Page 33 of Hounded (Fire & Brimstone)

33

Loren

After rescuing my truck from the LaGuardia airport parking garage, I raided the plastic totes stacked in the bed for a replacement shirt. It was too warm to need the waffle knit thermal I settled on, but I felt exposed without it. The long day and longer night wore on me along with the adrenaline wearing off after I fled Moira’s room.

I patted my pocket in a check for my cellphone, fully expecting a call or barrage of spiteful texts, before remembering it was at Indy’s trailer.

That came as some relief because I would get no rest with a phone ticking off threats like seconds on a bomb’s countdown clock. Unless I was willing to go back and satisfy my mistress’s desires, detonation was inevitable. But I couldn’t. It was too much to hope for never, but I would settle for not now.

I’d calmed by the time I wheeled into the parking lot of Trailer Trove. The Airstream sat several dozen yards away, quiet and dark. I knew that Whitney was on the hunt. He’d already encroached on mine and Indy’s corner of the world. Our encounter during the driving lesson had been fleeting, but alarmingly close. I hadn’t seen him since, but I didn’t expect him to move on with his quarry so firmly in his sights.

My thoughts circled a drain, rapidly emptying while more rushed in. Feelings of Indy’s hands on me, familiar yet foreign, then of Moira stripping me of my clothes and dignity on the floor between her feet… The contrast was dizzying enough to stir me to sickness.

Killing the truck’s engine, I threw my keys into the floorboard and then curled up on the bench seat. I’d spent three months trying and failing to find a comfortable position, and I didn’t have high hopes for tonight. I was ready to give up and move to the uncovered bed for the sole purpose of stretching my legs but, before I could exit the cab, exhaustion snuck up on me.

The next time I thought anything, it was noon the next day.

The sun was fully in my face, burning so brightly it was a wonder I’d been able to sleep as long as I had. I sat up and groaned at the ache in my neck as I fumbled for the driver’s door handle and shoved it open. I pushed out, letting my head loll off the edge of the seat. My hound roused, as well. Together, we took in the scents of freshly cut grass, grit from the gravel lot, and the wafting aroma of hot dogs on a charcoal grill.

I peered across the trailer park, observing the world upside down. The Airstream remained a comforting constant, bright as a beacon. Indy would be awake by now and, while my phone was locked, I didn’t want him stumbling upon it and seeing the disciplinary measures Moira had doubtless spent the night describing to me.

Skinned alive came to mind. Leashed to her bed like a piece of living furniture. Or she could test her theory about beheading me. I had a feeling it would surprise everyone exactly how much torment I could endure.

My stomach grumbled, followed by a hunger pang that stabbed into my gut. As a dead thing, I didn’t need to eat, sleep, piss, or breathe, but those impulses still came, and I was more comfortable when I indulged them. After I got my phone, I would check the convenience store’s unfailingly disappointing selection of food, then try to find a better place to take a nap. Despite having just woken, I was tired, but mine was not the kind of exhaustion that could be fixed with sleep.

I shifted my body until I could swing my legs around and drop onto the ground outside. Scooping my keys off the rubber floormat, I pocketed them before starting toward Indy’s trailer. Long before I got there, a flash of color caught my eye. A rainbow flag hung from the sidearm of the Airstream’s overhead awning. I hadn’t seen it last night, so Indy must have hung it today.

Entering the shade before the trailer’s front door, I side-eyed the flag as it flapped and fluttered. I knocked, then glanced over both shoulders, checking to see who else might be out to take notice of the public statement about my private life.

I saw no one before the door swung open outward, blowing air across my face as it passed dangerously close.

Indy stood above me, wearing white pants and a mesh shirt that showed the waistband of a G-string arcing over his hips. My eyes traced the thin strap before I turned my attention to the flag whipping in the breeze.

“Subtle.” I tipped my head toward it.

Indy snorted and braced his arms across his chest. “It’s called pride for a reason,” he snapped.

Of course, he was mad. After enduring weeks of my mixed signals and a promising night cut short, he was entitled to anger. I would endure it, but only for as long as it took to get what I came for.

“I left my phone here,” I said.

Indy pulled the device from his back pocket. “This thing?” He held it out, baiting me.

