Fade To Midnight (37 page)

Davy and Con exchanged glances, and shook their heads. “Never,” Davy said. “Let's see it.”

Miles pulled the fabric section of the unassembled kite out of the box, and let the big, octagonal piece of fabric unroll. “Look familiar?”

The room went dead quiet, except for the babbling from the kiddie zone. Davy and Connor stared at the thing he was holding. Their faces were stiff. Deathly, grayish masks.

And Miles got it. Too late. A punch, right to his solar plexus. How childish and selfish he'd been, not to break it to them gently. He'd brought a bomb into Con's home and lobbed it in his face, just to get a reaction. To punish them, for being smarter, stronger, faster, cooler than he'd ever be. Forgetting that they could be hurt, too.

Oh, man. Oh, what an asshole.

Davy got up, and walked out of the room. Margot got up, scurried off in his wake.

Miles stared at the piece of nylon fabric draped over his arm, and started to roll the thing up. Make it disappear.

“No,” Con lunged for it, snatched it out of Miles's hand. “No, let's hang this up. I've got all the rest of Kev's artwork up. Why not this?”

He stalked out of the room. Terrifying vibes were throbbing off the guy. Erin stood up, looking worried. Cindy looked scared.

Con came back, kite in one hand, hammer and nails in the other. He pulled framed Kev drawings off the wall, dropping them onto the dining table with loud, rattling thuds that made glasses, plates and silverware vibrate in sympathy. When he'd cleared a spot big enough, he held up the top of the mandala, placed the nail, slammed that hammer down.

“Connor!” Erin said, shocked. “Calm down!”

“Oh, I'm calm.”
Bam. Bam.
The hammer left ugly scars in the white painted wall. He wrenched the fabric taut, poised a nail at the bottom of the kite.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
They flinched at each blow.

Then Con held up the right side.
Bam. Bam.
Miles felt desperate. He'd unleashed this nightmare singlehandedly. He had to do something.
Bam. Bam.
“Con? Are you OK? Please! Chill out!” he begged.

“I'm just fine.”
Bam. Bam.
“I'm just great. Just hanging up my little brother's latest artwork. What's wrong with that?” Only the left side remained. Con stretched it out, placed the nail.
Bam. Bam.

Miles winced at each blow. “You don't have to crucify the thing!”

Con stopped, breathing hard. His teeth were clenched in a grimace. He gave the nail one last brutal whack. Paint flakes exploded, showering onto the hardwood flooring. The nearest framed drawing that was still hanging fell to the floor and broke. Glass shattered everywhere.

“Connor?” Erin's whisper was tiny in the sudden silence.

“Where in the fuck has he been all this time?” Con's voice was harsh, breaking. “Where the
fuck
has he been?”

He laid the top of his head in the center of the kite, his shaggy hair dangling down to hide his face. The hammer dangled, forgotten in his scarred hand. His shoulders shook.

Madeline woke from her nap in the bassinet at the foot of the table, and started to cry. Erin started toward her, faltered, and ran to Connor, slid her arms around his waist, pressing her face between his shoulder blades. “Cin, get Maddy, please.” Her voice was choked.

Maddy's cries rose in volume. Miles just stood there, like an asshole. Wishing he could just disappear into the floor.

Cindy got up out of her chair. “Miles? Get Maddy, and take her into the living room.” Her voice quivered. “Make sure Kevvie and Jeannie stay in there til I get all that broken glass cleaned up.”

Miles was grateful to her for taking charge, though holding the wobbly-necked Maddy scared the living shit out of him. But anything was better than staring stupidly at the mayhem he had wrought.

He gathered up the squirming, purple-faced bundle of screaming indignation, draped her over his shoulder, and fled to the kiddie zone. Which was exactly where he belonged, with his sub-zero maturity level.

It took a long time to get Maddy calmed down, but some endless minutes later she was finally asleep again. Con and Davy came into the living room, and sat down. No one seemed to know quite what to say.

“I'm sorry,” Miles said simply. “I shouldn't have done that to you.”

“It's OK,” Davy said.

“It's not your fault,” Con said. “It's mine. I didn't believe Sean's dreams and visions and kite sightings. I was too damn tired to believe them. Too tired to hope. Tired of the whole roller-coaster ride. I just wanted to move on.” He dropped his head into his hands and sighed. “Jesus,” he whispered. “I let my brother go…because I was
tired.
”

Miles could think of nothing to say. “I'm sorry,” he said, helplessly.

“Not as sorry as we are. We're the ones who let him down.”

That pissed Miles off, unexpectedly. He saw the scene, from three years ago. That hellish day, fighting that drugged up, bloodthirsty ogre Gordon, who'd almost killed him. Sean lying there with brain bleed. Liv soaked with blood, swinging a tire iron. Cindy lying terribly still on the ground after trying to defend him. Stinking smoke pouring from the burning laboratory. “It's not your fault!” he yelled.

