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attention between watching me and emptying his pack of
cigarettes. Truly, he had nothing to fear from me—short of
appearing on my list, there was no way I would take him
from the world. Mr. Grimes cast a truly beautiful shadow, in
his own depraved way.
With the storm directly overhead and the dirt road quickly
becoming a swamp, our route became nearly impassable.
Mr. Grimes had no choice but to pull onto a small patch of
gravel sheltering beneath an overhang of tree branches, like
a giant green claw reaching up for the storm. “We’re gonna
have to hold up here for a bit until the storm blows over,” Mr.
Grimes announced as he produced a fresh pack of cigarettes.
“Fine,” I said, distracted, still watching dreams trying to
break through the places where storm and death intersected.
“You ever gonna tell me where we’re goin’?” As he
spoke, and as the dashboard lights slowly sank away into the
darkness, the killer blended into the unfolding nightmare,
becoming a monstrous, smoking silhouette possessed
of a single, burning eye. At that point, I had no difficulty
engaging the monstrous man. He was now part of the
nightmare whirling with the storm.
“You’re bringing me to the outskirts of New Victoria,” I
said.
“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Grimes said, exhaling smoke
into the shadows. “What the hell ya gotta go there for?”
The sound of rain and rolling thunder filling the long pause
between his question and my response. “I need answers that
cannot be glimpsed by mortal dreams,” I informed him.
“Ya don’t say? Well, that’s mortal dreams for you, I
guess.” Mr. Grimes’ sarcasm was as thick as the smoke that
filled the bus, but his crude wit was almost entertaining.
“Ya know, a while back, I knew this guy, Jackie I think was
his name, and he had a brother that got caught sleepin’ just
inside New Victoria. It was sometime just before the military
put up all them barriers an’ razor-wire.

38 | Mark Anzalone