Chasing AllieCat (19 page)

“Me, too,” Joe said, “but I think we should get going to the hospital. We can talk in the car. Allie, how are you leaving? I mean, to run away? You only have a bike. Are you taking Siren?”

“Siren can keep up with me for ten miles, if I don’t go too fast. I figured we’d get to St. Peter tonight, sleep somewhere, Le Sueur the next night, then Henderson … till we figured something out.”

“You don’t make any sense, Allie. Where are you
going
?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere away from here. Away from my dad. If he finds me, for starters, he’ll kill Siren. And I will
not
go to another foster home. I’d rather die. And I won’t go anywhere without Siren.”

“Come stay with us. Uncle Scout said you should come home with us,” I said.

“No way. All those little kids? You don’t want my dad near Scout’s with all those little kids.”

“He wouldn’t hurt—” Joe started.

Allie whirled on him. “And what do you know about that? You do
not
know my father!” Her chest heaved. “He … ”

Joe and I stared at her, waiting for her to finish.

“Come on,” Allie said. “We’ve gotta move while we talk. I’ve got to get my stuff. We’d better hurry.” We followed her across the creaky floor, to the stairs to the basement. Siren trotted ahead and down the stairs in front of us.

We clattered down the cement steps, past posters of Tour de France and Giro d’Italia racers. “That reminds me,” I said. “A woman at the race said you should go pro. You could get paid to ride your bike and get out of here, and get away from your dad, and make enough money. Could you do that?”

“I’ve thought about that a lot—of trying to go pro—it’s hard, but I think I could maybe do it. I wanted to wait for a few races this summer and kick some butt, and then maybe some bike companies would give me offers. It all takes time.” The stairs at the bottom were narrow and wooden. The building was old, probably over a hundred years old, and down here the musty and bicycle-grease smells were overpowering. Allie turned the corner, still talking. “I had to wait until I had won enough money to leave. But when my dad got out of the slammer and came back to town, I ran out of time.”

“Wait! How did you know your dad was out? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Long story. We gotta move. I’ll try to explain in the car.”

Cobwebs hung from some of the pipes overhead. The smell of greasy dust hung in the air. We turned a couple corners, passed some more yellowed, curling, ancient posters of European bicycle racers—I recognized Eddy Merckx and Fausto Coppi—and came into the end of a big room, lighted by a single dusty light bulb dangling from a cord. An air mattress lay on the floor covered with a quilt, blankets, and a pillow. A reading light glowed from a small table beside the mattress; one old kitchen chair, a bookcase with a table lamp, a hot plate, and a dorm-size refrigerator all crowded the corner, too. On one wall hung color posters of Lance Armstrong, Juli Furtado winning the Mountain Bike World Championship, and an aging poster of Missy Giove winning the downhill at Vail. Missy Giove had at least as many piercings as Allie.

“Welcome to my parlor, said the spider to the fly.”

“Where’d you get all this stuff?”

“Discarded—from apartments up over the stores on this block. There’s all sorts of shit in the storage room way in back.” She motioned. “And Mike always had the refrigerator. He just let me bring it down here for now.”

“So you’ve been here. Since Father Malcolm.”

“Yeah. I went straight home to get Siren, a bag of clothes, and some posters, and came here. Stuff I could cram in my bag. Siren found me before I got home, though.”

“We
knew
Mike knew something he wasn’t telling us.”

“Mike’s cool. He told me you felt really bad not coming to meet me at four o’clock. So thanks for coming now. You probably shouldn’t have, but we gotta go see Father Malcolm, so I’m glad you did. I just hope my dad’s not waiting outside.” Allie picked up a big hiking backpack with a sleeping bag tied on the top. She reached in the mini fridge and pulled out two bottles of Gatorade, which she stashed in the backpack. “Okay. I’m set.” She turned toward her posters. “Bye, Lance. Julie. Missy. I’ll call Mike for you later. Good bye, greasy dust bunnies. Guess I won’t miss you.” She shrugged into the backpack. “Let’s go.”

We started back up the stairs. Siren galloped up ahead of us.

Allie said, “You guys want to drive me and Siren and my bike to St. Peter after we leave the hospital?”

“Of course we could,” Joe said. “But we’re not ditching you in St. Peter. And if your dad is following us, wouldn’t he follow us there, too? Scout told us to bring you home with us after the fireworks.”

