by Jen Blood
It was almost four a.m. by the time I dozed off. When I woke later, it was to a freezing cold, pitch-black room and a notably absent Diggs. According to my cell phone, it was only five o’clock. I forced myself to some semblance of wakefulness, roused Einstein, and got up. All the while, I was going over the story. Mike Reynolds was dead. Reverend Diggins was dead. And someone who supposedly had the same objective we did—to shut down J.—was running around loose, killing off J. operatives at an impressive rate.
I pulled on two pairs of wool socks, and thought of Jack Juarez. If I could get in touch with him, he would have contacts he could tap; information he might be able to give us. Cameron still hadn’t responded to my message, which seemed like a bad sign. I thought of the mysterious missing…something, in Diggs’ house. Something he couldn’t tell me about. My mind immediately went to the worst places: a last-resort drug stash he’d been hanging onto in case things got unbearable; photo albums from one of his previous marriages, proving that one of them had actually been the love of his life… I wasn’t sure what else it could be. I knew there were plenty of things he’d done and never told me about over the years. Hell, up until I’d called him on it in Kentucky, it felt like I spent most of my time playing connect-the-dots with his past.
I got up at quarter past five and went downstairs. The meeting room was empty, as was the kitchen. Lacking any better ideas, I went outside with Einstein. December in Maine is the darkest month—the sun rises at seven, sets by four in the afternoon. That morning, it was still dark out, the sky a deep midnight blue. It was cold, too, the smell of snow in the air.
I found Diggs at the old greenhouse—the one my father used to tend for Isaac Payson. It was a place I hadn’t wanted to visit, for fear of all those ghosts of Christmas past. Surprisingly, I didn’t find any there.
The greenhouse was made of stone, glass, and steel. The glass and steel panes had long since shattered and Jamie’s people must have hauled them off. It felt like ancient ruins now, Diggs alone on a granite bench inside the structure. At sight of him sitting there, blank-faced and solitary, it wasn’t hard to forget my own worries.
I went in and sat beside him on the icy stone bench. Einstein looked at both of us anxiously, snuffled a bit, and settled at my feet. Cold soaked through my ski pants. I took Diggs’ hand. It was freezing.
“What are you doing out here?” I said.
“Thinking.” He was shivering. “Freezing my ass off.” I wrapped my arms around him. He leaned into my much-smaller frame and rested his head awkwardly on my shoulder.
“Come to bed. Nobody should be up this early. Or out in this kind of cold.”
He kissed my neck. Even his lips were cold. “I want to leave,” he said after a while.
“Then let’s go –”
“Not the greenhouse. Littlehope, I mean. Just leave it behind like we did before. Never look back. This place is cursed.”
I wrapped my arms more tightly around him. He wore a knit cap and a parka, but somewhere under them, I could still feel him in there. “We never would have met, without Littlehope,” I said.
He didn’t say anything, but I could feel him thinking, those wheels forever turning.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?” Another long silence. Foreboding built. “Diggs?”
He pulled back abruptly. The end of his nose was red with the cold, his eyes glassy from lack of sleep. “I’m sorry I’m not…more.”
“More what? Jesus, Diggs. You keep me safe, keep me sane, keep me sated… If you were any more, I’d have to build a fucking shrine.” I touched his stubbled cheek with a gloved hand. “You couldn’t have saved your dad. Whatever happened with him, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do this. They did this.”
How many times had he given me the same speech, in the wee hours of Australian dawn? I watched for signs I might be getting through. All I saw was a storm brewing in troubled blue eyes.
“You know I love you, right?” I said. “More than coffee. Almost as much as chocolate. Anything you need to say…”
“I know,” he said. He was still distant, but he pulled himself back with some effort. Forehead furrowed. He met my eye suddenly. “Me, too. Always. I’m just… I’m a little blindsided, God knows why. It’s not like I thought my old man was back here waiting for me to come home, crossing off the days.”
