Histories of the Void Garden, Book 1: Pyre of Dreams (16 page)

“It’s a
surprise … Go!”

Stephanie
launched herself at the staircase, and made straight for her room.
By the time she’d finished packing her little back pack, she was
bouncing off the walls. She didn’t want to say anything, too afraid
to ask her father what was going on, because that might burst this
magical bubble that seemed to be growing around her. She pulled the
straps of her backpack over her shoulders, and felt the weight of
her hard backed
Les Misérables
pressing against the small of
her back. She looked at the pile of clothes on her bed.

“Dad!”

Within seconds,
her father appeared at the bedroom door looking panicked.

“You okay?
What’s wrong?”

Stephanie
pointed at the clothes, “I can’t fit any more.”

David nodded,
smoothed his hair back, then nodded again, swooping towards the bed
and bundling all of Stephanie’s clothes in his arms, “I’ll handle
these, just make sure you’ve got your toothbrush, and your
inhaler.”

Within minutes,
David was throwing his duffel bag and Stephanie’s backpack into the
back of the Toyota. He leaned against the back of the car, waiting
for Stephanie to finish up inside. His head was starting to throb
now, pain spearing sharply around the front of his skull, as if his
temples were being crushed. He leaned into the back of the car,
pushing his chin over the rear seats, straining to see the clock on
the dashboard. Four hours before he could take any more pain
killers. He climbed back out of the tailgate, just in time to hear
Stephanie close the front door of the house behind her. David
reached up to close the tailgate, the pain coursing through his
body forcing him to close his eyes for a long second.

His hands
aching as he grasped the wheel, his right ankle in agony as he
applied pressure to the accelerator, David pulled out of the
driveway and set off towards New York.

The pain kept David
alert for the most part, and when the pain took over his senses,
the driving assists prevented him from rear ending anyone. A couple
of times, he had nodded his head at stop lights, and woken up in a
panic, mind twisted from a surreal dream, hands lashing out
desperately, while his foot mashed at the brake-pedal. Once he
reached the interstate, he sharpened up, embracing every ache and
pain, eyes flicking from car to car, rising paranoia fueling his
hazard perception.

They were
coming up on exit twelve on I95 when Stephanie’s voice piped up
from the back seat.

“I want
tacos.”

David felt an
immediate sense of relief at the thought of some brief respite from
tension.

“Not
burgers?”

“No. I really
want tacos dad.”

“Not …
pizza?”

“Dad!”

Stephanie’s
obvious exasperation brought a smile to David’s face.

David didn’t have to
drive far off exit 12 to find a Tex-Mex joint. The place was clean,
well-staffed, and smelled right, but none of that mattered much to
either David or Stephanie. They had eaten from some truly
unwholesome taco stands over the years, and had rarely been
disappointed. He sat Stephanie at a table with six hard tacos, six
soft tacos, and drinks, then asked one of the servers if they
minded watching her while he used the restrooms. By the time he got
back to the table, Stephanie had already eaten two soft tacos, and
was gleefully raising a hard taco to her mouth, sour cream and
salsa dripping down her chin.

“Stephanie
Beach, you’re a disgrace.”

She tipped her
hand, trying to angle the taco so that she could take a bite,
spilling half of its contents onto the plate in the process. She
nodded, rocking back and forth, giggling cheese and black beans
into her hand.

“Good!” she
exclaimed, giving a messy thumbs up.

David sat down,
plating himself a couple of soft tacos, taking a long swig of his
drink.

“You know
you’ll get a stomach ache if you eat too fast.”

Stephanie
glowered, “Daddy, I never get stomach aches.”

David nodded.
She did, although she had a willfully short memory for such
things.

“Where are we
going?”

“I told you,
it’s a surprise.”

“We’re going to
New York aren’t we?”

David wiped
salsa from his mouth with the back of his hand, “It’s a
surprise.”

Stephanie
shrugged, “The way we’re going, I wouldn’t be surprised if we ended
up in New York.”

David laughed
warmly, dropping his taco onto the plate in front of him. He could
hear Hannah sometimes when Stephanie talked, probably more than
himself. She was sharp, and he knew that he often didn’t give her
enough credit for just how much attention she paid to what was
going on around her.

