Читать книгу One Smooth Stone - Marcia Lee Laycock - Страница 6

The smell of mold filled the boy’s nostrils. He tried to back away from the dark entrance to the stairway, but the fist clutching the collar of his shirt held him above the hole. Dampness crept out and wrapped cold tendrils around his legs as the fist shoved him down. The voice above him cursed.

“Scum like you belongs down here.”

A blow to the back of his head sent him sprawling to the concrete below. Grit scoured skin from his hands and elbows as heavy boots thudded behind him. One of them slammed into his side. The sound of a rib cracking made bile rise in his throat. He curled into a tight ball, knowing what was coming as he heard the familiar sound of the belt being yanked from its loops.

He tried not to cry out, but it seemed like the blows would never stop. Already panting with pain he howled when a hand grabbed his arm and wrenched him to his feet, jolting the broken rib. The fist shoved him further into the cellar. He heard the scraping of the small door under the stairs. He started to plead.

“No. Please. Please, don’t lock me in there. No. Please. Don’t. Please.”

Another blow to his head knocked him to the floor again. The boot connected with his thigh as he tried to squirm away. There was nowhere to go but into the hole, into the darkness. The small door slammed and he heard the latch click. His head and body throbbing he pressed his face to the floor and tried to suck clean air through the crack at the bottom, tried to get away from the smell of whatever lay rotting in the darkness.

* * *

Alex lay on his back, watching the dawn light seep through the small east-facing window. The nightmares had wakened him halfway through the night, and now memories pressed in on him as he lay still. The touch of soft hair on his cheek, the light scent of peaches and dark eyes filled with laughter. They swam before him until he felt like he was floating. Then they changed, changed to small piercing dark eyes, eyes so full of confusion and longing they made him moan. He rolled over and put one hand on the rough floor. What was done can’t be changed. He passed his hand across the planks. That was then. Stay in today. Stay in today.

Forcing himself to focus on the present he listened to the sighing rush of the river, the soft sound of the wind in the spruce behind the cabin, the rattle of a chain as one of the dogs moved. Familiar sounds, sounds without any guilt or fear attached. He listened for a while longer, and decided maybe he’d let that lawyer fly back to Seattle alone. He couldn’t take the risk. He rolled over and stared at the roof.

The familiar surge of apprehension and then anger filled him. How did they find me? If the lawyers had, the cops might be right behind. Wish it would snow. With snow on the ground I could head out to the trapping cabin. They’d never find me there. He turned his head toward the table. The papers still lay there. Should’ve known better than to feel safe. Should’ve taken more precautions. Should’ve changed my name. But it was the only identity he had. The only thing that was really his, even if it wasn’t.

He sighed and stared again at the weathered boards in the roof. Would the cops in Vancouver have contacted the cops in Seattle? Not likely. They’d have no reason to. Maybe going back would be worth the risk. Images floated through his mind again—those dark eyes pleading, the sound of sirens. He rolled out of bed and scrubbed at his face. No. Don’t let your mind go there. And don’t go to Seattle.

He scratched his beard and thought briefly about shaving. If I’m going to…no. I’m not going anywhere. He didn’t bother digging out the razor. He had to get ready for winter. No time for chasing ghosts. A sudden urgency hit him as though if he rushed to prepare, winter would come more quickly. And when winter came he’d be harder to find.

By the time he lit the fire and made coffee he’d repeated that No to himself several times, but kept coming back to the questions he wanted answered. He stared out the front window and watched the flood of silt-laden water stream by. Eddies and undertows, swirls of gray in the early light. Will there be answers in Seattle?

Pulled by the energy of sudden decision, he tugged his pack out from under his bed and tossed in a change of clothes and a few other things. He fed his dogs an extra large portion and made sure their water bowls were full. Tacking the standard “Use what you need, replace what you use” note to the front door he shouldered the light pack, pulled on a battered floppy-brimmed felt hat, and headed for his boat.

