In The Absence Of Light (48 page)

“Don’t worry about my reasons, just worry about telling me.” Hines put the tip of the blade against my thigh.

The doors to the church banged open and a dozen men with assault rifles walked in. Lorado stormed in surrounded by a protective ring of bullet fodder. His crisp gray suit a silver lining to the darker black and browns worn by his gunmen.

Seconds became minutes, minutes became hours. The rush of men turned into a series of swinging limbs, rustling fabric, hands moving out guns with fingers on the trigger. Angry voices bellowed, ricocheting off the church walls until they rolled like thunder.

A bullet whistled by my head. Hines fell back. The pulpit splintered, the guy standing near Jeff drew his gun. At the same time, I dove to the floor and crawled in the direction of the pews.

Lorado held out his arms. “What the hell is this, Hines? You think I wouldn’t notice? You think I don’t keep count of every bullet, every ounce, every time someone moves things in my operation?” He followed Hines as he scurried across the room.  “I told you what would happen if you fucked with me. We had a good thing, and you had to go and screw it up. Where’s my merchandise? Or are you gonna tell me some sob story about how it was accidentally loaded onto one of Grant’s shitty barges or someone else’s?”

Gone the menace in Hines's voice. Now he was just the scared kid trying to hide behind an overturned table, fumbling for his gun. Blood soaked his shirtsleeve and ran down his fingers in crimson strips. He couldn’t seem to get his weapon out of the holster.

Lorado fired off another series of shots. Craters formed in the stone walls above Hines’s head.

He finally got his gun in his hand, switched from the right to the left. Everyone had a weak side. For his sake, I hope he wasn’t too weak, but his shot was so off target Lorado didn’t even blink.

More bullets plugged the walls. Dust and paint chips became snow.  One of the other FBI boys rolled under the stage and disappeared. A second later, the curtain fluttered, pushed by flying lead. A blond guy carrying a Sig in each hand went down. Another was tossed off to the side between the pews. His ragged breathing was snuffed out by more bullets.

“You know,” Lorado said. “The first time, I let it slide. I saw the empty containers left behind with your surveillance setup. You cost me valuable merchandise. But I let it slip ‘cause I knew there was no way you were stupid enough to try again."

Men moved closer. I yanked up my pants leg and palmed the G19. The weight difference was awkward compared to my.45. Movement to my left caught my attention. Jeff slid down one of the other line of pews and behind a stack of old boxes.

I was so intent on tracking him, I almost missed the guy with the automatic. He swung around the corner, and I nailed him in the throat. A fan of crimson painted the Bibles stacked on the edge of the pew. He dropped his gun in favor of trying to stem the blood flow.

I crawled in Jeff’s direction. He had turned his wrist, watch held close to his lips. His gaze flicked from Lorado to the front of the church. Was he going to try to make a run for it?

Lorado’s voice filled the church. “All you had to do was play by the rules, Hines. I would have made you a very wealthy man. Fuck, I was making you a very wealthy man.”

Hines caught my gaze. Anger warred with fear. Fear warred with guilt.  I was right. He’d been playing with the bad guys and tried to beat them at their own game.  I could have told them there were no winners in the criminal world. Some just lived longer than others.

I used to think you could get out and increase your chances, but I’d been wrong.

The dark-skinned FBI agent popped up from between a row of pews. Muzzle flashes chased him as he backed up in the direction of a side door.  Lorado hit the ground when the man flanking him took a bullet to his chest. Two others made chase.

They both went down, but I had no idea where the shots came from. The guy under the stage? Hines?

Jeff moved down the aisle. Disjointed shapes of color paved the rotting carpet. The effect was so close to the light fragments cast by Morgan’s kinetic sculptures, for a moment I was there in his backyard. Fresh grass and the dew of early morning mixed with the ghost of last night’s cookout. When the sun broke over the trees, we’d sit in silence while he adjusted strings of metal around smooth droplets of glass.

There was a very good chance I’d never have another simple moment with him, one filled with love and his strange magic. The anger inside me broke loose. I might die, but I’ll be damned if I let Jeff walk away from this.

