Arise (Book Three in The Arson Saga) (4 page)

Chapter Five

The wiper blades cleared
a significant amount of snow buildup from the windshield, but the weather was getting worse. Joel’s suggestion to take their family car would’ve been a good move, Aimee thought, but Redd insisted on using her car instead. She figured as much. The fact that Joel would cave with so little nudging, however, meant he respected the investigator’s opinion more than his wife’s, a bit confusing considering last night’s quasi-romantic episode. But she was determined, at least for now, to play along.

In Redd’s defense, the vehicle was all-wheel drive and better in questionable weather. Plus, she was more familiar with this area than either of them was, and she’d been to the asylum before. Kyro didn’t buy into it, though. He’d offered to lead the way so long as he could ride shotgun, but Joel had just told him to sit in the back and keep any negative outbursts to himself. Since the request, Aimee had been counting the minutes, wondering how long the jittery kid could keep quiet. The momentary rejection from Joel clearly made riding backseat a hard pill for him to swallow.

“How many times you been there, anyway?” he asked, rudely propping his knees up against the back of Redd’s seat. Kyro sat spine crunched, legs bent, feet dangling.

“A few times doing field work on some cases,” she said. “Why?”

“Curious. Can’t a guy be curious?”

Redd turned to Joel, who sat beside her, and then glanced into the rearview. Aimee took note of the eye contact. “So, Kyro, what was a decent guy like you doing in Salvation Asylum? And so young too? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I was under the impression that a place like that was only for criminals or the mentally ill.”

Kyro caught on. He read her like a midterm cheat sheet, seeing past the attempt to decrease his credibility and instill doubt and a sense of distrust. “I made some mistakes, Lil’ Redd. Ain’t nobody in this car a saint, and that’s the truth.”

“It’s the past. No one’s pointing any fingers. You’re with us now.”

It wasn’t that Aimee approved of Kyro, what with his baggy outfit, unkempt look, and the fact that he had a few tattoos that looked as though they’d been etched by prison inmates or gang members, but seeing her husband take interest in a young person again, the way he had as a youth pastor, oddly warmed her.

“Should we be worried?” she asked. “I’ve never been to a mental hospital before.”

Kyro turned to Aimee and started firing off. “Oh, it’s a cozy joint, Mrs. P. Nice, comfy chairs, nothin’ but friendly Joes callin’ the shots. Heck, they practically have a church service every Sunday. If we’re lucky, we may just barge in on ’em havin’ themselves a quaint lil’ prayer meeting.” He adjusted his knees so that Redd would have to change the way her seat was positioned in order to quell the stabbing sensations in her back.

“Cut that out,” she demanded in a high-pitched voice after about five seconds.

“What’s the matter?” Joel asked.

“He’s digging his knees into my seat. It’s rude and annoying!”

“Is it? Shoot, I didn’t know. Pardon me, Lil’ Redd. Could you ever find it in your heart to forgive a po’ soul like me?”

“Kyro, you don’t need to act like that,” Aimee said, nudging him.

“Like what?” he returned, playing oblivious.

“We’re all adults. Even if
the professional
is a bit rough around the edges, she deserves a sliver of respect.” Aimee hoped her sarcasm was detected. Putting judgments aside, she was more inclined to align herself with him as opposed to the unsuspecting, rosy-cheeked driver.

Redd clearly took note of the not so subtle dig but managed a thank you.

Kyro draped his hood over a cowering head and leaned against the window. He breathed on the glass and lazily began shaping letters into the mist.

“What are you writing?” Aimee whispered.

“Nothin’, nosy.”

“Try not to leave fingerprints on the window,” the front seat requested. “It’s a nightmare to keep clean.”

“It’s no big deal.” Kyro shrugged, his fingers forming lines in the condensation. After a moment of hesitating, he held up his left hand behind the seat; if only Redd could see his suspended middle finger…

“Everybody cut him some slack for bit,” Joel asked. “I think he might’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“Maybe that half explains his peachy attitude,” Redd chimed. “By the way, Mrs. Phoenix, regarding your question earlier about if you should be worried, only you know the answer.”

Aimee sank into the seat, and her shoulders dropped, as if another chunk of her faith slipped out of her bones.

