The Atheist's Daughter (24 page)

“You’ve got issues?”

“Maybe.” He scratched at his head. “I honestly don’t know.”

“I was on my way to her place.” Liz gestured at the taxi in the center of the street. “You can hitch a ride.”

“My father doesn’t want me to see her. He practically begged me to stay with him.”

“Some church thing?”

“No. Dad had a nightmare and now he’s scared of Kristin.”

“Get out,” Liz said. There wasn’t the slightest trace of humor in Hawkins’ face. “Our Kristin?”

In the gloomiest voice she’d ever heard, he said, “He says she’s Satan’s spawn.”

Linking her arm with his, she led him to the taxicab.

“Normally, the deranged Dad thing would really peak my interest,” Liz said, “but wait ‘til you hear about my day.”

* * *

Taking the container, Kristin cradled it in her gauze-wrapped hand. Curled across the lid, gold lettering read,
Ashfork Imports and Oddities.

“Too late for the job now, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Norton said. “I doubt it would have worked out, anyway. They were seeking an assistant with a little discretion.”

Nestled inside the box were three brown capsules. Kristin picked up the center pill to examine it. “It’s filled with dirt.”

“Dirt? No. It’s Hyoscyamus niger. Henbane.” She frowned. “What’s the matter with you, child? Didn’t you ever read Hamlet?”

“In Sophmore English.”

“Well?”

Kristin shook her head.

“It’s poison.”

Becky rose from her chair. “Poison!”

Mr. Brass shifted his weapon, pointing the pistol at Becky. “Sit.”

“Fetch a glass of water,” Mrs. Norton said. “You’ll need it to swallow the pills.”

Kristin spilled the tablet into its box. “You first.”

“You can’t be serious,” Martin said to Mrs. Norton as he climbed to his knees. “That’s insane.”

“Name-calling, Martin?”

“My daughter is not taking those pills,” Becky said. “Martin’s right. The two of you need help.”

“I told you to sit down.” Mr. Brass pointed the mouth of the derringer at Becky’s forehead. “Do it now, meat.”

“Fuck you.”

Stepping over the corner of the end table, Mr. Brass cocked his arm. When Becky started to speak, he swung his fist out, smashing his gun hand against the side of her head. She crumpled, her eyes glazing as her legs collapsed.

“Mom!” Kristin cried as her mother slid from the white seat cushion and fell to the ground.

Mr. Brass examined his victim. “Still breathing. Might have lost a tooth or two but she’s okay.”

“You hurt her!”

“Could have been worse.”

He straightened as Martin sprang forward. “
Die!
” the old man cried.

Holding the recovered bread knife, he plunged the weapon into his enemy’s chest. The knife protruding from his shirt, Mr. Brass staggered under the blow. His knees shook and his legs trembled.

Then, giving a laugh, he straightened. He grinned at Martin. “I really had you going.”

Pointing the derringer at his assailant, he pulled its trigger. The gun barked and Martin screamed. Clutching at his leg, he fell to the floor.

“Mr. Piotrowski!” Kristin stopped short when Mr. Brass pressed the gun to her chest.

“He stabs me so he thinks he killed me,” Mr. Brass said, his eyes bright. “Man, oh man, you should have seen the look on his face.”

Kristin thought,
If I could kill
you
, I would.

She’d never been so angry. Her right hand throbbed, pulsing with each beat of her heart. Glancing at her wrapped hand, she saw a pinpoint of color growing in the center of the gauze.

His hands clutching his leg, Martin rolled on the ground. Blood leaked from inside his trousers, spreading through his interlocked fingers.

Yanking the knife from his chest, Mr. Brass tossed it to the floor. “One of life’s special moments, you know what I mean?”

Dipping a hand into his pocket, he removed a bullet. Smoothly, he reloaded the gun.

There was a knock at the front door.

“Too much commotion,” Mrs. Norton said softly. “Noise attracts attention.” Facing Kristin, she whispered, “Call out, say anything, and your mother dies.”

The front door handle rattled. “Anybody home?”