I rolled over a mound of trash, glass broke, things shifted under me, a sharp jab to my ribs made me grit my teeth. Using my elbow as a prop, I was able to steady my hand even in the seconds of chaos where my heart slammed into my ribs. Jeff didn’t see me until he rotated on his hip to take out another couple of men as they cut between the pews in his direction.

I couldn’t name the expression on his face. Not fear, not guilt. He was too calm for a man about to die.

The light blinds.

Jeff had searched me.

The light blinds.

He hadn’t fired a single shot in my direction.

The light blinds.

And now staring down the muzzle of my gun, knowing I could kill him with a squeeze of the trigger, he watched me.

…and sometimes the trust you think is broken is just a little dented up.

Trust. What I saw was trust. I pulled back behind the seat. If I was wrong, I’d hate myself tomorrow. If I lived till then.

More voices invaded the building, this time with military precision. Heavy boots thumped the floor, and the click of weapons being readied. Then the words I couldn’t understand at first fell into place.

“FBI, drop your weapons.”

Lorado made a half turn, and Hines shot him in the back.  The rest of the men tried to scatter, but side doors opened and more men dressed in swat gear and vests marked with Jeff’s frat house logo spilled in.

I dropped my gun, spread my arms out, and rolled onto my stomach. Maybe no one would shoot me in the back if I looked harmless enough.

Black shapes descended, and my arms were twisted between my shoulders. Searching hands groped my legs, ankles, lingered at the holster hidden inside my boot. Whoever it was, yanked it off my foot.  My pants leg was lifted then let go.

I turned my head and my face was abruptly shoved into the carpet. “Don’t move.”

“Special Agent Hines, don’t fire.” Hines stood from behind the overturned table. He took a couple of steps, and I lost sight of him between the gap in the pews to my left. I couldn’t understand what he said, but it started off crisp, only to be cut short by demands for him to drop his gun. His face hit the floor, and we stared at each other from the space under the seats.

Someone called for an ambulance. The death rattle of a dying man made it through the hum of voices. Someone else cried out, and one of the other men with Hines identified himself only to be answered with a command to drop his weapon and get down on the ground.

“He’s fine, let him up.” The sound of Jeff’s voice caught me off guard. Unlike Hines and the other, he wasn’t on the ground in cuffs.

The weight pinning me to the floor vanished. My arms protested as they slid to my side. I was careful to keep them out. Last thing I needed was for someone to think I was reaching for a weapon.

“You okay?” Jeff knelt.

I watched the agents as they checked bodies and handcuffed survivors. There weren’t many.

Outside the steady flow of light dimmed behind a cloud and the broken swatches of color faded.

“I guess I owe you an explanation. And a thank-you for not shooting me.”

I got to my knees. The rush of adrenaline receded, leaving my lips numb and my fingertips cold.

“Grant? You okay?”

I rubbed my face, then nodded. “Yeah, yeah.”

Jeff stood and offered me a hand up. I declined in favor of using the arm of one of the pews. As soon as I put weight on my right leg, a bolt of pain shot up through my ribs, then a wave of nausea knocked the air from my lungs. Everything flickered and a warm rush soaked my thigh.

“Shit.” Jeff hooked an arm under mine just in time to soften my landing back on the floor.  “Where’s the EMT? Danny, get the first aid kit.”

A well of blackish-red blood soaking my side spread wider. “Red.” I held up my fingers. “Like the bottles Morgan bought.”

Jeff’s expression pinched. Someone brought towels. “Let me see.”  Jeff tore open my shirt. A twisted piece of metal jutted out from below my ribs. He cursed, and I stared. All the glass on the floor, and it had been a piece of metal torn loose from a window, a wall, or just randomly laying around.

Jeff packed the towels around the metal shard.

“Hang on, an ambulance will be here in a few.”

There was so much blood, and it was really dark. “How long have you been playing double agent?” My attempt at a laugh ended in a grunt of pain.

“Be still.”

