by Jody Klaire
This place felt like home since we had arrived. In spite of all nature’s chaos and the shooting, St. Jude’s was a place of enlightenment for me. Folk were good here and I loved them for it. So, why was I leaving?
I looked at the station and got a twinge of sorrow as I stared at the small barred windows at the back. I found myself walking to the part of the wall that I knew separated Renee from me.
It was snowing again. The cold slithered inside my throat and stung my eyes. It was nothing compared to the lonely cold I felt inside. I touched the stone, wishing I could move through it and go to her. I couldn’t leave her, I couldn’t go in but I couldn’t leave. I just stood there in the cold, the snow whipping around me and freezing my face.
This place meant so much to me but, the fact was, she meant more. If I didn’t leave with her, she’d never be safe. She’d end up as another name on that wall and I couldn’t do that to her.
Renee had asked me once about freedom. Did I realize that to be part of CIG was to give up any chance of it? At the time I’d said that I’d never had it and that the bit I did have had only served to show me that it weren’t all it was cracked up to be.
Well, now, I knew what it really felt like. People who cared, scenic mountains all around me and no judgment. This was a place I fitted. If real freedom existed, this was my one shot at it.
So, what was my choice? A simple life of happiness with people who didn’t care one iota for who I was or my burdens? Or a life of secrecy, danger, and an endless thankless mission to try and make the world a better place? A mission that could see names on walls and friends locked in their own purgatory.
“I ain’t gonna let you give up,” I whispered through the wall, praying she’d hear me, somewhere. “I’ll get you out. I’ll keep you safe.”
With that, my mind was made and I headed back to the cabin. First stop would be Hal at nine o’clock sharp.
Chapter 20
THE DOOR TO the café had one of those bells above it that jingled as I headed into the warmth. I stood looking up at it and not remembering hearing the sound before. I would have noticed it, I knew I would have.
“Earl fixed it finally last night,” Martha informed me.
I turned to look at her and the bustling café. The crossed ski and hammer on the wall caught my eye again. “Thank cotton for that. Thought I needed to go back to the—”
I clamped my mouth shut.
Not a good idea. The last thing I needed was to go spilling my guts about being an inmate.
Martha didn’t seem to notice me cutting my sentence. She flitted about the customers like one of those honey bees but less cranky. I followed her path through the place. The pioneer flavor washed over me. She matched the décor. Hard working, kind-hearted, and hardy. Her red hair was all curls and tucked under one of those nets that catering folk wore. Her uniform was a white shirt and black skirt with an apron hung over the front—the same symbol of that hammer and ski like an emblem. As I watched her bustling between the tables and booths, I could see the energy she left in her wake. Happy energy, a maternal energy.
She reminded me a lot of Nan in that way, which was why I really didn’t want to cause no trouble in her café. I could pretty much hit most of the witnesses as they gathered for breakfast but there was no way I could go around touching folk without people starting to get the “eebies,” as Nan would call them.
Martha tilted her head in Hal’s direction as she hurried by, just in case I missed the wide-brimmed hat on the counter next to him. The doctor was sitting in a booth down from Hal, stooped over like he’d fall asleep in his breakfast at any second. Over from him, in a booth next to the window, were the two gossiping ladies from the other day.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the list of witnesses that Martha had made for me. Marie Salter and Grace Teller, which one was which I didn’t have one iota. They were muttering some dark mutterings. I didn’t catch much apart from “Hal, James, and that odd woman.” I pretty much guessed who “she” was with the glare shot my way. At least somebody thought I was a freak. I was starting to wonder if I’d woken up in another reality.
“Hey, Aeron!”
Mark waved like a madman at me from the back table and I went to him.
“You doing okay?” he asked, his chestnut hair flopping down into his eyes. He was the guy who’d seen me crashing about in the car when Renee and I stopped. The thought made me smile. I liked him, even if he did remind me of Sam. “You got enough wood?”
