Fire Prayer

by Deborah Turrell Atkinson

  “Stop it. You’re hurting me.” Her voice was muffled against him.

  The bitter stench of pain and desperation saturated his shirt. It was the odor from her dream, and it nearly choked her.

  “Let go.” She tried to turn her head, but he gripped her back like a vice. If she’d been uninjured, she would have pushed free in a second, but the broken collarbone kept her captive.

  He didn’t answer, and she could feel the muscles in his chest contract when he turned his head from side to side. He was looking for someone.

  “Why are you doing this?” Pain pulsed in her ears and she fought the sensation that she might black out.

  The slide of a rifle bolt clicked behind her. “Let her go,” a voice said. A voice she’d heard, but didn’t know well. Nishijima?

  Dusty only intensified his grip. Tears of pain and betrayal stung her eyes. It was Dusty who’d hunted them.

  “Why?” she said into his shirt front. “I always admired you.”

  “You should have left us alone.” He spoke through gritted teeth and she felt a tremor pass through him. He was probably weakened by pain or the loss of blood.

  Storm wanted to cry, but she knew she’d be better off trying to comfort or appease him. She had to convince him to let go.

  “Are you worried about the letter?” Storm asked. He merely tightened his grip, and she gasped. “Are you protecting Makani?” Anything to make him talk. What pushed him to this act?

  “It’s too late.” Dusty’s voice was low and sad.

  “Nobody believes Brock Liu.”

  “Let her go.” Nishijima’s voice came from a different copse of trees. He was moving closer.

  Dusty turned toward the voice and reached under his shirt tail for the gun at his back. He leaned back against the rock for stability. The movement jerked Storm forward, off balance.

  She lurched, the ends of her collarbone grating with a crushing pain that buckled her knees. Pain and terror blackened the edges of her vision and a wave of nausea swept over her. She slid to one side, and as she did, another shot rang out.

  ***

  The flurry of voices and crackling radio static awoke her. “She’s conscious,” a voice said.

  “Check her vitals and get a mental status evaluation,” said a voice from a radio. “What’s your name?” someone said. “Do you know where you are?”

  Storm forced her eyes open. A woman’s face swam above her and Storm felt as if she were rocking from side to side. She closed her eyes to stop the spinning sensation. She was flat on her back, unable to lift either arm. The last thing she wanted to do was barf.

  “My name’s Storm,” she said. Her mouth felt as if it were filled with dry pebbles. “Shot?” was the only other word she could utter.

  “No, but you got that broken collarbone jammed pretty good. You know where you are?” the woman repeated.

  “I’m thirsty.” Storm could only whisper.

  “Suck on this.” The woman held an ice cube to her lips. Heaven. Storm wanted a tall glass of them.

  “Honey girl?” came a warm, familiar voice.

  “Aunt Maile? Where are we?” She could hear the slur in her voice and she kept her eyes closed. Too much movement. Urp.

  “An ambulance.”

  “Tell ’em to stop that swaying.” Storm tried to open her eyes again. No spinning, but that rocking was bad.

  “Road’ll straighten out in a minute or two,” the ambulance woman said.

  A few minutes later, Storm opened her eyes long enough to take a look around. Aunt Maile was next to her. She was strapped in, too.

  An emergency medical tech sat between them, with a stethoscope around her neck. She checked the IV drip in Storm’s arm and smiled. “Feeling any better?”

  “A bit.” Storm looked over at Aunt Maile. “You hurt, too?”

  Aunt Maile winced. “Damned horse clipped my knee against a tree when he bolted.”

  “Oh, no.” Her words were still slurred, but the nausea was retreating.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “Where’s Uncle Keone?” Storm asked.

  “He’s following in the horse trailer.”

  Some memories began to return. Storm recalled falling off the horse and Poppy taking off with Luke. The rest was still a muddle. “Where’s Luke?”

  “Another ambulance. With Tanner.” Aunt Maile’s voice sounded sad.

  “What’s wrong?” Storm turned her head suddenly and her gurney took a few whirls. The tech warned her to take it easy.

