Storm Season

by Elle Keaton

  Adam wondered how Micah was doing. He pulled his phone out of his pocket just as it buzzed.

  > Hi. Wondering if you could stop by my house. This is Micah.

  ***

  Micah was waiting for Adam on his front porch. While strictly speaking his house was livable, it wasn’t inviting. The fire and water damage had luckily been limited to the back of the house, mostly the kitchen and what Micah said had been the reading room, an enclosed back porch area separate from the mud room. Unfortunately, the smoke damage was throughout the house. Micah needed to bring a restoration company in for paint and all that other stuff.

  That was not what Micah wanted to show him. He had a grubby backpack in his hands.

  “Come in for a second,” Micah said.

  They went into the living room. The acrid stench of burned wood and plastic was strong. Adam was certain it was not good for Micah’s lungs. As if reading his mind, Micah coughed. He shut the front door behind Adam and grabbed his hand, dragging him over to the coffee table.

  “I forgot about this,” Micah wheezed. “I was getting rid of trash and stuff from my dad’s study, because…” He trailed off. Adam understood; hadn’t he stood and stared at his own father’s studio? “Well, I found Jessica’s backpack in the mud room. I put it out of my mind with everything going on, until I saw it sitting there. I thought I’d see if there was something I missed in it. I mean, I glanced in it day she left it behind, and there was no cell phone or address book or anything, only clothes and a spiral binder. But now, I…I think found something important. Maybe this was why she left the bag in the first place?”

  Micah held a little piece of plastic snug in his palm. It had 64 GB emblazoned on the side. A memory card. Incongruous compared to the rest of the backpack’s contents. It could be nothing, but Adam’s gut told him it wasn’t. He ran back out to his car and grabbed his laptop. Micah watched while Adam loaded the memory card onto the laptop, waiting as the machine recognized the JPEG files and tiny tile images popped up in lines extending past the bottom of his screen, an indication there were hundreds of photos on the card, if not more.

  Adam knew he should make Micah leave the room while he looked at this stuff. He started to say something, but before he could the loading images came into focus and he was stunned into silence. He had a kind of memory flash: Rochelle Heid’s body tossed aside like so much trash. The body identified as Jessica Abrahams, up on Mt. Baker. The Hispanic girl’s body from earlier in the year.

  “I want to throw up,” Micah whispered.

  Porn. Kid porn; not babies, but young. Boys, girls, young kids and teens. Only a few pictures were clear, but it was more than Adam could stomach, and Micah had no business seeing this kind of sick shit, he clicked eject.

  “Okay. So. I need a plastic sandwich bag.” Micah found a box of them in the rubble of his kitchen, and Adam put the memory card inside. No doubt any fingerprints were useless, but he did it anyway.

  Adam sent the memory card to Mohammad overnight from the local FedEx office. And yeah, that was going to seriously piss off SkPD, but they’d had their chance to go through Micah’s house and look for evidence. They’d done nothing more than pat him on the head and glance around while insinuating he somehow deserved it.

  The next thing he did was take Micah back to the Wagon Wheel and proceed to fuck him into the mattress. It was the only way Adam had to show Micah he was safe. If he stayed in Adam’s bed nothing would happen to him.

  Dark-of-night anxieties woke Adam up. What the hell was he doing? What was he thinking? He only needed to glance at the man sleeping next to him to realize he had no idea, but that he’d do a lot to keep Micah safe. Jesus, his head was a dangerous place to be.

  Thirty

  Beautiful no matter what time of year you were driving on it, the Mt. Baker Highway in late November got its only color from the evergreens. The maple, ash, and birch trees all shivered in the gloom, stripped nude by the wind and rain. Occasionally the car passed stands of deciduous trees a bit more protected from the weather, with a few hardy red or yellow leaves clutching the branches for dear life.

  The road curved with the mountains’ whims. When it was built the engineers had followed the natural curves, the easiest route, except for the spots impossible to breach with mere human power, where they brought in blasters and dynamite. Brutal, deadly work.

