Thief River Falls

by Brian Freeman

  The interior of the cab matched the exterior. Foam spilled out of tears in the two-tone seat cushions, and cigarette smoke lingered in the shut-up space. The backs of the front seats were taped over with Halloween decorations. A plastic skeleton in a noose dangled from the rearview mirror.

  Lisa saw the driver’s face in profile. She was young, not even thirty, with spiky blond hair that was streaked with purple and sat up like a bristle brush on her head. Two Celtic knots had been carefully shaved into the side of her skull. She was attractive, with high cheekbones, a ski-slope nose adorned with three rhinestone studs, and a slightly jutting chin. Her top was made of black mesh, and she had a long neck. When their eyes met in the car’s mirror, Lisa saw that the woman had black eye shadow painted above glimmering blue eyes.

  As soon as the driver saw Lisa, she exclaimed in a breathy voice, “Oh! Oh my God, it’s you! I can’t believe it!”

  The woman threw open the driver’s door and raced around the front of the Caprice. With rain drenching her, she yanked open the back door, thrust her body across Purdue as if the boy wasn’t even there at all, and gathered up Lisa into a bear hug that practically lifted her out of the seat.

  “It’s me, Lisa! It’s Shyla. Shyla Dunn.”

  Lisa had met thousands of readers over the past decade, and after a while, the names and faces began to blur. And yet as she stared at Shyla’s distinctive punk/New Age look, she recognized something familiar in her features from years ago, long before she became an author. She knew this woman, but it had nothing to do with her books. Their relationship went back to when Lisa was a nurse and Shyla was no more than eighteen years old.

  “The hospital,” Lisa murmured. “You were a patient.”

  “Yes! You stood up for me when I was just a kid. My boyfriend assaulted me, and the police didn’t care. They acted like it was my fault. You shamed them into doing something, and they put the son of a bitch in prison. That was all you, Lisa. The county attorney wouldn’t listen to me, but he listened to you.”

  “Well, I didn’t give him much of a choice. That’s the only reason he got involved. Believe me, Denis Farrell has never been a fan of mine.”

  Shyla hugged her again. “I’m just so happy to run into you! I moved away after all that shit went down, and I only came back to town a few months ago. So I never had a chance to thank you properly. What you did was such a big thing to me.”

  Lisa found herself tearing up at Shyla’s gratitude. She was proud of being a writer, but sometimes she wondered if writing books was just her way of keeping reality at bay. She could sit in her little room and make up stories, and that meant she didn’t have to go out and face the world anymore. It had been different when she was a nurse and had to deal with reality every day.

  The young woman gave Lisa another smile, with an innocence that belied the toughness of her physical appearance. Soaking wet, she returned to the driver’s seat of the cab and twisted around to stare at Lisa in the back seat. “Look at me going on and taking up all your time when you have somewhere to be. Where do you want to go? Free ride, anywhere you want.”

  Lisa eyed Curtis. “What do you think? The Quality Inn?”

  “Fine with me.”

  Shyla shook her head in confusion. “A hotel? You’re looking for a hotel? Don’t you still live around here?”

  “Well, it’s hard to explain, Shyla. I’m actually looking to lay low while I’m here. I’d rather no one knew I was in town.”

  Lisa didn’t say anything more than that, but she saw an immediate shift in Shyla’s expression. The young woman’s face grew serious, as if she’d decided that fate had given her a chance to pay it forward.

  “I won’t tell a soul,” Shyla said. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re not here. But you’re not going to a hotel. You’re staying with me. I’ve got a little house on Columbia right across the river from Hartz Park. It’s quiet, and as long as you’re not allergic to cats, there’s plenty of room. No one will know you’re there, and you can stay as long as you need to.”

  “Oh, Shyla, that’s very generous, but we don’t want to intrude.”

  “You’re not. You protected me, so I’ll protect you.”

  “I didn’t say I needed protection.”

  Shyla shook her head. “You didn’t need to. It’s written all over your face. Now come on. I’ve got beef barley soup in the Crock-Pot.”

