The Nightmare People

7.

“You want me to drop you at McGowan’s place?” Sandy asked.

“Yes, please,” Khalil said, nodding slightly.

“You got a car there?”

“Yes.”

Sandy glanced at his passenger, then returned his attention to the road. “Not real talkative, are you?”

Khalil didn’t answer that.

“Thanks for helping,” Sandy said. “It didn’t do any good, but you did real well. Thanks.”

For a moment Khalil didn’t reply. Then he asked, “How is your hand?”

Sandy glanced at him, startled. “It’s okay, I think.” He took it off the wheel and flexed it. “It still hurts, but I don’t think it’s bleeding any more, and it’s not stiffening up too much.” He didn’t mention that both his palms stung from the loss of skin he had suffered when Khalil had hammered down the stake while he was holding it.

Khalil nodded. “You should get a better bandage. And you should go see a doctor.”

“Yeah,” Sandy agreed, “You’re right. It could get infected or something.”

He turned the corner onto Topaz Court.

“We must find a way to kill them,” Khalil said.

“Yeah,” Sandy agreed, “But what? Smith shot one, we drove a stake through one’s heart, you hit it with a fuckin’ axe, and it didn’t even care. What the hell else is there?”

Khalil considered that for a long moment, and Sandy pulled up into the driveway at 706.

“Perhaps fire?” Khalil suggested, as he opened his door. “They say that fire purifies, no?”

Sandy stared at him. “That’s a great idea,” he said.

Khalil shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

Sandy smiled. “No, it’s great. Yeah, burn them – like witches.” A thought struck him. “Hey!” he said, “Where can I get hold of you?”

Khalil paused. “Oh?”

“Where can I get hold of you?” Sandy repeated. “We need to stick together, you and me and the others who know about those things.”

“Ah,” Khalil said. He fished a wallet out of his pocket and pulled out an old newspaper clipping. “You have a pen?”

Sandy found one in the glove compartment, and tore a piece off a 1973 map of New York State to write down his own phone number.

They solemnly exchanged notes and pocketed them.

Then Khalil crossed to his own car, an ’84 Pontiac, got in and started the engine, while Sandy pulled back out into the street.

He drove away, heading back to his borrowed apartment, while Khalil made a three-point turn in the street.

At the corner of Barrett Road Khalil glimpsed Sandy’s black Mercury far off to the right, but his own route home took him in the other direction.

He turned left and drove home.