How could they understand the deep feeling of worthlessness he felt when his mother left? His own mother abandoned him to a drunk, and he was expected to just let it go? They said he needed to let go of his bitterness when he quietly held the secret that his father laid in bed with a hangover every morning while he made his own breakfast, got ready for school, and walked to the bus stop, at the age of seven. Unlike his father, he cared to save what family he had left, even though it barely resembled one.
She was right. He did care deeply, and it was his curse. Life would have been so much easier if he could care less. He studied her perfect face as she studied his. How could someone so intelligent and flawless have any troubles at all? What would drive such a beautiful girl to cut herself?
“Why?” he said, unable to keep the question internal.
Her face tightened. “Why what?”
“I can understand why I do it, but why you? You’re so beautiful.”
She pulled away and stared at him.
“I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”
She slid her sleeves down and looked at him with an emotion he couldn’t decipher. “You want to know why I cut myself? Because men prey on pretty girls, and sick men don’t care how young they are.”
Suddenly the living room flickered with a brilliant, white light, and the doorbell sounded. What the...? He jumped back.
The girl ran into the living room, and he inched over to look in. She peered through a crack in the front curtains and whatever she saw made her snap back out of view. She stooped and ran back to him.
“Who is it?”
Her eyes glowed with terror. “It’s the police.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
David sat in the passenger seat of the news car, the box of food heavy in his lap, and the image of the soup kitchen diners staring at him with looks of pity heavy on his mind. He didn’t deserve this. He had worked hard to turn his life around. He’d done his time at college, studying his craft and working a part time-job to support his family. Though Karen’s over-dramatic comments were simply a ruse, they’d managed to tap a raw nerve.
How did he get to this place of such dire economic duress? More importantly, why had God allowed it? Didn’t he do his part? Hadn’t he been a good little human? Would it kill God to throw a couple of winning lottery tickets his way, or how about a lead on a full-paying job? That was a message he wouldn’t mind getting. But no, God’s plan was to have him run all over the countryside, chasing after bread crumbs (tiny morsels of the larger picture), from one uncomfortable situation to the next without any concern for his happiness. Of all the people on this hunk of rock who deserved a break, he had to at least be in the top five. Was it too much to ask for some kind of reward for his efforts?
Karen hopped in the driver’s seat. “Okay, spill it. I know you got something at the end there.”
There was no masking his sour mood, “I’m not a charity case, you know.”
Her face lit up. “Really? You’re sore about that? I was just having fun.”
He gave her the cold shoulder.
“Now, David.” She fluttered her eyes and spoke to him as a mother might talk to her child. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to step on your delicate man feelings.”
“Oh, that’s real mature,” he said.
“You’re the one acting like a baby.”
“I’m just saying I don’t appreciate you making me look like a charity case.”
She laughed. “This is really eating you up, isn’t it? Were you on welfare as a kid or something?”
He squirmed. “No. I wasn’t on welfare.”
“So what’s with the mood?”
“It’s just—getting to me, that’s all.”
“The messages, or your finances?”
“Both! It just sucks. I do all the work and what do I get for it? It’s like God doesn’t care how miserable I am.”
“Well, I’m not the best one to talk to about God. I haven’t exactly been a model church attendant. But I know this, when you get these messages, something miraculous happens—something few people ever get to see. You see a glimpse of something beyond all this. There isn’t a person in this city who wouldn’t want to be you.”
He seriously doubted that, especially if they had spent an afternoon following the messages. But she was right; his financial woes and the fear of being thrown into another life-threatening situation were skewing his perception. His whole life he had yearned to know if God existed, and God had answered that question, quite definitively. Now it was simply a matter of getting to know him. Funny, his years of laboring over the question of God’s existence seemed trivial now, compared to this greater question of whether or not he could trust him.
Karen cocked her head. “You still with me?”
“Yes,” he said. He heaved a sigh. “You’re right. I’m fine. Let’s just drop it.”
“You sure, because I can get you some warm milk and a blanky.”
“I get it! You made your point.”
“Good. Now, spill the beans. What did you get in there? I saw that dopey look you get when you see something.”
The message flashed in his mind. Put in safe deposit box. Was it literal? Was he supposed to store the contents of the care package in a safe deposit box? If so, how did that have anything to do with clearing the name of a young man accused of murder? “It’s stupid,” he muttered. “It is so stupid.”
“Just tell me!”
“I’m supposed to put this stuff,” he plucked out a can of beets, “in a safe deposit box.”
She didn’t even blink. “Okay, which bank?”
“Really?” he said, tossing the can back in. “You’re cool with that? That doesn’t seem odd to you?”
“Sure, I’d prefer a message like: The smoking gun is in a green trash bag on a dump truck marked 352, but we have to work with what we’ve got. Maybe there’s someone at the bank who’s involved in all this.” She put her key in the ignition. “What bank?”
“I have no earthly idea,” he said.
“Will it work if we go to a random bank?”
