“Then she does.” Owens tone was cold.
Katie gasped. Gene, his face flushed with anger, said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Owens ignored them. His focus was on Izzy. “You want to ask questions? Fine, keep at it. But if your daughter dies, it will be your fault.”
Gene tried to get between Izzy and the old man. “Stop it!”
Owens shifted away from Gene and continued his attack. “Face it, Izzy. If Natalie dies, it will be because of you.” He paused. “You will have failed as a mother.”
The old man’s words had pushed her past her limits. She balled up her fist and punched him.
When she hit the man, her hand exploded in pain—a pain that was so acute she thought she’d broken every bone in it. She cried out and yanked her hand back, holding it close to her chest. Looking down, she flexed her fingers, expecting shards of broken bone to dig into her flesh. But, other than red knuckles, her hand appeared fine. In fact, the pain was fading rapidly.
Gene rounded on Owens. “What kind of shit was that?”
“She wanted to know,” Owens said. “She wanted to know how I stopped that creature. I could’ve told her, but feeling is believing.” His voice softened. “I know it hurt, Izzy. I apologize. You needed to be mad enough to hit me. I couldn’t think of any other way.”
Izzy gaped at her hand. The pain—it had been agony. “You did that?”
Gene and Katie said in unison, “Did what?”
“Pain,” Izzy muttered. She still couldn’t believe how it had hurt. “Like nothing I’d ever felt before. I thought I’d shattered my hand. Then it just stopped.”
Gene glowered at Owens, obviously still upset. “I don’t get it.”
“Pain,” Owens said plaintively. “When I grabbed the creature, it started to feel pain. As I kept hold of it, the pain intensified, building every second. If I’d held on long enough, it would likely have died.”
Izzy peered up at Owens. “Do you—do you also feel that pain?”
Owens hesitated, then nodded.
“And as it grew?” she went on. “As you wrestled with that creature, the pain you felt—that I just felt—it multiplied?”
“Yes,” Owens replied.
“My God” Izzy whispered. “This pain, is it always there?”
Owens finally looked away. “Not to such an extent, but, yes, it is.”
Izzy heard Katie stifle a cry. Gene was shaking his head in horror.
“What happened to you,” she asked him. “Why are you being punished like this?”
“There’s more,” Owens said. He still couldn’t meet her gaze. “You’re not putting it together.”
“Then explain it to me.”
Owens struggled for a moment. He swallowed hard. “Two days ago. We were in the forest, looking for signs of your daughter. You’d just found the guitar pick. Then—”
“Stanley,” Gene said, interrupting Owens. “He attacked you. You two were wrestling with that gun. Then he collapsed.”
“There was nothing I could do,” Owens said. “The pain might have triggered his heart attack.”
Realization hit Izzy like another punch to the gut. “You mean….”
Owens nodded. “If he dies, it will be my fault.”
Chapter 23
J.J. Sallinen pulled into the parking lot of the Hiawatha Trails Motel, his windshield wipers slapping away big, fluffy snowflakes. He nosed his Dodge Charger into an empty parking spot near the office. His dad’s Benz wasn’t there, but he spotted the white Silverado parked near the end of the lot. An inch or two of snow covered it. No one was standing around waiting for him, so he decided to sit for a moment and let warm air from the car’s heater wash over him. He cranked up the radio. The Stone Temple Pilots sang about digging a hole to China.
Before leaving Kevin in her care, he’d given Brittany Parsons some fast talk and slick half-truths about what had happened these last twenty-four hours. He’d told her if anyone were to call and ask, she should play dumb. No one, and that included his father, was to know that she had Kevin. He’d thanked her again and said he hoped to be back before evening. Bewildered, she’d simply nodded her head and went to sit with Kevin.
After shrugging into his varsity jacket, J.J. had stepped over to the couch. Kevin’s vacant expression hadn’t changed. J.J. had reached out and mussed up Kevin’s hair. His brother shot him a quick smile. On an impulse, J.J. leaned down and kissed the top of his brother’s head. This change in Kevin had brought to light an understanding about himself that he’d been conveniently ignoring: so long as Kevin had been blissfully unaware, it had been easy for J.J. to blame his brother for everything. But now he had seen something different. There was a scared little boy buried deep inside Kevin, a scared little boy who had claimed to know things, who had begged for help. Kevin had looked lost, confused, and desperately lonely.
