Storm

by Brigid Kemmerer

  A message? The only person who ever called was sitting right here in the kitchen. “Who?”

  Quinn slid a piece of notebook paper across the table. “Your dad.”

  Becca stared at her friend’s loopy script. He called every six months, but every time still hit her like a sucker punch. “He called?”

  “A man called and said to tell Becca that her father called. I said he had no right to call himself that, and he sighed and said to just give you the message. So I said it was my job to protect you from assholes—”

  “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  Quinn licked gravy off her spoon. “You know I’m just looking out for you.”

  “Does Mom know?”

  “Nope. She’d already left for the ER.”

  Becca stared at those numbers, as if they’d somehow shift into an essay on where he’d been this time.

  Becca had been eleven when he’d left, in school and blissfully oblivious until she got off the bus that afternoon. Even then, her mom didn’t drop the bomb until that weekend. Becca still felt like an idiot—believing some crap about a business trip. For days, she’d believed it.

  But he was gone. He’d been gone. He’d woken up in the morning, gotten a phone call, and said he had to leave.

  And then he didn’t come back.

  He pretended to give a crap, calling twice a year to ask about her life, but it wasn’t like it made a difference. She used to make lists, so she could detail every accomplishment, tell him every way she’d be a perfect daughter when he came back. He made the right sounds, said the right words of encouragement, but then she’d beg him to come home, and he’d sigh and say he had things to take care of. When she’d been in middle school, it all sounded very exciting and mysterious. Like he was some kind of secret agent.

  She knew now he’d played to that, strung her out on whispered conversations and empty promises.

  What a dick.

  She used to keep the ringer volume all the way up so there was no way she’d miss a call—because he never left a message, never left any way to get in touch with him.

  Until now.

  Staring down at his number, Becca wasn’t quite sure how to react.

  So she crumpled up the note, tossed it into the trash can, tied up the bag, and took it out to the curb. Her heart was pounding, but she told it to knock it off.

  Then she walked back into the kitchen and grabbed her plate from the microwave.

  Quinn was staring at her, waiting for Becca to talk. Waiting to follow some lead.

  Becca dropped into her chair. “So.” She picked up her fork. “What’s this drama about your mom’s candle party?”

  CHAPTER 4

  Chris couldn’t breathe. A hand was clamped over his mouth, pressing his head to the pillow.

  Darkness cloaked the room, but other than night, he had no concept of time. He thought of Tyler pinning his arms, holding him down while Seth threw punches. He came out of sleep with fists swinging.

  He struck something. His assailant grunted. A hand caught his wrist and trapped it against the bed.

  “Jesus Christ, Chris,” a voice breathed into his ear. “It’s just me, you idiot.”

  Chris stopped fighting, and the hand came off his mouth.

  “Keep quiet,” Gabriel said.

  Chris stared up at him, trying to make out features in the darkness. The storm still raged outside, rain slamming against the siding, wanting to be part of his panic.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he whispered, trying to convince his heart to slow.

  Lightning flashed, lighting up Gabriel’s expression and making his eyes glow for a moment. “I thought maybe we’d give Tyler a little warning of our own.”

  Chris felt his heart kick back into action. “You’re crazy.”

  “Am I?”

  Said by the brother who’d just woken him by suffocation. Chris glanced at the clock on his dresser. It was half past one. “Just—go back to bed.”

  Gabriel ruffled his hair. “Aw. Scared?”

  Chris knocked his hand away. “No.”

  “Liar.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not in any rush to get my ass handed to me again.” Chris gave him a shove. “Go ask Nick.”

  “Forget it.” His brother backed off and stepped toward the door.

  Chris sat up and rubbed at his eyes. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d been recruited for trouble. “Wait.”

  Gabriel waited.

  “Why are you asking me?”

  Gabriel smiled, sensing—correctly—that Chris was starting to waver. “Thought you might like a little vengeance.”

  “You mean Nick said no.”

  “Does it matter?”

  Chris hesitated. Did it matter?

