Nightstruck (12 page)

I had to admit to being a little worried about Piper, worried about what might happen to her if she was out at some drug-riddled party with no one to rein her in. But Luke was supposed to be her boyfriend, not her bodyguard.

I shook my head. “She wouldn't have let you watch over her,” I said, and knew immediately that I was right. “I saw what she was like once she got a couple of drinks in her.”

Luke acknowledged the point with a nod and a resigned sigh, but I could tell he still felt bad about it. Sometimes being Piper's friend was downright exhausting. I imagined being her boyfriend was about ten times worse.

We fell silent as we turned the corner and the railing came into view. We weren't close enough to make out any details yet, but I found myself holding my breath and staring at the thing intently as we approached, wondering which version I would see now. Maybe it would be back to the fleur-de-lis. I didn't know what conclusion I would draw if that was the case.

But as we got closer and closer and I kept staring, the details of the phallic symbol became steadily clearer, and I knew the moment of truth was almost upon us. My heart was hammering, and my ribs felt unnaturally tight in my chest. I sensed Luke looking at me quizzically, but I couldn't take my eyes off the railing.

“What are you looking…?”

Luke's voice trailed off. I finally tore my gaze away from the railing and saw that Luke was now staring at it too, his eyebrows raised, his jaw open.

“What the hell?” he said with an almost choked-sounding laugh. “How long has
that
been there? I never noticed it before.”

I felt suddenly dizzy and breathless. “So you see it, too.”

Luke's brow furrowed and he cocked his head at me. “Of course I see it. What do you mean?”

I swallowed hard and pulled my phone out of my pocket. I meant to show him the photos I'd already taken, but realized at the last moment that he would probably think I'd doctored them somehow, so instead I handed it to him and said, “Do me a favor and take a photo of it.”

He looked even more puzzled. “What? Why?”

I crossed my arms over my chest as if I could hold myself together that way. “Just do it. Please.”

He was still looking at me funny, and I couldn't blame him. And just because he saw the phallic symbol, it didn't mean the photo would work the same way for him as it had for me. My mouth was completely devoid of spit, and I was so tense I felt I might shatter at the slightest touch.

Luke shrugged and took the photo, looking at me afterward as if awaiting further instructions.

“Now bring the photo up,” I whispered, my throat almost too tight to let any sound out.

I knew Luke saw exactly what I saw when he brought the picture up, because he let out a little cry of surprise and dropped the phone.

 

CHAPTER TEN

“I'd accuse you of playing a prank, if I could only figure out how you could've pulled it off,” Luke said.

We'd skipped the grocery store and gone back to my place to try to sort through what we'd both seen. So far, Luke was still trying to fight it all off, come up with a logical explanation. Me, I was finally beginning to accept that something totally impossible was happening. But then, I'd been fighting the weirdness for almost two weeks already, so I had a head start toward acceptance.

I'd made us a pot of coffee, just to have something to do with my hands, and now we carried our mugs out into the living room and sat on the couch. Bob was being unusually clingy, sticking to my side like glue. I was lucky I didn't spill my coffee, considering the number of times I found him in my way.

When Luke and I sat on the couch, Bob jumped up on the seat between us, circling the spot and whacking us both in the face with his tail before he plopped down and made himself comfortable.

“You're not allowed on the sofa,” I reminded him, and he gave me a look as if to say,
Your point being…?

“He senses we're freaked out,” Luke said. “Dogs are good at that kind of thing.”

“That doesn't mean he's suddenly allowed on the sofa,” I said. But instead of grabbing his collar and demanding he get down, I found myself laying my hand on his head and scratching behind his ears. He gave a happy sigh and laid his chin on my thigh. “I'm such a pushover,” I muttered under my breath, but there's nothing like petting a dog to soothe frayed nerves, and my nerves very much needed soothing.

Bob wagged his tail once in response, dipping some of his feathery tail hair into Luke's coffee in the process. Instead of looking annoyed that he was stuck with the wrong end of a dog practically in his face, Luke just set the coffee aside and shook his head.

“I still can't quite believe what I saw,” he admitted. “Why hasn't anybody else noticed?”

“How often do you actually
look
at a railing when you walk past it?”

He shrugged, unconvinced. “Yeah, but still…”

“And how do you know no one else has noticed it?”

“I think if someone had noticed, we'd have seen it on the six o'clock news by now, don't you?”

“Seen
what
exactly? When we tried to take a picture of it, it didn't show up.”

“Well … they'd
talk
about it at least, wouldn't they?”

I thought about my dad, about all the late hours he'd been working, about how he was always on the phone even when he was home. And I thought about him telling me that they were getting lots of weird 9-1-1 calls at night.

“I think maybe people
have
noticed,” I said. “And I think maybe the powers that be are trying to keep it quiet.” I told him about what was going on with my dad. “It's not just that one railing that's changing,” I said.

Bob had filled up every spare inch of space on the couch between us, his butt tucked up against Luke's leg. Luke laid his hand on Bob's back and started stroking idly. Bob twitched a bit, as if unsure whether he wanted to grant Luke that privilege, but then he relaxed and accepted the extra attention as his due.

Luke's phone bleeped with a text message, and he frowned briefly when he saw it, typing out a quick reply.

“I should go,” he said. “My mom's wondering why a trip to the grocery store is taking so long.”

We both stared at the empty grocery bags draped over the arm of the couch.

“What should I tell her?” Luke asked.

“I don't know. I guess it depends on whether you think ignorance is bliss.” I chewed on my lip for a moment. “Are you mad at me for getting you involved, for showing you what was going on?”

“Of course not!” he responded with gratifying haste. His gaze dropped to his hand, which was almost invisible as he stroked Bob's thick coat. Bob raised one of his front legs to let his servant know where he wanted to be scratched, and Luke obliged.