Maybe he and his brother were more alike than he’d ever imagined.
J.J. saw movement outside the car. Turning, he saw his father’s scowling face filling the window, snow dusting his head and shoulders, making it look like he had the world’s worst case of dandruff. J.J. started to laugh—then stopped. He looked closer. There was an angry red line running down his dad’s left cheek, like he’d been cut.
J.J. killed the ignition. He wasn’t fully out of the car before his dad was in his face.
“Where’s your brother?”
“I told you. This one’s just between you and me.” He pointed to the cut. “What happened to you?”
“Never mind that,” his dad answered. “You were supposed to bring Kevin so we could keep him safe.”
“That may have been your plan,” said J.J.. “But it wasn’t mine. Anyway, Kevin’s fine. No one will get to him where he is.”
His dad’s scowl deepened. “I don’t suppose you’re ready to share that little bit of information?”
“If I told everyone who asked, he wouldn’t stay safe, would he?”
“That’s not funny. He’s in danger.”
“Yeah, I’m beginning to realize that. Only, I’m not too sure who’s the bigger threat.” A shiver ran through J.J.. “It’s freezing out here. Can’t we take this inside?”
“Fine. Follow me. Third room from the end. Number eight.” His dad turned toward the motel.
He put a hand on his dad’s arm. “Just you and me, remember.” He nodded at the Silverado. “Your friend’s not invited.”
His dad shook his arm free. “He’s not my friend. And don’t forget, you wanted to be part of this. Well, welcome to my world.” He strode off toward the room.
J.J. didn’t like the idea of two against one, but what else could he do? Go back and think of a Plan B? If Kevin was in so much danger, maybe Chief Morris would be a better—
“Jack Junior,” his dad shouted from ahead. “Move it, boy!”
“Coming,” J.J. answered, thoughts of Chief Morris pushed from his mind as he hurried after his father.
The snow thinned as he approached the motel. J.J. could make out a figure sitting in a chair outside his dad’s room. It resolved into Jimmy’s dad, his jacket bundled around him. His eyes were half-closed, a vague frown on his ruddy face.
“Hey, Mr. C.,” J.J. said when they’d reached the door. “How you holding up?”
Mr. Cain turned his wet gaze up to J.J.. There was a peculiar hollowness in his expression that J.J. found unsettling; it was like grief had eaten the man up from the inside until there was nothing left but some skin and a couple of marbles for eyes. Jimmy’s dad drew a trembling hand across his mouth.
“He did it,” Mr. Cain said, his voice weak. “I know it. I feel it. What I did, I did for Jimmy. I had to. I’m his dad. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Understand what?” said J.J., puzzled by the man’s words.
His dad opened the room’s door and said, “Never mind him. He’s just hung-over. Come on, let’s get inside.”
Before J.J. could move away, Mr. Cai
n reached out and gripped his hand. “Please. Tell me you understand. I need to know it’s all right.”
“It…it’s okay. I understand.” J.J. didn’t know what else to say.
Mr. Cain released J.J.’s hand and took a swig of his beer. “Remember to stay out of the woods, boy.”
“What does that—?”
“Inside,” his dad snapped from the doorway. “Now.”
J.J. left Mr. Cain alone with his beer and his grief. When he stepped through the doorway, he was greeted by a blast of hot air; it must have been near eighty in the room. He could hear the steady dripping of a leaky faucet coming from the bathroom on his left. Ahead of him, darkness grew at the edges of a shabby bedroom—someone had drawn shades, keeping the daylight out, and a solitary lamp threw off light so weak it died before reaching the yellowed walls. Two small end tables flanked twin beds covered with rumpled sheets. A long dresser, its wood veneer chipped in several places, squatted along one wall. A rifle rested ominously against it. Across the room sat an oval table; its veneer matched that of the dresser and was equally abused. There were two chairs set by the table. One was empty. In the other, a man wearing a black pullover and jeans looked at him and grinned. It was the creepiest smile J.J. had ever seen.
