Heartsick (23 page)

Chapter Forty-Seven

I leave Zachary’s room in a daze.

I’m tired. I’m confused. Morning starts to brim in the faint wisps of light glistening off dew. A few early risers are roaming about. Walking dogs, getting coffee. If they cock their heads, concerned, I wave my hand.
I’m fine.
If they look at me like I’m some kind of freak, I ignore them.

The world is damp and gray. My chest fills with moist air.

Conrad is lying on his back, hands behind his head, in our front yard. He stares at the faint pink wisps of clouds hovering above us.

He must notice my sunken aura, because he asks me if I’m okay.

“Why does the world have to be so awful?” I ask.

“The world isn’t awful, it’s neither bad nor good, it just is,” he says. “And we get the joy of experiencing it. And experiencing miracles.”

I am so very not in the mood. I lump past him, up the steps.

“You heard about Luke’s sister, right?” Conrad asks. “Ginger. She can do a split in the air, she’s so healthy. No more ALS.”

“What?”

Conrad twists over and looks up at me with his blue eyes. “She got it. It cured her.”

I rub my face. The air all of a sudden seems way too bright. “That’s good,” I say. And it is. ALS is bad. Cures are good. I’d rather put my feet up and share a drink with a strange devil than a familiar one. But I don’t want to rejoice in anything now.

I go inside and lie on the couch but I don’t sleep. I do the worst thing—I watch the news. Scenes of looting down at the 7-11 off the highway, farmers complaining they have no one to help with crops, citizens bemoaning the fact they’re stuck. Citizens who leave town once a year, at most. It’s different though, when you no longer have the option. One old man, with a mushy jaw and ill-defined cheeks, chews over his words. “The college— it’s gotta be Poe’s fault.”

The anchor gives a quick transition, saying there’s something to the murmurs about town. Peachy surges onto the screen. He says he can confirm that the disease originated in a lab on Poe’s campus, but nothing else at this time. “Thankfully, we have additional resources that should help us conclude our investigations.”

“What additional resources?” The reporter presses. “Is it true that the military is involved? Was this research part of a government project to create super soldiers? How did the disease leak out of a lab?”

Beads of sweat glisten at Peachy’s temples, but he has his affable smile to save him. “As I mentioned, I am not at liberty to discuss some of the specifics, but I assure you that the town is in good hands.”

Very good hands.

They also show Luke over and over. He did a conference this morning, along with Chief Erikson, after investigating Professor Livingston’s house. They say they found evidence related to the disease. They politely decline questions. Luke doesn’t speak. He stands next to the chief, staring ahead, his arms straight and hands folded, one over the other.

I want to wrap him in my arms so we can both lie to each other and tell each other everything is okay. That we are in good hands.

I have multiple messages from my parents. Multiple. That’s never happened before. I send them a long email—I’m not up to talking to them yet—thanking them for their help. I tell them what happened, well, most of it. I tell them Mandy’s missing. It crushes my soul.

I don’t like that she isn’t around to throw jelly beans in my mouth as I try to catch them, or to play a drinking game involving chopsticks and matchbooks. I want her around so she can smell perfume on my skin and tell me if it smells slutty or elegant or girly.

I stand in the door of Mandy’s room for too long, bracing myself between the doorframes. My fingers dig into the white paint. I notice things I’m not sure I want to notice.

Wisey’s little shelf is empty.

When Luke comes over as the light beams drift to twilight, I’m scarcely in a state to receive him.

He can tell.

He makes me take a desperately needed shower while he cooks up some spaghetti.

“I’m sorry I was a waste today. I should have gotten your sister a get well card.” I rub my wet hair with a towel and enjoy the tomato and basil aroma.

“She doesn’t need one. She
is
well. Except for all this quarantine shit, of course.” He plops noodles into two bowls.

“Yeah, but there was no ‘you beat ALS by catching an unknown disease, yay!’ card, so I figured a get well card would be the most appropriate.”

“Perhaps if they start letting sick people in, some clever businessman will fill that hole in the market.” He smiles, which allows me to smile. And to confess.

“I spit in a cup for her,” I say.

Luke sits down and starts spooning noodles on a fork. He nods to me to do the same. We eat in silence.

“I know,” he says between bites. “She told me.” With fork in midair, he turns to me, smiles and then swallows some more pasta.

“That tattletale,” I say, and laugh with my mouth full of food. I don’t know why I’m all of a sudden Miss Funny Bone. Something to do with Luke. Something to do with an odd relief. He lets out his hearty pancake laugh and it’s almost like things are back to normal. Well, normal being when Mandy and Zachary were the only ones with the strange eyes.

When we’re done eating, he pulls me onto his lap. His head nestles in my neck. “I always thought that when my sister didn’t need me anymore, I’d leave this town the next day. But now I can’t.”

“Yeah, this quarantine is really cramping your style,” I say.

He pulls back. We lock our purple eyes. His grin is slippery. “Oh, yeah, I guess the quarantine is keeping me here too.”

