Second Sight (2 page)

I came to Knoxville for a reason. I’d looked
up the gang problems here, and I knew if any place needed a
sojourner for steady work, this place could be it just as well as
any other. The trouble is that in order to find a sojourner,
somebody’s got to be dying, which means finding Lev will open
myself up to a whole new world I am not really sure I want to
face.

Brushing the hair from my face, I try to
ignore the broken air conditioner and sweat spilling down my face
in thick runnels. Unsure which direction to go, I take a random
left and head for some back roads. Even as I leave the public
relations side of town behind, a little voice is telling me this
isn’t such a hot idea, and while I know that, I’ve tried thinking
of other ways to find Lev—or any other angels, for that matter. The
trouble is that I haven’t come up with anything else, and I’m not
willing to live in the status quo. Life without Lev isn’t an
option.

I fiddle with the radio, trying to ignore the
static bursts grating on my nerves. It’s the one drawback to my
Jeep, and most of the time I’ve been able to ignore it. It’s just
that, these days, I’m having problems ignoring a lot of stuff. When
I look up, I start seeing the first signs of economic struggle in
the condition of houses needing new paint with less-than-luxurious
cars sitting in the driveways and on the streets. For a moment, my
foot stutters on the gas as another internal warning goes off,
telling me I should turn around and head home.

Instead, I nudge the accelerator and keep
going, watching as the neglected houses slowly give way to slums.
The cars passing by are no longer those of rich, affluent whites
but have, for the most part, turned into lower-end models of
non-descript cars. Most of the faces I see blur past are of Latino
descent.

I swallow hard, suddenly realizing just how
far out of my element I am. The run-down houses on either side of
me have numerous people milling about, including small children,
which should make me feel a little more at ease, but it doesn’t,
not with the looks I keep getting, especially from teenage males.
I’ve seen lots of guys watch me, but these expressions are feral
and territorial. It has nothing to do with attraction and
everything to do with trying to put people in their places. As an
outsider and a female, I’m not sure what that place might be, but
I’m also not slowing down to find out.

It’s then, of all times, I feel my front tire
start to wobble, and I cringe at the thought of a flat. Around me,
there are so many people, and the houses are so small. The flow of
traffic has all but died, suggesting that this neighborhood is
really either very dangerous or a dead-end. Either way, I shouldn’t
be here.

Knowing I don’t have a choice, I ease the
Jeep to the side of the road and shift into park. Already I see
lots of people staring. The kids who were playing with Frisbees or
footballs suddenly stop and look at me—yet another sign strangers
don’t come here. Or if they do, they certainly aren’t welcome. I
nervously reach inside my purse, scanning for my cell. As my hand
touches my wallet, my compact, my brush, I realize I’ve left it at
home. My stomach falls like I’m riding a roller coaster and I’ve
just gone down the first big hill.

For a moment, I just sit there,
half-considering turning the vehicle around and driving back toward
the mall. At least that would put me in a line of sight where I
wouldn’t feel so threatened, but I know the Jeep won’t make it that
far with the ruined tire.

A light pounding at my window makes me jump,
and I turn to see a Hispanic teenager in a white tank top. The
cotton stretches tightly across his torso, highlighting the taut
muscles beneath. He gestures for me to roll the window down.
Trembling, I comply.

“
You need some help with
the rueda? The tire?” His voice is calm, careful. He rests one arm
on the roof of the Jeep and lets his grease-stained fingers dangle
over. Then I notice the car on blocks in the driveway across the
street where he’s probably been overhauling it. Although the sun is
at his back, his black hair is so thick no light bleeds through it.
It only halos his head. He frowns like he’s not sure what to make
of my silence.

Finally, I nod, realizing I don’t really have
any choice. “That would be great.”

“
Set your emergency brake.”
He waits for me to comply and then nods. “Where is your
jack?”

“
In back.” I lick my lips
nervously.

