House of Steel (13 page)

The sound of clapping hands echoed against
the arched ceilings, snapping Delaney’s head back to Ben and Meghan
kissing for the final time. They both turned to their guests as Ben
thrust his fist in the air with a triumphant pump before walking
down the aisle. That was Ben. The melody blasted through the organ
pipes as she stepped forward to face Mark, wrapping her arm in his.
Their steps aligned as she scanned the small crowd that had
gathered for the sunset service.

Meghan’s guests, mostly friends, had only
filled the first two pews. Her family had been virtually
non-existent her entire life as a foster child. Delaney wondered
what it would have been like to not have a family. To not feel the
closeness of her brothers’ love or her parents’ watchful eyes. It
seemed entirely likely to her that Meghan could truly miss
something she never had. It was selfish, Delaney knew, that she
would want her mother back the second she was taken from her. She
looked over to the left to see her cousin Levi, Uncle Walt, and
Emma carefully eyeing Ann in the bench ahead of them. The extent of
their family existed in just that one pew, but it had been all she
needed. A few other friends and neighbors scattered throughout a
few rows.

She glanced at the back corner of the church
where the two elderly men sat who had offered up the collection.
Behind them, she saw a profile of a man dressed in dark clothes
walking toward the exit. His movements were quick and fluid, his
long strides moving him into the back of the church as he placed a
gray fedora on his head. Delaney watched as the man from Room 546
slipped through the side door and into the air of the brisk night.
She yanked Mark’s arm, her legs itching beneath her to follow the
man as the fear coursed through her veins.

“What the hell are you doing?” he whispered,
matching her pace.

“I’ve got to check something out,” she
whispered as they neared the door the fedora had disappeared
through. She needed to see him, to find out what he wanted from
her.

“I’ll be right back.” She waved off Mark as
he joined Meghan and Ben in the foyer of the church, awaiting their
guests. The door creaked as she opened it wide enough for her to
slide through onto the ice. The crisp air stung her throat and
chest as she inhaled the black night’s oxygen. Her breath formed in
a steady stream of white fog in front of her as she exhaled. Her
eyes darted down the sidewalk. Small patches of a soft glow from
the church paved the way down the empty sidewalk. She looked in the
snow piles to the right and left of her. No tracks. She turned back
to grasp the handle of the door, pulling it to find it had locked
behind her.

Fedora.

She shouldn’t be out here alone. The frozen
wind whipped on her bare back as she turned on her heels to face
the vacant sidewalk. Delaney looked down at her slipping heels with
disdain as she stepped carefully into the dark night to the other
entrance, her hands out to balance herself. The light of the church
through the glass front doors glared in her eyes as she turned the
corner. Her body jerked and hesitated as an outline of a man
partially blocked the light. A man in a brown jacket and red scarf
stood waiting at the door, looking in. She knew his build. The
stance. The scarf.

“Jesus, Delaney.” James jumped at the sound
of her heels cracking behind him.

“James, what the hell are you doing out
here?”

“I heard that Ben was getting married. After
I ran into you yesterday, I needed to see you again. I figured you
wouldn’t call, so here I am. I did a little Facebook stalking to
find out about the wedding. Busted. What can I say?” he said,
lifting his gloved hands up in the air. James Anderson had been
standing there longer than he would have liked to admit. She hugged
the fur wrap tighter to her body, looking into his brown eyes that
were glistening above his pink cheeks flushed from the wind. The
soft radiance of the church’s lights highlighted the grin that
Delaney had always loved.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. You’re off the grid. No
Facebook, no emails. You changed your number, so I had to look
elsewhere. Your family doesn’t seem to hate me as much as you do. I
had to take one last shot, it seemed right.”

“I don’t hate you,” she said, sighing. “Are
we really having this conversation? Me hating you?”

“No, let’s not do that. What the hell are
you doing outside, though? It’s freezing out here.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Delaney, you know I’m sorry. I never got a
chance to tell you that.” His eyes locked onto hers. “And I would
give you my jacket right now, but I know you would refuse.”