  Thunder rolled outside, and Gabriel glanced at the window. “It seemed like your kind of night.”

  It felt like his kind of night. The rain liked this idea. Chris felt it pulling him, drawing his focus.

  He hated Tyler. He hated them all.

  But he hated his own fear more.

  He nodded. “All right.”

  “Get dressed. Think you can rile the storm if I help?”

  Chris threw back his blankets. Rain whipped against the screen, already willing. “Sure,” he said, reaching for today’s jeans from the pile in the corner. “Why?”

  Lightning lit up the room. Gabriel smiled. “Because we need Mike’s truck.”

  Michael’s work truck sounded like an orchestra of chainsaws when Gabriel fired up the diesel engine. As soon as the rain touched his skin, Chris called to it, urging it faster, driving drops against the house until the rattle on the siding would be louder than the engine.

  He kept the window of the cab open, his hand on the door. Storms liked adventure. Or maybe they liked panic. Whatever, he kept up a litany in his head, begging the rain to mask their departure.

  Gabriel called lightning from the sky. Chris felt every surge, every strike, the electricity racing through his storm to find something to burn. It hit close now, as if the lightning sought his brother the way the rain looked for him.

  A tree down the street took a bolt. Wood cracked and split, sounding like gunfire.

  Chris glanced at the house, watching the dark upstairs windows for any sign of movement. They were rolling down the driveway in neutral, the headlights off, but any moment the porch lights could flare to life and Michael would come flying out of the house.

  Chris swallowed.

  Gabriel punched him in the shoulder. “Relax.”

  “Try not to strike the truck. We might not be able to explain that away.”

  Lightning struck the road at the base of the driveway, not five feet in front of them. Chris jumped a mile.

  Gabriel laughed. “Now that was just lucky.”

  Chris scowled. “Do we have a plan or anything? Why did we need all the fertilizer?”

  “Because it explodes when I hit it with lightning.”

  Chris wished he were driving, because he would have stopped the truck right then. “Run that by me again.”

  “What did you think we were going to do, toilet paper their house?”

  “No—but—”

  “It’s just a little flash and bang, a warning not to screw with us. We’re not bombing them. God, you are worse than Nicky.”

  Chris stared out the window, watching rain sluice through the darkness, making silver streamers in the path of the headlights. Gabriel drove fast, but Chris didn’t worry about losing control. No matter how slick the roads got, the water would hold them.

  “Hey.”

  Chris swung his head around. Gabriel was watching him, the humor gone from his expression now.

  “Don’t tell me,” said Chris. “You changed your mind about the bomb thing.”

  “You know that chick’s been around the block, right?”

  Chris shrugged and looked out the window again. He hardly knew her.

  She’d just saved his
life.

  He kept thinking of her eyes, dark and shining in the moonlight when she’d been kneeling in the parking lot.

  “No, seriously,” said Gabriel. “Like half the soccer team, some of the lacrosse guys—”

  “I get it. Thanks.” Rain beat at the truck, slapping at his hand where it hung outside the window. Feeding on his irritation.

  Gabriel looked at the road again. “I just thought you should know.”

  Then something occurred to Chris. “You?”

  “Please,” Gabriel scoffed. Then he glanced over. “I mean, no offense—”

  “It’s fine.”

  “She’s cute and all, but I like a little more to grab, if you get my—”

  “It’s fine.” But Chris smiled.

  Gabriel killed the engine and the headlights when they pulled onto Tyler’s street, letting the truck roll in neutral. Chris pulled his hand inside the cab despite the water’s protest, worried the paleness of his skin would be a beacon in the darkness. He could hear his breathing again, louder than the rain outside, almost echoing inside the cab.

  Gabriel was whistling through his teeth.

  It sounded like an air horn to Chris.

  “How do you know they’ll explode?” he whispered, as though his voice would carry. He didn’t even care about the answer; he just wanted Gabriel to stop the damn whistling.

  “You kidding? Nick and I blow stuff up all the time.”

