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Chapter 26

"Dayne!" A tall, dark-haired form pushed his way through the crowd, and resolved into Adam.

Dayne waved, and watched as the camera lenses turned to focus on Adam, and noted the curiosity and calculation in the eyes of the reporters. She could see them formulating their questions as he approached.

She was tired. She didn't want to answer any more questions. She'd been sitting on the brick and concrete of her front steps as long as she could stand. She wanted to be up and moving, she wanted to be someplace quiet and secluded; she didn't want to see anyone else with a picket sign or a T-shirt with her face on it.

Adam blew by the waiting reporters with a cold, experienced "no comment," and hurried to her side. He whispered in her ear, "I have my car parked one street over. Do you want to get out of here?"

"More than anything," she told him.

He smiled. "You any good at running?"

"I'm fairly fast and I have lots and lots of stamina."

"That will do." He took her hand and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Be ready to make a break for it."

She nodded solemnly, and stood.

"That's all, people. Go home. She doesn't want to talk anymore."

The reporters protested, demanding to know who Adam was and what right he had to chase them away. Behind them, a faint, unhappy rumble rose from the crowd. Dayne had been so reasonable and so open, they seemed to feel they were entitled to keep her talking indefinitely.

Adam started leading her away, across the yard, toward the back of the apartment and the opposite street. The reporters, losing their fear and their manners in the same instant, shoved in on her and began shouting last-minute questions and crowding in.

"Who's your boyfriend?"

"What do you have to say to the people who claim you're really a Satanist, and that when you prayed, you prayed to the Devil?"

"Why didn't you pray for something useful, like world peace or enough food for everyone!"

"Run," Adam shouted.

They ran—Dayne had been perfectly honest in her assessment of both her speed and her endurance. Long-legged Adam kept pace with her with difficulty, while the encumbered cameramen and their reporter cronies were left in the dust.

"Turn right," Adam gasped, while the mob trailed behind them.

Dayne gathered herself and sailed over a low holly hedge—the gleaming, spear-edged leaves were encouragement to keep her legs high in classic hurdler's form. Adam took the hedge without difficulty. Both of them picked up speed when they encountered a Rottweiler on a chain considerably longer than either of them had guessed. A chain-link fence proved an obstacle, until Adam lifted Dayne over—after she was safely on the other side, he rested one hand on the top of the fence and vaulted over it, and she thought perhaps she ought to hate him. But she didn't.

"How much farther?"

He was breathing hard. "The corner. Up there."

The corner was another chain-link fence and a good two holly hedges away. She saw some of the reporters and cameramen splitting off in a clear flanking maneuver, and pointed that out to Adam as they ran.

"Still have. Your pepper gas?"

"Sure."

"Pull it out. Hold in your. Hand."

They were at the second fence. He lifted her over. She pulled out the pepper gas canister and held it up.

The flanking reporters stopped, and the cameramen decided suddenly to take their pictures standing still.

"Good job." Neither holly hedge was too terrible, though Dayne thought the people on the corner were being a bit slack in their trimming. Still, she and Adam arrived at the car intact and laughing. He opened the door for her, she jumped in, and they zoomed out of the side street, across a main boulevard, down another side street, and then another, and finally they were out of the dreadful traffic that had inundated her neighborhood, and away from people who knew who she was.

It was only then that she realized she was driving to an unspecified destination with a man she didn't know at all. He seemed so warm and familiar, and that friendly face in the middle of the swarm of reporters had been like a beacon of light. But she wasn't comfortable with the situation—as much as she liked Adam, she didn't know him enough to trust him. Her right hand slid into her jacket pocket, and held the pepper gas. Insurance.

"I saw you on the television," he said. He took a corner a bit clumsily, and Dayne was startled when she realized he didn't drive very well. He had a problem with his clutch, and had to look at the stick when he shifted gears. He seemed unaware of her scrutiny. "You looked good," he told her. "But you also looked like someone who could use an excuse for an escape."

"I was getting tired of answering the same questions in different ways," she agreed.

"You were very nice to them." He looked left and right, started to turn left, and muttered, "Damn. One way street."

"Charlotte's full of them," she told him. "I was afraid the mob would stone me if I didn't explain things to them."

Adam laughed. "After last night? If you'd told 'em to kiss the ground you walked on, they would have."

"Last night?"

"When you took apart the local reporter—you didn't know they ran that clip on CNN?"

