Devil Without a Cause (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-­five

T
he wind was picking up, and so was the rain, lashing his face like needles. The short dash to the house left him soaked. Faith was right on his heels as he went through the kitchen door, sticking to him like a burr.

“Trina,” he shouted, not bothering with the intercom system. “John! Larry!”

Striding through the kitchen door and into the hallway, he heard answering footsteps on the stairs, and looked up to see John hurrying down them, gun drawn.

“Put that thing away,” he snapped, not wanting Faith any more on edge than she already was. “Where’s Nathan?”

John reached the bottom step and looked at them, obviously baffled. “I haven’t seen him . . . I thought he was napping.”

“You were supposed to be watching him,” Finn ground out.

Slipping his gun back into its shoulder holster, John answered. “He was with his mom. I didn’t think I needed to.”

Faith made a despairing noise, somewhere between a whimper and a groan.

“Trina,” Finn shouted again, not wanting to turn around.

“I’m right here,” she said mildly, coming through the door to the dining room. “What’s all the shouting about?” Her breath caught on a hitch. “You’re bleeding!”

He looked down to see blood dripping from his arm, splashing on the tile floor. “It’s nothing,” he told her shortly. “Have you seen Nathan?”

Trina’s eyes went from him to Faith to John, then back again. She shook her head, looking worried. “I was working in the front garden until the rain started . . . Since then I’ve been reading in my room.”

“Where’s Larry?”

“In the garage, I think.”

Not bothering with introductions or anything else, Finn headed for a nearby side door, punched in the alarm code to release the dead bolt, and entered the garage. Larry was on the other side of the SUV, wearing headphones and buffing the hood with polish. John slipped past him, already scanning the place, looking for Nate.

“What’s up?” Larry saw them, tugging his earphones from his ears. The faint sound of Mick Jagger singing “Sympathy for the Devil” came through into the air.

“My son,” Faith said urgently, pushing past him into the garage. “Is he in here?”

Larry shook his head, shooting John a look. “We were both in here most of the morning. John just went into the house a few minutes ago.”

“Put that down and help me look for him,” his partner growled, checking corners, even under the car.

“Spread out,” Finn ordered quickly. “Trina, you take the upstairs, Larry the downstairs, and John, you take all the outbuildings. Faith and I will take the gardens and the beach.”

“The beach?” Her face, already so pale, turned even paler. “But it’s storming out. Surely he wouldn’t go down to the beach!”

The dolphins.
Nate had wanted to swim with the dolphins. Finn’s blood ran cold at the thought, but he didn’t voice it aloud. “Get moving,” he said to his team, and moved to hit the garage door opener. Wind and rain came in with a
whoosh
, wetting the concrete floor. He didn’t wait for it to open all the way, just ducked beneath it and took off running, knowing Faith would be right behind him.

Wet palms slapped against him as he ran down a little-used path by the side of the house, scanning the bushes between the trees. “Nathan!” he shouted, wondering if he’d be heard above the storm. It was still building, thunder rumbling overhead, sky the color of lead lit by flashes of lightning. “Nate! Are you out here?”

“Nathan!” screamed Faith. “Where are you?”

It was hard to see in the driving rain, but he didn’t let that stop him. Pushing forward, he led Faith through the foliage until they reached the sand dunes behind the house. The beach lay before them, wild and stormy, the waves having grown higher and rougher since this morning. The sandcastle was gone, devoured by the elements and the rising tide.

“Nathan,” Faith shrieked, but Finn could barely hear her above the crash of the waves, the howling of wind and rain. She ran past him, scanning the beach frantically for any sign of the boy.

Flotsam and jetsam littered the sand, disturbed by the storm. An oddly shaped piece of it made his heart stop, until he recognized it for what it was: driftwood, dark with age.

“Faith!” he shouted. “He’s not here! Come back!” but she ran on, soaked and frantic, to check out the driftwood for herself. He followed, but only to draw her back, away from the water’s edge, so they could start searching the junglelike foliage that surrounded the house. When she fell to her knees beside the driftwood he thought she’d stumbled, and as he reached her he saw what she’d seen. Nestled beside the wet log was a sodden stuffed animal—the dog Nathan had clutched in his arms while he’d slept, all the way from Atlanta.

