“Focus.”
They would strap her down. Strap her down and wheel her in. Procedure, they said, but procedure soon became necessary. Because she burned through the drugs—they’d do what they could but she burned through the drugs so fast and she’d stay awake, be awake. They had to strap her down because she would get so angry. Because it hurt.
“Ashley?” Cam asked.
The growl rumbled deep in her chest, vibrating her ribs. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cam edge forward. “Stay back,” she snarled. The glow of the machines and the light glaring off the doctor’s safety glasses and the knives sliding up her skin like a kiss—
“Enough.” Brody strode over, until he was in between them, and crouched in front of her. “Snap out of it. Focus. You are not there anymore. You are here. You are not going back. And Ian needs your help. So get your shit together.”
Not there. Ashley blinked, breathed. Not there. She felt warmth, skin, and realized she had one hand around Brody’s throat. She forced her hand to release.
Cam hadn’t moved. “Are you all right?”
Ashley nodded. I’m okay. I’m okay. Maybe she said it. She wasn’t sure.
“Are you turning into a werewolf?”
A laugh escaped from her on a gasp. More out of desperation than humor, but in the split-second of relaxation she saw—a glint. Something was ground up in the carpet. Glass, a few fragile fragments of it, and a broken needle. “You said they shot him with something?” she asked Cam. He nodded, and she grimaced. “Smells like the watered-down version of Proom’s knock-out cocktail.”
“They wanted him alive,” Brody said, crouching down beside her. “Don’t touch it, Ashley.”
“Do I look like I’m touching it?” She could feel the muscles in her back strain against the tension as she held herself in check. Slowly, deliberately, she got to her feet.
“Three here. One in the alley. And gasoline.” There was the smoker, the skinny, nervous guy, and the one who liked Brut way too much. But they all smelled clean. Like antiseptic and rubber gloves, and that special little cocktail that had the hair on the back of Ashley’s neck rising. And they all smelled like gun oil.
“Sounds about right. Ian’s a big guy.” Brody stood, dusting off his hands. “And he knows what he’s doing. They’d want to send in three or four, to be safe. I told Ian,” he muttered, glaring at the crack in the wall, “to put that security system in.”
“It wouldn’t have done anything,” Ashley bit off.
“Police might’ve scared them off.”
“Who is ‘they’?” Cam asked. “Why would ‘they’ take Mr. Reese?”
“I can think of a couple of reasons. The bank across the street has a security camera. If they had a car in the alleyway, maybe it caught something.”
“Yeah, right,” Ashley said. It hadn’t; she’d lay money on it. He was too careful for that. She glared at the bloodstains, anger rippling through her with the long, hot burn of lava. He had taken Ian. Ian was her friend, and he had a life, and a family, and he was happy, and he had taken him. He took everything.
In a low voice, Ashley started, “I could…”
Brody leveled a look at her.
She ground the broken capsule underfoot, wanting to destroy something. “It’s a distinctive scent.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
No. She wasn’t. It was a stupid suggestion, and she wished she hadn’t made it. But there was Brody’s voice, in her head: You are not what they made you.
Ashley’s eyes barely flicked in Cam’s direction, enough to know he was watching her. “It’d help if I had something of Ian’s.”
Whatever Brody did, it was quick and it was silent, and when he was done, Ian’s door swung open easily. Ashley really had to ask him to teach her that trick. Typically she just went for the one-solid-kick approach, and it worked well for her so far, but she could see there were circumstances where a little more discretion could be useful.
“Shouldn’t the police be doing this?” Cam asked.
“Feel free to wait out here if you want,” Brody told him, ushering Ashley inside. “We could use a lookout.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?” Cam asked, following them.
“Yeah, right. ‘Cause the police will see this and find out I was here, and they’ll think what, exactly?” Ashley shot back.
“That you discovered the scene of a crime and contacted the proper authorities because your friend might be in danger.”
“Fine. You call them,” she snapped.
“But not right now, children. I’d prefer to handle this matter internally for the moment,” Brody said.
