Concrete Savior

by Yvonne Navarro

  “How can you tell?” she asked as she scanned the streets. “There are so many.”

  Her frustration must have been evident. “Look for a rental truck,” Eran told her. “Something like a U-Haul or a Penske, or maybe some no-name local outfit. That would be more likely because it would be cheaper. It’ll be parked as close as possible to the building.” LaSalle had already been blocked off so he ignored the one-way signs and swung the car to the left, driving south on LaSalle until he reached where the building’s main entrance began to curve east. There he bumped over the curb hard enough to make Brynna’s teeth clack together and drove across the sidewalk, pulling into the small plaza and stopping directly in front of the black and white Dubuffet statue that Gina had described.

  “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. “I don’t see—wait! Over there!” Brynna followed his pointing finger to a rickety-looking gray and brown truck on the Clark Street side of the building. It was tucked between a street sign and the fire hydrant and had been pulled front-first almost all the way onto the sidewalk. Eran ran toward it and Brynna followed, and when they got closer, she could see a cheap magnetic sign on the door that read “Scott’s Truck Rents” and listed a suburban phone number. There were already a dozen cops warily circling the vehicle.

  “Yeah,” Eran said. “That has to be it. Damn it—where’s the bomb unit?” He snapped open his phone and in another five seconds, he was barking questions to someone on the other end. “Has anyone called the rental place and checked on who rented this truck?” He was silent, but only for a moment. “Well, that figures—stolen.” He hung up. “The truck’s out of Cicero,” he told Brynna. “It was reported missing off the lot three days ago. Not something that would have generated much interest in the downtown area.” He held out a hand to stop her just as they crossed behind the Dubuffet statue. “You need to stay here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re a civilian,” he told her. “I’d get my ass handed to me on a platter if I brought you any closer.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “This is already too close. If Gina’s right and Tate has that truck rigged to blow, we’re all dead if we can’t stop him.”

  As if to emphasize his words, one of the uniformed cops ran toward them, slowing only when Eran held up his detectivets star and said, “I’m the one who called this in.”

  The officer nodded. “Right. I wouldn’t get any closer. A security guard had already called for a city tow when the word came over the radio.” He shook his head. “For once I guess it’s a good thing the damned tow truck took too long.” He squinted at the truck but made no move to go back to his original position. “You really think there’s a bomb in that thing?”

  “Absolutely,” Eran said. “Make sure you get any stragglers the hell away from here.”

  Brynna tugged on his sleeve and he stepped off to the side with her as the cop hurried away. “So how does this work?”

  “What?”

  “The bomb,” she said. “I don’t see Wernick. How does he make it explode?”

  Eran scanned the street, which despite the steadily increasing number of squad cars still had plenty of people on it. More, in fact, because gawkers were starting to build up along the do-not-cross lines set up by the police. “You can’t track Wernick?” he asked. “I thought you had ways—”

  “I never got close to him,” she reminded him. “We were too far away from him on Navy Pier for me to pick up anything.”

  “Damn.”

  “The bomb,” she prompted. “How does it work?”

  He blinked at her. “Stuff like this—some local yahoo who’s out for revenge—could go a couple of ways. It might be rigged on a timer, or he might have it set to a remote detonator.” He scowled. “Or he could cover his bases and do both.”

  “So we have to find those things?” She frowned and looked around a little helplessly.

  “If it’s a timer, it’ll be in the truck itself,” he told her. “Most likely in the engine compartment, close to the power source—the battery. Nowadays a remote detonator is generally rigged via a cell phone. You call the number of the phone that triggers the switch on the engine.” Eran pushed his hair back, his gaze cutting up and dowhe streets. “I’m almost positive he’ll want to see the damage done by the bomb. The question is how close is close enough?” He glanced at his watch. “Damn it, it’s almost four o’clock. Where’s that fucking bomb unit? They need to get in there and disable the switch to the battery.”

  He started toward the parked truck but Brynna closed a hand over his wrist and turned him back toward the corner of Clark and Randolph. The man in question was across the intersection, standing on the northwest corner in front of the Richard J. Daley Center. On the other side of police cars that were parked end to end, quite a crowd had built up but he had staked a spot for himself in front of everyone and was staring intently toward the old rental truck. “Isn’t that him?” she asked.

  Eran looked where she was indicating, then he gasped. “Yes!” He took a long step forward, then froze. “Oh shit.”

  Brynna focused on Tate Wernick and saw what had stopped Eran. Wernick was pulling a cell phone from his pocket, flipping it open literally as Brynna and Eran stared.

  “We don’t have enough time!” Eran cried.

  What Brynna did was completely by instinct.

  Fire.

  It was her best weapon and something with which she was intimately acquainted, in all its beautiful, exquisitely agonizing forms. The buildup of heat in her center was instantaneous and vaguely pleasurable—she so seldom satisfied the Hell-born pyromaniac that was always secreted inside. The blast that rolled out of each palm was all but invisible, nothing more to the eye than two shimmering circles that resembled the heat mirages that formed above the sand at the height of summer.

