July Thunder (11 page)

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “The really strange thing is that it
does
sound like some cheesy horror movie. Except…I was in it. And I didn't like it.”

He nodded. “I had the same sort of feeling about that woman I saw. And I've been grateful ever since that I've never had another experience like it.”

“I wish I hadn't,” she said.

“It happened again?”

She colored faintly. “Never mind. You're going to think I'm off my rocker.”

“It's
obvious
you're not off your rocker. Go on, tell me.”

She hesitated, toying with her food. When she spoke, she tried to sound lighthearted. “Those footsteps I heard in the brush?”

“Oh, God, don't tell me something attacked you.”

Her eyes jumped up, meeting his. “Oh, no! Nothing like that. No, it's just that they…followed me home.”

He wasn't sure he understood her correctly. “Followed you home? How? When?”

“It's kind of hard to explain. But after that camping trip, when we came home, I heard the footsteps in the house late at night. Something would wake me, and I could hear them. Sort of. Oh, it's so hard to explain. It wasn't exactly as if I heard them the way I'm hearing you, but I still heard them, if you can get some idea what I mean.” She grimaced. “Sometimes language fails.”

“I think I know what you mean. Like something on the very edge of hearing.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “That's a great description. That's exactly what I mean. Night after night, I'd lie awake listening. I'd hear those footsteps start at the base of the basement stairs. They climbed slowly and walked into the kitchen. Then they'd stop.”

“Now that's really creepy.”

“I lost count of the nights I lay awake with my heart hammering so hard I could scarcely get enough air in my lungs. Listening. Terrified they'd go farther, that they'd come down the hall to my bedroom. I started needing the hall light on outside my door, not that I ever understood what the light would do. I tried to tell myself it was just some sound the house was making, the heating system or something. But I kept right on hearing it. For years. It didn't stop until I left home.”

“That must have been awful! Did you tell anyone?”

“Oh, sure, I told my mom. She asked me to keep quiet about it so my little cousin wouldn't get upset. I thought she didn't believe me, but it turns out I was wrong. She believed me, all right. And years after I left, I heard from her and my cousin that they heard the steps, too, and that they started to go farther back into the house, into the bedroom wing.”

“I feel like shivering. But how do you know they were the same steps you heard in the woods?”

“Because…” She hesitated, then blurted it out. “Because I could feel it thinking, ‘Is she the one?'”

“The hair on the back of my neck is standing up.”

“Mine, too.” She gave an uneasy laugh. “I've never told anyone else about that. You must think I was hallucinating.”

He shook his head. “You forget, I grew up in a
world populated by demons, devils and angels. In my childhood, the unseen was every bit as real as the seen.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

He thought it over for a moment or two. “I guess so. My belief structures are less simplistic than they used to be, but if you want to ask me if I believe in angels or the devil, I'd have to say yes. And if I had any doubts, my experience in police work would have convinced me.”

“Why?”

“Because of what I've seen. It's not so bad here in Whisper Creek, but when I was working in Boulder and Denver, I saw stuff that could chill your soul. Things that couldn't be called anything except evil. People so far removed from basic conscience that it was as if they didn't
have
a soul. But I saw other things, too. Miraculous things. Things that make me believe angels watch over us sometimes.”

“Not chance?”

His steady gaze met hers. “What do you think?”

“I'm a religious person. I go through most of my life feeling that everything around me is a miracle. Other times…” Her face darkened, but she made a visible effort to lighten her mood. “Sometimes I feel as if we're all lost and abandoned. Victims of random chance.”

He nodded and touched her hand again. This time, while it was also comforting, the touch was electric. He could almost hear the snap in the air. He jerked
his fingers back. “We all feel that way sometimes. It's the old question: why do bad things happen to good people?”

“Why do they?”

He shook his head. “I don't know. I guess we're supposed to learn lessons from it. Deepen our compassion and sympathy and love for our fellow man. That's all I can think of.”

She nodded slowly and drew a long breath. “Maybe so. I have to believe there's something positive in it all.”

“Otherwise we'd give up completely.”

They shared a long look of understanding, then resumed eating.

“So,” Sam asked, “have you had any other spooky experiences?”

“No, thank goodness. That was it, and that was quite enough for one lifetime.”

“So what do you think these experiences are?”

