Safe Haven (28 page)

39

K
atie had the kids take a bath before getting them into their pajamas. Afterward, she showered, lingering under the spray and enjoying the luxurious feeling of shampoo and soap rinsing the salt from her body after a day in the sun.

She made the kids their pasta, and after dinner they sorted through the collection of DVDs, trying to find one that both kids wanted to watch, until they finally agreed on
Finding Nemo
. She sat between Josh and Kristen on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in her lap, their little hands reaching in automatically from either direction. She wore a comfy pair of sweats that Alex had laid out and a worn Carolina Panthers jersey, tucking her legs up under her as they watched the movie, utterly at ease for the first time that day.

Outside, the heavens bloomed like fireworks, displaying vibrant rainbow colors that faded to pastel washes before finally giving way to bluish-gray and then indigo skies. Stars began to flicker as the last shimmering waves of heat rose from the earth.

Kristen had begun to yawn as the movie progressed, but every time Dory appeared on-screen, she managed to chirp, “She’s my favorite, but I can’t remember why!” On the other side of her, Josh was struggling to stay awake.

When the movie ended and Katie leaned forward to turn it off, Josh raised his head and let it fall to the couch. He was too big for her to carry, so she nudged his shoulder, telling him it was time for bed. He grunted and whined before sitting up. He yawned and rose to his feet and, with Katie by his side, staggered to the bedroom. He crawled into bed without complaint and she kissed him good night. Unsure whether he needed a night-light, she kept the light in the hallway on but closed the door partway.

Kristen was next. She asked Katie to lie beside her for a few minutes, and Katie did, staring at the ceiling, feeling the heat of the day beginning to take its toll. Kristen fell asleep within minutes, and Katie had to force herself to stay awake before tiptoeing out of the room.

Afterward, she cleaned up the remnants of their dinner and emptied the bowl of popcorn. As she glanced around the living room, she noticed evidence of the kids everywhere: a stack of puzzles on a bookshelf, a basket of toys in the corner, comfortable leather couches that were gloriously spill-proof. She studied the knickknacks scattered about: an old-fashioned clock that had to be wound daily, an ancient set of encyclopedias on a shelf near the recliner, a crystal vase on the table near the windowsill. On the walls hung framed black-and-white architectural photographs of decaying tobacco barns. They were quintessentially Southern, and she remembered seeing many of these rustic scenes on her journey through North Carolina.

There were also signs of the chaotic life Alex led: a red stain on the runner in front of the couch, gouges in the wood floor, dust on the baseboards. But as she surveyed the house, she couldn’t help smiling, because those things, too, seemed to reflect who Alex was. He was a widowed father, doing his best to raise two kids and keep a tidy, if imperfect, house. The house was a snapshot of his life, and she liked its easy, comfortable feel.

She turned out the lights and collapsed on the couch. She picked up the remote and surfed TV channels, trying to find something interesting but not too demanding. It was coming up on ten o’clock, she noted. An hour to go. She lay back on the couch and started watching a show on the Discovery Channel, something about volcanoes. She noticed a glare on the screen and stretched to turn off the lamp on the end table, darkening the room. She leaned back again. Better.

She watched for a few minutes, barely aware that every time she blinked, her eyes stayed closed a fraction longer. Her breath slowed and she began to melt into the cushions. Images began to float through her mind, disjointed at first, thoughts of the carnival rides, the view from the Ferris wheel. People standing in random clusters, young and old, teens and couples. Families. And somewhere in the distance, a man in a baseball hat and sunglasses, weaving among the crowd, moving with purpose before she lost sight of him again. Something she’d recognized: the walk, the jut of his jaw, the way he swung his arms.

She was drifting now, relaxing and remembering, the images beginning to blur, the sound of the television fading. The room growing darker, quieter. She drifted further, her mind flashing back again and again to the view from the Ferris wheel. And, of course, to the man she’d seen, a man who’d been moving like a hunter through the brush, in search of game.

40

K
evin stared up at the windows, nursing his half-empty bottle of vodka, his third of the night. No one gave him a second glance. He was standing on the dock at the rear of the house; he’d changed into a black long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans. Only his face was visible, but he stood in the shade of a cypress tree, hidden behind the trunk. Watching the windows. Watching the lights, watching for Erin.

Nothing happened for a long while. He drank, working on finishing the bottle. People came through the store every few minutes, often using their credit cards to buy gas at the pump. Busy, busy, even out here, in the middle of nowhere. He moved around to the side of the store, gazing up at the windows. He recognized the flickering blue glow of a television. The four of them, watching TV, acting like a happy family. Or maybe the kids were already in bed, tired from the carnival, tired from the bike ride. Maybe it was just Erin and the gray-haired man snuggling on the couch, kissing and touching each other while Meg Ryan or Julia Roberts fell in love on the screen.

