Burned, p.19
BURNED, page 19
Runnin’ to the little room for her duffel, she hoisted it over her back and ran past me standin’ dumbfounded in her bedroom doorway. She stopped when she got to the front door, facin’ away from me.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I can’t let you do that. I have to go.” Pullin’ the heavy wood door open, she pushed out the screen and ran.
It took thirty seconds for my brain to register what was really happenin’, but finally, I went after her, yellin’ her name, but she jumped in her car and locked the door.
“Evvie! Stop! Dammit, open the door!”
She shook her head, cryin’. She cried so hard, I didn’t think she could even see to drive, but she tore outta the driveway and left me standin’ there wonderin’ why in the fuck I hadn’t thought to park behind her.
I stood there for about a minute, tryin’ to breathe, then ran to my truck, threw it in gear, and raced to find her. But when I got off West Street, I realized there were a million different directions she coulda gone in, and my old truck was about as fast as a slug on sand. I turned and headed back to the ranch, callin’ Carey on the way.
“What’s goin’ on, man? Ready for that beer?”
“I need your help. Come to the ranch, now.”
He heard the fear in my voice. “I’ll be right there.”
He’d only been three minutes behind me, but while I waited for Carey, I filled my brothers in. Ma came downstairs, too, and she cried and worried for Evvie.
“She just left? Just like that?” Finn asked.
“That’s why she’s been so secretive. She’s probably so scared, Jack,” Ma said, snifflin’.
Dean put two and two together, finally understandin’ what had been goin’ on. “Those tire tracks and cigarette butts…”
“Yeah, and there were other tracks by my truck this mornin’. Goddammit, I shoulda called Carey weeks ago.”
“But who is this guy?” Jay asked. “How does she know he’s after her?”
“He left a note.” I pulled the pink square from my pocket and dropped it on the table. Dean picked it up, read it, and set it back down, lookin’ at me.
“What’s it say?” Finn picked it up. “Oh, shit.” He passed it to Jay.
Carey walked in then, lookin’ around at all of us standin’ there. It took me a minute to collect my thoughts, but I started talkin’. I told him everything I could remember Evvie sayin’ about the guy, which wasn’t much. He called one of his deputies and sent him and two uniformed officers to look for her car.
I handed him the slip of paper with her license plate number. “I doubt it’s legal. The sticker’s two years old.”
“Okay. I’ll call it in. It ain’t much to go on, but I got somebody I can ask for help on this. Gimme a minute.”
Carey stepped onto the porch to make his calls, and I ran back to the den to look through Evvie’s stuff. I ripped the place apart, lookin’ for anything. Anything that might tell me where she’d go, where’d she been. Somethin’ about her parents. I didn’t know.
“Jack, lemme help. What are we lookin’ for?”
“Anything, Finn. Anything! I gotta find her.” I pushed the mattress to the floor, lookin’ underneath it and the box spring.
“Somethin’ like this?”
I spun around to see him holdin’ a book. “What? What is it?”
“It’s a book of songs. I’m no piano player but this ain’t classical music. It ain’t one of Granny’s old books. It’s a book of songs by someone named Clare Donovan.”
“Her mama’s name was Clare. Gimme that.” I swiped it from Finn’s hand and flipped through the pages, but there was nothin’ in it except a buncha lines and dots. “There’s nothin’ here.”
“Jack, there is somethin’. Now we know her last name. Everlea Donovan. It probably ain’t Smith like she said.”
“Okay, I got somebody workin’ on this,” Carey said, clickin’ his cell phone off when he entered the den. “What is that? Find somethin’?”
I shoved the book at him. “It’s nothin’ but it says her mama’s name. Maybe that’ll help?”
“Yeah, it might. Jack, why’d you wait so long to call me about this?”
“Evvie didn’t want—” The familiar sound of gravel crunchin’ under tires stopped me cold, and I bolted from the den. Throwin’ the livin’ room door open, I watched as Evvie’s car came to a stop next to my truck. She climbed out and just stood there lookin’ at me.
