Ugh.
That internal groan really summed him up. I cracked a smile as I imagined him finding out that when I thought of him, I didn’t picture his aging face or hear his grating voice. I saw three letters, accompanied by the sound they spelled: U-G-H.
He’d probably be hurt. He was the kind of guy who imagined he was everyone’s friend and couldn’t fathom the idea of anyone not liking him. And now I was about to be forced to spend an entire evening in his company, biting my tongue at every crude remark he made and pretending I didn’t hate him, all for Bethany’s sake.
It was just about the last thing I wanted to spend my Sunday doing.
My first choice would be hopping on a plane, flying to Chicago, and tracking down Maggie Long. Our similarities were too large to discount as coincidences. She was a Solstice Syndrome survivor. She had superpowers. It proved my theory that those two things were related. How many other people had survived the Syndrome and gained extraordinary abilities? How many other people had watched the video of Maggie walking out of a burning building and thought, “She’s just like me?”
I would’ve given anything to be able to sit down with her and figure out what was going on with us. Well, almost anything. Bethany needed me to be there for her tonight, so Chicago would have to wait until morning.
A pink and purple wreath made out of construction-paper hearts covered so much of Bethany’s front door that I had to lift it to knock. Then I stood back and waited, hoping against hope that Bruce might still be sleeping off a Saturday night bender so Bethany and I could have some time alone together while we cooked.
Nobody answered.
Frowning, I knocked again, this time with more force. The door creaked open and a blast of cold air greeted me.
“Hello?” I called, stepping over the threshold and into their carpeted living room.
It looked like a hurricane had roared through the place.
The television set was laying on its face in front of their low entertainment center. Fashion and hunting magazines littered the floor. A tall brass lamp had been knocked over, and bits of glass from the lightbulb covered the carpet in a small burst.
My stomach hit the ground, and I ran into the kitchen. Everything was in disarray here too. The wooden chairs were all askew and one was upside down on the floor. One of its legs was missing. On the table, plates of lasagna sat uneaten. I touched the casserole dish; it was cold. The door to the screened-in back porch was hanging open, and frigid air from the waterfront was blowing into the house through the opening.
“Bethany!” I shouted.
A dog barked outside. I pushed open the screen door on the porch and dashed into the yard. Bear, Bruce’s slobbering Doberman, was locked up in a chain link dog run next to the garage. His water dish had frozen, and his food bowl was empty. He whined at me through the fencing.
My left thigh throbbed, and I backed away from the fence as the memory of aunt Catherine’s tiny, snarling dog played in my mind. Bear looked hungry and cold, but I thought the combination of those two things was likely to make him more aggressive toward me, not less.
I turned to go back into the house. I’d deal with the dog later.
Bear whined again. It was a strangely human sound, almost like a baby crying. I turned back to him, and he stared up at me. His wide, dark eyes were full of desperation, and he raised a single paw to touch the chain link. When he whined a third time, something inside me broke. I couldn’t ignore him any more than I could ignore a crying child, cold and hungry and alone.
“Good boy, Bear.” I inched toward the dog run. “Have you been out here all night?”
He barked and rushed the gate. He clearly wanted to get out of his cage, and his legs were shaking.
“Hold on,” I told him. “I’ll get a leash.”
He barked, and I think he understood me, because when I turned back toward the house again he didn’t whine. He sat down on the concrete and gave me those literal puppy-dog eyes again, as if to say, “I trust you, but please don’t abandon me.”
There wasn’t a leash anywhere on the covered porch, so I crept up the stairs to the bedrooms. There was still a tiny chance nothing was wrong. Bruce and Bethany could both be asleep. But the bedrooms and the bathroom were empty; the Fabianos weren’t home.
Maybe they ran to the store to get something for tonight’s meal. It didn’t make sense, not with the remains of last night’s dinner still on the table. Bruce would never have stood for it. Despite never lifting a finger of his own, he demanded a clean house.
