Full Tilt (Rock Star Chronicles) (22 page)

“Hey, honey. Where are you?”

“Hi, Ev. I’m at Starbucks in the airport.”

“Good. Can you believe all this snow?”

“It’s getting slick out there,” she said. “This place is a zoo.”

“Listen, babe…one of the detectives called a minute ago.”

Her whole body came to attention. She covered her free ear. “And?”

“Well, they couldn’t get any clues from the footprints, because so many tracks were already out there.”

“What else?”

There was a pause, too long of a pause for it to be anything good.

“The letters were painted in blood, babe…from some kind of animal.”

Another blow. Deflated, she staggered out of line to the closest table and dropped into a chair.

“Believe it or not,” Everett said, “the detective told me they see this fairly often—”

“Oh, right.”
A real comfort.

“Usually kids playing pranks.”

“Did you tell them about Wesley?” she asked.

“No, I wanted to talk to you first. Look, I’m ready to go straight to Wesley and Eddie. That’s what I think we should do.”

There were so many variables, so many people and feelings involved. She couldn’t seem to muster any words.

“I’ve got to talk to Eddie anyway, babe. Something else happened…”

Her head dropped. There couldn’t be more. “What?”

“I just went to get the paper and take Rosey out, and I found an envelope from him in my coat pocket. It had twenty grand in it.”

She stared at the masses of people moving past and tried to mentally juggle all the tribulations pressing in on them.

“He must have put it in there at the hospital,” Everett said. “And a note on the envelope said the other twenty-four thousand is on its way.”

“Eddie’s gonna die,” she finally managed. “And that mob he’s involved with is going to come looking for us.”

“I tried to call him. Got his voice mail. I was straight with him. Told him we saw Dominic Badino at the hospital and that we know he’s betting again. I let him know he’s putting us in danger.”

Knowing how unreliable and selfish Eddie was, that didn’t help one iota. “It’s time to get the police involved, Ev.”

“Karen—”

“What?” She couldn’t believe she’d just yelled in Starbucks; her face heated and her voice dropped. “We need to get on record with the threats Badino’s made.”

“Honey, there were no specifics, and it’s his word against mine. Besides, you can’t call the cops on the son of a
mob captain
.”

“Maybe you can’t, but I can!”

An awkward hush followed. Enough had been said for now. Maybe too much.

“Look, I need to process all this,” she said.

“I’m sorry to drop this on you right when your folks are due in.”

“I’m getting used to it.” It was a mean thought, never meant to become words. The silence that followed was like watching a bomb drop in a documentary. She knew the fallout was imminent, and it came in the form of a quick and quiet good-bye from Everett.

She’d wounded him.
Is that what you wanted?
She felt crippled herself, almost sick inside. She closed her eyes and asked God to forgive her. And then she lifted her head and tried to keep going.

With a tall mocha in hand, Karen made her way to the center of the airport hub. She chose a chair that faced the huge flight schedule board that would keep her abreast of any further changes in her parents’ flight, now due to arrive at 2:36 p.m.

The rich coffee warmed Karen. She shed her denim coat and watched the people go by. Many, it appeared, carried burdens as heavy as their winter jackets and suitcases—solemn-faced, not saying hello or even making eye contact. They were fixed on their destinations, on their own little worlds. Others seemed completely tuned out to humanity, thanks to their laptops, cell phones, and iPods. What a wonderful thing technology had done for mankind.

Seeing a pretty brunette with a bandage on her forehead in the bookstore across the way sent Karen back to the night Eddie had shown up at Twin Streams with his wounds.

Oh, Lord, help my love for people not to grow cold. I can feel it happening. I’m frustrated with Eddie and Sheila, their immaturity. I’m tempted to hate Tony Badino, Wesley—whoever killed Millie. So many are owned by Satan, blinded by him. Let me have Your compassion. Live in me. Let me love them like You do.

Her eyes caught the gaze of a young man in a long black trench coat. He, too, was in the bookstore about twenty-five feet from her, holding open an issue of
Hot Rod
but staring directly at her. His brazen gaze scorched her face. She buried her attention in her purse and began digging around in it, as if she were searching for something.

