Storm Gathering (30 page)

“Mick? Are you here?”

A slight breeze rustled the wet leaves above Mick, and droplets splashed against his already drenched face. Was he hallucinating now? Was that Jenny’s voice?

He blinked slowly, trying to speak, but all that came out was gurgling.

“Mick? Are you here?” Her voice nearly drowned in the racket of the storm.

He knew anything he attempted to whisper would not be heard. He tried to raise his arm out of the mud.

“Mick?” Her voice sounded more distant.

He turned his head, trying to locate her.
Jenny, I’m here. Come to the other side.

One more attempt, and his arm was in the air. He waved his fingers into the wind. He could hear nothing but the storm. Jenny’s voice was gone.

Come back. Please. I’m here.

He closed his eyes, his arm still in the air.

Come back to me.

And then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Mick!”

He turned and looked into her shiny, wet face. He wasn’t sure if he was smiling. Her eyes turned worried.

“Jenny . . .”

“Mick, please try to tell me what’s wrong. Are you hurt anywhere?”

He mumbled, “No. Food . . .”

“Food? You need food? I brought some! A ton. Here, let me—”

He squeezed her arm. “Poi . . . son . . .”

Jenny knelt beside him. “Food poisoning.” Indecision swept over her features, and she glanced toward the trees. “Mick, we have to get you to a hospital. Now.”

“No . . .”

“Yes! Yes! You could die out here.”

“Where’s Aaron?” he whispered.

“He’s coming. He couldn’t remember where the pond was. He’s looking on the other side of the property. I’m going to wave him over.”

“Don’t leave me,” Mick moaned.

“Mick, listen to me . . . ,” Jenny started.

Mick shook his head. His attention turned toward the sky. The clouds were low and thick. And rotating. He looked at her. “You need to go. Now. Go up to the Heppetons’ house. Hurry, Jenny. This is bad.”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“Jenny, go!” He clutched his stomach and squeezed his eyes shut.

Tears streamed down her face. “I can’t leave you here. I won’t. Come on, I can help you to the car. We can at least get out of this storm.”

A showering of hail fell into the pond, like a million pebbles dropping into the water.

Mick seized her forearm. “Tell Aaron that I’m sorry.”

Jenny wiped her tears. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“I have more regrets than you could possibly imagine,” Mick said. His chin quivered with every word. “But I need Aaron to know that I love him.”

“Aaron loves you.”

“I know that.” He looked into the sky. “It’s so beautiful, so powerful. I bet the head of this storm is towering above forty-seven thousand feet.”

“Look, the storm is passing,” Jenny said as the wind suddenly died down. The sky was a milky green.

“No. Go, Jenny. You must go. Please. The storm isn’t over.”

Aaron was about twenty yards from the trees that Jenny had run into. She hadn’t emerged yet. He didn’t want to draw any attention from Jack or Alice Heppeton so he’d yet to call out her name.

Pulling to a stop, Aaron tried to catch his breath. He looked down the gravel road, but it remained quiet.

With each step, he became more and more hopeful of seeing his brother. Maybe Jenny had found him. The wet grass was slippery. He approached the woods. There! He could barely see the pond, but he could hear the rain splashing into it and could smell the fish. Smiling, he began to walk into the darkness of the trees. Maybe Mick was waiting for him on the dock.

As he rounded a large tree, someone grabbed his arm.

Aaron twisted his arm, trying to get loose, but the next thing he knew, his head whipped back, hitting the trunk of the tree so hard that when he opened his eyes, arrows of light shot through his vision. A gloved hand wrapped around his neck.

When the darts of light faded, he stared into two cold, black eyes. He grabbed at the hand around his neck. After a few seconds, the grip relaxed and Aaron swallowed air as fast as he could.

“Don’t make a sound,” came a whisper.

Shep Crawford’s wet and angry face stared at him, his knee jammed between both of Aaron’s. Aaron knew if he made a move, he’d pay for it. How did Crawford find him?

“Listen to me and listen to me very carefully,” Crawford said. He glanced over Aaron’s shoulder, and Aaron knew immediately that Mick was there. “You have two choices. Turn your brother in, or I’ll guarantee that he and probably you will get shot.” Crawford looked behind his own shoulder, then back at Aaron. “I’ve got two other agents here, weapons ready. I don’t want your brother to get hurt, which is why you’re going to go in there, walk him out like there’s nothing going on, and hand him over.”

“You want me to turn my brother in.”