  “Tanner got shot. He was protecting Luke.”

  “Oh, no.” Storm blinked hard. “How is he?”

  “Don’t know yet.” Aunt Maile’s voice was low. “Looked pretty bad.”

  Now Storm was beginning to remember. “It was Dusty, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “He grabbed me.”

  Several moments passed and no one said anything. Storm recalled his smell from the dream. The odor still lingered, as if it clung to her clothing. She wanted to gag.

  “Where is he? What happened?”

  “He’s dead.” Aunt Maile’s voice broke.

  A silence fell in the swaying chamber, broken only by the crackling of a voice on the radio. The tech spoke into the receiver on her shoulder. “Stable. Tender over her clavicle, the bone end is tenting the skin. Mental status improving.” She fiddled with the IV.

  Storm dozed off again.

  This time, when Storm turned her head, the tech didn’t stop her. Tears wet the sides of Aunt Maile’s face. Her voice was so low, Storm had to strain to hear.

  “I never thought Dusty would turn into a killer. There was no need.”

  Storm’s brain felt like it was stuck in road tar. Part of it was shock, she knew. “The letter Jenny mailed from Brock,” she said. “I think he was protecting Makani.”

  “Maybe,” Aunt Maile said.

  “I wonder if Jenny warned him, or threatened him. Delia told me they’d been lovers.”

  “That poor woman.”

  “I know.” Storm thought about the other damaged souls, all of them associated with the fire. “Connor called the police, didn’t he?”

  “And I doubted that young man.”

  “Me, too. Everyone did.” Storm thought for a minute. “But why didn’t he warn us when he saw us on the road? Before we rode into the valley?”

  “Detective Niwa said Connor saw Dusty coming out of Hawai‘i EcoTours when he drove in. Skelly was upset, but wouldn’t say why. Connor knew it had to do with Dusty, and worried that Dusty was on his way to Halawa. That’s why he called the police.”

  Storm thought about what her aunt said. “Detective Niwa said Poele figured out the murder weapon. But I don’t understand why he went after us in the forest.”

  “He thought the police suspected Connor. But he also knew the sculpture got broken when it was in his possession, not Connor’s. It took Poele a while to realize his nightly drinking would make it easy to take it from his living room and bring it back without his noticing.”

  “You talked to Poele?” Storm asked.

  “For a minute or two. He helped get you out of the woods after Nishijima shot Dusty.”

  “I must have blacked out. All I remember is Dusty limping down the path.”

  “Forgetting might be a good thing.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  The smell came to Storm in dreams. Along with it, she would feel a sensation of overwhelming sadness, so oppressive that she couldn’t move. She couldn’t even struggle. Her bed was turning into an adversary; she dreaded the night.

  Storm and Aunt Maile stayed one night in Moloka‘i Hospital to make sure they were stabilized before they flew to O‘ahu for surgery on Storm’s collarbone. Aunt Maile needed to see a specialist for her knee.

  Storm had no problem remembering that trip, despite the painkillers Dr. Goldbaum administered. What she didn’t remember was the story she read
in the Honolulu paper once she got home. Dusty Rodriguez had used her for a shield in his shoot-out with the police.

  She threw down the paper and barely made it to the bathroom. Fifteen minutes after she tossed her Cheerios, Hamlin called. “Storm, could I come over?”

  “Yes, I’d love to see you,” she said, and sent a frantic glance toward Aunt Maile, who was nursing a cup of coffee at Storm’s kitchen table.

  Aunt Maile looked older than she had a week ago, and the look she gave Storm was sad. “I’ll go in the other room.”

  Ten minutes later, Hamlin knocked at the door and Aunt Maile unhooked her cane from the back of her chair, took a section of the paper, and limped to the living room.

  Hamlin’s arm was still in a sling, but he gave Storm a warm hug. “I’m glad you’re home.”

  “Me too.” There was an awkward pause. “You want some coffee?”

  “Sure, thanks.” She handed him a mug, but instead of drinking, he drew a breath as if he were going to dive under water. “Storm, I’m having trouble with things.”

