Flashover (17 page)

T
he smoke shrouded Moe in a blanket of darkness. She held her gloved hand out to him, but the sling prevented her from reaching his fingers. His eyes rounded in horror as the smoke closed in on him. He began to rock back and forth, lips wide in a silent scream.

“No, Moe. Come to me. Let me help you,” Ivy shouted.

The blackness increased, enveloping all but Moe's terrified face.

Again, she reached out, straining against the bandages that imprisoned her. She watched, helpless, as the smoke funneled into his mouth, choking off his scream.

With a jerk, Ivy shot upright in bed, sweat rolling off her forehead. Her breath came in ragged pants. She sucked in air, trying to steady herself. “Just a dream. Just a dream.” Though the nightmare faded away, the urgency it left behind didn't. She had to find Moe. She had to save him.

She didn't take time to eat breakfast before she pulled on clothes and headed out into the warm August morning. After she stopped at Mitch's to pick up her car, she sped out of town. A thick blanket of clouds covered the sky, promising a much-needed summer rain.

In spite of the approaching storm, the campground she'd been assigned to search by Mrs. Carnelli was full to overflowing with kids and parents enjoying the last few weeks of summer vacation. She showed Moe's picture to every camp employee she could find, as well as many guests, with no luck. Stomach hollow with hunger, she finally headed back to the car.

Pieces of glass littered the ground around the driver-side window. Ivy gasped and glanced wildly around, looking for anyone suspicious. There was no one.

Avoiding the glass, she gingerly eased the door open and checked the interior. The contents of the glove box were spilled onto the floor. The upholstery was pulled up from the bucket seats as if someone had been looking for something underneath.

She looked more closely and found the trunk had been popped open, her first-aid kit rifled through, as well.

Desperation swelled inside her. “What do you want from me?” she screamed to no one.

A chilling thought struck her. Maybe whoever had done it was watching her right now, hidden behind the leafy screen of trees. She started to tremble.

“Keep calm, Ivy.” She wrapped a jacket around her hand and brushed the glass from the front seat before she jumped inside and revved the engine. She knew she shouldn't move the vehicle until after the police had examined it, but the fear inside filled her with a desperate need to escape.

Only after she was on the road back home did she begin to breathe more easily. She made it back to town and left a message for the detective. Unwilling to go home to her empty apartment, Ivy parked along Main Street and sat on a shaded bench to sip a bottle of water.

Mitch appeared, slouching onto the bench next to her. “Any luck?”

“No, and my car got broken into.”

He gasped and went over to take a look at the shattered window. “What is up with that?” he said. “Maybe some punk kids?”

“I don't know.” Ivy felt too tired to think about it anymore. “Did you have any luck searching?”

He shook his head. “Charlie and I stayed up for a few hours yesterday. I thought I'd join you on foot today. Where's Tim?”

“Working. Isn't that where you're supposed to be?”

“I took the morning off to help with the search. I have to be back this afternoon.”

“That was nice of you.”

His gaze wandered down the street.

“Are you meeting someone?”

“Me? No, no.” He turned his attention back to her. “So did you give any more thought to those clues? Did you remember anything Moe gave you or anything you saw him carrying around?”

“No, Mitch. I told you that before.”

“I know. I'm being thorough, is all.”

Ivy's cell phone let out a reminder beep. She checked the display and gasped. “Oh, man. I completely forgot my doctor's appointment. I'm supposed to have the shoulder looked at. I've gotta go. See you later.”

Figuring it would be safe to walk down a public street in broad daylight, she hurried the six blocks as quickly as she could, slipping the sling on to impress the doctor. Hope swelled inside with each step. She had been able to use her shoulder and go without the sling for the better part of a day. Things were improving all the time.

Soon it would be back to work.

An image of Tim rose in her mind. Would he feel abandoned again? The thought made her sad. She shook it away. Her work was the most important thing in her life. Wasn't it? She wouldn't lose focus for anyone. Not even Tim.

She scurried up the steps to the clinic past a man sitting in a chair on the cement patio, reading a magazine held tightly against the quickening wind. His blond crew-cut hair was almost the same shade as his pale skin. Something about him seemed familiar.

Her phone rang before she made it inside. “Hey, Mom. I'm going into the doctor's office. No, no luck yet with the search. Look, can I come by and fill you in later? I've got to go now.”

