After killing at least three men, after being shot at repeatedly, after stealing two cars, after surviving a chase that had harried her through three counties, she might have expected to dream of death, of blasted bodies and blood, with the cold chatter of automatic-weapons fire as background music to the nightmare. She might have expected to dream of losing Chris, for he was one of the two remaining lights in her personal darkness, he and Thelma, and she dreaded the thought of going on without him. But instead she dreamed of Danny, and they were lovely dreams, not nightmares. Danny was alive again, and they were reliving the sale of Shadrach for more than one million dollars, but Chris was there, too, and he was eight years old, though in fact Chris had not been born at that time, and they were celebrating their good fortune by spending the day at Disneyland, where the three of them had their picture taken with Mickey Mouse, and in the Carnation Pavilion Danny told her he’d love her forever, while Chris pretended that he could speak in an all-snort pig language that he had learned from Carl Dockweiler, who was sitting at the next table with Nina and with Laura’s father, and at another table the amazing Ackerson twins were eating strawberry sundaes. . . .
She woke more than three hours later at 8:26, feeling rested as much because of that familial communion, provided by her subconscious as because of the sleep itself. Sunlight from a cloudless sky sparkled on the car’s chrome and fell in a bright, brassy shaft through the rear window. Chris was still dozing. In the back seat the wounded man had not regained consciousness.
She risked a quick walk to a telephone booth beside the market, which was within sight of the car. With change she had in her purse, she called Ida Palomar, Chris’s tutor in Lake Arrowhead, to tell her they would be away from home the rest of the week. She did want poor Ida to walk unsuspecting into the bullet-riddled, blood-spattered house near Big Bear, where police forensic teams were no doubt hard at work. She did not tell Ida where she was calling from; nevertheless, she did not intend to remain in Yorba Linda much longer.
After she returned to the car, she sat yawning, stretching, and massaging the back of her neck, as she watched early shoppers entering and leaving the supermarket a couple of hundred feet away. She was hungry. With sleep-matted eyes and sour breath, Chris woke less than ten minutes later, and she gave him money to go into the market and buy a package of sweet rolls and two pints of range juice, not the most nutritional breakfast but energy-giving.
“What about him?” Chris asked, indicating her guardian.
She remembered Dr. Brenkshaw’s warning about the patient’s risk of dehydration. But she also knew that she could not force-feed him liquids when he was comatose; he would choke to death. “Well . . . bring a third orange juice. Maybe I can coax him awake.” As Chris got out of the car, she said, “Might as well get us something for lunch, something that won’t spoil—say a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. And get a can of spray deodorant and a bottle of shampoo.”
He grinned. “Why won’t you let me eat this way at home?”
“Because if you don’t get good nutrition, you’re going to wind up with a brain even more twisted than the one you’ve got now, kiddo.”
“Even on the lam from hired killer:;, I’m surprised you didn’t rack a microwave, fresh vegetables, and a bottle of vitamins.”
“Are you saying I’m a good mother but a fussbudget? Compliment noted and point taken. Now go.”
He started to close his door.
She said, “And, Chris . . .” “I know,” the boy said. “Be careful.” While Chris was gone, she started the engine and switched on the radio to listen to the nine o’clock news. She heard a story about herself: the scene at her house near Big Bear, the shoot-out in San Bernardino. Like most news stories it was inaccurate, disjointed, and made little sense. But it confirmed that the police were looking for her throughout southern California. According to the reporter, the authorities expected to locate her soon, largely because her face was already widely known.