Mayday (16 page)

Nobody spoke for minutes. Crow's leg bounced, and her mind whirred. Suddenly, she gasped, “That little snake!”

I cleared my throat. “I think Crow and I will go for a walk, too.”

We rose, climbed the stairs, and Crow dashed into her room, came out wild-eyed. “Her bag's gone.”

“Yeah, I gathered that downstairs.”

Crow bit her lip. “He's not going to get away with it. He's a Monster, and he's not going to get away with it. She doesn't know. I don't know why I didn't tell her but I didn't, and so she doesn't know and now look at them.”

“Addy likely heard the same thing you heard. It doesn't seem to worry her.”

“My sister doesn't understand.”

Crow ran back into her room and dashed out with a backpack. “I need to go.” She kicked a pile aside, yanked open the closet door, and grabbed her black leather jacket. “See ya, Shane.”

I reached for her arm, then recoiled. “Let me come.”

“You don't get what's happening here. There's no way you could. I'm not getting eggnog. I'm not coming back. Not until I find them. Go back to your nice life.”

I turned my back and slowly slipped my hand into my pocket.

I flipped open the locket and peeked down. A reddish glow, eerie, unnatural.

There was so little time.

“Let me come,” I said quietly.

“You don't quit.” Crow faced me square, waiting, I think, for me to change my mind.

“Okay, Shane Owen.” She peeked out the front window. “Can we take the car?”

“Maybe. It's not mine. But that reminds me, I do need something from my cottage.”

The something was, of course, Crow's notebook on Will. We drove the car back to Hope Home, and the two of us ran up the walk. Mr. Loumans met us in the doorway and shushed the wolf whistles from Eddie and Sean.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

I lowered my voice. “Will took off. It was expected.”

Mr. Loumans breathed deeply, as if he'd considered this a plausible outcome of the evening. “What now?”

“I go after him.”

Mr. Loumans thought a moment. “Sure you do. And where does this young lady fit into the sequence?”

“Will left with my sister,” Crow spurted.

Mr. Loumans stepped out into the cold and folded his arms. “For such a night as this, were you not sent?” He shook his head and clasped his hands. “To be a part of such divine interventions must be a thrilling experience. May I ask, is she also—”

“Much more immortal than she's letting on,” I said.

“Ah. Well, I will trust you know what is best. Keep me abreast of your affairs.” His face grew haggard. “You know, of all the boys, Will has a special place in my heart. He has no place to go. Care for him.”

“I will, sir.” I turned to Crow. “Wait here.” I dashed into my cottage and scooped up the notebook. When I returned to Hope Home's front door, I found two statues. Neither Crow nor Mr. Loumans appeared to have moved.

I broke the weighty silence. “I do have one request. Odds are they're heading to the train depot. May we take the Impala and leave it there?”

“Would a man hold back his donkey from the Good Lord? Should I hold back my transport from his workers?”

“Thanks.” I peeked at Crow, who stared in horror at Mr. Loumans. Understanding had clearly taken hold. “I'll call you soon with word.”

• • •

We turned and dashed toward the idling car. Inside with Crow, I fishtailed out of the driveway.

Crow rubbed her hands up and down her thighs. “Did I follow that correctly? Does the man who owns this car think you're an angel?”

“He does.”

“And now he believes I'm one, too?” She stuffed the notebook in her pack.

“Possible.”

There was a long silence. “Are you?” Crow asked.

This question, it dawned on me, could solve my dilemma. Perhaps straight from a spirit who stands in the presence of the living God, Crow might accept that the rumor that fueled her anger and this search was bogus. But I was discovering that Shane had reached his quota of mistruths. I could not speak another.

“No, I'm not.”

Crow was no fool. She cast me a sideways glance. “'Cause it would sure explain a lot.”

“Yeah, it would.”

Silently, we sped through the night.

THE THOUGHTS OF C. RAINE

With the catching ends the pleasure of the chase.

Abraham Lincoln

WE WANDERED THE VACANT DEPOT ON CHRISTMAS EVE.
It looked every bit the train cemetery.

“Do trains run on Christmas?” I asked, and pounded the side of a rail car.

Crow shook her head. “Don't know. I really don't know. But she's smart. She wouldn't hitchhike. And there's no bus service to where we're going. . . . I taught her to hop a train.”

I turned a complete circle, watching the wind whisk away my breath. I leaned against a nearby boxcar. “Maybe we should let 'em go. They won't stay gone forever.”

Crow's gaze burned into me. “You have no idea what's at stake for her, or what Addy's been through, or what your little beast has planned.”

“‘My little beast'? Interesting.” I looked off, and then back at her. “And you know his intentions? For certain.”

She nodded.

“Reliable source, then?”

She opened and closed her mouth. “A twisted one, I'll give you that, but the source didn't know I was listening.”

“And you find the girls' bathroom to be a good place to gather information, in general?”

Crow stuck her finger in my chest. “I never told you where I first heard it.”

