Second Sight (3 page)

“
We’re ready,” one of the
EMTs says to the cop.

He nods. “Give me a minute.” Then he turns
back to me. “So whom do I call?”

Realizing he’s not going to give up, I rattle
off Jimmie’s number, knowing things are about to get sticky again.
So much for a fresh start.

“
What city uses that
prefix?” he muses to himself.

“
Tellico
Plains.”

Another shake of his head and the cop starts
to leave, but I catch his arm. “What’s your name?”

“
Matthis.” His jaw clenches
and releases. “But I guess you can call me Scott.”

I nod. “Okay, you want me to go to the stupid
hospital, I will—without a fight. But on one condition.”

He arches an eyebrow, and a thin smile plays
across his mouth. “You’re not exactly in any position to make
deals. But, let’s hear it.”

“
You have to sit with me
until Jimmie arrives.”

He slowly exhales. “That’s a first. Usually,
I get somebody yelling, ‘Get out of my face.’” He shakes his head
like he’s considering my contingency before he finally says, “Okay,
kid, I can do that.” He waves toward the EMTs.

“
You’re not that much older
than I am,” I snap, irritated.

“
I’m 21. But there’s lots
of things that make people older, Elizabeth--like watching kids
kill each other.” He glances at the bag and shakes his
head.

Part of me wants to say that at least his
teacher didn’t try to shoot him and nobody murdered his father.
That at least his race doesn’t make him a target. But I’m hoping
Scott really is an angel and that even now the haze I see around
his body, isn’t just a trick of the light.

There’re a million questions I want to ask,
but the EMTs load the gurney and slowly drive away, heading for my
least favorite place.

A CAT scan, a blood test, and an exam later,
the doctor pronounces my injuries as limited to a concussion.
Still, true to his word, Scott shows up at the hospital. He takes
to leaning against the windowsill and looking out at the sunny sky
instead of at me, and although I have all these questions, I don’t
have a clue how to start. So he starts.

“
Who’s Lev?” He drums his
fingers on the sill.

“
An old boyfriend.” I will
myself to keep the tone even. The last thing I need is to break
down again. “Why do you ask?”

“
You called me that before
you passed out.” He’s still looking out the window. “And you seemed
pretty upset I wasn’t answering.”

“
Sorry about that.” I
vaguely remember, but that makes me see Miguel’s face, and I don’t
like going there. Still, my mind replays the rest of it, and I jump
when the shooting starts.

Scott sees me jump. “You all right?”

“
Fine.” My voice is
trembling, and I wish I could make it stop.

“
Tell me what happened.” He
pulls out a notepad and pen.

Swallowing, I force myself to concentrate on
the details. “I was driving through the neighborhood when I got a
flat. Miguel offered to change it. When he’d finished, that white
car drove up. As they passed, the passenger….” My voice dies. I
can’t say it. I start shaking. My memories of Miguel flash into my
thoughts, from his smiling face to the expressionless dead one as
his body falls on top of mine.

Scott takes a deep breath and looks up. “It’s
all right, Elizabeth. Just take your time.” His voice is soothing,
so quiet and even. “Go on when you are ready. I can wait.” He keeps
staring at me, those blue eyes burning through me.

“
The guy in the car shot
Miguel. Then the driver turned the car around and would have shot
me if you hadn’t come.”

“
What were you doing
there?” he asks softly. “You don’t live anywhere close, and you
just moved to Tennessee. That makes no sense.”

“
You wouldn’t believe me if
I told you.” I bat the hair from my eyes.

“
Try me.” He turns his back
to the window and leans back against the sill, his arms folded
across his chest. He stares at my face, waiting.

“
I…was looking for
Lev.”

He nods, considering my words. “And is he in
a gang?”

“
No.” I think of Lev, Evan,
and Celia, and a lump forms in my throat, making it difficult to
swallow.

“
Then what made you think
you’d find him there of all places?” He steps toward me, and the
proximity frightens me.

“
It’s a long
story.”

He waves around the room. “I think we have
time. You’re not going anywhere until your dad gets here.”

