turned one way, then the other. Don’t let him be dead.
A racket set up, like nothing he’d ever heard before. The clink of sharp things rattling together, and bells—or at least metal clinking on other metal surfaces.
Coming out of the boggy haze, a figure loomed. Tall, in a fever of movement. Great head shaking, voluminous cloth billowing behind, and a glow that picked out a bumpy, shiny red face with holes where the eyes should be.
The creature paused, humming, shaking his noisemakers softly. At first Sonny thought the freak’s head looked big because he had a mass of shaggy hair, then he saw a bulbous, colorful turban built up to outlandish proportions.
And Sonny heard more splashing, this time made by someone fleeing, throttle wide-open, from the red, shiny-faced guy. Suddenly he realized that the creature wore a mask—a bright red mask, with a skeletal face painted in black.
Sonny had to get Aaron.
He had to get the hell out of here, they both did.
This was the voodoo man. And damn if it didn’t look like he was staring at Aaron, but hadn’t noticed Sonny.
Long arms shot out. Spiking his knees skyward with each step, he made for Aaron. In the glow that went with him, he twisted his hands this way and that. Fingernails inches long, glowed white and clicked together. The tips glinted silver.
Amid unearthly sounds, the man—if that’s what it was—reached Aaron, stooped and brought his head close, listening. Even at a distance, Sonny saw him nod and hoped it meant Aaron was alive.
With both arms, the man scooped up Sonny’s buddy as if he was a baby. Scooped him up, holding Aaron’s left side tight with both hands.
Sonny saw blood drizzle through the fingers. “Oh, my, gawd,” he muttered. Aaron was done for. They were probably both done for.
“Chuzah, me,” the man cried. “He wants you to follow.” And he loped rapidly away. “Come you—the other boy hidin’in the three stumps. That one back there with the gun, he gone, but he could come back.” All that rattling came from garlands of bones, little bones, big bones, skulls, strung around the man’s neck and waist. The bells were gold, Sonny saw them glitter. He shouldn’t have pushed to come here. Look what he’d done to Aaron.
Sonny couldn’t make his feet move. He couldn’t feel his feet or his legs, but he felt how he was rigid and his blood fluttered in his veins.
“You follow Chuzah. Now! This boy bleedin’ to death.”
2
Eileen Moggeridge slammed the door of her van and locked it, keeping her right hand on the gun she carried in her jacket pocket.
Tonight she had met with someone she’d thought she would never see again. He had stood in this parking lot, nodding toward Poke Around, her gift shop, with a smile on his face. “I’m happy for you, Eileen. I only ever wanted the best for you—and Aaron.” And the smile was sad, his expression guilty, apologetic, humble.
As far as she could remember, he’d never regretted a thing he did and she didn’t believe he’d changed.
He wanted something, and it wasn’t an opportunity to take back responsibility for the family that was no longer his.
Chuck Moggeridge had left her, and Pointe Judah, several years ago. There had been talk about another woman but Eileen had not known who that was. Didn’t want to know, didn’t care. Chuck had beaten and humiliated her one time too many and she still hated herself for not getting rid of him a lot sooner. In the end, her so-called husband had barely beaten Eileen to a divorce lawyer.
Now he was back.
He had called from his car in the parking lot, asked her to talk to him, “Tell me about Aaron. Just for a couple of minutes. He’s my son as well as yours.”
His car had been parked only slots away from hers in the Oakdale Mansion Center lot, but Chuck didn’t know what she drove anymore. Or he hadn’t, but did now. Eileen had walked to her van and seen him hurry toward her. She got quickly behind the wheel, locked the doors and opened her window a crack.
For too long they had looked at each other.
Strange how two people who had made a life together, made a child together, could become strangers.
He didn’t ask to get into the van with her, or for her to go somewhere with him. At least he knew better than that—tonight. Eileen didn’t trust him not to push for more, not when his parting words had been, “I know my responsibilities. You should have let me know he was in rehab. Aaron’s had a rough time and he needs his father. It’s good to be back so I can make things right.”
Lies. Mostly lies.
How had Chuck found out about Aaron’s problems with alcohol? They weren’t an issue anymore. Aaron had gone through rehab—quietly, although she didn’t fool herself that no one knew—and he was just fine. When he had needed Chuck, the man hadn’t been around and now she wanted things to stay the way they were.
She had met Angel DeAngelo—his first name was really Christian—through his nephew Sonny. Sonny and Aaron had become fast friends and Angel had stepped up to give masculine support to Aaron when needed. Eileen liked him—a lot. Sonny wasn’t nearly as high on her list. Surly and silent around her, he was an Aaron-rescue. Aaron had a history of championing misfits.
She held the gun so tight her fingers ached.
The thought of being afraid of Chuck was not new. When they’d been together she dreaded the sight of him and never knew what he might plan to do to her. But she hadn’t worried about him since he’d made a complete break. His timing for coming back couldn’t be worse. She raised her face, grateful for the fine moisture on her skin.
If she didn’t get back inside the shop, Angel would arrive before her and ask where she’d been. She wasn’t ready to tell him.
Eileen and Angel had moved slowly together, each of them scalded by past experience, but she wanted them to have a chance at something more and she thought he did, too—if he could ever stop thinking of her as his good buddy. Most afternoons, around closing time, he stopped by for coffee but their conversations tended to revolve around Aaron and Sonny.
Damn Chuck for showing up now. He shouldn’t scare her, but he did.
The rain had eased off, but the evening remained damp, the air heavy. Eileen hurried away from her van toward the lighted windows of Poke Around. The shop was in what had once been the conservatory of the beautiful old Oakdale Mansion and she had strung white icicle lights around the roof and outlined the windows with twinkling multicolored strands.
Chuck’s call came only moments after Eileen’s employee, Suky-Jo, had left. They had been stocktaking—not so easy when the shop was crammed with holiday merchandise. All but the low lights were off in the patisserie and the new salon that flanked her place. Old friends ran the salon and Eileen had an investment in that, too.
The business was hers—at last.
Eileen could not get over the excitement she felt whenever she looked at the shop. Her shop. She had come a long way from being Chuck’s mostly ignored wife,
