Hand Me Down Evil (Hand Me Down Trilogy) (10 page)

“I can tell you’re interested in science,” I said.

“I am.” He smiled.

“Me, too.”

Mark steered the pickup onto the driveway of the beach house.

T
he beach house was a cozy red brick ranch on top of a slight hill that overlooked the lake. I scanned the interior as we entered through the front door. The layout was spacious with the living room in the middle and two bedrooms tucked neatly off to the rear. To one side was a natural stone fireplace, and in front of it was a brown leather couch, a love seat, recliner and coffee table. A small kitchen area was separated from the living space only by an island with four bar stools.

“How do you like it?” he asked, gesturing toward the living room.

“I absolutely love it,” I said as I moved to the sliding patio door near the fireplace and peered out at the lake.

Furious waves were crashing upon the shore. A man and a woman in their late thirties were walking on the beach in the distance with the wind tugging at their sweaters. They appeared to be heading toward the bar at the far end of the beach. Dense clouds started drifting in.

“But it looks like the storm that missed us last night is about to catch up with us, or a new storm is developing,” I said, wrapping my arms around my chest.

I twirled around to face Mark, who was busy grasping a gallon of milk out of the refrigerator.

“A hot cup of milk will warm you up,” he said. “I don’t know about the weather reports anymore. When they say that a storm is coming, it misses us and heads southward. When they say that it will be a sunny day, we get massive rain.” He shrugged his shoulders.

I whirled back around and glanced at the direction of the man and woman who were walking on the beach in the cold. The sight of them wearing windbreakers over their sweaters triggered my memory of the visit I had made to Catherine’s house.

“Oh, Mark, there’s something I forgot to mention to you about what happened when I was at Catherine’s house,” I said. “I had left my windbreaker in the Lincoln, but when I went to get it, it was gone.”

Mark’s expression changed. I could tell he was upset. He finished pouring the milk into the sauce pan on the stovetop and turned on the burner.

“Celia, why don’t you sit here on the couch?” he asked. He lit the wood in the fireplace and tended to the embers until they popped and crackled.

“Sure,” I said. I left my position by the patio door and collapsed on the couch next to him.

“I know you don’t have to take my advice, but please don’t ever go off and try to search for Amber by yourself. It’s way too dangerous out there,” he said.

The tone of voice in which he spoke those words and the way that his brown eyes sparked in the glow of the slight flame in the fireplace warmed my heart. He really was concerned about me. I had not ever felt that way about a guy. He was so handsome, so confident, and yet so compassionate. I only wished that I did not have nagging doubts about him.

“Why should I listen to you?” I asked, teasing him.

Mark did not seem amused at all. He slapped his hand down on the coffee table. “Because you almost got killed out there this morning!” His voice rose a pitch.

There was a moment of complete silence.

“Have you ever thought what would happen to me if something happened to you?” he asked, meeting my gaze.

That was the first time that he had spoken of our friendship as though we were a couple. Could he possibly have known that I had admired him from afar all of these years? I hoped he felt the same way about me. If only he would open up and reveal his true feelings. But he seemed so determined to divulge as little as possible, with the exception of a few slipups here and there.

“As far as I can tell, you and I met yesterday morning right outside Mitchell’s Market. I don’t have to explain to you where I go and what I do,” I said sarcastically.

He laughed out loud. “Ok, I guess you never noticed me sitting just a few rows down from you in chemistry class last semester.”

I managed to keep a stern look on my face. “You never once made an effort to talk to me in school,” I shot back.

Mark rolled his eyes and shook his head. “It was you who never made an effort to talk to me. But that did not mean that I did not notice you. Then you went to the school dance with Billy Ferguson.”

I could not believe that Mark knew about that. He had not attended the party himself. The dance had been held in the school gymnasium. Even though I had gone with Billy, I looked around the gymnasium all evening in search of Mark in case he showed up.

“How did you know about that?” I asked. “You weren’t even at the dance.”

