It’s like I’m tethered to something. Or like the ground is moving the opposite direction, like some kind of reverse conveyer.
Behind me, footsteps pound.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer.
They’re practically on top of me!
I scream for help. My plea reverberates off the buildings around me, but no sign of help appears.
A voice growls from the darkness. “No one can help you. You’re mine.”
It’s the man from the car. And it sounds like he’s right behind me.
Rain pours over my head, courses into my eyes and down my back. Each step is like sloshing through the ocean.
I’ll never make it!
My legs ache. My lungs burn. And my head tells me that I’m going to die. Slowly, at the hands of the men in pursuit.
A hot, fleshy hand locks onto my shoulder and jerks me backward.
A scream shatters the night.
I realize it’s coming from me.
I sit up with a gasp. Sheets are tangled around my body, clinging to me like a second layer of skin.
The hotel room comes into focus.
It’s okay. Those men are nowhere near me. I’m safe.
My heart rate slowly recedes.
Pain pulses behind my eyes. I wish I had some aspirin or something, but I don’t. All I have is a few meager belongings and a bunch of jumbled memories that may or may not be genuine.
I ease back onto the mattress and close my eyes.
Images of the alley, of the man, flood my mental vision. My breath quickens and I can’t draw enough air to satisfy my lungs.
I sit up and click on the lamp. The light pushes back the shadows, which eases my worries a little.
The red numbers on the clock say that it’s only five a.m.
Less than four hours of sleep, but I know I’m done for tonight.
I turn on the TV, but don’t really see the images. Instead, I review the dreams I’ve had and puzzle through the pieces I do know.
Audra Parker.
The name echoes in my thoughts. Maybe I should go down to the business center and do a search on that one. If it’s my real name, and if all the others are fakes, then it would stand to reason that something should come up on that one, right?
It beats sitting in this room for the next five hours.
First things first. I need to wash off all this sweat and make myself presentable.
I push aside the sheets and head for the shower.
Then I’ll go downstairs and see if I can’t come up with some answers.
ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ
“Looks like you had a rough night.”
I close the door to Zak’s truck and reach for my seatbelt. “Thanks.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Nightmare. Followed by a headache that I still have. And another pointless internet search. Thanks for noticing.” I know I’m being cranky and that Zak doesn’t deserve it, but I can’t help myself.
“Sorry.”
Silence falls.
I sigh. “No, I’m sorry. I’m tired and I’m in a bad mood, but I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
“Hey, that’s what honorary brothers are for.”
“Thanks.” It’s nice to have an honorary brother. Especially since I don’t know if I have a real one and if I do, whether or not we’re close or he watches out for me or anything. If I do have a brother, I only hope he’s half as nice as Zak. “So how far is this hospital?”
“About a half hour. Malachi’s going to meet us there.”
I’d almost forgotten about Malachi and his crazy desire to pray for Zak’s sister.
“Tell me about your sister.”
Zak doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Her name’s Carina. She’s twenty-four. She was a ballerina. She moved with more grace than anyone I’ve ever seen and could’ve really done something with that if…”
He doesn’t finish the thought.
Instead, he swallows hard. “She was smart and had a wicked sense of humor. Everyone loved her.”
I don’t know what to say.
But one thing I do notice is how Zak refers to her in the past tense. Like she’s already gone.
“She sounds great.”
“She was.”
The remainder of the drive is silent except for the traffic outside our windows. Life goes on around us as we both remain trapped by the past. Zak by a tragedy he can’t forget and me by a trauma I can’t remember.
What a pair we make.
We reach the hospital. As we exit the truck, Malachi steps from a classic Mustang. The deep blue paint appears to be perfect, as does the body.
Zak whistles. “Sweet ride, bro.”
Malachi closes the door softly. “Thanks. It was given to me by a friend.”
“Given?” I can hardly believe it. “Nice friend.”
“What year?” Zak asks, oblivious to the cold as he circles the car.
“ ‘69. It’s a good little car.”
I’ll say. Malachi’s just full of surprises, isn’t he?
We head inside, ride the elevator up to the fifth floor, and walk down the hallway to room 527.
Zak and Malachi walk inside, but for some reason, my feet freeze at the door.
This is Zak’s sister. The one who reminds him of me. Will it be like looking at a version of myself in that bed?
And if it is, do I really want to see that?
Too late now. I should’ve thought of that before agreeing to come.
I force my feet forward.
The room is dim, the only sounds coming from the machines next to her bed. A breathing machine, heart monitor, and God only knows what else. All the equipment dwarfs the petite woman in the bed, a woman whose complexion has a sickly yellow hue.
A woman who does bear a remarkable resemblance to me.
Her hair is black, not brown, and her skin tone more olive, but aside from that, we could pass for sisters.
“Hey, Carina. How are you today?” Zak pauses, as though waiting for a response, before continuing, “I’m good. Really looking forward to the day you open those eyes, but hanging in there until then.”
