by Dan Padavona
Who was Raven to accuse Chelsey of self-harm? Her mother jammed needles into her arm for a decade, and LeVar ran the Harmon streets with his thug friends. Raven was the last person who should lecture someone about her demons. Chelsey had even given LeVar a chance, and the teenager blew off the interview. She’d predicted he’d call moments before the appointment with some excuse, some lame reason for postponing the interview. So, when his name had appeared on her phone, she’d ignored his calls. No second chances. She climbed out on a limb for Raven’s brother, and he made a fool of her.
Chelsey tossed the soda in the trash and wandered up the corridor, hugging close to the rail to avoid the throng of weekend shoppers. Cold sweat trickled down her forehead after a burly man in a hurry almost trampled her. He looked too much like Herb Reid, the construction worker she’d investigated. Memories of the attack came unbidden to her. Head swimming, she leaned against the rail and caught her breath as shoppers passed, a few eyeing her warily.
You’re okay, she told herself. It took a while before the floor stopped undulating. After she steadied herself, she continued on. Her growling stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Sweet and savory meals wafted out of the food court.
Outside the Disney Store, a man and woman embraced. She swore it was Thomas and Naomi until the man turned his face toward Chelsey, sensing her glare. Chelsey lowered her head and hurried away, feeling stupid. And jealous. Against her will, she pictured Thomas and Naomi beside the lake, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, both of them smiling into each other's eyes. They’d celebrated a joyous occasion—Thomas professing his love to Naomi, no doubt.
Let them be together. Despite her jealousy, despite the hurt burning through her heart, she wanted Thomas to be happy. Naomi seemed like a good person. Chelsey admired the woman for caring for a wheelchair-bound teenager by herself. If anyone deserved Thomas, it was Naomi.
A tear crept out of her eye. She flicked it away in anger. Why was this upsetting her?
As she weaved between teenagers, a memory flashed of the night she met Thomas at the high school football game. He’d offered her his sweatshirt to keep her warm. Long after the game ended and the bleachers cleared, they sat and laughed, oblivious to the chilling autumn wind. She’d loved the boy from the moment she set eyes on him, adoring his quirky mannerisms, never once considering he had Asperger’s, and not loving him less when she learned the truth.
Throwing her friends and family out of her life had been a huge mistake. But breaking up with Thomas had crippled her. He was her rock, her steadying force. With Thomas by her side, she would have broken out of her depression sooner. She wouldn’t have wasted a decade of her life, wandering the country, searching for a love she’d tossed away. She’d convinced herself she didn’t need friends to lean on, and all those lies drowned beneath a battering wave of truth.
A teenage boy and girl held hands on a bench. The girl giggled and kissed the boy on his cheek. Another tear forced its way past Chelsey’s defenses. Every store she passed reminded Chelsey of her ruin. The jewelry store, selling love on credit. The greeting card store. A shop that emblazoned the names of loved ones on stuffed animals. At that moment, she might have been the only person alone in the world.
She lowered her head and picked up her pace, not noticing how hard her heart was slamming against her chest until her vision blurred and her legs buckled.
The next thing Chelsey remembered was lying on her back, the cold rail brushing her cheek, her hair splayed out like spilling blood. A woman leaned over her.
“Miss, can you hear me?”
Chelsey couldn’t reply. The mall somersaulted as her breath came in quick gasps.
“Someone call 9-1-1! I think she’s having a heart attack!”
Concerned shouts. People circling, staring down at her like she was some strange piece of art they couldn’t grasp. Chelsey’s heart screamed in warning. It thrummed at hyper-speed, jack-hammering into her throat as her vision moved in and out of focus. Unlike her attack during the Herb Reid investigation, pain seared through her body this time. A vise clutched her heart and squeezed, shooting pain down her limbs. Her left arm fell numb as a stabbing sensation trailed from her neck to her shoulder. As her life flashed before her eyes, she understood the implications.