I couldn’t move. I’d never been so angry at anyone in my life, but the relief I felt seein’ her safe and in one piece was staggerin’.
My breath shook its way outta my lungs while she walked slowly to the porch and stood at the bottom of the steps, lookin’ up at me.
“I couldn’t do it. It hurts too much. I can’t leave you. I’m sure you’d rather not— I-I’ve dragged you into this. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want me. If you want me to leave. I’ve put you in danger, all of you. I’m so selfish but I want you so much. There’s never been anyone or anything I’ve wanted the way I want you. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” She sobbed, huggin’ herself.
I didn’t say a word. I stomped down the stairs and picked her up, holdin’ her so tight. All the air rushed outta her in a desperate exhalation, and she sucked breath back in and sobbed some more. I carried her back up the stairs and sat on the porch swing, rockin’ her till she stopped.
Ma walked out onto the porch and cocked a shotgun. “Who’s in danger? Not me,” she said, plantin’ her legs, ready to rumble.
“Jesus Christ, Ma,” Kevin whispered, hobblin’ through the door behind her to take the gun from her hands.
“Kevin Christian Cade, watch your language.”
Chapter Nineteen
Everlea
“His name is Paul. That’s all I really know about him. He’s been hunting me for nine years. It’s a game to him. He’s deranged. Sick.”
I looked around Jack’s living room at all the faces looking back at me. Jack sat next to me on the couch, staring at his hands folded together in a tight knot between his knees. The sheriff sat on my other side, holding his phone toward me, recording me. He said it would be important so he didn’t forget anything. It could help someone named Billie locate Paul.
“Why? Why is he hunting you?” he asked.
“He thinks I’m my mother. I know that sounds crazy. He was obsessed with her. I… I don’t really know how else to explain. My mother was a world-renowned pianist. She was kind of famous. Not like a pop star, but she played all around the world with a lot of really cool musicians. She was beautiful. She had fiery red hair.”
I inhaled as much air as I could fit in my lungs. This was the first time I’d ever told anyone my story, and I didn’t know how to tell it, but I knew I had to.
“When I was eight or nine, she performed at a concert in New York City, in Central Park. A summer concert with the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. I wasn’t there—she never let me go with her—but I saw a video of it after. She was magnificent.
“But I wasn’t the only one who thought so. She always had fans. Lots of them and some were weird, I guess. Sent her letters and odd gifts, pictures of themselves, clothing they’d worn. She’d show them to me and it creeped me out, but she loved it. She loved the attention.
“But, apparently, she gained a new fan that night. They met after the show. She didn’t tell me this. He did. Years later. He said they had an affair. I don’t know if that’s something she did a lot, but it wouldn’t surprise me. She was shallow and insecure, and she needed other people’s attention like she needed air. My father didn’t fawn all over her, so I guess she looked elsewhere.
“When I was eleven, he killed them.” It sounded blunt and cold, but I didn’t know how else to say it.
Ma gasped.
“How?” Sheriff Carey asked.
“He set our house on fire.”
“You were there?” he asked again, his voice the only sound in the room. It didn’t sound like anyone breathed.
“Yes. I woke in the middle of the night to a sound, a whooshing noise. Creaking and crackling. I looked out my window, and there was a man standing in our yard holding something in his hand. I knew he was a bad man. I knew he shouldn’t have been there. And I knew something was very wrong.
“I ran to their bedroom and tried to open their door, but it wouldn’t budge and the doorknob was so hot—I heard my skin sizzle.” I clenched my fingers into a fist, remembering the pain. “I found something in the hall, I don’t know, a curtain or towel or something, and used it to try to open the door, but something blocked it or held it closed.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to push the images away, but they just kept coming. They made my head swim. “I couldn’t get it open. And then I heard the sound of glass breaking, and the door swung open so fast, it sucked me into the room.”
