by Lisa Amowitz
Bobby was led down to the path, where he collapsed from exhaustion into Jerry Woods’s arms.
“Where’s my boy? Isn’t Coco with you?”
“He’s up there, Jerry, barely hanging on. Sheriff Barclay tried to kill us. He shot Coco.”
There was a scuffling of feet, urgent shouts. “We’ll get him, Bobby. Mr. Cooper’s gonna take you to my house.”
“No, please, I need to stay here. I gotta know that Coco’s okay.”
“I’ll stay here with you,” said Mr. Cooper. He helped Bobby to one of the benches that lined the reservoir path. “How bad is he?”
“Shot in the leg. He’s lost a lot of blood.” Bobby hung his head and shuddered, the shock and terror of what he’d just lived through hitting him hard. He couldn’t stop the tremors that started at his jaw and vibrated through his entire body. “The sheriff tried to kill both of us—then,” Bobby hesitated about mentioning the phantom figure in the woods, “we managed to get away.”
“Sheriff Barclay told everyone that he had evidence to prove you were the killer,” Mr. Cooper added. “That you’d killed Dana. He was becoming irrational. People knew about your condition, and know what kind of kid you are. No one believed him. But they were starting to get suspicious of the sheriff. Dana had reached out to some of the teachers at school, me included. The sheriff was not a nice man.”
“Wait. You don’t think he killed Dana, do you?”
“It looks like he’s the guy. They’re trying to see if forensics can match him up to the other girl’s death. Bobby, he held his wife hostage and holed himself up in his house. They had an entire SWAT team here. The police are convinced he’s the guy.”
“And?” Bobby shook his head, his teeth chattering, the trace of Dana’s pitiful wails still echoing around him. Wouldn’t he have felt the evidence of her murder radiating off the sheriff? Wouldn’t there have been a sign?
Of course, he couldn’t explain his AFS to Mr. Cooper.
“It’s not him, Mr. Cooper.” Bobby stood. Only blackness lay between pulses of flashing lights. “I need to talk to them.”
Mr. Cooper sighed heavily. “They have their man. Sheriff Barclay’s dead. After he shot his wife at point-blank range, the troopers stormed the house and took him down.”
Bobby lurched toward the lights, but Mr. Cooper grabbed him by the arm. “You’ve had a tremendous shock, Bobby, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll bring you over to an officer.”
“I see,” the officer said, his voice flat. Bobby could almost hear the man roll his eyes as he tried to explain his ordeal in the woods. “We’ll be sure to look into it, son. We understand the sheriff wanted to implicate you as a suspect. You don’t have to worry yourself. There’s no evidence to connect you to these crimes. Why don’t you get some rest and we’ll talk in a couple of days?”
“But…Officer…” Mr. Cooper was already pulling him away. No one believed him. He’d have to wait until Coco was able to verify his story. If he was in any shape to do so.
Shouts came from behind. “They’ve got him, Bobby. They’ve got Coco.”
Bobby broke free from Mr. Cooper and stumbled toward the voices.
“Let me see him. Please!” Someone had him by the arm, holding him back. He was shouting, pushing, shoving at the bodies in his way, tears blurring his already fading sight. “Please!”
The reservoir road flooded with gaudy red and blue light, blanking out all else. Bobby flailed through the chaos, trying to claw his way closer.
“Everybody back! The paramedics are here.”
People were shouting, jostling him. He couldn’t get to Coco.
“Is he alive?” he shouted into the dark.
Someone grabbed him in the shove and pull of bodies and hugged him tight. Jerry Woods. “He’s still with us, Bobby. Coco’s gonna make it.”
CHAPTER
22
What seemed like the entire town of Graxton had crowded into the Woods’s living room to hold a vigil for Coco. Mrs. Woods zipped around like a tiny speedboat, trying to feed everyone, until she finally collapsed in the kitchen in a fit of sobs.
The wait was getting to all of them.
The county hospital was fifteen miles away, and Bobby, along with everyone else, was on pins and needles waiting to hear that Coco had survived the ambulance trip.
