’03 Ford Mustang late Tuesday evening after his parents contacted police when Higgins failed to arrive home from baseball practice.
“The person-of-interest in this developing case is seventeen-year-old Gemma Flannery, a newcomer to Eaglefern, after her cellular phone was found in Higgins’ car. Police are releasing few details about the situation but are concerned for Flannery’s safety. Witnesses said the car was lacking all of its windows, and there was evidence of a struggle inside the vehicle. Detective Jones did reveal that their concern for Flannery stems from a significant amount of blood found both on Higgins’ body and in the car’s interior. A homicide investigation team has been called in to head the inquiry. For a complete physical description of Flannery, check our Web site.
If you have information about the whereabouts of Flannery, call Pierce or King County Crime Stoppers where all tips are anonymous.”
“I’m dead.” That was al I could manage. Henry was silent.
We tried to avoid watching the clock. He stuffed the newspaper into his bag and surveyed the restaurant, his face anxious.
“At least there’s just the photo of you. No other physical description in the article.”
“I guess I got lucky that the reporter was sloppy,” I said. Henry gave me a strained smirk.
“Lie down, across my lap. I don’t want anyone to see you.
Just…pretend like you’re sleeping or something,” he said.
“How long has it been? Since we caled?”
“He should be here any time now.”
I curled up on the bench as Henry advised, my head out of view of the other patrons. The waitress didn’t hassle us about giving up the booth, even when the dinner hour approached and the place started to fil up. Henry’s generous tip bought us endless coffee and warm sanctuary. I tried to feign sleep, though the risk of faling under for real was great. Emotionaly spent, my heart ached in my chest. The only bonus to reclining on the bench was I didn’t have to see the faces attached to the voices I couldn’t drown out. And I gave up on hiding behind my iPod as I wanted to be on alert for Henry.
We took turns using the restroom, so one of us would always be at the table, watching out the window for the minivan. On one such turn, I excused myself, eyes fixed on the floor and hair folded into my coat until the door clicked closed behind me. I washed my face in the sink and inspected the purple under my eyes, the paleness of my complexion, the angry bruise on my cheekbone. I looked as tired and beat-up as I felt. I wondered if Henry would one day be able to fix my boo-boos the way Marku had when he erased my scar with a light swipe of his fingertip.
I puled my hair out from under my coat and bent sideways to run my dampened fingers through the frizzed lengths. What I’d give for a blob of calming lotion right about now. The bathroom was relatively quiet, only the whirr of the ceiling fan and the Muzak-version of a Beatles song coming out of a wal speaker. I didn’t notice the sensation at first—it wasn’t like it hummed or buzzed. It was noticeable only when it escalated, a rapid progression from warm to hot. Realy hot. I stood up straight and placed the fingers of my left hand over my chest, on top of the heat source.
The amulet.
I raced out of the bathroom, stumbling over the walker of a little old lady in my haste to get back to the table.
“Henry!” I shouted from four booths away. He’d had his eyes closed, head leaned against the wal. When he heard my yelp, he jumped and looked first to me and then immediately out the window. He sprang to life and grabbed our coats and bags, pausing only long enough for me to catch up to him before puling me out the back exit of the building.
A black BMW, license plate LUCIAN7, had puled into the lot.
As we sprinted through the back aley behind the businesses, I fumbled to pul the amulet from underneath my sweater. I again was being burned, this time on the tender skin over my chest, and the acrid odor of singed skin and synthetic fibers filed my nose.
We ran south, ducking into doorways and behind Dumpsters.
Henry poked his head out to see if we were being folowed. We couldn’t go back to the airport. Even if we’d wanted to hop a flight to anywhere, airports were crawling with security. And with my face on the front of al the local newspapers, we’d be sitting ducks if we got stuck in a ticket lineup. If I were to be taken in for questioning, there was no doubt that Lucian would do everything in his power to make sure it looked like I kiled Bradley. Whose story would the police believe? That of an upstanding businessman, community contributor, devoted father swimming in feasible alibis, or the drunk, school-skipping, sex-crazed, teenage orphan from the underbely of a traveling circus?
