by Bush, Nancy
He tried to call back to her. Tried to talk. He watched blankly as his assailant walked backward, still holding the gun on him. She reached the slider door and backed out, disappearing into the night. He wanted to stop her. Shoot her like she’d shot him. Yell for help.
Only he couldn’t do any of it.
“I heard something loud,” his mother said.
The bullet had gone into his chest under his right armpit. With his left hand, he reached over and explored the small hole. He had trouble breathing. Pain filled him. His heart was racing. He’d wrenched the gun from her, yanked it away, pulled the trigger at the same moment.
And fucking shot himself.
He was laughing silently as Verna moved into his line of vision, looking down at him, frowning. “What’s the matter with you?” she demanded.
“I’ve been shot,” he managed to whisper.
“Is this some kind of joke?” she asked suspiciously.
And then he felt lethargy stealing over him, knew it for the seductive danger it was. “Don’t let me die,” he said, or maybe it was all in his head.
The last thing he remembered was his mother’s mouth in a black oval as she opened it to scream his name.
Chapter Fourteen
September eased out of her shirt and looked in the bathroom mirror at the bandage that ran from the base of her neck and along the line of her collarbone. She might be able to get away without it. The incision just felt sore underneath it.
Coming from the bedroom, Jake glanced her way. “Why didn’t Stefan tell you his van was missing?” he asked.
“I have no idea. Verna just wanted to report it stolen.”
“Just by coincidence?” His eyes met hers in the mirror. He sounded as disbelieving as she felt.
“She just called, told me that and hung up. Stefan must have been in his van when he went to the school. His story’s never added up. Maybe his kidnapper stole it. I don’t know.”
“Why would he lie?”
“God knows. But he’s been lying from the get-go, that’s for sure. Maybe I should go over there and talk to him tonight,” she said. “He’s avoided Wes for days and I don’t give a damn anymore that he was my stepbrother. If I’m in his face, he’ll have to talk to me.”
With that she headed back into the bedroom with Jake at her heels. “You sure you want to go tonight?”
At the dresser she swept up her cell phone, unhooking it from its charger. “No, I’m tired. But I want answers.”
“You planning to go in your bra?”
She gave him a look. “I was going to put my shirt back on.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
“You don’t need to go with me.”
“I’m going.”
“This is a police matter, Jake. We’ve talked about this.”
“I’m not going to sit around here tonight while you’re meeting with your unstable ex-stepbrother.”
“I didn’t say he was unstable.” September picked up her shirt from where she’d tossed it across the bed and put it back on.
“Close enough.”
“Well, I’m driving, then. I had one glass of wine to your three and it was hours ago.”
“One and a half, but who’s counting?”
“Jake, seriously. This is my job and I don’t need your protection or help.”
“Bull. Shit,” he said succinctly.
Her cell phone rang in her hand. It was her default tone, so she looked down to see if she recognized the caller. “It’s Verna again,” she said, surprised, clicking on. “Hey, Verna, I was just—”
“He’s been shot! He’s been shot! He came back and shot him!” She was shrieking.
“Stefan? Stefan’s been shot?”
“Yesssss!!!” She was full-on crying.
“Who shot him?”
“That man who tied him up. He came back and shot him!”
“Where are you?”
“At the house.” Her voice was quivering. “I called 9-1-1. They’re coming.”
“Is Stefan okay?” September was terse.
“NOOOO!!!”
“Okay, Verna, I’ll meet you at Laurelton General. If they take him somewhere else, call me and let me know.”
“He shot him. . . . Why . . . ? Oh, God, why . . . ?”
“I’ll see you as soon as I can. Remember to call me if plans change.”
“Hurry . . . !”
It was all Lucky could do to keep from pressing her foot to the accelerator. She wanted to pour on the speed and put as many miles between her and Harmak as was humanly possible. Without really thinking it through, she headed toward Highway 26 and Mr. Blue and she drove for miles in a state of almost suspended animation.
