by Potter, Ryan
“Yes,” I say. “Thank you. She was.”
Mrs. Mary Watkins stays silent for several moments, surely staring at me behind those big black lenses. A cool but light breeze blows through her straight blond hair and rustles the Japanese maples, sending several dead leaves to the ground. Watching her, I sense she’s a kind but lonely and shy woman, a wonderful mother who doesn’t have many close friends. There are things she wants to talk about but for some reason can’t. I need to shake her hand or hug her. I need physical contact to get a better reading.
“It’s still difficult for you, isn’t it?” she says. “Dealing with the loss.”
“I struggle every day.”
“Has it gotten any easier? I can’t imagine feeling this hollow and empty for the rest of my life.”
“You learn to function,” I say. “That’s about all I can say.”
She gestures toward the bench. “Would you like to sit down?”
“Sure.” I walk toward her. “I’d like that.”
We sit beside each other and stare at the pond, which is stocked with the most beautifully colored Japanese koi fish I’ve ever seen. Dozens of them swim near the surface, their large, brightly colored bodies showing a variety of orange, yellow, black, and white patterns. It’s hard to believe there can be such sadness amidst such a peaceful and gorgeous setting.
Mary opens up quickly. I suppose it’s our shared bond of loss that makes her feel comfortable with me. I listen to every word. She talks about her six- and eight-year-old sons, Joshua and Ethan, who keep asking when Daddy will be home. She talks about the lack of respect the media has had around her. I tell her I can relate to that one. She understands that the police are simply doing their jobs, but she doesn’t see why they have to ask her so many questions. I like her more with every passing second, and it occurs to me that I haven’t had such a meaningful conversation with an adult woman since Mom died.
“Alix?” she says. “Why are you crying?”
Her question surprises me. I’m staring at the fish, unaware of the tears rolling down my cheeks. I wipe my face and take a deep breath.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “Maybe it’s because I don’t know why good people have to experience so many horrible things. Maybe these experiences make us stronger in the long run, but it sure seems like a high price to pay.”
“That’s a wise statement for a girl your age. Then again, you’ve been through a lot.”
“You have no idea. No idea at all.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Let’s just say this goes way beyond my mom,” I say. “My life changed forever two days ago. Sometimes I feel like I know what I’m doing. Other times I feel like a lost child.”
“Welcome to adulthood,” she says.
She takes my hand and squeezes it. I’m surprised with how easily we both break down. My tears return like a waterfall. Mrs. Watkins hugs me. I soon feel her shaking and crying, so I hug her. We’re both a total mess for a minute or two, but I could care less. I feel the emotional weight of the past few days melting away with every tear. I don’t have a mother. Mrs. Watkins doesn’t have a daughter. We’re simply two women in the right place at the right time, but for all the wrong reasons.
The vision comes near the end of the hug. White light floods my mind. I see them arguing in their kitchen, Marc and Mary Watkins fighting about money. They’re trying to keep their voices down so the boys can’t hear them. She wants to know how much money he has, but he won’t tell her. He’s afraid of something or someone. There’s something else related to cash, but I can’t figure it out. All I know is that they were not getting along well in the weeks before he died, and it had something to do with money and fear.
The vision ends without any hint of fire, just another flare of white. I’m back in the moment, still in Mary’s arms. This is good. The lack of fire must mean Mary Watkins is innocent of any involvement in her husband’s death and that she has no clue about the worlds of Fire and Light. She’s a normal human. Despite her current circumstances, I envy her for that.
“Mrs. Watkins, what happened?” I ask, finally getting myself together. “What do you think really happened?”
She looks at the pond and places her palms on her thighs, thinking. “My husband was a brilliant man and a master teacher,” she says. “His brain was a sponge for knowledge. Chemistry and history. He couldn’t get enough of it. Marc read more books than anybody I know. Money wasn’t important to him. All he cared about was educating young people. You don’t become a teacher with the idea of getting rich from it. For years we lived in a small but nice bungalow in Royal Oak.” She pauses. “But something happened to him about six years ago, right around the time Joshua was born. There was a shift in his thinking. Marc suddenly wanted to do more than just teach in Beaconsfield. He wanted to be Beaconsfield. He wanted …” She gestures toward the house and garden. “He wanted all of this.”