Ian lived in the apartment above his store. It was a studio, and tiny—made more so by the mess. The pizza boxes and beer cans had all made it to the recycling bin, but things like DVD cases, cast-off T-shirts, and a stack of Green Lantern graphic novels seemed to find homes wherever Ian set them down. Dirty clothes made puddles of scent on the floor, the couch, and—a hamper? He definitely didn’t buy that on his own. One guess there. Not even, when her scent was trailing all over the room. It was by the sink, the fridge, the couch, that soft, subtle mix of lavender water and something else. It was like an undertone to Ian’s, the way they blended together, the way they were so close—
Ashley looked at Brody. He was waiting on her.
She went to the hamper, up-ending the contents onto the floor. She snatched up the dirty clothes, holding them up close, trying to find the best one. Something he wore to the gym, something he slept in. Ashley chucked aside the spaghetti-stained blouse and pair of ladies jeans—from the smell of it, the doc came over for dinner every couple of nights—focused on a holey, gray T-shirt.
“Those…don’t look like his size,” Cam said, nodding to the blouse.
“Sister.” Ashley and Brody answered at the same time.
Cam kicked at an empty soda bottle. “Well, shit.”
Ashley shook out the shirt, took a deep breath. Another. Already she could track Ian’s scent as it came out of the store, slow and sluggish, with the sickly sweet tinge of drugs. Fainter in the alleyway, but no car was airtight, and already she could pick out the faint trail down Palm, towards the bridge out of town.
She looked up at Brody. “Okay.”
Outside, Ashley pulled the shirt on as Brody locked back up. “Cell phone,” Brody demanded. When she handed it over, he slapped both his and hers in Cam’s hands. “Tell Meg to stick to my schedule. She’ll know what to do. You’re going to have to cover for Ashley. Talk to Diana about that. Get Danny to help you, and Fast Pete if he’s back from his cousin’s wedding.” Ashley wasn’t sure what she looked like, but her expression had Brody grinning. “You really think I’m going to let you go off on your own?”
Ashley shrugged. She’d hoped not.
“First,” Brody said, catching hold of her collar when she would’ve run. He didn’t turn away from Cam. “I got another job for you, kid.”
Dr. MacNamara’s office was not yet open for business. Cam stood outside her door and called her work number four times before she picked up. “Dr. MacNamara, it’s Camron Scott. I need to talk to you. Brody sent me,” he added.
She met him outside. It was already getting warm, but she had every suit button buttoned and patterned stockings. “What happened?”
Cam had experience giving bad news. People rarely believed him, but he had experience. The best way was usually just to say it. “Ian Reese is missing. He left a note, saying there was a fight in his store last night, that he was injured, and that he headed to the hospital for treatment. Brody—” Cam paused and held out a hand for the doctor, who had gone pale as bone china. “Brody asked me to tell you to pack a bag and to go spend the weekend in Santa Barbara with your sister.”
The doctor didn’t respond for a second. “Missing.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ian is missing?”
“Yes, ma’am. He left a note, saying he was hurt and
that he had gone to the hospital. Brody called, but they don’t release that information to strange folk over the phone.”
“He didn’t call. If he was hurt he would’ve called.” She shook her head. “I, um, I need to call the hospital.” The words were distant.
Cam nodded. “I need to take your cell phone when you’re done.”
The doctor stared at him, glassy-eyed. “What?”
“You have to leave your cell phone. Brody’s orders. Brody said that you are going to miss your call with ‘him’ on Friday. That ‘he’ is going to call you at Allison’s on Monday after you miss the Friday call, and you’re supposed to tell ‘him’ that you packed in a hurry and forgot to bring your phone, but that Ashley was fine and here at your last meeting.” He was dying to ask who “he” was. “I’m also going to need a quick outline of Ashley’s schedule before you go.”
For a second the stunned look went out of the doctor’s eyes, and she focused sharply on Cam. “Where’s Ashley?”
