Night Skyy

by Rich Bullock

  He finally reached the packed gravel close to the house. It was flatter here, and he led Ember in a wide left turn around a stand of four pines and into the carport along the back of the house. His movement triggered the security light on the corner, illuminating the shelter.

  Here, too, water fell in a sheet off the carport’s roof, but the concrete pad remained relatively dry. He had already moved his pickup out the far end and had squeezed the ATV tight against the house wall.

  Canon stood aside as the girl nosed the Jeep and trailer into the space. She sat up straight in the seat, trying to see where the front of the car was, and Canon motioned her forward until the whole car and most of the trailer were under the shelter. The Jeep was a little too far from the house, catching spray from the roof’s edge, but he knew better than to have the girl back up and try again.

  Ember staggered out, beating Canon to the passenger door and opening it. “We have to get Skyy inside. She’s really sick.” Ember wedged her hands under Skyy as if to lift her. It would have been funny if not so serious a situation.

  Canon explained about the surgery on his right shoulder. “Start with her feet. You’ll have to get her up, then turn her so I can get my left arm around her waist.”

  The girl was willing, but drunk on her feet. They roused Skyy enough to stand while Canon got his arm around her. Her eyes never opened as he half dragged her to the back door and up the two concrete steps.

  “Second door on the left,” Canon said once inside the back door. Together, he and Ember lowered the unconscious woman to the bed.

  “Why is she so cold?” Canon asked as he slipped his arm from beneath Skyy. Her shirt had ridden up and the skin of her back was like chilled granite.

  “The heater quit working a few hours ago,” Ember said, pacing on the other side of the bed. “I thought it would start again, but then the outside temperature kept dropping and dropping. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Okay,” he said, sensing the girl’s near panic. “We need to get her warm. I think there’s a down comforter or throw in the hall closet. See if you can find it while I change.”

  Even with the raincoat, his clothes were soaked and dripping, and he’d left a trail of wet muddy footprints from the back door into the bedroom. He grabbed a pair of jeans.

  Not wanting to track mud into the bathroom, he stepped back outside. The storm turned the carport into a wind tunnel, rattling beach chairs and yard tools hanging on the wall and sweeping rain from one end to the other. If anything, the downpour had intensified in the last few minutes. The tarp enclosing the end of the woodpile lean-to snapped like a schooner sail, and water was pooling under the Jeep.

  Before he removed his boots, Canon ran around to the Jeep’s still open driver’s door. He switched off the headlights, swiped a puddle growing on the seat, and closed the door. He’d have to put a heater and fan in it tomorrow to dry things out.

  He huddled on the dry back steps, shucking his boots and stripping to his boxers. The hand on the big thermometer on the wall hovered just above thirty-five degrees, confirming the cold front’s arrival. He hung the dripping jacket on a hook, followed by his flannel shirt. Getting the dry jeans on over his wet legs had him cursing his bum arm. Socks would have to wait until he dried his feet and wiped the muddy floor.

  Back inside, he deposited the boots and soaked clothing in the laundry room sink. When he stepped into the hall, Ember stood there, clutching a puffy comforter. Her mouth was open, and her eyes flicked from his bandaged right shoulder to his bare chest. They lingered longer on his chest, which was nearly blue from cold.

  “Sorry. I, uh…” he pointed to the bedroom, “need a shirt.”

  Her lips turned up at the corners. “No problem,” she said, pivoting with a little hop and disappearing into the bedroom.

  Since that’s where his clothes were, Canon had no choice but to follow. Skyy hadn’t moved, and he watched Ember cover her with the blanket. Getting a T-shirt and sweatshirt on with his injured arm took far longer than he wished, but he didn’t ask the girl for help.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said, exiting the room. He stuffed as many logs into the wood stove as it would hold. By the time he finished, the cast iron was so hot he had to shield his face as he pushed the glass door closed with a stick. But until he got the furnace fixed, it was the only heat in the house. He pulled over a small oscillating fan and set it to draw air past the stove and blow toward the hallway.