As she tried to pocket the phone, a sudden pain in her shoulder made her lose her grip. The cell skittered across the cement, near the man with the magazine. He fished it out from between his feet and handed it to her.

“Thanks so much.” She took the phone and he tucked the issue under his arm and rose to hold the door.

Face flushed, she hurried by, glancing at the magazine folded to reveal an article on digital cameras. Inside the office she composed herself and waited for the nurse to lead her to a room.

The doctor did a thorough examination of the burns. “I'm happy with your progress, Ivy. It's definitely healing. I think we'll get out of this with minimal scarring, too.”

“Great. How much longer before I can go back on the line?”

His eyebrow lifted. “I was about to say, this is the dangerous time. Your shoulder is feeling better and you've got some mobility back so your tendency will be to overdo it. You've seen the physical therapist, I assume?”

“Yes. She's going to check me out again in a month. But I think I'll be ready before then. You said the burns are healing up nicely, right?”

“Right. So that means when the therapist clears you for rehab, you can start on that shoulder.”

“I was hoping, maybe, you could speed things along.”

His round face wore an exasperated look. “Give it time, Ivy. The body's power to heal is miraculous, but you've got to let it do the work.” He patted her arm and said goodbye.

Ivy left the clinic. Her rumbling stomach demanded attention so she stopped at the bakery for a snack. She was about to find a spot on the bench to enjoy the soft peanut-butter cookie when she noticed the same crew-cut blond-haired man sipping tea. She half smiled at him. He looked up from his magazine, his gray eyes luminous in his pale face. He did not smile, and there was a look to him, an intangible something that made her gut turn to ice.

The chill grabbed hold of her spine. The magazine was still turned to the very same page it had been an hour ago. Though he looked away, she could feel his eyes burning into her as she left. Was it him? Was he the one who tried to take her purse, broke into her house and smashed her car window?

With fear circling her gut, she checked over her shoulder. The man was standing now, discarding his drink and turning in her direction. She dropped the cookie into a trash can and walked as fast as possible away from him, trying to decide how to escape, when a familiar car pulled up at the curb.

Charlie reached over and opened the door to his sports car. “Need a lift?”

She hesitated only a moment before she jumped in and pulled the door closed.

“Where you headed?”

“I was going to visit my mother. She's off Main Street.”

“All right, then. Looks like a good storm coming in.” He pulled the car smoothly away from the curb, turning on the wipers to catch the first drops of rain. Ivy looked in the sideview mirror at the man with the magazine, who stared at the vehicle as it drove away.

“You okay, Ivy? You look a shade pale.”

She tried to control her breathing. Was her imagination making her see villains everywhere? In the safety of Charlie's car, her fears seemed less logical. The guy was probably completely harmless. It had to be a mistake. “I'm fine. Thanks for the ride. What brings you to town?”

“Errands, mostly.”

He looked straight ahead and Ivy could make out lines in his face that she hadn't noticed before. He seemed old all of a sudden. “Charlie, I think I owe you an apology.”

He started. “You do?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes. It was indiscreet of me to bring Mitch's problem up to a colleague and just plain rude to blame you. I'm sorry.”

He sighed, a long gusty sound. “I appreciate the sentiment, Ivy, but I've been doin' some serious thinking about it and I believe it's the other way around.”

“What do you mean?”

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I did introduce Mitch to online gambling. I thought it was fun, a thrill ride. I guess I'm an adrenaline junkie. That's what my two ex-wives will tell you, anyway.”

“You didn't make Mitch bet away his savings.”

“No, but I sure didn't discourage him from playing. I never thought about the bad side of it. It's all so neat and tidy online, so…impersonal.”

“Have you lost much money that way?”

“Yes, ma'am, but not enough that it impacted my life. I got bored of it after a while, turned my attention to other things.”

Ivy shook her head. “I sure wish Mitch could have done the same.”

“Me, too.” Charlie's brow furrowed. “I didn't realize how deep he'd gotten himself in until you came to my house. Now that I think on it, he's been squirrelly for a while, skipping out on trainings, missing social functions, and I remember seeing some guy, a really big guy, talking to him after a shift one day. Mitch didn't look too happy about it.”

