The Wicked Hour
Page 28
Popping out of the water was like being reborn. She gasped for breath, coughing and sputtering, then turned around, buoyed by the current. She didn’t see Justin’s truck anywhere.
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Natalie had no time to think. Instinct kicked in. She removed her jacket, sacrificing it to the river, then spotted a man on the bridge and waved at him.
The man showed her his phone and shouted something at her. She couldn’t hear him over the roar of the river, but it looked like he’d called 911. She took a deep breath and dove underwater.
About twenty feet down, she spotted the white truck on the murky bottom. Justin Bertrand was stuck halfway out the driver’s side window. He appeared to be unconscious. She swam over to him, grabbed him by the arms, and tugged hard, trying to yank him out of the vehicle.
His eyes popped open. He panicked and clawed at her face. Natalie tried to defend herself, but he grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her close. Years ago, as part of her training, Natalie had taken underwater lifesaving courses. As a rescuer, you had to be careful you didn’t become a victim yourself. A drowning victim could panic and get you in a death grip, and then you’d both drown.
Natalie thrust her thumbs deep into the backs of his hands, gripped his fingers, and twisted them sharply outward. She could hear the crack of his finger bones as he shrieked and released her, and she swam backward through a swirl of bubbles.
The next fifteen seconds were a shitshow, but she finally managed to pull him out of the truck window. Once he was unstuck, instead of swimming to safety and in a blind panic, Justin grabbed her by the arms and pulled her toward him again. He was stronger than her, fueled by terror. Using Natalie as leverage, he climbed over her shoulders and stepped on her head, propelling himself toward the surface, while submerging her further into the murky depths, leaving her disoriented and exhausted.
Natalie’s wet clothes weighed her down. She could taste grit from the river bottom as her fingers felt around for things—weeds growing in the slimy silt, loose rocks. She tried to push herself up from the bottom but couldn’t summon the strength. Her limbs were like wet noodles. Her shoulders sagged.
Almost out of air, she saw a blinding light, like the kind projected onto a movie screen after the film has broken. A purifying white light poured into her eyes, and a woman’s golden hair fanned out in the water, like silky wings through shafts of light.
You’re going to be all right.
Grace floated above her with a mysterious weightlessness. Natalie was filled with a sense of tranquility and peace. She felt her sister’s warmth flow through her. Time stopped. Something ropey slithered past her.
Grace smiled one last time before dissolving into the reeds.
Wait, Grace. Don’t go! What am I supposed to do without you? Natalie cried silently.
Live your life.
Live my life? Natalie thought. Now that I’m drowning? How can I live my life if I’m about to die? She strained to see through a prism of bubbles, but her sister was gone.
Natalie was falling—an endless tumble through the glistening depths. She had tapped out her last reserves of air and was about to give up and give in, when an arm reached out and grabbed her. A strong pair of hands tied a length of rope around her waist and hauled her up through the water. She could see the surface getting closer as her rescuer lifted her up, up, up … until the river burst above her head, and the overcast day’s brightness nearly blinded her. It felt miraculous, like a new beginning.
The rescue worker carried her onto the shore, his hands slippery against her skin, beads of water flying from his head like cartoon sweat. For a while, there was only the sound of Natalie choking, coughing, wheezing.
“Easy now … nice and slow.”
A strobing red light hit her on the side of the face. She heard urgent voices. Someone wrapped a blanket around her shivering shoulders.
“Hey.” A silhouette hovered before her between the flashes of crimson. “Natalie? Are you okay?”
She recognized those intelligent eyes. It was Luke—floating somewhere beyond the haze of rain and sirens and commotion. He knelt down beside her. She could feel his hand, so warm on her cheek. “Hang in there,” he told her.
A cacophony of sirens and screeching brakes.
Another pair of strong hands lifted her onto a stretcher. Something darted in the sky above—zigzags of lightning. The rain was coming down harder now, pelting her on the face and neck. A paramedic shielded her and shone a light in Natalie’s eyes, blocking out everything and temporarily blinding her.
Several EMTs lifted the stretcher into the back of the ambulance, where a female paramedic took her vitals. Sand-colored hair and freckles, like a pixie. She wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Natalie’s arm and monitored the data stream. Water in the lungs, even a small amount, could lead to a condition called “dry drowning,” which was sometimes fatal. It had to be closely monitored.