“Martha and Earl are looking after me,” I said, wondering why he was asking such a strange question.
His aura flickered and jumped about as though he wanted to say something different to what was coming out of his mouth.
“This is Simon.” He slapped the man opposite him on the shoulder. “He’s my cousin . . . I mean, St. Jude’s is small so technically everybody’s related.” His laugh sounded like he wanted to crawl into a corner and hide, but his mouth had taken over. “Anyway . . .”
“What’s up?” I asked, hoping I could help put him out of his misery.
He ushered me over further, his greeny-grey eyes full of worry. “It’s just . . .” He scratched the back of his neck. Then he sighed. “How is Serena?”
“They won’t let me see her,” I said, smiling at him. Why he was nervous about asking that, I didn’t know. “Last time I did was just after and she wasn’t holding up too well.”
He hung his head. “I’m so sorry. I mean, she doesn’t seem like the kind to go shooting people for no reason.”
“She isn’t.” My tone was blunt. I wanted there to be no illusions.
He rubbed his sizable mitts together and peeked up at me through his floppy fringe. “You holding up okay?”
A part of me wanted to ask, “why all the small talk?” but he was trying to be nice. I needed to remember that some folks could be genuinely concerned. “I’ll be better when I get her out.”
“You think they will release her?” Simon, the guy next to him, whispered. I turned to him, and he flicked his gaze to out of the window and his aura leapt a mile.
“You see something?” I asked him.
His aura flickered again.
“No, I didn’t see anything.” Simon got to his feet. “I gotta . . . I gotta go.” He fled from the table, making the quickest retreat that I had ever seen.
Both Mark and I stared on after him. Simon’s aura looked like whitewash, his exit was so hasty.
“There something with fangs on his seat?” I peered down at the deep brown leather half-expecting to see a nasty critter lurking there.
Mark sighed and grabbed his coffee mug. “He has . . . well, he’s had a hard time.” He slumped down into his seat and looked about as fed up as one guy could be. “You can’t choose your family.”
“Amen to that.” I sat opposite him, staring up at the skis dangling overhead. He needed to say something and I needed to listen. No matter how much I was distracted.
I glanced at Hal who was still munching away and chatting with Earl and Ronny around the corner bar from him. I guess I had some time before he left and I couldn’t figure as to how I could touch him without him thinking I was crazy.
Maybe the shiny countertop would work. I looked at all the folks leaning on it. Then again, maybe not.
“I guess Martha told you that Brad is family too?”
Nodding, I brought my attention back to Mark. “Yeah, I feel for you there.”
“He’s got a nasty temper,” Mark said. His grip on his coffee mug tightened until the tips of his fingers turned white. “He is used to getting what he wants.”
That, I had no doubt of. There seemed to be one in every town. At least Sam had been a charming homicidal jerk. Brad was just, well, a jerk. “And no doubt his brother is the same.”
“Worse, Seth has got a screw loose.” Mark drained his coffee cup and I thought about reaching out to touch his hand, pretending I only wanted to stop him leaving. Icy cold jolted up my back and I l
eapt up until my knees clattered the underside of the table.
“You alright there?” he asked. He was trying so hard to keep the grin from his face and failing as I rubbed my throbbing knees.
“Shiver,” I said and muttered a cuss under my breath Nan’s way. “Still thawing out after the other day.”
“You were awesome,” he said. His eyes twinkled in a way that made me clear my throat. “Don’t know just how you managed it.”
“Dumb luck,” I admitted, hoping he would quit the praise before my cheeks turned crimson.
“Uh uh.” He waved his hand with a flourish, his grin wide. “No way. You were like a pro.”
I ain’t so good at being complimented, especially when the real credit should have been going to Renee. I shrugged.
“I gotta go,” Mark said, setting down his mug. “But I’m sorry about Brad and I’m sorry that guy upset Serena so bad.” His aura wriggled around again and I tried not to stare at it. “I guess that some guys won’t let the women they marry go.”