“I haven't the faintest idea. I'd say brain glitches, except I find it hard to believe that leaving home would have made me stop hearing those steps if they were caused by something in my brain.”

“Or that your family would have heard them if it was just in your brain.”

“Power of suggestion,” she suggested.

“But you don't really believe that. And frankly, neither do I.” He pushed his plate to one side and nodded for the waiter to refill their coffee cups. “The thing is, the whole idea of ghosts doesn't fit
with my religious beliefs. The idea that spirits could get trapped here on earth just doesn't sit well with me.”

“But demons do?”

He laughed. “I never said I was consistent. Maybe there was a demon after you. But a ghost? That means something isn't working right in the way things are set up.”

She nodded and pushed her own plate aside. “I see what you mean. I sometimes thought that maybe what I was hearing was some kind of psychic impression left behind in the house. Except that doesn't explain what I heard in the woods.”

“Hmm.” He thought about that, drumming his fingers absently on the table. “Well, my father would tell you that a demon was after you.”

She shivered visibly. “The thought crossed my mind more than once when it was happening. Do you think that?”

He shook his head. “I have to admit I don't. I'm more inclined to believe it might have been some sort of poltergeist phenomenon.”

“What's that?”

“Well, the name means noisy ghost. But what the experts think is that kids in adolescence give off some kind of strong psychic energy that can cause noises, or even cause objects to move. So maybe nothing followed you home. Maybe what happened in the woods somehow triggered your unconscious to imitate the experience.”

“But why did it continue after I left?”

“How old was your cousin?”

All of a sudden she smiled faintly. “Twelve. She had just turned twelve. I like your explanation.”

He shrugged. “I don't know if it makes any more sense than demons. Except that if you accept the existence of demons for the sake of argument, I'd have a hard time trying to figure out a reason why any demon would do exactly the same things night after night like that.”

“Good point.” She looked as if some kind of weight had lifted from her shoulders.

“Of course,” he added wryly, “none of this explains my disappearing woman.”

“I guess not.” But she was still looking relieved.

“I got called in on a poltergeist case once, in Boulder.”

Her eyes widened. “For real?”

“For real. How else do you think I know what it's called and what it's supposed to be?” His mouth quirked as he spoke, and she laughed. He loved the sound of her laugh, a gentle ripple of sound.

“So tell,” she asked.

The waiter interrupted just then to take their plates and ask if they wanted dessert. Sam looked questioningly at Mary.

She shook her head. “I think I'm too full.”

“I'm not. Share a piece of turtle cheesecake with me?”

“Maybe a spoonful.”

He grinned. “That's enough to justify it.”

The waiter departed, leaving them once again alone with the flickering candle between them. He could tell the candle bothered her, but she seemed to have shoved that aside. It was, Sam thought, almost like sharing ghost stories over a campfire.

“The poltergeist,” she reminded him. “What happened?”

“First, let me tell you that I never actually saw or heard anything. In fact, at the time, I felt kind of stupid even being there. I was almost positive it was some kind of scam.”

She nodded encouragingly. The cheesecake materialized in front of them with two spoons. Mary picked one up at Sam's insistence and tasted the dessert. It was, as everything else had been, perfect.

“So what was going on?” she prompted.

“I don't know. What I do know is the department got a hysterical call from a woman who insisted somebody or something was in her house, that it was vandalizing the place. I was the lucky one who got dispatched.

“When I got there, everything was quiet. Well, except for the woman and her two daughters. They were pretty hysterical, and the father was half-stunned and half-ready to kill someone. Apparently odd things had been happening for some time, and it had finally gotten out of hand.”

“What kind of odd things?”

“Noises, mostly at night. The kids and the mom
described it as scratching and knocking. The dad said he never heard it. Then things got stranger. Fires started in wastebaskets. At first the parents thought it was one of the girls doing it. The dad got pretty frosted, I guess, and he and the mom started watching the girls like hawks. Then it escalated into vandalism. Tearing off the wallpaper, scribbling on the walls and mirrors in something like lipstick. Things being smashed when nobody was in the room.”

“Boy! What did you do?”

“All I could do. I talked to the girls, tried to frighten them a little about what would happen if they or one of their friends got caught doing any of that stuff and wrote up a report. What else could I do? There was no evidence at all of any involvement outside the family. At that point it was a matter for somebody besides the police, unless one of them was going to point a finger. And nobody was pointing fingers. By that time the parents were convinced the daughters weren't involved.”

