Sneaky bitch. It was hard to think straight with everyone here and Dan draped over the easy chair. The more the merrier, right?
The movie Amy had chosen was her second-most, all-time holiday fave; A Christmas Story. Who doesn’t love that flick? If that went over well (how could it not?), Amy had a second one queued up if everyone was up for another movie. She knew they would groan when she brought out It’s A Wonderful Life (so what if it’s black-and-white?) but she knew that if she got them to endure the first half-hour, they’d be hooked and all would be sobbing when George Bailey’s friends come to his rescue at the end.
So much for that idea. Everyone showed up but no one was watching the movie, not even when little Ralphie dropped the F-bomb on his dad. The mocha truffles and shrimp dip that she had laid out was devoured in minutes and everyone decamped to the kitchen for more. Alex, a reprobate at 17, was the first to plunder the fridge for her dad’s beer. Within seconds they had all helped themselves and Bridgette was making smores in the toaster oven while Griffin sniffed out the liquor cabinet and announced that he was making margaritas. The blender whirled and green slush drizzled down the cupboards.
Now Amy was stuck in a no-win situation. If she let it ride, as Gabby kept hissing at her ear to do (be cool!), the party would spin out and the mess would be gigantic. If she blew the whistle and kicked everybody out, she’d be ostracized as a puckered-up killjoy. The only solution was to convince everyone to go somewhere else, somewhere more fun but the few suggestions she hinted at were declared lame and unimaginative.
Gabby smelled Amy’s shit-fit coming on and headed it off at the pass. Uncapping the last two bottles of Sam Adams, she thrust them into the hands of her best friend and Dan Raylan.
“Gracias,” Dan said and chugged a third of it back.
Gabby turned to Amy. “You know, Date-Rape was just telling me he was thinking about police work. Maybe a possible career choice, right Dan?”
“Yeah!” Dan smiled at them, a lethal grin that was known to evaporate any panties in his path. “That shit they do on CSI? How awesome would that be? Solving crimes and toolng around in a Hummer.”
Gabby laserbeamed Amy. “You know Amy’s dad is a cop, right? Homicide detective. Dead bodies and killers and shit. Amy, why don’t you show Danno your dad’s office? His medals and shit.”
“It’s just an office,” Amy sputtered apologetically. “No big deal.”
“Sure it is.” Gabby cocked an eye at her with all the subtlety of a mime.
“Cool. Where is it?” Dan wandered out of the kitchen and Gabby shoved Amy after him.
She hit the light switch in the small office and Dan looked the room over. An old computer on an ugly desk, two filing cabinets and a wall of framed commendations. Dan bobbed his head in approval, as if he’d seen dozens of homicide detective’s home offices before. “Cool. So your old man solves murders and stuff?”
“Yeah. But it’s not like stuff on TV. Dad says ninety percent of it tedious work.” Amy tried hard not to stare at him. The last thing she wanted to talk about right now was her dad but her brain seemed to scramble, unable to come up with any other topic to discuss. Think! “So. What’s the interest in police work?”
“Just seems cool, ya know.” His mouth hung open, even when he wasn’t talking. Amy hated mouth-breathers but chose to ignore it. He poked through the debris on the desk. “You get to carry a gun and shit. Whoa… what’s this?”
Dan’s eyes snagged on a police truncheon hanging from a peg. He snatched it up and swung it around. “Now this is the shit. Imagine busting somebody’s head with this.”
“Do you know what cops call that?”
“It’s a truncheon.”
“A fuckstick.”
His eyes lit up, clearly impressed. He swung it again, busting imaginary skulls.
“So.” Amy picked at the wet label on her beer bottle. “You need some college for police academy. To start, anyway. You picked one yet.”
“Still looking.”
This was hopeless. Dan seemed more interested in snooping and had barley even looked at her. Okay, better shut this down before she embarrasses herself. She glanced back towards the kitchen. “Maybe we should check on the others.”
