by Terri Garey
She looked at me and stated, “He will be.”
I had no idea what that meant, but she seemed pretty sure of herself.
“Did Sammy send you? Is he behind this?” It had to be. The whole scheme was too diabolical.
She laughed, drawing the admiring eye of every red-blooded male in the vicinity. “As if I’d do the bidding of a weakling such as he,” she murmured, so only I could hear. “Prince of Darkness, my ass.”
My veins seemed suddenly filled with ice water. I mentally floundered, searching for an anchor, and found it in Joe.
“Whatever happened between you and Sammy has nothing to do with me,” I said, trying my best to act brave. “Joe is mine. Whatever you’re up to, it isn’t going to work.” When in doubt, bluff.
“Oh, I think it’s working quite well,” she replied.
I tried to suppress a rising sense of panic.
“I’m not going to let you use my boyfriend to force me into anything. Don’t you think I’m going to tell him everything you just said?”
She held my eye for the space of a few heartbeats.
“Oh, do tell him,” she said, smiling. “Tell away. Just don’t expect him to believe you.”
And then she turned and left the store, leaving her empty shopping cart behind to block the aisle.
CHAPTER 17
“This is Joe Bascombe. Leave me a message.”
I was sick of Joe’s cell phone message, and I wasn’t going to leave yet another request for him to call me. If he couldn’t be bothered to talk to me, then screw him.
I threw the phone down onto the passenger seat as I drove, thinking furiously. Should I drive to his apartment? What was I going to say, anyway? What if he didn’t answer the door? He said he needed time. Did I dare let myself in with my key?
I drove to his apartment. His car wasn’t in its assigned spot, and my heart sank, but I decided to go up anyway. I called him one more time before I got out of the car, this time on his home phone, but his answering machine picked up. “This is Joe Bascombe…”
Abandoning the phone as useless, I stuck it back in my purse and went slowly up the stairs to his apartment, unsure what I was going to say if he was there—Listen, Joe, I know you’re mad at me right now, but Selene is a succubus, a sex-starved demon who comes to men in their sleep. And oh, by the way, she’s Sammy’s ex-girlfriend. They go a lonnng way back…
Luckily, or unluckily, I had no need to worry, because Joe wasn’t there. He didn’t answer my knock, and since his car wasn’t there, I didn’t feel right going in, even though I had a key. I stood there, fingering it, wondering just for moment if I shouldn’t leave it. Slide it under the mat and leave Joe a message that I’d done it.
How would he react to that? Would he call me then?
In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I took my keys and my explanations and headed back down the stairs.
“Hey, Nicki!” A silver-blue Lincoln Town Car pulled up in the parking lot of the apartment complex, window down. Inside was Lee, from the garage, waving and smiling as the car came to a stop.
Not in the mood to chat, I gave him a weak wave and kept walking.
“What are you doing here?” he called out the window, putting it in park. “Looking for me?”
I shook my head, having had no idea Lee lived around here. “Just visiting someone,” I said, as he opened the door of the Lincoln and got out.
“Any word on your car?”
It would’ve been rude to keep walking away at that point, as he obviously wanted to talk. “Yes, I got it back. They found it in Fayetteville.”
Lee was smiling broadly as he walked toward me, and I could see his relief. “I feel so bad about the whole thing, girl, I really do. I wish you’d let me make it up to you.”
I shook my head. “No need. All’s well that ends well.”
“C’mon,” he said cajolingly. “Let me take you out, buy you dinner.” He wasn’t dressed for the garage today, wearing jeans and a basketball shirt. I was struck again by what a good-looking guy he was—tall, almond-eyed, and toffee-skinned—but the fact remained, he was not the guy for me.
“No thanks.” I smiled to lessen the blow, but turned to go. “I’ve got groceries melting in the trunk.”
“You’re breakin’ my heart here,” he said, with a self-conscious laugh. “You’re not mad at me, are you?” He’d gotten closer, and I got a whiff of weed. He probably kept a joint in his ashtray.
