by Rachel Caine
Dahlia's picture makes me want to cry all over again, but I put it on my nightstand, propped up so I can look at it. Maybe I can find a frame for it.
The lure of Rice Krispies peanut butter chocolate treats finally gets me to unlock the door and slump into the kitchen. Javier eyes me from where he's working on the computer. I can tell he's thinking about what to say, but I don't want to talk to anybody. I get my snack fast and start back to my room. But not fast enough.
"Hey," he says, "your brother's asked for more stuff to do. How do you feel about learning to shoot at the gun range?"
I nearly forget about feeling bad. "Seriously?"
"Yeah."
"Mom hasn't taken us."
"I'll clear it with her first. But would you be interested if she agrees?"
"Hell yes, I would!" The idea makes me feel about ten thousand times more in control. "When?"
"When I get her okay. Slow your roll, gunslinger, you're not shooting anything for a long while even if she says yes. Tell you what: we'll go to the range after it closes, and you're going to pick out a gun. I'll give you a choice of three. Then you're going to learn how to take it apart, clean it, and put it back together."
"Wait, that's all? I already know how to do that!" I've watched my mom clean hers a hundred times. He doesn't reply. I nibble on the treats. "Oh, come on. Really?"
"That's all we're going to do at first. Choose, disassemble, clean, reassemble. Okay?"
"But I want to do target practice!"
"I know."
"Why can't I?"
"Because this is how I do it. If you don't like it, we don't have to go at all."
He's as bad as my mom. I seriously think about saying so, but I don't, because I don't see how it gets me anywhere except staying here for another round of Monopoly.
"Fine," I say, but I say it in a way that makes it clear it isn't. "Sure. Whatever."
"Great." Javier shuts the laptop. "This isn't a game, Lanny. You understand that, right? A gun is a responsibility. The second you touch one, you assume the power of life and death, and you can't take that lightly."
"I know that!" His look says he doesn't think I really do. I try to look calm and adult, because I know that's what he wants. "Okay. I'll pick a gun. I'll learn how to do what you want. Then can I get to shoot?"
"When your mom says you can," he tells me. "But not tonight. One step at a time."
He's carrying a gun on his hip right now. It looks like the one Mom carries, so it's probably a 9mm semiautomatic. Mom's extremely careful with her guns, but every once in a while, I've been able to pick one up, feel the weight of it. He's right. There's something that changes when you have a gun in your hand. It feels reassuring and exciting, sure. But there's something else, too. I've never quite been able to say what it is. Maybe when he finally lets me fire one, I'll know what I'm trying to tell myself.
It's a start, I tell myself. Stop pushing.
I don't like to be patient. I think I got that from Mom.
I lower my voice and say, "Have you talked to Mom in the past couple of days?"
"Yeah, for a little bit. She had to go before I could pass the phone on to you. She's okay."
"Did Mom say anything about . . . him?" I almost said Dad, but I know I shouldn't call him that. Not out loud. We all know who I'm talking about.
Javier shakes his head. "Nothing yet," he says. "There's no reason to think he's anywhere around here, but let's keep on as we're doing. Stay inside as much as you can stand. Stay offline. The longer we can keep where you are a secret, the better and safer for all of us."
"You could at least let me talk to my friends," I tell him. I really mean Dahlia. "They won't sell us out." She won't sell me out.
"And your friends tell other friends, and pretty soon everybody in Norton knows you're back. You think your mom isn't the best piece of gossip ever to hit this place? Nobody's going to pass up the chance to talk about it."
He's right, of course. The friends thing is half-hearted. Javier takes his job seriously. So does Kez--who's off at her real job as a cop right now, investigating some break-in around the other side of the lake. I hope it isn't our house. I worry about that . . . about the kids from school who might break in, trash our house, take selfies in my bedroom humping my pillow. Go through my stuff, not that I have a lot of stuff after all the years on the run. It still hurts to imagine what little privacy I've ever had being violated.
But maybe it isn't our house. Maybe the Johansens' big-ass flat-screen TV finally got jacked. Or their Mercedes SUV.
