A Time of Shadows (Out of Time #8) (21 page)

~~~

Victor kept his eyes on the road, but in his peripheral vision he could see her head leaning against the window glass, feel her grief.

He clenched his jaw and ignored it; he had enough of his own. Her emotional state was not his problem. He was there to keep her alive, nothing more. If the girl wanted to cry the entire time, that was fine by him. As long as she did it quietly, he didn’t care what she did.

His eyes slid over to her briefly. What a fool he was to have said yes. What the Crosses did, what messes they managed to create for themselves were not his problem. And yet, here he was, again.
 

Cross he could have said no to. With pleasure even. But a mother’s plea for her child? Not even the failing ember he called a heart could ignore that. It had sparked to life in his chest with a sudden fire. A feeling he’d known all too well, and had never wanted to feel again.

He shook his head. He was truly a fool. Not only had he let them pull him into their folly, but he’d let them saddle him with a ten-year-old girl.
 

He glanced over at her again.
 

Why did she have to be a girl?

Memories of his own daughter came again, and the ever-present dull ache in his soul became a sharp pain again. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and tried to crush the images that danced across his mind. One by one, they fell away, but he knew they weren’t really gone. They were just lurking, waiting for him to be weak again.

Some men had demons like drink or drugs; he had the past. And when he gave in to it, when it came back, it overwhelmed him. He was lost to everything but the fantasy of what might have been and the horror of what had been.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl lean back in her seat, boneless, listless. She turned her head toward him, gazing at him with sad eyes. She didn’t say anything, just studied him.

He ignored her, hoping she’d tire of it, of him. The silent stare stretched on, but whatever questions she had she kept them to herself. Eventually, she turned her head away from him and looked out of the window again.

The two drove on in silence, haunted by the past and the future.

N
OTHING
HAD
CHANGED
HERE
, Victor thought as they drove up the country lane. The car struggled through the rutted dirt road. Limbs from bushes and trees reached out into the clearing, growing into the space. It had always struck him how alive the bayou was, how it was a living thing. Every inch of it, every waterway, every plant and animal grasping for more. If someone sat in one place long enough, the bayou would simply swallow them whole.
 

Their car hit a deep hole and next to him the girl bounced off her seat. She looked at him with worried eyes, but set her mouth in a grim line and gripped the armrest tightly.

When they reached the curve in the road, signaling that the house was near, Victor saw the abandoned car exactly where it had been years ago, the front end still crushed against the massive trunk of the Angel Oak. The long twisting tree branches still stuck out like snakes from Medusa’s head, frozen in time, but ready to strike.

Vines and God only knew what had taken up residence in the rusting metal hunk. Like a scavenger eating a carcass, the bayou was slowly devouring the car.

The girl sat up straighter and craned her neck to see it.
 

“Wow,” she said softly.

Victor pulled off to the side of the road where it widened slightly. He backed up and nudged the rear bumper into the undergrowth, giving him just enough space to turn around if they needed to leave in a hurry.
 

He turned in his seat and looked toward the far end of the road. He could just make out the dilapidated old house an acquaintance had once let him use. It didn’t appear to be occupied, at least not by anything human.
 

“Wait here,” he said.

“But—”

One glare silenced her.
 

She flopped back in her seat, but she obeyed.

Victor got out of the car and opened one of the back doors. From the car floor he took out a black canvas bag. After arming himself with two of the guns inside it, he zipped it back up and put it back on the floor.

“Do not touch that,” he said and closed the door.

Keeping to the edge of the road, Victor made his way toward the house. It still leaned a little to the left. With his luck, the whole damn thing would probably fall down around them.
 

He moved without sound, the way he’d been trained to, but when his foot hit the first board of the outside steps, it creaked and cried out like a child.
 

“Perfect,” he whispered to himself and hurried up the steps.

The door was unlocked, but stuck. Carefully, he made his way around the porch and peered into the windows. Bits of curtain still hung there, but he could see inside. It didn’t appear to have been touched since he was last there.
 

He made his way around the house to the back porch and the kitchen. It was clear. A sound came from above him and he froze. A knocking. There was a one room second story, a sort of dormer room. He waited a moment and listened, his heart beating faster, but he quickly restrained it. The sound came again, but he
 
recognized it this time and relaxed. A woodpecker was beating out a rhythm as it foraged for food.

Letting out a calming breath, Victor opened the back door. It squeaked as it swung open. The kitchen was filthy, but usable. He carefully made his way across the peeling linoleum floor and searched the rest of the house. It was empty. No footprints in the dust. No one had been here for some time. Exactly as he needed it to be.

He went back down the road to the car and was glad to see the girl still sitting there as instructed. He drove up to the small arcing turnaround and stopped by the front steps.

She looked at the faded gray wood, peeling paint and broken windows, and then back to him.
 

He got out of the car and she followed suit, standing at the bottom step and staring up at the house. Two small worry lines deepened between her eyes.

Victor came around the car and opened the back door. He reached in and grabbed his black duffle bag. Slinging the strap over his shoulder he came to her side.
 

“Is it haunted?” she asked.

“Haunted?”

Her eyes got bigger. “You know, ghosts.”

There were plenty of ghosts there for him.

“None that will harm you,” he said.

She nodded as she studied the house, still unsure, and then turned back to him.
 

“Do you think they’re all right?” she said.
 

He didn’t have to ask who she meant. There would only be two people on her mind. He’d never met a pair more likely to find trouble than the Crosses. And from what they’d told him, there was plenty of it to be found.

He stared down at her, searching for the right answer and knowing there wasn’t one. In the end, he answered honestly.

“I do not know.”

She thought about that for a moment and then nodded. He could see her steeling herself against her worries before she looked back up at the house.

He cleared his throat and started up the steps. He paused at the top step and turned back around. She hadn’t moved.

“The groceries will not bring themselves in,” he said.

It seemed to break her out of her funk and she turned back to the car to get them.

He tossed his bag onto the old sofa and a cloud of dust rose up around it. Coughing, he waved it away, and took stock of the room. It was in a state of unattended decay, but livable. He had spent far longer in far worse places.
 

On the way out he passed the girl coming in, the large grocery bag in her arms nearly dwarfing her.
 

After priming the water pump with jugs of stale water, he moved on to his next chore. The electrical panel on the outside of the house was as it had been. Although the meter had been removed, all he had to do was reconnect the wires and hope the wire from the pole was still active. It was a local tradition, it seemed, to borrow electricity. This house and the few others he’d seen had never paid a bill in their lives. Off the grid, but still using it.
 

After the last of the groceries had been taken from the car, Victor backed it into the small barn, ready to leave quickly should the need arise, then returned to the house.

Inside, he found the girl standing in the kitchen, staring.

“It’s so…dirty,” she said. “But nice,” she added quickly.

Victor opened the old refrigerator and the stink that came out of it made his eyes water. There was something in it, something indefinable, and the stench was overwhelming.

He closed it and the girl, who’d pulled the collar of her shirt up to use as a mask, looked at him in alarm. He waved the stench away with his hand and tested the faucet. The pipes bumped and groaned and she jumped at the shaking, clattering sound, stumbling back a step as a burst of brown water shot out of the faucet.
 

Eventually, the water ran clear and he turned it off.

She watched him warily, but curiously, then looked around.

To his surprise, she opened one of the cabinets and then another, finally finding what she was looking for under the sink. She pulled out a box of rags and placed them on the table and then turned the water back on.

 
She wet one of the rags and wrung it out before turning to him. “It won’t clean itself.”

He laughed, surprised and impressed with her cheek. But he quickly forced an authoritative scowl to his face.

“There is a broom in the closet when you are finished here.”

She looked at him but didn’t flinch. She simply nodded and went about cleaning. He watched her for a moment, more impressed than he wanted to be, and then left. He had his own chores to do.