“Stay with us at Scout’s, at least for tonight,” I said. “Then we’ll figure out what to do and we can take you somewhere else tomorrow. Okay?”

At the top of the stairs, Allie set down her bag. “The problem with the plan is that adults always seem to have to follow the rules. Afraid of breaking the law. The law says I’m under eighteen and if I leave home, I go to foster care, and believe me, I’m not doing that again.”

“Allie,” I said. “Just tell us quick. Why did you take off when we found Father Malcolm? I still don’t get that. And when did you find out your dad was out of prison?”

“Let’s
go.
I said I’d tell you in the car.” She shouldered her giant backpack again.

I hooked Siren on his leash, Joe took Allie’s bike, and Allie hauled her backpack. She locked the door and pulled it shut, moving like a giant turtle with a shell. We got her pack and Siren into the back seat. Allie kept looking around while we loaded her bike into the car-top bike rack. Then we all jumped in and took off.

We didn’t speak for a couple blocks.

“Shit,” Joe said, looking in his rearview mirror.

“What?” I whipped around.

“You said
shit,
” Allie said. She slid down into the back seat.

“It’s him. He’s following us!” Sure enough, the diesel pickup from after the race was cruising along behind us. A low-grade growl started rumbling from Siren’s corner of the back seat.

“Shit again,” Joe said. “I’m calling Scout.”

“You were supposed to call before. I’ll call,” I said, grabbing the phone from him. “You drive.”

Scout’s phone rang and rang. “No answer. Should we drive around ’til we lose him?” I asked.

“Try again,” Joe said. “I’ll keep driving.”

“Stay in town,” Allie said. “Don’t get on a highway where he can try to run us off the road.”

I hit redial. No answer.

“Allie,” Joe said, “Stay down. I suppose he already saw you, but it can’t hurt.”

“My bike’s on top of the car, you moron.”

Joe ignored that. “Tell us. What does all this have to do with Father Malcolm? What should we do? We can’t exactly go to the hospital like this. Your dad’ll catch us in no time.”

I punched Scout’s number in again. “Scout! Thank god. We’ve got Allie and her dog, but Cecil Baker is following us in his truck!”

Scout said, “Drive around for five minutes and park in front of the police station. I’ll call the cops, and I’ll be there in less than five. I’ll meet you there. That should freak him out. It should keep him from trying something, and you can get away. Ask Allie what the conditions of her dad’s parole are.”

“What?” I looked over the back seat.

“I heard,” said Allie. “He has to stay away from me.” I repeated this into the phone.

“Enough info for me,” said Scout. “He’s breaking parole following you. Drive to the Cop Shop in five minutes. I’m calling the cops right now.”

So we did. Scout’s Land Rover idling there was the best thing I’d seen for a long time. The diesel pickup slowed behind us and stopped half a block back.

Scout swung himself out of his Land Rover, came over to Joe’s car, and leaned in my window. Siren barked. “Shh, Siren,” Allie said. Siren shushed.

Scout made a show of pulling his phone out of his pocket. He punched 911. “I hope this works. Otherwise, I’m going to look like a big fool. And I’m on probation, remember.”

“I’m sorry, Scout,” Allie said from her prone position in the back seat. “This is why I hid. I didn’t want you guys to get involved. You’re not going to look like a fool, I promise.”

In thirty seconds, three cops came hustling out of the building. Cecil gunned his engine, spun out, and roared away in a cloud of diesel exhaust. Two police cars took off in the same direction.

“Allie,” Scout said, “what did your dad do?”

“For starters, I’m positive he’s the one who beat Father Malcolm up. As soon as I saw him in the woods, I knew my dad was back in town.”

“What?” My stomach turned and I thought I’d lose my burgers and ice cream, digested as it was. Joe and I stared at each other and then at Allie.

Scout ran his fingers down his cheeks and chin. “You sure? And why would that be? And you can sit up. Your old man is nowhere in sight.”

Allie sat up, one arm around Siren. “Father Malcolm is the one who turned my dad in.”

We all looked at Allie. Scout said, “For … ?”

Allie rubbed Siren’s head. “Abuse. Sexual abuse.”

We blew out our collective breaths. Scout eyed Allie for a long moment and nodded his head. “You’re a brave one, young lady.”

Joe reached over and squeezed my hand. “My God,” he said.

“You swore again,” I said.

“I think this calls for swear-worthy language.”