“You just didn’t think he’d gone completely round the bend,” I guessed.
“Yeah. I definitely didn’t see that coming.” He paused again, building to something. I waited him out. With Diggs, it’s really the only way to get to anything. “Why do you think he said that stuff to Jed? About me not being his son, I mean?”
“He was sick, Diggs,” I said. “And he was a mean son of a bitch. I’m sorry, but you know that better than anyone.”
His eyes drifted. I couldn’t get a bead on him—what he was thinking, what was eating him up so much. Diggs has never been much for sharing, but it seemed like we’d gotten past that in the last year.
“Diggs—”
“He called me a bastard.”
I waited for more. Since I had no doubt the reverend had called Diggs far worse in his day, I wasn’t sure of the significance. “He was out of his mind, Diggs.”
“No. He called me bastard. My father didn’t just toss curses around. He knew the meaning. Why would he say that? Use that particular word? ‘All I have left is a bastard son who stole everything that was real.’”
I winced. How often had those words echoed in his mind over the past twenty-four hours? “He wasn’t thinking.”
“No, he wasn’t. I think that’s why he let himself say it—something he’d been wanting to say to me for a long time. I don’t look like him, Sol. I never did. You look at old pictures of the family, and you can see the resemblance to my mother….”
“Your parents were married for a couple of years before they had you,” I argued. “I mean, it’s not like there was a shotgun wedding and you came along six months later. Your dad was a preacher—”
“A preacher who beat the shit out of his wife. A preacher who’s already admitted to sleeping with other members of his church. Who’s to say my mother didn’t pay him back for that with a little something of her own on the side?”
“You don’t think he would have told you before now? Why wouldn’t he say something—especially after your mom was gone?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head, lowering his gaze to the ground.
My chest tightened. Kat had inflicted plenty of damage on me over the years, but I was pretty sure it didn’t hold a candle to anything Diggs’ father had done to him. And at least with Kat, I knew by now that she cared about me—loved me, in her way. And always had.
I stood up and turned to face Diggs, since my thighs were going numb anyway. I lifted his chin and forced him to look at me. “Whether you were his or not, the shit he did, the shit he said… That was him, not you. You’re a good man, Diggs. I’ll kick the ass of anyone who says differently—including you. Okay?”
His mouth twitched, a hint of a smile playing there. I leaned in and kissed him. He pulled me to him, hard, arms wrapped around me and his head on my chest.
“Now take me to bed before I freeze to death in this hellhole.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled into my boob. Einstein got up and put his paw on Diggs’ knee. All for one, one for all.
We walked back to the house hand in hand with Stein on our heels as the sun rose on the horizon, ghosts converging in the shadows behind us.
We were almost back when we heard the first explosion—a concussion across the water that seemed to rock the very air we were breathing. Diggs’ hand tightened in mine.
“What the hell could anyone possibly blow up now?” I asked.
He pulled me with him as we broke into a reluctant lope back to the boarding house. We were on the front doorstep when a second explosion went off in the distance.
I heard a phone ring inside the house
. When I opened the door, it seemed like everyone was in action—half-asleep action, but action nonetheless. As soon as we came through the door, Monty held up a hand for us to be quiet. He didn’t look amused, for a change. Jamie was on the phone.
“What about casualties?” she said into the receiver.
Carl, Bear, and Urella had also gathered.
“Thank you,” Jamie said. “We’ll be there with the dogs within the hour.” She hung up.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I was on the line with Sheriff Finnegan about bringing the dogs over to search for weapons when there was another explosion at the Reynolds place. They thought they had it contained, but apparently the meth lab just went up.”
“Do they know what happened?” I asked.
“They don’t have details yet,” Jamie said. “Emergency crews were still out there—everyone’s accounted for at this point, but now they want me to bring a couple dogs back and see if we can sniff out anything on the property.”
“I thought you were leaving this morning,” I said.
