The Ravens (17 page)

LANCE
TURNED
ON
THE
LIGHT
and got out of bed, but everything was as normal as it could be after someone had broken in and jammed a gun in his mouth. He opened the curtains just a crack. The only thing he saw outside was the light from his cousin’s hardware store and his own reflection against the dark. It was the same old face he’d put on a few hours ago, without a trace of the eighteen-year-old who had looked up at him from the yellowing newspaper page in the basement of the grocery store in Finland.

You are more beautiful than anything else in Minnesota,
he remembered writing, annoyed. Had he really written something so stupid? Their relationship hadn’t lasted more than a couple of months, and Lance feared it had meant more to him than to her. He had to find something that would make all her defenses crumble at the mere memory of it.

In his home office he found Debbie’s cell number on the Internet. He sat there, typing various messages on his cell in the hope of finding the right words, but after a while he gave up. It was impossible to keep playing around like this. This time he needed to be smart and use his head.

IT
WAS
ALMOST
NINE
by the time he woke up, sitting in his desk chair with his cell phone in his hand, not having written anything. He had a throbbing headache, which was probably because he
was so hungry his stomach was rumbling. He realized with alarm that it was almost forty-eight hours since he’d had anything to eat. He’d driven straight back to the North Shore from Minneapolis, and when he came home, he’d been so tired he couldn’t muster enough energy to eat anything, even though he was starving. Instead, he’d tumbled into bed, planning to make himself a huge breakfast in the morning. But then the light from the TV had woken him, and in the living room he’d found Andy holding a gun. Lance swallowed, noticing at once that his throat wasn’t any better. He still couldn’t imagine forcing any solid food down his injured, swollen esophagus. But in the meantime his voice had come back. Maybe not entirely, but he didn’t need to use it much anyway.

He poured himself a mug of coffee but let it sit while he had a spartan breakfast consisting of two aspirin, crushed and stirred in lukewarm water. Then he went into the bathroom and took a shower. As he stood there, letting the steady streams of hot water pummel his body, he began to feel better. Suddenly he understood the joy of refusing himself food. A trembling, electric feeling spread upward from his feet to his abdomen, to his stomach and chest, until it reached his head and made him gasp with pleasure. But as soon as he turned off the water and got out of the shower, he legs felt as heavy as lead. And when he stood at the toilet to pee, he began to retch, but without bringing up anything except some white slime, presumably from the aspirin.

Back in the kitchen he leaned against the counter as he drank the now tepid coffee, taking little, painful sips. When he’d finished the coffee, he suddenly realized that he was naked. He brushed off a few dry bread crumbs that had stuck to his butt and then dashed for the bedroom. There he put on some clothes.

Afterward he went into the living room and opened the curtains. Even without any sun, the light hurt his eyes. He turned the easy chair around so it faced away from the window and sat down. It didn’t matter that both Swamper Caribou and Andy had sat in this very chair. This whole thing is about the three of us, thought Lance. Somewhere in the house his cell was ringing, but he didn’t feel like getting up to look for it. Finally it stopped, only to start up again a few seconds later.

Groaning with annoyance, Lance got up.

WHEN
HE
CAME
TO,
he found himself headed for the shoulder of the road. The car fishtailed as he yanked the steering wheel hard to the left, but after careening from one side of the lane to the other a few times, he finally regained control of the vehicle.

His heart was beating fast, and he had a nervous, flickering feeling inside his chest. Sleep, or whatever it was, had come over him so unexpectedly. It couldn’t have lasted more than a couple of seconds, but that had almost been enough. Right now he needed to make his way as fast as possible to Duluth because Chrissy was in danger.

“You have to help me,” she’d whispered frantically when he answered his cell.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her.

“He’s going to kill me.”

“What?”

“I found a place to hide, but I think he’s waiting for me. He tried to . . . He grabbed me by . . .”

“Where are you?” Lance had shouted, in a panic.

Without really being aware of what he was doing, he had stood in the middle of the living room, shouting into the phone.

“The parking lot at the Last Chance Liquor Store. Honk your horn.” And that was the last thing she’d said.

It suddenly occurred to him that a man had attacked Chrissy. Somehow he hadn’t fully realized that until now. Lance sig
nificantly exceeded the speed limit as he drove the last stretch of road from Two Harbors to Duluth.

THE
LAST
CHANCE
LIQUOR
STORE
was a small place with a small parking lot. He saw two cars in the lot, and behind the wheel of one of them was a young man who looked like he was waiting for someone. Could that be the guy? Lance honked his horn, giving it two short and two long blasts, which made the young man turn in his direction. As he waited for his niece to show up, Lance looked around distractedly, trying to locate someone who better matched Chrissy’s claim that a grown man had assaulted her, but he didn’t see anyone. He was about to honk the horn again when Chrissy came running at full speed around the corner of the store, maybe thirty yards away, with her black coat flying out behind her. Lance leaned over to open the passenger door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the young man jump out of his car and start hurling swear words at Chrissy. He seemed out of his mind with rage and kept punching at the air with his fist.

