Live Wire (Blue-Eyed Bomb #1)

by Amber Lynn Natusch

  “Good point,” he said with a laugh. “Here. Let’s get you into a chair for a bit and prop your leg up.” He guided me toward the wingback chair and helped me get settled before pulling a crate of some sort from near the front door over to me and placing my bum ankle on it. “How hungry are you?” he asked, heading toward the kitchen. “You’ve got a lot of healing to do and that takes a lot of calories.”

  “Just give me the same amount you’re having,” I said, leaning my head back against the chair. When I didn’t hear any movement in the other room, I cocked my head to find him staring at me, befuddled.

  “I’m six-foot-four and weigh two-twenty-five. You’re what? Five-nine at best and maybe one-forty, and you only weigh that because you're all muscle. You can’t possibly need to eat as much as me.”

  I felt my eyebrow quirk at his challenge.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  Ten minutes later, I handed him my clean plate with a victorious smile on my face. He was still finishing his meal when I did.

  “I’m not gonna lie. That’s some impressive eating right there.”

  “I have a sneaking suspicion I don’t like being told ‘no’ or ‘‘can’t’ very much.”

  “I can see that,” he replied, staring at me from the couch across the room. “I'll try to remember that in the future.”

  A couple of bites later, he too was done.

  “Do you have to go back out right away?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I’ve got some long days ahead of me.”

  “Do you have any help on the farm?”

  “No. Not anymore. It used to be my dad and my mom’s brothers that ran it. Farm’s been in her family for a long time.”

  “But now it’s just you,” I gently pressed, fearing what he was about to divulge.

  “Yeah,” he said with a heavy exhale, leaning back into the well-worn brown cushion of the sofa. “I’d just turned eighteen—only weeks away from graduation—when the accident happened.”

  “Accident?”

  “There was an explosion of some sort just off the west side of the property. My dad and uncles were all there for some reason. My mom too. She survived, but…”

  “They didn’t,” I said, finishing his sentence for him. The hollow sound of my voice seemed to echo off the walls for a moment longer than it should have.

  He nodded.

  “She hasn’t been right since that day.”

  “And you’ve been running this place by yourself since then? Isn’t that a lot of responsibility for one person?”

  “Had no choice,” he replied, pushing himself off of the sunken couch. “I’ve managed to keep this place scraping by for just shy of a decade. Through droughts and hail and fires and twisters, we’ve survived.”

  “Jesus, Gabe…”

  “I’m not telling you this because I want your pity.”

  “I know that, but—”

  “It’s fine. Really. I don’t regret any of it,” he declared. “I’d do it all again if I had to.”

  I forced a tight smile.

  “She’s lucky to have you.” He said nothing in response, just took the plate from my lap into the kitchen and placed it in the sink with his. “I’ll clean up. It’s fine. I don’t really have any other pressing plans.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks.”

  He made his way to the screen door, disappearing through it without a word. But the tension he left in his wake was undeniable. Gabe had had a hard life—lost people he loved. I wondered what that would be like, to know that everyone close to you had burned to death, leaving you alone. What an awful way to die—flames scorching your flesh while you choked on the thick smoke engulfing you.

  I wiggled my way to the edge of the chair and stood up, hobbling my way to the kitchen. I stood in front of the sink for a moment, the sharp edge of the countertop cutting into the palms of my hands as I squeezed it hard. Tears rolled down my cheeks in a steady stream that I seemed powerless to stop. Something about the death of his family hit home, and the realization scared me.

  That, and the thought of fire.

  Chapter 6

  The silence in Gabe’s home was deafening. Something about my unease with it told me that I wasn’t used to so much peace and alone time. But I wasn’t really alone, was I?

  I tidied up the kitchen before I took a small piece of lasagna and put it on a plate. Grabbing a fork from the drawer, I made my way through the kitchen and around toward the piano room where Gabe’s mother sat in her rocking chair.

  “Hi,” I said softly. “I’m…I’m a friend of your son’s. I didn’t know if you might want to eat something, so I brought you some lasagna.”

  Silence.

  With nothing to help guide me in the middle of the room, I held the plate and fork as tightly as I could in one hand and hopped my way past her chair to the window. I caught myself against the wall and then slid down to sit on the narrow sill. Sitting in her direct field of view, she looked right through me as though I weren’t even there.

  I don’t know what I expected, but the woman before me sure wasn’t it. If Gabe was twenty-eight, his mother should not have looked so young. Even if she’d had him as a teenager, looking that youthful would have been a stretch. The only parts of her that looked like they had aged were her thin grey hair and the bony fingers that poked out the sleeves of her oversized cardigan. Somehow her face and her body just didn’t match up.

  “I’d introduce myself, but I’m afraid I can’t remember my name,” I said warmly. “Your son called me Trouble earlier. I’m not sure if that’s fair enough or not, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s going to stick anyway.” I watched for any sign of recognition from her—any sign that she either heard or understood what I was saying—but got nothing, just a vacant, unblinking stare. “Maybe I’ll just put this down here for now. You can let me know if you want to eat it later.”

