“Sorry. Sorry. It’s okay. Go back - ”
“Josie, no. Get up. Someone’s out there.”
Hannah pulled hard. Clutch and pull and tap and shake and whisper. Hannah would have crawled in bed with Josie had she not sat up, reached over, and hit the light on the travel clock she preferred to the effervescent glow of a digital. Midnight. No one in their right mind would be out at a time like this, on a night like this. Josie released Hannah’s hand and ran one of her own through her short hair.
“Hannah, you were dreaming,” Josie mumbled.
Just then the small house shuddered, reverberating as it put its architectural shoulder into the huge wind that angled the drive of the rain. Beneath that, rolling in and out was something else that finally made Josie tense. Hannah pitched forward at the same time, throwing her arm over Josie’s legs as her head snapped left. She looked toward the hall. Her hair flew over her face when she whipped back to look at Josie again. Her bright green eyes were splintered with fear; Josie’s dark blue ones were flat with caution.
Josie put her hand on Hannah’s shoulder and moved her away. She kicked off the covers and swung her long legs over the side of the bed as Hannah fell back onto her heels. Josie put her finger to her lips and nodded. She heard it now: the hammering and the unintelligible screams. Josie snatched up her cell and handed it to Hannah.
“Three minutes, then call 911.”
Hannah nodded, her head bobbing with the time of her internal metronome. Josie pulled on the sweat pants she always kept at the end of the bed. She went for the drawer where she kept her father’s gun, thought twice, and left the weapon where it was. This was no night for criminals. Even if it were, they wouldn’t announce themselves.
Josie started for the living room just as lightning scratched out a pattern in the sky and sent shards of light slicing through the window and across the hardwood of the floors. The tumble of thunder was predictable. Josie cringed as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Hannah had followed her into the hall. Josie put her hand out and pushed hard at the air.
Enough. Stop.
Hannah fell back. Another lightning flash lit up her beautiful flawed body: the tattoos on the girl’s shoulder, the scar running up her thigh where Fritz Rayburn had dripped hot wax on her just for the fun of it, the mottled skin on her hand where she had been burned trying to save her paintings. Coupled with the fear on her face, Hannah looked as if some cosmic artist had outlined her into the canvas of Josie’s house. The man pummeled harder. Josie turned toward the sound just as his words were scooped up and tossed away before they could be understood. Behind Josie, Hannah moved. This time Josie commanded:
“Stay there, damn it!”
Instead, Hannah darted into the living room, defiant, unwilling to leave Josie alone if there were any possibility of danger. She would take Josie’s back the way she had in the mountains, the way she always would. But Josie had no patience for good intentions. She twirled, put her hands on the girl’s shoulder, and pushed her away.
“Hannah, I’m not kidding,” she growled.
Hannah’s eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared, but she fell back a step to satisfy her guardian. In measured strides, Josie crossed the living room and took the two stairs that led to the entry. She threw the porch light switch. Nothing. Another stutter of lightning gave Josie time to see Max curled up on his blanket, asleep and oblivious. Age had its blessings.
Above her, the tarp covering the place where she was installing the skylight snapped and whipped.
Behind her, Hannah paced and touched.
In front of her the man at the door continued to pound, but now Josie was close enough to understand that she was hearing cries for help. She threw the deadbolt and flung the door open. A man tumbled into her house along with the slanting rain. He was soaked to the skin, terrified to the soul, and high as a kite.
“Billy, man. . .gotta come. . .” He blabbered. He sputtered. He spit. He dripped. “Billy needs you . . .bad.” He coughed. He snorted. He hacked. “At the pier. . .come. . .”
His eyes rolled, hooded, and then closed briefly. Struggling to his feet, he started to go inside but slipped on the wet floor. When he tried it again, Josie pushed him back.
“You can show me. Wait. Out there.” Josie gave him one final shove, slammed the door shut, and dashed past Hannah who was running toward her room at the front of the house.
