Microsoft word winterb.., p.34
Microsoft Word - Winterborn_final-ADRoland, page 34
altered by the medications, until they got the dosage just right, and until his body grew accustomed to
it. “She’s gotta stay away, Sean. Okay?”
“Okay, buddy, I'll make sure she does. Do you want to go to bed for a little while?”
Kevin shook his head and then nodded. “Couch.”
“All right.”
Winterborn/ Roland
160
Kevin got settled on the couch with his favorite pillow, a rather ragged Power Rangers one that
had seen better days.
What was with the sudden concern for Tam's welfare? In the hospital, Kevin screamed and cursed
her and drew horrible pictures of the different ways he wanted her to die. Maybe this sudden
compassion meant the medicine had started working.
Sean sat down in one of the big puffy armchairs and took over the remote control after Kevin
dozed off.
After a good hour's nap, the kid woke up, stretched.
“Kev.”
“Huh?”
“What do you think about going to stay with your grandparents for a while?”
Could the kid even think, as stoned as he was?
“I don't know. Okay, I guess.” He sounded a little more together. “Why?”
Tell him the truth? It was going to come out one day. Might as well come from his lips. “Tam got
scared because of some of the things you did. She and I think that maybe the best thing for you is to
stay with your grandparents until you're feeling better.”
Kevin looked troubled. He fidgeted with the corner of the pillow. His face twitched once, twice. It
looked like he wore a plastic mask and just gave it a little tug. Sean thought about something Tam
said.
It's a monster wearing a little-boy-mask.
“I thought you wanted me. You went to court for me and you fought Grandpa and Grandma for
me.” The kid’s eyes blinked and he worked his mouth, swallowing hard. His eyebrows lowered. He
appeared to be trying to figure something out.
Or he was pooping his pants. Another fun side effect of the psycho-cocktail.
“I did. And I do want you. But we all need for you to be okay.”
“I'll be okay, Sean. You don't have to give me back. I'll be okay. I don't want to leave.”
It's not 'I don't want you to give me up', it's 'I don't want to leave.'
Kevin rose from the couch. “I can't leave, Sean. My mom—she wanted me here.”
“Your mom would have wanted you to be in the best place for you.”
“That's here!”
“Kevin, after the Christmas party, I'm selling the house to Mr. D'Argento and we're moving back
to south Florida.” Kevin's eyes widened and he shook his head. Sean hadn't intended to announce that
yet; it was still a plan he was working out in his own head. Tam didn't even know about it yet.
But what would Tam know, seeing as how she hadn't called him and didn't answer the phone
when he called her. He only knew anything about her life because she updated her Facebook page religiously.
She had a place to live, a job, and she didn't need him. It broke his heart.
Kevin looked like he was going to have one of his fits. Sean tensed, waiting for the explosion.
Sometimes, enough of the old damaged Kevin slipped by the barricades the medicine put up and the
kid would literally erupt, screaming, shouting, hitting, throwing whatever he could get his hands on.
But the kid relaxed and shrugged. “It'll be over by then.”
“What will?”
Kevin shrugged again. As Sean watched, the dull, dead-eyed look came over his son once more.
****
Kevin's screams pierced the heavy nighttime silence like bayonets. Sean found himself running
down the hallway before he even realized he was fully awake. The wooden floors were freezing under
his feet. A slight vibration rippled through the grain of the wood.
Sean paused and stared down into the darkness as if he could see what caused that weird tingle.
Kevin shrieked again. The sound propelled him into the black maw of his son's open door.
A man stood over Kevin, someone tall and solidly built. He turned when Sean burst into the room.
Winterborn/ Roland
161
A bright white star burned in the center of the man's forehead. Shadows cloaked his entire body,
leaving nothing but his silhouette visible.
The stranger had Kevin by the neck, holding him up high over the bed with one arm. Even in
silhouette, the man's muscles bulged.
“Put him down!” Sean yelled, helpless.
The man raised his other arm. Illuminated by wan moonlight, the long, serrated blade of the knife
wavered dangerously near Kevin's chest.
“No! Stop!”
Dare he rush the man, or run back to his room for one of the guns? He took a hesitant step
forward.
A blast of cold air hit him in the face. Sean cried out, instinctively covered his face and staggered
back into the hallway, out of the current. The door slammed shut, narrowly missing his fingers.
Sean stared at the door for a second, confused. The pitch black hallway emphasized his
helplessness.
Kevin uttered a strangled sound. Sean wrenched the doorknob and shoved the door open. “Let
him—”
The shout died on his lips.
No huge black shadow of a man loomed over Kevin. Sean hit the light switch so hard that it hurt
his hand.
Kevin made that choking sound—just a snore—once more and rolled over.
Sean turned off the light. Kevin stirred again. Before he woke the boy, Sean slipped out of the
room and shut the door.