“Well?”

“You gonna tell me what was in those empty containers on the barge you sank?”

“Told you, didn’t—” I coughed and copper coated my tongue.

“We’ll argue later. We just need to get you to the hospital.”

There was so much blood and it was so damn dark. “If I don’t make it, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Shut up, Grant, you’ll be fine. You took a bullet to the chest. This is just a splinter in comparison.”

But the bullet had been a through and through, and whatever the piece of steel had pierced was not as forgiving as muscle, tendon, and bone.  “I promised Morgan I’d put a ring on his finger.”

Jeff stuttered in his rush to pack the wound.

“I was going to ask him to marry me.”

EMTs came through the door. A gurney was lowered.

“I think it might have hit his spleen,” Jeff said.

Someone stuck me with a needle; a fluid bag hovered overhead.  I grabbed Jeff’s arm. “I promised I’d be back to put it on his finger. If I’m not…”

Jeff leaned in. The tears on his cheeks landed on the cushion beside my head. “If you want to put a ring on your boyfriend’s hand, then you’d better survive, because I’m not doing it for you.”

I think I called him an asshole before I blacked out.

Chapter Nine

The shard of metal missed my small intestines by millimeters and nicked my spleen. An almost sixteen inch long razor sharp sliver of tin should have perforated everything. But somehow it avoided all my major organs by curling up between the space behind my ribs.

I was in the hospital six days, but only because of the risk for infection. I’d always healed up pretty well in my life, but this time, even I was surprised.

Don’t get me wrong. It hurt like a bitch. Every time I breathed. Moved the wrong way. Laughed.

Took a piss.

I think it wasn’t as noticeable because of the pain in my heart.

I still hadn’t called to check on Morgan, and with every passing day, it became easier and easier to rationalize why I shouldn’t.

What if I put him in danger again?

What if he couldn’t forgive me for almost getting him killed?

There were more excuses, but it’s all they were. Excuses. My lame attempts to cover up the truth.

Could I spend the rest of my life looking at Morgan lost in his head? And worse, was I willing to?

“I heard they were going to let you go home.”

I hadn’t seen Jeff except behind a cloud of pain meds. The two days I’d been sober, he’d been MIA. Now here he was, leaning against my doorframe.

“Yeah. Food sucks and I haven’t had a decent beer in over a week.”  I struggled to pull the shirt over my head.

“I see the clothes I left fit.”  Jeff walked over.

“Jeans are a little big, but yeah, they fit.” The stitches pulled, and I grunted.

“Need help?”

He didn’t give me time to answer.  He untangled the shirt where it bunched up in the back. The warmth of his touch followed the hem down my ribs. He lingered until I slid off the corner of the bed.

“You never did answer me.” I said.

Jeff made a face. “About what?”

“How long have you been playing both sides of the fence?”

He smiled and dropped his gaze. “I suspected something was up for a while. But I knew for sure when you sank the barge.”

“Freak accident. Not my fault.”

His mouth cocked to the side. “Well, that freak accident outed Hines. He lied about where the barge went down so they couldn’t recover the equipment. And I’m not talking a few feet off, but miles.”

“Why?”

“I asked the same question, so I did some scuba diving.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I told you, I take my job seriously.”

“You dove, in that water, in the fucking winter.” That went beyond dedicated and into the realm of crazy.

“Not that seriously. I rented a submersible from a treasure hunter store.”

“I’d think the FBI would have stuff like that on hand.”

“Oh, they do. But I didn’t want Hines to know I’d gone back to look.”

“What did you find?”

“The barge, the FBI surveillance unit, and what looked like lots and lots of drugs. Or what was left of them. There was another container on that barge too, open and empty. But I’m guessing you wouldn’t have a clue as to what was on it since it wasn’t your container.”

I gave Jeff my best poker face. “Mix up in the paperwork. Happens sometimes, wind up with the wrong container on your boat. All I can tell you is Lorado was pissed as hell when he received my Aston Martin. Can’t imagine anyone not appreciating an Aton Martin, can you?”

