From Sky to Sky

by Amanda G. Stevens

  “Finn, we do not know that.”

  Finn palmed his forehead and closed his eyes. “God, please.”

  “Pull it together, man. Call her.”

  Finn didn’t seem to hear him. He caved forward, straining the seat belt.

  Okay then. Zac snatched up his phone and did it himself.

  Her line barely rang. “Zac?”

  “Yeah. Hey. You okay?”

  “I’m a little freaked out.”

  “Where was the note?”

  “Someone left it behind the guest counter.”

  “Someone like a skinny middle-aged scientist who’s been middle-aged for a while?”

  “They couldn’t tell me. One of the clerks spotted it already sitting there in a sealed envelope with my name. They didn’t think anything of it.”

  “Are you at the hotel now?” His pulse thrummed as he pictured her alone and Doc surveilling the place, surveilling her, a needle full of anti-serum within reach.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to stay here. I’ll find a mall or something and keep in view of lots of people.”

  “No. Get to David.”

  “He’s not any less vulnerable to this particular threat, Zac.”

  “Doesn’t matter. He’s a soldier and he was fairly paranoid before this threat ever showed up. And he’s a six-foot-whatever male who works out and you’re—”

  “A five-foot-five female who works out.”

  “Cady, come on.”

  “All right, I hear you. I’ll call him and ask if I can join him wherever he is.”

  “It’s a weekday. He’s at the bookstore. Win-win: public place and battle-trained bodyguard in one package. Okay?”

  She sighed, and it came out shaky. Her voice did too. “Okay.”

  “You’re fine to drive?”

  “I’ve been sleeping since you left. I’m good as new.”

  “Stay on the phone with me until you get there.”

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  “It is one hundred percent necessary. Don’t hang up until you’re with him.”

  She didn’t respond, but she didn’t hang up. After a minute she said, “We might be misjudging Doc’s intentions. The note is asking me to forgive him, after all.”

  “I’m not taking chances with you.”

  That might not have come out right. She didn’t speak for a few minutes, and he didn’t either, picturing her now behind the wheel of her car, both of them driving toward each other in a way yet too distant for him to do a blasted thing if Doc appeared like a specter and drove a needle into her arm. He glanced at Finn. The man hadn’t moved.

  Noted. Finn could go from proficient to useless with one blow of bad news.

  At last Cady’s voice came. “Parking at the bookstore. Can I hang up now?”

  “Do you have the note with you?”

  “Yeah. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Go inside first.”

  This sigh was steadier, maybe exasperated. The chime of the bell over the door came through the line. “All right, Sir Guardian, I’m inside. Hi, Tiana. Can I talk to David?”

  Tiana’s voice, too distant for Zac to make out.

  “Awesome, thanks.” A brief pause then David’s voice as he greeted her. “Zac? I’m hanging up now.”

  She’d asked no questions. Maybe because no answer would bring her family back. “If you’ll put me on speaker, I’ll fill you both in.”

  “Oh.”

  A moment later David’s voice came. “Zac. What have you found?”

  “Not much.”

  Other than two more graves. Heck, what a lousy way to tell Cady. No wonder she hadn’t asked. But Zac told them everything he knew in the kindest wording he could find. Cady said almost nothing until it was her turn to inform David about the apology note.

  When all had been told, David said, “All right. I’ll not let you out of my sight. We can’t assume Doc is stable or sincere.”

  “Agreed,” Zac said. “We’ll be back tonight.”

  “Good. See you soon.”

  Distant room noise disappeared; Cady must have turned the speaker off. She said nothing but didn’t hang up.

  “I’m sorry, Cady.” There had to be something more, something better to offer her, but whatever it was he lacked it right now.

  “We still don’t know how it happened.” Her voice quieted. “But thank you, Zac.”

  The call ended. She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t screamed or raged or denied it could be true or reacted in any way. Maybe she’d do all those things now that she was off the phone, but Zac’s instincts whispered that she wouldn’t.