I knew I was looking at him dumb as he frowned.
“The guy she shot,” Mark said, echoing my frown. “I guessed from the way she reacted to Brad the other night and the shooting that maybe . . .” He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck again. “Ah, hell . . . I just mean . . . I assumed—”
“She was a battered wife?”
Mark nodded, and I bit my lip to stop from righting his misconception. It wasn’t my place to go blurting out Renee’s private life. Maybe it was better if the folks in town thought that, at least for now.
He got to his feet and we said our good-byes before I focused on Hal as he chomped away. Mark was easy to talk to, he had an easy way about him, a confidence that let him communicate openly. He was a cool guy. Hal was tied up tighter than a Puritan at a party and his energy was riddled with pockets of fear, regret, and bitterness.
I hadn’t seen the darker side of his aura before, he’d seemed like a pretty nervous but simple guy. The new information wasn’t going to make my job any easier. Negative energies were like walls. They stopped the person from getting out and healing and they stopped anyone getting in and lifting them out of the dark space.
The flash of an aircraft nearly knocked me clean off my feet and I clung to the brown leather barstool next to Hal to stop from collapsing.
“Okay?” He grunted my way. The leave-me-be-to-eat vibe pulsed from him.
“You any good with planes?” I asked, hoping that that’s what the flash meant. Thank cotton, his face unscrunched and he smiled.
“Sure thing,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
Great. Where was I gonna go with this one? I had to think of something to ask, something plane-wise . . . anything.
“When I was in the military,” I said, hoping I sounded in the least bit convincing, “I used to see these planes all the time . . . They were so awesome.” I tried to focus on the flash. “Matte grey, beautiful things.”
Hal was with me as if I was describing a work of art or the best food I ever tasted.
“Jump jet, I think,” I said, getting a name. “Thing is, can’t remember what they were called.”
“A Harrier,” Hal said, his eyes so intense that I was sure he was speaking about a true love. “The AV-8B . . . Subsonic attack aircraft, designed by McDonnell Douglas.” His aura shimmered, his half-eaten food long forgotten. “First in service in the 60s. A modification entered service in ’85.”
The man sounded like he was being possessed. So much so that I looked for the leech creature that fed on people with such afflictions but there was none. Nope, just crazy.
“It took off straight up in the air. Only aircraft I ever seen doing it.” I really prayed that was a real thing they could do. To me, planes needed runways. I’d never even been on one so what did I know.
“Yes,” Hal purred. “A Rolls Royce Pegasus Turbofan engine.” He was almost drooling. “Vector thrust gives them the capability of vertical take-off and landing.”
“Er . . . so that’s what they are?” I asked, kinda freaked out by his glazed expression.
“Oh, yeah.” He was now like a puppy dog. His eyes and aura opened up and he leaned on one fist. “You got to see one?”
“Yup,” I lied. “Never got to fly one or nothin’ though.”
“You fly?”
I shook my head. I was pretty sure that there were no cockpits big enough for me.
“I always wanted to fly,” Hal said. “Wish I could have.”
“Can I ask why you didn’t?”
He sighed. “Twenty-twenty is a must . . . even with surgery I ain’t got perfect vision.” He lowered his voice. “Sure enough I got sharp enough eyes that I can be a deputy.” He stared down at his food. “But not pilot’s eyes.”
“You think about commercial?” I asked. “Sure you ain’t got perfect sight but there must be some kind of flying you can do?”
“Not with my schooling,” he said, his southern accent oozing out of him now. I figured it for Louisiana way.
“You miss home?” I asked. Not sure why I was heading off the subject that he was happy with.
“I miss home something fierce sometimes,” he said. “But there ain’t no place for me there.”
I was about to reach out to touch his hand to feign comfort but something loud clattered from behind and we turned around. One of the two ladies, either Marie or Grace, stomped out of the door. The bell almost jumped off its hook with the ferocity.
Hal tensed up once more and he grabbed for his hat. “I gotta head off,” he mumbled, clambering off the stool and making a break for the door.