Natalie listened to the soft tearing sound of Velcro as the cotton cuff was secured around her arm. She listened to the dull pump of the inflation bulb and the snakelike hiss of the air-release valve. “I’m fine,” she insisted.
“Take a deep breath and relax,” the EMT said, pumping the red rubber bulb, inflating the blood pressure cuff with air and releasing the hissing valve. She pressed the stethoscope to Natalie’s chest and listened to the blood tumbling through her arteries. “Sounds good.” She stopped and tore off the Velcro.
“Can I go now?”
“Lie still, Detective.”
They gave her oxygen.
The ambulance sped away, heading for the hospital.
The setting sun bathed everything in an apricot glow.
Clutching the sides of the gurney, Natalie tried to sit up.
“Easy now. Lie down.”
“Did you find him…?”
They need to find him.
“Everything’s okay, Detective,” the paramedic told her. “The suspect has been apprehended, thanks to you. I guess this means you’ll be in the tabloids again, huh?”
No. Not again.
Natalie could hear her own stubborn heartbeat. A shiver of dark acknowledgment ran up her spine. She relaxed into all seven stages of grief and began to cry, great sobs shaking her frame.
They wheeled her into the hospital, where she kept blacking out. At first, it seemed as if all the doctors and nurses were there inside the hospital room with her. Then she felt isolated and alone, with only the beep of the heart monitor lulling her to sleep.
Blackness and silence.
Periods of consciousness.
Silence again.
Finally, she opened her eyes. Someone was holding her hand. She wanted to tell this person something, only she couldn’t get the words out.
They need to find him …
“It’s okay,” Luke said softly. “I’m here. You’re going to be all right.”
“I…”
“You’re in the hospital,” he said.
“But I…”
“Natalie? Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”
She wasn’t sure what she wanted.
She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.
EPILOGUE
November came and went.
In December, the sky turned a deeper dark as it seamed effortlessly into the horizon.
In January, a howling wind blasted through the town and littered everybody’s front yard with broken tree limbs.
In February, the trial began. Justin Bertrand expressed no remorse. He blamed his father for the two victims—Lily Kingsley and Morgan Chambers. Justin’s lawyers claimed that the boy had suffered a lifetime of abuse at the hands of his father—including two broken arms—and that this had twisted his mind. They went for an insanity defense. In the end, he was sentenced to life without parole.
However, Bella Striver wasn’t one of his victims. She was one of Natalie’s loose ends. It frustrated her that she didn’t have any answers when it came to Bella.
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bsp; Recovery was slow. But as the weeks and months passed and nothing dramatic happened, people forgot. Life fell back to its normal routine. Day by day, as was their custom, the townspeople of Burning Lake managed to put the past behind them.
One night in mid-March, as Natalie lay in bed reading A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf, she paused to reread the line: “The beauty of the world has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder.”
That was so fucking true she wanted to cry.
Her phone rang, rescuing her from this lovely, horrifying sentiment.
“Hey, Aunt Natalie, it’s me,” Ellie said brightly.
“Hello, you.” Natalie smiled and put her book down.
“So … next month, huh?”
“You’re still coming, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, of course. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
“I rented the boat.”
“Dad’s booked our reservations. We’ll be staying at the Sunflower Inn.”
Almost one year ago.
Had it only been eleven months since Grace had passed away? For a moment, Natalie felt battered and sore all over, as if she was lying on top of a shattered mirror. She experienced a flashback to her former life—a cast-off life full of grief and pain. But things were different now. She was safe and sound in her own bed. In her own home. The blankets were warm. Her fuzzy socks felt good on her feet. She listened to the rain on the roof. The dishes were all put away.
“Hey, guess what?” Ellie said. “Did you know there’s a black hole at the center of the Milky Way?”
Natalie smirked. “So we’re doomed, huh?”
“Eventually.”
“How long do we have?”
“Well, it’s twenty-five-hundred-million-million kilometers away. So I think we’ll be okay for a while.”
“But we’re also spinning headlong toward the Andromeda Galaxy, aren’t we? So in about two billion years from now, there’s going to be a spectacular collision.”