“Poor people. So they never got any help?”

“I didn't say that. A few months later I heard they were working with a parapsychologist. It was certainly more up his alley than it was mine.”

“I've heard about things like that, but I never knew anyone who was personally involved.” She laughed and took another spoonful of cheesecake. “Well, except for me, I guess. You know what I mean.”

“I wasn't exactly involved, though. Nothing much a cop can do about something like that. What am I going to do? Arrest a poltergeist? Arrest a kid who doesn't have the foggiest idea she's doing anything? Not likely.”

“It must have felt awful to be unable to help.”

He was surprised by her understanding. “It was,” he admitted. “They were as upset and scared as anybody who's had a home invasion, and I couldn't do a thing to ease their minds.”

A few minutes later, when they stepped outside, the stench of smoke hit them in the faces, almost like a slap. Sam's eyes started burning immediately.

“Back to reality,” he said. It wasn't a happy thought.

T
he smoke in the air hid the stars in the sky as Sam and Mary crossed the gravel parking lot to his car. Just as he was about to help Mary in, a car came roaring down the highway and sprayed gravel as it turned into the parking lot. It stopped with a jolt right next to Sam.

The man inside jumped out. It was Louis DelRay. “Sam, Sam, thank God I saw you. It's Joe. He went back to the house this afternoon. And he hasn't come back!”

“What the hell was he doing? And how the heck did he get through the pass? They're not letting anyone through there except firefighters.”

Louis shook his head. “Joe took the back way in.”

The back way in.
Sam knew it, sort of. He'd traveled it maybe once in the few years he'd lived here. It was little more than a leftover wagon rut from the last century. Passable by a high-sprung four-wheel
drive and little else. These days it was seldom used except by ambitious hikers.

“Why did he go back?”

Louis sighed. “He realized he'd forgotten to pack the pictures of his mother. She's dead, you know. I'd have stopped him or gone with him or something, but I didn't know what he'd done until I found his note. He said he'd be back no later than six.” He shifted his weight impatiently, his face a mirror of worry and fear. “I've got to get in there. I've got to get him out. If you come with me, maybe they'll let me through the pass.”

Sam shook his head firmly. “No. Trust me, they won't. Not under any circumstances. I'll radio and see if I can get one of the fire teams to look for him.”

“I can't wait! He could already be in trouble. And this car won't make it in the back way.”

Sam reached out and gripped his arm. “Listen to me, Louis. The firefighters can get to him faster. If you go back there, all you'll do is make it necessary for the teams to search for someone else. You'll put someone else at risk. Do you understand?”

Slowly, reluctantly, Louis nodded. It seemed to Mary that his eyes grew wet.

“I'll get help, Louis. I promise. You see Mary home for me. We'll find Joe.”

Mary wanted to stop him, wanted to tell him not to do anything crazy. But she bit back the words and climbed into Louis's car with him. It occurred
to her that she ought to be annoyed about being dumped on a total stranger like this, but the thought seemed so selfish and childish that she dismissed it immediately. Some things took priority, and she knew Sam wouldn't have turned her over to Louis if he didn't have to.

Louis jammed his car into gear as soon as they were both belted in. “Sorry,” he said, “but I'm going up the pass just as soon as I drop you off. Where's your house?”

“On Maple.”

He braked at the edge of the parking lot before getting on the highway and watched Sam speed off. Sam's vehicle was no longer a private car. He'd slapped a whirling blue light on top of it.

“God,” Louis said, closing his eyes for a moment. “I'm glad I ran into him. He's the only guy in town I trust to give a shit what happens to Joe.”

Mary forgot her own fears for Sam and looked at him. “Why? Joe's a human being.”

“Yeah.” Louis gave a bitter laugh and pulled out on the highway heading toward town. “By the way, my name's Louis DelRay.”

“Yes, I know. And your partner is Joe Canton.”

“Right.” He glanced at her, his eyes dark and brooding. “See? We've never talked, but you know who we are. That's what I mean. The whole town knows the two queer artists, and most of 'em would be glad if we lived on another planet.”

Mary didn't know what to say. It was true that
she'd heard of them, even had them pointed out to her once or twice. She'd always avoided any derogatory talk about them, but she wasn't a fool. She knew what Louis meant. “I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, so am I. But hey, that's the way they slice the loaf. I got the heel.”