Dayne smiled a toothy smile. "I figured they must have run it somewhere—the male reporters today were all standing around with their ankles crossed."

"Probably wore athletic cups to the interview, too." Adam sighed. "Look, I had intended to ask you out, and have both of us meet at a nice restaurant—something that would give you a chance to get to know me. I never intended to shanghai you, but you really did look like you needed a rescue. And since we're here, why don't you let me buy lunch? Have you had anything to eat?"

Dayne pressed her hands to her face. "My lunch! I left it on my step when we ran off." She shook her head. "No, I haven't had anything." She thought of her lunch sitting on her landing, then considered how she must have looked, running across yards and jumping fences. She sighed.

"What's wrong?" Adam's look of concern did a lot to reassure her.

"I don't know that running was the best thing to do. I'm afraid it will make them think I have something to hide."

"You don't?"

She looked at him sidelong, and he shrugged. "Sorry. Everyone I have ever known has had something to hide. But I've never known anyone like you before. The fact that you were the person who got the Hellspawn paroled to Earth came as quite a shock." He turned again, this time grinding the gears badly before he got the clutch all the way in. He sighed and muttered, "These things always look so easy when somebody else drives them." Then he pulled over into a parking lot and put the car into neutral. While it idled, he turned to face her and said, "Of course running was the right thing to do. Dayne, if you'd stayed there being polite to them, they would have kept throwing questions at you until you fell down from exhaustion. They don't care that you kindly sat and answered every question you were asked. They use people. They're looking for the sensational, and if you're reasonable with them, they'll keep prodding you until you do something sensational. They didn't want to hear you telling them about things that mattered to you. They just wanted pictures of screaming picketers and riots in the street."

"Oh."

"The station I was watching gave you pretty good coverage, but I flipped around a little—most of the other stations had experts in, who were commenting on what you had to say, and explaining why you were wrong."

Dayne looked at him, startled. "Why I was wrong?"

He nodded. "Their expert commentators, ministers mostly, were explaining how what you had asked of God was counter to the Bible, or how your theology was wrong, or how God didn't perform miracles anymore so the fact that the Hellspawn were here could not have been an act of God. The majority of the people listening to your interview only heard little sound bites taken from the things you said, as often as not taken out of context, and always heavily edited and explained by the commentators."

"So I was wasting my time?"

"They were wasting your time. Give credit where it's due. You were doing the best you could. They weren't."

Dayne leaned back into the bucket seat and closed her eyes. "I wonder what they'll come away thinking."

"Whatever they thought before." Adam took a deep breath and put the car into reverse. He backed up in the parking lot, fought with the gears, and got the car rolling forward toward the street again. "Anyway, how about something to eat. I'll buy, by way of apology for dragging you away from your press conference in such an undignified manner. You, however, will have to pick out the restaurant—I've been working nearly around the clock since I got here, and haven't had the time to explore."

Dayne opened her eyes and looked around—she was no longer sure where she was. Charlotte was a big enough city that even people who had lived in it most of their lives could find places to get lost. Dayne, who had moved to Charlotte to be with Torry, and who had stayed because she had an apartment and work, had explored only the parts she needed to, and had avoided the rest.

"I don't know. This isn't my part of town."

"How about an adventure, then?"

She tilted her head and gave him a little half-smile. "Just what I need—another adventure." Then she laughed. "Why not? What sort of adventure did you have in mind?"

"Stop at the first place we come to and eat there?"

Dayne looked around the neighborhood and winced. "Um . . . maybe we'd better drive a bit further first. I don't like the look of this neighborhood." Streetwalkers sauntered along the sidewalk in broad daylight—absolutely gorgeous women in awful clothes, and young boys wearing lipstick, and little girls with high heels and hard eyes. She wondered at them . . . so many congregated so close together. They seemed to be doing a brisk business, though.

Adam looked at the street and nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. I do think you're right. So let's not be that adventurous. I vote for cowardice and a bit more driving."

Dayne laughed. "Second the motion and call the question."

Adam said, "All in favor?"

"Aye!" they said in unison.

They continued to drive with Adam apparently picking the streets at random, and suddenly Dayne recognized the neighborhood. She'd never come at it that way—her own route stuck to major arteries and skipped the red-light district—but first houses and yards and then everything became recognizable.

"Yes!" she said. "There are several restaurants down that way."

