Ignited (36 page)

The idea that his mother would play this game now infuriated him. He turned the knob and, finding it unlocked, stalked into the house. “Mother, where are you?”

All the rooms were dark. He might not have found her if he hadn’t heard the quiet sobs coming from the living room. 

She was still in her nightgown, with her face naked and her hair loose down her back. That, more than the tears, shocked Henry. Had he ever seen her without her fashionable armor? She was tucked in the corner of the red velvet couch with one of his grandfather’s old coats wrapped around her shoulders. The tissues scattered around her testified to the day she had spent grieving. 

Feeling more sympathetic toward her than he had in years, Henry laid a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, looking up at him with tears tracking down her face. “What are you doing here?”

Henry pulled his hand back as if he’d been burned. “I thought … I wanted ….”

“You should have done something!” She was on her feet now, wild with grief. “You should have known better!”

Henry was so shocked he couldn’t form words. Some terrible part of him agreed with her. He should have forced his grandfather into an exam, he should have made him rest, he should have noticed that his grandfather was floundering. If he had stayed on his grandfather’s couch instead of at his house with Ruth, would he have been able to get help in time? The guilt was like an anvil on his chest.

With effort, he pushed it away. He couldn’t let himself sink into the quicksand of what-ifs. “I tried to save him, mother. He died holding my hand.”

“How could you let that happen? How am I supposed to live without him? He was the only one who loved me, the only one who cared.”

“Mother—”

“Oh, don’t try to placate me, I know you always loved him best. I was never enough for you. You always ran to him when you were hurt or scared, never to me. You never wanted me to take care of you.”

“What are you talking about?” Henry’s voice was shaking. “I
always
wanted you to take care of me. But you never gave me an ounce of sympathy.”

“I had to toughen you up, didn’t I?” She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking comfort. “Growing up without a father. I had to make sure you were the sort of man twho would have made your father proud.”

“I never cared about making my father proud! I didn’t even know him. You know whose opinion I cared about? Yours!” He was shouting now. He had never shouted at his mother, but he couldn’t seem to stop it. “I went to Granddad because I knew he loved me. I knew he would take care of me. You never did anything but dismiss me.”

When his mother didn’t reply, Henry shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m a grown man, and I’ve found someone who wants to take care of me. Who thinks I’m worth taking care of. And we’ll take care of each other. I don’t need you.” 

It was a lie, but maybe someday it would be true. He didn’t know why he’d come here. Had he expected that, in her grief, his mother would become a different person? Or was it some residual desire to be the good son Ruth believed him to be? 

Whatever he’d hope for, this wasn’t it. With his heart breaking, Henry turned to leave. 

“Wait.”

He shook his head and kept walking.

“Please wait.” She choked on the words, but managed to get them out. Henry stopped but didn’t turn. 

“I’m sorry, Henry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said …. But I’m so afraid. I’m so, so … lonely.” She was weeping again, and despite himself Henry yearned to comfort her. “Your father’s been gone nearly thirty years, and I still miss him every day. Now my father is gone, and I can’t imagine life without him. I can’t … please, I can’t lose you too.”

She came around to stand in front of him. With her face twisted, she reached inside her nightgown and pulled out the heirloom ring. “Your grandfather gave this back to me and he told me what you said, about starting a new tradition. He was ashamed of me for trying to keep it from you. But I couldn’t stand the idea of letting it go. Of letting you go.”

“You don’t get to decide what I do. I’m marrying Ruth, whether you approve or not.”

She nodded. “She seemed like a very sweet girl. Please, give her this.” She opened the chain and removed the ring. “Your grandfather said that I was going to end up losing you. He said I was holding so tight to the past that I couldn’t see a future. And he was right. He was so right.” 

Tears were streaming from her eyes, but she ignored them. “I want you to be happy. Does this girl make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Then take it. Please,” she said, pressing the ring into his hand. “The time I had with your father was the best in my life. I suppose I let that ruin the rest of it. But I want to make amends, Henry. Please don’t walk away. Please, I want to be part of your life.”

