Twenty-three: Night Flight
***
But they saw nothing of Bolt that night.
Had he come for her head as promised, Keltie would have known in advance. Like a ghost, she hovered at her window. The streets remained empty. The trees likewise. Strangers on the sidewalk made her jump, but no one approached the school. Chatter in the hall lay at an ebb as well. After dark, everyone went straight to their rooms to study. At ten o’clock Marty knocked on the door. He’d promised to stay with her no matter what the consequences. Keltie fairly yanked him into the room before slamming the door and relocking it. Then she threw her arms round his neck. At eleven, two giggling girls passed in the hall.
Marty kept stern vigil. He asked for the window seat so Keltie could lie down. She refused him, feeling that her senses, trained over the past year to a fine point when it came to detecting danger, would be better off placed on the front line of defense. Also…she was afraid she might fall asleep.
At midnight he brewed coffee with the small pot she kept for test cramming. They drank without much use for talk. What was there to talk about anyway, besides vampires? Keltie didn’t want it; she didn’t need it. The bastard Bolt was out there somewhere, and talking about him just made the whole idea even more frightening.
When the sun goes down…I’ll find you.
He wouldn’t need to look hard.
At one, Marty made another pot. But like it or no, Keltie felt the caffeine beginning to fail. She slurped down a third mug between yawns. Whilst filling a fourth, she remembered an old deck of Penelope’s cards hidden under the bed. A few hands of poker provided temporary reprieve. They even managed to talk a little: school, parents, teachers. Periodically she would check the window, where nothing beyond begged reporting. It was like February all over again. High alert beneath quiet skies.
At three-thirty she hit the wall. Exhausted beyond all usefulness, she collapsed onto her bed, leaving Marty to hold watch until dawn. At nine-thirty—two hours late for class—she woke to an empty room. A note in Marty’s handwriting lay on the desk. Going back to my room now. It’s light out. See you at lunchtime.
A knock made her jump. She opened the door to one of the wing’s mousy prefect girls. The girl wanted to know why she’d not reported to class. Keltie told her she was ill, but she would be back on her feet in time for tomorrow.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” the prefect girl said.
“Monday then,” Keltie assured.
“Cool.”
“Yeah.”
Except by Monday she might already be dead.
***
That afternoon Cameron drove her back to the rummage sale. The basement was now open to the public, and in full swing. Twenty or thirty little old ladies milled about the tables, while children’s laughter drifted from the toy room. Keltie made her way to the cash register. Here she found Mrs. Haschak totting up purchases.
“Need a break?” she asked.
“Keltie! Why yes, maybe for just a few minutes. Is your father around?”
“He ducked off to polish the pews. Hay fever going around. Sneezy congregations.”
Mrs. Haschak grinned. “Oh you!”
“Go have some coffee, Mrs. H. I’ve got the helm.”
“Young lady!” a third voice exclaimed out of nowhere. Keltie turned to see an ancient woman with a suitcase-sized purse over her shoulder. “You shouldn’t dress like that here! You look like—“
“Cyndi Lauper, I know.”
“I was about to say Gina Lollobrigita!”
“Who?”
Business remained steady until closing time. When the last of that day’s patrons had gone, Keltie and Mrs. Haschak totaled their registers, tied all the money into a bag, and said their goodbyes.
“I hope you’ll be back tomorrow,” the old woman said.
“I should be,” Keltie replied. “I’ve been tied to my schoolbooks for too long.”
“Oh! That reminds me!”
And without another word Mrs. Haschak bustled herself over to a crooked hat rack. Appalled, Keltie watched her select the ugliest church derby she had ever seen. The flower was pink; the hat was green.
“Mrs. H, you don’t have to—“
Beneath the hat, the woman found a long, silk ribbon of lovely dark red. Handing it to Keltie, she said: “Try this in your hair. I thought of you the moment I saw it.”
Keltie took the ribbon. It felt soft as powder in her hand. “Wow. It’s very pretty.”
“Indeed.”
She tied it into a bow, then curtsied best as she could remember. Mrs. Haschak declared her to look marvelous.
“Thank you!”
“Blood is your color,” the old woman said with a smile. “Vibrant and full of life. Wear that whenever you need strength.”
“So…all the time?”
“If need be, my dear. If need be.”
***
Cameron took her to dinner at Berry’s. A chill wind had gotten up, surprising Keltie with its zeal. Her skirt flapped while Cameron held the door. Inside, talk of a storm floated between ringing tables. Keltie ordered a chicken breast fillet sandwich with french fries and tried not to think of how happy Bolt would be to kill her in the rain.
