Firefly Rain Read online

  Adrienne tilted her head and gave me an odd look. “You know, any other man would be working overtime to try to get me to stay later. You certainly are a strange one.”

  “Too strange for my own good,” I admitted, “and I’d love to keep you here as late as possible, except Hanratty’s probably hiding in the shrubs with a video camera. Honestly, it’s not that I don’t enjoy your company, it’s just that, well, maybe slow is a good way to go. With anything.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “This doesn’t have anything to do with that phone call, does it?”

  I shook my head, and I was pretty sure I meant it. “Cross my heart. That was a friend of mine from Boston who’s coming in to town to help me sort out a few things. At least, I’m pretty sure it was. The other options are Hanratty or Carl.”

  “Or Sam Fuller,” she added. “You’re sure?”

  I nodded. “Absolutely. I look forward to introducing you to Jenna when she gets down here.”

  She took a deep breath. “It’ll be interesting to meet another friend of yours.” While I chewed over what exactly she meant by that, she stood and carried her plate over to the sink. I watched her, silhouetted as she was by the kitchen light in a way that was absolutely ordinary and absolutely beautiful.

  I coughed and looked down at my plate. “You don’t need to worry about that, you know. I’ll clean up.”

  “Too late,” she said brightly. “But if you want to be a gentleman, you can walk me out to my car.”

  “That I can do.” I stood and walked to the door. “After you,” I said. As I pulled the door open, I made a grand gesture I’d stolen from an old ZZ Top video.

  “Thank you, kind sir,” she replied, sweeping past me. I followed her across the porch and down the steps, a couple of seconds behind her the whole way.

  When we reached her car, she stopped and turned. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” she said, “and for taking care of my glasses.”

  “It was my pleasure,” I told her. “Thank you for coming back out here, especially after last night.”

  She shrugged. “I told you—you ought not to be alone out here. It’s plain to see. Whether it’s me or Mr. Powell or you getting a puppy that’s the answer, I don’t know, but it’s something to think about. Last night just proves it.” Then, more shyly, she added, “Besides, I like talking to you.”

  “I like talking to you, too.” She didn’t resist when I took her hands in mine, nor did she pull away. “And you can come out here any time you want. Honest.”

  She did pull away then, laughing. “We’ll see how your friend from Boston feels about that.” A second later she was in her car, waving from behind the windshield and starting up the engine. I stepped away so I wouldn’t lose any toes as she pulled out, then followed her up the driveway to the edge of the road.

  She waved one more time, flicked on her lights, then rumbled off down the Harrison Farm Road. I waited until I couldn’t see her taillights any more, then gave the night sky a stupid grin and set about going back inside.

  The house, seen from this angle, looked less like a house and more like a low hill, a kind of primitive fort huddling up against the night. It was a darker outline against a dark sky, with only a few dim lights through a few windows giving any sign that it was inhabited.

  From around the other side of the house, a growl boiled up like smoke from a slow fire.

  I suddenly remembered just where I’d left the shotgun, and I froze.

  I calculated how far it was back to the house from where I stood, and how long it would take me to run it. Then I made a rough guess as to how long it would take a big dog to come charging around the corner, and I decided I didn’t like the answer.

  “Good doggie?” I ventured hopefully. It made its presence known again, louder now. Either it had gotten more pissed off, or it had come closer. The bulk of the house kept me from seeing which, and I didn’t mind that one bit.

  A quick look behind me told me that the road wasn’t an option, either. There were no cars approaching in either direction, no one I could wave down and beg for protection. Running down the road was plain foolish. There was no way I’d outrun anything four-footed and angry, not on my best day and its worst.

  That left running for the house, and luck.

  I looked past the house, down to that dark line of pine trees. “Could use some help here,” I said under my breath, and then I put my heels to use.

