Fury's Fire (13 page)

“How’s it going?” Gretchen asked as she stepped behind the counter.

“Fine.” Kirk shut his notebook with a snap, closing the door on another distressing image of a shadow-eyed woman. His huge dark eyes looked guilty, but Gretchen couldn’t imagine why. So far he’d been an ideal busboy, efficient and unobtrusive. Even Angel had said that Kirk was “doing better than expected.” Nobody minded if he snatched a moment or two to work on his drawings. But Gretchen couldn’t think of a way to bring this up without embarrassing him. She shifted her weight awkwardly. “That’s good. Listen, we’re closing up soon. You can take off after you go bus table twelve.”

“All right.” Kirk grabbed the gray tub and headed for one of the booths that lined the side of the diner.

Gretchen got to work filling sugar jars. She jumped as someone banged on the door. “We’re closed!” she shouted reflexively, reaching for a rag to wipe up the sugar that had spilled on the counter.

“But I’m giving you the big, sad eyes!” Angus pressed his face up against the glass. “I’m looking so adorable that you can’t possibly resist me!”

“Don’t let anybody in!” Angel called from behind his window as Gretchen moved toward the door.

“This isn’t anybody, believe me,” Gretchen said as she twisted the lock and pulled the door open.

“Thanks! Hi, Angel!” Angus waved cheerfully.

Angel frowned beneath his red mustache. “I’m not hanging around here all night.”

“I’m doing great, thanks!” Angus chirped. He turned back to Gretchen. “I was just down at the
Gazette
. Had a meeting with
Dahlila Jackson
.” He waggled his eyebrows, as if Gretchen should be impressed.

“Who’s that?” Gretchen asked.

“What? It’s Dahlila Jackson!
The
Dahlila Jackson. Hello, Pulitzer Prize winner?
New York Times?
Ring any bells?” Angus hopped onto a stool and reached over the counter, helping himself to a coffee mug.

“No,” Gretchen said.

“Well, she’s a big deal,” Angus explained, waving his empty mug. “She had a nervous breakdown and moved out to Walfang. Now she’s recovered and is taking over the editor-in-chief spot at the
Gazette
.”

“And she wanted to meet with you at ten at night?”

“Newspapers have crazy deadlines. Even small-time newspapers.”

Gretchen took the mug and filled it with coffee, then handed it back to Angus.

He took a sip. “Wow! Love the coffee here. It’s like getting slapped in the face.”

“I’d be happy to give you a real slap in the face,” Angel offered.

“Don’t be so cranky,” Angus told him.

“How can I not be cranky when I’m missing my favorite TV show?” Angel demanded.

“So go home,” Angus told him. “What are you waiting around for?”

“Gretchen has to count the drawer,” Angel grumbled, “then I’ve got to take the money to the bank.”

“I’m almost finished.” Gretchen popped open the
cash register and started counting one-dollar bills. She had already counted and recorded the larger bills. Next up was the change.

“Why can’t Gretchen take the money to the bank?” Angus asked.

“She might get mugged,” Angel growled. “It’s not safe.”

“I’ll walk with her,” Angus volunteered.

“You?” Angel scoffed.

“Sure. Why not?” Angus drained the last of his coffee. “I’m full of energy after this mug of tar.”

Gretchen smiled at Angel’s dubious expression. He clearly couldn’t think of any reason that Angus shouldn’t escort her to the bank. After all, he was over six feet tall and well built, and his uncle was the chief of police in Walfang. Besides, the town wasn’t exactly a hub of crime activity.

“Fine,” Angel said at last. Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Thanks.”

“You see?” Angus whispered as Angel left through the rear door. “Nobody can resist my charms.”

“Hm,” Gretchen replied. She went on counting the dimes.

“So—where was I? Oh, right. Editor of the
Gaz
. Anyway, Dahlila told me that I should feel free to submit stories to the paper for possible publication.” Angus cleared his throat importantly. “That is a direct quote, my friend. Straight from the top.”