Bobby sat on the couch, squeezing Gabe’s hand, Aaron asleep in his lap. Listening to the tick of the giant grandfather clock, he counted off the minutes of the endless night, Pete curled up at his feet.
Watching the dark shapes shift and glide, Bobby noted he’d lost more color. Forms were melting and softening like ice cream on a hot day. Even the light had gone softer, the contrasts duller. His sight was going quickly, eclipsed like the moon’s shadow creeping over the earth. It was Thursday night, almost Friday, not even a full week since his first attack. By this Sunday, at the rate he was going, he’d be completely blind.
He pulled Gabe closer, letting her warmth quiet the shaking that rattled his bones, but his teeth wouldn’t stop clacking.
Let Coco live, he prayed. He’d never bitch about anything again. Never waste a minute feeling sorry for himself. Accept his fate with grace and just be glad to be alive.
The room broke out in a pattering of applause. Mr. Cooper had gone to the next town and returned a hero with a box of coffee and three cartons of donuts.
A few hours later, the phone rang, jolting Bobby from half-formed dreams.
Coco had survived the ambulance trip to the hospital and was being prepped for surgery. The doctors were hopeful for a good outcome.
The room rang out with loud cheers, hoots and whistles. People came at Bobby from all sides, thumping him on the back, kissing him, tousling his hair. Someone stuck a Styrofoam cup of hot coffee in his hand as music boomed from Jerry Woods’s oversized speakers. Shadowy bodies filled the living room, swaying to old-time swing music. It had to be Mr. Cooper, he thought appreciatively, who knew just the right music for every occasion.
Bobby was exhausted, and probably filthier than Pete after a mud bath. But when Gabe dragged him to his feet and led him to the middle of the living room, he didn’t care. Their bodies pressed close, he let her heat warm his skin like sunlight.
Coco was alive. The solution to all his problems had miraculously fallen in his lap.
And, despite everything, Gabe still wanted to be with him. Life, even if he had to live it in darkness, was going to be okay. And then he remembered that the killer was still out there somewhere and knew exactly who Bobby was. The killer who had murdered his mom.
And no one believed him.
He just had to make it the full week before he signed on with Maura Reston. Then, with the full force of the United States government behind him, he’d catch the bastard.
As dim morning light limped into the Woods’s living room, Bobby realized the crowd had thinned—those who remained were draped across chairs and couches, fast asleep. Gabe’s head lolled on his shoulder, her hair fanned out like a copper-gold blanket. He stroked her head and huddled closer.
The phone rang, cutting through the morning stillness. Someone cursed, tripping over bodies to get to it.
Coco had made it out of surgery and was resting comfortably.
Gabe woke and murmured softly. Bobby cupped her cheeks in his hands and silenced her with a long kiss, her body gone boneless as she melted into him.
A sharp poke in his ribs reminded him that his little brother was sitting right beside them.
“Whoops! Sorry, A-man.”
He saw Aaron nod, the white oval of his face turned up to him like a flower to the sun. Aaron touched his chin, tracing a fingertip across the patchy growth of stubble that roughened his jaw. “You could use a shave, Bobby.”
He laughed.
“Bobby,” Aaron said, his little-boy voice dropping an octave, “I can help you. Shave, I mean.”
Bobby swallowed hard. Soon his little brother would begin to grow like a weed.
Aaron didn’t. “You can’t fool me, Bobby. I know you been trying to hide it, but your eyes don’t look at me straight on no more. Soon you won’t be able to see nothing at all.”
Bobby groped for words. Aaron beat him to it. “It’s okay, Bobby. We been through worse.”
“Thanks, A-man. We’re gonna be fine.”
“But, Bobby, someone’s got to tell Dad.”
“Will you help me do that?”
“You got it, bro.”
The screen door to the Woods’s house squeaked open. Bobby tried to make sense of the sharp whispers and scuffling feet, but finally gave up.
“Can I have a word, Bobby?”
Bobby leapt to his feet. “Mr. Friend!”
