by L. T. Vargus
The silence drags him back down and these thoughts are forgotten. He sinks deeper and deeper.
In the dream, he descends the opposite side of the dune. The stench of smoke occupies his nasal cavity. More than a stench. A cloud. Something physical that takes up space. He smells it, tastes it, feels it with every breath.
It’s all so real.
He doesn’t wake when Levi climbs into the passenger seat.
Chapter 81
Levi climbed into the car, careful to close the door with only the faintest click.
Luke was sleeping, sprawled in the backseat, his chest rising and falling. He looked peaceful, although the skin around his eyes had a dark, irritated appearance.
Levi watched his brother for a time, considered waking him but decided against it.
This was it, after all. He knew what to do.
And it was better this way.
That vinyl smell of C4 was everywhere. The Jeep reeked with it. He could see how someone might compare the scent to tar now. It reminded him of playing basketball on the blacktop when they were kids. It was that smoother, shinier blacktop that got soft again whenever the sun beat down on it. Gooey and smelly, that shimmer of heat distortion blurring above it. It made their hands sticky. Used to smudge its black onto the pebbled surface of the ball.
When he was really young, he wondered if the whole parking lot might move a little bit over time, heating up into a liquid and oozing down that faint slope until their little basketball court had slid out into the street. He asked Luke about it, and his brother laughed for a long time.
He could still see it, still smell it, still feel its tacky residue on his palms.
His hands worked as these old movies played in his head, fingers pressing two bricks of the clay together. It still killed to use the left, but he’d reached a point where even the severe pain of a fractured collar bone had grown meaningless, a hurt without displeasure, almost morphing into a kind of distant ecstasy in its own excruciating way.
He mashed together two and a half pounds of the stuff. About five times what they’d used to blow out the interior of the El Camino. Levi molded it in his hands, sliding the first pin in slowly, carefully. He looked over his shoulder often as he worked, watching his brother’s breath go in and out of his sleeping body.
Luke’s nose twitched a few times, but he didn’t wake. With the way his eyes wiggled beneath his eyelids, Levi thought his brother must be dreaming.
Now Levi unspooled a short run of wire, hacking at it with the blade of the Swiss Army knife he found in the glove box. There were probably wire cutters among the fold-out parts of the knife, but he was too keyed up now for any kind of work requiring fine motor skills. The blade would do.
The tension was unbearable. He wanted this to be over.
The roughly hacked wire twisted into place, and that was it. He was ready.
Levi peeled off his shirt. He didn’t know why. He took a breath, let the wad of explosive rest on his chest. It was heavy and strange, a football-sized wad of gray clay — enough to reduce a small building into a fine powder. Enough to finish it.
It even felt like Play-Doh on his skin. Cool and smooth with a deceptive heft to it.
Weird how his thoughts could never stray far from childhood, one way or another. Play-Doh. Footballs and basketballs. The oozing blacktop on the little court near their house. Even here and now, the past was always with him. Always with both of them.
He closed his eyes, thumb trembling on the button.
Chapter 82
The car rounded the left turn, centrifugal force pulling Darger to the right. She barely felt it, all attention focused on her surroundings. The gold and green Pheasant Brook sign appeared, and she briefly considered veering that direction. But no. Something urged her past it.
The faded awnings of the abandoned strip mall loomed ahead, and she knew that was where her instinct drove her. If that was what propelled her at all. Darger toed the accelerator, the added force pressing her back into her seat.
Half a minute later, the tires bumped over the uneven lip between street and parking lot. Darger guided the car around what she thought might have once been a Blockbuster video outlet.
The place had a half-feral look to it. Overgrown shrubbery reached almost past the roof, largely obscuring the boarded up doors and windows. Snarls of grass and chicory sprouted up in the cracks and seams of the concrete. A single tire jutted from a bathtub-sized pothole filled with grimy water.
She steered around the side of the building, heading for whatever lay behind the vacant structure.
And then she saw it.
The black Wrangler.
Her foot jammed on the brake pedal, jolting her forward from the sudden stop. She clenched her teeth against the throbbing spasm in her calf.
Darger ignored the pain. She stared at the Jeep for several seconds, holding her breath for the duration, waiting for something to happen. For gunshots. For the engine to suddenly roar to life, tires squealing as Luke tried to flee. For even a flicker of movement.
But there was nothing.
She let herself exhale. The Jeep was empty.
It made sense. Why go back to the black Wrangler everyone was looking for when you’d just stolen a shiny new Lexus?
The gearshift thunked, and she skittered onto the pavement, limping toward the vehicle on foot. Sunlight glinted on the windshield, but as Darger moved closer and the reflection shifted, a silhouette took shape behind the glass.
She halted, her view into the car suddenly becoming clear. The Jeep wasn’t empty after all.
Luke slumped in the back seat. Levi up front on the passenger side. Levi. How could that be? She’d seen him jump.
Her fingers went to her belt, gripped her Glock, and slid it from the holster. She was taking no chances this time.
“Out of the car with your hands on your head!”