  Zac hung up and looked at Finn. “Hey. She’s fine.” Physically anyway. “She’s at the bookstore.”

  Finn didn’t move for a few seconds. When he sat up, he seemed stiff. Old. “Thank you.”

  “You good?” The guy did not look it.

  “Was praying.”

  “You couldn’t have prayed and acted simultaneously?” The bite to his voice wasn’t planned, but it wasn’t out of line either.

  “Thanks for checking on her.”

  “I guess that’s a no.”

  Finn said nothing for a while, and in the meantime Zac cooled down. Peevishness didn’t benefit the situation.

  “It takes more for me to feel a thing,” Finn finally said. “But when it happens, I don’t get warnings; I mean, I don’t get the low level of a thing, like most people do. Instead I …” He shook his head.

  “Instead you’re an emotional fault line.”

  Finn’s brow furrowed. “What?”

  “You know. All’s quiet underground for years, and then out of nowhere the earth starts heaving.”

  “Guess that fits.”

  “Noted.” And shoot, he ought to cut the guy some slack.

  “You said she’s with David?”

  “Yep.”

  Finn sighed. “Going to be a long six hours.”

  Zac didn’t deny it.

  FIFTEEN

  They arrived in Harbor Vale by eleven that night, a short flight and a long drive and little talking between them but little tension either. Finn took Cady’s luggage and both computers and joined her at their hotel. Zac walked the streets near his apartment until the small hours of morning, avoiding the behemoth in his bedroom and daring Doc to approach a less defenseless longevite than Cady. He couldn’t decide if he’d start pummeling the guy immediately or, in light of the apology note, allow a conversation first.

  At some point he did have to sleep, which went as well as expected: three hours interrupted by an extended attack that, when it ended, left him pounding his fist into his pillow. He couldn’t hit walls he didn’t own with a satisfying amount of force, and his neighbors wouldn’t appreciate even pulled punches.

  True dawn eventually came. Running pants. Fresh shirt. Socks and shoes. Keys in pocket. Go. Walk it out. He crossed a four-lane road to reach Harbor Vale’s downtown. Maybe he’d breathe easier here, passing the bookstore and the bakery, shambling down Valerian Street all the way to the water. Had to be better than watching the sunrise in his apartment lot yet again, fingers digging into the bark of that patient tree until his lungs opened.

  A woman in black-and-yellow workout clothes passed him at a clip, jogging pack around her waist, earbuds trailing their cord to the tiny iPod strapped to one pumping arm. The strawberry-blond braid down her back brought recognition through his distraction. It was Cady. As the thought flickered, he took in the rest of her. When she wasn’t rejuvenating, Cady Schuster was in great shape.

  She turned three strides later. Jogged in place as she said, a little winded, “Hey, Zac.”

  “Morning, Cady.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Someone to walk beside him. It would help him breathe. “I’m not planning to match that pace right now.”

  “Few match my pace.” She tugged the earbuds from her ears and twined them around the iPod’s armband. “Especially when I’m messed up.”
/>   “I get you.”

  “A little low on stamina, thanks to the Elderfolk reset.” She slowed to power-walk shoulder to shoulder with him. “No more notes behind the counter.”

  “Good.”

  They walked in silence awhile, and his chest began to open. Slowly.

  After a few minutes he said, “You probably shouldn’t be out here alone.”

  She glared at him outright.

  “Just saying.”

  “Finn isn’t the early bird type, and this is how I deal with things. Anyway, I have pepper spray in my pack.”

  More quiet. More air in his lungs. They’d hit the hour of the morning when the birds all seemed to wake in the same minute. Or maybe one woke and began its chirp and woke the birds in the surrounding trees, a ripple effect of song. A pleasant image either way.

  “Finn’s one of those people who can get in a run or a workout in the evening and still sleep soundly. It’s kind of disgusting.”

  He tried to tell if she was talking to talk, feeling awkward. She didn’t seem to be. “Have plans after this?”