In her bedroom, Josie pulled on her running shoes and snatched up a flashlight. She was headed out again just as Hannah flew out of her bedroom, barely dressed, and struggling into a slicker. Josie raised her voice even though she and Hannah were facing each other in the entry.
“Stay put. Call Archer.”
Josie elbowed past, but Hannah’s terror was transferred to her like pollen. She turned to see that this was about more than the weather or even the man outside. Left alone. Abandoned. Someone else more important. Hannah was right about two out of three. Tonight, whatever was happening to Billy was more important than Hannah’s fear of abandonment. Leaving her alone wasn’t something Josie wanted, it was something she had to do.
Grabbing Hannah’s shoulders, Josie peered through the dark at those green eyes and mink colored skin. She pushed back the mass of long, black, curling, kinking, luxurious hair. Josie let her hands slide down Hannah’s arms, bumping along the spider web of hair thin scars that crisscrossed her forearms, grasped her wrists, and held up her hands. She looked at the phone.
“Tell Archer to get to the pier. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Josie pulled Hannah close and kissed the top of her head before ripping the door open again. The wind and rain rushed in, but the man was gone, running off to find a warm dry place. It occurred to her that he might have been hallucinating, imagining something had happened to Billy Zuni. In the next second Josie shut the door behind her. If there was any chance Billy needed her she had to go.
Tall and fast, she raced under the flash bang of the lightning and the bass beat of thunder. She didn’t try to dodge the puddles because water was everywhere: pouring down on her head, stinging her face, weighing down her sweat pants, slogging in her running shoes. Her long t-shirt clung to her ripped body. She squinted against the rain, holding one hand to her brow to keep the water from her eyes. She steadied the broad beam of the huge flashlight in front of her on The Strand before veering off the pavement and onto the sand. Josie stumbled, tripped, and fell. The wet sand was like concrete and her knees jarred with the impact. She shouted out a curse though there was no one to hear. Then it didn’t matter that she was alone on the beach in one mother of a storm. The scream she let out cut through the sound and the fury. Her heart stopped. She froze for an instant, and then she scrambled to her feet.
Josie sidestepped parallel to the pounding surf, trying to hold the beam of light on a spot near the pier pilings. Frantically she wiped the rain away from her eyes hoping she was mistaken and that what she thought she was seeing was an illusion. It wasn’t. Under the yellow halo of light emanating from the massive fixtures on the pier Billy Zuni was caught in the raging, black ocean.
“Billy! Billy!”
Instinctively Josie went toward the water, unsure of what she was going to do once she got there. The waves were ugly. Riotous. Challenge them and they would swallow you up. If you were lucky, they might spit you out again. If you weren’t. . .
She didn’t want to think about that.
Knowing it was going to be tricky to get past them, Josie danced back and forth on the shore, taking her eyes off Billy for seconds at a time, searching for an opening in the surf as the waves rose and fell in a furious trilogy.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Josie looked back toward the pier. She couldn’t see Billy.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
She looked again and saw him. A swell broadsided him, throwing him out of the water like a rag doll.
“Oh God!”
Kicking off her shoes, peeling off her sweat pants, Josie buried the
butt of the flashlight at an angle in the sand. She gauged the swell of the next wave.
Bam.
And the one after that.
Bam.
And after that.
Bam. Bam.
Just when she thought it was futile, Josie saw an opening. Half naked, she ran into the water. A wave crashed into her shins, spume erupting into a cloud of stinging froth that covered her to her chest and knocked her off balance. Before she could right herself the water pulled her feet out from under her. Josie fell hard on her butt. Twisting and turning, she fought against the suction of the backwash, dug her heels into the sand bed, righted herself, and put her open-palmed hands out like paddles to cut the pull of the surf.
The next wave smashed into her belly like a brick, but she was still standing. Before she lost her nerve, knowing she had no choice, Josie leaned forward, arms outstretched, and started to push off. She would have to slice through the surf and get deep, and stay submerged long enough to let the second wave roll over her. Surface too soon and she would be washed back to shore; too late and she was as good as dead. Muscles tensing, Josie was already in her arch when a strong hand grabbed her arm.
