Yesterday's Stardust (2 page)

Evan leaned over the frame and cleared his throat. “‘Kenosha Times Reporter Wins National Award. Danielle Gallagher receives Chase Award for her series ‘Children of the Risk—The Age of Electronic Neglect.’” He took a sip of her hour-old coffee. “Good work, blondie.”

“So what’s next?” Mitch shoved his glasses back to the bridge of his nose.

“Back to the real world.” She drew out a martyr’s sigh. “Counsel meetings and school board elections. Lucky me.”
Unless…
She restrained the urge to spring out of her seat like Donkey in the
Shrek
movies.
“Oh! I know! Pick me! Pick me!”

The balding man who held her future in his pudgy hands gave a slow, torturous smile. “You’ve only been here, what? Four years? Still a rookie in my book.” He clicked his tongue. “However, the extenuating circumstances of a national contest win just might persuade me to give you a chance. Say a three-month trial period to razzle my socks off with a few more scintillating stories?”

“Serious?” She discarded any pretense of acting mature and professional.

“As a shark attack.” He shot a two-finger salute from the middle of his forehead. “Give me some weekly stories on kids. Good, bad, every kind of kid. But I want you working on another series like this one.” He tapped the frame. “Something big and meaty, something—” Her desk phone rang.

Evan laughed. “More accolades?”

One eyebrow arched at Evan, she copied Mitch’s signature salute and answered the phone. “Dani Gallagher, feature reporter, how may I help you?”

Silence.

“Hello?”

“Danielle?”

“Yes. Can I help you?”

“This is China.” A quiet voice edged with steel.

Dani turned away from Mitch and Evan and covered her other ear as she matched a picture to the voice of a girl she’d interviewed in April. Sixteen, heavyset, long hair dyed black with a purplish-red cast. Dark eyes, tipped up at the corners, encased in thick strokes of liner, lashes clumped with mascara.

“You remember me?” A shaky timbre quaked the words. Fear, anger, maybe drugs.

“Of course. Are you all right?”

Silence again and then a tight “No.”

“What’s the matter, China?”

“You were wrong.”

“Wrong about what?”

“You said I should leave Miguel.” Her voice shook, grew even weaker. “You said I had to stand up to him and let him know he couldn’t push me around.”

“Did you?”

A laugh. Low, almost vicious. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

Dani switched the phone to her other hand, wiped her damp palm against her thigh. “What happened?” Her pulse hammered against her eardrums as she waited for an answer. “China?”

Seconds passed. “You said he was just using threats to manipulate me.”

“What happened?”

“He beat me—good this time. But then he said he was sorry, and he cried. I can’t stand that. I can’t ever stand that.”

“Where are you? Are you hurt?”

Again the laugh. “Of course I’m hurt.”

Dear God…
“How bad? Have you seen a doctor?”

“He won’t hurt me again.”

“Where are you? I’ll come and get you.”

“Can’t you listen? This isn’t about me. This is about you— what you did. I was gonna give in; I was gonna stay, but then I remembered what you said. You said I was worth more than that. You said nobody has the right to beat on somebody else. You said I deserved somebody better. Well, there isn’t anybody better.” Her tone escalated. “He was the only guy that ever loved me, and you took him away.”

The pulse beat intensified, pounding China’s words through her denial. “Where is he now?”

The next sound could have been a laugh or a cry on the verge of hysteria. “In Hell, probably. Where you should be. You killed him.”

“China, I—”

“You ever read
Romeo and Juliet?
Bet you could write a nice story about that. A real, true Romeo and Juliet.”

“China, stop it. Tell me what happened.”
Romeo and Juliet.
“Did he—”

“Yeah. Right in the head. He pulled the trigger, but it was your fault.”

Ice lodged in Dani’s veins. “I’m so, so sorry, but you have to listen to me.”

“No. Not anymore I don’t.” Another long pause. “I called the cops.” Her voice fell flat. “They’ll be here soon. I should go. I don’t want to see them take him.”

Dani pressed her hand against her eyes. Evan gripped her shoulder. She grabbed a pen and scribbled
Check police calls. Suicide?
Evan nodded and took off at a run. Mitch crouched, put his hand where Evan’s had been, leaning in toward the phone.

“Are you alone, China?”

Another laugh, high and eerie. “No. Miguel’s here. You believe in spirits? Maybe he’ll come back as someone else. Maybe he’ll come after you for what you did.”

Dani dried her palm and gripped the phone to steady the shaking. The quick change in China’s voice scared her. Maybe she’d already taken something. She took a deep breath and commanded her voice to be calm. If she could just keep her talking until the police got there. “It’s not my fault, and it’s not yours either. Miguel was messed up; you told me that yourself. What I said was the truth. He didn’t have the right to hurt you. No one does. That’s not how love works.”

Muffled sobs answered her.

“I’m so sorry, China. I know you loved him, and I’m sorry he didn’t get the help he needed, but you have to believe you weren’t wrong to stand up to him. You’re a precious girl. Your life is valuable.” As she talked she opened a drawer. Scanning file tabs, she grabbed a yellow legal pad. Flipping through pages, she found the one from her interview with China.

“Remember how you told me you’d like to be an occupational therapist? Why does that interest you?”

The crying quieted. Dani visualized her sitting in a corner, hugging her knees and rocking, mascara streaming down her face.

“My friend’s little brother got his hand smashed. When he got the cast off, I taught him how to draw.” She took a convulsive breath. “His family said I was like one of his therapists. They gave me a necklace. A heart necklace.”

