Fire Prayer

by Deborah Turrell Atkinson

  Connor got out of the car, leaving it in the middle of the road, and walked to the shoulder where Luke had disappeared. “Hey Luke, I won’t hurt you. Let me help,” he shouted at the shrubbery. His voice shook a little bit.

  Connor climbed back into the car, which smelled of his own sweat, an odor that seemed rancid even to him. A moan of self-loathing escaped him. He’d gone almost a day without a dose of Anadrol, and his buddies had warned him about the withdrawal. They said it was important, though he was going to have to gut it out through mood swings, depression, and physical weakness. They also told him his personal and social skills weren’t the only things that needed a break. His heart, liver, and gonads did, too.

  The confrontation with Skelly had pushed Connor to this self-awareness. But when he thought about it, he knew he’d done some things he wished he hadn’t. In fact, he shuddered at some of the things he remembered, and worried about those he didn’t.

  No wonder his brother held him at arm’s length, no longer trusted him, and had begun to exclude him from the tight circle of friends they’d grown up with. He knew about the recent oath, too. And Skelly hadn’t been the one to tell him about it, which really hurt. One of the guys at the gym had been talking, and they’d hushed when he passed by.

  And now this kid was terrified of him. How could he undo the damage he’d caused?

  ***

  Luke pushed through the trees. Was Connor the shadowy monster? He didn’t know. But he did know the guy was bad news, that he had a nasty temper that exploded without warning, and worse, that he’d once had a fight with his mother. Luke had seen it. Connor had taken a swing at her, but she’d grabbed her sculpture of Maui lassoing the sun, a heavy bronze statue that people admired. She’d had that slimy creep backpedaling in a hurry. It was a good memory.

  Luke’s breathing was returning to normal. He was thirsty, his hand hurt, and he needed to check his blood sugar soon. The cut was still oozing, and looked pretty deep. Connor really was a pecker-head, he thought.

  The ocean glimmered through the trees, and he walked over sprawling hala roots to get to a clearing where he could sit in partial shade and have a snack. He dug through the backpack and got out some items. Rolly, what a friend. Luke knew he owed him. There was a package of tissues, which he could wrap around the cut until he got to the cabin, where his dad could take care of it. He also got out a sandwich and a drink, leaned back against a tree trunk and told himself to relax. He not only needed to recoup some energy, he had to let Connor get away, though Luke worried a bit that the jerk would call for help, and it would be someone else Luke didn’t want to see.

  He smiled at the memory of how his mom had hefted that statue of hers. Luke knew she was proud of the stone and glass table in their living room, but didn’t like the statue much.

  “You should go back to your art,” her friends would tell her.

  “Someone’s got to pay the bills,” she’d snarl, and that person wouldn’t bring the subject up again.

  Some of his mother’s comments brought a flood of emotion he couldn’t sort out. Embarrassment for her and his father, whom he loved and who Luke worried might be kind of a loser. He recoiled from thinking that might be true, no matter what his mother said. Uncle Skelly, of course, thought his dad was a genius, but Luke wasn’t sure if Skelly was a good judge. Skelly was a nice enough guy, but he didn’t always have control over his own life. After all, Tanner had to help with the business all the time, and look at his stupid brother.

  Luke took a bite of the sandwich and closed his eyes, trying to fit Connor into the silhouette of the man he’d seen in his living room. There was something different about Connor though, something that didn’t quite fit, but who could tell? It had been dark, except for the bands of light from outside, almost like one of those optical illusion games. Plus the guy had been bent over, so Luke wasn’t sure how tall he was, just that he looked big and strong. Connor certainly fit that description. But he’d been wearing a T-shirt when he’d stopped on the road, so Luke couldn’t tell if he had the tattoo.

  Luke finished off his lunch and peeked at the seeping wound in his hand. Hey, he didn’t have to prick his finger this time. He’d just use the stuff that was still oozing from the wound. Not too much blood anymore, but enough to put on the little slide that fed the monitor. The cut was starting to throb, and Luke didn’t want to think about how far he still had to go. He wrapped a clean T-shirt around it and tied it as tightly as he could.