I nodded. “May I have it?”

His features sharpened. “May I have an explanation?”

“For what?”

He swung the cell out of reach and balled his other fist on his hip. “For you. Yourself. Myself. Explain.”

The little stomp of his foot might have amused me if I’d been in any other mood than foul. Instead, I sighed. “What are you talking about, Indy?”

His eyes drew to slits in the shadow of his brow. “I saw the picture on my caller ID. The picture of us.”

I knew which photo he was referring to. It was one of the many candid shots he’d taken, usually while trying to coax a smile out of me. Usually succeeding. He’d set it as his contact in my phone, and I didn’t know how to change it. I could have asked Sully, but that photo and the others in my gallery were mementos I clung to, perhaps too tightly.

“And I talked to Chaz,” Indy continued. “He said you’re my boyfriend.”

The mention of the sleazy drug dealer stirred my hound to attention. Chaz was a special kind of scum, and someone I thought I’d put enough fear in to keep him away from Indy permanently.

I swallowed a growl and forced myself to respond to Indy’s second statement. “I said that, too, didn’t I?”

Indy huffed and repocketed my cell. “Well, you sure as hell aren’t acting like it.” He remained in the trailer’s doorway, blocking the path ahead while holding my phone hostage. “So, I am the guy, the one from before,” he declared. “You said I died.”

“You did die.”

“No, I didn’t,” he retorted so indignantly I couldn’t hold my tongue a moment longer.

“You’re right,” I said. “Another version of you died. In this trailer. In our bed.” I stabbed my finger toward the unseen bedroom loft. “I had to clean it up.”

Indy’s freckled cheeks paled. “What?”

I drew a settling breath, then checked again for other residents passing by. Despite the appearance of privacy, I didn’t want to tackle this conversation standing in the open.

“Can we take this inside?” I asked. “The neighbors already know enough about our business.” My meaningful glance at the rainbow flag was met with the return of Indy’s scowl.

“Why does it matter what the neighbors think?”

Rather than answer, I scuffed my shoe against one of the paving stones we’d cemented into a patio. It had been a long, hot day leveling the ground with shovels and sand, but it made our mobile home feel more permanent. Stable. One less thing that was likely to change. And that had meant so much to me.

“Whatever.” Indy rolled his eyes, then retreated into the Airstream, beckoning me to follow.

I made it inside and pulled the door against my heels. The trailer was messier than it had been last night. The canvas on the art desk glistened with wet paint, clothes littered every surface, and a dozen DVD cases were scattered around the television. An open box of Fruit Loops and a jug of orange juice sat on the counter beside the fridge. At least he put the milk away.

The curtains were drawn, making the space feel shrunken and sad. Indy stood aside, watching while I surveyed the moody colors splashed on his art in progress. Gray, black, and blue swirled in a gloomy spiral. I remembered that feeling from last night and days before that, being drawn endlessly down, treading water to keep from drowning.

I didn’t like to think of Indy knowing that despair. To me, he was a burst of light in a dark world. But he’d been sad, too, and I thought I understood why he wanted to die. Maybe sometimes even a short life was too long.

“Well?” Indy prompted.

I sighed wearily and held out an open hand. “My phone?”

He gave his head a single, decisive shake. “Talk first.”

I had opened this dialogue and, in doing so, invited his questions. But I had one of my own: “Why were you talking to Chaz?”

“You said I died ,” Indy repeated as though I hadn’t spoken.

After being so shaken by my earlier declaration, he seemed to have recovered, but his stricken look had returned. He was pale, and his contoured eyebrows were pinched.

The time for secrets was over. The truth always came out, sometimes sooner than this, sometimes later. Regardless, it rarely went well.

“You die all the time,” I said. “It’s what you do best.”

That left him quiet, and I took the opportunity to wander into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, I perused its contents. Indy had gone through most of what I bought while he was in rehab, except a few eggs and a package of brie that was more to my taste than his. If memory served, there was a jar of fig jam in the pantry.

Indy tailed me into the kitchen but kept his distance. When I opened the cabinets on the hunt for the fruit spread, he called over. “Are you kidding me right now? This isn’t funny.”

