Out of the Black (10 page)

The woman looked away.

“The frame of the car collapsed, and my daughter was pinned inside. The front part of her skull—” I stopped talking and ran my hand along my forehead, tracing the line of Anna’s scar from memory. “The doctors told me she wouldn’t read or speak again, but she proved them wrong.”

The woman didn’t say anything, and I stopped talking. We drove the rest of the way to Pella Valley in silence.

Several times I wanted to apologize for what we did to her, but each time I tried to form the words, they seemed too small, too meaningless.

It wasn’t enough to be sorry, and by the time we pulled into Pella Valley and I saw the car wash at the far end of the
main street, I’d given up on trying to explain why I did what I did.

There was no point.

Nothing I could say would make it right.

The car wash was a one-level brick building with two open bays and a single yellow light mounted in the center. There were two industrial vacuums at the corner, and a white picket fence surrounding a weatherworn silo that rose out of the shadows and towered over it all.

I pulled in and parked along the side of the building facing the entrance and shut the lightPIasi b off the engine. The night was quiet and dark and no cars passed along the street.

I looked at my watch.

I’d made it with five minutes to spare.

I turned to the woman and said, “We’re early. He should be here any minute.”

Silence.

I could feel the adrenaline buzzing through me, making it impossible to sit still. I tried my best, but it was no use. Eventually, I opened my door and got out.

The woman turned and watched me, silent.

I walked around to the back of the van and stood by the white picket fence and looked out over the long field stretching into darkness. I could hear a train somewhere in the distance. The sound, a soft and steady pulse, helped calm my nerves, and almost made it possible for me to think clearly.

Almost.

Something about being out here, so far removed from the city, bothered me. I went over all the reasons I could think of why he’d want to meet way out here, but none of them seemed to fit.

All I could do was wait and see.

At exactly ten o’clock, a wave of headlights passed over me. I turned and saw a black Town Car and a black SUV pull into the parking lot and stop side by side. Their headlights shone bright, making it impossible to see.

The wait was over.

I walked around and stood in front of the van. For a moment, no one moved, then all the doors opened at once, and I could see glimpses of shadows moving behind the headlights.

One of the shadows stepped forward, silhouetted by the headlights. He was alone, and he walked with a cane.

He stopped halfway.

I stood there, waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t, I went around to the passenger side and opened the door and helped the woman out of the van.

She ran her hands over the wrinkles in her clothes, then straightened herself and started walking toward the man.

She’d gone a few feet when I said, “I’m sorry.”

The woman stopped.

At first, I thought she’d keep walking, but instead, she turned and came back, stopping in front of me, her eyes never leaving mine.

I told her, “I wish I could take it all back.”

The woman reached up, slow, and ran her fingertips over my cheek, soft and gentle. Then she pulled her hand away and slapped me, hard.

The sudden sting brought tears to my eyes. It didn’t hurt as much as it shocked me. All I could do was stand there, staring, unable to speak.

The woman turned and walked away, fading into the lights. When she reached the old man, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

I stood there, watching for Anna and waiting.

The old man said something I didn’t catch, then all at once there was movement behind the SUV’s headlights. People were shouting, lights flashed red and blue, and two cop cars turned off the road into the parking lot.

“No.”

I looked back, but there was nowhere to go.

Several men ran in from either the light’to the out of side and up from the field behind me. They were screaming at me, telling me to get on the ground.

“No!”

I felt the first set of hands on my shoulder, and I reached up out of instinct and twisted the man’s wrist at the joint. He cried out in pain, and I spun him away, running toward the old man.

“Where is my daughter?”

The old mannd Jay’s

“Matt, wake up.”

Beth’s head is resting on my shoulder. She looks up at me and runs her hand down my bare chest then pokes my ribs. “Come on, you have to get up.”

I reach for her hand and kiss it, feeling the soft warmth of her fingers against my lips. Then I roll over and face her, pulling the sheet up, covering us both.

I kiss her, breathe her in. “Not yet,” I say
.

“You have to.”

I run my hand down her body, feeling her next to me, her skin alive against mine. “I want to stay with you.”

“You can’t.”