“Did the man have dark, curly hair?”

“Yeah.”

“He's with the mob in New York. He was sent to collect on the money Mitch borrowed from his boss.”

Charlie's head sagged against the leather seat. “Oh, man. He's really in deep. If he'd have come to me, I could have made him a loan, no strings attached.”

“But you didn't? You're really not the one who bailed him out?”

“No, ma'am. He never asked me.” He stopped for the light. “I feel really low about it.”

Ivy touched his arm. “You had no idea he would become addicted to gambling. I think things are improving. Tim confiscated his computer and Mitch has promised me up and down that he hasn't placed a bet since.”

Charlie grimaced. “Ivy, not to be the bearer of bad news, but I am familiar with addiction. My daddy was an alcoholic and he could charm a snake out of his stripes with his promises to give up liquor. I think he really meant it, too, but some things gotta be kicked with help.”

She watched a group of kids running in a front yard as they drove along. “So you think he's still gambling?”

“I don't know.” Charlie frowned. “He's getting weird phone calls that seem to upset him.”

Though she hated to admit it, Mitch's behavior had seemed odd to her lately, too.

Charlie turned onto her mother's street and she pointed out the house. On impulse she said, “Have you seen a blond guy with a crew cut hanging around Mitch?”

“Can't say as I have. You figure New York has sent someone else to keep tabs on him?”

Ivy got out of the car and leaned into the open window. “I'm not sure. See if you can spot anyone unusual today when Mitch reports in this afternoon.”

Charlie frowned. “Did he tell you he's on duty later?”

She nodded.

“Now I'm really worried.”

“Why?”

Charlie stared at her. “Our schedule shifted, Ivy. Mitch doesn't work today.”

I
vy's mouth began to water as soon as she crossed the threshold of her mother's house. The smell of roasted garlic and simmering beans tickled her nose. She found Juana in the backyard under an umbrella, picking fat red tomatoes.

“Hi, Mama. Is that great smell in the kitchen what I think it is?”

“Of course,” she said with a smile. “Red beans and rice, and don't tell me you're not hungry. I can hear your stomach growling from here.”

“I'm always hungry for your beans and rice.” Ivy picked some of the succulent fruit and helped carry them inside. She pulled up a chair at the table while her mother dished up a bowl of the steaming rice.

“How is the search for Moe going?”

Ivy related, in frustrating detail, their lack of progress. “Madge is so devastated at the thought of losing her son. It made me, well, sort of put in my head…”

“What, Ivy?”

“I guess I never thought about how hard it must have been for you to get past Sadie's death.”

She put down her spoon. “Has she been on your mind lately?”

Ivy picked at a grain of rice on the table that had escaped the bowl. “Yes. I, um, Tim took me to church and it sort of started me thinking.”

Juana patted Ivy's hand. “Go on, honey. Talk to me.”

“There's not much more to tell.” Ivy stood up and walked around the room, touching the pictures. “Everything is all jumbled up in my mind lately.”

Juana sat in silence, watching her.

“Mama, you said you hear from kids who read your Penny Pocket stories.”

“Sometimes. They write letters and draw pictures for me once in a while.”

“Do they, have any of them lost people in their lives?”

“A few.”

“What do you tell them, when they ask you for advice?”

Her brown eyes were warm. “I don't give advice, honey. I just tell them I know how much it hurts and so does God.”

Ivy turned to face her. “How come you didn't get mad? The way she died, it was…” She shuddered.

“It was horrible and I did get mad, beyond mad as a matter of fact. I was enraged at the man who was talking on his car phone instead of paying attention to his driving. I was furious with him for taking my daughter away. I wanted him to be punished. Truth be told, I wanted him to be dead, until I met him face-to-face.”

“Then what happened?”

“I found out he was in worse agony than I was because he killed a girl and he didn't have God to ask for forgiveness. He was trapped in a nightmare with no hope of release. Truly, a living hell.”

“And that took away your anger?”

“Some.” She massaged a kink in her neck. “I went through plenty of rage and depression, Ivy, but I had two other kids and a husband to live for. God entrusted me to be there for all of you and gave me the strength to carry on.”

The words bubbled up from the bottom of her soul. “Why did He let it happen? Why did He let her die?”

