Title: Charlotte's Web (Chapter 38)
Rating: M for graphic violence and language
Fandom: The Mentalist
Summary: Patrick Jane has lived his life obsessed with the capture of Red John ever since finding his beloved wife and daughter slain by the maniac's hand. Now, 10 years to the day after that horrific night, a young woman appears in Patrick's life, someone who threatens to destroy everything his life has become in the interim... if not his sanity, itself.
Author's Note: We're in the final quarter for this story now. Thanks to my loyal readers for all your reviews. You guys are awesome. One of my goals in life is to be a horror novelist, so writing for you guys is an honour and thank each and every one of you for your productive and kind feedback. I am glad you've enjoyed the journey so far. Posting this chapter late at night, and I checked for typos and errors, but when I am tired they sneak by sometimes. -LK
"Good books don't give up all their secrets at once." - Stephen King
"That wasn't any act of God. That was an act of pure human fuckery." - Stephen King, The Stand
"You cut up a thing that's alive and beautiful to find out how it's alive and why it's beautiful, and before you know it, it's neither of those things, and you're standing there with blood on your face and tears in your sight and only the terrible ache of guilt to show for it." - Clive Barker
Monday, November 6th, 2013 2:06 pm PST
They'd been on the highway and on their way to Malibu for 26 minutes and Lisbon could see the gears clicking away in Jane's head, gears in the most rare and expensive of time pieces. He was frowning as he drove, an expression that was out of place and lonely on his usually elfin face.
Charlotte had fallen asleep, Lisbon imagined. But before she had she'd tugged the hospital blanket up over her head like an insect wrapping itself in a cocoon. Lisbon watched as Jane's eyes tracked her movements.
Even exhausted and half-asleep, he'd noticed when Charlotte had moved. Lisbon had glanced behind her, to see the movement stop, just stop, but by then the blanket had already been over her head.
Charlotte wanted to escape everything. Go back to the womb.
Maybe go back before that.
No more talking. No more eye contact. No more reality. No more... it was too much and Charlotte wanted out.
Death terrified her.
Lisbon couldn't begin to imagine how much the kid might be terrified by the idea of dying, after her recent experiences. Who could process such things?
A small line had worn its way between Jane's eyebrows after he'd seen Charlotte tug the blanket up over head. Lisbon hadn't had the heart to ask him what exactly about that upset him so much. She didn't want to know the answer.
They couldn't talk about anything serious, not with Charlotte in the back seat, and they couldn't fake chit chat or their usual flirty banter. Things were too sad and too exhausting for it. After 10 minutes on the road in silence Jane had glanced at the radio which was still playing on low. His eyes were glassy and blood shot, skin a little pale from stress. Lisbon wasn't sure what she looked like. Thought she might look something similar.
"You mind if I turn this up Lisbon?" Jane said, nodding at the radio. They'd turned channels to Cho's rock station, Rock Steady LA. Something old school and fast paced to keep Jane awake, Lisbon imagined.
The last thing they needed to do was get into a car wreck after all this. Lisbon had shook her head. She didn't mind if the music was turned up.
Jane slowly turned the volume knob to the right, just a little, just enough to hear the music properly, just enough for the music to fill the sad yawning empty space between them that spoke of so much trauma and exhaustion. Not loud enough to be uncomfortable or disturb Charlotte, if she was sleeping.
Jane had no idea what to do for Charlotte, and Charlotte was in intense emotional pain. Lisbon was certain of both of these things. Worse, to her way of thinking, was that she had no idea what to do to help Jane. Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven was on the radio. Lisbon listened, foggy headed and exhausted, and leaned her head against the passenger side window.
Shut her eyes. The song had never sounded so sad to her before, so profoundly and achingly sad.
There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven.
When she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for.
Ooh, ooh, and she's buying a stairway to heaven.
There's a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure
'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings.
In a tree by the brook, there's a songbird who sings,
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it makes me wonder.
Jane was driving a little fast. Lisbon opened her eyes and leaned over.
"Jane, slow down okay?" Lisbon said in a tight voice. She was too tired to argue with Jane or play games or have Jane mess around.
"Want to get to Malibu," Jane said by way of explanation, as if Lisbon might not understand the increase in speed.
