Wide Open (23 page)

And instead, you got to be Cassandra.

Double shit
.

She could feel Boyd’s breath, warm and alive, and it made her sad because they were in trouble, really deep trouble, and no one was getting out free.

“I died in Afghanistan and now I see ghosts,” she said, said it right out flat, blunt, like a weapon.

He jerked, like a startled horse, and she tightened her grip on his shirt. “Don’t you step back,” she said. “Don’t you dare take one step back, because I believe you. I believe that you have dreams and that they tell you about what’s going on here—about why Dell died and about the bodies we found today. I believe you, goddamnit. So don’t you walk away from me now.”

“Maybe,” Boyd said carefully, “you could give me a little more detail.”

Hallie’s lips twitched, because weren’t they a pair? Neither of them wanted to be seers or speakers to the dead or whatever it was they were. Not that Hallie was a constant fan of rational and sane, but a normal world where she didn’t see ghosts? Yeah, that’d be awesome on a stick.

“What kind of detail are you thinking would be helpful?” she asked.

“Wait,” he said. “You died?”

“Not permanently.”

Well, duh.

“I just … There was an ambush and I—our Humvee got hit. It went over—down the side of a mountain, and I got thrown clear. I stopped breathing for about seven minutes—that’s what they told me. And now I can see ghosts.”

“Son of a bitch.”

The swearing startled her, out of character for Boyd. He took a step back, and she let him.

“I dreamed that you were dead,” he said. He took her wrist, where she’d been wearing Eddie’s bracelet before. His fingers circled her wrist. “That’s why—that was why—this morning with the second body because I dreamed that, too. Only, I didn’t understand until you were standing there that it was you and the bracelet and the body. And I thought—if you would just stay out, it would be all right. I could make it all right. But then—” He made a sound like a laugh, though it probably wasn’t. “It couldn’t be all right: you were already dead.”

“Yeah,” Hallie said.

“Are there ghosts here now?” he asked after a moment.

The moon had come up. Stars sparkled brilliantly, the combination enough to turn the sky gray black and cast shadows from the dead tree at the edge of the old church lot. Hallie could see Boyd again, though she still couldn’t read his expression.

“Right now,” she said, “yes. There’s—” She put her hand out, like she would touch each one. “One behind your left shoulder, one about six feet away on my left. And one—” She didn’t actually know where Dell was right that second or the still unidentified Ghost Number Four. Behind her? Disappeared for the moment? “There’s usually … Sometimes there are more.”

“Well, damn,” said Boyd.

They stayed like that for a moment. Close, but not quite touching, now that Hallie had loosened her grip on his shirt—Hallie sitting on the tailgate of the pickup truck and Boyd standing in front of her, close enough that she could hear him breathe. A single bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, startling and bright as day. Without thinking, Hallie grabbed Boyd’s shirt again and tugged him right up next to her, like it would make them both safe.

Boyd braced himself, his hands just brushing her hips. The flash of lightning didn’t repeat itself. She let go of his shirt and smoothed the creases, stopped because she could feel the beating of his heart beneath her hand.

He put a hand on her hip, and her breath caught because it had been—well, it hadn’t been that long, but it had been a long time since it had meant something. She put her hand on his face, the faintest hint of stubble, like a rough whisper.

“Sshhh,” she said, though he hadn’t said a word. He smelled like lime, brown sugar, and vanilla.

“I—”

“No talking,” Hallie said. She pulled him toward her and kissed him, hard, like it was the first time in a long time, like it might not come again, like they’d been lost on the same desert island for years, and she’d only just found him.

25

Hallie’s eyes were closed, but she saw it anyway, like white phosphorous, like it was so bright, it flashed right through her eyelids. She opened her eyes and she could still see the afterimage, like a great gray block, hanging in the air between her and Boyd.

Boyd’s hand was on her arm. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

The sky was definitely lighter. Hallie could make out individual leaves on the dying tree at the edge of the parking lot, could see the sharp outline of single blades of grass growing up among the gravel.

“Hallie?”

She rubbed her eyes. “I don’t—”

There it was again.

