Velvet Rain - A Dark Thriller (21 page)

“Oh?”

“No.” She measured him up. “Rugged, little rough around the edges—”

“Hey …”

“I’d say Midwest cowboy. Maybe Texas.”

“Texas,” he said. “Can’t say I’ve ever been there. But thanks for the compliment … I think.”

“It was,” she said. “Your parents … still in Miami?”

“Living the good life. Retired.”

“What did your father sell?”

“You name it,” he said. “Bibles, books, candles … clocks and watches, mostly.”

“Do you ever see them?”

“Haven’t for a long time, no.”

“Do you ever call? Write?”

“Afraid not. Bad son, I guess.”

“Any more at home like you? Any sisters?”

“Just me.”

She glanced again at his scars. “I think it’s adorable that you both have them. I wish you had a picture. You don’t, do you?”

“Sorry.”

“You
are
a bad son.”

“But I’m adorable.”

She smiled. “I hope I’m not prying too much.”

“Not at all.”

Lynn finished her sandwich and he did the same. Lee-Anne came to the door and asked if they were on for driving today. The girl left with a priceless grin, her face undeniably bright.

“As long as you’re done before two-thirty,” Lynn said after her. “Rosa needs me an hour early.”

“We better get a move on,” Kain said as he rose from the swing. “That old barn won’t paint itself,
slacker.
”

Lynn added his plate to hers and set them on the table. He had already started down the steps when she called him.

He hesitated. Then he turned to her, one foot on the middle step. He had almost made it.

“Come up here a second. I almost forgot this.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not really sure.” She waved him up.

Lynn stood near the door. “There,” she said, directing him with a nod. “Right there.” She pointed this time.

Kain peered through narrowing slits; he made the effort real, but feared he was overdoing it. He shook his head.

“Right here,” she said, kneeling. She put her hand just above the deck boards and pointed more directly. “Here. And here. See?”

He knelt opposite to her, blocking the area with his shadow on purpose.

“No—that’s no good, you’re blocking it out.”

“Blocking
what
out?”

“Move over … no … not that way … here, let me.”

She guided him.

“I still don’t—wait a second,” he said. He hoped he was a better actor than he sounded. “What
is
that?”

“Do you see them?”

“Yeah.
Yeah.
”

“Stand up.”

“Huh?”

“Stand up.” She stood up and he joined her. Lynn moved behind him, then turned him round so he faced the yard.

“Move back a bit,” she said. “A little more. Too much. That’s it.” She drew a hushed breath. “I don’t believe it.”

He looked down, purposely lingering in his gaze. He stepped to the side, pasting on a look of disbelief.

They lined up perfectly, of course. Footprints that weren’t really footprints, rather ghostly shapes, drawn of the intense heat of the Turn. The tells had faded to near invisibility—they truly were ghostly, as if some specter had stepped there not a moment ago and left a residue of its soul—and in perhaps a day or two, they would have vanished. He had known that they would, but he had also known that luck would not be with him.

“It was a few days ago,” she said. “I was running late, and I was in such a hurry I dropped my keys. When I went to pick them up, I saw
these.
I meant to tell you, but I haven’t seen you until now. I’m glad I remembered. They’ve faded quite a bit.”

“Huh.”

“To tell you the truth, until now I thought they were Ryan’s. I called Dad and asked him if he was out here this week, but he said no. I even tried matching an old pair of Ray’s boots. Not even close.”

“Traveling salesman?”

“Maybe it was
your
father,” she joked. “Checking up on his bad son.”

He forced a grin. He knelt again and ran a hand over the area. He picked at it with a finger, trying to scrape the strange stuff off.

“I tried that too,” she said. “I don’t know what it is. It’s like it’s right in the paint.”

He rose. Stepped in them again. A perfect match.

“Another mystery,” she said. “You sure you’re not from Mars?”

“Pretty sure … so what do you think?”

“What do
you
think?”

Kain stepped out of the past and moved closer to the steps. He felt better, free of those unearthly echoes. He didn’t like standing there. It was crazy, but it had felt as if he were strapped in that cold steel chair again, Brikker hovering about him. He looked out along the drive. The barn seemed miles away suddenly. Freedom a million.