You’re just paranoid.

She made up her mind to take another glimpse. His eyes still locked on hers like a warhead on its target. He had small, taut features and a tough yet boyish face. She took inventory of his attire—faded jeans torn at the knee, brown work boots, gray ski cap, and several layers of shirts beneath the long coat.

Digging once again in her bag, she pulled out her cell phone, opened it, and pretended to push buttons. Putting the phone to her ear, she glanced up again.

He was gone.
Nowhere in sight.

With slightly trembling hands, she sipped the cooling mocha and searched the flight board again. Still 2:36.

“Dat?” A tiny girl with shiny brown hair appeared, holding up an index finger and pointing to Karen’s cup. “Dat?”

“That’s coffee.” Karen turned the cup toward the girl, who wore a light pink winter coat with white fur around the hood.

“Coffee?”

Karen met the proud green eyes of the girl’s smiling young mother perched on the edge of her seat, her arms half-outstretched. “She’s just starting to walk,” said the redheaded father, standing behind the mother’s chair, wearing an equally proud grin.

“How are you today?” Karen spoke to the girl in a singsong tone while simultaneously inspecting the area for black trench coats.

“Ta-ti.” The little girl nodded repeatedly. “Ta-ti.”

How adorable.

“
Ta-ti
is grandma,” the woman interpreted. “Grandma and Grandpa are coming for Christmas, and her birthday.”

“Ah,” Karen said in a tone that got the girl’s attention. “And what is your name? Can you tell me your name?”

“Say-wa.”

“Sarah? That’s my mother’s name. That’s a pretty name.”

The girl blinked and nodded her approval.

Karen turned back to the parents. “Is she your only child?”

“So far.” The woman laughed. “We hope to have more. What about you?”

Karen’s smile melted. “I don’t…we don’t have any—yet.”

“Well, enjoy it while you can,” the father advised. “They sure keep you busy.”

For that kind of busy, I’ll trade you any day.

Karen grinned at the father. “How old is she?”

“She’ll be twelve months Christmas dDy.”

“Oh, Sarah. You and Jesus have the same birthday. How special.”

“Silver Bells” played again. Karen excused herself and opened her phone. It was Madison.

“I’m so excited. We got Wesley registered at Horizons at Harbor View. The people are really friendly. And it’s like a resort, all decorated for Christmas, with a fire in the fireplace. Even has a view of Long Island Sound.”

“That’s great news.” Karen scanned the area again. “Is it far from you?”

Karen barely heard Madison describe the location of Horizons; she was more focused on searching out each piece of black clothing and its respective owner.

“Can you believe it?” Madison’s voice brought her back. “Aunt Karen?”

“I’m sorry.” Karen pressed her fingers to her forehead. “I missed that.”

“A girl! Wesley met a really sweet girl while we were getting him situated. Her name’s Cassidy, and she’s from Schenectady. She’s been there about ten days. I’ve never seen him take to anyone like that. We can’t see him or talk to him for at least a week. That means he’ll be alone for Christmas, maybe New Year’s, too.”

“Oh, that’s
good
.” Karen’s fears subsided momentarily as her gaze settled on little Sarah, who was half-eating, half-sucking Cheerios from a plastic yellow container clutched like a football in her tiny arm. “How did it go with your mom and dad?”

“Mom and I drove Wesley to Horizons. Dad drove separately. I hate it that they can’t even stand to be in the car together.”

“That is so hard,” Karen said. “I don’t know exactly how you’re feeling, sweetie, but God does. And I’ve been praying you’ll get to know Him.”

“Thanks. I’ve been reading the Bible you gave me.”

“Oh, Madi…” Karen lost her breath for a second. It was all the emotion—of everything—seeping over the top. “That makes my day.”

When Karen hung up, Sarah held out her tiny wet hand, offering a Cheerio. Karen put it up to her mouth and pretended to eat it. Then she glanced at her watch and decided to head over to the passenger arrival area.

After sharing a pleasant good-bye with the little girl and her parents, Karen tossed her empty cup in a trash can, then made the short walk toward a bright, open area where hundreds of people congregated beneath a line of glowing arrival screens, about forty feet from the escalators.