“
He’s not my dad.” The tone
comes out more harshly than I want, but I’m tired of having to
explain Jimmie to people. It wasn’t my fault my parents died, but
having to keep going through this makes me feel like it.

“
Then what is
he?”

“
My guardian.” I grip the
blanket in my hand, hating this stupid gown which makes me look
helpless and weak.

“
Oh.” He takes a seat in
the chair then unbuttons one cuff of his long-sleeved shirt so he
can roll up his sleeve before turning his attention to the other
sleeve.

“
How did you know my
name?”

“
The same way I knew you
weren’t from around here. Your license.” He nods to my purse. “Now
about Lev. Where is he?”

I swallow hard. “I don’t know, exactly.”

“
So you just assumed
Knoxville? Not really close to Massachusetts, is it?” I can feel
his gaze lingering on me, trying to engage my attention, but I
refuse to look at him, not willing to admit the truth.

“
It seemed as good a place
as any to start looking.”

He touches my hand and forces me to meet his
gaze. “Except you could have easily been killed. You picked a bad
neighborhood, Elizabeth. You got lucky, but maybe your guardian
angel won’t be so close next time.”

What guardian angel? I want to ask. My angel
is dead. That’s who I’m looking for. But I know how ludicrous this
whole thing is--great fodder for getting me committed to the local
nuthouse, and while Hauser’s Landing might not have had one, I’m
sure Knoxville can more than oblige.

I pull away. “Okay, fine. Consider this a
lesson learned. I won’t be back, so you don’t have to worry.”

“
That doesn’t answer my
question about Lev and why you’re looking for him in dangerous
places.” He leans back, leveling a pointed gaze at me. “Tellico
Plains is nothing like Knoxville.”

“
I’ll keep that in mind.” I
shut up then, still watching the aura around Scott’s body. Although
it is very faint, it’s there nonetheless; I’m not imagining it. So
I have discovered another angel. Problem is, I’m not sure what to
do with that knowledge.

“
You’re a strange one,” he
mutters.

“
So do you know anyone with
the last name of Walker?”

He frowns and shakes his head. “Yeah, I know
a George Walker. Fresh out of Levs, though.” He grabs a piece of
gum from his pocket and unwraps it, popping it into his mouth.
Against the dark navy of his uniform, his skin and hair seem an
ethereal gold, hinting at the same otherworldliness which I once
noticed about Lev. He offers me a piece, and I take it.

“
Sure about that?” I
ask.

“
I sure don’t know any cops
by that name, and if he’s a kid, the only reason I’d probably know
him is that he’s a banger. So, tell me, would I know him?” He
stares at me pointedly.

“
No, I already told you
that.”

He nods. “Yeah, I guess you did. Problem is,
that the little bump you got seems to have left you a bit confused
it seems.”

I start to argue when the door slides open,
admitting Jimmie and the doctor. Even as Jimmie steps inside, I can
tell he’s fit to be tied. At any moment, his head is going to start
spinning, and pea soup is going to fly everywhere just like that
stupid old movie, The Exorcist. I’m going to be so grounded, so, so
grounded.

I think I’d rather have the pea soup.

“
Is she all right?” he asks
the doctor. Not a good sign when he’s talking to the doctor instead
of me.

“
She’s got a concussion.
That’s about it.” Scott rises and gives me one last
glance.

Jimmie extends his hand. “I’m Jimmie Abram,
Lizzie’s guardian.”

“
Scott Matthis, Knoxville
PD.” The two shake, and I’m grateful for the distraction because
Jimmie’s going to blow a gasket.

Jimmie’s gaze flickers to me. “What
happened?” His shoulders form a hard line, and I can smell the
smoke on his clothes. Looks like the patch has gone the way of the
dodo. Again.

“
Nothing!” I protest. Scott
glares at me, and Jimmie raises his hand.

“
Lizzie, let me finish this
conversation. Then I’ll talk to you.” He turns to Scott. “So what
happened?”