His wheels screeched a little as he went round a curve. Mary instinctively reached for something to hang on to.

“Sorry,” he said, and slowed down. “I just want to get back up there.”

“I understand. It's okay.”

“No, it's not okay to scare you. Who are you, anyway?”

“Mary McKinney. I teach English at the high school.”

He nodded. “Nice to meet you. Wish the circumstances were better.”

“Me, too.”

“We keep pretty much to ourselves, Joe and me. I suppose we could move to some big city where there're others like us, but… Hey, what can I tell you. We both crave the solitude and the mountains.”

“You're artists, aren't you?”

“Yeah. I sculpt, Joe paints.”

“Were you able to get all your work out of there?”

He nodded. “The first things we packed. I had to leave some marble behind—too big to carry out—
but if it burns it'll probably be okay. I mean, it's marble. I suppose the heat could crack it, but I can work around that.”

“Do you only work in marble?”

“Depends on what I'm doing. I like granite, too. And sometimes agate. Limestone is good for some things.”

“What kind of things do you sculpt?”

“Depends on whether I'm working to please myself or to make money.”

“I can understand that. We all need to live.”

“Yeah. And isn't it amazing how hard we make it on each other sometimes?”

“Yes,” she agreed quietly. “It is.”

They were in town, nearing her house. He turned onto Maple with a squeal of tires.

“Four doors down on the right,” she told him. “Thanks for the ride.”

“My pleasure.” He stopped with a sharp jerk, and Mary reached for the door handle, well aware that he just wanted to get up to the pass.

But she paused and looked at him. “Louis…let the pros handle it. They're more likely to get Joe out than you are.”

He looked straight at her. “If we don't get Joe out, I don't give a damn what happens to me.”

“I do,” she said firmly. “And I'm sure there are others who would, too. Besides, it's like Sam said. If you go out there, you might only be endangering others.”

The smile he gave her was lopsided, humorless. “You really are a teacher.”

Flushing, Mary climbed out of the car and stood on the curb, watching him tear away. After a moment she noticed that Elijah was standing across the street in his yard.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“Interesting company you keep.”

Her temper flared. “What do you mean by that?”

“Just that I think a schoolteacher should be more careful about the types she hangs out with.”

“Where do you get off telling me who I should be seen with?”

“I'm only concerned about what's best for you.”

Her mouth opened with a sharp retort, then closed as she realized that his tone hadn't been at all critical. The man really
was
concerned.

“I'll be fine. Of course, there wouldn't be any problem at all if people didn't have strange prejudices.”

“Perhaps,” he said noncommittally.

“Anyway,” she added kindly, before turning to go inside, “you might be interested to know that your son is on the way to rescue one of those
types
from the fire.”

She didn't mean it the way it sounded. She'd genuinely felt he might want to know that Sam could be going into danger. He was Sam's father, after all, and whatever the bad blood between them, she just
couldn't believe that there was no genuine love left there. But as soon as she spoke, she realized how spiteful the words had sounded.

“I'm sorry,” she hastened to say. “I didn't intend to be mean.”

He waved the apology aside and started across the street toward her. “I deserve it, regardless. What do you mean? What happened?”

When he reached her, she saw genuine worry on his face. Maybe she would have been kinder to leave him in ignorance. Maybe she was every bit as mean as her words had sounded.

“Joe Canton went back to his house in the valley,” she explained, keeping her tone gentle. “His partner said he'd promised to be back by six.”

“But he's not. And Sam went after him.” Elijah's face darkened.

“I don't know if Sam will go personally or if one of the fire teams will be sent.”

But she knew. In her heart of hearts, she knew. Sam wasn't the kind of man to send someone else where he wouldn't go himself. How she knew that she couldn't say. She was just sure of it.

And so was Elijah, to judge by the look in his eyes.

“Come in,” she said in a rush of sympathy. “Come inside and have some tea with me.”

To her amazement, he followed, taking a seat in her living room.

“I'll just go make the tea,” she said. “Back in a moment.”

He didn't respond but looked far away, as if his mind were roving over possibilities she'd been trying to avoid thinking about.