Maybe someone's ransacked Lancel Graham's old house; after all, we might be killers by association, but Graham really did kill people. If Graham's house gets trashed, I not only can't be sorry about it, I approve. He was a sick, evil man, and if Mom and Kez and Sam hadn't gotten to us in time . . . God only knows what would have happened. No. I know. It's what happened to his other two victims, and to all the girls my dad killed.
I try not to think about it.
Connor comes in from outside. He's been out awhile, because he's wearing a coat and gloves, and he sheds the outerwear and slumps on the couch, where he immediately picks up a book. He glances at me but doesn't say anything. Maybe he thinks we still aren't talking.
Maybe we still aren't.
"What time are we going?" I ask Javier, because at least it's a distraction.
"I said we'd check with your mom first."
"You also said I wasn't going to get to shoot any guns. So there's nothing to ask yet."
He gives me a look. "I'm calling. If I don't get her, I'll leave a message."
"Going where?" Connor asks. I ignore him.
"To the range. It closes at eight," Javier says. "I'll go in for closing, get everything done for the day, make sure everybody's cleared the building. Then I'll come back for you, Lanny. Kez can stay here with you, Connor."
"Wait, you're going to the range? Why can't I at least go along?" my brother asks, just as I knew he would.
"Because you're a kid," I tell him. "So, no. You can't go."
But Javier is watching him, and he says, "Do you want to?"
Connor shrugs. He keeps reading.
"Is that a yes?"
"Sure," he says. But I see the flush darkening the skin at the edges of his jaw, around his ears. Not quite a blush, but close. It's not in my brother's nature to show it, but he's excited about getting out of here, too. Maybe even about the guns, though he's always told me he doesn't like them.
I check the clock and groan. We still have hours to kill. I look over the games and finally plug Assassin's Creed into the game console and hip-scoot my brother out of the way. He gets up and goes to his room and shuts the door. Fine. Good. Though I'd kind of expected him to offer to play. He likes this game. That's why I picked it.
"Jerk," I say under my breath, starting it in single-player mode. Then I pause it, get up, and open his bedroom door without knocking, because I know that will piss him off.
His back is to me, and for a second I think I've walked in on him doing something way personal, but then I realize he's on his phone. "Are you calling Mom?" I ask him.
"No." There's a look in his eyes that surprises me.
"Who were you calling?"
"Nobody," he says.
"Because if you're calling Mom--"
"I'm not calling anybody!"
"Then--"
He explodes. It shocks me, because I know Connor has a temper, but it usually takes a long, long fuse to make it go off, and this is out of nowhere, and he's shouting. "Just get out, okay? Stop pretending to be Mom, you're not good at it!"
I back up, and he lunges forward and slams the door in my face. I have to jump back a few inches, or I'd have gotten it right in the nose. "Jesus!" I yell back and hit the door with the side of my fist. "Throw a tantrum, why don't you, you brat!"
He doesn't respond. I don't expect him to. I glare at the door for a few seconds, then turn. Javier's looking at me. "What?" I snap.
/> "Do you think it's okay when he barges into your room when the door is shut?" he asks.
"Hell, no."
"Then don't do it to him. I know your mom taught you better."
If he was even a little bit less nice I'd tell him to shut up, but I don't. I flop back on the couch, pick up the game controls, and start up. I'm not as good at this as my brother is, but I don't suck. For a while, I get pulled into the game world, and I'm glad for that, glad to leave everything behind and feel the walls around me fade out.
But it all comes back when Javier suddenly is right there, turning off the TV. "Hey!" I protest, because I was right in midjump, and now I'm going to lose a life, but he puts a finger to his lips, and his dark eyes are very fierce, and I shut up. Fast.
I hear something. Tires on gravel. Javier goes to the window and eases back the curtain. I can't tell for a second if it's okay or not, and then he eases his gun out of its holster and says, "Get your brother and stay out of sight. No noise. Go now."
"What is it?" I keep it to a whisper. My pulse is pounding, and I feel hot all over. Then cold. "Is it him?"
"I don't think so," he says. "But I still need you out of sight. Go."