“Which is impossible on a teacher’s salary.”
“Exactly,” she says. “Neither of us comes from a wealthy background either. He talked about switching careers. I even volunteered to work outside of the home, but he said that was out of the question. Marc was a firm believer that being a stay-at-home mom is the hardest but most important job on the planet.” She smiles at that. “Anyway, a few years went by, but nothing really changed. He felt stuck and was becoming increasingly unhappy. I thought he wanted a divorce, but he insisted his frustrations had nothing to do with our marriage.” She shrugs and looks at me. “I don’t know what to say other than Marc was angry at not being rich. He wasn’t arrogant. He just believed he had the intelligence to make a lot of money.”
“And he eventually did,” I say. “So what was the problem?”
Mary Watkins looks away and doesn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling like an idiot for getting so personal. “It was the wrong question. I apologize, Mrs. Watkins. I should probably get going.”
I’m getting ready to stand when she grabs my shoulder.
“Wait, Alix.” I nod and sit. “It’s okay,” she says. “You don’t need to apologize. I’ve already told your father and other law-enforcement people all of this, so it’s not like I’m revealing anything new to you.”
She removes her hand from my shoulder. I feel my pulse quicken. Regardless of what she just said, she’s about to reveal things she hadn’t planned on revealing to a seventeen-year-old stranger.
“About three years ago,” she continues, “Marc got mixed up with the wrong people. He kept it hidden from me for about a year, but I knew something was going on. He was coming home from school later than usual, and during the summer he was gone for hours at a time during the day. He always said he was at the gym, but I knew he was lying. I thought he was having an affair, but then one day two years ago he came home happier than I’d seen him in years. He told me he’d invested well and had saved enough money to move us to Beaconsfield.” She shakes her head. “Marc always took care of the finances. I didn’t know anything about money we did or didn’t have.” She pauses. “But I knew his so-called saved money was dirty, Alix, and I knew it came as a direct result of whatever he was up to on the side.” She removes her sunglasses, rubs her swollen eyelids, and slides the glasses back on. “What I regret more than anything is not confronting him about it that very first day. I never asked about the money, because I was so happy to finally see him happy.” She starts crying again. “Does that make me a bad person?”
“Not at all,” I say, thinking back to the vision of their kitchen argument. “Because you finally did ask about the money, right?”
“Not until it was too late.”
“What do you mean?”
She wipes tears from her face. “Alix, do you know what Perennial is?”
A wave of nausea overcomes me. It’s as if I can feel my blood draining from my body.
There’s no way. There’s just no way Mr. Watkins was involved.
“Alix, are you
okay?” she says. “You don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine,” I say, forcing myself to keep my emotions in check. “Yes, I know what Perennial is. It’s a highly addictive drug.”
“It is,” she says. “Marc was working with federal law-enforcement agents in an attempt to bust up the Perennial drug ring.”
“As a teacher?” I say. “Was he keeping tabs on students who might be Perennial dealers or users?”
“I’m afraid not,” she says. “Alix, Perennial was the source of Marc’s dirty money.”
There’s a long silence. I place a hand over my mouth, trying to make sense of what she’s telling me.
“Mr. Watkins was selling Perennial to students?” I ask, lowering my hand.
“No.” Mary places a hand on my shoulder as if to prepare me for something big. Then she looks at me and says, “Alix, my husband created Perennial.”
Everything starts spinning. I put my face in my hands to keep from throwing up. Mrs. Watkins wraps her arms around me and tells me to look at her, which I force myself to do. She’s removed her sunglasses again, Mary Watkins staring at me with blue eyes that match the color of the clear morning sky above us.
