The Storm and the Darkness (29 page)

He could not save someone who did not wish to be saved, but he could at least
save her from herself
. Carla was in a better place now, where God could teach her the lessons in kindness and love that she had been unwilling to learn from Alex.

She was just like Alex’s mother, and he had set them both free.

Then there had been the girl in the bar, Sandra Finnerty, and then that widow from church, Emily Caldwell. Alex wanted so badly to go to the funerals of these women and tell the family that he had tried. Lord Almighty above, how he had tried. No one could say that Alex Whitman
had not tried.

As he had tried when Ana fell into his charge. She was alone, new to the island, and such a nice girl. Unlike the other girls, she was too young for him, so he saw himself more as her custodian than her protective lover. But it hadn’t taken long at all before he felt that familiar throbbing in his temples, the blinding white, and the feeling- that
insistence
- that this was another one he needed to help. No one but him could do it. The system would fail her just like it had failed his mother, and the other women, and that knowledge burned deep within his soul. He had accepted his calling a long time ago, even if the price was sometimes a cross too heavy to bear.

Ana was still pleading with him to stop, to leave them alone.
Just like Carla. Just like Sandra. Like Emily. Like mother...

Oz had known from the beginning that he would have to tell Nicolas about the situation with Ana. He had also known that Nicolas would not be happy about it. But he had not expected the rage. And he definitely hadn’t expected the broken nose. Oz had somehow managed to go his whole life without ever being punched in the face; now he could say with certainty that it hurt like hell.

He had never seen Nicolas so angry, but it was that moment of calm, just before they left the house, that stuck with Oz.
We’re going to suck it up and finish this.

There were a thousand things Oz wanted to say to Nicolas–a thousand apologies, a thousand explanations–but Oz knew that this was not like other arguments they had over the years, where Nicolas would pout or throw a fit and ignore him for a few hours. Nicolas had very calmly called Oz a worthless human being, and then pulled himself together so that he was more calm, and rational than Oz had ever seen him.
We owe it to her.
You
really
owe it to her.

This isn’t just about Ana. Nicolas needs me. He’s never needed me before, but he’s always been there when I needed him.

When Adrienne went missing, Oz cut Nicolas out of his life. The one person who had supported him in this was also the one person he could not bear to face upon losing everything. Although they had reconnected when Adrienne returned, there was always a part of their bond that had never truly repaired. Oz wasn’t even sure if it needed to be, or if it was like a ring in a tree trunk; just one event or step in their long lives and long friendship. He owed something big to Nicolas, some gesture to even the score. Nicolas did not hold a grudge, but Oz felt the burden of a debt unpaid.
He might hold a grudge this time.

And then there was Adrienne. Nicolas joked that Oz had a
hero complex that simply must be satisfied
, but it had some truth to it, didn’t it? In Adrienne, he had always seen a damsel in distress. She had been a woman trapped in a little girl’s body, with the mind of a genius and the aspirations of a prodigy. He wanted to remove her from the world she had grown up in and show her the bigger world she so desired. His goal was always simply to love her as she deserved to be loved. But how much of that was real and how much of it had he created to exonerate himself from being in love with a teenage girl when he was a man grown?  

Yet, Nicolas’ rage had not been for his wronged sister.
You mean Adrienne, right Nic?
Oz had challenged, but he dared say no more. Oz had always wondered about the deeper nature of Nicolas’ feelings for his cousin, but he had never, ever spoken a word about it.
Maybe he truly doesn’t know.

Oz had to fix this for his friend, like Nicolas had helped him fix things. It would be the only way Oz could forgive himself, for both his treatment of Nicolas and his treatment of Ana.
He may never forgive me, but I love him as a brother, and I will make this right, somehow.

But he had this sinking feeling that Ana was not okay, and that they were already too late.

They were standing outside the neighbor’s large house, near the kitchen. It faced east, toward Ana’s house, and had several very large windows, through which Oz could see figures moving around.

“Stop,” Oz said and put his arm out to stop Nicolas. “Look.”

