Blitz (Emerald City/Black Family Saga Book 1)

by Scully, Felicia X.

  “Ray,” I stand in front of him now. “It’s okay. We found her. At least her last known address. It was registered with the state eight months ago.”

  “Why did she register her address with the state?”

  I drop my gaze to the floor. “Well…she…it looks like she may have had a little trouble with the law.” A little is a serious understatement, but now isn’t exactly the time to get into it.

  “Not again,” Ray breathes and sinks down into the armchair. “No, that doesn’t make sense either. If she’s been in jail all this time, they would have called our house. My parents would have known.”

  “Not if she’s over eighteen. Legally she’s an adult. They wouldn’t have to know a thing.”

  “What was she in for?”

  “Ray—”

  “I want to know. What did she do?”

  I close my eyes, the list of offenses fresh in my memory. “B&E, attempted assault, assault causing bodily harm, uttering death threats and…you know, it’s really not important. What’s important is that you found her. She’s okay. And, if you want, we can drive out there tomorrow to see her.”

  Did I just say ‘we’?

  Verbal diarrhea has kicked in again and I clench my teeth. This isn’t part of the deal and I don’t have time to spend the weekend in freaking Idaho. I need to get ahold of Reese’s black book. Make some calls. I’ve got Ray Carlson. Everyone’ll take me seriously now.

  “You’d do that? Come with me?”

  Well, the man did cook me lunch.

  “Sure.” I force the word out with a smile. “I will drive to Idaho with you. But I need to be back here by Monday. Can we make that happen?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ray

  I don’t know whether to be relieved or angry. I’ve spent the last few years of my life, living like a king. And Mariah…

  I hold my breath and do the best to compose myself as I reach out to grip the doorknob. I don’t want to come back here. Not after everything I found out today. I want to crawl inside a hole and feel sorry for myself. I want to sleep in my car. Or a ditch. Maybe under a bridge somewhere. Anywhere but here.

  The porch light flicks on and the doorknob slips from my hands. My mom stands on the other side of the threshold a concerned expression washed over her face.

  “Where on earth have you been?” She ushers me inside. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

  It’s barely after midnight. I’ve spent the last two hours at the Blarney Stone. And I would have stayed there too, drowning my guilt in another pitcher of lager, if it weren’t for tomorrow morning’s road trip.

  “I’m twenty-three years old, Auntie. You don’t have to treat me like a girl.”

  “Are you…?” She stands on her tiptoes to sniff my breath. “You’re drunk.”

  I step back, avoiding her, then make my way around her and toward the stairs.

  “Get out of those clothes,” she says. “And into the shower now, before your father comes out here and smells it all over you. Have you lost our mind coming home like that?”

  “I’m not drunk,” I insist. And I’m not. Not even close. With my frame I’d have to drink three pitchers to get to that point. I’ve never been more than a little cloudy a day in my life.

  Aunt Sheila marches toward the window and draws back the curtain. “And you drove home? Ray Carlson, have you—?”

  “I’m fine,” I snap, then rub my hands over my face. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have, but I have to go out of town tomorrow and I didn’t want leave my truck downtown.”

  “So you risked your life and the lives of god knows who else, just so you’d have a ride?”

  “I said I’m sorry.”

  “So am I, Ray. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.” She crosses her arms. “Where’ve you been anyway?”

  “With Sydney.” I tell her to make her angry. It’s vindictive and even a little immature, but the look that spreads across her face makes me feel a little better.

  It’s her fault Mariah left. They hated each other. It’s her fault. And she sits here in this house like a queen.

  “Don’t tell me you’re dating her now.”

  “She’s helping me.” I respond, not bothering to mask the harshness in my tone.

  “With what? Destroying your career?”

  I don’t give her the satisfaction of responding to her insult. I don’t care what she thinks anymore. I’ll do what I want. She’s going to be pissed when I tell her I’m signing with Reese Clarke. But she’ll get over it.

  “Where are you going?” she asks once she realizes she hasn’t fazed me.

