Fear Has a Name: A Novel (The Crittendon Files) Read online

  Evan made a spot decision. If the doors were open, he would go in and sleep and decide what to do when he awoke. If they were locked, he would hurry back to the bus and figure out his next move en route to Florida.

  Walking toward the doors, he half chuckled at himself for still clutching the umbrella over his head, because his whole body was waterlogged.

  Up the brick steps he walked. Weary. Wanting to collapse.

  Wet hand on cold silver door handle. Eyes closed.

  Here we go …

  38

  As his car floated and spun out of control in the thick rainstorm, a surge of sheer panic took Jack’s breath away. Not because he was about to die, but because he was about to leave Pam in the hands of Granger Meade. The car was taking forever to hit something, so Jack opened his eyes. His headlights whirled like a flashlight spinning on a table, illuminating blurry, wet woods and pavement and headlights and weeds and taillights and guardrail.

  The impact catapulted him forward like a rag doll, smacking him against the steering wheel and dashboard. Still in motion, the car lurched sideways, and for a split second Jack thought it might roll. But it hit something again, bashing him against the door. Metal scraped metal with earsplitting clarity, and sparks exploded like fireworks just outside his window as the car melded with the guardrail.

  The whole mad dream slid to a halt.

  Jack did not move. Everything was still, almost peaceful. A loud hissing noise mixed with the rhythm of the rain. Smoke billowed from beneath the hood, which was crunched like an accordion. The stench of antifreeze filled his senses.

  Okay, you’re okay …

  The top-left corner of the windshield was splintered like a spiderweb. Both sides of the steering wheel were bent toward him; the air bag had not deployed. He looked around outside and saw no other vehicles involved; a relief. Blood glistened on the dash and steering wheel. His left hand felt cold and torn but did not hurt. He looked at it. His knuckles and the backs of his fingers were sliced and bleeding.

  He patted his face with his clean right hand. To his left, the window was busted, and blood diluted with rain amid shards of glass. He reached up with his right hand, felt around, and found wetness along the side of his head; blood came away on his fingers.

  He had to get out. Pam needed him.

  Reaching around to undo his seat belt, he cried out in agony. His chest felt as if it had collapsed. Something was terribly wrong inside.

  He tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

  Leaning his head as close as possible to the broken glass in his door window, he realized his car was wedged against the guardrail so tight it seemed as if it had been soldered. He would need to slide over and get out the passenger door. It was going to hurt, but he had to keep going.

  DeVry would be there soon, wouldn’t he?

  The engine spit and popped with sickening, dying noises.

  He smelled fuel.

  Could this thing blow?

  Gently, he managed to unbuckle the seat belt and scan the interior for his phone.

  It was in your hand.

  And the gun, where was it? He tried to reach down to the floor, but his rib cage objected with searing pain; there was no way he could do it.

  He looked around outside for help, but no one had come by, or at least no one had stopped. The cars were few and far between.

  If he could get out the side door, perhaps then he could lean in and find the gun and phone. But he just sat there, shaking. The rain was coming harder, tapping annoyingly at his left side through the broken window. His teeth clattered. His mind was fuzzy and his head weightless. A light blue film covered everything, like a filter over a camera lens. He just needed to take some deep breaths and keep going. But his rib cage was in a metal vise that just kept tightening and tightening.

  Pam.

  He hoisted his legs to the passenger side.

  God, why are you doing this? Where are you?

  Jack pressed his shoulders to the back of the seat and gently shimmied toward the right, but the pain was excruciating.

  Breathe.

  Keep going.

  He looked down for the door handle on the passenger side and saw three of them, circling in vertigo. He blinked. His mind was prickly and fading to white. He tried to shake the haziness, but it was getting worse.

  Don’t you dare pass out.

  He leaned back against the passenger seat, patted for the door handle, found it, and pulled. It hurt incredibly just to get the door open a few inches, but he did. Then he mentally prepared for the agony that was about to come and rolled out.