Halfway through the meal, all chatter came to a halt as one of Norwalk’s fire trucks blew by the window, its siren wailing. Keltie listened to it fade. It had turned onto Benedict Avenue and was now heading south.
“I wonder if McDonald’s caught fire,” Cameron mused.
Five minutes later another truck passed. Tires screeched as it made hard right onto Benedict. A horn honked.
“Damn,” Cameron said, “I hope it’s not the hospital.”
No, the crazy, morbid bitch in Keltie’s head whispered, it’s not the hospital. You know what it is, right, girl? The school’s on fire. Bolt wants to burn the fucking place down.
“That is the stupidest thing ever,” she said aloud.
Her dad shrugged. “Sorry. Maybe it’s just some guy’s field out past five-points.”
“I didn’t mean you, Dad. I meant—“
“W! L! K! ARRRRRRE!” a radio behind the bar suddenly chirped out. A news bulletin followed. And it was pretty much spot on as the morbid bitch said it would be. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We have just been informed by the Norwalk Police Department that a fire has broken out at the Benedict Avenue Norwalk Youth Correctional Facility. All traffic is advised to please route travel AWAY from the south end of town—“
“Dad?” Keltie snapped. “We need to leave. Now.”
“—it has been confirmed to be quite a large fire. The south wing of the school is currently burning out of control—“
“Dad!”
Unable to contain herself, Keltie made for the door. Outside, sirens screamed. She watched three police cars fly down Benedict. Then an old woman appeared from the flower shop and asked what was going on.
“Doing any hiring?” Keltie asked.
The old woman grimaced. “You know what? I’m getting tired of people asking me that.”
“Well, maybe you should go fuck yourself then.”
“Young lady! I beg your pardon!”
“No!” Keltie growled, just as Cameron joined her.
“What’s going on?” he asked in a much less demanding tone.
“Take me back to the school.”
“Keltie, the school is on fire.”
“NOW, Dad!”
He drove fast as the night would allow, adhering to Keltie’s instructions to use Pleasant instead of Benedict, then take Norwood to Christie Avenue. Here they could drive no further. The end of Christie had been blocked, and there were sirens flashing everywhere.
“Okay,” Cameron said after parking the truck. “Let’s slow down and think about what we’re—“
Keltie threw open the door and jumped out.
“Wait a second!” her dad yelled.
She couldn’t wait. Her hair whipped in the wind; her eyes blazed. She ran until her legs ached, until her lungs screamed for breath. Then she ran some more.
Firemen stood everywhere in front of the DC. Orders were being hollered. Hoses blasted water. Pushing her way through a group of spectators, Keltie saw that the upper windows of the south wing were mightily ablaze. Black smoke poured into the sky.
“Keltie, what are you doing?” someone shrieked. It was Cameron. He grabbed her shoulder, spun her back. “You’re getting in the way of these men!”
“It’s Marty!” she screamed. “Marty’s in there!”
She tore off without another word, dodging her way towards the north wing. No one else seemed to be paying her the slightest bit of attention, which was great. Grand. Perfect. Keeping to the shadows as much as possible, she made her way to the back lawn. More men with hoses stood here. Then a body was carried out the back door, which nearly caused her to faint. It was a woman, slumped over the shoulder of the fireman. Keltie saw gray hair, a pair of glasses.
“Mrs. Cobb! Mrs. Cobb!”
One of the firemen turned his head. “Ma’am, you’ll have to leave!”
“Is Mrs. Cobb all right?”
“I don’t know that, ma’am.”
“Is there anyone else in the building?”
“Ma’am, please—“
She bolted through the open door, leaving his further commands to die in her wake. A haze met her. Breathable, but a harbinger of worse to come. Still, she knew Marty’s room number. If she could just get upstairs and make sure he’d gotten free—
Stupid idiot! You’re gonna run upstairs in a burning building to check for some guy who might not even be there?
Fuck you, bitch!
She hit the steps like a streak of lighting, taking them two at a time. But with speed came a price. Running an incline depleted her breath. Her chest began to throb and heave for air, very little of which remained in the boys’ wing. Climbing past the top step, Keltie ducked to the floor. The smoke had grown thicker by far. And though she could hardly see, sounds of hungry fire pressed from every direction.
If he’s still here you’re going to die with him!
Thank you. Thank you for that vote of confidence.
Marty’s room was 208. A long way down the hall. Moving as best she could, Keltie counted each door she passed. She opened the eighth one onto pitch black room.