  Lisa glanced at Curtis, who shrugged his acceptance. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  Shyla steered the strange Caprice cab out the airport road onto Highway 17 and headed north. The heavy rain and the growing darkness made Lisa feel safely anonymous as she looked out the window, confident that no one could see her. The highway was a straight shot into town, heading past miles of open soybean fields before houses and spruce trees began to pop up on both sides of the road. With each mile closer to town, her heartbeat accelerated. They passed the elementary school that she’d attended as a child. They passed the forested border of Greenwood Park. She knew what was coming next—the cemetery—and she couldn’t even look at the sprawling meadow of headstones that went on for blocks. Everyone she loved was buried there. She just stared down at her lap until they’d left it behind.

  Shyla turned left at Parkview Street and drove through a quiet neighborhood to the cross street that ran parallel to the Red Lake River. Her house was on the corner, near the footbridge that led across the water to Hartz Park. It was a small blue bungalow that needed fresh paint, with a grassy driveway and detached garage. The shallow backyard was nestled with tall evergreens, and the lawn was mostly made up of dandelion weeds. The mailbox, like the Caprice, was covered in rust.

  “Home sweet home,” Shyla said. “I know it’s not much. My uncle died and left it to me. That’s why I came back to TRF.”

  Lisa sighed with relief. “It’s perfect.”

  “Well, good.”

  They all climbed out of the cab into the driving rain. Lisa noticed one wet, unhappy cat wandering across the lawn to nuzzle at Shyla’s leg. Then another joined the first, and another after that, and another after that. Shyla squatted to stroke all of them, and then she picked up three of the wet cats and headed for the garage.

  “They know it’s dinnertime when I get home,” she said. “I keep their food in the garage.”

  Lisa smiled. “How many do you have?”

  “Well, officially ten, but word gets around in the neighborhood. I think there’s a sign along the riverbank that points stray cats to my house. Anyway, once I feed them, I can get you guys set up in my spare bedrooms and get some bowls of soup on the table. I baked some crusty bread this morning, too. I use a machine, but it’s still pretty good.”

  “Thank you, Shyla.”

  The young woman let the cats jump from her arms, and then she retrieved a key to unlock the detached garage. She opened the door and found a light switch.

  As bright light lit up the small space, Curtis whistled at what was inside. “Ho-lee crap.”

  There was a 1990s-era Camaro parked inside, blue with black racing stripes down the hood and spotlessly clean. It was in perfect condition, and it was enough to make any car collector salivate. But that wasn’t what Curtis was whistling at. He was staring at the rear wall of the garage. Shyla had an arsenal stored there, enough guns to start a small revolution. Pistols. Revolvers. Hunting rifles. Shotguns. Nearly every brand was represented, from Glock, Ruger, and Smith & Wesson to Winchester, Bushmaster, and Armalite. Some were antiques; others were gleaming, black, and new. Lisa counted four AR-15s.

  “Come on, sweeties, dinnertime,” Shyla called, as she began scooping out Science Diet for at least a dozen cats who crowded around her legs and pushed and shoved at the bowls.

  “Wow,” Lisa said.

  “Yeah, I’m a crazy cat lady—what can I say?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What, the car? I know; it’s a beaut. My uncle was a collector. He left me the Camaro, too. Honestly, I don’t use
it much myself. I’m not really into cars.”

  Curtis interjected. “The car’s cool, but did he also leave you the guns?”

  Shyla looked over her shoulder at the wall and then shrugged, as if she’d forgotten the guns were there. “Oh, that. No, those babies are all mine. I guess I have enough, but I keep buying more. After what I went through, I’m not taking any chances. My parents think it’s overkill, but let me tell you, if anyone ever comes after me again, they are in for one big-ass surprise.”

