Eyes Ever to the Sky (A Sci Fi Romance) (The Sky Trilogy) (6 page)

Hugh stood. His heart hummed like an engine and his eyes locked on the shadow that stomped up the wooden ramp. He didn't dare breathe.

The shadow was large and male. Hugh heard something slide under one of the shelves to his right. In the darkness, the shadow stepped closer. Something metal clanked together on the wall.

“Goddamn son-of-a…” a male voice said. There was click of a lamp chain being pulled. The shed flooded with light.

Blinded, Hugh stumbled back, throwing an arm up to his eyes. 

“What...? Who the hell are you?” the man shouted, stumbling back in shock. He tripped on a weed whacker and went sprawling on his back. The light bulb swung back and forth, throwing crazy shadows across the walls. Tools clunked to the floor.

Hugh stepped toward the door, but the man hauled himself up and blocked his exit. They stood staring at each other. The forty-something homeowner was clad in a holey t-shirt and pajama pants. Hair graying at the temples and thinning at the crown, this man may have been older, but anger pulsed down his limbs. With his supple beer gut and thick arms, he had at least forty pounds on Hugh. When the man found a long-handled shovel and lifted it like a baseball bat, Hugh stumbled back. 

“What the hell are you doing in my shed?” The man's hands were trembling, but his eyes were on fire. He sneered at Hugh, the jowl under his chin wobbling. Then he raised the shovel like a medieval broadsword.

“
No!” Hugh held his hands up in defense.

The man swung.

The rusty blade, dented at one corner, made a whistling sound as it sliced through the stale air. A beam of light glinted off the metal as it arched toward his head. Hugh closed his eyes.

The blade cracked against his skull with a noise like a tree being snapped in half. Pain burst across his cheek. His vision blurred. He fell, his legs suddenly gone, his head feeling like a balloon floating somewhere far. He hit the shed wall and slid down. His mind was a bag of cotton. His arms were useless sandbags.

Heat flooded his cheek, into his eye socket, down to his jaw. He waited for more pain, like his cranium would crack open. Yet, the throbbing pain was abating. He put his hand to his face. Was his cheek still there?

“
What the...?” the man said, astonished.

Hugh opened his eyes.

The man examined the mangled shovel. The steel was dented where it had met Hugh's head.

His head? His head fought a shovel and won? 

A cold chill ran up Hugh's arms as he looked at the metal blade. The pain was nearly gone now. This couldn't be happening.

The man watched as Hugh pulled himself up. In the sliding light, his face flashed with first terror and then fury. A snarl tore out of his throat. He dropped the shovel with a clang and grabbed for Hugh.

Hugh stumbled into the corner, knocking a shelf off the wall. The man’s hairy fingers clawed at him, curled into his throat. Then they were choking, choking. Thumbs dug into Hugh's Adam's apple. The man's brown irises had receded to wild, round pupils. Spittle flecked the corners of his five o’clock shadow.

“
Don't!” Hugh choked. His air dwindled. Stars danced across his vision. His tongue was a useless weight in his mouth.

Hugh slammed both palms into the center of the man's chest. It felt like pushing a scarecrow. Instantly the choking hands were gone, and the attacker, too. The man sailed backward, arms flailing, shirt rippling. He slammed through the shed doors, smashing them open. They
thwacked
back and forth wildly. There was a thud somewhere on the grass beyond. Then silence. The bees buzzed madly.

Hugh stared at the space where the man had been a moment before. He’d only wanted to breathe. He’d only shoved him. 

Shaking, Hugh pulled through the shed, past the mangled shovel and over the weed whacker. He stepped onto the grass, one hand on the door to keep his footing. In the splash of light from the shed, he could see the body. He went to it, barely breathing, the dry July lawn crinkling under his feet.

What have I done?

He leaned over the body, his hands shaking. He was about to lose his lunch, but he had to see if he'd killed him. The man lay supine on the lawn, one arm straight out, the other tucked beneath. His flip-flop lay five feet to the left in a flowerbed. Hugh bent down, sure now he'd throw up, and pressed his hand to the man's back. The shirt was wet in the crease between the shoulder blades. Hugh yanked his hand back. Was it blood? No, only sweat. He leaned down again and listened for breathing. Oh God, let him be breathing.

The man’s chest rose and fell softly. Hugh slumped back on his heels and blew out a breath. He rolled the man over. Grass stains painted the man's shirt, torn at the sleeve in a ragged white flap. A welt swelled like a plump fruit on his right temple. Other than that, he looked okay.

The porch light snapped on. Inside the house a woman began screaming.

Hugh dropped the man and bolted into the night.

CHAPTER EIG
HT — CECE

Tuesday 9:05 p.m.

Cece opened the freezer and pressed her forehead to the cold metal door. Her shirt clung damply to both pits, her ponytail had come loose and wet strands were stuck to the back of her neck, but the clock said nine p.m. Her first day on the job was over.

“
Brutal, right?” Fer asked as she slumped against the wall. Sweat dappled Fer’s forehead and glistened on her upper lip. Her size eighteen body sagged from every angle. She dug out another Kit Kat and snapped it between her teeth.

Cece scrapped some ice from the clump clinging to the freezer wall and pressed it to the back of her neck. “Why didn’t you tell me it was like working in the depths of hell when you got me this job?”

“Because,” Fer said, chewing, “misery loves company. Can’t sweat my ass off alone.”

Cece threw a hunk of ice at her. Fer dodged and threw the remaining Kit Kat half at Cece’s head. It bounced off her skull and tinkled to the floor. “Hey!” Cece said. “That’s chocolate abuse.”

“Here,” Fer dug another out of the jar in between the Heath bars, Nerds and chocolate chips. She tossed the Kit Kat in a clean arch. Cece caught it and took a bite.

