The Journal: Fault Line (The Journal Book 5) (10 page)

“Trevor,” she said nervously, “would you like
to spend the night?”

“I would love to. I would really, really love
to,” he said, looking deeply into her blue eyes, “but I’m not going
to. I don’t want to rush us. I’ll see you in the morning at Main
Street.” He kissed her and left.

“Good morning, Chief,”
Trevor said. “We’re right on schedule for today. If you and your
deputy could be here around 2:30, we can get him some supplies and
still be ready to open the doors on time.”

He hung up the cellphone and gazed out over
his store. It felt like he was losing part of himself by giving
away so much that he had paid for. His thoughts turned to
Christine. She wasn’t here yet, and he wondered if he had offended
her too badly by not accepting her invitation last night. His body
instantly ached with the thought of holding her, of making love
with her. He ached even more thinking she wouldn’t be coming today,
that he had misjudged her.

“Trevor? Are you in here?” Christine called
from the back door, surprised it opened.

“There you are. I was getting worried you
weren’t coming.” He pulled her into his arms for a long hug and a
quick kiss.

“Of course I would be here,” she reassured
him. “About last night… you’re right. Going slow is a good idea.
When the time is right for us we’ll know and there won’t be any
hesitation on either side.” She smiled warmly at him, and pressed
her lips to his, lingering a moment, inhaling his scent.

“Things are just about set,” Trevor said,
taking a deep breath. “I need to secure the pumps and set out some
shopping bags. Otherwise, we’re just waiting for the police to show
up.” While Trevor slipped the yellow sleeves on the pumps and
padlocked them, Christine busied herself by opening the shades
halfway, just enough to let some light in without turning on the
lights. She put a pile of the thin plastic bags beside the door for
people to use, just as Trevor came back inside and locked the door
behind him.

At 2:45pm, the police chief and his deputy
came in through the back. People were starting to gather out front.
The deputy quickly grabbed several things from the cooler, plus a
case of beer and a case of mixed vegetables that Trevor had set by
the back door for him.

They were ready to open the doors. Trevor
unlocked the glass door and left the gate secured while he gave
another speech similar to the one he gave his employees.

“I know all of you think it strange that I
would just give away this food. Food that I purchased to
sell
to you. I find it strange too! However, with the
calamity that has hit our country this past week, I would be remiss
as a human being if I just let all of this go to waste. What is
here for you to take are things that will eventually become
inedible: milk, bread, bakery goods. And although the frozen foods
will keep longer, they won’t keep indefinitely, and I want to shut
the coolers down before that happens. Whatever is on the shelves
has an expiration date and is yours for the taking too.

“During the first few days of the crisis, I
was wiped out of beer, wine, booze, cigarettes and chips. Don’t ask
if there is anything in back because I’ll tell you right now, the
answer is no.

“I’m sure all of you are familiar with Police
Chief Mallory and Deputy Johnson. They are here to help make sure
things go smoothly and fairly. However, I have confidence in you
that they will stay just pretty faces in the back ground.” The
crowd chuckled. “I see some of you have brought your own cloth
bags, and thank you. For those who didn’t, there’s a dispenser next
to the door with plastic bags. Please everyone, be polite and be
fair.” Trevor unlocked the security gate barring the door, and
people rushed in.

It took less than an hour and the store was
stripped clean. All that was left was six gallons of ice cream
Trevor had set on the floor in the freezer where no one could see
it. He gave a gallon each to the police, and thanked them again for
their assistance.

“That went better than I thought it would,”
Trevor said to Christine when they were alone.

“I think so too. I thought there was going to
be a problem once, then Officer Johnson stepped in and all tension
was gone,” Christine said remembering when two women were arguing
over a gallon of milk. “Johnson showed up and said ‘here, let me
help you with that.’ He took the milk, looked at the two baskets,
saw one already had milk, so he set the container it in the empty
one. Problem solved.”