The turnoff to Hiram’s house and the hot springs came up on her right but she kept on going. The beach wasn’t all that much farther. The western end of the North American continent. Nothing beyond that but salt water and lots of it. The Pacific Ocean lay black and uncaring and stretched to the horizon and Lucky wanted to see it, to drive right to it, to stare into its vast watery depths like she had when she was a little girl.
She’d thought of suicide a time or two while growing up. It had seemed like an answer, an end to the sexual abuse from her adoptive father, the much revered doctor who drank and used pills and was old enough to be her grandfather but had turned out to be no blood relation at all. The sea had beckoned to her then, but she’d resisted. Instead, she’d run to the end of the jetty one dark afternoon with the wind ripping at her clothes, half bent on throwing herself off the end, half hoping instead that the doctor would follow her out, that he would believe he could save her.
Her memory had failed her for years about the true events of that night, but it had slowly come back. Now she could recall the scene in sharp relief, remembering every moment, every emotion, her fear and her relief.
She’d begged him to take her to the jetty, had coaxed him, swore she would help him with his pills and be a good little girl. He’d acquiesced reluctantly, but he’d loved it the rare times she went along with him and so he did as she wanted.
She recalled the way the headlights from his car, two yellowy orbs, cut through the afternoon’s gloom. At first she’d jumped out and run away, stumbling along the rocky crest of the jetty.
“Ani!” he’d yelled, getting out of the car but not coming after her. “Come back right now! It’s not safe! The wind is . . .”
She’d run even faster, toward the end of the jetty.
“Ani!”
Then she’d tripped and half fallen, crying out.
“ANI!” he’d cried, growing frantic, moving slowly toward her. Unable to hurry to her aid. Either too high or too old to help.
And that’s when her young mind had decided it was he who should die.
She’d returned to him, stumbling along, bleeding from the cut on her knee through her ripped jeans. She’d slipped her hand in his and tugged him toward the end. “I just want to go to the edge,” she said. “Please.”
“No . . .”
“Please.”
If he hadn’t been so inebriated, he would have resisted, but she’d given him several pills and made sure he washed them down with alcohol. He stumbled and swore as she tugged him forward, but she kept up the pressure, inexorably pulling him away from the car and safety and toward the end of the jetty. She’d read his emotions that night in the same way her sister could—a dark skill they both possessed, though Ani hadn’t known of her twin until years later—and had seen how he planned to abuse her as soon as they were alone again. But she’d had her fill of that, so she led Dr. Parnell—as the local townspeople, who she believed now had turned a blind eye to his sexual abuse, had called him—toward the sea. As they got to the edge she took one last look at him, at his head and shoulders bent to the wind, his raincoat flapping around his pant legs, and thought, And now you die.
“This isn’t safe,” he muttered. Beyond, the ocean was a restless, black roar with curving lacy waves
that rushed in and hit the jetty with a boom as it sprayed upward in a frigid plume.
His hand ran down her arm. He was silhouetted in the golden glow of the headlights, an old man with a black soul and a foul temper when crossed.
This isn’t safe?
She’d looked down with one eye into the foaming, slapping waves that were reaching upward. She was drenched from the water tossed by the wind. Her teeth began to chatter and he made the mistake of pulling her closer, away from the edge.
Isn’t safe?
She leaned away from him, as far as she dared, testing the bonds of gravity above the sea, knowing she could plunge into those depths herself, hit a submerged rock or simply smash into the boulders that made up the jetty itself.
But none of that happened.
“Ani,” he cried one last time at the same moment she wrenched away, out of harm’s way, sticking out her foot and overbalancing him. For a moment he teetered, arms pinwheeling. Then with a screeching wail he went head first over the edge, landing with a smack onto the boulders far below, lying there like a large, fallen black bird, his mouth a wide O of surprise. A greedy wave reached out and grabbed him, shaking him free from the rocks, turning him over as he was dragged into his watery grave.
She’d stared into his sightless eyes and felt a sense of satisfaction.
“Hey!” a voice had called out.