They both looked, and what they saw left them speechless. Ana was standing in the middle of the floor, holding a knife out toward a man who was holding a shotgun to another man’s head. Aimed at the man with a shotgun was
another
man holding out a handgun.

“Is this real?” Nicolas asked.

“It’s some sort of Mexican standoff,” Oz noted, trying to make sense of the scene before them.

Oz heard the questions neither of them was voicing.
What do we do? Do we go in there and try to take them down? Do we try to get ahold of the authorities, even though the roads are down? Do we sneak in, or go in loud? Do we just stand here with our mouths gaping open?

“At least she is alive,” Oz said finally. He started to put his hand on Nicolas’ shoulder, and then stopped. “I don’t know what to do. We aren’t armed, and we have no idea what this situation is. It doesn’t look good. I can only presume the man with the shotgun is not a good guy, since both Ana and another dude have weapons aimed at him. But who is that other guy with a gun? What is his story? Who knows who any of them are? If we storm in there, we might get someone killed…maybe even Ana.”
And did we arrive just in time…or too late?

Nicolas nodded, and reached into his backpack. He pulled out a handgun, and as Oz was formulating how to ask where he got it, Nicolas volunteered the information. “I bought it in town.”

“Aren’t there waiting periods for these things?”

“Not when you do it my way.”

Oz sighed. He wasn’t sure if he felt safer, or more concerned with Nicolas packing heat. “Do you even know how to use it?”

Nicolas reached for Oz’s gloved hand, opened it, and placed the gun in. “No, but I know you do.”

Oz turned it over in his hand. “We need a plan. If we just barge in there, things could get very crazy, very fast,” he said warily. He felt like he was on pins and needles with Nicolas; that whatever conversation they were having on the surface, there was a larger one brewing beneath.

“We need the element of surprise...” Nicolas agreed thoughtfully. Oz wasn’t sure if Nicolas really understood the gravity of the situation.

“We can’t go in there and subdue them with witty banter. What is more likely to happen is that we go in, chaos ensues, weapons start firing randomly, and someone, or a few someones, get hurt.”

“I know,” Nicolas snapped.
He’s doing his best to keep it together, but he would love to hit me again.
“I actually have an idea that I think will work.”

“I’m all ears.”

“We don’t barge in. We go in politely.”

“
Excuse me
?”

“We get invited in. As a guest.” Oz was still confused. “Oz, we knock on the damn door.”

Oz laughed; it was a nervous laugh, and one that he feared might get him decked again, but it was genuine. “You ass, that might actually work.”

Jonathan was indifferent about his existence. He had never thought about life as a choice; just something that happened, or didn’t.

He found himself thinking about this very thing as he stood in the room, on the verge of catastrophe, with the only people in his life that mattered. Before, he would have only put Finn on that list, but watching the brave, quiet girl face up against Alex with only a knife clutched in her hand, he realized he cared about her too. If something happened to her tonight, it would affect him. He would feel a lot more than indifference.

For all of the things Jon tried
not
to care about, most of them did actually matter to him. His home, his job, and even the other islanders. He may never be at the point where he embraced them, but he couldn’t pretend anymore that they didn’t
matter
.

Even with a gun in his hand, he felt emasculated. Finn had to feel even worse. He was afraid to use the handgun because Alex’s shotgun was still pointed at Finn, and Jon was frozen with the fear that Alex might actually shoot his little brother. He couldn’t live with being the cause of Finn being shot. He realized, in increasing panic, that inaction might cause the same result.

Jon couldn’t follow what was happening anymore. Ana was trying to reason with Alex, who actually started to
look
crazier by the minute. Jon was trying to make eye contact with Finn, to try and form some kind of a plan, but even when their eyes met, neither could process anything except confusion. Then Finn was talking over Ana, and Alex started talking, and it was all a mess of words and fear.

During the whole encounter, Alex had looked at no one but Ana. He was
studying
her, and then at times, it was like he was seeing right through her. His eyes were frantic and his words stumbling, but his face was perfectly stoic and focused on her; crazy, but focused. Jonathan was almost glad he could not read his thoughts, but as he watched Alex, the more he worried this situation might beyond what any of them could handle. Jonathan noted that Alex’s hands were shaking less.

