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by David C. Cassidy


  “Like I need a translation.”

  “… Sorry.”

  She looked at him soberly. “Get rid of your gun. Please.”

  “Mar! I wouldn’t hurt him. Ever. You have to know that.”

  “I know you wouldn’t. But every last one of these premonitions has come true. For all we know, he could have a freak accident.”

  “But we don’t even know if it’s my gun. It could be anyone’s.”

  “Are you willing to take that chance? I’m begging you, please get rid of it.”

  “Listen,” he said, placing a hand on hers. “There’s no way he’s getting his hands on that gun again. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to your son.”

  Marisa dropped her gaze, then looked up at him. “Our son.”

  ~ 145

  For the longest time, Jared sat perfectly still with a blank look on his face. He wasn’t sure he had heard right. Wasn’t sure that his brain was able to process those two simple words. Words that held the power to change everything in a New York minute.

  “Say something,” Marisa pleaded. “Scream if you want.”

  He said nothing. He was numb.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Do you hate me?”

  “No. No. God, no. I just … why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wanted to. I so wanted to. I was afraid. I was so hurt, so confused when you left. I knew it was wrong not to tell you. But all I wanted to do was move on. And no matter how this might sound, I didn’t want to hold you back. I didn’t want to get in the way of your dreams.”

  “And Kit?”

  “I know,” she said. “I had no right keeping it from him. I live with that choice every day. Every night before I fall asleep. It breaks my heart.”

  He put a hand to her cheek where a tear had formed a thin golden line. “So where do we go from here?”

  “I don’t know. If I tell him, he might never forgive me.”

  “Something tells me he would. His father has.”

  Marisa cried. Happy tears. “I love you, Jared Cole.”

  He kissed her. “It’s all okay, Mar. We’re all in this together now. We’re family.”

  “Is that a proposal?”

  “No. A promise.”

  “Jared … I—” She stopped.

  “It’s okay,” he said, dispirited. “We don’t have to get married.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what?”

  “… It’s … it’s Judd.”

  “What about him? Did he … did he tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “He’s dying, Mar. Cancer.”

  “Oh my god,” she said. “When I saw him, I thought he looked ill. But he never said a word. I’m so sorry.”

  “What were you going to tell me?”

  Again she hesitated.

  “Marisa? We had a deal, remember? No secrets.”

  “No secrets,” she echoed. She stirred, clearly anxious.

  Jared pulled back, realizing. “You … you and Judd?”

  “Jared—”

  He waved her off. Had to process this before he said something he’d regret. Anger and hurt swallowed him. “When?”

  “Sorry?”

  “When, damn it.”

  “A long time ago,” she said. “It was only a few dates. It—”

  “When.”

  “… Not long after you left.”

  “Did you sleep with him?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Did … you … sleep … with him?”

  “… Yes.”

  “So how do you know I’m Kit’s father? Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I found out I was pregnant two weeks after you left. Judd and I … that came after.”

  Jared shook his head angrily. “Why?”

  “What?”

  “Why him? Why?”

  “What are you saying? It wasn’t to get back at you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I didn’t say that. You did.”

  “Don’t do that, Jared. No word play. Not with this. I was alone. Afraid. My heart was crushed.”

  He wanted to lash out, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t blame her. If anything, this was his doing.

  “I never meant to hurt you, Jared.”

  He sighed deeply. “I know. And neither did I.”

  She gazed into his eyes. “So: A promise, huh?”

  They went to kiss, and his eyes ballooned. A disturbing groan slipped from his lips as pain exploded in the back of his head.

  “Jared!”

  He tried to rise from his chair, only to double over as he stood. Marisa shot out of her seat to hold him, but it was too late. He crumpled to the floor in a heap, coughing up blood. A trickle slid from his eyes, and a thin crimson line ran from his left nostril. His body screamed as if something inside was tearing his bones and his flesh apart, as if some rabid beast was trying to claw free of its human prison. He had no will to fight, no strength to resist, and all he could do was endure. He tried to clutch Marisa’s hand, to hold it for dear life, but when the room spun and her screams began to fade, so did the light.