"That's great, but just slow down a bit. We don't need to get pulled over," Lisbon added tensely. She felt like she had grains of sand in her eyes, she was so exhausted.
"I'm losing Charlotte, Lisbon," Jane said then, and looked over at his partner. "She is fading away into dust and bones."
"We'll get her back, Jane. But slow down. Please."
Jane ground his back molars together and Lisbon could see the bones in his jaw clenching and moving, the resulting movement in the temples.
"If I go fast enough, I just might be able to beat the devil," Jane said then. Lisbon sighed. She was too tired for this shit. Stairway to Heaven was still playing, echoing from the rental car's small speakers.
There's a feeling I get when I look to the west,
And my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees,
And the voices of those who stand looking.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it really makes me wonder.
"The devil?" Lisbon prodded, finally finding words. It wasn't like Jane to speak of the devil.
"I take Charlotte back in time and she, in a regressed state, beats the devil. I take her back in time to Malibu. It might work. It just might, Lisbon."
"Not if we get in a car accident on the way there," Lisbon said, leaning forward. She turned the knob on the radio, hoping to turn the song off, but instead of the volume lowering, the song became louder. Lisbon looked over at Jane, who was now grinning at her.
And it's whispered that soon, if we all call the tune,
Then the piper will lead us to reason.
And a new day will dawn for those who stand long,
And the forests will echo with laughter.
"I like Led Zep, too, Lisbon. Ever since I was a little boy."
"I thought I turned that off," Lisbon muttered, irritated. The bass was thumping, and her own heart was hammering now, keeping time with the bass of the song and the speakers. Jane was bobbing his head to the music.
If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now,
It's just a spring clean for the May queen.
Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run
There's still time to change the road you're on.
And it makes me wonder.
Your head is humming and it won't go, in case you don't know,
The piper's calling you to join him,
Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow, and did you know
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind?
"Angela lies on the whispering wind," Jane said softly, so softly Lisbon wasn't sure he was speaking over the beat of the song, still bobbing his head to the music. "That's what happens when you die. You to turn to bones, Lisbon, and then to dust. Dust lies on the whispering wind. It's not really its fault, for it knows nothing else..."
"Jane?" Lisbon queried, stomach tightening into knots. This was't Jane. He was... what? Going crazy?
Lisbon rubbed at her eyes. Her heart was racing and Jane had sped the car up even more. They were flying down the highway now at breakneck speed in the middle of the night and this was all wrong. Lisbon eyed the speedometer. They were going nearly 90 miles per hour now.
"Jane, slow the car down right now."
Jane was looking out at the dark highway, grinning like a maniac, eyes unfocused and far away. His only response to her request was to look over at her and grin that eerie grin again. The skin around his eyes looked older than she remembered it, older and sickly.
The whites had yellowed to the awful tone of someone deathly ill with jaundice. Beads of perspiration had popped out of the pores on Jane's forehead. Had Jane picked something up in Mexico? What the Hell was going on?
"Jane. You're sick. Something is wrong with you. I don't know what... but I know you're sick. Slow the car down and pull over. Please."
"I've heard if you play this song backwards there are demonic messages in it. Demon messages. Lucifer talking in the song. Lucifer talking to his children here on Earth."
"Jane, pull the car over right now." Her voice was no longer asking him, it as an order streaked through with steel. Fear had morphed into resolve and force. Jane didn't seem to hear her, though, or he didn't care.
Lisbon glanced at the speedometer.
They were now going well over 100 miles per hour.
The speed combined with Jane's sickly features (why hadn't she noticed earlier how sick he was?) and nauseating grin shot fear into her heart. She felt her ventricles contract almost painfully. Felt her hands ache as if she had submerged them in ice water for an extended period of time, from the shock of adrenaline.
"Jane, please."
"We need to beat the devil, Lisbonnnn," Jane murmured, drawing her name out like a piece of taffy, mouth still stretched wide in that horrible grin.
"Jane." So much agony in that one word, in his name. His grin was wider now, somehow. Impossibly wider.
There was movement from the backseat and Lisbon turned.
Charlotte was moving, sitting up awkwardly. The blanket had fallen from around her head and shoulders. She was sweat stained but her face was a ghostly white from fear.