The fine details were hazy behind the glare of the glass, but she swore she felt Levi’s gaze on her. Sensed as his eyes met hers.
There was a beat of stillness. The silent inhale before a scream.
The bright sparkle of the windshield became a blinding flash of white light. At the same moment, a wall of heat smacked into her. It lifted her off her feet, throwing her back with the force of a high-speed train.
Everything went black.
Chapter 83
“Stupid,” Loshak was saying. “I shouldn’t have let her run off without getting that leg checked out.”
“I’m sure she would have insisted on seeing a doctor immediately if it was that urgent,” Agent Dawson said. She lifted one of the hands folded in her lap to secure a loose braid behind her ear.
Loshak snorted.
“That just shows how well you don’t know my partner.”
Agent Dawson only smiled and aimed a slender finger down the hill.
“It’s a left at the next intersection,” she said.
A flash of orange light to the west drew Loshak’s gaze away from the road. A huge ball of flame surrounded by a plume of black smoke followed, billowing into the sky only a few blocks from their position.
People in the surrounding traffic whooped and pointed at the explosion, completely in awe.
Loshak veered to the curb and put a hand on Agent Dawson’s shoulder.
“Brace yourself.”
“What do you—”
The shock wave hit with a low, sternum-rattling boom. The ground shook, rocking the vehicle like an earthquake. Instinctively, Loshak raised his arms to shield his head.
“Oh God,” Dawson stuttered. “Oh my God.”
There were screams from people on the street around them. The woman in the BMW directly in front of him got out of her car and ran for cover.
Loshak blinked a few times after the burst had passed, and then he fumbled to put the Chevy back in gear.
He uttered a single word.
“Darger.”
Chapter 84
Darger woke in the ambula
nce, Loshak bent over her, gripping the fingers of her right hand. The look of frenzied panic on his face dissipated when he saw her eyes open. His mouth moved, but no words reached her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that might clear the blockage in her ears.
Every bone ached. Every rib, every tooth, every metacarpal. The skin on her hands and face felt scalded. Her head killed, and she thought her ears might be bleeding. Something sharp and made of glass that emitted a high-pitched whine must be lodged in her skull somewhere. It was the only explanation.
When she opened her eyes again, she tried to gesture at her ears, but found her arms strapped to a gurney.
Loshak’s lips flapped again.
“I can’t fucking hear you,” she mumbled.
Watching him laugh with no sound was a strange thing. Like someone had pressed “Mute” on the whole world. He patted her hand and then gave her fingers another squeeze.
The attending physician in the Trauma Center insisted Darger be admitted.
“You have sustained two concussions in a very short period of time. It puts you at grave risk for something called second-impact syndrome,” the doctor said.
“But I feel fine.”
Loshak scoffed loud enough that she actually heard it.
“Fine enough, all things considered,” she said. “I just want to go back to my hotel for a long, hot shower and about twenty hours of sleep.”
“You’re in luck, Agent Darger. You can get all that right here, under the careful observation of trained healthcare professionals,” the doctor said, then paused to scribble something in her chart. “And also an MRI.”
By the time they finished with their needle pokes and brain scans and moved Darger to a regular room, she had most of her hearing back.
She peppered Loshak with questions. Had they found remains of either Luke or Levi after the explosion? Was there anything at all left after the Jeep exploded? Did they know what they’d planned to do with the C4 in the vehicle?
“You’re supposed to be resting,” Loshak said.
She flopped her arms in the bed.
“Fuck off, Loshak. If I start doing cartwheels around the room while I ask questions, then you can give me grief.”
“You’re just crabby because the doctor scolded you for running around with a concussion.”
“I’m crabby because I don’t have a single jacket left that isn’t completely ruined,” she said. “I fucking hate shopping.”
A laugh wheezed out of Loshak before he stopped abruptly and pointed a finger at her.
“Don’t forget in all the excitement that we still need to track down the dog that bit you.”
“Right. The excitement,” Darger muttered.
A light knock announced Agent Dawson’s presence.
“I just came from a visit downstairs,” she said.
“Owen?” Darger asked. “He’s awake?”
Dawson’s braids swayed as she nodded her head.
“Groggy, but awake. And demanding to know why Miss Darger hasn’t come visit him yet.”
Darger tried to snort, but it hurt her throat. There didn’t seem to be a single body part that wasn’t sore.
Loshak put up a half-assed protest when Darger demanded that she be allowed to go downstairs to see Owen.
“I know you’re only pretending to object so you can tattle on me when the doctor checks in,” she said.
His eyebrows raised in unison.
“That’s right. I’m finally figuring you out, Loshak. You’re a kiss-ass.”
He pursed his lips and said, “How do you think I get all those favors at the Bureau?”
In the end, they reached a compromise. Darger could go for a visit, but she had to go in a wheelchair. Loshak himself rolled her to the elevator.
Constance Baxter came to the door when Violet arrived and kissed the top of her head.
“He’s been so anxious to see you,” Constance said, then stood aside to let Violet go in alone.