  “To Moscow.” And with that I head up the stairs.

  “What’s in Moscow?”

  I turn halfway. I didn’t plan on telling them until I knew for sure. In my head, I planned a nice reunion. At least between three of us. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe after all these years, my aunt and my sister will have put their past behind them. “I think I may have found Mariah.”

  She gasps and I turn to regard an unexpected expression.

  “Aren’t you happy about that?” I ask, my voice rising.

  “I just didn’t think…you never said you were still looking.”

  “Of course I’m still looking. She’s my little sister and I haven’t seen her in years. She’s out there somewhere all by herself while we live it up without a care in the world. What kind of brother would I be if I wasn’t still looking?”

  She lowers her voice. “Ray, you’d be just who you are. A good man. A caring person. We looked for that girl for weeks with no success. Some people just don’t want to be found.”

  “Weeks? You said you told me you looked for two years. That’s what you said.” My voice is growing louder now and I bound back down the stairs to stand in front of her. “What do you mean weeks?”

  My aunt backs up, her chin still level as she stares into my eyes. “We looked for as long as our budget would allow. We couldn’t spend every cent we had. We reported it to the police and let them do their job. She was eighteen, Ray.”

  “Oh, and a hell of a job they did huh?” I am yelling now and Dad is sure to appear at any minute, but I don’t care. They lied to me. All this time my sister has been in and out of jail, living a crappy life and they didn’t even bother to try and save her. “And you’re worried about money? What about this house, huh? You could’ve sold it. Did you think of that?”

  “Ray. This house…” She touches my arm.

  But I shrug her off. “No. Don’t touch me.” I hold my head between my hands like it’ll keep every messy emotion from spilling out, but all I can feel is the rapid rhythm of my heart in my temples.

  Every ounce of guilt I’ve been feeling. The small bouts over the years and the ones so heavy I feel like I’m drowning—like today—they’ve all been warranted. I’ve been happy, while she’s been suffering. Mariah. My little sister. The only real family I have left.

  “I have to get out of here.” My voice sounds hoarse as I drag myself toward the door.

  “Ray, no. You’ve been drinking.”

  And I could use another drink. Many more. I glance toward the curio cabinet in the corner of the dining room and trudge over, yanking the door open. The dishes inside clink together, as the fragile piece of furniture quivers. In the center of the top shelf is the gift Sydney sent a few weeks back. Before I knew her, what her name was and what she would do for me. I grip the black bottle, running my fingers over the crystal studs. Then without another word, I brush past Aunt Sheila and back out into the damp night.

  I knock on the door once more and let out a heavy sigh. Why did I come here? It was impulsive and stupid. I barely know this girl and I bang down her door in the middle of the night because I got in a fight with my parents?

  “Who is it?” From the other side, Sydney sounds unsure.

  I squeeze my eyes closed and clear my throat. “It’s, uh, Ray.”

  There is a shuffling sound and then a curse.
“Just a second,” she calls.

  I shouldn’t have come. I could’ve crashed at Jimmy’s place. It’s paid up for another month and he gave me the key. I could have parked my truck down the street and slept in there too. But no, I drive for thirty minutes and come here. She’s going to think I’m a freak. I’ve already embarrassed her enough today by buying groceries.

  I smack myself on the forehead, an over-emphasized gesture that echoes through the hallway. Why did I buy her groceries? And cook?

  The downside of drinking is that it gives me clarity. Most people would argue that I just think I’m more level headed after a few beers, but I actually am. When I drink and think, I come up with a lot of reasons I should just stay behind a closed door and never show my face. Ever.

  Some people think I’m a saint. A good guy that’s always looking out for people and is pretty much selfless. That’s only partly true. I do nice things to make me feel better. Then sometimes I go overboard and it results in a situation I find myself in now.

  The door swings open and I stand to attention, trying to force a neutral expression on my face. “Hey,” I say.

  Sydney stands there in a thin white tank top, and a pair of shorts that shows most of her legs.