  He wished for an old-fashioned hot water bottle like his grandmother had years ago, but he improvised by dampening two hand towels and microwaving each for a minute. When hot, he wrapped them in bath towels and took them to the bedroom. Ember sat on the bed, staring at her friend. Even from a few feet away, Canon could see Skyy shivering. He handed one bundle to Ember.

  “Put this under the covers against her back,” he said, “then lie down against it.” When the girl was in place, he tucked the comforter around them.

  Canon removed Skyy’s tennis shoes and socks, then turned off the glaring overhead light. Sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed, he tucked Skyy’s icy feet against his inner thigh, piled on the remaining hot towel bundle, and covered it with the comforter. Even through his jeans her feet felt like blocks of ice.

  Idly, he wondered what the two women’s story was, how Ember and Skyy were connected. Friends? Sisters? The younger girl’s skin was darker, evidence of a different father or mother if they were related.

  Her message and subsequent phone call had come as a complete surprise. Why had she called him? Surely they had family, a house somewhere, doctors. Yet, at the same time, it felt oddly natural. From all the hours listening to her show, he felt like he knew Skyy. And Ember seemed at ease. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing had slowed.

  He shook his head. If Mart saw this scene, he would toss Canon’s man card into the fireplace. His shoulder ached from the last couple of days, and the last hour hadn’t helped. But, with Skyy’s feet still shivering against his leg, no way was he moving to get more pills.

  The red LED clock numbers clicked over to 2:20, and Canon let his own eyes close as nature’s wet serenade drummed on the old shingles overhead.

  Chapter 16

  Skyy kept her eyes closed as she slowly grew aware of three things.

  First, the shivers had decreased. Mild now compared to what had gone on for hours and hours, rattling her teeth and blurring her vision. She had a vague recollection of the car’s vents blowing frigid air onto her legs and wondering why Ember didn’t turn up the heater.

  Second, the subtle scent of woodsmoke scraped her raw throat with every shallow breath, like inhaling burning coals. Maybe Ember had a campfire going wherever they had landed. If she could get her voice working, she would ask for a throat lozenge. She worked up a tiny bit of saliva and swallowed. That was a mistake. Whatever she was sick with still raged in her body.

  The third thing she realized was the softness under her. This wasn’t her sleeping bag. Was she in a hospital? But they didn’t have smoky campfires.

  She pried at her gluey eyelids. Her left eye cracked open first, then her right, but everything was a blurry wash of brown. Blinking helped, and gradually the film cleared. The brown became a knotty pine wall. Definitely not a hospital.

  There was a slight movement in the bed and she looked down.

  Okay. Four things. On her right side, the top of a man’s head lay on the blanket level with her stomach.

  “Hey,” Ember said.

  Skyy rolled her head left where Ember sat up and scooted back against the headboard.

  “How do you feel?”

  Skyy tried to answer, but only a hoarse wheeze came out. Ember left and returned a minute later with water and two pills.

  “From the clinic,” she said, and helped Skyy rise enough to swallow the pills. The water burned on its way down, but she emptied the glass. Even that minor exertion sent her head spinning. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing the room to set
tle.

  “Are you hungry?” Ember asked. “Can I get you anything?”

  Skyy opened one eye and pointed at the man’s head. Who is that? she mouthed.

  The girl stretched her arms in front of her, gripped like she was holding a gun. Then she fanned her face with one hand.

  Skyy didn’t have enough brain cells firing to play charades. She closed her eyes against a wave of nausea, urging the pills to stay put long enough to dissolve. Every joint and muscle ached, and nothing held still, not even with her eyes shut. The bed dipped and she felt Ember draw close. Warm breath whispered against Skyy’s ear.

  “That’s Cop Hottie. And you know those abs? They’re real.”

  When Canon woke, Skyy was turned away on her side. He listened for a minute to her breathing. It was slow and regular, no coughing or wet rumbles that could be a sign of worsening pneumonia. Ember was gone from the other side of the bed.

  He gently rolled off the mattress and made his way to the kitchen. The girl had the coffeemaker open and was filling a measuring cup with water.

