Chapter 6

© Copyright 2006 by Elizabeth Delayne



Where’s Nicole?

Julie watched as Dusty made the sign for family and combined it with an N—his sign for Nicole. He hadn’t answered her own questions yet.

They’d made him as comfortable as possible with a soda and a Gameboy® she kept with her in her purse. He wore a rumpled t-shirt and jeans that were obviously second hand and more than a little too big. Of course, that look wasn’t necessarily because of neglect.

Julie looked over at Gabriel. She’d already explained, but Dusty wasn’t listening. He was a tow- headed boy, tall—very much like Jason.

“What is it?”

“He wants to know about his sister. He doesn’t believe me.”

“Why should he?”

She stared impatiently at him. “It’s our job to convince him. Call the hospital. If she’s awake, maybe she can tell us something—anything.”

She turned back to Dusty as Gabriel headed toward the door. “And see if the hospital has access to a Teleprompter or we can put her through to a service. It’s the fastest way he’ll be able to communicate with her.”

Julie literally went through the motions again, told Dusty what had happened to his sister—or all that she knew, or understood. He watched, angrily—as if he had cared less ... but he watched.

He was just a scared boy under the tough exterior, one who truly loved his sister.

She finger spelled her own name again, then gave him her sign, a J coming from her heart. A friend of hers a long time ago had given her the sign, and it had stuck.

Dusty only sat there, staring. The only sign he gave that he truly understood was in his eyes—eyes that watched her hands steadily. *

Nicole came out of sleep as she always did—hoping that she wasn’t in prison. Hoping she no longer lived with her father. Not sure which piece of her life to embrace. What she wanted was only a dream—and part of her always wanted to bury back under the covers and just dream.

Then she blinked, felt the numbness and the subtle pain. Fear shot through her.

“Easy.”

She felt the hand on her own, heard the deep voice, and slowly turned her head. Her brother. The memories returned, her mission ... her failure. “Jason.”

“You’re all right. You’re safe now.”

She was in the hospital. Behind him, through the door, she saw a nurse walk by. She blinked to keep Jason in focus.

“He ...”

Stabbed me.

The terror made her tremble all over again.

“They’re looking for him,” he spoke through clenched teeth, as if the knowledge or the words themselves, were difficult . “He’s not getting away with it this time.”

My Father. She looked at Jason. Our father.

“Dusty... ” the name trembled from her lips. “He–“

“Shh. Trisha told me. Gabriel’s in New York taking care of him and your probation officer—working to get both of you down here ...”

He continued to talk, but his voice faded away. He was tired, she thought as she studied his face. He looked older. She could see the circles under his eyes.

And she remembered. He’d been there, come after her ... gentle and kind and afraid.

She could still see his face as he leaned over her, with the light from his car in the background.

He hadn’t been angry, she thought.

His hands had been trembling.

“You’re here,” she heard herself say.

The hand that held hers tightened. “I’m going to be here. You don’t have to worry about a thing. Not anymore.” *

“Been wonderin’ bout that girl. She only paid through the morning. Hadn’t seen her yet to turn in her key. She all right?”

Trisha nodded and took the key from the short, balding manager of the O-Tel. He came to her father’s diner every once in awhile, ordered the same fish sandwich, and ate in the back—sometimes alone, sometimes with Old Bob Lee.

Beside her, Layton was silent as they headed outside, toward room 17.

“Don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who stayed in this place.”

“Mr. Shelly runs it the best he can,” Trisha averted her eyes from a window that had not been closed—unsure what she would see, “but he overlooks a lot. I guess he has to.”

Jason had asked her to get things from the hotel room and bring them back. He was taking big steps. He’d asked for help, not just from her, but from the Lewis’s—not for himself, but for his sister, and a brother that he’d barely acknowledged until now.

Of course, he probably hadn’t thought it through—didn’t realize by asking Rev. Lewis, he was getting a small army of people from church. People were already at his house, boxing up things from Gabriel’s room, prepping the walls for paint. She had his credit card to go buy things that would make Nicole and Dusty feel at home.

She’d feel better about it if Nicole were picking things out herself, but Jason wanted Nicole to feel like she had a place of her own. He was afraid that if he waited, she wouldn’t accept it.

Knowing all she did about him, she figured he was probably right.

Trisha unlocked the hotel room with the key she’d borrowed from the manager. The room smelled bitter. Almost like cigarettes. She reached in to turn on the light and felt Layton pulling her back.

“What?”

“Looks like someone was sending someone a message.”

Pages from where ripped from their binding and littered across the room. The mattress was overturned, the mirror shattered.

Layton dropped down and pointed to the spine of a destroyed book that lay near the door. There was a cigarette burn in the cover, most likely caused by the cigarette but left to the side. The binding was old, worn.

And damaged.

“Property of New York Public Library,” he looked up at Trisha. “Looks like she’s going to owe someone for this.”

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