Chrissy slammed the door shut and threw herself flat, with her head resting on her uncle’s lap.

“Are you okay?” he asked, stroking her hair as he drove out of the parking lot and down Sixth Avenue. He had an uneasy feeling that he was being used. That young man didn’t fit with what his niece had told him on the phone. It sure didn’t look like he was intent on attacking her, thought Lance. For some reason that young man had been furious with Chrissy.

“Maybe you’d better have something to eat,” he suggested and he glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure that no one was following them.

Chrissy was still lying on his lap. When he placed his hand between her shoulder blades, he noticed how hard she was shaking.

“Good Lord, honey,” murmured Lance, feeling tears rising.

This was Andy and Tammy’s little girl lying here. Chrissy, who had been allowed to chase her policeman uncle around the house, from one room to another, shrieking all the way, until she
arrested him. Chrissy, who should have been in school right now. The girl was supposed to make something of herself. But here she lay, shaking and sobbing.

“How about some food?” he again suggested.

She sat up, hunched over in what looked like a sitting fetal position.

“Or would you rather have a beer?”

For the first time since she’d thrown herself into the car, Chrissy looked at her uncle. Just a fleeting glance, as if to see if he really meant what he’d said.

“Okay,” she replied, still shaking.

Lance drove over to Fitger’s Brewhouse, which was close by, and parked.

“You need to pull yourself together,” he said as they headed inside.

There were only a few other people in the pub since it was so early in the day.

“What kind of beer would you like?” he asked.

Chrissy seemed far away, as if in a state of shock.

“I don’t know,” she muttered in that same, unsteady voice. “Something light, I guess.”

When the waiter appeared, Lance ordered a Fitger’s Lighthouse Golden for his niece and a Mesabi Red for himself. He knew they’d have problems if he had to deal with someone who was a stickler for the rules, but the waiter didn’t even cast a glance at the seventeen-year-old Goth girl. He merely repeated their order. Then uncle and niece sat in silence, waiting for the beers. Lance knew it wouldn’t look good if anyone they knew turned up, but right now his main concern was Chrissy, and he had a strong feeling that she’d feel a lot better after drinking a beer. She was sitting on the other side of the table with her arms straight down, her elbows locked, as if she were holding on to the seat of her chair, which may have been exactly what she was doing. Her face was even paler than usual, and the dark circles under her eyes were the real thing.

The waiter came back and set the glasses of beer in front of them. No sooner had he turned around than Chrissy grabbed her pint and with trembling hands raised it to her lips. Lance
watched in fascination as the young girl’s delicate white throat gulped down the beer as if she were an old alcoholic. A moment later she set the glass back on the table, having finished off a good third of the beer. She gave her uncle a wan, apologetic smile.

“Maybe you should have something hot too,” said Lance. “Were you lying in the snow?”

“No. In a pile of empty cardboard boxes. I’ve been in worse situations.” She smiled briefly.

“But what are you doing here? You should be in school.”

“Please don’t ask.”

Lance slammed his fist down, making the table jump.

“Don’t ask?” he shouted. “You call me up and say that you’re about to be . . . I don’t know what. So I drive all the way down here from Lutsen, and all you can say is ‘don’t ask’?”

Chrissy raised her hands, as if to protect herself, and started to cry. A moment later the waiter soundlessly appeared behind Lance.

“Everything all right here?”

“I’m sorry,” said Lance. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good. I hope it doesn’t.”

And then he was gone.

“If you don’t get a grip, we’re going to get thrown out,” Lance whispered.

“You’re the one who pounded on the table.”

She drank some more of her beer, but a much smaller amount this time.

“Well, I meant what I said. Since you dragged me all the way out here, you can at least tell me who that guy was in the parking lot.”

“Who do you mean?”

Lance gave her a withering look.

“Okay, he was the one who tried to—”

“Don’t lie to me. Who was he?”

“A friend,” Chrissy said after a moment.

“Not much of a friend.”

“You can say that again.”

Lance took a sip of his Mesabi Red and instantly began to cough so that foam ran down his jacket. Seeming to rise up out of
the floor, the waiter was once again standing next to their table, giving them a professional and politely accusatory glare.

“Okay,” said Lance, fuming. “We’re leaving.”

CHRISSY
DIDN’T
SAY
A
WORD
as they drove out of Duluth. She sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead. The route they took headed inland, through big areas of marsh and bog that were famous for their rich bird life during the summertime. Right now the landscape looked like a lifeless world, which was further enhanced by the naked gray tree trunks that stuck up here and there from the snow. Lance had no idea where they were going, only that they had to get out of Duluth and whatever Chrissy had gotten herself involved in back there. And since the North Shore was not an option, they were driving across the marshlands.

“What’s the matter with you?” asked Chrissy after a while. “Are you sick?”

“Haven’t eaten in two days.”

“Why not?”

“It’s something with my throat. Can’t swallow.”

“So that’s why your voice is . . . ?”

“Yeah.”

“An infection?”

“Don’t know.”

