Forty-Four Box Set, Books 1-10 (44) (157 page)

“Oh, my God,” I whispered.

I closed my eyes, desperately trying to wake out of the nightmare. But when I opened them again, I was still in the dark room and he was still dead at my feet.

It wasn’t a dream or a vision. It was real.

My head was spinning. I sucked in air, forcing it into my lungs, and I stumbled back, the soles of my shoes wet with something thick and dark.

“No,” I sobbed. “No!”

Suddenly a door opened, harsh light flooding the room.

The woman’s eyes found the body and the knife, still in my hand. I let it fall to the floor.

“Jesus! What have you done?”

She ran out into the hall before I could say anything.

I went over to him again. Tears sizzled down my hot face like bacon grease on fire and I dropped to my knees, the sounds of shouting in the distance.

Think, Abby, think, I told myself.

I wiped the tears from my eyes and took his limp hand.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

But my words didn’t matter. He was beyond words, the blood from his chest now ebbing, having already spread and pooled on the floor underneath him, his eyes frozen in shock and staring out into nothingness.

Fear and betrayal forever etched on his dead face.

CHAPTER 1

“All right, Craigers, just three more to go.”

Jesse was providing moral support while I ran my four-hundred-meter hill repeats on the quiet side of Pilot Butte. Finding a quiet side of Pilot Butte during the middle of summer was almost as hard as the running. Almost.

“Are you sure?” I said, questioning both his math skills and my ability to keep my lungs from exploding. “I could have sworn that was...”

I held up six fingers.

“No, sorry. Five down, three to go.”

I shook my head, knowing I shouldn’t complain, and headed back down the hill. With the air quality being what it had been lately I knew I was lucky to be out here in this breathable pocket. The wind had shifted and the smoke from the fire seven miles away was drifting south, giving Bend a break for the first time in days.

I jogged down to my starting point, turned around, pressed the button on my watch, and took off again. A quarter of a mile wasn’t very far. Even uphill. That’s what I told myself anyway. Using more colorful language, my quads begged to differ.

I saw Jesse up ahead.

“Bring it home,” he shouted. “Reach deep, Craigers!”

I staggered past him and eased back, taking it down to a jog and then a shuffle before turning around and heading back toward him.

“I know, I know,” I gasped. “Two more.”

He held up a thumb.

My heart held up a thumb, too. One more and then the last one. I could do that.

Somehow I had enough left in the tank to make the final repeat the fastest. I threw a fist in the air with the last of my energy, hoping it didn’t look too pathetic and then not caring if it did.

“Race you to the top,” I said after my cool down.

Jesse took off ahead of me.

“No, I was kidding,” I said. “Wait.”

He slowed down and we trotted up the butte side by side.

“What do you think about when you run?” he said after a while.

“I don’t know. Different stuff,” I said. “On a good day, nothing.”

The truth was that sometimes I ran away from the monsters I had come across in my life.

“Yeah, back in my basketball days the coach had us do slingshots. I heard Metallica in my head, their guitars thrashing away. I would just try to keep up. I miss those days.”

I missed them, too. Back then Jesse had the NBA in his sights and I was going to be a striker on the U.S. National Team. Millions of kids have those dreams and for ninety-nine percent of them that’s all they are. Dreams. But Jesse was different. He was that good.

“Good session, Craigers,” he said, bringing me back. “Next time we’ll do some tempo work. October’s not that far away.”

I sighed and smiled.

I had signed up for a half marathon, which is why I was out here torturing myself like this. According to most training plans the idea was to work hard enough during training that the race felt easy in comparison. I would believe that one when I felt it.

“You seem happy,” he said.

“You mean because I’m done with that hill?”

“That’s probably part of it. But, no, it’s more than that. You seem centered, more grounded. Like I said, happy.”

“Hmm. Maybe that’s what’s keeping the ghosts away,” I said. “I mean, besides you.”

I told him how I hadn’t seen one in weeks. I didn’t see them on the street. I didn’t see them in the park. I didn’t see them hanging around loved ones. I just didn’t see them.