  Chris stared at him, forgetting his tension for a moment. “Really?”

  “Sure.” Gabriel glanced over, then ruffled his hair again. “Feeling left out, Christopher?”

  Yeah. He was. But Chris ducked and smacked his hand away. “You’ve never gotten caught?”

  “Nah.” His brother seemed to reconsider. “Okay, once, but we ran.”

  “Where do you do it?”

  “Down the beach by Fort Armistead Park.”

  Chris wondered if Michael had any idea. He couldn’t possibly.

  Gabriel reached out and grabbed his arm, hard. “You’ll keep your mouth shut, right?”

  “Yeah.” Chris kept his voice even, like it was no big deal. “Whatever.”

  Gabriel let him go. “Hey, is that Tyler’s car?”

  Ahead, parked on the street, sat a sleek black SUV, almost invisible in the darkness. Set back from the road was Tyler’s house, a wide brick split-level with lazy landscaping.

  Chris took a breath. He’d only been here once, but he wouldn’t forget. “Yeah.”

  “Make it pour,” said Gabriel. “Think you can do hail?”

  Now that they were here, so close to the house, Chris wanted to cling to the truck, as if the cab was his only lifeline to safety. “Are you just going to put the bags in the front yard or something?”

  “We, brother. We.” Gabriel clicked his tongue against his teeth. “And I think I have a better idea.”

  You want to turn around and go home? Maybe they could go blow the bags up on the beach. No one would get pissed, no one would know.

  No one would come out of the house and beat the shit out of them.

  God, he was being such a wuss. “Yeah? What?”

  “Help me put the bags around his car.”

  The rain welcomed him into the night air, soaking his clothes and feeding him strength. It felt better than adrenaline. Chris shook wet hair out of his eyes and grabbed a bag, heaving it onto his shoulder. He moved to throw it up against one of Tyler’s tires, but Gabriel waved to him to stop.

  His brother leaned close and spoke over the rain. “He might have an alarm. Don’t touch it.”

  “Just how big do these explode?”

  Gabriel had already moved away. “What?”

  Chris sighed. “Forget it.” He grabbed another bag from the pickup, setting it in front of the SUV.

  Gabriel caught his arm. “Do you hear something?”

  Chris only heard rain and his pulse. The darkness revealed nothing. He sought answers from the water in the air, but the rain was too focused on vengeance and danger.

  “Come on,” said Gabriel. “Hurry.”

  They stood in the middle of a paved road, surrounded by explosives—the worst place for a showdown with Tyler and his friends. But the only visible movement in the darkness was caused by the rain and the wind through the trees.

  Chris swallowed his fear and grabbed another bag. This one went by the front quarter panel of the SUV. Gabriel placed one by the back tire, then straightened and rubbed his hands on the front of his jeans. He gave Chris a smile. “See?” he called. “Worried for nothing.”

  A car door slammed.

  Gabriel whirled. The sound came from behind the truck, but there were no lights. They couldn’t see anyone yet. Chris felt his hands curl into fists, ready to fight. When they’d attacked behind the school, he’d had nothing. Now, he had the power of the rain and a brother by his side.

  Another car door slammed.

  Gabriel glanced at him, and Chris could read the question in his expression. Fight or run?

  A voice spoke from the darkness. “Aw. Look. The Merrick truck is sitting in front of my house.”

  Tyler. Fear grabbed Chris by the throat. The rain turned cold, biting his skin and urging him to fight.

  He heard a rough scraping sound, thin and keening through the rain. Metal on metal. Then Tyler’s face appeared from the darkness.

  He was dragging his keys along the side of Michael’s truck.

  “Keys?” said Gabriel, stepping forward to shove Tyler away. His voice was easy, but the motion was full of threat. “What is this, middle school?”

  Tyler glanced past him, clearly taking in the bags of fertilizer lined up alongside his truck. “Late night yard work?”

  Thunder rolled through the sky. “Something like that,” said Gabriel.