“But haven’t you gone to the doctor?”

“It’ll get better.”

Lance wondered what he should do with her. He couldn’t just keep driving north toward the Iron Range and Canada. That wasn’t much of a plan. She needed to get back to a normal life, which meant school, home, and girlfriends. Not running around in town the way she was doing now.

“What did he want from you?” Lance asked.

“He thought I’d taken something from him.”

“And did you?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, if by ‘taken’ you mean ‘stolen.’ ”

Chrissy shrugged.

“Do you realize how scared I was by your call?”

“But he was trying to get me.”

“Yeah, because you stole something. That’s not exactly the story you told me.”

“Sorry.”

“I think you’d better tell me what’s going on.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re telling too many lies. You must be mixed up in something.”

“I’m not mixed up in anything.”

“Well, you’re not the girl I thought you were, at any rate.”

“I’m Sad Water. Nobody is building any bridges for me.”

She started sobbing quietly. Lance felt dizzy, not just from hunger but also because he was probably dehydrated. Except for that one sip of beer that was still making his stomach rumble, he hadn’t taken in any fluids for several hours. And he had no idea where he was going. This road led to the Mesabi Iron Range, with the towns of Eveleth, Virginia, Hibbing, and Babbitt. Why would he and Chrissy go there? Yet at this point, the way back was longer than the way forward, and the lake was farther away than the iron mines. In his sluggish condition, Lance was incapable of making a decision. So he just continued driving through the desolate, snow-covered landscape, with his niece weeping in the passenger seat.

IN
THE
REMOTE
TOWN
of Eveleth they stopped at a gas station because Chrissy needed to use the restroom. She was gone longer than normal, and when she came back, Lance had confirmation of what he’d suspected for some time, although he’d never actually put it into words. It wasn’t that she staggered or slurred her words. Or talked too much. No, it was more like a fire had been lit inside the body of this girl, which only a short time ago had appeared so cold and worn out. She now seemed enveloped in a sense of well-being, and Lance himself almost felt drawn to the same place, toward the warmth and light from the chemical fire burning inside her. Yet he knew how false that warmth was. As a police officer, Lance knew a great deal about drugs and their effects. Most of it he’d learned in various courses, but he’d also
arrested kids who were under the influence, both at campsites in the woods and in Duluth when he was on the police force there. He guessed that Chrissy had ingested cocaine in the gas station restroom. Maybe she’d merely licked her little finger, dipped it in the white powder, and then rubbed it on her gums.

“Could you turn on the radio?” she asked.

Lance complied, and the car was instantly filled with a loud crackling sound. He turned the FM dial back and forth, trying to pick up a station, but the noise didn’t stop. Chrissy pressed her hands over her ears and laughed.

“That’s all I can get,” said Lance after he turned off the radio. “But you know what? We need to call Tammy and Andy and tell them that you’re with me and everything’s fine.”

“Do I have to?” She sighed.

“When’s the last time you were home?”

“Yesterday, I think.”

“You’re not sure?”

She seemed to think hard about the question.

“No,” she said at last.

Lance sighed heavily.

“It’s not that easy,” said Chrissy.

“What isn’t?”

“Figuring out where I am all the time.”

“Most people seem to manage,” said Lance.

Chrissy didn’t reply, as if she was scared she’d said too much. Lance took his cell phone out of his pocket.

“What’s Tammy’s cell number?”

“Why can’t you just call our landline?”

“I don’t want to talk to your dad,” said Lance.

In reality he was worried that Andy would pick up the phone on the second floor to listen in on the conversation.

“Give it to me. I’ll do it.”

Lance handed his cell to Chrissy. She tapped in the number and handed the phone back to him. Tammy’s cell rang and rang, but nobody answered. He was just about to give up when Tammy suddenly picked up, her voice low and urgent, as if she were trying to talk in secret.

“Hi, Lance. Have you heard anything from Chrissy?”

“She’s sitting right here next to me.”

“Oh, thank God for that.”

In the background he could clearly hear the sound of cars driving past. Maybe Tammy had gone outside to take the call when she saw that he was trying to reach her. If so, there was no doubt who wasn’t supposed to hear what she said.

“Is she okay?” she asked, sounding worried.

“Fine. We’re on our way to Two Harbors now.”

“Where was she?”

“You’ll have to ask her about that. Not me.”

“Okay. But thank you for—”

“Not a problem,” Lance said, interrupting her. “We’re family, after all.”

“So when do you think you’ll get here?”

“In about an hour.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“No, she’s sleeping.”

He didn’t want her to talk to her daughter when Chrissy was high. Not to spare Tammy, but so that Chrissy wouldn’t end up in trouble the minute she got home. The fact that she took drugs was something that had to be dealt with, but it wouldn’t help to shout and create a scene.

“Thanks,” said Chrissy, giving Lance a radiant smile when he ended the call.

“Nothing to thank me for. I just thought I’d let you handle things yourself.”

“It’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m more worried about you, Uncle Lance. Why don’t we stop and get you something to eat?”