Firefly Rain (32 page)

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” She sipped pensively, and then she made a face. “I take it back. I want some good beer. We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

I nodded. “You’re driving, which means I get to start on them early.”

“Bastard.” She stuck out her tongue briefly, then rubbed her eyes. “And the drive out here was just… tiring. It’s a long drive, you know. It’s not easy to follow some of these state highways, either, especially not in rain like this.”

I nodded. “So just a hard drive, then?”

“Well…” Her voice trailed off. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

She looked down at the tabletop. “Mostly. I think your stories are getting to me, because I swear it felt like something was, I don’t know, pacing me the whole time, especially once I got close. The feeling just got stronger.”

“Interesting,” I said softly, and I thought about the sensation
of being watched that I’d had just a few minutes before. “What else you got?”

She shook her head violently. “No. I think that’s enough, don’t you?” Abruptly, she stood. “Look, I think I’m just tired. Tomorrow we’ll get up, we’ll go into town, we’ll meet your scary police officer, and we’ll start getting this straightened out, all right? Right now, I just need sleep.”

I shoved my chair back and stood to face her. “That sounds like a hell of an idea. I have to warn you, though.”

Her voice was shot through with sudden weariness. “What? You’ve told me about the ghosts. Did you miss one?”

“It’s the dog.” I grabbed the bottles from the table and headed for the sink. “I’m not kidding when I say he’s coming after me.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes, but he’s outside and you’re inside.”

“And so are you,” I reminded her, “and he’s tried to get in twice.” I put the bottles down in the sink and turned to face her. “So help me, Jenna, if you hear
anything
, call me. Wake me up. Get me out of bed and point me at the shotgun.”

“I’ll do that,” she promised, face pale. She tried to smile. “Sounds like I should be staying with you tonight. It would be safer.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” I said slowly. “Getting far away from me might be the safest thing.”

“Poor dear.” She tiptoed over to me and planted a kiss on the tip of my nose. “Even your ghosts are confused. Now go to bed. If the monster dog shows up, I’ll just escort it to your room and go back to sleep. Good night, Jacob.”

“Good night.” I gave her a brief hug. “Pleasant dreams.”

“You, too,” she said, and she disappeared down the hall.

Much to my surprise, sleep came easy. It didn’t come restful, though. Half a dozen times, I found myself sitting bolt upright,
shaking and sweating from nightmares that took me apart and spun me like taffy. I couldn’t remember them, but then again I didn’t want to.

I’d sit there in the dark, heart pounding, and listen for the creature at the door who’d stalked me the last two nights, straining to hear it over the rain and the sound of my pulse.

Nothing. It seemed that the rain had warned it off, or maybe it just had someone else to terrorize. It didn’t matter to me. It was three in the morning and then some by the time I finally drifted off to sleep for the last time.

And as I did, one last nightmare grabbed me and pulled me under.

In it, I saw Carl. He was withered and old, and his eyes glowed with insect light. He was standing down on the edge of the woods, and he had a hand out, beckoning me to him. I took it, and it was cold and dead, but filled with a terrible strength. He pulled me into the Thicket then, into that strange place where we’d spoken, and the fireflies came with us. “They’ve been waiting,” he said. “They’re very angry with you.”

They descended upon me then, came down like a plague out of the Bible.

And me? I stood there and welcomed them as they crawled inside my eyes, as if it were penance for my sins.

Wake up
, I told myself.
It’s just a dream!
But the fireflies wouldn’t let me go, and I fell down into the cold grasp of the gold-green light.

It was still raining in the morning, a thin drizzle that came and went. The sky was a lighter shade of gray than it had been, but that was about all that could be said for it. Here and there sunlight tried to punch its way through, but all it did was give hints of color behind the gray—pale yellow and sick, tornado-sky green. There wouldn’t be any long walks in the fields today, that was for damn certain.

I rolled myself out of bed and into my bathrobe, then edged the door open as slowly as I could. It creaked a bit, low and long, but hopefully not enough to wake Jenna. On careful tiptoes, I made my way down the hall and into the kitchen to brew some coffee and hopefully pull myself together while I was the only one awake in the house.

Naturally, Jenna was sitting at the table when I got there. She
looked mighty pleased with herself, in part because she’d gotten up first, and in part because she had two steaming cups of coffee strategically placed and ready to go.

“Morning,” she said pleasantly, and she tucked her hands into her bathrobe pockets. She looked refreshed and cheerful. Apparently the previous night’s hardships hadn’t caused any lingering effects.

“Mmmm,” I replied. “What the hell are you doing up at this hour?”

“Reading,” she replied, and she laid Father’s journal down on the table.

I stared at it, then at her. She was smiling.

“Where did you get this?” I asked. I could barely see. My eyes were full of a red haze and my throat felt tight.

“It was just lying out here,” she said. “I figured that since you left it out—”

“I didn’t,” I said. “I put it back in my room last night. It should have been there this morning.”

“Well, I didn’t go into your room looking for it, if that’s what you’re asking.” She sounded annoyed. “Really, Logan, what’s the big deal? It’s a journal. So what?”

“It’s Father’s journal,” I choked out. “Until yesterday, I didn’t even know that it existed. I just read it for the first time. There are things in there that I never knew about him. Things about him. Things about how he felt about me.”

“Ah,” she said, and she offered me the journal. I snatched it out of her hands and shoved it into a bathrobe pocket. “Should I not have done that?”

“No, no… yes. I don’t know. I don’t know how it got out here.” I felt my hands curling into fists. “That was for me.”

“Maybe it was for us,” she said softly. I pretended I didn’t hear
her, and I counted to ten silently. I counted another ten after that, and then I busied myself with breakfast. When I turned with the plates, Jenna was gone, and the shower was running.

I shrugged, sat down, and started eating.

