Hold Fast (23 page)

“Thank you,” I tell the driver after we put everything in his truck. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name?”

For a long moment he doesn’t answer, looking back to where roiling, billowing fire still lit the distant horizon, and scrubs fingers through very close-cropped hair. It looks like an unconscious gesture, a habit.

“That was a hell of a thing back there,” the man says, looking back at me. “That was as much of a mess as a lot of other places I’ve been with that asshole. We came out of it, though, and from what I heard on the radio you were a big part of it.”

“What else could I have done?” I ask. Sean reaches an arm around my waist, and I lean into his shoulder. “He saved me. I…” I don’t know what else to say. I’m at a loss for words to explain how and why, in that moment where Sean was paralyzed by his memories, I knew the right thing to do and was able to do it.

“I think we saved each other,” Sean says softly, and my heart flip-flops when he squeezes me.

“Yeah,” the driver says. “I think he’s right. Well, miss? You were on the op. You fought. You were right there with us, so I think you’ve earned the right.” He holds out his hand to me, completely enveloping my own when I take it. “My name’s Angela,” he tells me.

On impulse, I slip out of Sean’s arm, reach up and wrap my arms around the oddly-named man. “Thank you so much, Angela.”

“What kind of parents would name their son Angela?” I ask Sean as we watch the other man’s taillights recede in the distance.

“I dunno,” he answers, hugging me tightly to his chest. “Not yet, anyway. I think we’ll find out when we have kids, though.”

* * *

C
ourtney’s hand
on my knee wakes me in the passenger seat of my truck, stiff and achy, as usual.

“We’re almost home,” she tells me. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, scrubbing at crusty eyes. “Where are we?”

“295,” she answers. “We’re coming into Portland.”

I did sleep okay. Huh. That’s the first time in… longer than I want to remember. No nightmare. No dream. No… anything.

“Thanks for driving, Courtney.” I yawn, looking out the window as we cross the bridge over the Presumpscot River. The sun, still barely below the horizon, paints the sky over Casco Bay in waves of color. Classic rock music plays quietly through my truck’s speakers. The display on the radio says it’s WBLM, 102.9 FM.

“It’s okay. I had my nap earlier,” she says. “Once you got us to the freeway, it was no problem for me to take it from there. I want a
real
shower, though. That water was cold back there!”

“Solar-powered water heaters don’t work too well in the dark,” I say. “But the important part was to get most of the blood and filth off. Would have been even harder to explain than the machine guns on the drive up, if we’d gotten stopped.”

“Still. I want soap. And
hot
water. And my father.” Courtney looks out at the sky over the water. “It’s a new day,” she says, squeezing my hand until I think bones are going to crack. The clouds and haze over the ocean are deep scarlet streaked with purple and orange.

“Red sky at morning…” I murmur to myself. I can’t seem to shake off the nagging feeling that something’s still missing.

“What’s that, now?”

“Sorry,” I tell her, covering a yawn with the back of my hand. “Old superstition about the weather. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailor take warning. It’s not true, not really, but we get pretty superstitious out at sea.”

What am I missing? Something to do with missing. Missing pieces? Missing… children? Hmm. That’s part of it, but not everything.

“I’m not awake yet. There’s something not quite- oh! Did you see that little girl tonight, Courtney? At the end?”

“No,” she answers, pursing her lips grimly. “And that’s something else I need to do today. I need to know that Jennie’s okay.”

“What about the little boy?” I ask. “Lucas’s son, the one that he beat into what looked like a seizure?”

“How did you know about that?”

“I saw it happen. With binoculars,” I tell her. “The day I found you, before you got back to the compound. Lucas signed his own death warrant right then. Later? The rest of it just underlined the sentence and added some fancy calligraphy.”

“I didn’t see him either, no. Or his mother, for that matter.” Courtney looks at me, concerned. “What’re you getting at?”

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “Or, not exactly, anyway. But there’s something missing here. Missing pieces, and missing children. Missing people.”

“There were others I didn’t notice, either, Sean.” The concern in Courtney’s eyes changes to worry. “Did you see my mother? Or Jeremiah?”

“No.” I sigh, leaning my head back against the blue vinyl seat. “I should have asked that poisonous little shit when I had the chance.”

“Nathan.” Courtney shakes her head, sighing, as she takes the Forest Ave exit. “I hope he’s okay. He’s always—I don’t know. He’s a good kid, Sean. Or he could be. If he can just break out of this twisted thing. Get away from his father, get away from this whole Church of the New Revelation thing.”

“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe not. It sounds terrible, but some kids really
are
just born rotten. Where do you think they are, though? Your mother and that greasy shit-weasel? And Jennie and the little boy?”

