Wait Until Dawn by Bailey Bradford (book club suggestions .txt) 📕

That wasn’t an explanation Rich cared for, and he snapped before he thought better of it. “Would have been nice if that feeling would have kicked in when McAlister was carving me up. Before, even.”

His father looked stricken, and Rich wanted to take back the words, but they were true. Still, he’d hurt the one man he’d always been able to count on. “Dad, I’m sorry, I…I’m an asshole, I know—”

“No,” Diego rasped. “That you don’t apologize for. I don’t know why things happen, why I didn’t know you were being hurt before, but knew I had to get here before something bad happened. I’ve never been a spiritual man, or believed in curanderos or magic or anything like that, none of the things your mama was so sure existed. Maybe if I did believe in that stuff, I would have known, just like I did this time, and that’s going to haunt me the rest of my life.”

Rich struggled to find something to say, words of absolution for both of them, but nothing seemed appropriate. His father hugged him again then slammed the trunk shut before opening the driver’s door.

“Go on, they’re expecting you.”

Rich walked to the car then stopped and touched his dad’s cheek. He waited until the man met his eyes. “I don’t blame you, you know. McAlister, and myself for being so careless that I didn’t even realize he was waiting in the motel room until it was too late, but not you. You weren’t there, and I didn’t want the hospital calling you. I just wanted to die.”

Diego’s eyes welled as Rich watched. “And I think you still do, son, but we aren’t gonna let you. You’ll see that you’re still a good man, and that people love you and need you. Stop pushing everyone away, and stop letting what happened to you control your life. You give McAlister a victory every time you withdraw. Don’t let that bastard win.”

* * * *

Don’t let that bastard win. Rich heard those words repeatedly in his head, every time he started to turn the car around. But how could he go on when he never knew if the coming night would be filled with horrors? When he could, even now, feel the tendrils of that dark presence crawl over his skin? Rich knew the invader would be back, had picked up little glimpses of evil on and off during the darkest hours of the night. Every time it had happened, that frigid cold would start spreading in his bones, and before the full mind-fuck could begin, the invader would roar with anger then vanish.

But how long was that going to last? And how was Rich ever going to have a normal life when there were two presences poking around in his head? The loud blast of an eighteen-wheeler’s horn startled Rich so badly he yelped and swerved. Righting the steering wheel, Rich tried to glare at the driver of the huge black rig on his left, but there was no use. As low as the Miata set, and as tall as that cab was, Rich couldn’t see more than the door handle without risking a wreck.

Scowling and wondering if flipping the driver off would get him flattened like a pancake, Rich floored the gas and pulled ahead of the semi. He glanced in the rearview, careful to avoid his own reflection, and his heart skipped a beat. That was a huge rig, and it looked unlike any others Rich had seen. It was black and trimmed in chrome everywhere possible, with a grill that angled out, coming to a point in the middle. The overall effect was that of a train, speeding up behind him.

Rich decided against giving the trucker the finger. There were ways he didn’t want to die, and being run over by an eighteen-wheeler was one of them. Too much potential for pain. A bullet would be quicker. He flicked another glance at the rig. Maybe a bullet wouldn’t be quicker. The tips of his toes and fingers tingled with cold, and Rich got the message. No thinking about suicide, not if he wanted to be left alone.

“You win—for now,” Rich muttered then concentrated on keeping well ahead of the semi. Why it was important to do so, he couldn’t say, only that something about having squealed and been scared by the foghorn-like sound of the damn thing spurred on the machismo Rich had thought thoroughly quashed. He realized with a start that it felt good to have the zing of competitiveness coursing through his bloodstream, even if the other driver didn’t have a clue what was going on.

His face felt odd. Rich risked a peek in the mirror and nearly swerved again. The grin stretching his lips was foreign enough to him that he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Or maybe one of his unwanted visitors was back, but no. He remembered when grins like that were commonplace for him, when he thought the world was his playground and bad things happened to other people…

Was it really such an awful thing to enjoy the moment? The top was down on the Miata, and the Texas weather wasn’t its usual hellacious self. The day was sunny but cool, the autumn air carrying only the faintest stench of the pollution Rich managed to ignore in Houston. Once he got out of the city, the fresh air had always surprised him—and still did. Rich inhaled deeply and the crisp air seemed to warm him through and through despite its cool temperature. No, he decided, maybe it wasn’t so bad to relax just a little and try not to think about anything other than this very minute.

He should have known that was the kind of thinking that’d get him in trouble. An hour later, his temporary respite from the crap his life had become went up in smoke along with the Miata’s engine. A knocking came from under the hood