by Ann Aguirre
Graham shook his head. “Not true. I was in his office when she came in, and old Bulldog Robinson didn’t mount anything but his feet on his desk.”
“What were you doing in the sheriff’s office?” Jesse asked with a raised brow.
Looking put upon, Dale mumbled, “I was detained regarding an allegation of possessing controlled substances.”
“So you know for a fact, there was no search party,” Chance said, thoughtful.
“He didn’t even file the form she filled out,” the older man answered. “Just pitched it in the trash as soon as she left.”
Shannon articulated what everyone was thinking. “Whatever’s going on here, Sheriff Robinson’s in on it.”
I could tell that idea went down smooth as a truck full of cacti, particularly where Jesse Saldana was concerned. He looked like he hated the idea of another dirty cop. After what had happened with his partner, I couldn’t blame him, but at the moment we needed to decide how this information best served us.
“There’s something in the woods,” I said quietly. “And I think they know about it. So if someone disappears out there, they realize there’s no point in looking.”
“But they don’t want to panic the townsfolk.” Jesse drummed his fingers against the tabletop. “So they pretend to go about their business while feverishly looking for a solution to a problem they don’t acknowledge.”
I remembered the grisly pile of mementos and shivered. Chance’s arm went around my shoulders in a casual gesture that stole my breath. He’d never been attuned to me like that before; or if he had been, he never showed it. A surge of renegade warmth curled down my spine as he nestled me against his side. He didn’t even seem aware of what he was doing, as he listened to the crackpot theory Dale Graham was espousing.
I tried to be gentle when the reporter finally stopped talking. “I don’t think this has anything to do with pixies, killer clowns, or lawn gnomes that come to life in the dark of the moon.”
No wonder the authorities didn’t consider him a threat. Between the drugs and his penchant for tabloid journalism, nobody would ever take this guy seriously. We gave his words credence only because we’d seen things ourselves—and even then, we couldn’t believe everything he said.
“They’re watching us,” he concluded with a flickered look around the diner. “I haven’t figured out how yet, but they know where I am all the time.”
“Maybe we could see your journal,” I cut in.
That would likely prove more helpful than listening to him ramble about secret government bases hidden beneath Kilmer, alien breeding programs, and conspiracies that could only be thwarted with the persistent donning of tinfoil hats. The only guy in town willing to talk to us seemed nutty as a Snickers bar.
“I keep it hidden,” he said. “I don’t want them to realize how much I know.”
Well, I hadn’t thought he kept it in his pocket. If it represented years of conspiracy research, it was probably a pretty hefty notebook, maybe even more than one. I guessed it would be secreted in his house somewhere.
“Where do you live?” Chance asked, making the decision for me.
Graham glanced between us with narrowed eyes, as if he thought we might be plants from the establishment. His gaze lingered on Shannon, who said, “It’s okay. I know how you feel about my mom. I won’t come if you don’t want me to.”
That seemed to reassure him, though I didn’t know why. “Out on Rabbit Road,” he said. “All the way at the end, just before the road runs out. You can’t miss the place.”
“I know where it is,” Shannon said.
So did I, actually. He was on the other side of the woods from us, but just as close to those watchful trees. I repressed a shudder.
“Be there at nine tonight,” Graham said, and crammed the last bite of his pie into his mouth. “I’ll need time to retrieve my journal.”
So he didn’t keep it at home. Interesting. But then, homes had a way of burning down in Kilmer, didn’t they? I couldn’t imagine where a half-crazed relic from the sixties would hide something.
The reporter excused himself with a jaunty wave out of keeping with the ominous tone of our meeting. After he’d gone, Shannon scooted out and sat down next to Jesse, who made room in the booth for her. She didn’t look at us, instead studying the milky reflection of her hands clasped on the white Formica table.
“I didn’t tell you everything,” she whispered. “Dale knows that. Whatever’s going on, my mom is part of it. That’s why I was so desperate to get away. Because I think . . . whoever is a part of this mess is planning to do something to me. I heard her arguing with my dad about it one night.”