“Okay, we’re
going to New York. You okay with that?”

“Sure. Hot
Dogs, pizza, spaghetti, squids, steak and burgers.” Stephanie
checked off an imaginary shopping list on her fingers, grinning a
lettuce and tomato smile. “Why isn’t Aunt Hannah coming with
us?”

“She has
classes.”

“I have
classes”

David leaned
forward, slumping his head against his hand, “Honey, there’s some
things I’m not going to have answers for okay? You know I’d tell
you if I could, but I don’t know everything at the minute. There’s
a lot of things going on.”

Stephanie felt
the confusion filling her eyes. Confusion did that sometimes, like
sadness, or too much laughter. A mouthful of cheese and overcooked
beef brought clarity.

“You didn’t
tell me about New York.”

“Last time we
were in New York, a lot of bad things happened.”

Stephanie
shrugged, “That was pretty pacific.”

“Specific?”
David asked, correcting her.

“Are we going
to see the president again?”

“No.”

“Can I have hot
dogs, and steak?”

“Sure.”

Stephanie
smiled and forced a small fistful of taco past her teeth.

Stanwick Thrass sat
alone in her Pontiac watching the entrance to the taco dive. She
didn’t know where David Beach was heading, but she had a good idea
what had prompted him to bolt so suddenly. She hadn’t been watching
him as closely as she should have. She’d arrived in time to see him
drive off in the surveillance van that morning, which had struck
her as particularly bizarre. Physically Beach was a pretty average
guy, and there was no way he could have had the wherewithal to
dispose of two federal agents, at least not without waking the
neighbors, and certainly not agents Carmichael and McMahon.
Stanwick had watched those two, almost as much as she’d watched
Beach recently, although she’d known of them for much longer. She
wondered if perhaps she should have taken more time with them, but
they weren’t her responsibility, not now, if they ever had
been.

She hadn’t
followed Beach, because she knew he’d return to his home, although
she was surprised to see him turn up almost three hours later,
limping, and wrecked. She supposed now that he was heading to New
York. He was definitely on the right path, and she couldn’t figure
out where else he could be heading. New York … As she watched the
entrance to the restaurant, waiting for Dave to come out trailing
his daughter behind him, she wondered if he was even dumber than
she’d given him credit for. He certainly wasn’t cut from the same
cloth as his father.

Charlene held two
boxes up for West’s inspection, “Which one?”

West raised a
hand and tapped the glossy lid of the box bearing the title “Ebony
Forest.”

Charlene read
the description of the dye, which suggested that it would give her
hair a complete beauty makeover, with visible glimmer and high
shine. She knew hair dye, or at least she used to, but it had been
a long time since her hair had been anything but silvery white and
she was concerned that going so dark would be too dramatic a
change.

“Really? You
think I could pull this off?”

West couldn’t
tell the difference between the two shades of hair dye, so he
shrugged and nodded in response, “Of course you can, have you seen
yourself recently?”

Charlene smiled
and returned the box marked “Midnight Rogue” to the shelf, “You
know, I was naturally a redhead …”

West’s brow
furrowed as he tried to cast his memory back so many years, “You
were?”

Charlene smiled
at him and raised an eyebrow as she walked down the aisle towards
the checkouts, “I was. I always suited darker hair though. It was
still a little outrageous to dye your hair when I was a teenager. I
never would have admitted to it at the time. It was something
‘loose’ girls did.”

She put the box
down on the counter and looked towards West, batting her eyelids
coquettishly. He smiled, pulled a hundred-dollar bill out of his
pocket and handed it to the cashier.

“You got
anything smaller?” she asked sullenly.

West rolled his
eyes, “If you can crack a smile you can keep the change.”

The girl
grinned and raised her eyebrows, “For real?”

“Sure,” West
replied, “You honestly deserve it more than me. I don’t work one
day in twenty.”

West didn’t
wait to see her response, he took Charlene’s hand in his and headed
out of the store.

“Is that true?”
Charlene asked, tugging West’s arm in the direction of a lingerie
store she had spotted.

“It depends
what you call work really.”

