Dietrich closed his eyes. The drug had reached his brain, and it took more strength than he could muster to keep them open. Yet before he lost consciousness, he was able to lift his right arm, stretch his fingers, and take Harris Kole’s hand into his own.
They shook on it.
Chapter 15
A choir of crickets chirped in the night, masking the sounds of his movement.
Pistol in hand, Michael crept through the woods running along Apple Orchard Road. In the mansion at the end of the quiet street, a light burned on the second floor. John Meacham was inside that well-lit room, probably surrounded by his men. Michael had enough bullets for them all.
His head ached with the memory of what he’d seen in Arielle’s past. Paul had abused Arielle and Charlotte—two little girls—and then he had raped Charlotte right in front of her little sister. Meacham had allowed it to happen, because he couldn’t bear to give up one of his own henchmen, even if it meant destroying the innocence of two young girls who had already experienced the pain of being orphaned.
Michael stopped to gather information. His inner sight made out the presence of four men inside the room, one being Meacham. The light in the window intensified as a man stoked the logs in the fireplace.
Michael crept forward—
…and stopped as the branches became long, skinny arms with claws that swiped at his face. He fell back as the world darkened around him.
You little prick, a voice whispered in his head.
Michael tried to force the illusion away, but pain spiked in his skull. The branches appeared to be closing in. Moaning, he clutched his head.
Leave me alone, he told the voice, which had disguised itself.
It could be Blake, or Dominic…
A sudden force flipped him over. He landed facedown, his chin snapping a twig. As he tried to wrestle himself free, a hand clamped over his mouth. Michael found himself pinned to the ground under an overwhelming physical and mental weight.
“Shh…” the man murmured. “Look up at the house, beneath the window.”
Michael did as he was told. He hadn’t seen the sentry posted there. Had the man been there all along? He was leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette, with an automatic rifle slung over one shoulder. Michael hadn’t detected him because he’d been focused on what was inside the house, without giving thought to who might be lurking outside.
“You almost got yourself killed,” Dominic hissed. “You wretched, spiteful little shit.”
Michael went limp with shame. Dominic removed his hand from Michael’s face, then rolled off him. His eyes appeared to gleam with anger in the soft light filtering through the leaves, his shoulders hunched forward, giving him a wolf-like appearance. Michael was suddenly afraid.
He was about to speak when Dominic motioned for him to be quiet.
I’m blocking his senses. Let’s move.
He glanced at the sentry and saw the man rubbing his face, probably confused as to why his ears and eyes felt like foreign objects attached to his head. A trick Michael hadn’t thought to use. The pistol had felt like enough.
Follow me, Dominic sent.
They crept down the hill, past trees and overgrowth, along a path leading away from the house. When the light from Meacham’s window was out of sight, Dominic whirled on him.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Michael dropped his gaze to the pistol in his hand, clicked the safety on, and sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“What were you going to do, assassinate everybody and go back to Silo Street like nothing ever happened?”
Michael kept silent. Dominic was dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, clearly intended for a late-night run. Luckily, he had found Michael before anything could happen.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Michael said.
“You weren’t thinking. You were being impulsive and stupid, two qualities I thought you’d overcome.”
Michael sat on an oversized rock jutting from the earth. From here, they could see the shady rooftops of Gulch. With a huff, Dominic sat on the ground a few feet away from him.
“I’m not good at this sort of thing,” Dominic said, and Michael could sense the man was struggling against the urge to leave him there. “What’s wrong, Mike? Talk to me.”
“It’s Arielle. She—she showed me what happened six years ago, with Paul.”
Despite the shade masking Dominic’s face, Michael could tell he was scowling.
“What did she show you?”
Michael explained everything, in detail, including the part at the end where Dominic had leaped out of the bushes to stab his own brother in the neck.
“He’s your nephew,” Michael said. “William.”
Dominic nodded. “Now you know.”
“Did they make you leave Gulch?”
“They tried, but they didn’t get that far. You see, I broke the law when I killed Paul. He deserved a fair trial.”
“Deserved?” Michael leaned forward, suppressing the urge to spring from the rock and get in Dominic’s face. “He raped two young girls.”
“I know what he did,” Dominic said calmly. “But I murdered him in cold blood.”
“And Blake kicked you out for protecting Arielle and Charlotte?”
“He did what he had to do to keep the town in order. In case you haven’t noticed, Mike, people here lump everyone in the same categories. My brother and I are no different in their eyes. We’re sexual deviants. You’ve seen the way they look at me.”
“That’s why Blake stepped down. Because you left and he felt guilty.”
“He stepped down because he no longer understood his own people. With Paul dead, they did the only thing they could to feel vindicated. They started calling for my blood, as if I were to blame for what happened to those girls.
“John Meacham led their cause, saying it was my influence on Paul that made him act out. He didn’t want to be like me, so he went after those girls to prove something. He couldn’t control himself. I was the one who’d been bringing shame to our family for years. People around here eat that shit up. They think we’re slaves to our impulses.
