Jared nodded. “I should go.”
“Ya should.”
Jared stroked Oro behind the ears. He got up to leave, and didn’t bother to extend a hand. Instead, he offered his business card. “I wrote my new number and address on the back. If you change your mind.” When Judd didn’t take the card, he set it on the chair. He turned to go, but stopped and turned around.
“I’ve missed you, Judd. I wish things were different.”
“They aren’t.”
Jared left.
~ 35
Jared sped down the county road until Judd’s home was out of sight. He pulled over just shy of the main road that led into town.
It’s over, he thought. You really are alone.
He hit the A/C. He felt dizzy; his temples throbbed. Checking his mirror, he was certain that the veins around his eyes were darker.
“Shit.” A thin stream of blood ran from his nose. He took a tissue from the glove box and stemmed the flow. It took two more to clean himself up. He set them on the floor on the passenger side and eased back in his seat.
Don’t say it … don’t even think it.
He hated the word; it was one of the few in the English language that sounded as bad as it was.
Cancer.
It was the smoking, of course. Just as he’d quit again. Just as it seemed he’d actually be able to swing it.
And now? He wasn’t just alone. He’d die alone.
Stop it!
It might be cancer. Then again, it might not.
It might be something worse.
~ 36
Downtown, Jared avoided the main strip, specifically, the theater. He’d had enough for one day, and reliving the death of Kyle Duncan would have capped it. He was low on gas, and he filled up at the Conoco on Front Street. He paid for the gas inside, picking up some beef jerky and a couple of donuts as well. As he stepped out the door, he ran into Ricky’s wife, Gwen Cowen. Her bright red Elantra was parked in front of the outdoor ice freezer. She was alone.
“Gwen,” he said, embarrassed.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Look, about what happened, I—”
She shook her head. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I don’t know what got into Bobby.”
“He’s not the same Bobby you remember.”
“I know. Marisa filled me in.”
“He was drunk, Jared. He’s been drunk for years. I know he’s in pain—my Jenny’s in pain—but that’s no excuse for showing up at his child’s funeral like that. And trying to blame you for what happened to Kyle? Maybe when he’s sober for five minutes, he’ll come to his senses and apologize.”
“I had to get out of there. I hope you understand.”
“Who wouldn’t? Oh, there were a few who were going on about it. Mostly that nitwit, Sonia Wheaton. But mostly, people were just in shock.”
“I was one of them.”
“You don’t look well,” she said. She drew her blonde hair away from her face when a light breeze struck. “Are you feeling okay?”
He felt feverish. In spite of the soothing breeze, he needed to get back in his SUV. “It’s a bit warm for my liking.”
“Rick’s been worried about you. He wants to get together.”
“I’d like that.”
“Are you and Marisa back together?”
He didn’t know. Not for certain. But he said, “Well, yeah.” He hoped Marisa felt the same. And he hoped Gwen didn’t call her up to see if she did.
“That’s great! Bring her, too. We’d love to have you over for a barbecue.”
“Sounds perfect.” They traded numbers, and Jared told her he had to get going. He felt as if he was going to pass out.
“Be well,” Gwen said. She gave him a friendly peck on the cheek.
Jared headed back to his vehicle.
“Oh!” she said after him.
He turned. The swelter was really getting to him now.
“Jared … did you hear about Tom Greenwood?”
~ 37
Jared was thankful he had sprung for the dark tinted windows. His mind spun as he slumped over the wheel. If Gwen had kept talking, he might have blacked out. He was burning up. The steady flow of cold air from the vents was a welcome relief.
The dizziness passed. He wanted to go home and lie down, but not before he swung by the Greenwood place. Gwen had given him directions, including the exact address, 6 Howard Street, but as he discovered five minutes after leaving the Conoco, there was no address. Not any more.
Nearly half of the home had collapsed. What remained was in ruin. The house on the left was untouched, but the home on the right, 8, had suffered smoke damage and a broken side window on the main floor. The window was covered in a thick plastic sheet on the inside of the frame.
A small scattering of onlookers stood gawking and talking. He pulled over and lingered a few minutes as he ate his beef jerky. Still hungry, he finished off both of his donuts. He was about to drive off, but decided not to when an elderly woman emerged from her front door at 8 and sat on a lawn chair on the stoop.
He got out. The heat was brutal, but there was more of a breeze here than downtown.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice rising as he walked up her driveway. In spite of her bright emerald eyes, she looked as fragile as a rose petal. She had a cold drink beside her. An orange tabby lay on her lap, dozing as she stroked its fur.
“Any day’s a good day at my age,” she said. Her dentures were crisp white, her lips curled in a smile.
“Are you all right, ma’am? I couldn’t help but notice the damage to your home.”
“Fine as chocolate,” she said. “Finer than the Greenwoods, that’s a fact. Iced tea?”
“No, but thank you.”
“You’re a shake more handsome in person.”
Jared gave her a look.
She went on. “A sight better than that sorry mug on that ratty old billboard, I’d say.” She offered a hand, her bright pink fingernails painted neatly to match her toenails, which matched her pink flip-flops. “Rose Tillman. Rose. This is Amos.”