"He killed me Daddy; I think. I think he killed the person I was born to be," Charlotte said in a voice like dried leaves.
"Charlotte?" Lisbon queried, glancing backwards. "Jane, slow down. Charlotte... are you okay?"
Music blasting from the radio:
And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul.
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold.
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last.
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll.
Someone was shambling across the highway. A woman in a long white nightgown, simple, gauzy.
"Jane slow the fucking car down!" Lisbon shrieked. Jane just grinned his dead-eyed grin and floored the gas.
Lisbon felt her stomach drop, felt her heart constrict painfully.
The woman on the highway turned, shocked, eyes wide and dark with fear.
But she wasn't really a woman.
Lisbon saw that now- now that that were closer.
There was a skeleton shambling and slouching impossibly across the moonlit road in a white night gown, a skeleton carrying a small child's doll, the doll dangling in the cool night air, one plastic hand held tight by a fist of bones. The doll was crying. It was just a doll, just plastic, but it was crying and its mouth was moving and it was saying something to Lisbon that Lisbon couldn't make out...
The skeleton was weeping, but her eyes- or rather, her bony eye sockets- were rimmed in red lipstick emphasizing the missing organs.
The area around the teeth was also rimmed in red lipstick.
The skeleton- Angela's- mouth opened in a silent scream.
Bright red blood like paint dripped from her eye sockets as she wept, splattering all over the black snake of highway in a steady, visceral stream.
"Jane!" Lisbon screamed in abject desperation, turning in horror to seek out Jane's eyes. Jane was laughing at her fear, but no sound was coming from his mouth.
The sound had been turned off for Jane.
Jane's eyes were cut out and fresh, living blood that looked nothing at all like paint guttered out of his eyes in hellacious streams, nearly black in the gloom. His mouth was carved open in a smiley face from ear to ear in a glasgow grin, the flesh livid and yawning open, bubbling with arterial red.
In the back seat Charlotte was rocking back and forth, white as new death, eyes bulging in terror, reeking of sweat and terror. There was a baby animal smell about her, from the back seat of the rental car, the smell of newborn puppies. Newborn animal and the smell, under it, of shit.
"He wants me to kill you all," Charlie said in a buzzing voice, wasps buzzing in Lisbon's fevered brain. "Kill you, kill you, kill yoooouuuuuuu all..."
"JAAANNNNNEEEEE!" Lisbon's scream was arterial red matching the shade of his smile.
From the radio, pealing out like the laughter of Lucifer himself:
And she's buying a stairway to heavennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn-
"Lisbon!" Jane's voice was loud, concerned, cutting through the terror like a diamond tipped blade.
Lisbon startled awake, arms flailing, trying to defend against...
She blinked, visions of death and blood and shambling skeletons clearing like smoke. Jane was glancing at her and back at the road, back at her, back at the road, face etched with considerable concern.
"Lisbon, you okay?" His eyes were back to her again, the whites almost too white in the gloom.
"Just a... just a bad dream, Jane," Lisbon said in a tight, barely controlled voice. Jane frowned at the sound of her voice, clearly not buying a word of it.
It didn't take a mentalist to figure out Teresa Lisbon had just had one doozie of a nightmare.
He kept his eyes on her too long and Lisbon saw flashes of her dream, of his not-eyes but the almost-black hollowed out sockets they'd become spilling their blood down his death-white cheeks, and she shivered. She winced at the memory, shut her eyes against the surge of strong emotions those images elicited.
Lisbon squeezed her eyes shut as hard as possible, prayed to her God to give her strength.
When she opened her eyes Jane was still watching her carefully.
"Jane, watch the road please." How she hated the way her voice shock, the slight crack in her words that betrayed her fear.
He nodded and turned back to the road without saying anything. Slowly, before Lisbon could stop him, she realized he was slowing the car. Tears were bubbling at her eyes as she realized he was slowing the car.
She rubbed at them, rubbed at her eyes, suddenly furious with herself for her weakness.
Jane was stopping the car.
"Jane, I'm okay."
"No, you're not okay," Jane said calmly, pulling onto the shoulder of the highway.