  “Some long-distance work from home. I flip houses in Missouri. Most of it can wait, but I should try to straighten out a few things—scheduling and stuff.”

  “You have a crew?”

  “Two guys work for me sometimes if it’s a real fixer-upper. If it’s just refacing, I do it myself. Finn likes to pitch in but never lets me put him on the payroll.”

  “You make money?”

  “Usually.”

  Her smile, a mix of self-deprecation and contentment, held him for a moment. He wanted to touch her—her arm, her back—and fisted his hand to keep it still. They walked awhile, and the weight eased off him and his chest relaxed. He drank the brisk air into his lungs and held it there before letting it out.

  Cady turned her head to catch his eye. “How are you doing?”

  He gritted his teeth against the gentleness of the question, but she couldn’t know. Could she?

  “I’m not asking for details. Just seems clear I’m not the only one trying to outpace my troubles.”

  Outpace troubles. Okay. But his trouble was his own weakness, and he wasn’t letting her in on that.

  “You already know mine,” she said. “In vivid detail. If you want to talk yours out, you can.”

  The smirk came out, ever ready. “And then what? Pray for deliverance?”

  She looked away. Well, he wasn’t going to tell her any of it, not on a walk in the morning air, he unprepared for disclosure and she fitting perfectly into her workout clothes.

  “Cady.” He jolted at the plea in his voice. “I’m sorry.”

  “I wasn’t trying to pry.”

  He was stupid.

  Or smart. He didn’t want to tell her about this crap. He really didn’t.

  She scanned their surroundings. He’d hardly noticed when they turned down Valerian, and now they stood at the end of the blacktop, a straight seam that met the sand in a little dip. She stepped off the pavement and headed for the water, a slow, thoughtful pace as she gazed up and down the beach. Zac stayed on the street and watched her go. Only fifty feet or so. She stood letting the gentle waves brush the toes of her shoes. Then she walked back to him.

  “Finn told me the book selection was your idea. And the blanket. Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  “How did you pick?”

  “I figured anything in very used condition must be a go-to.”

  “Wise man. I saw the Bee Gees in concert seventeen times.”

  He danced forward a few steps, disco hands and sliding feet, impersonating Barry Gibb’s falsetto through the last line of the “Stayin’ Alive” chorus. Cady’s laugh rang spontaneous and sweet.

  “You’ve got perfect pitch,” she said.

  “Yep.”

  “And you’re so humble about it.”

  “Well, it’s not my doing.”

  “Any vocal training?”

  “Nah. I worked at it on my own, you know, strengthening the muscles. I sing all the time.” Or used to. He couldn’t remember even breaking into a hum in the last month. He couldn’t figure out why he was telling her this.

  “My only talent is my ear,” Cady said. “I never stuck with an instrument long enough to know what I was doing.”

  “Me neither. Some guitar dabbling, but I always fall back on having time to learn it later.”

  Sadness shadowed her eyes. They walked the rest of the way without words, but an ease worked its way in to replace her seeping sorrow. He didn’t want to, but at last they reached the street where she’d first caught up to him.

  “Thanks for checking your pace for me,” he said.

  “My pleasure.”

  He hoped so. She lifted her hand as their paths split. She power-walked away, and he enjoyed the view, but more than that, he looked forward to the next time he would hear her laugh.

  He went back to his place, showered, and put on jeans and his old favorite pullover hoodie. Then, in the absence of a better plan, he drove into Harbor Vale and prowled the town. Maybe he would ask some of the store owners if they’d seen a white male tourist of uncertain age but no younger than forty.

  While he prowled, shoulders hunched in the charcoal-gray hoodie, he pondered. When he passed Cousin Connie’s Bakery, a new HELP WANTED sign was propped in the window, and he halted in front of it.

  If he was going to live in Harbor Vale—and he was—he had to stop loafing.

  Tiana would love it. And maybe stop worrying about him.

  No, now wasn’t the time for frivolity, but … well, maybe he needed something frivolous to break up the life-and-death monotony.