Jared smiled and shook. Her hand was delicate. He feared he might break every last bone inside it. “Jared. I’m glad you’re all right, Rose. It must have been quite a sight. And a fright.”
She took stock of the onlookers. A few had moved on, quickly replaced by more. “It’s been like this all mornin’. Small town … big doin’s.”
“Guess it is,” Jared said.
A tan minivan came up the street. It crept up and stopped in front of the Greenwood’s place. When Jared realized who was behind the wheel, he almost bolted for the Land Rover.
~ 38
Sonia Wheaton, Jared thought. What a surprise. Here to dig up the dead to bury them in a story.
Sonia lowered the minivan’s window. A large pair of dark sunglasses hid her eyes. She stared at the Greenwood’s home for a moment, and then her head dropped. She sobbed.
“Excuse me, Rose,” Jared said. He walked over to the minivan. “Sonia. Are you all right?”
She looked up, startled. She tried to gather herself quickly.
“Is everything okay, Sonia?”
“I’m fine,” she said, sniffling. “Fine.”
“Did you know the Greenwoods?”
A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn’t seem to be listening. “Tom,” she whispered, barely audible.
“Sorry?”
“Poor Tom,” she snapped.
“And Mrs. Greenwood.”
She hesitated. “Yes … of course.”
“It’s tragic,” Jared said. “I—”
Sonia burst into tears. “I’m sorry, I—I—” She buzzed up her window and drove off.
Jared met Rose Tillman at her front steps.
“Such a busy-body, that one,” Rose said, matter-of-factly. “She writes good. But too damn nosy by half. Sniffin’ for a story, I’d bet.”
“She can be a pill,” Jared
said, as politely as he could. He didn’t want to get into it.
The old woman seemed to wander in thought for a moment. “You’re worried about him.”
“Tom Greenwood?”
“Your brother. Lost the two I had durin’ the war.”
How does she know about Judd?
“Oh,” she said, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You know my brother?”
“Can’t say I do. Whatever it is between you, it’ll work out.”
“It will?”
“Family,” Rose said. “You learn to work it out.”
“Forgive me, but … how … I mean, how did you even know I had a brother?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes things come to me.”
“That’s, uh … interesting.” And a little spooky.
“Are you all right, Mr. Cole?”
He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead.
“You sure you won’t have some iced tea?”
Jared blinked a few times. Rubbed his eyes. “I’m good, thank you. It’s this crazy heat.”
He scanned the ruins next door. “I’m assuming it was a gas explosion. They were probably in bed. I guess by the time they smelled the gas, it was too late. One of them likely flicked on a lamp switch and ignited the gas.”
“Oh, no. That’s not what happened.”
“Oh?”
“Me and Amos were gettin’ ready for bed. I can see into the Greenwood’s kitchen from upstairs. Not that I ever spied or anything. Just a fact. Anyway, I was about to close my drapes when I saw Tom in the window. Had a wrench in his hands. Next thing I know, he’s pullin’ out the stove.”
“Trying to fix the leak,” Jared said. “Jesus.” He apologized. “Pardon my French.”
Rose waved him off. “Child, if I had a penny for every time I took the Lord’s name in vain, I’d be drivin’ a big boat like you.”
They shared a chuckle.
“So you saw it? The explosion?”
Rose Tillman shook her head. She sipped her iced tea and set it down. “I went to bed. Didn’t think much of it.”
“There’s not much left,” Jared said. “Was anyone else hurt?”
“Thank the Good Lord, no. The Penns at 4 are on vacation. Here, it’s just me and Amos now. And my arthritis.”
“It’s a good thing you were upstairs. I saw the damage to your side window.”
“That’s a fact. But there was another casualty. That blast was a dinger. Rattled the walls so bad it knocked my clock right off the shelf. It’s been in my family for over a hundred and forty years. It’s priceless. It’s junk now. But maybe that was a good thing.”
“What do you mean?”
Amos purred as Rose scratched his ear. “Oh, not a big deal, really. But not a half hour ago I got a call back from the insurance. Elliot Flatley, over on Sixth. Pain in the behind if you ask me. He asked a whole mess a questions. Any little thing that doesn’t add up and they try not to pay. He was really snooty about it. He asked if I knew ‘approximately’ when the explosion occurred. Thinks ’cause I’m ninety-two he can talk down to me. Like I’m not all there. Well, sir, when I said I knew exactly when it happened, he just chuckled. I told him if he thought he was so damn smart, he should come on over and see for himself.”
“The clock?”
“Like I said, it’s priceless. And it’s stuck at 10:51.”
Jared’s first reaction was his usual one. His zany brainy almost believed that the coincidence was nothing of the sort. That his experience last night—10:44 if he remembered right—was directly related to this event. But of course that was crazy.
His body was boiling now.
“Rose, maybe I’ll take you up on that iced tea.”
~ 39
As the robotic female voice in his GPS announced “Arriving at destination,” Jared turned into his driveway and parked. He had the A/C on high, but he was burning up from the fever.