“What’s the rush?” Dan leaned back in the office chair. He lifted his shirt and started undoing his belt. “Let’s get busy.”
“Whoa... What are you doing?”
“Gabby said you were dying to give me a blowjob.” The belt flopped free and he started popping the button fly. “Close the door.”
Amy gaped, speechless. Her turn to be a mouth-breather. “So you just drop your pants? How congenitally brain-dead are you?”
“Wha…?”
“Do your pants back up. You think I’m gonna just drop to my knees for you? Seriously?”
“Gabby said--“
“Gabby is extremely disturbed. And a chronic shit-disturber.” How bad could this have gone? “God!”
“Okay, okay.” He struggled with the belt loop. “Touchy.”
Amy felt her cheeks flush, anger bubbling up so fast she considered hitting the doofus. Her rage was cut short by the sharp crack of a gunshot.
She sprinted for the kitchen. Griffin stood rigid with the Glock in his hand and a stupid expression on his face. The acrid smell of it hung in the air and Amy scanned a panicked headcount. Everyone accounted for. Nobody lying on the floor. A small hole in the backsplash, two tiles broken.
Alex hoisted her margarita glass. “Wicked.”
Dan sulked. “Why does he get to shoot the gun?”
Amy yanked the gun from Griffin’s hand. His eyes remained popped, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. “It just went off,” he said.
“It didn’t just go off, you released the safety!”
“I just wanted to see it.”
“You coulda killed someone.”
“Chill, Amy. Nobody dropped.”
She slid the clip out and racked the slide forward to eject the round in the chamber. It rolled across the floor and Dan picked it up, entranced as he watched Amy disassemble the gun in seconds.
“You’re such a dink, Griffin,” Gabby screed. “But hey, nobody got shot--“
“Stop.” Amy cut her off with a look. “Everybody out. Now.”
“It was an accident,” Griffin stuttered. “Don’t be so lame.”
Amy clawed back the urge to throttle the useless bastard. She spoke slow and clear to the assembled partygoers, warning them to leave immediately before she shot one of them.
“I’d almost forgotten how pretty it is at night.”
Lara gazed out the window as the Cherokee glided back through the streets of Portland. The holiday decorations strung along Powell made her wistful, drab and plain as they were. She hadn’t seen the city in so long. It felt different. It felt the same.
Gallagher took the phone from his ear and glowered at the screen. “It’s not like her to ignore the call.”
“Maybe she’s out.”
“Not this late. What day is it?”
Lara wrinkled her brow. “You’re asking me? I barely know what month it is.”
“It’s late. She should be home.” He dropped the phone into the cup holder, resisting the urge to dial again.
“Maybe she’s out with a boy,” Lara said, watching him bristle at the notion.
“Amy’s not like that.” He turned north onto 39th and swung west onto Franklin. “She knows better.”
“She’s seventeen, John. Don’t be naive.”
“I’ll have to get her out of the house before you come in. You can wait at the coffeeshop on the corner or hide in the garage while I drive Amy to her mom’s.”
“Garage,” she said. “I doubt I’d run into anybody I know but why chance it.”
The dog woke up the moment Gallagher turned onto his street, tail thumping against the window. Lara felt the dog snuff her ear but when she reached back to pet it, the Siberian shied away. Still wary of her.
Lara looked up at the house. “She must be home. Every light is on.”
The front door shot open and he watched a gaggle of good-for-nothing teenagers file out of his house. “What the hell…?”
Lara ducked for cover as Gallagher swung out of the cab and marched on the kids. “Who the hell are you people?”
They rabbited, all save Gabby. Frozen to the spot, she paled. “Hi Mr. Gallagher!” Piping up loud enough to warn Amy inside. “We’re just leaving.”
