Storm Vengeance Page 2

  She climbed onto her bed and laid flat. Shallow, panting breaths shuddered from her lungs and she could feel the bed vibrate beneath her, though she knew it was she and not the bed moving.

  Hands entwined and held tight against her stomach, she imagined her anger as a green mist that slipped like a scarf twisting down her throat, passing through her heart, winding around her organs, too tight, too tight.

  She took deeper breaths, willed the dizziness to pass. Now she imagined a pile of worn red brick, like the ones they’d used to build the new church she passed every day on her walk to school. She reached for one. It was warm and rough in her hand. She placed it on the ground and added others until she had a circle. She did not build a base. The base was already there, a dark circle of oily dank liquid that slowly oozed up to reach the top of the first layer of bricks. As she added each layer of brick and the walls rose, the level of darkness also rose.

  She knew that she was not quite sane but thought perhaps if she could get ahead of the darkness, build fast enough, well enough, that maybe she could survive.

  After a while her breathing slowed and the level of bricks began to rise more quickly. The darkness could not keep up. When she was five rounds above the darkness, she found a way to close up the well. She imagined a cap made of worn planks, smoothed and shaped into a perfect fit. It had no handle. Once placed, it could not be removed. This suited her. She set the top of the well in place.

  Just then, her mother came in, sat on the bed beside Storm, took her hand. “Your fingers are icy,” she said.

  Storm said nothing, but she heard each word, understood them.

  “I’m sorry about Ruby. Maybe she’ll come back tomorrow. We’ll leave the door open.”

  Storm did not say, With him home? though that was what was on the tip of her tongue. Instead she said, “Don’t worry about it. She was getting old anyway. Freezing is supposed to be an easy way to go.”

  “Are you okay? I thought you’d be more upset. I thought I’d find you crying.”

  Storm sat, swung her legs off the bed, and stood. “I’m fine,” she said, in a voice that seemed too toneless. She added a touch of warmth when she asked, “So, what’s for dinner?”

  Since that first time, Storm had been able to pry loose a brick, gather any errant emotion, and send it into the darkness of the well. Sometimes she thought the thing that lurked inside the well was her soul, and sometimes she thought that dark, festering place was simply her madness, controlled. She was afraid of it and she needed it, the way a person with lung cancer needs a cigarette.

  Working with Howard had been like that, a craving for a toxic substance, a compulsion to stand too close to the edge.

  She was his probation officer and met him at his intake appointment soon after he’d been assigned to her caseload. There was nothing remarkable about him. An average man of average height and average looks, even his offense hadn’t been noteworthy.

  He’d been in a bar fight and swung too wide, accidentally hitting a police officer trying to break up the fight. That slice of bad luck led to jail time and probation. Aside from a handful of parking tickets, he

  had no other record. Such a low-risk offender should have passed through the system with few glitches.

  For some reason she couldn’t recall, she’d set up an appointment to see him that day. Maybe he’d been behind on his fees, or had missed a court-ordered sanction.

  It didn’t matter. What mattered was that the day he’d been in her office was the day everyone in the courthouse had been talking about an article in the paper that morning.

  It was about an incident that had happened earlier that year. Two local children whose father had punished them for some minor infraction—after all what could a six and eight year old do that was so bad?—by ordering his two pit bulls to attack them.

  The photo that accompanied the article showed the two kids being taken from the home by paramedics, their bodies and faces torn and disfigured.

  Because of an error in the reading of his rights, and his argument that he had only been trying to scare the kids and had no idea the dogs would actually bite, it looked like he might walk away free and clear.

  With her stomach sinking in horror, Storm realized, because of child welfare’s current mandate to keep families together, the children might eventually be returned to him.

  When Howard, taking a seat in her office, mentioned hearing some lawyers talking about the case downstairs, she found she needed to talk about it. When he spoke of how unfair it was, how unjust, she couldn’t help but agree.

  “If I could find him—if I had his address—I’d make him pay. Believe me,” he told her. “I’d bring him justice.” Storm had believed him.

  As a probation officer, Storm had access to several databases. She quickly accessed one of them and then grabbed a pen and a sticky pad. The small yellow square of paper skittered as she slid it across her desk to Howard.

  He looked down at the address she’d scrawled, smiled, and nodded. Adrenaline surged through her bloodstream, and after he tucked the note into his shirt pocket, she found she was grinding her clenched fists into her thighs. What have you done? What were you thinking? Already self-doubt began to haunt her.

  “Come with me,” he’d said. “Come and stand watch.”

  She’d been horrified by the suggestion.

  “It will be easier, safer. Think about those kids. Don’t we owe them something? Don’t we owe them justice?”

  Each time they’d stalked, taken, and done away with an abuser, Howard had called it justice, a justice killing. She thought he was right then and she still believed it. She had to.

  Storm scrubbed her hands across her face, blinked rapidly as if waking up. It was time to go home, yet she seemed unable to gather the energy.

  Her car was facing the Willow Creek Light Rail Station. Each of the stations had its own artwork and theme. The theme for this one was Alice in Wonderland. Under the row of street lights various oversized and fanciful chairs and sofas of molded pink concrete were grouped as if in someone’s living room. In daylight the effect was silly and fun; at night it was creepy.

