Fracture (The Machinists) (4 page)

He needed to talk to someone. He called his sister.

The phone rang several times before the call went to voicemail. It was early, but Kendyl might be in her studio or at work or, more likely, still sleeping. Allyn left a short message asking her to call him back when she got the chance. Then, without knowing what else to do, he got ready for work.

He arrived later than normal, and his boss and a few coworkers were already in the office. Mr. Clarke nodded to him from his office as Allyn entered.
What are you going to do now that you have my attention?
Mr. Clarke had asked the last time they’d spoken. Allyn hadn’t planned on showing up late.
He probably thinks I’m slacking off. I’ll have to work even harder to make up the lost ground.

He took a little while to get going. His mind was sluggish and resisted the mental workout, but once he worked himself into a groove, someone else’s stress began to replace his. The day became a blur of paperwork and meetings, and with it went his memories of the attack, and the strange occurrences thereafter faded. He needed a distraction, and work was the best kind. Each client was an escape.

He worked through lunch and was well into the afternoon before he took so much as a bathroom break. He didn’t eat. He didn’t drink. He just worked. The sun was on the western horizon when his stomach began to gurgle. Scents of spicy chicken and takeout filled the office. Several coworkers were eating in, it seemed, which meant Allyn would, too.

He ordered pizza from a small pizza joint around the corner. They didn’t normally deliver, but Allyn ate there frequently enough that they made an exception for him. Before returning to his desk, he made sure to tip the delivery guy, who was a surprisingly muscular high school kid with an acne problem. Grease pooled on top of the pepperoni and mozzarella, and the thin, doughy crust drooped when Allyn held it up, forcing him to fold it in half and eat it like a taco. It was delicious.

Allyn checked his messages, expecting to see a missed call from Kendyl, but she hadn’t called.
That’s weird
. He scrolled through his contacts and called her again, and for the second time that day, his call went to voicemail, this time without ever ringing.
Payback
.
She called you eight times, and you never answered. She’s proving a point.

He finished his slice of pizza and got back to work.

Life returned to normal as Allyn settled back into his daily routine. Up early, home late, and life in the office dominated the rest. His clients’ problems became his own, and he was once again on the path to becoming a partner. By Wednesday, two days after his return to his normal life, Kendyl still hadn’t called, and he got a little anxious. He left her two more messages, each more agitated than the last, pleading with her to call him back. When Thursday arrived without a word from her, he began to worry. By Friday, he was in a panic. He wasn’t going to wait for her to call him back. He was going to go over there and talk to her in person.

Kendyl’s apartment was in northeast Portland, a single block off Burnside in a trendy, gentrified pocket community with nice boutique ships, small diners, and coffee shops. Allyn hated it. He didn’t care how hip the neighborhood was; the surrounding area was plagued with escalating gang activity and violent crime. What Kendyl considered cultured, he considered questionable.

It was well into the evening by the time he made it to her neighborhood. He parked a block away, in the parking lot of a closed coffee shop called A Better Cup. A group of men with soiled clothes and greasy hair stood at the bus stop, talking through missing teeth. They ignored him as he passed by.

Her parking space was empty, but that didn’t mean anything since Kendyl didn’t own a car. The couple who lived above her rented her space for their second vehicle. Allyn quickened his step so that he was almost jogging through the complex. He sighed in relief when he saw her bike locked to the stairwell. She was home, and knowing she was safe felt good. He almost turned around and left, but he stepped up to the door and knocked. When she didn’t answer, he knocked louder. She still didn’t answer.

Beating on the door, he called to her. “Kendyl! Kendyl, open up! It’s your brother.”

Nothing.

He pressed his ear against the door. Maybe her TV was too loud or she was in the shower or listening to music. He didn’t hear anything. She could be out for a walk. No, even if Kendyl thought her trendy neighborhood was cultured, she wasn’t stupid.
Naïve maybe, but not stupid.
He knocked again.

“Kendyl, please open up. It’s me. I just want to talk. Please let me in.”

The door behind him creaked open, and a middle-aged woman stepped out. She wore a set of mismatched cotton pajamas, and her bleach-blond hair was tied into a ponytail atop her head.

“Sorry,” Allyn said. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Did you say you were her brother?” the woman asked. Her voice was thick and raspy, damaged by too many years of smoking.

“Yes,” Allyn said. “Do you know Kendyl?”

“Yeah.” She pulled the door closed behind her. “I’m Rebecca.”

“Have you seen her lately?”

“No. I haven’t seen her in almost a week.”

