by Ann Aguirre
He started to smile. “Earn you? Like a pay increase?”
“Not what I meant,” I muttered.
“I know what you mean.” Chance sounded impossibly tender as he bent his head and brushed his lips along my jaw. “I think I get it. Finally.”
A shiver stole through me. “Get what?”
“You.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Show, not tell, right, Corine? Action, not words. You don’t want to hear how sorry I am or how things will be different this time. You want to see it with your own eyes. And until I can show you that, you won’t tell me what I want to hear.”
Huh, he finally did get it.
“What’s that?”
His answer came low. “That you still love me.”
Oh God. I didn’t want to. I wanted to start over, and Chance had no place in my new life. I wished I could cut him out of me. But part of me would always look at him and remember he represented the first home I’d known since my mama died.
“You’re right on all counts. It broke my heart to leave, Chance. You’ll never know how hard it was for me to walk away from you, or how much strength it took. If we ever get back together, it’ll be because you convinced me we can make it work long term, and because you trust me with everything you are.”
He had been nodding, a smile building on his wonderful mouth, until I said the last thing. The breath ran out of him in a sigh. I hated the haunted look in his eyes, but I didn’t back down.
“Some of my secrets could hurt you,” he said quietly.
“And your luck could kill me.” Maybe that wasn’t fair. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it. That wasn’t something he could help, after all.
“I know,” he murmured, tawny eyes full of smoke and shadow. “That’s why I let you walk away in the first place.”
“But you don’t love me enough to let me keep walking?”
His voice deepened, gained a raw note. “There aren’t words for what I feel for you.”
“You’ll have to prove that,” I said softly.
“Fair enough.”
“And you still didn’t answer my question.”
Chance raised his brows, plainly surprised. I guess he thought he’d succeeded in distracting me. “The why of it?”
“Exactly. Why are you so determined now when you could’ve tried at any point before I left?” Or come after me before you needed me, I added to myself.
“Because you’re back, and that’s like a second chance,” he said quietly. “I learned from losing you.”
“What do you mean?”
“After you left, I only had my pride for company. At first I was furious, and I tried to tell myself, ‘Fine, if that’s how she wants it.’ Unfortunately, I had plenty of time to think about the things we used to fight about and how none of them seemed to matter. I’m not saying I’d cave on every issue now, but I realized it’s important to pick your battles.
“There should’ve been more give-and-take between us, and a lot of that was my fault. Because I didn’t want to share, didn’t want to give you insights that would make me vulnerable. So this time I told you how I feel about Saldana. You said yourself—I never would’ve done that before. I’ve lost too many people. Now that you’re back in my life, I’ve made up my mind you won’t be one of them. But I won’t push you.”
I considered what he’d said, and it all seemed honest enough; certainly more than he would’ve offered in the past. If Chance really wanted to change, I’d wait and see. He had been right when he said I wanted proof, not promises. It was easier to say, Baby, come back. Things will be different this time. But it could be hard to put the words into practice, and sometimes, good intentions resulted in falling back into old habits.
“Is that what you guys talked about at the bar? You agreed to back off?”
“Pretty much.”
“Thanks. It was starting to get awkward. And I appreciate your giving me the space I need to figure out what I want.”
“Take your time.”
“Talking about your feelings is only the tip of the iceberg, though it’s a good start. If you really want me back, you have to tell me who you are . . . and part with those closely held secrets.”
“I know. Give me time too. Rome wasn’t built in a day.” His tone ached with intensity, but he changed the subject, fixing me with a glare. “Dirt, Corine? First houses, now dirt? I’m worried about you, love. I’m afraid you’re going to push yourself too far; that you’ll go into a handling and you won’t come out again. I had no idea you could do this stuff, none at all.”
Well, I couldn’t, before I’d died. I didn’t tell him that.