  The one from her left hand was infinitely more powerful, but before it hit the truck Brynna yanked her hand back and stretched it into an unseen rope, slipping it under the front bumper and into the engine compartment. There was a white-hot flash and the front end of the rental truck lifted up three feet before slamming back to the sidewalk. Noise, like someone beating the world’s biggest drum, rolled across the plaza, drowning out the startled yells of the cops who were a little too close. At the same time, the smaller, more condensed burst from Brynna’s right palm hit Tate Wernick at chest level, enveloping his hands and forearms in a micro-eruption of scarlet fire. The cell phone he was dialing exploded and Wernick shrieked and pitched onto his back, flailing and kicking as people leaped away from him.

  Everything went instantly to chaos as people ran in all directions, sirens and alarms began to howl, and more vehicles and police filled the area to overcapacity. The cleanup would, Brynna knew, last for hours, so after a few moments of watching Eran run back and forth, she caught his gaze and tipped a hand to her forehead to signal she was leaving. The single calm moment in all the confusion was the silent look of gratitude he sent her before she headed home and left him to deal with the aftermath.

  BRYNNA FOUND CASEY ANLON standing on the edge of the two-foot-high barrier that ran around the roof of his building. The sidewalk was nearly a hundred feet below him and he was staring at it with an almost mesmerized expression on his face. She didn’t know how long he’d been up here. Sweat was trickling down both sides of his forehead, and his hair was plastered to his skull. There were rings of dampness beneath the arms of his light-colored T-shirt.

  “Hey, Casey,” she said as carefully as she could. She didn’t want to startle him into stepping forward. She must have done a good job because his face turned slowly in her direction but his feet didn’t move. The look he gave her was dull, as if he didn’t quite understand why she was there.

  “Oh, uh . . . hi.” He frowned slightly. “I—I’m sorry. I can’t remember your name.” One hand came up and he rubbed at his forehead. “That’s rude, isn’t it? I don’t know what’s wrong with my mind right now.”

  “I’m sure you’re thi
nking about a lot of things,” Brynna said. “Maybe some things that you shouldn’t be.”

  He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Oh, you mean this.” He glanced back over the edge of the roof. “I guess this is kind of a personal decision, don’t you think?”

  She nodded. “I do. But it’s also a very permanent one. Not much chance of changing your mind about it.”

  “Some things should be permanent. To . . . stop more damage.”

  “Is that what you think?” she asked. “That you just do damage?”

  “Oh, I know I do.” He waved vaguely at the city spread below him. Brynna sucked in her breath as the movement made him lean forward a little. “The proof is right there, splashed in the papers. Everyone knows how much ‘damage’ I’ve done.”

  “And you think this will what? Make up for it?”

  He tilted his head. “No, not make up for it. Retribution maybe. Payback.”

  Brynna’s mouth thinned. “Revenge? For who?”

  “A lot of people. The families of the ones left behind.”

  Brynna shook her head. “Revenge is never a good thing to begin with, but it doesn’t apply to you anyway. Revenge is for those who lost something because someone did something to them intentionally. That wasn’t the case here.”

  “It might as well have been.”

  “No, not at all,” she insisted. “Don’t you see, Casey? Jashire—she’s the one who orchestrated this whole mess. If there’s anyone who should carry the blame, it’s her. Everything that happened, she did. She moved you and Gina like pieces on a game board, and that’s what it was to her—an ugly sport.”

  “Yeah, I met her,” he said. “But does it really matter who started it? The results are here, in black and white. Those are what count. How it happened is past history.”

  “That it happened is past history,” Brynna reminded him. “If you step off this roof, nothing will change. You won’t bring those people back. What you will do is let Jashire win her evil recreational activity.” She was silent for a moment. “You tried so hard to do the right thing. Gina tried, too. The reason Gina did what she did was because Jashire had her husband.”

  Casey’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know. I thought . . .”

  “She was part of it,” Brynna finished for him.

  “Yeah.”

  “She was being forced to give you those names. And in the end, it didn’t help.”

  Casey’s mouth twisted. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

  Brynna hesitated, not sure whether telling him the truth would help or hurt. Ultimately she had to be honest. “Jashire still killed her husband.”

  “Oh, God,” Casey whispered. “I’m so sorry. If I hadn’t—”

  “No,” Brynna cut in. “Don’t you see? Jashire never intended to give Gina back her husband. She never intended for anyone to come out of this unharmed. She thrives on pain and suffering . . .” Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. “And most of all, guilt. That’s what you feel, isn’t it, Casey? Guilty?”

  “Oh, yes,” he murmured. “I am so guilty.”

