She broke the silence this time. “Did you see anything over the last few days that inspired you?”
Oh, yeah. Plenty. “I took a few pictures.”
“Carrizo Plain, Yosemite, Mono Lake, the Dardanelles. Enough to inspire a lifetime of painting.”
Roman glanced at her. Every mile he drove put them closer to the end of whatever was happening in this car. “We should stop for supper.”
“Oh, good. I’m starving.”
He laughed. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“You seemed in a hurry to get back.” She grinned at him. “One hundred and ten miles an hour. I’ve never gone that fast before.”
He’d forgotten the ticket in the door pocket. “Want to do it again?”
“Don’t even think about it.”
They passed a sign. “Santa Clarita is coming up. There should be a nice restaurant near Magic Mountain.” Roman took the exit, wishing he could see how she’d handle a roller-coaster ride. “Are you in the mood for seafood or Mexican?”
“I love anything I haven’t cooked.”
Pulling into a space beneath a shade tree, Roman told her to sit tight. He came around the car and opened her door. When he held out his hand, she hesitated briefly before accepting his assistance. Her hand trembled in his. Nice to see she wasn’t completely indifferent. He’d been on a roller-coaster ride this entire trip—highs and lows, that sudden drop in his stomach and the rush of his pulse when their eyes met. The feeling he was having right now. Off-balance.
He stumbled slightly. His mind blanked. He felt suddenly weak.
“Roman?” Grace gripped his arm. “Are you all right?”
He thought he’d be fine once they got inside the air-conditioned restaurant, but he barely made it to the sidewalk before his legs turned to jelly. Grace cried out, trying to break his fall, and he took her down with him. He wanted to ask if she was okay. He wanted to say he was sorry if he hurt her. She was screaming for help and rolling him onto his back. He didn’t feel anything but a heavy pulling sensation.
He barely heard Grace cry out. “Roman. Oh, God . . . Jesus, help him. Help us!”
Her voice faded as he sank into a sea of darkness.
Roman didn’t feel any pain. No need to breathe. The hot cement gave way beneath him and then flung him up, light and free. He saw a crowd around a body and Grace on her knees, doing CPR. A man appeared, gripped her shoulder, and knelt beside her. He took over. Others had their phones out, most taking pictures and texting, one or two talking. Roman looked at the dead man lying on the sidewalk. What the—？ That was him! Was he hallucinating?
Looking away from the scene on the sidewalk, he noticed two men standing on either side of him. Instinctively repelled, he shrank back. They looked ordinary, nondescript, but something about them scared him. One showed jagged teeth. “Time to go, Bobby Ray.”
“Get away from me!” Roman stepped back.
“You can’t run now.” Hollow black eyes stared at him as they advanced.
“Who in hell are you?” Taking another step back, he raised his fists.
They laughed. “You know what we are.” They moved fast, each grabbing hold of him with claw hands.
Crying out in fear as much as in pain, Roman tried to break free. Why was he so weak, and they so strong? Terrified now, he thrashed. “Let go of me!” Rivers of fire spread through his body, and he screamed.
The air shimmered like a mirage in a desert as he passed through a veil into another world. A dark tunnel opened ahead, and the demons dragged him in. The curved walls and ceiling were alive with creatures, their faces twisted and grotesque. They crawled above and around him, spewing foul names, writhing, grabbing at him, their mouths snapping like great white sharks hungry for flesh.
Cringing, ducking, dodging, Roman tried to go back. Dragged forward by his captors, he saw darkness ahead and felt rising heat. He heard human shrieks and groans of agony.
Pain exploded inside Roman’s chest. He arched, body stiffened, eyes opening to light and voices all around him.
“Stop! Stop! He’s back!” Grace cried out.
A stranger lifted his hands away and Roman tried to draw breath. He felt the darkness encroaching again. Terrified, he rasped, “Don’t stop. Don’t . . . stop.”
Sucked back into the darkness, Roman kicked at his captors, struggled against their grasp. The demons laughed louder, still gripping him, dragging him further, deeper inside the pulsing mouth of hell. The morbid, decaying fiends in the walls and ceiling licked their lips and taunted him with vile names and horrific descriptions of what they intended to do to him. They reached out putrid fingers, the stench of rotting flesh pressing in like a suffocating fog. Roman could taste it.