Charlene
pointed to the lingerie shop, “Do you mind if I step in here? My
wardrobe leaves a lot to be desired.”

West laughed
politely, “You want me to wait out here?”

“No, if you’re
not embarrassed. I haven’t taken any pleasure in shopping for
lingerie for quite a while though, so I don’t intend to be
rushed.”

West knew that
it would be some time before David would arrive in New York, even
if he didn’t make any rest stops. He opened the door for Charlene,
and followed her into the store, “Take as much time as you
need.”

Charlene was offered
assistance immediately by two of the three female store clerks, and
for once, she was quite relieved to have the help. She informed
them that she hadn’t been fitted for a bra recently, and yes, she
would like to be fitted. She was noncommittal on the issue of
cleavage, and she would accept their guidance. One of the girls
reached behind Charlene’s back and brought a nylon measuring tape
around her front, taking the measurement under her breasts, then
reaching her hands back she lifted the tape and took the
measurement around her bust line. The girl stepped back and smiled,
“Okay sweetie, you’re a thirty-two B. Is that close to what you’re
wearing right now?”

Charlene
touched the girls arm, “Dear, thirty-two is about how many years it
is since I paid any heed to this sort of thing.” The girl smiled
awkwardly and glanced towards the other assistant. Charlene caught
their interaction just in time to laugh it off, as if she was just
toying with them. The girl smiled more naturally, and tried not to
look at West as she asked Charlene, “Now are you looking for
something sexy, or just day to day wear … casual sort of
thing?”

Charlene
shrugged, “I don’t know really …” she also avoided looking at West,
leaning her head close to the girl, as if she was in on some great
conspiracy, “I suppose I ought to get a mix. I’ve just had a major
wardrobe clear out …”

“I could do
with that myself … pare everything down to like, a capsule
wardrobe.” The other girl laughed, “Sure, a time capsule maybe.”
The first girl pouted and touched Charlene’s shoulder, “Ignore her,
she’s jealous. Let’s see …” she led Charlene towards an alcove in
the store which was stocked wall to ceiling with racks of bra and
pantie sets.

West hung back,
and the second assistant took a couple of steps towards him, “Is
there anything you want to look at while you’re here? We have a
wide selection of colognes … Or perfumes for your lady friend
perhaps?”

West stroked
his chin, wishing he could remember the feeling of his stubble,
certain it was a sensation he had enjoyed, “I don’t know, I don’t
tend to bother with cologne.”

“Would you like
to look at what we’ve got? There might be something that takes your
fancy?” The girl was polite, not too pushy, and West thought that
she at least deserved his attention, even if he didn’t intend upon
buying anything. He smiled and walked towards her, and she gladly
took the cue to lead him towards the token men’s section. She
picked a small clear glass bottle from one of the shelves, along
with a tester card. She pumped the spray action, wafting the card
in the air for a second as she explained to West, “This is one of
our newer colognes, ‘Coiled Tryst.’ It’s infused with artemisia,
cumin and bergamot,” she held it towards West’s nose, “there’s an
undercurrent of orris and sandalwood. This is probably our most
popular cologne at the moment.”

West sniffed
and closed his eyes. He knew better than to allow himself to be
carried away by scent memory. Sandalwood held so many associations
for him and it was this scent which stood out most prominently to
him. He opened his eyes and nodded approvingly.

“You like it
huh? Like I say … real popular at the minute. We’ve got it on
special too, so if you buy anything above three ounces, you get the
matching face lotion.”

West tried to
imagine what misfortune might prompt him to need face lotion. On
the other hand, the girl was doing her job, and doing it well, so
he figured he might as well buy a four-ounce bottle. Coiled Tryst,
he thought to himself, toying with the letters in his mind … city
oldster … dirty closet …

The girl
stepped behind the till and rang up the transaction, “That’ll be
one hundred and twenty-six eighty with tax.”

West reached
into his pocket and pulled out his money clip. Handing a couple of
bills over to the girl he smirked, “Tried … costly.” The girl
looked confused by his non sequitur, so West elaborated, “Your
employers obviously have a sense of irony. Coiled Tryst is an
anagram of tried costly.”