I have to stop, just for a moment, to catch my breath. Looking back, I see that the fire is behind me, towering up like cumulous clouds, powered by high winds. And I know I have to keep moving.
The switchbacks in the trail are no good to me now; I cut a straight path toward town, pushing through the dry brush and dodging branches. Coughing and blinded, I have to slow down so I can feel my way through the woods, but the heat is closing in behind me. I know fire is governed by the laws of physics, yet I can’t help but feel as if this one has a personality—angry and vengeful, heading straight for Lithia like some marauding army of invaders.
I can only hope now that the flames can be seen from town, that someone notices the drifting smoke, so the fire department can respond, alert helicopters, evacuate homes. As I turn the corner on the trail I can see the lights of Lithia through the smoke.
I see flashing lights headed this way.
But they may already be too late.
Thirty-three
When I first open my eyes, I don’t know where I am. All I know is that I’m lying on a hard wooden surface, overlooking a parking lot in town. I turn my head, and I’m looking up at the front door to my dad’s apartment building. I smell smoke—it’s in the air; it’s in my clothes. The memory of last night returns to me.
After escaping the forest, I stopped at the Highland Hills project where I’d left my father. He wasn’t there. I called his name and climbed onto the chain-link fence to get a better view of the area, but I couldn’t see him anywhere. I guessed he must’ve seen the smoke and left to get help—but I had a nagging feeling that he hadn’t run away this time. His words echoed in my head—From now on, I’ll be here for you, Katie—and I didn’t want to leave, worried he was still there, waiting for me.
But I couldn’t wait for him any longer. The fire was roaring down into the valley, the flames already lapping up against the frames of the half-built homes.
And Roman? I still hadn’t seen Roman.
When the first fire truck arrived, I told the firefighters that I knew of two people who may be trapped in the hills. They said they would look, but I could tell by their faces that they didn’t think anyone could be up there and survive. The police arrived soon afterward; by then, the heat was so intense I could feel the metal of my mom’s necklace burning into my neck. They ordered me to go home—I argued, but they threatened me with a trip to the station if I didn’t comply.
So I left, running back to town, to my dad’s apartment, where I banged on his door, hopeful that he’d returned to his own selfish ways and left at the first sign of smoke. Yet I knew he hadn’t. Something had changed in him last night—and it had happened too late. He had kept his promise to me, for once in his life, and it had put him in danger.
Then I stood on his porch and looked up at the hills. He was up there somewhere—I could feel it, yet I was powerless to do anything about it. That’s when things get hazy, when my worry and exhaustion overtook me. I remember sitting on the porch, covered in soot and dirt, watching the fire and waiting for the firefighters or the cops to bring him home. I don’t remember falling asleep. But somehow I did.
Now, I pound on his door once more but get no response. Where is he?
And where is Roman?
Today the hills are black, the flames gone. The town is surrounded by a light, smoky haze. If it weren’t for the smell of charred earth and wood, I might think the haze was simply fog.
I walk back to my cottage, the town silent, everyone sealed inside, avoiding the smoke. At least the fire hadn’t reached Lithia—everything is as normal as always, only eerily quiet. My lungs feel tight, and I have to stop every so often, wracked with coughing. When I get home, I realize that I’d left a side window open, and the inside of my cottage is just as smoky as the outside.
I leave the door ajar and open the rest of my windows. I sit down on the front step and think: Now what?
Tonight is opening night. The show will surely go on. I also have to work at the store today. I feel as though something monumental has happened—having almost lost my life in the fire, not knowing where my father or Roman are—but I also know that for nearly everyone else in town, it’s business as usual. Most people probably slept through the fires and heard about them only on the morning news.
I have to face the day—and whatever it brings.
I take a quick shower, and as I wash away all the soot and grime, I gain a bit of hope. Maybe Roman hadn’t even gone up to the mine after all. And it’s very likely that my father did have the sense to come down from Highland Hills; even as drunk as he was, he has a strong sense of self-preservation.
I’ll find out more once I get to work, where I can log onto the computer and get the latest news. Clean, and wearing fresh clothes, I rush off to Lithia Runners, where David is waiting.
“Thank God you’re okay,” he says. “I’ve been worried. You haven’t returned any of my calls.”
My cell phone is in the cottage, its battery dead. I’m pretty bad about keeping it charged, which renders it pretty useless. But hardly anyone ever calls me anyway.
“Sorry, David,” I say. “I was at my dad’s. I saw him up at Highland Hills last night and haven’t been able to find him since.”
A shadow crosses David’s face. “What were you two doing up there?”
“Jacobs took the property away from my dad. So Dad got drunk, and—” I pause to figure out how to work around Roman and the gold mine. “Well, I was trying to get him home when the fire broke out. We lost track of each other. I think he’s probably fine—except maybe for a hangover—but I wish I could find him.”
“Did you try the police?”
“Not yet. They knew he was missing last night, though.”