  “Hey,” she says. “You forget something?”

  “Uh…no. I was…I was driving around…um…” That’s it Ray go with that. You didn’t come all the way out just to see her. You were in the neighborhood. “Uh, in the neighborhood. And…” You looked up at her window. “I saw your light on.”

  The last part comes out as more of a question than a statement and Sydney smirks.

  Screw it.

  “You want to blow through four thousand dollars with me?” I hold up the bottle of Lordanov with a grin.

  “Well, come on in.” Sydney steps to the side.

  Sydney lies across the futon on her stomach and I lean my back up against it, legs stretched out in front of me.

  “I’m thinking it’s time I get that tattoo,” I say.

  She fills a Styrofoam cup halfway and passes it to me. “Oh, yeah? Of what?”

  “Was thinking maybe Shannon, my mother’s name. Names are kind of lame, overdone and everything, but I don’t know, it’s got meaning.”

  “Sure does. And you could always do something cool, like the letters in a hidden picture. A vine maybe. Or even better, a football, with her autograph instead of yours. I’m sure you could find a copy of her signature somewhere.”

  “That’s a great idea.” I bring the cup to my nose and sniff once. “I’m going to be honest. I’ve never come this close to hard liquor before.”

  She holds her cup toward me and I meet her halfway. “Well there’s no time like the present.”

  I watch as she brings the cup to her mouth, downing it in a few quick seconds. She frowns, then bobs her head and reaches for the bottle. “Oh, yeah. Worth every penny. Go ahead. What’re you waiting for?”

  I tilt the cup forward slowly; the aroma burns my nose and makes me tear up.

  “How have you never had vodka? Did you actually go to college or is it just a cover story for four years of Bible camp?”

  “I drink beer,” I blink the water from my eyes.

  “Gross,” Sydney comments, taking another drink from her cup.

  “You asked for a glass just the other night.”

  “That’s different. I was already drunk. Otherwise I can’t stand the taste of that crap.”

  I rest my untouched cup down beside me. “Well I like the taste just fine. And it doesn’t get me drunk. Just makes me feel nice.”

  Sydney cocks her head to the side. Then she hops off the futon and settles down cross-legged next to me. “All right, on the count of three,” she nods toward my cup. “You ready. One,” she says.

  I pick the cup up and bring it to my lips.

  “Two.”

  I close my eyes.

  “Three.”

  Though it’s pretty much room temperature the liquid feels cold on my tongue. At first it burns but as it travels down my throat and spreads out in my chest it switches to warm. And a tingle runs up my spine. I grind my molars and fight against a shudder. “W—wow.” I take a deep breath through my nose. “How do you drink this stuff?”

  Sydney laughs. “You get use to it. Besides this is nothing. This is the good stuff.” She tops up our cups despite my hand of protest. “To sisters, cousins, moms and dads.”

  I can’t leave a toast like that hanging, so I join her, tilting my head back and allowing the drink to easily slip down my throat. This time I only flinch a little.

  “How’d you end up here?” I ask.

  She leans her head on the mattress and swivels it to look up at me. “In Washington?”

  “Yeah. I mean Sweetwater to Seattle is a big change.”

  “One I needed,” she responds with a soft sigh. “I just needed to get away. After…dad.”

  “I know what you mean.” I couldn’t wait to leave Idaho knowing what had happened to my parents. Knowing the history that place held. It was like being haunted everyday of my life. Living in my great-grandmother’s house, seeing pictures of my mom everywhere. And not a word about my dad. It was like living in the middle of a mystery. Mariah was the opposite. She loved living on that farm, in that tiny little house away from civilization. But I couldn’t even stand to breathe the air there anymore. “Bad memories,” I add.

  “Good ones too. Mostly good ones.” She raises her head up and swivels her whole body, propping herself up on one arm. “You are the only one I’m telling this to, so you have to swear—”

  “I’d never. You can trust me.”

  She pauses, licks her lips then smiles. “Thanks.”