Trevor closed the blinds again, dropped the
security gates, and the two of them swept the floors and wiped down
the now silent coolers. He turned off the necessary circuit
breakers, and changed the code on the door yet again.

“I have a great deal of paperwork to finish
on the computer,” he said. “As much as I’m getting used to spending
my evenings with you, I need to go home tonight to get that done.”
He looked into her eyes and stroked her cheek with his fingertips.
“I couldn’t have done all this without you, thank you. I’ll see you
in the morning.” He kissed her lightly and they drove away in
opposite directions.

Trevor tapped in the new
code on the back door at the Spring Hill store and let himself in.
The low glow of the security lights gave him just enough light to
see his way to the nearly invisible door that led to his apartment.
When he first remodeled, he paneled the door to look like the other
walls. With the exception of the locks, no one could see the door.
After relocking the deadbolt, he climbed the stairs and unlocked
yet another door. He had always been a cautious person.

Sitting at his computer that linked the three
stores together, he filled in the payroll he had given out in cash.
Guessing at the approximate value of the merchandise he gave away,
he made note of that too in his tax program, thinking it was
possible to use it as a charity deduction at some point in the
future. After an hour of busy work, he backed up the computer and
put the external hard drive back in his fireproof safe. He copied
all the files again on another hard drive and put it in his go-bag
by the door. Then he backed up his documents to a thumb drive he
had retrieved from the bank pouch. He sorted the cash from checks
and credit card receipts, filled out a deposit slip, put all of it
back in the bank pouch, and slipped that into the go-bag too. It
was all automatic; he had done this same routine every night for
the last five years. Exhausted, he dropped into bed and was
instantly asleep.

***

A noise woke Trevor from his restless,
dreamless sleep. Groggy, he looked for the clock. 2:17A.M., and
then the red digital display was gone. The power was out. Now fully
awake, he sat up on the edge of the bed and listened. He heard
voices coming from downstairs. Grabbing a flashlight, but not
turning it on, he crept to the only window and looked out over the
parking lot. Streetlights were still shining in the distance; it
was only his building that was dark. The store step van was still
parked where he left it, however there was a familiar vehicle
parked next to it: a police scout car. Alarms rang in his head.
Hunched back by the door, he strained to listen, hoping to catch
the voices again. Calming the pounding of his heart in his ears, he
recognized the first voice.
Riley.

“Come on, Riley! We’ve got the van full of
food, let’s get out of here!” the second voice said.
Deputy
Johnson.

“In a minute. I want to leave this asshole a
message he won’t forget,” Riley snarled.

Trevor stood at the confirmation of his most
trusted employee. How could he have been so wrong about him? He
silently pulled on his pants with his holster still attached and
gun securely in place. Shoes were next, then a hooded sweatshirt.
He listened at the door again. Silence. Going to the window he saw
the scout car leave and the van starting to pull away. The thing he
didn’t expect to see was the flames.

A fire was difficult to prepare for, Trevor
knew. The best thing to do was just get away from it and he
intended to do just that. He slipped his go-bag backpack over his
shoulders, leaving his hands free, and undid the first deadbolt. At
the bottom of the stairs he opened the next deadbolt, and walked
into a wall of fire. Quickly, he retreated and closed the door
again, took a couple of deep breaths, and charged into the fury
toward the open door. Halfway to safety he was forced to take a
breath, and he smelled the overwhelming stench of gasoline.

Trevor tripped over the hand truck and nearly
fell, regaining his balance just in time. He stumbled out the door
into the night, coughing on the smoke. Something hard made contact
with his forehead and he fell back into the building as he caught a
glimpse of the step van still parked a few feet away.

***

Only a few moments had passed when an
explosion of heat shook Trevor back to consciousness. He crawled
low to the still open door to avoid the oily smoke and forced
himself to look before he emerged. No cars were in sight. He stood
on shaky legs and stumbled across the road to a clump of high
bushes where he collapsed into darkness.