  “Ahhh!” To the sopping pavement he collapsed. Every inch of him cried out in pain—his knees, arms, hands, head, and chest. His lungs felt like they’d been wrenched back and forth, his heart bruised.

  Headlights arose like the sun on the car, the guardrail, him. A black SUV whizzed past within ten feet of him in a swirl of rain. Was it traveling the wrong way?

  No, wait …

  Jack lay there, the water on the pavement seeping into his clothes, and he realized his car was facing backward, the crumpled engine still steaming and spewing.

  He heard something else too—wheezing? He held his breath and the wheezing stopped; it was coming from him.

  He had to get help.

  Gingerly he rolled onto his knees and elbows, soaking up the cold rain, trying not to think about the distress in his body.

  He would get to his feet, find the phone, call DeVry.

  Headlights came up and settled on him. The vehicle seemed to slow, yes, it pulled off to the side of the road, facing Jack and his backward car.

  It hurt to breathe. He couldn’t get a full breath.

  A car door slammed, and a young man jogged toward him.

  Jack got up to one knee.

  Dizzy.

  He froze, unable to take any more pain or spinning.

  “Are you okay?” The kid from the car got down next to Jack. He had a mop of blond hair and a bottom lip packed with chewing tobacco. “Is there anyone with you?”

  “Alone.” Jack panted. “Hydroplaned.”

  More headlights. A second vehicle pulled up close, turned at an angle to block oncoming cars, and parked.

  Good.

  Jack was having difficulty getting air into his lungs.

  “Take deep breaths.” The young man wore baggy shorts and a sweatshirt, and he smelled like beer. “You’re totally pale, man—and your head is bleeding. Dude, we need to get you an ambulance.” He was dialing 9-1-1 before he was finished talking.

  “My wife was kidnapped.” Jack’s head spun even more when he spoke. “I’ve got to keep looking.”

  “Dude, right now we need to get you to the hospital.”

  A lady appeared, right down in his face. She had shiny black hair and a pointy nose and chin. “I’m an EMT,” she said. “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Oh, thank God, dude,” the kid said. “That is so epic you showed up!”

  “Jack.”

  “Where do you hurt, Jack?”

  “Chest,” he managed. “Really bad.”

  The kid turned away, talking to the 9-1-1 operator.

  “Do you know where you are?” The lady’s eyes scanned every inch of him, as well as the scene around them.

  “Seventy-seven.”

  “Do you know what day it is?” She placed her warm fingers on his neck.

  The kid returned, and Jack eyed him.

  “My wife’s missing,” he said. “Can you get my phone? In the car …”

  “Jack, can you tell me what day it is?” the woman said.

  He was so tired, and his eyelids were getting heavy. But he would stay awake—had to.

  “Ouch.” He was startled by a firm pinch to the skin on the back of his right hand.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m trying to get a read on how you are.”

  The lady had a small flashlight. She probed around his head and pulled his eyelids open; the obtr
usive white light danced and burned and left purple impressions.

  “Can you come here?” she called to the kid. “What’s your name?”

  The kid came over. “Connor.” He had things in his hands. “Man, his steering wheel is bent bad. No air bags. I wonder if he hit it.”

  “I need your help, Connor.” She nodded at a bag on the ground. “Get the scissors out of my kit. And give me your sweatshirt.”

  “I found his phone—and a gun.” Connor stripped off his sweatshirt, revealing an orange Journey T-shirt.

  “Let me call someone—” Jack reached toward the kid, and even that hurt.

  “Jack, I need you to be very still,” the woman said. “Can you sit up for me, over here, against the guardrail? Do you think you can do that?”

  “Yeah.” Jack started to get up. “Ohhh!” Everything whirled, and he dropped back down.

  “Okay. It’s okay.” She gripped his shoulders. “Whatever is comfortable for you, that’s how I want you to get, okay?”

  “Nothing is.” Jack rolled slowly to his back and let out another cry of pain. “I can’t be hurt. This can’t be happening.”

