by Jen Blood
“Jack?”
Jamie Flint stood there, brow furrowed, concern clear in pale-blue eyes. “Can you hear me? The paramedics will be over in a minute.” He read her lips more than actually heard the words. He sat up, ignoring her protests.
In the distance, he watched Jamie’s son lead a dog toward the only trailer still standing. The fires were mostly out, but the damage was already done.
Jamie made him sit down on the ground, gesturing to an EMT. He thought of Erin and Diggs. Hoped they hadn’t been foolish enough to come here again.
“They’re supposed to be hiding,” he said out loud. His throat was raw; the words came out strangled. Jamie handed him water.
“I need to go back to work,” she said to him. She was crouched in front of him, studying him. “Stay here, okay? I’ll be back. Let the EMT take a look at you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He watched her go. She wore a heavy blue jacket, an orange vest over it. She joined Bear, the two of them communicating more with gesture, unspoken glances, than actual words—the same way they communicated with the dogs. Jack closed his burning eyes.
Mind the dark spots, Jackie.
Arm straight out, son. Wait till you find your target. Line it up. One hand—I don’t want to see the other one. That’s a sign of weakness. You’re stronger than that.
But it’s heavy.
You’re strong. You’ll get stronger, the more you do this. Find your target.
Got it. She’s moving.
It, Jackie. A target isn’t a being. It. This is your job. This is how you’ll survive—the way you’ll keep us safe. Now: find it again.
Got it.
Good boy. Now, fire.
“Sir? You should go to the hospital to be checked out,” a man said, close to him.
He opened his eyes, his head pounding. Magically, the chaos had receded around him. Some emergency vehicles remained. Smoke still hung heavy in the air, but the flames had vanished. He wondered how long he’d been sitting there.
“I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
“There were a lot of fumes here—we need to check your lungs, make sure you’re okay. Some of these things are slow-acting. You could have inhaled something, and it would take a while before the symptoms manifested.”
“I don’t need a hospital,” he repeated.
“I’ll take him,” Jamie said. Her pale cheek was smudged with soot. She had a white dog with her—a pit bull. As a child, Jack had been afraid of dogs. Especially dogs like this. He knew this dog, though. They’d met before, when Erin was lost. Then again out on Raven’s Ledge. Casper.
He held out his hand carefully. The dog sniffed it, tail wagging, then butted his head against Jack’s knee. Jack scratched behind the dog’s ears.
“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” he said for the third time.
“I do,” Jamie said simply. “You want to ride with me, or with them?”
He stood dutifully, then wavered once his feet were under him. “With you.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Jamie told Bear and the others to leave, she’d follow when they were finished. The men Jack remembered from Coba—Monty and Carl—nodded at him. Smiled. They’d been here last night, as well. Jamie told them not to say anything about Jack being in town. To wait until they got back, let it be a surprise. When they were gone, Jamie led him to an SUV with two large, empty dog crates in the back. Flint K-9 Training was advertised on the sides and windows.
“It doesn’t smell great,” Jamie said. “Sorry. One of the hazards of traveling with dogs.”
Jack got in without a word. It didn’t smell bad. He thought of the police car he’d ridden in in Nicaragua. This smelled much better than that. Jamie pulled out and got on the main road, away from the dissipating smoke and the emergency vehicles. He stared out the window, watching Littlehope as they drove past. It hadn’t changed, really. Not since he first started coming here as a teenager—it was always the same here.
Littlehope was behind them when Jamie touched his arm. His ears were still ringing. He turned and realized she’d been talking to him.
“Jack?”
“Sorry—what was that?”
“How long have you been in town?”
“Not long. A few days, maybe.” Something flashed in her eyes—hurt, he thought. “I meant to call,” he added. It was a lie. He hadn’t meant to call at all.
He realized then that it hadn’t been hurt. It was worry.
“Did you know Diggs and Erin are here?” she asked.