  It was maybe fifty feet from where I stood to the steps leading up to the porch, and another couple yards past that to the still-open door. Not too far, I told myself. Head down, that’s a good boy. My feet crunched on the driveway as I sprinted, my arms going like a windmill in a stiff breeze.

  The growling changed to a howl, long and cruel. There was nothing mournful in this sound. This was a howl of murder.

  I could hear the dog exploding out of whatever cover he’d been in, leaves whipping away from the force of its passage and branches tearing. The drum of its feet on the ground was loud enough to hear. How far away was it? Not far enough, that’s all that mattered.

  I tucked my head further down and ran faster. The light from the kitchen was just visible at the edge of my vision, pulling me on.

  It let out another howl then, much closer than the first. It was playing with me, I knew, telling me it could catch me even if it didn’t go all out.

  Tall grass whipped across my shins as I took the last few steps toward the porch and leaped up the steps. My feet hit the wood of the deck with a thud as the dog came tearing around the corner of the house. I didn’t look at it, didn’t dare turn and lose any momentum. Instead, I threw myself forward, through the doorway and into the kitchen. My chin tucked into my arm to cushion the shock of landing as I hit the floor and skidded forward. Something stung my hand, and I realized I’d hit one of the toy soldiers. I must have placed it on the floor before I went out, but now it was spinning, sliding away.

  Claws tore into the wood of the deck behind me. I had one chance. Rolling on my side, I jammed my foot behind the door and kicked as hard as I could. The door swung forward.

  I watched it. It seemed to go slowly, too slowly. It would never make it all the way.

  Somehow, it swung shut. The click of the latch was like a gunshot, the dog slamming into it a second later like a cannon.

  I lay back on the floor, panting. Get up, my mind told me. Go get the gun! But I couldn’t move, knowing it was out there so close.

  Claws scrabbled at the door, not furious like they had been the night before, but thoughtful and deliberate, like their owner was looking for a way in.

  Different clicks, now. It was the sound of claws on brass. It had found the doorknob. It shouldn’t be able to do anything with it, I knew. But it shouldn’t have done any of this.

  I sat up and pushed myself backward, away from the door. One hand closed on a chair leg, hoping I could fling it in front of me if I had to. My back tensed, waiting for the sound of the dog hurling itself against the wood.

  Instead, I heard a whistle. The dog paused, and I swear I could hear it turn its head away. Then, calm as you please, it trotted away. Click-clack-click went its claws on the porch and down the steps, and then came the swoosh of a body moving through tall grass, going away.

  All the air rushed out of me, and I collapsed to the floor.

  In the distance, the dog barked, all its menace gone. It sounded happy.

  “Fuck you, too,” I said, and I just lay there until all the sounds went away.

  Eventually, I found the strength to stand up. A peek out the window told me nothing was out there, but I trusted that about as far as I trusted a Boston traffic cop with a ticket quota to meet. I locked the door, then shoved a chair up under the handle. I thought about moving the table there as well, but that seemed excessive.

  Then, and only then, did I pick up the phone to call Jenna.

  She answered on the fourth ring, annoyed as all get out. “Yeah?”

  “Hi,” I said. “Did you cal
l before?”

  “I might have.” She sounded deeply irritated. “What, are you screening your calls now?”

  “No, just getting chased by wild dogs.”

  “Ah.” I could hear the puff of her cigarette. “And I’m supposed to excuse you for that?”

  “Come on, Jenna. It’s been a hell of a day.”

  Breath hissed through her teeth sharply. “They’re all hellish days, Logan, or haven’t you noticed that? You know what I think? I think that’s not an accident. I think something’s trying to keep you so busy you don’t have time to think.”

  I blinked. “Never really thought about it that way.”

  “That’s the point now, isn’t it? So start thinking.” She paused. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just really worried about you, that’s all. When you didn’t answer, I was afraid something, well, something might have happened to you.”

  “It nearly did,” I told her, “but not until later. I wasn’t kidding about the wild dog. And thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, I think.” The Jenna I knew and relied on was back in control. “So dare I ask why you didn’t answer, then?”