I look around. We haven't left anything that would give us away in plain sight. I rush to Connor's room knock softly before I open the door. "Connor, come on, we have to--"
I don't finish, because although the book is lying tented upside down on his bed to mark his spot, he isn't there. I bend and look under the bed. Nothing. I check the small closet.
Then I feel a breeze on the back of my neck, and I look over and see that the window by the bed is open. The curtains are slowly moving from the wind.
Holy crap, no, you didn't.
There's no time to tell Javier, because I hear Boot's deep-chested barking outside. I sweep the curtain back and look out, but I don't see my brother anywhere. There's a small wooden crate under the window, perfect for climbing down on quietly. Where the hell are you? The old barn is the only thing in view, and I hesitate for only a second before I throw a leg out the window, duck, and step down onto the crate. It creaks a little, but it holds. I ease the window shut. Boot's low-throated growls and barks cover whatever noise I make, and now I hear Javier whistling him back to the porch. I step off the crate and run as quietly as I can across the open ground toward the barn.
Connor isn't in here, either.
The barn is full of tools and the usual junk that accumulates in rural areas--old parts, mostly--and if there ever was a loft, it's long gone. There's no place to hide in here.
It's too late to try to get back into the house, so I go back into the shadows and try not to think about the spiders that live in here. Or snakes looking for places to curl up for warmth. I crouch down and listen. I don't have a gun, but I grab a hay fork and hold on to it with both hands. If I have to fight, I will. I listen for the crack of a gunshot, or sounds of a fight. I don't hear anything but male voices. They're calm, I guess. It goes on awhile, and finally I hear an engine start up and the crunch of tires as the car turns around and leaves. I wait until I can't hear it anymore, then stand up and brace myself with the pitchfork, because my knees are shaking.
I go outside and look around, but I don't see any sign of my brother at all. I climb back in his window and peek out the door. Javier's just closing the front and locking it. Boot's inside, off the chain, and he saunters over and looks up at me.
"Who was it?" I ask Javier. My mouth is dry, and it hurts to swallow.
"Detective Prester," he says. "He says he was checking in on my health, seeing how I'd cut back my hours at the range. He smells a rat, though--"
I interrupt him in a rush. "Connor's missing!"
"What do you mean, missing?"
"He's not in his room. And he's not anywhere outside. I looked."
"How about the closets? The barn?"
"He isn't in--"
"Lanny, just check the closets!"
I open my door and look in all the places my brother might be able to hide, but there's nothing. I back out and am in time to see Javier yank back a gel mat that covers part of the kitchen floor--we stand on it every day, to wash dishes--and beneath it, there's a ring inset in the wood. I blink, because I had no idea that thing was even there. He hasn't mentioned it. I suppose he was saving it for emergencies.
When he heaves it open, I see that there's a set of wooden steps leading down into darkness, and a light hanging down with a pull cord. Javier yanks the cord as he plunges down the steps. Boot scrambles at the edge and barks, but he doesn't follow. Javier's only gone for a moment, and then he switches the light off and slams the trap shut as he exits. Kicks the gel mat over top of the door. "He's not down there. Did he say anything to you? Anything about where he'd go?"
"No," I say. "I mean, he likes to go out in the yard sometimes, but . . ."
He's gone before I can say anything else, and Boot scrabbles claws on the wood floor and takes off after him. I feel sick now. Shaky. I look again in my brother's room. In my room. I check absolutely everywhere.
He isn't here.
And when Javier comes back, looking grim, I realize the worst has happened.
My brother really is missing.
Calm down, I tell myself sternly. He's just off pouting. He's mad at me. He's gone off to punish me.
Would he, though? He knows the rules, and he knows Dad is out there loose. He knows Mom is too far away for us to find, so why would he try to run away to her? He has to be just angry and stupid. Maybe he's gone into Norton. I don't know.
I absolutely can't tell Mom I've lost him. When I find him, I'm going to hug him, and then I'm going to punch him so hard he'll never forget it. Then I'll hug him again. I want to tell Javier, Please don't tell Mom, but I can't. He feels responsible, too.