That would certainly explain her father’s misery, although I didn’t understand why he hadn’t just grabbed Shannon and run. I could certainly comprehend a parent doing all manner of things to protect his child. I didn’t understand inaction.
“When was this?” Jesse asked gently.
I wondered what he felt from her, this thin, big-eyed girl who was scarcely more than a child. His hand came to light on the top of her spiky, blue-streaked head, and she turned her face into his shoulder. I definitely grasped the appeal of that. Jesse had a way of making a woman feel safe.
“Last week,” she muttered, voice muffled by his shirt. “Just before y’all got here.”
“You must have been terrified.” Saldana petted her as if she were a stray puppy he’d found.
She sniffed. “Yeah. But I couldn’t let her know how happy I was to see somebody who might be able to help, so that’s why I acted like such a jerkwad when we first met.” Jesse looked puzzled, as he hadn’t been on-site to receive Shannon’s rudeness firsthand.
I waved that away. Her “rebellious teen” act was the least of our concerns. Before I could comment on what the reporter had said, the waitress swung by to find out if we meant to order anything besides coffee. She was a stout woman with big, stiff hair, a pink polyester uniform, and sensible shoes. When she recognized Shannon, her brows pulled together like an angry centipede.
“Shouldn’t you be in school, Shannon Cheney? Does your mother know you’re gadding about with strangers?” Her disapproving gaze took in the way Jesse was holding the girl, and her mouth tightened.
I could have assured the waitress he didn’t have lascivious intentions, but I doubted she’d believe me. She also wouldn’t credit that Shannon was scared of Sandra, who looked like the perfect mother. Appearances could be deceiving—could they ever.
“If she didn’t before, she’ll find out the minute you get a break.” Shannon didn’t look concerned. I wasn’t sure how I felt about her faith in us.
“Let’s get out of here.” I didn’t want to be here when her mother showed up breathing fire and brimstone. She might not be able to physically remove her child, but she could—and would—make our stay in Kilmer unpleasant. I didn’t look forward to the inevitable confrontation.
“Check, please.” Jesse offered the waitress his best smile, but she glared at him.
We paid the bill, just coffee and Dale Graham’s peach pie, then made our way back to the Forester. It was a gray day, heavy and overcast. A cool, damp wind blew over us, carrying the scent of distant fires. I couldn’t imagine what anybody would be burning in the middle of the day, but it sent a shiver of foreboding over me nonetheless.
“Something’s going to happen soon,” Chance predicted.
“I wish that struck me as a good thing,” I muttered as I climbed into the SUV. “But it absolutely doesn’t.”
“Me either.” Chance seemed grim as he settled beside me in the backseat. “Dale said events are escalating.”
Saldana started the car, made sure Shannon had on her seat belt, and checked our surroundings in the rearview mirror. I felt like people were watching us from behind their blinds and curtains, planning something so bad I couldn’t conceive it. Though I wanted to tell myself I was being irrational, I couldn’t.
I’d died out in those woods. If not
for Jesse Saldana, I wouldn’t be sitting here. I found it hard to get my breath. Since my mother’s death, Kilmer had shaped my bogeymen and my nightmares, filling them with dark beasts that knew my name.
I scowled in reaction. “He also said we could blame everything that’s wrong in Kilmer on breeding experiments instituted by J. Edgar Hoover, using genetic material recovered from the Roswell crash.”
Jesse laughed as he pulled onto the road. “He’d make a great poster child for antidrug campaigns, wouldn’t he? So where to?”
Mentally I tabulated our schedule. We needed to be at Miss Minnie’s house for dinner by six, and we should check in with Chuch, Booke, and Chance’s mom before the day got too much later. At nine, we would swing by Dale Graham’s house on Rabbit Road.
After a moment’s thought, I said, “We should check out Little Ed Willoughby, if Shannon knows where he lives.”
“They have a place in the old neighborhood, four blocks from the hardware store.” Shannon gave Jesse directions.
