Before I Wake (26 page)

People joked about cabin fever, but apparently the joke was on Eli, because cabin fever was real. The physical isolation was overwhelming, and he felt his mind slip just trying to grasp the fact that there was no pizza joint around the corner. No coffee shop or theater. The only thing out there was a field. Beyond that, another field. Maybe a valley of timber, and then another field.

The storm wasn’t showing any signs of letting up. The weather guy on a small, tinny-sounding portable radio concurred.

But the atmosphere inside the house was worse than outside. Arden refused to leave her room. Harley had spent a large part of the day whimpering at her bedroom door, trying to tempt her with food or coffee. He’d even found hot chocolate, but she hadn’t budged.

Those two had had sex last night. Everybody in the house knew it, even though nothing had been said. Fury even seemed to get it, and he hadn’t been there.

So far, Fury hadn’t tried to talk to Arden, who Eli still felt was in charge, no matter how messed up she was. But that’s how FBI agents were. Waiting and watching was what they did. More like a cat than a human. Right now, Fury was lounging on the couch, his coat and tie discarded, acting as if he’d just dropped in for a visit.

While Harley sniffed at Arden’s door and puttered around in the kitchen, the rest of them decided to play Monopoly. Eli hated Monopoly. It had to be the most boring tribute to consumerism ever imagined. He was surprised and horrified that Franny had agreed to play.

Oh, that’s right
. Daniel had suggested it.

They settled near the woodstove. Fury took one end of the couch, Eli the other. Franny and Daniel sat on the floor, the game board on the coffee table.

If nothing else, Monopoly was usually a good time for conversation. The FBI agent wasn’t giving anything up, but Franny could get to yakking when the notion hit. And if the right person was around.

Ten minutes into the game, she proceeded to tell Daniel her life story. He seemed glad to hear it.

Eli had witnessed this scenario before. It was the Noah thing all over again. Franny’s attraction. Her immediately falling for the new guy, when Eli was right there. Right in front of her.

When was he going to learn that he would never be anything to her? That she would always treat him like a buddy, nothing more?

He realized that Harley hadn’t wandered past in a while. Everything upstairs was quiet.

Were they up there together? God, that was sick.

Not the thought that they might be having sex. No, it was the house. Doing it in the house where Arden’s parents had been killed. It was so wrong. About as bad as bad karma could get. And Harley wasn’t exactly a prize. But maybe Arden liked guys like that. Strong and dumb.

Eli looked at Daniel, his eyes narrowing. Strong, but not dumb. At least he didn’t seem dumb. Hard to tell when somebody didn’t talk much.

“Your turn.”

Eli was jolted out of his mind-stroll to find Franny handing him a pair of dice. He took them and rolled, then moved his shoe game piece. “So, are you here to arrest us?” he asked Fury.

You could have heard a Monopoly shoe drop.

That was bad. Really bad.

Fury smiled. “You’re wanted for questioning; that’s all.”

It didn’t make sense. They wouldn’t send a single FBI agent to bring them back. Eli knew better than that.

He’d never trusted Fury. Fury was a facade. What kind of facade Eli didn’t know, but the guy had his own agenda.

After two hours, Fury leaned back in the couch. “That’s enough for me.”

He had a hotel and two houses. Most of Eli’s stuff was mortgaged, and he was in jail. Franny and Daniel had fared better. If they pooled their resources, they’d own over half the board.

Better sign a prenup.

“I’m done too,” Eli said. He had to get out of there.

He jumped to his feet, grabbed the heavy down jacket he’d found in the closet, and shrugged into it.

Franny looked up from where she sat cross-legged on the floor near the woodstove. She folded the game board, and slid the red and green plastic game pieces into the box. “Where are you going?”

“Outside.” He added a brown stocking cap and gloves to his ensemble. “To get an idea of what it’s doing and how deep the snow is.”

She yawned. “I’m sleepy. I think I’ll go lie down.”

On the couch, the FBI agent was already nodding off. He’d probably been up all night spying and tracking them and shit.

Eli couldn’t believe he’d actually thought about becoming an FBI agent at one time. Had he been out of his mind?
Yes
.

What a pathetic piece of work he was.

He left through the back door.

As soon as he stepped past the protection of the house, the wind whipped across his face, taking his breath away. The snow was above his knees in places, filling the boots he’d also found in the closet.

