Chance’s dead expression, he had. My ex looked cut to the core that I hadn’t bothered telling him what happened. I’d
And it hurt him. I saw the shadow of it in his eyes. It was more than the fact that I’d shared something with Jesse—that he’d saved me. Chance felt iced out, treated as peripheral when he wanted to be center stage with me. Well, good. Let him see how it felt to be manipulated and kept in the dark.
And Jesse was a son of a bitch too. He would’ve sensed what was going on in the bathroom, so he’d informed his rival how he saved my life, a talent Chance seemed to lack. In fact, sometimes he actively endangered it. He’d probably also reminded Chance how he rode to my rescue, coming a thousand miles to save me.
“You’re both assholes,” I said aloud.
They jumped. There was oil in the next room if they wanted to play at Greco-Roman wrestling. Hell, if they enjoyed it, they could always settle down together, and leave me alone.
Before either of them could reply, three things happened at once.
Thunder boomed so loud it shook the house, but there was no resultant lightning, no onslaught of rain. The night felt deadly quiet.
A young girl’s voice called out, “Is anyone there?”
And a dead man’s radio began to play.
The Wrath of John
The house filled with the bizarre but crystal clear strains of “Fools Rush In,” Sinatra’s version, if I wasn’t mistaken. It fit Kilmer’s air of yesteryear perfectly.
I didn’t call, “Come in” to whoever—or whatever—waited for us outside. A knock sounded at the door, and I went to investigate. The guys fell in behind me as I peered around the chain like Miz Ruth.
Shannon from the bed-and-breakfast stood on the front porch, looking nervous. She wore a black hoodie and a plaid miniskirt over black leggings. At first I wondered how she’d gotten here, and then I saw the bike leaning up against the side of the porch.
“Can I come in?” she asked in a rush.
It might be a trick. I studied her for a few seconds and then glanced at Jesse, who murmured, “She’s scared.”
“Sure.” I unchained the door and stepped back.
It was a testament to her abstraction that she paid almost no attention to the men flanking me—or maybe they were too old to register on her hot scale. She rubbed her hands on her thighs and then shook hands. This time, I watched for the spark, and as when she’d touched me, it came when she greeted Jesse—not Chance.
That confirmed it. Chance wasn’t like Jesse, or me, or Shannon. Whatever he was hiding about his paternity, it had left him with a gift that didn’t register as human. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t likely he was ever going to confide his secrets in me, and without that level of trust, I’d never risk being with him again.
“Let’s sit down,” Chance said. He’d apparently put aside his feelings about my keeping from him what happened in the woods earlier, at least for the time being.
“How’d you find us?” I asked as we arranged ourselves.
I wound up on the love seat next to Shannon, who shrugged. The guys sat down at opposite ends of the sofa.
“Everybody knows everything that happens in town,” she said. “I asked around and found out you rented this place.”
I didn’t know if we should continue with the questions; teenagers tended not to respond well to them. With a glance, I took a survey. Chance didn’t even meet my gaze, but Jesse shook his head slightly. Okay, so we’d let her spit it out in time.
“Well, you found us. Want something to drink? I could make some tea.”
Nobody looked enthusiastic, so I didn’t bother. Thunder rumbled again; the clarity of the music in the background made this seem like a scene from an old movie.
Shannon hunched forward, elbows on her knees. She was so thin and awkward that she resembled a crow hatch-ling, down to the blue tips of her hair. I hoped I had the patience not to scare her off.
“I heard about you,” she finally mumbled. “People still talk, you know. About how weird you were. But you got away.” She looked up, china blue eyes matted with old mascara and too-thick kohl. “That’s what I want. I know you’re not going to stay forever. You came for a reason, and when you’re done here, you’ll leave.” After drawing a deep breath, she finished in a rush: “I want you to take me with you.”
Jesse looked worried. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” she said, defiant. “I just had a birthday.”
“You’re still in school,” Chance pointed out.
She shrugged. “I have to get out of here. I can get a GED anywhere.”
That much was true. I’d stayed until I finished high school, thinking that would help me get a job somewhere else, but her body language conveyed genuine urgency.
“Why do you have to leave, Shannon?” I figured she’d tell me her parents didn’t understand her and refused to let her get a barbwire tattoo around her right biceps.
Her face paled even further, going almost gray. “Something bad is going to happen,” she whispered. “I’ve been digging around, and something bad always happens on December 21. That’s next month. And I won’t be able to get away on my own. I don’t have a car or money—” Her voice stressed and broke; her hands went white- knuckled in her lap.
Anyone else probably would have dismissed her fear, but I’d lived in this town, and I needed to know what
“It’s okay,” Jesse said. “We’re not going to let anybody hurt you.”
Her blue eyes looked big and guileless in her narrow face. She had him now; he was a sucker for a damsel in distress. If she didn’t come with us in the Mustang, she’d go with Jesse in his Forester when we left. He wouldn’t leave her. I’d never met a guy with a bigger white knight complex.
“Why don’t you tell us the whole story, Shannon?” Chance used his warmest expression, and even a bundle of nerves like the girl next to me couldn’t resist.
She relaxed enough to settle against the back of the love seat, no longer sitting as if she might need to run at any moment. “Everyone thinks I’m nuts,” she began.
Well, that sounded familiar. I didn’t interrupt; I already knew she was Gifted. I wanted to know why the town thought she was crazy. We all sat quiet, offering our most attentive expressions.
“I was around thirteen when it started.” She refused to look at any of us, staring fiercely at a worn spot on the floor. “I started reading sad poetry. I guess that’s pretty common.” She shrugged. “Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton.”
“The death girls,” I put in with a nod.
She chanced a look at me. “You read them too?”
“Not anymore,” I said quietly.
Shannon accepted that without requesting clarification, but my answer prompted the first smile we’d seen from her, a soft little flutter that dissolved almost at once as she resumed her story. “I started thinking about death a lot. I researched the Holocaust. And I got curious about Kilmer.” Jesse started to speak, but she anticipated his question. “How people died here. How often. I spent a lot of time in the library archives.”
A morbid curiosity, to be sure, but adolescence took some kids like that. I had a feeling I wouldn’t like what was coming, but I asked, anyway. “What did you find out?”
“Bad things happen on December 21,” she said simply. “People die.”
The date chilled me.
“So it’s been more than just my family?” I spoke almost to myself. “There must be a pattern to it.”
Shannon nodded. “From what me and Mr. McGee could figure out—”