  “I know.”

  “I worry about you.” He sat for a minute, and turned the coffee cup in his hands without drinking. “And it’s hurting me, too.”

  “I never wanted you to get hurt.”

  “I know. I also hate it when you’re in danger.”

  Storm swallowed hard. “I don’t think I can change.”

  “I don’t want you to.” Hamlin met her eyes for the first time since he’d arrived. He gave her a small, but warm, smile. “I have to think about whether this is working for me.”

  “You want me to move out of the office?”

  “No!” He shook his head vehemently. “Look, I’ve got to go to the mainland for a client. It’ll take a couple of weeks, and I’ll take another week to visit my mother and sister.”

  “You need to get away?”

  He shrugged. “I need to reflect, and it’ll help if I’m in a different place. You know, to get a perspective.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Storm wasn’t at all sure she knew. A kind of numbness had come over her, and a great weight seemed to have settled on her chest.

  Hamlin stood and walked over to her. He gently kissed the top of her head and let himself out the door.

  A moment later, Aunt Maile came back into the kitchen and took Storm into her arms. She held her for a long time.

  Aunt Maile spent a week with Storm. They were the walking wounded, and they comforted each other. Aunt Maile was burdened with the knowledge that someone she’d thought was a decent, if not perfect, human being could have been so savage. Storm tried to reassure her, though she had no answers. Storm found deep solace in Maile’s company, and the time they spent together was the first time alone they’d had for years.

  Storm also drove one-handed to the doctor’s for an MRI of Aunt Maile’s knee. Uncle Keone monitored both of them with almost hourly phone calls from the Big Island, and threatened to come to O‘ahu at least twice a day. When the surgeon recommended physical therapy before resorting to surgery on Aunt Maile’s knee, he relaxed a little.

  But Storm’s insomnia worsened. Aunt Maile watched Storm’s bedroom light go on at two every night, and finally told her she would have to confront the demons that haunted her. Two days after Aunt Maile returned to the Big Island, Storm sat at the Honolulu Airport, shivering in the cold blast of an air-conditioning vent at the Island Air gate. She waited for the eight o’clock flight to Kaunakakai.

  Delia would pick her up. They were going to have breakfast together, because the first funeral was at ten. It would be short. The second was at two, and Delia had warned her there’d be a funeral feast. Storm didn’t know how she’d bear it. The nightmare of nearly two weeks ago was creeping back. If only she could wake up.

  The flight was quick, and Delia was waiting. Storm’s spirits went up several notches just seeing her. They hugged, Storm with her good arm. Delia was careful not to press on the side with the sling.

  “How’re you feeling?” Delia asked.

  “Okay.” Storm took in Delia’s red, puffy eyes. “Oh hell, about the same as you.”

  Delia tried to giggle, but it hiccupped into something else and she wiped at an eye. “I look like shit.”

  “I’ve never seen you without the eyelashes,” Storm said.

  Delia really did laugh at that. “How ’bout this shirt?” She pulled at the hospital smock she wore. It was yellow, with blue teddy bears. She also had on sneakers and conservative navy slacks.

  “I took a job at the hospital. And I like it. I’m taking some classes.”

  “Hey, that’s great. When you apply to medical school at UH, let me know.”

  Delia looked at her shyly. “Hey, don’t laugh. I have to do a lot of work, but I love the classes and Dr. Goldbaum said he’d help me.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Storm said, and hugged her again.

  “How’s Hamlin’s shoulder?” Delia asked.

  “It’s okay, but—”

  “Damn. I thought that only happened to me.”

  “Hardly,” Storm said, and her voice broke on the last syllable.

  “If it weren’t nine in the morning, I’d suggest a drink.” Delia shook her head. “We’ll have one later, and I’m buying.”

  “Thanks.” Storm tried to smile. “And I’ll buy when you get to O‘ahu. We’ll drink to celebrate then.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  Delia drove an ancient Toyota. Storm could see through rust holes to the road. “Your car?”

  “Yup. No more big air-conditioned vans.”

  “You miss working at the ranch?”