  ~ 146

  The first thing Jared saw when he came to was the terror in Marisa’s eyes. She was holding him, her hands splattered with blood. He tried to move, but the pain in his body had other ideas. She helped him sit up.

  “Hang on,” she said. “Jesus.” She got some paper towels and cleaned the dribble of blood beneath his eyes, then the mess on his chin and throat. The rest she wiped from the floor before cleaning her hands, and then she tossed the towels into a receptacle under the sink. “Can you stand?”

  “Gimme a hand.” He slumped into his chair, and Marisa took her seat.

  “Talk to me,” she said.

  Jared groaned, rubbing his temples. His eyes were still burning. “Did you get the license plate of the Mack truck that hit me?”

  “What the hell just happened?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “We need to get you to a doctor. And no excuses.”

  “No.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “What’s the point? You and I both know there’s not a damn thing they can do.”

  “Fine. Right. So now what? You just wait for the bitter end?”

  “How long was I out?”

  “Ugh. You give stubborn a whole new meaning.” She paused, clearly frustrated with him. “I don’t know. Ten seconds. Maybe fifteen.”

  He looked at her gravely. “This was different than before. Different than my other blackouts.”

  “How?”

  “I didn’t hear any words in my head, for one.”

  “No monster thoughts?”

  “No. So I’m guessing that Kit didn’t have a seizure.”

  “Like Friday. When that thing went after him in the crowd.”

  “Maybe you should call him. Right now.”

  She called the hospital, and Kit answered when the call was forwarded. Marisa told him she just wanted to see how he was doing, and that she missed him. When she hung up, she seemed as relieved as Jared was.

  “He’s fine, thank God.” She regarded Jared with concern. “So what else was different?”

  “The rage. Cold, directed anger. Like it had someone specific in mind.”

  “But not Kit.”

  “No. But who, I have no idea.”

  “That’s scary. We don’t even have a premonition to go on. Not that we could do anything about it.”

  “I know. But there’s something else.”

  “What?”

  Jared paused. It was there in his mind, hovering like a dark specter. He couldn’t bridge his feelings to words. Ironically, words had always been his strength as a writer. Now even that was failing him.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “It was like something was trying to claw its way out of me. Forgive the poor description, but it’s all I’ve got. It’s like the feeling you get when you’ve
been sick for a while and you finally throw up.”

  She grimaced. “Relief?”

  He had to laugh, but his laughter dwindled quickly. “Sorry for my bad metaphor. This was more like—”

  Again, he could not put a finger on it. What he had to be thinking just couldn’t be right. Not with the rage.

  “Jared?”

  “It’s crazy,” he said. “It’s crazy.”

  “Just tell me.”

  It was there—at least the feeling was. It was almost as if he had experienced another gateway, not with Kit, not with anyone—but with something. And while that something had experienced the rage, it had also experienced something very different—just as Kyle Duncan had experienced bliss. Bliss to the hundredth power. Biblical.

  He shrugged, reaching for a word. “Rapture.”

  “Rage and rapture? You’re joking, right?”

  “I wish I was. But that’s what it was. Everything in me tells me that. Whatever came through that gateway is savage. Brutal. And as nuts as it sounds, it seems that it’s brimming with some kind of overwhelming elation.”

  “Elation? Over what?”

  “Like it knows something we don’t. Like it’s so close to the brass ring, it can taste it.”

  “The brass ring?”

  “I hope to hell I’m wrong,” he said. “But I can’t shake the feeling that the longer it’s here—in this world—the harder it’s going to be to send it packing. And it knows it.”