She’d turned in shock and saw a man hurrying toward her. Had he seen? Immediately, she hid her feelings and protested when he grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the edge. She’d been sick with fear until she realized he blamed the doctor for being drunken and foolish and putting both their lives at risk. Only then did she relax.
She heard later that the doctor’s body had washed up about a week afterward, but by then she was already planning her first escape from her first foster home.
Now, she drove onward, her eyes drifting restlessly toward the glove box and the handgun inside. She had to get rid of it. It was Mr. Blue’s, not hers, but now it had been used in a crime, and though she hadn’t actually pulled the trigger and shot Harmak, who would believe her? No one. The gun had to go.
Her teeth were chattering. She’d left some loose ends, but it couldn’t be helped. She hadn’t expected Harmak to come shooting out from the house and when he had, she’d debated only a moment before deciding to confront him, regardless of the fact that his mother was still inside. But then he’d cut and run back toward the house and she’d shot at him, wildly, missing him entirely. She wasn’t going to let him get away again, so she’d chased him inside and tackled him. She’d been running on pure instinct, fueled by adrenaline. She’d wanted to kick and hit and scratch and kill. He deserved to die. They all deserved to die.
But he’d turned the tables on her, grabbed for the gun, even managed to rip it from her hand. For a moment, her life flashed before her eyes. Truly. A clear picture of what she’d done and where she was going. But her only thought was: I haven’t had enough time yet! Then Harmak jerked his arm back hard and pulled the trigger at the same time. Lucky half turned, expecting to be hit, but it hadn’t happened.
Harmak made a grunt of surprise, then there was silence.
She’d looked at him then, staring down at his right side where the bullet had entered beneath his armpit.
“You did it,” she sputtered. “You did it.” She was more amazed than scared, and with his mother calling and calling she’d had the presence of mind to pick up the gun and her baseball cap, which had fallen off her head when she’d tackled him, then back quickly out of the room. Had she left fingerprints on the tile floor? A sample of her hair? Maybe. But those weren’t the most pressing of her worries. When she’d run into the night, back across the Harmaks’ lawn and to the edge of the laurel hedge, crossing to the next-door neighbor’s property, she’d thought she was home free. She’d smashed the cap back on her head, then looked down at the gun in her other hand, the evidence of what she’d done. Immediately, she started stuffing it into the pocket of her jacket, running lightly, and was almost back to the road when she nearly ran smack into a couple in an embrace.
“Shit!” the guy said, when Lucky stumbled toward them from the depths of the backyard. At that moment a riot light came on from the top of the neighbor’s house, blasting the area with near daylight illumination.
“Who are you?” the girl cried. “What are you doing?”
Lucky turned from the light. It hadn’t been on when she’d sneaked along the hedge, but it was sure on now. It glowed blue white and Lucky could count the freckles on the girl’s face. The boy wore a baseball cap backward but she could see his face as well, his dark eyes and open mouth and scruffy goatee.
She ducked her head, hoping the bill of her own cap would give her a shield, then she simply ran. Not to the car. The opposite direction and then around the block the long way, circling back to where she’d parked. She jumped in the car and turned on the ignition, already moving before the door was completely shut. Because it was the easiest route away, she drove in front of Twin Oaks Elementary where, through the front doors, she could see the janitor sweeping up the last bits of paper and decorations that had fallen to the floor.
How well had the couple seen her face? The house must have been where one of them lived. Were they now telling one of their parents about the woman who’d come from behind their house? Were the parents thinking about the popping sounds next door?
She shivered uncontrollably and couldn’t stop.
More time. Just a little more time. That’s all I need.
September pulled into the parking lot outside Emergency at Laurelton General, wheeled into an available spot, stamped on the parking brake and climbed out of the car. Jake jumped out of his side and soon they were hurrying toward the Emergency Room doors in tandem.
“I’m looking for Stefan Harmak. He was brought in by ambulance,” September said to the first person she saw in scrubs, a nurse or nurse’s aide. She flashed her ID.
