Dark to Mortal Eyes (29 page)

Had Kara been thrown from her car? Abducted? Murdered?

Josee couldn’t let herself imagine the possibilities. She fastened her seat belt. Earlier, for a solid thirty minutes, the sergeant’s office had provided refuge—a spot to slump in a chair, fold her arms, and close her eyes—but now the presence in the trunk stirred her memories of that thicket. She knew she should feel comforted by the strength unleashed yesterday in her moment of faith … a
withered seed
.

Instead she felt weak. Shaken.

She felt like a kid with a match who, striking the pilot light of a long-dormant furnace, finds herself both scared out of her wits by the hot blast of ignition and unexpectedly filled with a sense of accomplishment.

Scared and filled. Fearful and triumphant.

Time to rekindle the fire? How long’ve I been keeping things at arm’s length?

She clutched the myrtlewood figure around her neck. It was a symbol; that’s
all it was, a reminder. And right now she needed reminding. She’d always been fascinated by, even respected, spiritual power. God? Wasn’t he the true source? Yep, she believed in a Creator who was bigger than herself, and she accepted the forgiveness of a Savior who had hung battered on that cross for her mistakes.

But she’d been burned by religion’s heat. She’d seen others go up in flames.

Honestly, if God was the fire, why did people try to force him into man-made boxes? No wonder so many spiritual do-gooders burned out. Harnessing the heat for their proclaimed agendas. Touching the torch to their self-serving passions.

Shame burned in her eyes, for she knew firsthand the scorch of those passions.

Slumped against the window as the cruiser headed north of town on Highway 99, Josee saw how ryegrass nearly obscured the mileposts, and she was struck with the realization that she had lost her own bearings. She decided then to tell the sergeant that she couldn’t carry on, that she was worn out and hungry and ready to head back to the comforts of the Van der Bruegges’. Before she could do so, he applied the brakes.

“Here we are,” Turney said. Grass scraped the cruiser’s underbelly as it rolled to a halt. “Didn’t Scooter tell ya to meet him this afternoon? That got me to thinkin’—”

“Thinking? No wonder I smelled smoke.”

“Yuk-yuk. Seriously, though, it hit me. Where would the kid go? The answer seemed clear as day. I’d bet money he’s holed up right through there.”

Josee followed his finger to railroad tracks and dense foliage beyond.

The thicket! No, I can’t do this
.

Turney checked the rearview mirror, then he wiped his sleeve across his brow, down his jowls. He forced a grin. “Almost forgot to mention, Josee … This to-go box, I picked it up at Barkley’s. Some sorta dessert. Sacker torte, sucker torte—somethin’ like that. Thought you might like it.”

“Why here, Sarge? I don’t get it.” Josee slid another bite from the plastic fork. She’d lost her appetite, but the dessert delayed the inevitable journey over the railway embankment. Her toes had turned to ice.

“Why, you ask? Why not? How’s that taste anyway?”

She mumbled appreciation through a creamy third bite. Tasted good. Rich chocolate and the hint of another ingredient, apricot maybe.

“To answer your question,” Turney said, “it’s human nature. Straight outta Proverbs. Might sound rude, don’t get me wrong, but it says, ‘As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool returns to his folly.’ Scooter’s here. It’s the obvious choice.”

“You lost me. I mean, he’s no glutton for punishment.”

“The mind can be a devious little joker. I’m speaking from my own experience. See, years ago, I wouldn’t admit I had a problem.”

“Problem?”

“My drinkin’. Had friends confront me about it, but I refused to believe ’em. To prove ’em wrong, I’d abstain for days at a time. ’Course, then I’d go and reward myself for my good behavior—with another drink. I was convinced I had this monster under control, yessir. Other people needed AA, not me.”

“And you kept drinking.”

“Bingo.”

“As a dog returns to its vomit.”

“Knew you’d figure it out.”

“So Scooter’s going back for more. That’s some twisted logic. I doubt he enjoys the feeling of venom in his veins.” Josee closed the box. Tension knotted her insides.

“Well, take smokers for example—”

“Watch it, I am one.”

Turney leaned forward, his tummy pressed against the steering wheel. “Look, no offense, but why keep lighting up when you know full well the things’ll kill ya? Addictive behavior always spirals downward. That’s the long and short of it. The very thing that makes you feel guilty is the thing you go back to when ya wanna feel better again. Which, of course, makes you feel guiltier than before, so—”

“You go back for more. Been there, done that.” Josee gave a nod to Turney’s belly. “Guess you’re still dealing with it too.”

“Whoa now, take it easy. We all have our demons to fight.”

Demons?

From memory, eyes of flame ignited before her. Josee fought the urge to strike out. She had refused to address her basic fears, but now that Turney had verbalized them, she felt an instinct to fight. Her survival mode. She thought of how Scooter’s friends liked to whisper about such dark things at their lakeshore trailer and of how, over the years, she had run across evidence of an otherworldly realm—good and evil, the chessboard of life. A plan at work. She didn’t buy, however, the concept that she was some piece shoved around by divine decree. She had free will. She made choices and mistakes—more than her share! Yet, always hovering at the edges, forces seemed locked in a supernatural struggle. Earth’s tension between heaven and hell.

And I’m caught in the middle
.

But, she admitted, her eyes were now open. She couldn’t act like she didn’t see.

“Sarge,” she spoke out, “do you know who I am?”

“Who you … what?”

