by Tracy Sharp
No. No. In her heart, she called him back. Please don’t go. This wasn’t your fault. Please come back.
Something shifted beneath the fur, under the skin.
Robyn kept her eyes closed, wishing, wishing so hard that her soul ached.
Broken pieces moved together beneath her fingers. Could it be? Yes, because her fingers moved with them.
The air changed. The space around her. Everything seemed to freeze. Then a breath of wind moved through her hair, over the dog’s fur.
The fur rose and fell, rose and fell. A heart beat deep within the chest. Robyn heard it, in time with her own.
“Holy hell.”
Toby’s voice sounded like an echo. Robyn opened her eyes in time to see the dog’s eyes flutter open. He lifted his large head and licked her arm.
Robyn blinked. A small cry escaped her, relief washing over her.
“No way.” Toby’s voice was clearer now.
Robyn turned her head, the smile on her face feeling alien to her, but true.
The dog stood up, slowly, as if trying his legs to make sure they worked.
“Easy, boy. Take it slow,” Toby said, coming forward and bending down to stroke the dog.
“He’s back,” Robyn said, drying her eyes with the backs of both hands. “He’s back. Thank God.”
“God?” Toby said, looking away from the dog and into her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“No,” Robyn stood on her own shaky legs. “But right now I don’t give a damn.”
Chapter 6
Robyn’s window was rolled down enough to let the cool air blow on her face. She smiled into the wind rushing through the window.
“You did something amazing back there, you know that, right?” Toby’s tone was astonished.
Robyn kept her face to the wind.
“Robyn, you can’t just ignore it. You have some kind of gift.”
The dog had licked her face and run back into the woods, probably in the direction of some cabin back there. There had been no limp. Only a happy spring in his gait as he’d loped away from them.
“Do you realize that you’re the real deal?” Toby said. “Have you ever done that before?”
“No,” Robyn responded. She didn’t want to talk about it. Couldn’t she just enjoy it and forget about it?
“You are.” He barked out a laugh. “My mother used to watch this televangelist every Sunday. Sent him our grocery money on more than one occasion. Putting his hand on people’s heads and screaming at them that they were healed.” He paused.
Robyn looked at him. The forced smile on his face tweaked at her heart.
“People in wheelchairs. People with terminal illnesses.” His gaze was slightly far away as he paused, as if considering whether or not to go on. “But the worst. The absolute worst was when this mother brought her sick little girl up to the stage. Carrying her in her arms. Just a little thing. Couldn’t have been more than maybe three years old.”
He stopped for a moment. “She had a brain tumor. Terminal, the doctors had said. She had lost all her hair from the chemo and radiation treatments. The little girl had been through hell. And so had her family.”
Toby moved a hand over his mouth and down his chin, composing himself. His face was tense. “He laid his fat hand—fingers covered in shiny rings—over her head and told her she was healed.”
Robyn sat in stunned silence. A stone sat in the pit of her stomach.
Toby glanced at her and nodded his head. “Yeah. Told her the tumor was gone.”
“Oh God, Toby.” Robyn’s stomach turned.
“She died a few weeks later.” He stared at the road, his eyes shining.
“That’s fucking horrible.”
“My mother said that sometimes the good Lord changes his mind. The minister hadn’t been lying or scamming the audience. The Lord had just changed his mind and called that little girl home. She was lucky, my mother said, because she was an angel now.” Toby looked at Robyn, face intense. “But you know what? The most horrible part of it is that the little girl knew he was full of shit. I could see it on her little face. She didn’t smile when he’d said she was healed. Her face didn’t light up. There was no hope. She saw through the bastard.”
Robyn didn’t know what to say. She opened her mouth, but closed it again. Shook her head.
“But you,” Toby said, eyes wide and full wonder. “You’re the real deal, Robyn.”
“It might’ve just been a one-time thing, Toby.”
“Maybe.” He nodded his head. “Maybe not. You gonna find out?”