“
Can you open the door so I
can get it?” A thin strand of his hair curls against his forehead.
He slowly steps back from the door so I can get out. Taking a deep
breath, I yank my keys from the ignition and scramble out. Even as
my feet hit the street, I feel numerous gazes on me, and I keep
looking at the ground, unnerved, aware of just how much space there
is between his body and mine as I walk around the Jeep and open the
back door. He steps past me and grabs the jack.

“
At least you didn’t get
this on the highway.”

“
Yeah.” I fold my arms
across my chest and watch him place the jack and begin lifting the
vehicle. He pauses for a moment.

“
You might want to step
back.”

I turn toward the Jeep and realize for the
first time how stable it isn’t as it lifts into the air on one
side. So I take his advice and step back, giving him room to loosen
the lug nuts then crank the jack. It’s obvious by his efficient
movements he’s probably done this a million times. He’s already got
the tire off; if it were me, I’d probably still be figuring out how
to work the jack. While I may have some good skills, figuring out
mechanical things isn’t one of them.

“
Thank you for doing this,”
I say, scanning the people around me. The kids have resumed
playing, figuring that while I’m not part of the usual landscape,
I’m not exactly a threat, either.

“
De nada. You’re welcome.”
He takes the spare off the back of the Jeep and rolls it where he
can mount it. “You’re not from around here.”

“
No. Just passing
through.”

“
You might want to be more
careful.” He spins the lug nut on and screws them into place.
“While this neighborhood isn’t great, you’re heading for
problemas—trouble.” He takes a break from the last lug nut and
shoots me a meaningful glance. “And people around here can be funny
about strangers. Remember that.” As he speaks, I am struck by how
much he doesn’t sound like a teenager.

“
What’s your name?” I ask,
not really sure why I want to know. Maybe because despite my fears,
he’s been kind.

“
Miguel Torres.”

“
I’m Elizabeth Moon. How
old are you?” The question comes out before I can choke it
back.

“
Fifteen.” He lowers the
jack, and when the spare touches the ground, he pulls the jack away
and puts it in the back, offering a wan smile. “Good as
new.”

“
Thanks.” I’m reaching into
my pocket to pull out some money to give him. It’s the least I can
do. I probably wouldn’t even have gotten the old tire off. Then I
hear the squeal of tires just up the street.

Around me, panic breaks out. The parents and
older teens start running toward kids and houses. I only get one
look at Miguel’s face and the sheer horror of his gape-mouthed
expression and wide eyes.

“
No!” he screams. In that
instant, everything slows to a standstill. I see one of his hands
grab me, and the other reaches for the door on the Jeep. The car
speeds toward us, a white Buick with dark, tinted windows. The
thump of a bass precedes it. A dark-skinned teenage male with long
hair leans out the window, gun in hand.

Miguel yanks open my door and shoves me in
the Jeep just as the car passes even with us. The snap of gunfire
resonates amid the thumping beat. Miguel’s mouth opens wider. He
grunts and then falls toward me, knocking me backwards. My head
slams against the steering wheel. The white car and thumping bass
edge past. The guy holding the gun leers at me, laughing,
half-aiming in my direction.

Chapter Two

Miguel slumps against me, and I yell when I
see the car turn around. Some part of me tries to duck, but I can’t
move. My body won’t obey bathed as it is in the crimson wetness of
Miguel’s blood.

Sirens scream loudly, and as the white car
tools closer, a police cruiser zooms in front of my Jeep and stops.
The teen leaning out the window takes a shot as two officers
scramble out. One of them, a blond glowers at me.

“
Get down—now!”

The part of me that couldn’t move caves and
crumples down into the seat, sobbing as more shots rip through the
air, shattering the window on the driver’s side. Tires squeal, and
the Buick speeds away. All I can hear then is my panicked
breathing, all I can see is Miguel’s unblinking brown eyes peering
at nothing. The screams start over again, high-pitched,
surreal.

The two cops rush over. One of them lifts
Miguel’s body away, and the blond leans over him, frowning. The
screams abruptly die as I stare into his eyes. He looks at my
bloody shirt.

“
Are you hurt,
Miss?”

I can’t answer. I can only think of how his
features remind me of Lev—the way his hair glittered in the light
and his skin glowed in sunlight. I can’t help but stare.