Allyn shook his head. “How often do you normally see her?”

“Often enough,” she said. “I heard her fighting with her boyfriend the other night.”

“Her boyfriend?”

Kendyl didn’t have a boyfriend, not that she had told him about anyway. They weren’t as close as they used to be.

“Yeah, a shorter guy, stocky, with tattoos on his neck.” She nervously rubbed the side of her face with the back of her fingers. “I haven’t seen her since.”

Allyn’s blood froze. Short. Stocky. Tattoos on his neck. He knew exactly whom she was talking about. He turned and kicked the metal door. It didn’t move. He kicked again. The wooden frame groaned against the impact, but it still didn’t open.

“What are you doing?” Rebecca asked.

Allyn ignored her, continuing to beat the door with his foot. It remained shut, taunting him. He began to panic. The door wouldn’t budge, but he had to get into that apartment. He checked for a hidden key under the welcome mat, on top of the doorframe, and in the vase in the corner. Nothing.

“What are you looking for?” Rebecca asked.

Without a key, the door would have to come down. He backed up a few feet and charged, throwing his shoulder into the door. Pain shot through his shoulder, then his arm went numb, and still, the door remained shut. Allyn became furious. Someone was after him. He’d been attacked and abducted, but he’d never told Kendyl.
Stupid.
She was in danger and it was his fault.

Fury spreading through his veins like adrenaline, Allyn charged the door again. This time, he buried his foot inches from the frame. The door burst open, wooden shrapnel exploding into the air, and the door hung awkwardly on a single broken hinge.

“Call 9-1-1,” he shouted, charging into the apartment.

The apartment opened into the kitchen. Moldy dishes covered the yellow Formica countertop, and an army of ants marched from the sink, down the cupboard into the living space, and disappeared into the stained carpet. The smell of spoiled meat hung in the air, and Allyn covered his nose with the crook of his arm.

“Kendyl?”

Silence.

Allyn’s frantic pace slowed. He became more cautious and observant. The apartment was a small studio with the bed tucked around the corner. Blankets covered the bed, hanging onto the floor in disarray. Clothes had been thrown about and were hanging off chairs, stacked on the couch, and littered the floor. None of the windows or pieces of furniture was broken. He saw nothing that would suggest an attack. And that gave him hope. But she wasn’t there. And the same intruder who’d attacked him had been in her apartment.

He was sure she’d been abducted, and it was his fault. He should have warned her. He had to get her back. How?
Think, Allyn. You know who took her, and that’s an important first step.

Allyn exited the apartment, a plan forming in his head.

“Where are you going?” Rebecca called after him. “You’re leaving the scene of a crime!”

He knew he was breaking the law, but he didn’t care. He had to find his sister, and he couldn’t do that while answering police questions. He couldn’t go to the police at all. What would he say?
I was recently attacked by a man with supernatural abilities, thrown from a second-story window, only to be saved by another shadowy group of people. No, I don’t have any proof. No, I didn’t go to the hospital. No, I didn’t file a police report.
That wouldn’t go over well. They would never take him seriously. The police wouldn’t be any help, but he knew who would be.

More of Kendyl’s neighbors had gathered outside her apartment. Most were dressed in sweats or shorts with mismatched tops, as though they had been woken up by the disturbance. They grabbed at him, trying to prevent him from leaving. Sirens blared in the distance. Someone had called the police—probably Kendyl’s neighbor. He fought through the crowd, slapping back grasping hands and shoving a few of the more forceful people out of his way.

Breaking through the last of them, Allyn quickened his step. From the corner of his eye, he saw a man break away from the crowd to follow him. He was about Allyn’s height and build and wasn’t wearing pajamas like the rest. His clothes were dark and blended into the dimly lit surroundings. He called out to Allyn.

Allyn broke into a run. The man followed. Allyn cut through the parking lot, slipping between cars and dashing into the street. Instead of turning back toward Burnside, the way he’d come, he went the opposite direction into a residential area.

The man, still following, called out to him again.

Allyn pushed himself harder, sprinting down the street. The man’s footsteps became more faint. Allyn rounded the corner onto another street. Just a couple blocks removed from Burnside, the street was quiet and lined with fully grown trees and a small patch of grass between the road and the sidewalk.

Allyn’s breathing became heavy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d run so far, and he knew he couldn’t keep up the pace. He needed somewhere to hide, and he needed to get there quickly, before the man caught up to him. He chose a dark space in front of a rusty old pickup, where the streetlight had burned out. Crouching with his hands on the oxidized hood, Allyn watched the intersection through the truck’s windshield.