  The Skagit and Skykomish rivers made their appearances, flirting with the winding road. The rivers gushed high, filling the banks, racing Adam and Micah to their destination. In summer there were sandbars and exposed rocks that an industrious person could go fish from, or a different kind of person could laze on in the sun.

  Micah was being way too quiet, he knew, making Adam worry.

  Adam wanted to look at the scene where Jessica Abrahams had been found. Tabitha Abrahams was now grieving the loss of two family members. Personally, Micah thought no one would blame her if she didn’t mourn her husband.

  Adam had asked Micah to come along while he went on his grim errand. The memory card had unnerved Adam. Micah wondered if the card was why his house had been targeted. He knew that’s what Adam thought. Especially since Sara’s café had been broken into as well.

  The spot where Jessica’s body had been discovered would surely be devoid of any physical evidence by now, between the passing of time and almost-nonstop heavy rain, but Adam still wanted to see it. He said he needed to look around and see what the killer might have seen. Why they’d decided this was the spot. Had they known about it in advance? Had they panicked and dropped her body in the first convenient place? Had it been at night in the dark, or had they been brazen enough to dump her during the day?

  The Mt. Baker Ski Area was out this way. It had been under a constant threat of bankruptcy when he was a kid, depending on whether the snow came early, late, or at all. Even so, many people in the county still depended on snowfall for their livelihood. There were weekend rentals and cabins on the way to the summit. A-frames big enough for four people (or eight drunk ones) with small decks and hot tubs. They were packed when it snowed, but largely empty the rest of the year. Sometimes they’d get mountain bikers, not much else.

  “My family had a cabin up here.” Micah spoke for the first time in almost an hour. “I had completely forgotten.” He continued to stare out the passenger-side window. “It was in one called Glacier something, I think.” A Glacier Cove sign flashed past. Adam gave him a questioning look.

  “You want to turn in? Drive by it?” Adam asked. He slowed down. At the next driveway he pulled in and turned around, heading back the way they had come.

  “It’s been ten or twelve years. Probably more. Maybe before I left for college? Um, it was at the back. At the end of one of the roads.” Micah waved generally. Adam continued to drive slowly along the main entrance road. The little cabins were scattered everywhere. This time of year there were signs of life, even if there was little snow for skiing yet. Holiday lights were up in some. Decorative flags. Skis and snowboards leaning hopefully against porches or loaded on top of SUVs. “I think it’s down there. Yeah.” Micah pointed to the right.

  At the end of the little spur stood a small A-frame much like all the others. Green metal roof, wood siding, front porch with a built-in hot tub. There the similarities ended. This cabin had no decorations; the front lawn area was overgrown, a massive tangle of native grasses and blackberries crowding the little house.

  Adam pulled to a stop. “This it?”

  “Yeah. I think. Pretty sure,” Micah whispered. He pushed the car door open before slowly jogging up the faint path, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold and memories while Adam watched him, leaning against the side of his car.

  It was cold and probably going to dump more rain any minute, but he wouldn’t melt in a little rain. Micah peeked in the front windows and then took a smaller set of steps down the side, heading around toward the back of the house. In five minutes or less he was back at the car.

  �
��I…um, I think I need to make a phone call.”

  Adam grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to sit down on the bumper of the car.

  “Are you okay? What’s back there?” Adam demanded.

  “Everything is back there; nothing has changed,” Micah replied into the safety of his knees.

  Adam drove Micah back down to where a drive-thru espresso stand resided to get any kind of cell reception. Sure enough, it seemed Micah still had possession of the little cabin.

  The rain stopped merely threatening and began to fall in fat drops. Driving back was going to be a bitch. Micah clicked off his cell phone, turning toward Adam. “I feel so stupid. So, so stupid.”

  Adam raised his eyebrow at him in question. “You want a hug? Or, I dunno, punch someone?”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, I am such a loser. I had no idea that I—I still own this. I guess. The lawyer has been taking care of it all these years.” Micah took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “They’ve been paying the taxes and everything. Even maintenance. Although it looks like they didn’t get their—my—money’s worth.”

