A Change Of View (Northern Lights Book 2)

by Freya Barker

  The side door is also still firmly locked, but still I peek through the windows to see if anyone’s inside. This is really weird and I’m starting to question my decision not to have Matt wait with me.

  Unless...I look toward the dock, and as if by rote, start walking in that direction.

  The wind is stronger, the closer I get to the water’s edge and the only thing I see out on the lake is a loon about twenty feet from my dock, ducking under to fish. Nobody else in their right mind would be out there right now. At least not for fun.

  On the off-chance perhaps Henry’s fallen in the water, I walk the length of the dock, up one side and down the other, checking the water lapping against the sides. No sign of him.

  Weird.

  Perhaps I should’ve checked his car. I never even looked inside. God knows if he’s had a heart attack or a stroke, and needs help.

  I rush back up the trail to the house and round the building to the front. It’s hard to see inside from a distance, but the closer I get, the clearer it becomes that there is no one inside that car. What I do see lying on the passenger seat is a roll of drawings.

  Goddammit, Henry. Where the hell are you?

  I pull open the passenger door of the Jeep to grab my phone, only to find it died somewhere between the lodge and here. Wonderful. I slam the car door shut and with my keys in hand, walk over to the restaurant. The phones downstairs may be out of commission, but the landline beside my bed upstairs should still work.

  Inside, sheltered from the wind, it’s surprisingly quiet. Hollow even, as I make my way through the now empty space to the house beyond. It’s better once I get upstairs: no sound echoing off the walls.

  I round the bed and pick the handheld from its base, but there’s no dial tone when I try calling. Another dead phone. Exasperated, I toss it on the bed and swing around to look out the window. My bedroom faces the back of the property and the views from up here are beautiful. Looking out now, I notice that from up here, I can see the property from a different vantage point.

  I hit every window up here, scanning the property below for any signs of Henry, but I don’t see anything. Nothing either from the spare bedroom window, overlooking the front, and I’m starting to wonder if I wouldn’t be better off just driving into town to get help, or wait at the end of the driveway for Matt to come back around. He should have collected Charlotte by now.

  Decided on a course of action, I take one last look over the property below when my eye catches on the laundry shed.

  The door to the shed is open a crack. That’s odd. I’m pretty sure it was locked, along with every other door, but it’s always possible one of the guys left it open at some point. I know they stored some tools in there while they were working on the roof.

  Heading downstairs, I notice it getting a little darker outside. Clouds are moving in just as the sun is setting. We were warned we might get some thunderstorms tonight. I just hope they hold off until we’re all safely home. Roar included.

  I lock the door, and step on the gravel, hearing it crunch under my feet as I make my way over the shed. One day soon, all this dirty, dusty gravel will be smooth asphalt. I have a smile on my face when I place my hand on the frame and call inside.

  “Henry? You in there?”

  I stick my head around the door and reach out to flick on the light switch.

  “Jesus, Henry,” I rush to the crumpled form of the older man on the floor. “Henry, are you okay?”

  The sound of a door slamming shut has me spin around.

  “Not exactly. I’m afraid Mr. Kline was unable to keep up his end of what could have been a mutually beneficial bargain, Ms. Talbot. He had every opportunity but sadly failed to execute, so I was left with no choice but to execute him.”

  I can’t breathe.

  I’m on the floor of my shed, sitting beside a dead man, and a gun is pointed at my head.

  Fate, or karma, or whatever the hell it is that’s been screwing with my life, really fucking went all out on this one.

  Roar

  “Doyle!”

  I can hear my name called but I can’t seem to move.

  I’m not even sure what happened. One minute we’re doing cleanup, taking down a couple of tall pines that sparked a fire north of the firebreak and the next I’m pinned to the ground.

  “Doyle,” Rick says, his face floating in and out of my vision.

  “What?” is all I manage to get out.

  “Stay put, you lucky bastard. We’re going to lift this sucker off you and then we’ll see what the damage is. Can you hang in there?”