I sighed, catching Martha’s eye as she came around the counter.
“You get what you need?”
I rubbed my hand over my aching neck muscles. “Nope. Storming Sue foiled my plans.”
Martha chuckled. “Oh don’t mind her. It was Marie . . . she hates any woman talking to Hal.”
That explained the fireworks. “I’m not sure I can get him so open again. He’s a funny guy.”
Martha went to reach for the discarded plate and I held up my hand. Maybe cutlery would work the same way as jewelry. It was metal, it had touched his skin.
Worth a shot. I folded a napkin around the knife.
“You think I could borrow your sofa?” I asked. “Not really sure how I’ll react and I don’t want a fit in public.”
“You have fits?”
Uh oh. I turned to see that the doctor had woken from his stupor and was peering at me with that doctor gaze, which made me hunch my shoulders.
“I’m fine.” I raised my hands like he had a gun. “I just get over tired.”
“Having fits is serious.” His eyes narrowed in scrutiny. How come doctors could make you feel like a specimen in a jar with just a look? “Maybe I should check you over.”
That was never happening. Nuh uh, I didn’t do doctors. Not after Oppidum. Last doctor I had seen told me he was setting my jaw. What he didn’t say was when I woke up, I’d be drinking through a straw.
“You got folks who need you more right now. You know like the guy . . .”
I was pretty sure he was gonna tell me where to stick my nosey beak but he didn’t. “Bullets are out and he’s stable.” He smiled. “Your couple had a baby girl last night too.”
“They did?”
He smiled wider. “They named her Serena Aeron.”
A big ball of goop seemed to lodge itself in my throat. Renee would be as much of a mush ball about the news as I was. I made the decision that when I saw her, I’d make sure she knew. They named their kid after us, both of us.
I knew I was grinning like a fool. “I . . . wow . . . they all doing okay?”
The doctor nodded, he seemed to enjoy my reaction. “The mother has multiple fractures in her leg but they’re all set in place. It will need a pin when the road is opened though. The husband has whiplash, some broken ribs but nothing serious compared to how bad it could have been.”
&nbs
p; “And the baby?” I asked, still trying to take in the fact that a little purple prune now had mine and Renee’s names.
“Perfect.”
I gripped the napkin tight. The news gave me the lift that I needed to head to the sofa and try to see Hal’s memories.
“Wait,” Martha said as I got up from my stool. “That’s Hal’s.” She pointed to a gold pen on the counter. “He uses it all the time.”
I smiled, it had to be as good as jewelry. I nodded to the doctor, took my leave, and paused at the door with the pen-in-a-napkin in my hand. Another vision, another fit. I sighed. “May as well get on with it.”
RONNY CAME AND took Zack into the back yard after I’d been hugged half to death. The house out back smelled of cooking and I wandered to a picture on the mantle. It was of three guys with skis in hand and a load of rescue equipment on the floor. There it was, the hammer and ski crossed over in front of them. The middle guy looked like Martha but the photo was real old so I guessed he was her father or something. I turned from it, trying to find the courage to do what I’d come back there for. The walls were neatly painted, cream with some kind of a dado-rail splitting it from a dark yellow wallpaper with striped patterns. Hung in pride of place were some paintings of landscapes and many photographs of Ronny at various ages. Over by Earl’s chair was a framed football jersey and I walked over to look at it closer. Turned out Ronny got his football genes from his father.
It was strange to think of Earl playing any kind of sport but the jersey was for a college team so he must have been pretty good at it. Inset was a medal. It looked military which explained why he watched the parades.
Unlike the house I had grown up in, Martha and Earl’s home was lived in. Magazines on the battered-looking coffee table, ring marks on the side tables. It felt warm and comforting. It felt full of love. A place where people who cared about each other sat in companionable harmony after their day. It’s how any place felt with Renee to me. Funny how a person could make you feel a sense of comfort and belonging.