“Bobby,” Max said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “we’re all really, really proud of you. You saved Coco’s life.”
“Anyone would do the same for their best friend.”
“But not many of us would have succeeded, in your situation. You’re made of some seriously tough stuff.”
Bobby shrugged, but his stomach tightened. “I’m still planning to work tonight, sir.”
“Why don’t we go outside and get some air?”
“Sure. Fine.” Max looped his arm through Bobby’s, but he shrugged it away, stepping forward on his own.
“You don’t have to be ashamed, Bobby.”
He felt Gabe by his side. “That’s not it at all. I just—I wish you would all stop treating me like I’m a rare plant that’s gonna wilt with the first frost.” He heard his voice rise, and regretted it instantly.
Gabe tried to take his arm, but he reached for the doorknob and pushed out to the front porch. The light was brighter there, the details washed out in the glare, like a worn denim shirt.
“If you plan to get around on your own, Bobby,” Max said, coming up behind him, “you’re going to need this. You left it in my car yesterday.”
“Thanks,” Bobby said, stuffing the cane in his back pocket. Beyond them, the woods reeked of menace. The killer was out there. Watching. And waiting.
“I’m not officially opening the restaurant tonight, Bobby,” Max said. “I thought, instead, we’d have a party for all the searchers who volunteered to help find you and Coco. A combined celebration and a remembrance for Dana.”
“That sounds nice. I can help out.”
“Bobby, you’ll be one of the guests of honor.”
Bobby leaned forward on the railing. “Look, I’m sorry I snapped. It’s not like me. I just… I’m just used to doing stuff myself, I guess. But the party sounds great. I’ll just hang out and enjoy myself.”
“That’s the spirit. Kenny thought tonight would be an excellent chance for your trio to make their debut. Gabe’s all for it.”
“Without practicing first?”
“You can set up at Kenny’s this afternoon when he gets home from school.”
“Uh—”
“Don’t be nervous. We can swing by to pick up your guitar and your other things from your house, first. Better to dive right in, don’t you think?”
“I guess. Maybe.” The thought of it was scary. Gabe and Mr. Cooper were consummate professionals, and he was a rank amateur. He’d hardly played with other musicians. But there was no use balking. In less than five days, everything was going to change. He wouldn’t need outsiders to take care of him. He’d be the one taking care of his family again.
Max hesitated for a minute. “I just thought you’d want to know that Gabriella really cares for you. A whole lot. And—and we’d like you to stay with us until things are more settled.”
The words tasted like sweet lemon candy on his tongue. Stay with Gabe? It was more than he could hope for. This way he could sense if the killer came anywhere near her. “For real?”
“So, you’ll stay with us? You and Pete, that is?”
“You’re all just way too good to me, Mr. Friend.”
That morning, Gabe took Bobby and Aaron to visit Dad in the hospital while Pete waited outside, not terribly pleased about being tied up to a post.
“It’s about time,” Dad said. “Thought you forgot about me. Haven’t been to see your Pops at all.”
Aaron ran over to Dad and kissed him, while Bobby waited, his head lowered, the brim of his cap turned down.
“Ain’t you gonna come over and plant one on your old man?”
The room blazed white, Dad’s figure a dirty smear against the window. Aaron took Bobby’s arm and led him to a chair.
“What’s the matter with you, Bobby? You look like a zombie.”
“I came to tell you that I can’t take care of us any more. At least, not now.”
“Bobby can’t see right, Daddy,” Aaron blurted. “And it’s gonna be for good.”
“That true, son? From that bonk on the head?”
Bobby decided the truth was the best approach. He told him about the brain tumor, his prognosis, the surgery that might or might not happen.
“This ain’t fair,” Dad said. “We keep getting slammed.”
“Nobody’s keepin’ score, Dad,” Bobby said. “Stuff just happens.”
“So you came to tell me I’m stuck here at the VA?”
“It’s temporary. I got something else really important to talk to you about.” He asked Gabe to take Aaron for a walk.