“Twenty-three pennies,” Gretchen mumbled, recording the number on the deposit slip. “Are you an intern again?”

“Nah, but this might even be better. I can get some clips, put them in with my college applications …” Angus droned on.

Gretchen glanced at the final tally on the receipt. Off by thirty cents. That irritated her, but she wasn’t about to recount the drawer.
Close enough
, she told herself. She looked around, but the diner was empty.
Kirk must have slipped out while I was counting the drawer
.

Gretchen took Angus’s empty mug and washed it out. Then she went and locked the back door while Angus flipped off the lights. The only illumination came from the red neon Bella’s Diner sign outside, and it cast strange shadows over the booths as she tucked the blue vinyl deposit bag under her arm. Gretchen could hear the neon buzz as she opened the door, let Angus step through, and locked it behind them.

“Everything looks different in the dark,” Angus observed.

An image of Kirk’s drawing—the eyes in shadow, endlessly watching—popped into Gretchen’s mind. “I know what you mean,” she said.

Their footsteps echoed, breaking the silence as they walked up the street. Walfang was a tourist town, and after Labor Day the September nights were quiet, even Saturday nights. In August, the streets would have been alive with activity.

The bank drop vault was a block and a half away. It was a small steel door set in the side of the wall—Gretchen had never noticed it before she began closing
at Bella’s. All you did was open the box with the key, pull down the handle, and drop the vinyl bag into the slot. Easy as sending a letter or returning books to the library. Then you locked the door again, and the deposit would sit safely at the bank until morning.

Up the street, the lights at the
Gazette
offices glowed brilliantly. Gretchen had never thought about the kind of hours that journalists keep before. But there they were, grinding away, checking facts, following up on leads, and they would keep on doing that, even after everyone else in town was fast asleep and dreaming.…

“Angus,” Gretchen asked suddenly, “would you look into something for me?”

Angus fiddled with the zipper on his olive-green jacket. “Sure. What?”

“Would you find out some information about someone? She would have been living in Boston about seventeen years ago. Her name is Saskia Robicheck.”

“How do you spell that?”

Gretchen told him, and he nodded but didn’t bother to make a note. He hadn’t asked why she needed the information—maybe he didn’t care. Or maybe he didn’t need to. She wasn’t sure why she said it, but she whispered, “Don’t tell Will,” and Angus nodded as though he understood completely.

They walked on in silence for a while. “So how much is in there?” Angus asked, nodding at the bank bag beneath Gretchen’s arm.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Enough to run off to Belize?”

Gretchen laughed. “Enough to run off, maybe, but not to come back.”

Angus’s grin was visible in the light of a street lamp. “Why would we want to come back?”

“Maybe because we don’t speak the language and wouldn’t be able to get jobs?” Gretchen suggested.

“They speak English in Belize,” Angus said. “It used to be ruled by the British. Like Grenada.”

“Why do you know that?”

Angus shrugged. “Because I’m incredibly sophisticated and cosmopolitan.”

Gretchen was about to reply, but there was a sudden explosion of footsteps, then Angus let out a shout and lunged to protect her. He stumbled—knocking against Gretchen—as someone landed a fierce blow on his shoulder. Angus hit back, and the man staggered backward for a moment—far enough for Gretchen to see his face, which was twisted in a complex arrangement of hatred, fear, and madness. The man raised his arm, and Gretchen saw a weapon gleam in the low light from the bank’s sign. The man turned to her.

“Hey!” Angus shouted.

In an instant, Gretchen felt flame whip through her, igniting her like dry tinder. Her body went numb and she couldn’t feel her limbs, but she could see them moving. She watched like a bystander as she stepped forward and grabbed the man’s arm. Her hand glowed with the subtle orange of a rising sun, as if it were lit from within, and the man screamed in agony. She heard the snap of bone, and the gun clattered to the pavement. And then she saw herself hit
the man in the chest, sending him reeling, sprawling onto the cement ten feet from them.