  I try to nod but my helmet is restricting my movements. I instinctively try to wiggle my toes, successfully I think, and next my fingers, also with positive results. The heavy smoke from moments ago is starting to dissipate, and I see a trunk about three feet in diameter is keeping me pinned at the bottom of a small gully. I’m soaking wet and I’m having a hard time breathing.

  “What happened?” I try again.

  “You had a burning tree land on you, ya moron. Fucking luck of the Irish had you land in a gully full of runoff water, bought us enough time to douse the fucking torch laying on top of you before you turned into bacon crisp. Fucking shamrock up your arse.”

  “The fire?”

  “She’s controlled, my friend. It worked.”

  I lay my head back and stare straight up, through the curling drifts of smoke to the darkening sky above, where only one single star is visible.

  Polaris—the North Star.

  THIRTY-TWO

  The longest night of my life lasts only a second if she’s on the other side.

  Leelo

  “You took long enough,” the man, leaning his back against the door says, right before he takes a step forward and the light from the small window catches him across the face.

  “You’re the developer.”

  I remember seeing that baby face before. Brian...something. Roar chased him off.

  “You could call me that. My boss considers me the last line of attack. I’m only called in when all else seems to fail, as it has done in this case.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, what case?”

  “It doesn’t usually come to this, I want you to know. Mostly some well-executed pressure is enough, often using local talent, and I’m able to procure my boss his next pet project. Unfortunately, our local associates here in Wawa have not fared so well. In fact, as you well know, Mr. Thompson is currently in jail awaiting trial, and our Mr. Kline here became too much of an albatross around our necks.” I watch as the young thug starts pacing from side to side, but the gun never wavers. “My boss is not a patient man, Ms. Talbot, and it is in my best interests to keep him happy. He’s had his eye on this property for as long as your dear uncle was in the nursing home. Mr. Kline assured him the beneficiary in his will—that would be you, Ms. Talbot—would be eager to unload it upon his death. I simply took it upon myself to help matters along.”

  I can’t help my shocked gasp, when the reality of his words hits.

  “You killed my uncle?” I watch in disbelief as he smiles and shakes his head at me dismissively.

  “No need for drama, Ms. Talbot. I simply added a little extra to his medication to help him from his suffering.” He waves it off like it’s nothing, and that is almost more terrifying than sitting on a damp floor next to a corpse having a gun waved in your face. Brian...whatever, just keeps on talking. “It was fast and painless. But you, Ms. Talbot, have been an even bigger obstacle. I haven’t quite decided whether it is stupidity or sheer tenacity that keeps you coming back, but I’m afraid we’re done trying to coax you into making the right decision. I will make the decision for you. My boss will be extremely appreciative when the property unexpectedly comes available, due to a second unfortunate death in the family. I’m sure, under such horrendously sad circumstances, your darling children will be eager to grab the first decent offer they receive and readily leave the Whitefish Motel in their rearvie
w mirror.”

  I’m listening to his words, almost frozen at the almost polite way he tells me he’s about to kill me, but I’m also counting his steps, trying to find his rhythm as he paces from side to side. If I get even the slightest opportunity to distract him enough and get that barrel out of my face, I’m gonna try for the door. He’s not letting me walk away, and I sure as hell am not going to make it easy on him.

  Mere seconds later such an opportunity presents itself, but at an expense much greater than I would ever have been willing to pay.

  Just as Brian...whatever his name is, moves away from the door, it slams open.

  “Mom!” Matt cries out when he sees me on the floor.

  “Watch out!” I try to warn him, launching myself at the man who now has the gun pointed at my son, but it’s already to late. I see the flash of the barrel an instant before I hear the bang, just as I slam into his body at full force.

  I don’t know what drives me to continue fighting, using every fucking ounce of my overweight body to keep the much slighter man from turning the weapon on me. He’s strong, though, much stronger, with a similar desperation feeding him. I try to resist, but he manages to flip me on my back, straddles my chest, and pins my arms down with his knees. Then he sits up, and calmly aims the gun at my forehead.

