Lance Brody Omnibus

by Michael Robertson Jr

  “Who’s that next to Mrs. Strang?”

  Leah didn’t even have to turn around. “That’s Melissa McGuire. That’s the coach’s wife.”

  “The vice principal.”

  “Right.”

  Lance nodded. It made sense. Surely the Strangs and the McGuires were close. The women were probably great friends, at least on the surface.

  It started to rain. Nothing hard or serious like the heavy clouds seemed to have been advertising all evening, but a light, spotty drizzle that was more irritating than problematic. Lance saw a few umbrellas go up in the bleachers, a few ponchos pulled on and a few hoods pulled up, zippers zipped. The rain was cold, but he didn’t mind. Leah didn’t seem to mind either.

  “Let’s move,” he said. “I feel like they’re watching us now.”

  “Who?”

  “Mrs. Strang and Mrs. McGuire.”

  “Why would they be watching us.”

  “Just a feeling,” he said, though that was a lie. He wasn’t feeling anything right then, but the odds were great that the Strangs had something to do with the Westhaven boys’ disappearances, and Lance didn’t want to risk popping up on their radar quite yet. He nodded across the field, to the other set of bleachers. These were smaller, and less populated. “Let’s go sit on the other side.”

  Leah turned and looked at him, confused. “The visitors’ side?”

  “What? Will that hurt your image?”

  She elbowed him again. “No, I suppose not.”

  She didn’t take his hand this time but left the fence and walked, heading away from the concessions and the entrance, meaning to walk around the other end zone and loop around to the opposite-side bleachers. Along the way, a couple of people said hi to her, and she chatted with one younger girl who was probably an ex-classmate. Lance stood silently a few feet away each time, trying not to stand out, trying not to make it too obvious he was with her. Despite what Leah thought or cared about, he didn’t want to put her at any more risk, whether socially or otherwise, than absolutely necessary.

  The rain stayed constant, but the wind picked up a great deal by the time they reached the end of the bleachers. Somewhere in the distance, a clap of thunder caused all the spectators’ heads to swivel. Lance shivered and wished he had a jacket. Not so much for himself, but to offer Leah. He noticed the goose bumps prickling along her arms.

  They rounded the edge of the fence and were halfway across the rear of the end zone area when a huge gust of wind rattled the goalpost, the uprights swaying and creaking. And it was then that Lance was slammed in the gut with an overwhelming feeling to stop, turn, and look back toward the bleachers and find the area the Strangs were sitting. Something was screaming at him, something was locked onto him, something was … taunting him.

  And then, without any warning, a single bolt of lightning blistered from the sky. It struck the large scoreboard and traveled down its metal pole of a base, slamming into the earth and shaking the ground. Sparks exploded and the scoreboard sizzled and metal burned, and then another powerful gust blew in from the west, and Lance’s heart froze as he saw what was happening.

  He had stopped walking before the lightning, hit with his intuition to turn and seek out the Strangs. In just those few seconds—how long had it really been?—Leah had kept walking. She was ten, maybe fifteen yards ahead now.

  Directly behind the scoreboard.

  The blast had knocked her to the ground, and she sat up dazed, disoriented.

  The scoreboard started to fall backward, the base of its pole melted metal that gave way under the weight it had been supporting. Lance traced the trajectory and knew it was headed right for Leah. It was going to crush her.

  “Leah!” he shouted at her with all his gusto. “Leah, you’ve got to get out of the way!”

  He ran, but fast as he was, he knew he was too late. “Move!”

  He screamed a scream that hurt his throat, and Leah must have heard him, because her eyes cleared momentarily and she looked up and she rolled to her left just as the massive scoreboard crashed down to the ground with a noise that sounded like the thunder.

  And then Lance heard a sound that pierced his heart. He heard Leah cry out in absolute agony.

  24

  Silence.

  The players on the field, the patrons in the stands, even the emergency crew that were standing by near the ambulance parked at the rear exit gate of the field—nobody moved or spoke. Even the wind had died down and the rain reduced itself to less than a drizzle, as if its job were finished. Faces were stupefied, eyes locked on either the place where the scoreboard had once stood or where it had crashed to the ground.

  Lance felt as if he’d been sucked into a black hole. In the terrifying silence that had encased the field, the only thing he heard was his heart pounding in his ears, and his own conscience berating him with more obscenities than he even thought he knew. You were too late. You should have never gotten close to her.

  All my fault.

  And then Leah let out another cry of pain, a scream for help, and as if somebody had hit the play button on life’s remote, all at once everything snapped back into action. The football players ran off the field, huddling on their respective sidelines, unsure what to do next. Folks in the bleachers jumped to their feet, a few scampering off to the parking lot, a great many more shifting to get a better view of what had happened. The PA announcer, in an effort to instill some sort of crowd control, advised people to remain where they were, to remain calm and stay clear of the “accident.”

  The lights on the standby ambulance danced and the siren whoop-whooped, and ten seconds later it had crossed through the grassy expanse behind the field and was parked right next to the collapsed sign, paramedics jumping out and going to work.

