Vision (10 page)

The small library was quiet and empty, the three computer terminals unoccupied. Bobby holed up at the corner workstation in case anyone he knew came in. He was pretty sure everyone in Graxton and Greater Waterbury had heard about poor Bobby Pendell and his freak-out the night before.

Fortunately, no one came in, and the librarian was too discreet to bother him.

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. There was very little information on murders in the Waterbury County area. The ones that came up were either the result of domestic violence, robbery, or related to the crystal meth underground.

The search was a dead-end, so Bobby tried a different tack. After about an hour, he’d found an aerial view of Graxton and its surroundings, circa 1957. The black and white photo showed the terrain to be remarkably similar to current-day Graxton, except for the fact that where the reservoir and dam was currently, there had once been a town called Perryville. The modern-day reservoir was at the far end of the woods that bordered the ball field. Bobby peered closer—set in the woods between current-day Graxton and what used to be Perryville was a large estate.

Further research indicated the estate belonged to a very rich family named Galloway, who had built it in the late nineteenth century. Bobby didn’t remember ever seeing an estate that large on any of the back roads. It was tough to estimate how close to it he’d wandered on his last disastrous visit to the woods.

“What’d the old man say about your eye, champ?” Dad asked, looking up from his newspaper.

“Broken blood vessel. Nothing serious.”

Dad grunted as Bobby rooted around in the pantry, then returned to his newspaper. It was only Tuesday, and there was barely anything left. He might have to cave and visit the public food pantry, breaking the ultimate taboo of Pendell pride. Instead, he had a brainstorm. He’d boil up the rice, spice the two cans of beans with chili and garlic powder, and that would take care of lunch and dinner. Then they’d only have to get through two more days.

Provided that, by the end of the week, he still had a job.

Dad wheeled over to the dining table. “Not bad, Bobby. This is actually quite tasty.”

Dad’s new attitude was a welcome change, but Bobby couldn’t help but wonder if it was out of worry over him. After he’d cleared and washed the dishes, he grabbed his guitar. “I’ll be out back at the old house. I’ll bring the phone in case you need me.”

Pete scampered ahead and Bobby followed, trudging through the tall grass to the narrow footpath that led to the forlorn old house. Its yellow shingles worn down to the dingy brown of decayed teeth, the house slumped on the hillside like a giant beast that had tried to make itself comfortable but got stuck in an awkward position.

Tail wagging, Pete sniffed around the house’s perimeter, hopeful for a rodent to harass. Bobby pulled up a stool on the sagging porch, rested the guitar across his lap, and watched the play of light and shadow on the mountaintops. The old house had a much better view than the modular.

It was hard to be out here, like trying to sip scalding tea—sweet, but painful. Bobby figured if he came here enough, eventually he’d develop a thick callus against the hurt of Mom’s departure. After three years, he was still waiting for that to happen.

He kept a sleeping bag and camping lantern inside the house for those nights the paper-thin walls of the modular felt as if they were collapsing in on him.

His fingers tapping the guitar’s smooth surface, he glanced at Mom’s rusted gardening tools, the tipped-over clay pots filled with crumbly soil and dried-up stalks. Even after Dad had come home disabled, even after they’d moved their entire life into the flimsy modular, Mom used to come out here and plant flowers. Surveying the dried ruins of her flowerbeds, Bobby wished he’d put more effort into carrying on the tradition.

He picked up a gardening glove, one that had once been on Mom’s hand. Once he’d been able to slip his own hand inside, but they’d grown too large. He held on to it and closed his eyes—could he sense where she was?

Nothing came to him but the hoot of a few owls and the light breeze brushing past his cheek.

He dropped the glove and looked out at the panorama of gently rolling mountains. They used to have an old metal swing out on the porch where Mom would sit between him and Aaron, rocking and reading to them from their favorite books.

Bobby closed his eyes again and tried to imagine what his world would be like if all he had were sound and smell and touch. And terrifying visions.

He shivered, a chill crawling up his neck. The image of the gashed throat flashed in his mind’s eye again. The question was, did he use these visions to solve a murder, possibly preventing others from happening, or did he walk away?

Bobby picked up a small, rusted shovel and hurled it into the trees.

He tried to imagine what Mom would tell him to do—would she say to just ignore the clues and pretend it all never happened, or to deal with the consequences and uncover the truth?

Bobby picked up the guitar and began to strum. Out at the house, all his licks were wailing blues riffs, desolate and fragile, like wind howling through bare branches. The improvised riff doubled back on itself, becoming more soulful, more complex. Bobby found himself singing that wordless melody again, braiding the worry, the horror, and the yearning he felt for Gabe into its notes.

Pete raced from the side of the house to the foot of the porch stairs, ears up. He started barking as a figure made its way toward them. Bobby squinted. No one ever came down here except Aaron, and he was still at school.

“Hey, there!” Gabe called, waving.

Bobby’s heart froze. He felt trapped, cornered.
What the hell is she doing here?

Gabe bounced through the tall grass. Pete ran to meet her, tail wagging happily.

She stood at the base of the steps, smiling up at him. “Sound travels amazingly well out here. I heard your playing. It was wonderful.”

His face hot, Bobby resisted the urge to run into the house, slam the door and lock it behind him. Except the lock had stopped working years ago. The girl had no clue that her presence only made things worse for him. Only reminded him of things he couldn’t have. Things he’d lost. Things he still might lose.