Karen watched the weary travelers emerging from the escalators: men and women in business suits, casually dressed people yakking on cell phones, young people wandering inquisitively wearing headphones, and old people clinging to each other for dear life.

Then she saw the gray ski cap. The long black trench coat. And the eyes. The penetrating eyes—sizing her up like a predator does its prey.

Her head dropped, staring at the scuffed floor. He was just another New Yorker there to pick up a friend. He had to be. She twisted her watch, adjusted the shoulder strap on her purse, and prayed she was just being obsessive.

Okay, just look around, calmly.
She peered up at the array of arrival details on the board, then glanced back to the open space to the right of the escalators.

He leered at her with those little eyes and that cocky demeanor—a leg slung over the arm of a red vinyl chair.

Karen held his gaze as long as she could, but it was like holding her hand over a flame. When he eased his head back and grinned seductively, she spun completely around toward the restrooms. She squeezed her fingers and sought solace amid the sea of faces surrounding her but found none.

She checked her watch—2:40—then the arrival board; her parents’ flight was in.
They’ll deplane, get the train…another ten minutes.
She let her eyes drift back to the red chair.

Empty.

She froze, unable to turn her head. She was certain he’d be right there. She stared at the escalators, but the people pouring off were only a blur. Her mind whisked her back to Twin Streams—the splattered red snow…Millie’s blood-caked body…and the words
You Die
scrawled in burgundy.

“Excuse me,” came a male voice from behind, along with a tap on her arm. Her shoulders lurched. She clutched her purse and forced herself around. “I’m sorry.” A slight man of Middle Eastern descent smiled at her with brilliant white teeth. “Do you have the time, please?”

Karen heaved a sigh, gave him the time, and chuckled at herself.

It was times like these when she was glad no one but God knew her every thought. She relaxed in the security of the masses and swiveled to face the escalators.

There he was. Again.

Within six feet.
Glaring.

She bumped into the woman next to her. Her mother’s red coat caught her eye first. Then her broad-shouldered father in his black leather jacket and assuring smile. Karen’s hand rose, and she heard herself squeal.

She was weak and dazed, but she kept going, excusing herself, weaving around bodies, bumping hard into several, frantically making her way into the opening. Into the warm embrace of those who’d always kept her safe.

22

WIND SWIRLED THE SNOW
around outside the bay window at Twin Streams. After seeing the ghostlike reflection of headlights on the wall, Everett had passed through the busy kitchen and peered out at the night. By the time he got there, the headlights became taillights, gliding down Old Peninsula, over the hill and out of sight.

Ever since his disturbing phone conversation with Tony Badino, Everett couldn’t get the kid out of his head and was glad to finally be talking about it with Karen’s father, Jacob, who had become his spiritual mentor of sorts.

Karen’s dinner of baked chicken and mashed potatoes had garnered positive reviews from her parents. But something in their countenance—perhaps their quieter-than-normal manner—made Everett suspect they’d already spoken at length with Karen about her infertility on the way home from the airport. It hadn’t been mentioned during dinner.

Everett made coffee while Karen and Sarah tidied up the kitchen, gabbing like long-lost roommates while upbeat Christmas carols played over the home stereo system.

Jacob sat at the kitchen table, studying Everett’s Bible. “Is this it? ‘When the unclean spirit goes out of a man, it passes through waterless places, seeking rest, and does not find. Then it says, “I will return to my house from which I came”; and when it comes, it finds it unoccupied, swept, and put in order.’”

“That’s exactly what Badino quoted to me,” Everett said. “Keep going.”

Jacob looked back down and followed his finger. “‘Then it goes and takes along with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there; and the last state of that man becomes worse than the first.’”

“Okay, translate it for me.”

“Well, first of all, if he was implying this is going to happen to you, Ev, he’s wrong. Jesus was talking about people who try to become
morally reformed
but not born again.”

“What’s it mean, about the unclean spirits?” Everett asked.

“Say a person cleans up his act. He gets rid of some of the bad things in his life, and what happens? The unclean spirit goes out of him. For a while, he does better. But Christ hasn’t been invited to live in that person, so he’s plagued much worse than before.”