“You’re right about the jacket.”

“I know I am.” The smile disappeared as he
looked down at his hands, fumbling with his gloves. “It’s been too
long, Delaney.”

“James, I don’t know what you want from me.”
Her voice cracked as she felt a pang in her stomach. Seven years of
bottled up anger fizzled inside, nearing the edge of overflow. The
years harbored a serious amount of angst for her and she hadn’t,
despite better judgment, played out what she would say to him if
she ever ran into James Anderson again. Planning had never been one
of her strong points.

“All I want is an hour with you. I want to
know what you’re doing. I want to know how your mom is doing, how
your family is doing. I want to know if you’re happy. I need to
know you again,” he said, moving closer to her. He placed his hand
on the fur wrap, his touch burning into her arm. She couldn’t do
this, not now.

“I finished my Ph.D. at Madison, and I got a
job at Leighton University in Appleton. My mom is sick, real sick.
Cancer sick. The rest of the family is good. Ben just got married,
as you know,” she said as she nodded toward the church before
adding, “and I’m happy. Perfectly happy,” she lied. “You?”

“You know what I mean,” he replied.

“Why are you moving back to Milwaukee
anyway? I thought you were never coming back to Wisconsin?” she
accused.

“Does it matter to you?” he asked.

“I’m not going to answer that.”

“Believe it or not, I finished my law
degree, and what I told you yesterday was true. I’m here this
weekend scoping out office space,” he said before adding, “and
houses.”

“James,” she started, unable to process the
permanency of his move and the possibility of him crawling back
into her life as her back began to numb.

“Just one hour,” he interrupted as he
reached his hands up to her shoulders, rubbing them to keep her
warm.

Damn you, James.
She felt the anger
dull, calming with his touch.
Maybe the stability of an old
friend wouldn’t hurt.
“One hour?” she asked.

“Coffee. Tomorrow morning at Alterra. Ten
work for you?”

No.
“I will see you there. You should
go. I’ve got to get back inside.” She moved toward the door,
causing his hand to drop to his side.

“Delaney?”

“Yeah?” She turned back to see his eyes
still glistening in a now softened face. This was the James
Anderson she remembered.

“Thank you. Have a good night.” He turned to
leave, disappearing into the darkness.

Just like that, James Anderson was back. She
exhaled before placing her hand on the handle of the door, looking
behind her once more toward the sidewalk where the man in the
fedora must have walked. Her body shuddered as she finally
reentered the church. The warmth enveloped her as she sifted
through the quaint crowd. Uncle Walt’s robust belly bumped into
her, signaling an embrace. She looked over his shoulder to see the
door of the vestibule hanging open, a single chair in her line of
sight. On it, her black bag sprawled open for all to
see
.

She broke out of her uncle’s encroaching
arms. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered as she passed by him and
through the door. She scrambled to the bag, searching through it,
knowing that what she was looking for wasn’t there. She shouldn’t
have brought her bag here just like she shouldn’t have slept with
Theron. Her mask was gone and so was he.

18

DAY 4: Sunday, December 21 - 7:00 a.m.

V’s tiny frame weaved in and out of the snow
covered trees. She was closing in on Parker Tower. It was only
thirty yards away. It stood tall against the rest of the landscape,
as a pillar of the next generation to come to the campus. It would
be a striking building against the river, just like the rest of
Holston Parker’s buildings. They were always striking.

Crouching down behind an evergreen, she
heard the needles scratch against her jacket before she moved
inches to her left. She listened for the sound of Gunnar’s voice,
watching for any movement in the dark, but she was too far away to
see anything in the shadows of the morning. She removed her black
glove, placing her hand on the .9 millimeter tucked just inside her
black pants. She pulled it out, holding it tight to her leg with
her finger ready on the trigger, as her eyes scanned the openings
of the building. Plastic sheeting that covered some of the openings
flapped in the breeze. She leaned to the right, looking through a
hole where the sheeting had fallen off and saw movement inside on
the first floor. V waited, counting to five. This was it. Gunnar
was here, as she had suspected.