His hand roams under my shirt, but I can’t just move on like that. I hold his wrist.

“I’m still having a hard time with all of this.” I bow my head.

“We’ll find—” Luke says, but I shake my head and press my index finger to his lips.

“No.”

Luke furrows his brow. “What did Zachary say?”

I look away and bite my lip. What should I say? What can I say? He may not be an intimidating man in a black suit, but can I tell him that I think Mandy left the quarantine? Could I begin to explain why?

“Not much, really.” I busy myself with picking a piece of lint off Luke’s shirt.

He takes that hand, tilts his head, brow tense and eyes raised. “You’re keeping something from me.”

“No.” I rush in, but take a breath. There is no rush. I keep my voice as steady as it can be. “He really didn’t say much. But, I don’t know, maybe you can get more out of him. I’m not exactly trained in interrogation, like some people in this room.”

He doesn’t smile. “Quinn, Zachary isn’t in custody anymore.”

“What do you mean? Did he escape?” My body twitches between hope and fear.

“No,” Luke says, and I can tell it’s like with Peachy. He is not at liberty to say the black suits swooped in to keep Zachary from blabbing. Maybe when the first purple cases cropped up they thought it would all blow over, just like Zachary thought it would blow over. He thought he could cover it with some ill-conceived lie about a mystery party drug. But, just like Zachary, at some point even the NSA has to dirty their hands with cleaning things up.

Luke rests his head on my breastbone and we are silent as the antique kitchen clock ticks.

“I want you to stay with me ’til things calm down,” he says.

“There’s no need for that,” I say.

He frowns. “I think there is. This town, I love it, but people can get crazy when they’re scared.”

“Exactly,” I say. His eyebrows tense and he leans his head to the right. I sigh. “When I move in with you, it’s going to be because we desperately want to live together, not because we’re scared.”

Luke’s hands come around my waist, pulling me closer to him, which I didn’t realize was possible, considering I’m already on his lap.

“When?” His eyes glimmer and the corners of his cheeks redden.

Simmering heat moves up the skin of my neck. “
If,
” I say. “I meant
if.
”

He cups my chin and kisses me before whispering in my ear, “I liked
when.
”

I shake my head. I shake away the oddly pleasant thought of living with him. I get off his lap. I move the dishes to the sink. He stands, waiting.

“I’m teasin’ a little,” he says. “And I get what you’re saying, but we still don’t know who started the fire at Sally’s.” His gaze is hard. “They could be planning to do more.”

I bite my lip. I’ll be brave. I can’t just run off to Luke’s house every time things get tense.

“I’ll keep the fire extinguisher next to me. I’ll spoon it while I watch TV.”

He frowns. “They could break in. They could hurt you.”

“I’ll get some extra locks.”

He rubs his chin. “
We
will get some extra locks.”

We take a trip to the hardware store, which is thankfully still open. (However, the oriental carpet store next door has a hand-written cardboard sign taped to the window: Closed due to quarantine.) Luke gets six locks.

“I don’t want to insult your magnificent mathematical skills, but the house only has two doors.”

He smiles as he insists on paying for them. When we get home, he spends an hour kneeling before the doors as I sit next to him, passing him screws and tools and other manly metal things. He bites his lip as he focuses, his muscles pressing against his white T-shirt. And, voila, I have new locks. He’s handy in a lot of ways.

He gets a call. His face goes dark. “Of course, I’ll be right in.”

“What is it?” I ask.

“A lead on Sally’s fire,” he says as he grabs his coat from the hook by the door and stretches his hands and elbows and forearms into the arm holes. “Don’t let anyone in ’til I get back.”

“Okay,” I say, but I look to the side.

He brushes my cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Don’t do anything stupid, either.”

“Me?”

Chapter Forty-Eight

I fully intended to sit tight, nice and safe under the protection of my six new locks. Until I get a text from Conrad four minutes after Luke leaves.

Walked by Sally’s. She was allowed back in to assess the damage and salvage a few things. Want to help?

Of course! I text back, and in three toots of a horn, the screen door smacks the wood behind me. I walk down the pathway at a high clip, letting the unseasonably warm fall night air infuse my skin.

Sally’s Pub is still there in structure, in spirit even, but parts that were light before are now a charred black. A damp, smoky sensation fills my nostrils. I step carefully over bits and parts all about. I step over the remnants of Sally’s.

A few people are already here, helping Sally. Conrad sweeps up grime and soot into the same dustpan that Luke used when I first met him. Natalie, yes Natalie, takes pictures off the wall, placing them in a pile, I guess to be restored or reframed. Sally is nearby, also taking photos off the wall. As I approach, she stares at the one in her hand. The edge of the frame is black. She wipes some gray stuff off the glass and underneath is a picture of her, arms out, in front of the pub fifteen years ago, when she bought it.

I roll my lips together. “I’m so sorry, Sally.”

