Page 157 of Naughty Dreams
The cart was moving more swiftly, bumping along, wheels squeaking. The weight of the equipment lifted, the blanket yanked off. Paul hauled DJ out of the cart and dragged him down a short, narrow hallway, out of view of the main corridor they’dbeen following. He turned DJ onto his side, letting him cough the bile out of his throat onto the tile floor. His eyes ran with tears.
While the evacuation noise was quieter, he could hear the rumble of everything going on above, the fire alarms still blaring. They hadn’t activated here, though, and the smell of smoke was fainter.
So Paul hadn’t set fire to his escape route or the places he’d hide if he ran into problems. It was possible they’d shut off the vents in this wing to discourage the fire from spreading. It felt hot and stuffy. Or maybe that was just DJ being feverish.
But his head also felt clearer. Maybe he’d gotten some of the drug out of his system. No, it had been an injection. But maybe…he’d said it was temporary…
He had the metabolism of a house wren. Marjorie had coined that term about him first. When he’d had his appendix out, they’d discovered anesthetic burned through his system faster than most. Maybe what he’d considered a curse when he was younger, wanting to be beefy and strong-looking, would be a blessing to him now.
Paul stood over him impassively, waiting. DJ’s brain was spinning too hard to focus, but then he latched onto what Paul had said to him, on the phone call after the food truck shooter incident. DJ had revisited it a hundred times in his mind, trying to place him.
You sang for me first.
He coughed and took the chance. “You used to be…nicer.”
“I’m exactly who I’ve always been.” The rough note in Paul’s voice suggested he wasn’t happy about that, but then his expression brightened. “You sang that song, when I was wheeling you to the lobby. You said it was just for me, for getting you the hell out of that place. You noticed me, Dorian.”
Pushed toward the sun
With rubber soled shoes
And a firm grip on my chariot
Nothing will stop him
From our charge toward destiny
And McDonald’s fries for lunch.
Holy crap.DJ had been sixteen years old, being discharged from the hospital after his latest run-in with pneumonia.
Though he didn’t know it then, it would be his last. Once he and Survival had started performing regularly, their star beginning to rise, it was as if he’d passed some sort of test. He left his childhood afflictions behind.
Which had made it a pivotal moment, and why he could call it to mind now.
The orderly had been accompanied by a volunteer. The orderly let him push the chair, but DJ recalled there seemed to be some tension between them. The orderly had been kind and patient with DJ, comfortable around teenagers, while the volunteer had seemed colorless, his face blank of emotion.
DJ, feeling ebullient about leaving, had come up with the song on the fly. “This is for you guys.”
The orderly had laughed. The volunteer’s eyes had lit up like a switch had flipped on inside him. When DJ sang the verses, the volunteer sang with him. He’d had a decent tenor.
I know what he sounds like when he’s singing.
You sang for me first.
Stalkers made up their own truths.
“I’ll be able to take care of you, because I know how to do anything you need,” Paul was saying. “I’ve worked at a zoo. I helped build enclosures. Did injections, tended wounds. I’vebeen a plane mechanic. And a fireman. A hero, you know. I was even a tech for a band in Texas, so I’d know how to keep your guitars the way you like them. My mother was wealthy, so I could learn anything I wanted to know about anything. She knew I was a genius.
“She kept telling me I needed to focus on one thing, but she died of heart failure. It happens, you know. Especially when you let yourself get stressed about things that you don’t need to worry about. You won’t ever have to worry again, DJ. We’ll?—”
Paul’s head whipped around, and his body went rigid, the eyes back to flat and lethal. He drew a gun hidden in the toolbelt and brought it forward with smooth efficiency.
“No…” DJ grabbed onto his ankle with fumbling hands. “Don’t. Please…I’ll pretend you…helping me. Don’t…hurt anyone.”
“I don’t think that’s going to help in this case,” Paul said.
“No. I don’t think so, either.” Roy’s voice came from the main corridor.