  19

  Hours later, as the night crept closer to morning, Lisa lay in bed in the perfect darkness. There wasn’t a light anywhere inside or outside. It was disorienting to be in a strange house and a strange bed and not be able to see anything at all. The rain had begun to freeze after midnight, tapping on the window glass like the fingernails of someone wanting to come inside. And yet despite all that, she was at peace for a brief moment. She felt secure here, at least for a little while, where no one could find them. Her stomach was full; Shyla’s soup had been hearty and delicious, and the soup had been followed by homemade peach pie. She could feel the warmth of at least three cats sharing the bed near her feet.

  Next to her, Purdue whispered in a tiny little voice. “Are you awake, Lisa?”

  “Yes.”

  “Me too.”

  “You should try to get more sleep. We have a long day ahead.”

  “I tried. I can’t.”

  “Is everything okay? Did you remember something more?”

  “No. It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?” Lisa asked.

  “We shouldn’t be here,” Purdue said.

  “Where? Here in this house?”

  “No, not the house. I like Shyla. But I don’t like this place. There’s something about the whole town. We’re not safe here, Lisa. This is where the bad things happened. I can’t remember all of it, but I’m sure it happened right here.”

  Lisa was quiet for a while. “Well, don’t worry—we’ll get out of here as soon as we can. We’ll go somewhere else that’s safe. Once it’s light, we’ll get on the plane, and we’ll leave Thief River Falls behind.”

  “I don’t think so. I think you’re wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s just a feeling I have,” the boy said. “I don’t think I’ll ever leave Thief River Falls.”

  Lisa chewed on her lip to keep away the sadness. It wasn’t right, hearing those words from a boy so young. She wanted to say something to comfort him, but she realized that she was the one who needed comfort. Purdue didn’t sound upset or afraid of what he was saying. He was a serious boy thinking about serious things. She was the one who was terrified by what was out there for him.

  She reached over and stroked his hair. “You know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “I think we should have more pie.”

  She heard Purdue giggle in the darkness.

  Lisa got out of bed. The hardwood floor was cold. She hunted for her shoes and then slipped her feet into them. She found her clothes, which had dried on the radiator during the night, and she put them on. She felt her way in the darkness across the small bedroom to the closed door and then let herself out into the hallway. The house wasn’t big. There was another bedroom adjacent to this one for Curtis and then Shyla’s bedroom in the corner. That was all.

  She headed for the kitchen, stepping carefully to avoid several cats sleeping in her path. She could hear the rumble of snores and purrs. A streetlight near the river cast enough light to help her make out the furniture around her. A clock glowed on the microwave; it was just past five in the morning. She went to the refrigerator, but before she opened the door, she stopped.

  Through the rear door in the kitchen, she saw a pinprick light in the backyard. She squinted to see it better. The light danced like a firefly, appearing and disappearing near the trees, and she realized it was the glow of a cell phone screen. Someone was outside, pacing back and forth in the cold.

  She couldn’t see who it was.

  Lisa backed away from the door. Instinctively, she looked around the kitchen for something she could use to defend herself, and she found a heavy stone pestle from a mortar and pestle set, like a miniature baton. She clutched it in her hand and then retraced her steps through the house to the bedroom where Curtis was sleeping. If she was going outside, she wanted backup.

  She drummed her fingers lightly on the door. “Curtis?”

  There was no answer, and she knocked again with the same result. With a slight hesitation, she twisted the knob and opened the bedroom door. Inside, she called his name again, louder, but still got no answer. She felt around the wall for the light switch and turned it on, and she was temporarily blinded by the brightness. When she could see again, she spotted empty, rumpled sheets on the twin bed.

  Curtis was gone.

  Lisa didn’t understand. Where was he? Then she relaxed a little as she thought, It’s him. He’s the one outside. He’s talking to Laurel.

  She went back to the house’s rear door, which she opened quietly. Cold air whistled through the crack. Outside, there was no moon, no stars, just clouds, so she couldn’t be seen. When she took one careful step, she felt a sheet of ice under her feet. The porch was slick from a wave of freezing rain. She held on to the railing and took it an inch at a time as she made her way down to the back lawn.