  Nothing left for me to do but close my eyes and be grateful my kids know I love them, Roar knows I love him, and my father waiting for me on the other side.

  Roar

  “Please try again,” I plead with Rick, who is in the ambulance with me en route to the small hospital in Wawa. Initially, there was talk of airlifting me to the larger facility in Sault Ste. Marie, to be on the safe side, but that was quickly nixed with Rick’s support, who is a licensed EMT himself. Smoke inhalation at this point is my biggest problem. My ribs might be bruised, but nothing has punctured my lungs, and thanks to landing in a gully of water, the burns I sustained to my chest and upper arms appeared to be mostly second grade. Stuff our local clinic can easily handle.

  My main concern now is Leelo hearing through the grapevine that a local firefighter is down, and thinking the worst, instead of being calmly told that I’ll be fine in a couple of days at most.

  “I’ve tried, man. I’m not getting through.”

  “Call Bill. He can go by and tell her. Bring her to the hospital.”

  I’m a little calmer when Rick hangs up and confirms Bill is already on his way.

  The EMT riding in back with us covers my mouth with an oxygen mask and places an IV in my arm. Then he starts cutting away whatever is left of the shirt I was wearing, and I hiss when he pulls at a strip that seems to have fused with my skin.

  “Not all second degree burns,” he says sternly, throwing Rick a scowl.

  Rick, as expected, ignores him and waits until the guy’s attention is back on me before he throws me a wink.

  The small hospital has only a handful of emergency beds, and apparently there’s only one other patient in there. It’s fairly quiet and I’ve got my eyes closed, enjoying the lack of noise and fresh air, despite the discomfort of being poked at.

  Suddenly, I hear commotion outside in the hallway before the doors fly open and a gurney is wheeled in. I don’t see much more than that, because one of the nurses working on me quickly draws the curtain around my bed. But then I hear a woman’s voice yelling and every hair still on my body stands on end.

  “Leelo?” I call out, ignoring the hands that are trying to hold me down in my bed.

  “Roar?”

  Leelo

  I can’t breathe.

  A heavy weight is covering me and I can’t get any air.

  “Stop yelling at me and help me roll him off her. She’s gasping!”

  Charlotte.

  My five foot nothing saviour.

  I thought the next thing I would hear was another gunshot, but instead it was Charlotte’s voice, yelling at the gun-toting maniac to “Leave my girl alone!” before swinging a long piece of wood at his head. Knocked him right out, she did. Right on top of me, and now I can’t fucking breathe.

  I don’t know how she got here, but I was so happy to hear her voice.

  In the next moment, my chest is free and I take in big gulps of air.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Charlotte asks, hovering over me as I try to catch my breath.

  “Leelo?” Bill’s voice sounds from behind her as his face comes into view. “You good?” I barely have a chance to nod before he turns on Charlotte. “Next time I tell you to wait in Matt’s truck, you wait. You hear me? Racing in here, brandishing nothing but a two by four. Did you not hear the shot?”

  “Mattie,” I manage, struggling to get up.

  “Lucky kid,” Bill says, stepping aside so I can see my son carefully lifting his head, blood streaming down one side. “Bullet just grazed his scalp. Can knock you out and bleeds like a stuck pig, but he’ll be fine. Just a cool scar to show off to the girls.”

  “You okay, Mattie?” I ask, sitting up, holding my side where I hit the ground when I tackled the guy who is beside me, out cold. Matt just nods, holding his head in his hands.

  Jesus.

  “Drove up right behind them,” Bill explains, as he puts handcuffs on the unconscious man beside me, before moving over to Henry to check his pulse, shaking his head when he finds none. “Charlotte was sitting in the cab with the window down, waving in the direction of the shed. Told that woman to stay put while I checked it out, but when that shot sounded, she came running past me like a mad woman. She picked up that length of wood and disappeared through that door before I had a chance to pull my sidearm.”