“Okay, go!” Scout interrupted. “Go to the hospital now. I’ll follow you up there to make sure Cecil Baker doesn’t, and I’ll ask the cops to send somebody up there, too, to keep an eye out the whole time. Go while you can. Allie, you’re staying with us tonight. I’ll ask the cops for surveillance at our place, and I’ll deal with the aunts.”

“No, Scout,” Allie said. “You’ve got little kids.”

“No argument, Miss Allie Baker. You’re staying. Oh, and here.” He thrust a Tupperware container at her. “Leftover burger and potato salad from our picnic. When I told Susan and Janie what was going on, they were worried that you haven’t eaten today. Humor them and eat it. Now get going.”

“Thanks, Scout!”

So we went.

Twenty-Seven

Finding Father Again

July 4, the day that lasts forever

While Allie devoured the burger, Siren sat beside her, head cocked, hoping for handouts. She fed him the last two big bites and he licked her face in thanks. “Yeah, I love you, too, Siren. Now settle down, please.” After that, the loudest thing in the car besides maybe the pounding of our hearts was the sound of Siren panting. He stuck his head out the window frequently, tongue flapping like the official Fourth of July flag. Once he had to snap his head sideways to catch his tongue, as if he was afraid it would blow away if he lost control of it.

I still wanted to ask Allie a million questions, but it didn’t seem like the time. Trying to absorb what she’d just told us was enough.

At the hospital, Scout pulled into the parking lot behind us. The second Siren couldn’t see Allie, he sent up a howl. I grabbed his leash and got him out of the car. He wagged and smiled and licked my face. Gratitude.

Allie grinned. “He likes you.”

I rubbed his ears.

Allie tied Siren to the bike rack near the front door of the hospital, and when we moved away from him, he set up a yowl that could wake the dead. “Siren,” Allie said. “We don’t have time to calm you down.” She looked up at Joe and me. “See how he got his name?”

“Trouble’s coming?” I said.

“Trouble’s here,” Allie said. “Too late for a warning this time, Siren. Calm down.”

When Allie moved toward the hospital door, Siren set up a yowl again.

“I’ll just stay with him for a while,” Joe said. “You two go up.”

Scout pulled up beside us. “Looks calm around here. Cop said someone’s on the way. Don’t be long. Just talk to him and head out, okay? I’ll meet you at the fireworks. And—call. Remember to call.”

“Thanks. Bye, Scout.”

Joe sat down on the grass beside Siren. Allie rubbed Siren’s head. “Thanks, Joe. Be right back, Siren.”

Then she and I went inside.

The woman at the information desk frowned at us. “Visiting hours were over at nine.”

“We got called,” Allie said quickly. “That Father Malcolm is waking up, they said. Father Malcolm Dykstra. We need to see him.”

“Room 3411.”

“We know.”

The elevator doors opened at third floor, intensive care.

The nurse at the desk looked up and her mouth fell open. It was Zia, the nurse Allie had knocked on her butt.

“You!” she said. She narrowed her eyes at Allie. “You be careful?”

“I promise. I’m really sorry about knocking you over that night.”

Zia nodded. “I stay out of your way today. I wish you luck. I think is good luck that you are together again. Good, I think?”

“Yes!” I said and smiled at her. She smiled back.

At first, Father Malcolm’s room looked just the same. Same tubes, same respirator, same breathing noise pulsing air in and out.

“Hi, Father,” Allie said. “It’s just me again.”

A tall woman, with short dark hair and a white jacket, breezed in. Cheery but authoritative. All business. “Hi, I’m Dr. Rathburn. I’ve seen you here before,” she said to Allie.

Allie nodded. “And this is Sadie.”

“Father?” Dr. Rathburn leaned over the rails on his bed and put her hand on his arm. “Father? Allison is here to see you. And Sadie. Allie and Sadie. I think you want to talk with them.”

“He doesn’t know me,” I said.

“Allison is here,” the doctor repeated.

“It’s me, Father,” Allie leaned over him. “It’s Allie.”

This time, Father Malcolm’s eyes fluttered, trying to open. Allie moved her head closer, into his line of sight.

“Father?” Allie asked. Her voice was un-Allie-like. Timid.

His eyes fixed open, then fell shut, then fluttered again. The fingers protruding from his cast moved slightly.

“Talk some more,” Dr. Rathburn urged. “He can hear you.”

“Father? It’s Allie. Allie Baker. I came to see you. I brought my friend Sadie.”