“Gabby?” A volcanic rage rumbled inside and he fought to stifle it down. “Tell me you two didn’t have a party…”
“A small one.” Gabby mustered her sweetest smile. “It was all my idea.” Least she could do was shoulder the blame in an attempt to mitigate Amy’s punishment. “I talked Amy into it. It was small. We watched Christmas movies.”
“Go home,” he growled and stomped inside.
The dog slid past her knees as it trailed behind him. Gabby bit her lip, wondering if she should go back in to help explain. Amy’s dad was a little scary. And a cop. She’d make it up to Amy some other way, she decided, and booked.
It went about as bad as she imagined. Dad was apoplectic that she had thrown a party in the first place but to let those shitheaded little peons (his words) run riot through their home was beyond belief.
Amy listened to his rant without uttering a word. Anything she said right now would just infuriate him further so she sat attentive and waited for him to blow off. But then, just as he was winding down, he clocked the broken tile in the backsplash and he started back up again. For her own self preservation, Amy lied about what had happened. Telling him that her dumbass friend not only found the Glock but let a round off in the house, well, her dad would probably drive her to juvie that instant.
Gallagher turned his back to her and caught his breath. “Go upstairs and pack your bag.”
“What?” Amy startled. Was he was taking her to juvie hall after all. “Why?”
“You’re going to your mother’s.”
“But--“
“Go.”
He listened to his daughter stomp every step on the stairs and waited for the slam of the bedroom door. Boom. He hustled through the door in the hall and crossed into the garage. Lifting the rollup door, he found Lara leaning against the truck.
“I could hear you hollering from out here,” she said, ducking under the door. “How bad is it?”
“Bad,” he conceded. “But it saves me from coming up with some lame excuse to drop her at Cheryl’s.” He lowered the rollup and crossed the floor to go back into the house. “Soon as we leave, go on inside.”
Gallagher disappeared back into the house and the garage went dark. Lara leaned against the workbench and listened to her former homicide partner escort his teenage daughter out to the truck, scolding her the whole way.
TWENTY
THE SMELL INSIDE the house was so overwhelming that Lara retreated into the dank garage to catch her breath before venturing back inside. Tiptoeing through the house, she smelled Gallagher everywhere. And then Amy. Both scents so strong they were steeped into the walls and floors. She nosed up a week’s worth of dinners cooked in the kitchen.
The dog was strong too. She could close her eyes and still pinpoint the corner where the husky bedded down each night.
Smell triggered memory. A fact she was vaguely aware of before her affliction. Now, with her heightened senses, it was a blaring siren. These comingled smells of people and food and shelter and pets gushed forth her own memory banks. If there was an underlying motif, it was simply home. This foursquare craftsman house was home to a family. Shelter, safety, belonging.
It was impossible not to contrast this with her current rootless exile. Her gut had ached for this for so long and here it was but she was simply a guest here. Enjoy your daypass.
She was drawn to the kitchen, the center of any home, but was distracted by the twinkling lights from the living room. A Christmas tree stood against the bay window, its evergreen perfume drifting dully through the house. The strung lights reflected off the ornaments and tinsel and there even a few wrapped presents sitting under it.
She couldn’t resist and knelt to check the tags on each gift. Judging by the names, Amy had finished most of her Christmas list. The biggest gift was marked Gabby, the smallest was tagged simply Dad. Two other presents were labelled Mom.
Lara stepped back and sank onto the sofa but the cushions felt too soft. She slid off and sat on the floor and gazed up at the Christmas tree. Such a simple thing, the pine smell and the lights and tinsel, but it punched a bruise into her heart.
Exhausted from running for so long, from hiding, Lara Mendes melted in the warm glow and promise of good cheer. Hokey as it was.
The kitchen was back to normal when Gallagher returned home. He told Lara to leave the rest, he’d get it in the morning. She could take Amy’s room, he’d said, he just needed to change the sheets. She told him not to bother, she’d change them in the morning. Lara said goodnight and was halfway up the stairs when she turned back.“How are you fixed for hot water?”