Everything hurt and he was tired and his stomach kept churning. He could have walked up the stairs and kicked the door in, could have killed them half a dozen times already, and he wanted to get it over with, but there were people in the store. Cars in the lot. He’d pushed his own car forward with the engine off to a spot beneath a tree at the rear of the store, out of sight from passing cars. He wanted to aim the Glock and pull the trigger, wanted to watch them die, but he also wanted to lie down and go to sleep because he’d never been more tired in his life and when he woke up he wanted to find Erin beside him and think to himself that she had never left him.

Later, he spotted her profile at the window, saw her smiling as she turned away and knew she was thinking about the gray-haired man. Thinking about sex and the Bible says
Those who gave themselves over to fornication and strange flesh are set forth for an example and suffering the vengeance of eternal fire.

He was an angel of the Lord. Erin had sinned and the Bible says
She shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of holy angels.

In the Bible there was always fire because it purified and condemned, and he understood that. Fire was powerful, the weapon of angels. He finished the bottle of vodka and kicked it under the bushes. A car pulled up to the gasoline pumps and a man stepped out. He slid his credit card in and began to pump gas. The sign near the pump informed people it was illegal to smoke, because gasoline was flammable. Inside the store, there was lighter fluid for use with charcoal. He remembered the man in line ahead of him earlier, holding a can of it.

Fire.

Alex shifted and adjusted his hands on the wheel, trying to get comfortable. Joyce and her daughter were in the backseat and hadn’t stopped talking from the moment they’d gotten in the car.

The clock on the dashboard showed it was getting late. The kids were either in bed or soon would be, which sounded good right now. On the drive back, he’d had a bottle of water, but he was still thirsty and debated whether to stop again. He was sure that neither Joyce nor her daughter would mind, but he didn’t want to stop. He just wanted to get home.

As he drove, he felt his mind drifting. He thought about Josh and Kristen, about Katie, and he sifted through memories of Carly. He tried to imagine what Carly would say about Katie and whether Carly would have wanted him to give the letter to her. He remembered the day he’d seen Katie helping Kristen with her doll, and recalled how beautiful she had looked on the night she’d made him dinner. The knowledge that she was at his house waiting for him made him want to floor the accelerator.

On the other side of the highway, distant pinpricks of light appeared at the horizon, slowly separating and growing larger, forming headlamps of oncoming cars. They grew brighter until they flashed past. In the rearview mirror, red lights receded into the distance.

Heat lightning crackled to the south, making the sky blink like a slide show. Off to the right was a farmhouse, lights on downstairs. He passed a truck with Virginia plates and rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the fatigue he felt. He passed the sign indicating the number of miles to Wilmington and sighed. He still had a ways to go.

Katie’s eyelids fluttered as she dreamed, her subconscious working overtime. Bits and pieces, fragments, trying to connect with each other.

The dream ended, and a few minutes later she tucked her knees up and shifted onto her side, almost waking. Her breathing began to slow again.

At ten o’clock the lot was nearly empty. It was just before closing time, and Kevin walked around to the front of the store, squinting at the light coming through the front door. He pushed the door open and heard a bell jingle. At the register was a man in an apron. Kevin vaguely recognized him, but couldn’t place him. He was wearing a white apron, the name
ROGER
stenciled on the right.

Kevin walked past the register, trying not to slur his words. “I ran out of gas up the road.”

“Gas cans are along the far wall,” Roger answered without looking up. When he finally did, he blinked. “You okay?”

“Just tired,” Kevin said from the aisle, trying not to draw attention to himself but knowing the man was watching. The Glock was in his waistband and all Roger had to do was mind his own business. At the far wall, Kevin saw three five-gallon plastic cans and reached for two of them. He brought them to the register and put money on the counter.

“I’ll pay after I fill ’em,” he said.

Outside, he pumped the gas into the can, watching the numbers roll past. He filled the second and went back inside. Roger was staring at him, hesitating to make change.

“That’s a lot of gas to carry.”

“Erin needs it.”

“Who’s Erin?”

Kevin blinked. “Can I buy the damn gas or not?”

“You sure you’re okay to drive?”

“I’ve been sick,” Kevin muttered. “Puking all day.”

He wasn’t sure whether Roger believed him, but after a moment, Roger took the money and made change. Kevin had left the cans near the gas pumps and went to pick them up. It was like lifting cans of lead. He strained, his stomach churning, pulsating pain between his ears. He started up the road, leaving behind the lights of the store.

In the darkness, he set the cans down in the tall grass just off the road. After that, he circled back behind the store. Waiting for Roger to close up, waiting for the lights to go out. Waiting for everyone to fall asleep upstairs. He retrieved another bottle of vodka from the car and took a sip.

In Wilmington, Alex began to perk up, knowing he was getting close. It wouldn’t be long now, maybe half an hour before he reached Southport. It would take another few minutes to drop off Joyce and her daughter, but then he would be home.

He wondered if he would find Katie waiting up for him in the living room or whether, as she’d teased, he would find her in his bed.

It was the kind of thing that Carly used to say. They might have been talking about the business or whether her parents were enjoying Florida, when out of the blue, she’d announce that she was bored and ask him whether he wanted to go to the bedroom and fool around.