Robyn shook her head. “I’m not screwing with it.” The idea of having such power gave her the willies. “No. I’m done.”
“Do you know how much cash you could make with that new little trick of yours?” Toby glanced at her, a grin on his face.
“Toby, stop it. I don’t want it.” A lump rose in her throat. She bit down on her lip, looked back at the window. “I don’t want it.”
She felt his hand on her arm. She looked back at him.
“I’m glad.” His face was serious. “I’m fucking ecstatic, Robyn. I’m glad to know who you really are.”
Robyn frowned. Nobody had ever said that to her before. “Thanks.”
She turned back toward the window and watched the trees rush by, sunlight dappling the grass and leaves from a clear, blue sky.
That dog was alive now. He was alive.
Robyn closed her eyes.
That was it. It was the one and only time she’d ever do it. His death had been a mistake. That was why she’d been able to bring him back.
It had been a mistake and she’d been able to take it back.
That was all.
†
His name was Zed. Toby explained—as they drove up the long, dirt road toward the barn—that Zed was Canadian, and many Canadians use the word “zed” instead of “z” for the last letter of the alphabet. Toby said that nobody knew his real name.
He wasn’t tall, standing maybe five foot eight, but he was built like a bulldog, and he wore a rebel grin. Kind of perpetual and edgy, full of sociopathic challenge.
Oh yeah. The guy was off. Robyn could see that the second she laid eyes on him. But whatever. If the guy could help them weapon-wise, he was their man, psycho grin or not.
Toby explained to him what they needed. “Something to put a motherfucker down. You get me? Not just the regular, run-of-the-mill peashooter. Okay?”
Zed stroked his goatee in thought. “Ak-47.”
Toby tilted his head, squinting his eyes. “A nice weapon, but we need something a little off the charts. Something you don’t see every day. Got anything without bullets?”
Zed’s blue eyes lit up; they seemed to take on a hellish glow. “Flamethrowers.”
As it turned out, Zed was extremely knowledgeable about various types of flamethrowers. He also modified the typical, hand-held flamethrower for a client now and then. His designs were less than legal, and he didn’t ask questions that didn’t pertain to the specifications they needed in their particular, custom flamethrower.
Cars and weapons were his bag.
Good thing, Robyn thought. Because you couldn’t just walk into your local Walmart and pick up a flamethrower.
They were standing outside in a field behind Zed’s “shop”. His shop was a huge, old barn filled with fun.
The flamethrower backpack held three tanks; two held flammable, oil-based fuel, and the other held compressed fuel.
Zed stroked the gun-housing of the flamethrower he was using in his demonstration. “Now see this lever here? This is your trigger. When you squeeze this, it pulls a spring-operated rod backward. The valve opens, allowing the fuel to be released. And then you have fire.” His slightly crazed gaze moved from Robyn to Toby. “Follow me?”
“Yeah,” Robyn said. Christ, she hoped she hadn’t missed something important. That could be bad. Really bad.
Toby nodded, a smile on his face. “Hell, yeah.”
&nbs
p; “Okay. These babies are powered by a portable battery, okay?” Zed explained. “So you’re going to want extra batteries. You don’t want to run out of power in the middle of an expedition.”
“Right,” Toby said.
Robyn lifted an eyebrow.
“Okay, here we go.” Zed pressed the trigger button and a small flame appeared at the end of the nozzle. Within a split second, a huge stream of fire shot out of the nozzle.
“Whoa.” Robyn took a step back.
“This little guy will shoot flames to about 15 feet. But I have some handhelds that’ll shoot up to 50 yards. You tell me what you need.”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Toby said.
Robyn grinned. “You were right, October. We’ve come to the right man.”
“So how many of these babies are you going to need?” Zed asked.
“How many you got?” Toby asked.
Zed’s grin widened.