“We’re good,” he shrugged. “Unless those kids ruined that too. Why?”
“I’ve been bathing in cold riverwater for three months. Tomorrow, I want to stand under a scalding shower for as long as the hot water holds out. Fair warning.”
Gallagher smiled. “Knock yourself out.”
He rose early the next morning, his back still stiff but otherwise rested. A second night without the nightmares. Looking out the kitchen window as he made coffee, he watched a light snow fall, shrouding the hedges in the yard.
It was going to a beautiful day.
Cleaning up the mess soured his mood, only because it meant he’d have to have a ‘little talk’ with his daughter. He always felt like a fraud when he sat Amy down to discuss something stupid she’d done. It didn’t happen very often and when it did, it was nothing too terrible. Still, he never felt comfortable as the booming voice of good judgment. His own record was far from unblemished and he had a sneaking suspicion Amy knew it too.
Aside from a lecture, he would have to lie to her about finding Lara. Could he tell Amy the truth or was it too risky? He was flipping the idea back and forth when he heard the the shower come on and run for almost an hour.
When she came downstairs, Lara was wearing his old robe, the one that hung unused behind the bathroom door. She seemed lost in it, draped over her small shoulders with the sleeves turned up. Her wet hair hung loose but it was combed straight and as she settled into a chair at the kitchen table, Lara Mendes almost looked like her old self.
He placed a cup of black coffee before her. “Feel better?”
“Like a new person. But don’t use the shower until I’ve scrubbed the tub. It wasn’t pretty what I scoured off.”
He watched her wrap both hands around the mug and heard a sigh as she sipped. It was strange, seeing her like this. She had been a ghost for so long and here she was, sipping coffee at his table like it was an everyday occurrence. Draped in that thin material he could see just how much weight she had lost over the last few months. Still. He had almost forgotten how pretty she was and when the fall of the robe plunged too deep a neckline, he had to force his eyes to look away.
Lara didn’t seem to notice, lost in the simple luxury of warmth and hot java. “Can I use your laundry? My clothes are pretty grubby.”
“Sure.” He went back to the counter and cracked two eggs into the frypan. “You can borrow some of Amy’s clothes too. She won’t mind.”
“Will you tell her? About me coming back from the dead?”
“I don’t know yet. I hate lying to her.” He flipped the eggs onto a plate with some toast and brought it to the table. “She’d want to know but... Here, eat. The bacon’s almost ready.”
“This is more than enough.
Please.”
“You’re skin and bones, detective. Need to get some weight on you.”
She pulled the robe tighter, suddenly conscious to her state, and tucked in. “Have you thought about what’s next?”
He stopped pushing the bacon round the pan and looked at her. “Lie low for the time being. Take it slow.” He scooped the bacon onto a paper-toweled plate and joined her at the table. His face clouded. “Lara, when it happens, the change, do you know it’s coming or...?”
“I can feel it coming on. It’s not like a sudden seizure or anything.” She put her fork down. “Are you worried?”
“I’d be stupid not to.” He dumped too much bacon on her plate. “How do you know it’s coming? Is there a trigger, like the full moon pops out of the clouds and bingo?”
“It has nothing to do with the moon. You know that.”
“Too bad. Least it would be scheduled. Once a month, we could work around it.”
She mopped up the eggs with the last bit of toast. “You’re confusing it with a whole other monthly curse.”
“Sorry. So is there a trigger?”
“Adrenalin. Fear or anger. Danger. I’ll feel my pulse spike, heart speeding up. If I’m not careful, it will kick over and trip the change.”
“What do you do? Just calm your breathing or something?”
“If I catch it in time. If not, well, silver works.”
“Silver?”
She pushed away from the table and crossed to the hall where her parka hung on a peg. Patted down the pockets and came back, placing something on the table before him. A pearl-handled knife, sheathed in a scabbard of leather with white stitching.
Bad Wolf Chronicles, Books 1-3 Page 39