He heard the man’s footsteps before he saw him. He ran into the middle of the four-way intersection and stopped, whipping his head back and forth, checking all directions. He raked his fingers through his hair then planted them on his hips.

He looked in Allyn’s direction. Allyn knew the man couldn’t see him, but he crouched farther down anyway. “Go back,” Allyn whispered. “You lost me. Give up.”

The man looked in the opposite direction, seemingly deciding between the two.

“There you go, go that way, you’ll find me over there,” Allyn encouraged softly. But the man turned back to Allyn and started down the street. “Damn.”

The man walked with a slow, observant pace, hunting. Allyn couldn’t outrun him, and something about the man’s confident walk told Allyn he probably didn’t want to fight him, either. He’d have to wait it out, hope that the man would pass his hiding spot and allow Allyn to double back in the opposite direction.

Allyn quietly stepped around the hood of the truck to the passenger-side door, watching through the window. The man was nearing him, still walking down the center of the street, his head on a swivel as he scanned both sides of the road. A soft rustling noise came from the other side of the street, and the man jerked his head toward it. The sound stopped as quickly as it came, but the man went to investigate. He walked to the opposite side of the road and circled the white sedan where the noise had originated, checking both sides, in front and behind it, even
under
it.

He’s looking for my feet
, Allyn realized.
They were exposed from the knee down under the frame of the truck. If the man just looked… Allyn backed onto the curb and stepped onto a tree root, leaning forward against the truck as though he were doing an inclined pushup. The metal door creaked under the pressure.

The man stood up with a start.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Allyn whispered.

The man made for the old pickup, quickening his pace. Allyn followed his eyes up to the burnt-out streetlight.

He knows,
Allyn thought,
He knows this is a good place to hide. He knows I’m here.

Throwing all pretense aside, Allyn backed away from the truck, exposing himself. Damp grass softened his footfalls, but the man saw him. Allyn tried to form a story in his head. Why had he run? How would he explain that to this man? How would he explain it to the police? The facts were on his side, and the law would prevail. It would just be a little awkward at first. Allyn’s resolve began to solidify as he built his case in his head.

“There you are,” the man said. “I thought I’d lost you.” His voice was slow and confident. His dark hair and eyes were a stark contrast to his pale skin. He stepped onto the curb approaching Allyn. “Don’t run. I just want to talk.”

Allyn backed away slowly. “I didn’t break into that apartment. My sister lives there, and she’s in trouble. I’m trying to find her.”

“It’s okay,” the man said.

“No, it’s not. I need to find her.”

The man took another step toward Allyn. “What if I told you I knew where she was? I promise she’s safe. Come with me and find out.”

Allyn stopped. This man wasn’t a concerned neighbor or a well-meaning citizen. He was one of
them
—the same people who’d attacked him.
“
Stay away from me!”

“Don’t you want to see your sister?” He stepped closer to Allyn.

“Help! Please! Anybody!” Allyn shouted.

“What is wrong with you?” The man eyed the surrounding houses. Their windows remained dark. “I’m offering you a chance to see your sister, see that she’s okay, help her.”

“Call the police! Please! Anybody!”

“Don’t. Do. That!” The man leaped forward, his muscles tight, eyes burning.

Allyn shielded his face with his arms, waiting for the blow to land.

“No!” someone screamed.

Allyn was thrown into a nearby yard, landing softly onto wet grass, his elbow slapping against an exposed sprinkler head.

A dark figure landed on top of him. Chin-length black hair hid her face. She was tall and slender, and her clothing was as dark as her hair. “Come on.” She rolled to her feet and pulled him up. He didn’t have time to ask questions before she pushed him forward. “Go!”

A bright flash of orange light illuminated the street behind Allyn. Two men, Allyn’s pursuer and Jaxon, were in the center of the street, fifty paces apart. A ball of orange light, alive, wisps of light clawing away from itself, flew through the air toward the stranger.

No. Not light. Fire.

The man clasped his hands together and opened them again, an opaque blue liquid filling the space between his hands.
Is that water?
The fireball hit the wall of water, making a hiss like cold water running onto a hot pan. Then in one fluid motion, the man spun, whipping his arms around, and threw another fireball. It was smaller in diameter and traveled slower, but it burned brighter. The man swung his hands together, clapping them in front of his chest, and the fireball erupted into a wall, six feet tall and twice as wide, that streaked toward Jaxon.