Since Kilmer was a small town, it took us only five minutes to get there. We pulled up outside a tiny bungalow that seemed hard-pressed to house three people. The place seemed still and quiet, but as we climbed out of the SUV and went up the cracked sidewalk toward the front door, I heard the sound of a TV or radio from inside.
Chance waved us on, circling around back. I didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish until he came around the other side. “The car’s parked out back,” he said grimly. “Looks like we came to the right place.”
My heart gave a little skip. Now maybe we’d get some answers. I pounded on the door and then squeezed my hands together so they wouldn’t tremble. I’d never come to visit someone who had tried to kill me before.
It took almost five minutes before anyone answered. A muttered curse sounded as something thumped just inside. I braced myself.
Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of a young man hardly older than Shannon, sitting in a wheelchair. Both his legs had casts on them, signed with colorful get-well wishes. Little Ed Willoughby gazed up at us curiously, smiling with a touch of chagrin when he recognized Shannon.
“Hey, girl.” I could tell he was trying to look cool for her, actively hampered by several pounds of plaster and a tatty blue bathrobe.
Shannon seemed just as surprised as the rest of us. “What happened to you, Ed?”
“Fell off my uncle’s roof,” he muttered.
And broke both his legs? That took some doing.
I felt somewhat nonplussed. I could tell the casts hadn’t just been applied yesterday, and I didn’t think he could drive like that.
“Has anyone borrowed your car lately?” Jesse asked. Trust the cop to get the interrogation back on track.
Little Ed looked mildly alarmed. “No, why?”
“Because someone tried to run Corine over with a vehicle that looks like yours,” Chance put in. “Do you mind if we take a look in your backyard?”
“Not at all,” the kid said. If he had anything to hide, he was a hell of an actor. He seemed more confused than anything—and a little sweet on Shannon. “I don’t know of anybody else who drives an Olds Cutlass like mine. You sure it was blue?”
“Positive,” Chance told him.
Ed shrugged. “Well, feel free to have a look around. Come on back if you need anything else.”
We took him at his word and headed out back to inspect his car. It took Saldana only a minute and a half to put the pieces together. “This car’s been hot-wired. See the loose wires?”
I blinked at that. “So somebody stole Ed’s car, tried to run me over, and then brought it back when they failed?”
“What I wouldn’t give for a basic forensics kit, so I could take some prints, but then again, there’s no computer to run them through.” I’d never seen Jesse so frustrated. “This place is like living in the Dark Ages.”
Shannon sighed. “Well, that was pointless. It could’ve been anybody.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Just someone who wants me dead.”
On second thought, that didn’t narrow it down much at all.
Homecoming
After a fruitless stop at Little Ed Willoughby’s, we had plenty of time to do something that seemed inevitable. I marveled a little that I’d managed to put it off so long. There was one place we might find answers, however, as little as I liked it.
“What’s next on our list?” Saldana asked.
“Out of town,” I said, swallowing a wave of pain that threatened to drown me. Jesse cut me a sharp look over his shoulder and started to pull over. “Jesus, Corine, are you all right? What—”
“It’s okay. Drive.”
Shannon craned her neck to stare, as if starting to grasp that there was a silent subtext she couldn’t register. She didn’t like it, either. A frown etched delicate lines between her inky brows, out of place on a kid her age.
Chance regarded me with his tiger’s eyes, amber latticed through with gold and topaz. They were nothing so simple as light brown; in this moment they seemed to glow with lambent light and quiet secrets. “Are you sure about this?”
He knew? I hadn’t said anything. My face must have reflected confusion, for his expression softened, and he brushed a kiss against my temple. His look said simply, I know you. I know how you think. In a motion that seemed more than natural, he reached for me, offering physical contact easily, as he’d never done when we were together. God, he felt good; so hot and solid beside me. I drew in a deep breath, filling my lungs with Chance.
“About what?” Jesse’s tone reflected mild irritation.
