“Dammit, Rowan!” Ben hissed as he quickly twisted a control on the dash to extinguish the dome light. “What the fuck are ya’ doin’? Close the door!”
“Well what are you doing?” I shot back between clenched teeth. “Felicity is in there and you’re just screwing around out here!”
“Listen, I understand where you’re at, believe me, but we can’t just rush in there like the cavalry or somethin’.”
“Dammit, Ben, he’s got Felicity!”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“I do!”
“Fine,” he spat, “I ain’t gonna argue with ya’. But we’re doin’ this my way. Got it?”
It was all I could do to contain myself. The earlier thud that had occupied my head was still there and seemed to be acting as a pump for the visceral rage I was experiencing. With each thrum of pain, I could feel the anger course through me. It was rising fast, and it wasn’t going to be long before it consumed me.
The van idled its way around a low retaining wall to reveal the opposite end of the L-shaped parking lot. There in the shadows of the far back corner sat a car. The tall lamps positioned around the building poured their sodium vapor glow into the night and cut a small swath across the front quarter of the vehicle.
A vague memory of the night Ben had hurried me out of my house in advance of the descending media flitted through my mind. It was the Thunderbird that had been parked on the side street across from my driveway. I recognized the blotches of primer.
“Remember the car we almost hit the other night?” I asked, pointing toward the T-bird. “You wanted to know if he was stalking her… Well there’s your answer.”
“Yeah, I see it,” he grunted.
Ben brought the van to a halt next to the concrete retaining wall and switched off the engine. The silence that followed rang hollow in my ears, piercing directly into my soul.
Through the windows, the interior of the building appeared dark. The only sound inside the van was that of me, Ben, and Helen breathing. The coldness of the night began to quickly seep in.
“What now?” I finally asked, my words riding out on a cloud of visible breath. “Are you waiting for an invitation?”
“Rowan, ya’ wanna can it?” my friend ordered more than asked. “Ya’know, if you were anyone else I woulda kicked your ass by now.”
“Well, what are we doing?” I demanded, though with a bit less harshness in my voice.
“We aren’t doin’ anything,” he instructed as he unlatched his door. “You and Helen are gonna sit right here while I check around back.”
My friend carefully unfolded himself from his seat and climbed out of the van. Before I had any chance to retort, he had quietly pressed the door shut and stalked off through the darkness. I watched on as he disappeared into the shadows.
“Benjamin is correct, Rowan,” Helen told me in a quiet voice. “He knows what he is doing. Let him handle this.”
“I know that, Helen,” I answered, my tone all but devoid of emotion. “But I’m having some trouble with the concept at the moment.”
Her soothing voice and no-nonsense advice was a welcome salve on my wounded psyche, but I was desperately afraid that the prescription was too little, too late. Something that felt completely beyond my control had already been set in motion. What was most frightening to me was that I was fairly certain that I didn’t even want to try stopping it.
“Based on your current demeanor, that would be an understatement, Rowan,” she returned. “However, as I have told you, it is a normal reaction to the situation… Do you remember what I told you earlier today?”
I twisted in my seat so that I could see her. “You mean about not letting my strength become my vulnerability?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Helen, but it still sounds like some kind of cryptic eastern philosophy type of advice to me. I guess I’m stupid because I’m just not getting it.”
“Your innate strength, Rowan, is your need to protect.”
“Okay.”
“By allowing yourself to be consumed by this rage, you are walking a very thin line between protecting someone you love and exacting vengeance. To do the latter would, in turn, make you vulnerable to a host of unspeakable things-including your own fears.”
I pondered her words for a moment before I spoke. “Helen, did you know this was going to happen?”
“Not exactly.” She shook her head. “I sensed that something was going to happen, but nothing specific. If I had, I would have told you.”
“There’s quite a bit more to you than you let on, isn’t there?”
She simply smiled.
I turned back to face forward then reached out and unlatched the glove compartment. I thrust my hand into the darkness and rummaged about carefully. I was banking on a recent memory holding true, and when my fingers landed against the cold metal I knew the account was still open.
Ben always carried a backup weapon-an actual pearl handled, stainless, Smith amp; Wesson Model 649 “Bodyguard” thirty-eight special to be exact. The only reason I knew the specifics in such detail was that he’d sung the praises of the short-barreled revolver and its shrouded hammer to me more than once.
When I withdrew my hand from the compartment, Helen couldn’t help but see the belt clip holster and handgun that now filled it. To her credit she didn’t even gasp.
“I was under the impression that we had just discussed this, Rowan” was all she said.
“We did, Helen.” I sighed as I withdrew the gun from the worn leather and checked to make certain it was loaded. Then I looked back over my shoulder at her. “We just didn’t reach the conclusion you wanted. I appreciate everything you said. I really do. And, to be honest, I’m sure you’re right, and I’m wrong. But, right now I need you to get out of the van.”
“Why, Rowan?”
“Because I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Tell me what you are going to do, Rowan.”
“Tempered glass doesn’t really break as easy as they make it look like in the movies” was all I said.
The anger had blossomed far beyond the most severe level I had been able to imagine. I was so consumed with it that I had gone beyond blind rage and moved completely into calculated hatred.
Helen did exactly what she should have done. She tried to stall me by refusing to get out of the vehicle. But I had ventured well to the other side of reason, and since I’d expected her to use this tactic, I was more than ready to call her bluff. I climbed across and into the driver’s seat and then adjusted it forward enough to reach the pedals.
She continued to calmly talk to me as I twisted the key and fired up the engine.
She never once lost her cool as I slowly backed the van across the lot in order to make enough room to build up speed.
She finally got out when it became obvious to her that I was going to go through with my plan whether she did so or not.
I was already standing on the brake and revving the engine until it was screaming when she exited through the sliding door. When I felt certain she was safely away, I let off the brake and the van bucked hard as it lurched forward.
From the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of my friend racing around the side of the building as he watched his van fly across the asphalt toward the front of the structure. I braced myself with my arms stiff against the steering wheel and glanced quickly down.
The speedometer read 32 miles per hour when the nose of the Chevy leaped over the curb and connected with the plate glass windows.
CHAPTER 29
The initial impact was utterly surreal.
Countless shards of glass showered the front of the van, sparkling in the glow of the exterior lights like a torrential downpour of semi-precious stones. The tortured scream of the over wound engine was joined by the multi-pitched peal of the shattering windows, and at that moment everything seemed to stop for the briefest instant. Languishing in an otherworldly vortex, devoid of the passage of time for only a tiny fraction of a second before rushing headlong into insane reality once again.