Silverado Man’s gaze shifted to Jack. “Missing a son, aren’t we?”
Jack removed his coat and laid it on the bed. Then he sat down next to it. “He didn’t bring Kevin. Apparently, he thinks he can protect him better than we can.”
J.J. stated to protest. Surprisingly, Silverado Man beat him to it.
“Ease up, Jack. The kid’s only doing what he thinks is best.” The man gestured to the empty chair. “Have a seat, J.J.. Take a load off, as we used to say.” He held his hand out. “Darryl Webber. Pleased to finally meet you.”
Walking slowly across the room, J.J. slid out of his varsity jacket and draped it over the back of the empty chair. Reluctantly, he shook Webber’s hand and then sat down. “This was supposed to be between my dad and me, you know. Just the two of us—alone.”
Webber kept that creepy smile pointed at him. “Your dad tells me you’re a football player. Pretty talented one, too. What position?”
“Corner,” said J.J. tersely, wondering what this had to do with anything. “Sometimes free safety.”
“Ahh, excellent. So you’re used to reading your opponent, taking in the big picture pretty quickly?”
“Yeah, I guess. Look, do you think my dad and me could have a few minutes—?”
“Because I want to make sure you can see the big picture of what’s happening now.” Webber was still grinning, but now there was no humor in his voice. “Your brother’s life may depend on it.”
“That’s what doesn’t make any sense,” J.J. said. “He’s only a kid. What kind of threat could he be? Why would someone want to hurt him?”
Webber sat back in his chair. J.J. caught a slight wince run across the man’s face. “Why did 9/11 happen? Or the British subway bombing? Or the killings in Jakarta? Those people died for what? They weren’t a threat, but they’re still dead. You never know for sure what people are thinking, or how they’re going to distort the truth to fit their beliefs. The fact is, Bart Owens thinks your brother’s a threat. Should we ignore that danger? Are you willing to risk your brother’s life on it?”
J.J. nudged his chin at the Remington on the dresser. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”
From his seat on the bed, his dad said, “What are we supposed to protect Kevin with, a butter knife and a can of Nigger-B-Gone?”
“Jesus, Dad. What is it with you?”
“Owens is trying to take my son,” Jack replied flatly. “That puts him several notches below ‘African-American’.”
“The rifle is needed,” said Webber, “because the other side has guns. Bart Owens has conned your Chief of Police into helping him. That gives him a lot of leverage. She has the power of the law behind her.” He leaned forward, his expression intense. “I’ll give you an example: Yesterday, your dad and I went to your house to get Kevin. With Owens out of jail, we needed to move immediately. When we got there, we saw people moving around inside. So we called the cops. Figured that was the right thing to do. We were wrong. When we got inside, we found Owens and Morris. Her officers didn’t react, of course. She’s one of the ‘good guys,’ right?” Webber licked his lips. “Chief Morris opened fire on her own men. Blew one away and seriously messed up the other.”
Stunned, J.J. turned to his dad. Jack nodded. “She killed Carlton Manick. Shot him right through the throat. That Detective? Billick? Took one in the shoulder. He was lying on the floor when we ran out of there.”
“So, people are dead or dying,” Webber continued. “And guess what? We’re not done yet. Owens won’t stop until he has your brother, and if Chief Morris is willing to fire on her own men, do you think she’d hesitate one second before unloading on us?” The man shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but personally, I feel better having some firepower of our own.”
Confused—and a little frightened—by what the two men were saying, J.J. hesitated. The steady drip drip drip of the leaky bathroom faucet seemed to keep time with his thinking.
“Mrs. Morris shooting her own cops,” J.J. wondered aloud. He thought back to the times he’d met Nat’s mom. Cold-blooded killer wasn’t a phrase he’d use to describe her. “No, that’s too…out there. I can’t see her doing something like that.”