He motions us closer. “I brought some friends today. Stormy looks just like you. I wish you could see her because I know you’d conspire with her to pull off some crazy pranks. You always wanted a twin, remember? Well, she could probably help you fool most people. And this is Malachi. He’s a good guy who wants to pray for you.”
Zak doesn’t mention that he thinks such a move is a waste of time.
The only response is the steady beep of the heart monitor and the whooshing of the breathing machine as it pumps oxygen into her lungs.
Zak pulls a chair close and regales her with stories from the bar. “You’d like Stormy. She’s got spunk, just like you. You know she singlehandedly stopped an armed robber? Yeah, took him to the floor. And the boss’ son, which was pretty darn funny. But that’s a story for another day.”
His eyes flick up to me before shifting to Malachi. “And Malachi took the stage the other night.”
Another pause. “Yeah, I know. Crazy to sing karaoke at a place where you have to show your face again the next day, right? But you know what, he rocked it. He sings like you dance. Has a voice like, well, an angel, if you believe in that sorta thing, which I know you do. I’d love for you to hear him sometime.”
If only she’d open her eyes.
The silence lingers for a second, before it’s broken by a soft voice.
Malachi. Singing. A song I don’t recognize, but that is hauntingly beautiful, even without music.
For once the shivers chasing down my body have nothing to do with fear, paranoia, or the cold.
It’s a refreshing change.
I don’t think he sings the whole thing because it only lasts about a minute, but the silence is deafening when he’s done.
Zak clears his throat. “Well, there you have it. Quite a voice, huh?”
It’s kind of creepy, if I’m being honest.
He stays like that for what feels like an hour but probably isn’t any more than five minutes before releasing her hand and stepping back.
Shining eyes shift between Zak and me. “Now, we wait. It’s all in God’s hands.”
Not sure I trust God’s hands, but I can’t say that to Malachi. Not when he has such hope that God will act.
And especially not in front of Carina.
On the off-chance she can hear us, I have to remain positive, which means faking it since I sure don’t feel it.
“We should get going.” Strain marks Zak’s words. “Don’t want to be late for work.”
That’s right. He starts at noon. I don’t start until two, so I’ll have him drop me by my hotel.
Malachi zeroes his attention on Zak. “Is it all right with you if I stay here a while longer? I’m off today and would like to spend more time in prayer.”
“Knock yourself out.”
Zak walks from the room. I offer Malachi a small smile before following.
As the elevator doors slide closed, Zak looks at me.
“I just don’t get the energy that people put into that. I mean, really. She didn’t wake up, did she?” He looks away. “It was stupid to think something might have happened.”
Had Zak really thought Malachi’s prayer would work?
Seems like it. And I can’t say that I blame him. If our positions were reversed, I probably would have hoped for some kind of response, too. Especially after all Malachi’s confidence that his prayers would be heard.
“I’m sorry, Zak.”
“I knew it was a waste of time anyway, but I hoped I was wrong.”
Instead, Malachi proved him right. Proved both of us right.
God isn’t there. Or if He is, He doesn’t care.
Looks like I’m on my own. We all are.
ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ
Sam wasn’t sick.
The thought crashes into my mind the second I see him.
He wasn’t sick. He was in the hospital. Or at the very least, the doctor’s office.
A cast encases his left wrist, the blue-colored plaster screaming the truth. His dad went after him again, only this time the evidence is more than obvious.
Charlie puts him in the bar, shadowing Zak, and asks me to cover the restaurant until it dies down.
It’s a logical solution. Preparing drinks one-handed may not be easy, but carrying plates of food will be next to impossible.
Most places probably would’ve just sent Sam home. Put him on a mandatory leave until he heals. After all, he can’t perform the job he’s been hired to do, right?
But Charlie isn’t most employers.
The night passes quickly until a massive snow storm moves in around eight p.m.
The restaurant empties out and the traffic in the bar dwindles.
Ugh. It’s going to be a long night.
With the restaurant empty, I shift my time to working the bar.
Not that I’m really needed there, either.
I wipe down the bar while Zak runs the credit card of one of three customers currently in the building.
Glancing over at Sam, I plaster on a smile that’s as fake as the IDs in my possession. “So, you’ve converted to the dark side.”
He offers a thin laugh. “Didn’t have much choice, did I?”
“What happened?”
“Car accident.”
“Really.” I spear him with what I know to be a firm look. “Did that happen before or after you fell down the stairs and picked a fight with a guy who was bigger than you?”
He shifts his weight. “I’m good at getting into trouble, aren’t I?”
Has he forgotten that he told me about his dad last night? He can’t seriously think I’m going to buy his lame excuses anymore.
“Come on. I think we both know that,” I nod at the cast on his arm, “Didn’t happen because of any kind of accident.”
“It could have.”
“But it didn’t.” I toss the rag into the bin under the counter. “You need to get out of there. Before something worse happens.”
“He said he was sorry.”