Chance went on. “What’s it going to be next? Highways? Bridges? I thought your power only applied to buttons, shirts, lost jewelry—”
“I don’t know what my limits are,” I put in quietly. “But if anyone deserves my best, it’s my mom.”
He bowed his head then, in silent acknowledgment. I’d given his mother my best—and we’d saved her. When he spoke next, it was only to make plans. “We should eat, gear up, and then get out there.”
Food sounded like a good idea. As we went inside for more of my famous peanut butter sandwiches, I remembered I hadn’t mentioned the most important thing. “The bad guy . . . the one who choked Farrell in my vision?”
Butch wiggled, demanding to get down. He trotted into the kitchen, and I heard him munching his kibble—lunchtime for him too.
Chance paused just inside the front door. “Yeah?”
“I’ll recognize him. If we spot him anywhere in town, I will know him. And he’s key. I can’t imagine having a good reason to throttle somebody, can you?”
“Not unless you’re Kel Ferguson.”
Ah, damn. I wished he hadn’t said that. I still wasn’t over the uneasy truce we’d struck with the holy killer. He scared me more than demons, missing persons, and accursed towns combined.
Before I went into the kitchen, I hid our clues in a safe place—Curtis Farrell’s Bible—along with Stu’s list and that Robert Frost poem. Together they went up onto the highest shelf I could reach. I found Jesse and Shannon already eating. Jesse looked a little pale, probably from Shannon’s poking around in his wound. She’d already made sandwiches for us too, so I thanked her and took my place at the table.
While I ate, Chance told them the bit of happy news about my being able to ID the guy who’d choked Curtis Farrell into submission. Jesse thought about that, munching on his PBJ.
“That’s not all,” he said. “Our guy will have scabs on his wrists and hands if it wasn’t too long ago. And Curtis may have bruises on his neck like yours.”
“His hands might match the marks on my neck,” I said, much struck. “You think we should file a police report before the bruises fade?”
Jesse frowned at me. “I’m not letting you file a false report, even here.”
“Fine. But there’s one more thing.”
“What?” Chance asked.
“I recognize the guy. I’m sure my mother saw him just before she died.”
Both Chance and Jesse put down the remainder of their sandwiches; I could see questions in their eyes. I hadn’t told either one of them how viscerally I had experienced her death; it had been like living inside her skin. And my visions from handling charged objects kept ratcheting up in intensity ever since.
“So the guy who choked Farrell is one of the twelve,” Chance said.
Shannon ventured, “What did he look like? Maybe I know him. If I do, I could tell you who he’s likely to be working with.”
It was a long shot, at best. A maladjusted teenager couldn’t possibly know everyone in town, not even one the size of Kilmer. But it might be worth trying, so I described him to the best of my ability.
She shrugged, visibly disappointed. “That could be any of thirty men. Saying ‘old, tall, and thin’ isn’t specific enough.”
“I wish I could draw.”
Jesse waved that away
for the moment. “This is big, folks. We’re talking about a solid lead. This guy could be the key to unraveling everything else. Assuming you don’t plan to execute him when you find him?”
I really wished he hadn’t asked that.
Search Party
Luckily, I came up with an answer that satisfied Saldana and had the added value of being true. “I won’t execute him,” I said in neutral tones.
Until he leads me to the other eleven. Until then, I needed him.
Jesse nodded. “Good to know. I didn’t think so, but these folks are to blame for your loss. I’m not sure what I’d do in your shoes.”
Most likely, he thought me kinder and gentler than I was. I didn’t dispel the ideal right then, but I was afraid he might be unpleasantly surprised if he took a good long look. Deep down, I suspected Jesse Saldana might be a much better person than me.
As we finished our lunch, a thought struck me. “How many people are on the town council?”
Shannon shrugged. “No idea.”
“Who’s the mayor?” I pushed away from the table and went to the fridge for bottled water. If we were doing this, we needed to be prepared.
“Reverend Prentice,” she said.
“Your grandfather.” It wasn’t a question. Chance leaned forward, finally seeming interested in the conversation.