  Lance was frozen. He wanted to run, that he knew for sure. But he didn’t know which way. More than anything, he wanted to run to Leah, do whatever he could to help her. Take her hand and hold it as the emergency crew did their job. He wanted to make sure she was going to be okay, and most importantly, he wanted to tell her he was sorry. Sorry for ever showing up in her town.

  But the other part of him wanted to run in the other direction. Wanted to run straight to the bus station and ride off and flee this place, just as he’d done his own home. He was tired of people getting hurt, and hurt seemed to be following him. His powers made him a threat to unseen things, and therefore endangered everyone around him.

  “Lance!”

  Leah…

  She was calling for him.

  “Lance, where are you?”

  He snapped out of his paralysis, sprinted toward the sound of Leah’s voice. Could hear the increasing murmur of the crowd behind him as he ran. Well, if I wasn’t on the radar to start with, I sure am now.

  He covered the ground quickly, three seconds, if that, but it felt too long, as if the ground under his feet was moving like the belt of a treadmill, keeping him in place as his legs worked hard to reach his destination.

  He stumbled as he got near, and one of the paramedics stepped into his path and raised a hand to stop him. The man was middle-aged, out of shape, but heavy with fat and wearing a grim determination on his face. “Close enough, sir.”

  Lance tried to sidestep the man, hearing Leah once again call his name, her voice slicing through the raised voices of the crowd, the murmur steadily rising in volume. The man grabbed Lance’s wrist, hard enough to get Lance’s attention, and in that moment a hot bolt of anger shot through Lance’s body, and he found himself about to give in to his temper. He was a split second from raising a fist to smash the guy’s nose into pieces when another voice called out. A voice Lance recognized.

  “Let him through, Harry! He’s a friend, and she’s going to be all right.”

  Susan Goodman stood from a crouched position, where she’d been helping to examine Leah. The dark eye makeup was still heavy, and her face still looked generally unfriendly, but right then and right there, she was beautiful in Lance’s e
yes.

  Harry held on to Lance’s wrist for another second, glancing from Lance to Susan. She nodded, and Harry sighed and let Lance go, his nose remaining in a single piece in the middle of his face. Lance jogged the small remaining distance and came to a stop just shy of Susan, who was now holding up a hand of her own to slow him.

  “It’s her ankle, maybe her leg. Could have been a lot worse, though. She rolled out of the way just in time.”

  Lance took a tentative step forward, and when Susan didn’t stop him, he kept walking until he reached the scoreboard, which lay flat on the ground, its face split nearly in two, chunks of circuit boards and loose wires dangling from the crack running down its middle. The pole jutted out from the bottom and pointed straight out toward the end zone where it had once stood.

  “Lance?”

  Leah was sprawled out on her stomach, perpendicular to the pole, the bottom corner of the scoreboard pinning her left ankle against the ground. Lance stepped carefully over the pole and knelt down beside her. He had to get down low to see her face, nearly falling forward. “I’m here,” he said.

  She looked up at him, and even though her cheeks were wet with tears, she smiled at him. “I take it this wasn’t part of the plan. At least I certainly hope not. If so, you could have at least warned me.” She laughed, then grimaced in pain.

  Lance laughed, relief so abundant in him he felt weightless. “I told you, I’m just winging it.”

  He winked at her, and she laughed again and rolled her eyes, and then Lance and the paramedics and a few spectators who’d been brave enough to wander close enough to get pulled in to help worked together to lift the sign off Leah’s ankle enough to allow her to be pulled out. Free.

  Susan convinced everyone to let Lance ride in the back of the ambulance on the way to the hospital. He watched impatiently as they carefully put her on a stretcher and loaded her into the back. Lance waited for the signal and then climbed in. He looked back out to the bleachers, scanning the crowd, watching thousands of faces watch him climb aboard, all probably curious as to who he was.

  Then he remembered the feeling he’d gotten just before the lightning strike, that nagging feeling that something was screaming toward him, taunting and cocky and nasty. He looked to the field and found the fifty-yard line. Followed it up to the fence, then the bleachers. Counted the rows.

  Glenn and Allison Strang were gone. He squinted and tried to focus his vision. Melissa McGuire was gone, too.

  The ambulance doors closed and they headed off, a bumpy ride through the grass and then up onto the smooth asphalt of the road. He held Leah’s hand as Susan and Harry carefully removed her shoe and sock and examined her on the way. Leah lay perfectly still, her eyes closed, the occasional grimace or whimper of pain at a bump in the road or a prod or poke from Susan and Harry. Lance used the short ride to the hospital to calm himself, center his feelings. He’d almost snapped, back there with Harry. He’d almost punched the man. He needed to get himself under control. The important thing was Leah was okay, in the grand scheme of things. A broken ankle, maybe, but nothing life-threatening.

  Lance was feeling better when the ambulance slowed, and once Leah was settled in he’d be ready to figure out what his next move was. The ambulance came to a stop and the doors opened and Lance was told to get out first.

  He did so, stepping carefully to the ground, looking up to see the two-story Westhaven Hospital in all its glory. He’d barely registered the bright neon EMERGENCY above his head when a pair of strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders, twisted, and slammed him to the ground.