“
Perks of the job,” Fer said, chomping on another. “Lizzy doesn’t care if we eat the merchandise as long as we don’t go crazy. Now,” Fer rubbed her palms together, “Travis took off early to smoke a bowl or whatever, so I’m in charge.” She raised an eyebrow and twiddled her fingers evilly. “Mwa, ha, ha. You will do my bidding, minion.”

Cece crossed her arms over her chest. “Minion? Who let you copy all year in Algebra?”

Fer dropped her maniacal smirk. “Fine. Forget the minion part. Just take out the trash and I’ll mop up.”

Cece looked at the bulging trash barrel next to the counter. Then she spied the one overflowing onto the cement outside. She suspected she was still a minion.

She yanked out both bags, dropping a glop of chocolate ice cream on one shoe and smearing something unidentifiable on her arm. Then she dragged them to the dark back lot where the dumpster sat reeking. The rancid smell of garbage made her gag, but she held her breath and heaved the first bag in.

“
Umph
,” said a voice from inside the dumpster. Cece froze. A head appeared.

“
Oh I...” she stammered. Her mouth dropped open as a man peered out at her from the dark recesses of the dumpster. He was tall with short brown hair and wide dark eyes. She took a step back. He grabbed the lip of the dumpster and swung himself out. Despite his size—over six feet, broad shoulders, muscular arms—he moved with the agility of a gymnast. In the orange light from the bulb over the door, she took him in.  Not a man, a teen, maybe seventeen with a crop of sexy stubble on his cheeks. He stood facing her, his back to the dumpster and his eyes tracking her every movement.

“
Sorry,” he said, watching her face. His whole body was clenched.

“
Sorry?” She blinked. “I’m the one who threw garbage on your head.”

He said nothing, just watched like a frightened animal. She scanned his clothes, the too small t-shirt, tight women’s running shorts, no shoes. What was he doing in a dumpster?

“Were you…” She looked up at his face. “Were you eating in there?”

Even in the dark, she noted the embarrassment flooding him. He shook his head and tucked his hands behind his back, a banana peel clutched in one fist.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “We have fresh bananas.”

His eyes followed her as she set the garbage bag on the ground.

“Stay here,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” As she walked back into Lizzy’s, she could feel his eyes on her the whole way.

Inside the building, her thoughts buzzed. What was she thinking? She was going to go back into a dark alley with some stranger who was twice her size, armed with nothing but a handful of bananas? She was nuts. She glanced at Fer, who was mopping the back corner with her headphones stuffed in her ears, some indie rock blaring. Cece snagged a bunch of bananas from the counter, tucked them under her arm and raced out the back.

When she got back, he was gone. She searched dark alley, walking to the smelly dumpster and peering in. No sign of him. Her arms drooped, the bananas banging against her thigh. A pitiful offering. It had been a dumb idea anyway.  

“
Cece!” Fer yelled from the doorway behind her. “Quit dickin’ around out there.”

Cece shot a glance toward the door. Should she tell Fer? And risk the scolding of her life? She walked back, the bananas at her side. “I thought these were bad. I was going to throw them out.” She held up the bananas and shrugged.

Fer picked up the bunch. “These are fine,” she said, inspecting them. “Besides, you shouldn't hang out here alone. This is rapist central when it gets dark.”

Cece nodded, walking back inside with Fer.

She turned and looked once more. Where would he sleep tonight?

CHAPTER NINE
— HUGH

Tuesday 9:19 p.m.

He shouldn’t have talked to her.

As he pounded down the dark alleys, he chided himself.
You shouldn't trust
, said a voice inside his head.
They are all your enemy. All of them.

Hugh blinked and shook his head. They were his enemy? The pretty girl with the understanding eyes? He thought about her soft tan skin, the dark hair cascading over smooth shoulders.
You don't have to do that
, she'd said.
He heard her voice echo in his skull like a song he couldn't shake. She'd gone back to feed him, not turn him in, and still he had run.
Can't trust them,
the voice said.
None of them.

Hugh skidded around a dark corner and pulled up tight to the brick building as a young couple walked past, chatting and licking the last sloppy bites off an ice cream cone. Each person that passed struck an off-key chord in his head.
Stay away,
his instincts said. Yet, something had been different in that one moment beside the dumpster. Somehow he'd been drawn to her, to her face so open and inviting, her hands outspread to say
Come as you are
. No alarm bells. No instinct telling him to run. Then she'd gone inside and he'd doubted himself, so he'd fled from the only comfort he'd known.

What he wouldn't give to go back there now and stand beside her for just one more moment.

Her voice swam around his head, soft and lyrical. And that smile. He could see the curl of her lips as she'd turned to go. He could run back and wait until she left for home. He could approach her then and hear her voice, see her smile, feel…what? Feel less alone.
He turned in the dark and looked back toward the ice cream shop.

Sirens. Two cop cars tore around the corner, lighting the street in shards of red and blue. The couple watched, growing stiff. Then they went back to licking drops of ice cream off their knuckles, walking a bit quicker.

Hugh tucked back into the shadows, the brick warm and rough under his palms. He couldn't go back. What if someone confronted him again and he hurt them, maybe worse than he'd hurt the man in the shed? He pictured the dented shovel. If he could do that, what other harm could he do? What if he went back and accidentally hurt her? No, he had to get out of town and back into the open stretches of tree cover. He skirted through the shadows, heading for the scent of pine. Sleeping in the woods would have to suit him again tonight. He ran, carrying the memory of her voice with him into the dark.

CHAPTE
R TEN — CECE

Tuesday 9:47 p.m.

Cece stumbled in the trailer door, banging her knee against a stack of books. The paperbacks sprawled across the entryway.

“
Shit!” she said.

“
Watch your mouth,” Mama's voice said from the interior of the dark trailer.