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Framed

Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 26

"Dayne!" A tall, dark-haired form pushed his way through the crowd, and resolved into Adam.

Dayne waved, and watched as the camera lenses turned to focus on Adam, and noted the curiosity and calculation in the eyes of the reporters. She could see them formulating their questions as he approached.

She was tired. She didn't want to answer any more questions. She'd been sitting on the brick and concrete of her front steps as long as she could stand. She wanted to be up and moving, she wanted to be someplace quiet and secluded; she didn't want to see anyone else with a picket sign or a T-shirt with her face on it.

Adam blew by the waiting reporters with a cold, experienced "no comment," and hurried to her side. He whispered in her ear, "I have my car parked one street over. Do you want to get out of here?"

"More than anything," she told him.

He smiled. "You any good at running?"

"I'm fairly fast and I have lots and lots of stamina."

"That will do." He took her hand and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Be ready to make a break for it."

She nodded solemnly, and stood.

"That's all, people. Go home. She doesn't want to talk anymore."

The reporters protested, demanding to know who Adam was and what right he had to chase them away. Behind them, a faint, unhappy rumble rose from the crowd. Dayne had been so reasonable and so open, they seemed to feel they were entitled to keep her talking indefinitely.

Adam started leading her away, across the yard, toward the back of the apartment and the opposite street. The reporters, losing their fear and their manners in the same instant, shoved in on her and began shouting last-minute questions and crowding in.

"Who's your boyfriend?"

"What do you have to say to the people who claim you're really a Satanist, and that when you prayed, you prayed to the Devil?"

"Why didn't you pray for something useful, like world peace or enough food for everyone!"

"Run," Adam shouted.

They ran—Dayne had been perfectly honest in her assessment of both her speed and her endurance. Long-legged Adam kept pace with her with difficulty, while the encumbered cameramen and their reporter cronies were left in the dust.

"Turn right," Adam gasped, while the mob trailed behind them.

Dayne gathered herself and sailed over a low holly hedge—the gleaming, spear-edged leaves were encouragement to keep her legs high in classic hurdler's form. Adam took the hedge without difficulty. Both of them picked up speed when they encountered a Rottweiler on a chain considerably longer than either of them had guessed. A chain-link fence proved an obstacle, until Adam lifted Dayne over—after she was safely on the other side, he rested one hand on the top of the fence and vaulted over it, and she thought perhaps she ought to hate him. But she didn't.

"How much farther?"

He was breathing hard. "The corner. Up there."

The corner was another chain-link fence and a good two holly hedges away. She saw some of the reporters and cameramen splitting off in a clear flanking maneuver, and pointed that out to Adam as they ran.

"Still have. Your pepper gas?"

"Sure."

"Pull it out. Hold in your. Hand."

They were at the second fence. He lifted her over. She pulled out the pepper gas canister and held it up.

The flanking reporters stopped, and the cameramen decided suddenly to take their pictures standing still.

"Good job." Neither holly hedge was too terrible, though Dayne thought the people on the corner were being a bit slack in their trimming. Still, she and Adam arrived at the car intact and laughing. He opened the door for her, she jumped in, and they zoomed out of the side street, across a main boulevard, down another side street, and then another, and finally they were out of the dreadful traffic that had inundated her neighborhood, and away from people who knew who she was.

It was only then that she realized she was driving to an unspecified destination with a man she didn't know at all. He seemed so warm and familiar, and that friendly face in the middle of the swarm of reporters had been like a beacon of light. But she wasn't comfortable with the situation—as much as she liked Adam, she didn't know him enough to trust him. Her right hand slid into her jacket pocket, and held the pepper gas. Insurance.

"I saw you on the television," he said. He took a corner a bit clumsily, and Dayne was startled when she realized he didn't drive very well. He had a problem with his clutch, and had to look at the stick when he shifted gears. He seemed unaware of her scrutiny. "You looked good," he told her. "But you also looked like someone who could use an excuse for an escape."

"I was getting tired of answering the same questions in different ways," she agreed.

"You were very nice to them." He looked left and right, started to turn left, and muttered, "Damn. One way street."

"Charlotte's full of them," she told him. "I was afraid the mob would stone me if I didn't explain things to them."

Adam laughed. "After last night? If you'd told 'em to kiss the ground you walked on, they would have."

"Last night?"

"When you took apart the local reporter—you didn't know they ran that clip on CNN?"