“Just fiddling around,” he said, his voice a hoarse croak.

She climbed the few stairs to the porch, clutching a few sprigs of blue and pink wildflowers she’d picked on her walk. “I heard my dad say he felt bad you were missing out on your burger tonight. I brought three deluxe dinners with fries. Your dad seemed pretty damn ecstatic over them.”

Bobby stared back, not sure what to say. “You didn’t need to do this.”

“I know. I just kind of wanted to. Plus, I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Bobby looked down, his jaw clenched tight, his stomach in knots. “Well, you can see I’m just fine. You should go.”

“I came all the way out here just to see you, and you’re sending me away?”

His throat was parched, electric current crackling under his skin. His breathing sped up like he’d just sprinted at top speed. “I just need to be alone.”

Bobby risked a glance at her. The corners of her mouth drooped, the copper-gold hair falling in her face. What did she want from him?

“I’m not going to bite you. After last night I—”

Bobby felt his anger heat to a boil. “Never mind last night. I’m okay. You can go now.”

The flowers still in her hand, Gabe leaned on the rail and stared out at the field. “What are you so afraid of, Bobby Pendell?”

He squeezed his eyes closed and exhaled, the fight gone out of him. “I’m not afraid of anything except not having a job.”

“My dad’s not going to fire you just because you got sick on the job. You think it’s easy to find good workers like you?”

“You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand?”

Bobby stood and began to pace the rickety porch, the loose boards groaning under his boots. He had to get rid of her without admitting the power she had over him. “I heard you arguing yesterday. Your dad has you on a tight leash. He wouldn’t want you visiting here.”

When he turned around to complete his pace, he found Gabe blocking his way, staring up at him with those amber eyes. “It’s not like you think. I’m not that way.”

“What way?”

“I’m not like my mom. She—she’s awful. She hurt my dad. Broke his heart. That’s why he moved up here. To get away. He had a booming business in the city. Sometimes, because I look so much like her, I think he—”

“Please leave,” Bobby begged. “Now.”

Instead, Gabe reached for his face and brushed a strand of hair from his eyes. “Why should I leave, Bobby? Give me one good reason.”

He tried to breathe in and out very slowly to smother the fire that raged under his skin. It was a game to her. His feelings, his emotions were all a game.

She edged closer, the curve of her body leaving only a warm, pulsing gap between them. Bobby could feel the prickle of current leap the gap, drawing him closer. He let out his breath in a shuddering sigh.

He was losing this battle. Big time.

“I like you, Bobby Pendell. I liked you the first time we met on the road beside the corn field.”

He kept his eyes squeezed shut. If he couldn’t see her, maybe her grip on him would release. Maybe he could break the connection and walk away clean. He was sweating, trembling from the effort.

Then her finger grazed his cheek, travelling slowly to his lips. “Soft,” she said. “You’re a study in contrasts, Bobby Pendell—hard as nails, yet soft as goose down.”

He shuddered from the effort of resisting. Hot shivers shook him from his spine to the tips of his fingers.
Touch her
, they said.
Touch her or you are going to burn to a pile of smoldering ash
.

Breathing hard, he managed a step back, his eyes still closed. “This is wrong.”

“Why?” She moved closer. He didn’t need to see her to feel the pull of her, the moon controlling the tide. There was no escape.

He wasn’t sure who made the first move. Who cupped their hand on the other one’s neck and pressed their lips to the other one’s mouth. Leaning against the boarded-up window of the old house, they were a tangle of limbs, desperate to breathe through each other’s lungs.

“Oh, God,” he murmured. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Doing what?” She stroked his hair. Her lips opening, she pressed her body into his. He was an inferno, a raging wildfire, no longer caring what it burned. Like a nightcrawler on a hook, he could try to wriggle free all he wanted, but it was too late for that. He was fish food.

He’d never wanted anything as badly as he wanted Gabe. Would it hurt if once, just
once
, he could have a taste of heaven?

With his last bit of strength, he pulled away. “Your dad wouldn’t want you with a guy like me.”

“Stop it, Bobby. Daddy doesn’t want me with
anyone
. He doesn’t want me to end up like Mother. He was glad when I ran away from her and came to live with him here.”

“So you
did
run away.”

“So to speak,” she said. “It’s all been worked out.”

Bobby turned away and, leaning on the porch rail, gazed off at the distant mountains. “Even if your dad gave his blessings, it would never work between us.”

Behind him, Gabe’s tone was laced with ice. “How could you assume something like that?”

His resolve returned, Bobby whirled to face her. Life was complicated enough. He didn’t need this girl to add to his troubles. “Look. I don’t know you or what makes a girl like you tick. For all I know, I’m just the challenge of the week, a bet to see if you could get in the pants of some country dumbass.”

Her mouth quivered, a sheen of moisture misting her eyes, but he kept going. “But I know one thing. Even if you think you want me—you don’t. I’m toxic—damaged goods…” He felt his voice crack and watched as Gabe’s aggrieved expression softened, mutating into that dreaded thing. Pity. Just what he needed. “I’m sick. Sick in a way I don’t understand yet. You should steer clear of me. You should just stay away.”

“Bobby,” she said, softly, “you really need the job, don’t you?”