  “Shhh.” She stuffed the kid’s sweatshirt beneath his neck. It felt dry and good. He let his head relax.

  “Her name’s Pam,” he mumbled. “Pam Crittendon.”

  In several quick swipes, she sliced the front of his shirt open. “I want your neck and head still, please. I’m checking for other injuries and your breathing.”

  “My wife,” Jack moaned. “I’ve got to find her.”

  He realized he was fading, clenched his teeth, battled to stay awake.

  Oh, Pam …

  The pinch came again. “Stay with me, Jack,” the lady said.

  “Find DeVry … in my phone. DeVry.” It took every bit of strength in him to expel the words. “He’s a cop. Please.”

  “What was it?” The kid bent closer. “DeVry?”

  Jack could only nod. His body was going limp.

  The lady’s movements were quick and precise. Her warm hands were on his forehead. “I need your head back and your chin up, Jack,” she said. “Stay with us now, okay? I need you awake and breathing.”

  Pam. I’m failing you. I’m so sorry …

  He heard talking, something about keeping him warm.

  A truck rocketed past, leaving a roar in Jack’s ears, then a wave of spray and wind made everything wobble. A faint siren wailed in the distance. Jack envisioned a lone ambulance struggling through the hilly terrain from some country hospital.

  The black-haired EMT was talking, but Jack couldn’t see her anymore.

  No, no, no …

  He was passing out.

  “His pulse is rapid …” he heard the woman say.

  A phone rang. It sounded like his, but there was nothing he could do.

  He felt something cover him, maybe a blanket or a coat, but he felt no warmth.

  Pam …

  No.

  You can’t help her anymore.

  He was going to have to let go and trust these people.

  Pam is in God’s care.

  He let it all slip away.

  39

  “We’re not gonna get far when it gets light,” Granger said. “That’s the reality.” Thinking aloud, he finished eating the string cheese Pam had given him and found a cigarette. The rain continued, hard and steady. He lit up.

  “If you don’t like the smoke,” he said, “you can move.”

  In silence Pam scooted all the way over to her door and stared at the semi that continued to plow through the rain in front of them.

  The whole situation stunk.

  How could he have ever thought this would make him happy?

  The one person he’d ever loved—who’d ever loved him—hated his miserable guts. He wished he could go back, back to when they were teens. But that was impossible.

  He cracked his window and exhaled. The breeze and specks of rain awakened him.

  “If you just stop the car,” Pam said, “I’ll go off to the side of the road. I don’t care anymore. I have to go now.”

  “Oh, and you’re not gonna run?”

  “Where would I run? Please stop.”

  “We will soon.”

  “You’ve been saying that forever!”

  Granger looked in his rearview mirror, then straight ahead. Besides the semi, there was one set of headlights in a cloud of rain, far behind them.

  He wanted to make as few stops as possible. And he needed to get them a different car by the time the sun came up.

  “You’ll get soaked if we stop here,” he said.

  “I don’t care. It’s either that or I’m going to go right here.”

  The semi’s brake lights suddenly glowed red, and the big truck slowed.

  “Whoa.” Granger got in the left lane. “Looks like our friend’s getting off.”

  “Oh my gosh!” Pam sat straight up, her eyes huge and fixed straight ahead.

  “Holy crap!” Granger took his foot off the gas, and his stomach flip-flopped.

  From left to right, all across the freeway ahead, blue and red lights flashed in the mist. They were still far away, but Granger heard sirens and could make out fire trucks, police cars, and at least one ambulance and a tow truck.

  He flipped on his right blinker and eased back behind the semi. “Now it’s time to get off. We’re not having any part of that.”

  The semi had its right blinker on too, so Granger slowed and kept behind it.

  “What exit is this, did you see?” he said.

  “No,” Pam said quietly.

  He suspected she did; she’d been watching every sign and mile marker like a hawk. So now she was lying to him. He was getting sick of her attitude.