†
“He seemed nice,” Robyn said as they headed back toward the truck. She glanced back behind them to see Zed waving and grinning like a lunatic. She waved back, giving him a cheerful smile. “For a psycho.
“Hey, that psycho is our only friend right now.” Toby gave Zed a wave. “I think we need to sleep during the day, get up and be aware when the sun goes down.” Toby placed the flamethrowers—neatly wrapped in an old sheet, courtesy of Zed—on the backseat.
“They could attack during the day, too,” Robyn said. “You sure you don’t want to put those in the back?”
“Under the tonneau cover?”
“Yeah.”
“So far they’ve attacked at night. So let’s go with that. Okay?” He pulled her seat back into position. “And how are we going to get our hands on the flamethrowers quick if the car ends up being surrounded?”
Robyn shivered. “Right. Nice thought.”
Toby shrugged, coming around the passenger door and holding it open for her. “It could happen.”
“I know.”
“Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, right?”
She looked past him at the shining sun rising up high in the cloudless sky and shook her head. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”
“Yeah. But we don’t have time to sit around contemplating it.”
“What are we going to do, Toby? What’s the plan?”
“Find out exactly what the hell is going on. Branford Haus had a stable of young girlfriends. Some of whom I’m certain are still gathering belongings from his house.”
She climbed into the truck. “We’re burning daylight. I’m tired, Toby.”
“Better than being dead.” He closed her door and walked around the truck to the driver’s side.
Robyn glared at him as he climbed in. “Tired can get you dead. In a hurry.”
“Then I guess we’d better shake a leg, huh?” He grinned and started the truck. He punched radio channels until he found a loud, thumping, heavy-metal tune, and his smile grew wide as he looked at her then drove off into the shiny day.
Chapter 7
Toby had been right. When they arrived at Haus’s mansion, there were four young, shapely women in short or snug-fitting apparel loading gleaming, sporty cars with boxes. The gate was left open, presumably so that the girls could come and go easily.
There seemed to be no argument between them over what belonged to whom regarding the items they took from the place. They even seemed friendly with one another.
Toby stopped the truck behind a shimmering, yellow Mini Cooper and headed up the driveway.
A leggy young woman with thick, auburn hair cascading over her shoulders paused after placing a box in the trunk of her silver Jaguar. “Hi,” she said, a tentative smile on her glossy lips.
“Hi,” Toby said, extending a hand. “I’m Toby and this is Robyn. We’re from WRGX talk radio. And you are?”
Her eyes lit up. “I’m Amber Noble. Nice to meet you.”
“We’re doing a tribute story on Brantford Haus. Would you be willing to say a few words about him?”
The light faded from her eyes and her smile fell. “I don’t know.”
Toby’s eyebrows arched. “You don’t know? You were close with Mr. Haus, weren’t you?”
Amber blinked, looked behind her toward the sound of high heels clicking on the driveway. The three other young women—two blondes and a brunette—approached.
“Uh, maybe the other girls would be willing to say something.” She turned her wide eyes toward them. “They’re from the radio. They want somebody to say something about Brantford.”
Toby and Robyn were presented with three deer-in-the-headlights expressions.
“Is there a problem?” Robyn asked them. “We’re under the impression that you were friends with Mr. Brantford. Close with him. Are we wrong?”
The brunette glanced down, toed the ground with a red pump. “No. You’re not wrong. Uh… but since Brantford died… it’s really hard to explain.” She glanced up and back down again.
A blonde took over for her. “We don’t know what we were doing with him.”
Robyn glanced at Toby, then back at the blonde. “Excuse me?”
“Look,” the blonde said. “He was nobody a couple of years ago. He used to come to the bar we all… danced at.”
“We’re actresses,” the other blonde said.
“We wouldn’t go out with him” Amber said. “But suddenly one day he walks in and bang. Something about him had changed.”
The first blonde nodded. “He was different. And suddenly he was successful, and things just kept getting better for him.”
“We all were in love with him. Willing to share, just to be near him,” Amber said.