Dayne smiled a toothy smile. "I figured they must have run it somewhere—the male reporters today were all standing around with their ankles crossed."

"Probably wore athletic cups to the interview, too." Adam sighed. "Look, I had intended to ask you out, and have both of us meet at a nice restaurant—something that would give you a chance to get to know me. I never intended to shanghai you, but you really did look like you needed a rescue. And since we're here, why don't you let me buy lunch? Have you had anything to eat?"

Dayne pressed her hands to her face. "My lunch! I left it on my step when we ran off." She shook her head. "No, I haven't had anything." She thought of her lunch sitting on her landing, then considered how she must have looked, running across yards and jumping fences. She sighed.

"What's wrong?" Adam's look of concern did a lot to reassure her.

"I don't know that running was the best thing to do. I'm afraid it will make them think I have something to hide."

"You don't?"

She looked at him sidelong, and he shrugged. "Sorry. Everyone I have ever known has had something to hide. But I've never known anyone like you before. The fact that you were the person who got the Hellspawn paroled to Earth came as quite a shock." He turned again, this time grinding the gears badly before he got the clutch all the way in. He sighed and muttered, "These things always look so easy when somebody else drives them." Then he pulled over into a parking lot and put the car into neutral. While it idled, he turned to face her and said, "Of course running was the right thing to do. Dayne, if you'd stayed there being polite to them, they would have kept throwing questions at you until you fell down from exhaustion. They don't care that you kindly sat and answered every question you were asked. They use people. They're looking for the sensational, and if you're reasonable with them, they'll keep prodding you until you do something sensational. They didn't want to hear you telling them about things that mattered to you. They just wanted pictures of screaming picketers and riots in the street."

"Oh."

"The station I was watching gave you pretty good coverage, but I flipped around a little—most of the other stations had experts in, who were commenting on what you had to say, and explaining why you were wrong."

Dayne looked at him, startled. "Why I was wrong?"

He nodded. "Their expert commentators, ministers mostly, were explaining how what you had asked of God was counter to the Bible, or how your theology was wrong, or how God didn't perform miracles anymore so the fact that the Hellspawn were here could not have been an act of God. The majority of the people listening to your interview only heard little sound bites taken from the things you said, as often as not taken out of context, and always heavily edited and explained by the commentators."

"So I was wasting my time?"

"They were wasting your time. Give credit where it's due. You were doing the best you could. They weren't."

Dayne leaned back into the bucket seat and closed her eyes. "I wonder what they'll come away thinking."

"Whatever they thought before." Adam took a deep breath and put the car into reverse. He backed up in the parking lot, fought with the gears, and got the car rolling forward toward the street again. "Anyway, how about something to eat. I'll buy, by way of apology for dragging you away from your press conference in such an undignified manner. You, however, will have to pick out the restaurant—I've been working nearly around the clock since I got here, and haven't had the time to explore."

Dayne opened her eyes and looked around—she was no longer sure where she was. Charlotte was a big enough city that even people who had lived in it most of their lives could find places to get lost. Dayne, who had moved to Charlotte to be with Torry, and who had stayed because she had an apartment and work, had explored only the parts she needed to, and had avoided the rest.

"I don't know. This isn't my part of town."

"How about an adventure, then?"

She tilted her head and gave him a little half-smile. "Just what I need—another adventure." Then she laughed. "Why not? What sort of adventure did you have in mind?"

"Stop at the first place we come to and eat there?"

Dayne looked around the neighborhood and winced. "Um . . . maybe we'd better drive a bit further first. I don't like the look of this neighborhood." Streetwalkers sauntered along the sidewalk in broad daylight—absolutely gorgeous women in awful clothes, and young boys wearing lipstick, and little girls with high heels and hard eyes. She wondered at them . . . so many congregated so close together. They seemed to be doing a brisk business, though.

Adam looked at the street and nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. I do think you're right. So let's not be that adventurous. I vote for cowardice and a bit more driving."

Dayne laughed. "Second the motion and call the question."

Adam said, "All in favor?"

"Aye!" they said in unison.

They continued to drive with Adam apparently picking the streets at random, and suddenly Dayne recognized the neighborhood. She'd never come at it that way—her own route stuck to major arteries and skipped the red-light district—but first houses and yards and then everything became recognizable.

"Yes!" she said. "There are several restaurants down that way."

Back | Next
Contents
Framed