Second Act (Night Fury 2)

My feet move of their own accord, knowing I need distance. I walk out of Marco’s room, upstairs and into the barn. I key in my code and enter. The keys dangling from the wall call my name. I start up the Kompressor and press the button to open the double doors. As I move to press my foot down on the accelerator, Bob seems to come out of nowhere. He steps up to the passenger’s side, brows drawn. I hear his muffled, “Where are you going, Cat?”

I feel an onslaught of oppressed teenage rebellion rear its head as I stare straight ahead and respond, “Out.”

My foot descends and like a flash, I speed down the gravel drive and out of the grounds. As I look in the rear-view mirror, the church in encased in a cloud of dust. The second I hit the main road, I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding.

Immediately, I breathe easier.

Chapter Three

The library seems like a fitting place to go to think. It’s always been an escape for me in the past; only today, every book I open, try to look at, I don’t really see at all. The words mash and blur together as my pulse throbs a staccato drumbeat through my temples.

I’m angry at Bob. No. I’m furious. So when I see Tomas stride into the library, head down, hand up by his face, fingers extended awkwardly, it forces me to calm myself and focus on him.

It only takes me a second for the hairs on the back of my neck to stand.

Something’s wrong.

I’ve known Tomas for a long while now and I have never seen him act in the way he is acting today. If I didn’t know any better, I would say he was hiding from someone.

I watch him from afar, gauging what could be happening here, when a man comes in looking dishevelled and anxious. Worry radiates off him as he frantically searches the library. I look from the man to Tomas. When Tomas sinks down between two shelves, my protective instinct takes over.

Standing slowly, trying not bring attention to myself, I calmly walk over to the shelf in front of the one Tomas is in. Having left the church in a hurry, I am still wearing my sweats from the night before. Luckily, I blend in like a piece of furniture.

The man mutters, “Fuck,” and continues to search.

I kneel and peer into the row Tomas is in. His frantic rocking hurts my heart. “Tomas? What’s wrong?”

He rocks harder. He grits his teeth; his face turns red and I quickly realise he’s now holding his breath.

I whisper frantically, “Please don’t do that. I can’t help you if you don’t respond. Who is that man?”

An animalistic warbling cry comes out of Tomas, so loudly, I know he’s given himself up. I hear pounding footsteps and stand in time to see the man reach his row.

Pretending to read, I listen in and watch through my peripheral vision.

The man has to be in his early thirties. He has a three-day beard growth, too-long-to-call-short brown hair and he could use some food in him. He’s not thin exactly; he just looks a little weak somehow.

When he sees Tomas, he sighs in relief, “Thank God.” He approaches him, scratching at his chin and utters angrily, “You can’t run off like that. I had no idea where you went. I had to ask everyone I saw.” He repeats himself firmly to stress the point, “You can’t do that.”

Tomas continues to rock.

I can’t see enough from my position. I decide to chance it and look up.

The man watches Tomas through sad eyes and steels his jaw. If anything, he looks helpless. “C’mon, we have to go.”

Tomas rocks faster.

The man steps forward. “I’m not kidding.”

Tomas begins to rock the opposite way, into the shelves. The shelf I stand at wobbles and sways.

My heart races. This man will take Tomas over my dead body. He’s clearly distressed and doesn’t want to go.

Fuck Bob and his rules. If I need to, I’ll bring him home with me. Anything to keep him safe.

When the man clenches his hands into fists and breathes heavily through his nose, I realise he’s close to losing it. Leaning forward, he watches Tomas and sneers, “Get the fuck up, Tomas. I’m not putting up with your bullshit. I’m in charge here. Let’s go.”

My stance defensive, I watch them like a hawk in the trees.

The man grips Tomas by the upper arm and pulls him to stand. Not giving Tomas a second to balance, he starts dragging him unceremoniously across the library.

Enough is enough. I run across to them, take the man’s hand and throw it off Tomas. My lip curls as I face the asshole. “Don’t you ever touch him like that. Not ever.”