Henry hesitated. “Things have to change. No more petty judgments, no more jabs at my choices.”

She nodded eagerly, wiping at her tears. “Bring Ruth to dinner on Tuesday.”

“No,” he said on impulse. “You come to dinner at my house on Tuesday. Our house. It won’t be formal, but it might be fun.”

He’d surprised her, but she recovered quickly. “I’d love to.”

“Okay.” It was suddenly awkward to be standing there, finagling a new status quo. “I should probably be going.”

“Stay. Just for a little while. Please. I found this box,” she said, rushing around to where she had been sitting when he came in. “Old photographs, from when you were a baby. Your grandfather had that funny German camera, do you remember?”

Curious, he sat next to her on the couch. “The one that looked like an accordion?”

She laughed. He wondered how long it had been since he made her laugh. “That’s it. Look, look at these. Here’s one of you sledding.”

Henry supposed there was a child buried under the layers of clothing. He had a sudden memory of his mother swaddling him in coats and scarves, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. “Flexible Flyer,” he murmured.

“You and Bill nearly killed yourselves every winter,” she said fondly. “Here, this one is of the three of us.”

Henry was hitched up in his grandfather’s arms while his mother stood at his side. She was smiling for the camera, but Henry could see the melancholy haunting her eyes. Now that he had Ruth, he thought he could imagine how much it would hurt to lose the one you loved. He took his mother’s hand. 

She gripped his in return. “I miss your grandfather already.”

“Me too,” Henry said. For a while, they sat on the couch and grieved together.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Henry

The next morning started slowly. People were either unaware the clinic was open, or were avoiding the place for fear of bothering Henry while he was trying to grieve. Either way, it didn’t give Henry the kind of distraction he’d been seeking.

It was difficult to focus solely on paperwork when he knew his grandfather had passed away on the floor above where he was sitting. A real, live, human patient would have been a tremendous help. The only work he’d done that had required anything other than writing had been to prep Mrs. McClure’s insulin shot. The shot still sat, capped, on his desk top. She hadn’t come back to get it yet.

As soon as she was done with her shot, though, there wasn’t a point in staying open. He was nearly three hours into the day, and the waiting room was like a ghost town. Henry was ready to call it, put up a sign telling everyone he’d be at his home if they needed him, and give himself the time off everyone kept saying he deserved.

Mrs. McClure appeared in the doorway, flushed and frowning.

“There are some people in the waiting room,” she said, clipped and nervous. She glanced down the hallway and then back at him.

Henry blinked. Something didn’t feel right. “Well,” he said, dragging out the word. “Good.”

“A lot of people.” Her words came more urgently now. “Nearly twenty. They all came in together.”

“Was there another fight?” Henry stood up and moved around his desk, frowning. “Did you see anything—broken bones, or possible concussions, or—”

Mrs. McClure shook her head quickly. “No, they looked fine. I think they’re …,” she took a step closer, dropped her voice. “I think they’re from that church. Ruth’s church.”

Henry froze. “All of them?”

She nodded.

The pit of Henry’s stomach tightened into a knot. Twenty members of the Lamb of God in his waiting room, all uninjured? This wasn’t a doctor’s visit. This wasn’t anything good at all.

There were feet in the hallway, and someone let out an angry whoop.

“Grab a weapon,” Mrs. McClure hissed. “
Do something
.”

Henry grabbed the first thing he saw.

Henry grabbed Mrs. McClure’s arm and pulled her toward the hallway. They couldn’t get trapped in his office. If they did, they’d never escape.

The pair of them stumbled into Bo Erikson, every inch of him blocking Henry’s doorway. He towered over them, leering as he tried to use his mass to push them back into the room. Henry threw his shoulder into the man’s sternum. It only knocked him back a step, but a step was all they needed to slip completely into the hall and out of his office.