“We need to swing by the place I used to live.” My certainty came from beyond my own powers and intuitions. Bleak, heavy knowledge pressed on me from somewhere else, but I didn’t want to be beholden to the thing in the woods. Loneliness flooded me, utter solitude. Since I wasn’t an empath, I knew it was targeting me on purpose. Loathing crawled through me. I didn’t want it helping me—I didn’t want it sending me hunches on the smoky wind. I didn’t want to be able to feel what it felt, and I didn’t want to go to the ruin where my mother died, but I did want answers.
She deserved justice.
With a sense of foreboding, I gave directions.
Over the years, the elements had reclaimed the wreckage of our former home. Birds nested in the ruin, and creepers had wound their way through the charred timbers, erasing man’s passage. Now there was nothing left but a few fallen beams, old ashes, and a sturdy foundation. The walls had long since fallen down, but in my mind’s eye, I saw the way the house once looked; I even visualized my mama standing on the porch.
It hurt like nothing I could have imagined—not even dying. I stood beside the SUV with lead in my limbs, feeling like they wouldn’t carry me forward. My left hand curled into a fist, and I rubbed my fingers across the brand from my mother’s necklace. To my surprise, it didn’t hurt but merely tingled a bit. I glanced down and found the mark had healed overnight. It was impossible; something Kel might’ve done to make me believe in his otherworldly origins. And yet I had an old brand on my palm.
“This is the place.” My voice sounded rusty.
I didn’t need to turn to know the others stood behind me, waiting for an explanation as to why we were here. I hadn’t done so before our arrival because I knew Jesse would object—and he was driving. Shannon didn’t know enough about my gift to understand the risk behind what I intended to attempt.
Maybe I was mistaken, but I felt as though my fleeting death had changed something in me. That might come from facing the worst and coming through unscathed. In the queer half-light cast by the surrounding trees, I felt different, shadow touched, and yet as if the reaper had no dominion over me, at least not here and now. Today I would be like water trickling through its bony fingers.
“Not much to see,” Jesse said finally.
Shannon agreed. “How long ago did you live here?”
“I was thirteen,” I answered. “So it’s bee
n fourteen years.”
Nobody made a move to approach the house. I suspected they could sense the residual malice of what had transpired lingering in the earth itself. The woods seemed unearthly quiet, no chattering birds, not even the rustle of squirrels or chipmunks in the underbrush. It was as if the world itself held its breath for my return.
Well, I didn’t want to disappoint. Squaring my shoulders, I took the first step and then another, climbing carefully through the wreckage until I stood inside the space that had been our living room. Old anguish rocketed through me in a blazing rush. I didn’t want to remember how happy I’d been here, or what came after.
“Corine,” Jesse said. I knew he had to be suffering too, and I felt awful for putting him through this. “You don’t have to do this. We probably can’t learn anything here, not after all this time.”
“You can’t.” Chance’s voice sounded tight and fierce, as if he wanted desperately to protect me from myself. He also knew I wouldn’t let him.
Butch popped up from my handbag and yapped twice in agreement. He sank tiny teeth into the fabric of my shirt, as if he’d forcibly prevent me from doing so. I gently disengaged him and handed the dog to Shannon. Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t take his advice. I couldn’t opt out. We had to know.
Comprehension dawned in Jesse’s bitter chocolate eyes. I could see he wanted to argue against the wisdom of it. If a necklace imbued with the pain of my mother’s death killed me, what would the house where she died do? Maybe this time there would be no bringing me back.
I’d never attempted anything on this scale before, but it was an inanimate object, right? The principle should remain the same, and I needed its secrets. The tingle in my left palm became a steady pulse of heat, and following some instinct I hadn’t known I possessed, I sank down amid old ashes and sealed my hand against the foundation.
Pain scoured my nerves like wildfire consuming a dry forest. For interminable moments, I knew nothing but agony that spread in a black-red wash across my field of vision. I ceased to hear my own breathing, my own heartbeat. I might be dying again, but I couldn’t break the connection. The house wanted to own me in a complete and terrible way. I tried to fight—