“Truth is, Mike, I wasn’t outcast from Gulch. I ran. When Blake suggested I leave for a while to cool off, I decided to go west instead. I was a stupid kid, impulsive and angry, just like you. Now, I can’t even look at myself in the mirror anymore.”
An awkward moment of silence passed between them. Michael was surprised Dominic had stayed this long.
“What about William?” Michael said.
“What about him?”
“You never talk to him. He’s your own nephew.”
“He’s nothing to me. I stopped thinking of Paul as my brother a long time ago. And don’t you bring up that boy around me again.”
“But it wasn’t William’s fault. He’s just a kid. He deserves to have a family, despite what happened.”
“You don’t know anything about it, Mike.”
“Yeah, I do.” Michael stood. “There’s a reason you came back to Gulch. You missed the only family you’ve got. William, Arielle, and Blake…and Reggie—”
Dominic sprang up with sudden force, almost too fast to see. He grabbed Michael’s sweatshirt, pulled him close, and whispered harshly in his face.
“I am not a part of your little family.”
Michael gripped Dominic’s arms. Stared him dead in the eyes.
“Yes, you are.”
He threw his arms around Dominic in a sudden, forceful embrace. Dominic struggled, weakly at first, probably expecting Michael to immediately release him. He didn’t. Finally, Dominic pushed him away, not nearly as angry as before. Michael thought he heard the man sniffle.
“What are you doing, Mike? Why are you here?”
“I want to make things right. For my mother. For my dead brothers and sisters. For Arielle.”
Dominic backed away, but only one step. Michael tried to sense his emotional state, but Dominic was blocking him.
He waited. When Dominic spoke, his voice was low and measured, untainted by his usual snide arrogance.
“I’ll fight for you, Mike”—he glanced down at the pistol in Michael’s hand—“but not if this is how you do things. Look your enemy in the eye before you shoot him. Do it right.”
With a nod, Michael let the pistol slip from his hand. Dominic studied it for a moment, then looked up at Michael.
“I’ll be by your side when the shit finally hits the fan,” Dominic said. “And believe me—it will.”
He picked up the pistol, then stuck it into the waistband of his pants. Michael watched him turn away to resume his midnight jog.
Michael stood that way, alone, silent, and still, gazing out over the rooftops of Gulch beneath constellations of stars that suddenly meant nothing to him. They were all the way up there, and he was down here, and that was just fine with him.
Something Dominic had said came to him, accompanied by a sudden, staggering revelation
Now I can’t even look at myself in the mirror anymore.
Blake’s riddle, about Michael’s anger being a mirror that could only be shattered by one thing—Michael finally understood what it meant. It wasn’t anger that made his ability work; the anger just made it dangerous to himself and anyone around him.
Only one thing would allow him to use it safely, and it was the total opposite of anger, hatred and rage.
Chapter 16
Light spilled into the Cold War Café, mottled by foamy soap streaks sliding down the windows. The boys working the glass were dark figures bending and stretching on the other side. Occasionally, one would splash, tickle, or poke the other, inciting laughter or shouts of anger.
Arielle stood inside the café for a moment, watching them work. She had hired William, Aidan, and two other boys to wash the windows at a rate of one dollar per hour, which was rather good for a six-year-old in these parts.
Smiling, she shook her head as the boys began slinging the sponges at each other. They’d been at it for twenty minutes, and she already knew it would take them the entire afternoon. But that was fine; today was a beautiful, sunny day, and boys would, of course, be boys. She could have hired Peter, Michael, Eli, and Ian, and the results wouldn’t have been much better.
She flipped the sign to open. Within half an hour, there were eight people inside the café. Business had been good lately. The tea kettle whistled in the back. She made her way into the kitchen, a light bounce in each step.
“Raid,” Eli said.
He and Ian sat across from each other in a booth, holding playing cards and occasionally slapping some down. Eli had achieved a victory, and he wore an ear-to-ear grin.
“You spiteful prick,” Ian said when Eli tossed two cards face up on the table. Ian responded by peeling two cards off the top of the deck and slapping them down, face up. Sighing, he shook his head.
“You think things’ll calm down?” Eli asked.
“What do you mean?”
Eli shrugged. “Blake still isn’t showing up at any of the town meetings. It’s obvious he and your dad aren’t talking.”
“I don’t know,” Ian said. “But I could use a hunting trip. I need a vacation.”
“Who doesn’t? Look at Peter. He’s on vacation right now. Hasn’t done an hour of honest work in two weeks. I’ve never seen him this happy.”
They glanced over at a table against the wall where Peter sat across from Rocio, both laughing as they drank tea from ceramic mugs. Peter reached over. Stroked a finger across Rocio’s cheek. Smiling, she placed her hand over his.
“That sentimental prick,” Ian said.
Eli chuckled. “Speak for yourself. How’s Fran?”
“Fine. She’s mobile.” Ian threw down four cards. “Raid, fat ass.”
“Son of a spiteful mistress.” Eli peeled two cards off his deck, then tossed them over. “Our boy’s walking up as we speak.”