“You better believe it,” Crawford snarled. “I’m tired of chasing that boy around, and as far as all these men around here are concerned, he’s armed and dangerous.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Who’s to say that he hasn’t gotten ahold of a weapon?” Crawford let the words hang in the air. “Now, you can either tip your brother off so he can run right into a spray of gunfire, or you can walk him out peacefully.”

“Betray him.”

“You know it’s for his own good,” Crawford said.

Aaron looked away. “I was under the impression you thought he was innocent.”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. Am I the one in control here?”

Aaron looked at him. It was an odd question, and one that was spoken as more of a statement than a question. A strange twinkle glinted in Crawford’s eyes, and he smiled ever so slightly as the rain washed over both their faces.

“That man is innocent.”

“Don’t you believe, Aaron, that in the end justice will be served?”

“I don’t know what to believe.”

Crawford pushed his hand off Aaron’s chest and stepped back a foot. “You don’t know what to believe? You always seemed to me to be a man of belief.”

Aaron’s nostrils flared. “I believe in God.”

Crawford stared at him. “ ‘I have my mode of dispensing justice, silent and sure, without respite or appeal, which condemns or pardons, and which no one sees.’ So you must trust me.”

“You’re quoting from
The
Count of Monte Cristo,”
Aaron breathed. “ ‘Now the god of vengeance yields to me his power to punish the wicked!’ ”

Crawford smiled at him. “Good book.”

“Haven’t read it lately.”

Crawford’s attention turned toward something behind Aaron. “Now go. Get your brother. Bring him up the hill to me, and I can guarantee his safety. If not, I cannot guarantee anything.”

Aaron stared at the muddy ground.

Crawford said, “And in case you decide to do anything crazy, it’s not just your life we’re talking about. Your girlfriend is down there too.”

“Jenny . . . ,” Aaron breathed.

“How do you think I found him? You decided to take Jenny’s car tonight. Bad choice.”

Aaron headed toward the pond. As he cleared the trees, he immediately saw Jenny and Mick. Mick lay on his back about four feet from the edge of the swollen pond. Jenny was tugging at his arm. The wind picked up.

Aaron ran toward them. “Jenny!”

Jenny looked up, surprise lighting her eyes.

Aaron scrambled beside them. Mick looked barely conscious. A dark beard covered his jaw, but his head was nearly bald. Aaron grabbed Jenny’s shoulders. “You have to get out of here.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she yelled back. She pointed to Mick. “He’s really sick. Food poisoning.”

“Aaron . . . ,” Mick mumbled. Though the wind was warm, he was shaking.

Taking Mick’s hand, Aaron tried to focus, but he thought he could hear guns being cocked all around him. Or limbs snapping. It all sounded the same.

“We have to get you out of here,” Aaron said. He glanced through the trees and couldn’t see anybody. An eerie silence settled over the water. He pulled his brother to a sitting position, but Mick’s head whipped backward and he groaned. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Just hang with me,” Aaron urged.

Aaron tore his raincoat off and said to Jenny, “Help me with his shirt.” They peeled it off and Aaron took his own shirt off, mostly dry from the protection of the raincoat. He slid it over Mick’s head, and Jenny helped him poke Mick’s arms through. “Let’s get this coat on him. He’s trembling.”

After a few seconds, the coat was on and Jenny helped button it up. Aaron held Mick’s soggy wet shirt in one arm, his brother’s limp body in the other. “Jenny, hold him up for a second.” Jenny braced herself against his back, and Aaron slipped on Mick’s shirt. Something told him if the police got trigger happy, they were going to go for the man in the black T-shirt, especially under these stormy conditions.

“Where are you going to take him?” Jenny asked as Mick slumped back into Aaron’s arms. “He’s really sick.”

“No . . . no hospital . . . ,” Mick groaned.

Aaron grabbed Jenny and caught her attention with stern eyes. “Listen to me,” he said quietly. “I want you to stay right here until I come back and get you.”

“What? Why?”

“Jenny, you must trust me. You must.”

Her eyes shone with fear.

“Do not get up; do not walk anywhere. You sit right here until I come back and get you. Do you understand?”

She nodded but said, “What’s going on?”

Aaron didn’t answer. He flung Mick’s arm around his neck and lifted him up underneath the armpit. Mick cried out in pain. “Stay with me, buddy. You can do it. Gentle steps. We just got to get up this small hill.”

With gritted teeth, Aaron carried his brother up the hill toward Crawford. Mick’s feet dragged alongside him, his eyes dull and lifeless. Aaron breathed methodically as if he were lifting weights. A few more feet, and they’d be up the hill. Mick tried to help, but his limbs were so weak it ended up making their effort clumsy.