“I don’t even know if we’re supposed to go to a bank! It just said, ‘Put in safe deposit box.’ That’s all I have.”
She turned the key and the car started up. “There’s a bank in the center of town. Let’s try that one.”
“And do what? Walk in and say, ‘We’d like to store some canned food in your safe?’”
“You don’t have to tell them what you’re putting in there. It’s confidential.”
His frustration boiled over again. “I’m holding a box of food! You don’t think they’ll ask me why I’m holding a box of food?!”
“We’ll get you a backpack or something. Besides, who cares what they think. If you want to put food in a safe deposit box, what does it matter to them?”
He reached in the box and took out a can of creamed asparagus. “It’s just weird.” He held it out to her.
“Come on.” She swiped it away. “Let’s get you a backpack and go from there. I think I saw a sporting goods store on the way through town. I’ll swing over there. Who knows, maybe you’ll get something while we’re at the store.” She put the car into gear and pulled out into traffic—a woman on a mission.
“It doesn’t bother you that this has nothing to do with that young man who is suspected of killing his father’s girlfriend?”
“We don’t know that. I’ve been tracking clues for years, and most of the time it’s just like this. You get a lead and you follow it, even if the lead doesn’t make sense.”
“How is it you’re cooler with all this than I am?”
She laughed. “Who says I’m cool with it?”
“Look at you, you’re like a giddy schoolgirl.” It was true. He had never seen her so lively.
Her face beamed. “I just married the man of my dreams and nailed the job of my dreams. Not to mention, I’m untethered from any real responsibility for the first time in my life. And, I’m doi
ng what I love, chasing a mystery. Why wouldn’t I be giddy. I’m having fun.”
He sneered. “Yeah, this is a real blast.”
“You need to stop taking this so ser...” The sound of her phone filled the cab of the news car, and she responded reflexively by pulling it out and checking the caller ID. “Speaking of responsibility,” she said, stabbing the talk button with her manicured nail. “Hello?”
David sat in awkward stasis, waiting for Karen’s attention to return. It was an all-too-familiar state, one that quickly reminded him of his station in life. Karen Knight had everything going for her. He, on the other hand, was nothing more than a side-show act.
She flipped the phone shut. “That was Coldfield.” He set up an appointment for me to meet with Ross Blake at the jail. He wants me to get a statement.”
“Are we still going to the bank?”
“Yes. I have time to get you that backpack and drop you off, but you’ll have to do the safe deposit thing without me.”
“What about when I’m done?”
“I’ll give you money for a cab back to the station.”
“What if I get a message to go somewhere else?”
“We’ll play it by ear. You have a phone. Call me, and we’ll figure something out.”
He preferred to have his own car but as the thought came into his head he realized, with the state of disrepair his car was in, his chances of walking were about the same whether he had his car or not. He was better off to go with the cab money.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
After a furious whispered debate, the results of which displeased the girl with the wavy, blond hair, it was decided that Jon would hide in the kitchen. It was too dangerous for him to sneak out the back. If someone saw him enter the house, they were probably watching the back yard still. His only chance was to find out what the police knew and hope they didn’t have a warrant to search the house.
“Afternoon, miss,” was all the officer said. Then there was silence. Jon strained to listen. Why was it so quiet? Was she giving him away? His heart began to throb. She wouldn’t do that, would she?
“I’m sorry, miss,” said the officer, with a strange enunciation. “We’re looking for a young white male. A neighbor of yours heard on his scanner that we are looking for him, and he said he saw him run into your backyard. Have you seen anything?”
There was silence, for a long time.
“No. We don’t think he’s dangerous,” said the officer. “He stole something from the cemetery—a metal box. If you see anything, can you contact us?
Why wasn’t she talking back to the officer? Why the silence? The urge to peek was driving him nuts, but he didn’t dare to chance it.
“Thank you, miss.”
It sounded like she had given them what they wanted. The door sealed shut with a thump, and Jon watched the doorway with nervous apprehension, half expecting one of the officers to appear in it.
A few moments later the girl stepped into view, alone. He let out a breath.
“They’re gone,” she said, somewhat sullen.
A black tablet with chalked words dangled from her right hand. Jon’s eyes flashed back up to her face. Suddenly it all made sense, her not catching some of what he’d said, the flickering, white light in the living room, the almost indistinguishable speech impediment.
“Are you, ah, not able to hear?” he said.
She made a reactive attempt to hide the tablet.
“I’m sorry,” he put his hands up in defense. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
“It’s okay,” she said, “I know it’s weird, but for some reason I wanted you to think I was normal. I didn’t want you to see me like everyone else sees me, as handicapped.”
“Um. Okay.”
“No one knows I can speak, not even my mother.”
He stared at her, not understanding. “Wh- why? Why would you keep that from her? You speak perfectly. I couldn’t even tell.”
“Because I have to be here. I don’t have time for school, and classes, and people. I have to be watching.”
