Chapter 14: Junction
The car veered off the pavement and onto the gravel shoulder. The sound of stones pinging off the car’s underside brought Samantha back to full alertness. She steered back onto the highway, checking the rearview mirror to make sure no one else saw, but she was alone.
Her eyes lingered in the mirror for an extra moment. She took one hand off the steering wheel to pat her hair, making sure it hadn’t spontaneously twisted itself into the curls of a little girl. She laughed and let her hand drop to the diet soda in the cup holder. After a long pull on the straw, she turned her attention back to the highway.
These simple grown-up activities like driving a car or buying an airline ticket still felt unfamiliar. In the Savannah airport she’d gaped up at the ceilings, marveling at how high they were. She walked with slouched shoulders and cautious steps among the crowds of bustling travelers, afraid someone wouldn’t see her and knock her down. She approached the ticket counter with a nervous flutter and mumbled her order, afraid someone would tell her she couldn’t fly without a parent or guardian and then drag her away by the ear for a stern lecture.
“It was only a dream,” she told herself over and over again. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to take even a brief nap on the airplane, afraid she might wake up in a crib. It’s shock, she thought. The strange dream and Fitzgerald’s death had rattled her nerves. Then why can’t I remember anything?
No other doors to her memory had opened since seeing Fitzgerald’s picture in the newspaper. She kept hoping for something to bring an avalanche of memories down upon her mind, but not even a pebble floated into her consciousness. It’ll happen soon, she told herself with less hopefulness each time.
A sign along the highway indicated the town of Junction was five miles to the right. She almost missed the turn, the car grinding over the shoulder again before reconnecting with the pavement. Almost there, she thought.
When she got to Junction, then what? If she was too late the killer might have already struck. If not, then what could she do? She didn’t have any idea who the killer intended to murder, or if he intended to kill anyone at all. For all she knew, this could be an elaborate hoax perpetrated by some prankster to send her on a wild goose chase among the cornfields of Iowa. If her supervisor didn’t believe the threat credible, why should she?
No, something told her this wasn’t a joke. Someone in Junction was going to die. She stepped on the accelerator, pushing the car even faster down the road.
She had to stomp on the brake a minute later as the town of Junction flew past her window. She pulled over and got out of the car in disbelief. This is it? she wondered.
The town of Junction consisted of a general store and across from it a service station with a single gas pump and a pile of rusty cars out back. Samantha peeked in the dark windows first of the service station and then the general store, but didn’t see anyone alive or dead. She dropped onto the front steps of the general store, first laughing and then crying.
How could she have been so stupid? She’d flown a thousand miles and driven through the night to end up in a dinky ghost town. She imagined someone laughing at her right now for having tricked an FBI agent into going all this way for nothing. “I’m such an idiot,” she said through the tears.
The worst part of all was she’d hoped this excursion might trigger that avalanche of memories, or at least open another door. She’d hoped someone in town might recognize her and be able to tell her about herself. She’d hoped to find a sibling or aunt or a cousin, someone who knew her. She had nothing.
She wiped at her eyes. Now was no time to start acting like a little girl. This was a setback, nothing more. She could get back in the car, drive to Des Moines and be in Dallas this afternoon. At the apartment listed on her driver’s license or at the FBI office she would find some answers.
As she stood up she saw the plume of gray smoke rising in the predawn sky. The source of the smoke couldn’t be more than a half-mile down the dirt road running past the service station. She ran the entire way, forgetting about the car. She bounded off the road, crashing through rows of corn taller than her, the smoke drawing closer.
She emerged from the field to the sight of a farmhouse ablaze. Flames were in the windows on both floors of the house. She didn’t hear anything from inside the house except the cracking of wood. She saw a pick-up truck in the driveway and wondered if the driver were inside the burning house. There’s only one way to be sure, she thought.