It was Liz’s voice. Kristin held her breath.

“Everyone be quiet,” Mrs. Norton said. “People leave when a house appears empty.”

Martin moaned, earning himself a reprimanding glance from Mrs. Norton. He curled into a fetal position as the carpet darkened beneath him.

From outside, Hawkins said, “Don’t have a heart attack, Lizzer.”

A shuffle of footsteps was followed by the sound of metal meeting metal. To Kristin’s horror, the lock turned and the door opened.

“I house sit sometimes,” Hawkins explained over his shoulder as he entered. “I’ve had a key for a couple of years.”

“I should have worn a sweater,” Liz said, following behind him. “Kristin’s mom pumps the air conditioner like crazy. It’s always like a morgue....”

The pair stopped at the sight in front of them. Mr. Brass gestured with his gun hand.

“Shut the door,” Mrs. Norton said. After Liz did, she asked the pair, “Did anyone come with you? Is there someone waiting outside?”

“She’ll know if you’re lying,” Kristin told them.

Hawkins looked at her, puzzled.

“We took a cab,” Liz said. “The driver left before Hawkins reached the curb.”

“Mister Piotrowski?” Hawkins said. “He’s bleeding!” Then, seeing the unconscious Becky on the floor, he said, “Shit.”

“Nobody has to die,” Mr. Brass told them. “Not yet, anyway. The two of you stand over there, across from the front window.”

“Kristin?”

“Do it, Hawk,” she said. Obediently, her friends retreated to the corner of the room.

“If you’d done as I’d asked,” Mrs. Norton said to Kristin, “if you’d taken the Henbane, we’d be gone by now.”

“Henbane,” Liz said, alarmed.

“What?”

“Henbane is a poison.”

“What’s going on?” Hawkins asked Kristin.

“I wish I knew.”

“If you’re concerned for your friends,” Mrs. Norton said, “if you care for your mother, you’ll do as I ask.”

Kristin considered the capsules in the box. Clear gelatin shells containing a mocha interior, they didn’t seem like much.
Isn’t poison marked with a skull and crossbones?

She replaced the lid. “Never.”

“Never is such a long time.” To Mr. Brass, Mrs. Norton asked, “You have more bullets if I need them?”

“Always be prepared, that’s my motto. Me and the scouts,” Mr. Brass said.

“More bullets?” Hawkins said. “Why would you need more bullets?”

Mr. Brass chuckled.

“Miss Sweet never met this pair,” Mrs. Norton warned her subordinate. “We know nothing about their future. They appear to be healthy but you can’t know about young people. Sometimes it’s not the body that’s the problem.”

“I could put a slug in the boy.”

Mrs. Norton reflected on the idea. “Not a killing shot, you understand. Aim for the stomach.”

Mr. Brass thumbed the derringer’s trigger. Hawkins tensed, his body growing rigid.

“Don’t,” Kristin said, moving in front of him. “He’s not part of this. He didn’t do anything.”

“I could do the girl instead, you want,” Mr. Brass told her. “As a favor.”

Kristin said, “If you’re going to shoot anyone, shoot me.” She stepped closer, her chest nearly touching the gun’s barrel.

“There’s an idea,” Mr. Brass said. He let his arm drop.

“He can’t,” Liz said from the corner. “He’s not allowed to hurt you. Neither of them can hurt you.”

Mrs. Norton grew very still.

Liz swallowed nervously. “There was this creep in a car, Kristin. This Mr. Locke. He wrote you a letter.”

Uneasily, Mr. Brass shifted his weight from one leg to the other. His gun continued to point at the floor.

“The letter was all about his family,” Liz said. “Mrs. Norton and the others, the ones working at the café. He called them, ‘the Unending’.” Apologetically, she added, “I thought it was a joke
.
”

“What else did he write?” Mrs. Norton asked.

“You have rules.” Liz’s voice grew fainter. “You did – something – to Kristin and, now, you can’t harm her. Your masters won’t allow it.”