The morning was chilly, though outside the heat started to rise. I offered Jenna the tour of the house; she said she’d seen it while I was sleeping, and she didn’t sound impressed. For my part, I was still angry over Father’s journal, and by the time we’d both settled down and washed up, it was getting on eleven.

I suggested going into town, and both of us agreed that it was better than staying cooped up in the house all day with each other.

We made our way through the wet grass to where Jenna had parked her rental car. It was a Ford convertible, one of those things that were passing for Mustangs these days. The paint job was a slick shade of green that the eye wanted to slide off of, which seemed to me to run counter to the main reason you’d drive a convertible.

She’d pulled down near the end of the driveway, so it was a short walk from the house. A couple of clicks and beeps from the keychain unlocked the doors, and I slid myself in on the passenger side. “Hope you don’t mind my driving,” Jenna said as she got in. “They wouldn’t take my word that my alternate driver was too busy being chased by ghosts.”

I just shook my head, and she gave me a long look. “Are you still mad about the book thing? Look, I’m sorry. I just thought maybe I could help. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You shouldn’t have looked at it,” I said softly. “But that’s no nevermind right now. I’m sorry, too. You’re right, this place
is working on me, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing. Let’s go into town. I promised you a vanilla cola that would curl your toes.”

“They’re pre-curled,” she said tartly, but her face was still worried as we pulled out onto the road and headed into town.

The drive in was mostly silent. I was still angry, and she was afraid of getting me angrier. On occasion, I’d point out some local landmark or other—not that there were many to note—and she’d nod or say something inconsequential. Not one joke about cow-tipping, though, which I took for the apology it was.

By the time we rolled into Maryfield proper, I’d forced myself into a better mood. The rain had mostly stopped, and the sun was starting to peek through the clouds.

“Look,” I said as we rolled past the police station, “I’m sorry if I’ve been a jerk. It’s just that the book meant a lot to me. I never knew a lot of that stuff about Father, and it felt like it was our secret, something he and I shared. Having anyone else read it a day later, it just kind of hurt.”

“I should have figured something like that.” She sighed. “So let’s say our sorrys and move on.”

“Fair enough. Do you want the grand tour of Maryfield?”

She pulled in to a parking space a block down from the station. “Why not? Walking tour? I didn’t notice a gym at the house, so I could use the exercise.”

I didn’t have an answer to that, so instead I got out of the car. She got out a moment later, and then she pointed.

“What?” I asked.

“Who’s that?” she asked. I looked where she was pointing, and there was Hanratty. She was scurrying toward the station, looking left and right as she did.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” I murmured, and I took a few steps
toward her. “That’s the cop I was telling you about. But she’s not supposed to be here today.”

Jenna favored me with a smirk. “What did I tell you?” she chided. “Now let’s go catch her.” She hurried forward with that big-city walk of hers, the one that radiated
get out of my way; I make more money than you do.
When she used it, people usually obeyed, most times without even knowing they were doing it. I hurried after her, which was the other effect it had.

Maybe Hanratty heard the sound of my shoes on the concrete, or maybe she just felt the tidal wave of Jenna’s approach. Either way, she stopped, turned, and saw me coming. Then, with an amazing bit of grace, she turned on her heel and stalked off the other way.

“Officer Hanratty!” I called. “Can I talk to you?”

She ignored me, walking faster. Across the street, people turned and stared. Nobody chased Hanratty in this town. Nobody.

Which was as good a reason as any to stop doing it myself, just before I passed in front of the police station doors. Jenna came to a halt a few steps later, then turned to glare at me.

“Why did you stop?” she asked. “We were catching up.”

I pointed to the building to our left. “I really don’t want to be seen chasing a police officer in this town, particularly not when all her coworkers are right at hand. There could be a misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding.” She grinned without humor. “Quaint.”

“That’s one word for it,” I allowed. “Now, can I show you the shrine of my childhood?”

She bowed extravagantly. “Lead on, Macduff.”

“Lay on,” I corrected her. “Even us country hicks learned that.”

“Asshole,” she said, then hooked her arm inside mine. “Come on. You owe me a vanilla cola, right?”

“Right,” I told her, and I led her off toward Hilliard’s.

We almost didn’t make it. Halfway down the block, Jenna spotted the franchise place that had opened up next door and her eyes got wide. “Ooh, lattes,” she cooed and started dragging me forward. “I could kill for a latte. How about it?”

“No, no, no,” I said, and I dug my heels in. “You can get that back in Boston, and probably better made, too. I said I was showing you my hometown, not prefab you can see anywhere.”

“But Logan,” she said, and there was a hint of pleading in her voice. “Your coffee sucks.”

“So I’ve been told,” I agreed. “And the best cure for that is a hand-drawn vanilla cola. Come on.”

“Oh, fine.” She looked at me, and her pout promised murder. “Is that where we’re going? The place with the Notre Dame sign?”

I squinted at our destination. “What are you talking about?”

She pulled her arm out of mine and pointed to the sign over Mr. Hilliard’s front door. “Gold. Green. Notre Dame colors. Every good Boston College alum knows and hates those colors.”

I shrugged. “Sorry. To me, they mean Hilliard’s. And besides, I went to UMass Boston.”

“I know, and I like you anyway.”

I reached the door first and held it open for her, the bell hanging from the handle jangling to announce our passage. Mr. Hilliard was behind the counter, hand-drying a glass.

“Mr. Hilliard,” I said as I came up toward the soda fountain. Jenna’s head was on a swivel, looking back and forth like she
didn’t know where to start. “I think I need two vanilla colas, if you could see your way to making them for us.”

He turned, saw Jenna, and raised an eyebrow. “I might be able to do that, Mr. Logan. Sit yourselves down, and introduce me to your friend here.”