“Could’ve been that weird dust on my boots,” he said. “Maybe it did something to the paint.”

“But there’s no footprints anywhere else. It’s like you left your boots there for years and the paint changed color. It’s so strange.”

“It is.”

She seemed genuinely unsatisfied in the moment, and he was certain this would be his undoing.

“Well,” she said after some reflection, “I just wanted to show you before they disappeared. It’s no big deal. I’m going to paint right over them anyway.”

~ 21

They had lost all track of time as they pressed on with the painting, and by the time they had finished the east side of the barn it was just past two. Lynn had been in a mild panic getting ready for her shift (apologizing profusely to her daughter for inadvertently canceling the driving lesson), and as she had rushed out the front door, hands nimbly putting her hair up, Kain had offered to drive her to work and to pick her up afterward. She had agreed, and when he had dropped her off at the diner she had turned to him with a smile. “Get that helmet,” she had said, and he had driven off, wondering just how awful Lee-Anne’s driving could possibly be.

It had been pretty awful.

Sweltering in long sleeves and slacks in the oppressive heat, the girl had been waiting on the swing, fanning herself with a magazine, and when she had slipped in behind the wheel, the vim of youth splayed across her face, he had just gotten his seatbelt buckled when she had backed up into a flowering clay planter near the veranda. Champ had nearly been run down in the process, while Buddy had barely escaped, his tail clipped by a wheel. In her panic, she had tried to go forward, only to pancake a second pot. Mercifully, the engine had stalled, sparing any other creatures sculpted or animal, and Kain, mulling over that helmet idea, had snatched the key from the ignition.

Now, with the girl sitting there helplessly, all puppy dog eyes (it was like seeing Lynn in a photograph in an old school yearbook), he gave her a playful wink.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he said.

~

He drove them into Spencer. They passed the Roadside along the way and stopped in the outskirts by the river. The area was dead, and all that lay between them and the baseball diamond was a perfectly flat, perfectly wide, perfectly
empty
parking lot, and should any stray cats strut into their path, well, that was their problem. They could spare a life or two.

Under his patient tutelage, the girl had learned quickly. Sure, she had taken out a waste receptacle on a bad turn, had stalled the engine several times, ground the gears good and proper, but after an hour or so, she had seemed to get the hang of it. She still had trouble controlling her turns (she was getting there, although he had to admit, she was in all likelihood the worst driver he had ever come across in his travels, and he’d come across some pretty bad ones), but there had been no need for the helmet. Still, he was not prepared for the girl’s obvious distance; despite her expression of thanks (she seemed genuinely pleased with her newfound skill), she had seemed quite anxious around him. She had been silent during the trip out, hadn’t said much at all during the lesson, and now, sitting here in the cab with her, parked near the diamond, he had run out of small talk.

His attention turned to a dusty candy-apple Thunderbird and a black Fairlane as they rolled into the lot. Rich Saunders, the first baseman for the Tigers, emerged from the driver’s seat of the T-bird, followed by Ryan’s replacement, Dougie Warner, and the catcher, Rudy Burridge. The Fairlane produced the second- and third-basemen, the brothers Cleavely, Pete and Gregg, and within ten minutes eight other vehicles had pulled in for the practice. Several more kids were dropped off, and the rest showed up on bicycles. The field grew littered with starters and second-stringers, some of them stretching, some talking it up, some tossing baseballs back and forth. Sid Plummer arrived in his Dodge and in his flood pants, the plump coach all business from the get-go, and already he was yelling at Steve Morgan, the right fielder who was stumbling over his feet to put his cleats on, to show up on time. Kain expected Ben Caldwell—sans Ryan, of course—to come barreling in, but it didn’t look promising.

“Pull around those vehicles, Lee.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Just go around them. Pretend they aren’t there.”

