“I told you, I was there.”
He took another step and stopped, two feet from her. He looked into her eyes. Their gazes met, locked.
It was there, the connection, more powerful, a shocking surge through both of them. Sadie reached toward him.
He jerked back, away from her. His eyes weren’t tired now, they were angry. Angry like they had been when he smashed the mirrors. “In my head. It was you?”
She swallowed hard and tried to get past the anger, make him hear. “I want to help you, Ford. But I need to know some details.”
“It knows my name,” he said, rocking backward with an agonized sound somewhere between a moan and a laugh. “Of course. Of course it knows everything.”
“Please, if you would just—”
“Get away from me.” His tone was a knife slicing at her.
Sadie crossed her arms over her chest to keep from shaking, from crying. “The gun and the gloves. Where did you get them? Do you still have them?”
“Leave,” he said. His eyes seared her. “Turn around and leave here right now and do not come back or, I swear, I will kill you.”
“Ford, you have to listen to me. I’m—”
“Security!” he yelled.
“Don’t do this.”
“Get away from me.” His face was a mask of twisted pain. “Never come back.”
“Okay,” she said, turning to go. “Okay.” She started walking, then running, then sobbing. This is what a heart breaking feels like, she thought. This is it.
• • •
She stayed sitting in her car outside the hospital, staring into space, for the next hour. She was empty, completely spent. She had no idea where to go or what to do. She felt like she had burned every crucial bridge in her life that day. Mind Corps, poof! Pete, poof! Self-respect, poof! Poof poof poof! All up in smoke.
God, she was a fool. What had she expected him to do? To think?
Hi, you hate me, you put your head through five mirrors to make that point, so I was thinking…
She noticed a white van pull up in front of the hospital, but she didn’t really think about it until ten minutes later when visiting hours were over and Ford came out. Before Sadie could even get her door open, two guys in blue jumpsuits and ski masks had grabbed Ford, pitched him into the van, and taken off with him.
She veered into traffic after them, wishing that her red convertible was slightly less conspicuous on the streets of City Center. She almost lost them at an intersection when two other white vans turned between them, but she managed to pick her van out by a dent on the bumper—the plates were covered with mud. They followed a circuitous route, finally pulling up in front of the old downtown post office.
The façade looked like a neoclassical temple, and despite obvious signs of decay, its high arched ceiling still conveyed a regal air. There were towers of discarded cars inside and out, as though taking the place of the customary statues of gods and goddesses.
When the men in the blue jumpsuits dragged Ford out of the van he looked lifeless, but they didn’t carry him like a corpse, so Sadie assumed they’d beaten or drugged him, possibly both.
She slipped inside the building, behind a truck with no wheelbase, to watch. They left Ford slumped against a pile of tires and went back to the van, returning with another body. Willy’s.
It took all three men to drag him toward a green Chevelle and maneuver his bulk into the backseat. Once he was set, they started trying out different positions with Ford.
They weren’t wearing ski masks anymore, and she recognized all of them from her first day in Syncopy when Ford had played poker at the castle: the short guy with the red hair, the guy with the big ears, and the one with the slicked-back hair who had upset Linc. He seemed to be the leader, standing at a distance and studying the tableau they’d set up.
“Can you make him lean against the side of the car, Red?” he asked.
These were guys who knew Ford. Who seemed to like him at the Castle. Yet they thought nothing of beating him or—whatever they were now doing. How was that possible?
“Orders are to make it look like an accident, not a photo shoot,” Red protested, moving Ford around like a rag doll.
If the Pharmacist was dead, right there in the backseat, who were they taking orders from?
The one with the big ears said, “Maybe we leave him bending in at the window, like he was giving Willy here one last—”
“That’s enough, Friend,” the guy with the slicked-back hair interrupted. “What about putting him on his face?”
“That’s good,” Red agreed. “Then if we start the fire in the backseat, and sort of sweep it out and around, as if he accidentally poured fluid over here—”
Like a play, Sadie thought, feeling chilled. Making it look like Ford killed Willy and then died in the fire he lit to eliminate the body. A little elaborate, but guaranteed to make the papers.
When they’d set the scene, two of them left, and the one with the slicked-back hair lit a match and dropped it in the back with Willy. He crossed himself, kicked Ford in the ribs, and jogged after the others.
Sadie didn’t wait for the van to pull out before she sprinted to the old Chevelle.
There was lighter fluid everywhere, so once the fire caught it would move fast. The backseat was halfway on fire, and she caught a whiff of something that smelled like meat on the barbecue. Willy, she thought, and gagged.
You don’t have time for that, she told herself. She flipped Ford onto his back and tried to pull him by the legs as the first offshoot of the fire began to spread, following a vein of lighter fluid.
He was really heavy, and not moving. There was no way she was going to be able to carry him, and there was no way to drag him across the debris-covered floor.
He let out low moaning noises, and his eyes were partly open, but only the whites showed. Definitely drugged.
“Ford, can you hear me?” she whispered, getting her face next to his.
No response.