“Does anyone know CPR? Get security!”
This was it. She was dying.
The physician hadn’t listened to her. She should have called a cardiologist. Like everything in her life, she’d waited too long to act.
A woman in a white and black security uniform knelt beside her and spoke words Chelsey couldn’t understand.
She blacked out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Saturday, August 14th
5:15 p.m.
When someone turned the knob on the guest house door, LeVar snatched the knife from beneath the mattress and slipped it into his back pocket.
The lake mirrored the blue sky, making it seem impossible that danger could reach him here. But someone had broken inside the guest house already. He couldn’t think straight. Too many worries crawling through his head. What if the Kings attacked Scout and Naomi, or shot Thomas when he intervened? LeVar had invited danger into paradise. The blood of his family and friends would be on his hands if something unthinkable happened.
He waited behind the wall. The lock jiggled.
LeVar slipped the knife out of his pocket, fingers wrapping around the hilt. A knife was a poor choice in a gunfight. But it was the only weapon he possessed.
He let out a breath when someone knocked. Rev or Kilo wouldn’t rap their knuckles on his door. They’d kick the door down and shoot the first person they encountered.
LeVar leaned his head around the wall. Raven peered between the curtains with worry and irritation on her face. As he approached, her eyes fell to the knife and widened.
“What’s with the knife?” she asked when he opened the door.
“Just being careful.”
He led her inside and gestured at the chair beside the window. She set her hands on her hips.
“I’m not here for a social call, LeVar. You aren’t answering your phone, and you never showed for the interview.”
LeVar fell into the chair and lowered his head, elbows on his knees, dreadlocks concealing his face.
“Something came up.”
“I went out on a limb for you. Chelsey’s angry as hell, and she blames me for wasting her time. I don’t get it. You wanted that job.”
He slung his hair back and rubbed his temples.
“Anthony Fisher called just as I left.”
“I told you to let Thomas deal with Anthony. You didn’t go to Harmon, did you?” He glanced out the window. His silenced answered her question. Raven fell into the chair beside him when he scooted over to make room. “Talk to me.”
“I’m an idiot, okay?” He clenched his hands. “Anthony set me up. Half the crew was waiting for me.”
She opened her mouth to reply. Her haunted eyes fell to the floor.
“How did you get away?”
“Still got a few tricks of my sleeve, Sis. They shoulda known better than to mess with their muscle.”
“Please tell me you didn’t…”
“Naw. I didn’t kill no one. Busted up Anthony’s nose and broke into some lady’s apartment. But that’s all.”
“So just a few minor infractions. Great. We should call the police.”
“And say what? That the former enforcer for the Kings beat the snot out of some kid for pulling a gun on him? That’ll go well for me.”
Raven cast a worried glance at the door.
“What if they come here?”
LeVar leaned over and touched the mouse on Scout’s computer. The views from the security cameras appeared on the screen. He tapped his finger against the monitor.
“I’ll see them. But my guess is they already have.”
“The break-in.”
“Right. Now that I have eyes on t
he guest house, ain’t nobody sneaking up on me again.”
Raven eyed the knife.
“I don’t want you fighting. If you kill somebody, even in self-defense, you’ll go to prison. And if they kill you…I can’t live without my brother.”
She rested her head on his broad shoulder. He stroked her hair.
“Nothing gonna happen to me. I’ll take care of it. Like I always have.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. At least tell Thomas. This is his property. He deserves to know what’s going on.”
LeVar enlarged the security camera views, zooming around the yard.
“I’ll tell Thomas.” LeVar raised his eyes to Raven’s. “But if Rev shows his face, it won’t end well for him.”
* * *
Sharp pain spread down Chelsey’s arms and legs. Her body tingled.
A nurse wearing too much aftershave removed the oxygen mask from her mouth. She grabbed his hand, her lungs struggling for air.
“I…can’t…breathe.”
The golden-haired doctor glared down her nose at Chelsey.