He tapped the GPS in a gesture of thanks before turning it off. After a pleasant iced tea with Rose Tillman—and three of the finest oatmeal raisin cookies he’d ever had, his favorites, which she’d correctly, and a little eerily, mentioned in passing—he had gone next door to have one last look at the Greenwood place. He hadn’t been there two minutes before he nearly collapsed. Struggling to catch his breath, his extremities throbbing, he had barely made it behind the wheel. The fever had left him with a splitting headache, and only now had the pain in his skull begun to ebb.
He kept telling himself that what had happened with Tom Greenwood was just a coincidence. But he could not let it go.
What did he have? Two separate events, clearly unrelated, other than the time they happened.
He had nothing.
Oh, you’ve got something, he thought. But that’s even crazier. The kind of thing that gets you a nice padded room with no windows.
Was it possible that what Marisa had said was true? That her son had had a premonition?
Suppose that was so … and then suppose that his premonition of a burn wasn’t of his mother being scalded by boiling water.
Suppose it was something more.
Like a house burning down.
Why don’t you just blame the Phantom? It would sound less absurd.
He went inside.
~ 40
Jared decided that a dip in the pool might help him cool down and refocus, get his mind on track where it belonged—on writing. At least, it might beat the heat and clear his head. He slipped on trunks, grabbed a beach towel, and headed outside to his sprawling stone patio.
He passed the large Broil King barbecue and the circular brick fire pit that was just steps away from the long outdoor table set. He set down the towel on a double chaise lounge chair and swam a few laps. The short workout invigorated him and cleared his headache. But now, standing on the diving board, he felt a wave of vertigo. He staggered and slipped off the edge of the board, striking the patio hard. The breath rushed from his lungs, and the side of his face struck the ground. Blood dribbled from his nostrils, splattering the patio stones.
He managed to get to his feet, and he wavered as he tried to reach the chair. The patio spun, and he slipped down to his knees and fell sideways into the water.
A mouthful of water choked him. His arms and legs were useless; pain hammered him. He sank quickly. Sunlight shimmered in the water above. Everything was rippling. Everything was spinning.
His lungs ached. He coughed, taking in more water. He sank to the bottom and panicked. Fighting the pain in his legs, he sprang upward. In broad, agonizing strokes, he breached the surface and gasped for air. He got to the edge of the pool and found he lacked the strength to pull himself up. He held on for dear life, coughing up water.
The pain took him. He closed his eyes, praying it would stop. He was shaking so hard he could barely hang on. If his grip faltered, there was no way he’d survive. He’d drown in seconds.
The fever spiked and he opened his eyes. Blood rushed from his nose. His grip slipped, and in one last thrust of strength, he managed to haul himself up onto the patio. He nearly slipped back, but fell on his side and brought his legs up. The pain brought a small scream.
He coughed in a fit. His throat felt raw. His eyes burned. He curled up, steeling against the throb in his body. It felt as if the pain was emanating from deep inside his bones.
The sun beat down. The house, the chairs, the pool—everything whirled about.
He blacked out.
~ 41
Minutes later, Jared stirred. He felt groggy and weak. The sun blinded him, and he blocked the glare with his hand. At least the pain had passed.
He rose to his knees and took his time getting up. The bleeding had stopped. Dried blood stained his face and chin. Some had pooled on the stone, and a trail of splatter led to the swimming pool. There was blood in the water.
He cleaned the stones with the towel as well as he could. He’d do a thorough job later. Right now, he needed to get out of the heat
.
Inside, he downed two full glasses of cold water and went upstairs. He cleaned up the blood that hadn’t been washed away by the pool, then came back down and settled on the living room sofa. He rubbed his eyes and lay back. His vision was still fuzzy. He tried to focus on his father’s painting above the fireplace. On the eagle’s piercing eyes.
There was something about them that had always taken him. They were so sharp, so detailed … so alive. He remembered watching his father create magic on the canvas, his thin, bony hands working the oils; the steady delivery of his fine strokes of the brush. He had never tired of watching him paint, and now, as he stared at those eyes, it was like looking into his father’s eyes.
In life, they had been so bright and comforting. In death, so cold and empty. So afraid.
So alone.
The eyes—
There was something about them, suddenly. Something he couldn’t remember. Something dark and vile.
The gateway. The shape. Something about the shape.
It wouldn’t come. It was so damned frustrating. He sat there, stewing, trying to force it. Nothing.
He lay on his side, exhausted. He closed his eyes and tried to remember. A minute later, he was asleep. He didn’t stir until morning.
~ 42
Marisa drew a tall draft and set the chilled glass on the hardwood bar. As she scooped up the two-dollar gratuity, she smiled pleasantly to the barfly who’d been ogling her ass. “Thanks.”
The place was hopping, and she attended to the two cute guys at the end of the bar. They’d been checking her out since walking in a few minutes ago, and she turned on the charm. Tonight would be a good night for tips.
She watched Julie Jacobs turn on her charm. Not that Julie had to flick a switch. With breasts and an ass like that, it was always on. For her, every night was a good night. The pair of young women at the table weren’t impressed, not with Julie’s low-cut top, nor her infectious smile, but their men-folk seemed quite taken with her menu.
Gateway Page 10