In a way, Hines saved my ass. Otherwise Lorado might have thought I’d tried to steal from him. I wondered at the time why he didn’t ask more questions, but figured he didn’t want to stir the proverbial hornet’s nest.

“Well, whatever it was must have been related to Houdini.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, it was unlocked and was empty. So either it disintegrated or swam away.”

“Current probably carried it off.”

“And the unlocking part?”

“Maybe they forgot to padlock it?”

“No, I found the padlock, it had been cut.”

One of the few things you never go without on a barge, bolt cutters. Just in case, you know, you wind up with something you need to get out of a container really fast and shove into the water.

“Some people have all the luck.” I gave a dramatic sigh. “Just think what would have happened to Hines if the FBI had found that surveillance setup filled with drugs.”

“Forget them. Lorado. That load was five years’ worth of skimming. He had a buyer and was riding your barge to meet with them because Lorado knew he was SAP on the case. So if he ran into Lorado or any of his customers, it wouldn’t have looked out of place.”

“What about the other two men on the boat with him?”

“Richey and Mark were already in on it. So I went to Hines and said I wanted a cut.”

“A little risky. He could have put you in a container on one of those shoddy barges.”

“I’m sure it crossed his mind. But my undercover work on you gave him an excuse to hang around some of the hot spots. It almost fell apart after the boat
accidentally on purpose
sank, because he had some very angry customers who wanted their money back.”

“The missing money from his bank accounts.”

“Yeah. It was only a partial apology. He had to work fast after that. Take more than he had been, more often. Keeping me around gave him an excuse to stay in the field. But he got greedy. And Lorado took notice. Him showing up at the church was not a part of the plan. I’m sorry about that.”

“If you’d told me what you were trying to do in the beginning, I wouldn’t have been so reluctant to help.”

“Would you have believed me?”

Would I? “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I wouldn’t. And honestly, I wanted to keep you as far away as possible from the melee when it finally went down. You’d taken a bullet for me once. I didn’t want to risk it again.”

I rubbed my scar.

“Thanks to Lorado showing up at the wrong time, you still wound up in the line of fire.”

“Not part of the script huh?”

“Wasn’t supposed to be. But I guess he could have found out at any time. Just sucked it had to be right then.” Jeff shrugged. “Anyhow, you moved to that dirt bowl, and I let Hines talk me into following and trying to threaten the info out of you. Then you know the rest.”

“Town is called Durstrand. It’s actually a nice place. Real pretty in the fall.”

“Yeah, but you always talked about the beaches.”

I had. The smell of the ocean, the feel of the sand, the sight of the tide washing in and out. I’d only gone once as a kid, but it stuck with me. As an adult, I’d swore that’s where I’d retire.

“Things change.”

“I was thinking.” He handed me my shoes.

“Don’t you need to file some paperwork for permission to do that?”

He laughed, but it died pretty quick. Not in a sad way, but as if he was saving his breath for something more important. “Why don’t you stay with me for a couple of weeks? At least until you’re healed up enough to dress yourself.”

“I’m good.” My attempt to reach my feet ended in a cold sweat.

“You can’t even put on your shoes.”

I dropped the sneakers on the floor and crammed my foot into them. The tongues bunched up, and the heel collapsed. I didn’t give a fuck.  “See, shoes are on.”

“Grant.” And he said my name in a private way, belonging in quiet moments wrapped in someone’s arms. “Don’t do this to yourself.” I looked up, and he dropped his gaze.

“Do what?”

“I think you know.”

“Obviously not.”

“Maybe you should call before you go back. Or is there a specific reason why you haven’t?”

“I was a little busy. Getting shot at can really make for a rough day.” But the look on Jeff’s face said he already knew.

“You called.”

“I didn’t have to.” Jeff stuck his hands in his pockets, then took them out. They wound up on his hips for a split second like he didn’t know what to do with them. “You said some things when you were out of it.”

“Like what?”

“You said you didn’t know if you’d be able to handle seeing Morgan again.”

My cheeks burned.

