Chapter 4
Chapter Four
L orelai…
I stood, shivering, under the watchful gaze of the one called Grim. I didn’t know what kind of a name that was, certainly not his real name. Of course, I didn’t think “Hangman” was a real name either. My foggy thoughts and memory worried me. The more I thought about the name “Lorelai” the more familiar it became. It was like I knew everyone had a last name, but I couldn’t for the life of me think of mine.
Lorelai, Lorelai, Lorelai… but Lorelai, what?
I hugged myself, feeling really damn vulnerable in just the thin flannel shirt with the sleeves turned up past my wrists. I felt like I had to hunch or crouch a little to make it long enough to cover my bits, and it was distinctly uncomfortable. Now that I could get a better look at him, I was studying Hangman through the square windows with the rounded corners that were set in the swinging doors. I could see just head and shoulders as he spoke to the threatening man, with the dark hair and aviators, in the leather jacket.
Hangman was bearded, some gray just starting to show around his mouth. His sandy blond hair was pulled back into a short ponytail and curled at the back of his neck where it was too short to make it into the tie. He had a strong nose and jawline, and I swallowed hard when he turned his golden-green gaze from the sinister-looking man who’d threatened me to fix it on mine.
His lips pursed, and he nodded at something the other man said. I could hear the low murmur of their conversation from here, but I couldn’t make out anything that they said over the low mechanical hum of the refrigeration units back here.
“Won’t be long and we’ll get you someplace warmer.” I startled at the sound of the man’s voice who stood with me, keeping an eye on me. I guess I hadn’t expected him to speak.
“Appreciate it,” I muttered and I winced, hoping that it hadn’t come across as sarcastic or rude. There was no telling what they would do, and so it behooved me to remain polite, placating even.
God, being a woman sucked. There were so many more things for us to fear than death.
I took in a deep breath and huffed it out. Grim frowned and looked back over his shoulder just as the two men in the hall pushed their way back through the doors.
“About fucking time,” he growled at them.
“Keep your fucking panties on,” the menacing one said.
“What are you going to do with me?” I asked, afraid.
“You’re going with Hangman.” The man pulled off his sunglasses and fixed me with eyes as cold and hard as obsidian.
“Lorelai…”
I started to turn my head in the direction of Hangman’s voice but my eyes remained locked on the dark gaze that’d captured mine. I swear, the look in those eyes was so cold it could burn.
“Lorelai,” Hangman tried again, his voice patient.
I managed to look at him and he raked me up and down with his gaze and said softly, “You’re good. It’ll be okay. I promise. Now, come here.”
I took a halting step, and faltered, realizing he could be lying. But out of everyone in the room, he seemed the surest and the calmest and I would much rather take my chances with him than with anyone else. I went to him, hugging myself, and he put an arm around me, guiding me toward those double doors.
“That’s it?” I asked softly. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he said gently. “You’re okay in this moment. Right now. I promise. One step at a time. Cool?”
I nodded a bit too rapidly and said, “Uh, sure… where are we going?”
“Not far, I promise,” he said.
“Okay.”
I let him guide me past the other two men, and I couldn’t help but hunch my shoulders when we passed the sinister one who looked down on me impassively as we went by.
“Don’t worry about him,” Hangman told me after we’d gone through the double doors. “He’s always gotta play lord of the manor.”
“Who is he?” I asked.
“I promise to answer what questions I can, later. Right now, let’s get you up top and out where it’s warm. You’re going to have to tread carefully. It’s about two blocks from here to where we’re going. Don’t try to run. I will catch you,” he said. It didn’t sound like a threat, but more just a statement of fact. Still, it made me shiver.
He punched a button on a service elevator right outside the doors and they swooshed open for us. The floor of it was that diamond patterned steel, but it was warm beneath my feet. Much warmer than the cold linoleum.
“What is this place?” I asked nervously, half-afraid he wouldn’t tell me, half-afraid he would .
“It’s a funeral home.”
“You’re joking,” I said in disbelief. He punched the only other button above the one glowing for what floor we were on and said, “Nope. Afraid not. You were set for cremation.”
I stared at him and he looked back at me impassively.