Juana's eyes were moist. “I don't know, honey. I just don't know. I'll ask Him someday, but He did teach me through Sadie that every moment, every day is a blessed gift and that's how I try to live my life.”

Ivy sank down into the chair again. “You're so strong. I wish I could feel that way.”

“You could, if you let go of the idea that you're supposed to save every earthly victim you run across.”

She bristled. “I was born to be a firefighter.”

“No, honey. You were born to be Ivy Beria, child of God. If that means you're a firefighter, great, as long as you don't hide behind that uniform.”

“Hide? From what?”

“From people, from loss.” Juana took her hands. “From love.”

Ivy held her mother's strong fingers, feeling a tide of love connecting them both. She tried to speak, but couldn't.

Juana held on. “Listen to me, sweetheart. Sometimes people stay here for a long time and sometimes they are here for only a brief season. Like Jesus, honey, God's own son. He was here for only a short time, but what He left behind will never be lost.”

Ivy felt her eyes fill. “Oh, Mama. I feel so confused. I've been angry at God for so long, hating Him for taking Sadie. Now I'm starting to see that He put so many people in my life to help me along, to help me through and to…”

“Love you?”

Ivy flushed. “I thought I loved Antonio, but I think it was for the wrong reasons.” Tim's face swam up in her mind. She saw the sincerity in his eyes, the sweet, kind nature that shone through his soul. Something tickled her stomach, a little sensation that traveled upward into her heart.
Tell him you love him. Admit it, to him and to yourself.
Could she? Should she?

And then what?
She knew how attachment ended and it would kill her to lose him. Antonio was one thing, a painful memory, but Tim? He was altogether another. She shook her head.

“I don't know. My mind is all mixed up. I thought I understood everything, but nothing is the same since I lost my job.”

“Then maybe it's a good thing you did.”

Her head jerked around. “No, no, it's not. Don't get any ideas, Mama. I'm going to get my job back and things will be normal again.”

Her mother laughed, a big, warm sound that filled the room. “Oh, honey, nothing is ever normal for very long.” She got up and wrapped Ivy in a firm hug.

She let her mother's embrace continue for a minute before she pulled away. “I've got to get back to the search, Mama.”

“It's going to pour any minute. Why don't you stay here and help me put up some tomatoes?”

“Don't you have a pantry full already?”

“Sure, but it's not possible to can too much, in my opinion.”

Her mother's words set off a lightning strike in her mind. “Maybe that's what he meant.”

“Who?”

“Oh, nothing. I've got to go check something out.” She kissed her mother. “I'll come visit again soon.” She accepted a foil packet of beans and rice before she headed out the door.

On the porch she looked around for any sign of the man with the magazine. She pulled out her cell and dialed Tim's number. He didn't answer so she left a message telling him about her plans. She thought briefly about calling Mitch to come and escort her, but rejected the idea. He was already hovering like a shadow and lying to her about something. It was better not to involve him any further. Pulling her jacket hood on, she started off into the misty afternoon.

The idea was half-crazy and she knew it. Cyril met Moe when he worked at the recycle shack situated on a corner of the local shopping complex. Could Moe's strange message about Medsci and Cannery Row possibly refer to the line of wire bins set up to receive cans? It was a ridiculous notion, but she could not get it out of her mind.

“Oh, brother. Tim will get a good laugh out of this,” she muttered as she hustled along. In spite of the ludicrous nature of her venture, she knew the idea would worm away at her until she'd checked it out thoroughly. Besides, she comforted herself, the exercise would be good for getting her back into condition.

The shopping complex on the far end of town had been abandoned for close to three years, victim of the economic downturn. The weedy asphalt surface was riddled with fissures, the empty buildings standing like ghostly sentinels against the stormy sky.

Ivy hugged her jacket around her as the rain pattered down, making oil-slicked puddles on the ground. The space was hemmed in by a thick border of trees and shrubs, hugging the periphery of the parking area like a leafy green scarf. After a moment to reconnoiter, she headed off toward the far end of the lot, in the direction of a dilapidated trailer.

The rain came down with increasing intensity, snaking under her hood and down her back. Quickening her pace, she half jogged, half slid across the slick asphalt. She was disappointed to find the collection bins had been removed, leaving only a dilapidated trailer to mark the spot where the recycling center had been. The paint was chipped and irregular, but Ivy could just make out the words
Cash for Cans
in flaky white paint. The back-end trailer door had been torn away, leaving a yawning empty hole. The interior was completely dark.