Ian tilted out of the booth to see through the window. He saw nothing but the boys playing outside, a dozen drying streaks on the glass where they had done a poor job of wiping away soap.
Then Michael came into view, walking with his usual long strides up the sidewalk, a dead bird swinging from one hand. On his way into the café, he winked at Peter and Rocio. She smiled, waving with a delicate waggling of her fingers. Peter frowned at her.
“You never smile at me like that.”
“Relax.” She winked. “Cutie.”
Michael slapped the bird onto the playing cards, grinning at Eli and Ian.
“Lunch,” he said.
Eli slipped from the booth. “About damn time. I’ve been raiding the shit out of Ian all morning. Makes a man hungry.”
Gathering the cards into a sloppy pile, Ian frowned at Michael.
“Grouse? Can’t we eat something good for a change? Like venison?”
Michael lifted the dead bird, then moved its beak to make it look like it was talking.
“Why don’t you like me, Ian?” he said in a cartoonish voice. “Is it ‘cause the other boys can shoot me from twenty yards away and you can’t?”
Eli burst into laughter. Ian gave a sinister grin.
“Very funny.”
The boys dragged Peter out of his booth. Peter walked backward the whole way to the front door, grinning at Rocio and making a beating-heart gesture inside his shirt. Once outside, the boys laughed at him as they started up their motorcycles.
Nothing could spoil this day.
They invited Arielle, Rocio, Fran, and Sally over to the house for lunch.
After Michael and Eli defeathered the grouse, they cooked it out back on a makeshift grill. They fried potatoes and served hard apple cider with the meal. Afterward, they all sat around the living room, sharing stories and laughing at Eli. He had an amusing way of imitating voices and using flamboyant gestures that made his stories funnier than anyone else’s.
Fran was still in pain from her wound, and had disobeyed Midas Ford’s orders by coming over. She sat next to Ian on the couch, and he kept glancing over at her as if to make sure she felt okay. At one point, he put his hand on her freckled arm and left it there. Her smile was radiant, and she kept sneaking peeks at him.
Arielle sat with Michael on the worn loveseat by the window. Michael stretched out his long legs, booted feet resting on the edge of the table. Arielle curled up next to him, holding a steaming mug of cider and wearing a thick sweatshirt, jeans, and a pair of slippers. They had built a fire in the hearth. The room was hot like a summer evening, despite the frigid cold outside.
When they were finished eating and lounging, Michael offered to walk Arielle home. She accepted with a smile. They held hands as they strolled down Silo Street to the pink house at the very end. When they got to the front door, Michael turned Arielle around to face him.
“What is it?” she said.
He kissed her. Warmly, she accepted the gesture. Soon, they were embracing and kissing as if they’d been doing it for years.
“I want you to know something,” Michael told her, pulling away slightly.
Her eyes remained closed. “What is it?”
“I love you.”
Her eyes flashed open, two circles of blue. Immediately, her cheeks flushed with a color like dried rose petals.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded. “I’m sure.”
“Really, really sure? I mean, that’s pretty serious. You’re leaving to go to the NDR.”
He drew her in for another kiss. She accepted it, though this time with some hesitation. Her eyes remained wide open.
“I’ll stay here,” Michael said, “or we’ll both go east. I don’t care. Either way, I know how to keep you safe now.”
Arielle nodded, her body going loose in his arms. She fell against him, face resting on his chest. He breathed in the scent of her hair.
“I love you, too,” she said. “We can go to the NDR if you want.”
Michael held her. This moment could stretch on for
the rest of his life, and he would be fine with it. Just standing here, with her, forever.
Enjoy it while it lasts, said a voice in his head—not a telepathic one, but someone speaking to him nevertheless, straight out of his painful past. Because you know it won’t last.
The voice belonged to Benny.
Chapter 17
The Matinee stood in its silent, brooding way, the windows dark except for one on the second floor. The purpling sky made the light even more vibrant against the darkness of the Hollows.
In his well-lit office, Louis Blake sighed. He was at his desk writing letters he intended to send to the few men in the NDR who still supported him. Men who could send him word of the current state of things, and possibly newspapers and memos detailing any new legislation on telepathy.
So far, it seemed Michael could have a home there, along with any other telepaths who chose to serve with him. Once all of Blake’s children had a home, he could finally rest. He didn’t care what happened to him at that point.
The cloud of cigarette smoke hovering above his desk twisted suddenly as the door in front of him burst open. It was Kiernan Sail, the boy who’d grown up being called things like “Red” and “Stainface.” He approached Blake’s desk, breathing hard. In the candlelight, the port-wine stain across his cheek resembled a spattering of blood.
“I have to leave,” he said. “Today.”
Blake sprang from his chair, stubbing out the cigarette as he spoke in a low whisper. “Does he know?”
“Not sure. Warren caught me inside one of the barns. He asked me what I was doing there, and how I got in.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him someone left the door unlocked, and that I was making sure no one was snooping around inside.” Solemnly, he shook his head. “Don’t think he bought it. But you should see all the guns they got stored in there, Major.” His eyes narrowed. “Assault rifles and such.”
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