Crescendo

The officer shook his head. “We searched the room. Nobody else was in there.”

“Well, search it again!” Detective Basso shouted, flinging his arm at Delphic’s gates. He turned to me. “Who the hell is Rixon?”

Rixon. If the police had found no one else in the mechanical room, it meant he’d escaped. He was out there somewhere, probably watching from a distance, waiting for his second chance at me. I grappled for Detective Basso’s hand, clutching it. “Don’t leave me alone.”

“Nobody’s leaving you alone. What can you tell me about Rixon?”

The gurney bounced across the parking lot, and the paramedics hoisted me into the back of the ambulance. Detective Basso pulled himself up, taking a seat beside me. I barely noticed; my attention had run off in another direction. I had to talk to Patch. I had to tell him about Rixon—

“What does he look like?”

The sound of Detective Basso’s voice yanked me back. “He was there. Last night. He tied Scott in the back of his truck.”

“That guy shot you?” Detective Basso spoke into his radio. “Suspect’s name is Rixon. Tall and skinny, black hair. Hawk nose. Age twenty, give or take.”

“How did you find me?” My memory was slowly sewing itself back together, and I remembered seeing Patch step into the doorway to the mechanical room. It was only for a split second, but he was there. I was sure of it. Where was he now? Where was Rixon?

“Anonymous tip. The caller told me I’d find you in the service room at the bottom of the Tunnel of Doom. It seemed like a long shot, but I couldn’t ignore it. He also said he’d take care of the guy who shot you. I thought he was referring to Scott, but you tell me Rixon is responsible. Want to tell me what’s going on? Starting with the name of this guy who’s got your back, and where I can find him?”

Hours later, Detective Basso slowed against the curb in front of the farmhouse. It was edging up toward two in the morning, and the windows reflected the starless sky. I’d been released from the ER, cleaned and bandaged. While the hospital staff had spoken with my mom over the phone, I hadn’t. I knew I was going to have to talk to her sooner or later, but the hustle and bustle of the hospital hadn’t seemed like the right place, and I’d shaken my head no at the nurse when she’d held out the phone to me.

I’d also given my statement to the police. I was pretty sure Detective Basso thought I’d hallucinated seeing Scott in the mechanical room. I was pretty sure he thought I was withholding information on Rixon, too. He was right about the latter, but even if I told Detective Basso everything, he wasn’t going to find Rixon. Patch clearly had, however—or at least had made it known that was his plan. But I knew nothing beyond that. I’d carried my heart in my throat since leaving Delphic, wondering where Patch was, and what had happened after I blacked out.

We swung out of the car, and Detective Basso walked me to the door.

“Thanks again,” I told him. “For everything.”

“Call if you need me.”

Inside, I flicked on the lights. In the bathroom, I peeled out of my clothes, my progress hampered by the fact that the upper half of my left arm was swathed in bandages. The tang of fear and panic was fresh on my clothes, and I left them in a heap on the floor. After wrapping my bandages in plastic, I climbed into the steam of the shower.

As the hot water drummed down on me, scenes from earlier tonight replayed in bursts across my mind. I pretended the water could wash away all of it, carrying everything I’d been through down the drain. It was over. All of it. But there was one thing I couldn’t wash away. The Black Hand.

If Patch wasn’t the Black Hand, who was? And how did Rixon, a fallen angel, know so much about him?

Twenty minutes later, I toweled off and checked the home phone for messages. One call from Enzo’s, seeing if I could take a shift tonight. An irate call from Vee demanding to know where I was. The police had kicked her out of the parking lot and closed down the amusement park—but not before telling her they could personally assure her that I was safe, and would she please drive home and stay there? She ended the call by shouting, “If I missed out on some really big action, I’m going to be royally pissed off!”

The third message was from an unknown caller, but I recognized Scott’s voice the minute he started talking. “If you tell the police about this message, I’ll be long gone before they track me down. Just wanted to say sorry one more time.” He paused, and I heard a smile inch into his voice. “Since I know you’re worried sick about me, I thought I’d let you know I’m healing, and I’ll be good as new in no time. Thanks for the tip regarding my, uh, health.”

A tiny smile broke inside me, and the weight of the unknown lifted. Scott was okay after all.

“It was nice knowing you, Nora Grey. Who knows. Maybe this isn’t the last you’ll hear of me. Maybe we’ll cross paths in the future.” Another pause. “One more thing. I sold the Mustang. Too conspicuous. Don’t get too excited, but I bought you a little something with the extra cash. I heard you’ve had your eye on a Volkswagen. The owner is dropping it by tomorrow. I paid for a full tank of gas, so make sure she delivers.”

The message ended, but I was still staring at the phone. The Volkswagen? For me? I was dazed with delight and baffled surprise. A car. Scott had bought me a car. In an attempt to return the favor, I deleted the message, erasing all evidence he’d ever called. If the police found Scott, it wouldn’t be because of me. Somehow, I didn’t think they’d find him anyway.

Phone in hand, I called my mom. I wasn’t going to put this off any longer. I’d come too close to death tonight. I was amending my life, cleaning out and starting fresh, and I was doing it now. The only thing left standing in my way was this call.

“Nora?” she answered in a panicked voice. “I got the detective’s message. I’m on my way home right now. Are you all right? Tell me you’re all right!”

I drew a shaky breath. “I am now.”

“Oh, baby, I love you so much. You know that, right?” she sobbed.

“I know the truth.”

A pause.

“I know the truth about what really happened sixteen years ago,” I said more clearly.

“What are you talking about? I’m almost home. I haven’t been able to stop shaking since I hung up with the detective. I’m a wreck, an absolute wreck. Do they have any idea who this guy—this Rixon—is? What he wanted with you? I don’t understand how you got dragged into this.”

“Why couldn’t you have just told me?” I whispered, tears brimming my eyes.

“Baby?”

“Nora.” I’m not a little girl anymore. “All those years you lied to me. All those times I went off on Marcie. All those times we laughed at the Millars for being stupid and rich and tactless—” My voice caught.

I’d been brimming with anger earlier, but I didn’t know how to feel now. Upset? Weary? Lost and all in a jumble? My parents had started out doing Hank Millar a favor, but obviously grew to love each other … and me. We’d made things work. We’d been happy. My dad was gone now, but he still thought about me. He still cared about me. He would want me to keep what was left of our family together instead of running away from my mom.

It’s what I wanted too.

I sucked in some air. “When you get home, we need to talk. About Hank Millar.”

I microwaved a mug of hot chocolate and carried it to my bedroom. My first reaction was to feel fear over being all alone in the farmhouse, knowing Rixon could be running free. My second reaction was a quiet calm. I couldn’t say why, but somehow, I knew I was safe. I tried to remember what had happened in the mechanical room moments before I fell unconscious. Patch had walked into the room….

And then I drew a blank. Which was frustrating, because I sensed more to the memory. It danced just out of reach, but I knew it was important.

After a while, I gave up trying to recapture the memory, and my thoughts took a sharp, alarming turn. My biological father was alive. Hank Millar had given me life, then given me up to protect me. Right now, I had no desire to contact him. It was too painful to even think about approaching him. It would be admitting he was my father, and I didn’t want that. It was hard enough keeping my real dad’s face in my memory; I didn’t want to replace that picture or fade it any faster than it already would. No, I’d leave Hank Millar right where he was—at a distance. I wondered if someday I’d change my mind, and the possibility terrified me. Not only the fact that I had a