Samantha raced to the front door, smashing it in with her shoulder the way she had Suarez’s apartment door. Pain flared in her shoulder, but she ignored it as she peered through the smoke in the foyer. “Is anyone in here?” she called out, smoke stinging her lungs. A fit of coughing seized her as she wobbled into the living room.
“Hello?” she called, receiving no answer. Through watering eyes she found a stairway leading to the second floor. The stairs cracked beneath her as she ran up, the whole staircase threatening to give way. She made it up to the top to find even more smoke and fire. “Hello?”
She kicked open the first door she found. Inside, fire devoured the lacy curtains and pink walls of a little girl’s bedroom. To her relief, Samantha saw the bed was made, dolls and stuffed animals arranged neatly on the pillows. She opened the closet to make certain no one was hiding in there and then plunged down the hall to the next door.
She burst into a guest bedroom, also empty. A door inside the guest room led to a small bathroom, where she moistened a towel in the sink and wrapped it around her head to keep out some of the smoke and heat. Another door led from the bathroom to a teenage boy’s room, the posters of supermodels and rock bands turning to ashes. She didn’t find the boy anywhere in the room; either he’d already fled or hadn’t been here to start with. She pulled her hand back from the hot doorknob; she didn’t have much time left.
She took a deep breath and then opened the door with the sleeve of her jacket. There was only one more room to search at the end of the hall. The master bedroom. She charged ahead through a wall of flames, crashing through the door.
On the bed she saw the lump of a body. She peeled aside the blankets to find a heavyset woman lying there, a jagged gash between her breasts. The woman wasn’t breathing, but Samantha scooped her up anyway and carried her from the room. She raced back through the flames and down to the stairwell only to find it turned to cinders. “Oh no,” she said.
She plunged back into the girl’s bedroom. She set the woman on the floor and wrapped her in the comforter from the bed. With the blanket underneath this, Samantha beat at the flames around the windows. Through the smoke, she saw the overhang of the porch below. She couldn’t be sure the roof would hold her, but at this point it didn’t matter.
She grabbed a ceramic lamp shaped like a unicorn, turning it in her hands a moment. It’s so pretty, she thought. The room suddenly grew larger, the lamp becoming so heavy she could barely hold it in her tiny, chubby hands. Where’s Mama? she wondered. She can’t leave me here.
The ceiling caved in behind her, support beams shredding the little girl’s bed. Samantha snapped back to reality, the room and her hands expanding to their normal size. She heaved the unicorn lamp through the window over the porch and then hurried across the room to grab the woman.
Samantha hesitated a moment in the window, gathering the courage to leap from the bedroom. She landed on the porch roof, stumbling but keeping her feet. The roof sagged and creaked, preparing to dump her to the ground at any moment. She circled around to the front of the house, where she found a group of men in overalls and pajama tops manning an ancient fire truck.
She dropped the woman to one of the firemen, two others helping her down to the ground. “Is there anyone else?” one of the firemen asked.
“I didn’t see anyone,” she rasped and then broke into another coughing fit. One of the men helped her over to the fire truck and held out an oxygen mask. She breathed deeply, letting the pure air fill her lungs.
“She’s dead,” another of the firemen said. He came over to stand in front of Samantha. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Samantha said. “I found her like that.”
“I don’t remember seeing you around here before,” the fireman said. “Do you know Mrs. Coleman?” Samantha shook her head. “Then what are you doing here?”
She reached into her jacket, pulling out her FBI badge. “I received an anonymous tip someone was going to be murdered here. By the time I got here, the house was already on fire and someone had stabbed her.”
“Jesus Christ,” the fireman said. “Why would anyone want to do that to Mrs. Coleman?”
“I don’t know,” Samantha said. She got up, wobbling a step before steadying herself. She went over to the woman’s body, pulling aside the comforter. She stumbled back, landing on her rear at the sight of the woman’s face.
“What do you think?” she asks. She holds up an Iowa driver’s license with the name Judy Metzler, aged twenty-one. With her braces, freckles, and tiny breasts Judy doesn’t look any more than fifteen.