  25

  Lance’s face hit the asphalt parking lot hard enough to rattle his teeth and create a starburst in his vision. Instinctively, he rolled away from the direction the attack had come, scrambling to try and stand again before another blow fell on him. He heard a rushing noise coming at him, something large and moving fast. He was pushing himself off the ground, halfway up before an uppercut caught him in the gut, slammed the air out of him and sent him back to the pavement. He gagged and gasped for air, raising his hands to shield off a further assault. Then the stars in his head finally began to clear and he looked up to stare into the face of his attacker.

  He wasn’t surprised.

  Samuel Senior stood over Lance, fuming, hands balled into fists, his bald head so red it looked hot to the touch. The veins in his arms pulsed. His eyes were narrowed to slits, trained on Lance. Standing over Lance in the darkened parking circle with the bright neon EMERGENCY sign lit up behind him, Leah’s daddy looked like a prize fighter basking in the glory of his latest knockout, waiting for the ref to turn the other cheek so he could really finish the job.

  But he wasn’t moving. He’d stopped his attack. Lance kept his hands raised, both in surrender and defense, and slowly stood, finally regaining control of his breath. Samuel Senior’s eyes flicked to something behind Lance, and he said, “It’s fine, Roger, we’re done here. Just a bit of a misunderstanding.” Then the man took a step backward.

  Lance twisted his neck around to look over his shoulder and saw a Westhaven sheriff’s deputy standing with his hands on his hips in the open doorway leading into the emergency room’s entrance.

  “Had anything to drink tonight, Sam?” the deputy named Roger asked, as if he were exhausted.

  Samuel shook his head. “Not a drop. Honest.”

  “Is he telling me straight, son?” Roger asked, looking at Lance. “Just a little misunderstanding, and now you two are going to go your separate ways?”

  Lance swallowed down his anger, looked from the deputy, to Leah’s daddy, and then to the ambulance doors, where Susan and Harry were standing, shielding Leah from viewing what was happening. But she must have recognized the sound of her father’s voice just then, because from inside the ambulance, she called out, “Daddy? Is that you? What’s going on?”

  At the sound of his daughter’s voice, Samuel’s expression softened, and he took a step toward the ambulance. But then he stopped, turned back to Lance with a refreshed hatred in his eyes and said, “Get the fuck out of here. If I ever see you near my daughter again, I’ll kill you. I promise. I knew you was trouble the moment I saw you.” Then he turned away and stood by the ambulance as Susan and Harry disappeared back into the rear and came out a minute later, carefully extracting Leah’s gurney, then the four of them were swallowed by the large electric doors leading inside, Leah turning her head to see Lance one last time before she was wheeled out of view, her eyes apologetic.

  Lance stood, staring at the now-closed hospital doors and then watched as the ambulance drove away, off to wherever magical place they go to hide before the next call. A breeze blew by, and a few drops of rain splashed on top of his head. He looked up, saw the starless sky, the gray clouds just visible against the black backdrop. He sighed, at a loss, a loss of everything.

  He turned and started to walk away, nodding to the deputy, who was now leaning against the hospital’s brick wall, one leg cocked back, the sole of the shoe pressed against the brick.

  “You okay, son?” he asked as Lance passed.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Lance said.

  Lance had made it another ten yards when he heard the electronic whoosh of the doors opening. He didn’t turn back, didn’t look. But then he heard Susan Goodman’s voice calling his name. He turned and saw her jogging toward him across the parking lot, her large body bouncing with each stride. She stopped a few feet short of him and waited a second to catch her breath, then tucked a few loose strands of hair back behind her ears. She was sweating, some of the dark makeup around her eyes smeared ever so slightly. Lance could smell her deodorant.

  He asked the only question that mattered to him right then. “She okay?”

  Susan shrugged. “Probably. Doctors are looking at her now, but I’m positive it’s broken. Question is how bad. X-rays will tell. But look, that’s not why I came out here.”

  Lance raised his eyebrows. “Okay.”

  Susan t
ossed him something and he caught it, reflexively. It was a set of car keys.

  “Leah said go get the car and take it back to Renee,” Susan said. “And she said to wait at the motel for her to call you. Which she’ll do as soon as she can.”

  Lance stared at the keys for a long few seconds, then looked back up to Susan. “I don’t … maybe I should just go.”

  Susan looked at him. Cocked her head to the side and studied him. Then she looked up to the sky for a moment and back down to Lance. “Look,” she said matter-of-factly, “I don’t really know who you are, or why you’re here. I know Leah thinks you can figure out what happened to our brothers, and yeah, that’d be great and all, but honestly, we all know the odds are slim.” She paused. “What I also know is that, despite all the mystery-solving bullshit, Leah likes you. A lot. Like … really likes you. We’re not the best of friends or anything. Hell, I maybe see her once or twice a month, just around town and whatnot. But I haven’t seen her smile this much in a long time. You should have seen her, the way she was talking about you when we were headed to pick you up from the side of the road earlier. She lit up like a Christmas tree.”

  Then she stopped talking. She just shrugged, looked back over her shoulder toward the hospital and said, “I’ve got to get back to work. Take care.”