Fearless

by Mike Dellosso

  But Mitch didn’t. He faked left again, and again Buck countered, winced, and faltered. Mitch knew if he attacked head-on he’d have to deal with Buck’s tree-limb arms, but there was no other way. He’d lost the element of surprise. He also knew Buck’s reactions were slow; he’d seen that by the way the big man responded to his fakes. That might be all the advantage he needed. In one quick motion, as if he’d practiced it a thousand times, Mitch faked left; Buck hesitated then dodged right, winced, grunted, cursed. Mitch moved right with him, throwing his prey off balance; Buck swung his arms, but the movement was clumsy and slow. Mitch ducked, lunged, and found the fat around Buck’s abdomen with the blade of the knife. He pushed until the blade would go no farther.

  Buck’s breath escaped his mouth with a forced squeal. He doubled over, the bulk of his weight now on Mitch’s upper back and shoulders.

  Mitch removed the knife and stepped back, following his move quickly with another lunge, another stab, another squeal from Buck. But this time Mitch didn’t pull the knife out immediately. Instead he threw his weight against Buck and pushed him backward. Buck’s foot caught on a brick, sending him to the ground. He landed with a wet grunt that sounded like the snort of a bull right after being shot between the eyes. The smell of body odor was all around Mitch, and he thought he’d retch at any moment. His stomach tightened and throbbed. He needed to finish this fast.

  Wasting no time, Mitch pounced on Buck and stabbed him again. And again. But the big man wasn’t dying. With each thrust of the knife he would grunt and curse and writhe weakly beneath Mitch’s weight, but that final blow had yet to come.

  Eventually, after three or four more stabs (Mitch wasn’t counting) Buck stopped moving. He looked at Mitch with tired eyes and cleared his throat. Then, before Mitch could move, Buck spit a wad of phlegm that hit Mitch along the side of the neck. A second later Buck’s eyes went blank and stared at the starry sky as if expecting one of them to fall and take some cosmic revenge on his murderer.

  Slowly, panting heavily, blood sticking the knife’s hilt to his palm, Mitch stood and stretched his back. His muscles ached, and his legs suddenly felt weak enough to give out on him. He sat on a nearby picnic table and shut his eyes, drew in air slowly, and swallowed the bile at the back of his throat. His gut reaction was to just leave, to chalk this up as a miss and get out of there. Buck had shown no respect; he hadn’t learned a thing about power and the ability to control life and death. Mitch sought respect, and even in the throes of death with the gates wide open, he hadn’t found it here. But in the end, after a few moments to clear his mind and catch his breath, he decided he had to use Buck. It would be disrespectful to his mission not to.

  The thought of approaching Buck again gagged Mitch, but he had to keep going, get it over with. Things had deteriorated enough, and the longer he spent here, the greater his chance of doing something the crime scene guys would find.

  Chapter 35

  ALICIA WAS BUSY washing the few dishes she’d dirtied the previous night when a knock at the door startled her. She wasn’t expecting company this early on a Thursday morning. Who would she expect? She had no friends and no family in the area, at least none who would bother to visit her.

  Walking to the door, she had the feeling that it was Derek come to finish what he’d started yesterday. Maybe finish her for good.

  He wouldn’t go that far, of course. She knew he wouldn’t. It would ruin his life forever. It was one thing to beat on your girlfriend, knock her around a bit and later apologize; it was a whole different animal to murder someone. Derek didn’t have that in him. He had a short fuse and his engine often ran high when provoked, but it had a governor. There were limits to his temper. Still, the idea of Derek visiting her to settle any score put her nerves on alert and got her heart beating faster.

  The knock came again, this time more persistent. Alicia peered through the peephole. Her intuition was correct. Derek stood in the hall, looking side to side.

  He leaned in close to the door, glanced at the peephole. “Alicia.” His voice was not strained, and there wasn’t a hint of irritation in it. “Ali, baby, open up. I know you’re home.”

  Alicia said nothing.

