Eyes Ever to the Sky (A Sci Fi Romance) (The Sky Trilogy) (12 page)

He slid the black plastic tray out of the microwave, the pads of his fingers burning. The Salisbury steak did not look one bit like the picture on the carton, all goopy and brown. He shrugged and peeled back the plastic covering. Steam curled up from the meat and potatoes. He turned back to his recliner. That's when he noticed the sliding glass door was open.

He stopped, staring at the open door. How in the name of baby Jesus did the back door get open? He dropped the dinner on the kitchen table and walked to the open door, tingles running up his arms. Had he opened it when he got home, a subconscious habit left over from the days when the dog yelped and danced until you let her out? He paused, his hand on the wooden door handle. He peered into his backyard, the one that had made Susan clutch his arm and gasp when they'd first seen it. The half-acre lawn (a pain in the ass to mow) led down to the state park. Giant pines, sycamores and maples swayed gently in the evening breeze. Twilight fell in the west and the sky was a rosy pink. Susan loved this time of day, loved to sit on the back porch with a lo-cal beer and watch the stars come out. If she were here—

A noise from inside jolted him. He swiveled, his heart pounding. He scanned the house from where he stood, looking for signs of an intruder. The kids at school weren't big fans, but they wouldn't have the brass cojones to break into his house, would they? He thought of the Louisville slugger under his bed. He might be sixty-one but he could swing for the fences if he had to, goddamn it.

He hustled to the back bedroom, his heart still thudding. Every dark crevasse could hide an attacker. He passed the bathroom and nearly screamed when he saw movement until he realized it was just his reflection slipping past the door.

It's nothing,
he told himself. But then, why did his hands tremble so much on the bedroom doorknob?

He pushed open the door. It creaked on its hinges, making the hairs on his arms stand up. From the doorway, he peered in. No sign of forced entry. He hustled to the bed and bent down, his old knees creaking. With one arm he swept under the bed, feeling dust bunnies, shoe boxes and finally, the bat. He circled his hand around the smooth wooden handle.

Then it grabbed him.

Harson screamed. Something gripped his arm like a vice and yanked. He lurched forward, his shoulder striking the bed frame, rocking it. He scrambled, digging his free hand into the frame, holding on for dear life. What in all holy hell—?

His attacker tugged him hard, his head slamming into the frame. Harson screamed, stars dancing across his vision. His arm would tear off. What had him?
Jesus help me,
he prayed. 

“
I have money! In the safe, I have money! I'll give you whatever you want.”

No answer. Slowly, whatever it was began to reel him in.

“Let go and I'll give you anything!” he screamed, kicking his legs. What was that smell? Like decaying meat. How had he not noticed it before? He pulled up with his free arm, but it had him. And whatever it was, it was strong.

Harson screamed as it yanked him under the bed. 

Alone in the dark, Harson trembled. Beside him, rancid breath pulsed on his face and he began to cry.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN — CECE

Wednesday 8:07 p.m.

Cece was wiping down picnic tables on the pavement slab when her cellphone buzzed. She dropped her rag and clawed at her jeans, scrambling to retrieve the phone. She'd been waiting for a call from Mama all day. Her hands trembled as she stared at the cracked screen. A picture of Fer making an obscene gesture popped up.

“
Damn,” Cece whispered. She answered the phone. “Yes?” she drawled, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

“
Dude, see if you can get out early. There's a boat party on Carson Lake. Shaun said he would drive us.”

“
Can't,” she said, eying Travis's silhouette as he moved inside the ice cream shop. He probably wouldn't mind that she was on the phone, but Michelle would freak. She picked up the rag, turned from the front window and pretended to wipe.  “Can you run by my trailer? I need to know if Mama's home.”

“
I got your text and went by there ten minutes ago. Nada.” Fer breathed into the phone. “Sorry, chica.”

Cece shrugged. “It's alright. Hey, I gotta go. I'll call you when I get off.”

“You better, weiner. But, for real though, ask Trav if he can close up. This party will be dope.”

“
Sure.” Cece hung up and stared at the phone. The hollow feeling had not left her stomach all day. It was after eight o'clock and Mama was still not home. What kind of trouble was she getting into? Shoplifting? Jail? Cece pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to think. She could call the cops, but if they found Cece alone, they'd take her to Children's Village. Ms. K was too old to help and Fer's mom was too unreliable. Slowly her hand reached into her pocket and pulled out the little square of paper. Unfolding it, she touched the three names with the pads of her fingers, lingering on Ben. Ben, written and crossed out, in a matter of seconds. She pulled out her phone and found his number before she thought about it too long.

It rang once, twice. Her breath pulsed against the phone, thick and heavy. Thank God for a slow after-dinner crowd. She looked inside the shop again, the order window glowing brightly in contrast to the gathering dark. Travis and Michelle must've been in the back because she couldn't see them. Cece leaned her hip against a picnic table and waited. Cars began flicking on their headlights, yellow beams slicing through the purple twilight.

“Hello?” the male voice said. Ben. “Hello?”

Cece stood up, swallowing hard. “Don't hang up.”

“Who is this?” he asked, his voice growing wary.

“
It's your cousin. Don't hang up.”

There was a long pause. “Why shouldn't I?”

Cece paced on the blacktop. She stopped before she got to the street, turned and walked back toward the tables. “Because... Because we're family.”

“
Yeah, right.” She could hear the phone pull away. 

“
My mom ran off,” she said, pressing the phone hard into her cheek. “We…I need help.” She leaned against the splintered tabletop, her head spinning. “I can't do this alone.”

“
Well, maybe it's for the best she's gone.” His voice was cold.             