His dad rolled his eyes and muttered, “I can’t believe I’ve raised an idiot.”
“Quit with the names,” Webber snapped at Jack, and J.J. marveled when his dad closed his mouth. Then to J.J., Webber said, “Fair enough. Call the hospital. See if that detective’s there. Use your cell.”
J.J. had been thinking the same thing. Their story seemed so outrageous it could easily be a bluff. After a quick wireless search for the hospital’s number, J.J. called. It only took a few seconds to confirm that the detective was still in the ER.
“Satisfied?” Webber asked, one eyebrow arched in a question.
“I—this all seems so crazy,” replied J.J. as he struggled to make sense of this new information. “Only three days ago, everything was fine.”
“Things changed,” nodded Webber. “And not for the better. Br’er Rabbit’s put a tar baby in the middle of your town, son. And the more anyone struggles with it, the more he’s stuck to it. It’s snared your Police Chief, that bartender fellow, Vincent—and your girlfriend.”
“Katie? She’s part of this?”
Webber nodded again. “Afraid so. That’s why we want to move fast. If we can get Kevin out of here, then Owens will follow. Your girlfriend and the others will have lost their usefulness. He’ll let them go, unharmed, and move on.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, shook one out, and lit it. “Your brother’s the key,” he said, blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth. “We need him so we can end this.”
“We’re the ones who can protect Kevin,” his dad said. “Us, not just you. So you need to get with the program and tell us where your brother is.” He smiled. “You wanted to be part of this. Here’s your chance.”
J.J. rubbed his hands on his thighs. He was so confused. He’d come here wanting to prove to his dad that he meant something, that he mattered. He had Kevin. He knew things. About Kevin. About Natalie.
Wait a minute.
J.J. put his hands up. Focused his attention on his dad. “You’re the one with photos of Natalie. They’re in your desk, like—like some kind of treasure or something. I mean, that’s sick. Yet you still want me to believe Kevin will be safer with you.” He turned to Webber. “How stupid do you think I am?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake—” his dad began, but Webber quieted him with a look.
“I’m trying to be patient here,” Webber said softly. “I know you want to protect your brother. I get that. I’m cool with it—I have a sister, myself. But the fact is Owens….” Webber’s voice trailed off, his eyes gr
owing unfocused, like he was no longer paying attention. After a few seconds, he blinked. His face grew hard. “I’ll be right back. Don’t leave. We’re not through yet.” He stood, grabbed a jacket and started across the room.
Jack said, “What’s wrong?”
Webber left without answering.
J.J. shook his head. Then to his dad, he said, “What’re you doing hanging with that guy? Can’t you see there’s something wrong with him? Jesus, the man’s a walking ad for America’s Most Wanted.”
“He’s trying to do a job—an important one.”
“Really? Was killing Jimmy and Natalie part of his ‘important job’? And what about Katie? I guess killing her mom was part of the job, too?”
“I do what I have to. I don’t expect you to understand. You’re in way over your head as it is.”
J.J. laughed bitterly. “Then you tell me where Kevin is. You tell me what’s so special about him. Hell, why don’t you tell me anything important? Because as far as I can see, Webber’s the one in charge.” He sighed. “You know what I think? I think you don’t know shit. You’re the one who’s in over your head.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, you—”
The door burst open. Webber stalked into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. He stood there a moment, shoulders hunched, fists clenched, melting snow dripping from his long, lank hair and the end of his sharp nose. The dim light cast angry shadows across his face, giving him a ghoulish appearance. Hard eyes searched the room. They briefly regarded Jack before sliding over to J.J.. Webber’s brows slowly drew together, knotting his forehead. A sneer creased his face as he glared at J.J.. Whatever had happened, the man was seriously pissed. He crossed the room. When he was close enough, he grabbed two fists full of J.J.’s shirt and yanked the boy to his feet.
Shoving J.J. until his back slammed into a wall, Webber said, “I’m done fucking around, kid. This is your last chance. Where’s that little shit brother of yours?”
“What the—!” yelled J.J. “Get your goddamn hands off me!”
Forever Man Page 22