  Feeling awkward and uncomfortable in my skin, I stood to leave. As I hopped across the room, I saw the oven mitt that Gabe had thrown down on the piano bench still sitting there. With a sigh, I made my way over to it. I managed to hook my toe on the small rug beneath the bench and tumbled down onto it, banging my shoulder on the corner of the piano. The sharp pain shot through me and I barely stifled a slew of four-letter words that tried to escape.

  “Jesus, that hurt,” I grumbled, rubbing my shoulder as I positioned myself more comfortably on the bench. My fingers ran along the cover, taking in all the scratches and wear marks along its surface. Someone had loved this piano and played it often.

  Without thinking, I uncovered the keys. The sight of ivory and black seemed to calm me somehow. I closed my eyes and inhaled, enjoying the sensation of peace I felt, despite the throbbing in my ankle and shoulder. They didn’t seem to matter anymore. My brain had blocked them out.

  As if I couldn’t have stopped them had I wanted to, my fingers reached out to stroke the silky smooth surface of the keys. Seconds later a haunting melody echoed through the empty room. And a voice soon joined in.

  All I could feel in that moment were the keys pressed beneath my fingers and the vibration in my throat as I sang a song I didn’t know I could sing, accompanied by a piano I hadn’t known I could play. But I played and sang all the same. It was a balm to my weary soul.

  I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to disturb what was happening. If my memory was coming back, I didn’t want to do anything to ruin that, so I played and sang until my mind couldn’t recall any other songs. The emptiness I felt when that occurred was beyond belief.

  With a heavy heart, I opened my eyes and stared down at my hands still perfectly placed on the piano in front of me.

  When I pulled them back, my elbow brushed something and I startled, jumping away from whatever I’d touched. I turned to find Gabe’s mother beside me, staring at the wall beyond the piano.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just…I just wanted to grab the oven mitt and go, but I fell, and then something about sit
ting here felt right and—” I realized I was explaining myself to someone that wasn’t interested in my reasons. All she seemed to care about was the music. “Should I…should I play something for you?” I took her silence as a yes. “Okay,” I said, placing my hands back on the keys.

  With a deep breath, I started to play the song I’d initially played, singing even louder this time. But as the song began to swell, the round tone of my voice filling the room, Gabe burst into the house, running into the piano room like his pants were on fire. I turned quickly to find him in the entrance, panting hard with wide eyes. “What’s wrong?” I asked, trying to get off the bench to see if he was all right.

  Then a thought crossed my mind. The piano had been covered in dust, as though it had been untouched for a very long time. A shrine to someone passed. A painful reminder of times long gone.

  “Oh my God…I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have messed with the piano. It’s just that—”

  “How did she get over there?” he asked, looking past me to his mother.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t even notice her sitting with me until I finished playing.”

  “You didn’t put her there?”

  “No.”

  “Holy shit…”

  “What’s wrong, Gabe? What’s going on?”

  “That was my mother’s piano. She used to play it all the time. I can’t remember a day growing up that she didn’t sit there after dinner and play for hours while I did my homework or chores.” He swallowed hard, finally pulling his gaze away from her to meet mine. “I thought…I thought that maybe—”

  “You thought she was the one playing,” I whispered, my heart sinking.

  He nodded.

  “I had to come back to the barn for something and I heard the music, and I—”

  “I’m so sorry, Gabe. I had no idea. Hell, I had no idea I knew how to play or sing. It all just kind of happened once I sat down.”

  “And you just found her sitting next to you? You never heard her move or anything?”

  “No. I was too focused on what I was playing.”

  “This is crazy,” he said, running his hand back and forth through his hair as he started to pace the room.

  “What am I missing here, Gabe?” I asked, trying to figure out why he was still so agitated. “I get that she’s unresponsive, but—”

  “What you’re missing is that she can’t move. She hasn’t moved since my father died.”

  I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She can’t walk. She can’t do anything for herself. I carry her everywhere. I feed her. I bathe her. I do everything. Aside from breathing and swallowing, she doesn't move. Not even blink.”

  “Oh my God,” I gasped, my hand snapping up to my mouth to cover it as it hung wide open in disbelief.

  “So I really need you to tell me how in the hell she wound up sitting next to you,” he said. The wild look in his eyes made my heart beat faster.

  “I don’t know, Gabe. Truly I don’t.”

  His expression tightened for a moment before he hurried over to his mother, scooping her up delicately from the bench and carrying her back to her rocking chair.

  “Do it again,” he ordered, his tone curt, his words clipped.

  My hackles raised in an instant and a sensation niggled at the back of my mind.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Please. Play whatever you played. Sing whatever you sang. I need to see this with my own eyes because based on everything I’ve known for the past decade, what you’re saying happened is impossible.”

  The unsettling feeling in my brain abated.

  “Okay. I’ll do it,” I said, hopping my way back to the bench. He moved to help me but I waved him off. Once I was settled at the piano, he backed up into the room's entrance as if he were hiding from his mother. “Let’s hope this works,” I muttered to myself before placing my hands on the keys. Again I closed my eyes, wanting to replicate the situation as much as possible.

  Then I began to play.

