Arise (Book Three in The Arson Saga) (7 page)

A harsh wind breathed over the cabin, wheezing across the wooden teeth outside while stray tree branches scratched at the windows.

“I know you don’t want us here,” Emery said. “And after everything we’ve endured, we don’t need your sympathy, your pity, or your guilt.” She was still surprised that her subconscious insisted on injecting the plural whenever she spoke.

“Settle down. My goodness, you’re a little firecracker, ain’t you? I’m concerned, that’s all. You two just dropping into my life like this… It’s uncanny.” Ruth crossed her arms and huffed. “You know, I’m a prayin’ woman, and I stick to my guns. That’s why you’re here, I think. Not too long ago, I asked for something.”

“What?”

“I wanted to help the angels. They need help too, ya know. After my son went off and started a family of his own, and his daddy passed, I just…wanted to feel useful again. Once I ran into you on the side of the road—amidst a coming storm, no less—I knew. I knew it was the answer knockin’ on my door. The door in my heart.” There was an earnest, motherly sadness that invaded Ruth’s voice; Emery was anything but ready for it. “Mysterious ways.”

“Yeah.”

“But I’ve never had a boy look so pale right in front of my eyes. I swear it’s like I’m lookin’ at a ghost.”

“Sorry I barked at you,” Emery confessed, avoiding Ruth’s comment. “It seems I am my mother’s daughter.”

“It’s all right. You’re a stick-to-your-guns gal yourself, I guess. Literally. Not your fault what this world deals out. All part of the game. You either play or you don’t. Seems the two of you played your hand with your whole heart.”

“And it got us into trouble. Now he’s…and I’m…”

“It’s all right, sweetie.” The old woman looked up at the ceiling. “I just need a little guidance, is all. What am I supposed to do now?”

“He’s been quiet a lot lately. At least for me. Kinda funny, though.”

“What?”

“One of your wishes came true. Weird circumstance notwithstanding.”

“Mysterious ways, remember? That’s how it works. But I don’t feel right about this. You understand, don’t you? You understand where I’m coming from? I can’t just let him die here in my house. It’s inhumane.”

“He isn’t dead,” Emery said, shaking her head. “He’s not.”

“Suddenly you’re so sure. Okay, then what is he? Where’s his heartbeat? Tell me.”

“He has to wake up,” Emery pushed, not at all sure if she now believed it.

“The longer we postpone action…I just don’t know. That storm’s gonna be real nasty. Oh, the good Lord got one over on me, didn’t he? Yes, he did.”

“I’m right here. And trust me, I’ve got enough doubts for both of us.”

Ruth nodded, and Emery just wished for a serum that could heal Adam.

“I’m hungry.”

“Of course. Where are my manners?” Ruth moved toward the stove again, glancing out the window as she stirred the pasta. Snow descended frantically out the window. Rising fog caught the snowflakes midair, and the two intertwined like long lost lovers anxious for new life. “If only he had a pulse—”

“He can’t be dead, ma’am. He can’t be. It doesn’t feel right.”

With a contemplative stare and hands on her hips, Ruth replied, “One’s health doesn’t revolve around feelings. That’s a sad fact.”

“Maybe we should leave,” Emery suggested, a bit of the paranoia creeping in.

A moment passed. Ruth tugged at her bottom lip with slightly crooked teeth. “Where would you go in the storm?”

The outside world darkened.

“As far as we could get. I’d drag him if I had to.”

“He needs serious medical attention. Maybe doctors can help him. Maybe they can…oh, what’s it called, resuscitate him.”

“The creeps chasing us will probably check the hospitals and the police stations first,” Emery fired off. “I’d be dead or unconscious before I so much as
talked
to a cop or a doctor. Besides, who’d believe me?”

A brief moment of silence before Ruth prodded some more. “You’re fighting awfully hard to stay hidden, ain’t you? What happened, honey? What happened to you two?”

Emery rubbed her arm with the butt of the gun and sat down in a chair.

“You’re running from something fierce, I can tell.”

Emery’s eyes let go of cold tears, but she stopped them immediately. “Look, we’re thankful for your help, but we can’t involve anyone else. No doctors. No cops. We’ll stay here until the storm clears…if you’re cool with that.”