Con and Davy shot glances at each other. “How do you figure?”

“I saw these people. I fought them! They fucked with you!” Miles said hotly. “They hid things from you, lied to you, tricked you! It's not your fault if you fell for it! The fault belongs to those murdering assholes, not to you! So don't take it on yourselves. That's just stupid!”

Maddy woke at his impassioned speech, yawned, and projectile vomited predigested milk all over Miles's sweater. Aw. Cuuute.

Connor's mouth twitched. He reached out. “Here, give her to me.”

Miles handed the infant over, and Connor slumped onto the couch and draped the kid over his broad chest, where she promptly went back to sleep. Davy fished up an urp rag from the back of the couch, tossed it to Miles. “Put one on before you pick them up,” he advised. “They'll get you every damn time.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Miles dabbed the curdled goop on his chest.

Davy opened the file Miles had compiled on Lost Boys Toys and Flywear. “Want to road trip down to Portland today?” he asked.

Miles was disoriented. “You still want me to go with you guys?”

They looked blank. “Hell, yeah,” Con said. “Why wouldn't we?”

Miles jumped up off the couch. So they weren't mad at him. He was so relieved, he could cry. But he wouldn't. “Let's go,” he said. “I want to talk to this Ranieri guy. And I want some goddamn answers.”

Con and Davy exchanged grins. “That's our boy,” Con said.

“Y
ou didn't eat enough,” Bruno complained. “There's some sausages left.” He heaped more food onto Edie's plate.

“No! I swear! I'm stuffed!” she protested, laughing. “Really!”

“Shooting's hungry work, and we've got that hike up the bluff ahead of us,” Bruno scolded. “Eat, eat! You worked hard this morning. I can't wait to tell Kev how the target practice went.”

Edie waved that away. She'd grudgingly enjoyed herself that morning. Bruno was a good teacher, breaking down each step in a way that made sense to her. And she hadn't done too badly. She was no longer viscerally afraid of the gun itself. She'd even begun to almost, well…enjoy it. As a mental exercise in concentration, of course.

“You're a great teacher,” she conceded.

“Oh, that's because of Kev,” Bruno confided. “He's the ultimate teacher. He taught me how to fight, how to shoot. Tracking, hunting, all that stuff. He knows it all. And way more. More than he taught me, that's for sure. All that stuff doesn't fit into my head.”

“Which stuff?”

“Oh, God, pick a topic at random. Ask him about quantum physics. Ask him about Roman military history, or the evolution of invertebrates, or any animal, bird or insect you ever heard of. Geology. The movement of the planets. Astrophysics. He explained the theory of relativity to me once, when I was in high school.” Bruno shook his head wistfully. “I almost understood it, for a couple minutes. God, it was beautiful. Couldn't retain it for shit, but it was great while it lasted.”

She laughed, as he clearly meant her to. “That's wonderful.”

“And if he doesn't know something? He goes to the library, comes home with a stack of books, reads them in one night. Processes every damn word. And knows it all when he's done. He can lecture about it, has informed opinions about it. His brain is freaking out there, in deep space. Turbo-charged. I kid you not.”

His tone made her smile. “I never thought you were kidding.”

“He learned Calabrese dialect just from listening to Rosa and Tony, and they say he speaks it like a Brancaleon native,
stretto stretto
. And look at these.” He leaped up from the table, and flung open a battered wooden cabinet, rummaging inside. “Here.” He pulled out a couple of objects, and presented them to her. “Look at these.”

She turned the odd objects in her hands, fascinated. They were sculptures, as far as she could tell, made of whittled twigs and acorns. One was a floating spherical form, with long floating arms, the other was a spiraling helix shape. Both were beautiful. “What are they?”

“This one is a carbon structure,” Bruno said. “Don't remember which molecule. He does this with no reference to books. Just sitting out on the steps with his knife. This is a fragment of human DNA. He explained what part, but it all blew out the other ear. I got no place to put that kind of data. Look how he joined the twigs, see? No glue.”

“They're beautiful,” she said softly.

“Damn right, they are. This stuff was what gave me the initial idea for Lost Boys. That and the kites. He got heavy into stunt kites a few years ago. You saw that mandala painting on his bedroom ceiling?”

Images from that scorching incounter on Kev's petal-strewn bed danced through her mind. “Uh, yeah.”

Bruno averted his eyes from her blush with great delicacy. “That kite was our first product. It's in sporting goods catalogs all over the country. These are the models he painted for the other ones.” Bruno pressed a sheaf of pieces of cardboard into her hand. She spread them out onto the table, admiring the colors, the subtle geometrical designs. They seemed to move as she looked at them. “Wow. These are great.”

