“A couple of times Chuck told me that if anything bad happened, I should cut all ties with wherever we were living. Just get as far away from my job or the house as fast as I could, destroy my cell phone because ‘they can track that’, and cut up all my credit cards. He said he could find me wherever I went—that he had his ‘ways’, or something.” She clicked her tongue and let out a short laugh. “He only talked like that when he was tanked, though, so I thought it was just the beer talking. He was always reading up on those online conspiracy theories that no one really takes seriously.”
“Everyone has quirks,” I said by way of consolation.
She paused in thought. “Since our parents died when we were kids, it was just the two of us. I’m sure he felt the responsibility of being the older one. He always took care of things for us. I thought it just got too much for him once in a while.”
“Do you think this might be the real reason you guys move around so much?” I asked. “I know it’s probably none of my business, but—”
Stacy nodded. “It’s possible. Truth is, before I met you, I never really got too close to anyone. Sure, I make a lot of friends wherever we are, but nothing that kept me from going along with Chuck when he said we had to move to another city for a new job of his.” She took a deep breath. “Maybe it was because he was close to getting caught. I don’t know. I guess in the back of my mind, I knew something was up, but I didn’t really want to believe it.”
I put my hand on hers. “I’m sorry, Stace. Really.” When she looked up at me, I could see tears forming in the corner of her eyes. I said, “We’ll figure out a way to find him.”
Taking her cell phone out of her pocket, she clicked one of the buttons to bring up her contact list.
“I thought you were supposed to destroy that, from what Chuck told you.”
Laughing, Stacy said. “That’s just too paranoid for me.” With that, she auto-dialed and put the cell phone to her ear. After a few seconds, her face darkened. Motioning to me with the phone, she said, “ ‘The number you have dialed is unavailable at this time.’ There isn’t even any voice mail.”
Sliding the front half of the phone up to reveal a keyboard, Stacy tapped out a message with her thumbs and sent it. “Worth a shot,” she said.
“What now?” I asked. “Just sit around and wait?”
“Maybe we don’t have to,” she said. With that, she dug through her purse for her key chain. Flipping through the keys, she found the one she was looking for and held it up.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Every time we came to a new city, Chuck would open a safety deposit box for all of our personal and financial information. Maybe he put something in the box that would help us find him.”
* * *
The one thing I knew was that I was past the point of exhaustion. Lack of sleep, combined with the adrenaline-fueled events of the past few hours would have been enough to overwhelm even the heartiest of people.
But my bone-numbing tiredness could not get me to stop thinking about that extra normal ability. What was that thing that had overtaken me? Was it a dormant part of me that had super powers? Or was it something else that had taken hold, like a virus? How come I had the eyes of an eagle now, when just a few hours ago, I had to wear very thick glasses? I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror. My cataracts had started to become noticeable in the last few years, forming a milky covering over my iris; now, my eyes were clear and bright.
It was real. I knew I hadn’t imagined my house in pieces, or my mother lying dead beneath the rubble. All of that was a direct result of this thing that had manifested in me in David Matheson’s office.
I couldn’t think clearly. All I knew was that we had to find Chuck, get as far away from Seattle as we could, and then I would sleep for a year.
I followed Stacy’s directions to the bank, all the while struggling to keep my eyes open, but I forced myself to stay alert, watching for either Al, or for any police that might be on the lookout for me. I didn’t know whether my parole officer had found out about my being fired yesterday. I was certain, now, that David would keep a lid on it—he obviously wanted to get me first—but I couldn’t take the chance. I made sure to avoid running red lights, speeding, or doing anything that would attract unwanted attention.
“It’s over here,” Stacy said.
Traffic in that area of the city was a nightmare at the best of times. It was just at the tail end of rush hour, and finding a spot to park proved tricky, but I persevered and saw a young man in a hoodie heading for a car up ahead. I slowed down, enduring the blaring horn from the driver behind me, and scooted in as soon as the young man left.
“I’ll wait here while you go in,” I said, putting the vehicle into park. “Last thing I want is to get my face on their security cameras.”
Stacy took a deep breath, set herself, and flashed me a hopeful smile. “I won’t be long.” With that, she got out and strode down the street toward the bank.
I schooled myself to remain vigilant. The odds of anyone knowing our location were slim, but if the events of the past few hours had taught me anything, it was that anything could happen.
Despite my efforts, however, I soon found my head nodding and my eyelids growing heavy. Before I knew it, I fell into what felt like the deepest and blackest sleep in my life.
My slumber lasted for about five minutes, because that’s when the patrol officer tapped the window with his baton.
Chapter Fifteen
I jerked upright and jammed my thigh on the steering wheel. Disoriented, I looked around wildly for a way to escape, but my seat belt was still fastened.
Looking across the passenger seat out of the window, the police officer, bending slightly at the waist, sported a grumpy expression. He mimed rolling down the passenger window.
I leaned over and did so.
“This is a loading zone, son. Ten-minute maximum. It’s not a camping site or a motel.”