I shook my head, wanting only to go home and get my thoughts in order. “No. Seriously, I’ve got to go.”
He didn’t seem to want to take the hint. “How about I come over, get them out of the trunk for you? Today’s my day off, and I got no plans…you?”
With a sigh, I shook my head again. “Lee, I have a boyfriend, remember?”
“Hey,” he replied, raising his hands in a defensive way, “I ain’t talking about getting married or nothing.” His pupils were dilated, and his eyes were bloodshot. Stoned. Definitely stoned. “I’m just talking about a little hookup.”
I knew exactly what he was talking about, and I wasn’t interested. “Look, you’re a nice guy and I’m flattered, but no.” I had to go before things got awkward; I didn’t want to have to find a new garage or a new car mechanic. “I’ll see you around, okay?”
His face fell, and I almost felt bad, until I remembered that all his reactions were exaggerated right now.
“No hard feelings?” he pressed, giving me a doubtful look.
“No hard feelings.”
When he opened his arms for a hug, I hesitated, but he lurched forward anyway. Before I knew it, my cheek was against his chest and his arms were banded around me like a python.
I tried the old “friendly pat on the back” thing to get him to release me, but he didn’t.
“Mmm,” he murmured, “you smell good.”
It’s the scent of desperation and panic, I almost said, but saved my strength for extricating myself. “Okay,” I said firmly, trying to get my hands on his biceps. “That’s enough.”
“C’mon, baby,” he murmured. “Don’t be like that.”
I could smell the weed on his breath, and felt a sudden surge against my right hip where his groin was pressing. Drastic measures were in order.
“Lee.” I said his name as coldly as I could, turning to stone in his arms. “Let go of me right now, or you are going to be singing soprano for a long time.”
He paused, his face and body far too close to mine.
“I mean it.” And I did, too. A quick knee to the nuts was not outside the realm of possibility.
“Ah-aight,” he said grudgingly, letting me go. He stepped back and I met his eye, glaring.
“I didn’t mean nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “I apologize. I got carried away.”
“Yeah,” I said, “you did.”
I turned away, and the second I did, I saw Joe, whose car had evidently been sitting in the parking lot for quite some time. I hadn’t seen him pull up, but then again, I’d been distracted.
He was idling the BMW, watching us. I couldn’t see his eyes, as they were hidden behind sunglasses, but his mouth was set in a grim line. When he realized I’d seen him, his lips turned downward.
“Joe!” I raised a hand, signaling him I wanted to talk.
Instead, to my complete shock, he backed out of his parking space and drove away.
“That your boyfriend?” Lee asked, sounding genuinely curious, as if he hadn’t just made a bad state of affairs infinitely worse.
I turned and gave him a look that finally got through; he gave me a sheepish wave and backed off, heading toward his car.
Knowing now that Joe’s cell phone was turned off on purpose, I knew better than to start calling. With a discouraged sigh and a troubled heart, I drove home. I had ice cream melting in my trunk and that deserved saving, particularly after what I’d gone through to get it.
A part of me was extremely pissed. Surely he’d seen me push L
ee away…how could he have just driven away like that?
I wasn’t going to try and track him down at the hospital, if that’s where he’d gone. I’d give him another hour, and if I didn’t hear from him by then, I’d try calling him again.
Nagging doubts kept me company on the drive home.
What if he wouldn’t talk to me? What if he really didn’t care anymore? Had he meant it when he said it wasn’t working? Were we truly over?
I’d dated a lot of guys before Joe, but never let any of those relationships get too serious. I’d honestly thought I’d never get married; if I couldn’t have what my parents had, I didn’t want it, and I was having way too much fun being young, single, and financially independent. Joe was the first man I’d allowed myself to think about a future with.