“So did I.” She shrugged. “It’s all right—we’ll just head out after we wrap up there. It doesn’t sound like this will take long. Skies are supposed to stay clear, seas pretty steady for the next twenty-four hours. We’ll be fine.”
“What can we do?” I asked, my attention on Jamie. She was already in emergency mode, an impressive sight, issuing calm directives to her team.
“Stay here,” she said to me, like it was obvious. “You’re supposed to be hiding out, remember? For now, the best thing you can do is stay put.”
“We can help with the search,” I insisted. “I’m an EMT.”
“Bear, load the boat,” she said calmly. “We’ll want Casper and Belle. Phantom stays behind today.”
When Bear and Urella were gone, Jamie returned her attention to Diggs and me.
“Stay here,” she said again. “Seriously. They have EMTs on the mainland. We’ve got this. We have a job to do—I can’t spend my time worrying about what you two are up to. In the meantime, figure out what the hell is going on, and find a way to stop it.”
“Can you keep us in the loop, at least?” Diggs asked. He eyed me warily, but I eyed him right back. Historically, neither of us have been the best at staying put.
“I will,” Jamie promised. “As soon as I’m safely able to give you a call, I will.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding. “Go. Be careful.”
Chapter Nine
Earlier that morning…
It was colder than he remembered Maine being—but then, Jack Juarez had always made a point to avoid the state in the heart of winter. Months in South America hadn’t helped matters. His blood had thinned, his body grown used to soaring temperatures and light fabrics. Still, he’d known for some time that this would be where he’d end up: in Littlehope, in the heart of winter. Still chasing J., intent on stopping whatever it was they had planned for the fishing village.
He hadn’t reached out to Jamie for months. Had yet to contact Diggs or Erin. He’d been watching, though. Tracking their movement. They were surprisingly stealthy now; he was impressed. Erin looked good—a fact he reflected on with no bitterness. They’d spent time in the sun, by the look of them both. Diggs had mentioned Australia before; Jack felt sure that’s where they had been.
None of those things were at the forefront of his mind when they’d appeared from nowhere last night, of course, suddenly at the heart of things when he knew everything was about to go to hell. They’d gotten out safely—even gotten Reynolds’ kids out with them—but it had been by the skin of their teeth. Afterward, he’d watched them go. Stayed behind in the woods, watching the place burn. Searching for any sign that J. might come back here, now that Reynolds was dead—maybe reclaim their weapons, wipe their tracks.
So far, though, no one had shown.
Chilled, he pulled his wool jacket around himself more tightly. He’d lost weight, he knew. Forgotten to shave for…a few days. He wasn’t sure how many. He peered up over the hill, watching the emergency crews as they cleared debris and made sure the fire was out.
It was almost six a.m., the sky the kind of deep, dark blue he could remember from Crayola boxes as a child. Half remember. Truthfully, those early memories were more like flashes of films he’d watched years ago than events he’d actually been part of.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he was waiting for. What he expected to see. With Reverend Diggins and Mike Reynolds dead, though, he had no idea where else to go.
An ambulance had taken Reynolds’ and his wife’s bodies away late that night. The children were already gone. Someone had come and taken the dog as well, unscathed. As far as Jack was concerned, everyone was better off now. He didn’t know when he’d started thinking that way.
Reynolds had been a thin man with red hair and pasty-white skin, wiry and bursting with kinetic energy. Jack had bumped into him—purposely, of course—at the town store the afternoon before. Reynolds had muttered something about spic faggots taking over his town, then looked away when Jack asked what he’d said. The man had mumbled more curses but no apologies, and left his purchases on the counter without paying. Then, he tore out of the parking lot in a jacked-up pickup, tires spinning with a prolonged scream before he finally left.