“They’re not around me anymore. Not that I’m complaining.”

“Yeah, that might explain it,” he said. “Ghosts, at least the ones stuck on this side, don’t do happy very well. Maybe your happiness, that glow you’ve got going, is like kryptonite for them. It’s hard to be around happy people when you’re down in the dumps.”

He made a sad face and drew a fake tear track down his cheek. I smiled and punched him in his ghost arm.

Then I thought about what he was saying. Maybe there was some truth to it. Things had fallen into place for me lately. I had survived my first year of culinary school and even though I was working hard, I was enjoying the summer. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel too much stress in my life.

And then, of course, there was Ty. He really made me happy and I loved him more than ever.

“Oh, hey, I almost forgot,” I said. “I got you a present.”

“A present?” He adjusted his cap. “It’s not my birthday. Or is it? I don’t keep track of those things.”

“No, it’s not your birthday. But I don’t have it here. You’ll have to drop by the house.”

“What is it?”

“I can’t tell you, it’s a surprise.”

“You didn’t say it was a surprise, just that it was a present.”

“Well, it is,” I said. “A surprise, I mean.”

“I would say the suspense is killing me but, you know…”

“Yeah, I know. Oh what the hell. I’ll tell you.”

He smiled, his eyes dancing and sparkling like he was a kid again.

“Okay, it’s a Spurs championship T-shirt. It’s got this really cool drawing of Pop and all the players, Duncan, Ginobili, Leonard, Mills, and the rest, smiling and huddled around the trophy. The second I saw it I thought of you. I know you probably can’t wear it, but I’ll hang it up on the wall in my room and you can drop by anytime and, you know, hang out.”

“That’s really special, Craigers. I think this one’s the sweetest, you know, after how it went down last year. I can’t wait to see it. That’s five trophies, you know?”

“Oh, I know. But it’s been a while since number four.”

“Two thousand and seven,” he said slowly.

He was alive for that one.

“Thanks again. I can’t wait to see it,” he said as we crested the top. “Hey, check it out.”

“Yeah, there it is,” I said.

Usually this was where people came to see the Three Sisters, Broken Top, and Bachelor, but today there was only a heavy, ugly band of gray smoke blocking out the majestic mountains.

“How many acres so far?” Jesse said.

“Last I checked they were talking six thousand, with zero percent containment. It’ll probably get worse before it gets better.”

Along with about a dozen other people, we stared out at the huge plumes of smoke and ash.

It had started four days earlier as two fires. Somewhere along the way the fires met up.

I couldn’t remember a fire of this size so close to town.

There had been road closures and evacuations. Usually when they talked about these things on the news it felt far away, but the names hit close to home this time. Skyliners Road. Tumalo Falls. Phil’s Trail. These were places I knew.

“Overhead it’s blue, behind us, too,” Jesse said. “But look at it. Bachelor and Broken Top are back there somewhere, but you can’t even get a whiff of ’em through all the smoke.”

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” I said.

We walked back down in silence and said goodbye when we got to the parking lot.

“Catch you later,” he said.

“Later, Jesse.”

I checked my watch when I got home. I was right. I
had
done six repeats. Jesse was just pushing me, using whatever was at his disposal. Words of encouragement. Bad arithmetic. Whatever.

Standing in the shower, a lump grew in my throat. I loved Ty with all my heart. But Jesse would always be my first love.

Even if he did suck at math.

CHAPTER 2

“Okay, everybody, stay calm,” Alberto shouted out over the clattering of pots and pans. “Misty, light the candles out at the tables and then bring some back in here. Everybody, stay at your stations. Keep it going. Keep working.
Vamos!
”

An hour after my shift started, an intense thunderstorm rumbled in, blowing out the electricity. The gas grill was still going strong, but the lights, microwaves, coffee makers, soda and juice machines, and the register were down. It was dark back in the kitchen where I was and if I wasn’t having trouble seeing I might have thought it was atmospheric.

