Kealan Burke - Kin

“Who are you?” she asked, one hand straying to her purse.

“Pete Lowell,” he said quickly, in case it was a gun she was reaching for.

“What can I do for you Pete Lowell?” She did not sound welcoming. Rather, her tone made him feel as if he had a limited amount of words with which to explain his reason for being here before something bad happened.

“I… I came to see Claire.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“Oh,” he said, crestfallen.

“She’s not seeing anyone. We recently had an incident that has left her—”

Pete nodded. “I know. I were there.”

The cautious look on the woman’s face deepened to outright suspicion, perhaps even fear, and from her purse, she produced a slim black cylinder with a red trigger.

“You were there?”

“Yes Ma’am. I drove her away from Elkwood. Took her to the hospital.”

He thought she might have relaxed a little at that, but couldn’t be sure. His mind raced, caught between advising him to flee while he still could and standing his ground until he made the woman understand.

“You’re Pete,” the woman said, her tone unchanged.

“Yes Ma’am.”

“She mentioned you. Quite a bit.”

That pleased Pete immensely, and it must have shown on his face, because this time the woman did relax, her shoulders dropping a little, the frown a little less severe. She did not, however, put the small cylinder back into her purse. Instead she lightly thumbed the trigger while she stared at him.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to see her,” she said. “But you should know she’s grateful to you. We all are. You’re a hero, Pete. If not for you…” She trailed off and shook her head. “Maybe in a few months we can arrange a visit, but now…now’s not a great time. I’m sure you understand.”

He nodded, but he didn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand. He was so close. Claire might be just beyond that door, maybe even listening to the woman telling him he couldn’t see her. Maybe any minute now she would come running out to greet him and everything would be okay. “I’m sorry,” he told the woman. “But I’ve come a real long way today. Had to get here on my own, but that’s all right. I just want to see Claire, just for a little bit. I don’t even have to come in. Even if she just comes to the window. That’d be fine too. But I’d like to see her, see how she’s doin’, maybe talk to her for a little bit. If it helps any, I know she don’t like to sing.” He smiled at the memory of Claire’s words. “I don’t neither.”

Finally, the woman dropped the black cylinder back into her purse, slung it over her shoulder and walked to meet him. She returned his smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Pete felt his hope drop another notch.

“Pete…” the woman said. “You’re a sweet boy, but you being here now, today, it isn’t the best idea. Claire’s trying to forget what happened to her down there. I’m sure you can appreciate that. But even though you’re a hero and you saved her, you’re still part of that memory.” She sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. “Seeing you might hurt rather than heal her. It might bring back everything she’s trying so hard to forget.”

When he didn’t move, or give her any indication that he saw the logic in her words, she walked toward him, her hand still on his shoulder, and steered him around until he was facing the truck and walking at her behest. “I promise you,” she said, “When things improve and she’s up to seeing you, we’ll arrange something. Can you leave your contact information?”

When he looked blankly at her, she said, “Somewhere we can reach you.”

He shook his head. “Ain’t nowhere to reach me. They burned down my house, and my second Momma’s gone too.”

The woman’s frown returned, carving a deep groove between her eyes that could hold a dime. “Where do you live then?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know yet.”

At that moment, the sound of the front door opening made them both turn. Pete felt his heart swell, his throat tightening. For one confusing moment he worried he might wet his pants.

“Claire,” the woman said. “Go back inside.”

Pete stepped away from the woman. She’d been blocking his view of the door, but now he could see the frail figure who was standing in the doorway. Every fear and hope he’d entertained since that night in Elkwood when he had put her back onto the road from which she’d strayed came together in a vortex that threatened to suck him into itself and grind him up. His trembling intensified. He swallowed. Couldn’t move.

“Claire…” the woman began, but slumped and sighed heavily. “Goddamn it, I can’t do this now.” Then she walked past him, and a moment later, Pete dimly registered the sound of a car’s engine as she drove away.

Still he stood rooted to the spot as Claire, barely recognizable with her dark hair and the equally dark eyepatch, stepped out into the light. “Pete?” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

He nodded, felt a thousand words cram into his throat, strangling him.

Claire’s face split into a wide smile. “You came.”

The colors of the world seemed brighter in that moment, as if God had, without anyone noticing, touched them up just for this occasion. And still Pete couldn’t speak. All he could do was nod dumbly.

A moment later, the need for speech was negated as Claire hurried toward him, her gait strange and uneven. She stopped before him, her smile wavering as she wept.

Pete willed himself to speak.

“I promised,” he said, and almost cried out with the fright as she dove into his arms.

They crossed the line into Radner County at dusk. To Finch it was as if whoever was responsible for the distribution of bucolic beauty had run out of materials to work with and left everything beyond the county line stand as an advertisement for desolation. The road narrowed and quickly disintegrated, pummeled over the years by heavy machinery, logging trucks, perhaps, or semis carrying toxic materials to and from the chemical waste facility that even now appeared as an unsightly block of shadow and a tall thin chimney at the far end of acres of fenced-off land. No one had bothered to repair the road, no more than they had felt compelled to repair the fields the treatment facility had contaminated. The air here seemed denser, the sky a curious shade of purple and red, the horizon tinged with emerald green, as if foretelling of tornadoes. Finch thought such a noxious place appropriate for the quarry they were hunting, a natural miasma to which the corrupt would gravitate.

“You do realize there’s every chance McKindrey was bullshittin’ us, right?”

Finch nodded. “Of course, but if he was, you can’t help but feel respect for a guy who would get his nose smashed and toes shot off and then lie to you.”

“Not sure respect is the word I’d use.”

“Your friend Niles get back to you?” Finch asked, referring to the communications officer Beau had known in the Gulf and whom they had relied upon to track the signal from Claire’s cell phone to Danny’s. “Yeah, and that’s why I’m not too confident about McKindrey’s tip.”

“It didn’t come from down here?”

“Nope. If we were trying to track the signal in a city, it would have been a hell of a trick to get it, but out in the sticks there aren’t as many cell phone users, so fewer towers, which made our boy’s job easier. But Niles was able to triangulate the signal to within a ten mile radius, and Elkwood was sitting smack dab in the middle of it.”

Finch shrugged. “All that means is Danny’s cell phone is still in their house, or somewhere nearby. We didn’t exactly turn the place upside down. It doesn’t mean the Merrills themselves are still there.”