Monster Chapter 16

10:44 a.m. 14:34 to Termination

Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision. Joel. III. 14.

Nick drove. He cleared his mind and focused on the mechanics of making the car move. Kick the clutch. Shift gears. Hit the accelerator.  

Drive. 

He shut everything else out: the screaming baby on the floor of the passenger seat, the sirens wailing somewhere behind him and to his right, the pistol digging into the small of his back. 

A few children played in their yard. A young father pushed a child in a stroller. Two women dressed in exercise clothes talked and walked on the side of the road. 

1:18 

1:18 

1:18 

Timers. Everywhere the timers. Countdowns to death. 

Through it all, the baby screamed. 

He pulled at the steering wheel, turning the car south onto Highway 165. The Maverick had no working radio so he couldn’t listen to the news. For a while, he’d be driving blind, but he wouldn’t be in this car for long. 

He needed to be one more step ahead of the police. One more degree of separation. 

He brought the car up to cruising speed, careful not to go over the speed limit. Six minutes and he was through Millville. Another eight and he passed Nibley. Between Nibley and Hyrum, he passed two police cars driving in the opposite direction. Lights flashing, their sirens dropped in pitch as they raced past. Nick stayed in the far-right lane and stared straight ahead. Neither patrol car turned around. 

The baby screamed. Past Paradise and into Avon, the baby screamed and screamed. Nick steered with one hand and stroked the stubble on his chin with the other. He tuned out the baby and thought about his next steps—steps beyond getting another car. 

The highway doglegged twice. Nick turned onto a side road. A quarter mile later the road became dirt. Rocks and gravel pinged under the car’s belly. Another mile, then he slowed and turned at a mailbox that read PAYNE. 

Aunt Caroline. She taught school in Brigham City and wouldn’t be home for hours. 

Nick idled along a gravel drive and pulled over next to a squat outbuilding. The house stood off the main road about a quarter mile, atop a small bluff, tall prairie grass surrounding it as if waging a siege. 

Nick didn’t drive to the house. Not yet. 

Turning the engine off, he picked up the baby. 

“I got you.” Nick bounced the baby and opened his door. “Give me a hot minute, and I’ll get you a nice car seat.” The baby continued her wailing. “A car seat and some formula. That should help things.” 

He got out of the car and held the baby for a moment. The wide-open space devoured the screams and made them small. 

Nick continued to bounce the infant, turning slowly and taking in the landscape. Avon was farm country. Rolling ground gave the sense of isolation. Nick could only see three other houses from where he stood, and they were farther up in the foothills. A neighbor would need a pair of binoculars or a telescope to identify him. 

The baby in his arms shuddered and then fell silent. “Getting tired?” Nick held the baby closer to his chest. Reflexively, he kissed the baby’s forehead. “Crying takes up a lot of energy, don’t it?” 

The pink bow in her hair was tilted. Nick tried to straighten it, but whatever sticky substance had held it there was no longer working. He flicked it to the ground, thought better, and picked it back up, placing it in his back pocket. 

Nick kicked the car door shut and moved toward the outbuilding. It had rough cement walls with yellow clapboards about four feet up. It had been a shelter for pigs before Aunt Caroline and Uncle Rick had bought the home. His aunt cleaned out the muck, raised the walls, and put on a new roof. Now, it was her pottery studio. 

Nicked opened the door and stepped inside. It wasn’t locked because the door didn’t have a lock. This was Avon, Utah. 

Inside, the air was cool. The room was cluttered, though not from neglect. Nick had watched his aunt work here several times. There was purpose and functionality to the clutter. Thought and care given to the chaos. Anything she needed was within reach and exactly where she wanted it. 

Nick paced with the baby, who continued to rest in his arms. After a time, she closed her eyes. He walked with her for another moment and let the stillness settle them both. A few more minutes and the baby slipped into sleep. 

A towel lay across the back of a metal folding chair. Nick pulled it off and shook white powder from it with one hand. He wrapped the baby in the towel and placed her gently in a stuffed, burnt-orange chair with splitting seams. The baby whimpered but remained asleep. 

Nick placed his palm on the crown of her head. Hair like corn silk. He brushed his thumb gently over the soft spot on the top of her skull. 