“That must have made you feel good. Can you see yourself—”

“Somebody’s gotta clean this place. The wall is—” A gasp, followed by a low keening wail cut through Dani, sending chills down her back.

“Tell me where you are. I’ll stay with you when you talk to the police. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“Why did you tell me to leave him? He’d still be here…”

“Let me come and get you, and we’ll talk about it.”

“The cops just drove up. I didn’t want to be here.”

“It’s good that you stayed. They’ll have to ask you some questions.”

“I’ll tell them the truth,” she rasped. “I’ll tell them Danielle Gallagher killed him.”

Dani didn’t protest when Evan pried the phone from her hand. He held his iPhone in front of her face. “Three blocks from the Marina. Squads got there about two minutes ago. Sound like your call?”

She stared down at the address on the map and nodded.

“Who is she? How do you know her?” Mitch picked up her canvas bag, set it on her desk, and stood.

Evan bent over her. “Talk to me, Dan. You’re not looking so good.”

“Remember China?”

“The girl who only let me take silhouettes?”

She nodded and looked up at Mitch. “Vito Savona—he works here in maintenance—jumped my car one night when I was doing research for my series, and he told me about this guy in his neighborhood who’s heavy into a gaming community. China is the guy’s sister. I interviewed her, and she opened up about other things. Her boyfriend was threatening her. I told her to leave him. She did. And now he”—her voice cracked—“he shot himself.”

“Find her.” Mitch pulled her keys out of the dish on her desk. “This is it. Your story. This is your ‘What’s next.’”

Evan grabbed her elbow as she stood. “Look at her. She’s white as a sheet. She can’t—”

“I can. I have to.”

“Why?” Evan’s grip on her elbow tightened. “Stop and think. Is this really about a story? Or is it about rescuing that girl? That’s not your job. It’s—”

“Yes. It’s about all that. And throw redeeming myself into the mix.” As she picked up her bag, her hair spilled across her face, shielding her from the concern that threatened her self-control.

Mitch squeezed her shoulder. “Can you go with her, Carr?”

“No. I have to be at the courthouse in fifteen.”

“She’ll do okay. It’s never easy when you’ve got a personal connection, but this will be good. Just remember, you gotta draw a line between reporting and social work.” Mitch raised the salute again. “Stay safe, kiddo.”

“I’m the kickboxing diva, remember?” Her voice quaked.

“That’s right.” With a laugh, Mitch strode back to his glass-walled office.

“You don’t have to do this.”

She lowered her chin then raised it. “If I’d kept my big mouth shut, that kid would still be alive. I should—”

“Whoa.” Evan grabbed her by the shoulders. “I heard you say it wasn’t your fault, and it’s not. Somebody had to tell her to get out of there. Maybe you lost your objectivity. Maybe you forgot you were a reporter for a few minutes. But you acted out of compassion; you listened to your gut.” He lifted her chin. “We work for God first, Dan.”

Dani answered with a sarcastic laugh as she swiped at her wet cheek and threw the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “Go take some pictures, Evan.”

N
icky Fiorini kicked his sweat-soaked sheet to the floor and sucked a deep breath. Hot, stagnant air did nothing to ease the panic roused by the dream. Sitting up, he stared at the clock with one eye then glared at the spikes of afternoon sun stabbing through holes in the shade. If not for the dream, he’d still have another hour of escape.

The nightmare hadn’t haunted him for months. He’d hoped he’d finally banished it, but the gunshot sound his subconscious conjured to shatter his sleep reverberated through his mind as intensely as the real one had.

A day’s worth of stubble scratched his palms as he rubbed his face. He stood and pulled back the shade. Nothing stirred on the street below but a mother tugging a resistant child by the arm.

What had he hoped to see? Would the aftermath of a real fight be somehow comforting? Someone else’s crisis instead of the one that stole his peace? Keys jangled. One scraped his thigh as he stepped into the flour-dusted jeans he’d discarded after tossing his apron and climbing the stairs at four-thirty this morning. He rolled his shoulders and grabbed a shirt from the drawer. When was the last time he’d fully relaxed? Four years, at least—back in his midtwenties when his biggest stresses were date nights ruined by his cheating father forgetting to show up for work.

Life was simple back then. Before the nightmares.

He picked up the sheet and shook it out, spreading it over the bed so the woman who’d filled the gap his mother left wouldn’t have to.

A siren wailed in the distance. Someone else’s crisis.

“Nicky!” Footsteps pounded the stairs. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” He took two strides to the hallway, his pulse quickening at the tone in his sister’s voice.

“A shot. I was in the kitchen. Alonzo”—she reached the top of the stairs and folded her arms across her belly—“said it came from across the street. He called the cops.”

“Did he see anything?”

Dark hair streaked across pale skin as she shook her head. “He thought he heard a scream. A woman.” Eyes wide, she leaned against the wall. “Shouldn’t we do something?”

“No.” Nicky pressed his hand against the rigid cords at the back of his neck. The sound was real, and just yards away someone lived out his nightmare. “The police will handle it.”

His sister closed her eyes. “It’s just like…” Tears brimming, she turned and ran down the stairs.

She’d disappeared into the kitchen by the time Nicky nodded. His fingers curled. His thumb wrapped over them, but the splotch of patched plaster at shoulder height on the wall stopped him from using his fist. This time.

Voice low and gravelly, he whispered, “I know.”

From where he stood, the red and white ambulance concealed the driveway across the street. Nicky turned away from the knot of gapers on the corner. Speculations ricocheted like errant rifle shots. Gang related…revenge…murder…suicide… Some said they’d met the young couple who’d lived there several months. Others said the upstairs apartment was a drug house.