We’d gone at least a mile, hiding behind businesses and cars, avoiding the sidewalks lining the populated strip. The spaces behind the buildings were scary and sometimes cramped, and only once were we forced to walk around the front when an impassible security fence gave us no alternative. We came upon what looked like an Internet café/pool hal, complete with a pay phone tucked inside the back exit. Around the business’s open door stood a colection of people who looked to be about our age, maybe a little older, smoking, laughing, going about their routine lives. The amulet was stil very hot but I had to pul my coat closed for fear of it drawing unwanted attention. I hoped it wouldn’t burn through my coat, or worse, set the nylon liner on fire.
Henry puled me through the smal crowd and picked up the handset of the phone, again dialing the number of Ted’s friend, the number meant to serve as our connection to safety, if only for one night. We were going to miss our ride.
“Helo?” Pause. Blood drained from Henry’s flushed cheeks.
“Lucian?”
I choked on the saliva in my throat, coughing and sputtering to catch my breath.
“We’re not coming back, Lucian. You know that.” Henry’s jaw was set, grinding, his eyes cold. “No. You cannot talk to her.” Henry was quiet again, listening to whatever Lucian was saying.
Al of a sudden, he turned to me, the phone in his outstretched hand.
“Gemma…,” he said.
I took the phone, my hand shaking so badly that the handset vibrated against my ear. “Helo?”
“Gemma, my dear, are you enjoying your adventure in the not-so-big city?”
I didn’t answer him. I could smel the amulet burning its way through my sweater.
“I tried to talk some sense into that stubborn Henry—so much like his mother that way—are you like your mother, Gemma? Oh, you probably can’t answer that, can you, considering you spent so little time with her when she was alive. The way I remember her, wel, she was a feisty little thing, sort of like you.” My eyes stung, as one tear after another tumbled downward.
“I saw your pretend father today, Uncle Ted, and of course, sad Uncle Irwin. They’re very worried about you kids. Al of us are, frankly,” he paused, the line buzzing. “Oh, and Junie, too. She’s been a mess. Very selfish of you to pul her into this.” Fear punched me square in the throat.
“What do you mean?” I squeaked. “Junie doesn’t know anything about this. You leave her alone!”
“Wel, I wish that were possible, but you made that decision when you decided to run away with that bastard boyfriend of yours
—oh, what do you know! You’re both bastards! Like two peas in a pod, both of you born from whore mothers.”
“Lucian, please, leave Junie out of this.”
“We’l see. Right now, you should be more worried about Uncle Irwin.”
“What…?”
“Seems he’s had a run of bad luck. It was just too easy to get Uncle Ted to tel me where you youngsters had gotten off to, like a couple of naughty lovers running off to elope. After I told Ted, and the local police, what you did to poor Bradley Higgins. Let’s just say dear Uncle Irwin’s Braile days are over. Hard to read with only two fingers left.”
I started screaming. Loud, possessed screams. Everyone in the joint froze and looked down the hal at the crazed red-haired girl crumpled in a heap on
the floor, the handset dangling from the phone.
“Irwin! He cut off his fingers, Henry!”
Henry yanked the receiver from the attachment point on the phone. If he’d simply hung up, Lucian could *69 and cal back, and any one of the onlookers could’ve verified our brief presence and sudden departure. It would’ve been too easy for Lucian to buy the information from the slouches hanging around.
As Henry tried to scoop me off the floor, a rather chubby guy with a shaved head and mean face charged toward us down the hal. He picked Henry up by the back of his coat and slammed him against the wal next to my sobbing body.
“You little punk! You think you can come into my place and start tearing shit up?” The man was considerably shorter than Henry, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in girth and bicep thickness. He had Henry’s jacket baled up in his fist while he screamed insults at us.
“I’l pay for the phone! Now let go of me,” Henry said. I looked up at him, my vision clouded with tears.
“You gonna make me, pretty boy? Who the hel do you think you are? You see the sign on the door? This is Tiny’s Place. And guess what? I’m Tiny, so this place is mine!” Tiny was holering inches from Henry’s chin, little blobs of spit flying from his lips as he ranted.