I kiss her neck, work my way down.

Beth arches against me.

For a moment, I’m lost in her. Then I feel her hands on the sides of my head, lifting my face up to hers. She’s staring at me, and her eyes are clear and warm came around the corner. AK. It was and perfect, the color of autumn.

“Wake up, Matt.”

“But—”

Beth puts a finger to my lips, stopping me. Then she bends forward, kissing me long and soft. When she pulls away, there are tears in her eyes.

“She’s waiting for you.”

I stare at her, not understanding.

Beth leans toward my ear, whispers, “Forever and always. Do you remember?”

I nod, feeling the tears press behind my eyes
.

Beth smiles, kisses me once more
.

“Then wake up.”

I opened my eyes and inhaled sharp.

My clothes were soaked through, and cold water ran off my skin onto the floor. I tried to sit up, and the room spun around me.

There was a deputy standing in front of me holding a dripping plastic mop bucket. He watched me, birdlike, his shaved head tilted to the side.

“He lives.”

There were two fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling buzzing a cold green light over the room. They were bright, and it took my eyes a minute to adjust. Once they did, I saw that I was in a large cement cell. There was a thick metal door open at one end, and two cement beds attached to the walls on either side. In the middle of the room was a metal toilet and sink. The floor was smooth and it slanted toward a drainage trench cut along the back wall.

The deputy with the bucket stepped back, and for the first time, I saw that we weren’t alone.

There was another sheriff’s deputy standing just inside the door. This one was younger, wide-eyed. He leaned against
the wall, out of the way, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Standing next to him was a man in a charcoal-gray suit. He was tall, dark hair cut short, and he carried a black leather briefcase in his hand.

At first, I thought he might be my lawyer, but then he leaned forward to sit on the cement bed across from me, and I noticed the gun in the shoulder holster under his coat.

I saw another man kneeling in the far corner of the room. There was something familiar about him. He was older, and his thin white hair stood off his head in every direction. He had dirt on his clothes, and there was blood around his mouth and streaked down the front of his shirt.

His eyes were swollen shut, his face bruised.

He was holding a white rosary in both hands.

I stared at him for a long time, trying to remember where I’d seen him, but my thoughts were clouded, and it took a while before I remembered.

Then I did.

He was the driver. He’d been parked across the street from the salon that afternoon.

“I know you,” I said. “You’re—”

The older deputy stepped forward and punched me. The blow snapped my head back, and sent jagged shards of pain tearing through my brain. I reached up, holding my nose in both hands, and stayed like that until tXe p.he pain began to fade. When I pulled my hands away, they were covered in blood.

I didn’t say anything else.

A minute later, there were footsteps in the hall. I waited until they stopped, then I looked up.

The old man was standing in the doorway.

Seeing him brought it all back, and I could feel my muscles tense. I started to get up, but the deputy stepped in and pushed me back down, holding me there.

I looked up at the old man and said, “We had a deal. Where is she?”

He stared at me, didn’t speak.

“Where is my daughter?”

The old man stayed in the doorway, watching me, hands folded over the top of his cane. Then he stepped in and crossed the room to where the driver was kneeling in the corner. He stood behind him, then reached down and put a hand on his shoulder.

The driver jumped at the man’s touch and made a low cry in the base of his throat.

The old man patted his shoulder and made a slow shushing sound that came out like a hiss. He said something in Spanish that I didn’t understand. When he finished, the driver looked up at him, his swollen eyes wide, and shook his head, talking fast through the tears.

The old man listened until the driver’s voice broke off into sobs, then he held his hand out to him, palm down.

The driver took it and kissed it and pressed it against his face, repeating the same words over and over.

“
Lo siento, lo siento, perdoname por favor.
”

The two of them stayed like that for a long time, then the old man turned to the younger sheriff’s deputy standing just inside the door.

The deputy looked around, frowned, and backed out of the room.

I listened to his footsteps trail off down the hall.

Once he was gone, the old man pulled his hand away and crouched down next to the driver. He whispered something
to him, and the man nodded, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

The old man patted the driver on the back, then he stood and nodded to the man in the gray suit.