“You said something had happened and ‘he’d gone away.’ You kept asking him not to step off the cliff. I tried to get you to tell me what you meant and finally you said regression. I didn’t even know what it meant until I looked it up.”

“Morgan regressed once, a long time ago. He was fine, though.”

“But it’s happened again because he was attacked.” Jeff made it a statement.

“When I left, the nurse wasn’t sure. He was sedated, and it hadn’t worn off yet. Plus he was in shock. He shot a man.” A man he’d lived in fear of for years. The creature of his nightmares. How many times had Morgan cried out in his sleep and I held him until the worst of it went away? Thinking about it then made me realize he never really woke up from those dreams, he just slipped somewhere else until they were over, then went back to sleep.

“It has to be bad, Grant.”

“Did someone call?” I looked around for my cell phone. It was in the bag on the rollaway with my wallet. Dead of course.

“No, no one called, but you said you made Aunt Jenny promise not to put him in a home.”

“The hospital gave her a pamphlet. It was a ‘just in case’ thing.”

“I should have called after I checked in the motel.”

“You were scared.”

My guilt forced me to have to sit on the edge of the bed. “Yeah.”

“What are you going to do if you go back and he hasn’t come out of this”—Jeff waved a hand—“whatever?”

“He came back once before, the nurse was pretty sure we were just seeing a reaction to the sedative they gave him.” It didn’t even sound convincing to me.

“I asked one of the psychiatrists here about regression in autism patients, and he said his experience hasn’t been positive. He also said it can happen anytime, not just with trauma.”

I wadded up the plastic bag with my belongings. “Yeah, well, he doesn’t know Morgan.”

“What if you go back and he stays regressed? What if he’ll never be normal?”

Normal.  But then Morgan never was normal. Remarkable maybe. But never normal.

“Then I’ll get specialists, therapists, anyone…” Surely to God someone could help him. If only Lori had been alive but she wasn’t and I doubted even the experts knew her secret.

If Morgan was anything like I feared, I’d become his caregiver for the rest of my life. Loving him, but not mentally, physically, or emotionally able, to deal with the trials to come.

“No one would blame you if you didn’t go back.” Jeff cupped my cheek.

I shook my head. “I promised him I’d come home.” My eyes burned. “I promised him I would put a ring on his finger. I promised to marry him if he would let me.” No tears fell, but the world wavered. “I can’t break my promise.”

Jeff grabbed me by the shoulder and stopped me from falling off the bed. “Breathe, Grant.” He picked up the call button. “I need a nurse in here.”

I shook my head.

“Yes, you do.”

I shoved his hand away, and even though everything exploded in multicolored spots, I forced myself to my feet. A nurse ran in, took one look at me, and ordered me back in the bed.

“I’m going home.”

“Grant…”

“Goddamn it, I’m going home.” Screaming took the last of my strength. I collapsed on the floor. Another nurse was called in, and with Jeff’s help, I wound up lying in the hospital bed with the rails pulled up.

I threw my arm over my eyes. One of the nurses took my vitals, the other put an O2 monitor on my finger.

“His blood pressure’s a little high,” said one nurse. “I’ll let the doctor know.”

They left, and I yelled at the closed door. “I’m going home no matter what the fuck he says.” I tried to sit up. Jeff wrestled the railing out of the way, and I wound up sagging in his arms crying on his shoulder.

He petted me. “I just don’t want you to go back and find nothing there.”

Nothing. As if Morgan had died and there was an empty space. Only, in some ways, he had. In some ways, it was even worse. If he was lost in his head, what lay in wait for me was something I knew I wasn’t prepared for.

If I’d thought for a second love would have brought Morgan back, I would have been running out the door. But Aunt Jenny was right. If love could fix something like autism, then parents would never have to face it.

“I have to go back.” I barely recognized my voice.

“Not this minute, you don’t. Take a few days. A few weeks. Rest. Think about this.”

Only I didn’t want to think about it, because when I did, the excuses grew.

“I’ve got a spare room in my new place. You can stay there until you decide.”