  His blood sugar was in an acceptable range, but he sure was tired. He packed his food, medicine, and gear back into the pack, got slowly to his feet and worked his arms into the straps. The sun was high and hot and he needed to get this trip behind him.

  Luke walked for about ten minutes before a car stopped. It was a car he recognized, which wasn’t so good, but he knew Mrs. Olivetti, and she was safe. It was too late to run for the bushes.

  She rolled down the window on the passenger side. “Luke, everyone’s looking for you.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Olivetti. Who’s everyone?” Luke peered into the car. Mrs. Olivetti worked at the pharmacy with Mrs. Niwa. She was a nice lady, but kind of a busybody, and Luke was afraid she’d insist on taking him back to Kaunakakai.

  She leaned over the front seat and pushed open the passenger side door. “You okay, honey? You look pale. Luke, your doctor is all worried. And the poor Niwas, well, they—”

  “Have you seen Sergeant Niwa? I want to talk to him.”

  “He’s in the hospital. Bleeding ulcer.” She tutted and shook her head from side to side. “You better get in, dear. Good lord, what happened to your hand?”

  Luke didn’t answer her question. Instead, he grabbed the corner of the open door for support. “He’s in the hospital?”

  “He’s a sick man, from what I heard. Maybe you better call him.”

  “I will. Where you going?”

  “I’m going to visit Mrs. Shima. She had a hysterectomy, and I’ve got a pot of chicken curry for the family.”

  The aroma filled the car, and Luke’s mouth watered. “Where’s she live?”

  Mrs. Olivetti frowned at him. “You’re just full of questions. A little past Puko‘o. Where you going?”

  “I’m meeting my dad at Halawa Bay.”

  “That’s a good idea, hon. You need someone to take care of you. What happened to your hand?”

  “I fell and scraped it, but it’s okay. I didn’t want dirt to get on it, so I wrapped a shirt around it.”

  “You sure you don’t want to see the doctor?”

  “Dad will take me if it needs it. He’s waiting for me.”

  “You sure? I heard he was taking out some people for the Richards brothers.”

  “That was earlier.” Luke didn’t want to say more. His plans would be all over the island. Plus, she’d undoubtedly protest the fact that he had to hike into the forest.

  The lines between Mrs. Olivetti’s eyes deepened again, this time in apparent thought. “Okay. I don’t have to be back until five. I’ll drop you at the bay.”

  “That’s really thoughtful of you.”

  “Get in, honey.”

  Mrs. Olivetti asked him a few questions, carefully avoiding the death of his mother. Her remarks seemed solicitous and careful, and Luke got the feeling she was struggling to make conversation. Before long, the heat of the car and the soft background music on the radio made his eyelids heavy. Luke leaned his head against the window. Before he succumbed to sleep, he was certain he spied an expression of relief cross Mrs. Olivetti’s face.

  The next thing he knew, a gentle hand on his shoulder woke him. “Luke, you got a good rest. We’re here.”

  Luke pried open his eyes. His mouth was sticky and stale, strands of hair clung damply to his forehead, and his head ached. The curry didn’t smell so good anymore. “Thanks, Mrs. Olivetti.”

  “You sure you feel okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine. You really helped me out.�
��

  “I don’t see anyone down there.” She squinted through the windshield. “Is someone in that hut down there?”

  “Yeah, they’re probably just staying out of the sun.”

  “Good idea. You better do that, too.”

  Luke made sure he had his backpack situated and got out of the car. “Thanks again,” he said.

  She’d done a three-point turn on the narrow road before he even started down the path. Probably forgot what a long drive it was, and was worried she’d be late in getting the curry to Mrs. Shima’s. But she saved him a lot of trouble, and he was grateful. As soon as she was out of sight, Luke got one of the sports drinks Rolly had packed for him and gulped the entire bottle. A wave of nausea convulsed his throat soon after, but he fought it. His body needed the fluid and the electrolytes. He had to keep going.

  Chapter Thirty

  Storm left Poele sitting in his easy chair with another beer in his hand and at least six empties beside him. She’d opened a second, but had merely sipped at it. When she announced that she had to leave to meet her aunt and uncle for dinner, he’d flapped his hand in a feeble dismissal and resumed his stare out the front window. It reflected his despair back into the room.