Meg’s Diner was packed like it usually was for breakfast and we carried on the best we could.

“We’re running low on coffee,” Misty said after a few minutes.

Alberto put a large pot of water on the grill. He added some ground coffee.

“Hector, when this starts to boil—”

“Yeah, I know what to do,” Hector said, grabbing a mesh strainer from the shelf.

“Good.”

Twenty minutes later the power came back.

I had started working at Meg’s one week after the Culinary Institute had let out for the summer. It was a paid internship that had been arranged by the college, and although it wasn’t as fancy as many of the spots where other students were, I liked it. It was hard, fast, grueling work, but I was learning a lot about time management and pressure. And I was actually cooking, not prepping in the back, even if it was mostly eggs and bacon and hash browns.

Another loud clap of thunder boomed above and the lights flickered again, but this time the power stayed on. I cracked some eggs over the grill and turned over some hash. I plated two orders and hit the bell.

Brit, one of the waitresses, grabbed the plates.

“Where’s the side of oatmeal?”

“Coming right up,” Hector said.

We worked at high speed for the next two hours, finally reaching the usual mid-morning lull just past ten. For the next hour we could catch our breaths and get ready for lunch.

I took my break out in back, the sweat pouring down all around me.

“You really should play with us sometime,” Hector said as he walked by with a bag of onions slung over his shoulder. “I can promise you it would be less sweat and more fun.”

“I believe that,” I said. “Soon.”

We had bonded over the World Cup, Hector living and dying with the Mexican team while I suffered with Messi, Mascherano, and Argentina all the way to the final. I still woke up sometimes with the bitterness of the loss to Germany fresh in my mouth, regretting the missed chances and haunted by what might have been. When Hector found out I played soccer, he never passed on an opportunity to invite me to join him and his friends for some of their pick-up games over at Big Sky.

“Usually after I leave here I go over to Back Street,” I added. “It’s hard to find time.”

Hector rubbed his goatee. He was a tall man with a warm smile, his hair always immaculately slicked back with lots of product in it to keep every strand in place no matter how hot the kitchen got.

“Work, work, work is not a good thing. Just look at my brother. You don’t want to end up like him, do you?”

He laughed a little and I smiled.

“Hey, flirt with the pretty girls on your own time.” Alberto’s bass-heavy voice came out of nowhere, nearly as loud as the thunder. “Those onions aren’t gonna chop themselves. Get to work!”

“Sí, mi General,”
Hector said.

He turned back toward me and shook his head.

“I’ve been busting my ass all morning and he’s still not happy.” He took in the onions and came back for some potatoes. “You have any brothers?”

“No, no brothers. But I have an older sister, so I can relate.”

“Still, it can’t be as bad as—”

“Hector!”

He smiled before going back inside.

I sat on the plastic milk crate, unwrapped a Snickers, and stared out without focusing on anything in particular. It was humid and hazy, the street crowded with cars. A group of motorcycles passed by, shaking the ground. An old woman in a wheelchair rolled along the sidewalk toward Safeway. Two kids with a death wish darted across the congested highway.

A minute later a car pulled into the small coffee drive thru at the edge of the parking lot next door. It was a black Audi and something about it caught my eye. The driver.

It was Benjamin Mortimer.

Kate had told me last month that Dr. Mortimer was back working in the ER at St. Charles, which was just around the corner from the diner. Still, seeing him there now brought up a mix of emotions. The last time I saw him was in that conference room at the hospital where Nathaniel’s ghost had forced him to confront the truth of what really happened on the day I was rescued from the island. That Dr. Mortimer had killed his own brother intentionally. That it was no accident. That he had thought about it and pulled the trigger.

But I didn’t care about any of that anymore. None of it. I knew that Dr. Mortimer had done what he thought he needed to do. His brother was a monster, a firestorm of evil that ruined everything it touched and turned lives into ash. Dr. Mortimer had finally seen this too, seen the destruction. The murders and shattered lives that his brother had sacrificed at the altar of his twisted medical research.