“I’m warning you, Tiny. Let go of me.” Henry’s voice was eerily calm. I knew what was coming.
Tiny laughed and shoved Henry harder against the wal, grinding his fist into the base of Henry’s throat.
“You should let go of him,” I said, puling myself to my feet.
“Oh, so now your girlfriend is gonna come to the rescue?” Tiny, as wel as the people who had gathered, chuckled at my sudden display of bravado. The murmur from the crowd punched through the roar in my ears. They were angry, at us.
Henry’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. He was fighting to control himself, and maybe would have been successful if Tiny hadn’t gotten too big for his britches, feeding off the energy of the smal but agitated mob.
Tiny reached over to me, his right fist stil pinning Henry to the wal, and he grabbed hold of my hair, yanking me toward him. He opened his mouth to speak but instead of noise came copious saliva, frothy and white, just as he bit through his tongue.
Henry’s arm was extended, his right hand clamped around Tiny’s thick forearm. The reek of burning hair and flesh replaced the earlier smels of cigarettes, body odor, and beer. Henry squeezed harder and harder, and with each flex of his fingers, Tiny’s grasp on my hair, and on Henry’s clothing, weakened.
“Let go, Tiny,” Henry said. He was so calm as he spoke, but his eyes were black, his pupils dilated, fixated and unblinking on Tiny’s face.
Tiny relaxed his hands and released my hair, but he snagged the thin chain of my letter G necklace as his fingers flexed and contracted. The chain snapped and I saw the smal silver G hit the floor but couldn’t reach for it, couldn’t risk coming in contact with the searing current emanating from Henry’s grip on Tiny’s arm.
Blood gushed from between Tiny’s gritted teeth and poured off his chin, staining the front of his shirt.
“Tiny, tel my friend here that you’re sorry for puling her hair.” Tiny let go of the front of Henry’s shirt, the muscles in his arms no longer under his control.
Henry was scaring me, the intensity of his glare, the power in his grip on Tiny’s arm. “Henry, let him go. It’s over. I’m okay. Let’s just get out of here,” I said. I didn’t dare touch him.
“Tel her you’re SORRY!” Henry snarled, squeezing even harder. I could see the outlines of Henry’s long fingers now burned into Tiny’s flesh.
“I’n sowwy fuh puwing yoh haih,” Tiny mumbled, his tongue half detached.
Henry gave the man one final surge. Tiny yelped and dropped to his knees, his eyes fused shut. It was obvious he was suffering a great deal at this point, which brought an immediate increase to my fear quotient. I’d never seen Henry like this. Then again, I’d not had reason to.
Henry let go. As soon as the circuit was broken, Tiny fel over onto the dirty carpet of the narrow passageway. Henry reeled a bit, unsteady on his feet. He reached into his pocket and puled out two one-hundred-dolar bils, kneeling on one shaky leg to stuff the money into Tiny’s shirt pocket.
“I told you I’d pay for the damage.” Henry stood. “Let’s go,” he said. He picked up our bags and, after such a spectacle, no one chalenged Henry. The bodies parted for us to pass down the hal and out the back door. I paused to try and grab my necklace, but it was under Tiny, hidden from my grasp.
We didn’t speak for a few blocks, just moved as quickly as possible away from the café. Henry watched every angle, turning his head left to right to make sure we weren’t being folowed. Yet. We didn’t stop until we found a drug store.
“You wait out here, behind the Dumpster. Stay hidden. I’m going to get a map, some gauze, and a hat so we can cover your hair,” he said. I didn’t protest; I couldn’t look at him after what I’d just witnessed. Add to that the likelihood that Lucian was stil in the vicinity, combing side streets for a flash of red as we ran away.
Irwin…Irwin, wherever you are, please, please be alive.
As soon as Henry walked through the automatic doors and into the store, I bent over behind the garbage bins and vomited up everything I’d eaten during our stay at Denny’s. Lesson in food groupings: cortisol and adrenaline don’t mix with hash browns and waffles. I counted my breaths to ride the waves of nausea, my mind swimming with what I’d just witnessed at the pool hal. The brief time I crouched behind the garbage bin did little to abate the smel of Tiny’s cooked skin. My eyes, though looking at a dirty, discarded penny in the grime and goop, saw only the blood draining out of his mouth, onto his soiled shirt.