Two steps into the dark hall, a strangling terror wrapped around his throat. He dropped into a
crouch and buried his face in his hands. He forced himself to breathe, breathe, breathe, because it
wasn't real. Despite the sensation that the world was closing in on him, he shoved himself to his feet
and used the wall as a crutch. He staggered down the hall to the bedroom, slumped inside, and locked
the door.
With his gut clenched and his blood bubbling cold through his veins, Sean crawled up on the bed
and pulled the blanket over his head. He fell asleep in the suffocating heat, wondering if the crippling sense of fear that kept him pinned to the bed was what she’d lived with for the last year.
****
Sunlight pierced through the cheap venetian blinds over the bed. A stray beam reflected off the
mirror above the dresser and shot right into Sean's eyes. The light dragged him out of his thick,
dreamless sleep and into bleary consciousness. He forced himself up and sat on the edge of the bed,
on Tam's side, staring down at the worn rug on the floor by the bed.
Tam wove that, out of strips of fabric and old clothes. She made them for a while, years back, and
sold them at flea markets and craft fairs.
The sense of loss cut through him like needles, and the pain drew through him as if someone
dragged thick, knotty thread through his heart.
It wasn't just his heart that hurt. Every part of him had some complaint. His hands ached from
wanting to touch her. His feet hurt for want of following her. His body throbbed from the sheer
absence of his better half.
I'm an ass. A total, nonnegotiable ass.
I ruined this. Every word seemed tattooed across his chest in blazing, fiery ink. They sank into his flesh and stained his soul.
Today, he had to find her. He had to tell her, show her, somehow, that she meant the world, and
that being away from her felt like death. Beg her to forgive him. Swear that nothing, ever, no one,
ever, would get between them.
Especially not Kevin.
Sean closed his eyes against the tide of guilt that rose inside him.
If Kevin were his child, he would be responsible. He would pay child support, have visitation, but
Winterborn/ Roland
162
he would still have to go live with his mother's parents.
Sean owed Tam her entire life. He'd stolen it from her, teased her with giving it back, and then
tore it away again. And now, she had snatched it back and completely excluded him. He hated the
feeling.
So much time had passed. So many years of pain and heartache and so many broken dreams.
Did he have anything left to offer?
Maybe. Sean got dressed and ran downstairs, taking them two at a time. Where had he put it...?
There! He grabbed the unicorn-head-shaped porcelain trinket box off the mantel and tossed the
lid aside. He winced when the head shattered on impact.
Inside the base rested a few rhinestones, a tiny seashell, and Tam's wedding ring.
That would do it. She would understand the symbolism.
Although an hour late, Sean took Kevin to school. The kid managed a betrayed look, despite the
thick layers of emotion-dulling medication. “Sorry, buddy,” Sean said, ruffling his hair. “I'll pick you up. Don't ride the bus. All right? I wrote your teacher a note about staying for parent pick-up.”
Kevin scowled, but nodded. “Whatever.”
“Be good.”
“Don't have a choice.”
“Don't be a smart aleck. You know it's for your own good.”
“I liked the way I was.”
“Yeah...being virtually homicidal worked out well for you.”
Kevin shrugged, and Sean wasn't sure if it was the drugs that created that flat, uncaring look in his
eyes or how he really felt about things. “Just be good. Do your work. I'll be here to get you.”
Sean took him to his classroom door and turned to leave. Several steps away he glanced back over
his shoulder. Kevin's gaze weighed heavily on his back, boring in like life-sucking insects. Creeped out, Sean picked up the pace and hurried back to his car.
****
She wouldn't answer her cell phone, but he didn't take it personally. Could just mean she was at
work. Or busy.
Her Facebook didn't give any really personal details—she'd learned from a few stalking
experiences not to mention anything traceable on her social networking sites. Sharla hadn't been the
only person out there that had Tam in their sites. She had two nutcase fans, both currently in jail. He and Tam were on the state D.A.'s list to call when they were released from prison.
From her profile, he found out she had a job somewhere in Daytona Beach, at a tattoo shop. Sean
smiled. She loved tattooing. She hadn't done it in so long, at least in five, six years. I’m glad she’s doing something she loves.
The profile didn't list the shop's name, so he Googled hers, and found her listed as an artist on a
MySpace account for Innocencia Estrella Tattoo.
Estrella.
Wraithborne.
He shuddered. Barely-remembered, vague nightmares prodded at his consciousness. He shook off
the feeling and scribbled down the address of the shop and the hours. One pm to nine pm. He could
just make it there, talk to Tam, and rush back for Kevin.
First he needed to check in with the men working over at the Estate. The Christmas Ball and
Haunted Tour would be on December nineteenth, just a little less than two weeks away. The workers
were finishing up this week on the third floor of the main wing while the fussy, neurotic designer and
his team started on the ground floor. Since D'Argento's potential investors were all hotel owners, he
wanted the place to catch their eyes immediately. A resort-style hotel seemed the only thing the Estate
would be good for, Sean figured.