“I think we’re going to get caught,” Samantha says.
“You’re such a pessimist,” Judy says. “Let’s see yours.”
Samantha reaches into the black purse on her lap and reveals the license for Samantha Young, also aged twenty-one. One eye is half-closed in the picture as if she was in the middle of winking and her lips are locked in a wince. “I look drunk,” she says.
“Very soon you shall be, my dear,” Judy says with a flourish. She checks her face in the rearview mirror, teasing the hair she had done yesterday. “Don’t worry, this is going to work. Just promise me after we find a couple cute boys you’ll stop moping around.”
“I’m not moping,” Samantha says. “I only said I don’t know why we couldn’t stay in town. I have to turn in a paper for Euro Lit tomorrow and I haven’t even started.”
“You’re such a nun, Samantha,” Judy says. “Where’d you come up with that name anyway?”
“In a book.”
“That figures. Every time I see you, your nose is in some book or another. If you don’t lighten up you’re going to be all dried-up before you’re forty.”
“Fine, let’s do it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Samantha gets out of the car, stumbling on the platform heels Judy convinced her to buy. She adjusts the tight black dress she bought because Judy thought it made her look “exotic.” She thinks it makes her look like a cheap hooker. A cool breeze runs across her bare shoulders, making her wish she’d brought a sweater along. Why did I agree to this? she wonders.
“Hurry up, Samantha,” Judy says. She’s wearing a red dress even shorter than Samantha’s, an over glorified bathing suit. Why am I doing this? Samantha wonders again.
There’s a line at the door to the club with dozens of other young girls and their dates waiting to get inside. Samantha smoothes out her dress again, feeling everyone staring at her. The disco music inside pulses loud enough to hear out here, something by the BeeGees she vaguely remembers hearing before.
Judy takes a pack of cigarettes from her bag, offering one to Samantha, who refuses. “Those are bad for you,” she says.
“You’re no fun,” Judy says. She blows a stream of smoke into Samantha’s face. Samantha snatches the cigarettes from Judy and lights one up. A fit of coughing knocks her off the platform heels; Judy catches her before she can hit the ground. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine,” Samantha says. She takes another puff on the cigarette, this one successful. “See, I’m fine.”
They reach the head of the line trying to gain access to the club. Samantha holds out her fake ID, fidgeting as the bouncer studies the picture and then her face. Next to her, another bouncer is inspecting Judy’s license. This isn’t going to work, Samantha thinks.
The bouncer grunts and with a shake of his head permits her entry. He lifts the velvet rope and she takes a step forward, reaching for the door handle. The door opens on its own, knocking her back. She stumbles again on the shoes Judy forced her to wear, collapsing against the velvet rope.
From this unflattering position she sees him. He’s two years older, but she doesn’t see any change at all. The same mocha skin, the same turquoise eyes, the same black hair kept to a fine stubble, and the same purple lips she tasted so many times. Only now those lips are kissing someone else, a girl with obsidian skin and a blonde Afro twice as big as the rest of her head. He has a hand on her back, a hand Samantha imagines will soon relieve the young woman of her gold dress.
He pulls his lips away from the girl and whispers something into her ear. Is he saying how much he loves her? Is he asking whether she wants to come back to his place? Whatever it is, she smiles and kisses him back. But he’s no longer paying attention to her. His eyes have finally turned to Samantha.
She doesn’t hear what he says. She doesn’t feel Judy’s hand around her arm, pulling her up. She can only see him kissing this other girl and thinking, It should be me.
She runs. She loses the platform shoes along the way and keeps running down a wet alley in her stockings. Judy calls after her, but she doesn’t hear the words. She doesn’t hear anything except the question burning in her mind: Why?
In a city of over a million people why had she run into the only person she could never bear seeing again? Of all the clubs in the city why had Judy decided on the one place he frequented? More important, why did she arrive in time to see him with her?
