by Jae
“I didn’t want to influence your perception before you ID’d the body,” Vargas said. “We found Daniel’s empty wallet next to the dead boy. Are you sure the boy in the morgue is not Daniel, Ms. Harding? I know his face is bruised, and you might not recognize—”
“I would recognize my own son anywhere. That boy is not Danny. Danny is alive.”
“Then how did the boy get his wallet?”
“Maybe the boy stole it from Danny.” A shiver gripped Rue at the thought of Danny out there without any money. Was that why he had sold his watch, or had that been stolen too? Had the mugger hurt Danny in the process? Dozens of questions swarmed through her mind, and she wasn’t any closer to the answers.
“Maybe,” the detective said. “And maybe that was why Daniel stabbed him.”
Rue narrowed her eyes. “I know my son. He’s not a murderer.” Her gaze fell onto the door. Kelsey waited just outside. Are you sure? a voice in her head whispered. You didn’t think he was a shape-shifter either. If Danny really was a shape-shifter, was it possible that he had killed the boy in a rush of predatory hormones?
Then she shook her head. I need to trust Danny, not expect the worst of him. That was what Kelsey had told her. Had that really been less than a week ago? It felt like an eternity. But one thing hadn’t changed. Her son wasn’t a murderer. If he had killed the boy, Rue was sure it had been in self-defense.
“The Clearfield Police Department sent us your son’s fingerprints from when Detective Schaeffer arrested him for trespassing and vandalism. We’re running the prints on the knife. I hope for your sake that we find prints other than your son’s.”
Do you really? Or do you just want a quick way to close the case? Rue wasn’t sure. She leaned forward and pressed her hands to her thighs, preparing to stand. “If that’s all, Detective, I want to leave and continue searching for Danny.”
The policewoman nodded. “If you hear from him, call me immediately. We’ll intensify our search for him too.”
Oh, sure, now that he’s a person of interest, you’ll search for him, but not when he’s just a runaway. For a moment, Rue thought a more thorough search was a good thing, but then she paused. If Danny really was a shape-shifter, being chased by the police might push him over the edge. Images of flashing canines, bared in blind panic, shot through her mind, and she saw a young wolf fall beneath a hail of bullets.
Bile rose in her throat. She rushed out the door, pushed past Kelsey, and dashed to the nearest restroom.
* * *
Rue barely made it into one of the stalls before her stomach heaved and she lost what little she had eaten during the last few hours. Shivers raced through her body, and her legs felt as if they were about to give out. Oh, God. She stumbled to the sink and gripped it with both hands, barely managing to hold herself up. Darkness threatened at the edge of her vision.
Then Kelsey was there, wrapping her arms around Rue from behind, holding her up with amazing strength.
For a moment, Rue tried to struggle and pull away, but her body betrayed her. Her defenses were down; she couldn’t fight anymore. She sank against Kelsey as if she had done so a thousand times before.
Kelsey reached around, wiped Rue’s mouth with a wet paper towel, and then cradled her gently. The heat of her body penetrated the numbness surrounding Rue.
Finally, her shivering eased. Strength returned to her limbs as if Kelsey’s embrace were a battery replenishing her depleted reserves. Rue tried to pull away, but Kelsey held on.
“Not yet,” Kelsey whispered. “Give yourself some time.”
“I don’t deal well with this,” Rue said, her voice just as low.
“This?” Kelsey’s breath brushed along Rue’s cheek in their warm cocoon. “What do you mean?”
“Loss.”
“No one deals well with that,” Kelsey said. “It’s not easy to lose someone you love. But you haven’t lost Danny. He’s alive, and we’ll find him.”
Rue met Kelsey’s gaze in the stained mirror above the sink and found nothing but understanding there. “When my grandfather died three years ago, I hid in my work as if I could bring him back from the dead by keeping his company—his legacy—alive.” She stared at her own pale face in the mirror, stunned at what she had said. She hadn’t meant to discuss this with Kelsey, but at the same time, it felt entirely natural.