“I suppose I’m
cool
with that. Then what? You can’t run forever. Then what?” Ruth asked, turning off the stove and watching the pot of pasta complete its boil.

Emery wanted to say that then Adam would wake up. That his mind or soul or whatever would return to this icy, beaten vessel she now stared at, and he’d…

…breathe, just breathe
.

What if she would have to face what was coming on her own? What if that were the hand she’d been dealt? Emery’s heart crashed against her chest as she closed her eyes and waited for an answer that never came.

Chapter Ten

His wife’s eyes had
been glued to him and Redd since they’d left the motel parking lot. Tension split Joel’s nerves, and he routinely took note of Aimee’s uncomfortable supervision whenever he flipped down the visor’s mirror, during which time he pretended to scan his chin for a zit and examine the corner of his eye for an irritating lash that wasn’t there.

When would they arrive? The distance between Emery and them was indeed shrinking—well, he hoped it was. There still wasn’t any kind of guarantee his daughter was trapped in a mental hospital basement, like Kyro claimed. Nevertheless, beneath it all, something ill gnawed at him.

He hadn’t anticipated that the ride to the asylum would take this long, but several exits had been blocked on the interstate, and numerous construction sites along the way cluttered the back roads, detouring traffic for nearly ten miles, which, in the midst of a nasty storm, only escalated his internal anxiety levels. Externally, he feigned calmness for Aimee’s sake, to keep her hope from sinking. If only he’d been able to do so during their younger years, maybe their relationship could’ve been…

He had to stop thinking like that, in
could’ves
and
would’ves
and self-deprecating notions that didn’t bring him any closer toward resolution, any closer toward getting his life back.

“How far out are we now?”

“No closer than we were when you asked five minutes ago, Mrs. Phoenix. In case you hadn’t noticed, traffic is crawling.”

“Can’t you drive around it or switch lanes or something? I’m suffocating back here.”

Redd pressed one of the buttons on her left, and the rear right window slowly lowered.

Joel didn’t hear Aimee’s muffled comment, but he knew it wasn’t easy for her to be cooped up in a backseat next to a kid she had repeatedly labeled a street thug. “She’s doing the best she can, Aimee.”

“Who in their right mind would be doing construction in the middle of a storm?”

Redd glanced at Joel. “It’s not construction; there’s been a terrible accident, I think.”

“Oh, convenient,” Aimee snapped, shoving Kyro’s shoeless foot off her lap.

Tilting the rearview, Redd returned, “They sure are milking this, though, aren’t they?”

“We’ve been stuck on this route for nearly forty-five minutes.”

“Blame the storm, I guess,” Joel said.

His hood pulled down in front of his eyes, Kyro groaned. “Dang, I thought we woulda been there by now. Though I ain’t exactly rushin’ to get shot at.”

Joel noticed Aimee’s face flush white. “No one is gonna get shot at.”

“Says you. Me and Lil’ Redd been there. You ain’t.”

“Just relax, Kyro,” Redd urged. “We don’t need any more of your antics.”

“Go back to sleep,” Aimee grumbled. “The last hour was almost peaceful, even if we have been going from road block to traffic stop.”

“Whatever, man.”

“And try to keep your unpleasant feet to yourself,” she added.

“Shoot. Haters gonna hate, ain’t they?”

Silence.

“Kyro out.”

“Who are you, Ryan Seacrest?” Aimee chuckled.

“Who?”

“Never mind.”

“You know, Kyro, you mumble in your sleep,” Joel mentioned.

“Yeah, what’d I say?”

“Well, to keep it appropriate, I’ll omit some of the details and—”

“Man, just forget you’re a priest for one frickin’ second and nut up or shut up. How ya gonna wake a dude from his sleep and then leave him hangin’ like dat? What’d I say? Spit it.”

Redd jumped in. “Let’s see, you used the words
milky white chocolate
and
black stallion
in the same sentence, all while doing this weird, stud-like impression. None of us had a clue to whom you were referring, but I gotta say, it was quite—what would you say, Joel? Theatrical?”

“I’m thinking more along the lines of disturbingly poetic,” he said.

Aimee looked torn between a grin and a scowl.

