed through my veins and I wanted to run. But something made me freeze on the spot. I glanced over my shoulder to assess my options for fleeing. There was a wooded area about a hundred feet from the house. If need be, I'd run back there. I prayed I wouldn't get lost—there had to be nearby houses I could escape to, right? Thank goodness the psychos had driven past or I'd worry that I'd pulled into their driveway.

Leaves rustled on the tall trees surrounding the house and white fluffy clouds hung so low that they almost appeared to touch the roof. A dog barked somewhere in the distance and I wondered if he could sense my distress or maybe saw the dark figure from my dream. I waited with bated breath until the noise from the hot rod completely faded. I assumed the same two men as before were in the car. What the hell did they want with me? Were they planning to off my entire band? My apartment was broken into, my bass player was murdered, and a strange car followed my every move. It wasn’t a coincidence. Add my dream of being captured, and I couldn’t spin those thoughts into happy ones. The situation didn’t look good. Did it have anything to do with taking that other band’s spot during the music festival last month, I wondered. Janey Smith had said she didn’t care that we took their place, but I had a feeling she held resentment toward me. But enough to kill me? And it didn’t explain the other vampire’s death.

The house looked sad as I rounded the corner back toward my car. Out of curiosity, I decided to take a peek through the window. I eased up onto the wooden porch. It creaked under my feet with each step. I rapped on the door and fidgeted from one foot to the other as I waited for an answer. After a few seconds, I knocked again. Shifting my feet, I touched the old broken rocking chair, then looked around for any signs of movement. Still no answer. I listened to the rustle of the tall oaks. When no one answered, I moved over to the window, cupped my hands over my eyes, and pressed my face close to the glass. I felt like a Peeping Tom. The house was silent and no one moved about. It was obvious no one lived there, but nonetheless, I was polite and made sure before looking in. A strange vibe washed over me as I surveyed the scene. Something seemed off, but I couldn’t figure out what that something was.

A quick little look-see into the house wouldn’t hurt, right? I walked back to the door and jiggled the knob, then twisted. It opened. I pushed on the door and stuck my head in. “Hello?”

I prayed I wouldn’t get a response. I’d had enough excitement to last me for a while. The stale, musty air hit me—the place needed to be aired out, or at the very least a little spritz of room deodorizer. I turned to my right and entered the living room. Walking over to the fireplace, I ran my hand along the intricate mantel, tracing the scroll pattern with my finger. They didn’t build houses like this anymore. I moved on, further into the house. My mind told me to get out of there, but my feet kept moving in spite of the message. A cobweb dangled from the large once-gold chandelier in the dining room and I knocked it down on my way through to the kitchen. I sauntered into the room and surveyed the mess. The leaky sink faucet dripped a rhythm. A large piece of duct tape repaired the cracked window at the back of the room.

Through the hallway, I discovered a small door. It looked as if it belonged in a playhouse—a miniature version of the others. The small knob was hard to grasp, but I wrapped my hand around it and yanked on the door, almost afraid of what I’d find. Dust motes escaped and floated through the air as I poked my head in the cramped space. A narrow staircase loomed up to the second floor. Had the door always been there, hiding the secret stairs? Where did they lead? The space was small, but I hunched down and slipped through, trying not to sneeze. My heart pounded. It wasn’t just the climb making me have that reaction. The house seemed familiar, and not just from my dream. Why had I decided to come in here? I needed to get the hell out before I was unable to leave.

A serial killer could own this place for all I knew and I may be walking into his trap. A loud thump echoed. I froze and felt a sickening drop in my stomach. Was it the wind? I eased up a few more steps. The bang rang out once again. The noise came from nearby. Footsteps drew near—the clomp of boots maybe? I looked down at my body. Why didn’t I carry mace or something? My purse hung on my shoulder. I clutched the big leather bag in front of my chest like a shield of armor and readied for battle. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. What if the killer was in the house?

I tiptoed the rest of the way up the stairs. My fear-widened eyes protruded—I probably looked a Chihuahua. My teeth chattered and goose bumps broke out on my arms. The place may be haunted, I told myself. But with my luck, the killer had found me. I scanned the room to my left—a large bedroom—looking for an intruder or ghost. An odd feeling enveloped me. The house felt dark and foreboding. Shadows played off the walls from the swaying branches outside, making the room downright creepy. A bent, empty curtain rod barely hung above the double windows. Dirt acted as a shade across them instead. I eased across the plank floor, trying to keep the click-a-clack of my shoes from echoing throughout the house. I made my way from one side of the room to the next with no sign of a killer. A ghost I could handle. A deranged lunatic, not so much. What possessed me to enter the house I still didn’t know, but I didn’t need to see any more. I wanted out. I hurried down the steps and back through the house like an Olympic track star. I made my way onto the porch, then paused before stepping off. I looked back at the house. Again, birds sang and trees rustled, but other than that, silence surrounded the area. The tangerine tinted sky reminded me of the time, so I bounced down the steps, brushed past the azalea bushes, and hiked about twenty feet back to the driveway.

As I neared the Bel-Air, I noticed a crumpling barn, and beyond that, a wooded area. A small path cut down the middle of the woods, snaking through the dark trees like a small river. Sunlight trickled through the branches, breaking the eerie darkness. The trees cast a shadow across the path as if calling to me. The oaks and pines hovered above, enclosing the space in their shade, their dark gesticulating branches reaching out to grab whoever wandered in their direction. The whispering stir of the wind rustling the branches and the crunch of gravel under my feet were the only sounds. I moved closer toward the barn, not sure why I seemed drawn to it and the wooded area. For the same reason I’d been drawn to the house, I supposed.

Moving off the gravel path and into the uncut grass, twigs and branches pulled at my legs with each step I took. Careful of my movements, I glanced down every few seconds. The last thing I wanted to come across was a hole or, heaven forbid, a snake. Things seemed surreal, as if I were cut off from the world. I’d never experienced that kind of quiet before. Moving past the old barn, I stepped closer to the line of trees, but I wasn’t about to set foot in the dark space. Something in my mind warned me to stop.

A faint howl rang out in the distance, and I paused. My heart beat a little faster. Were there dogs around here, or werewolves? I preferred to think a Golden Retriever had made the sound. No way would I head into the wooded area, as much as it called to me, I resisted. If I got lost out here, I doubted the police would send a huge search party for me. As I turned around to head back to my car, leaves crunched from behind. I knew the noise didn’t come from me, because it didn’t stop when I did. I glanced over my shoulder, but saw nothing.

When I reached the barn, I hurried around the old structure, then stopped dead in my tracks. No pun intended. To confirm what I thought I saw, I moved closer, then let out a gasp. My hand flew to my mouth. I made two steps forward, closer to the pile of ashes and bones.

Chapter 34

I rushed over, but stumbled halfway. There was a reason kids hadn’t pick me as a partner in gym class. Hobbling up, I raced toward the body, stopping a couple steps away. A feeling hit me again, as if someone was watching me. Pain shot through my temples. I couldn’t help but close my eyelids for a second. The dark figure raced through my head again. He drove the woman to this house. His face was nothing but a black blob and I only saw the inside of the car. They pulled behind the old farmhouse just as I had. When they got out, he’d grabbed a stake from behind the seat without her noticing. The moment she turned around to face him, he plunged it through her heart. Thoughts filled my mind again. Janey’s thoughts. Her pretty face and curvaceous figure was clear. Janey was a vampire like Johnny. She’d known the killer for a long time. He’d even played bass with her band before. She’d always felt he was slightly creepy and doubts about trusting him flooded her mind. Then the killer’s thoughts again. Nothing but rage and darkness. Pure diabolical evil.