  A bell tinkled above the oak door as he pushed it open. Two customers stood in line; one more browsed in front of the glass cases of cupcakes, pies, cookies, and fritters. He waited to one side until all three were gone, each with a brown cardboard box in hand, then approached the counter and the bakery’s proprietor standing behind it. Connie Mazur was a tall woman in her late fifties, hair gone salt-and-pepper, hands broad, the skin on her knuckles worn thinner than one would expect for her age. She wore a green apron over a white collared shirt and jeans. As her customers ambled outside, she picked up a pair of plastic tongs and began turning fritters under a heat lamp. She set the tongs aside when she saw Zac.

  “How can I help you?” She gave him the genuine smile of an artisan businesswoman who melded profits and passion every day.

  Zac gestured to the sign in the window. “I’m hoping you’ll give me that job.”

  She studied him a long moment, clasped her hands together, and leaned toward him. “No, I don’t think I will.”

  He felt the muscles in his face slacken. He looked at the sign again, then back to her, trying to remember the last time an interaction with a mortal had swept his feet from under him.

  “You’re that celebrity who’s been moseying around town the last few weeks.”

  “Well, quasi-celeb—”

  “Movie stunt double or something, right?”

  “No movies.” She was still frowning at him. He pushed a hand through his hair. “Daredevil stunts, mostly.”

  “A YouTube celebrity.”

  “Accurate.”

  His honesty did nothing to soften her scowl. “And you were on that TV show with the obstacle courses.”

  “Right. Warrior USA.”

  “You don’t look like much of a warrior to me.”

  Dusty memories tugged at him. The feel of his rifle in his hand, the heaviness of the helmet on his head, the popping of nearby guns and the rumble of distant artillery. His mouth went dry. He hadn’t been a soldier, a true warrior, in seventy years. If ever.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “I still want the job.”

  “You don’t need the money.”

  “Nope.”

  “I need somebody dependable.”

  This was getting ridiculous. “I’m dependable.”

  “For the time it takes you to find yours
elf while you hide out here in my town. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? The stunt that went wrong? Ducking the public eye for a bit. And then ten days from now you come in and say, ‘Guess what, Connie, I found myself, and here’s my notice.’ And I’m back to putting the sign in the window and whoever would have wanted the job ten days ago has found another one.”

  So she was practical. He could work with that, and he wanted the job more now than he had when he walked in. A solution for both of them. Hmm.

  “Okay,” he said. “How about this: You leave the sign in the window. Somebody else comes along wanting the job, you replace me on the spot, no hard feelings.”

  “And if somebody doesn’t?”

  He spread his hands. “You’re going into a busy season, aren’t you? Thanksgiving and Christmas? You might as well have me while I’m here.”

  “Salesman at heart.” She jabbed a finger at him.

  Now the memories touched him with warmth. Standing behind his mercantile counter, laughing and chatting with his customers, nudging them toward one item or another. Quality items he knew they could use but wouldn’t think to want. A smile spread over his face.

  “Why this job?” Connie said.

  He shrugged, an exaggerated motion. “I like cookies.”

  Her laugh was broad like her hands, tugging a grin from deep inside him, the place that had stopped singing.

  “And people,” he said.

  “That I believe.” She offered her hand across the counter, and he shook it. “Welcome to Cousin Connie’s, Zac Wilson.”

  “Thank you, Connie.”

  “And who knows, maybe that celebrity face of yours will help me sell some pastries.”

  “You never can tell.” He couldn’t stop smiling.

  “The job is mornings, eight to noon or maybe one if there’s a line out the door, especially closer to the holidays. I have a college girl who works the second half of the day, after her classes.”

  “I don’t want to take anybody’s hours,” he said.

  “Be here at seven forty tomorrow morning and we’ll get the paperwork processed.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  As he left he checked his phone notifications. His superfan Lucas had emailed him.

  Zac, can you call soon? I have to talk to you and I can’t type it.