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Henry, the store manager and the worst, red-faced alcoholic he d
ever met, looking at him through the smudged glass window of the
office, speaking into the microphone.
He thought of his father, whom he hadn t seen since he was a
little boy. For some reason he thought a lot about the man these
NEVER SMILE AT STRANGERS
days. His memory of his father was hazy at best, but he did recall
that he had been kind to him. His mother cursed his father s last
name over the years. Although it was listed on both his and Allie s
birth certificates, she would never acknowledge it. She went by her
maiden name and insisted that Allie did, too.
She never insisted that he did. For as long as he could remem-
ber, his mother had hated everything about him. She didn t care
whether he lived or died, never mind whether he had a decent or
despicable name.
Lately, everything seemed to bother him more than usual. The
television, all the images of women. Horrible, trashy women. The
women he abhorred. He didn t want to hurt anyone. He really
didn t. But he did. Yes . . . oh, yes, he did.
His mind was a jumble of pent-up energy confused, danger-
ous thoughts, unmentionable urges. That morning, he had ripped
out the last pages in the filthy magazines. He ripped most of them
to shreds the pages, binding, everything. Maybe if he burned
them after his shift. Yes, that might make him feel better. If it didn t,
maybe he d take a trip back to the Andersons .
Someone tossed items on the belt. He glanced at them: a box of
condoms, a can of SpaghettiO s, a pack of cigarettes, and a tabloid
magazine. He looked up and nearly screamed.
Why, hello, handsome.
It was Allie.
The nicotine gum you left on the counter doesn t work too
good, she said, now standing in front of the credit-card scanner.
She reached in her pocket and popped a white square of gum in her
mouth. But the thought was nice. My big brother buying me gifts.
My savior has reappeared in the form of a crazy screw-up.
She flashed him a toothy grin. He had the urge to fly over the
conveyor belt and strangle her. Now was not the time for her to
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JENNIFER JAYNES
ridicule him, not in front of other people. She was crossing the line.
His life with her was supposed to be separate, could only be separate.
What was she doing here?
A kid in a cart done up as a red-and-yellow plastic buggy wailed.
He glared at the kid, then quickly returned his focus to his sister.
She was wearing too much makeup. Her blue-red lips blared at him
beneath the fluorescent lights of the store.
An older woman walked up behind Allie and placed a box of
kitty litter on the conveyor, then picked up one of the juice-splat-
tered tabloids.
You wouldn t be trying to get into my panties, would you, big
brother? Giving me thoughtful gifts so that you can molest me?
Allie said, loud enough for the woman to hear.
Shut up, he snapped.
The woman s jaw dropped. She picked up the kitty litter and
walked to the next open register.
His blood boiling, he rang up his sister s items and shoved
everything into a plastic bag. The blip-blip of the scanners in the
store was driving him mad. He wanted to jam his fist through the
smudged rectangular panel of glass. Eleven sixty-six, he said.
I think I forgot my wallet, Allie said, smirking. Can you, you
know, take care of me?
He glowered. Shoving the bag at her, he leaned in and hissed:
Get the fuck out of here.
8
After his shift, he jumped into his truck and drove home. The eve-
ning was calm; he was not.
On Coontz Road, he passed a girl who looked to be Allie s age,
hitchhiking. She was wearing next to nothing, her thumb in the air.
A sitting bird for predators like him.
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NEVER SMILE AT STRANGERS
Without thinking, he jammed his foot against the brake, and
the truck lurched to a stop, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.
Seeing his taillights, the girl jogged up to the passenger door, her
breasts nearly bouncing out of her tube top. He lowered the pas-
senger window halfway.
Where are you headed? he asked.
Grand Trespass.
His mind manufactured a scenario not unlike the one with Tif-
fany: snuffing out the life in this half-dead girl. The opportunity to
take another evil out of the world and quiet his rage.
His eyes left the girl s and settled on a dried-up, flattened bull-
frog on the road ahead of him. How dare his sister show up at the
grocery store? How dare she humiliate him when he was outside the
house? She knew the rules. Giving her the gift had been an unwise
move, and he wasn t even sure why he had in the first place.
Yes, he felt responsible for her. And yes, in a twisted way he
guessed he might even love her. But that didn t mean he had to be
nice. She just would see it as a weakness and use it against him. She
always had.
He d learned his lesson.
The hitchhiker lifted the handle on the door. Discovering it was
locked, she looked up and scowled. You givin me a ride or what?
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CHAPTER 43
HIS EYES FLEW open, and he found his naked torso slick with
sweat.
Sitting up in the small bed, he struggled for air. It was five
o clock in the morning. The stress had brought on the nightmare
of the last moments with his mother. Sweat chilled the sides of his
face, and he let out a sob before lying back down.
He looked out the small window, listening to the faint croon-
ing of Bob Dylan. He d set the CD on loop the night before, and
now Dylan s Lay, Lady, Lay played softly on the floor beside his
bed. The sky outside was splattered in shades of gray and pink, the
beginnings of dawn.
Ian brushed against the window, mewing loudly. Wickedly.
In the nightmare, her face had been so vivid. Her features true
to that night, even down to her smeared eye makeup and the mole
above her lips. Her words as sharp as they had been in life still
echoed in his head.
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