  “You’re just getting slow, Billy Prescott,” Charlotte taunts him, sitting with her back against the wall in her summer dress and pearls. She talks a good game but I see the shock in her eyes as she takes in the scene. “Best get into shape before your wife finds out an old biddy like me ran circles around you. She’d have you on a diet so fast, your head would spin.”

  In the end, Matt and I are loaded in an ambulance Bill must’ve called. Brian Dinker—Matt remembered his name—was checked out by the EMTs and was sent off in one of the OPP cruisers that had been arriving, and would be closely monitored for a concussion at the OPP detachment.

  Bill promised to follow us to the hospital with Charlotte, undoubtedly bickering with her all the way there.

  “You okay, Bud?” I ask Matt, who is lying on the gurney. I’m strapped into a chair next to him. I insisted.

  “Yeah. My head hurts though,” he says, wincing before throwing me a sheepish grin. “Some kind of hero, right?”

  “Don’t joke, Mattie. He’d already killed someone. Had you not stopped to check on me, I would be on the floor of that laundry room, lying beside Henry Kline: just as dead. Don’t you tell me you’re not a hero.” I wipe angrily at the tears suddenly streaming down my face. “Stupid? Absolutely, and as soon as your head is better I’ll cuff your ear for taking a risk like that.” I pinch my thumb and forefinger together and stick them in his face. “This close. This close you were to losing your life. Let me tell you, losing you would be a worse fate than death, my boy. Don’t you ever do that again!”

  “Ma’am, please stay calm or I’ll have to sedate you.”

  “Don’t you dare,” I hiss in the young EMT’s face.

  The only thing that calms me is the big hand that wraps around mine, holding on tight all the way to the hospital.

  -

  “Please, ma’am, sit down in the wheelchair.”

  The same EMT is trying to get me to sit down, but I want to follow Matt’s stretcher that’s already heading through the doors.

  “So help me, if you take me anywhere else than where my boy is going, I will castrate you with my bare hands.”

  “Ma’am, please stay calm or I’ll have to restrain you.”

  “I will. I’ll behave. Please, just take me to my son,” I plead, folding my hands in front of me as I watch the stretcher disappear down a hallway. This da
mn wheelchair can’t move fast enough.

  I stay calm too, just like I promised, right until I’m wheeled into the emergency room and the EMT hands me over to a nurse.

  “Patient is emotional and combative,” I hear him say and it’s like a red flag.

  “I will have you know I was just held at gunpoint, and my son was shot. Am I allowed to get a little emotional?”

  “Leelo?” I hear a familiar voice from behind one of the curtains.

  “Roar?” I call out, already getting up out of the chair.

  “She’s just menopausal,” I hear my son call out, and I make a note to murder him in his sleep.

  Roar

  “You know what they say about relationships forged under extreme circumstances. Do you think that applies to us?”

  I turn my head on the pillow to where Leelo is lying in the bed beside me.

  She’s been checked out. Thoroughly—I made sure—and aside from a few bruised ribs, bumps, and scrapes, she should be fine, although perhaps a little sore for the next few days.

  Matt’s been stitched up and will be kept overnight for observation, because he’d lost consciousness.

  As for me, I was very lucky. I’m being kept overnight as well for smoke inhalation, my burns will heal and the two cracked ribs will as well.

  But I’m done firefighting. The fear on Leelo’s face when she ripped aside that curtain earlier: if I hadn’t already made the decision to stop, I would’ve done it in that moment. Seeing me lying in that bed, after all she’d apparently already been through, it was no wonder her knees buckled under the weight.

  Personally, I was glad I was lying down when Bill walked in with Charlie and recounted all that I’d missed.

  I just looked at my mother and shook my head.

  “I have a feeling life with you will always mean living on the edge, Sunshine,” I tease Leelo. “You guys throw quite the birthday party.”

  “Oh shit!” she shoots upright in her bed, wincing as she grabs for her ribs. “I need a phone. Gwenny.”