Since then, Jack had been camped out in the woods here in order to keep an eye on things. Determine exactly what it was he was dealing with. There were three children: a toddler, one barely school age, and a boy who was likely eight or nine. Reynolds’ wife was a woman he called Eddie; she, like him, was an addict. The two of them spent most of their time screaming at the kids, the rest of the time screaming at each other.
Not anymore, though.
Jack’s eyes drifted shut. He forced them back open. One of the trailers and the bunker were unrecognizable now, while the two trailers that remained on the lot were scarred and soot-stained. Two fire trucks, a few police cars, and half a dozen pickups belonging to men on the volunteer fire department, remained on the scene.
A navy-blue sedan rolled up to the gate.
Jack tensed. He sat up and watched as a pretty blonde woman got out of the driver’s side. The sheriff met her at the gate. They conferred for a minute or more. The sheriff pointed back toward town, apparently giving directions. The woman nodded. She started to get back in her seat, then stopped and got out again. Called to the sheriff. He returned to her side, annoyance clear in his expression.
Jack crept closer, but he still couldn’t hear what they were saying. He wasn’t surprised at the woman behind the wheel—he’d been following her for some time. He just didn’t know why Jenny Cameron would be here now. She’d already done the damage: Reynolds was dead.
Jack watched her scan the scene, eyes taking in everything at once while Sheriff Finnegan no doubt explained to her why she couldn’t be there. Jack saw her gaze light on the smoldering bunker, then shift from that to the trailers. Uneasiness rose in his chest. She said goodbye to the sheriff one more time, got in her car, and drove away.
Jack had forgotten the cold, completely consumed by the moment. There was something wrong, something indefinable. He scanned the stark horizon behind the trailers. Snow hadn’t fallen yet, but winter had definitely taken hold—the trees were bare, the grass long since dead. The sun rose on the horizon, the color doing little to lighten Reynolds’ compound. Even the evergreens on this property seemed leached of the will to live.
Jack’s eyes held on a spot opposite him, behind a thatch of scrubby pine trees. He saw a flash of light: the glint of steel reflecting off something in the distance. Sheriff Finnegan was talking with one of his deputies, both of them looking in the direction Jenny Cameron had gone. Jack sat up, focused on that glint of light. The world held its breath.
The sheriff took another step toward one of the remaining trailers.
Another flash of light in the darkness.
Jenny wasn’t done yet.
Mind the dark spots, J
ackie, Jack heard someone whisper to him. He pushed the voice away.
“Sheriff!” he shouted.
Sheriff Finnegan turned, scanning the tree line. Jack stood with his hands up.
The shot that sounded came from everywhere, and nowhere.
It echoed through the clearing, a crack like thunder. The sheriff went down flat—not hit, just taking cover. Jack waited to feel pain, half expecting that he’d be the one to leak blood. There was none, though. Time hung suspended for a split second. Then, a second shot came from that same source; he saw another flash just across from him.
It was too late before Jack realized Jenny wasn’t aiming for a person.
One more shot was all it took: a spark flew off the first trailer when the bullet crushed through aluminum siding. The middle trailer. A whoosh of air, and the spark ignited. A third shot sounded—this one aimed at the first trailer. Jack got down low and watched, powerless, as the building went up in a Hollywood-worthy explosion that left him momentarily deaf. Stunned. One of the aid workers who’d been going through debris flew through the air. The trailer that had exploded was consumed in flames within seconds, aluminum siding and pieces of the building, both interior and exterior, strewn in all directions.
The middle trailer hadn’t exploded, but fire leaked from the roof and Jack knew it was just a matter of time. The sheriff got back on his feet, looking baffled and shaken.
For the second time in a matter of hours, the world was in flames.
Chapter Ten
Jack was aware of movement around him. Flames. Smoke. Burning in his chest so powerful he thought he’d never get another full breath. And someone familiar, standing over him. He stared up, aware of the cold at his back, the heat on his face. He’d gone toward the explosion instead of away from it, which in retrospect probably hadn’t been his best idea.