The girl looked at him as if he
was
off his rocker. She seemed to squirm in her seat, waiting for him to let her off the hook. Kain folded his arms in comic defiance, and when he didn’t cave, she did, muttering,
This is nuts,
as she started ahead. They crossed the lot sluggishly, making a steady beeline toward the diamond, Lee gripping the wheel so tightly that Kain had to tell her to relax. She didn’t. She sped up a little, but only at his request. On the field, Rich Saunders took a bruising ball to the shoulder on a solid throw from second (the teenager had taken a sudden marked interest in his precious Thunderbird as the green pickup invaded its space), and Pete Cleavely yelled at him to wake the hell up. Dougie Warner, lacing a shoe on the sidelines, shouted,
Nice catch, Saunders,
and the lanky first baseman told Wiener to shove it. Coach Plummer blasted all of them.

Lee made a sharp right in front of the slick T-bird. She nearly clipped its chrome bumper, missing it by a layer of paint. Kain gave her an anxious smile, said she was doing fine, Lee, just fine, and kept a keen eye on each car and truck as they passed one upon the other. Rich Saunders was halfway to home for a better look, his eyes popping like some panicky cartoon character, trying to see how many dineros this little experiment was going to cost him. The pickup kept on, wavering in its path. Lee seemed to be holding her breath, Kain, too, for the entire circuit, and only when she turned right again did she let out a small, girlish shriek as she hit the brakes.

Despite their slow speed, they jerked to a halt. The engine stalled, and almost immediately Lee-Anne dropped her face in her hands and dipped down behind the wheel. Kain feared she’d been injured in some way, but a second glance set him at ease. She stirred, slipping lower and lower in the cab until she could slip no further, and only when he prodded her did she risk a peek between two thin fingers. She poked her head up a bit, the strange sound she made next something between a gasp and a yelp, and at that, practically yanked herself down again.

Kain looked at her, the top of her pretty blonde head, that was, and could only shrug as he looked out at the ballplayer standing before them.

“It’s okay! You didn’t hit him.” They almost had, but the kid had been quick, stepping back in the nick of time. Lee-Anne, of course, had seen only the seasoned baseball glove that had struck the windshield when the kid had thrown up his hands to protect himself. It had made a dull
whuuup
sound, and now it lay on the hood like a severed head, caught on the wiper on the driver’s side.

Now the girl was turned completely away from the windshield, trying to disappear from the face of the Earth. She spoke in a sharp whisper, as if spilling some precious secret. “Is he gone?”

Kain nodded to Jimmy Long. The young man looked like he wanted to say something, but Plummer was on his case, big time. The tall pitcher simply returned the nod, he was all right, no harm done. The boy retrieved his glove—his eyes flirted momentarily toward the girl as he wiggled it free from the wiper—and then, without a word, was off to the diamond double time. Coach Plummer was giving it to him good now.

“He’s gone.”

The girl was wedged in so tight under the wheel she could barely move. Not that she wanted to.

“Lee … it’s okay.”

She let one narrowed eye show through her fingers.

“I almost hit him,” she said. She didn’t seem to be talking to Kain so much as to herself. She struggled to get unstuck and couldn’t, and when she finally looked up, utterly embarrassed, he couldn’t stop chuckling as he helped her up.

“He’s all right,” he said, half laughing. “It wasn’t even that close.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Sorry.”

“I didn’t even see him.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Lee.”

She wasn’t listening. Her eyes were fixed on the side mirror. And all of a sudden she was biting her lower lip.

“What are you looking at?”

“He’s so
cute.
” Kain could hardly hear her.

“Huh?”

“Do you think he saw me? Did he see my face?”

“You covered up so fast, I don’t think—”

“Oh my God! He’s coming over! My hair! It’s all over the place!”

The girl fumbled for the key but couldn’t find it. Her hands were shaking terribly, and when she did get hold of it, she pulled it out by mistake. And when she heard that single, dreaded word, she froze.

“Hi.”

The handsome Sioux stood tall, a slight sparkle in his eyes. He leaned forward, supporting himself with one muscular arm across the top of the cab. He looked first at the driver, lingered there a second or two, and then glanced over at the passenger.

“Hey, Jimmy,” Kain said.

“Everything okay?”

“Right as rain. Just a little driving practice.”

The boy thumbed at Kain. “You lettin’
him
teach you? Guy can’t even drive a tractor.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.”