He nodded briefly. His head hurt. He was dizzy, ears ringing, world too small. His hand tightened on the door handle.
At the hospital, the doctor checked his breathing. His lungs. Asked if he had insurance, eyeing his tattered clothes. His insurance was gone with his job; he paid his bill in full from a roll of hundred-dollar bills he carried in his jacket pocket. Jamie sat in the waiting room the whole time. She stood when he came back out. The doctor approached her. They knew each other—greeted one another with a familiar smile. They kept their voices too low for him to hear.
The doctor was a small man, wiry and lean. A runner, probably. The way he looked at Jamie, Jack knew the man wanted to get to know her better. Had probably asked her out before. He wondered if she had accepted. She smiled at him, but didn’t reciprocate when the doctor touched her arm.
They approached Jack together, warily, as if approaching a wild animal. Jamie smiled. Again, a smile meant for a wild thing.
“Were you in an accident before today, Jack?” she asked.
The doctor stood by patiently and let her take the lead. Jack thought of Nicaragua. A car speeding toward him, lights bright.
“Car accident,” he said.
“Did you see a doctor?” the doctor asked.
Jack shook his head. “I was fine—just walked away. I didn’t want to be any trouble.”
“Jack, you have two broken ribs,” Jamie said. “How long ago was this?”
He had to think. “A month, maybe.”
She looked at the doctor for confirmation. Jack chafed but forced himself to remain still. Seated patiently in his chair, he waited for them to grant him permission to go. He was a grown man, for Christ’s sake.
“Based on the way they’ve healed—or haven’t, as the case may be,” the doctor said, “a month makes sense. Were you hurt anywhere else?” he asked Jack. “If you suffered a blow to the head…”
“I didn’t,” Jack said. He stood. “I was in Nicaragua, and a car hit me—backed into me, trapping me in an alley. There was no blow to the head. I didn’t lose consciousness. I was awake. Aware, through all of it. And now, unless there’s a reason to keep me here that you haven’t told me about, I’d like to go.”
“Of course,” the doctor said. He looked unhappy. “But if you find you’re having any trouble at all breathing… If you experience lightheadedness, feel any burning in your chest, please come back immediately.”
“We will,” he heard Jamie promise as he walked away.
◊◊◊◊◊
Jamie kept sneaking glances at him as she drove them back to Littlehope, but she said very little. They made polite chitchat, talked about the most inane aspects of both their lives… Eventually, Jack leaned his head against the cool glass of the window and let the car’s movement lull him to sleep.
He remained quiet on the boat ride over to Payson Isle, aware the whole while of Jamie watching him. Finally, when the island was in sight, he summoned the courage to go to her. She stood in the pilothouse of a small fishing boat, Flint K-9 emblazoned on the side, eyes intent on the horizon. Jack stood next to her, noting her steady hand on the wheel, her level of focus.
“Everyone has a past, Jack,” she said without looking at him.
He laughed briefly, without humor. “Not everyone has a past like mine, though.”
“We all have secrets. Some of us darker than others. It doesn’t change who you are now.”
A
well of grief rose in his throat unexpectedly. He thought of Lucia. The woman he’d vowed to love, honor, protect. Brave Lucia, who died alone. Terrified. Men on her, taking her. She died crying out for the husband who never saved her.
These were the things he’d learned in Nicaragua.
“And who is that?” he asked. “Who am I now?” His eyes strayed to Jamie—took in the delicate, feminine bearing, the proud line of her spine. A woman who knew who she was; what she was here for. She looked at him fully, a sad smile on pretty lips.
“You’re a good man, Jack. You can’t save everyone. You couldn’t have saved her. They wouldn’t have let you.”
Reality blurred to a haze around him. He didn’t ask how she knew, but it didn’t surprise him that she did. Knowledge seemed innate, with her. He remained on his feet, but he turned away. Saw something on Jamie’s face as he did so—regret. Loneliness, that thing that stared him down in the mirror every night. She’d expected his reaction, he realized—the turning away. The pain. She stood at the wheel alone, an island with her eyes forever on the horizon.