  Storm thought about her own living room. It would be empty. The kids would be in bed. The sitter would be at the long breakfast bar in the kitchen, an open book under her nose, studying something or other. She hated having to use a sitter, but with Tom away so much of the—

  Her cell phone interrupted her thoughts. She found it in a side pocket of her purse and took a look at the screen before hitting the accept button.

  “Tom,” she said, “I was just thinking about you.”

  “Of course,” her husband replied. “Who else would you be thinking of? Hope you don’t mind the late call. I was afraid you might already be in bed.”

  A westbound train choose that moment to approach. The clanging of the warning bells at the nearby intersection rang loud and clear.

  “Hey, you’re not in bed. Where are you?” Tom asked.

  “Just heading home. The girls and I went out for a drink after work. Dannisha is watching the kids, so don’t worry.”

  “Why would I be worried? I think it’s great that you’re getting out.” He didn’t add “. . . finally,” but Storm knew it was there. Only three months had passed since the night when her “other” life had bled into her “normal” life. The result had been catastrophic.

  She’d spent much of the time since then feeling sorry and doing penance for the chaos she’d brought into their home. For most people that would have meant working harder, making things better. For Storm, afflicted with a drive to perfection, it meant learning to let things go. Giving up the illusion of control and realizing that perfect did not exist and was therefore unattainable.

  As a result, she had reduced her work hours, working with a time-share partner so she could work half-time and giving up almost half of her clients.

  At home, she made it a point to ask Tom’s help with even small decisions, tried not to pick up after
the kids, and left home some days with something purposely undone, a bed unmade, a towel not picked up. Though seemingly small things, these symbols had been punishingly hard for Storm.

  “I mean it, Storm,” Tom was saying. “You need more fun in your life. I’m glad you’re getting out.”

  “Well, it was fun,” she admitted, remembering the time she’d spent with Lauren, teaching her the rules, stalking their target. It had been much more fun than drinks with the girls would have been. “But it’s getting chilly and a friend just dropped me off to get my car. As soon as I hang up, I’m heading home and straight to bed.”

  Tom replied, “I told you we should buy a new car. One of those ones with the heated seats, the hands-free phone, and all the other slick features.”

  “You leave my car alone. The heated seats sound good, but the last thing I need is to be at everyone’s beck and call 24/7.”

  “Just my beck, sweetie. The rest can stand in line.”

  “Smooth talker. Now, why did you call? We didn’t get around to that.”

  “Hearing your voice isn’t reason enough? Well okay, actually . . . here’s the thing. The job looks like it’s going to be bigger than we thought, so it’s going to take longer. At least a few more days. I’ll certainly be there in time for Thanksgiving.”

  “You’d better be,” she insisted, trying to put a smile in her voice.

  “Some good looking prospects in the bar tonight?”

  “You better believe it. One even had most of his teeth.”

  “Woo, I thought you were gonna say most of his hair. That would have had me worried.” Though only thirty five, Tom had recently begun to lose his hair.

  “You’d be sexier bald than most of them anyway. Don’t you know that?” she asked, though she knew the answer.

  “What I know is that it’s good to be married to a woman blinded by her libido.”

  “You aren’t that good,” Storm joked.

  “Ouch. On that note, I guess I’ll let you go. Would you tell the kids I’ll call them tomorrow around six?”

  “I’ll tell them. Joel will be very excited. Lindsey will probably put on the What’s the big deal? act, but she’ll be happy too. Just don’t forget.”

  “Never.”

  “See you soon.”

  “Bet on it. Love you.”

  “You too.”

  “You three.”

  Storm stood on the porch and waved as the sitter drove away, then went to check on the kids. They were sleeping, just as Dannisha had said. Joel in his room with one foot dangling outside the covers, Lindsey in her room with a row of stuffed animals lined up along both sides of the bed, her favorite owl tucked under her arm.

  Lindsey was growing up so fast. The incident last year, when a dangerous man had broken into their home and taken her family hostage, had left its mark on the kids as well as she and Tom.

  Storm was afraid the rows of animals in solider straight lines were sentries whose purpose was, if not consciously deliberate, to assure Lindsey’s safety. No child should fear for their safety in their own home.

  That was why Storm and Howard had done what they could to remove abusers from the lives of innocent children. If she had known how their actions would affect her own children, she would never have given Howard that first address and they’d never have formed their ill-fated partnership, or would they?

  Had the price, her children’s fear, been worth the gain? There were never any black and white answers anymore, just shades of gray.

  Reassured her children were sleeping soundly and as safe as deadbolts, alarm systems, and a mother’s tactical small arms training could make them, Storm locked up the house.

  Still chilled by the autumn night, she took a long hot shower, put on her warmest and least attractive flannel pajamas, and climbed into bed.

  Though her body sank gratefully into the sheets and she could feel her weariness like an extra quilt pressing down, her thoughts spun and buzzed furiously and she could not sleep. Deciding to try her anti-insomnia routine, she imagined each part of her body, starting with her toes and ending with the top of her head, relaxing deeply into the soft warmth of the mattress.