“Ford, we have to get you out of here.”
Nothing.
Her head was resting against his chest, and through his shirt she made out his heartbeat, faint but regular. It was so different hearing it here on the outside than in his head. There it was organic, a familiar part of life. Here it seemed like something that went on its own, something impersonal. Everything was so different on the outside. He was so different. So much more opaque.
“Ford,” she whispered to him. “I promise I’ll leave you alone, never see you again. Just please, help me get you home.”
Still nothing.
“Ford!” She sat up, her hands gripping his shoulders, putting everything she had into it, all her anger and fear and longing and hope and love. “Ford Winter!”
So softly she almost missed it, he whispered, “Present.”
She laughed through her tears and hugged him. “Good boy,” she said. He was the same. The exact same guy she’d lost her heart to.
He was still only half conscious, but with his help she managed to get him to his feet. He leaned heavily on her as they stumbled forward, their progress slow and awkward. He seemed limbless and nerveless and—
The room contracted and they were thrown forward when the Chevelle exploded in a hot white ball of flames.
Chunks of burning metal showered them, one of them hitting him on the shoulder, but he barely noticed as they struggled back to their feet.
The fire was higher now, the air thick with smoke, and two of the columns had caught, sending flames licking at the roof.
“Almost there,” she told him.
“Hoooooerr,” he answered.
“What?”
“Hot in here,” he said and started pulling at his shirt.
“Not now,” she said. “Let’s get outside and—”
The light turned blinding white as another car exploded. The shock wave sent them sprawling forward. He braced himself against the carcass of a jeep but pulled his hand away fast and stared at the palm.
“Burning,” he said, holding it out to her.
Was that a siren?
“We need to go faster,” Sadie urged.
They were five feet from the door when a loud rumble shook the walls and floor. With a crash the ceiling began to collapse, folding in on itself like a flaming origami crane.
Using strength she didn’t know she had, Sadie hauled Ford those last five feet and pushed him onto the ground, throwing her body over him. The entire roof caved in, sending burning chunks of wood and metal and glass and billowing clouds of smoke rolling toward them.
Now there were definitely sirens.
Half dragging, half pushing, she got him to her car and into the passenger seat. She stumbled around to the driver’s seat and floored it. A minute later she saw the fire trucks in her rearview mirror, heading to the blaze.
Her phone rang, he mother calling to say that she’d forgotten to leave a note but her father was insisting they keep their dinner plans with the Hamongs. “We made them before we knew you’d be back, but of course if you want we can cancel—”
Sadie laughed. “That’s fine.”
“Have you eaten?” Her mother’s voice solicitous on speakerphone.
“Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.”
When she hung up Ford muttered, “Should have… said… having BBQ.”
Sadie stared at him for a moment, shocked, and then began to laugh. Once she started she had a hard time stopping, as though the only other alternative was crying. She glanced over at Ford, and he had his eyes closed, but he was smiling.
“Tinkly bells,” he said. “I’ve heard… before.”
“What?” she asked.
“Your laugh.” He tapped his head. “In here.”
Sadie felt like her body was an ice-cold rushing stream. “You heard me laugh?”
But he was asleep again.
Without consciously knowing how, she drove to his house. He was still unsteady, so she helped him up the stairs and piloted him onto the couch. That part, at least, was much easier than it had been the last time.
The pockets of his jacket hung heavily, and reaching into them she pulled out a gun and a pair of gloves. She felt alternating currents of hot and cold through her body. Were they his? Or had they been planted by the guys trying to stage his fiery death?
It didn’t matter, she decided. She would take them with her. If he needed to be charged with murder, all she had to do was testify. But why was someone working so hard to tie him to Willy’s death. And who?
It was strange, being in the apartment like this. She knew where everything was, what drawer had silverware, where the scissors were kept, as though it were her house. It was completely familiar but it also looked different than it had when she was in Ford’s head. It was a little bigger, and maybe even a little nicer. As though his shame even colored what he saw.
That had to be true for everything, she realized. There was no real way to be objective because emotions always tinted perspective. She was in the kitchen as she thought this, and the force of it made her sit down.
For the first time she saw exactly how far she’d come from the girl who believed “I think, therefore I am.” There was no thinking without emotion, she knew now. And the more you tried to keep emotion at bay, the greater and more widespread the impact. It bled into every aspect of the mind in unpredictable ways.
Scribbling her name and number on a piece of paper, she shut off the kitchen light and went back into the living room. Ford’s breathing was even and less labored now. She could make out his profile against the cushion, and her heart ached. She’d never seen him asleep before, from the outside, and it surprised her how young he looked. All the tension and anger was gone from his face, and he seemed just like a little boy.
She couldn’t help it. She reached down and kissed his forehead.
His arms came around her, dragging her toward him, and for a moment she thought he was going to yell at her again. But he was sleeping and he just held her next to him, brushing her hair from under his nose and feathering his lips against her temple.