  “Fuck.”

  “It’s been empty this whole time. This. Whole. Time.” He was still deciding between a hug or a punch, but leaning toward hug. “It’s like having a scab ripped off. I am so angry. I don’t want this. It was almost unbearable when Brandon and Stephanie came and helped me clean out the upstairs of the house. It took me almost two years to do that. To fucking throw away candy wrappers Shona had hidden in her room. To clean out my parents’ bathroom, where my mom’s shampoo that she used forever was, where my dad’s stupid electric razor was. I couldn’t even look at it. I still don’t like to go upstairs.”

  The rage he felt was white-hot, scorching. Anger at himself, at his parents for getting killed, at everyone in Skagit who acted like he was a freak. The anger crawled across his skin, making him itchy and hot, his fingers curling into fists.

  “So, mostly you want to punch someone. I get that,” Adam said quietly. “If it’s still so hard, why do you stay in that house?”

  It was something Micah had thought about. Adam had left; why couldn’t he? But if he went somewhere else he wouldn’t know anyone, and that seemed harder than being a freak in Skagit. Instead he’d stayed and wrapped himself in memories.

  “I’ve asked myself before, and the answer, I guess, is, it’s so much effort to change, to move. I’ve never been great at it. I was on suicide watch for practically two years. Brandon was over every day. Made me call him or Stephanie or they’d show up at the door. I did forget, at first, a lot. If I move, it’s like they are really gone forever.”

  He looked down at the cell phone clutched in his hand. “This was my dad’s cell phone number.”

  He finally looked at Adam, seeing how wet he was. They both were, from standing in the deluge like idiots. Adam’s coat and jeans were beginning to soak through. Micah was freezing. Adam reached out and dragged Micah closer, his body heat mingling with Micah’s. Cupping Micah’s face with freezing hands, he pressed his chilly lips gently against Micah’s. A spark, an ember that had been slumbering, arced blue flame between the two of them. Adam kissed Micah like he had never been kissed before.

  He didn’t know what was going to happen between the two of them in the future. He didn’t know where his own home was anymore, if he would keep his home in Skagit. He didn’t care when a big SUV drove slowly down the little road with its stereo throbbing loud enough to wake hibernating animals. If they wanted to watch, he did not give one fuck. Micah shivered, hunching against Adam, chin resting on his shoulder.

  Thirty-One

  There was someone or someones in Skagit dumping young girls’ bodies. Someone had ransacked and then set fire to Micah’s property. And Sara’s. There was the memory card with its devastating content. Gerald’s property was still a fucking mess, and he had to deal with those cars.

  Also, suddenly, there were people in Adam’s life who cared—more than the two he was used to. He had never felt so cared for before. Mohammad and Ida tried, but they had a lot of people to keep an eye on. Now there were grumpy old men, Sara, that irritating nurse Joey, and Micah. Whom he hadn’t even known he needed.

  So, the man he maybe did give a shit about was right here in his arms kissing him with a passionate fervor, his breath hot against Adam’s cold cheek. He pulled back a little, tugging Micah’s forehead down against his own.

  “You are strong. Let me help you with this stuff, okay? Please? Also, we’re both freezing and more than a little wet.” Adam’s boots squished around his toes.

  “Okay.” Micah smiled at him, his dimple popping. Adam loved that smile. He could admit to loving Micah’s smile.

  They got into the car and Adam pointed it back out onto the highway. He still needed to drive by the crime scene, but the heat was blasting and the defogger worked. They wouldn’t catch cold in the extra ten or fifteen minutes this was going to take.

  The rain graduated to a howling storm, and Adam only wanted to get the still-shivering and pale Micah back to town. His lungs did not need this. There was nothing to see; he didn’t even bother getting out of the car, just pulled over where scraps of yellow crime-scene tape were flapping wildly in the wind and stared out the windshield for a few moments before concluding that the body had been dumped out of convenience, not planned. That meant lots of things, none of which he wanted to think about until they were showered and dressed in warm clothing. Or perhaps no clothing. He grinned, putting the car into drive.