“Why?” I asked. “ Who? ” I followed up quickly.
“Your guess is as good as ours, honey. You’re seeing and hearing a lot of shit that you shouldn’t be right now. Somebody thought you were dead. Maybe wanted you dead, but for damn sure wanted you disposed of quickly.”
“Why are you helping me?” I asked, voice trembling.
“You could be useful,” he said honestly.
I didn’t think I wanted to know more. Instead, as the elevator, which was agonizingly slow, bumped to a stop, I decided it might be better if I just kept my mouth shut. If I just waited to see what would happen next.
When the doors opened, I gasped and shrank back. Hangman’s arms tightening around me reminded me that there wasn’t exactly any place I could run to.
“Man, fuck off, Reaper. You’ve done enough for one night,” Hangman said tempestuously, and the man I’d woken up to with his cock in my hand quickly stepped aside with the grace to at least, I think, look embarrassed.
“Sorry,” he muttered as Hangman walked me past him. I didn’t say anything, my cheeks flaming and my teeth clenched.
Hangman hurried me past him and through the front end of what was probably a really nice funeral home. I mean, it looked nice, but I couldn’t even remember my own name let alone if I had ever been in one before. I don’t think I had…
“I mean it,” Hangman said, a note of caution in his voice. “Don’t try and rabbit on me. I will catch you and I promise, I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to help you. You run, and I can’t make any more promises.”
“I won’t run,” I said faintly.
I was having enough trouble walking, even with his help.
I stumbled over the threshold of the doors leading outside, and he caught me, stopping to steady me.
“Easy now,” he said.
“My legs feel fine but it’s like I can’t tell them to work or the signal is interrupted or something. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I said, voice trembling.
“Just take it easy, one foot in front of the other. That’s it,” he encouraged.
“Aren’t you afraid someone will see us out here?” I asked.
“Yes and no,” he said. “It’s not far, and not many people drive through here at this time. The cemetery is closed and the tourists have all fucked off. Not a lot of houses on this stretch, either.”
His words chilled me in a way that even the sultry night couldn’t fix.
“That’s not very comforting,” I said as I gingerly picked my way across the asphalt of the roundabout drive-in front of the funeral home, past a very nice, very antique, gleaming white hearse.
“It’s not meant to be comforting. It’s just the truth. Still, we aren’t going to linger so let’s pick up the pace.” He wasn’t overtly demanding in his tone, but still, I knew he meant business. I tried my best, I really did, but everything felt so weird . Like I was telling my body to put one foot in front of the other but it was like the thought and the action were miles apart. Just as soon as I told my foot to raise, I was telling it to fall, but it hadn’t even left the ground yet.
“Easy, okay, this isn’t working and we gotta move. Put your arms around me.”
“What?” I asked, alarmed, but it was too late. He’d already stooped, catching me behind the knees with one arm and grunting as he lifted me. I tangled my arms around his shoulders and neck as he picked up his pace and made large strides down the street which had no sidewalks.
“Please don’t drop me!” I cried when his boot hit a scatter of loose gravel and sent it skittering across the blacktop.
He snorted. “I’m not going to drop you. I’ve carried rucksacks on miles worth of marches heavier than you.”
“Does that mean you were in the military?” I asked, my brain making the connection but for whatever reason, I still couldn’t tell you who I was, what I did for a living, where I lived or any of it. It’s like it just wasn’t there!
“Forget about it,” he said and his voice was clipped. Not as though he was tired, but more a clear indication he didn’t want to talk about it. I wasn’t about to poke the bear.
Hell, I would have preferred a bear to this. At least a bear’s behavior was predictable.
I tried not to snort a laugh at the thought but failed.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“I was just thinking I was curious, but that I didn’t want to poke the bear, you know? Then I thought the bear would be preferable to any of this. I mean, at least the bear is predictable, you know?”
“Lemme take the guesswork out of it, as though I haven’t said it like a half a dozen times by this point. No one’s going to hurt you. I get it, you’re scared, but has anyone hurt you yet?”
“I mean, I woke up… and I think I hurt your friend but, ah, what would you call that?” I asked pointedly.
He stopped, looked at me, and said gently, “Fair point.”