“There’s still hope, Aimee,” Joel offered, scratching at his unshaven jaw. “That’s why we’re going. There are no promises, but for now, we have hope.”

It sounded good coming from his lips, but where was that kind of faith and strength when she had prayed for hours on end to get her sober husband back? Where was that confident man when she had stupidly tried to rekindle a dead flame with Carlos, in hopes that Joel would wander in from the fog and snap out of it? So selfish and wounded she let herself become. Yet both guilty. And both equally unraveled.

No, not equally.

As she stared at Joel now, noticing the way he held himself, and the way Redd tempted his eyes every so often, she thought hard on it, on her lack, on her misguided attempts and empty searches. And maybe she peered through time incorrectly, or with the wrong lens. Had the move to the lake solidified their decay? What if, by then, it was too late, like she’d first believed? But did that justify her? Did the years of heartache and anger—the miscarriage, or Emery’s accident—justify her?
Should I have left back then?
Would that have changed things? Oh, to go back. To go back and find the error of so long a love and war.

The problematic truth of it was that she had always secretly hoped, no matter what she said or how cruel she turned toward him, that Joel would once more be the man she had fallen in love with, and fight for her and for their future. Fight, even if she no longer could believe in it. Fight like he had in their youth, when the wonder and terrors of love and life had not grown weary of them.

The ring on her finger was neither heavy nor light. It just was. Worn metal attached to flesh and bone. But it would stay.

Kyro finished dragging his finger along the glass. “Wake me in an hour,” he snapped, shutting his eyes and leaning against the window with the words
jacked up
scribbled inside the fog.

Chapter Six

Emery lost track of
when it was that she had started to shiver. The bloodless winter air somehow managed to creep inside the locked car doors and tightly sealed windows. The car’s interior was so cold that she could see the shadowy outlines of her breath.

Adam lay so eerily still. No matter how many times she checked for a pulse, none could be felt. She had pressed her ears to his lips several times, only to be met with not even so much as a murmur. Emery thought imaginary needles were being stabbed into her veins, and maybe that was why they had started to turn blue. She brushed her hair away from tired eyes, hating the way each lazy strand sought to capture her face, all sweaty and a tangled mess. She was irritated by how much her scalp itched. Nerves and everything else. Blink after blink, the same grey scene remained, the bitter taste of what had been done, and the consuming horror of the last three months spent in isolation and fear.

Emery screamed at the top of her lungs, but Adam didn’t even move. She wished like crazy he could pick up the shrill sound of her voice. In the quiet, after she’d beaten the dashboard so hard she thought she’d fractured her wrist, Emery sat, contemplating, trying to wish it all away. Wish that she could return to her childhood, before the moves, before the judgment she endured every time she walked into a church, before her face had turned her into something ugly.

“I’m lost,” she said with an unusual mix of calm and intensity. “We’re all lost.” Emery’s fingers slid over Adam’s head. He looked like a cancer patient—one with a huge gash on his scalp. She wondered if he was capable of growing hair or if, because of all the tests Salvation had run on him, his body could no longer produce the necessary follicles. What a stupid thing to think about. What difference did something like that make at a time like this?

She was frozen. Why couldn’t she move? She snorted, wiping aside a tear with the back of her bloodstained hand. She lingered, like some stray animal, left for dead on the side of some road she couldn’t name, in a town she’d never been to, a place that would most likely be destroyed when the wicked men decided to finally initiate the apocalypse on earth.

For several blinks, she actually imagined it all happening, the end of everything. Like those old movies about nuclear bombs. It seemed so unreal on a silver screen, but through her eyes now, after what Adam had explained to her, words became flesh.

Her lips felt lonely, and she knew the air had chapped them beyond repair. Emery ground her teeth and turned the key in the ignition, causing the car to come alive with a furious groan. She immediately turned the heat switches on high, thankful for the minute, until she noticed the fuel light flashing the most putrid shade of yellow. How much time did she have before the gas ran out? Would they make it to a station? And even if they did, how would they pay? She laughed, but the situation was anything but funny. What’s more, her mind insisted on using the word
they
, as if the boy who had saved her from the asylum would miraculously wake.