I held my breath, blinking the quick-forming tears away, but they overflowed my eyes as I saw the fire, like it was raging right in front of me. Like I was back there again. My heart raced and I shook so hard.
Occasionally, I peeked at the walls around us to make sure they weren’t on fire too. I knew they weren’t but it felt so real. The brutal heat surrounded me, and the light in the room faded as I heard the whooshing and cracking of wood.
“It was only a few seconds, I think, but I remember every inch of that room. The broken window, the dresser, my mother’s beautiful antique armoire. All her clothes in flames. I used to hide in it when my grandma and I would play hide and seek. The flames were roaring, engulfing… eating everything. The bed. They were— I-I h-heard them scr—”
Jack grabbed and squeezed my hand, and I looked at him. Whatever he saw on my face scared him. His eyebrows fell and he closed his eyes, then reached for me, pulling me into his lap. I couldn’t stop shaking and my teeth chattered. Sobs broke free, and the heaviness of despair settled in my chest, crushing my heart and lungs.
The pain had surfaced and it scared me to death. I’d buried it away so long ago. I hadn’t allowed myself to feel it, not once since that night. I hadn’t ever thought I could recover from facing those memories.
I wondered for a second if pain could cause a seizure.
Trembling in his arms, I listened to Jack breathing, trying to match my breaths to his.
No one said a word.
“Apparently, our next-door neighbor was a retired Chicago firefighter, and suddenly, I was pulled back out into the hallway. I was burning. I smelled it. Or maybe th-that was from— I couldn’t feel it, the burning, and I don’t remember much of the rest of that night. I know he got me out of there, and they took him in an ambulance too. I guess I kind of checked out. Does that make sense?” I turned my head, looking at Jack, and he nodded, wiping the tears from under my eyes with his thumbs.
I gulped in breaths. I’d survived the hardest part.
Afraid my confession had scared them or made them angry, I looked around again. Tears streamed down Ma’s face, her hand covering her mouth, and Jay crouched next to her, holding her other hand. Dean stood looking out one of the living room windows. Kevin had moved to the stairs at some point, and he peeked at me through the wood slats of the railing. He closed his eyes when I glanced his way. I didn’t see Finn, but I heard him behind me in the kitchen, pacing. And the sheriff hadn’t moved an inch.
“Were you questioned?” he asked.
“I don’t remember. And I didn’t remember the man in our yard until years later. After the… fire, when I was released from the hospital, I lived in a state home, an orphanage, I guess, until I turned eighteen. They pretty much just kick you out at that point. I’d already graduated so I could work. I lived in a halfway house until I found a job and could get my own apartment. I did, though. Find a job. At a globe factory.” I shook my head, remembering the oddity of my old job. “My job was to pull a lever. That’s all I did. I pulled the lever to make a machine press a sheet of acrylic into a half circle shape.
“It was a good job. I even had health insurance, well, for a month or two. I loved working. I loved the people. I was getting to know them, and they were getting to know me. I’d even been invited to one of their children’s birthday parties.
“But, one day, when I went in for my shift, we were all sent home. Later, there was a meeting and the managers told us the factory was closing. Going out of business. We were all out of a job. I felt so bad for my new friends. Lots of them had kids, families, and they cried and got angry. I was terrified because I didn’t know how I would feed myself.
“I looked for a new job. I had a tiny studio apartment and bills to pay. I needed food. My parents left me some money, but I didn’t have access to it until I turned twenty-one, and by then, I was too afraid to try to get to it.
“I only got one interview from all my applications. At a record store. A really cool place that sold vinyl and vintage concert tees.
“Anyway, when I turned in my application, the owner set up my interview, but she said her son would be interviewing me. I remember thinking it was funny, a guy named DJ running a record store. The job didn’t pay very well, but it was a job and I thought, if I got it, it could at least tide me over while I looked for something better.”
“What was the name of the store?” the sheriff asked.