Flashing lights and sirens roused Trevor from
his stupor. He sat, his head pounding and still bleeding, while he
watched through the foliage. Firetrucks and scout cars flanked the
parking lot as a dozen fire-fighters sprayed water on the building.
Trevor recognized his friend, Chief Mallory, and started to stand
until the chief moved aside and Trevor could see Deputy
Johnson.

Under cover of the night, Trevor pulled the
hood on his sweatshirt up and walked casually away from the fire
that was destroying his business and that had almost taken his
life.

***

“Miss Tiggs?” Chief Mallory said when
Christine answered the door later the next afternoon.

“What can I do for you, Chief?” she asked,
startled by his presence. She was hoping it was Trevor. He said
he’d be over early and had not yet arrived.

“May I come in? I’m afraid I have some bad
news,” he said, taking his cap off and clutching it in his hands
nervously. She held the door open and stepped aside.

“What is it?”

“There was a fire last night. The Spring Hill
store is a total loss. It looks like arson. Although it’s still too
hot for a complete examination, we believe… we believe Trevor was
in his apartment and didn’t get out,” he choked on the last words.
“I’m so sorry.”

Christine sat there, stunned. It felt as if
she’d been hit in the chest with a hundred pound sledge hammer.
“Please leave,” she squeaked out.

“Miss Tiggs…”

“Just get out! Please.” She stood on rubbery
legs and yanked the door open. “I want to be alone.”

“Here’s my card if you need anything.” The
chief left his card on the end table and walked out, his head
hanging low.

Trevor walked for an hour
until his legs wouldn’t go any further. Though his head still
pounded from whatever he was hit with, at least the bleeding had
stopped. He found another clump of shrubs to hide in while he
rested and quickly fell unconscious.

He felt the cold, wet nose push against his
cheek. The distinct whine from a dog caused Trevor to open his
eyes. “Hi there, pup. Thanks for waking me. You wouldn’t happen to
know what time it is, would you?” The dog wagged his tail. “I
didn’t think so.” He patted the dog on the head and sat up. The sun
was just breaking over the horizon.

His thoughts went to Christine. The first
thing he had to do was get to her so she wouldn’t worry if she
heard the news about the fire.

Trevor had made deliveries for the store and
before that for a pizza joint he’d worked at, and knew the area
well. Staying to side streets, he slowly made his way across town.
At an open park he used a near empty birdbath to wash his face,
knowing the smeared blood would draw attention to him, or at least
make him look worse than he felt, though he wasn’t sure if that was
possible. He hurt bad. The cold water stung and sent a fresh
cascade of crimson into his dark eyebrows. After rummaging around
in his go-bag, he found a clean handkerchief, a bottle of water,
and a squashed energy bar. Trevor chugged the water, leaving enough
to rewash the wound. After the water and energy bar he felt better
and continued on his trek.

***

Christine sat with the drapes closed for an
hour after the police chief had left. She had cried until her eyes
were swollen and then cried some more. How could this happen? She
had finally found someone she cared about and now he was gone. She
stumbled into the shower and stood under the hot water until it ran
cold. Dressed in sweatpants and a too large t-shirt, she went to
the kitchen for some juice. The fullness of the refrigerator
reminded her of Trevor and she started crying all over again.

There was a knock on the back door.

“Go away!” she shouted at her unseen
visitor.

The knock came again. Angry she yanked the
door open.

“Hi,” Trevor said softly and collapsed onto
the kitchen floor.

***

“Trevor! Trevor! Wake up!”

Christine couldn’t believe he was there and
alive. His face was streaked with dirt, soot and blood. She pulled
on the hood of his sweatshirt to get him fully into the house, and
closed the door. She wet a towel and dampened his face, hoping to
wake him. She wiped his forehead and saw the cut and the growing
bruise. She pulled the backpack off his shoulders and tossed it
aside. He moaned from the jarring and opened his eyes.

“We need to get you off the floor, Trevor.
Can you stand?” Christine pulled him to a sitting position, then
shouldered one of his arms. Together they got him standing.