  It didn’t work. She was far too wound up. Finally she gave in and climbed out of bed. Maybe a cup of hot cocoa would help.

  As she poured milk into a small pot and placed it on the stove, she thought about her new partner. Lauren had convinced her that she too wanted justice. It was a drive Storm understood. For nearly a year, she had helped Howard mete out his kind of justice, disturbing and brutal as it had been.

  Initially he had seemed in full control of his urges and his actions. Predictable? No, she wouldn’t go that far, but at least containable. That had been a huge mistake on her part.

  But Lauren was an unknown. Lauren made Storm nervous and unsure. But that might be because of the way they met. Storm had been Lauren’s prey, and she would never forget that. With Howard she’d had at least the illusion of control. After all, she’d made the choice to select Howard as a partner. With Lauren, there had been no choice at all.

  Setting her cocoa down, Storm sighed at her obvious self-delusion. Of course she’d had a choice. With that truth acknowledged, Storm got up and went back to bed, knowing this time she would sleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  STORM MET LAUREN for the first time on the 24th of October. It was easy to remember the date because it was exactly one week before Halloween. The kids were excited by the upcoming holiday, and by their new costumes, which she’d bought at a store and then embellished. It was the first Halloween she’d found time to do that.

  For the past three months she’d worked half-time and was learning to like it, filling her time with projects like fixing Halloween costumes. She was

  planning to sign up for a class in landscape painting, something she’d always wanted to do. That afternoon however, Veronica, her job-share partner, came in unexpectedly.

  “I was hoping I’d catch you,” the short, anorexically-thin woman said, brushing gleaming strands of long brown hair behind her ears.

  “Where else would I be?” asked Storm, with less levity and more sarcasm than she’d intended. Her dislike for Veronica had risen exponentially month by month. The woman was lazy, disorganized, and dirty. If not for the luxury of working half-time that sharing a job with Veronica had granted her, Storm would have had it out with her long ago.

  “True enough,” said Veronica, settling her bony bottom on one edge of the desk.

  Storm rolled her chair backward until it bumped into the row of file cabinets. “What can I do for you?” she asked.

  “Well, here’s the thing. Me and Arnold decided we want to have another kid, so I need to make more money. We’ve decided I should go back to work full-time. I talked to Big Ed already. He said all I have to do is work it out with you.”

  “Work it out with me? What does that mean, exactly?”

  “No big deal. It means you need to find a new partner.”

  Storm took a deep, steadying breath and replied. “That actually is a pretty big deal. There aren’t a lot of people who want to work half-time. If you remember, you told me that you were thrilled with the arrangement, and I could count on you for at least the next three years.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” she said, not sounding the least bit sorry. “I know you won’t have any problems finding someone else. You’re good with people. Anyway, you’ve got time. I’m not planning to go full-time just yet. I figure I can wait another three or four weeks.” She pushed her hair back again, one of her many unconscious habits that set Storm’s nerves twitching.

  Storm fought the urge to grab the woman’s fingers. “I’ll see what I can do,” she promised, smiling through gritted teeth. Veronica knew exactly what an impossible task this would be. It meant she would probably have to go back to full-time, or no time. Tom had been bugging her to leave her job. He was bringing in enough so that she could afford to be a stay at home mom. A job he couldn’t imagi
ne her turning down. To Storm, with both kids in school, the idea of staying at home all day with only her thoughts for company was a terrifying prospect.

  Storm’s mood was grim, and she was a good fifteen minutes late by the time she left the building. The usual exodus had taken place and the parking structure was nearly empty. She’d left her car on the fifth floor, so she adjusted the strap of her purse and began climbing the wide concrete stairs.

  As she hit the second landing, she began to warm up. It felt good to be out of her chair and moving. Storm loved to run, but lately, with Tom away so much, she’d had to limit her time away from the house. Maybe she could persuade Dannisha to stay late so she could get in a quick five miles.

  She was thinking about running as she passed the landing for the third floor. By the time she reached the fourth landing she was thinking about dinner. Such mundane issues were preferable to thinking about Veronica and her announcement.

  The fifth floor, reserved for county employees, was even more deserted than the rest. A car’s tires squealing around a corner on a lower floor echoed through the structure. The smell of exhaust and damp cement filled the immense space. The open areas between concrete columns gave a wide view of the surrounding buildings, the grid of interconnecting streets, and the dark clouds racing across the sky.

  Her car was parked nose in, grill inches from the rows of wire cable that formed a barrier between the parking garage and the long fall to the sidewalk. Rain had swept in, drenching the ground and the front of Storm’s blue Camry. The only other car in sight was a white Lexus snugged next to hers.

  As she got closer she realized that the car, the only other car, was ironically parked too close to hers. Of course. The universe loves irony.

  There was no way she could get into her car on the driver’s side, and she didn’t want to have to climb in through the passenger side unless she had no choice. Luckily, someone was sitting behind the wheel of the white car.

  Maybe if she asked nicely, they’d back out and let her in. If they didn’t, maybe she wouldn’t stay nice. She was certainly in the right mood to go either way.