It was hard to believe they were in the United States, yet cut off from the rest of the world. Eli
didn’t
believe it. A plow would come by soon, and when it did, he wanted to be ready.

He remembered reading a story about pioneers who’d gotten lost in a blizzard and had frozen to death a few yards from their home.

Kind of embarrassing, but it could happen.

The sky was a dark slate gray. Close enough to touch, as if it had fallen to the ground. Evening was coming, but the grayness had been there all day, unchanged.

He may have been a city kid, but his circadian rhythms were triggered by the rising and setting sun just like everybody else’s. With no rising and setting sun, he felt off. Unbalanced. Uneasy and ready to jump out of his skin.

The snow still fell heavily, creating a feeling of claustrophobia, a wall you couldn’t see beyond but could walk through, its very softness deceptive. His arms were already covered in a solid white layer that got fault lines in it when he moved.

On top of no visibility, sounds were muffled. Someone could be standing right next to you, and you wouldn’t even know it.

How did people keep from going crazy?

They don’t.

The snow changed. Or his perception of the snow changed. It went from being an obstruction to being a blanket.

He almost felt that it was comforting him. Telling him everything would be okay.

He was just one guy, one snowflake.

Here. Now. Fighting… for what? The world would go on without him. The world would be okay without him.

He heard a voice in his head. A voice that wasn’t his, but at the same time seemed like his.

It was snowing quite a bit that day. A real Christmas

kind of snow that you knew would sparkle once the sun came out.

Eli immediately placed the voice.

Albert French.

That knowledge should have scared him, or at least made him uneasy. But the voice was like the snow: dangerous, yet comforting at the same time.

Suddenly Albert French was there with him. Watching him. Guiding him.

Eli felt special.

Kind of like he’d always imagined it would feel to go to Abbey Road. The studio and the street. See where the Beatles recorded.

How many people had reenacted the
Abbey Road
cover? How many had taken off their shoes to cross the street? Few people would have had the guts to do that. But why do something if you don’t go all the way? Why do something half-assed?

If you’re going to kill somebody, do it. Don’t dream about it. Don’t talk about it. Do it. And do it well.

Thank you, Mr. French.

Last night, the yard lights had been on. Now they just stared at him with blank expressions.

He struggled to walk, trying to follow what he thought was the road, unable to lift his legs very high because of the depth of the snow. Instead, he was forced to push through it.

He hit the downhill slope that led to the barn.

The ground fell out from under him, and he tumbled forward, gravity sending him rolling, snow finding its way down his collar and pants, finding the small strip of bare skin between his socks and the hem of his jeans.

This was nasty. This was like some pioneer lifestyle. Who would choose to live like this? Fucking idiots, that’s what they were. No wonder somebody had killed her parents. People that stupid deserved to die.

It was darker at the bottom of the hill. Maybe because he was now in a valley, or maybe night was finally coming.

The barn door wasn’t that hard to open. Rather handy the way it slid sideways without having to fight the resistance of snow.

The darkness increased.

He opened the huge door the rest of the way, letting in what little light he could.

There was Daniel’s truck. There was the red plastic gas container in the back.

He quickly scanned the barn wall, passing over tools and chains to finally stop on a green garden hose.

He stomped over and pulled the hose down. With some kind of sharp pruning tool, he cut the hose so he had a length of about nine feet. He opened the plastic container and set it on the ground near his feet. Then he unscrewed the gas cap from Daniel’s truck and fed one end of the hose into the tank. He put the other end in his mouth and sucked.

Nothing.

He took a few deep breaths, then sucked some more.

He could feel it coming, but it wasn’t there yet. As soon as he quit sucking, the fluid dropped back down the hose and into the tank.

He took another deep breath, and sucked again, harder this time. He was getting dizzy—a combination of hyperventilation and fumes.

Suddenly gasoline gushed into his mouth.

He gasped, breathing liquid into his lungs. He dropped the hose, gas splashing on his coat and pants and boots. He felt the toxic fluid hit the pit of his stomach.

He heard a sound behind him and turned. “Help!”

A gloved hand lifted Eli’s chin.

Someone there.

Someone to help.

“Open your mouth.”

He obeyed.

A Zippo lighter appeared out of nowhere. A quick flick brought with it a large flame.

Eli inhaled.

And became a human torch.