The missing kids and missing detectives drew even more curiosity seekers. The police presence
outside the gates thickened over the two weeks. To get inside the gates, the construction crews and
design teams had special badges, and only the ones scheduled to work were allowed in. D’Argento
Winterborn/ Roland
163
gave Sean a crazy list of rules to enforce—no cameras, no visitors, no substitute workers. If a
worker got sick, the boss couldn’t send a replacement.
The Estate’s legacy would be the only attraction. Ghost hunting teams, paranormal investigators,
rich curiosity seekers, and any crackpot who thought he could talk to or see the dead wanted in. One
of the events at the party would be a live paranormal investigation, with certain guests invited to stay overnight to watch the ‘hunt’ unfold. Some famous group that had a TV show had been invited—but
only under the terms that the tapes were not aired on their show.
D’Argento hinted that the Estate would sell to a wealthy couple who intended to turn it into a
place for seekers. Despite the horrific murders that occurred periodically in the Estate—always
involving people looking for the dead—they intended to turn the place into a private club of sorts.
The horror would draw the morbid crowd, those who wanted to contact the dead. The ones who
wanted to experience terror. The Wraithborne legends fueled a whole new generation.
Sean had a deep dread of the supernatural. His upbringing in a charismatic church left him overly
cautious, even though he didn't exercise his faith. Demons, psychics, the occult, they all left a bad
taste in his mouth. The Christmas Ball and Haunted Tour would feature psychics, mediums, and tarot
card readers, as well as a bunch of other attractions that Sean knew nothing about, other than it was
bad.
D'Argento expected him to be in attendance. The Murrays, Kevin’s grandparents, would be guests
of honor.
Sean squirmed. Part of him wanted to go, to see how amazing the old Estate would look. So much
of the work done on the place had been under his watchful eye. For the last couple of weeks, he had
just been there to supervise the final preparations and make sure that everything went according to
plan and schedule.
Right now, though, he had more important goals to achieve.
He made sure he dressed the way Tam liked—destructed jeans, graphic tee—and ran a thin palm-
slick of hair gel through his hair to tousle it just a little. She hated the over-groomed look, but loved the casual, just-out-of-bed appearance.
He'd pass muster, he decided, and hurried out the door.
****
Tam paused and switched the silent tattoo machine to her left hand. Her right one tingled from
the steady vibration. She gave it a shake, flexed her fingers, and resumed her work. “You all right?”
she asked the woman stretched out face-down on the chair in front of her.
The woman grunted.
“Good. Let me know if you need a break or something.”
Another grunt.
Tam paused again to fill up the tube with bright pink ink. The hibiscus and vine tattoo stretched
from the woman's left hip to her right shoulder. Tam finished up the hibiscus. Easy work. She could
do ink like this in her sleep. One of the other artists, Felix, finished with his customer and wandered
over while the apprentice, Mel, broke down his station. Tam grinned at the nervous twenty-year-old,
who kept chanting “Clean, dirty, clean, dirty,” over and over to himself, so he would remember which gloved hand was contaminated and which one wasn't. She recalled her own agonizing days of
apprenticeship.
Felix offered some advice about the vines and wandered off to the front counter, where Darien
and Clem were involved in a rather loud discussion about brands of ink. That left her alone with her
customer and the clumsy apprentice, Mel.
Tam called a couple of helpful tips across the room and flexed her back. Painful cramps from
hunching over shot through her muscles, despite her reminders to sit up straight. She couldn’t
imagine working all afternoon with an aching back, so she cleaned up the customer’s ink and sent her
to the mirror to check it out. Mel held another mirror, so she could check out the reflection without
straining her neck.
“How is it?” Tam asked.
Winterborn/ Roland
164
“It's fantastic. I love the color!”
“When it heals, it'll pop even more.”
“Awesome!”
“So it'll be two-fifty for today. Come back in two or three weeks, and I'll finish it up.” Tam gently
cleaned the tiny oozes of plasma off the woman's back, smeared a thin layer of ointment on it, and
bandaged it with plastic wrap. “Leave that on for an hour and then wash it really well with soap and
water. Wash it several times a day and use unscented lotion on it—just enough to moisten it so it’s
slightly shiny.”
The woman passed her a wad of cash, and then a couple more bills. “Tip,” she said.
“Thanks a lot.” Tam stripped off her gloves.
Mel finished with Felix's station and moved over to hers. The kid glanced up, questions in his big
brown eyes. “What?” Tam asked. The not-so-sneaky glances made her nervous.
“You lived at Wraithborne, right?”
“Close to it. Why?”
Mel licked his lips nervously. He kept peppering the low, decorative archway that separated the
artists' stations from the lobby area with quick, frightened glances. Seeing his fear, Tam's pulse raced.
“What is it, Mel?”
The kid mouthed something unintelligible. Unable to figure out what he said, Tam shrugged. “I
don’t understand.”
Mel opened his mouth to say more, but heavy footsteps on the custom wooden flooring spurred
