The Revelations of Preston Black (Murder Ballads and Whiskey Book 3) (14 page)

“Jane, please. You have to help me.”

She turned. Green and red from the
traffic signals cast her pale skin in otherworldly hues. “It’s too late. You
waited too long.”

“Don’t say that, please.” I panicked.

“Aunt Rachael told you exactly what to
do. This is her little girl we’re talking about. My cousin!”

People waiting for the bus turned
around and watched the commotion.

“Don’t be like that. She’s tough—”

“And do you know why she’s tough?
Because she never let herself fall for guys like you. Guys who didn’t care she
graduated at the top of her class.” She put her hand on her hip and came at me.
“Everywhere Katy goes, she’s either climbing a mountain or coming down off one
and the minute her dad left she knew she’d never rely on anybody ever again. So
consider yourself lucky to be loved by her. She doesn’t play loose with her
affection. You must have earned it somehow.”

“So help me find her.” I tried to take
her hand, but she backed toward the curb.

“I can help you find her.” She watched
me process. Like she knew what I thought.

“But you’re going to have to make the
call. Katy doesn’t have much time.”

“I will. Call who?”

“You know who. You don’t want to say
it and I don’t want to say it.” She cupped her hand to her ear. In the distance
a great bell chimed louder and faster. “Hear it? Big Ben?”

She stood in the small sphere of light
created by a dim street lamp, but cast no shadow. She shivered a little in her
short skirt and high black boots.

All around windows rattled as waves of
sound rolled through the streets. Lampposts swayed from the growing energy of
the bell’s thunder.

“Call your fallen angel. It’s going to
hurt, and you’re going to have to give something up. But she is the only one
who can help you get Katy before they kill her.”

“That’ll make things so much worse.”
It scared me to think about it. I tried everything to forget about her, but
every day she found a way into my thoughts.

Jane shouted over the ringing. “Katy
won’t be mad if you tell her, ‘Every girl needs a boy like she needs candy and
an extra hole in the head.’ Katy’ll know what that means.”

Jane pushed in front of a middle-aged
couple waiting for a cab. They cursed as she shut the door. The black cab
pulled into traffic and disappeared into the dark. The last thing I saw was the
plate number—3485.

“Calling her is a mistake!” I yelled
and the people laughed, even though I couldn’t hear them over the deafening
noise from Big Ben.

I turned back to the theater’s main
door, but it was locked. I kicked it, but the chains had already been pulled
tight. I kicked again. Behind me people shouted stuff like, “asshole” and
“tosser” but I kept kicking the wooden doors. The last place I remembered
having a friend was inside.

The door splintered.

At this point I didn’t even care if I
got in. I grew angry. And I released it the only way I knew how. I wanted
blood, but I knew that wouldn’t fly in the real world. I wanted heads on spits
and hearts beneath my boot.

I wanted a river of tears.

A universe of blood for my Katy.

I kicked until I felt certain I’d
broken the bones in my foot. I wanted Katy in my arms. I wanted to feel her
warm, soft cheek against mine. I kicked the door off its hinges. Wooden shards
disappeared beneath my boot.

My Katy deserved better than the
superficial beliefs these fuckers were dishing out.

My Katy deserved a bed of violets and
a halo of cherry blossoms and a warm breeze and people speaking in the kindest
of tones.

My Katy deserved a thousand years
without pain, a thousand songs in her honor. A thousand kind words in every
breath. I kicked for her, because my love had been taken. Because my love was
cold and hungry and alone. I kicked because somewhere, out there, my girl
needed me.

Hands reached through a crack in the
door and pulled my jacket. My face hit the wood and warmed with the flush of
blood rushing to the bruise. I twisted and jerked, but couldn’t get away from
the door. They grasped at my face and elbows. I tried to bite whatever I could.

Hands pulled me onto cold, dry earth.
Sound hit my eardrums and died in muffled whispers that needed deciphering,
half words I struggled to hear. And above me I saw a light. A grey light. An
uncommitted sphere of hope.

Somewhere behind me Joe and the guys
started into “Clampdown.”

Somewhere behind me John worked on
“Tomorrow Never Knows.”

Somewhere over my shoulder Johnny
invited June onto the stage for the first time.

I coughed and an ocean of water
splashed forth onto the earth. I tried to turn, but a thousand hands held me
fast to the ground. I tried to sit up, but the army above had other ideas. They
covered my face and a cold wind blew through me. Shivers crept through my body.
They held my head to the ground as I got pummeled with the hurricane, the cold
breath of a god I thought I knew.

I heard my name. I looked for the man
who’d spoken it.

Maybe it was John or Joe.

I knew the voice though, and I looked,
but could only see the dull light of the real world. The muddy sunlight of
northern Alabama.

“Preston…”

Water rushed into my throat. My first
instinct was to inhale and let the air fill my lungs, but there wasn’t room for
air. My eyes rolled back and I coughed. My chest got tight as my lungs exploded
with violent contractions meant to force the water out. I tried to roll over,
but they were holding me down. I wanted to tell them to let me go, but couldn’t
get the words into my throat. I arched my back and kicked again.

“Pres…” It was Pauly.

I tried to find him with my eyes. I
wanted to see his face. I knew as soon as he looked into my eyes he’d know it
was okay to let me go. I struggled for air.

Somebody pushed me onto my knees. My
view went from dull light to dark shapes. Silhouettes of trees. Outlines of
faces. A splintered door. I spit water out of my mouth. Water that tasted like
garden hose.

“Push him forward.”

When I coughed water trickled out of
my mouth and down my chin. I wanted to wipe it away but could only choke and
gasp. Like drowning on dry land was my punishment for taking so long. I pushed
myself forward and tried to get to my feet.

