Free Waking Lazarus by T. L. Hines Page A

floor of her porch. ‘‘Thank you,’’ he answered. ‘‘I’ll remember that.’’
    He stepped into the night. Rachel bit her lip as she closed the door, quite sure he wouldn’t remember it.

11
    SEEING
    Jude didn’t park in front of his home. Not at night. It was much better to park a block away, turn off the lights, and watch. He scanned the home and the surrounding area, looking for any kind of movement. He knew it was odd to act this way, but it felt right. It was warm, comforting.
    Satisfied everything was safe, Jude opened his car door and walked down the block to his home. He unlocked his front door and dead bolts, then stepped inside. It was dark, impossible to see inside the home at night without any windows. But he could hear a steady, low whine coming from the back of the home: the security system, waiting to be disarmed. He moved quickly through the home, knowing the way without the aid of lights, and keyed the override code into the keypad. The whine stopped.
    He turned to walk out of the room again when a blinking light caught his attention. It was the message indicator on his answering machine. Odd. He had the answering machine because it was built into the most recent phone he purchased (it was nearly impossible to find a basic phone anymore, almost as impossible as a basic analog clock), yet he rarely received any messages. Maybe Frank at school? Rachel? He hoped not; if Rachel left a message, that might mean something had happened to Nathan since Jude had left their house.
    Or maybe it was worse. Kristina had found him; someone else probably could, too. Once the dam was breached, it wouldn’t take long for a torrent of water to start forcing its way through.
    Maybe it was even one of them .
    Jude turned on a light, looked steadily at the blinking ‘1’ on his machine. He pushed the button on the caller ID. The call was identified as a Red Lodge, Montana, number, but no name accompanied it. It wasn’t Rachel’s number or the school number.
    He pushed the New button and listened. The machine whirred a second, then found the message.
    ‘‘Hi, it’s Kristina. Look, I’m sorry about just barging in on you like that. So how about a coffee to make it up to you? My treat. I’m staying at the Stumble Inn—how’s that for a fine motel name?—room 305. Give me a call.’’
    Jude was relieved to hear Kristina. Mostly relieved. That meant it wasn’t an accident involving Nathan, or some other amateur sleuth sniffing down his trail. No additional fires to fuel the headaches in his mind. Still, he was a bit troubled. A part of him had hoped Kristina would just fade away, discouraged he wasn’t the eloquent saint she had pictured in her star-struck mind. Now it was obvious she wasn’t about to do that. And—Jude was ashamed to admit he was thinking this, but it was true—she would be dead soon, anyway. Cancer, or whatever it was. She hadn’t given him specifics, but she didn’t need to, not with her veiled ‘‘Let’s just say I won’t be here long’’ reference. His location was a secret that would die with her, and then he’d fade back into obscurity. So if he just kept her happy and kept her quiet, he would be safe. He could retreat under his nice, warm blanket.
    The bigger issue, of course, was: what was he, Jude Allman, aka Ron Gress, going to do next? Would he call Kristina? She needed some help, some reassurance, and if he could swallow his own miserable fear, he could give that to her. (And so keep her quiet, helping himself in the process.) The way he’d given it to his best friend, Kevin, so many years ago. The way he’d given it to thousands of people before he disappeared.
    Or would he throw a few things in a bag and hit the highway? The thought had been simmering in the back of his mind since Kristina’s visit. It would be so easy and painless, and he could sink back into the murky depths of his own thoughts without letting in anyone else.
    As Jude sat and debated, an image