“Wasn’t there anyone you could talk to?” Kelsey asked.
Rue shrugged and felt Kelsey’s breasts press against her back. Neither of them moved to end their embrace. Maybe this was easier than discussing things face to face. “Paula tried, but she didn’t know how to help me through it.”
“Was that part of why you and Paula split up?”
Rue had never considered it that way, but now that she thought about it… “It probably didn’t help the situation, but to tell you the truth, I think our relationship was doomed from the start.”
“Why’s that?”
A small smile played around the edges of Rue’s lips. “I first met Paula when she was a fiery, young reporter for a local TV station that sent her to interview me. I was in the middle of a dozen important things, so I tried to get rid of her in a not very friendly way.” Her smile widened. “All that got me was a lecture that had my ears ringing for hours. Paula didn’t take any shit from me. I liked that.”
“So I take it she got her interview after all?”
Rue nodded. “The interview and a date.”
“Then why do you say the relationship was doomed?” Kelsey asked. “Sounds as if you fell in love with her pretty fast.”
“Yeah. But can you imagine two stubborn, independent workaholics in a relationship with each other?” Rue sighed. In hindsight, the things she loved most about Paula were the very things that made it hard to be in a relationship with her.
The mirror in front of Rue reflected Kelsey’s smile. “It works for my parents.”
“But not for Paula and me. We supported each other in our careers, and for the first few years, I think we made a good team as parents, but neither of us was very good at showing her softer, vulnerable side to the other.” Rue couldn’t imagine talking to Paula the way she was now talking to Kelsey. “In the end, all we ever talked about was our jobs and Danny. And after we broke up, I started working like a maniac again. I wasn’t there for Danny, just when he needed me most.” She groaned and let go of the sink to rub her eyes, trusting Kelsey to hold her up.
Kelsey wrapped her arms around Rue more tightly. “Don’t beat yourself up for being too caught up in your own pain. You’re only human.”
A chuckle started deep down in Rue’s chest. “Yes, I am.” Somehow, these words had a whole new meaning now. She pulled away from Kelsey’s embrace, rinsed her mouth, and splashed water onto her face. Already, her moment of weakness started to feel surreal to her. “Let’s go. We need to find Danny.” She hoped with all her might that she’d get a chance to make things right between them.
Chapter 35
Every bone in Danny’s body hurt. He groaned and sat up, inwardly cursing the bearded guy who had forced them to leave the warehouse after their fight with the boy last night. Even the old, smelly couch in the warehouse would have been a better bed for the night than this hard bench in the park. Yawning, he looked around.
Dawn had broken, and the park was coming to life. A garbage truck jolted down the street. The stink it dragged behind nearly made Danny gag. He stretched and realized that dried blood made his shirt stick to his chest where the boy’s knife had sliced through his shirt and nicked his skin. I got lucky. If Greg hadn’t been there…
Greg had kicked the knife out of the boy’s hand and pummeled him until he understood that Danny was under Greg’s protection.
Danny was wrenched from his thoughts when Greg sat up next to him.
“Morning,” Greg said. He crawled out of his sleeping bag and rolled it up. He made an eating motion, moving his hand from an imaginary plate to his mouth, and then waved at Danny to follow him.
They walked east and crossed Ninth Avenue. The soup kitchen at the corner of Twenty-Eighth Street was still closed, but a familiar scent clung to the trees in front of the building. Danny lifted his nose into the air. Isn’t that how the woman from the warehouse smelled? He looked around.
The woman sat beneath a leafless tree, her guitar next to her, and seemed to be waiting for the soup kitchen to open.
Wow. Danny had always had a better sense of smell than most people he knew, but this was weird. Was it just his imagination, or had his sense of smell gotten stronger? He tugged on Greg’s sleeve and pointed at the woman.
Smiling, Greg walked over and started to talk to her.
Danny followed. Trying to lip-read their conversation was giving him a headache, so he looked around instead. The sudden scent of cold sweat made his head whip around.