“
Are you hurt?” he demands,
his hand resting on my shoulder. His face is pale as he searches
for wounds.

I reach out to touch the cop’s face, but he
grabs my wrist, stopping me. His fingers wrap around the bracelet
Lev once wore, but the officer doesn’t seem to notice it until the
clasp gives and it falls into my lap.

“
Miss? Did you hit your
head?” He leans closer, trying to get a better look. He has the
same sea-blue eyes as Lev.

“
Lev?” I whisper, my voice
raw.

“
You’ve mistaken me for
someone else,” he says, pulling back a little. “Did you hit your
head?” he repeats.

My vision starts to blur, making it
impossible to tell me whether somewhere beneath the skin, there
beats the heart of an angel. If it’s not Lev, it could be another
one, someone who could tell me where Lev is.

“
Miss?” His tone is
frantic, and I start blinking harder and faster, feeling suddenly
weak. In a moment I won’t be able to fight the panic. It will
win.

“
What’s your name?” he
asks, his blue eyes constantly trying to meet mine. I blink,
unfocused. He shakes me. “You have to stay awake.”

At that moment, I start laughing and
crying—an an odd, raucous sound that scares me; I feel the edge of
a steep cliff I hadn’t known was there, right under my feet. In the
distance, I hear someone wailing, that keening blocking all else.
Then there is only blackness.

“
Elizabeth? Can you hear
me?”

The voice is distant yet persistent. Someone
shakes me. Trying to shrug away the darkness, I ease open my eyes.
A few blinks later, and I see an EMT, the blond cop, and a crowd.
The cop kneels by my head, his mouth twisting into a concerned
frown.

My throat is dry, and my head throbs where my
hand gingerly probes the back. The world below me feels weird, but
familiar. A gurney. Lucky me.

“
I think she hit the back
of her head on the steering wheel,” the cop says to the EMT. “She
wasn’t exactly lucid when I got to her.”

I keep blinking until the cop’s face comes
into tighter focus—the blond hair, the blue eyes. And something
else…. Despite the deep throbbing in my head, when I look at the
cop, I see a light around him—an aura. It’s not the same as Lev’s,
but I’m willing to bet there’s more to the cop than what’s in front
of me.

If he’s an angel, he could be Lev.

He must feel me staring because he suddenly
turns to my direction; his frown deepens. I reach out, trying to
touch the aura, so sure that if my fingers find something besides
air, I will be able to confront the cop about what he really is,
but he grabs my hand and gently sets it atop my stomach.
“Elizabeth, these two are going to load you into an ambulance and
drive you to the hospital. Whom do I need to call?”

That did it. The thought of Jimmie getting
yet another frantic call on my behalf makes me jerk upright. “No
one. I’m fine.”

“
Lie back down before you
pass out.” The cop sets his hand on my shoulder and pushes. Between
his insistence and the pounding sensation rattling my thoughts, I
end up flat on my back again. “Besides, even if you didn’t go to
the hospital, we’d still have to call your parents.”

“
Great!” I mutter, eyeing
my Jeep.

The cop follows the path of my gaze and
shakes his head. “Don’t even think about making me chase you down,
Elizabeth. It’s been a hell of a day already.” His gaze strays to
the body bag not far off. Miguel….

“
Oh God,” I whisper,
suddenly shaking.

“
Take it easy.” His voice
is warm and soothing.

“
I don’t
understand.”

“
You’re in the middle of a
hot zone, kid. What’s not to understand?” He tugs off his hat and
rakes his fingers through his hair before setting it back on his
head. All the while, the EMTs are looking me over.

“
Why Miguel?” The bag not
far from me sends chills through me. I hate the stillness and all
it represents. No matter how hard I try to separate myself, I keep
thinking both of Lev’s shooting and Miguel’s, random and senseless.
I’ll never be able to escape either one.

“
His brother, Ricardo, is
in a gang and not nearly so pleasant. Some things went down
yesterday, and Ricardo definitely had a hand in them. So the rival
members decided to come after him. Miguel was just an handy
target.”