“Oh . . . uh . . . Can you check with Maura? She’s in admissions.” The young woman waved vaguely in the direction of the cubicles along the west wall as she headed toward an outer hallway and elevators that led to the interior of the hospital. Most of the admittance cubicles were empty but there was a middle-aged woman inside one, helping a man who was sitting on the opposite side of the desk from her.
“Excuse me,” September interrupted, earning her an annoyed look from the woman until her eyes focused on September’s ID. “I’m looking for a gunshot victim, Stefan Harmak.”
She nodded. “Go right on through the double doors. There’s a button to push on the wall that—”
“I know the drill. Thanks.”
As they moved toward the double doors, Jake murmured, “You’re kinda good at being a hard-ass.”
“Act like you’re my partner.” She punched the large, square button and the doors swung outward.
“You want me to be the good cop?”
“I want you to be the silent cop.”
For the second time this week September was looking for Stefan in one of the curtained rooms, but she didn’t have to look far. There was a flurry of activity at one of the rooms at the far side of the ward, closer to the doors that led to the OR. They were clearly prepping him for surgery.
Verna stepped out, her hand to her mouth, staring at what was presumably Stefan behind the curtain.
“Verna,” September said, and the older woman whipped around at the sound of her name.
“Nine,” she gulped. Her face was ravaged and her jacket and pants looked hastily donned. She threw herself into September’s arms and started bawling, acting as if they were old friends when in reality they’d barely tolerated each other. It was the first time in September’s memory that she’d called her by her nickname. “He’s not doing well. There’s internal damage in . . . in his chest. . . .”
“Is he awake?” September asked.
She nodded and then pulled back, clasping September’s hand and
dragging her closer. Stefan was on his back staring at the ceiling and the doctor was talking to him, telling him they were about to operate.
“Stefan,” Verna said, a catch in her voice. “September’s here.”
Stefan’s gaze moved to her.
“I’m going to find who did this,” she told him.
“She took my van,” he said, forming each word with an effort.
“She?” September questioned.
“. . . at the mall and . . . she came over . . . got in the van.”
“At the mall?” she repeated as he exhaled heavily. Mind racing, she asked, “This person—woman—got into your van at the mall, and then . . . you drove to Twin Oaks?” September didn’t bother hiding her surprise.
“. . . have to get her . . .” Stefan’s tongue rimmed his lips.
“Excuse me,” the doctor said firmly. “We need to get him to surgery.”
“This woman who kidnapped you . . . she’s the one who shot you tonight?” September pressed as they started to wheel Stefan away.
“Lucky,” he said, his voice drifting back to her.
“What?” She wanted to follow them in but the doctor gave her a forbidding look and Stefan was pushed through doors that swung back against the wall and led to the operating rooms.
It was two hours almost exactly from Laurelton to Deception Bay, the little town on the Oregon coast where Lucky had spent her formative years, if you could call them that. She drove down Highway 101, which bisected the town and was its main street. She didn’t recognize many of the businesses; it had been years since she’d been here. She’d mostly lived along the coast north of here, the Seaside area mainly, though one of her foster families had been even further north, Astoria and across the bridge to Long Beach, Washington. Mostly, however, she’d been on her own. Running away had been her go-to move for self-preservation, and by the time she was thirteen she had learned to stay under the radar with ease. Of course, she’d made the mistake of relying on a series of men who’d turned out to be users and abusers as well, but she’d learned from them. More than one had tried to rape her, even the seemingly friendly car thief and mechanic who’d shown her how to hot-wire cars. She’d thought they were friends and had stopped by his place after their last lesson, and he’d thrown her onto the bed and ripped off her clothes and was pushing her thighs apart while she screamed for him to stop. Clearly, he did not believe that no meant no. His determination fueled her own rage. With a strength built from boiling fury, she yanked out the table lamp and wrapped the cord around his neck. Ezekiel hardly even noticed, as he was busily pulling out his dick and, she suspected later, he was roiding out. She pulled and pulled and pulled on the cord until his face was dark red, his eyes were bugging out and he was burbling and spitting saliva, wrenching at the cord to no avail.