“Uh,” I said. “I’m just waiting for my girlfriend.” I pointed toward the building. “She’s doing some banking. She’ll be back soon.”
“I need you to move your vehicle,” he said. “I won’t give you a ticket if you are in compliance.” With his baton, he motioned to the other side of the street. “There’s pay parking right over there, and metered parking at the end of the street.”
“Thank you, officer,” I said and fumbled for my keys. Starting the ignition, I waved at him. “I’m moving now.”
The relief I felt as he took a few steps away, resuming his patrol, was enough that I let out my breath loudly, unaware that I had been holding it.
Just as I put the car in gear, the officer turned around and put his hand up to stop me. He was looking at something at the front of the vehicle.
Silently cursing, I shut off the ignition.
Stepping back to the passenger window, he spoke to me in a more serious tone. “Please step out of the vehicle, sir.”
“Is everything all right, officer?” I asked, leaning over and talking through the open passenger window.
He glanced at me and then pointed at the front of the car. “Could you tell me what happened here?” he asked. It was more of an order than a question.
I felt my heart sinking and my stomach heaving at the same time. What the hell was he looking at? Briefly, I had a selfish notion to start the car and speed off, but I knew I wouldn’t get far, and I couldn’t just leave Stacy behind. She deserved better than that.
Reluctantly, I got out of the car and walked to the front of it to see what had caught the officer’s attention.
It was only when I was on the passenger side that I saw it. I hadn’t even realized it earlier, but the headlight was busted.
A broken headlight would ordinarily have been enough for any police officer to pull me over and give me a ticket or a warning, but what had the officer’s undivided attention was my mother’s cordless phone handset resting in the cavity of the light well.
“Ca
n you explain how that got there?” he asked me.
It must have happened during that tornado I had created after…
“Uh,” I said, and could feel my face flush as I struggled to come up with a plausible explanation.
The officer pulled his notebook from his belt. “I need to see your driver’s license, registration, and insurance, sir.”
The moment he saw my parole card, or called in my license, he would immediately contact my parole officer—and then it would all be over for me.
Again, I entertained thoughts of flight. As if he could sense something was up, the officer slid his baton back in his belt and then rested his hand on his sidearm. “Sir, I asked for your driver’s license, registration, and insurance.”
“Yeah,” I said, finding my voice. “It’s in the glove compartment.”
I paused long enough for him to nod for me to proceed, and stepped over and opened the passenger door. Opening the compartment, I made it look as if I were having trouble locating the documents while my overtired mind struggled for a way out of this situation.
“Is everything all right?” someone asked, and when I popped my head up, I saw Stacy approaching. She had a thick brown envelope tucked between her elbow and ribs.
“Ma’am,” the officer said. “Do you know this gentleman?”
“Of course.” Stacy looked back and forth between us. “He’s my boyfriend, Rich. What’s this all about?”
Now that part of my story had checked out, the officer seemed to relax a notch. “Traffic violation, ma’am. Your boyfriend has a busted headlight.” He pursed his lips. “And it looks like it was broken with a telephone.”
Stacy, to her credit, didn’t act surprised. Instead, she rolled her eyes and said, “I’m so sorry. That was me.” She waved her hand at me. “We had a little disagreement this morning about him being out all night. I’d been trying to call him, and when he finally came home, I guess I got a little carried away. We’ll get it fixed right away, officer.”
Nodding, the cop took his hand off his gun holster, but he still had his ticket book out. “I’m going to have to cite you for the headlight. You will have twenty-four hours to get it fixed and check in at your local police station.” He looked at me pointedly. “I’m still waiting for your driver’s license, registration, and proof of insurance, sir.”
For the briefest of moments, I had thought he would let us go with a verbal warning. There was no help for it. I had to give the police officer the information and hope that my parole officer wasn’t there when the patrolman called in.
“Found it,” I said, forcing some levity in my voice. Like a kid going to the dentist, I took as long as I possibly could to get out of the car.
In one hand, I had the car registration and insurance—both in my mother’s name—and with the other hand I reached back to pull out my wallet.
I gave Stacy a desperate look, but there was no more delaying the inevitable. Opening my wallet, I slid out my driver’s license and extended all three documents out the officer as if I were submitting the paperwork for my own execution.
The radio hanging off the officer’s utility belt squawked. He pulled it out and answered. “Templeton here. Over.”
Though garbled with static, I could still make out the operator’s words.
“We have an all-units alert. Assistance needed to divert traffic from on 224th between 34th and 46th. Over.”
“What’s the emergency? Over.”
“Someone reported that a tornado hit several houses in the area. Fire and Rescue are on scene. Hurry to location. Over.”
“Tornado?” He said it with genuine surprise.
“Affirmative. Over.”
“Acknowledged. On my way. Over.”
The officer clipped the radio to his belt and started walking back down the street to where his patrol car was parked. He pointed at my headlight as we hurried past and gave me a serious look.
He ordered, “Get that fixed.”