Emery put the hazard lights on. “Adam,” she whispered frantically. “Where are you? Come back to me.” If she concentrated hard enough, she could return to his home, before the attack, before the carnage. She relived his fingers stroking her face. His hands were beautiful, magical. She was consumed by his stare, by his power. It was sexy. It was heavenly. In a matter of seconds, he had managed to undo a teenage life spent in ugliness and shame. With one touch, one kiss, he had cleansed her from the very thing she hated about herself.

She crunched her abdominal muscles and bent over to press her lips against his. But before they touched, she heard the sound of brakes, of tires moving over snow, crushing it like the fragile powder it was. Her stomach leapt with equal caution and anticipation. The gun’s metal lip now nudged up against her hip bone. Emery grabbed the gun, readied it for use.

The vehicle stopped. A Suburban. The SUV resembled the vehicles that had been parked on the side of Adam’s property, enormous black beasts constructed to drag frightened teenagers away. Emery didn’t move, but her pulse instantly spiked. She waited for someone, for some creepy guy to step out of the vehicle. She’d blow him away without even feeling bad about it. She’d glare at him as she pulled the trigger and pray the bullet ripped into the heart.

Hesitation. Blink. Another icy breath. She had to see who it was. Emery tried to get a good look, peering out the driver’s side window, past the clouded glass, but it was unclear. She kept waiting. The gun felt so comfortable in her grip. She was on edge, but she wasn’t nervous, not at this moment, not like the pathetic girl who clung to Adam’s side because she had been paralyzed by fear. He wasn’t here to do any saving. She was alone. And maybe she’d have to kill.

Emery counted the next few seconds.

Then it finally happened. A body stepped out of the Suburban. She listened for the crunching of snow beneath winter boots. The foggy glass made it impossible to identify the walker. So she didn’t wait any longer. Emery raised the gun and shouted, “Don’t freaking move!”

The mystery man froze. When would he reach for his weapon? Would he dare call for backup? She didn’t look over her shoulder, for maybe backup was already here. She swore in that moment she felt a buzzing in her ribcage. But then she blinked, and the sensation dissipated.

“Don’t come any closer, or I’ll blow you away.” She almost sounded tough.

“Have you ever fired a gun before, sweetie?”

A new chill snaked down Emery’s back. It was a woman’s voice, muffled a little because of the glass, but the words had a certain serious and unflinching manner attached to them.

“Saying you’re gonna blow somebody away and doin’ it are two entirely different things.”

Emery squirmed. Her nostrils flared as she swallowed the biggest gulp of her life. She could do it. She knew she could pull the trigger. “What do you want?”

“I’m not a nosy person by any means. But you’re on the side of the road in a sports car, and a storm’s about to roll through these hills. Saw the hazards and couldn’t in good conscience just drive off and leave ya stuck, if that’s what ya are.”

“Is that the truth?” Emery asked, wondering why no other cars had driven by. Or maybe a few had, and she just hadn’t noticed.

“God’s honest. Honey, I got no reason to lie to you.”

“Cut that out!”

“What?”

“Calling me
honey
and
sweetie
. We’re not friends.”

“Well, what’s your name, then? Now’s as good a time as any to get ourselves acquainted.”

“Why should I tell you?”

“The choice is yours as far as I can tell. You’ve got the gun, and I’m standing in the road with my hands raised in the air. I couldn’t bring any harm to you if I tried.”

Emery’s tongue spread over her lips, but she never once took her finger off the trigger.

“So I suppose it’s too early for names. Fine. Do you want help or not?”

“We’re okay,” Emery lied, but her voice wavered. “We don’t need your help.”

“
We?
There’s somebody else in there with you?”

Way to go, you idiot. You never should’ve opened your big mouth!

“Is your friend all right? I don’t get bad feelings often, but I got one now. That being said, I don’t make it a habit to stop for strangers, which is why I waited in the car before comin’ out to greet you. ’Course if I woulda known you’d have a gun aimed at me, I probably would’ve ignored my gut and kept on driving.”

Emery could see the wind tossing the woman’s grey-black hair. Through the hazy window, she could make out one of her eyes. It had a dark color to it, but there was something soothing in its material. Still, the nerves in Emery’s wrist wouldn’t quit.