~~~

Victor stood at the entrance to the small workshop. Thin streams of afternoon sunlight shone down through holes in the roof. Dust swirled around in each shaft of light, glinting and then disappearing. Two panes from the back window were shattered, shards of glass sticking up like giant teeth.
 

He walked to the back of the shop and pulled a metal box from the lower shelf. Carefully, he opened it. Ten 12-gauge cartridges. Old, but usable. Two pepper, one flare and seven blanks from the looks of things. Victor frowned. They’d have to do. If someone, anyone, had told him what his assignment was, he could have been better prepared. But they hadn’t and he wasn’t.

Next to the nearly empty boxes of cartridges were several spools of trip wire. He’d have to hope it was enough.
 

Walking the perimeter, as he’d done once before, he set up the tripwire across paths in the woods. If someone tried to sneak up on them, they’d have a nasty surprise and he’d have good warning. Thankfully, most of the tripwire devices were still attached to the trees. He reattached those that were dislodged and wired up the traps.

Early warning was all well and good, but he wished he had some lethal rounds. He’d learned early on that it was never wise to give your enemy a second chance. But he couldn’t risk going for more supplies. They’d taken a big enough risk going to the market as it was.
 

Grumbling, he moved on to the boat. The aluminum hull was lying upside down on the tall grass in the back. It didn’t seem to be much worse for the wear. He picked it up and carried it down to the water. He flipped it in and waited for it to sink. When it didn’t, he dragged it down to the end of the dock and tied it off.

The small outboard engine was leaning against the corner of the workshop. The tank, of course, was empty.
 

He found a red metal gas can, but it was empty too.

“Damn it.”

Grabbing the small bit of hose coiled up next to it, he siphoned a gallon or so from their car. The harsh taste of gasoline still coated his mouth and sinuses as he took the can to the boat.
 

He attached the motor and primed it. It took several tries before the motor caught. He shut it down and started it again, then one more time. He wanted to make sure that it would catch on the first pull if they needed it to. The engine was small, far from a speedboat, but if they had to escape out the back, it would do.
 

As he walked back up the dock toward the small hill upon which the house sat, he saw the girl standing on the back porch.
 

God, he wanted a drink. To wash away this taste, to wash away this feeling.

She smiled at him as he walked up the back steps. “All clean!”

He opened the back screen door and walked into the kitchen. It was quite a transformation and she was clearly quite proud of her hard work.

“What do you think?” she said, and then waited for his praise.
 

His mind was elsewhere though, still looking for solutions to problems that hadn’t even presented themselves yet.
 

When he didn’t reply, her face fell and her disappointment jabbed at him. She was only a child, after all.

“It is fine,” he said, gruffly.

A smile blossomed on her face and it caught him off-guard. “Yeah?”

She was a flower, like Juliette. A little watering and she bloomed. Just the fleeting thought of his daughter’s name brought a lump to his throat. He frowned again and cleared his throat.

“Do not wander the grounds,” he said as he turned for the living room. “Stay in the house.”

“Okay,” she said as he left. “Do you want lunch?”

Victor did not answer. He kept walking until he was in the other room. He had to get away from her, away from the memories.
 

He stalked into the living room and stopped.
 

He let out a shaky breath and looked to the ceiling, to heaven, for help. But there was nothing there, just silence and cracking plaster. Just fissures that grew larger each day.