“Yes, sir. Right away.” I nodded to show that I was more than willing to comply with the order, all the while trying not to jump for joy.
He pointed to Stacy as he left. “And let her drive. You look like you’re dead on your feet, son.”
Stacy crossed the distance to me. We stood there together for a few moments while the police officer got into his car and took off, lights flashing.
“That was close,” I said, my voice coming out in a breathless rush. “You certainly can think fast.”
Stacy smiled. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know yet.” She cocked her head to the car. “What do you say we get out of here while we can?”
* * *
When I asked her where we were going, Stacy said, “I know a diner just outside the city. We can get a cup of coffee or something.” She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. “It’s about a half an hour away. Why don’t you lie back and take a power nap?”
I needed more than a few minutes, or even a couple of hours, of sleep. “I don’t think I can. My heart’s racing.” I pointed to the envelope Stacy had tucked between the seat and the gear panel of the car. “Anything in there that will help?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. There’s a ton of papers in there. I’ll have to go through them.”
It was then that I noticed a tear streaking down one of her cheeks, and I felt about an inch tall. Stacy had put on a brave face since I had come to after the destruction of my house, and seemed to have it all together.
Gingerly, I reached out my hand and lightly touched Stacy’s arm. “I’m sorry about … everything. We’ll find Chuck.”
At first, she stiffened at the contact, but then I could feel the shuddering sob she let out. Nodding, she gave me a smile. “I know. It’s just that we’ve never been separated before. If anything has happened to him, I don’t know what I would do.”
She fell silent then. I couldn’t think of anything to say to make her feel better.
So much had happened in such a short time, it was a wonder I had any ability to think at all.
Dimly, I wondered if I was still in shock about my mother. When I thought about it, my heart constricted and my stomach clenched. For some reason, I didn’t feel the acute grief I had expected. Guilt, yes, but maybe my mind wasn’t letting me process the reality of the loss. Although we had never had a close relationship, especially over the past ten years, we had had the same kind of bond that Stacy and Chuck shared: we only had each other in the world.
Now, she was gone.
I didn’t want to think about it, and shut my eyes against the thoughts.
When I opened them again, it was because Stacy was gently shaking my arm.
“We’re there. Let’s get some late breakfast.”
Chapter Sixteen
My senses were muddy, and for a moment, I couldn’t figure out where I was or who I was with. Past the point of exhaustion, my body wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but I willed myself to open my eyes and get my bearings.
Stacy grabbed the envelope and her purse, and stepped out of the car. A moment later, I did the same, and raised my arms over my head in a stretch that lasted longer than I had expected.
The Pacific Station Diner wasn’t a building. It was a converted railroad car with a large neon sign fixed to the roof. A quick glance at the field running along the highway showed an abandoned railroad track. I had seen several railroad car diners, but had never eaten at one before.
Half a mile to the south, there was a trailer park and several homes scattered on either side of the highway; not enough to be considered more than a hamlet. I assumed it was mostly housing for one of the industrial parks in the area.
As I followed Stacy inside, I asked, “Where are we?”
“I worked here for a few weeks when we first came to Seattle. It was the only place hiring at the time, but the commute was killing me.”
I frowned. “What if someone recognizes you?”
Stacy smiled back at me as she le
d me to one of the open booths. “I hope they do. If Chuck comes here, they can tell him we were here.” She sat down and plucked the menu from between the condiment tray and the wall.
“But what about…?” I asked as I took my place opposite her.
In a low voice, she said, “The cops aren’t looking for me. And your ‘friends’ couldn’t possibly figure out where we are.”
I couldn’t have argued with the logic, even if I had full command of my faculties.
A waitress wearing a white apron over her faded yellow uniform stepped up and asked, “Can I take your order?” A moment later her voice changed. “Stacy? How are you? Long time!”
“Nanette! You’re still working here?” Stacy said. “Is Terry still making you work doubles every Friday?”
Making a hissing noise, Nanette said, “No one else is dumb enough to work it. It’s good to see you. Just passing through?”
“Day trip,” Stacy said and pointed to me. “Giving the grand tour of my past.”
“Ah.” The waitress gave me a smile and winked. “She’s a keeper, you know.”
“Yes,” I said, not sure what else to say. “I’m a lucky man.”
Nanette nodded in agreement. “What can I get you two?”
Stacy ordered us eggs and toast, and two cups of coffee. When Nanette left to place the order, Stacy put the brown envelope from the safety deposit box on the table and opened it.
Pulling out a stack of documents, she quickly sifted through them. Reading upside-down, I saw birth certificates, death certificates (I assumed for their parents), a life-insurance policy, a stock certificate, and several paper-framed family portraits. When Stacy got to the photographs, she ran the tips of her fingers over the faces of her parents.
“I was very young when they died,” she said quietly. “I only have the vaguest of memories of them. But I remember my dad loved to sing lullabies to put me to sleep.”
She looked at me and cleared her throat, choked back a sob.
The Complete Book Of Fallen Angels Page 30