“Listen, if you want me to go, I’ll go. Just tell me you’re gonna be okay, and I’ll let this sleeping dog lie.”

“We’ll be fine! Get outta here!”

“All right.” She saw the woman nod and saunter back toward the Suburban. Emery glanced at the fuel gauge, swallowed hard, and touched Adam’s icy hand.

A split second. Then another. The stranger was about to drive off and leave them here. Could she let that happen? Still no pulse in Adam’s wrist. Could she just let him die like this and not even try?

Emery turned off the car and moved out of her seat. Seconds later, the passenger door flung open, and she raced around the front of the Firebird. “Wait!”

The woman got a good look at Emery. “What happened to you?” she asked, deeply concerned. “Did somebody hurt you?”

Emery watched her breath trail away as she nodded slowly.

“And your friend? Is your friend hurt too?”

Emery’s eyebrows bent in, and intense stress wrinkled the top of her face. She wondered if she’d be able to say the next part without tearing up. “He’s not breathing.”

She was wrong about the tears. Dead wrong.

“Good Lord, child.” The woman studied Emery from head to foot, pausing for a brief moment at the weapon still lodged tightly in her grip. “We need to get him to a doctor, then. Maybe there’s still t—”

“No doctors. No hospitals.”

“But this is an emergency. If he’s in bad shape, he needs medical attention.”

“We can’t.” Emery kept looking in both directions, just waiting for someone who worked for the asylum to speed past. “Maybe he’ll wake up. We just need shelter until this storm passes.”

The woman hesitated. “I don’t like the sound of this, but I suppose I can take you in for a bit. I’m no doctor, though I’ve stitched up some cuts in my day. I think I got some medicine back at the cabin.”

“Look, we need to be careful. The ones who hurt us… They may come back.” Emery’s arm began to tremble. She raised her hands toward her head and lightly smacked her temple with the mouth of the gun.

The gesture seemed to get the message across. “It’s okay. I get it. No authorities,” the woman caved. “Just put that thing down. You don’t need it around me.”

Emery blinked then lowered the gun with a shiver.

“Let’s get you both warm.” The woman opened the driver’s side door and found Adam’s small body. “Scrawny little fella, isn’t he? I hope there’s still time,” she said under her breath, but Emery could hear. “My cabin’s about fifteen minutes south. You’ll be safe.”

Emery nodded, the tears refusing to relinquish control of her emotions. “He’ll be okay, right? He has to be okay.”

The woman’s eyes betrayed her when her hands soaked up some of the blood from Adam’s wounds. She lifted his body off the seat and carried him to her vehicle. “Open the trunk doors for me, dear. I’ll lay him down in the back with some blankets.”

“He’s so pale,” was all Emery managed to say. When she opened the trunk doors, she was silent.

“There you go,” the kind stranger said, gently placing Adam in the back and wiping her hands on her pant leg. She moved a bag of groceries, some tool boxes, and a rubber mallet aside before wrapping his limp body in blankets that smelled like her grandfather’s house. A smell Emery hadn’t encountered in years.

“It’s not our car,” Emery volunteered, her eye twitching. The demon nerves had never stopped. “It’s not our car.”

“It’s okay.” The woman caressed her arm. “It’s okay.” The second time was for assurance, but it brought anything but. “Now, get inside and get warm. This storm’s coming fast. It’s gonna be somethin’ fierce.”

Emery held the pistol so tightly she nearly lost circulation in her hand. A flood of terrible memories rushed her. Bruce, the sick truck driver, flashed behind her eyes. How he’d found some kind of filthy satisfaction when he groped her leg. “I want to stay back here with him.”

Kind eyes agreed to the request.

Emery hopped into the rear section of the Suburban. She prayed this was the right move. Prayed she wasn’t being tricked. And then she started breathing again, realizing there really wasn’t much of a choice.

“Relax, sweetheart. Somebody’s lookin’ out for you. My name’s Ruth,” the woman offered with a smile.

After slight reluctance: “Emery.”

“Pretty name. Keep your head down during the drive, okay?”

“Can we just go now?”

“Sure we can. I’ll drive careful, promise.”

Emery squeezed Adam’s hand like it was life itself, and hoped that wherever Ruth was headed was safe.