The only thing she’d ever seen remotely like it was the flash of light in the Uku-Weber atrium. But this—this was a hundred, a thousand times brighter. Another flash, then it was gone. Flash! Flash! Flash! Like the flickering projection of an ancient movie camera. Not just a flash, though. A thing. Fifty feet tall, a hundred feet—she couldn’t measure it, it was there/not-there too quickly. Shaped like a man—legs, arms, a flat, sharp head.

Like a giant.

Like the sky was on fire.

“Shit!” Hallie jumped from the back of the pickup, almost knocking Boyd in the chest, her heart pounding.

“What is it?” Boyd gripped her arm.

“You can’t see that?”

“See what?” There was something in his voice, like he was readying himself.
Have you seen this in your dreams?
she wanted to say.

It looked as if he/it/the fire giant was headed straight for them, looked like it straddled the world, like one stride covered miles.

“Seriously, you can’t see that?”

The fire giant moved gradually east, closer to them all the time. As it neared, the trees began to sway, leaves rustling like old paper. Hallie could feel the heat from its passing, dry and furious, still a mile or two north of the old church. A few more strides, becoming smaller and less bright with each one, until it finally vanished completely with a single sharp pop.

“You didn’t feel that?” she asked.

“The wind?”

“The fire.”

His grip on her arm tightened sharply then released.
What have you dreamed?
Hallie wondered. Before she could ask, Boyd’s cell phone went off, a muted buzz. He put a hand on Hallie’s shoulder as he answered. “Davies,” he said.

The conversation was brief. “Yeah … not that far … All right.”

When he hung up, he said, “We need to go.”

“What? Has Martin done something? Has he taken someone? What?”

“You should let me drive.”

“Oh, you better just tell me,” she said. Because she had no intention of being led by the nose, not by him or anyone.

“On the way.”

Only because he made it half a question did she nod and hand him the keys to the pickup.

He headed out fast, the pickup thumping on the rough road. “That was Ole on the phone,” he said. “The sheriff,” he added unnecessarily. He downshifted and turned west on the next section line road, crunched a tumbleweed underneath the back wheels, and kept on going. “He asked me to find you. He said—”

“Shit, it’s another fire, isn’t it?”

Boyd looked at her. “How do you know?”

“Is it the house? Is my father all right?”

“He just said there was a fire. To bring you.”

“Shit!” She was quiet for a moment, thinking furiously. “Okay. Martin and Pete killed those women. It had to be them. It has something to do with Uku-Weber, with the fact that there’s no … there, there. The toolshed fire? No one knows what caused it. Even my dad, and he was right there. This fire…” She thought about the flickering giant of fire. “Oh god, I know what caused this one.”

Boyd didn’t look at her, concentrated on the road in front of him. “We need to sit down after this,” he said. “To figure out exactly what you know and what I know. And what it all means.”

It took half an hour to get back to the ranch on mostly deserted roads, and they could see it as they approached, fire making a bright glow against the horizon. Hallie wanted to get out and run, because why wasn’t he faster? Wanted to scream with frustration when Boyd slowed to turn onto the drive. Because it was all so very, very slow.

She had her door open and was already running while Boyd was still slowing to a stop. There were three fire trucks and two sheriff’s cars, half a dozen neighbors in pickup trucks and Suburbans. The big equipment shed was on fire, was still burning, was already gone. Firefighters were spraying water on the house and the horse barn and even wetting down the baled hay just off the lane. Hallie couldn’t see her father.

Where the hell was he?

Someone grabbed her arm and she whirled, fists raised.

“Whoa,” said Hack. “It’s—” But she didn’t hear what Hack had been going to say, already running for the house.

Cass met her at the door. “Hold on,” she said. “He’s going to be all right.”

Hallie felt as if someone had cut her strings. “All right?” she said.

“He’ll be all right,” Cass repeated. “Smoke inhalation, pretty bad. And I think his throat’s a bit seared, but he isn’t burned. They’ve got him on oxygen.”

Hallie pushed past her, her eyes burning. She wasn’t going to cry for him. She wasn’t. He was stubborn and ornery, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She swiped a hand across her cheek as she entered the living room.

He was lying on the couch with an oxygen mask on his face. Connie and Trevor Solomon were there, EMTs for the local volunteer fire company. Her father looked up when he saw her and started to sit up, but Connie put a hand on his chest and held him back. He tried to say something, but started coughing instead.