  “I know you’re there.” He put his eye to the peephole. “You see me, don’t you.” He looked right, then left. “Look, I’m sorry, okay. I lost it. I can’t believe I did that again.”

  It was the same story every time. He couldn’t control himself. He’s so sorry; he doesn’t know why he does that kind of stuff. He’s working on it, just give him one more chance, just one more. He loves her so much and hates himself when he hurts her.

  Still Alicia watched but said nothing.

  “Look,” Derek said. “I understand, okay. I get where you are. You hate me, heck, you loathe me and don’t want anything to do with me. I get it. But let me at least say my piece face-to-face. Please?”

  Finally she said, “Say it now. I can see you.”

  “But I can’t see you. I’ll stay out here. I promise. I won’t come inside. Just open the door. C’mon, Ali.”

  “Don’t call me Ali anymore.” It was a term of endearment only he called her, and she no longer wanted that name associated with him.

  “Fine. Alicia. Please?”

  Alicia didn’t know why, but for some reason she felt she had to open the door to him. She wanted nothing to do with Derek and would be perfectly happy if she never saw him again, but there was still a part of her that cared for him, maybe felt sorry for him. That vision was still bothering her too, the one with the murderer, and she felt on some deep level, deeper than her mere emotions, that it was her duty to warn him, whether he took her seriously or not.

  Slowly, and as carefully as she would put thread through a poison-tipped needle, she slid the chain from the groove and let it hang by the door.

  She put her hand on the knob. “Derek, I swear, if you take one step over this threshold, I’ll scream like I’m dying and the neighbors will hear. Someone will pick up the phone. You know they will.”

  “Okay, okay. I promise I won’t. Just open the door.”

  Alicia turned the knob and listened for the latch to disengage. She had one foot blocking the door in case Derek tried to shove his way in. It angered her that she didn’t trust him, that she felt so threatened by him.

  Inch by inch she moved her foot and opened the door against it. When it was open about eight inches, she peeked around the edge and said, “Back up a few feet.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Ali—Alicia—I’m not doing anything but standing here.”

  “Back up or I’m closing the door again.”

  He took one step back. “There. Okay?”

  Alicia opened the door a little more but kept her foot firmly against it. “That’s it. I’m not opening it anymore.”

  “Fine,” Derek said. He reached for something on the floor, something out of Alicia’s line of sight, and she almost slammed the door shut in a panic. But what he lifted was no weapon; it was a bouquet of the most gorgeous red roses, twelve of them. “Here. These are for you.” He handed them to her.

  As much as she loved roses, and as much as she appreciated his effort, Alicia shook her head. “I don’t want them.” She couldn’t believe she was turning them down.

  “Alicia, don’t be like that. It’s nothing but a peace offering.”

  “No. I don’t want them.”

  Derek tossed the flowers on the floor by the door. “Fine. There they are if you change your mind.” His jaw muscles flexed rhythmically. She could tell her refusal had stung, and his inner demon was awakening.

  “You should leave now,” she said.

  Derek shook his head emphatically. “No, there’s something I have to say to you.” He drew in a deep breath. “I love you, Alicia. I know I don’t act like it all the time. I know I have my faults that I’m working on. I was going to ask you to marry me, you know. I was.” He shook his head and dropped his mouth at the corners. “I won’t beg you, though. No way. If
you can’t love me back, well, then . . . there it is.”

  And there it was. The declaration Alicia had wanted to hear from Derek for going on two years. And now it meant nothing to her. My, how drastically she’d changed in just a couple days.

  “Derek, listen to me. I had a vision—”

  “A what?”

  “A vision, you know, like a daydream or something. You were in it, and you . . . you were in danger.”

  “Okay.”

  “Serious danger.”

  “Okay.”

  “Someone was killing you.”

  “Okay. And what should I do with this information?”

  “Do with it whatever you want. I had to tell you.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  She looked at the floor, uncomfortable with where she knew he’d take the conversation. “No, I didn’t. I just thought you should know.”

  “Did you see the guy killing me?” His tone implied he was mocking her.

  “No. It was dark, and his face was hidden.”