Screaming, flames shooting from his mouth, Eli ran for the door.

Arden heard a commotion downstairs. Franny’s voice, raised in alarm. She couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was bordering on hysteria. Male voices responded.

Let somebody else take care of the problem, whatever it was.

Nothing is real.

This isn’t real.

She was in the float tank, dreaming a dream she couldn’t wake up from. Being fed someone else’s reality.

But the noise downstairs didn’t stop.

Franny’s insistent voice. Chairs scraping the floor. Heavy, booted footfalls. Sounds of people preparing to leave. Sounds of departure.

Had a plow come through? Were Franny and Eli going?

Doors slammed. That was followed by silence, then muffled cries, voices shouting Eli’s name.

Arden unzipped the sleeping bag she’d burrowed into earlier.

The room was as dark as dark could get. She had to feel her way to the door before moving down the hall. She clung to the smooth wooden banister as she took the steps one at a time, her feet, in thick wool socks, finally making contact with the first floor.

In the living room, the woodstove gave off light. Nearby, two candles burned in clear glass votives.

Through the dining room and into the kitchen.

A burner had been left on under a skillet. She turned off the gas. The blue flame disappeared, leaving an oil lamp as the only source of light. Her dad had insisted upon a gas stove. If you had a gas stove, you could always cook when the power went off.

An array of flashlights and lanterns were scattered across the table, most likely left by Daniel. She tested a few, finally settling on a black LED she’d given her father for his birthday. It had been expensive, but was far brighter than what he’d normally used.

She retrieved a pair of insulated boots from the closet and put them on, tucking the hem of her pants inside before tying the laces. Those were followed by a black down jacket, black stocking cap, and a pair of heavy gloves.

At the last minute, she extinguished the oil lamp before stepping outside.

Wind and snow immediately blew down her collar, and she wished she’d thought to grab a scarf.

The cries for Eli had faded as the makeshift search party moved away from the house.

Arden headed straight for Eli’s car, which was still marooned in the driveway. She brushed away snow and shone the light in the driver’s window, then circled the vehicle. Seeing no sign of life, she opened the passenger door.

The dome light came on.

The floor mats held frozen snow footprints—but they could have been left from yesterday. She didn’t see any hint that someone had been there recently.

“You can take the girl out of the FBI,” came a voice from directly behind her, “but you can’t take the FBI out of the girl.”

Nathan Fury.

She was polite enough to refrain from blinding him with her flashlight as she straightened and slammed the car door.

“FBI issue?” he asked.

She lifted the light so he could get a better look. “Farm Supply.”

“I saw you from across the yard. I used to complain that LEDs were good for seeing what you needed to see, but also good for drawing fire.”

“Nice that I no longer have to worry about those things.”

“You should have come downstairs to join us today,” he said. “We’ve been having a lot of fun.”

Like she was supposed to believe Fury ever had fun. “Oh, yeah?”

“We played Monopoly.”

“Who won?”

He was acting as if everything were normal.

“Have you ever played a Monopoly game where somebody won?”

She made a sound that mimicked an agreement without the verbal commitment. “Did you find Eli?” she asked.

“No.”

“Are you certain he’s not in the house?”

“He went outside about two hours ago. His coat and boots are still gone.”

“Is he stupid enough to try to walk somewhere?”

“That’s what I wondered. Earlier, Daniel mentioned that our cell phones might work at a high point about a mile or so from here.”

“Roller Coaster Road,” Arden said.

“Yeah, that was it.”

Fury didn’t have a flashlight. He was bundled in his black wool jacket, hands jammed deep into the pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind, head bare, a pair of green Northern knee boots, circa 1970, on his feet.

One thing about living on a farm—there was always plenty of winter clothing to go around.

“You should have a hat,” she said. He couldn’t have looked more out of his element. “Why do city people have such an aversion to warm hats?”

He made a gesture with his hands in his pockets. “Because warm hats are ugly?”

At least it was an honest answer. “I’m going to check out the barn.” She walked away. He caught up and fell into step beside her.

The flashlight created a blinding glare against the thickly falling snow. If she kept it tipped down, like a car on low beam, the glare wasn’t as bad.

They walked where the road should be, with Arden using familiar landmarks to gauge the location.
Walk
wasn’t the right word.
Wade
was more like it, some of the drifts hitting her at thigh level.