David already has the phone in his hand. “That’s a shame about the land, but something tells me Jacobs isn’t too happy about owning it right about now.”
“What do you mean?”
“The fire completely destroyed Highland Hills. Every one of those homes burned. It’s ironic, in a way—the development provided a firebreak of sorts. The firemen were able to halt the fire there and save the valley.”
“I’m sure he has insurance.”
“Oh, he does. But there’s going to be a big investigation before they’ll pay, especially with all the controversy surrounding the land. It could tie up his plans for years.”
My mind turns to the gold mine. Maybe Jacobs could be persuaded to unload the land, provided the price is right. I need to see Roman.
I notice that David has lowered the phone back to its cradle and is staring toward the door.
A policeman is standing there, looking at us. At me.
He walks up to me. “Katherine Healy?”
“Yes. What is it?” I feel a surge of hope. “Have you found my dad?”
“Ms. Healy,” he says, “I’m sorry to inform you that we have.”
“You’re sorry? I don’t understand.”
He holds out a twisted hunk of burnt metal. I take it from him and see that this charred mess had once been a watch. Part of the clasp has been cleaned off, and then I see why: The police were trying to identify it, and they had. The clasp’s monogram reads JH. For Jack Healy.
“Do you know if this watch was your father’s?”
I nod. “It was. But this doesn’t mean anything, does it? He probably just dropped it, right?”
I feel David next to me, his arm around my shoulders.
“I’m afraid we found this on a body up on the Lost Mine Trail,” the policeman said. “I’m very sorry.”
I clutch the watch to my chest, its sootiness dirtying my clean shirt. David tightens his arm around me, and I hear him thanking the police officer as he ushers me to the back room.
“I’m so sorry, Kat,” he says.
I look down at the burned watch, the only thing I have left. “My dad was looking for me up there,” I tell David. “He was trying to save me.”
David says nothing. He knows there
is nothing to say, just as we both knew it when Stacey died. Sometimes there is nothing words can do.
“Let’s close the store,” David says. “I’ll take you home.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s okay.”
“Are you sure?”
It’s hard to explain to David, but I feel more compelled than ever to make my life worth saving, worth dying for. And that doesn’t mean going home and hiding in my cottage. It means living.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I tell David, my voice unsteady. I clear my throat and try again. “I’m positive.”
Thirty-four
As my makeup is applied, I stare at my face, watching it transform—from a young woman weary from fire and the loss of her only remaining parent to a face given new life through paint. My hair, dry and frazzled—my short ponytail had been singed in the heat—is covered now, lengthened with a dark wig and nun’s habit.
I still can’t quite believe that my father is gone. Though he rarely felt like a true father to me, the bloodline was there, as well as a few good memories. The way he would pick me up by my ankles and twirl me around when I was little—and my very last memory, of him standing there, vowing to wait for me to come down from the hills. He may have been a bad man at times, but he wasn’t all bad.
I feel especially absorbed into my role tonight: Isabella has only her brother left, and she is fighting to save him as much as she is fighting against loneliness. As for me—I’m still worried about Roman; I’ve tried to contact him but have heard nothing. In a way, that’s good—as he’s one of the Lithia Theater Company’s premier actors, I’d have heard if something happened. Or that’s what I tell myself. Maybe I just can’t face the thought of another loss.
Instead, I work on assuming the character of Isabella. The costume, the makeup—it all envelops me in the appearance of Isabella, and now I must envelop the rest of me with the character herself.
There are speakers on the walls backstage so that we can listen to the play and ascend the stairs just before it is time to go onstage. Right now, all we can hear is the chattering of hundreds of people taking their places, flipping through their programs, turning off their cell phones. Everyone backstage moves with high energy—this is the night we have been waiting for.
I feel the energy around me, but inside I focus on Isabella. It calms me, knowing that for the next few hours, I don’t have to worry about anything outside of this theater. I must focus on the part.
The speakers grow quiet. Moments later, I hear the Duke speaking with Escalus. He is handing the power of Vienna over to Angelo, played by Tyler. In a few minutes, I will be onstage, and I will be told that my brother is about to be executed.
I stand and take one more reflective look at myself as Isabella. Then I head for the stairs. The lights in the stairwell are dim.
I listen for my cue and then I enter the stage, into the light.
~
The last line of the play—it is almost time. And even though the night has been a long three hours, plus intermission, I feel my energy growing with the thrill of reaching the end of this long, unpredictable journey.
About halfway through, I forgot a line; I completely blanked as I was onstage in a scene with Angelo. As if he could sense it, Tyler calmly continued without even blinking, and then I was fine. Only an expert in Shakespeare would have noticed my mistake.
And now, I kneel in front of the Duke, pleading for the life of the man I believe had my brother killed.
Let him not die. My brother had but justice,
In that he did the thing for which he died:
For Angelo,
His act did not o’ertake his bad intent,
And must be buried but as an intent
That perish’d by the way: thoughts are no subjects;
Intents but merely thoughts.