“Uh, Rage Rock Records. I don’t remember the owner’s name. She’s dead.” His amber-brown eyes searched mine for a moment, trying to decide if he believed me, maybe.
“When I arrived for my interview, a man met me at the door, and he felt familiar somehow. He was very polite, but something just seemed off about him. But I needed that job, so I dismissed the feeling in my gut. We stayed out in the main part of the store, but there was no one else there.
“He asked me questions about my life, what my hobbies were, what the state home had been like, if I missed my parents, things I wasn’t sure potential employers usually asked interviewees, but this was only my second interview, so what did I know? I was young and stupid.
“Finally, he told me he’d get back to me, and I quickly went to leave. I was really uncomfortable. He didn’t hit on me or anything, but it all felt too personal, too intimate, the things he wanted to know. And the smile on his face freaked me out.
“When I got to the door and pushed it open, he said, ‘I saw your mother play once in New York. You look a lot like her.’ It sent racking shivers down my spine, and I ran all the way home and cried myself to sleep. I didn’t know why what he said affected me so powerfully, if it was just the overall interview or his words as I left the shop.
“The police were beating down my door the next morning. They told me the owner of the record store and her son had been murdered—found dead in the office in the back of the store the night before—and I was on the books as their last interview.
“I told the cops about the man, who they said was not DJ, and that I thought he was familiar somehow. That’s when I remembered, when I figured it out. He was the man from my yard, and the thing he’d been holding back then was a red gas can.
“After I calmed down and stopped crying, I told them about the fire and who I thought the man was. They seemed to believe me, said a detective would follow up. A week later, an old guy showed up, said he was the detective.
He was… bored with my story. It’s the only way I can describe how he acted. He told me he’d look into it and get back to me. He didn’t give me any information, not even a card so I could call him if I needed to. I got the impression he didn’t want me to call him, that I was just a distraction he didn’t need. I never heard from him again.”
“What was his name?” the sheriff asked.
“I don’t remember. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Go on.”
“I hadn’t even thought about the possibility that the man could have my address, but about a month later, I went to the corner store two blocks from my apartment. I could only afford a few things so I wasn’t gone long, and when I got home and went to put the milk in the fridge, there was a note on the freezer door, right in front of my face. It said, ‘I’m watching’ and ‘We’ll be together soon.’
“I knew it was from him, the man from the record store, the murderer. The monster who killed my parents. He’d been in my apartment. I packed a bag, went to the bank, took all the money I had, closed the account. And then I ran.”
Jack squeezed his arms around me, pressing his lips against my shoulder. “Where’d you go?”
“Um, well first, Louisville. I took a bus and just got off at the first big city.”
The sheriff wrote in a little notebook, and I relaxed back against Jack. His embrace in the moment evoked feelings in me I’d never experienced before. I felt protected, cared for. I felt like I was part of something, part of a family. Like I wasn’t alone anymore.
I guess I hadn’t expected such acceptance. I’d been so afraid to tell anyone what happened to me. I assumed they’d be angry because I’d lied and put them in danger, or they wouldn’t believe me, but I felt warmth all around me, safety, and love.
Suddenly, I needed to get up, to walk around or get some fresh air. Just thinking about being safe made me feel the need to move.
I was never safe.
And now I had someone besides myself to think of. More than one someone. The fear slammed back into me like a freight train. “Can we take a break? I-I need to move or something. I need air.”
The sheriff looked up and then at Jack. “Yeah. I’m gonna get someone on this information. Go ahead, get some rest tonight. Dean, a word?”
Dean opened the living room door and walked onto the porch. Finn and Sheriff Carey followed, and Kevin hopped on one foot after them, the screen door clacking shut behind him.
“Ma? I’m sorry I lied to you.” Fresh tears coated my face. The shame I felt for lying to her burned, and I hung my head.
“Oh, honey. It’s okay. I understand. Everlea, will you look at me please?”