Mrs Fontaine watches me closely. “Cat?”

Without taking my eyes off the man, I answer, “Get ready to call the police.” I’m bluffing. I wouldn’t do that. Bob would kick my ass.

The man blanches a second, and then spits, “Who the fuck are you? What business is this of yours?”

I look at him a moment, taking him in. Bloodshot, hooded hazel eyes. Pale faced. Sunken cheeks. Dry, cracked lips. Irrational annoyance.

This guy is high. In fact, he’s likely a junkie.

He moves to reach for Tomas, but I block him, pulling Tomas behind me.

The man glares at me and tries again. This time I block him with a sharp elbow to the chest. He wheezes and slumps trying to catch his breath.

When he does, he stands and pants, “Lady, seriously. Get your fucking hands off my brother.”

My heart stops altogether. Oh, fuck no.

***

“It’s not my place to interfere,” Bob gently explains.

I’m momentarily dumbstruck. I repeat slowly, “Not your place to interfere?” My wide eyes bore into him from across his office. I bellow, outraged, “Bullshit! That’s a goddamn lie and you know it!”

He doesn’t answer, but I see his jaw tighten as he grits his teeth.

That doesn’t stop me though. “All we do is interfere! We kill people. We take lives. We have a God complex for Christ’s sake. People do bad things and we make sure the people suffering don’t suffer any longer than they can handle. Don’t fucking tell me you can’t do anything. It’s not that you can’t; it’s that you won’t.”

Bob turns his face up to look into my eyes. “It’s not my place.”

The fight in me takes flight. Now I’m the helpless one. My throat thickens with emotion. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see him. He was scared, Bob.” My eyes fill with traitorous tears. “He was panicked and scared. He didn’t want to go with him.”

He utters gently, “That’s his brother, Cat. His guardian.”

I’m angry again.

Well, that didn’t take long.

“The guy is a junkie and he put his hands on Tomas!”

His eyes narrow. “You saw this. You actually saw it.”

I say the words I know he needs to hear to believe me. “I swear on Jesus Christ.”

Bob thinks for a minute, and then runs his hands down his face warily. “Damn. The things I do.” He straightens and feigns boredom. “All right. I can’t promise anything but I’ll look into it.”

My legs carry me across the room quicker than I thought possible. Bob stands and I throw myself into his arms, squeezing him tightly. “That’s all I ask.” I hold him for a solid minute. As I let go and make my leave, I mutter, “God bless you, Father Robert. You’re a good man.”

I force myself to say those words. I have to believe it.

I have to.

Chapter Four

I find myself sitting on Marco’s bed for the second time in as many days. I’ve been avoiding the team, for good reason. I hate lying to them. I was never a great liar, at least not when it came to anything that mattered.

I can’t help but wonder what Marco has told the police about us. More often, I wonder when they’ll come for us, and why they haven’t already.

I’m on edge all the time. My heart endlessly constricted, I feel tension in places I’ve never been tense before. My shoulders are stiff; a ceaseless headache pains me till I feel stomach sick.

In short

, life sucks right now.

Dressed in my modest long skirt and white shirt, I stand from the bed and move over to the dresser mirror to adjust my veil. Just as I make my exit, I careen into Clark. His hands come around me, holding me up. My hands grip the front of his shirt.

“Sorry,” I say through a cringe.

Busted.

Face void, he pulls away from me swiftly, as though my touch burns him. He avoids my gaze, tension apparent. I immediately become worried about my friend.

Something is wrong.

Reaching up, I place my hand on forearm. “Clark? Are you okay?”

Jaw firm, he answers tightly, “Fine.”

I fight not to roll my eyes. “You don’t seem fine.” I ask quietly, “Is it Michelle?”

Tension comes off him in waves. “Leave it.”

Undeterred, I step closer. “You know, we can talk about this. That’s what friends do.”