Greg had gone pale. His smile was gone. He grabbed Danny’s arm and pulled him along without saying good-bye to the woman with the guitar.
“Wait!” Danny struggled against Greg’s grip. “Where are we going?”
If Greg understood him and answered, he did it without taking the time to turn around. He continued to pull Danny down the street.
Anger at being handled like a child shot through Danny. He dug in his heels and grabbed Greg’s arm, pulling him to a stop. The weird itching along his forearms started again. “What’s going on?”
His speech came out uncontrolled, and Greg shook his head to indicate he didn’t understand.
“What’s going on?” Danny asked, making his words as clear as he could.
Greg said something that Danny read as “Not here.” The freckles stood out on Greg’s pale face, and his green eyes had darkened until they looked nearly black. The metallic scent of his cold sweat made Danny’s nose itch along with his skin.
After letting his gaze dart in every direction, Greg paused in front of a rusty gate that led to a hatch embedded in the pavement.
Probably an emergency exit, leading to the subway tunnel.
Greg fished a key out of his pocket and unlocked the thick padlock on the gate.
Danny tugged on his shoulder to get him to turn around. With a questioning look on his face, he pointed at the key. How had Greg gotten his hands on it?
“I’ve got a friend who once lived down there. He had a talent for...organizing things.”
What? Had he misread Greg’s lips? People are living down there? Raising his eyebrows, he pointed at the subway tunnels. “He lived down there?” he asked, laboring to pronounce the words clearly.
“Before 9/11, hundreds of people were living in the tunnels,” Greg said. “But now the cops have surveillance cameras on every platform, so there are just a few places to get into the tunnels without being seen.”
Apparently, this was one of them. Looking over his shoulder, Greg swung open the rusty gate, opened the metal doors of the hatch, and slipped through.
Danny followed.
A bluish light shone onto a red emergency exit sign, and concrete steps led down into the darkness. Flakes of yellow paint fell off the handrail as Danny gripped it.
They descended three flights of stairs. With every step, Danny grew more uncomfortable. The stench of urine and rotting garbage hung in the damp air, making his skin itch.
Greg stopped and gripped Danny’s arm.
Pools of oil and water at the bottom of the stairs vibrated. Concrete dust fell off the ceiling.
A blast of air hit Danny as a subway train raced through the tunnel in front of them, its windows a band of light rushing by.
As the red lights of the train disappeared around a bend, Greg stepped onto the gravel bed. A match flared. In the flickering light, Greg pointed at a third rail running along the train tracks, covered by a white plate, then at the warning signs above it. He mimed stepping onto the rail and slid his hand across his throat.
The tiny flame died, and Danny shivered in the darkness. Great. One wrong step and I’ll be a crispy critter.
With that warning in mind, he stayed to the left, away from the third rail, and felt his way along the slick walls. Every thirty feet, a dim orange light fell onto the gleaming tracks. Danny wasn’t sure if the bit of light was a blessing or a curse. In the darkness, he could pretend he was wandering through a perfectly clean tunnel—or at least he could have if there hadn’t been a myriad of smells, all of them unpleasant.
Oil, burned rubber, and a sickeningly sweet stench filled his nose with every breath he took. He wanted to pinch his nose between thumb and index finger, but his hands were dirty and didn’t smell much better. He wondered how Greg could stand the stench.
The orange light showed him blackened concrete walls, empty beer bottles, and articles of filthy clothing strewn around cubbyholes that had been cut into the walls, maybe for the maintenance crews to step into while trains passed.
Something moved in the semi-darkness. Rats! As soon as he thought it, he almost stepped on one—then realized it was dead, its little body nearly mummified. Ugh. He scratched his itchy arms through the sleeves of his jacket.
The tunnel curved to the right, and Greg slowed and waited for Danny to catch up.
“Let’s go back,” Danny said. He didn’t understand why Greg had dragged him down into this hellhole.
If Greg answered, Danny couldn’t see it. Greg lit another match.
In front of them was an old archway that had been bricked-up. Near the bottom was a hole, barely more than two by two feet, where someone had removed a section of bricks.