She has a tight smile as she shakes her head. “A lot worse could have happened. They say the foundation is still good. I just need to fix up the inside so it doesn’t look like it, well, was burned.”

Natalie coughs strangely. She slides me a look that I think means trouble, but then her shoulders sag and she goes back to removing picture frames.

“Well, you know you’ll have help,” I say.

“Yes, in fact, I hear you know how to paint.” Sally winks. She runs her fingers over some of the yellow wallpaper that curled over.

“I do.” I also run my fingers over the wallpaper.

Feet stomp up the steps outside. The door bursts back and Luke stands under the archway, scanning the room. When he spots me, he frowns, but his eyes move past me, to Natalie. His shoulders sharpen before he walks toward her. Tommy, in his uniform, follows Luke.

My body jolts as Natalie drops the frame in her hands. She cries, rubs her face and gets soot all over her cheeks.

Luke doesn’t take his eyes off her. “Natalie, we need you to come with us.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head, her face red. “I didn’t mean it. It was an accident. I mean, I didn’t...” she says, backing away, toward me. I’m still and confused.

Tommy reads Miranda rights, cuffs out, walking toward her as Luke looks on. “I wasn’t thinking,” she says. “I just thought it would scare people. I figured people would stomp it out, it would just scare them, get them to stop coming to Sally’s.”

Oh, Natalie. My chin drops, mouth hanging open.

She sobs and grabs at the broken glass on the floor.

Luke’s hand is out. “Natalie, put the glass down and stand up.” His voice is steady, strong. He approaches her. Natalie takes a step back, but he’s quick. He grabs her. She swipes at him before I know what’s happening. Red bursts through his sleeve and then his chest. He grits his teeth. Natalie continues crushing the broken glass into him. Over and over as he tries to get a handle on her. I burn inside. I burn at the thought of his hurt. I sprint and lunge for Natalie, pulling her back, away from him. Pulling her back until we both hit the sooty, smoky wall and my breath is almost nonexistent, trapped, and my heartbeat pulses through every cell in my being.

“Quinn,” Luke says, one bloody arm stretched toward me, the other hovered over his gun. I’m about to say I got her, but then I don’t. I don’t got her. Not at all. She’s spun me around in a flash and I’m pinned in front her, one of her hands holding both my wrists against my lower back. Tight. Something big and sharp presses against my throat, liquid drips down my collar bone.

Luke is like lightning. I didn’t even see him pull the gun out, and now all I can see is the circle of metal, the tunnel before me, aimed at me. His stance is wide, his elbows are locked. His intense eyes focus on me. But they’re above the barrel, the bullet.

“Let her go.” There is something deep within his throat I’ve never heard before as his hands stay still around the loaded gun. The gun aimed at me. But it’s in Luke’s hands. It’s okay.

My mouth opens and liquid dances along the rims of my eyes. Finally. I’m not afraid.

Well, of the gun.

“Natalie,” Luke says, the words rough against his throat. “Let her go.”

“Just let
me
go, Luke,” Natalie says. “I won’t hurt her. You’ll let me go. We all know I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Natalie,” Tommy says, his voice strained. “My sister was in here last night. She could have burned to death because—”

“He killed her, Tommy!” she cries, her screeches skidding into my ear. “He just killed her, he hit her with his car and then he just left. They think they can do anything, get away with anything. They’re ruining this town. I was just trying to scare them, I was just—”

Tommy’s face reddens. “But you can’t—”

“Officer,” Luke says, his voice low, a husky whisper. His gaze is still on me, on Natalie. My breathing is so heavy, my body is so shaky, that my neck brushes against the cut glass. More blood trails down me.

“Natalie,” Luke says, calm. “We can talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Natalie says, her chin jutting over my shoulder. “Either you promise to let me go, forget all this, or your girlfriend will get hurt.”

Luke clicks the safety off. He blinks, but otherwise his face is still.

I close my eyes and try to calm my breathing. I force myself to open them, to stare down the pistol. “Go ahead, hurt me,” I say to Natalie.

“Quinn,” Luke says, sharp.

“Hurt me,” I say, turning to Natalie. “You can’t, not really. Anything you do to me will heal. Unless, of course, you kill me. That’s all you can threaten me with.”

Luke’s chest rises and falls, but his stance stays the same. Natalie’s breath is hot on my neck. I focus on the metal, the gun, and ignore my racing heart. “Do you want to kill me, Natalie?”

The pressure against my throat lightens and her slippery hand falls along my neck, to my shoulder. “No, I’m not like that.”

“I know,” I say. “I know, you aren’t like that.” Eyes still on the gun, I reach to her wet, bloody hand. I take the piece of glass as she collapses to the floor. Luke and Tommy move fast, pulling her up and locking her wrists with metal.

“I’m so sorry, Sally,” she says, face all red and black and blubbery. “Please forgive me.”

Sally closes her eyes. “I forgive you.”

Natalie lowers her head as they pull her away.