The Duke grants my wish. Angelo’s life is spared. And, to my surprise, my brother is alive after all, the Duke having spared it in secret.
And then the Duke makes a play for me. I stand there as he talks.
Dear Isabel,
I have a motion much imports your good;
Whereto if you’ll a willing ear incline,
What’s mine is yours and what is yours is mine.
So, bring us to our palace; where we’ll show
What’s yet behind, that’s meet you all should know.
I do not respond. Shakespeare did not write a reply, perhaps because the audience knows what Isabella would have said. The lights go down. The curtains close. And beyond them, the applause erupts.
The lights go up backstage, with squeals of excitement mixed with relief. People are hugging one another, and I even give Tyler a quick kiss, as thanks for saving me onstage. The curtain rises. In unison, we take our bows, the applause rising. We bow again.
I look out into the vast space, seeing faces, recognizing none. And then, near the front, I see David and Alex, clapping and smiling. Alex stands and approaches the stage, carrying a bouquet of flowers. At the end of the stage, he holds them up, and I feel a nudge from Tyler. I take the flowers and bow again.
The curtain closes, and I remain standing there as the others begin to shuffle back down to the dressing rooms. A few parents have found their way backstage and are hugging their children. I stand alone, staring at the back of the curtain.
Thirty-five
When I emerge from the dressing room, I look like Kat again. My face is red from scrubbing off all the makeup, and my hair is a frizzy mess. But I feel a confidence that I’ve never felt before.
I did it. I performed onstage in front of hundreds of people. And, judging by the audience’s reaction and the compliments from Nate and the other cast members, I was good. Really good.
Best of all, I enjoyed it. I’ve been a runner all my life, and I haven’t done much else—before this, I thought I never would. It’s nice to know that there is so much more out there to discover.
Lucy enters from the stairwell, still in costume. “See?” she says. “I always said you could act.”
I hug her, for the hundredth time that night. We’re all so happy and relieved, it’s been one big hugfest backstage.
“There’s a party at Ben’s apartment,” Lucy says. “You want to head over together?”
“I’ll meet you there,” I tell her. “You still need to change out of that costume, and I have to make a phone call.”
“All right,” she says, “but don’t flake out. We need our star to have a proper party!”
I wave her away and watch her retreat into the dressing room. I’ve left my cell phone at the cottage, but I know there must be a phone here in the building somewhere. I need to try Roman again—and if he doesn’t answer, I’ll go by the hotel on my way to Ben’s party. Now that opening night is behind me, my worry over Roman is taking center stage in my mind.
It’s so crowded backstage that I decide to head back onstage so I can go through the theater to get to the lobby. On the stage, the curtains are open again, the theater empty. As I walk across the stage, I hear clapping from the back of the theater. I move to the lip of the stage, squinting into the darkness. Someone is heading down the aisle.
It’s Roman.
I am stunned. “I’ve been trying to reach you,” I say.
“And I’ve been waiting for you to change out of that nun’s costume.”
“Roman, this isn’t funny. I was worried.”
Within seconds he’s onstage with me, his arms wrapped around me. He gives me a long, deep kiss, then pulls away and murmurs, “You were amazing tonight.”
“Really? You saw the play?”
He nods. “And I was impressed. As was everyone.”
I lean into him and rest my head on his chest, suddenly drained of energy. “I’m so glad you’re all right. The fires—”
He lifts my face toward his and kisses me again. “Not to worry, Katherine. I don’t ever plan on leaving you again.”
It feels so wonderful to be back in his arms that I f
orget all about the reason he went up to the mine in the first place. It isn’t until he hands me an envelope that the spell is broken.
I hold the envelope up to the light, as if to see through it. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
It’s a legal-looking document, covered with seals, and then I recognize it. The deed to the land—with my name at the top of it.
“I—I don’t understand,” I stammer. “How—”
“You were right, Katherine,” he says. “About the mine, the gold, everything.”
“But how—”
“I was a miner, remember?” Roman says with a smile. “I know what to do.”
“You got the gold out? And bought the land back?”
He nods. “I know a gold dealer out of town—that’s why I haven’t been around. I didn’t think we wanted to answer any questions here in Lithia. As it turns out, Ed Jacobs was eager not only to sell me your land back but to unload the entire Highland Hills development—it’s worthless to him now.” He reaches into his pocket and hands me another envelope. “And with our friend Mr. Jacobs being in such a poor financial position, I was able to negotiate a very good price on the land. Which means there was plenty left over to cover property taxes for many, many years. I took the liberty of putting it into a bank account. Which, of course, will be yours.”
“So now we really can protect the land,” I say, nearly giddy with joy. “Maybe Alex can help me figure out how to preserve it. To make sure it’s safe forever.”
Roman says nothing, and I realize I shouldn’t have mentioned Alex, especially after all that Roman has just done for me. It’s not hard to believe that there would still be bad blood between them, even if they are both vegans now.
The Ghost Runner Page 19