  Back in the car, Storm bumped down the dirt lane and tried to remember what part of their conversation had precipitated his melancholy. She thought it was the topic of the fire, followed by the referral to a vow. Then he posed his question of blood and brotherhood. By the time she asked about Tia’s disappearance, he was buried in dark memories.

  Even with her knowledge of the manuscripts in the bedroom—and she’d intended to bring those up, but hadn’t had the chance—he didn’t strike her as a murderous type. Cocky and flippant. But evil? Poele didn’t have the twisted malevolence and immorality she’d seen in the man who’d imprisoned her and killed others in an ocean cave a few months ago. The memory made her shiver, despite the warm evening. But, she asked herself, was evil a prerequisite for murder? Not necessarily, she thought. Self-righteousness, anger, greed, desperation, and a writhing swarm of other motivations could push a person to murder.

  Would she—could she—recognize a murderer? Could anyone? She had her doubts, but the solitude of the dirt road, with its canopy of distant, glittering stars overhead may have evoked these views.

  She reached the paved road with a wave of relief. Thoughts like that were counter-productive, and induced self-doubt instead of results. Only about fifteen minutes to meeting her aunt and uncle. An hour with the dour Poele, and she couldn’t wait to bask in their affectionate and uncomplicated company. The thought of affection and selflessness reminded her of Niwa.

  Storm checked her cell phone and found, to her delight, that she had three bars of reception. Information gave her the number to Moloka‘i General Hospital, where she hoped to talk to a floor nurse about Niwa’s condition. To her surprise, the operator connected her directly to his room.

  “This is Caroline.”

  “Mrs. Niwa?”

  “Yes, who’s this?”

  When Storm gave her name, the first words out of Caroline Niwa’s mouth were those of gratitude for the help Storm had given her husband.

  “How is he?” Storm asked.

  “Pretty good, thanks to Dr. Goldbaum and you. When you told Dr. Goldbaum about Dave vomiting blood, he suspected an ulcer and called for a series of tests, including a gastroscopy. Dave’s got to stay in the hospital a few more days, then see a specialist in Honolulu. But he’s going to be okay, that’s the important thing.”

  Caroline’s voice became muffled for a minute, and Storm figured Caroline had her hand over the receiver. Storm made out the words, “Rest…tomorrow.” Then Caroline’s voice said something like, “For crying out loud,” and Niwa’s voice came on the line.

  “Mahalo for your help today.”

  “You’re welcome. How’re you feeling?”

  “A lot better.” His words came out low and slow. “But that could be the sedative they’re giving me.”

  “Do you know if Luke showed up?”

  His tone sharpened to cop mode. “My partner and others are looking for him.” Then he softened a bit. “Look, we don’t want you to end up in here, too.”

  “I’m just trying to find Tanner.”

  “Right. And I’m a hick cop.”

  “No way,” Storm said, and meant it. “But I’m worried. Why did the boy leave the hospital so suddenly?”

  “We’re looking into that.” There was a grim note to his voice. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d given Storm a big piece of information with that statement. He suspected Jenny had been killed, instead of supposing she’d hit her head because she’d been drinking. And he was concerned that Luke could be running from someone, a person who was with Jenny or was responsible for her death.

  “Thanks, Sergeant Niwa. Get better soon.”

  “And Storm? If you hear anything, call me.”

  Storm heard Caroline’s voice in the background.

  “Okay, dear. Or my partner, Steve Nishijima.”

  ***

  The lights of the Lodge beckoned with a warm amber glow as she bumped into the parking lot. While Storm gathered her purse and locked the car, someone called her name, and she turned to see Delia jogging across the pavement.

  “Did you find him?” Delia asked.

  “Luke? No, have you heard anything?”

  “Yes, Connor saw him on the road to Halawa.”

  “Good! Did he pick him up and take him to the hospital?”

  Delia swung her head from side to side and panted. “No, Luke ran away.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Connor said he got out of the car and shouted at him, but he wouldn’t stop. He says Luke cut his hand, too.”

