"Before Dawn"

Chapter 33: Saving Wesley Price

Dawn recognizes every landscape, every road, and every critical landmark leading to Ground Zero. It's almost as if Cat were in the passenger side seat of the van, recounting it all to her again. The closer she gets, the faster she drives, fishtailing through some of the turns. All-the-while, Wesley Price is mumbling indecipherably in the back of the van. She periodically glances in her rearview mirror to check on him. His golden irises smile at her from the darkness every time. Finally, she approaches the overgrown access road leading her to the shabby Victorian—to Ground Zero.

She sees Martha Littlejohn's parked Isuzu Rodeo and pulls up next to it. She dismounts the van and heads to see if Martha is behind the wheel when the old lady calls..."In here"... to her from the Victorian's doorway.

Dawn goes to the back of the van and opens the rear doors.

"You drive crazy as hell," Wesley Price said, scooching his way to the edge of the cargo bed. "Where we at?"

Dawn—soaked but feeling anxious and warm inside—grabs him by the wrist. "Let's go," she said, and pulls him out of the van. He almost falls out of the van and into the brush. She moves him along by the arm like a prison guard. Wesley is walk-hopping like a prisoner in shackles.

"Damn, girl," Wesley said. "Easy."

Dawn gets him up the Victorian steps, across the porch, and inside the candlelit Victorian. "Where do I put him?" she said. Martha points to the couch which is covered in thick plastic for some strange reason. Dawn deposits him there and the plastic crinkles under his thin body.

Wesley continues his rambling.

Right away Dawn notices that there is no gear, no tools, nothing to indicate that there will be a process, a ritual of some sort taking place. Wesley's running off at the mouth causes her disregard her observation. She knows Wesley is not Wesley but she has had enough of Wesley's mouth. "Shut the hell up, Wesley!" He grins, absolutely amused.

Martha is still standing in the doorway waving for Dawn to come over to her.

Dawn joins her at the doorway, desperate for her to get whatever she has planned over and done with. "How long will it take to fix him?" she asks Martha, doing her best to hide her anxiety about de-ghouling Wesley. She wants him fixed—now. "I mean, not to rush you, but—"

"There is no fixing him," Martha said softly.

Martha's words rack her brain, echoing in her head over and over. There is no fixing him...there is no fixing him...there is no fixing him. "What do you mean?" Dawn said.

"Just as I said, Dawn."

Dawn's desperation turns into irritation. How can this old hag be so cruel, play games with her at the expense of her friend, her crush—her love. "This isn't funny, Martha," Dawn said, shaking now, her hands balling into fists without her even knowing it.

"Listen to me, carefully. There is no fixing or saving him."

Dawn gets it. It's a game now. Martha is pissed—as Dawn expects her to be—and the old True Believer is messing with her now, wants to turn this into some learning lesson before she turns Wesley back to normal.

Wesley Price blows kisses from the couch, no doubt meant for Dawn.

"Martha, I get it...I messed up. I went off and did something I wasn't supposed to do again. Really, I get it," Dawn said. She's trying so hard to maintain her composure and not haul off and slap the old lady in her wrinkled, scared, one-good-eyed face.