* * *

Alex was sweating by the time he reached the small round-ended trailer sagging into the side of the hill. Sal’s huskies let out enough howling to wake the dead, but no one came to the door so he knew she wasn’t home. He pulled out a scrap of paper from his pack and wrote a quick note, asking her to check on his dogs. Then he trudged back down the long hill toward the center of town.

The thud of his boots echoed along the boardwalk. The streets were quiet, the sharp gusts of wind stirring up dust devils as they whipped around the false fronts of clapboard buildings, sighing as grit scrubbed at wood and window. He nodded at a girl sweeping the entrance to one of the tourist traps. They’d be closing for the season in a few days. The town was reverting to its previous ownership. The tourists were gone. A pickup truck rumbled slowly by as Alex stepped into the street. He gave the driver a short salute, though he didn’t know his name. Everyone was a local now. He stopped in front of the Downtown Hotel, stared at the front entrance and sighed. He glanced down the street. The streets of Seattle will be nothing like this.

* * *

The flight out of Dawson was noisy so neither man made much attempt to talk at first. Alex peered out the window, catching glimpses of the spectacular Yukon scenery through flat-topped clouds. He’d flown over it a few times in small planes and helicopters, canoed its rivers and tramped over some of its mountains, but it never ceased to make him catch his breath. The most beautiful place on earth. A good place to get lost in. A good place to hide.

But now I’ve been found. His stomach flipped and twisted into sudden panic. This was a mistake. It’s too risky. I’ll get off in Whitehorse and tell Bronsky I’ve changed my mind. But then the what-ifs filled his head again, and he wondered if at least some facts and figures might be found—facts and figures that might answer the questions he’d asked all his life. Are my parents really dead? Or did they abandon me? What were they like? Where were they from? Where am I from? Where do I belong? He let out a sigh that was almost a groan. Letting his mind wander in that direction made him feel adrift with no way to anchor himself. But now, maybe…. Alex felt his pulse quicken. Do I really want to know? What if the answers only give me more nightmares? More questions?

He thought about the money. One million dollars. What would it be like to go out and buy anything I wanted? Anything at all? Alex sighed. There wasn’t really anything he wanted that badly. A new boat and motor, maybe.

A tap on his arm made him jerk. He turned to see George holding out a package of gum. Alex popped one out and nodded his thanks.

“Beautiful country!” the lawyer yelled.

Alex nodded again.

“Good fishing, I bet!”

“The best.” Alex started to turn away.

“I’d like to come back some time!”

Yeah, with an R.V. and all the conveniences of home. The territory flooded with tourists each summer. Alex avoided them as much as possible.

But Bronsky surprised him. He pointed to the rugged landscape below, the wide ribbon of the Yukon River snaking through it. “Any whitewater on that river?”

Alex shook his head. “Not much, but there are others.”

“Ever done any whitewater rafting?” Bronsky asked.

Alex shook his head again. “Too much money!” he shouted.

Bronsky grinned at him. “Not anymore!”

Alex shrugged and turned back to the window. His chest felt tight and he shifted in an attempt to relieve it. Not anymore. He closed his eyes against images that swirled up like the stench from a rotting carcass. Those were some of the last words his foster father said to him as they waited for the cops to come and take him away. “Time for a dose of reality, kid,” he’d said as he held him down. “No more soft touch. Not anymore.” He remembered the man’s scheming look, remembered how he’d suddenly released his grip. “Or…you could run….”

And those small dark eyes, pleading.

He rubbed at the pain in his temple, then laid his hand over the long scar on his neck.

Soft touch. Right. No more back-handed blows or belts that snapped like a whip. No more nights when he lay rigid, hoping, even praying, that the man’s footsteps wouldn’t stop at his bedroom door. It was a huge relief to be out of that house, even though it meant living on the streets, eating out of dumpsters, running scared every time a police cruiser drove by.