“I bet he’s said that before.”
A non-committal shrug is answer enough. “Stormy, he’s my dad.”
“Exactly! He should be protecting you, not breaking your bones.”
“It’s my fault. I talked back.”
I want to shake him, but unfortunately, it wouldn’t do any good. “It doesn’t matter. There’s no excuse for doing that to someone.”
Except maybe self-defense. But I know that wasn’t the case here.
“He didn’t mean to. And I should’ve walked away. I know better than to talk to him when he’s like that.”
“That’s just it. You shouldn’t have to walk away. You should be able to talk to him, no matter what mood he’s in. Aren’t you tired of walking around on eggshells?”
Sam remains silent, his jaw locked in a look of defiance.
I sigh. There’s no getting through to him, is there? “What were you guys arguing about?”
He stares at me. The set to his jaw softens and he rubs the back of his neck with his good hand. “There’s this girl…”
I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. His Adam’s apple bobs and his cheeks turn the color of the creamy tomato sauce that was one of tonight’s specials.
Okay. If I want the whole story, looks like I’ll need to prod him a bit. “How did a girl cause this?”
“Uh…” He glances around the room, almost as if looking for someone to save him, before focusing on an invisible spot on the counter. “I made the mistake of telling dad about her and he said I should forget it ‘cause she’d never go for a loser like me. So I argued. Even though I should’ve just agreed.”
How can any father call his son a loser?
If Sam’s dad were here right now, I’d probably pin him to the floor. Just for fun.
Part of me wants to cry.
Part of me wants to hunt his dad down and let him have it.
But using my energy to build Sam up is more productive than either of those options. “No. You should not have agreed, because it isn’t true.”
The words come out sharper than I intended and Sam flips startled eyes up to me.
Obviously I didn’t do a great job at masking my anger.
I lean on the counter and hold his eyes with my own. “Look. Whoever this girl is, she’s lucky to have you around.”
Speaking of which, I wonder who she is.
I mentally run through the girls working here, but I don’t think I’ve noticed Sam giving any of them special attention.
Maybe she doesn’t work here.
He might know her from his neighborhood, an old school friend, someone from a previous job or a friend of a friend. The list goes on.
It really doesn’t matter.
All that matters is convincing Sam to move forward with his life.
“You know what I think you should do? I think you should ask her out. If she has half a brain, she’ll say yes, then you can throw that in your dad’s face as you walk out the door with your suitcase.”
Sam’s already shaking his head. “I can’t. Besides, dad needs me.”
“He’ll find another punching bag.” Wait. Could Sam be staying to protect someone else? A younger sibling perhaps? “Are you protecting someone? A brother or sister?”
“No. It’s just me and dad.”
Okay, so there’s one option off the table. “Then go. I’m not saying never talk to him again, although I don’t know why you’d want to, but get out of there. Before he kills you.”
“I’m with Stormy.” Drew’s voice sounds from behind me about th
e same time that I notice Sam’s eyes flick that direction. “I even found a place you can stay. Cheap rent and it’s close by so you’d save money on gas.”
“See? There you go.”
Sam’s gaze moves between us. “Y–you found me a place?”
“Sure did. There’s a convenience store a few blocks away with apartments above it. One of them is open.”
Drew lists the rent, which is about what I’m paying each week at the hotel.
Huh. I wonder if they have two open apartments.
But it’s hard to give references and sign a lease when I don’t know who I am or how long I’ll be here.
“I know the guy,” Drew continues. “I could call him right now and tell him you’ll take it. I bet you could move in tomorrow.”
“I–I don’t know. Dad would freak if he saw me moving out.”
“So we’ll move you while he’s at work. I’m free tomorrow morning. I’ll help.” Of course, without a car I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but if all he needs is an extra set of hands, I can certainly do that.
“We both will.” Drew’s hand lands on my shoulder. It’s large and warm, but nothing like the hand from my nightmares. Instead, it’s comforting. Like an old sweater or something.
An old sweater? Where did that come from?
I shake off the thought. “And I bet Zak would help, too. We could use his truck.”
Sam stares at me. “You guys would do that for me?”
“That’s what friends do.” Are those tears glistening in Sam’s eyes? I’m pretty sure they are and the sight of them makes me want to mete out a little retribution on his behalf. “So what do you say?”
He weighs us for the space of a few heartbeats before nodding.
Drew’s hand vanishes from my shoulder and I suddenly feel chilled. “Let me go call my friend and we’ll get it set up.”
As Drew walks away, I lightly touch Sam’s good arm. “I know it’s scary starting over, but you made the right call.”
I look around the room to discover that the other two customers are gone. There’s no one left but employees.
And it’s not even ten.
Maybe Charlie will close down early. I wouldn’t blame him if he did.
Even though we’d lose out on some hourly pay, I doubt any of us would mind. Without customers, there are no tips and that’s where the real money is.
Shadow of the Storm Page 15