The keening sound he heard wasn’t coming from the wind or the waves, but from Faith herself as she snatched up the dog and stared at it, limp in her hands.

Never in his life had he felt so helpless; never had he felt the weight of unbearable, crushing guilt as he felt it now.

“Nathan!” she shrieked again, rising to search the waves with her eyes, frantically scanning the dark, raging water for any sign of her son. Finn did the same, desperate for a glimpse of a little head, a little body, anything to grab, to reach, or save.

But there was nothing, just the wind and the waves and the sound of Faith’s sobbing—a sound he’d never forget as long as he lived. Pulling himself together, he took her by the arm. “C’mon,” he said, “let’s go back to the house and call the coast guard.”

“No,” she screamed, pulling away from him. “I’m not going anywhere until I find him!”

“Faith . . .”

“Leave me alone,” she shouted. “I hate you! This is all your fault! If you hadn’t brought us here, he’d be home with me—” Her voice broke, and she bent over double, clutching the sodden stuffed dog to her chest.

He said nothing, because there was nothing he could say. There was nothing he could do to make it up to her, nothing he could do to fix this. Instead, knowing she would put up a fight but doing it anyway, he reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her to him. He wrapped his arms around her, wishing he was as dead as she wanted him to be, having nothing to offer but the comfort of his body, a flimsy and useless shield against the cold, uncaring world.

She didn’t fight him, though; all the fight seemed to have gone out of her. Her face buried against his chest, the dog between them, she wept as though her heart were broken; which, of course, it was. He put his lips to her hair and closed his eyes, fighting back tears of his own. He had to be strong for her now, whether she wanted him to be or not. “We’ll find him,” he said, tightening his arms around her. “Faith, baby, sweetheart . . . don’t cry . . .” He barely knew what he was saying, just knew he’d do anything to make it better. “He must’ve just dropped it. We’ll find him.”

“Finn!” Far away, barely heard above the storm, someone was calling his name. He lifted his head and saw John, waving frantically at him from the dunes.

Faith heard him, too, and looked up, her face ravaged.

“He’s here.” John waved them in, pointing toward the house. “He’s up here.”

They both took off at a run. Finn had only one thought in his mind:
Let him be okay.
If he still believed in God, he’d pray for it, but since he didn’t, he just kept repeating it over and over in his mind, hoping it would be enough.

“We found him in the pump house,” John said urgently, as they got closer. “Trina’s with him now.”

“How is he? Is he all right?” Faith was ahead of him, and missed the glance John shot him over her head.

“He’s . . . ah . . . he seems a little woozy.”

“Woozy?” she asked sharply, pushing past him toward the house. “What do you mean, woozy?”

John fell into step beside him, avoiding Faith’s eye. “Confused, I guess you could say. He . . . um . . . when I found him, he thought I was an angel or something.”

Finn would’ve laughed at the uncomfortable look on John’s face, except there was no laughter left in him.

“Where is he?”

“We put him in the guest bedroom, where he was before.”

They hurried there, Faith bursting through the kitchen door and running all the way to the guest room he’d put them in when they arrived last night.

There was Nathan, lying on the bed with Trina sitting beside him, looking worried. She rose, making way for Faith, who rushed to the bed.

“Nate.” Faith leaned over him, touching his head, heedless of the water that dripped from her clothes, her hair. “Nate, wake up.”

His eyes fluttered open, and Finn breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Nate, it’s Mommy,” she said to the boy gently. “Where’ve you been? You scared me to death.”

“Don’t be scared, Mommy,” he told her drowsily. “I told you not to be scared. It’s pretty there, with lights and music, and lots of flowers.”

She sank to the bed, her hand never leaving him. “Where, sweetie? Where did you go?”

“To Heaven,” the boy said simply. “The angel took me, and then he brought me back.”

There was a deathly silence within the room, as if no one dared breathe. Above their heads came a low rumble of thunder, as if punctuating Nate’s statement.

“It was just a dream,” Faith whispered, smoothing her son’s hair, as she must’ve done a thousand times before. The gesture was already so familiar to him—so heartbreakingly familiar. The doorjamb was against his shoulder, and Finn was grateful for it, as his legs seemed unwilling to hold him without support.