“I have my sources,” he said, smiling devilishly.

I paused for a moment and tilted my head in reflection. Looking right at him, I said, “Well, if you had asked me to go to the dance, I would have gone. I went with Billy, but looked around for you all night. You did not show up, and then I went home despondent.”

Mark smiled and looked down, blushing. “I think the milk is ready,” he said, as he went to the stove.

W
hen Mark did not meet my gaze, I wondered if he was just shy or if he really wanted to avoid the subject about the dance altogether because he was not interested in me.

“No, I am not shy. And yes, I am interested in you,” Mark said, beaming slyly.

I almost fell off the couch. How could he possibly have known what I was thinking? For a moment, I sat there wide eyed, shocked at what I had just heard. He actually knew what I was thinking.

“Yes, I knew what you were thinking,” he said.

I opened my mouth to speak but could not form any words.

Mark did not look at me. He turned off the stove, poured two glasses of milk, and placed them down on the coffee table. Then he sat next to me.

“Drink some warm milk,” he said. “I love milk.” He grabbed one of the glasses and started sipping.

But I was too astonished to move. I did not know if I should get up, bolt out the door, and never return. Or perhaps there was a plausible explanation. Maybe I had made the mistake of actually thinking out loud, which I have been known to do, and he had heard me.

“You didn’t utter a word,” Mark told me. “You were thinking silently to yourself.”

I said nothing.

He picked up the glass of milk and handed it to me. I took a quick gulp, my gaze fixed on him.

“You’ve been wondering all along about how I know things like where you were in the woods by Catherine’s house. You’ve even doubted me and even considered that perhaps I am a suspicious character. Haven’t you?” he asked.

I swallowed hard but kept my silence.

He took my hand in his and looked me square in the eye.

“I would never do anything to hurt you or your family. I have cared about you the moment I saw you walk into that chemistry class, and even well before that,” he said.

“How did you know what I was thinking,” I managed to ask. “And how did you know where I was hiding in the woods by Catherine’s house?”

Mark stood up, went over to the fireplace, grabbed a stick that was propped against the mantle, and shifted some of the pieces of wood around in the small flame. Then he spun around and said, “Let’s go for a walk on the beach.”

Still in shock, I complied.

We exited out of the patio door and made our way down the sandy beach. The clouds that had rolled in were a dark gray, and a chilly wind was coming in sporadic gusts. The explosion of waves crashing upon the frigid shore sounded soothing nonetheless. A storm was definitely developing. A couple of seagulls soared high overhead on their way inland as if cognizant of the approaching tempest.

As a blast of wind smacked against my cheeks, I pulled up the collar of the jacket Mark had given me to wear.

“I am going to answer all of your questions,” Mark said after we had walked a few yards.

“I’m waiting,” I said.

He stuffed his hands in his jean pockets as we staggered up the shoreline.

I realized that he had gone out in his shirt with no jacket.

“Aren’t you cold?” I asked. “Do you want your jacket back?”

He chuckled. “No, I’m fine. I’ve got another jacket at the beach house. When we turn back, I will put it on.” Then his expression became serious again. “I’ve always had very good intuition,” he said. “Sometimes it’s just too good.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, just as you have a hunch about things, I get hunches, too. Often, my hunches are right on target. Sometimes, I have a feeling that something will happen, and then it does.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, apparently hoping that I was absorbing the gist of what he was trying to explain.

“Anyway,” Mark continued, “Ever since I was a young boy, about ten years old, I have had this ability to get super good hunches about things. I lived in a suburb of Detroit as a child, and one day when I was with my classmates in the school playground at recess, I had this gut feeling that a car would come around the corner and crash right into the fence of the playground. Without thinking, I ran toward that area of the playground, grabbed the girl who was standing there with her back against the fence and yanked her out of the way just in time to avoid the car that did slam right into the fence. Everyone saw what happened, the teachers, the other students, and a few onlookers.”

“What’s wrong with that?” I asked.