  I coughed delicately. “I had company over.”

  There was a pause. “Oh did you, now?” Another pause. “Anyone interesting?”

  “Just the librarian, I’m afraid,” I told her. “She’s very nice.”

  “I’m sure she is. Look, I don’t want to keep you any longer—”

  “You’re not keeping me,” I protested. She ignored me.

  “I don’t want to keep you. So, I’ll see you tomorrow night, and I won’t bother calling before I get there?”

  “You can meet her tomorrow if you want, honest,” I said. “She was just out here for dinner.”

  “You’re missing the point, Logan. As always,” she told me, and then her voice softened. “But I’m still looking forward to seeing you. Good night.”

  “Good night,” I said, and I listened for the click of Jenna hanging up. A moment later, it came. Maybe she’d been waiting for me to say something else. I don’t know.

  I placed the phone back on the receiver, and for the first time I saw how old and dingy it was. It was one of the first push-button models, and Mother had been proud when we’d gotten it. “Modern convenience,” Father had joked, which had annoyed her to no end. Father hadn’t seen what was wrong with the old rotary dial phone we’d had, even when his fingers had gotten too big for the holes. He’d dialed using a pencil, a trick I’d tried, and failed, to master. Snapped a few pencils that way, though, which Father had found amusing and Mother had not.

  “Maybe I’ll replace it,” I said out loud, just to hear how it sounded. “Don’t think that’ll last too much longer, the way I’ve been going on.”

  I blinked. That sounded kind of like a long-term plan to me, one of those little details that creeps in when you’ve already decided on how the big things are going to be handled.

  “Or maybe not,” I said more softly, and I stepped away, over to the window. “No sense rushing into things.”

  I could have sworn it was my imagination, but at that point I didn’t know where my imagination lay anymore. As I said those words, the house got warmer, like it was getting all puffed up and angry. It was like when you see a man lose his temper, and the red rises in his face and the heat just flows off him. That’s what this felt like, that same sort of push and pressure.

  The heat rose up and sweat broke out on my forehead. I wiped it away with my forearm and looked around for the cause, half expecting to see a fire in the corner.

  There was nothing to see, just that sudden wet heat that wrapped around the house and everything in it. Getting outside seemed like a very good idea, so I flung the door open and staggered out into night air that was cooler than it had any right to be. A wave of hot air flowed behind me and boiled up into the night. I could see the heat haze pass in front of the stars.

  Slowly, the air behind me lost its heat. Something was settling down, no doubt, though whether it was the furnace or something a little less reasonable I didn’t know. I just knew that the night air felt calm and safe. It was funny, I know—with that dog running around, the porch was the last place I ought to have felt safe—but you could feel the dog’s absence, like a wrong note had been taken out of a well-known recording, at least for a little while.

  I don’t know how long I stood there, but it was a good while. Up high, thin strips of cloud flew past, heading east. I watched them go, part of me wishing I could follow and the rest dead set against the idea. Behind me, the heat and pressure faded, and the house acquired a feel that was distinctly more welcoming. Mother, or whoever it was, had gotten it out of his or her system, and now I was being told I didn’t have to stand in the corner anymore.

  Well, thank you, but no, I thought but didn’t dare say. I’d be staying outside a little longer, and coming in on my own time. In the meantime, there was a night sky full of stars—if empty of fireflies—to admire.

  Eventually, a yawn snuck up on me and told me it was time to head to bed. Tomorrow was promising to be a hell of a day, so there was no sense facing it at less than full strength. I gave the sky one last look, then I drew my eyes down to more mundane things. Things like the trees down in the dark, the land, and the driveway—I scanned them all, half in hopes of finding something odd and half afraid I would.

  Down on the driveway, something caught my eye. A brief flash of light, no more than a split second, drew me. I stared at the spot, not believing what I’d seen, and dared God to make it reappear.