  “Ah, the old hidden face thing. Clever. And this vision, it wouldn’t have anything to do with this new religious side of you, would it?”

  “No.” She hesitated. Did it? “Maybe. Yes, it probably does.”

  Derek snorted. “I think I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you can. Just be careful.”

  “I’m always careful.” He turned and walked away, down the hall until Alicia could hear his footsteps no more.

  She closed the door, locked it, and leaned her back against it. Only then, when she was safely behind the locked door, did she begin to shake. She shut her eyes only to find the vision there again. The man holding the gun was still shadowed, but a beam of light now stretched across his abdomen and chest. He wore a flannel shirt and an old field jacket. His arms were raised as if holding a rifle. He pointed the gun at Derek, who had his back to Alicia, but she could tell it was clearly him. The gun discharged, muzzle flashed, and the concussion brought Alicia out of the dark. Her eyes flipped open and hands groped at the door. She was dizzy and disoriented. Suddenly nauseous.

  Above everything else that had happened the past few days, everything with the girl, with Derek, with those cursed roses on the other side of the door and his sad declaration of twisted love, Alicia was sure of one thing: Derek was going to die.

  Chapter 36

  JIM WAS OUTSIDE edging the grass in the front yard when Doug Miller’s patrol car pulled into the driveway. The engine cut off, and Miller exited the car, adjusted his utility belt, and removed his sunglasses. He crossed the yard with even, determined steps.

  Jim stopped the motor of the edger and leaned on the handle. “Morning, Chief.”

  Miller didn’t smile, nor did he return Jim’s greeting. “I thought we agreed the two of you would lie low for a while.”

  Jim knew what he was talking about. Army Swanson. He had no expectation the Swansons would keep their lips buttoned, even if Army wasn’t healed. Sooner or later word would get out, and then it would get to Miller, and then Miller would pay a visit. And here he was.

  “We did agree.”

  “Then why is it that I was just at Judd’s to fill up the cruiser and he told me about the miracle that happened to the Swanson boy?”

  “Miracle?”

  “Yeah, miracle. They had him at the doctor’s first thing this morning. Had an MRI done, and guess what?”

  Jim held his breath and shrugged.

  “No tumor. It’s gone. The boy is fine, walking around, laughing with his brother, eating like a horse.”

  “Wow.”

  “Wow? That’s it? You know anything about this?”

  Jim nodded. “Yeah. I mean, yes, I do. The Swansons were here last night, late. I was in bed and heard them out here talking to Louisa. I came out and the boy was in the car, looked terrible, poor kid. They wanted Louisa to pray for him, like she had the Murphy girl. That’s it. How could I tell her no?”

  Miller brushed his hand over his mustache. “Well, half of Virginia Mills knows now. People are talking. I can feel trouble coming.”

  “Chief,” Jim said, “how could I tell her not to pray for a sick kid, a kid that looked like he was hanging on by a thread? And all she did was pray for him. That’s it. No theatrics. And look at the boy, healed, really alive, like he was born again.”

  Miller nodded slowly. “Yeah. Born again. I’d sure like to find out where this girl came from and how she got here.”

  “She remembered something else.”

  “And when were you gonna tell me?”

  Jim glanced at the house. Louisa was inside watching a movie. “She asked me not to.”

  “Why?”

  “She wouldn’t say. I think she feels safe here, you know? I’m not so sure she wants to be found.”

  Again Miller stroked his mustache. “Well, let’s have it.”

  “She has a brother.”

  His eyebrows arched, pushing his forehead into a washboard of lines. “Older, younger?”

  “Nope. Just that. She has a brother.”

  Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Miller said, “Well, it’s not much, but it’s something. Now we’re looking for a family of at least four.”

  “I’m hoping this memory will trigger others.” But it wasn’t what he was hoping at all, not really. Louisa was turning out to be the daughter Jim had expected, the daughter that was so suddenly taken from him. Whatever void was there after the miscarriage was now being filled by this mystery girl and her odd but powerful gift.