“No. No. Don’t!”
Archer dragged her back to the shore, both of them buffeted by the waves, stumbling and clinging to one another just to stay ahead of the water.
“Billy’s out there! Look!”
Josie whipped her head between the man who had hold of her and the boy she could no longer see. Her protests were lost in the howl of a new wind. Archer wasted no time on words she would never hear. Instead, he dug his fingers into her arms, shook her, and turned her away from the ocean.
Help was not only coming, it had arrived. Josie fell against Archer and watched the rescue vehicle bump over the sand, its red, rotating light looking eerie in the blackness. The night guard braked and simultaneously threw open the door of the truck. He left the headlights trained on the water. In the beam, the guard ran straight for the ocean, playing out the rope attached to the neon-orange can slung across his shoulder. Tossing it into the sea, it went over the waves and pulled him with it.
Josie broke away from Archer. She pulled her arms into her body, raised her hands and cupped them over her brow to keep the rain out of her eyes. Archer picked up the flashlight and her sweat pants. The pants were ruined. He tossed them aside and watched with her as the lifeguard fought to reach the boy.
Billy seemed velcroed to the pilings by the force of the water only to be torn away moments later and tossed around by an ocean that had no regard for an oh-so-breakable body. Josie cut her eyes toward the last place she had seen the lifeguard. She caught sight of him just as he went under. A second later he popped back up again. The bright orange rescue can marked his pitiful progress. Josie sidestepped, hoping to get a better view. Archer’s free hand went around her shoulder to hold her steady and hold her back. She shook him off. She wouldn’t do anything stupid. Archer knew she wouldn’t. He was worried she would do something insane.
Suddenly the guard was thrown up high as he rode a gigantic swell. It was exactly that moment when fate intervened. A competing swell sent Billy within reach. Josie let out a yelp of relief only to swear when the man and the boy disappeared from view.
“Christ,” Archer bellowed.
He held the flashlight above his head, but when Josie dashed into the surf again Archer tossed it aside and went with her. The water swirled around their feet as they craned their necks to see through the nickelodeon frames of lightning.
“There! There!”
Josie threw out her arm, pointing with her whole hand. The boy was struggling. For a minute Josie thought he was fighting to get to the guard, then she realized Billy was fighting to get away from him. She screamed more at Billy than Archer.
“What are you doing?”
Billy and the guard went under. When they surfaced the boy had given up. It seemed an eternity until they were close enough for Josie and Archer to help, but the guard was finally there, dragging a battered and bruised Billy Zuni to the shore.
Josie crumpled to the sand under Billy’s dead weight. Cradling the teenager’s head in her lap, she watched while the guard did a quick check of his vitals before running to call for an ambulance. Under the light Archer held, Billy's skin was blue-tinged and bloated. Suddenly his body spasmed; he coughed and wretched. Water poured out of his mouth along with whatever had been in his stomach. Josie held tight knowing all too well the pain he was in.
“It’s okay. You’re safe now,” she said.
Billy’s arms encircled her waist. He pushed his head into her belly. As the rain poured down on the world, and lightning crackled over their heads, Billy Zuni clutched Josie Bates tighter and cried:
“Mom.”
Stunned, Josie looked up just as lightning illuminated the beach. She saw Archer’s grim face and then she saw Hannah standing in the distance. Unable to remain alone in the house or stand by while Billy was in danger, Hannah had followed Josie. But the girl’s eyes weren’t on Billy Zuni, and she had not heard him cry for his mother. Hannah was looking toward The Strand, peering into the dark, not seeing anything really, but only feeling that there were eyes upon them all.
CHAPTER 2
1968
Yilli walked behind his goats, his head down, his eyes on the road beneath his feet. He had not wanted to come out that day, even to tend to the animals, but his wife said he must. He did not remember his wife telling him what he must and must not do when they were first married; he only remembered her being slight and pretty and liking to be taken to his bed. Now she was mother to a daughter and snapped often at him.