Ben and Pauly helped, but my balance
faded and I fell. An ice cream headache raged through my skull like spiders
with black needle feet. I pushed my hands against my eyes.

Pauly caught me. “Got you, man. You’re
good.”

I looked for faces. Ben and Pauly.
Pauly’s friend and his family. I held up my hand. “Good,” I whispered. “I’m
good.”

Sabra wrapped a blanket around me.
George rubbed his chin in disbelief.

But nobody said anything while I tried
to get my legs beneath me. Nobody said anything while I fought to get my words.
They were waiting. They needed something from me. “Jane…” I said.

“What’d she say?” Ben asked. For the
first time since he showed up here he looked hopeful. “About Katy?”

And I couldn’t remember the words. I
couldn’t remember the conversation or her face. I couldn’t recall the
circumstances or the players. I had a feeling, and nothing else. I had a sense
that something happened, but nothing concrete. I had ideas, but no words. I
didn’t want to have to apologize again. I didn’t want to be the one who
ultimately failed Katy, the girl I loved. If I couldn’t prove it by helping to
find her, I couldn’t prove it at all. Words didn’t come. Only an apology.
Something Ben didn’t want—or need—to hear.

“She said…” I could only see the cab
disappearing into the darkness.

I fell back onto the blanket and put
my hand over my eyes. My breath, which should’ve been so sweet, burned my
lungs. My breath…

I’d rather it had been a noose.

“She said…”

Lies came to me. Possibilities.
Half-truths. I knew they wouldn’t know. I knew I’d die with the secret of what
really happened.

“She said that Katy—”

My phone rang. Katy’s beeped
immediately after. Pauly picked it up and read the texts. I tried to reach for
it. To slap it out of his hand.

He stared at the screen. “No message.
Just a phone number. Maybe from like another country or something. Look.”

I looked at Katy’s phone and tried to
make sense of what I saw on the display. But the numbers looked random.
Meaningless. Definitely not a phone number. <
34.924610,
-85.675317
>

Ben took the phone. He studied the
message for a few long moments. Then he smiled and showed Andre and George.

“This’ll work.” Ben smiled.

George said, “That’s real close.”

“What?” I asked. I tried to sit up.

“Map coordinates.” George held up the
phone and smiled. “This is where we’re going to find her.”

Once
George saw the spot on the map, he suggested we travel up the Tennessee River
by boat, and into a mile-long backwater known as Long Island Cove. He felt we
could make our way up the seven-hundred foot high bluff and if we got into
trouble, there’d be no fast way for anyone to pursue us by water. But Ben
wanted to keep his own mode of transportation at hand, so Pauly and Andre
worked out a compromise to have the boat on the river, with Andre and George
engaging in a little overnight fishing expedition while we went in from the
road.

We all exchanged phone numbers. Last
thing George said was, “If things go to crap meet us under the Hogjaw Valley
Road Bridge,
tout
suite
.”
He repeated it so many times that all I could think of as I climbed into the
car was,
Hogjaw
Valley Road Bridge. Hogjaw Valley Road Bridge
…

My hair was still wet when we split. I
let Pauly sit up front and navigate because he knew roads a heck of a lot
better than I did. Nadhima and Sabra had packed us a lunch—cornbread and sliced
ham and a few cans of Grapico.

As soon as we got on the highway I got
a text from Joe. getting it>

We followed the Tennessee River north
out of Versailles. The low hills never let us see much more than some sad,
lonely farms and the river, which looked more like a long, mud-filled lake. We
finally crossed over it on a tiny steel bridge. Just two little lanes and a lot
of water below. I said, “You think Andre will be there? This is a long trip by
boat.”

“Preston… What’re you thinking? Have
some faith.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“We’re fine,” Ben said. “This is going
to be a quick in and out. Like fucking a prostitute.”

As soon as we hit dry land on the
other side I knew we were getting closer. The highway crept through the trees
and up the bluff on the river’s eastern side. The same hill George showed us on
the map. The steep terrain dissolved my expectations about what kind of
operation this would end up being. Thick woods and a steep hillside were a far
cry from the flat South I’d seen yesterday and this morning. And as much as I
knew I should’ve kept my mouth shut, I knew I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “You
scared?”

Neither of them spoke up. Like they
were playing some kind of game to see who had the biggest balls. “Whatever.”

“Yeah, man. I’m scared. That what you
want to hear? You want to spend the next twenty minutes peeing our pants and
blowing our noses? She’s my cousin, man.” Ben punched the dashboard when he
said it. “Course I got the butterflies in my belly, but talking about being
scared ain’t going to get Katy Bear back. So you got to learn to control that
fear, Preston Black, or I’ll slap you to sleep and dare you to snore.”

Anger made my face hot, but I bit my
lip even though it didn’t make me feel any better. “Well, I never learned to
control my fear. I don’t know what you know and I didn’t see the shit you saw
and I know you buried friends. And I’m scared shitless. I’m afraid of closing
my eyes for too long for fear they’ll forget what she looks like. So if you
think I’m a pussy, or whatever, sorry to disappoint you. I just want her back.”

I had more to say, but knew better
than to say it. Instead I watched northern Alabama roll by, trying to figure
out a way to make the impossible happen.

Ben reached behind the seat and put
his hand on my knee. He patted it a few times.

The gesture fell way short of putting
my mind at ease, but that simple act of consideration calmed me down. Made me
feel secure. Let me know I could trust him. “It’s all good, man.”

“What the fuck’re you talking about?”
Ben said, flipping his palm up and beckoning with his fingers. “I want food.
Can’t take my meds on an empty belly.”

“Get the fuck out.” I gave Pauly the
bag and Ben laughed. I said, “You know what? I’d appreciate a little respect
for the way I feel.”