  The semi went extra slow around a sharp curve that wound them around and around, past a green sign advertising four different gas stations, then another promoting a bunch of fast-food joints.

  After stopping at the end of the exit, the truck slowly chugged off to the right.

  Granger followed, scanning the puddle-ridden landscape, which was cluttered high and low with bright lights, truck stops, blinking signs, burger shops, and convenience stores. His best bet to get another car would be at a gas station, someone fueling up, like the old man from whom he’d snatched the Impala.

  He stuck close to the semi and laughed. “I’ll be danged if this guy’s not gonna lead us directly to our next mode of transportation,” Granger said. “Get ready, Pammy, my girl. We’re about to pull a Bonnie and Clyde.”

  The moment the semi had slowed on the rain-soaked freeway and Pamela had seen the misty horizon lined with police and emergency vehicles, her senses heightened. It had not fazed her that Granger had chosen to get off the highway to avoid the police. What mattered was the semi—the truck that had been her anchor, a godsend. It had exited at a town called Lake Serenity, and as far as Pamela was concerned, the moment of her escape was coming soon.

  Granger followed the truck right off the exit, and Pamela’s heart drummed like that of Rebecca’s or Faye’s after they had been running; pitter-patter, pitter-patter, pitter-patter. Her mind and senses were sharp as a razor. From head to toe her body pumped with adrenaline, like a racehorse at the starting gate. Her assignment now was to watch—to watch and be ready.

  Jack wasn’t sure if he was asleep or awake, but he understood he’d been in a wreck and that he was now jiggling around on a squeaky stretcher in the back of a hot, bright ambulance whose repetitive siren was wearing on his last nerve.

  He sensed the presence of at least two EMTs, one on either side of him. Needles and tape were stuck to his arms. His whole body was warm, but his chest felt like an industrial-size toolbox had been dropped squarely upon it. A bothersome plastic mask covered his mouth and nose. Although it was making his throat sore, he guessed it was also what was generating the cool air that was allowing him to breath.

  He’d given up trying to save Pam.

  It wasn’t up to him
anymore.

  God knew the circumstances; he’d written the script. And he could do a better job of taking out Granger Meade than Jack could.

  Bring him down, Lord.

  Put your angels around Pam like a wall.

  Sweep down from on high, set her free …

  In complete peace, Jack drifted, letting the road take him where it may.

  “We’ve followed this good ole boy all this way,” Granger said. “We may as well keep at it; he’s our good luck charm.”

  Pamela couldn’t agree more but sat still and told herself not to make a peep.

  Her heart leapt when Granger followed the semi left into a spacious, well-lit concrete parking lot lined with trucks and cars at gas pumps. The thunder and lightning had ceased, but a steady rain continued.

  “First stop, restrooms,” Granger said. “Then we do the deed.”

  Pamela said nothing.

  “See, I take good care of you.” Granger wheeled the car into a tight parking space to the right of the entrance to Jen’s Truck Stop & Diner. “You couldn’t be in better hands.”

  Pamela was sick of Granger Meade but reminded herself to stay calm and wait for just the right moment.

  Be smart.

  Granger hurried around her side, unlocked the door, and opened it. “Together like a couple in love now, you hear me?”

  She nodded and got out. Her whole body ached from sitting so long, and her bladder rolled painfully inside her like an overfilled water balloon. Granger took her arm in his, and they walked fast to get out of the rain. The truck they’d followed all those miles was parked about sixty feet away. Its windows were tinted, and she couldn’t tell if the driver was in it.

  They went through the same routine as at the last stop. Granger checked the men’s room, made sure it was clean and clear, locked Pamela in, and stood guard outside the door. She hurried into the first stall. She’d never been so relieved to go her whole life. There was no way she could have tried to get away with her bladder as full as it was.

  She doused her face with hot water and dried off. Looking in the chipped mirror, her eyes were sore and tired, but they were the size of nickels.