  The radio attached to Miller’s shoulder beeped and a woman’s voice came on. “Chief, we have another 10-55. 437 Swamp Road.”

  Miller closed his eyes, hesitated, then depressed the talk button. “Okay, Brenda. Hang on a sec.”

  “10-4.”

  Miller pointed his finger at Jim as he backpedaled. “You tell me if she remembers anything else, okay?”

  “I will.”

  “And call me if you wind up with a lawn full of sick people lookin’ for holy medicine.”

  Jim nodded and waved him off.

  Miller turned and hurried back to the car. He sat behind the closed door for only a minute, jotting notes and talking into his radio, then brought the cruiser’s engine to life and didn’t waste any time getting out of the driveway.

  Chapter 37

  AMY SPENCER NEEDED to get out of the house. She’d spent the last two months sheltering herself from the world, afraid of the stares, the pitiful eyes, the empty condolences. She didn’t want people’s sympathy. She didn’t want their empty smiles and limp hugs. She wanted to be left alone.

  Her days had been passed by puttering around the house, watching television, starting one book after another but never finishing any of them, and spending way too much time in bed. Nights passed slowly as sleep avoided her like she was a deadly contagion. And the days moved even slower.

  But now Amy felt like she had to get out of the house; she had to be around the daily activity of humanity. She had to see people, and not just by observing the movement of human forms, but really see them. And she needed to clear her head and think through what was happening in her home.

  This girl, Louisa, had done it again—healed someone. It was surreal, like something Amy had read in a book or seen in some made-for-TV movie. She didn’t know what to make of the girl anymore. Jim seemed to buy everything she was doing. He was amazed by her. But Amy was just bewildered. She had nothing against people getting healed, goodness no, especially children, but the way it was happening, it was just bizarre. But every day, and with every interaction, Amy found herself growing fonder of Louisa. It was evident the girl had a kind heart and meant no one harm. And if she was completely honest with herself, Amy would have to admit that Louisa was everything she’d wanted in a daughter. In fact, she couldn’t get the child out of her mind.

  Amy steered the car into a parking space in front of the Food Lion and shut off the engine. Suddenly her heart began to hammer in
her chest and her breathing went shallow. Maybe she wasn’t ready for this. There was no guarantee she’d even see anyone she knew, but if she did, there would be that moment of awkwardness while the other person determined what etiquette called for. It had been several months; do they mention the miscarriage, how they haven’t seen her around, or do they ignore the whole tragedy and act like the last few months never happened?

  Pulling the key from the ignition and dropping it in her purse, Amy drew in a deep breath and exhaled a short prayer.

  It shouldn’t have, but that prayer stopped her breath and brought tears to her eyes. She used to pray all the time, just short sentence prayers peppered throughout her day, keeping her in constant contact with God. But since the miscarriage she hadn’t prayed at all. God seemed distant and disinterested, as if there was suddenly a great gulf between Him and her and neither of them bothered to do anything about it. There were times when she’d inch up to the precipice of that chasm and peer over the edge, measure the distance between the two sides, but that was as far as it ever went. But thinking about praying is not the same as doing it.

  She said her prayer again—God, help me do this—and noticed the way it made her feel: like returning home to a loving family and a house full of memories after being away in a dark and vile land for way too long.

  Still feeling a bit uneasy, but not nearly as much as she had just a few seconds ago, Amy exited the car and entered the store. Strangely, surprising even her, emotions washed over her like a wave striking an unsuspecting beachcomber. Again her eyes flooded with tears. She had to duck into the medicine aisle and compose herself.

  She’d been away for so long, tucked away in her own sorrow and shame, that she’d forgotten what it was like to live, to drive a car, to shop, to interact with people. To do the everyday things she’d done for so many years and had taken for granted.

  Jim, poor Jim, had done the duties for both of them. He’d been the one gathering the groceries and cleaning the house. He’d made most of the meals, washed and folded the laundry, taken care of the yard. And never once had he complained or pointed a vindictive finger at her. Never once had he scolded her or turned away in disappointment. He’d loved her just the same as he always had, maybe more so.