“She went after Ian. Brody, too. Where’s your cell, Doctor?”
“Inside. My purse.” Dr. MacNamara waved a vague hand.
Cam found it on the desk and brought it out to her. When she didn’t move to take it, he fished through for her cell and pressed it into her hand. “Call the hospital. Then go home and pack a bag. Brody wants you off the island by nine.” Cam dug out her keys. “I’ll lock up.”
Ch. 12
A week passed.
Cam tried not to think about where they were, what they were doing. Things snuck in anyway. A LOCK CLICKING OPEN UNDER BRODY’S HANDS. ASHLEY CLOSING HER EYES TO SNIFF THE AIR, THEN FOCUSING IN ON A CLOSET. Things he tried not to think about—like DUCT TAPE, A LOT OF DUCT TAPE—because he couldn’t do anything to change them. Brody’d left behind his cell as well, and if Meg had another way of contacting him, which Cam suspected she did, she never said, and he never asked. Cam did his best not to think about that either, and only noticed that he’d begun to grind his teeth when the tension headaches kicked in.
It helped to have something to do. Keep to the schedule, Brody said, which apparently meant they needed the combined services of Meg, Danny, some guy named Fast Pete, and a couple of other people Cam hadn’t met before. Meg took custody of Brody’s phone and plane, kept the one with her while she flew the other on Brody’s regular jobs. She was away most of the day, and came home at night tired and quiet. They turned the TV on to reality shows that neither of them really watched and ate take-out three nights in a row.
Ashley’s phone was passed from hand to hand; Fast Pete would jog off with it in the morning, Danny grabbed it and headed out to the water once he got off work. When it wasn’t being raced around the island, Cam kept it. He made sure it got to Paco’s every other day, and to her bedside table at night.
He didn’t like that part. It felt like an invasion, going into her room when she wasn’t there. He didn’t like how empty and spare it felt, like a sanitarium, with the white, scuffed walls, the lack of posters or pictures, or anything personal. The only color was from a brightly polka-dotted comforter; Cam knew without having to ask that it was Meg’s doing. No dresser, either, just a small closet with—Christ, he had more clothes than that in his summer wardrobe. He had a summer wardrobe, and the thought made him uncomfortable.
He bought paint, and got Tyler to help him. Tyler bitched and moaned the whole way while he meticulously set out drop cloths and ran painter’s tape and convinced Cam to switch from a subdued blue-gray to a warm, mellow amber.
“She’s like your pet now or something?” Tyler asked, professionally running the wet roller along the wall.
“You ever been pushed out a window?” Cam replied mildly. They’d screwed the switch plates off first, and he was carefully painting around the exposed sockets.
Tyler laughed. “You know, I like you better when you’re mean. You lose that stick up your ass.”
“You would know.”
Tyler shrugged, rolling up some more paint. “Yeah. I’m an asshole, I know it.”
“But honest.” He was counting on it. Tyler looked at him, but Cam kept his face as blank as the wall in front of him.
“So…” Tyler turned back to his work. “She’s like your pet, she’s going to follow you everywhere from now on?”
“She’s my friend,” Cam said. “Which means, if you’re my friend, you have to put up with it.”
“Maybe I’m not your friend,” Tyler said. “Maybe I don’t want to be your friend. You’re stuck-up.”
That stopped Cam. “Am I?”
“Yeah.” Then Tyler shrugged. “Or maybe not, maybe you just act like it.” He rolled his eyes, sighing. “I guess we could give it a test run. Because it can’t go back to just me and the lovebirds. I mean, seriously—” he continued, gesturing with the paint roller “—it’s like all the time. It goes back to just the three of us and I’m—I’m just going to have to kill myself. I need a buffer.”
Cam smiled. “I promise. I’ll buff you.”
Later, when they were rolling up the plastic drop cloths, Cam finally asked, “Do you know why we’re doing this?”
“You tell me, it was your idea,” Tyler replied.
“You know what I meant.”