I go out on the porch. Boot's chain lays there in a long, piled coil. I stand next to it and look around. Javier's come all the way around the house by now, with Boot pacing at his side. He looks out over the fence at the woods around us, and I know what he's thinking: Which way? I have no idea.
"Can Boot find him?" I ask.
"Maybe. He's tracked game before. Maybe he can track Connor."
I go back inside to Connor's closet, and I come back with a particularly smelly T-shirt from the laundry pile. I hand it to Javier, who shows it to Boot. He sniffs it enthusiastically, then looks as us as if he has no idea what we want. I crouch down and say, "Find him."
I don't speak dog, and Boot just licks his chops and cocks his head at me. I take the T-shirt and shove it in his face again. He waddles backward and gives me a warning growl. "Please," I tell him. "Please."
He sits down and sneezes. Javier curses quietly in Spanish--he probably thinks I don't know what he's saying--but he reaches down and pets the dog, and says, "Sorry, boy, not your fault."
Boot still looks confused, but suddenly, his ears perk up. It's like he makes up his mind. He backs up, barks once, and takes a single muscular leap that clears the fence with at least six inches to spare. Javier's mouth drops open.
"Did you know he could jump the fence like that?" I ask.
"No. Damn."
Javier opens the gate and goes out to the gravel drive, where Boot is industriously sniffing the gravel, nose shoving aside rocks and blowing bits of dust. He circles around the entire drive, then takes off at a dead run down the road. Javier runs after him, and I fall in, gain, and pull even. I silently have to thank my mom for dragging me on all those jogging sessions around Stillhouse Lake. The gravel's not that easy to run on, but we don't slow down until Boot does, about halfway from the cabin to the main road. The gravel peters off to mud here, mostly dried. Boot does a figure-eight pattern, snuffling, and then comes back to a spot and sits down. Looks at us with a little bit of pity. Stupid humans.
I'm the one who spots the footprints at the side of the mud right by the trees. I recognize the tread. They're Keds, and that's what Connor was wearing.
I sprint off into the fo
rest and hardly hear Javier's yell for me to Wait, Lanny, because I'm scared. I'm so scared that he's gone, or worse, that something happened to my brother and he's wandered back in here and collapsed, or . . .
I see Connor's face first. He's looking back toward the cabin, and the afternoon light through the trees falls right on him, and he looks sad and pensive and maybe a little bit guilty. He's just standing there.
Then he turns and looks at me, and says, "Lanny--"
I'm not listening. I'm skidding to a halt in front of him, grabbing him by the shoulders, and shaking him like I want to shake the idiot out of him. It's only then that I realize that Connor is crying. Crying.
I stop shaking him, and I gather him in my arms. Even though I've always been bigger than he is, I think he's never felt so small and fragile before.
He just collapses, and I go with him, and we're both on our knees, holding each other. Rocking back and forth and not saying a word. I don't know if either of us really can talk. Something's very wrong here, and I don't know what it is. I'm afraid to know.
Connor holds out his phone to me. His hands are shaking. Mom always makes sure she disables the Internet features and enables parental controls before she gives them to us, but I'm not super surprised to find he's hacked his way around that--he must have, because there's a video playing on the screen. Right as I take the device from him, it ends. "What is this?" I hear Javier arrive behind me, and Boot's there, whining and wedging himself in under Connor's arm to lick my brother's face. I swallow and sit back. Connor's arms go around the dog instead, as if he needs something to hold on to. "Connor? Do you want me to watch it?"
He nods silently. I hit "Play."
And when I see what's on it, the world changes. Forever.
14
GWEN
When we land in Wichita, it's late afternoon, and the sun's already sinking low. It's cold, with the icy bite of snow in the air, though the sky's still clear. I remember this kind of weather, how it meant to lay in a good supply of wood for the fire, and salt for the steps, and make sure the winter tires were good to go. Stepping off that Rivard Luxe jet, I feel like I'm hallucinating, stepping into the wrong decade of my life. The smell of this place makes me dizzy.
My phone buzzes. I've had it off for the flight, and it's just connected to the new roaming network. I check it, and see a text that says 911.