“Stupid,” I muttered to myself, refusing to cry, though my eyelids prickled. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
I’d known better than to get involved, known better than to let my guard down. That’s what men did, Evan had said, and he was right—it was exactly what my high-school boyfriend had done with Cindy the cheerleader. They’d gotten their just deserts, though, having been miserably married ever since. Hah! Take that, Erik!
I’d dodged a bullet with Erik Mitchell, and I’d probably just dodged another one with Joe.
But my heart, the stupid wimp that it was, didn’t believe that.
I pulled into my driveway, and my wimpy heart gave a leap—there was someone on my front porch. He was sitting on the steps, actually, and rose to his feet at the sound of my car.
It was, unfortunately, the person I least wanted to see: a fourteen-year-old kid named Josh Rayburn.
Caught completely off guard, I wasn’t sure what to do—get out, stay in the car, call the police. The fate Selene had in store for this kid fit his angry misfit image, and, let’s face it, he was a thief. He’d stolen my car.
He was wearing the exact same clothes I’d seen him in twice before, and he looked thin, apprehensive, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
Taking a deep breath, I consoled myself with the thought that if I really had to, I could probably kick his ass. I was a healthy twenty-nine-year-old woman, and he was a scrawny fourteen-year-old kid.
“Please don’t call the police.” Josh held up his hands and stayed way back, but I could hear him through the car window. “I’m not here to cause trouble, I promise.”
“Why are you here?” I frowned at him from the front seat, making a point to not sound too friendly. He’d been pretty rude to me at the police station, and helping him would most likely bring an avalanche of trouble down on my head. “What do you want?”
“I…” He hesitated. “I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten in two days.”
My heart sank. Trust the kid to pick the one thing that would make it the hardest to turn him away. He did look hungry. Starving, in fact.
“I’m sorry I stole your car, I really am,” Josh said, through the window. “I’ve never done anything like that before. I was upset. Listen, I don’t even have to come in. If you could just give me a jar of peanut butter or something…”
With a sigh, I leaned my head against the steering wheel.
“I’ll be gone in five minutes, I swear,” he said, lying his skinny little ass off, because I knew, as hungry as he was, he wasn’t here for peanut butter.
He was here because of his mom.
And because no matter how much I wanted to avoid who I was, fate always managed to find me.
I should call the police. I should get this kid out of my yard, and out of my life. Maybe then Selene would let me have Joe back, and life would go back to normal.
And then evil would win, and I’d have to live with the consequences.
Shit.
I opened the car door and got out, watching him warily.
He wrapped bony arms around himself and stepped back, making no threatening moves.
Face to face, I could see what I hadn’t seen before: he was pale and exhausted, the dark rings beneath his eyes darker than they were the day before. I realized instantly that he’d probably run again as soon as his stepdad brought him home, and had probably been out all night in the cold.
“There are groceries in the trunk,” I said gruffly. “Bring them in, and if you touch me, you die.” I held up my pepper spray to show I meant business.
The kid’s eyes got big, just for a second, and I was satisfied that he took me seriously, because I meant it. I was sick and tired of having to protect myself from men these days—I almost welcomed a chance to use the spray.
Five minutes later he was sitting at my kitchen table having his second peanut butter sandwich and his second glass of milk. “Got any Red Bull?” he asked, his mouth full.
“Yes, but you can’t have it,” I answered calmly, no longer seriously worried he was going to do anything stupid. Josh was far more interested in food than in proving himself a tough guy. He was scrawny, pale, and had a habitual hunch—probably spent way too much time playing video games. “Now tell me what you’re doing here. How did you know where I lived?”
Josh looked away, chewing, as he answered. “Your registration. In the glove box.”
Of course.
“Why are you here? Does your dad know where you are?” I needn’t have bothered with the second question, since I already knew the answer, so I repeated the first one. “Why are you here?”
“You said you knew my mom.” He put down his sandwich, staring at this plate. “You talked about her like—”
Like she was alive. He couldn’t bring himself to say it, but I knew that’s what he was thinking.
