Joey sat on the jam-packed suitcase and, after bouncing up and down a few times, managed to lock it shut. On the couch, Alison scribbled his instructions on a notepad. Claude Baribeau sat glumly at the kitchen table.

      Baribeau said, "Are you certain running away is going to solve anything, Joey?"

      "Yeah, it's going to put about a thousand miles between me and Concasseur. That's good enough for me."

      "It may not be as easy as that. Concasseur said that you have been chosen by the loas. If he was right, they may not be willing to let you go."

      Joey smacked gray duct tape over the suitcase locks to keep them from popping open. "Look, Claude, you've been a real brick. I appreciate everything you've done over the past two days, including making this place voodoo-proof. But my instincts tell me to get out of town as fast as my little legs can carry me. And that's exactly what I plan to do, loas or no loas."

      Alison said, "I don't know, Joey. Are you sure Manhattan, Kansas, is the answer?"

      "It'll be perfect. The heartland is ripe for a guy with my talents. I'll blend right in, no problem."

      "And has your Uncle Earl really agreed to let you stay in his home indefinitely?"

      "Look, the guy's eighty-eight and deaf in one ear. Sometimes he doesn't track telephone conversations real well. I think he got the gist of what I was saying. Besides, he's a big, warm-hearted, salt-of-the-earth kind of fella. What's he going to do, call the cops on his favorite grandnephew?"

      "If you push him to it. What are you going to do for money? The plane ticket just about broke you. How easy is it going to be for you to get a job once you hit town?"

      "Goddamn it!" Joey picked up the suitcase and hurled it at the apartment's front door. "I don't know what the fuck's going to happen once I get to fucking Kansas! I don't give a shit! I just want out of this place. I'm too scared to live here any more. Don't you two morons understand that?"

      Claude looked away. Alison bit her lip and studied the checklist in her lap. Joey stalked off into the bedroom for a last-minute inspection.

      After a few minutes, Alison called softly, "We'd better get a move on, Joey. Your flight leaves in less than ninety minutes."

      "Right." Joey shut off the bedroom lights and dragged a bulging carry-on bag into the living room. For the twentieth time, he patted his back pocket to make sure his ticket was still there.

      Claude and Alison helped him lug his stuff down to Alison's car. With everything packed away, Alison started the engine. Claude stood outside and spoke to Joey through the passenger's window.

      "I wish you all the luck in the world, Joey. You have been through a terrible ordeal. I sincerely hope that this trip to Kansas is what's best for you."

      Joey shook his hand. "It'll be OK, Claude. Look, thanks again for helping me get my shit together after Thursday night. Take care of Alison while I'm gone."

      "I will."

      From Alison came, "I can look after myself, thank you."

      "Bye, Claude."

      "Good-bye, Joey. See you later, Alison."

      As they drove through the night toward San Francisco International, Joey leaned back and heaved a mental sigh of relief. In a matter of minutes, he would be jetting off to the Midwest. Not exactly a dream vacation, but it beat the hell out of being kidnapped by voodoo sorcerers again.

      Even now, Joey was not at all sure of what he had experienced during his phantasmagoric ride through the streets of San Francisco. How much of it had been real? How much cobbled up from a fevered imagination? He supposed that, in the final analysis, it did not matter much. Either way, he was scared spitless.

      He said to Alison, "Are you going to get out of town for a while? Visit your folks down south for a couple weeks?"

      "Joey, I've got a good job here. I can't just pack up and leave."

      "Aren't you the least bit frightened?"

      "Sure. But it's you Concasseur wants. Claude has given me some protective charms. I should be safe enough."

      Because it was nearly midnight, there was little traffic on the freeway. Joey tensed up when a big black sedan suddenly appeared on their tail from one of the on-ramps. He relaxed when it passed Alison's Mazda amid a chorus of shouts and horn toots. A pack of high school kids out raising hell in some unsuspecting parent's car.

      "You can never be too safe," he said to Alison.

      He wondered what it would be like, starting over in a new city, in Kansas, for God's sake. How would he handle rooming with Uncle Earl, who, if he remembered correctly, was as cantankerous as a wolverine with hemorrhoids? And most important, what was he going to do without Alison? That was the big question.

      They had no trouble finding a parking space in SFO's lot. They carried Joey's baggage over to the United counter, where Joey checked in and received his boarding pass.

      The terminal was hushed and relaxed. Spic-and-span airline personnel and a few bleary-eyed travelers roamed the carpeted passageways. Joey checked his watch and saw that he had over a half hour before boarding.

      He said to Alison, "Can you stick around until take-off? I'll buy you a cheesedog."

      "I'll pass on the cheesedog, but I don't mind hanging around. I plan to sleep most of tomorrow."

      They found a concession stand, manned by a couple of half-wits who had trouble getting the order straight. "No, not a chili dog. A cheesedog. Is there something difficult about that?" For four bucks and some change, Joey received the requested entree, a bag of stale chips and a small cup of Pepsi choked with ice.

      He and Alison sat in silence, too tired to converse. A nearby loudspeaker squawked with nearly unintelligible messages. Joey ate quickly. There was no way he was going to miss his flight.

      Joey half-saw someone walk quickly by the refreshment stand. He stopped in mid-bite. The figure had looked vaguely familiar, like someone he had known a very long time ago. He craned his neck to catch a better glimpse of the pedestrian, but his view has obstructed by a large sign advertsing "Delicious Nachos -- $3.95."

      "Something the matter?" said Alison.

      "Nothing. Never mind."

