By midmorning, the MacRae brothers had pulled some Modifying tricks during a gas-station stop and were now in control of the Yankee fan's 4Runner. They were heading south through New York. The sparkling morning had turned overcast and a wintry mix was falling.
Ryan and Morgan had grown bored and tired; the combination led them to sleep soundly in Joe's pocket as the highway miles rolled on.
If Cassie's silence was any indication, she had found a nook to rest in somewhere among the cargo in the backseat, but Chris couldn't tell for sure. Since they left Pyxis, she seemed to listen more than speak, though it was clear she was oblivious to nothing.
The plan Chris and Joe had made as they sped through the Adirondacks was to head to Westport, Connecticut, where they would make contact with their mother's sister, Gretchen. It wasn't a great plan—they had never even met their aunt—but it was the only plan they had. But when they reached Albany, Chris changed his course.
"Hey, we were supposed to go south there," Joe said, craning his neck and pointing over his shoulder.
They were now heading east. "I didn't miss anything," Chris said evenly.
"I thought we were going to Westport."
"We are, just not first."
"Then where are we going?"
Chris didn't answer. He intended to return to Salem, Massachusetts, and his home—or what remained of it—and Joe would figure that out soon enough.
"Are you fu—" Glancing down at the slight movement in his pocket, Joe had the good sense to edit the statement he was about to make. "Are you bleeping crazy? Why would you want to go back there?"
"I need to know."
"Okay, I get that. But, here, the guy left his cell phone in the car. I saw his passcode. . . ." Joe took it from the cupholder and had no trouble getting into it. "You could try calling—or maybe just googling the news—instead of taking us, uh, to a place we may not want to go right now."
"I don't want to find out if my wife died. . ." Chris muttered through clenched teeth so that only he and Joe would suffer from the sharpness of his point. "From the Internet! All right?"
Joe indelicately chucked the phone back where he'd found it. With an exasperated sigh, he crossed his arms and turned his head to stare out the window.
Chris glanced at the clock. 12:15 p.m. He knew that Joe, no matter how out of sorts, could deprive himself of technology for only so long. They had been out of the loop for more than three days and the suspense was probably killing him. Now that the suggestion of reconnecting with their own world had been made, Chris expected his brother to last no more than five minutes. Sure enough, at 12:19, Joe picked up the phone again and started tapping up a storm.
And almost as soon as he did, Chris snatched it out of his hand, rolled down his window, and threw the device onto the highway.
"What'd you do that for?"
"Two reasons," Chris said. "One, I don't want you to know either, even if you don't tell me. And, two, we did just steal a car. I'm surprised the cops haven't tracked us down already."
"I wasn't going to check!" Joe lashed back. "The last thing I want to do right now is give you bad news."
Chris knew he was at fault—he had hollowly agreed to a plan and then changed it without consulting anyone else—but he was infuriated all the same. Part of what had propelled him forward in Pyxis was the possibility that Alana was still alive.
Yes, it was stupid and dangerous to go back—there were other ways for him to learn the truth—but he had to do it. And Joe, though right in theory, should have understood this. But it seemed he had grown too used to taking care of himself, by himself.
"Can I talk now or are you going to rip my head off?" Joe asked, breaking the unwieldy silence.
"You mean talk me out of going home?"
"Good. So glad you brought it up. We shouldn't go there because—"
"I never said we were going anywhere. I'm going alone."
"Whatever," Joe retorted. "Still a bad idea because, A, the evil winged ones might still be there; B, the police, and maybe the FBI, will be all over the place; and, C, I don't think you can handle it right now."
"Law enforcement should scare off the Gray Coats in human form, and I'll go in as a fairy so that the cops—and even the fairies—won't know I'm there if I'm careful. And I have to handle it sooner or later, and I'd rather it be sooner."
The two brothers said nothing more. The air in the 4Runner grew uncomfortably thick, like the pressure was slowly increasing. Everyone in the car could probably feel Chris's tension—for him, with him, and because of him.
Soon he turned up the Metallica song on the sound system. Despite the sleet and freezing rain, the needle on the speedometer edged toward ninety-five.
"If you stay below ninety in this weather, we should be fine," Joe mentioned sarcastically.
Chris didn't react. He was in another place.
⭐️⭐️⭐️
⭐️⭐️⭐️
Metallica. Enter Sandman.
~
"Something's wrong
Shut the light
Heavy thoughts tonight
And they aren't of Snow White. . ."