Her bare foot steps into a hole, pitching her forward. She lands face-first in a rancid pile of filth, screaming as a rat skitters past her nose. She tries to run, but pain explodes from her left ankle. It’s broken. She drags herself back against the wall of a building, burying her face in her hands.
She knows she shouldn’t be angry with him for kissing another girl; she left him after all. He has a right to move on, to find someone new. Isn’t that what she’d wanted? Hadn’t she wanted him to find someone else and be happy?
She knows it’s better for him this way. It’s better for her this way too, because she couldn’t bear for a disaster to claim him like Aunt Beth or her parents. Disaster followed her around like a shadow, always blotting out those she loved. She’d wanted to protect him from that. From her.
A hand touches her hair. Not Judy’s delicate hand. His hand. The muscular hand that once had caressed her cheeks, her thighs, and her breasts. Even after two years this touch is as familiar to her as her own. His hands move down now to pull hers away from her face. She looks up at him, into his eyes.
No words are necessary. He kisses her and it’s as if the last two lonely years have evaporated. As he picks her up, she presses her cheek against his shoulder, allowing herself to feel the warmth of his body again. For a moment she’s safe.
“Judy,” Samantha said. The face a little heavier and more lined and absent the freckles and braces, but Judy’s face nonetheless. “Why would anyone do this?” she wondered.
As she reached down to cover Judy’s face with the comforter, she noticed something poking out of Judy’s mouth. Samantha reached in, removing a square of yellow paper wrapped in plastic. She unwrapped the paper to find a flier for a seminar called, “Adolescence and the 21st Century.” Dr. William Herschowitz was giving the keynote address. Whoever had murdered Judy Colemen nee Meltzer had underlined the doctor’s name. According to the flier, his address would be given at eight o’clock tonight at the Radisson in downtown Chicago.
He’ll be dead by then, Samantha thought. She tucked the paper into her pocket and ran. The fireman called after her, but she didn’t care. There wasn’t time for discussion. As she ran, her left ankle started to ache as if in remembrance of that frantic dash through the alley. Tears blurred her vision. Some things were best left forgotten.
Chapter 15: Discoveries
Prudence leaned against Rodney as he gave her a tour of the encampment. The shabby lean-tos and tents like theirs gave her a sense of dread. At an
y moment a gust of wind could blow their entire community into the sea. “I know it’s not much to look at right now, but this is only the beginning,” Rodney said. “When we find a suitable site for building I’ll make you a house even finer than ours back in England.”
“I don’t need anything special,” she said. “Having you with me is enough.”
He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze. “That may be, but you deserve a decent home after all you’ve gone through.”
“It’s nothing worse than anyone else,” she said.
“You don’t make it easy for a man to spoil you,” he said. He kissed the top of her head. In the two days since waking up, she noticed how he treated her more like a daughter in the presence of other people. Only in private did he allow himself the luxury of passion.
A woman, almost as heavy as Prudence and with graying hair, waddled up to them. “Mrs. Gooddell, I’m so glad to see you up and around,” the woman said.
“Thank you, Mrs.—”
“Applegate. Rebecca Applegate.” Rebecca shook her head. “You poor dear. Your memory still hasn’t come back?”
“A few bits and pieces,” Prudence said.
“Maybe it’s better not to remember. I’d certainly like to forget these last two weeks.” Rebecca’s laugh accompanying this was hollow. Neither Prudence nor Rodney shared in the joke. “I suppose I best get back to work. If you ever need to talk, Robert and I are in that tent over there.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Applegate. I’ll remember that.”
Rebecca laughed again; Prudence didn’t understand what was so funny about what she’d said. “You make sure to look after her, Mr. Gooddell. She’s precious.”
“What did she mean by that?” Prudence asked after Rebecca sauntered off.
“She thinks you’re a very special woman. So do I.” He indulged himself in a kiss on her forehead. “Mrs. Applegate and her husband are the head of the elders. We’ll see the rest of them later at the meeting.”
Children of Eternity Omnibus Page 66