I raised both my hands. “I was standing outside of the bathroom when Mel and a friend walked out. They talked about it all the way down the hall. I couldn't find you all day long. Where else would you be hiding out?” I peeked down at her finger. “And for the record, my chest did not initiate this contact.”

Crow pulled back. “You drive a person crazy.”

The train on which I leaned lurched forward, and I stumbled to the ground, my leg slipping onto the track. “Whoa.” I yanked it back. “Almost one-legged Shane. I don't think Sadie could fix that.”

“There.” Crow pointed into the darkness. Twenty cars up, a silhouetted arm reached out of a boxcar, stretching toward a suit walking alongside the slow-moving train.

Crow cursed. “That would be Will. I hope
he
falls beneath the tracks.”

“So harsh, Crow.” I paused and brushed snow off my jeans. “What now, you want me to yell and scream?”

“No, he'll jump in, we'll miss our chance, and it'll be too late. For now, we follow.” She flung her pack into a boxcar and jogged alongside the quickening train. I took off after. We sped to a sprint, lined up with the car's mouth, and leaped. I landed with a thud. Crow landed on top of me.

“Just for the record—”

“Shut up, Shane.” She pushed off me, and in the darkness, I caught a tight grin. Progress.

• • •

North. There are many good times to go north in Minnesota, many good reasons if hunting or ice fishing is your thing.

But they weren't mine, and with the temperature dropping below zero and the wind rushing in, I felt quite certain that Shane, my shell, was not a cold-weather type of guy. He was probably from New Mexico or Florida or someplace where old folk flee to when their hardy Minnesota years have passed.

I shivered in the corner and marveled at Crow, whose image I will never forget.

She sat cross-legged in the open boxcar mouth, her black leather jacket and jeans providing little more than a windbreak. She neither shivered nor slept. She stared into the night, black hair streaming in the freezing breeze, whipping across her face. Of all the situations in which I saw her, in none was she so alluring as in that pose.

Alluring, but untouchable. Though I sure longed for some body heat.

“You, uh, familiar with expeditions to the Antarctic?” I asked. She did not flinch. “Right. Colonel Jenks and his hand-picked crew headed out, a little too close to winter. The water froze around them. They radioed for help, but the signal never reached a soul.”

“So they ate each other or something,” Crow said. “Are you hungry or what?”

“No, they didn't, well, yes, a few did eat each other, but that's not the issue here.”

“You're cold.”

“Well, the men, the ones who did not eat each other, huddled in very platonic fashion, and the warmth—”

“Kept them alive.”

“Actually, no, they all died, but I bet they stayed a little warmer toward the end there.”

Crow spun around. “You wanted to come!”

“That has nothing to do with the fact that I'm about to lose certain body parts.”

“I might consider your request if you did.”

I had no response to that.

I hunkered down in the corner, my mind drifting into frost-induced sleep. In the frigid morning, I awoke from this dream:

Crow scooted over to where I huddled, unbuttoned my thin flannel jacket, and crawled inside, drawing it back around us. She laid her black leather on top, pressed her face into my chest, and cried. Soft, warm tears soaked through my sweatshirt. Her arms wrapped around me, and mine wrapped around her, and we held each other, our bodies bobbing with the roll of the boxcar.

I opened my eyes to find my jacket buttoned and Crow back on her perch. But I felt warm through and through, except for my chest.

My sweatshirt was damp.

The train rumbled on, and I stretched and shuffled next to Crow, swung my legs over the edge.

“Where do you think we're going?”

She reached into her backpack, grabbed the notebook, and slapped it against my chest. “Page three.”

I opened it and read aloud.
Will Kroft, 17 years old. Born in Morneau, Minnesota. His father still pastors a small Baptist church outside of town. Mother flew the coop when he was a kid.

“Will's a pastor's kid?” I slapped shut the pages.

“Yeah, and I'm an angel.” Crow rolled her eyes. “But it's what he told Addy.”

“So you think they're heading to Morneau?”

She tapped the notebook on my lap. “You should read it. There might be things in there even you don't know. He's a weasel. The letter he wrote to Addy at the end is rather brilliant. I copied it word for word while she slept.”

The train rumbled through Cambridge and Grandy. I slowly flipped through the notebook. The front of each page held handwritten accounts of Adele and Will's interactions; Crow had scrawled her interpretations on the flip side.

“You write well, Crow.”

“I know. Read his letter.”

I paged to the end, scanned the note, and scooted back.

Dear Adele,
Do you remember your dad? The sound of his footsteps heavy on the stairs or the smell of him, a scent which, when it finally disappeared, felt a little like a second death?

I did remember my dad's footsteps—my real dad's—his safe footsteps outside our door.

You were young when you lost your dad. That's no less horrible, but perhaps less costly. Except in your case.

Three years ago today, I began a slow walk south from Morneau, south from the reverend. While he was pointing folks to heaven, I was giving him hell, so I figured it was a decent decision, one both he and I would agree to . . . that is, if we spoke.