Finn was watching Ana with desperation.
He really does care for her
, Jonathan realized. He could almost understand.

“Alex, please, this is all a misunderstanding,” Ana was still pleading. Her words were useless with Alex, and Jon wanted to say,
can’t you see it’s not working? He’s insane.
 

And then, the strangest thing happened. “Is that the doorbell?” Finn was the first to voice it. His voice was drowned out by the loud barking of Angus, who had padded into the kitchen to announce the visitor. Alex pointed the gun at the dog for a moment and then quickly put it back on Finn, deciding that the drooling canine wasn’t a threat.

“I don’t know....at this hour…” Jon left the rest unspoken. They were all confused.

The doorbell rang again. Angus continued to bark, and now Mr. Jenkins had joined him, chiming in. “Alex, I think we should answer it,” Jonathan said. He asked his permission, as he had read somewhere that if you were ever taken hostage, you should treat your captor like they were in charge.

Alex nodded, clearly glad to be the one making the decision. “Jon, you go answer it. I will stay here.” He nodded at Ana and Finn. “My insurance. So no funny business. Get rid of whoever it is.”

Jonathan took a deep, calming breath and went to the door. When he answered it, standing before him were two young men that were completely unfamiliar to him.
They’re not from Summer Island.
One of them was holding a handgun, his face covered in blood. Jon’s medically trained mind was unable to resist identifying a crooked and swollen nose, clearly the source of the blood. The other man put his finger to his lips.

Jonathan stared at them, wide-eyed. He couldn’t stop looking at the man with the bloody face. While he held the gun with a sense of purpose, Jon couldn’t help but wonder if the man even knew his nose was broken. It was pointing slightly to the left.
An ice pack to reduce swelling, then a simple tug and snap should right it. No visible contusions. Did he fall on the rocks like Ana?

He would have to do or say something soon, as Alex might wonder what was going on. Jonathan wouldn’t know what to say even if Alex asked for an explanation. He wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t imagining the whole thing.
Hallucinations wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen to me tonight. I bet that guy’s nose hurts.

“Where is Ana?” the one without the gun whispered, low enough only the three of them could hear.

“Who the hell are you?” Jon whispered back, quickly.

“Here to help. Pretend we are a neighbor.”

Jon had to think fast. “Oh, Mrs. Auslander, what brings you all the way over here in the middle of the night?” Jonathan said loudly, so Alex could hear.

“We don’t have time,” the one with the gun and broken nose asserted, followed with a short, tender sounding snuffle. “Is the one with the shotgun dangerous?”

Jonathan nodded, and at the same time realized he trusted them. Wherever they had come from, they had come to help. This might be moment that would turn the tide in their favor. He quickly offered his gun over to show he was not going to harm them, but they shook their head.
 

“Hurry up,” Alex shouted from the kitchen. “We need to finish our…card game.”

“Pretend to get rid of your neighbor, and then we are going to come in quietly,” the black-haired one with the gun and broken nose directed in a voice that, while very low, was not lacking in authority.

“You’re so kind, Gertrude, we will make sure to bring back your pie dish as soon as the weather clears. Now get back home and get warm!” Jon scolded the invisible neighbor, good-naturedly. The one with the gun shook his head and sighed, but Jonathan didn’t have time to ask him why.

The two men hurried in quietly, and Jonathan closed the door. They gestured for him to return to the kitchen. Jonathan felt a surge of hopeful energy. He had no idea who these men could be or why they were here, but he trusted they would be able to help.

When he returned, he realized suddenly why the man had been shaking his head.
 

“Where’s the pie?” Alex asked, calmly.

That’s when the first shot was fired.

Nicolas stared at Oz in grudging, bemused amazement. When Oz accepted the gun from him, a change had come over him.
He put on his game face
, is what Nicolas would have said if the situation hadn’t been so difficult, and his fear for Ana not so tangible.