“I know, Dad,” Hallie said. “It’s all right.”

Her father shook his head. Gesturing with his hands, like he was angry. And he probably was, losing the big equipment shed meant he’d lost the old Allis and the new Kubota and probably the baler and the sprayer. Though if asked, he would say,
It’s just stuff, Hallie.

Martin, Martin, Martin
. The name sang in her head like a litany and a taunt. Was this his idea of a threat? Did he think she was afraid of him? She wasn’t.

Cass laid a hand on her shoulder. Hallie jumped; she was that much on edge. “Helicopter’s here,” Cass said easily. “You going with him?”

“No,” Hallie said. She forced a half smile. “It’ll make him cranky … er. Crankier.”

Cass chuckled low. “Oh yeah, that’s the truth. And he’ll want someone here. You want me to go?”

“Yeah.” Hallie licked dry lips. “That’d be good. Thanks.”

Cass clapped her shoulder. “No problem. You let people help you,” she finished sternly.

“Yeah, I’ll be doing that,” Hallie said.
Maybe when hell freezes over.

Her father and Cass were loaded and gone almost before Hallie could comprehend it. The equipment shed was still smoldering, the windows shattered and the roof collapsed. Water ran in tiny rivers down the drive, cutting grooves into the yard.

A dozen men and women, some of them volunteer firefighters, some of them neighbors come to see how they could help, stood under the old tree in the yard, cast in blues and whites by the yard light. Hack approached Hallie. “Listen,” he said. “Fire’s pretty much out, but we’re leaving a truck here. To watch for sparks or flare-ups. Teddy turned the horses out when we got here. They’re probably all hell and gone by now. Some of us will come tomorrow and—”

“No,” Hallie said. “Don’t worry about it. Scout will bring them down in the morning. If he doesn’t, I’ll get them.” She rubbed her eye. “What started it?” she asked, already knowing, but wanting to hear all the same what Hack would say.

He shook his head. “Like the little shed. It just went up. But that ain’t right. It ain’t what happens. I’m getting an arson investigator out from the state Fire Service in the morning. Already got the call in.”

Boyd approached as they talked. He didn’t say anything, just put his hand on her arm. She didn’t know where he’d been or what he’d been doing, had forgotten him in the intervening moments since they’d arrived, if the truth were told.

“Whatever you think,” Hallie said to Hack. It wasn’t as if they’d find anything. It wasn’t as if she didn’t already know. But that was all she knew, that Martin had done it. That he’d done it to threaten her:
This is what I can do,
he was saying,
this is the power I have.
But she still didn’t know what that power was. Because maybe she did believe in magic, but she didn’t actually know what it was or how it worked. And what about the girls he’d killed? Why had he killed them? What about Uku-Weber? Girls had been killed and companies established for hundreds of years, and the doing of it didn’t conjure fire and fire giants to roam the countryside.

“Hallie!”

Both Boyd and Hack were looking at her oddly. “What?” she said, sharp, like they’d interrupted her in the middle of something important.

“Connie says you can stay at their place tonight,” Hack said.

“No.” Hallie shook her head vehemently. “Shit. No. I’m staying here.”

Hack looked at Boyd. Hallie looked at both of them. “Oh, don’t even try to talk about me as if I’m not here.” She stepped up. “I’m not a little girl. My father has Cass looking out for him. I’ll look out for the ranch.”

Hack held up his hands. “Okay. Just trying to help. We’ll be here another couple hours at least,” he said. “And, like I said, we’ll leave a truck and a couple of people here until tomorrow.” He turned to Boyd. “You got a ride back?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Boyd said quietly.

Hallie wanted something, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. Okay, that wasn’t quite true. She wanted to take a shotgun and go shoot Martin in the head. And maybe Pete. Because, sure, it was wrong and would land her in jail or dead herself, but it would stop him. There wouldn’t be any more dead girls or fires or disappearances. What if she didn’t do it and more people died? Because she could take the heat for it. She could. She didn’t have that much to lose.

Someone pressed a bottle of water into her hands. She looked up, surprised that it was Boyd, because hadn’t he just been standing right next to her? How had he left and come back and she didn’t notice?