  It did. I swore softly, more at myself than anything else, and took cautious steps down off the porch. It took all my strength not to just hurry on over, maybe scaring off a miracle in the process, but somehow I managed.

  And then, there I was, looking at a lone firefly. It shone dimly, but shone it did, and it sat in the dirt on the side of my driveway, on my land. As I got closer, it blinked more frantically, blinking on and off faster and faster.

  Something had happened. A suspicion rose up in my mind as to what it was, and I quickly checked the ground just past where the firefly held its position.

  There they were, faint but fresh. Tire tracks. Adrienne’s tire tracks, to be specific, the ones she’d laid down that very night. They extended maybe three feet past where the firefly was, that far and no farther. That meant that where the lightning bug stood, she’d stood as well.

  I thought about what that meant for a moment and didn’t like any of the possibilities I came up with. Whatever was going on, I didn’t want Adrienne mixed up in it. Even as I came to that conclusion, I knew it was too late. I might as well have asked the stars to stop shining. The forces that were bedeviling me weren’t going to leave her alone, not anymore.

  Unbidden, the image of her face rose up in my mind. She was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. She was beautiful and young and charming, and a man with more of a sense of his own worth than I would have said she was falling hard for me. She was vulnerable, too—trusting in a way that made a cynic like myself want to protect her from the harsh things I’d seen and done.

  The best way to do that, of course, would be to stay here. With her.

  Carl’s words in the Thicket came back to me, loud and clear. He’d talked about parts that didn’t fit where they ought, and things that might happen to them. He’d left out one possibility, though. Maybe the shape of the place that part was supposed to go could be changed. A little work here, a little polish there, and suddenly everything would fit so right you’d never know the difference.

  I felt sick. Nearly falling over, I dropped to my knees and picked up the firefly. It let me, holding still and shining dull and steady in my hands. Staggering, I walked it up to the property line and flung it into the air. It hung in the air a moment, then darted back past me and found its same spot on the ground. There it stood, defiant and shining. One hand holding my gut, I lurched back to it and looked down.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” I told it
, and whatever had brought it there. “Not like this. It’s not fair. It’s not right.”

  Then I brought my foot down and ground it hard against the gravel and soil. When I lifted it, the light had gone out.

  eighteen

  Friday dawned ugly.

  The skies were covered in clouds that had no business being there—thick thunderheads like you usually saw only in the afternoon heat. The air was heavy and sullen, and you could taste ozone with every breath. Rain was coming, but it was coming sulky. It would get here in its own good time, and the rest of the day was just going to have to suffer while it waited.

  I stood on the porch, looking up at those gunmetal clouds and silently urging them to get on with it. The last thing I needed was Jenna getting delayed by the weather, or worse, trying to drive out here through a Carolina summer storm. Accidents had a way of happening during those, and that was under the best of circumstances. What I was facing now was anything but.

  Inside, the house still simmered. The anger from last night was still there, turned down but not gone away. I could feel it with a single step over the threshold. It got stronger as you went into the house, too, and the door to Mother and Father’s bedroom was almost hot to the touch.

  If I’d had any doubts as to whether the house was haunted, and if so, who was doing the haunting, they were gone now. “Leave Adrienne out of this, Mother,” I said to the closed door, without bothering to try to open it. Nothing fell or crashed, but the heat didn’t go away, either. I guess she was thinking about it.

  That meant I had things to think about, too, which was why I was out on the porch and looking away down to the Thicket. Last night’s revelation was still with me, sticking uncomfortably in my craw. Swallowing it was proving tough, which made me want to give it a chaser. And the more I thought about that, the more I realized there was only one thing I could do.

  Call Carl.

  Carl knew more than he was telling. Saying that was like saying that the sun came up in the east. But there was something else going on there, too. He’d been bending the last time we’d talked. Maybe I could get something else out of him, something that would help me make sense of what was going on.