“His chemistry background,” I say. She nods. “But why?” I ask. “Why would a man who devoted his life to teaching kids create something that has devastated the lives of God knows how many young people?”
“I don’t know, Alix. I honestly don’t know. That secret died with him. The only thing I know is that Marc was afraid of somebody who had muscled his way in and taken over the Perennial operation from him. Marc was so terrified of this person that he turned himself in to federal authorities and cut a deal.” She pauses. “In exchange for immunity from prosecution, Marc gave the Feds the names of all of his dealers, as well as the name of the violent kingpin who threatened to kill him.”
“Face,” I whisper, staring at the pond. “Mary, did your husband ever mention somebody named Face?”
She thinks about it. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “Marc refused to talk about any of it with me. That’s why we fought so much toward the end. I suppose he was trying to protect the boys and me.” She squeezes my shoulder gently. “Everything I just told you came to me through the federal agents. When I came home with the boys from my parents’ house on Sunday evening, Marc was gone, and somehow I knew he wasn’t coming home. He was dead. Murdered. Deep down I knew the man he was afraid of had killed him.” She sniffles and bites her lower lip. “The poison Marc created ended up destroying him.”
She watches the colorful koi. I do the same, trying to make sense of everything and nearly forgetting about the fact that I still have no idea who Lewis Wilde really is.
“Mrs. Watkins?”
“Mary,” she says. “Please, Alix. Call me Mary. Watkins disgusts me at the moment.”
“Mary,” I say. “I appreciate your honesty and candidness, but I don’t know why you just told me all of this. I just learned more from you than my father would ever tell me. I know you know that, so why? Why do you want me to know this?”
She turns to me. “Because you’re a student at his school, Alix. You might think I want his reputation saved, but I don’t. Marc invented a horrible drug that kills people and, as you said, has devastated countless lives. The son of a bitch didn’t even look for a way out until he was afraid for his own life. He would’ve kept on going too. He wasn’t addicted to Perennial as a drug. He was addicted to the power and money that came with Perennial.” She lightly smacks the side of her head with an open palm. “And I was too passive to ever challenge him on it. How do you think that makes me feel?”
I don’t respond.
“Besides,” she says, “you’re looking for answers too, Alix. I saw it the moment you introduced yourself, when I realized you were Clint’s daughter. There’s something special about you, something different. I don’t know what it is, but I feel it.”
“Maybe,” I say, dusting off my thighs and standing. “Maybe I am different, and maybe I am looking for answers.” She joins me and stands. We look toward the pond and the red shrine gate beyond. “Mary, will you do me a favor and not mention to anybody that I was here today, especially my dad?”
“Of course. Listen, everything I told you will become public sooner or later. I might even talk to reporters about it as soon as I get the okay from the Feds.”
“What about your sons? How will you tell them?”
“I’ll tell them the truth when they’re ready for it. Lying doesn’t do any good. And all of this,” she says, indicating the house and the garden. “All of this is gone, seized by the federal government, which will sell it to the highest bidder, I suppose.” She shrugs and slides her sunglasses on. “I’m planning on changing our last name and moving somewhere out of state. I never want to see Beaconsfield again.”
“I understand. Thank you, Mary. Not just for the information, but for talking to me about my mom. I hope we can stay in touch.”
“I’d like that.” She gives me a warm hug and says into my ear, “I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”
“Me too,” I say. “Me too.”
We exchange smiles as she sits down on the stone bench. I turn and head down the pea gravel path toward the backyard gate. A million thoughts race through my mind. If Face killed Mr. Watkins, then he surely murdered William as well. As for Lewis, I still don’t know what to do about him. I love him and hate him at the same time.
“Alix?” Mary says from the bench.
“Yes?” I stop and turn.
Mary looks over her shoulder and says, “Can I tell you the real reason I came to the garden this morning?”
“Sure,” I say. “If you want to.”
“I came here because this garden is a reminder of what Marc was capable of as opposed to what he actually became.”