“They haven’t touched me, Liz,” Kristin said. “During the time they’ve been here, all the time they’ve been in Winterhaven, they haven’t done anything to me.”

Liz dropped her gaze.

“What is it?” she asked.

Liz didn’t answer, shaking her head.

She knows,
Kristin thought.
Whatever they’re supposed to have done, Liz has the answer. It was in the letter. The letter she thought was a joke.

But look at Mr. Brass. Look at Mrs. Norton. They don’t think it’s funny.

“Mr. Locke, ever an embarrassment,” Mrs. Norton said. To Liz, she added, “Where is the letter he gave you?”

“Are you people listening to yourselves?” Hawkins asked. “To the words you’re saying? You need help.”

Shrugging the shoulder strap from her arm, Liz opened her purse. Removing a sheet of paper, she crumpled the page into a ball and threw it at her captors’ feet.

Mrs. Norton collected the piece of paper. She smoothed it flat, reading the writing in front of her.

“Printed letters, poor spelling, betrayal in every sentence,” she said. “It’s not even signed. Whatever shall I do with him?”

“Can we go?” Mr. Brass asked. “I think we should leave.”

“Mr. Locke shared a few of our secrets,” she told him, “not all of them. Not the most important ones.” She folded the sheet, putting it in her handbag. “We’ll wait a bit longer.”

“Don’t waste your time,” Kristin said. “If I took the Henbane, you’d kill everyone, anyway.”

Mrs. Norton said, “The people here mean nothing to me. Less than nothing. True, yes? You can see?”

Her mouth remained unchanged.

“Do as I ask and no one else gets hurt,” she said. “We’ll leave and they’ll never see either of us again.”

“What about you?” Kristin asked Mr. Brass.

“I do what she tells me. Not that I wouldn’t mind seeing things end differently.”

Then it struck her. She finally understood what they wanted and why they wanted it. With a stammer in her voice, she said, “You w-want to
absorb
me.”

“Goodness, no.” Mrs. Norton laughed lightly. “Whatever gave you that idea? You’d have no more flavor than a dry biscuit.”

“She’s already tasted you,” Mr. Brass said.

“I couldn’t resist,” Mrs. Norton said. “Your soul was so young, so pure. Delicious.”

“Her
soul
?” Hawkins asked.

“Gone now, of course.”

She’s not lying,
Kristin realized.
She actually believes this. From the expression on Mr. Brass’ face, he believes it, too.

Where’s Dr. Ron when you really need him?

Hawkins said, “Gone? What does that mean, ‘gone’?”

“They think she ate Kristin’s soul,” Liz explained. “That’s what she told Mr. Locke, anyway. That’s what he put in the letter.”

Hawkins’ lips parted but he didn’t say anything. Closing his eyes, he lowered his head. His mouth moved silently.

Pray if you think it’ll help, Hawk
. Kristin said, “You can’t take a soul. No one can do that.”

“Your ignorance no longer astounds me, girl,” Mrs. Norton replied. “Besides, you got as much as you gave. Marvelous gifts. Powers, really. Not that I expected you to keep them.” She gave the tiniest of shrugs. “I’m disappointed with the people in your life. When you were a baby, they should have sensed you didn’t belong. You never should have been allowed to live.”

“You’re not one of them,” Mr. Brass indicated Liz and Hawkins, “you’re not one of us. A little bit of dust, that’s all you are.”

Mrs. Norton said, “You’re an Other, dear. You belong with no one; you never will. Quit fighting the inevitable and accept your place. End this.”

Her hand throbbing, Kristin raised the lid of the box. Hawkins’ eyes snapped open. “Don’t take the pills!”

Mr. Brass pointed the derringer at him.

“It’s just….” Hawkins let the sentence fade. “It’s a sin,” he said, trying again. “A mortal sin. There’s no chance of repentance.”

“Yeah?” Mr. Brass said, interested. “You think so?”

A rattling sound gasped up from their feet.  Kristin said, “Mister Piotrowski?”

The carpet around the old man was the color of rust. His head lolled back and his mouth fell open.