“They’re all together, probably,” she answers in forlorn voice. “My mother knows how much that little girl means to me. She’s going to blame me for what happened tonight. For Emmanuel’s death.
Satan’s
death. For bringing everything crashing down.”

“Oh, I don’t think she’ll put it
all
on you. She’s going to save at least a little bit of blame for me,” I reassure her. “We can start making phone calls today, though. See if they’ve been found. See if they’re okay. State Police investigators should be there already, and they’ll
certainly
be involved by the end of the day.”

Courtney nods, and a long silent moment passes.

“Hey, by the way,” I say as she turns on to our street. “Have I told you yet today how much I love you?”

“No,” she replies, blushing and flashing a shy but brilliant smile my way. “I don’t think you have.”

“Well, I do, you know. Quite a lot.” I nod definitely, as if that settles the matter, and my lovely blonde driver rolls her eyes at me as she pulls into the driveway of my childhood home, putting the Blazer in park.

“Why don’t you give me a few more details?” she asks, unbuckling her seatbelt and leaning over the center console to me. “Just hit the highlights for now, though, we need to go inside.”

One hand on the back of her neck pulls Courtney the rest of the way to me, and her soft lips melt into mine for a long kiss. She shrieks in gleeful laughter as she pulls away, batting my other hand away from her breasts.

“I said just the highlights!” She laughs, then leans back over, pressing her breasts against my arm to whisper in my ear. “You can give me the
full
explanation later.”

“Oh, I
do
love you,” I say, feeling my face practically crack in half with an unaccustomed smile.

“I know,” she replies impishly. “Let’s go inside now. I need to see my dad.”

“Let’s go, then,” I say, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. “It’s just past six. I doubt anyone’s up, and if Bill had to work last night he might not even be home yet.”

Leaving our things in the truck to be dealt with later, we climb the steps to the front porch. I hear a muffled voice inside, but can’t make out the words.

“Someone’s up,” Courtney says, smiling up at me in anticipation as I turn my key in the doorknob. When the door opens silently on well-maintained hinges, I can hear more clearly.

My mother’s voice. Someone else. A man, not Bill. Someone--

Beside me Courtney is opening her mouth to call out a greeting, and I clap my hand over it just in time, laying a finger of my other hand on my own lips. Her eyes are confused, eyebrows crinkled in a question that changes to fear at the sound of breaking glass, and raised voices in the kitchen.

“You crazy bitch!” That’s mom. Who’s she yelling at? Not Bill.

I flatten against the wall, creeping to the corner. Courtney follows my lead. I don’t remember pulling the Beretta from the holster in the small of my back, but the big Italian pistol is already held in a two-handed grip with the safety off.

“‘The wages of sin is death!’”
It’s a woman’s voice, ranting, and the floor falls out of my stomach. “Sin is
death
, and I want to live! Life means
no
sin!”
More glass breaks, and I hear liquid splashing.

We’ve found Heather, and Jeremiah can’t be far behind.

A glance behind me shows panic, frantic terror plain on Courtney’s face, and I place a reassuring hand on her hip next to mine, before carefully advancing along the wall.

“Heather, please--” Bill’s voice cuts off in the sound of a stinging slap.

“Silence, sinner!” Heather shrieks. Bill sputters a response, but it’s interrupted by a crash.

“She said
silence!
” I grin viciously as I hear Jeremiah’s voice, whistling and lisping through the teeth I broke. Oh, good. You’re both in one place. Makes this a lot easier.

Wood floors grow squeaky with age, and this house is over a century old, but I’m more than up to the challenge. The SEALs may have polished my skills at stealth, but this wooden floor laid their foundations years earlier. Sneaking out of the house with a noisy floor and a light-sleeping mother had left my teenage self with a detailed mental map of where to step. Even the heavy boots I wear do not break the silence.

Courtney does not have that map.

Creeeeaaaaak!

“What’s that? Who’s there?” Shrill, furious.

Fuck. Heather heard it, too.

“I know you’re out there!” A pause, then I hear scrambling feet and dragging furniture. I raise the Beretta in a firm two-handed grip as footsteps approach the archway from the kitchen to the hall, but they skitter away again before a target is visible.

“It’s Pearse,” Jeremiah whisper. “It has to be.”

“Oh! Sean!” Heather’s voice has changed. Bright, cheerful and sickeningly sweet, this new version is almost more terrifying than the crazy bitch that held a straight razor to her own daughter’s neck on Monday. “Is that you, Sean? Welcome home!” You could drown a hundred pancakes with that much syrup. “And my daughter’s with you, isn’t she? Why don’t you both come in here? Brother Jeremiah and I have just been having the most interesting conversation with your mother, Sean, and my husband!”