He explained the proposal that Agent Reston had made. The wheels creaked as Sam Pendell shifted in his chair.
“I just need you to sign for me, Dad.”
“You mean, I sign and you give up your chance of getting your sight back? What kind of shit is that?”
“The surgery is risky. Forty-eight percent survival rate. Only forty percent success rate. Don’t sound like great odds to me.”
Silence for a beat. More chair creaking.
“Kills me to see you this way, son. Think you should wait to see if that fancy doctor comes up with a cure before you sentence yourself to a life of blindness.”
“There’s no safe cure, Dad. This way, at least there’s a job waiting for me. They’ll even buy us a house.”
“I don’t want no house. I want you to see.”
The raw grief in Dad’s voice made his breath catch. Would knowing the truth about Mom relieve him of guilt, or plunge him further into despair? When he could prove she was murdered and hadn’t just run off, he’d tell Dad everything. Make him understand why he had no other choice but to sign on with the Agency.
“I’d like you to walk. But that ain’t gonna happen, either. And we may as well live in a nice house, specially equipped for our needs.”
“God, Bobby. This is hard to take, you throwin’ this at me.”
“That’s why I waited as long as I could. You’ll sign?”
“Gotta think about it.”
“If you don’t, me and Aaron’ll be wards of the state without a dime to our names. And you’ll be warehoused in here. Sound like a better plan?”
“Don’t know, Bobby. It’s a lot to ask of a father, is all.”
Since Coco was still in a lot of pain, they decided to save that visit for the next day. Mr. Cooper wouldn’t be back from school for a few hours, and Aaron, who had no one else to watch him, was getting restless.
Outside, the mid-morning air sparkled with life and the sweet scent of new growth. The sweep of powder-blue sky bled into a sloping arc of soft green, the world reduced to a bright wash of color. Bobby breathed in a lungful of air, his chest pulling tight.
“Who wants to go fishing?” he asked. “If we take my truck, we’ve got everything we need in the back. I can pick up my guitar, then serenade those dang fish into kissing my hook.”
Bobby forced the cheerfulness into his voice. He had to get back to Scratch Lake before all the color was gone.
Carried on a warm breeze, the unquiet feeling swept over him the instant Gabe pulled her truck up to the front of his house. Bobby crunched over the dried-up grass and paused. The air felt wron
g, as if the last trace of a foul-smelling odor still hung in the air. Once he stepped inside the stale, dark interior of their house, he knew.
An intruder had been there.
“Everything look okay in here, A-man? I didn’t leave it a big old mess, did I?”
“Not any more than usual,” Aaron said.
Shivers raced up his spine. It was unmistakable. Deliberate.
It was a signal.
Bobby fumbled around until he found his guitar, had Aaron grab the last of the nightcrawlers, and pushed out onto the stoop.
Like a tomcat marking his territory, the killer had been there.
Biding his time. Toying with him, until the time was right to pounce.
He and Gabe sat on the dock at Scratch Lake, shoes off, pants rolled up, their feet dangling into the water. It was still icy cold in late May, but with the sun warming their heads, Bobby didn’t care. The tickle of the fish nibbling at his toes, Gabe’s feet impishly brushing his, was pure heaven.
Gabe held onto the fishing rod while he tuned his guitar.
“Look at this!” Aaron shouted, gleefully skipping stones across the still water as Pete’s excited barks echoed across the lake. Plink, plink, plink.
Bobby knew that somewhere on the other side of the lake, his boat waited, abandoned. He had no further use for it anyway.
He smiled at the sounds, marveling at the way the water glittered like scattered diamonds. The caw of birds, the rustle of the leaves, the green shore reflected in the mirrored surface. He wanted to capture the scene and keep its essence safe inside its own little snow globe, preserved for all time.
Gabe kept silent, as if she knew these moments were sacred to him. As if she knew his mother’s bones lay thirty feet below them in her unmarked grave.
They hadn’t spoken about his visions since that day in the park. He didn’t want to destroy the happiness he felt just being here with her.