For the first time in…how long, he wondered, he felt something nudge itself past his own grief. “Everyone has secrets, hmm?” he said to her.
“Everyone,” she said.
“So, what are your secrets, Jamie Flint?”
The woman who never faltered, who knew herself and her role, the woman with her eyes on the horizon, wavered—if only for a moment. He saw her throat move when she swallowed. “My secrets are my own,” she said.
He nodded, holding her gaze. He had a sudden, undeniable desire to touch her—to reach out, draw her closer. There was too much happening, though. Too many questions, too much uncertainty. Too much death, on every side.
He remained beside her, though. Stood there, their bodies not touching, as the island grew closer, the shadows darker. And before he knew how it happened, he was back on Payson Isle again.
Chapter Eleven
Two hours later, we learned the whole Reynolds hillside had been evacuated. Two more explosions had rocked the town before emergency crews were able to get it under control. Jamie had called and given us a brief overview of events: no fatalities beyond Reynolds and his girlfriend the night before; the kids were with social services now, the dog in foster care with the local humane society. One of Jamie’s dogs had sniffed out another cache of weapons in a smaller, underground bunker. Jamie finished up by telling me that the rest of the crew was safely on the way to Caribou for the SAR training, but she would be coming back with Monty and Carl, for now.
And she had a surprise for us, when she got back.
I didn’t know if I was up for any more surprises.
“This means the primary and secondary J. assassins are dead,” I said. Diggs and I were in the meeting room, currently alone on the island. “We need to figure out who’s killing these people.”
“Two names spring to mind.”
“Cameron and Jenny.”
“Exactly.” He hesitated. “Though there is one other person… He’s seen the list. Definitely has a grudge against J. And the last I knew, he wasn’t exactly the man we once knew.”
“It’s not Jack Juarez,” I said immediately.
“You don’t know that. You have no idea what’s going on in his head right now. You can’t say for sure—”
“The hell I can’t. I’m telling you, no matter how much he might want to stop J., he wouldn’t put three little kids’ lives at risk. I don’t care how shitty life has gotten for him in the last nine months, there’s no way he’s changed that much.”
It took about two seconds longer than it should have before Diggs agreed. “Okay—let’s just say you’re right for now: it’s not Jack. So. Cameron or Jenny. Or your mom.”
“Kat isn’t killing people, either.” At least I hoped to hell she wasn’t. “Anyway, what matters now is what we’re supposed to do next. And what J. will do next, if their top killers are out of the game.”
“Do you have any brilliant theories?”
“Maybe they’ll just skip Maine now,” I said. “They’ll cut their losses and move on to the next big event.”
“Sure. That could happen.” Right. He tapped his knuckles on the table and gazed out the window for a few seconds. He was building to something—gearing himself up. Which meant I probably wouldn’t like it.
“What’s on your mind?” I prompted when he didn’t say anything.
“A lot.” He tapped his knuckles a little longer, until I finally grabbed his hand to stop him. He looked up. “Have you remembered anything else about when you were here as a kid? I know you don’t like to talk about it, but maybe it could be important. Anything about your father?”
“I’ve told you before—nothing that makes sense.” I thought of Allie Tate and her broken glasses; the way she continued to pop up and scare the crap out of me. That had to mean something, right? Other than that I was losing my mind, ideally. Diggs stared me down. “What?” I asked.
“What did you see the night we first got here? When the window broke? Or who, might be the better question. I’m not blind—I could tell whatever Bear said spooked you.”
“I don’t believe in ghosts, Diggs. And you sure as hell don’t.”
“Yeah, but I believe in the subconscious. I don’t know what’s going on with Jamie’s kid—maybe he really sees dead people. Maybe he just wants to think he does. But I do know you, and if someone appeared to you, it meant something. That’s the way this shit works.”