“And look at the pictures. Animals, flowers, leaves. Me, too, but he bitches because I won't stay still. I'm twitchy. Look.” He tossed notebooks on the table, like a little kid showing off his toys.

Edie was charmed by his eagerness to demonstrate Kev's abilities. She leafed through the notebooks, struck silent. They were so spare, and so beautiful. Stark economy of line and detail. Every pen stroke essential and perfect. Why should she be surprised? It was so Kev.

“It's not fair,” she said. “He doesn't need to have all these talents. One or two are enough for any one person. It's not fair to the rest of us.”

“Tell me about it,” Bruno said. “He's a freak. We got used to it, over the years, but every now and then he still blind-sides us. Like with the Vietnamese. Man, that one came out of fucking nowhere.”

“Vietnamese? What's that?”

“It was incredible.” Bruno's eyes shone with enjoyment. “So, Kev's finally learning to talk again, right? This was years ago. I must have been fourteen or so. He's starting to force out a few words, just to please me, I think, even though it makes him sweat buckets. And one day, the Vietnamese grocer and his son come to the kitchen at the diner to make a delivery of vegetables and fruit, and they're chattering away, and out of the blue, Kev starts talking to them. In perfect Vietnamese. Not just choking out one word at a time like it's going to make him puke, either. It flowed right out. He had a whole polite conversation with them. Once they picked their jaws up off the floor, that is.”

Edie forced herself to close her own mouth. “Vietnamese?”

“Yeah. Like, what the fuck, right? Tony about had a heart attack. But anyhow, people talked, and a few days later, this speech expert from Oregon Health Science University comes by the diner, wants to talk to Kev. Turns out her niece goes to the local high school with the Vietnamese grocer's son. She was intrigued. Tony tried to freeze her out, but she got huffy, started threatening to report Tony to Adult Protective Services for abuse, slavery, taking advantage of a handicapped person, yada yada. Tony was afraid whoever was gunning for Kev would find him if she made a big public stink about it, so he caved. Only time I've ever seen Tony cave. It just about killed him.”

“Wow,” she murmured. “That's an incredible story.”

“Boy, did Tony ever complain about that uppity bitch,” Bruno recollected fondly. “She thought she was God's gift. Blond, long legs, long fingernails, high heels, eight Ph.Ds.”

“So did she do speech therapy with him, then?”

“Damn straight,” Bruno said. “Came to see him a couple times a week. Didn't charge him, either, although I think she definitely got some compensation for her professional services when she started renting those hotel rooms for their sessions. So they could have, you know, peace and quiet to concentrate, right? He made progress real fast once they started that phase of his therapy. Probably started talking out of self defense.” Bruno stopped, looking dismayed. “Oh, shit. Too much information, right? I shouldn't tell Kev's former sexploits. Girls hate that. What a fucking schmoe I am. Sorry. Forget I said it.”

She suppressed a smile. “To be honest, I truly did not think that Kev was a virgin before he met me. So you can relax.”

Bruno looked relieved. “Good. I just want you to have a clue, just how special that guy is.”

“I think I know,” she assured him. “I've gotten lots of clues.”

But Bruno barged on. “You can't know, because he never blows his own horn. It would never occur to him to show off. And he's so generous. He'd give away every penny he had. Never thinks of himself.” His eyes froze wide. “This is not to say that he wouldn't be, you know, a good provider. I didn't mean to imply that he's unreliable, or that—”

“You don't have to sell him to me. I'm sold. I am so convinced.”

A radiant grin spread over Bruno's face. “Really? You are?”

“You're preaching to the choir,” she assured him.

Bruno looked away quickly. “Well, hell,” he muttered, his voice thick. “That's great. He deserves for something excellent to happen to him. He's taken so much shit, and he's, like, the best guy. The very best. He saved my life. He let me be his brother. Fuck it, I don't know. He deserves the moon and stars.”

That gave Edie a twinge of unease, thinking of Kev's angel fantasies. “I'm not the moon and stars. I'm a normal woman, as hung up as the next person. Maybe more. I'll drive him crazy soon enough.”

“Oh, that's OK. He'll drive you crazy, too. And I highly doubt that you're normal. Normal girls have been throwing themselves at him for years. He nailed a few now and again, but he never fell ass over head in love with any of them. So you got something special going for you.”

Hmmph. Special wouldn't be quite the word she would pick, but whatever. She didn't want to bring Bruno down.

“Am I talking your ears off your head?” Bruno asked. “Kev told me not to do that, or he'd flatten me. Am I?”

She laughed. “I don't mind. How else am I going to learn all the details about him, since he won't show off?”