  “But you’re not. You were used by someone who knew exactly what she was doing. Who never wanted any of this to come out good.” She lifted her chin. “And I know you’ve talked to her—how did she sound in that last conversation? Did she tell you that you were worthless? That it was all your fault?” When Casey didn’t answer, Brynna knew the truth. “Of course she did. Because her final victory is to have you end your life.”

  “But why?” he asked. “Why would she want that?”

  “Why would Glenn Klinger and Jack Gaynor do the things they did?” Brynna asked, instead of answering. “Why would Danielle Myers snap like she did? She wasn’t evil. She’s just a mentally disturbed child stuck in a grown-up’s body. Jashire used Gina’s ability to see all these things for her own poisonous purposes.” She didn’t think it would fly if she told Casey that Jashire was a guilt demon. He wouldn’t believe that any more than he would believe Brynna herself was one.

  He lifted his head as a slight breeze drifted across the rooftop. “There’s more to come, you know.”

  Brynna frowned. “What?”

  “There’s that last guy, Tate Wernick. Remember? You and Detective Redmond tried to stop me on Navy Pier, but I’d already done my dirty work.” He laughed bitterly. “And it was so absurdly easy this time—all I had to do was stop him from getting into an argument with that other guy, that tourist. Gina told me the man had a knife in his pocket and Wernick would get stabbed, bleed to death right there before anyone could help him.” Brynna tensed when he suddenly slapped the side of his own head hard enough to make himself sway on the edge. “I just fell right into it, didn’t I? Like Jashire said, I wonder what great and wonderful things he’s going to do.”

  “He won’t be doing anything.”

  Casey’s head turned back in her direction. “Excuse me?”

  “Gina warned us about him, Casey. He was arrested downtown late this afternoon, before he could hurt anyone.” She left out the part about the truck bomb and that Wernick was also hospitalized with second- and third-degree burns. None of that would do Casey any good right now.

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”

  Brynna shook her head. “No, I’m not. I don’t have any reason to lie to you—nothing to gain or lose.”

  “Jashire told me you were just like her.”

  “I’m sure she did,” Brynna said calmly. “Do you think that after all this, she’d want me to be up here and trying to talk you into living? Do you think she’d want you to believe me when I say your life is worth something, that you have better times ahead of you? Or would she be happier if you shut me out and killed yourself?” Casey was silent. “You know I’m telling you the truth. Don’t give her this victory, Casey. Don’t let her win.”

  Casey looked at her narrowly. “What are you going to do?” he asked. “Jump out here and try to stop me?”

  “No.” Brynna’s voice was level. “Could I make it? Yeah, I probably could. Do I want to? Yeah, I do. Should I?” She paused, then shook her head. “No. It’s all about choice, Casey. It always is. What you do here, if you decide to end your life, that’s your choice. Sure, your judgment could have been better, but everyone can say that at one time or another. Your mistakes are bigger than most, but you based your decisions on bad information—you were deceived. Do you really want the last decision of youe to be this?” She stood and walked calmly toward him. He tensed. “I’m not going to grab you, Casey.” She stopped a couple of feet away and held out her hand. “Take my hand, Casey. Choose life.”

  Casey hesitated long enough for her pulse to thicken with apprehension. Dear God, was he actually going to do it anyway? Had she not been convincing enough?

  And if he did and she jumped forward to stop him—because she knew she would, if only because instinct would overrule her—was she then any better than he had been when he’d done his rescues?

  When Casey finally did reach out and her fingers entwined with hers, she resisted the urge to snatch at his wrist and pull him to safety. Instead, she forced herself to wait, holding her breath the entire time. After a long ten seconds of simply standing there, hands together, Brynna exhaled as Casey stepped down from the edge.

  She had seldom had the honor of touching a live nephilim, and hardly ever under good circumstances. Doing so now was a delight—not only was she immediately surrounded by that sweet sea breeze scent that was natural to him, the contact sent a tingle of well-being through every part of her, like the calming effect from stroking a soft, warm puppy. She took it in and enjoyed it without comment, and they walked hand-in-hand back to the stairs.

  At the doorway, he stopped and looked at her. “I’m okay now,” he said. “Thank you . . . for everything.” When Brynna hesitated, he squeezed her fingers. “I’ll be okay,” he repeated. “I’ll figure it out. I think I said it before, I always had the feeling I had something big to do in my life. That feeling’s still t
here. It got kind of smothered by everything that’s gone on, but my head is clearing. Something big still waits for me in the future, I’m sure of it.”

  Brynna let him go, watching as he descended the steps and finally went out of sight.

  Then she settled herself on the rooftop to wait.

  “WHERE’S MY NEPHILIM?” JASHIRE demanded.

  Brynna hadn’t been waiting long, a quarter of an hour at the most. Still, fifteen minutes could make a big difference when you came in expecting one thing but finding another. Right now Brynna could tell the other fallen angel was furious by the way her eyes were flashing yellow and red and the fingers of her fists were clenching and unclenching. Every time her hands opened, her fingernails lengthened