  Ice had formed there, too, and it broke like glass as she walked on it. She went slowly to avoid making noise, at least until she was absolutely sure it was Curtis in the yard. She still had the stone pestle in her hand. Not far away, the light of the cell phone moved back and forth near the trees, and a man’s voice rose above the icy patter of the rain. His tone was hushed and agitated. She recognized the voice and felt a wave of relief.

  It was Curtis.

  Then her relief evaporated as she got close enough to hear what he was saying.

  “No! No, you can’t send anyone over here. This woman has a damned armory in her garage. I’m sure there are guns inside the house, too. It’s way too risky. Lisa’s obsessed with this boy, and she’s determined to rescue him. If you confront her about it directly, this thing could turn into a firefight, and nobody wants that. You have to be patient.”

  Lisa stood motionless as the rain froze on her clothes. The longer she stood there, listening, the more she became a pillar of ice. She wanted to move, but she couldn’t. Horror bled through her mind and sank like a weight into her stomach. Curtis was one of them. She’d been set up. The forced landing in the plane was fake; it had all been done to keep her here in Thief River Falls, to make sure she didn’t escape with Purdue. And that meant something even worse.

  Laurel.

  Laurel was part of it, too.

  She couldn’t trust her best friend. Everything Laurel had told her had been a lie. She should have listened to Purdue’s suspicions about her. The betrayal tasted bitter in her mouth.

  Curtis kept talking. “Look, the plan is to go back to the airport in the morning. Wait until then. This woman Shyla drops us off, and then she’s out of the picture. You can have Garrett and Stoll waiting in the hangar near the plane. At that point, we’re done.”

  Lisa knew she was alone. Truly alone. She shouldn’t have been surprised, because her life had been leading here for the past two years, taking away everyone she loved, one by one.

  “All right, I’ll text you when we’re heading to the airport. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure nothing goes wrong.”

  Curtis hung up.

  Lisa wasn’t sure what to do, whether she should run, or hide, or pretend she hadn’t heard everything she’d just heard. If she could get back to the house without Curtis knowing she’d been outside, she could slip away with Purdue and be gone before it was light.

  But she ran out of time.

  Curtis had shoved his phone into his pocket and was now headed straight for her. His footsteps crunched through the layer of ice. He practically collided with her before
he even realized she was there. When he saw her blocking his way, he stopped, and she heard a curse under his breath. They were both little more than dark silhouettes in the yard, but he knew it was her, and he knew the game was up.

  “You bastard,” she hissed.

  “Lisa, calm down. Let me explain. This isn’t what you think it is.”

  “No? Because it sounds like you’re setting me up, Curtis. It sounds like both of you have been part of this from the beginning. You and Laurel.”

  She turned for the house, but she knew he wouldn’t let her go. Not now. Not when she knew the truth. She tried to run, but she took only two slippery steps before her feet spilled out beneath her, and she crashed to the wet ground on her stomach, knocking the air out of her chest. She rolled over, gasping for breath. Curtis loomed over her body, reaching for her. She skidded out of his grasp, but he closed the gap between them with a few steps.

  “Lisa, wait. Listen to me. Don’t make this hard on yourself. All they want is the boy.”

  All they want is the boy.

  Hearing that made something break inside her. She crossed a line. A line that the heroes in her books had to cross, when violence was the only answer. She could just make out the shine of Curtis’s eyes, and when he was directly above her, she swung the little stone pestle like a billy club, hearing it rush through the air and connect on Curtis’s skull with a mean crack. He fell hard, his knees giving way. He collapsed on top of her, and she had to shove with both hands to dislodge his body and squeeze out from beneath him. She was still struggling to breathe, laboring to swell her lungs again. Next to her, Curtis wasn’t moving.

  “Lisa?”

  A small scared voice came from behind her. It was Purdue. He’d followed her into the yard.

  She managed to get to her feet. He ran to her and threw his hands around her waist and hung on for life. She held him, too, but she knew they didn’t have much time. Curtis would be conscious again soon, and when he was, they needed to be long gone.