Chapter 30
Through the Mercedes’ rear-view mirror, Sharon kept an eye on Laif. This was difficult because the wool blanket covered his head during the entire trip to her apartment.
He looked like a shivering ghost.
She had the heater on full blast, but that didn’t stop water from drenching the right front and back seat from the broken passenger window, some droplets surely getting onto Laif’s side.
Luckily the rain stopped before they made the trek from the car to the front door.
He shed his blanket only after entering the apartment and continued to shiver into her living room. She turned on the heater and slung her jacket over the back of the couch, feeling the bulky pocket. “Do we still need that dirty underwear, or can I throw it out now?”
Cuddles ran directly to her jacket pocket, and after reaching it, he vigorously sniffed. Sharon struggled to pull the dog away, concerned for the animal’s health. Then Cuddles went to sniff Laif.
“Creo will want it.”
“Does he have a fetish for dirty underwear?”
Instead of answering, he began petting Cuddles.
Her fur looked wet. Sharon had a doggy door installed to her fenced back patio so Cuddles could relieve herself at her convenience. But she had forgotten how much Cuddles loved the rain. Usually she locked the doggy door when a storm was predicted because Cuddles sometimes tracked mud inside.
Sharon scanned the apartment—no mud.
Becoming self-conscious about renting a simple apartment, she wondered what Laif thought about her lack of home ownership. Employment as a social worker paid off spiritually but not financially. At least she kept the place clean. But then she spotted yesterday’s faded green sweatshirt she had worn after coming home. It remained strewn across a chair. She nonchalantly picked it up before he could notice.
“She’s a good dog,” he commented. “What’s her name?”
“Cuddles.” She rolled the sweatshirt into a ball behind her back, and when he wasn’t looking, she hurled it down the hallway past the bathroom and towards her bedroom for laundry tomorrow.
“She has a good spirit.”
He and the dog both seemed to be enjoying themselves. Cuddles loved the petting and scratching behind the ears. Laif appeared rejuvenated from touching and holding the golden retriever and being occasionally licked on the cheek.
Suddenly, he stood up and looked at his wet hands from her fur. His eyes widened and smile became skewed. He dabbed his hands on his jeans to dry them, but he couldn’t because the material was still rather damp. He followed Sharon to the kitchen.
Cuddles padded closely behind.
She noticed two dishes and three glasses in the sink from yesterday. She would’ve washed them if she had known she was going to have company. “Sorry for the mess.” Her voice came out like a meek schoolgirl’s. She threw him a dry dish towel.
“What mess?”
“Never mind,” she said quickly. She dialed the phone for Chinese takeout.
As he dried his hands, hair, and face, and tried drying his jeans, he urged, “Cindy’s soul weakens. I can feel it. Like a fire growing colder. But I can’t battle the Brewsters yet.”
She finished ordering and sat down beside him at the dinette table. She reached for the towel as he obsessively dragged it up and down his jeans. After setting it on the table, she took his hand. “It’s going to be all right, I promise. After a quick bite to eat, we’ll be able to form a plan.”
He searched her eyes. His were watery.
Her fingers combed his curly hair from his forehead.
He lifted her hand and held it against his tan, buttoned shirt. She could feel his heartbeat thudding hard and fast—as well as a nicely sculpted, firm chest, which made her heart beat faster.
“I’m scared,” he confessed. “I feel like I’m afraid of everything now. Even though the rain stopped, traces are still on the ground, on leaves, slicking trees, in puddles in the street—”
As he continued speaking, she could feel his strong heartbeat accelerating against her hand. He gulped air as though he were drowning in a storm at sea.
“—on the roofs of houses, dripping down buildings, filling drains, and thickening mud, driving earthworms out, making the sky dreary—”
Because he was hyperventilating, she took the top of his shirt and lifted it over his head and told him to hold it there. She couldn’t help looking at his bare washboard stomach and smooth skin.
“—on clothing, fur, hair, it makes me feel like I’m going to die, like my chest is going to explode, like my arms are going to fall off. I … I … can’t breathe.”
Cuddles sat up and looked at him, softly whining.
“Slow down. Just breathe into your shirt. It’ll pass.”
He did as she instructed.
Her hand accidentally touched his stomach, causing an involuntary warm feeling inside her. “You’re hyperventilating and driving yourself into a panic attack.”
“After it rains, I don’t feel quite right, quite myself, until the traces of it are dried and all that remains is a cleanly washed world. But what makes it worse this time, what makes it so unbearable, is that Cindy is out there somewhere. Somewhere in this wet danger.”
“I know. We’re going to find her. But for now, let’s stop allowing fear to control us.”
“That’s what I’m doing isn’t it, letting fear control me?” He began to talk and breathe faster underneath his shirt. “That’s evil. I’m consuming my energy in fear. Fear is a good if we don’t let it control us. I could be doing—”
She grabbed him by the shoulders, rather roughly but with love, and yet he barely moved. “Stop it.” She loosened her grip. “What did we learn from the Brewsters’ house?”
“Well ... we’re not very good at breaking and entering.”
She let go of him. “We’re dealing with killers. Cindy was probably raped by her own father, and her mother hit her head with a hammer. The jump to necrophilia wouldn’t be far for these sickos.”
He spoke underneath the shirt, “Maybe the only thing that's spared Cindy so far is that she’s their own flesh and blood ... but now Adriana is with them.”
“Then we’re running out of time.”
They were silent. Cuddles whined. Then he said, “From that beating newsletter, we learned they have a social support system that rationalizes hurting children.”
She could feel tears squeezing out her eyes. “The girls need us.” A trapdoor seemed to open underneath her and send her into an endless hole. She remembered when her younger sister, Marlene, was alive and how much she needed Sharon for the simplest things. Marlene would ask Sharon to brush her hair, make her breakfast, help pick out clothes to wear. Adriana and Cindy must be needing responsible adults to do things for them as well. “How’re we going to find them?”
He pulled his shirt back down. “Creo can help.”
“He’s so absorbed in his morals he’s not going to help anyone.”
“He has helped people in his lifetime.” Laif picked up her phone from the table and dialed. After ten seconds, he informed, “No answer. He must be out.”
Laif pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. He dialed the phone number on it of Pastel Securities that he had written from the check at the Brewsters’ home. “Tape recording.” He wrote down the last four digits, 5564, and drew a line through it. Then he wrote 5565 and called the number using those last four digits. “Another recording.” He hung up and put a slash through those numbers and wrote 5566. He kept this up while Sharon went to the bathroom. When she got back there were eleven lines through numbers, but a smile on his face.
He said, “I finally got through to someone. It was as I figured; the last four digits were different phone extensions of Pastel Securities. I asked if Joe Brewster was working tonight, and the guy knew Joe. I played it like I was a friend, and he said Joe’s on vacation for a week. Didn’t know where.”
“A vacation? That could be anywhere.”
“We can find out with Creo’s help.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” She held his hand in both hers. “Have you ever lost anyone?” she asked, her voice cracking midway through the sentence.
“Not really.”
“I don’t want to lose these kids, Laif.”
His hand tightened around hers. “We won’t.”