“Yes, you can, Ms. Byrd. You’re hyperventilating. The more you depend on the mask, the longer it will take for the gases in your blood to return to normal.”
The nurse wheeled a machine forward as Chelsey sat on an uncomfortable cot in the emergency room.
“What’s that for?”
“We’ll run an echocardiogram and check your heart,” the doctor said, motioning for the nurse to prepare for the examination.
“Don’t you give people shots or something when they’re having a heart attack or stroke?”
It felt as if a million tiny hands squeezed Chelsey from the inside. Cutting off the blood flow in her veins. Clutching her heart.
“You’re not having a stroke.”
“But my left side. It’s numb.”
“Give me your leg,” the doctor said, tapping her left knee. Chelsey raised her leg as the doctor held her foot. “Push against me. Good. Now your arm.”
Chelsey bent her arm at the elbow and resisted as the woman pulled.
“Good thing for me we aren’t arm wrestling,” the doctor said. “Because you would have already won. You’re not having a stroke. I can run a CT and an MRI. But the signs of a stroke or heart attack aren’t there.” The doctor held Chelsey’s eyes. “You’re already relaxing, Ms. Byrd. All you needed was to hear you aren’t dying, and the blood returned to your face. How’s your heartbeat?”
“It’s still really fast.”
The doctor took Chelsey’s wrist and checked her pulse.
“About a hundred beats per minute. Elevated, but not dangerous. You hit a hundred beats per minute every time you walk uphill. Even someone in good physical condition will push one-hundred-twenty or higher climbing stairs. But you think nothing of it because you expect your heart rate to rise.”
“I’m sitting down. My heart rate shouldn’t be a hundred.”
“Stress will make your heart beat faster. When I was in medical school, we studied people watching tense scenes in action and horror movies. We measured heart rates of ninety to one-hundred, even though they were seated.”
Chelsey lowered her eyes. Had she done this to herself?
“We’ll give you an echocardiogram and run a few more tests, just to be sure. But I’m ninety-nine percent certain you aren’t having a heart attack or stroke.”
“Ninety-nine isn’t one-hundred.”
The doctor patted Chelsey’s arm as if she were an inconsolable child. She had Chelsey remove her shirt while the nurse turned his back. Then Chelsey held out her arms so the doctor could slip a pale blue hospital gown over her.
“All right, Ms. Byrd. I’ll have you lie on your back to start.”
With a pillow beneath her head, Chelsey stared at the ceiling as the doctor pushed the cold transducer probe around her chest. Then she lay on her side, facing away from the monitor while the doctor repeated the procedure. Her lips quivered from cold and sadness. What had become of her life?
After the doctor finished, she told Chelsey to sit up.
“You’re not having a stroke, and your heart is healthy.”
“So what’s happening to me?”
“Have you experienced a lot of stress lately, Ms. Byrd?”
Chelsey glanced away.
“There are things going on in my life.”
“My guess is stress caused your attack. We’ll keep you a while longer and monitor your condition. But you need to relax. You aren’t dying.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Saturday, August 14th
9:30 p.m.
Scout felt summer slipping away. The sun set a few minutes earlier every night, and the darkness was complete by the time she set her phone on the nightstand and pulled herself from the wheelchair to the bed. Crickets sang through the cracked open window. Usually, she stayed awake until midnight during the summer. After spending the day scouring forums, tracking Webb-WLHS, Paige Sutton, and Justine Adkins, she couldn’t force her eyes to stay open. She’d outlasted her mother, who turned in a half-hour ago, complaining of a headache. Now Scout dragged her atrophied legs across the bedsheets, hauled the covers to her chest, and lay back with her arms propped behind her head.
To her side, the phone hummed with an Instagram notification. She ignored it. Yesterday, she’d overheard her mother on the phone with her father. Her chest tightened. It had been months since she last saw her father. Scout had almost forgotten what he looked like. She twiddled her thumbs over her stomach as she considered calling him. How would he react? Enraged that she interrupted his sleep, or thrilled to hear her voice? What sort of father abandoned his daughter after a crippling automobile accident?