“The problem was that I was clear on the other side of the playground and started running and screaming for the girl to move. The car had not even come into view yet and had not approached that street. So everyone wondered how I even knew that a vehicle would bolt from around the corner. Although I saved her life, everyone looked at me in a funny way,” he said.

“How do you know that? Maybe they were admiring you for what you did?” I asked.

Mark sighed out loud. “Trust me, Celia. They thought I was strange after that. Let’s just say that I had an instinctive feeling as to what they thought of me.”

I glanced at Mark. His nose was turning red from the biting, cold wind. He had insisted that I wear his jacket, and he was walking without one in the cold. He was so sincere, so genuine, and yet so sad. And I believed every word that he said.

He looked up at the sky and then in the direction of the lake. “When it hits, the storm is going to tear up this city,” he said.

“Sure looks that way, doesn’t it?”

“I can usually tell how bad a storm is going to be by evaluating the height of the waves on the lake,” he said. “And those are some pretty high and strong waves,” he said, pointing toward the water.

“I see,” I said, nodding.

“Anyway, in case you have been wondering, I don’t like to get too close to people because I am afraid that they will look at me the same way that those children did in grade school after the incident involving the girl and the car,” Mark explained. “That’s why I keep to myself in high school, and yes, in chemistry class as well. When my family moved to Grayling years ago, I vowed to keep to myself and never to let my guard down. I did not want to risk slipping up and having everyone think that I was odd.”

“That explains a lot,” I admitted, smiling widely. “You knew I wanted you to take me to the dance, didn’t you? You were afraid to get close to me or anyone else for that matter.”

“Yes, and when you went with that Ferguson guy, it tore me apart. I vowed to change my ways,” Mark confessed. “Then yesterday, I had a feeling that something out of the ordinary was going to happen in front of Mitchell’s Market. I drove there as fast as I could. But by the time I got there, Amber was already gone.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Mark,” I said. “We will get through this together.”

“I am sure we will.”

I
realized that we had made it all the way to the bar. Mark’s summer house at the other end of the beach looked like a tiny spec in the distance. The door to the bar was wide open, and I could hear Duran Duran’s “A View to a Kill” playing on the stereo.

“Let’s go inside and get a hamburger,” Mark said, putting his arm around my shoulder.

“Ok,” I replied. “But we had better hurry back before the storm hits.”

In the bar, some customers were sitting on stools drinking beer while others were eating sandwiches and chatting at small round tables.

Mark went over to the carry out counter and placed an order for hamburgers and fries, and I sat at one of the tables to watch television while I waited for him.

Weary and tired, I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to make sense of the day’s events in my mind. I was both nervous and eager to go and visit Sylvester. Anxiety set in because I was afraid that Sylvester might not be able to provide us with any useful information. I was eager because there was a slim chance that he might shed some light on what had happened to Mom and Amber. Any information I could gather would be better than nothing, especially since I was no closer to finding Amber than I had been yesterday. Perhaps Mark was right. Maybe figuring out who killed Brandon decades ago would give me a glimpse into the recent twisted happenings that turned my life upside down. After all, Mark had an uncanny ability to foresee future events. I had to put my trust in him.

I opened my eyes and gazed up at the overhead television set on the opposite wall above the bar. At that moment, the comedy show on the screen was interrupted with a special news announcement about Amber’s disappearance.

The news alert showed a representative from the Crawford County Sheriff’s Office moving up to the podium in front of the police station and clearing his throat. No one else in the bar seemed to notice, except for Mark who paid for the hamburgers and stood behind me and stared at the television monitor. Then he leaned over and whispered in my ear, “The Sheriff is going to announce that they are taking Catherine off of life support soon.”

Another one of Mark’s hunches! At least now I understood why he knew some things.

Just as the waitress approached us and handed Mark the carry out bag, the Sheriff, a tall, overweight man with short gray hair, tired brown eyes, and a sharp chin, began talking.