She surveyed the area in front of her. There
were no more trees. She leapt up and flew to the wall with her head
ducked down. Squatting again, she leaned against the exposed cement
wall. She waited, counting to five again, before raising her head
into the opening. Theron sat on the concrete in the corner, forty
feet away, with duct tape around his legs, arms, and mouth. A black
bag covered his head. The letters LU splashed across his chest
underneath a black wool jacket. She moved her head back down
underneath the opening, breathing heavy as she dug her boots
further into the snow. He was alive.

With one hand gripping the gun, V ran her
other hand along the outside of her pants, feeling the pocket near
her knee. Slipping her hand in, she wrapped her fingers around the
handle of the blade, pulling it out and onto the side of her leg.
She looked to the frozen river where a slight haze of yellow
hovered. The sun was on the horizon. Soon the daylight would flood
the area and the building for all to see. Her time was running out
and so was Theron’s. She pulled the ski mask sitting on top of her
head down over her face.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

The black ski mask peeked around the corner
of the cement wall. V didn’t see Gunnar, although she knew he had
to be here. Somewhere. Springing forward, she ran to Theron,
sliding along the concrete to his legs to slit the duct tape with
one slash. She heard footsteps crashing in behind her. The blade
sliced, releasing Theron’s hands from behind his back.

“BITCH!” Gunnar’s voice yelled as he closed
in.

“Follow me,” she whispered in Theron’s ear
as she pulled him up, leading him off the concrete and toward the
opening on the other side of the building. As they sprinted
forward, Theron yanked the bag off his head, letting it fall to the
concrete. V turned back to see a flash of Gunnar’s white hair
hurtling in on them, his grunts becoming louder and faster. She
took aim, raising the gun into the air to fire two shots in his
direction before she turned to run again alongside Theron. No shots
were returned.

“This way,” Theron yelled as they ran
through the opening of the building into the exposed air outside.
She turned to take aim again, her arm extended out with the barrel
of the gun pointed inside the building, when her arm slammed
against the concrete wall with the contact of Gunnar’s boot. The
crushing blow of his boot caused her hand to stretch open,
releasing the gun as it skidded against the concrete.

“Don’t make me do this,” he grunted as he
swung his arm at her. V caught the glint of silver from a machete
as he raised it above his head before it came thrusting down toward
her. Theron turned back, stepping in front of V with his arm out
ready to attack. Gunnar’s arm swung through just as Theron pulled
his away, making contact with Theron’s chest. The blade sliced
through his dog tags and skin, leaving a deep slash across his
front and onto his side.

“AH!” Theron yelled as he grabbed at his
chest, blood seeping beneath his cut shirt. The tags dangled loose
to the ground. V kicked Gunnar in the groin before landing two hits
to the side of his knee, dropping him to the ground.

“GO!” she yelled to Theron, who stood in
shock against the wall. The tags fell to the ground when he
staggered forward into the darkness as they gained a lead on a
thrashing Gunnar.

19

DAY 4: Sunday, December 21 – 8:45 a.m.

The sound of the register rattling as the
heat turned on awoke Delaney from a deep slumber. She pulled the
quilt over her pounding head, letting the heat of the cocoon
consume her a few minutes longer. The sound of footsteps down the
hallway prompted her to pull the cover back down. She breathed in
the cool air of her old bedroom and looked at the clock.
8:45
a.m.
The night played back through her mind; the mysterious man
in the church burning in her sketches. She had miraculously made it
through dinner, numbing herself with alcohol until she found
herself for a good portion of the late evening sitting on the
toilet in the woman’s bathroom. She had sat with her phone in
contemplation, close to firing a host of warning messages to
Theron, but she hadn’t completed the task; Gunnar’s words seethed
through her brain. She would be good like he asked her to; he had
lifted the burden of Mr. Rowan from her. And Theron hadn’t done
anything. Gunnar wouldn’t possibly go near him. She rolled out of
the old twin bed and opened the door into the hallway to sweet
smells of cinnamon rolls and eggs.