  Adam was reminded of his first big case. Not the details, but the unsettling feeling he was groping around in the dark, grasping for facts barely out of reach. When he’d been at the police station Lieutenant Nguyen had made it clear she was interested in his input, but was not inviting Adam or his team in officially. Yet. He got it, he did, but he missed having another agent to bounce ideas off. He’d caught himself missing Weir’s company, even if he was a brat.

  Micah asked out of the blue, “Why did you become a cop?”

  “Fed.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m with the feds, a federal investigator. They recruited me almost before I started college.”

  “Okay, but you could have said no. Why not?”

  Adam felt…something behind Micah’s question, though he wasn’t sure what.

  “Honestly?”

  “Yeah.”

  He kept driving, the car silent except for the sound of the tires on the wet asphalt and the rain pummeling the hood. Micah waited for his answer. They were only about ten minutes from the motel. Adam wanted a hot shower and a beer. And for Micah to stay.

  “I’m not really sure. I mean, I always wanted to be a ‘good guy.’ We didn’t have a TV until I was in high school. I spent a lot of time at the public library after school. You’ve been to the Skagit library?”

  Micah nodded.

  “Well, it had a pretty small budget, probably still does. I mostly read true crime and mystery novels because I’d read everything else. I wanted to be that guy.” He chuckled, embarrassed. “In about half the books, at least, the protagonist would spend a lot of time talking about how they were the voice of the victim. They spoke for the dead. It appealed. Plus, it made my dad angry. Angrier than I had ever seen him before. I figured if being a cop made him that mad, it was probably good.”

  “Are you?”

  “What?”

  “A voice for the dead?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

  “Good.”

  Adam hadn’t been born until Gerald was in his forties. Maybe Gerald had no idea what to do with a young child. His mom had left when he was an infant. How on earth had Adam survived to adulthood?

  He’d begged his dad for cable. Hell, for a TV. Something, anything that would give him some common ground with the other kids, who had parents who took them to the movies and watched them play soccer or baseball.

  Adam could discuss late Renaissance painters and the influence of the spice
trade. He’d met Alan Ginsberg once and knew his poetry. He could quote parts of On the Road like it was the Gettysburg address. He’d wanted to play football and be invited to other kids’ houses.

  His dad had finally picked up an old TV and VCR from a secondhand place. They didn’t lack for money, but Adam was subjected to old movies his dad remembered seeing and could rent from the public library. So Adam knew the films of Joan Crawford, the Fondas, Gregory Peck, and Robert Mitchum.

  Gah. Even in his head he sounded like a whiny baby. He never doubted he’d been loved, but his father had a very strange way of showing it.

  The motel came up on the right and Adam pulled into the parking lot. He hadn’t asked, had assumed Micah would spend the night again.

  “Hope this is okay.” Not a question.

  The room was still dark and depressing. The bed hadn’t been made from that morning; the remains of their takeout were still jumbled on the little table. Adam considered that he should change motels.

  “Why are you staying here?” Micah again echoed his own grumpy thoughts.

  “When I drove into town, after going to Gerald’s first, this place didn’t seem so bad. But I think I may have overestimated their desire to have an actual guest.”

  “It’s too late to change tonight. My house…well, between the cleaning company and repairs, Brandon says a week.”

  “Brandon, hmm?”

  “Are you jealous?” Micah asked incredulously.

  Yes. He was never going to admit it out loud; he looked at Micah, waiting for him to fill it in. It had worked before; it would work now.

  Micah took off his coat and hung it over the back of the single chair. Last night they’d pulled the table up to the couch so Adam could sit across from Micah. He watched while Micah toed off his shoes and started digging around in the duffel they’d brought over.

  Adam stood there watching and waiting until he saw Micah was dragging out the local takeout menu again and flopping onto the bed, apparently not going to say anything more. He cleared his throat. Micah smiled, his dimple making another appearance, while he focused intently on the menu.