But I didn’t even let myself think about the other possibilities, didn’t let the words take shape in my mind for fear that the terrible images could become reality.
I grabbed a dog leash off the large dresser in the bedroom and headed back downstairs, trying to collect my thoughts. Had they had some huge fight? Maybe Bruce found out about the pregnancy last night, got pissed, and pitched a fit complete with throwing things and knocking over knickknacks and table lamps. That could be where they were now—at the grocery store, buying some replacement light bulbs.
Or… Don’t think it. Don’t think it.
I thought it.
Or maybe Bruce finally crossed that line.
The sentence had barely finished forming in my mind when I stepped back into the kitchen and saw the blood. I’d been at the wrong angle to see it before, but a dark brown smear ran down the Formica counter and onto one of the white cabinets. It looked like somebody’s face had been smashed into the counter, and they’d fallen to the floor.
My cell phone was in my hand, and I was dialing before I could even let myself wonder whose blood it was. I couldn’t handle the thought, the possibility that…
Something had happened to Bethany.
Bear sat beside me and whined. I stared at him, marveling at myself. Here I was, sitting within arm’s reach of a giant dog, and I wasn’t even scared. I didn’t have room to be afraid of Bear. I was too busy feeling terrified for Bethany.
Officers from the Weyland Police Department scoured her house, collecting evidence. From my spot in one of the wicker chairs on the screened-in porch, I saw a man scrape some of the dried blood from the countertop into a tiny vial. My stomach turned. Who did the blood belong to? Bethany? Bruce?
I had to look away. As I watched the cold winter breeze shake the frail, bare limbs of the Catalpa trees that lined the Fabianos’ back fence, my mind churned. Where could Bethany be? I hoped she was someplace warm. I hoped she was somewhere safe.
Bruce had to have that much sense in his pea brain.
When I closed my eyes, I could picture the scene: Bethany pulls her famous lasagna from the oven and sets it down on the table. Steam rises up from the creamy dish. As she spoons the meal onto Bruce’s plate, she smiles and tells him she had an “interesting” day. She sets his plate down in front of him and decides to break the big news early. She’s pregnant.
That’s when he loses it. He smacks her around, bashes her face into the countertop, then hauls her out the back door to his truck and drives her off to God-knows-where.
My mouth tasted sour; bile had crept up my throat while I imagined what had happened. I swallowed it back down. There was enough of a mess to clean up already without me barfing all over the sunroom.
“Miss McBray?” A tall, broad-shouldered police officer with a bushy black mustache took a seat across from me in the same wicker chair where I’d last seen Bruce. “I’m Detective Duffy. I need to ask you a few questions.”
I nodded, not sure if I could speak without puking.
The detective pulled a pen and pad out of the inside pocked of his suit jacket. “You’re Mrs. Fabiano’s sister, correct?”
Another nod.
“And what brought you to the house today?”
Body language wouldn’t work on that one. I swallowed, then croaked, “Sunday dinner.”
“What did you find when you arrived?”
I walked him through everything I’d noticed when I got to the house. The fr
ont door left ajar. The living room and kitchen in shambles. The blood on the kitchen counter.
“And that’s when you called the police?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me, what’s their relationship like? Any domestic issues?”
I frowned. “You don’t know? I’m sure there’s a file on them already.” I paused, hating that my next words were even true. “He beats her.”
Detective Duffy raised a heavy eyebrow. “We’ll pull that record. Do you know of anywhere they might have gone? Any other properties or friends they might be staying with?”
I thought about it. They didn’t have the money for some kind of vacation home. “Our parents live in Florida, but I doubt they’d have gone there.”
Oh my God, I realized. I have to call my parents.
“Anything else you can tell us that might help?” the detective asked.
“She’s pregnant.”
The detective huffed into his mustache. He stared down at his shoes then knelt beside me. “Listen,” he said. “I’ve been right where you are. My sister’s married to a real lug down in Charlotte. The pair of ‘em, they fight like cats and dogs, you know? There’s always some kind of drama going on.”