“Watching what?”
“Everything!” She walked over to the kitchen table and plopped down on a chair with a squelch.
He waited till she looked up at his face. “Is this all because of your father?”
Her chin tightened and she looked away.
He sat across from her and waited again for her to look in his direction. “Are you okay?”
“It’s been so hard, pretending to be this person, but I don’t know how to escape this life—these lies. I just want to hide from it all, but I can’t leave my mom. I have to protect her. And I can’t stop my work. We’re so close, Jonny, and yet things are falling apart. Something has changed, and Jakson won’t tell me what it is. The organization he works for has become desperate—even resorting to killing.” She looked at him with desperate eyes. “We’ve never killed anyone before! They must really be afraid.”
Jon tried desperately to unravel what she was talking about. “Afraid of what?”
“Despite our best efforts, Elliot James is almost finished. And if he does finish, there won’t be any place for my mother and me to hide.”
“What’s he finishing?”
“It’s a secret, a secret apparently Elliot would kill to protect.”
“Did Sandra uncover the secret?” Jon said, almost to himself. “Is that why this is happening to me?”
The girl studied his mouth. She nodded slowly. “Indirectly, yes. Sandra’s sister is Kathleen Peltz.”
Sandra had never mentioned having a sister, but where had he heard that name before?
She must have read the question on his face. “She’s been all over the news because of her research into Parkinson’s Disease. She’s the country’s leading specialist in stem cell research. I intercepted an email between Kathleen and Sandra a week ago. It sounded like Kathleen had a falling-out with Elliot James and intended to go into hiding, and she was afraid for her sister. But Sandra never got the email. It was routed through an unknown socket and deleted.”
Jon tried desperately to understand. “Someone—intercepted it?”
“This thing is big, Jonny, bigger than you can ever imagine. We’ve done everything possible to stop it, but it’s like it’s destined to happen, like it’s happened before and we are cursed to repeat our mistakes. You’re the only one who can stop this.”
He looked at her, stunned. “Me?! What can I do?”
A buzzing noise from under the table caused her to dig for something in her pocket. She pulled out a smart phone and read a message on its face. Her eyes bounced back to his, her look was intense. “You have to go.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“It’s a text from my mother. She hurt herself at work and they’re sending her home.” She grew rigid. “You have to go. You have to go, now!”
“But I have so many questions.”
She got up and clutched him by the arm. “I’ll talk to you on your iPad. Don’t worry, your questions will be answered.”
“What about the police?”
“Ask the voices to guide you,” she said, tugging him toward the back door. “And if you meet a man named David Chance, trust him. He’ll help you.”
He hardly heard what she said, all he could think of was being with her and fighting this battle at her side. The thought of not being with her caused a surge of panic. He turned to her as they got to the door. “Will I see you again?”
“I hope so,” she said, running a hand down the front of his t-shirt. She opened the door and pushed him out.
“Wait,” he said, holding the door open. “I don’t even know your name.”
Her eyes darted left and right, then settled on his face. “Canary,” she said. “My name is Canary.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Karen pored over the police report and ran through the facts in her head as she sat in the waiting room of the police station. There was something more than a simple
murder investigation here. Probably not something on the scale of a presidential assassination, but definitely more than a man killing his girlfriend and blaming it on his son.
The report said the father eventually confessed to having blacked out during the event, after he was questioned about the blood he had attempted to wash off in the sink. This meant they were holding him for more than questioning even before David found the fragment of burnt cloth in the kitchen wood stove. So what happened? Did the father give in to a fit of rage, black out, and kill his girlfriend? Then, upon awaking, realize his son saw the whole thing? That seemed to be the direction the police were taking with the investigation. But until they were able to produce a murder weapon, no court in the land would arrest the son or the father. There was no record of physical abuse, and no incidents of domestic disturbances. Both were squeaky clean.
A buzzer cut through the air, and Karen’s heart jumped. It had been a while since she’d confronted a suspected killer, and the first time without a sheet of Plexiglass to protect her.
The man who entered looked like a criminal, or at the very least a biker with an attitude. He had a thick mustache and stubble for a beard, a strong muscular build with tattoos on his forearms, and a military haircut. His expression was flat and his eyes looked dead.
A police officer came in behind him, said something she couldn’t hear, and closed the door. Blake crossed the room of mostly-empty cafeteria tables, and the officer took a seat next to the door.
Blake towered over her. “Karen Watson?” he said. It seemed everyone knew her from her recent bomb scare coverage.
“Knight,” she corrected, waving an open palm toward the chair across from her.
“Don’t you news people have enough misery to broadcast?”
“I’m not here about the story,” she said. “Have a seat.”
He slid the chair out and sat down. “Not here about the story?” There was a generous amount of cynicism in his voice.
“No. I’ve come here to talk to you about your son.”
“Why do you care about my son?” he growled.
VOICES: Book 2 in the David Chance series (Suspense, Mystery, Thriller) Page 11