The closeness we’d had that morning out at the greenhouse had cooled, and I wasn’t sure exactly why. Diggs had stayed apart from me since that time, something dark that felt a lot like violence bubbling just below the surface of his carefully crafted façade. I still knew I had nothing to fear from him—there was never any doubt of that. But considering the way he’d reacted to Mike Reynolds last night, right now I wasn’t sure how well anyone else would fare if they got in his way.
“I know that’s the way it works,” I said. I thought of Allie again. My head began to throb. I took a breath. We were supposed to be doing the honesty thing. “Fine, you want to know what I saw? I saw the girl Isaac Payson killed when I was a kid. I keep seeing her.”
Diggs softened incrementally. He didn’t look like he doubted me, or thought I was going nuts—which was reassuring, since I wasn’t nearly as confident. “Does she say anything?”
“‘How many lies do you believe,’” I said. “And then…something about a crack. ‘Make it through the Crack and you live forever.’”
“Does that mean anything to you?”
My head pounded so hard it felt like blood was about to burst from my eardrums. I tried to push past it and focus on the words, but that just made it worse. I shook my head. When I looked at Diggs, his frustration was clear.
“I’m sorry—I’m trying,” I said. “But I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it, trust me. Hell, it’s pretty much all I’ve been thinking about. But I don’t know how many lies I believe, and the Crack Allie is talking about is this old rock with a crack through the center, that we used to dare each other to go through sometimes. I don’t know how getting through it equates to living forever. I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
“Just think about it,” he said. “Why would it be this girl appearing to you? What lies is she talking about? And maybe it’s not literally living forever. It could be figurative. Just concentrate, for Christ’s sake.”
“I’m concentrating!” I shouted at him. The pain in my skull was ready to drop me, but I held my ground. “I’m thinking. I’m trying to remember. It’s not working, all right? I see her in my dreams, I see her in doorways, I see her out in the woods, and I don’t know what the fuck she wants from me.”
Diggs ran a hand over his scalp. Frustration simmered between us.
“I’m going for a walk,” I said. “I’ll try to sort my head then. Maybe give you a chance to cool down.”
“I don’t need a chance to
cool down,” he said.
“Say that to me without your teeth clenched and fire in your eyes, and maybe I’ll believe you.”
“I’ll come with you.”
I shook my head without looking at him. “No—I’ll be fine. Stay here. I won’t be long. I’ll be careful.”
I took Einstein with me. The door slammed behind us when I left the old house. From there, silence prevailed.
I broke into a run on the island trail, Einstein keeping pace beside me. The terrain was uneven underfoot and I’m hardly the most graceful person on the planet, but I kept moving.
How many lies do you believe? Allie Tate asked me again. I stopped dead. She stood just ahead on the trail, immovable. Einstein whined, eyes fixed on me.
“You’re not real,” I said. “You died—years ago.”
“Why won’t you tell him what happened?”
I waited until my breath had evened before I answered. Because if you’re going to have a conversation with a ghost, God knows you should be calm for it. “I should have helped you,” I said.
“You remember that day?”
“A little… Not really. Just impressions.” Before I could say anything more, the memories struck in a blinding series of flashes—as real, as visceral, as a physical assault.
Allie on the ground. Payson on top of her. Body crumpled, leg bent at an awkward angle. Her eyes catch mine. I can’t scream. Can’t call out. Not until it’s too late—not until her eyes are clouded and I know she’s gone. That he did that. And I didn’t stop him.
I run.
“I’ll make her forget,” my father says—whispering the words, a desperate plea. Isaac is so angry. “I’ll make her love you again. She won’t be afraid. She’ll never be afraid of you again.”
My father on his knees as Isaac lays the whip into his back. Women kneel in the greenhouse. Isaac stands above them. He is naked.
I’m walking in the woods. I know Allie is gone. Instead of my best friend, I’m with a boy. Will—Will Colby.