Shannon looked embarrassed, hunching her shoulders. “Yeah, we’re what you call a ‘founding family.’ We can trace our line on my mother’s side all the way back to the people who first settled here.”
“That’s a long time,” Jesse said mildly.
Something about that revelation nagged at me, but we didn’t have time to pursue it. We needed to get into the woods before the day got any later. Jesse insisted we take a couple of back-packs stocked with crackers and water, just in case. Chance added a flashlight.
I changed into old jeans and a faded sweatshirt, layered that with a light jacket, and then put on battered sneakers. The others donned similar uniforms, and then we were ready. Butch trotted after us, so I paused.
“You want to come?”
The dog gave an affirmative yap.
“Promise not to run off this time?”
I swore he sighed. Then he barked once to confirm his good intentions. Before adopting this attitudinal Chihuahua with his lion-sized heart and spiked collar, I had no idea dogs could have so much personality. Half smiling, I picked him up and stepped outside to gaze at the nearby tangle of trees.
Though it was daylight, the forest cast long shadows. Spanish moss hung like spiderwebs, making the woods look even more foreboding. Scaly-bark cedar, white hickories, red maple, sycamore, sassafras, and black gum trees grew here. I’d come to know this wood too well the night my mother died. The hickories, maples, and sycamores guarded the perimeter, and as the terrain grew wetter, they gave way to bald cypress and giant tupelo, but if you found yourself that far in, you most likely wouldn’t find your way out again.
On most of the trees, the leaves had turned but not fallen. When the wind kicked up, it carried a desiccated rustle like dying things, and it made me think of the ghosts that whispered in Mr. McGee’s radio. The air was heavy with brine and a hint of threatening rain, like a fine static shock lifting your hair a whisper off your neck. It had been a wet November compared to what I remembered as typical. September and October were normally dry and sunny, as I recalled, true Indian summer.
That was very different from where I lived now. In Mexico, spring was the hottest time of the year. If you weren’t careful, you could run out of water with the city on rationing. I’d once needed to call a private water truck to refill my tank when I hadn’t noticed a slow drip from my outdoor tap. Then, when summertime—rainy season—rolled around, you could set your watch by afternoon storms. Sometimes hail pinged down on the passing cars, filling the air with the wet rush of tires and a peppery serenade. Like a listing iron rooster weather vane on top of a farmhouse, my memories of this place carried a tarnished patina of fear and darkness, making me more reluctant to do what I knew needed to be done.
Shit, I hoped I was brave enough for this. I could sense the thing’s sharpening prickle of attention, like it had been watching us the whole time, and now it knew something interesting was about to happen. I started to think better of this idea. I mean, the forest was huge, right? How did we think we could find anything at all in there?
Before I could drown in fear and doubt, the other three filed out, and we set off. Since he’d been there with me, Jesse led the way, Shannon and I walked in between, and Chance brought up the rear. I was pretty sure the guys had come up with that to try to protect us. I doubted it would work, but I appreciated the intent.
As we stepped into the trees, the air chilled markedly.
Behind me, Shannon shivered and pressed closer. “I haven’t been out here since last year.”
When that kid went missing. She didn’t need to provide context; I understood her fear.
The trees loomed over us, bleak and skeletal. Like a lattice of graying bones, the limbs twined heavy overhead. Underfoot, fallen branches crackled as we walked. Ordinarily, silence didn’t bother me, but here, it did. There were no birds, no small animals nearby. I told myself it was just the season, but I drew the lapels of my jacket together nonetheless.
“Ideas on where to start?” Jesse asked.
I didn’t have any. None of our talents offered any help for this situation. Chance’s luck wasn’t working at all; Jesse might be able to find survivors; Shannon could only talk to the dead, if—
“We need to go back,” I said excitedly. “I have an idea.”