I stared at him. Why was he telling me about his sister? He should be out looking for Bruce now.
Detective Duffy gazed out the large screen windows toward the woods at the back of the property line. “They used to live right around here, actually. Then they had a huge fight, and she showed up at my apartment, screaming and bawling about how they were finally through. I believed her, too. Got her all set up in my living room, told her we’d talk to a lawyer the next day. Then, in the middle of the night, she took off and went back to him. They ran off to Charlotte, and she didn’t even bother saying goodbye. Had a couple of kids. I haven’t even met them. Think she’s embarrassed to bring them around, like she knows she made a bad decision or something.”
He sighed and looked me in the eyes. “My point is, some people, they like the drama. They like to make big scenes in grocery stores then come home and make up, all lovey-dovey. Took me a long time to figure out she’s as crazy as him.”
My eyes narrowed, and ice crept into my voice. “My sister isn’t crazy, Officer Duffy. And they didn’t run off together. He took her.”
“We’re not discounting any possibilities at this point. I just want you to be prepared for what your sister might do in the future.”
I stared at him. My sister was missing. She was off somewhere with her deranged, violent, and probably drunk husband. What the hell was this cop even talking about?
“But you’re going to keep looking for her, right?” I asked.
“Of course. No matter the situation, whether your sister left with her husband voluntarily or not, there’s clear evidence of battery here. We won’t stop looking, okay?”
I nodded.
“Thank you, Miss McBray. You’ve been extremely helpful.” He stood. “We’ll be in touch. Officer Daniels will give you a ride home.”
“No, thank you. I’ll take the train.”
Beside me, Bear barked. I looked down at him, and a thought struck me. “What’s going to happen to the dog?”
“Well, if you or one of their neighbors isn’t willing to look after it until we’ve found the Fabianos, we’ll take it to Animal Control. They’ll take care of him.”
Bear whined, and he stared up at me with reddish-black eyes. The two rust-colored spots on his forehead looked like eyebrows, raised in a question. Take care of him? I wondered how long they’d do that before “taking care of him” for good.
A hard lump formed in my throat, and the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I’ll take him.”
Bear nuzzled my hand; he seemed to know what was happening.
“I guess I’ll be needing that ride after all,” I said.
The instant I stepped into my apartment, my legs turned to jelly. I’d been struggling to hold myself together since seeing that bloody splotch on Bethany’s counter, and now that I was in the privacy of my own home, my body broke down. I collapsed onto the couch, buried my face in the scratchy fabric of a throw pillow, and screamed until my throat was raw.
“What is going on with my life?” I whispered.
Two months ago, everything had been just hunky-dory. I’d had a steady job in Albany. I hadn’t gotten sick yet, and I’d still been living under the delusion that my sister’s troubles were behind her.
Now, probably because of that delusion, she was gone. He’d taken her somewhere. At least, I hoped he had. Because that was the best-case scenario, and I didn’t even dare think of anything worse.
I screamed into the pillow again.
Something wet, warm, and stinky slid up my cheek. I lifted my face. Bear was panting happily next to me. As soon as my eyes met his, he barked right in my face. It startled me into a defensive crouch on my couch cushions. But rather than attack me, he ran to the cardboard box I’d brought home with us. He barked again and shoved the box with his nose.
“Oh, you’re hungry.” I heaved myself off the couch. “I’m sorry. I should’ve fed you right away.”
In the kitchen, I unpacked the box, putting his stainless-steel food and water dishes on the floor beside my table. Bear nipped bits of kibble out of the stream that I poured into his bowl, then stood and wolfed down the rest.
“Yikes, take it easy, buddy.” I’d heard stories about dog owners having to clean up canine puke in the middle of the night, and it wasn’t a chore I relished doing. At least if it happened, it’d probably be on the kitchen tile. “You can stay here, but no way in hell are you sleeping on my bed.”
