Racing the Light (Elvis Cole #19; Joe Pike #8)(18)

Jared preferred quiet, which was why he chose the park as his residence. Quiet brought calm, calm brought peace, and peace softened the whispers he heard. Loser, freak, failure. Sometimes, when the world was kind, the whispers were so faint, they vanished. Jared might not hear them for days, but he knew they were only sleeping. You’re disgusting, you’re worthless, you’re garbage. Then they’d grow louder, more damning, and hateful. You’re sick, schizophrenic, defective. Spinning faster into a maelstrom around him. Kill yourself, kill yourself, die! But quiet brought calm, and calm brought peace, which was why Jared was so careful to guard his secret sanctuary in the park.

Residing in the park was illegal, of course, which was why his little home was his most carefully guarded secret, and why Jared raced the night. Once the sun went down, park rangers and police were more likely to ask why he was in the park and where he was going. So Jared raced the sun each day, hurrying to avoid their scrutiny.

The road grew steeper, but the day’s last light was fading fast. The old art deco streetlamps along the road floated in a dim ochre glow. Jared walked so fast he was almost hopping as he rounded a curve and saw the black maw of the Mount Hollywood Tunnel ahead. A road to the observatory branched to his left, but Jared took neither.

Two cars passed from behind him and disappeared into the tunnel. A single car emerged as they passed, its lights washing over Jared as it headed downhill. Jared quickly hustled across the road and scrambled up an erosion cut around a tall steep shoulder rising above the road. He followed the cut between two scrub oaks, around a slender pine, and behind a stunted oak shaped like an igloo. The little trail abruptly widened into a flat depression, and Jared was home. The remains of the sun disappeared in a bright orange wink as Jared lowered his pack.

Jared stood for a time, motionless, staring at the ground. The clean scents of wild rosemary, pinesap, and garlic were comforting. A flock of doves, roosting on a water tank farther up the slope, cooed softly as they bedded for the evening. Jared’s secret home was only ten yards above the road, but behind his little scrub oak igloo, the tension he carried down in the world grew lighter, and less, and floated away like a rising mist.

Jared drew a deep breath. He sighed.

The world felt peaceful and safe.

Jared rubbed his face, and grinned.

“Well. All right then. Yum, yum, yum, let’s boogie.”

Jared dragged a tattered green sleeping bag and faded blue duffel from beneath the oak’s prickly branches. He sat on the sleeping bag, took his eating utensils from the duffel, and opened his daypack. The wonderful smell of Italian food enveloped him. Jared rolled his eyes with heavenly pleasure and licked his lips.

“Good golly Miss Molly, what has she done?”

Working without a flashlight or lamp, Jared lifted the takeout containers from their bag and carefully opened them. The rising three-quarter moon and the city provided his light.

Jared made a soft whistle.

“Thank you, Chef. May God bless you for your kindness.”

Dinner was capellini with meatballs, sautéed spinach, a lemon tart, and three large pieces of garlic toast.

Jared set aside one meatball and two pieces of bread for breakfast, and feasted on the rest. The occasional car passed as he ate, emerging from or disappearing into the tunnel. A ranger passed, her headlights sweeping the road below, and then she was gone.

Finished with dinner, Jared tucked the empty containers into his daypack, then picked his way across the moonlit slope to the far side of the knoll. He often saw coyotes trot along the road, but they had never bothered him and he enjoyed their singing. He’d been told a mountain lion roamed the park. He had never seen the lion, but sharing his home with a lion didn’t frighten him. Jared felt perfectly safe being alone in the dark in the canyons. Only people frightened him. And doctors.

After his bowels moved, Jared washed his hands and utensils with a bit of bottled water, brushed his teeth, and took a blanket and poncho from the duffel. He wrapped the blanket and poncho around his shoulders, wiggled into the sleeping bag, and settled back against the duffel.

The glittering lights of Los Angeles spread before him to the horizon. Red and green lights marked helicopters crisscrossing the star-field city. Moving stars were jets carving long gentle descents into LAX.

Jared watched the moving lights, and grew sleepy. He dozed, woke with a start, and dozed again. Sleep came easily, but never lasted. Each time he woke, Jared noted the moon. The moon and the stars were Jared’s clock, giving him a measure of the night’s passage.

Jared judged he was awake at approximately two in the morning when a flash of light in the tunnel startled him. The tunnel grew brighter, abruptly went dark, and a car emerged.

Jared sat up.

The car’s headlights had been on in the tunnel, but now they were off.

The car’s brake lights flared. The car stopped in the dim ochre light from the streetlamp, and its brake lights died.

This wasn’t a police car or a ranger’s SUV. Jared couldn’t make out the color, but it was dark. A small sedan, Jared thought. Then the driver’s and passenger’s doors opened, and two men stepped out.

Fear flashed through Jared like a lightning bolt. He threw off the blanket and poncho, and scrambled up the hill. He tried to move quietly, but his frantic heart thundered. They might be gangbangers or kids who’d seen him earlier and had returned to have their fun. It had happened before when Jared lived by the beach. He scrambled higher, thinking he could hide above the old water tank, and that’s when he stopped and saw they were still by their car.