To my amazement, they didn’t ask, but just tromped back the way we came. They waited outside while I ran in. When I returned, I was carrying John McGee’s old radio. Shannon recoiled when she saw what I had, but Chance and Jesse looked intrigued.
“What did you have in mind?” Saldana asked as we retraced our steps.
“I was thinking maybe Shannon only had trouble with John McGee because they”—whoever they were—“knew we were trying to talk to him before he died. So they did a little afterlife damage control.”
Chance nodded to show he was following. “But to forbid her from communicating with all spirits around these parts would take a major working.”
“And I don’t think we’re up against that kind of magickal mojo. If we were, we’d be looking at sendings such as we had in Laredo, and so far, it’s been minor stuff. If there is a black coven here, I don’t think they have much juice.”
“That makes sense,” Jesse agreed, “and it fits the pattern.”
“What do you want me to do?” Shannon gazed at me wide-eyed, as if worried the trouble she’d had before would revisit itself on her.
That wasn’t good; she needed to face that fear, or she’d never get past it. Maybe these scary-ass woods weren’t the best place for it, but our enemies wouldn’t be able to target a spell if we kept moving; hence the big advantage to doing this on the fly.
“You knew Rob,” I said carefully. “There’s a good chance you can get in touch with him and maybe he can guide us to his body.”
Chance nodded. “That’s better than roaming around blindly.”
“But if you feel anything’s wrong, stop before it gets too tough, okay?”
She considered for a moment and then said, “I’ll give it a shot.” With some reluctance, she took the radio from me, flicked it on, and started messing with the tuning dial. Her eyes closed as she focused.
The antique radio crackled, hissing as she went point by point along spectral frequencies. Around us, the chill increased, eddying around us in currents that I imagined as spirits drawn to the power she exuded. Such unearthly cold could only come from a complete dearth of life. It reminded me of the shades that nearly drained me dry in Texas; I couldn’t repress a shiver.
“Cold—,” whispered a fuzzy voice through the old speakers. The person sounded young, frightened. “Shannon, I’m cold.”
Christ, how was I supposed to mentor this girl? The dead were not my forte. I had to put her in touch with someone via the Area 51 message board as soon as I could. She needed help and training I simply couldn’t provide.
“Ask him where he is,” Chance said quietly.
There was no response, so I guessed the rest of us didn’t exist for him. One answer about how her ability worked, at least. I’d never met anyone who did what she did in exactly this way.
“Are you okay?” I asked, anxious. “No drain like when you called Mr. McGee?”
She shook her head. “It’s normal this time. Just weird because”—she shrugged—“I knew him. It’s . . . different.” But she braced herself for the next bit, likely knowing it would be difficult, and asked, “Do you know where you are, Rob?”
“I’m in the woods,” he answered at once.
Jesse whispered to me, “She’s a lodestone for them. It’s uncanny, isn’t it? I think they tune in to her just as she uses the radio to tune in to them.”
I agreed with a silent nod, letting Shannon work.
“You’ve been out here a long time,” she told him gently. “Can you show me exactly where? I’d like to bring you home. Your mom is worried.”
There was a long silence, and then: “I’m dead, aren’t I?”
How could he not know? I flinched, thinking he might freak out. But the girl merely replied, “Yeah. Sorry.”
Even through the old, tinny speakers, his answer sounded wistful. “I’m glad you made it out. I always liked you, Shannon.”
Her eyes looked so old in her small face. “I liked you too, Rob. I need you to lead me to where you died. Can you do that?”
“I—yeah. It’s a ways from here,” he told her.
“Just give me the directions,” she assured him. “We’ll get you out, I promise.”
Thus followed one of the most chilling hours I’ve ever experienced; two kids, one of them dead, communicating via a decrepit transistor radio, as we trekked through the tangle of trees. Sometimes we hacked away at the undergrowth in order to pass where Rob’s spirit said we must. I think Chance shared my latent fear we might be walking into a trap, but we kept pushing forward because I couldn’t think what else to do.