  It was taking all of Chris’s control to keep from choking Tyler with water, to keep it from freezing in the other boy’s eyes, to keep himself from breaking the promise his parents had made.

  Tyler cocked his head to the side, gave a twisted grin that looked maniacal in the moonlight. “You wouldn’t be calling elements, would you?”

  “Who needs elements?” said Gabriel.

  Then he punched him.

  Tyler staggered back into the truck, and Gabriel went after him, slamming the other boy against the quarter panel. “Don’t you ever fucking touch my brother again.”

  Chris felt a surge of pride.

  Then someone grabbed him from behind and shoved him into the front grille of the truck.

  “What’s wrong?” said Seth. “Don’t have your girlfriend to protect you?”

  God, he’d been stupid. This was Tyler’s SUV. They’d heard the other car. Of course Tyler wouldn’t have been alone.

  Chris tried to round on Seth, but the other boy was standing on concrete, and that meant his grip was practically unbreakable.

  The rain hardened into hail. With an edge.

  Seth slammed him against the grille again. “Cut that shit out.”

  “What?” said Chris innocently, hating that his voice carried a wheeze. The rain had fixed his ribs before, but they still ached. “Don’t like rainstorms?”

  Seth spun him around and slammed him in the face.

  Chris didn’t know he was falling until the pavement whacked him in the back of the head. Jesus Christ, that guy could throw a punch. Chris had to remind his lungs to breathe.

  The rain turned to sleet, whipping sideways, striking the truck and making a racket. Seth was going after Gabriel now, dragging him away from Tyler.

  Then Seth had Gabriel up against the truck, choking him.

  Chris flew off the ground. The rain fed him his brother’s panic. He poured power into the sleet, trying to loosen Seth’s grip.

  It was like trying to fight a statue.

  Tyler grabbed his arm to wrench him away. They grappled in the darkness. Lightning flared in the sky—bolts of power driving into the grass.

  Tyler’s eyes widened, then his
grip turned hot, searing into Chris’s forearm. Chris struck at him, but Tyler didn’t let go.

  Lightning hit the street, sizzling on the pavement, two feet from a fertilizer bag.

  Freeze. Chris just thought it, and Tyler was screaming, his hands on his face.

  But Seth still had hold of Gabriel. He made a sharp motion with his hands, like in the movies when someone wants to break a guy’s neck.

  Lightning shot through the sky.

  Fertilizer exploded. The sound—the heat—was intense. Chris hit the pavement again, and lost sense of all direction. His eyes burned from the explosion, and he couldn’t see yet. Seth couldn’t have held on through that. Gabriel had to be around here somewhere.

  His rain worked fast. The fire was already turning to nothing more threatening than billowing smoke.

  A hand caught his arm, rolled him over. Chris fought, striking out before he knew who had hold of him.

  “Hey! Kid!” A light was shining in his eyes. One guy, no, two, stood over him. “Take it easy.”

  Chris stared up, blinking stars out of his vision.

  Not Tyler, not Seth.

  Cops.

  CHAPTER 5

  The little green lines on the clock on the dash announced it was almost three in the morning. Chris was glad he sat in the back of the truck’s cab, somewhat hidden in the shadowed corner behind his oldest brother.

  “I don’t get what you’re so upset about.” Gabriel was up front, slouched against the door, looking coiled and feral in the dim light.

  Michael’s fingers gripped the wheel. Headlights filtered through the back window of the pickup, and Chris could see the muscles of Michael’s forearms stand out from the strain. Nick was following them in the SUV; he’d driven Michael to pick them up.

  Chris had wanted to ride home with him, but Michael had practically dragged him to the truck by his ear.

  “You don’t get what I’m upset about?” Michael’s voice was low and dangerous.

  “It’s not like they charged us with anything.”

  Chris looked out the tiny backseat window. The cops had threatened to—but thank god they’d bought some stupid story about a prank gone wrong. They’d searched them and handcuffed them, then made them sit on the wet pavement to wait while rain threaded through his hair and dripped into his eyes.