Three years have gone by, and it may well be going great for him. But it's not for me. I was fortunate. Mr. L found me downtown, and if a kid needs a substitute dad, you could not ask for better. But I can't take it anymore. The moralizing, the lessons. It's not that I can't stand Mr. L, it's that he reminds of what I lost, what I left.

Time has erased most of the anger, and all the other reasons I left in the first place, though I know those reasons are still likely there. But I want to go home.

So I'm asking you to think about coming with me. I'll understand if you say no, though quite honestly, other than Crow, I don't know what would tether you here.

I do know that I want you to come with me. Think about it, Adele.

Will.

• • •

I set down the pad. “He wrote this? He doesn't know half these words. Who did he pay?”

“Snake,” Crow whispered. “Addy could not turn that down. Not innocent Addy. The thing's poetic.”

And accurate. Mr. Loumans had the same effect on me. He reminded me of what I'd lost, planted in me the desire to find the one man I could never leave, though he may have left me.

Cameron Raine. What would I ask him if I saw him again? Would he recognize my face? Well, Crow's face.

“It's a good letter,” I whispered.

“See how he set it all up?” Crow began to rock. “The poor, abused reverend's son, forced out of his hometown and lost in the big city. Suddenly stricken by conscience and going back to make things right. That's not good, that's genius.”

I waited a few seconds. “Suppose there's always a chance the kid's all right, and the letter's true.”

Crow looked over sharply. “If it is true, I will die.”

Later, I thought over her statement, so forcefully predicted. As I rewound the tape of all her words, turns out this was her only prophecy.

Scary.

The train rumbled into Morneau, and Crow peeked out of the car.

“They're getting off. He has her now. Will knows this place. He probably called his old friends. We're Addy's only hope.” Crow slapped my shoulder. “They've left the depot.”

She grabbed her bag, I held the notebook tight, and we jumped onto the platform. Crow yanked me inside the vacant depot. In the distance, two figures tramped away from us onto a snow-packed road.

“Keep an eye on them.” She grabbed her smartphone from her coat pocket. “Morneau. Population two thousand. They're heading away from town.”

“Any churches that way?” I asked.

Crow dropped her arms. “Let the letter go. It's lies. I need
you
to follow them.” She flattened down her black leather. “We're in Hicksville. I'm too visible here. You have your phone, right?”

I patted my flannel and rubbed the pocket. Lying was easier if I didn't actually speak.

“I'm going into town to find out what I can about Will. I'll need more than bathroom stories to convince Addy's she's in danger.”

I frowned, and so did Crow. “You wanted to be useful, so here's your chance. Don't let Will touch her, and if he does—”

“What?” I asked. “What do you want me to do?”

I pushed out the door and hauled myself onto the snow-packed road, stopped, and called back. “I've never been wrong yet, and I believe every word of that letter.”

Crow whipped around and stormed off toward the grain elevator and the water tower and what looked to be downtown Morneau.

• • •

The end of my junior year, on what had become the only trendy day to go to school, the administration packed up every student, all two thousand of us, and shipped us off to Valleyfair Amusement Park, the closest thing Minnesota has to Six Flags.

Did I tell you that Adele adored me? Idolized me? It's true, but on days like this, I'm not the one she wanted to hang with. She had other friends—Jacque Basset and Lori Hammond, to be exact—friends who would drop their lives for her. If you knew Addy, you knew why. Adele was not only beautiful and smart and witty, she was quick with a laugh and long to listen. I realize perfect is an overused adjective, but every so often, you meet a perfect person. Normally, they nauseate. But Adele was so perfect you couldn't even hate her. She treated you better than herself.

That's sick.

Back to Valleyfair.

It possessed typical amusement-park fare: killer rides, greasy food, an impressive water park . . . and hounds. Hounds ran in packs of threes or fours. They entered through the turnstiles and quickly ditched their shirts in order to place their few chest hairs on display. Actually, only two of them posed. The others were skinny and knew it.

Here, my stint in Shane provided insight. The leader, normally the loud, chiseled one, jostled with the number two in command. The others tagged along with tongues wagging, satisfied to be in the presence of such beefy hounds. These others mutts laughed and joked as if they belonged, but inside they felt like crap.

Unsupervised hook-up venues like Valleyfair drew hounds like vomit, and I took it on myself to watch Adele from a distance. With crowds thick, it was a chore to keep a visual, but over the years, I'd honed my Adele-o-meter. At first, a few of my disciples accompanied me, eager to convince me they gave a rip, but soon they drifted, leaving me alone to keep up the vigil.

Many mangy packs approached Adele on my junior-year trip, but the last group, the group of three? They were different.

Shirtless and his two followers mastered the art of sniffing and hunting. I placed myself behind the concession booth not ten feet from Adele and marveled. This lead hound was good.

He first addressed Jacque and Lori, and set them to giggling.

“Smart hound,” I whispered. All hounds needed to get by the friends. They formed the moat around the castle. Too bad that in Adele's case, the moat was pretty shallow. Shirtless quickly turned his attention to the prize. He got Addy talking, not a good thing, and then cast his line.