  Storm frowned. “When was this?”

  “Before noon, maybe around ten?”

  Connor, the stupid ass, hadn’t said a thing about it when she’d talked to him in the office. “Have you seen Connor lately?”

  “No, but he called.” Delia wore a big smile at that pronouncement.

  Storm had seen that bright-eyed hopefulness in some of her other women friends. “Are you dating him?”

  “No…well, we used to go out. He’s really trying to change.”

  With some effort, Storm clamped her mouth shut. Delia seemed like one of those nice people who pick losers for partners, and would have a list of excuses for anyone who told her this. She’d have to find out on her own, unfortunately.

  “I saw him earlier today and one eye was black and nearly swollen shut,” Storm said. “I’d run from him, too, if I were a kid.”

  “He had a black eye?” Delia’s eyebrows climbed out of sight under her bangs. Her voice rose with them. “No one would dare hassle him.”

  “Someone did more than that.” Storm turned to leave. “Where was Luke when Connor saw him?”

  “Not far from their office.”

  “Thanks for telling me, Delia.” Storm turned and headed for the dining room, dialing the number for the police station and trying to remember the name of Niwa’s partner. She sensed Delia still watching.

  “Steve Nishijima, please.”

  The man who answered put her on hold for a few moments. “He’s not in. Want to leave a message?”

  Storm left her mobile number and room number, then pulled open the heavy double door to the Lodge. Connor said Luke was a smart kid, and so did Bob Crowder, who had kids of his own. Storm hoped this was true, and told herself Nishijima didn’t answer his extension because he was out looking. That was the only way she was going to enjoy dinner.

  When she got to the table, Aunt Maile and Uncle Keone had just given their cocktail requests to the waitress.

  “Could you add a glass of merlot to that order, please?” Storm asked the departing server.

  Uncle Keone, Aunt Maile, and Storm exchanged hugs and Storm dropped into the dining chair. Subdued lights and candles made the room glow
with comfort.

  Aunt Maile regarded Storm’s subdued demeanor. “Did you see Lambert Poele?”

  Storm nodded. “Seems that Brock Liu and Jenny had a relationship. She had a fling with Dusty, too.”

  “I wonder when?” Uncle Keone mused.

  “I imagine it’s hard to be a single woman here,” Storm said.

  “Small towns can be tough on the unattached,” Aunt Maile said.

  The waitress brought their drinks and Aunt Maile leaned in, her eyes shining with amusement. Storm could tell she was trying to cheer her up. “I met up with an old friend.”

  “You did?” Storm took a sip of her wine.

  “We used to talk about all kinds of things in our high school days. She was always kolohe.” Maile grinned.

  “She’s still mischievous,” Uncle Keone said dryly. “Those comments about the big ule. I nearly blushed.”

  “You were red as a hibiscus.”

  “Not.”

  “Uh huh.”

  A smile pulled at Storm’s lips. So that’s why her aunt had been so amused by Phallic Rock. “She lives here?”

  “Moved to Moloka‘i about twenty years ago.”

  “What’s she do? Is she a kahuna lā‘au lapa‘au, like you?”

  “No, she dabbles.” Maile dropped her voice. “She’s also done some light sorcery, mostly as a kahuna ho‘o ulu lā hui.”

  “That figures,” said Keone with a snort.

  “What’s that?” asked Storm at the same time.

  Maile ignored her husband. “She’s a specialist in getting women pregnant.”

  “It’s an excuse for raunchy dancing,” Keone said.

  “Hush, you.” Aunt Maile slapped his arm and he nearly spilled his beer. “See why women have to keep some things secret? Men do not understand. They just want to unzip and—”

  Storm was snorting into her wine glass by this time. “Uncle Keone, I never heard you complain about lusty dancing before.”

  Aunt Maile gave him a look. “She’s old enough to hear about the Stoplight, you know.”

  “The Stoplight?” Storm’s voice rose with surprise. “Wasn’t that the bar on Kapiolani Boulevard with the strippers who wrote birthday cards, gave change, and peeled eggs without using their hands?”