Lisbon stared at her lap. Her hands were shaking. Tears were streaming down her face. She couldn't see. She blinked and felt hot tears, more of them, slide down her face, down her cheeks. She could feel them puddling under the curve of her jaw, could feel them dripping, felt a warm splash on her hand.
"Lisbon, look at me," Jane said sadly, his voice soft and gentle. Soft as a cotton batting. No sharp edges, no playfulness, no trickery, just impossible kindness and impossible concern and endless gentleness.
She couldn't look at him because she was crying, and because she hated for anyone to see her cry, and because Charlotte was in the back seat with a blanket pulled over her messed-up head to seal out the world that had been so vicious for so long and because if she lost it now she might never stop crying and she might be loud and she might scare Charlie and...
"Teresa, please look at me," Jane coaxed. Lisbon turned her tear-streaked face towards him, wincing involuntarily at the memory of his carved-up features, at the sheer terror and grief she'd felt seeing him like that and...
(Jane found his wife carved up, Jane found what he thought was his baby girl carved up and here you are sobbing like a child over a silly dream-)
Lisbon bit her lower lip and squeezed her eyes shut again. She couldn't seem to breathe right anymore. Her breath was stuttering out her, choked off and tortured. There was suddenly just too much pain in the world for her to breathe, for her to not cry, for her to breathe and look at Jane and she was shaking now, too, shoulders and hands, shaking all over.
"Oh, Lisbon," Jane said, features pained with empathy.
He opened his door and was out of the car before she could tell him he didn't have to, that she was fine, to ignore her.
Lisbon rubbed furiously at her eyes and prayed in her head for God to help her to stop, but more tears were falling. Her throat and mouth were making startled mewling noises without her permission and somewhere at the back of her consciousness she was frightened of the loss of control. She'd always been able to keep the tears at bay until she was alone. Always... until now.
Jane tapped on her window, the passenger side window.
Lisbon unlocked the door, fumbling blindly with a shaking hand to find the lock release, hand moving on its own as if it had a sudden life of its own. She couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop the tears. She was making a keening noise in the back of her throat, now, and God only knew where that was coming from. She couldn't stop it and could barely believe she was making that noise, just couldn't stop... couldn't stop... and the sobs were getting louder and she COULDN'T STOP!
Jane had the door open then and was kneeling down by her side.
He unbuckled her seat belt as if she were a small child and tugged her up and out of the passenger seat with infinite care.
Lisbon let him move her body, and suddenly the tears were more intense, if that were even possible, were spilling in streams like the blood that had been flowing from nightmare-Jane's eyes, from nightmare-Angela's eyes, and she couldn't stop the tears, couldn't stop them, couldn't stop them...
The keening noise in the back of her throat increased in volume, a high pitched wail of pain and grief and torment and fear. Vaguely, she realized she wasn't just crying, not even just sobbing, she was screaming almost, screaming with her mouth closed.
Jane was hugging her tightly, arms wrapped around her like he wanted to shield her from everything awful and threatening in the world, rocking her slightly, just slightly, side to side. She let him hug her, let him rock her, because the terror and pain were too much to stop.
He was murmuring kind, reassuring words to her and she wanted to stop crying because this was ridiculous. Who did this? Who behaved like this?
It was just a stupid dream, for crying out loud.
Charlotte had been through Hell and here she was with no real traumas to her name, just spooked by a nightmare and she was losing it and...
Jane was shushing her and she realized then that she'd been babbling aloud, explaining, apologizing for the tears and the moaning and the emotion. Jane shushed her again, low and calm and soothing. Lisbon wanted to disappear into the sound of his shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, just disappear into it.
"Lisbon, listen to me. You have every reason to be upset. Every reason."
Lisbon didn't try to respond to that, just let him stand and hold her and sway her back and forth, a weird sort of dance borne of incredible trauma. She struggled to control her breathing, but the choked sobs kept coming. Jane didn't seem upset at all to be holding her, didn't seem annoyed at all, just impossibly patient and kind and loving.
"Just listen to my voice, Lisbon. Listen to my words. You're okay. You're safe. You're safe. Just a nightmare. I'm here with you. He's dead. He's dead, Lisbon. I'm here. Charlotte's alive. You're alive. You're alive and you're safe."