Though she leaned in and strained her eyes, she could not see clear to the back. The intense darkness made goose bumps prickle her skin. She checked her cell phone again; still no messages from Tim. “Come on, Ivy,” she scolded herself. “Quit being a chicken. You've got to figure this thing out while there's still a chance for Moe.”

Sucking in a deep breath, she climbed up onto the rusted metal threshold and stepped into the trailer.

The air had a moldy, damp smell, and the place where her fingers touched metal was clammy to the touch. Wishing desperately that she had brought her flashlight, she made her way inch by inch toward the back. A tiny window at the far end let in just enough light for her to make out a pile of rubbish, half-mashed cardboard boxes and stacks of newspaper.

She crept forward as the rain exploded against the metal roof. The sound made her ears ring. A distant rumble of thunder echoed oddly in the musty chamber. A few steps closer and she'd reached the pile of debris. The closest box that was relatively intact lay on its side, one flap open on the soggy floor.

With the tip of her foot she slid the other side open.

Something shot out of the box and grazed her leg. She screamed and fell back, the damp cold penetrating the seat of her jeans. Frantically, she crab-walked backward, away from the thing.

Heart still hammering, she got to her feet. Whatever had careened out of the box was now sitting on the top of the pile, looking at her with luminous yellow eyes.

A small cat no bigger than her work glove peered at her.

She tried to get her lungs started again. “Man, you scared me, kitty.”

The cat calmly groomed itself. Ivy poked halfheartedly at the rest of the pile, finding nothing other than soggy newspapers and bits of broken glass. Chiding herself for indulging her silly idea, she gave up her search and turned to go. The cat gave a plaintive mew.

“I guess it's pretty lonely here, huh? And cold.” Ivy took out the packet her mother had given her and opened the foil. She put it on a dry spot on the floor. The cat jumped down at once and began to nibble delicately.

Ivy wondered where the cat had come from. It didn't behave as though it was feral. She'd probably been dumped in the field by some callous pet owner who believed cats could survive just fine without a home. The little animal had at least found shelter, but her fur hung loose on her starved frame. Ivy thought of Moe alone and fending for himself in a strange and hostile world.

When the cat finished, Ivy held out her hands. “I can't promise you red beans and rice every night, but you can bunk at my place if you want. At least it's dry.”

The cat cocked her head for a moment as if considering the offer and then allowed Ivy to pick her up. She tucked the almost weightless creature into her jacket pocket, feeling its rib bones protruding against her fingers as she did so. “Come on, kitty. Let's get out of this smelly place.”

Outside, the sky had grown even darker, the rain continuing to fall. She headed for the trees, hoping to at least stick to some kind of cover until she got back out onto the main road.

She'd made it several yards when she caught a glimpse of him.

If the man hadn't had such pale blond hair, she might not have seen him at all, dressed in dark colors, tucked in the shadow of a massive fir.

He was far enough away that she couldn't see his face. It didn't matter. She knew it was him—the man with the magazine.

Though he didn't move at first, she could feel his eyes burning into her. Slowly he reached into his pocket and began to inch toward her.

Ivy's entire body felt shot through with paralyzing cold. After a moment of frozen panic, she took off, ducking low, running under the trees and toward the main road. It was too risky to stop and try to call for help. The man would surely catch her if she tried.

He started to run when she did. His feet crunched through the wet grass. He was close, so close she could hear his harsh breathing. The panic spiraled out of control as she felt his hand on her back, reaching, trying to grasp her by the jacket. When his fingers got a hold she whirled and kicked out as hard as she could. Her foot caught him in the stomach.

He grunted and went down on one knee. She didn't hesitate, but ran again, as fast as she dared across the uneven ground.

Her feet slipped on the soaked grass, sending her crashing into a prickly shrub. She fought her way out, ignoring the distressed mew from inside her jacket. Why in the world had she come to such a desolate spot in the first place?

There was no time to indulge in recrimination as she ran. Her breath came in pants and her shoulder began to ache. Another hundred yards and she would make it to the road, but then what? What if there was no one to help? It was not a well-traveled street.