“Thank God,” Bruno said fervently. “I hate it when I have to not talk. It builds up in my head like steam.” He glanced at his watch. “If we head up to the bluff now, we'll get there right on time. We can see if Kev has discovered his perfect fucking TV family of origin.”

Bruno caught her startled expression, and looked embarrassed. “Sorry, can't help myself. I think he should let go of his past. He's got me and Tony and Rosa for family. Who has the energy to cope with more family than that? You'd choke to death on more family than that!”

Edie laid her hand on his shoulder. “No matter what he finds, I know he feels lucky to have you for a brother,” she said. “He said so.”

Bruno stared at his feet. “Well. Um. Come on, then. Let's go.”

The climb up the bluff was more pleasant at midday, with Bruno's cheerful monologue to accompany her. He set a slower pace than Kev, and never ran out of breath, just meandered beside her, occasionally giving her a hand to clamber over tree trunks, regaling her all the while with Kev's exploits, Kev's freakish intelligence, Kev's fighting prowess, Kev's various and sundry astonishing qualities. She lapped it up to the last drop. Yum. Like any woman out of her mind in love. Wallowing in her favorite topic. All Kev, all the time. How great was that?

When they got to the top, the mountain was fogged in, but the wind blew holes into the clouds occasionally, and the starkly beautiful white and black shoulder of the mountain would appear before ragged layers of gray swept across and concealed it again.

Bruno found a signal. “There's an SMS,” he said, showing her.

She stared at the way he had closed the brief, terse text message. love u. Amazing, how those five characters could made her heart thud, her eyes tear up.

Bruno called Kev's number, and frowned at his phone. “It's ringing,” he said. “But he's not answering.”

His face had changed. Before, she'd have drawn him in a playful retro cartoon style, flashing grins and dimples. The way he looked now, she'd choose a different vibe. Starker, harder. “Not answering?”

Bruno tried again. A third time. He looked at his watch. “That's strange. He was expecting us to call. He'd be dying to talk to you, after being Edie deprived for, how long? Four hours?”

“Five hours and sixteen minutes,” she corrected.

The wind moaned around the rocks. They stared at each other, and then down the long mountain canyon that lead to the Gorge, and from there west along the river, to Portland. The food Edie had eaten congealed into a cold, inorganic lump in her belly.

Bruno tried again. He shook his head. The silence felt thick and strange, after all those hours of Bruno's easy, cheerful talk.

Neither of them was willing to give up so soon, after slogging up that hill, so they found a place that was out of the worst of the icy wind.

“Can I borrow your phone?” she asked. “I'd like to call my little sister. Chances are she's being policed, since my dad forbade me to contact her, but I have to keep trying. Someday they'll get sloppy.”

“Be my guest.” He handed the phone over. “We'll try Kev after.”

Edie punched in her sister's number, and texted:

She sent it, and held the phone in her hand, willing Ronnie to be casual, sneaky. Connecting with her little sister was the only thing that could possibly comfort her, now that she was in the down cycle of this manic emotional roller coaster of love. Terrified to death for Kev.

The phone rang, and she almost jumped out of her skin. Bruno leaned to check the number, but it wasn't Kev. It was Ronnie.

Edie clicked open the line. “Hey, sweetheart! You free to talk?”

“Edie?” Her sister's voice was high, wobbly.

“Ronnie?” she asked sharply. “What's going on, baby?”

“Oh, my God. Oh God, Edie. Daddy, he…he…” Her sister's voice broke, and her words were unintelligible, with the static, the poor connection, the whistling wind.

“Ronnie? Sweetie? I can't hear you,” Edie called, desperately, crouching down out of the wind. “Try again, please, OK?”

“It's Daddy,” Ronnie sobbed out. “It's Daddy.”

“What about him? Is he hurt? In the hospital again? What is it?”

Ronnie started to answer. Her voice was cut off. “Edith? Is that you?” cut in a louder, clearer voice.

Edie's heart sank. Busted. Aunt Evelyn, and sounding more shrill than usual. “Yes, Aunt Evelyn. What's wrong? What happened?”

“It's Charles,” her aunt said. “He…he's been murdered.”

Edie waited for her aunt to take back the words she had just said. Those unthinkable, unsayable words. It wasn't possible. Not her father. He was invincible. A rock. Unchanging. Immortal.

“He was shot,” her aunt quavered. “In his office. A sniper. Ten-thirty this morning. It's so horrible. So horrible.”

She'd been crouching against the rock, but her legs gave out and dumped her on her butt. Bruno's lips moved, but she couldn't hear what he said. Just wind screaming. Or maybe the screaming was inside her head.
Daddy.
She saw his face in her mind's eye, the last time she'd seen it, in the intensive care unit. She'd drawn it so many times. Longed so hard for approval from him, for her entire life. Tried so hard to convince herself that she no longer needed his approval.