“Then that other one threatened to lock me in some crypt,” I whispered.
“That scared you, but didn’t hurt you,” he pointed out.
“Splitting hairs, don’t you think?” I asked. He set me carefully on my feet and I sucked in a breath as a sharp bit of stone dug into my arch.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “I’m going to let go. Don’t you try anything.”
I hugged myself as he let me go and pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. I looked up at the statue atop the brick pillar we stood beside and sucked in a breath. It was a hooded weeping woman. I turned my chin back earthward and my head to face what lay beyond the brick pillar through the iron gate set in it.
“I thought you said you weren’t putting me in the crypt,” I said alarmed.
“Relax,” he said. “The brick house, just there, that’s where we’re going.”
I swallowed hard and he unlocked a man-sized gate within the larger vehicle gate that’d been locked and secured with a heavy chain.
“Is that your house?” I asked.
“It’s the old caretaker’s house,” he said. “I live on the second floor.”
“What’s on the first floor?” I asked.
“It’s closed. The historical society uses it as a meeting space, and sometimes visitors’ center. They have designs on making it an official gift shop but there hasn’t been any movement on that yet.”
“Good to know,” I murmured, and he stopped, swinging the gate inward.
Turning to me, he said, “I need you to trust me, Lorelai. In order to gain your trust, I’m trusting you . Do you get that?”
I swallowed hard at the intensity of the look on his face and nodded dumbly.
“Okay,” he said, reaching out and holding on to my arm. “Step over. That’s it.”
Ungainly like an awkward newborn baby giraffe, I made it over the lip on the bottom of the gate and he swiftly shut it behind us, the locking mechanism latching. I lingered for a moment, staring through the iron bars, up the lonesome empty street, the only movement the Spanish Moss wavering from the branches of the trees with the slight stirring of the breeze.
“Come on, let’s get you into something more substantial to wear before the doc gets here.”
I let him guide me to the front porch of the house, and waited as he unlocked the door. Downstairs was sparsely furnished and looked like a cross between a meeting space and museum. He led me over to another door, unlocking it, too, and I looked up the dark expanse of old wooden stairs a bit dubiously.
“Take your time,” he said. “I’ll be right behind you just in case.”
“Thank you,” I murmured.
He asked me, “For what?”
“For not being mean, I guess.”
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug and his face was impassive. I headed up the long and narrow flight of steps and leaned heavily on the rail that was so old it bowed beneath my hand. I was keenly aware of the door shutting behind us and the snick of the lock tumbling into place, locking us in together.
I took one step at a time, the blood rushing through me, my heart beating a stuttering tattoo against the cage of my ribs as I fought not to panic. I didn’t know if I believed him, or if he was lying just to keep me complacent. I didn’t know what to believe. Lord knows, I had absolutely no memory of how I had gotten here, or even of who I was – and that scared me.
When we reached the top of the steps, the second floor opened up into a living space, wide and open. Open concept came unbidden to my brain.
The living area was open to the kitchen, the hardwood floors warm and the wood silky beneath my bare feet. Windows wrapped the entire half of the space on three sides, and I could a glimpse of a wraparound porch up here, much like there had been down below.
It was clean, orderly, and comfortable – a fireplace in the one wall, a television somehow bolted into the brick above its mantle which held some framed pictures and a pair of lanterns at either end.
A light rapping on the door to the porch made me jump, and Hangman slid past me, making strides for it, unlocking the deadbolt, and twisting the lock at the knob to open it up.
“Hey, Doc,” he said, and he let a black woman into the room. She was slight, her hair cut short, the tight curls frosted with iron as she looked at me and sighed.
“Could you get her something to wear or at least cover up with? Goddamn.” The woman sounded irritated, but I could tell, it wasn’t with me.
“Have a seat on the couch, use the throw, and I’ll see what I can find,” he said. “We only just got here ourselves.”
“Hi, sweetheart,” the lady said kindly to me. “Why don’t you come on over here and sit with me a minute. Let’s see if we can figure out what’s going on, huh?”
I nodded, hugging myself, and stumbled slightly, getting going in her direction.
She seemed… nice. I was hoping that she would help me.