“Oh, so that’s how it is? Kyro dozes off and you old heads feel the need to play me like a sucka? It’s messed up, Cass. Just messed up.”

“Oh, c’mon, it was a joke. God knows we could use a little humor on a day like today.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t laughin’. That ish wa’n’t funny.”

“It was kinda funny,” Aimee admitted.

“Yeah, unlike this bumper-to-bumper nonsense.” Redd honked and stuck her head out the driver’s side. “Just wondering if you lugnuts can go a little slower? I just love sitting in traffic. Just love it! Feel free to take your time!” She drew her head back in and rolled up her window. No one seemed concerned with how cold they all had become. The persons involved in the accident were likely hurt, possibly dead. But desperation could make monsters of men.

A tap on her window startled Redd. Upon rolling it down, an officer leaned on the door and got a good look at everyone in the car before speaking.

“That was very impolite, miss. As you can see, these men and women are working as hard and as fast as humanly possible to get traffic moving in a timely manner. Have a little respect. A young woman died this afternoon. If you think you got somethin’ important going on, think about that.”

“She’s sorry,” Aimee said. “She may seem a little cold-hearted and self-absorbed, but that’s just a façade.”

“Ma’am, I wasn’t talking to you. Where you all headed in such a rush?”

“None of your business,” Redd snapped.

“You got a lot of attitude.”

“Look, you’re not my shrink. Why don’t you get back to work, or pretending to work, so we can get on our
merry
way?”

“Okay, that’s how we wanna play?” the officer continued. “License and registration, please.”

“Seriously?”

Their eyes locked. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly in the joking mood.”

She retrieved the registration from the glove compartment and the license from her wallet and handed them to the officer. “This is absolutely ridiculous.”

“Keep calm, please. There’s no need to escalate the situation.”

“I’d hardly call this a situation, but if you want to call it—”

“What I’d like is for you to consider changing your tone. Be back in a minute.” He walked around the corner of the street to his cruiser, spoke into his walkie, and slid into the vehicle.

“Can you believe this?” Redd fumed, smacking the wheel.

Joel softly rubbed her shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“Well, you did scream out your window like a lunatic,” Aimee said. “That was probably not a good idea. Oh, and you antagonized him. Also, not the best idea.”

The vein in Redd’s neck throbbed. “He was invading my personal space, not to mention we don’t know who he is or who he knows. I wasn’t about to divulge where we were headed. For Emery’s sake.”

Kyro meowed, no doubt attempting to build on the tension.

“Cut it out!” the other three shouted, as the officer started walking back toward them.

“Private Investigator. Impressive,” he mocked. “Anyway, your info checked out, Miss Casey,” the smug officer said, picking some crust out of his ear.

“Of course it did,” she answered, snatching the form and her license from his grip.

“You’re not the only one having a bad day. These workers are gonna try to get you moving soon. But I’d suggest altering your attitude a bit.”

Redd froze, and a shiver did a somersault down her spine. “Yes, Officer. I don’t know what came over me. I guess you’re right.”

“You guess?” challenged the heavyset grunt with brooding eyes.

“My
sincerest
apologies, Officer…” She checked his badge for a nametag, but there wasn’t one.

“York.”

“Officer York, I want to thank you for making an example out of me, really. I know it must’ve been difficult, given your assumed affinity for discretion and professionalism. Hindsight being twenty-twenty and all, I wish I could go back and think a little more deeply before acting so…irrationally like I did. No one really wants to hear my opinions anyhow. But, females being the weaker sex, I guess I just sometimes lose control, and let my emotions get the best of me. Never meant for a strong, capable man like you to see me in such a sophomoric and antagonistic state, stooping as low as to, dare I say it, verbally emasculate so many hard-working, union-supported, tax-devouring individuals.” She flashed a bright smile at the intrusive cop inching yet again into her personal space. “There, have I been domesticated to your approval?”

With his teeth, Officer York chewed a layer of skin from his bottom lip and with his left hand, he massaged the pistol attached to the belt clipped to his robust midsection. “You made your point. But allow me to make just one more recommendation.”

She looked straight ahead, already finished with the petty conversation. Dusting the snow off his police cap, he eased closer and whispered. “If I were you, I’d turn back now…while you still can. The storm just may take pity on you.”