“He’s not your husband anymore, you
cunt!
”

My eyebrows go up when my mother spits the final word at Heather. This must be
really
bad.
She’s
never
said that word around me before, and slapped the living shit outta me the one time she heard me say it.

“What therefore God hath joined together,” Heather shrieks, “let not man put asunder!”

Oh good, the crazy’s back. This just gets better and fucking better.

“Heather,” Bill says in an overly calm voice. “
You
divorced
me!
”

Another crash, and Bill doesn’t say anything further.

“Sean Patrick Pearse! Courtney Elizabeth Dwyer! You two come in here
right this instant!
”

Heather is supermom again, scolding two naughty children who’ve been running in the house. I risk a glance away from the door, and Courtney’s face is stricken with grief, her lips quiver, tears stream from tightly closed eyes. I give her hand a quick squeeze before steadying the gun again.

“And speaking of things joined by God being put asunder by man! We’re all so proud of little Brother Nathan. He found strength last night, found his voice! He called us last night, gave us all the news.”

A sigh.

She’s pleased. With what? What’d that little shit do after we left?

“Why don’t you both come in here and we’ll talk about it while I fix you some breakfast. You’ve had a busy night,” Nice-Heather says, sweet and happy, but it’s Beast-Heather that finishes the thought. “Busy with your filthy whoring and murdering!”

She still doesn’t know for sure that we’re here. All she heard is just a single creak in the floorboards. For all she knows, it’s just the house settling.

“Melissa, honey?” Nice-Heather says. “Why don’t you explain to your son and my daughter
why
they should come in here?”

“There’s nobody out there, Heather.”

My mother sounds beyond exhausted. How long has this been going on?

“I didn’t
ask
you if there was anyone out there, Melissa
Pearse
.” Nice-Heather whispers loudly, emphasizing my father’s last name. Denying that Mom and Bill are married.

“Fine. Sean? Courtney? If you’re out there, please come in. Heather’s--” Mom cuts off with a gasp.

“Now, now. I didn’t tell you to ad-lib.” Still Nice-Heather.

“She’s going to cut me, Sean!”
my mother yells out.
“Help us!”

I hear another resounding slap, and Beast-Heather screeches incoherently at my mother’s continued disobedience.

Courtney’s hand tugs at my shirt, and I glance back to see a tear-streaked mask of horror on her face.

“I can’t let my mother do this,” she whispers, and I hear Heather cackle madly from the kitchen. “Not after last night. Not this, too.” She steps away from the wall, holds out a hand to me. “Let’s go in,” she says, no longer whispering.

Confused, but realizing that the time for stealth is over, I take her hand. I’ve missed something here. What don’t I realize yet? I tuck the pistol into the front of my pants and pull my T-shirt over it. I have a nagging suspicion I’ll need it again this morning.

The kitchen is a shambles as Courtney leads me in. Broken glass is everywhere, and the floor is slick with the mixed contents of wine and liquor bottles. Bill and my mother are prisoners, held to their chairs with at least three layers of duct tape each, going by the empty cardboard cores on the floor.

Bill and his chair lay on their sides on the wet, glass-covered floor; Jeremiah has a knee on Bill’s head, Emmanuel’s rusty revolver is at Bill’s throat. Heather stands behind my mother with the same straight razor in her hands. My mother’s eyes are wide, rolling wildly in terror as Heather grabs a handful of hair and slices it off with the blade.

“Hey, there you two are!” Heather’s face is pleased, happy. She’s completely round the bend, and everyone else in the room knows it. “You look confused, Sean. What’s the matter?”

“Hm? Oh. What’d Nathan do last night? After we left?” Keep it calm. Play for time. I can shoot Heather before she can cut Mom, but then Bill dies. If I shoot Jeremiah, then Mom dies. Jeremiah’s grin is made wolfish by the jagged stubs of broken teeth. He knows what I’m thinking about.
You fucking assholes have put me in an impossible situation for the second time in a week, and I’m sick of this. You will not get a third shot at this. No matter what else happens here, neither one of you is leaving this kitchen alive.

“I’ll let my daughter explain it to you. She’s listened to the sermons! She remembers, she understands,” Nice-Heather titters cheerily, but Beast-Heather’s eyes burn with hate, and she rips at my mother’s hair again, holding it out tight for the razor. “Go ahead, sweetie. Tell him, and if you miss something we’ll fill it in for you.”

“The verse, the one my mother recited. It’s about marriage.” Courtney pauses, looking at her mother with pleading eyes. She’s begging to be told that her guess is wrong, but Heather smiles, nods her head encouragingly. Courtney closes her eyes and in a hollow, dead voice continues. “The Bible says The Church is the Bride of Christ. Last night, we broke the link between them. We ‘put them asunder.’” Her voice is barely a whisper by the end.