She still couldn't stop crying! This was ridiculous. Jane just held her, just kept speaking to her the kind, gentle, reassuring words. She thought he might say more, might try to hypnotize her. Say things to stop the tears, to distract her. But he didn't.
"Lisbon, if you need to cry, go right ahead and cry. I'm here. You can cry. You need to cry. Don't hold it back."
And she did. She cried and she cried and Jane held her on the side of the early morning road and swayed her as she sobbed out the miseries of her soul. And she held onto him like she was drowning.
She finally began to stop. The sobbing began to run out of steam. She slumped into Jane's arms. Suddenly had the disconcerting mental image of a police cruiser finding them on the side of the road like this. Her near-hysterical and sobbing and Charlotte catatonic in the back.
"Jane... we need to get back on the road," Lisbon said, finally. Jane said nothing, kept hugging her. She pushed away slightly, so he would hear her.
"We don't want police getting involved right now," Lisbon croaked out in a hoarse voice. Jane searched her face, took in the pale skin and the swollen, red eyes, the tear-stained face. His eyes were pained with grief, too.
"Okay," he said softly. What else was there to say. He opened the passenger car for her and Lisbon slumped into the passenger seat. Put her seat belt back on. She tried to smile at Jane as he gently shut her door and came back around to the driver's side of the car.
He got in, shut his door, looked back at Charlotte. There was no movement.
"Charlotte?" Jane said, voice similar to the soothing tone he'd used with Lisbon only moment before. There was no movement from the back seat. Lisbon saw the uneasy look on his face.
"Just a second, Lisbon," Jane said, pressed the button that unlocked the back doors and got back out of his seat. He walked a few feet, stopped in front of Charlotte's door and clicked it open. Knelt down.
"Charlie, hey," Jane murmured. Lisbon turned around. He had one hand on Charlotte's shoulder, still covered with blanket.
"I know you're not feeling very well right now, but I just want to make sure you're okay," Jane said softly, and carefully peeled down the blanket she'd pulled up over her head.
Her hair was sweat-soaked, dripping with sweat. Lisbon sucked in breath at the look of the kid. Her face was pale, eyes bulging in terror, thumb back in her mouth. Jane watched her for a moment, expression unreadable.
"It's okay, Charlie. He's dead. Red John is dead and Lisbon and I are okay. You're okay, sweetheart." Jane gently smoothed down the sweat-soaked curls. The girl was shivering slightly, a tremor through her whole body. It took an incredible amount of fear to soak a person through with sweat like that.
"Jesus," Jane said under his breath, and shut his eyes at the sight of his daughter. Lisbon saw him count to himself, collect himself. He opened his eyes. Made himself smile down at his terrified, catatonic Charlie. But Lisbon could see how forced it was. There was no real substance behind that smile, no energy.
"Lisbon, do you have a sweatshirt or something she can wear? And socks?" Jane asked, voice little more than a whisper, eyes never leaving his daughter.
"Yeah, in my carry on," Lisbon said from the front passenger seat, voice still hoarse.
"Keys are in the ignition. Could you get it please?" Jane said with forced calm.
Lisbon nodded, got out of her seat, came around to where Jane was kneeling by his child.
He'd peeled the rest of the blanket off her. Lisbon saw the dark, wet spot over the crotch of her hospital pants. The back seat was soaked with urine. It was soaking into the upholstery, some of it had spilled over the side and onto the back floor mats. Charlotte was no longer just regressed, she was gone into a world of terror.
Her bladder had voided itself involuntarily, possibly from fear.
Lisbon felt a sudden pang of guilt. Had Charlotte heard her scream? Had that done this?
"I... yeah... for now just the sweatshirt and... do you have sweat pants or something like that? And a towel?" His voice was uncertain.
This was new territory for him.
"Yeah," Lisbon croaked out, went over to the driver's side of the car, pulled the keys from the ignition.
"Socks, too, if you have a pair," Jane told her as she walked over to the trunk.
She pulled out her carry on, dug out a pair of flannel pajamas and sweat socks and a bath towel, came back with the clothes and stood beside where Jane was kneeling. They still had five hours on the road. No way could Jane just leave his kid like this.