“
She said she was driving
around, looking for a friend when she found herself in the middle
of a drive-by. The shooter killed the kid next to her and would
have taken her out if we hadn’t gotten there.”

Ever seen the color drain completely out of
somebody’s cheeks? It’s not instantaneous. There are shades of
pallor. Jimmie pretty much goes through all of them, one by one, on
the way to stark white. “Who did she say she was looking for.”

“
Griffin!” I yell, hoping
Scott will not say the other name. You know, the one that can get
me in so much trouble I won’t have a prayer. Again Scott looks at
me and Jimmie waves me to silence.

“
What was the name?” Jimmie
asks again, a forced patience crimping his voice.

“
Lev. She said she was
looking for Lev.”

Jimmie’s shoulders slowly sink, and he closes
his eyes as though he doesn’t want to see what is right in front of
me. His breath comes out in weighted gasps, and he shakes his head,
swallowing hard.

“
Do you know who she is
talking about?” Scott asks softly, folding his arms across his
chest. As he takes inventory of Jimmie’s expression, his jaw
clenches.

“
Yeah, but um, that’s not
possible. Could you have heard her wrong?”

Scott shook his head. “She said Lev Walker.
Why is that impossible?”

Jimmie shoves his keys into his pocket. “He’s
dead. Been dead six months.” His breathing is uneven and panicked.
He just keeps shaking his head as though denying
everything—especially me as usual. Oh, Jimmie’s great at going
through the motions—but emotions are another thing. He doesn’t do
emotions. Never has. Steak and potatoes, that’s Jimmie’s style.

Now it’s Scott’s turn to look kind of pasty.
I should’ve realized Scott would tell Jimmie. Why should a cop be
any different? Knowing would have saved me a whole lot of grief and
insanity. But it doesn’t matter now, with Jimmie’s eyes filled with
pain, and Scott’s unreadable expression. His mouth opens and
closes, and he’s uncertain what to say, not that it matters. I see
the aura as plain as day. Maybe he doesn’t know Lev, but he knows
something. Still, if he’s an angel and I can’t trust him, is it
safe to trust anyone?

“
Can I speak with you
outside?” Scott asks, glancing at Jimmie and then at me. Without a
word, they both step outside, leaving me wishing I could just take
everything back—all of it. I mean, after all, what’s the point?
It’s all about control now, and who has it and who doesn’t. And me,
I don’t. What was it about Scott that made me loosen up? Just
another way he reminded me of Lev. Why do I get so stupid
sometimes? It’s like I don’t even know who I am. Used to be I
thought about what fitting in with people, but this—this is somehow
worse. I am alone in myself.

Frustrated, I snap my head back into my
pillow as the doctor scribbles a few notes on my chart. I glare at
him as though this is his fault, but like Jimmie he is completely
oblivious.

“
Can I go home
yet?”

“
Soon.” He takes the chart
and steps outside. I tug the blanket from beneath my body, hating
the hospital gown more with every breath. Whoever designed this
snap-thing should be shot. I hate my butt hanging out in the wind.
Then again, that’s the least of my worries right now. Being
committed to the looney bin is pretty close to number
one.

The door swings open, but this time it is
only Jimmie, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. His hands
are shoved deep in his pockets, probably because he doesn’t have a
clue what else to do with them. Once he’s inside, he shuts the door
and turns to me expectantly. I figure he’ll start yelling any time
now, but he doesn’t, and that makes it so much worse, which I
didn’t think was possible, really. Just goes to show what can
happen when you don’t believe in something. But then why should I?
I did with Lev, and look what happened? It always happens that way
with me.

“
Jimmie, I can
explain.”

He walks around the room, looking at the
floor. “Can you? Really?” He slowly looks up, and I can tell if I
don’t find a way to calm him down, his face might really stay just
like it is, and that would definitely not be a good thing because
Jimmie’s wearing what I call the scary dad face. His expression is
tight with apprehension, and his whole body is tense. He frowns,
and that frown furrows his forehead. I’d rather have the angry
Jimmie. At least once his temper blows, he can finally cool off.
There’s no relaxing the scary Jimmie.