Owen sat up in bed, thinner and paler than she remembered. But he was alive.
“Well, lookee what the cat dragged in,” Owen said, clicking his tongue. “I thought maybe you’d forgotten about ol’ Owen.”
“I’ve been a little busy.”
He dropped the surly tone and gave her a weary smile. “So I heard.”
His hand flapped in the air like a caged bird.
“What are you sittin’ all the way over there for? Come closer.”
She gave the wheels of her chair a downward thrust until her knees bumped the side of his bed. He reached for the side of her face, fingertips brushing over her cheek.
“Are you OK?”
“Only a couple of concussions. But I’m fine on account of my extra thick skull,” she said, not quite thunking her knuckles against her head. “What about you?”
Owen stared into her eyes for a moment before blinking.
“I’m… glad it’s finally over. Happy as hell that you’re OK.”
She felt herself flush a little at the affection in his voice.
He swallowed and folded his hands in his lap.
“Ethan’s funeral is next Wednesday,” he said. “Mom waited until she knew I’d be ready for discharge.”
Violet nodded, the warm, fuzzy feelings replaced by heartache. She considered Owen’s loss. His twin brother. A person split from the same original cell. An exact genetic replica. Gone forever. It felt like some universal unfairness had played out here, and she wondered at her own part in it.
Owen cleared his throat and then spoke again.
“So I was thinking you could be my date. Assuming you’ll still be in town.”
“Your date?”
“For the funeral.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Who brings a date to a funeral?”
“Well in truth, I need someone to push the chair and hold my piss bag.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, that does sound romantic. Always the gentleman, this one.”
“If you wanted a gentleman, you saved the wrong brother.”
Violet’s smile vanished, and she lowered her gaze to her hands.
He reached for her. “Now don’t do that, Violet. I was only kidding around.”
“I know, but—”
“But you’re still set on thinking you’re Super Girl or some such nonsense?”
Her lips pressed together in a thoughtful line.
“I always thought of myself as more of a Wonder Woman type.”
“Did you now?”
“She’s got that lasso thing,” she said, pantomiming a whipping motion. “Brings lying men to their knees and forces them to tell the truth.”
“You want the truth, Miss Darger? I’ll give it to you.”
He suddenly looked very grave. It was not an expression she was used to seeing on him.
“If I know you, then you’ve been giving yourself hell about what happened in that motel room. Worryin’ over how if you’d kept me from going in that room, then I wouldn’t be in this position.”
Violet held very still, not trusting herself to do much more than breathe.
Owen spread his fingers wide and stared down at his palms.
“This probably sounds strange, and maybe quite a lot of it is the morphine talking, but…” his voice grew husky and strained. “If this is how things had to happen, my brother dyin’ and all, well, there is an odd kind of comfort in knowing that part of him will be with me forever.”
He placed one hand on the soft place beneath his rib cage. Underneath the blankets and the hospital gown and the dressings, Violet knew there was a large wound just beginning to heal.
Owen cleared his throat and blinked a few times.
“Besides, I’m gonna have one heck of a time taking Ethan’s liver on all manner of adventures. Do you know, I don’t think my brother had ever been drunk once in his life?”
Smirking, Violet wiped the corners of her eyes.
“Maybe he had and just never told you?”
“Please. I knew about every cookie Ethan ever stole,” he scoffed, then waggled his eyebrows. “I’m the one with secrets.”
“What kind of secrets?”
“I can’t tell you. It would ruin my irresistible mystique.”
Violet squinted over at him.
“Sounds like I might be forced to use my Wonder Woman whip on you.”
He caught her by the wrist and pulled her closer.
“Promise?”
Chapter 85
Violet wheeled Owen to the head of the chapel. Parking his chair next to the front pew, she locked the wheels and moved to sit in the row behind. He snatched her hand with lightning speed.
“Now where do you think you’re off to?”
He nodded toward the pew, indicating that she should sit next to him.
“That’s for family. Your mother—”
He gave her arm a little tug, so she had to bring her ear closer to his face.
“Sit your butt right there, or I’ll pull you into my lap and make a real scene. If you think I’m about to sit through this pageant on my own, you got another thing coming.”
Studying him, she wondered if he was having some breakthrough pain. She noticed he got more lippy when he was hurting. He did have that glassy sort of look in his eyes. Or maybe his flippant attitude was the result of extra painkillers. It would not surprise her to find out he’d been doubling down on the Vicodin just for kicks. Violet plopped down next to him.
“Don’t you have any friends? People you’ve known longer than two weeks?”
“Of course I do, but they’re all ugly as hell. I need something pretty to look at when Father Pascal starts pontificating on my brother’s many virtues,” he said with a wink.
“Owen Baxter, you hush your mouth and wipe that indecent grin off your face this instant,” a voice hissed from over Violet’s shoulder.
Constance Baxter slid in beside her and shot a withering look at her son.
Violet wasn’t sure if Constance was half-teasing or not, but she turned to give Owen a gloating smirk anyway.