Nate said nothing, his eyes drifting shut at the touch of his mom’s hand.

Finn stepped back, into the hallway, beckoning John to follow. Trina joined them, closing the bedroom door quietly behind her. The three of them moved down the hall and into the living room. Larry was already there, sitting on the couch and looking incredibly guilty.

“Is the kid okay?” he asked, without preamble.

“I don’t know,” Finn answered tersely. “What the fuck were you guys both doing in the garage, anyway? Didn’t I tell you to keep an eye on him?”

Larry eyed him uneasily, but John was the one who spoke up. “Sorry, man. We let you down.”

“You sure as hell did,” he returned, running a wet hand through his wet hair as he turned to the window. Outside the storm was still raging, wind whipping through the palm trees, rain spattering hard against the windows. Lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the horizon, followed quickly by another roll of thunder. He couldn’t get the image of Nate out of his head, so small and so helpless.
What was all this talk about angels?

“What was he doing in the pump house?” he wondered aloud. “It’s barely big enough to hold the generators.” When you were on a private island, you had to have your own generators.

“Maybe he thought it was a playhouse,” Trina offered, in a subdued voice. “The bigger question is why he was outside at all.”

“He was looking for Finn.” Faith came into the room, heedless of her wet clothes and hair. She looked like a china doll who’d been left out in the rain, her face white, brown eyes huge in it.

“Trina, get Faith a blanket.” Finn didn’t move from where he was standing, afraid to shatter the eerie sense of calm that seemed to surround her.

Trina went to do as he asked without saying a word, which should’ve worried him, but he was too worried about Faith and Nate to care.

“He thought you might’ve gone down to the beach to watch the dolphins without him,” Faith said numbly. “I’m afraid he might’ve had a seizure while he was out there.”

“A seizure?”

Trina was back, gently draping a blanket around Faith’s shoulders. He wanted to do it himself, wanted to wrap her up in it and hold her tight, but he didn’t dare move.

“The doctor warned me it could happen,” she said, staring at the floor. “If the tumor”—her eyes squeezed shut at the word—“if the tumor grew. Seizures, hallucinations . . . it’s all happening.”

Stillness be damned.
He couldn’t bear seeing her like this, and was at her side in three strides. The blanket was already slipping, and he caught it, wrapping it around her as he led her toward the couch. Just as on the beach, she didn’t try to fight him, but let herself be led, like a lamb to the slaughter.

“Larry,” he clipped, “go start the boat. We’re going back to the mainland.”

There was a silence, during which nobody moved. He glanced up to see Trina, John, and Larry looking at one another, but Trina was the one who spoke up. “Do you really think that’s a good idea? Those seas are looking pretty rough, three or four feet at least. A bumpy ride in an open boat . . .” Her voice trailed off.

She was right, dammit.

“Call the coast guard, then,” he said, feeling Faith tremble beneath his hands. “Get them to send a helicopter.”

John looked doubtful, but went into the kitchen to do as he asked.

“You should both get out of those wet clothes,” Trina said briskly, apparently deciding she’d been quiet long enough. “You’ll be no good to anyone if you get sick. Finn, you need to let me see to your arm.”

He’d forgotten about the cut. It seemed so long ago that he and Faith had stood in his workshop, facing off over the ring.
The goddamn, cursed ring.

“It’s nothing,” he told her brusquely, keeping his arm around Faith’s shoulders. Her docility frightened him; up to now she’d fought him tooth and nail, and now she acted as if he were invisible, despite the fact that he was right
there
, heart in his throat.

“Faith,” he murmured, squeezing her gently. “It’s going to be okay. I promise it’s going to be okay.”

She finally looked at him, eyes swimming with tears. “You can’t promise that,” she said simply.

“I’m so sorry,” he said urgently, desperate to wipe the hopeless look from her face. “I’m so sorry about all of this. I never meant for it to happen, I swear.”

“I know.” Her forgiveness made him feel even worse. “I guess, in a way, I should thank you.”

Beginning to fear that she’d snapped completely, he shook his head. “Why?”

“Because now, if Nate”—her voice caught on a sob—“if Nate goes to Heaven, I’ll be able to follow him there.”