  ~ 147

  Henry Judge stepped out onto his backyard deck at half past five in the afternoon. In one hand he held a plate of seasoned steaks and kababs; in the other, a stainless steel two-pronged fork. He wore a cooking apron that read Don’t mess with the CHEF. Catherine had given it to him five years ago on his fifty-ninth birthday.

  His wife of thirty-three years sat at a round glass table under the shade of a sprawling lavender umbrella. She sipped an iced tea while reading a dog-eared copy of Luscious. Her big sunglasses only added to the allure that had attracted Henry—hooked, more accurately—the second he’d laid eyes on her when she’d walked into Kenzie’s. The old tavern was still out near the tracks on the south side, but boy did it show its years—unlike this beautiful flower before him. Catherine looked as young and as vibrant as a sunrise. To this day he could never figure what a gem like her, with gams like that, ever saw in a pudgy mug like him.

  “How can you read that stuff?” Henry said. “And haven’t you read that one before?”

  Catherine looked up from her book. “It’s good stuff. You should at least give it a try. But you won’t.”

  “You know I won’t,” Henry said. “He’s no John Grisham.”

  “No, he’s Jared Cole. You’d better get used to that.”

  “Hmph. I still don’t get why he changed his name like that. It’s not right.”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “Pink’s my business.” He corrected himself. “Our business.”

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sake. She’s our daughter. Not our business. She grew up, Henry.”

  “I’m just sayin’, is all. Tell me you’re not worried.”

  “Of course I am. But the fact is, she’s a big girl and can take care of herself. And really? It’s not like she lives across the country if she needs us.”

  He winced a bit.

  “Another headache?” Catherine asked.

  Henry heard the worry in her voice. “Just the heat.” He moved away from the grill just to drive the lie home. He feared this one was going to grow into a doozy. He’d taken an Advil an hour ago, knowing full well it wouldn’t help. He smiled pleasantly.

  “You’re not fooling anyone,” she said. “Take some Advil, okay? And for God’s sake, call Dr. Vogel and make an appointment.”

  “The man’s a Nazi.”

  Catherine rolled her eyes. “Just call him tomorrow, will you?”

  “It’ll pass.”

  “You’re as stubborn about doctors as Jared. Pretend all you want, but you two aren’t so different.” She went back to her book with an impish grin.

  “Hmph.” Henry changed the subject. “Did you get the salad ready?”

  Catherine didn’t look up. “I’ll make it in a few minutes. The steaks won’t be done for a while, I see.”

  “Hey, I been busy seasoning.” Henry set down the steaks and kabobs on the side tray of the barbecue. He checked the temperature of the grill. Almost there. He turned to Catherine. “You gonna call her?”

  “No,” she said, turning a page.

  Henry turned up the heat a notch and set the fork beside the steaks. He sighed.

  “Oh, Henry. She’ll call if something’s wrong.”

  Marisa had called yesterday after the incident with Bobby Duncan. Henry had answered, and he’d had to calm his little girl down. He’d offered to come over, but Marisa had insisted she was all right. That fear in her voice was the same fear she’d had as that tiny angel who had always needed his hugs, just before he’d turned off her bedroom light for the night. “Do you think Pink’s okay?”

  Catherine set down her book. “You know I don’t.”

  “You should call.”

  “Would you stop? She’ll call if—”

  The phone rang.

  ~ 148

  Henry Judge gave his wife a harried look—the same look she was giving him. The phone rang again, and Catherine picked up.

  “Pinky?”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “What is it?”

  “Is it that obvious?” Marisa said.

  Henry motioned to Catherine with raised brows. Is she okay?

  Catherine shook her head. She put Marisa on the speaker.

  “Pink, what’s wrong?” Henry said. “Don’t tell me something else has gone south.”

  “Nothing, Dad. I mean, I’m okay. But Kit’s in the hospital.”

  “What?” Catherine and Henry said in stereo.

  “He had an accident at school,” Marisa said. “He fell and sprained his ankle. He’ll be okay. He had a mild concussion, and—”

  “Concussion? How’d that happen?” Henry said.