He stared at the clock. A quarter after ten and Katie was waiting. On the side of the road, Alex saw half a dozen deer frozen on the grass, their eyes reflecting the headlights, glowing like something unnatural. Haunted.

Kevin watched the fluorescent lights above the gas pumps flicker off. Lights in the store went out next. From his hidden vantage point, he watched Roger locking the door. He tugged on it, making sure it was secure, before turning away. He walked to a brown pickup truck parked on the far side of the gravel lot and got in.

The engine started with a whine and squeak. A loose fan belt. Roger revved the engine, turned on the headlights, then put the truck in gear. He turned onto the main road, heading toward downtown.

Kevin waited five minutes, making sure Roger wouldn’t turn around and come back. The road in front of the store was quiet now, no cars or trucks coming from either direction. He jogged over to the bushes, where he’d hidden the cans. Checked the road again, and then carried one of them to the back of the store. He did the same with the second can, setting them next to a couple of metal garbage cans filled with rotting food. The stench was overwhelming.

Upstairs, the TV continued to bathe one of the windows in blue light. There were no other lights and he knew they were naked. He felt the rage well up inside him. Now, he thought. It was time. When he reached for the gas cans, he saw four of them. He closed one eye and it was back to two. He stumbled as he took a step and jerked forward, off balance, swaying as he tried to grab the corner of the wall to keep from falling. He missed and fell, landing hard, his head hitting the gravel. Sparks and stars, shooting pains. It was hard to breathe. Tried to stand up and fell again. He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the stars.

He wasn’t drunk because he never got drunk, but something was wrong. Twinkling lights were whirling round and round, caught in an accelerating tornado. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the spinning got worse. He rolled to his side and vomited onto the gravel. Someone must have slipped him drugs because he’d barely had anything to drink all day and he’d never been sick like this.

He reached out blindly for the garbage can. He grabbed the lid and tried to use it for balance, but he pulled too hard. The lid clattered off and a bag of garbage spilled out, making an unholy racket.

Upstairs, Katie flinched at the sound of something crashing. She was lost in her dream, and it took a moment for her eyes to flutter open. Groggy, she listened but wasn’t sure why, wasn’t sure whether she’d dreamed the sound or not. But there was nothing.

She leaned back, giving way to sleep again, and the dream picked up from where it left off. She was at the carnival, on the Ferris wheel, but it was no longer Kristen sitting beside her.

It was Jo.

Kevin was finally able to struggle to his feet and stay upright. He couldn’t figure out what was happening to him, why he couldn’t keep his balance. He concentrated on catching his breath, in and out, in and out. He spotted the cans of gas and stepped toward them, almost falling again.

But he didn’t fall. He lifted a can, then staggered toward the stairs at the back of the house. He reached out for the railing and missed it, then tried again. Got it. He lugged the can of gas up the stairs, toward the door, a Sherpa in the Himalayas. He finally reached the landing at the top, panting, and bent over to remove the cap. His head filled with blood, making him swoon, but he used the gas can to keep from falling. It took awhile before he could get the cap off because it kept slipping between his fingers.

Once open, he picked up the can and doused the landing, splashing its contents against the door. With every heave, the can got lighter, gas spilling out in arcs, drenching the wall. Getting easier now. He splashed left and right, trying to coat either side of the building. He started back down the stairs, splashing left and right. The fumes made him sick but he kept going.

There wasn’t much gas left in the can when he reached the bottom and he rested at ground level. He was breathing hard and the fumes were making him feel sick again but he began moving again, with purpose now. Determination. He tossed the empty can aside and reached for the other. He couldn’t douse the upper reaches of the walls, but he did what he could. He splashed one side and then circled around the back to the other side. Above him, the window still flickered with light from the television but all was quiet.

He drained the can on the other side of the building and had nothing left for the front. He scanned the road; no cars were coming from either direction. Upstairs, Erin and the gray-haired man were naked and laughing at him and Erin ran away and he almost found her in Philadelphia but back then she was calling herself Erica, not Erin, and now she pretended her name was Katie.

He stood in front of the store, thinking about the windows. Maybe they were alarmed and maybe not. He didn’t care. He needed lighter fluid, motor oil, turpentine, anything that would burn. But once he broke the window, he wouldn’t have much time.

He shattered the window with his elbow but heard no alarm. Pulling out pieces of glass, he barely felt his fingers getting cut and beginning to bleed. More chunks, the window coming apart in sections. He thought the opening was big enough for him to climb inside, but his arm caught on a jagged shard, deep. He pulled, tearing flesh. But he couldn’t stop now. Blood flowed from his arm, dripping and mingling with the cuts on his fingers.

The coolers along the back wall were still illuminated and he walked the aisles, wondering idly if Cheerios would burn, if Twinkies would burn. DVDs. He located the charcoal and the lighter fluid—only two cans, not much. Not enough. He blinked, looking around for something else. He spotted the grill in the rear of the store.

Natural gas. Propane.