“Aaaa … ” Father Malcolm said.

“Allie Baker,” Allie said.

“Aaaalleeee.”

“Yes!”

“Are … you … ” He stopped and breathed three times. “O … kay?” The respirator and his chest rattled.

“I am. Are you gonna be okay?” She leaned even closer, careful not to touch him. “Father, you have to get well. You have to be okay,” she said. “We need you.”

“Allieeeee … I … ” He stopped to breathe, tried to speak again, but it seemed to take too much effort.

“Father?” Allie said.

One corner of his mouth went up slightly. His whole face was still purple, his nose was still taped, and he was still attached to too many tubes, including the one pumping yellow fluid from his lower regions.

“Al … leeee … ”

“Father!” Allie said. “Did my dad do this to you?”

Dr. Rathburn stepped over to the side of the bed.

His response was first just heavy breathing, but then Father Malcolm’s head went up and down in a nod. A very slow, slight, but distinct nod. It took so much effort that his breathing became even louder. “Yessss … Al … leee … ”

“Oh my God,” Allie said. She put her hand on top of his. “I was right. I knew it.”

Dr. Rathburn put her hand on Allie’s shoulder. Allie straightened, stiffening at the touch. Dr. Rathburn said, “Allison. I’m going to go call the detective.” And she disappeared.

Allie leaned over again. “Father. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.”

Father Malcolm moved his head ever so slightly side to side. “No, Aaallleee. Not … not … .your … ”

Allie bit her lip and kept her hand on his.

“ … fault,” he finished. “You … ” He breathed again, once, twice, three, four times. “Be … care … ful.”

We stood for what felt like a long, long time, hoping for more, but he was lost again, unconscious, exhausted from this effort. He was somewhere inside the rise and fall of breathing, as if this tent of a man was reduced to a bellows made of skin and could do nothing more than force air in and out. In. Out.

Zia came in, her shiny, smiley self. “How’s this priest? Did he talk to you?”

Allie said nothing, holding Father Malcolm’s hand, staring at him.

“Yes,” I said. “He did. He knows Allie.”

“Good.” Zia sad. “Very good. See? What I told you?”

“Dr. Rathburn just went to call the detective,” I said. Zia hurried out the door.

Allie leaned her elbows on the bed rails and put her head in her hands. She said, “Sadie, would you go check if Joe and Siren are okay?”

“Allie, they should be fine. They—”

“Please? I have a bad feeling. Really bad.”

I scampered down the stairs, two at a time, instead of taking the elevator.

Outside, Joe was sitting cross-legged and Siren lay curled up, sleeping with his nose on Joe’s thigh. I breathed out. Siren jumped up and wagged.

“I think you have a friend,” I said. I rubbed Siren’s head. “You okay?” I asked Joe.

“Yeah. What’s going on?”

“He woke up. Allie asked him if her dad did it, and he nodded
yes.
”

“Holy crap.”

Siren licked my hand and sat back down.

Then just as fast, he jumped to his feet again, snarling and barking toward the dark parking lot. I jumped back, afraid for my fingers. Joe jumped up and held tight to Siren’s leash. “Siren! What’s wrong?”

Siren’s snarling mouth was so close to us, we could feel his hot stinky breath.

“Siren, what is it?”

Siren snarled a growl that made me shudder. His hackles were up and he barked into the darkness.

“This gives me the creeps,” Joe said.

“Do you think he’s out there?”

Joe shrugged. “He is, somewhere. I sure hope not here.”

A Mankato police car eased around the corner. Out stepped Officer Rankin.

Siren barked.

“Siren, don’t you like cops?” asked Joe.

Siren’s rumbly growl subsided as Officer Rankin approached. “Whoa there.” Rankin extended the back of his hand to Siren. Siren sniffed and then stood still, letting Rankin touch him.

Rankin nodded to us. “Sadie, Joe. Allison upstairs? The doctor called me.”

We nodded, and Rankin went inside.

I smoothed Siren’s hackles. He looked up at me. Panting, still nervous, but calmer. He licked my face. Nervous, quick, wet licks.

“It’s a quarter to ten,” Joe said. “Almost time for fireworks.”

“Fireworks? I said. “Aren’t fireworks for people who need to create excitement in their lives? I keep forgetting this is the Fourth of July.” It was the longest day on earth, hands down. It was an eternity ago that we rode a bike race.