Hitchhikers (Wolf Point #1)

-39-

She wakes up around the time the sun starts fading. "Hmmmm... what's up," she says to me, stretching.

The warehouse has all kinds of hidden treasures. Candi lights some candles, then pulls out a little camping stove and proceeds to heat up some soup in the can. It's broccoli and cheddar. I never really liked it, but my stomach growls anyway.

"You hungry or something?" Candi asks with a smirk.

"I guess so." I roll over and stare at the wall. I shouldn't be hungry. I never want to be hungry again, if hungry means doing what I did.

"Here," she says a few moments later.

I flop onto my back. She's holding out a mug steaming with hot soup.

"I don't have any spoons, but you can drink it."

The mug warms my hands. Maybe I should let myself starve to death. Or will my hitchhiker take over when I get too hungry and kill again? Despite my stomach growling, I don't feel hungry. I feel numb.

"You gonna stare it all day or drink it?"

I look up at Candi. Her makeup has smudged under her eyes, making her look very tired, and her hair is all frizzed up and knotted in the back.

"Cuz, you know, I wouldn't mind eating it if you're not going to."

She glares at me until I take a sip.

"That's better. Man, you're skinny. I bet you weigh less than me. What are you doing out here anyway? You a runaway?"

"I guess," I say. Maybe three years ago I was a runaway. Now I'm sixteen and I'm headed back home. Maybe. If Lila doesn't come back I'm heading south again. "You haven't seen a dog around, have you?"

"What kind of dog?"

"Light brown, about this big. Pointy ears."

"Nah."

"Oh."

"Did you lose your wittle puppy?" Candi sticks out her lower lip and juts her hip out at me. "Poor baby."

"Whatever." I crawl out of bed and head into the other half of the warehouse.

"Hey! It was just a joke," she calls out. "Jerk."

I look around for my backpack. I must have stowed my winter coat in there, because I don't have it on. Of course, I can't remember having it on at any point in the recent past. Another reminder of just how out of my mind I've been. I wonder if I imagined the whole thing with the rope and the noose and Kayla. It's completely impossible that Kayla was here. Naked. In the middle of November in Nebraska.

My backpack is not here.

I slam through to Candi's end of the warehouse. She jumps. "Did you take my backpack?"

"What? No. I didn't even know you had a backpack."

"Yeah, right."

She glares at me. "Look, dickhead. You're the one who showed up at my place, okay? I didn't invite you here. If you lost your shit, that's on you."

"All I know," I say testily, "is that we're the only two people here and my stuff is missing."

"Dude, I knew I should've maced you when you came in. You're a fucking psycho!"

I slam back into my end of the warehouse and wish I hadn't. The cold is starting to get to me. No winter coat, and the windows aren't keeping out the icy air. Tucking my hands under my armpits I pace back and forth. Where could my stuff have gone?

Maybe I left them somewhere. It doesn't help that the clothes I have on are ripped and stained and tied together. Lucky my sweatshirt is black or there'd be blood on it.

For the hell of it I ransack the deserted end of the warehouse, shoving aside crates and boards and piles of trash. Nothing.

Then: brilliance! I return to the splintered chair and close my eyes and breathe. The cold makes it hard to pick up the scent. Mostly I smell myself, but there it is, a whiff of Lila. And something else. Lilacs. I laugh softly.

Unfortunately there was nothing in my backpack that would smell. I follow Lila's trail anyway. It leads to the door.

Even the handle is cold, and I only open it for a second before shutting it again. The wind blows right through me. That second is long enough for me to see that there is a fresh layer of snow from last night. No tracks of any kind.

I go back into Candi's side. She glares at me and demands, "What?"

"Can I b-borrow your blanket?" I can't stop shivering.

"For what?"

"T-to warm up."

She looks at me, then moves away from the mattress. "Knock yourself out."

I wrap the piles of fabric around me and rock back and forth, trying to stop the chills. I can't help watching what Candi is doing. She's leaning over a cracked mirror, reapplying her makeup. She's wearing tight pleather pants now. She's got a big bruise on her arm.

"What happened to you?" I ask. She looks at me in the mirror. "Your arm."

"None of your business," she snaps, and goes back to her eyeliner. "What do you care, anyway? You're the one who looks like he got attacked by a wild animal. Did you stick your clothes in a wood chipper or something?"

"No." I sound defensive and look down at the floor.

"And, like, why is your neck all bruised? You look like someone tried to strangle you. Plus you probably haven't showered in forever."

"What about you? There's no shower here."

She snorts. "I smell better than you." The smile fades from her face. "Sometimes my clients make me take a shower before... you know."

Normally I try to avoid thinking about those nights when I was younger and took truckers up on their offers. But now that Candi has reminded me, many of them did ask me to take a shower. Usually at that point I hoped they were just being nice. Eat some food, take a shower. Then they wanted something back for all they gave.

I feel like throwing up.

"That's rude," I say finally.

"Really." She turns from the mirror and looks at me with one hand on her hip. "What do you know about manners?"

"Not much, I guess."

For a few minutes we are both silent, listening to the tapping of snow on the windows, then Candi pulls out a small radio and turns it on to a pop music station.

I lie down and watch Candi getting ready. In the warm haze from the candles and the blanket, I fall asleep.