"Okay, Charlotte, let's get this sweaty stuff off you, okay kiddo?" He said in an overly bright tone of voice as he balled the blanket up and stuffed it on the floor.
Charlotte's legs were drawn up to her belly, the feet bare and blanched, toes curled, and Lisbon was reminded of someone having a seizure, for some reason she couldn't fully figure out.
Jane disconnected the IV line from his daughter's hand. He carried the IV bag and line back to his seat and put it on the seat carefully.
Came back to Charlotte who was more or less in a fetal position, sopping wet with sweat, bottoms soaked in piss.
"Okay, Lisbon, I am going to pick her up and when I do, can you lay the towel out across the back seat? Where it is wettest?"
Lisbon nodded. Jane gently scooped Charlotte up and pulled her out of the car, cradling her to his chest. Lisbon used the hospital towel to soak up as much of the urine as possible, stopping only when the back seat was damp to the touch instead of sodden. She then spread the towel out over the back seat.
Jane had moved Charlotte's pillow to the front seat with the IV bag. Lisbon got it and came back with it. Jane gently put Charlotte back in the car and Lisbon put the pillow under her head. Handed Jane the pajamas. He looked at them for a moment, looked back at Lisbon, obviously uncertain if he should be the one to change his daughter's clothes on the shoulder of the highway, or if he should ask Lisbon to do it.
He glanced back down at Charlotte, nodded his head as if coming to some decision.
Jane carefully untied the front of her hospital shirt, removed it, taking extra care not to disrupt the IV port in her hand. Lisbon saw a sudden flash of red and stared down at the smiley face drawn so crudely onto the girl's shivering belly.
If Jane saw that damned inked grin he didn't respond.
He pulled the pajama shirt over Charlotte's shivering form quickly, gently pulled one arm through the sleeve, then the arm with the IV port in the hand through the other.
He worked quickly.
Lisbon stood staring, uncertain of what to do. Jane quickly did up the buttons on the front of the shirt. Lisbon stared as the smiley face was hidden by flannel.
Jane picked Charlotte up again, turned her, pulled the soaked hospital pants off her and quickly pulled on Lisbon's pajama bottoms, tugging the white, skinny legs through each leg hole. Lisbon handed him the socks and he tugged them onto the fish-belly-white feet.
She was 16 but physically looked more like 11, stunted from years of malnutrition and stress. Jane rearranged Charlotte so her head was facing him again, positioning her so her head was on the pillow. She was rigid in his hands, frozen and doll-like.
The sight of her stirred some instinctive and profound dread in Lisbon. The girl seemed wooden and gone, just a body, just a shell, just a thing.
Red John's sadism had pushed her out of her own body.
Now she was just beautiful blonde curls and pretty green eyes and pale skin like porcelain, more doll now than human being. If Jane was thinking similar thoughts, he kept them to himself.
Jane walked back to the front seat, came back with the IV bag and carefully reconnected it to the port in his daughter's right hand, talking to her gently as he worked, telling her what he was doing and why and how much better she was getting and how proud he was of her for staying alive.
When he was done this task, he stood staring down at the teenager who was really still only five in every way that mattered. His expression was pensive. Lisbon went back to her carry on without being asked, came back with another towel and handed it to him.
Jane nodded his thanks and took the towel without saying anything. Spread it over Charlotte like a blanket. She needed her blankets, her protection from the outer world. Her fabric wombs.
He looked at Lisbon with pained eyes.
"Thanks."
Lisbon nodded at him.
"Of course," she said, and handed him the keys. She went back to her seat and got back into the passenger side and Jane got back into the driver's seat and started the car back up. Turned the heat on, relocked the back doors, put his belt back on. Sat and stared out at the long, black highway for a moment, eyes unfocused, mind somewhere else. Lisbon watched him.
He finally turned to her.
"She'll be fine," he said blandly, emotions deliberately kept out of his words.
"Yeah," Lisbon agreed immediately, nodding. "Of course she will."
But she wasn't so sure.
Jane turned the radio's knob, scanning until he got back to Rigsby's god awful pop station and pulled the car back onto the highway to continue their journey into the night.
In the back seat Charlotte lay under the towel, thumb in her mouth, eyes bugged out in terror but seeing nothing.