“You said you had something important to tell me, something my mom wanted me to know.”
Juvenile delinquent in training or not, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Beneath the drama, the dyed hair, and the eyebrow ring, he was just a kid who missed his mom.
Since I understood the feeling all too well, my heart went out to him. But, having once been a juvenile delinquent in training myself, I knew sympathy was not the only thing Josh needed right now. A solid dose of honesty over his mother’s death might help him cope, and it didn’t look like he had anyone else to talk to—he and his stepdad obviously had some communication issues.
I had to admit, I was afraid. Did I really want to get involved? Whatever relationship I had with Joe was hanging by a thread, and Selene had made it clear that she held a very sharp pair of scissors.
If Joe’d had a chance to avoid another Columbine, would he take it, no matter what it cost him personally?
He would, because that’s what heroes do.
It truly sucked to be me right now.
“You’re going to have a hard time believing what I’m about to tell you,” I said, rising from the table to pour him another glass of milk. I wasn’t going to tell him all of it, of course—there was no need for him to know about the Darkness or how his mother hid from it. That story wasn’t over yet, and I didn’t know its ending.
“Sometimes I see the spirits of the dead,” I said bluntly. “Sometimes they talk to me.” I snagged him a banana from the counter on my way back to the table with the milk, and put both in front of him.
The look he was giving me was skeptical, but I could see a faint glimmer of hope in it. “So, you’re what…like a psychic or something?”
Since my fondest hope was to never be taken as a backroom Madame Zelda, I answered flatly, “No. I just sometimes see the dead. Take it or leave it. Oh, and whatever I tell you doesn’t leave this room. Don’t you dare go back to school and tell your World of Warcraft buddies who I am, no matter how cool it might make you sound.”
He was silent, eyeing me as carefully as I eyed him. He nodded, and I went on.
“I was at the hospital the morning your mom died,” I said, deliberately trying to be as matter-of-fact as possible, though I knew it had to be hard for him to hear it. For Angie to accept her own death, Josh needed to accept it, and to quit running away from it. I kn
ew that instinctively, having run wild for a time myself after my parents died. “I saw her in the corridor. She was very, very sorry about what she’d done.”
Josh’s face screwed up with grief, mask of teenage coolness slipping, but I kept going. “She wanted you to know how much she loved you, and that she was sorry.”
“Why’d she do it, then?” His voice was strained. The look he gave me was desperate. “Why?”
My heart ached for him. “Depression is an illness,” I said softly. “It can be overwhelming.”
He cracked, bursting into noisy sobs, shoving aside his plate and burying his face into his crossed arms. His elbows were thin and dirty, and the sight of them made me blink back tears of my own.
“She didn’t used to be like that,” he sobbed, without lifting his head. “She used to be happy.” More sobbing, then he muttered, low beneath his breath, “It was my fault. She did it because of me.”
I went cold, hearing him blame himself that way. “What happened to your mother was not your fault,” I said firmly. “Don’t think that for a minute. She wouldn’t want you to think that.” No mother would. “She told me she wasn’t taking her medicine. It wasn’t your fault,” I repeated.
“You’re right,” he said, lifting his tear-streaked face to mine. “It’s not my fault, it’s his fault! They were always fighting!” The switch from grief to anger had been quick; Josh was glaring at me defiantly, as if waiting for me to argue.
I shook my head, wishing my old therapist, Ivy Jacobson, was here. “Your mom loved both of you, Josh,” was all I could say.
He didn’t answer me, putting his head back down on his arms so I couldn’t see his face.
“Your mom made a mistake,” I said, daring to touch him on the shoulder. His hair was dirty, and he smelled ripe—he’d been on the run for at least four days. “Everybody makes mistakes. You have to forgive her. In order for her to rest in peace, you have to forgive her.”
I sat with him for a while, saying nothing. When he got his emotions under control, he sat up, dragging a sleeve over his eyes.