Elijah could be such an irritating man, she thought as she boiled water and dropped some tea bags into the pot. He had a way of saying things that sounded judgmental, as if he were declaiming truths from on high. Maybe that was just a bad habit developed over a lifetime of being a minister. Maybe he didn't mean to sound that way. He certainly had handled some of her bristling and criticism in a humble manner, when he might just as well have erupted at her.

And boy, did he make her bristle. But maybe that was his unfortunate manner rather than his intent. Having dealt with him only a few times, she could readily understand how he might have clashed with Sam, and how painful that clashing would have been for a child. But maybe Elijah was a better man than his abrasive personality would lead one to believe. And maybe he cared more for Sam than he knew how to admit, and more than Sam wanted to believe.

Watch it,
she told herself sternly. Don't make judgments too quickly. It could hurt Sam. It could hurt Elijah. It could hurt her.

Looking for the best in people was one of her lifelong traits, though, one she sometimes had to rein in. Life had taught her that there were truly bad peo
ple around. But she still didn't seem able to entirely quell her tendency to make excuses for other people.

Carrying the pot, cream, sugar and two mugs on a tray into the living room, she placed them on the coffee table in front of Elijah. “I hope you like Earl Grey.”

He half smiled. “My favorite.”

She poured cups for them both, taking hers black, and watched as he loaded sugar into his cup. So much sugar that she was certain it couldn't all dissolve.

He spoke. “You like my son, don't you?”

Mary hesitated, uncertain how to take that. “He's a fine man, yes, if that's what you mean.”

His blue eyes lifted from his cup to hers. “I meant something more than that.”

She shook her head. “I told you, we're not dating. We're just…friends. Casual friends.”

He leaned back against the couch, cradling his mug in both hands. “It gets so chilly at night here, doesn't it?”

“Yes. The thin air.”

“So I understand. And the older I get, the more the cold bothers me. I probably should have looked for a church farther south.”

“Why didn't you?”

“I don't know.”

But Mary was of the opinion it was no oversight or mistake that had brought him to Whisper Creek.
Whether he was conscious of it or not, he had come to be near his son.

And wasn't that leaping to conclusions? she asked herself. She'd better watch it. He might have come here for no other reason than that he liked the hiring committee and hadn't realized that the evening chill would bother him.

It was her night, it seemed, to be caught in awkward silences. First with Sam, now with his father. Elijah didn't have much to say, which was rather odd in a man who had up until now offered his opinions about a lot of things without even being asked. And she didn't know what to say to him. Sam was the topic that kept coming to her mind, but she didn't want Elijah to get the wrong idea, and she wanted even less to tread into the quicksand of their relationship.

“I just hope he's okay,” she finally settled for saying.

“That always was Sam,” he answered. “Rescuing fools from their own foolishness.”

For a moment she thought he was commenting on Joe and Louis's lifestyle—was that the right word nowadays? no, orientation—but the look on his face didn't bear out the thought. As if sensing that he might be misunderstood, he continued.

“Going back into a fire zone like that. It was foolish. But Sam was never one to let fools suffer for their mistakes.”

“I'll bet he learned that from you,” she said.

“You don't see me driving into that valley, do you?”

“No,” Mary said. “But you've spent your life driving into people's spiritual valleys. Trying to rescue people from the devil, or themselves, or whatever.”

Elijah nodded slowly. “I guess that might be right. But Sam takes too many risks. There's a difference between looking out for your neighbor and driving into a forest fire.”

“‘Greater love hath no man than to lay down his life for a friend.' Isn't that in the Bible somewhere?”

He seemed taken aback, surprised. “You
do
know your Bible.” He had said that the first time they met, but it still seemed to surprise him.

“I love that verse,” she said. “But isn't that what Sam's doing?”

Elijah paused for a long moment. “I just want him to come home.”

 

Sam's Jeep bounced along the trail, another Jeep following him with four firefighters. He'd harangued them at the checkpoint until they'd broken down. “You're not going in there without us,” a squat, soot-covered fireman had said. “That's the first rule of fire fighting: never go in alone.”

Louis had pulled up just as they were about to leave, demanding to come along. Sam had threatened him with arrest if he didn't head back to town.
He had agreed only when Sam reached for his cuffs. Now Sam was jolting around in the seat, fighting to control the wheel, a rebreather unit thunking in the seat beside him. He rounded a corner in the forest and slowed to a stop. A wall of flame had spread across the road.