The Atheist's Daughter (26 page)

From Kristin’s Diary

Four blocks away from Piotrowski’s Café, we heard the sirens wailing. When the restaurant came into view, I drove Mom’s car to the curb.

There were two fire engines flanking the building, their pumpers spraying water. A team of firefighters fought against the power of a long double-jacketed fire hose, directing its stream into the blaze.  Even from where we were parked, we could hear water sizzling and hissing as it fell upon the charred skeleton of the restaurant.

“Think it was an accident?” Liz knew it wasn’t. After a little bit, she said, “Could be burning for a long time. All of the fryer grease.”

A big enough fire, a hot enough burn, and every last bit of Piotrowski’s would be cooked. Well, not the stainless steel equipment or the walk-in freezer, I guess, but everything else. All of the previous owner’s personal belongings.

All of the evidence. Any possible clues.

Liz was quiet then, pretending to be interested in my dashboard Mickey Mouse. While she used an emerald nail to poke at Mickey’s face, I removed the gauze from around my hand.

There was a crust of dried blood at the center of my palm. When I rubbed my thumb over it, the crust crumbled into flakes. The blood and the burn were gone. My hand appeared completely normal.

“Think anybody was still inside when the fire started?” Liz asked. “One of Mrs. Norton’s family?”

“I wish,” I told her, and I do, too. Mrs. Norton isn’t a person. The things surrounding her, working with her, aren’t people, either.

I want them all dead.

“So what do we do next?” Liz asked.

“We?”

“Girlfriend,” she told me, “hunting monsters
has
to be more fun than Calculus Pictionary.”

*

What happens next, Liz? I don’t have any idea.

Of course, that’s kind of the recurrent theme of my entire life. What do I do next and when should I do it?

I don’t know.

Is it possible for someone’s soul to be eaten? Do people even
have
souls?

Don’t know.

What is Mrs. Norton, really? Where did she come from? How many more of her kind are out there?

Don’t know.

Liz can’t be serious about the two of us hunting those things. Can she?

Don’t know.

Will I ever move from Winterhaven and have a normal life?

Well, that one’s probably not such a mystery. I think the ‘normal’ option disappeared the day I met Dr. Ron. It just took me awhile to realize it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a good life.

Which brings me to a few other things I know.

I intend to keep my writing in my diary. I thought about giving it up, shredding its pages, but I’m not going to let fear guide me any longer.

If you’ve opened this book and you’re reading my thoughts this very minute, then, really, you’re a snoop and a pig but you probably already know that. I’m sure people have told you.

You should know this, too. Everything I’ve written really happened, exactly like I said. If you don’t believe me, that’s not my problem.

My immediate problem is Gideon Hawkins.

He’s leaving Winterhaven in a few weeks and I hate it. How can he leave me? After all this time, the way I feel about Hawkins is one of the few things I absolutely understand.

I want him with me. Not just as friends. More than friends.

“I’ve got to do something,” he told me, but that just means he needs a direction in his life. If he leaves for Oklahoma Trinity, he’ll come back a minister, end up marrying some boring choir singer, and he’ll miss out on the best days of his life. The days we should be spending together.

There’s still some time before he goes out of state. Time enough, I hope, for me to change things.

Can there be a girlfriend-boyfriend relationship between a soul-deprived monster killer and a preacher’s son?

Call me crazy (everybody else does) but I think maybe I can make it work....

Chapter Thirty-Three

Before the Beginning, there was the Void. All Creatures Perverse and Unnatural were imprisoned there.

Before the End, they shall be set free and the Gods of the Void shall reign again.

– The Book of Forgotten Lies

Their mini-van cresting the hill, Elaine saw a woman by the roadside. Her hair was cut in short brown curls and she held a small umbrella over her head.

Hitting the turn lever, her husband began to slow the car.

“I don’t know, Jim,” she said. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

“I swear to God, Lainey, you’re getting paranoid in your old age,” Jim told her, the mini-van bumping from the asphalt and onto the gravel lining. “In the history of the world, do you think anyone has been mugged by a middle-aged woman wearing pearls?”

Gravel crunched between the car’s wheels as it rolled to a stop. The woman folded her umbrella and approached the passenger door.

“I’m so glad you stopped,” she told them. “I’ve been waiting for ages.”

Jim leaned past his wife but not before giving her the look:
See how silly you are.
“Where are you headed?”

“Wenatchee. Apple capital of the world, I’m told.”

“We can take you most of the way there. That is, if you don’t mind sharing a seat.”

“Wonderful.” Crossing behind the car, the hitchhiker climbed into the passenger seat. She rested the umbrella beside her as the vehicle returned to the road.

Elaine leaned her arm over the seat. “I’m Elaine, Elaine Koslov. This is my husband, Jim.” Concerned, she said, “Is something the matter?”

“Just...just sad, sometimes.” The woman wiped at her eyes. “Comes on suddenly.” Forcing a smile, she said, “I’m pleased to meet you. I’d appreciate it if you called me Mrs. Jordan.”

“Mrs. Jordan?” Jim grinned. “No first name? That’s a little old school, isn’t it?”

“It’s only polite, dear,” Mrs. Jordan said. She studied the car seat beside her. “You have a baby.”

“Young Master Koslov.”

“Sylvester Nathaniel,” Elaine said. “I am
not
to be blamed for ‘Sylvester’.”

“My father’s name,” Jim explained.

“How old is your son?”

“Tomorrow, he’ll be two weeks.”

“How adorable,” Mrs. Jordan said. She folded her hands atop her lap. “I could simply eat him up.”

-end-

About the Authors

“Renée Harrell” is the semi-pseudonym of Renée and Harrell Turner, a wife-and-husband writing team.

The Atheist’s Daughter
is their first story in the Winterhaven series. If you’ve enjoyed the novel, please post a review. If we can find a readership for its sequel, we’d love to finish writing it.

To learn more about Renée Harrell, the
Things We’re Doing
, the
Things We Like
, and
That Thing We Did
, go to
MarsNeedsWriters.com
.