Greg got down on his belly and wriggled through on elbows and knees. Soon, even his feet had disappeared, and Danny was alone in the tunnel.
Heat raced along his skin, and for a moment, he nearly panicked. Calm down. He’s waiting on the other side. Muscles stiff with tension, Danny crawled through the hole. His arms felt as if a thousand fire ants were crawling over his skin.
His left hand encountered a rubbery substance. Oh, gross. He wiped his hand on his jacket. Maybe the darkness was a blessing—he didn’t want to know what he had just touched. His torso, then his legs slid through the hole. He got to his knees and stifled a cough at the smell of dank air, smoke, and urine. To his left, he felt a damp wall, while Greg’s scent indicated that he was to his right. The rumble of a train passing in the tunnel outside vibrated through Danny’s bones.
When he got to his feet, something brushed against his face. He jerked back. His heart thudded against his ribs. He flailed his hands and touched something soft. After a moment, he realized that it was a flannel shirt on a hanger dangling from one of the pipes overhead.
In one corner, the last embers of a dying fire glowed between two large stones. A blackened pot balanced on top of a rusty grill. A man with his back to Danny sat on a rusty chair, his feet up on a box with empty cans.
In the darkness beyond the circle of light, Danny couldn’t make out how many other people were sharing the cavernous space, but he smelled at least three different body odors. His skin prickled beneath the strangers’ gazes. He followed Greg to the far end of the room, where Greg pulled him down next to him on a piece of cardboard.
Someone’s flashlight flickered alive, ghosting across Danny and Greg, then veered away. In the beam of the flashlight, Danny saw that he was in what might have once been a small storage room. Shredded newspaper, empty bottles, and a lone sneaker littered the concrete floor that was covered with fine, black dust. A gaunt figure leaned against a rusted I-beam, and shadows moved in the farthest corner.
Then another light blinked on.
Danny squinted and realized that someone had rigged a lightbulb from an overhead electrical line.
A man wearing several overcoats perched on a battered mattress. He smelled of alcohol and mental illness.
Yeah, he must be crazy to dress like that. Danny was already too warm just in his jacket. His skin felt as if it were on fire. Just my luck. I think I’m running a fever. The thought of getting sick down here, away from Rue and anyone
else who could help him, made Danny feel even worse. At the end of his patience, he repeated his question, “What’s going on?”
Greg pressed his index finger to his mouth in a shushing gesture and pointed to the other end of the room where two figures huddled next to the man on the mattress.
Two sets of big eyes looked back at him. Danny realized that the faces beneath the grime and dirt were those of two kids even younger than he was. Man, where are their parents?
The two boys stared at him as if he were their entertainment—or a potential danger.
Danny sighed. He had never been good at modulating his voice to a whisper. His notepad and pen were still in the large leg pocket of his cargo pants, and he dug them out.
Greg paused with the pen above the paper and chewed on his bottom lip.
Man, what’s taking so long? Just write, Greg! You’re not writing a damn novel!
Finally, Greg scribbled something and handed him the notepad. “Molly said that someone killed Skinny.”
Skinny? Danny frowned and pushed the notepad back at Greg so he could explain.
“The boy who stole your wallet,” Greg wrote.
What? When Danny had last seen Skinny, he had been fine except for a black eye and a split lip. “Why? Who?” he wrote on the notepad.
After a few seconds, Greg held up his answer. “My bet is on Raider, the bearded guy. Skinny bragged about stealing your wallet. Raider thought Skinny still had some of your money.”
He died because he stole my wallet? Danny groaned. His skin ached, and he felt dizzy. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, but at the thought of food, the dizziness increased. With his fingers cramped around the pen, he scribbled, “We need to go to the police,” and added three exclamation marks, each one bigger than the last.
A stream of air brushed Danny’s cheek as Greg snorted. “No. They’ll think I killed him. Half a dozen people saw me beat him up.” The pen pierced the paper as Greg drew an exclamation mark even bigger than Danny’s.