Not that it did much good. There were people on all sides: Peggy and Jack Williams were in the crowd, and a few of the other men Henry had seen at the meeting in the diner. All of them were those who had spoken out about demonic possession. Captain Barton and the others who’d been clinging to the idea that the fog came from the Soviets were missing.

There was only one reason the parishioners of Lamb of God would corner him like this—Ruth. Ruth who was currently sitting in their home, reading or sewing or singing, none the wiser that everything was going wrong.

He had to get to Ruth.

Henry clamped a hand around Mrs. McClure’s wrist. “Come on!”

They lunged to the right, but the crowd was there, pushing them back toward his office. He heard Mrs. McClure yelp as someone pushed her, hard. She stumbled back, nearly taking Henry with her, but he refused to let go. He wrenched her back to standing.

They were going to get out of here. They had to. There was no other option.

Henry pulled out what he had grabbed as he fled the office: a syringe.

He uncapped it one handed and brandished it. The people around him backed up to avoid his flailing arm, but started to titter when they saw what it was.

“What are you gonna do with
that
?” Jack Williams crowed, taking a step closer. “Think we’re all afraid of a little shot,
Doctor
?”

“You would be if you knew what was in here.” Henry spat, low and dangerous. Mrs. McClure stared at him, eyes focused on the syringe.

It was her insulin. She knew that, and he knew that. No one else did.

“You all laughed at the science, but while you were busy blaming the devil and selling your souls to Preacher Baker, my grandfather and I worked together to find out what was
really
going on.”

The lies kept rolling off his tongue, easy as breathing. “We isolated the blood cell that was causing this change, something that was developed in the fog.” He paused, his mind racing, and he blurted out, “The
blue
blood cell.”

Whatever BBC
really
stood for, it meant blue blood cell now.

The crowd froze, twenty pairs of too-wide eyes staring at the clear liquid in his hand.

Bo Erikson recovered first. “That’s not blood. It’s not even
red
.”

“They’re isolated cells,” Henry said. “They don’t have to be red.” It was getting easier and easier to bluff his way through this. For effect, he added a scoff. “Which one of us is the medical professional here?”

Lies, lies. More lies. No one seemed fully convinced, but they also didn’t look like they wanted to test him and be wrong.

Henry took a step forward, jabbing out with the needle. People jumped back, getting out of his way. Jack Williams reached out for Mrs. McClure, pulling her to a halt, and Henry whipped around, stabbing down with the needle. Jack barely pulled his arm back in time, going pale as he took several steps away.

No one else touched them. Henry turned as they hit the edge of the group, keeping his eyes on them, Mrs. McClure safely tucked behind him. She led him to the door, and they stumbled their way outside.

They took a few running steps away from the clinic, but Mrs. McClure was not able to go far. The front door was fifty feet away, out of earshot, and Henry pressed the flat end of the syringe into the palm of her hand.

“Take this,” he whispered urgently. “Get to your house, lock the doors and windows. Don’t let anyone inside. If anyone tries anything against you, you tell them what I said about the blood cells. Take your shot and put water in that thing.”

Her eyes were watery. “You’re not coming with me? Where are you going?”

The guilt was hot in his chest, but he shook his head no. “They’ve been waiting for something like this, like Granddad dying. They wanted Ruth and me to be weak before they attacked and made their move. Her father wants to exorcise her, and I—I can’t let anything happen to her. I love her.”

Mrs. McClure clutched at the syringe, sniffling but nodding bravely. “Go get her.”

He was already running, his heart beating out a fast
Ruth, Ruth, Ruth.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Ruth

Ruth stared at herself in the full length mirror in Henry’s—no,
their-
bedroom. After hours of hard work and sore fingers, she’d finally finished her first garment from the fabric Henry had bought her. The deep red chiffon seemed to glow softly in the morning light. It hit her body in just the right places, tight around the bust, flaring out around her hips and falling just past her knees.

Of course, she’d have preferred to be at Henry’s side today, just in case he needed her, but he’d sworn up and down that what he required more than anything else was a distraction. Something normal, routine. His job.