  “Hey,” she mumbled, blinking several times and squinting at the volume lines on the cup.

  He nodded, watching as she put in a filter and grounds. She certainly had made herself at home. The kitchen window rattled as wind buffeted the cabin. Weather forecasters warned last night that the storm was stalling over the area, promising days of rain, some of it heavy, with a chance of rare snow. And after the storm blew through, the trailing weather front would be colder still. The wood floor was freezing under his bare feet, and the oscillating fan blew cold across his shins.

  Leaving Ember to the coffee, he spent the next few minutes rebuilding the fire in the wood stove. By the time he finished, only two small logs remained in the bottom of the galvanized washtub used for storing wood and paper. Restocking meant a trip outside.

  While the wood stove began radiating heat again, he stood at the front window watching the wide waterfall cascading off the front. It was after 9:30 in the morning, but the sun hadn’t made an appearance, and dark gray clouds obscured the lake. Anyone who knew California weather understood how rare an event this was. And like the native he was, two days of wet had him ready to dry out. But it didn’t look like sunshine was in the cards for a while.

  “Do you have anything for a sore throat?” Ember asked, coming up beside him at the window and handing him a cup of coffee.

  “Are you getting sick too?” He eyed the cup in his hand, wondering how many germs had just leaped onto his skin.

  “For Skyy,” she said, wrapping her hands around her mug. “Her throat’s pretty raw. I should have stopped, gotten her something. But…”

  Her voice drifted off. Gone was last night’s near manic energy and confidence bolstered by necessity. The girl’s eyes were brimming with tears and the weight of responsibility.

  “You did fine getting her here. Amazing, really, driving through this storm. Most people would have given up and stopped at a motel.”

  She dipped her head, concentrating on her coffee.

  “We didn’t have enough money. Or at least I didn’t. And Skyy was so out of it with fever.”

  He glanced sideways at the girl while he sipped his coffee. He knew next to nothing about either of them. Was that why they were here? Two broke women with nowhere to go? Maybe they made a habit of looking for guys who were a sucker for pretty faces in distress.

  “Have you known Skyy for a long time?” he asked. The girl was silent so long he began to wonder if she was making up a story.

  “No.” She blew on the mug—or it might have been a long sigh—then glared at him. “But she’s my best friend, so don’t hurt her or you’ll be sorry.” With that, she turned and walked into the bedroom. His bedroom.

  Canon sighed. Good thing Mart wasn’t here. He’d be laughing for hours.

  Canon drove to the grocery store in Deer Cove, where he stocked up on cold and flu medications and three types of cough drops. The prices made him glad he’d paid off his credit card. For good measure, he added a dozen cans of soup to the cart, followed by saltines.

  Usually he ate at Peg’s or The Crab Shack for his big meal of the day, then filled in with snacks, but Skyy wouldn’t be up for an outing for a while. He decided his meager groceries from yesterday weren’t enough for three people, so he filled the cart with more mac and cheese, sliced turkey lunchmeat, eggs, bacon, a package of chicken breasts, ground beef, and two steaks. A package of Hamburger Helper went in. It might not be Ember and Skyy’s favorite, but if not, Mart loved the stuff.

  The produce department in the small store was a little ragged, but he found enough to pull together a few salads. A bag of apples and some oranges rounded out the fresh stuff. On the way to the checkout stand, he snagged a twelve pack of orange soda. He rarely drank the stuff, but maybe it would soothe Skyy’s throat. Then he went back for some vanilla ice cream in case she wanted an orange float.

  “Back again today, huh?” the woman checker asked as he piled the goods on the conveyor belt. “Looks like you’ve got friends staying over. A sick friend.”

  “Uh, yeah. Sort of.” Sort of staying or sort of friends. He wasn’t sure.

  Rain drenched him again as he loaded the bags into the passenger side of the truck, and his wet clothing fogged up the windshield as he drove back on the slippery road. He hoped the refrigerator would hold everything.

  After that, he’d have to bring in several loads of wood.