“Marty!” she coughed.
No good. He wasn’t here. Or if he was—
Then he’s fucking dead.
Didn’t I tell you to fuck off?
She crossed the hall, felt for another door, found one, opened it….
More blackness.
“Marty!”
The fire raged on. Keltie now felt certain it was in the attic, burning framework. Were it somewhere else—like, say, beneath her—she’d surely be dragging about two hundred extra cigarette packs worth of smoke. But no. Things were cool.
Yeah, real cool, girl. You’re now trapped in a building that’s going to collapse on you instead of suffocate you. Groovy. I love it.
Okay, one more time for the cheap seats: FUCK! OFF!
“HEY! HEY! Somebody help me!”
Keltie crawled into the room. She looked left, right. “Where are you?”
Nothing but dirty haze for a few seconds. Then, weakly: “Closet. Closet.”
Her hands pawed in every direction. They found an empty potato chip bag, a bedpost, a coin. But the closet door wouldn’t be out in the middle of the room; that idea was just stupid. So she crawled until her hands found a wall. Then, a doorknob. She opened it to find Marty with his hands tied to clothes rod. He looked bleary and red-eyed from smoke inhalation. Sweat poured from his face. Screaming his name, Keltie got to work on the rope.
“Keltie?” he asked. “That you?”
“Who else?” The rope was thin and dry, yet wouldn’t yield under her fingers. “Did Bolt do all this?” she asked.
He smiled back. “Who else?”
“Well we need to get you out of here.”
Something outside gave way to the fire, causing a heavy crash. Keltie screamed again. Soon the ceiling would fall, crush them both to death.
“You know something?” she said, suddenly furious. “I could burn this rope with my lighter if girls’ clothing came with some fucking pockets to put one in!”
“Try my pockets,” Marty suggested.
She did—and eureka! A cigarette lighter!
“You’re awesome, Keltie,” she heard him say. “I love you.”
“Tell me that again after we’re out of this place!”
He nearly fell on her after the rope succumbed. His weight threw her backward. Then they did a clumsy sack-race walk to the window, which Keltie, from pure adrenaline, threw open with one arm, breaking one of its glass panes.
“You’re gonna have to jump,” she told Marty.
“We’re two stories up.”
“And bananas are yellow and water is wet. I don’t give a shit, dear.”
“Where did Bolt set the fire?”
“In the attic, I think.”
He shook his head. “What an idiot. Why do that? Why not set it underneath—“
“Marty, goddammit, jump!”
And so he jumped. And Keltie had time to see, just before Bolt came to sweep her up to the clouds, that the firemen had noticed them talking, and were ready with a trampoline. Then the entire scene rapidly became smaller and smaller. Because Bolt had grabbed her. Bolt had her in his clutches, like an eagle with a fish. And they were going up and up and up into the stormy night sky.
“Idiot?” a growl asked from somewhere in the dizzying wind. “Did I hear one of you call me an idiot?”
Keltie could not answer. Three times tonight, her breath had been stolen: once by running, once by smoke, and now…vertigo. They were high above the trees of Norwalk. Cold rain sliced the air. She looked up to find a fanged monster gliding on a cape large enough to blot out the clouds. A scowl split the monster’s features. Its red eyes came alight.
Lightning and thunder crashed over Benedict Avenue. Bolt made a hard turn that brought a cry of terror to Keltie’s lips. Then, apropos of seemingly nothing, he asked:
“What time is it, girl?”
Keltie closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see any more of Norwalk from this angle. No way. They were perhaps two hundred feet over the nearest roof—
Unless you counted the courthouse roof, which was quite a great deal higher than the rest. And the courthouse tower, of course, which was higher still. And that tower’s gigantic clock face…which now loomed close enough for Keltie to reach out and touch.
“What time is it?” Bolt asked again.
“I—“
BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG!
Keltie screeched. But the striking clock crushed it. A boot on a flower. A hammer on egg shells. Its enormous white face took up the whole world; its black hands threatened to choke her.
BONG! BONG!
“WHAT TIME?” Bolt screeched back, plenty loud enough and more.
Keltie tried to cover her ears. She couldn’t quite get her hands where they needed to be, however, while the mammoth clock continued to rip the night to pieces.
BONG! BONG! BONG!
“TIME FOR YOU TO DIE!”
And with that, he flew her down West Main Street, towards the only place in the world she knew she wouldn’t have a chance against the likes of Bolt. A place where she’d already been beaten once. A place where she’d nearly died.
The vampire flew her back to his lair. Number 114, Wooster-Boalt.