  I nod for her to continue.

  “I didn’t leave Sweetwater because it was too country and I’m a city girl at heart. Okay, I am a city girl at heart, but I didn’t know that until I got here. I left because…I didn’t want to think about my dad every day for the rest of my life. And, yes, part of me was afraid I’d live out my days as some guys housewife and never live up to my true potential, but mostly I just couldn’t get him off my mind. Everywhere I looked, everything I touched, reminded me of my dad and I couldn’t take it anymore.”

  I reach out and take her hand. Her fingers squeeze mine and she continues.

  “He died broke, you know. Most people don’t know that. It wasn’t his fault. Not really. He was fifty-six. And up until that point, he worked his ass off. But he spoiled my mom. Bought her anything she wanted. Then out of the blue he has a massive heart attack and everything changes. He was a Texas Ranger. Which was so cool. You know what it’s like to tell people your daddy’s a Texas Ranger.” Sydney chuckles. “Instant popularity, that’s what it’s like.” She lets out a shaky sigh and releases my hand to pour herself another drink. “Of course he had to retire. And he got his pension but medical bled us dry. My mom was determined for him to get better. She wanted to try everything. Every medication, every surgery. By the time we buried him we had nothing but the house. We won’t sell. We can’t. So she ran away to Florida. I swear it’s the only reason she married that man. And me? Well, obviously I don’t want to live there. So it’s…just there.”

  “Jeez,” I say. I don’t know how else to respond.

  Sydney takes a swig of her drink then reaches over to top me up. “Alright, enough of this weepy talk. We’re supposed to be drowning our sorrows not fishing for ‘em.”

  By the fourth drink, twenty minutes later, I feel like seasoned pro, but when I reach for more, the bottle is empty.

  “Didn’t I tell you you’d get the hang of it?” Sydney asks, with a giggle. “Shoot,” she adds. “We just blew four thousand dollars.”

  We’re both lying on our backs, staring up at the ceiling, which I’m pretty sure is starting to spin. As usual my senses are heightened. I feel and hear everything—Sydney’s breath on my cheek when she turns to say something, the sound of both our hearts beating, the feeling of the hard floor be
neath my back.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I feel…I don’t know what I feel.” Despite my improved senses, my tongue is swollen and my eyes are droopy. I push up to a sitting position and my head begins to swim. “Damn,” I squeeze my eyes shut waiting for the world to stand still again.

  “Drunk much?” Sydney laughs.

  I rise to my feet. “I don’t get—”

  Sydney catches me as I stumble forward. “Drunk?” she asks. ”You’re drunk now soldier.”

  I reach out for the bed, stumbling into it and fall onto my back. “Oh, no,” I groan, closing my eyes again to slow the constant spins. “This feels really wrong.”

  “Just give it a minute,” Sydney says from somewhere in the room. “Once it settles you’ll be alright.”

  How this little bit of a woman isn’t knocked out right now is beyond me. She’s less than half my size and seems totally unaffected.

  I lie there, my mind starting to run wild again. But it isn’t the clarity that comes with a pitcher of beer, it’s a million thoughts swirling around, crashing into each other. And making a colossal mess.

  I shouldn’t be here. That sentiment is stronger than all the others. Not because I’ll embarrass myself further than I already have, but because I really want to be here. I haven’t felt this normal in a long time. I sneak a glance at Sydney. She’s chewing on the rim of her cup and staring off into space.

  “What are you thinking about?” I ask.

  Her gaze meets mine and she smiles. It hits me in the center of my chest and I have to force myself to look away.

  “Life. Crazy, unpredictable, anti-death.” She snickers. “What about you?”

  “I’m thinking I’m glad I came here instead of crashing at Jimmy’s place, or in my truck. I like being here. With you.”

  That didn’t just happen. I stare at her, wide-eyed, hoping I’ve only said that in my head. But it’s clear by the way she shifts in place, that she’s heard every word.

  “I didn’t mean…”