“Come on, brother, come on . . . there!” Both men stood panting. Aaron looked around, trying to identify where the officers were. But at night, all he could see were drifting shadows and dark, lightless corridors. The rain pounded again.

“Where . . . where are we going?”

“Come on,” Aaron said, pulling him forward. As they walked toward the black trees, Aaron’s mind raced, but he had no options. Mick was too weak to do anything but be carried.

Mick turned his head toward Aaron. “I knew you’d come.”

Aaron squeezed his shoulder. “Save your strength.”

“No, I mean it. I knew it. I’m sorry, Aaron. . . .” His voice cracked. “For everything. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t talk.” Aaron looked his brother in the eyes and gave him an assuring nod. Mick grinned, a grin that Aaron hadn’t seen in years. Aaron plodded through the trees, adrenaline pulsating through his blood. Any moment, he was going to be considered a traitor by his brother, and everything would be back to where it was.

He glanced at Mick. “You must know that everything I’ve ever done I’ve thought was in your best interest. But since you’ve been gone, I’ve realized that, more than anything, I’ve judged you instead of loved you. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel inferior. We’re both from the same dust.”

Mick smiled as much as he could. Sweat poured from his face, but his bloodshot eyes warmed. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a disappointment.”

“Don’t say that—”

“
Freeze!
” Standing at the edge of the trees, Shep Crawford had both hands wrapped around the butt of his gun, one arm braced against the side of a tree.

Mick gasped and started to struggle.

Aaron held him steady against his body. “Crawford, he’s sick. He needs medical attention. Tell your guys to call an ambulance.”

“What are you doing?” Mick cried.

Crawford stepped forward, ripped Mick’s arm away from Aaron’s shoulder, and cuffed him, then patted him down. Mick swayed.

Aaron grabbed Crawford’s shoulder to steady him. “Did you hear me? He’s sick! Have your guys call—”

Distant lightning glinted off Crawford’s eyes. “There’s nobody here but me.” Dragging Mick forward, he turned right, and Aaron could see Crawford’s car parked under a tree, hidden by shadows.

Aaron ran up beside them. “Mick, listen to me. He followed us here. We didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

“Shut up,” Mick spat.

“Mick, please listen, I had no choice. Besides that, you’re sick. You need medical attention—”

“Get outta here,” Mick growled as he stumbled alongside Crawford, his hands chained behind his back.

Aaron rushed in front of Crawford, pushing his hand into the detective’s chest to stop him. “If you lay a hand on him, you’ll be sorry.”

“I’m taking him to jail, where he belongs.” Crawford looked at Mick. “You should have never run, son.”

Mick stared with vacuous eyes.

Crawford knocked Aaron’s hand off his chest. “Officer Kline, believe me when I tell you this is the best thing that could have happened to your brother. Now get out of my way.”

Aaron swallowed, glanced at Mick, who wouldn’t look him in the eye, and stepped aside.

Crawford shoved Mick into the front seat of his car and strapped the seat belt around him. In the distance, Aaron could see bright flashing lights speeding toward them, their sirens echoing through the countryside. Crawford was on his radio. Mick’s head lay against the seat as he gazed out the passenger window.

Looking toward the tree line, he saw Jenny walking out of the shadows. She stood with her arms wrapped around herself, her hair matted against her small face. Betrayal glowed in her eyes too.

In the side mirror, Mick could see two trailing police cars’ lights flash exuberantly. The processional announced itself as it flew down the highway toward the Irving jail. Mick sat next to Crawford in the spotless sedan, the metal cuffs grinding against the bones in his wrists. With his hands clasped behind him and the seat belt crossing his chest, Mick sat motionless. He’d listened to Crawford on the radio, but now there was silence.

Then Crawford looked at him sideways, narrowing his eyes. “How’d you like your house?”

“What?”

“Your house. Did I put it all back in order?”

Mick swallowed down the bitter bile that sat in the bottom of his throat.

“You’re a bit of a slob, man. But I thought it was the polite thing for me to do. Put all your toys back where they belonged.”

“You did that?” Mick could only whisper.

“Nothing personal. Just needed some info about you.”

“Bull.”

Crawford’s eyes smiled. “Well, it was fun too.”

Mick closed his eyes, tilting his head against the back of the seat. “Why?”

“Why did I do it?” Crawford laughed. “Why not?” An insidious snicker filled the car. “I like taking these things to the next level; you know what I mean?”

“Mind games.”

“Whatever you want to call it. You can tell a lot about a person by how he reacts to certain situations.”

“You have me all figured out, don’t you?”

“The question is, do you have me figured out?”