She said, “Don’t you think there’s a plan at work? Here. Between you and me.” When the sergeant dropped his head between his arms on the steering wheel, she tried a different angle. “Kara Addison’s my mother, true. But you know what it says on my birth certificate? In black and white, no room for question: Katherine Davies. She gave birth to me in this city, in that hospital, in 1981. Freakin’ Independence Day. And you were the boy standing outside her room—am I wrong?—trying to be a hero, but running headlong into something you knew nothing about. For some reason, you’ve let that drag you down and freeze you up. For some reason, I’m back, and this serpent thing’s back. For some reason, Sarge, we’ve been thrown together. Who knows why? I don’t even like cops. No offense, but it’s true. Now we’re stuck together, and we can’t keep acting like it’s all a big mistake.”

“Gee shucks, we found each other.” His arms muffled his words.

“I’m right, and you know it. I’m that baby. I’m the one.”

“Where’d they take you, explain that. Why’d you disappear without a word?”

“Heck if I know. Way I understand it, there was this couple ready to adopt me, but after learning about my horde of medical complications, they backed out. I was this sickly thing. Had a rare form of hemophilia, some
genetic anomaly. Doctors had to fight to keep me alive. Guess I just wouldn’t give up.”

Turney’s head turned her way. “You’re a scrapper, all right.”

“Ah, you’re just saying that.”

He sat up. “So after someone attacked your mother and threatened you, the cops must’ve rushed you outta there, taken you to another location, kept it under wraps. Left most people scratchin’ their heads. Left me thinkin’ I was to blame.” His fist came down on the dash. “Braddock! He must’ve known the truth all along.”

“He’s a jerk. Figures. Not that I was old enough to know, but it all seems to fit.”

“So now you’re tracing your biological roots. That’s what brought you back.”

“Something like that. When I was nine, a family up in Snohomish, Washington, adopted me for good. They’re nice people, good people, but I’d already learned to keep my distance, you know. They made an effort to take care of me, help me with school, take me to church, all that. Not their fault, but I just never settled in. I was afraid to get close to them. Sounds crazy, right? But that’s the way my mind worked. Then … stuff happened. From there it got ugly, and I bailed when I hit sixteen.”

“Been on your own ever since?”

“Basically. Scoot and I’ve hung together the past three years.”

“Boyfriend-girlfriend?”

“Off and on. Recently we’ve been sort of distant from each other.”

Turney swatted away a fly. “So it is true. You are the one.”

“I’m the one.” Josee raised a hand. “Sounds so momentous.”

“Well, you’re right. This ain’t no mistake.”

“Double negative, Sarge.”

“Exactly.” His brown eyes fixed on Josee’s. “I botched things once, and, God help me, I’d be a mess if I let it happen again. Double negative—that’s what I’d be, all right. A zero twice over. I’ve lived with this long enough.”

“So I’m your ticket? You want to use me to ease your conscience.”

“Won’t deny that I’ve packed my fair share of guilt—no matter how misplaced. You ever notice how logic and guilt just don’t go together?” He ran a
hand over his blond hair. “But I also care about you. Twenty-two years I’ve had you running through my thoughts, wonderin’ what became of that baby. You were an unknown. A part o’ me that slipped away.”

“And now you’ve found me,” Josee murmured.

“Not sure I had much to do with it. Think God’s got a finger in this? He’s got every hair on your head numbered, isn’t that what it says?” To her surprise, his hand floated toward her. Two fingers, hovering … 
ploink!

“Hey!”

“Think he’ll miss this one?” Turney held up a thin black strand. “Number four hundred and eighty-nine.”

“Stay away, you wacko.” Josee tossed back her head, expelled air from the side of her mouth. “You know, it was bad enough that Scooter snuck out of his room before I could get there. Not surprising really, since he despises hospitals as much as I do. But when Marsh walked up at the station and oh-so-nonchalantly tweaked my dials, that’s when I felt myself starting to slide. You think I’m tough? Like you can just yank out a hair here or there? Well … I’m … I’m also a woman, okay?” She covered her face with one hand, kneaded her sweater with the other. “This isn’t like me. I don’t know what my problem is today.”

“I’m your problem. Should’ve asked first, Josee. Sorry.”

She saw him shift in his seat. He seemed like he wanted to set a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. The protocols of his job restricted him, no doubt.

“We’re both on edge, Sarge. Let’s start over.” She turned her body and faced him, then added, as though any hesitation would keep her silenced forever, “You can’t back away now. This is your chance, your shot at making things right. Forget what the guys at the station think, especially Braddock. It’s time we do this and move on.”

“Do what? I’ve caused enough trouble as it is.”

“You said it yourself. God’s mercies are new every morning, right?”

“Look at this.” He pulled at his sleeve. “I’m wounded. Always have been.”

She gave a slight tip of the head. “Join the club.”

“Not that easy. You lose once, and you get this whole thing goin’ in your head—”

“But here I am, Sarge. I need your help. You’ve got to fight.”

“You want me to step back into the ring? Is that what you’re sayin’?”

“Do I have to paint it in purple on my forehead?”

That brought a smile. Then Turney laughed. She’d never heard him give a real laugh. It was deep, rumbling from within. He threw his head back. The laughter was loud, contagious. Next thing she was giggling.

“Stop it. It wasn’t even that funny.”

He laughed harder.

Then, as though jealous of a joy unshared, the sounds in the trunk kicked in.

Tunka-tunk-tunk … hsss!

Josee and Turney met one another’s gaze, then turned to look through the rear windshield. A pounding noise reverberated along the cruiser’s chassis.

“Whoa, here we go again.” Doubt was a dry riverbed soaking up Turney’s mirth. He nodded, accepting the inescapable, and pulled himself from the car. “There it is, actin’ up. What’d I tell you? Scooter’s somewhere close.”