“Gemma…”
I scooted out from behind the behemoth steel box when Henry reappeared. He noticed the vomit on the ground as I stepped over it.
“You got sick,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Here…water.” He handed me a bottle from the plastic shopping bag and twisted off the lid, placing the water to my lips. I was borderline faint, and the cool liquid soothed my throat.
Henry puled a black knitted hat from the bag and set about twisting my hair into a knot so the bulk could be concealed under the cap. I helped with my good hand, the water bottle stuffed into the pocket of my coat.
When he was done arranging the hat, he touched my chin and looked me in the eye. “The amulet…is it stil burning?” In the melee at Tiny’s and our subsequent escape, I hadn’t noticed if the bronze triangle quieted down. I didn’t feel it stuck to my skin, so it hadn’t burned through the layers of my clothing. I opened the front of my jacket to reveal the necklace; it was stil warm, but its energy had dissipated, as if in a cooling-down period.
“Now we know that if it heats up like that, we need to move,” he said, zipping my coat. “The amulet is communicating with us.” We didn’t have time to stand around and talk about the triangle’s strange powers, or Tiny, or what Lucian said he’d done to Irwin. Henry stuffed the fresh rols of gauze into my bag, along with the other bottles of water, a couple of energy bars, and a few packets of ibuprofen. He had a stack of newspapers in his hand and dropped them into the Dumpster. The newspapers with my face on the front…
He had also purchased two backpacks, into which he crammed our bags. It was a good idea to change things up. Witnesses would describe a couple of teenagers with smal travel bags, not backpacks. They would also describe a red-haired girl, which would spurn the police to show them my photo. And chances were good, witnesses would confirm it was me. I would be wanted first for questioning in a murder, and second for a serious assault on a bloated pool hal owner with a bad attitude and a partialy detached tongue.
Henry kneeled next to the wal and tore the plastic wrapping from the city map, scanning the area he assumed we were. “There’s a train station in Tacoma, about twenty or so miles south. We need to find a cab and get out of here before Lucian’s people begin sweeping the
streets for us.”
“Or the police, Henry. They’re going to be looking for me even harder now,” I said. He didn’t look up from the map.
The rain had stopped but the wind was picking up, the sun disappearing into the horizon. The late winter daylight was fading fast, which would help us hide, but we were strangers here and didn’t know the perils of nightlife lurking in aleyways and darkened side streets. I was woozy and a bit out of it, my mind replaying Lucian’s words about Irwin over and over again, the visual of Henry’s hand on Tiny’s pulsating forearm stuck on repeat. Though I trusted Henry to keep me safe, I now had terrific reason to be afraid of him.
Sirens broke Henry’s concentration on outlining our escape route. They were close by, though whether from police or ambulance, I couldn’t tel. Judging by the condition we’d left Tiny in, I didn’t doubt both would be on the scene. We hadn’t made it that much farther through town after bolting out the back exit, but we needed to get the hel out of SeaTac before the sirens caught up to us.
He folded the map and shoved it into his coat pocket, puling the final item from the store bag—a hat for him, identical to mine.
Simple but effective disguise, at least for the short term.
“We gotta get going, find a cab to Tacoma,” he said. “Are you alright?”
I nodded. Henry helped me into the straps of my backpack.
“Let me see your hand.” I extended my right hand and he unwound the bandages, wadding up the soiled gauze and dressing and tossing it into the Dumpster. “People saw you with a bandaged hand,” he said, his face apologetic. “Try to keep your fist closed so you don’t pul the burn or get it dirty. Just until we get on the train.” I looked down at the triangular wound, stil blistered on the edges. The burn gel had worked wonders keeping the skin moist and flexible, but the introduction of the cold air made it sting. The Hebrew script from the amulet was evident in the layers of skin, the curves and angles etched into the cels of my hand. If it healed like this, it would provide interesting fodder for future conversation. Of course, the operative word was “future.” We had to survive for that to happen.
Sleight: Book One of the AVRA-K Page 31