“Yilli, get up!”
“Yilli, see to the goats!”
“Yilli! Yilli!”
Always she had something for him to do, and always he did not want to do it. He did not want to walk out with his goats alone in the hills. He did it because his wife said he must. Now the sun was setting, and he was almost home. He saw that there was smoke coming out of the chimney of his house. In the yard he saw his little daughter, Teuta, sitting in the dirt and making her little piles of stones. He saw his wife hanging out a rug. He saw the mountains towering around his stone house that was far away from towns and people. Yilli was thinking that he should not walk with his eyes cast down, that life was good, and God had been kind when suddenly he heard a crack.
It was loud, and it was close, and Yilli’s heart thudded in his chest with great fear. His feet were running before he even thought to make them move. His goats scattered as Yilli tripped, righted himself, and nearly tumbled down the rocky slope to his house.
“Teuta! Teuta!”
He called to his daughter as he ran. Teuta looked up. The little girl smiled at her father. She raised her hand to greet him. But when her father did not greet her, when he continued to yell, she knew something was wrong and began to cry.
“Nënë!”
Yilli’s wife came to the door to see what horrible thing was happening. Yilli rushed past her.
“Close the door. Close the door!”
She did as her husband said after she gathered up her crying daughter. Then they all stayed in the house as Yilli told the story of tending his goats and hearing a shot and he fearing for his life – no, fearing for the life of his wife and child - and running home to save them.
Yilli’s wife listened to all this as she bounced Teuta on her lap. Yilli told his story many times while he paced in the house and drank some raki. He paced for a very long while more as he looked out the windows. His wife looked, but all she saw were the mountains and the one road that came through them to their house.
When her husband was calm, and before it became night, Yilli’s wife went out to collect the goats. She looked and looked, but she saw no person. She listened and listened, but she heard no gunshots. Still, it could have happened, what Yilli said. There were many soldiers about and many bad people these poor days. It could have been a robber. But what did Yilli ha
ve to rob?
She found the last goat near the road where Yilli said someone shot at him with a rifle. It was there she found a large rock that had tumbled down from the mountain. She looked at it. She put her hand on her hip and looked at it hard. Certainly, the falling of a big stone made a crack did it not? Yilli had been a soldier. He knew the sound of a gun but perhaps he mistook the sound of rock falling. Still, he was her husband and she knew that she must believe him in all things.
Taking the goats, she put them in their pen and then went to the house where Yilli sat with his raki as Teuta played at his feet. Night came. While she served the soup she had made and the fish she had fried, while Teuta chattered in her baby talk, Yilli’s wife looked at him often and wondered if, perhaps, Yilli had been sent home from the border because he was mad.
2013
The young man clutched the steering wheel as he waited for the old man to give him a signal. It was getting late. Soon the sun would be up and people would be stirring. That concerned him, but the old man just sat there, staring at the dashboard, wrapped in his huge raincoat, still and silent.
“Ja-Ja. Let’s go.” The young man knew he sounded upset and impatient, but he couldn’t help himself. If they didn’t go soon his legs might not hold him up and he would be shamed. He touched the old man’s arm. He softened his tone. “Uncle? Ja-Ja?”
The old man turned his head, not so much interrupted as returning himself to this time. He looked at the young man.
“I am sorry. I was thinking.” He said this in the old language.
“Yes.” The young man answered in the same way, proud that he had not forgotten how. “We should go inside. I need to be at work soon.”
“Yes. It is important you go tomorrow,” the old man said. “Like always.”
“Like always.” The younger man muttered.
He checked the rearview mirrors. Just to make sure he didn’t miss any thing, he looked over his shoulder one way and then the other. The neighborhood was generally quiet, but one could never be too careful. Even with the storm, someone might be out. They were out after all.
Eyewitness (Thriller/Legal Thriller - #5 The Witness Series) (The Witness Series #5) Page 2