  “He’s okay, Dad. They just want to keep him overnight to keep an eye on him. That’s all.”

  “How did he fall?” Catherine said.

  “I don’t really know,” Marisa said. “He just fell.”

  “You two need a rabbit’s foot,” Henry said. “You need something.”

  “Stop worrying,” Marisa said. “Mom? Is everything okay there?”

  “Of course, Pink.”

  “No more calls?”

  “No.”

  “Thank God for that,” Henry said.

  “We should visit Christian, Henry.”

  “I just got the barbecue ready.”

  “We can get take-out, so—”

  “Mom? Dad? It’s okay, you don’t have to go to the hospital. He’s going to be fine. Have your dinner. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Henry said. He knew his little girl. Something was on her mind, but she didn’t want to share. He prodded Catherine with a look.

  “Okay,” Catherine said. “Is Jared with you?”

  “Yes. He’s here.”

  “Say hi to him for us.”

  “I will.”

  “Pink?” Henry said.

  “Dad?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. And you too, Mom.”

  “Me, too, Pinky.”

  Marisa said goodbye and hung up.

  “Something’s wrong,” Henry said. “She was never a good liar.”

  “Do you think we should speak with Christian?”

  “I think it’s best we leave him be,” Henry said. “But I think it’s high time I had a man-to-man with Jared.”

  Catherine nodded acceptingly. “Try not to be too hard on him.” She got up and huddled up to Henry. She gave him a peck on the cheek and rubbed his ample belly. “You’re so sexy when you get all serious and stuff.” She went inside.

  Hen
ry checked the temperature of the barbecue. Just past four hundred. He threw the steaks and kababs on the grill, and began to wonder about his daughter. More precisely, about her boyfriend. He’d never been fond of him—he could never trust those artsy types. Besides, facts were facts as his father used to say, and the fact was that right now, the man was more of a mystery than anything else. Things were happening in town—bad things, really bad things—and no matter how many times you tossed that dirty penny into the air, it always came up with Jared Collado’s head. Somehow he was tied up in all of it, but for his little girl’s sake, he just didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to believe what his own eyes had told him. He had seen the bodies flying around. Had seen Jared turn into some kind of monster.

  What the hell was happening to him? What the hell was happening, period?

  He’d confront Jared tomorrow. Marisa would be at work, and he’d take the Impala out to Jared’s place in the morning. Surprise, surprise. Collado was slick with words, could twist them six ways to Sunday, and the last thing he wanted was to give him time to come up with some cockamamie story. What he wanted was the truth. The facts.

  If he got just a whiff of bullshit, that was it. He’d pack Collado’s bags for him and tell him to hit the road. He’d promised Jared that if he hurt Pink again, their next encounter wouldn’t be anywheres near as pleasant as their little reunion at the park, and he meant that exactly. Sure, maybe Kate was right, maybe it wasn’t his place, but he’d be damned if he just zipped his pie-hole and let it go. At this moment Collado was next of kin to chaos, and ever since he brought his sorry ass back to Torch Falls, chaos was the word of the day. People were acting all kindsa crazy, people were getting hurt—killed—and from where he stood, it was only a matter of time before things got completely out of control. There was something going on in this town, something wicked, and sure as shit it had everything to do with Jared Collado. And it had to be stopped.

  He still had the old man’s Colt .22. It was safely tucked away in the basement, in that old shoe box where he kept his “important papers.” Kate didn’t know, and she didn’t have to. And she didn’t have to know now.

  She also didn’t have to know about the melon of a tumor growing in his brain. He had maybe four months according to that quack Vogel, and if there was one thing he was going to do before they stuffed him into a pine box, it was to make sure that Jared Collado didn’t ruin his little girl’s life. She’d been through shit and back with him way back when, and now she was up to her nose in it. And if that weren’t enough, she had a son—his precious grandson—to look out for. Steps had to be taken.

 

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