“You and me . . . we’re in a shit storm now, aren’t we?” His voice sounded loud in the quiet room. 

He retrieved the white grocery sack from the car and cleared some space on a counter near an electrical outlet. He found a stainless-steel bowl he could use as a mirror and pulled out the clippers and razor.   

His long hair hung down and partially covered his eyes. His jaw was covered with a patchy beard. Nick tried to imagine how he’d appeared on the security camera. The face that peered back at him from the polished metal looked like the kind of person that would take a baby. 

Gripping the counter with both hands, he stared a moment longer at his reflection. 

He needed two things—a hiding place and another person.  

The first was relatively easy. A hiding place. A place to identify and then solve the problem. He didn’t want to head south. The Wasatch Front was too big—too many people who might hear an Amber Alert. Idaho was the better bet. He could hide on the road for two or three hours and just drive north. Find a hotel far from Logan where stories of a missing baby hadn’t yet reached. 

The second thing was more complicated—another timer. Aunt Carol would be home in a few hours, but he didn’t want to mix her up in any more of this than he had to.  

He couldn’t go back to Mr. Howard’s. His mother wouldn’t even let him in the house. She’d also call the police. In a heartbeat. 

There was his sister. She might go with him, but he wasn’t about to involve her.  

He had no other friends. No one he could trust. No one who would trust him. 

Looking at his watch, he saw it was almost eleven. Time slipping away. 

There was another path to getting a second timer—a harder way, but one that would also get him another car. 

Shaking his head, he plugged in the clippers. With the quarter-inch attachment on the metal head, he flipped the switch. The device snapped to life and vibrated heavily in his hands. He lifted the long strands of hair off his forehead and plunged the buzzing machine into the tangle. 

The clippers were cheap, and cutting his hair took longer than it should have. Nick trimmed the back of his head four times—running the blade in careful strokes—before he felt like he’d done a thorough job. 

He took off the attachment and ran the clippers over the hair on his face. Over his jaw and down his neck. Finally, he flipped off the switch and brushed sharply at the stubble on his skull with the palms of his hands. 

He found a plastic milk jug with the top cut off and carried it out to the faucet out back. He pulled off his shirt and stuck his head under the stream of water. The chilly spring water made him gasp, but he held his head under and rubbed at his scalp. He poked a finger into each ear and rubbed until they were free of stray hair, then filled up the plastic jug and carried it back inside. 

Dipping the razor in the water, he peered into the metal bowl and scraped at his cheeks and chin until his face was bare. With no shaving cream or soap, the shave was painful.  

Washing again under the faucet, he dried his face with his t-shirt. He checked his reflection in the window of the outbuilding. Clean-shaven and hair cropped close, he’d look right at home in boot camp. It was a far cry from the shaggy face that had stared back at him from the metal bowl just a few moments before. 

He went back inside and pulled out his change of clothes. He moved the Leatherman, keys, phones and batteries, and money into his fresh jeans and got dressed. He returned the gun to the small of his back. He cleaned the counter and dropped the razor, clippers, and dirty clothes into a trashcan under one of the worktables. Picking up his hoodie, he paused. The cameras at Walmart would have captured it. The hoodie would be recognized. 

He grabbed it anyway.  

Stepping carefully to the orange chair, he kneeled on the cold cement. He rested his elbow on the cushioned arm of the chair and brushed his thumb against the baby’s cheek. He followed the slope of her nose and touched her ear. 

This baby was somebody’s entire world. 

Resting his head against the chair, he closed his eyes. He pictured the woman in the white coat in the supermarket, looking through the freezer case as he picked up the baby and walked away. He saw her on the phone, finally turning to place her goods in the cart. The realization. The fear and terror. 

And then the screams. Rushing about. Searching. Rushing out of the store when she realized it was too late. When she discovered her baby was gone. 

She would have called the baby’s father after the police. A horrible conversation. Panic from him. He would have come immediately, perhaps from work, co-workers left behind speaking in hushed whispers around an empty cubicle. 

Did this baby have older siblings? Would they be called out of class and told the news? 

The baby’s face was perfect. Smooth skin. Soft hair. Red lips. 

This child needed a name. If for no other reason, so Nick would remember the value of life. The value of her life. 

“Sleep, Jane. I’ll be right back.”