  Canon was filling a canvas firewood sling when his cell phone rang. It was a miracle he heard it with the rain pounding on the roof of the lean-to at the edge of the carport. He and Mart had built the small structure to keep the woodpile dry, and it functioned well in normal weather.

  “Truax,” he answered, moving away from the splattering runoff.

  “It’s Captain Olenski. How’s the shoulder?”

  “I won’t be tackling any bad guys soon, but it’s improving a little each day.”

  “Good, good,” Olenski said. From his tone and the rustling of papers, he sounded distracted. Or maybe he wasn’t all that interested in Canon’s healing. The man was difficult to read. “I just received word that three of those guys you fought with are having a pre-trial hearing at 9:30 Monday morning. The district attorney wants you there.”

  “Monday? I thought this would be weeks away.”

  “Turns out a few of these specific perps are high-value targets, and they’ve got big-money attorneys who are fast-tracking this like I’ve never seen. DEA is scrambling to get their case in order.”

  Canon explained he was six to eight hours away at Storm Lake.

  “So…you’re doing a little fishing on your vacation? That’s what I’m paying you for?”

  Canon stared at the water splashing off the carport. No one was doing any fishing in this storm, and technically he was out on disability, not working. He didn’t think Olenski would appreciate the correction. “I—”

  “Fly, drive—I don’t care. Just get down here,” Olenski growled. “You’ll meet with DEA attorneys Sunday morning to go over your testimony.” Olenski shuffled more paperwork and recited an address, time to meet, and names of the attorneys. “This is a big case, Truax. Be there and don’t screw it up.”

  Sunday. Canon slumped against the cabin’s back wall. Disability or not, his time was not his own. And Olenski was right; this was an important case the DEA had been building for months before the opportune raid. Hundreds of man-hours of surveillance and planning, not to mention danger, had gone into the operation, and he didn’t want to be responsible for weakening the prosecution story. They probably thought bringing in an injured officer recently out of the hospital would ingratiate them with the assigned judge.

  He propped open the back door with his knee and lifted the bundle of firewood. Flying out of Mission Peak was a no-go. The airport canceled flights when it was barely misting. And driving south on a Friday afternoon in the rain would be a nightmare, especially with evening commuter traffi
c. He couldn’t be taking any prescription pain pills while behind the wheel either, but if he started now, at least he could make it partway, get a good night’s sleep somewhere, then make it to his L.A. apartment on Saturday.

  The firewood filled the metal bin to capacity. Ember could always go out for more if needed. He was about to sit down for a minute, when his phone dinged with an alert from KTLA news in Los Angeles. There was localized mudslides and flooding on parts of the 101 through Santa Barbara and Ventura. Sighing, he stood. He needed to get on the road and through there fast.

  Now he just had to figure out what to do about two virtual strangers staying in his house. And he still hadn’t talked to Skyy.

  Chapter 17

  An hour after Canon left for San Diego, Ember paced the living room while the rain beat relentlessly on the roof. She was used to roaming Tucson whenever she wanted, being outside, doing things. Camping with Skyy had been great until the weather turned cold. Even scrubbing toilets at BCJ sounded…

  She shuddered. No need to get crazy.

  Everything was ready for tonight. Big Jerry didn’t need to know that she, not Skyy, would be doing Night Thoughts. Skyy was still sleeping, but seemed to be resting easier.

  “Just an hour or two,” she said, deciding. “Then I’ll come back and get ready for the show.” On her way out, she grabbed an umbrella from the hook by the back door.

  Before he left, Canon had helped her unhitch the trailer and set up their portable heater and a fan inside the Cherokee to dry out the seats and floor mats. Heavenly warmth poured out as Ember opened the door, felt the carpet, and pressed her hand into the driver’s seat. Warm and dry.

  It didn’t take long for the Cherokee to cool on the drive to town, but it was a lot better than the previous trip. On a whim, she parked on Main Street across from Peg’s Waffle House. The thick clouds and rain made it seem later than it was, but all the businesses were still open. Their lights cast a magical feel to the village as she unfurled the umbrella and jogged across the street.