Ellie laughed. “I think we’ve got time to figure something out.”
Ellie was sixteen, almost a woman in today’s world. Natalie didn’t want her niece to grow up. Not yet. Not in this crazy world. She wanted to protect Ellie from all the things she didn’t understand herself.
“We took a field trip to the observatory,” Ellie said, “where you can literally watch the galaxies collide and smash apart. Except it’s happening in super-slow motion, so it looks incredibly beautiful and peaceful, like a ballet.”
Natalie saw shadows moving on the hallway wall outside her room. He came to the doorway, hesitant to bother her, and mouthed the words, “You want coffee?”
She nodded and whispered, “Thanks.”
“Who’s that?” Ellie jumped in.
“Just a friend.”
“What friend? You mean Luke?” she said excitedly. “Are you serious?”
“It’s not what you think.”
“No?”
Natalie didn’t respond. She could feel herself blushing. She was being carried along by a swift current she had no control over.
“You asked me what infinity was, Aunt Natalie. It’s got to be love, right? Because there’s no end to it. Love grows in all directions. It evolves and keeps growing and spinning outward … like the galaxies. It’s as infinite as the cosmos. And maybe it even ends in disaster, like Romeo and Juliet … but the ride is beautiful … love is beautiful. Don’t you believe that’s true, Aunt Natalie?”
“I think it’s mysterious and unknowable.”
There was a pause while Ellie muffled the phone to talk to her father. Then she got back on the line and said, “Dad says hello.”
“Hello, back.”
“I’ve gotta go. It’s a school night. Homework.”
“See you next month.”
“I can’t wait! Good night, Aunt Natalie.”
“Night, Ellie.” She hung up and sighed.
There were footsteps on the stairs. He came into the room carrying two mugs of coffee. He set them down on the bedside table, then crawled into bed with her, and Natalie studied the handsome planes of his face. His physical presence made her shiver.
He locked his arms around her waist, wove his fingers together at her hip bone, and Natalie stopped jiggling her foot and just looked at him.
“Well, you got me,” Hunter said. “Now what?”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to the brilliant Alex Sehulster for her insight, inspiration, and clarity. Her perspective is invaluable to me.
Love and gratitude to Jill Marr, Andrea Cavallaro, Sandra Dijkstra, and the rest of the team at the Sandra Dijkstra Agency for their support and wise counsel.
It’s a true privilege to be working with the always inventive team at Minotaur Books—Alex, Andy Martin, Kelley Ragland, Joe Brosnan, Sarah Melnyk, Kayla Janas, Paul Hochman, John Morrone, David Rotstein, Sabrina Soares Roberts, and Mara Delgado-Sanchez. I thank you. Natalie thanks you!
Doug, my love.
Big appreciation and thanks to the Twitter and Instagram writing communities, and to my spectacular readers—you make make me laugh, cry, and work harder, in that order usually.
Thank you everyone for your love of books.
ALSO BY ALICE BLANCHARD
Trace of Evil
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALICE BLANCHARD is an award-winning author whose work has been published in seventeen countries. She has received a PEN award, a New Letters Literary Award, a Centrum Artists-in-Residence Fellowship, and a Katherine Anne Porter Prize in Short Fiction. Her debut novel, Darkness Peering, was a New York Times Notable Book and a Barnes & Noble Best Mystery book. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Alice Blanchard
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
&nbs
p; First published in the United States by Minotaur Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group
THE WICKED HOUR. Copyright © 2020 by Alice Blanchard. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover illustrations: woman © Mark Owen / Trevillion Images; covered bridge © Lois Adomite / Arcangel; tree branches © Ellatan / Shutterstock.com; texture © foxie / Shutterstock.com; fog © Jeremy Spang / Shutterstock.com
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Blanchard, Alice, author.
Title: The wicked hour: a Natalie Lockhart novel / Alice Blanchard.
Description: First Edition. | New York: Minotaur Books, 2020. | Series: Natalie Lockhart; 2 |
Identifiers: LCCN 2020031676 | ISBN 9781250205735 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781250205742 (ebook)
Subjects: GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3552.L36512 W53 2020 | DDC 813/.54—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020031676
eISBN 9781250205742
Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.
First Edition: 2020