“
God, what did my mom do that makes you hate her?” Cece white-knuckled the phone, a desire to chuck it tightening in her chest.

His voice came closer. She pictured him pressing the phone back to his ear. “You really don't know?”

“My mom…she won't tell me.” Cece glanced up at the order window. Travis peered out, looking for her. She slid the phone around and waved her dish rag at him. She didn't have much time.

A long pause. Ben's voice came back in a whisper. “Fine,” he said impatiently. “But, my mom can't know I told you or she'll flip a gasket.” His voice was low, smooth. Cece wondered at his age. Seventeen? Fourteen? Was he tall or short? Did he look like her? She could hear him shifting. “What did she tell you about why they came to America?”
                           

Cece thought for a moment, tracking a finger over words carved into the tabletop. Someone had carved “God is dead” in violent, angular lines. “She's never said a word. All I know is she's really pissed and she won't call anyone in the family.” 

Ben blew a puff of breath into the phone. “I don't know the whole story, but my mom told me some of it after too much tequila. She said back in Bolivia your mom stole her boyfriend, who's my dad, and got knocked up. Our abuelo blamed my mom for it, saying she was the older sister, or for having my dad around, or whatever. So, he sent them both to America in shame.”

Cece looked up, choking on emotion. Her mother had been sent away in shame because of her? Ben’s father was her father, too? “Go on,” she whispered.
             

“
Well, my dad followed them to America and apologized to my mom. She took him back and they got married and had me. But, then ten years ago, your mom showed up and seduced my dad or whatever. My mom caught them fooling around. It's her fault they're divorced.” Bitterness and anger coated his voice.

Cece pressed her hand to her head, trying to nail down all the pieces of his story. Her father was Aunt Bea's husband. But that would make Ben her…half-brother? Mama broke up her sister’s marriage? Mama had never seemed remotely interested in men. She'd never brought one home, never stumbled in the door late with hickies on her neck or numbers scrawled on napkins. Cece shook her head. “That doesn't sound right.”

“What doesn't? That your mom's a whore or that she broke up my family, because it all makes sense to me.”

“
You can't say that about my mom! You don't even know her.”

“
I know what she did,” his voice was loud, sharp. “I don't really need to more than that.”

She flicked her eyes back to the window and found Michelle staring out at her. “How do you know your mom's not lying?” God, she was running out of time and was being sucked into a childish argument.

“I know my parents are divorced,” he said. “I remember them screaming, her throwing plates, him trying to apologize. Now I have to see my dad on long weekends and holidays thanks to your mom.”

“
Well, it's
our
dad's fault, too.”

“
Don't call him that!” he shouted into the phone. “He's not your dad.”

“
From what you just told me it sounds like he is.” Cece watched as Travis headed her way. She clenched her fists. Everything was falling apart. “Look, whatever happened, it's in the past. We're family. We should put this behind us.”

“
You're only saying that because you need something from us,” he said, his voice cold again. “Family doesn't act like your mom acted. Maybe she should've thought of that before she whored around.”

“
Now you listen.” She stood up, her hands trembling.

“
Cece, what up, man?” Travis was at her elbow. “Everything okay?” 

She gave Travis a one-minute finger. “Ben,” she said, cupping her hand around the phone, “Did you hear me? My mom is
missing
. I'm all alone. She's gone manic. If we don't get help...” a sob rose up in her throat. She couldn't cry. Not now.

There was a long pause. When he answered, his voice was ice. “She should've thought of that ten years ago.” The line went dead.

Cece turned slowly to Travis, dropping the phone like a lead weight.

“
You okay?” he asked, touching her arm tenderly.

“
I'll be fine,” she lied.

***

Cece stood in a cone of light, peering into the alley. The sky was deep purple, the first stars showing. The bag of trash she’d offered to take out lay forgotten at her feet.

“
Hugh!” she whisper-shouted. Her eyes searched the shadows. She peered into the dark alleyway. The dumpster was a black rectangle next to the brick wall. She didn’t see him anywhere. “Hugh!”

She stepped forward into the puddling blackness. Goosebumps ran the length of her arms and she stopped, her eyes scanning the alley. Earlier someone mentioned a murder seven blocks from here. A homeless man had been torn to pieces. She shivered. No one had been murdered in Auburn in years. And here she was standing in the dark, calling to some strange boy who she’d last seen covered in blood.

Why was he covered in blood?

She took a step back into the cone of light. He wasn’t out there. She was surprised at how much she'd looked forward to seeing him. After that awful phone call, it was the one thought that had carried her through the rest of her shift. Hugh and his smile. She’d thought out how she’d clothe him, feed him and send him on his way. Now it seemed silly. He wasn't a lost cat. He was a boy, a very large boy who she did not know. She shook her head, feeling foolish. She flicked her eyes to the heavy, gray clouds gathering above. Where would he sleep if it rained?

Cece wandered out front and started to pick up the scattered paper napkins and plastic spoons dropped beneath the rickety picnic tables. She scooped up a half-eaten waffle cone and tucked it in the garbage can. She smiled at the elderly couple still sharing a hot fudge sundae and gave a good rub-down to their aging terrier before they finished up and left. The last customers gone, she sighed, big and heavy.

A deep base rumble shook the ground as a black sports car pulled into the parking lot. The headlights flashed in her eyes, making her throw a hand up to shade them. The door snapped open and a figure strode toward Cece.

“Where’s Michelle?” The boy glared at her, annoyed. He was short—five-foot-six with spiked blond hair and straight white teeth. A spattering of pimples dotted his chin, but not enough to mar the smug handsomeness of his face. It took Cece a moment to place him: Gage, Michelle’s boyfriend.

Cece pointed toward the window, happy to divert his attention from her. “She’s inside.”