As he departed, Joel’s eyes followed the officer down the row of traffic, past honking cars stuck in brown slush and gravel. He even caught a glimpse of one of the vehicles that had been involved in the crash. It looked to be a head-on collision.

“Okay, was it just me, or was that dude creepy as hell?” Kyro said, emerging from his hoodie cocoon.

“Just another ego with a badge,” Redd replied.

“Well, it looks like homeboy’s got his chubby, banana-lookin’ fingers crossed for us to meet Jesus today. All that chirpin’ about the storm takin’ pity on us and crap. Either that, or I’m wiggin’ out.”

“Please, it’s not like the little porker controls the weather. Don’t tell me you’re superstitious.”

“Just ’cuz a person believes in somethin’ beyond what he sees with his own two eyes don’t make him a crazy.”

“As long as you’re not a long-winded fanatic, God help us,” Redd said, lowering the heat. “No offense, Joel.”

He couldn’t take offense. He was too busy focusing on that delicate line of sweat slipping down her clavicle. It excited him that the first two buttons of her blouse were undone, but he felt instantly guilty for catering to such distracting feelings. He looked back at the woman to whom he’d pledged his life, his everything, and desperately redirected his thoughts, curious to know what she was thinking. She sat so quietly.

In fewer than five minutes, traffic started moving again. Redd lightly pressed the pedal, and the sedan eased forward. “You know, it kinda took me off guard.”

“What?” Joel asked, making uncomfortable eye contact with Officer York, who now directed them onward.

“You being a priest.”

“I’m not. I’m a, I’m, I am—”

“A pastor,” Aimee interrupted. “At least he was, once upon a time.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, Lil’ Redd, Cass claims he doesn’t sing no sermons like them collared Catholic dudes,” Kyro chimed, “which I personally think is a load o’ bull. I ain’t ever been to a church where there wasn’t some dude in a dress singing some kind o’ hallelujah.”

“No, he was actually telling you the truth on that one,” Aimee clarified. “I endured enough sermons to know singing isn’t his gift.”

“To be fair, I
can
occasionally hold a tune.”

“I’ll bet you rock that shower scrubber mic, don’t ya?” Kyro said with a smirk.

“Ha-ha-ha.”

“Burns when someone trashes your street cred, don’t it, Cass? Now we’re square.”

Joel didn’t respond. He knew he couldn’t win with Kyro.

It didn’t take long for the backseat to echo again. “Yo, we gotta pull over mad quick. Like, yesterday quick.”

“Why?” they all asked.

“I gotta take care o’ some business…in my lower region, if you know what I mean. Unless you want me to expose my better parts right here and now.” He playfully nudged Aimee’s elbow.

Redd sighed. “Uh. Can’t you hold it? Traffic just started moving again. We’ll be at Salvation soon. You can relieve yourself there. Bet you’ll feel right at home.”

“Will somebody please tell this pirate hooker to wake up and smell the roses? Salvation Asylum ain’t exactly Candyland, ya heard? Apparently when Kyro flaps his lips, nobody listens.”

“He’s referring to himself in the third person,” Joel said sarcastically. “Better do what he wants.”

Redd grumbled then drove about another hundred feet before the flickering lights of a 7-Eleven sign spread across the windshield. She signaled for the turn and pulled into the lot. Once the sedan reached a standstill, Kyro flung open his door and ran inside.

The bathroom reeked of vomit. A Taco Bell wrapper lay crumpled beside the diseased-looking toilet bowl, and a mental play-by-play of what might’ve transpired instantly sprang to life inside Kyro’s head. He mustered up enough torque in his body to swing his foot up to the top of the porcelain throne and flush the toilet with the heel of his sneaker before the terrible stink got to him.

Once the bathroom door was locked, he dropped his left hand into his pocket in search of the phone he’d recently acquired—
recently
meaning he’d swiped it when he ran into the store. Kyro’s unsuspecting victim had his hands full with last-second groceries probably purchased to fill some cabinet space before the storm got worse. More than likely, the anxious guy belonged to the minivan with the dented fender and that revolting sticker of a perfect, intact family stuck to the rear windshield. The boring corporate clone in the windbreaker could certainly survive without it.