  It wasn’t long before I heard an outcry of disbelief from Gabe that stopped me. I looked beside me to once again find his mother at my side while Gabe stood at the back of the room, slack-jawed and pale.

  “I can’t believe it,” he said softly. “How is this possible?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, staring at him with sympathetic eyes.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his hardening stare pinned on me.

  “I don’t know that either.” I swallowed hard against my tightening throat. “But I really wish I did.”

  Chapter 7

  We didn’t talk much after that moment.

  It was clear that he was trying to wrap his head around what had happened, so I let him be. He offered to get the third bedroom put together for me, suggesting that I looked like I needed a rest. I was game for that. My ankle had swollen up even more and the throbbing in it was starting to drain me.

  While he did that, I returned the oven mitt that had started this whole kerfuffle to the kitchen and put what remained of the lasagna into the fridge. I started back toward the staircase just as Gabe stepped off the final stair.

  “Everything is all set. Second door on the right.”

  “Thanks,” I said, forcing a smile. “I think I’ll lie down for a bit, then make dinner when I wake up.”

  “I won’t be back until sunset, so you’ve got time.”

  “Great.”

  “You need help getting up there?”

  “No thanks. I seem to enjoy the challenge. Or I have some strange desire to fall down the stairs. Guess I’ll have to wait and see which it is.”

  “Okay. Just be careful.”

  “My specialty…I think.”

  He scoffed at that, shaking his head as he walked away.

  I grabbed the newel post and hoisted myself up onto the first step, realizing that up was much harder than down. While I strategized a plan to get all the way up, I noticed Gabe hovering in the piano room entrance.

  “Am I that entertaining?” I asked playfully.

  “Kinda. But that’s not why I’m still here.”

  “Do you need something?”

  He paused.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly. He looked like he was fighting the urge to turn away from me, embarrassed by his gratitude.

  “For what?”

  “Bringing her back to me.”

  “Gabe,” I started, my voice full of sadness, “I didn’t really—”

  “You gave me hope. And I haven’t had that in a long, long time.”

  Tears stung the backs of my eyes.

  “I’m glad. Better one of us have it than neither, right?”

  His expression fell.

  “You’ll remember who you are. It’ll just take time. I’m positive someone out there is looking for you,” he said, turning away from me. “I know I would be.”

  With that, he left me alone with the weight of his words to carry up the stairs with me.

  ***

  The extra room was small and dark, but not without its charms. The roofline cut deep into the far wall, leaving only a small decorative lead-glass window for light. The foot of the bed stopped just short of the sloped ceiling, making it feel cozy when I got in and lay on my back. The flannel sheets smelled like fresh air and I snuggled into them, inhaling deeply. The whitewashed wainscoting helped to brighten the space and gave it a cottage feel that I enjoyed immensely.

  It was the perfect room to curl up in and sleep.

  I don’t think it was long before slumber came for me, pulling me into its fold. I don’t know how long I was out. What I did know was that my rest was anything but peaceful. My dreams were plagued with visions of fire and wind. Smoke and ash. Destruction and death.

  I stood in an empty field, encircled by flame. The stench of burnt flesh clung to my nostrils, making it unbearable to breathe. But the burnt flesh was not my own. As I searched for the victims of the fire, I screa
med out for them.

  “Nico! Alek! TS!”

  But no one answered my call.

  Then a punishing wind stirred, whipping my hair in my face, blinding me. A tornado of fire swirled around me, entrapping me as it closed in. Heat—searing heat—pressed down upon me. I knew I didn’t have long before I too would fall victim to the fiery harbinger of death.

  Screaming for help, I felt something snake around my waist and pull me from the storm.

  “Jesus!” Gabe shouted, fighting to hold me still as I flailed, still crying for help. “I’m here! It’s okay…it’s okay.” He took hold of my face and held it right in front of his own, staring at me with his warm eyes. They begged for me to snap out of it.

  My chest heaved as I fought to control my breathing, still frightened by what I’d just seen.

  “I’m sorry,” I gasped, my hands fidgeting with the blanket. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I heard you halfway to the creek. I didn’t know what in the hell was wrong.”

  “I just…my dream…”

  “Did you remember something?” he asked, eyes full of hope.

  I shook my head frantically.

  “No. It was just a nightmare.”

  “Dreams usually mean something, even if they aren’t literal interpretations of real life.”

  “Well, if it does, I have no clue what it was supposed to mean.”

  “When I got to the house, you were screaming names.”

  “I was?”

  “Yeah. Nick or Nico or something like that. Alex, maybe? And TS? Do any of those ring a bell?”

  I thought hard, trying to place the names, but I couldn’t.

  “No. They don’t.”

  He exhaled heavily, letting go of my face.

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Yeah. Kinda sucks to have the pants scared off of you and not get something out of it.”

  He shook his head as he stood up to pace the tiny room.

  “You sure have a sick sense of humor about all this. I don’t know how you manage it.”

  “Coping mechanism, maybe?” I offered, not really knowing what else to say. “I don’t think stressing about it is likely to help, so I’m doing what I can to just let things come back to me when they’re ready.”