“Mmm,” he said, holding her tighter, and Sadie melted against him. She knew he had no idea what he was doing, who he was holding. She was fairly sure if he’d realized it was her he would have let go. But she (almost) didn’t care. Because being in his arms felt more extraordinary than she had imagined.
“Relax,” he whispered sleepily. “Heart racing.”
Don’t let him open his eyes, Sadie thought. Let me be whoever he’s dreaming about just a little longer.
Closing her eyes to concentrate on slowing down her heart, she nestled against him, her cheek resting on his chest, her legs twined with his, toes touching. It was the most perfect feeling in the world, and when he whispered, “Amazing,” she thought her heart was going to shatter.
Thin early sunlight was filtering through the curtains when she opened her eyes. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but it was too long.
Tucking the paper with her name and number on it in the pocket of his jeans, she untangled herself from his arms and slid away. She wanted to turn and give him another kiss, but she couldn’t risk it. She tiptoed to the door and let herself out.
On the landing she looked at her phone. Six fifteen. She could just make it home before her parents woke up, if she didn’t get lost.
She ran down the two sets of stairs, onto the street, and was unlocking the door of her car when the hair on the back of her neck prickled, like she was being watched. She swung around quickly, but the street was deserted.
A movement in the window of the Winters’ house caught her eye. She looked up, and her gaze met Lulu’s.
The next moment the curtain had fallen back, and the girl was gone. She won’t tell, Sadie thought. Hoped. Please let her not tell anyone.
Sadie just had time to pull the covers up over her clothes, the scent of smoke and Ford still on her skin, when her mother peeked in to check on her.
CHAPTER 32
Sadie was at the tail end of dreaming that she was at a dance where everyone was wearing BIGFOOT SAVES T-shirts and yelling for the DJ to turn up the heat when her phone rang. Of course, she thought, still in the dream as she reached for it. The answer is safekeeping.
“I think you saved my life last night,” Ford’s voice said.
Sadie was immediately wide awake. Breathe, she told herself. Swallow.
“Hello?” he said.
Talk. “I guess I did. Yes.”
He exhaled. “I dream about you. You probably know that.”
Sadie was gripping the phone so hard her fingers ached. “No. I could never see your dreams. Daydreams, yes, but not dream dreams.” Did she say too much? Did that sound stupid? Oh, god, what if it—
“That’s why I was so shocked when you walked into Mason’s room,” he said. “It was like having—”
“Your dream girl?” Sadie supplied.
“I was going to say ‘ghost,’ but yeah, something from your imagination walk into your life.”
Ghost. Of course. “I imagine it’s weird.”
“That’s one word. But—can I see you? I’d like to see you.” He suddenly sounded as nervous as she felt. “I have some questions.”
Sadie remembered her own dream. Figuring that whoever had tried to burn Ford to a crisp the night before would assume they’d been successful, at least for a little while, she said, “Meet me at Bucky’s in an hour. Where the bedroom used to be. And bring the Bigfoot bill.”
“How do you—right, never mind. Bucky’s in the bedroom with Bigfoot in an hour.”
• • •
Sadie couldn’t recall ever feeling this anxious before. Being back in her body made her acutely aware of how much she had dreaded situations outside her control, hated the vulnerability of not knowing how something would go, the risk that she’d mess up. That’s why she studied so much, worked so hard at debate—to afford herself as much control as possible.
But there was nothing to pra
ctice here. No way to prepare.
She went straight to the room with the radiator and found Ford already there, holding the little black kitten.
“Look who I found,” he said. He was wearing his blue checked shirt. “She looks a little hungry, but all I can find is hot chocolate mix and beef jerky.”
Already every single thing Sadie had thought of to say was wrong. “Bucky was pretty amazing” was what came out.
“Yep.”
She had the feeling that they were both avoiding each other’s eyes. There was so much she wanted to tell him, a lifetime of things, but there wasn’t time. Willy’s murder was the important thing, the whole point. You need to figure out what happened. What he did. Who he is. Ask about Willy.
Instead she said, “That day at the icehouse, you must have been terrified.” You wouldn’t be procrastinating because you’re afraid of what you might find out, would you? she chided herself.
His eyes came slowly to hers. “How do you know about that day?”
“You think about it all the time. About the icehouse and what you were all going to do with your fortunes. About the rope.”
Ford frowned.
“Tell me what happened,” she coaxed.
His eyes focused on something far off. “My memory is sort of hazy. James had heard about this old-time schooner with a bunch of gold on it that sank around there. He was convinced that if we waited for the thaw, someone else would get our treasure. So we pooled our money and rented an ice-diving rig. James did the dive, and I let go of the rope. But it was fine in the end.”
“That’s not what happened,” Sadie said.
Now his gaze came to her. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“No. It’s just not what happened.” She paused, putting it together. “You’re the one who made the dive, and James is the one who let go of the rope. Without it you couldn’t find the hole you dove through, and you were trapped under the ice. You had no idea which way was up or down, which direction to look for an exit. I know how it feels to be trapped like that.”
Ford shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The beer can saved you.”
Minders Page 30