Pain pierced her skull, forcing Gretchen to her knees.

“Are you okay?” Angus asked, kneeling before her.

No
, she thought. She felt weak, nauseated … and confused. She touched her temple. No wound. It was just a headache so fierce that it felt like an injury. “Get the gun,” she whispered. She looked down at her arm, which was still illuminated, as if blown with stardust. A moment later, it faded and became merely the pale shadow of light skin in darkness.

Angus clearly hadn’t noticed—his attention was focused elsewhere. He grabbed the gun. “Shit!” he shouted. “Hot!” He managed to wrap his hand in his shirt and hold the gun that way as the man struggled to his feet. “Don’t move,” Angus shouted.

The man’s smile was eerie, haunting. “You don’t even know how to use it,” he hissed.

Angus flipped off the safety. “My entire family is a bunch of cops, asshole.”

The man hesitated. He started toward them, and a dark figure leaped from a tree.

“Shit!” Angus shouted as the figure landed on the man, knocking him to the ground. Angus took aim at the shadowy figure, who backed away, immediately raising his hands in surrender. Large, dark eyes stared at them in fear.

“Kirk!” Gretchen cried.

“Oh my God.” Angus’s arm fell to his side. “I nearly killed you, dude.”

Kirk looked at them for a moment, then turned and ran off.

“Kirk!” Gretchen called after him. “Kirk!”

“Let him go,” Angus said, sounding weary. “God, why is he always in a tree?” He pulled a cell phone from his pocket.

“Are you calling 911?”

“No, I thought I’d order a pizza,” Angus said as he punched three numbers into the cell. “All of this crime fighting really works up an appetite.”

Her weak laugh made the pain return to Gretchen’s temple. She sucked in a breath. Angus gave their location, and Gretchen knew it would take only moments for the Walfang police to arrive in a cruiser.

The man let out a low moan. His hand hung at a strange angle, and Gretchen wondered if she had broken it.

The light from the street lamp shone on his face. In his state of semiconsciousness, he didn’t look as threatening. He was white, in his forties, with a receding hairline and a pockmarked face.

Angus hung up and studied the man. “I feel like I know that guy.”

“How could you know him?” Gretchen asked.

“Small town,” Angus said. “Maybe I’ve seen him in the police station.”

Gretchen nodded. It was possible. Anything was possible.

Pity clutched at her chest, and she hoped that she hadn’t hurt him too badly. In the dark, he had seemed so menacing. Now he looked like a normal person, the
kind of man you see at the grocery store, or someone who holds the door for you at the dentist’s office.

Everything looks different in the dark
, Angus had said.

Yes
, Gretchen thought.
Everything
.

The minute the Gremlin pulled into the driveway, Will darted out of his room. It was almost two in the morning, and he had been waiting for Gretchen to get home. Waiting, and trying not to worry. Unsuccessfully.

She hadn’t replied to any of his calls, any of his texts.

But what could he do about it?

He had spent his time staring out his window at the house across the creek. The wooden shingle siding was a pale smudge against the darkness. The charcoal outline of the trees stood sentry against the starry sky. As usual, a soft yellow light spilled from a window in the corner, casting illumination on the gate and grass beyond. Every now and again, the breeze would carry a few notes as far as Will’s open window. Will
remembered how, when his hearing was better, he would fall asleep to the sounds of Johnny’s music.

The scene would have been tranquil to most eyes, but to Will’s fearful mind, the house seemed more like a lighthouse at the center of rocky shallows, calling Gretchen back to uncertain moorings.

He wasn’t sure why he felt so uneasy tonight, but the fear had been growing in him over the past several days and had finally reached a fever pitch. As the minutes crawled by, Will watched the stillness for any sign of her. Every passing car made his heart leap with hope that she’d finally come home, and then came the inevitable disappointment as the headlights shone straight across the black asphalt and kept going, out of sight.