She should have put on a pair of overalls.

“Maybe tonight we can play Charades,” Fury said.

“Or how about Who Am I?” she suggested.

“I’m guessing Truth or Dare and possibly Spin the Bottle would be more up your alley.”

She stopped. Fury stopped.

“Is this about Harley?” She kept the flashlight aimed at her boots.

He sighed. “You need to ask yourself why you’re having sex with men who aren’t your mental equals.”

“Are you a shrink
and
an FBI agent?”

“I think it’s because you don’t want anyone to dig past the surface. You want to be held, you want sexual gratification, but you don’t want emotional intimacy.”

Her heart was hammering, and she didn’t know why. “You aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know.” She let out a harsh laugh. “Who would have thought you’d turn out to be such an idealist? Such a Hallmark card?”

“It’s not fair to Harley,” he said.

Her toes and fingers were frozen. Her nose was beginning to run. She sniffled. “Would you be fairer game? Is that what this is really about?”

“I don’t have casual sex.”

She heard Franny and Harley shouting Eli’s name, their voices echoing from the direction of the barn.

The diversion couldn’t have come at a better time. “It’s none of your damn business,” Arden said, “but Harley and I haven’t slept together. Well, we
slept
together, but we didn’t have sex.”

She strode away, her heart still pounding.

She circled down to the barn, following a path where the snow had recently been disturbed. Arden rolled open the barn door, and was immediately hit with the heavy odor of gasoline fumes.

She shone the light on Daniel’s blue truck.

The vehicle’s gas cap was open, and a plastic gas container was on the ground with a length of garden hose nearby.

“We don’t need a detective to figure out what he was up to,” Fury said, coming up behind her.

Suddenly the entire search team was there, drawn by the noise and light.

“I told him I’d help him get gas,” Daniel said.

“What’s that smell?” Franny put a mittened hand to her nose. “Like burnt hair.”

“Yeah.” Harley aimed his flashlight at the walls of the barn, down toward the stalls, then back.

Arden directed her light at the ground.

“Drag marks,” Fury said.

He was right. At the spot where the drag marks began was an area that looked scorched.

Her eyes made contact with Fury’s.
Something bad going on here
.

“I remember catching my hair on fire once when I was little,” Franny said. “I was lighting a pumpkin I’d just carved, and I smelled something awful, but couldn’t figure out what it was. Then I saw my hair dissolving.”

Daniel laughed.

Arden and Fury refocused their attention on the drag marks, following them to where they vanished through the barn door, into the snow. “How long has he been gone, did you say?” Arden asked.

“At least two hours.”

“In two hours, we’ve probably had four inches of snow.” She stood in the open door and panned the light to the left, then right, looking for an indentation.

Drifts formed as she watched.

“We need to make a search line and fan out,” she said.

Daniel came up beside her. “Do you think he caught himself on fire,” he said, his voice low, “then ran from the barn? Or dragged himself from the barn?”

“Maybe.” That seemed the best possible scenario right now. The least sinister scenario.

Arden was tempted to let her mind go off in a direction she didn’t want it to go, but she froze her thoughts, concentrating on the problem at hand.

They worked the space in a line, sweeping their feet through the snow, the path of Arden’s left boot meeting up with the path of Fury’s right so that no space was left uncovered.

Franny screamed.

Everyone ran, three flashlights pointing down at the ground.

Half-buried in the snow was Eli.

Arden and Fury dug, uncovering him.

His face was burned almost beyond recognition.

His throat had been sliced from ear to ear.

Just like Vera Thompson. Just like Arden’s mother and father.

Arden pulled off her gloves and felt for a pulse even though she knew she wouldn’t find one.

“I-is he dead?” Franny asked from a safe distance.

“Yes.” That came from Fury.

“I don’t understand,” Franny said. “He would have known better than to have anything flammable around gasoline.”

She still didn’t get it. She was too far away, and it was too dark for her to see Eli’s throat.

Arden straightened.

No crime-scene team could reach them. Not for at least another day. Maybe two or three days. They would have to find a place to put the body. A place where it wouldn’t get eaten by coyotes and wolves.

“Eli didn’t accidentally set himself on fire,” she said quietly. “His throat has been cut. This is a homicide.”

Franny let out a gasp and took a stumbling step backward. “Oh, my God!”