As I watched the dog eat, I thought about calling my parents. What would I tell them? They’d never listen if I told them Bruce had done anything to hurt Bethany. They didn’t believe me when I was in high school, and they wouldn’t believe me now. Bruce was a smooth-talking salesman, and my parents were easily sold on the lie that Bruce was good for their daughter.
No, I needed to wait. If I called them now, even if they did believe me, what could they do about it? They couldn’t afford to fly up to Weyland. That was why I hadn’t told them I was in the hospital. It would’ve just worried them, and there was no way they could help—just like there wasn’t anything I could do to help Bethany now.
I felt strangely envious of Bear. He was a creature bred to protect the people he cared about. His muscular legs and cropped ears told everyone that he wasn’t to be trifled with.
From my fridge, Bethany grinned at me from a print of the selfie we’d taken at Tavern. She looked so happy, and the bar’s lighting made her shimmer on the photo paper. Or maybe that was the early glow of her very new pregnancy. She looked bold and confident, like the camera had captured every ounce of her inner strength. From a piece of sketch paper beside her, The Fox stared down at me with shadowed eyes. He was like Bear. He just looked like somebody you didn’t want to mess around with, somebody who could defend the people he cared about and stand up for what he believed in.
Then there was me. Small. Skinny. Weak. Sometimes at work, I had to get Angie to help me unscrew the caps on my soda bottles. I’d actually stopped buying my favorite brand of salsa because I could never get the damn thing open. I was useless at protecting Bethany.
I should’ve gotten her out of the house yesterday. I never should’ve let her go home to him alone. As soon as she gave me the news, I should’ve known this was coming.
I gripped the rough wood of my cheap kitchen table. I wished I was strong enough to smash it. Then, through the fog of grief and worry that had filled my mind since I’d gotten to Bethany’s, I realized I was.
I could smash things. Maybe not with my bare hands, but I was capable of making them stronger.
Reaching down beside Bear, I pinched the rounded lip of his water bowl, pressing the cold metal between my thumb and forefinger. I didn’t even have to close my eyes anymore; I just imagined the pulsing red glow and the
change began to happen. I balled my hands into fists and waited a few seconds as they hardened into stainless steel. Then I raised my right arm above my head and brought it down onto the table as hard as I could.
The flimsy wood shattered beneath my metal fist. Bits of the light-brown material flew everywhere, and Bear yelped. My poor little table lay in a heap on the green linoleum floor of my kitchen. Compared to me, it was the weak one.
A slow smile spread across my face, splitting into a wide grin that probably looked a little manic. But I didn’t care. I wasn’t helpless. I was smart; I could find Bruce. I knew exactly what The Fox would do. He’d track Bruce down, figure out where he and Bethany were holed up, and make things right.
I knew how to do that now. I’d smash Bruce to bits, just like the table. He’d be the one getting beaten for once, and I wouldn’t stop. Not even if Bethany begged me to.
I’d beat him right to death.
Belladonna Seafood was the largest employer on Weyland’s west side. Their hulking factory took up fully one quarter of the area adjacent to the harbor, and they packaged what everyone—from large commercial fishermen to the smaller, two-man boats—managed to catch every day. Canned, frozen, or shrink wrapped—if you bought fish in a grocery store anywhere in the state, it probably came from Belladonna.
Monday morning, black smoke poured from the factory’s tall stacks, and the stench of slurry filled the air. I descended the steps from the train platform and pulled my scarf up to my face, wrapping it around my head like a Bedouin in a sandstorm. It muffled the smell enough that I wouldn’t have to hold my breath for the whole of the long walk to the facility’s front doors.
I’d only just begun trekking across the large parking lot, past the pickup trucks and old sedans, when a voice called to me from behind.
“Hey! Miss!”
A tall guy was hustling toward me, holding onto a long black nightstick in one hand as he ran. He was wearing a brown uniform and a matching baseball cap. I stopped walking and waited for him to catch up to me.
“Can I help you?” I asked once he’d come to a stop beside me.
Superhero Syndrome Page 12