  Delia thought for a minute. “I miss the people there. But I couldn’t stay after Dusty died. Too many memories.”

  “What about Makani?”

  “He’ll probably be at the funeral, but I heard he moved back to Maui. I also heard your uncle is bugging him to move to the Big Island and work on Parker Ranch.”

  Delia took Storm to a diner in Kaunakakai and both women ordered scrambled eggs, toasted Moloka‘i bread, and fried rice. Delia ordered a side of Portuguese sausage and dumped half of it on Storm’s plate.

  The thought of the funeral was giving her a stomach ache. Storm ate the eggs, but could only pick at the fried rice. Normally she loved fried rice. One nibble of the sausage was enough. Delia wasn’t eating much, either.

  After the initial pleasantries, the reason for the visit loomed and neither woman knew what to say. Delia broke the silence. “Took long enough for the police to release the bodies.”

  Storm nodded. “Must have been hard on the families.”

  “Yeah.”

  Storm pushed a piece of sausage around on her plate. “So why’d he do it?”

  Delia’s shoulders hunched. She knew what Storm was asking. “Remember I told you Jenny was manipulative?”

  “I knew she was unhappy.”

  “Yeah, well. The only people she was ever really nice to were Luke and Tia. I think she saw herself in Tia, and didn’t want Tia’s hopes and dreams to die as hers had. Some letters from Tia turned up in Jenny’s house. Tia was planning to come back and see her father. Confront him about blaming her for getting raped.” Delia put an entire packet of guava jelly on her toast. “Did you know about that?”

  “A bit. Makani alluded to it.”

  “Jenny probably told him about the letter Brock had given her to mail if anything happened to him.” She winced. “You find the right person around here, and they’ll give you all the dirt on the old families. Brock knew about the Kekapu family line of fire sorcerers, and he found out Makani had studied the chants with his father.”

  “But Makani wasn’t even at the fire.”

  “Didn’t matter to Dusty. He believed.” Delia took a bite of toast. “He’d grown up with the legends, and he knew Makani’s dad had powers.”

  “Why didn’t he go to a lawyer and ask some questions? Why’d he…?”
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  “Get so crazy?” Delia finished.

  “Yeah.”

  Delia stared out the window of the café as if insight came down on beams of sunlight. “He knew he failed Tia. Hell, Jenny reminded him. Makani was like his son, and his second chance. He was going to protect him.”

  “He must have really hated the Lius,” Storm said. “I mean, he bashed Brock’s head in.”

  “What I don’t get is how Brock ended up in the woods. I thought Hamlin had a receipt he’d signed for a kayak rental.”

  “I asked Detective Niwa about that. It’s one of the few conversations from the hospital I remember. Dusty helped Brock Liu load his SUV at the Ranch, right? Skelly said Brock never showed up at Hawai‘i EcoTours that morning. He was supposed to pick up a kayak and paddle a few miles east to the area around Kalaeloa Lighthouse. I guess the Liu family has land there.”

  “Do the police think Dusty followed him from the ranch?”

  “That’s the theory. But no one at the Ranch said Dusty seemed upset or preoccupied.”

  “I wonder if the confrontation didn’t just get out of his control.”

  “You think that’s what happened to Jenny, too?”

  Delia thought for a moment. “Jenny probably reminded him of his past failures.”

  “So he clobbered her?”

  “He’d twisted events in his mind until he snapped. Her cruel tongue just pushed him over the edge.”

  “There’s another thing I’m curious about. Has anyone figured out how Dusty got hold of the statue? It was in the trunk of Connor’s car, wasn’t it?”

  Delia looked sad. “Connor was too disorganized to notice if it was there or not, and he never locks the car. It would have been easy to take and put back.”

  “Such a waste.” Storm pushed her plate away.

  “You got that right, sister.” Delia shoved the last of her toast in her mouth and looked at her watch. “We should go.”

  Dread sat on Storm’s shoulders. She could hardly breathe.

  Delia watched her, concerned. “We’ll sit at the back where you can get out.”

  “Okay.” Her voice was a whisper.