      Baribeau had said that Concasseur was not likely to try anything against Joey. The intervention of Papa Legba would have made the bokor extremely cautious, at least for the time being. Still, Joey was not ready to take any chances.

      A mellow-voiced announcer stated, "Flight 201 to Kansas City will begin boarding in ten minutes."

      "That's you," Alison said, standing up and grabbing Joey's carry-on bag for him.

      As Joey disposed of his trash, his stomach rumbled ominously and tweaked him harshly. The cheesedog had evidently triggered some sort of internal chain reaction. Joey said to Alison, "Uh, I'd better make a quick trip to the rest room before they strap me into my seat. Meet me at the gate, OK?"

      Without waiting for a reply, he rushed to the closest men's room. He made it just in time. His business finished, he sat in the stall, catching his breath and willing his guts to stop roiling.

      Someone entered the men's room. Joey could hear a strange, rubbery slap-slap noise as the man walked across the tiled floor.

      Whoever it was didn't stop at the urinals. He continued on, approaching the line of stalls, making that odd sound with every step.

      Seated on the toilet, pants down around his ankles, Joey suddenly felt very scared and very vulnerable.

      The slap-slap stopped. A voice called, "Joey? You in here?"

      Had there been anything left in Joey's bowels, it would have come out right then.

      "Joe-eeeey!" crooned the voice. "I know you're in here somewhere."

      Slap-slap. Getting closer to the door behind which Joey crouched. "Joe-eeeey! Come on out! Why are you hiding from your favorite older brother?"

      Jeff said, "It's time for the family reunion, kiddo. We've all been waiting so long. Don't disappoint us now."

      The toilet stall walls seemed to be closing in. Barely breathing, not daring to make a sound, Joey hunched down and peered out under the door.

      A pair of well-tanned legs came into view, the light, golden hair on them wet and plastered down. The feet were shod in yellow flip-flops, cheap rubber sandals.

      An anonymous voice announced, "Flight 201 to Kansas City now boarding all passengers at Gate 65."

      Jeff rattled the door of the stall two spots away. "Don't tell me you're going to chicken out on us one more time, baby brother. That wouldn't be nice at all."

      The adjoining door banged open. Joey bit his tongue in fright. Jeff said, "You can't hide from us forever, Joey. There are dues to be paid."

      Joey stared at Jeff's feet, recognized the misshapen toenail on the right, where Tom had once dropped a candlepin bowling ball on it. He closed his eyes and prayed that those feet would disappear.

      "-- all the way from Newark, for crissakes. The kid would not shut up. Cried from take-off right through landing."

      Joey opened his eyes. Jeff was gone.

      "I'm telling you, they should outlaw kids on transcontinental flights. Shit, you can't smoke flying from here to L.A., but they don't say a word if some brat screams loud enough to make your eardrums bleed."

      Joey very carefully pulled his pants up, opened the door and peeked out. Two bedraggled air-travelers stood at the urinals. There was no sign of Jeff.

      Joey hustled over to Gate 65. Alison paced in front of it, his bag on the floor beside her. "Jeez, Joey, I thought you'd fallen in or something. You almost missed final call. Are you all right? You're awful pale."

      He looked behind him. There was no one following him. "Once I get on the plane, I'll be fine." They couldn't follow him all the way to Kansas, could they?

      "Then I guess this is goodbye for a while."

      "Yeah, I guess so." Joey picked up his bag and pulled out his ticket.

      He heard a female flight attendant say, "Last call for Flight 201. Departing in five minutes."

      Alison said, "Be sure to call as soon as you get settled in. Leave a message if I'm out or something."

      He turned and looked toward the departure gate, his escape route from San Francisco.

      They were there. Both Jeff and Tom.

      "Better get a move on. They'll leave without you." Alison gave him a push. He dug his heels in and refused to budge.

      The twins were dripping wet, puddles forming on the carpet beneath them. They looked water-logged, their skin puffy and wrinkled.

      Joey whispered to Alison, "Do -- do you see them?"

      She looked around in confusion. "See who?"

      "Planning to run away again?" Tom said. "Like you did the last time, Lovecraft?"

      If Alison didn't see them, then they couldn't be there. Joey clung to that bit of simple logic. They had to be hallucinations, nothing that could hurt him. All he had to do was walk up to them, step through them, and they would disappear in a shower of sparks or blow away like colored mist.

      "Joey, is everything all right? Are you having another attack?"

      Put head down and walk forward. One foot in front of the other. That's all that was required. He moved like a shellshock victim, but he closed the distance in silence, prepared to hand his boarding pass to the flight attendant. She wasn't freaking out because two talking corpses stood mere inches from her. Why should he?

      Tom said, "You can't ignore us forever, Joey. You're going to have to reckon with us one of these days."

      Just a few more feet. He would be past them, and he would refuse to look back. He'd get on the plane and not even think about them again. He'd be safe.

      The flight attendant, anxious to depart on time, took his pass and said, "Thank you. Have a good trip, sir."

      He was face-to-face with them now. He could smell them, a godawful combination of scents, of charred meat and damp mold. He could hear the water drip from the twins' bathing trunks.

      Jeff said, "You'll never be free of us, Joey. Not until you face up to us."

      He put his hand out to push through the phantom. He touched cold, wet skin and screamed.

      The flight attendant backed away from him. She motioned wildly to one of the patrolling security guards, then said, "Sir, are you all right?"

      Joey didn't answer. He turned from his dead brothers and saw Alison running towards him, eyes wide with fear and astonishment. He walked to meet her. Unmindful of its redemption value, he tore his pass in two.

      "Let's go," he said. "There's no way out."