The blonde shrugged. “But since he died, it’s like he’s back to who he was before.”
“Honestly,” the brunette said, “we’re all kind of disgusted with ourselves. We don’t know why—other than the money—we would’ve hung around. And frankly? The money was nice, but wouldn’t have been worth… you know.”
“Doing him for it?” Robyn offered.
“Well, yeah,” Amber said and snickered.
The other three joined in; soon the four of them were laughing.
“Okay, then,” Toby said. “Not really something we can use on the show, but thank you. Is there someone else we can talk to?”
“His sister,” Amber said.
The other three scowled and rolled their eyes.
“How might we get a hold of her?” Robyn asked.
The brunette jutted a chin toward the road winding up to the driveway. “You won’t have to.”
†
The four young women took their leave quickly, without glancing at the sister, who came out of her soccer-mom SUV as if she owned the place. Which, Robyn thought, she might, since her brother was now deceased.
Robyn pasted a sweet smile on her face and offered her hand. “Hi, I’m—”
“Save it. I don’t care,” Brantford’s sister snapped. Her matching white walking shorts and golf shirt were about the same color as her pasty skin. Her dark hair was cut into a smart, short cut, and if there were anything at all remarkable about her, it was her clear, blue eyes.
“We’re very sorry about your brother’s death, Mrs…?” Toby waited for her to fill in the blank.
She didn’t. “Really? You’re about the only two on the planet. Congrats.”
Robyn blinked. “Wow. That sucks.”
Brantford’s sister gave her a cold stare. “Look, I don’t care where you two claim to come from. I’ve had a bunch of visitor’s claiming to be Brantford’s friends, clearing out the place. Frankly, I don’t give a hoot.”
Robyn tried not to laugh. This is exactly the kind of woman who would use the word “hoot”.
The sister continued. “Take what you want. I really don’t want any of it, and if anything is left over, I’ll simply bring it to the Goodwill. So knock yourselves out. You’re doing me a favor.” She turned on her expensi
ve loafer heel and began the walk up the driveway.
“We don’t want any of his things,” Toby called after her.
She stopped and did a slow turn back toward them. “Really? Well, I’ve had collectors calling up the yin-yang. So if you’re collectors, get in line.”
“We aren’t collectors,” Robin said.
The sister moved her icy gaze between Robyn and Toby for a moment. “Okay. I’m intrigued. What do you want?”
“Just some information,” Toby said. “About your brother. It won’t cost you a thing. We promise.”
She shifted on her feet, some of the fight leaving her. “Oh, it’ll cost me something. Anything having to do with Brantford always does.”
†
“He used to borrow money from me a lot. And I used the word borrow loosely,” Brantford’s sister—whose name turned out to be Sylvia—explained. She had the fridge door open, looking the shelves up and down with a look of open distaste on her face. “He has some diet soda, if you’re interested. For his little bunnies, I expect. The ones you had the pleasure of meeting in the driveway. Ripping a moron off blind is thirsty work, I’m sure.”
“No thanks,” Robyn said. “Some water would be nice, though.”
“The glasses are in there.” Sylvia gestured to a cabinet over the sink. “Help yourself to the tap. There is no bottled water in there.”
“So he owed you money?” Toby asked her, leaning with his back against the counter.
“He did for a long time, but he paid me back.”
“But you’re still pissed at him,” Toby said.
“He was useless. A complete waste of carbon. I can’t even tell you.” She shook her head, her face incredulous.
“So you’re glad he’s dead?” Toby asked.
Sylvia considered that, her head tilting to the side a little. “No. Not glad. Relieved, really. Other than that, I really don’t feel one way or the other about it. I guess I’m annoyed, because I’m his only living family and I have to take care of all the arrangements now that he’s gone. Just one more bloody mess of his to clean up.” She heaved a breath. “Unbelievable. The bastard’s dead and he’s still a pain in the ass.”