She picked up the phone and scrolled to his number. He woke up early, even on Sundays. During the week, he began work at six in the morning, and he maintained an early schedule through the weekend. The green call icon beckoned. She set the phone down, undecided, then picked it up again. Calling Glen entailed risks. If he spurned her, it would be forever, and she couldn’t bear losing hope.
Scout was about to give up when a red alarm icon appeared on the screen. The security camera outside her window detected movement. Propping herself up with her elbows, she opened the app and stared at the screen. The yard leading to LeVar’s house appeared empty. But she didn’t trust the shadows spilling across the grass. It was probably nothing. The alarm triggered whenever a deer ran through the picture, or a raccoon scurried past. She zoomed in and studied the pools of darkness cast by the trees, the sharp moonlight reflecting off LeVar’s windows.
For five minutes she studied the screen. Had Raven and Darren received the same alert? The lights were off inside the guest house. Scout hadn’t seen LeVar since the interview, so he must have received bad news. Scout didn’t understand Chelsey. LeVar was the obvious choice to fill the vacant investigator position, and Wolf Lake Consulting had fallen behind on their cases.
A silhouette darted out of the trees. Scout swallowed and moved the phone closer to her face. Someone approached LeVar’s door, staying close to the wall. She urged LeVar to wake up. Watching the real-life horror movie play out on the screen froze her with indecision.
Minimizing the app, she called LeVar’s phone and got his voice-mail. Dammit. She fired him a text.
Someone is outside the guest house. Stay away from the windows.
LeVar didn’t respond.
Scout dragged herself off the bed, cursing her useless legs. It took too long to struggle into the chair. Even if she reached LeVar in time, she was no match for the prowler. Pulling open the bedroom door, she pushed the wheelchair through the kitchen to the deck door. She spied the stranger in the night, testing the windows as he moved around the guest house.
Scout jolted when the phone rang, dropping it into her lap as the shadow crossed behind the house, searching for a way inside. Raising the phone to her ear, she answered.
“I see him,” LeVar said.
“Why di
dn’t you answer?”
“’Cause I didn’t want him to know I was awake. Don’t come out here, Scout.” She imagined LeVar peeking through the window, spying her beyond the glass deck door. “Get away from the glass and call Thomas.”
“What will you do?”
He answered Scout by ending the call.
“LeVar?”
Her mouth went dry. The prowler moved to the door again, crouching below the window as he tested the knob. The pane exploded as LeVar punched through the glass with a T-shirt wrapped around his fist. Stunned, the stranger fell back on his palms and crab-walked backward. The door flew open as the unknown man fished a gun from his pocket.
“No!” Scout screamed.
The gunshot split the night.
* * *
LeVar ducked and dove for the ground, anticipating the shot. The bullet whistled past his ear and tore into the black sky as his assailant scrambled away. LeVar leaped to his feet and threw a punch, striking the hooded figure’s face. Blood spurted from the man’s nose, the stranger pinwheeling his arms as he stumbled backward with the gun still in his hand.
“That you, Anthony? Come back to finish the job?”
Floodlights flicked on behind the A-Frame. The hooded man took off running as LeVar tumbled to the ground. Whoever it was, the man was fast. Kilo or Lawson? Rev or Anthony?
LeVar righted himself and sprinted after the figure, the night swallowing his assailant. The man’s sneakers pounded the trail as he fled toward the state park. LeVar hoped Darren had seen the security camera alert. If the park ranger cut the stranger off, he’d have no escape.
Barely breaking a sweat in the warm and humid night, LeVar kicked into another gear, pumping his arms and legs, gaining ground on the fleeing suspect. Fear whispered in his ear. If the man turned back with the gun, he’d have a free shot at LeVar. But if he missed his shot, he’d never escape LeVar’s wrath.