I found the jam and a sleeve of multigrain crackers, then turned toward Indy with both tucked under my arm. “You’re right,” I replied. “It’s not.”

After gathering a plate and cheese knife, I laid out the ingredients. I was peeling the wrapper off the brie when Indy snapped his fingers in front of my face.

“Focus, man!” he exclaimed. “You can’t just drop this shit on me and then make yourself a snack. ”

The jam jar lid twisted off with a pop.

“You hungry?” I asked.

Indy sucked a breath, then shuddered like he had feathers to ruffle. Turning, he leaned back against the counter and massaged his fingers over his temples.

“You’re not making any sense,” he said. “People don’t just die. Shouldn’t I have been in the hospital or something?”

With a grunt, I set out a row of crackers and started slicing the cheese. “ People don’t just die,” I agreed. “But we aren’t people.”

I placed a piece of brie on each cracker and was nibbling the last bit off the blunt side of the knife when Indy asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

My stomach growled, and my head felt light, but I couldn’t delay this any longer. “You’re not human, Indy.” I faced him. “Neither am I. Neither is Sully, for whatever that’s worth.”

“Not human?” Indy echoed. “Are there alternatives?”

Dipping into the fig spread, I dropped a dollop on the first cracker. “You’re a phoenix.” I stuffed the bite of food into my mouth and chewed slowly.

Indy’s golden eyes narrowed. “Like a bird?”

Still chewing, I loaded the next cracker. “Like a bird. And I’m a hellhound.” I didn’t wait for him to question before adding, “Like a dog.” My finger tap on the links of my collar deepened his frown.

“Are you sure you’re not fucking with me? Because I’m not stupid, just…” He cast his gaze away. “Forgetful. ”

I looked him over from his crown of soft curls to his bare toes adorned with glitter nail polish. I didn’t want him to feel stupid, or sad, or miserable. I wanted to pull him close and kiss him and hope against hope I would feel some spark of the past. Pretend that this honest talk would bring him back to me and restore what we’d lost.

“It’s like that every time you die,” I said in a softer voice. “You forget everything that happened before. And everyone.”

Indy didn’t respond as I swallowed the last bit of cracker before going to the fridge for a drink.

A forgotten can of sparkling water was tucked amidst the condiments in the door bin, and I cracked it open with a hiss. After slaking my thirst, I turned toward Indy and held out my hand.

“May I have my phone now?”

His glossed lips twisted before he pulled out the device and gave it to me. I unlocked it, then clicked into the photo gallery.

I never quite took to cameras. It felt strange to put a lens between myself and the world, a filter on what I could better see with my own eyes, but Indy captured moments. It might have had to do with his memory loss, needing tangible things to hold onto when his mind failed.

He stood by, apparently lost in his thoughts until I offered the phone back to him.

Taking the cell, Indy cradled it as though it were a fragile thing. He stared and scrolled and the blue-white glow of the screen illuminated the tears lining his eyes.

The tears had a hint of glitter—of magic. They were precious things that demons were willing to hunt and kill him for. While the rest of his powers dwindled, they remained.

The sadness on Indy’s face took a sudden turn. His nose scrunched, and hard lines cut across his features. He fished his own phone out of his pocket and opened it beside mine, holding them in close comparison. After a tense moment, he tipped both toward me.

“Why’d you delete it all?” His voice trembled. “Didn’t you think I would want to know I was loved? Why would you take that from me?”

The can of sparkling water chilled my palm while I stared at him, then the phones. The vacancy on his screen strummed a chord of guilt in me. I never meant to take from him. It was only to protect him, to prevent him from being burdened by the past and anchored to things he was better cut loose from. My phoenix deserved to fly. How could he with all that weight holding him down?

I stammered through a reply. “You are loved, Indy.”

“Then why would you make me live this way?” he demanded, tears like liquid gold in his eyes. “Weren’t we happy together?”

My chest constricted, spurring an ache so deep I thought it might cut through me. I’d been hit, stabbed, and shot, but none of it compared to the pain of hearing him ask the same question I thought when I found him burning up.

Weren’t we happy?

When I managed to speak, my voice was a rasp. “I thought we were.”