She turns toward the koi pond.
I continue walking, listening to the falling water behind me and the sound of the pea gravel beneath my feet, but most of all realizing that I’m now on the road to possibly solving two related murders instead of a single isolated one.
Chapter 25
What do you do when it seems as if the world is crashing down upon you?
That’s what I’m thinking as I spend the next few hours driving in a continuous loop around Beaconsfield, looking for answers I can’t find. It feels as if fantasy has become reality and reality has become fantasy. I own a magical knife that has destroyed two demonic beasts, my boyfriend doesn’t seem to have a place of residence, and the city’s most beloved teacher created a sinister drug that is now in the hands of a demon who potentially plans on using it to possess people worldwide.
And it’s up to me to stop it all by the end of tomorrow night, which means going back to Oval City and doing so alone. Impossible. That’s what I keep saying to myself. Based upon what I saw in Oval City, there’s no way I can saunter in there alone and expect to find the violent and elusive Face. Besides, Dad saw me there last night, and it took one huge lie and an Oscar-worthy performance to convince him that it wasn’t me in the truck. Thanks to Mary Watkins, I now have confirmation that Dad is working closely on the Perennial case and knows all about Mr. Watkins’s secret life, meaning Dad will more than likely be undercover in Oval City for the next several nights. So, if I’m going to destroy Face and Oval City, I’ll have the added difficulty of dodging my dad while doing so.
Good luck, Alix.
I’m famished and exhausted well before noon, so I hit the Taco Bell drive-thru and head to a nearby park, where I park the Explorer in a secluded, wooded spot next to a stream and eat the greatest fast food ever created. I nervously check the glove compartment twice to make sure Blade is safe and sound. Watching the stream flow, I try to temporarily forget about my problem with Lewis and what I now know about Mr. Watkins, so I think about William instead and smile at how helpless I felt in his presence during the three dreams, especially the last one. I know we won’t make dream contact again, but I
hope he can see me right now. As much as part of me wants to summon Vagabond, hand him the silver knife, and tell him that I quit, I just can’t bring myself to abandon William. William is the reason this all began.
I imagine William Weed sitting next to me in the Explorer right now, William in his backwards baseball cap, sunglasses, and cargo shorts. I imagine kissing him and running my hands over his dragon tattoos. Then I imagine what might happen if we decided to move things further …
… And the next thing I know, I’m gasping and opening my eyes in the driver’s seat as Taco Bell wrappers fall to the floor mat below me. I must have fallen asleep after eating and thinking about William.
A panicky feeling sets in. What time is it? I dig my phone from my pocket. It’s almost 2:00 p.m. I was out for more than two hours!
I look out the windows in all directions. There’s nobody in this part of the park, just an endless expanse of green and the relaxing sounds of birds and the flowing stream. School ends in twenty minutes. I feel slightly depressed and guilty as I think about the end of my attendance streak. Part of me wonders if the attendance office contacted Dad. I check my phone again. There are no texts, voice mails, or missed calls, so I doubt he has any clue that I ditched. Hopefully it stays that way.
I take a deep breath and start the Explorer. My stomach rumbles. I figure it’s the Taco Bell digesting, but then I realize it’s a bad case of nerves from knowing that I have about thirty-four hours to destroy Face and a demonic lair that encompasses an entire city block in the most dangerous part of Detroit.
***
I pull into my driveway twenty minutes later to the sight of Lewis Wilde sitting on my porch. I almost throw the Explorer into reverse and take off, but all that will do is prolong the inevitable confrontation between us.
I park and kill the ignition, but I don’t get out. There’s something different about Lewis today. Less than twenty feet separates us. He’s as gorgeous as ever, his pale skin, wavy black hair, and green eyes irresistible to look at, but as we stare at each other through the Explorer’s windshield, I’m surprised with the emotionless look on his face. It’s as if he’s the world’s most beautiful zombie. I’m worried he might be high, but his eyes don’t look red or glossy from here.