Tyler didn’t answer right away. He focused on shoving the tarp into a rough square. He set a paint can on top of it to keep it flat, and he and Cam started in on the next one. “You read comics?” Cam shook his head. “Okay, there goes my Supergirl reference. Plus, it was from the eighties, so you’d have to be one of Ian’s fanboys to get it. You know of them, right? Comics. Seen the X-Men movies? Weapon X? Didn’t Meg tell you any of this? I mean, you decided to come here.”
“She said that Ashley had gotten into trouble, and was sent here to get straightened out.”
In retrospect he should’ve thought about that, particularly after he realized Ashley could do a bit more than the average person. He wondered what kind of trouble it was; it had to be serious if there was someone out there tracking her cell phone.
Tyler shook his head. “No, that’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
Tyler tugged a paint-flecked hand through his hair. “All right—Danny wants to meet up at the pool tomorrow. We’ll go swimming.”
Cam raised an eyebrow.
“Just trust me, okay? ‘Cause we’re friends.”
Cam nodded. He could trust. For now. “All right.”
Tyler worked at the Sleep Away Budget Hotel, as a desk clerk, room cleaner, repairman, and any other job that needed to be done. His official title was Assistant to the Assistant Manager, and his job perks included free access to the pool, 75% off all Sleep Away rooms, and Pizza Party Fridays.
Cam had been a few times; with the summer season in full swing, the other three preferred the relatively empty pool to the beach crowds.
Today the place was packed, with so many people that Cam almost doubled-over, cross-eyed, from all the different threads tangling together. He had to linger at the back and suck in slow, deep breaths until Liz came pushing through the crowd to find him. “There’s a lot of people here,” he said, and congratulated himself on keeping his voice steady and calm. Also on not throwing up.
“Yeah, sorry. Danny’s got a big mouth and, uh—” She glanced around at the crowd and grinned. “Word travels fast. You need a hand? Or a minute?”
Cam shook his head, but Liz took his arm anyway as she lead him to the laughing, buzzing center of the crowd where Danny was holding court. From what Cam could tell, it was almost all townies. They were standing on the sidelines, with barely anyone actually in the water, and most of them not even in bathing suits.
As soon as Danny saw Cam, he bounced up off his plastic chair and waved his arms for silence. The roar faded to an excited buzz. “Laaaaaaaaaaaadies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Sneaky Pete, Fast Pete, and our various assorted other Petes! Let the contestants step forward!”
“What’s going on?” Cam shouted over the
cheers as Liz nudged him to the edge of the pool.
“We’re going in the pool. Whoever can hold their breath the longest underwater wins.”
Cam looked around at the throng of laughing, cheering people. “No, really.”
Liz smiled. “Just, play along, okay? For Danny. I promise, all will be revealed.”
Tyler elbowed his way up to them. “You know, we could just tell him. It’d be easier.”
“I agree,” Cam said.
Danny waved a finger at them. “Quiet, the two of you. And no peeking to see who the winner is,” he ordered.
For a moment Cam forgot about the noise and the people. “What?”
“You heard me. It’d be cheating.”
“You know—”
But the other people in bathing suits were already lined up around the pool, kids laughing and shoving as they balanced on the edge of the pool, and Danny was egging the crowd on to a loud countdown. Liz and Tyler each took an arm, and, when the countdown hit one, Cam sucked in a hurried breath as they jumped him into the pool.
Water and silence closed in over his head.
He focused on the sense of relief, and solitude, and used it to help pull himself down the side of the pool, hand over hand, to the bottom, and hung onto the last rung of a ladder. The others were better at this, they were already down there by the time Cam got steady. Danny had managed to stretch out along the bottom of the pool, looking more at home under the water than he did out of it.
They knew. He was an idiot—of course they knew. Everybody probably knew. Meg wouldn’t go shouting it from rooftops, but people probably asked why her nephew was moving in with her so suddenly, and Meg didn’t believe in hiding things. It was a trait Cam unfortunately shared. Lord knew everything would’ve been easier if he didn’t.
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