“You're definitely winning Bob over,” I told him with a little smile. “I've never seen him ask for a belly rub from anyone except me and my mom. Not even my dad.” Dad and Bob had more of a professional relationship than an emotional one, though I knew Dad loved Bob in his own way.

“It'll have to be a quickie this time, Bob,” Luke said, giving Bob's belly a pat. “But let's do it again sometime, okay?”

His words caused a not-unpleasant quivery feeling in my stomach. It sounded like maybe Luke wanted to see more of me. I mean, sure, it was Bob he'd actually suggested he wanted to see more of, but Bob and I were a package deal.

He's still Piper's boyfriend,
I reminded myself. So if we ended up hanging out now and then, it would have to remain platonic. Even if he and Piper were to break up, I wasn't the kind of girl who would date her best friend's ex.

I wrenched my mind away from the direction it was going, knowing I was getting way ahead of myself and making too much out of a few casual words.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” I said. “I seriously thought I was going crazy.”

He gave me a dubious look. “And you actually feel
better
knowing it's real?”

“Misery loves company?” I said with an apologetic shrug. “Are you going to tell your mom?”

He frowned. “Haven't decided yet. I'll have to explain why I'm not bringing home any groceries, but I don't know … Are you going to talk to your dad?”

“Yes,” I said, with no hint of uncertainty. My dad and I had been butting heads an awful lot in the last year or so, and we were never going to go back to being as close as we were before the marriage went south, but I was convinced he knew way more than he was telling me, and I planned to get him talking.

*   *   *

It was nearly midnight by the time Dad got home. I was waiting up for him on the living room sofa, trying but failing to work on a history term paper that was due on Monday. Mostly, I just stared at the screen of my laptop and zoned out, but other times I managed a sentence or two that I invariably deleted five minutes later. Bob was stretched out beside me on the couch, his head against my hip, but he'd long ago fallen asleep and wasn't much company. I was pretty tired myself, but not overly eager to face whatever dreams my mind planned to throw at me tonight.

Bob woke up the second he heard the key in the lock, and he was off the couch and doing a welcome home dance before the door even began to open. I quickly brushed the dog hair off the middle seat and fluffed up the cushions. The leather might still hold a hint of
eau de chien,
but based on the look on my dad's face, a dog on a forbidden couch was the least of his worries.

I swear he was looking older every day. The bags under his eyes were growing more pronounced and darker, and the brackets around his mouth had gone from shallow trenches to veritable canyons.

“What are you doing still up?” he asked, rubbing at his eyes and stifling a yawn.

Maybe now isn't the best time for this conversation,
I thought to myself. It didn't look to me like Dad needed one more thing on his plate right now, so maybe I should just leave it until morning.

The problem was, if things stayed true to form, he wasn't going to look much perkier in the morning—he might even look worse, if the phone ended up ringing at some unholy hour—so there was no point in putting it off.

“I need to talk to you about something,” I said, and though he tried to hide it, I could see the hint of worry that sparked in his eyes.

“Any chance it can wait until morning?” he asked. “I'm dead tired.”

I was tempted to take the out he'd just given me, to spend a few more hours trying to pretend that everything in my world was normal. But denial no longer seemed like such a hot idea, and I wanted to know how much of what I'd seen might be real. After all, just because the fleur-de-lis had turned into a phallic symbol didn't mean I'd really been chased by a trash monster or that I'd really seen a baby turn into a pile of dust and blow away.

“No, I don't think it can,” I said, searching his eyes to see his reaction. He's usually pretty good at hiding what he's thinking—one of the many “flaws” my mom harped on during their epic fights as the marriage ended—but he didn't do such a great job this time.

I'd suspected from the moment Luke and I had talked about it that some of the weird things that were happening in the city and keeping my dad at work so much were the same brand of weird I'd been experiencing, and the look in my dad's eyes was all the confirmation I needed.

Walking gingerly, as if his bones were aching, he made his way to his favorite chair and dropped down into it with a groan. “What have you seen?” he asked.

At least he wasn't bothering with a useless denial. “Enough to make
The Twilight Zone
seem like a documentary.”

He winced and rubbed his eyes again.

“What's going on, Dad?”

He shook his head and sighed. “I wish I knew, Becks. I wish I knew.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees. “What really happened on the night you called nine-one-one?”

I was surprised to find I was still harboring a fair amount of anger about that night. My response made it out of my mouth before I had a chance to think better of it. “You already made it clear that you know the One True Answer to that question, and nothing I have to say about it is worth listening to.”

“I made a mistake,” he admitted. “But it's not like you were telling me the truth, so don't mount your high horse just yet.” The words came out mildly reproachful rather than angry, and that helped defuse my own fit of pique.

“If you didn't believe the plausible explanation, then you would never in a million years have believed the real one,” I said, with no heat.

“Maybe not then,” he agreed with a nod. “But I'm listening now. I doubt it's any stranger than a lot of the nine-one-one calls I've been hearing about lately.”

That was far from a comforting thought. However, it seemed he was ready to hear me out and that he wasn't going to haul me off to have my head examined inside and out.

Bracing myself to relive the terrible experiences of that night in the alley, I told my dad the truth.

*   *   *

Dad sat in stunned silence for an uncomfortably long time after I stopped talking. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, except that they weren't good thoughts. His eyes looked so distant I almost felt like he was no longer in the room with me.

“Do you believe me?” I asked when his silence became unbearable.

Dad shook his head slightly, but he was just bringing himself back to reality, not saying no. He blinked and his eyes refocused.

“I think I liked it better when I thought it was a prank,” he admitted. “But yes, I believe you. There have been so many impossible things happening lately.…” He made a frustrated-sounding grunt. “Eventually you realize they can't
all
be made up.”