He opened his eyes and scanned the landscape again. It looked dark, the thick growth of spruce, birch, and poplar flowing over hills, encroaching on mountainsides, and crowding down to the edges of rivers. The memories crowded him too, even here. Alex sighed. Just when I was getting used to being a hermit and now they’re telling me I’m a rich man. Maybe. What if I get all the way to Seattle and find out they’ve got the wrong guy after all? What if I end up in a jail cell instead? That’d be typical—another one of God’s cruel jokes. I’ve been the brunt of enough of those. Pastor T said that God doesn’t play those kinds of games, but I know better. Experience had taught him better. He glanced sideways at the lawyer. Something about the man kind of reminded him of the pastor who’d tried to help him long ago. He slouched into the seat again. And how would I get back? He had enough in the bank to make it through the winter, if he was careful, but that didn’t include a plane ticket from Seattle to Whitehorse. It’d be a long way to hitchhike. He began to seriously regret getting on the plane.

They touched down at the airport in Whitehorse and took a taxi into town. On the way Alex voiced his concerns. “What if this is all a mistake? How do I get back?”

Bronsky smiled. “My firm will take care of you. Don’t worry.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Alex mumbled.

Bronksy peered at him. “I’m hungry. Know a good place to eat in this town?”

“You like pizza ‘n beer?”

“I’ll skip the beer, but pizza will work.”

They sat across from one another at a small table. The bar was crowded, the music loud. Bronsky pulled his tie off and slipped out of his suit jacket. He stretched and grinned at Alex. “Don’t tell my boss. He insists on the professional look, no matter where, no matter what. I think he’d send me to Timbuktu and insist I go in a suit and tie.”

Alex noticed the difference the lack of jacket and tie made. The lawyer looked even younger. Younger, and more friendly, though still way too trendy by Yukon standards. Bronsky stared at him for a moment, then extended his hand.

“Why don’t we start again, on…uh…more even ground? I’m George.”

Alex nodded once and shook hands. “Alex.”

George grinned. “It’s obvious you value your privacy, Alex.” He took a huge bite of pizza and seemed to swallow it whole. “But we have all night and a long flight south ahead of us. Tell me about yourself.”

Alex took a long gulp of cold beer. “Not much to tell. You already know I went into the system when I was three, then the Donnellys moved me to Vancouver. When they died in a car crash I was bounced through group homes for a while, then into foster care for the next eight years.”

George downed half his glass of soda. “Must’ve been rough.”

Alex peered over the crust of his pizza. “You want horror stories? I could tell a few.”

George took another bite and Alex decided to be sociable. “What about you? How long you been a lawyer?”

“Passed the bar two years ago.”

“How old are you?” Alex realized he’d blurted the words, but didn’t care enough to cover the social blunder.

“I’ll be thirty-five in a couple of months.”

“You don’t....”

“I know. I don’t look it. I think that’s why Mr. Adams hired me. He uses my baby face to his advantage.”

“Does it work?”

George raised his eyes to meet Alex’s. “I’m good at what I do.”

Alex had a hunch and voiced it. “Your father a lawyer?”

George laughed. “No. He’s a pastor. Been preaching in country churches all his life. Still does. Can’t figure why I chose to be a big city lawyer.” George swallowed. “But I know he’s proud of me.”

“How?”

“What?”

“That he’s proud. How do you know?”

“He keeps telling me.”

Alex blinked and took another gulp of his beer. He was studying the sheen on a large piece of pepperoni when George blurted out his own question.

“Are you good at what you do?”

“I’ve survived up here for five years.” Alex knew his tone was too defensive.

George looked around at the bar’s clientele. “I guess that does take some kind of...stamina.”

Alex snorted. Then gave a rough laugh. “You could call it that.”

George grinned back at him. “So what do you do to survive up here?”

Alex shrugged. “Whatever’s going. Fish some, when they allow it. Trapping brings in some through the winter. I work construction when I have to. Sometimes the gold mines.”

“So I take it you’re between jobs right now? That’s why you’re able to just take off?”

Alex nodded. “Just finished working with a Parks Canada crew, a renovation. Ended just in time to start getting ready for winter.” He pushed his empty glass around. “How long will this take, anyway? Freeze-up isn’t far off.”

George’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean you plan on going back out to that cabin, even with the inheritance?”

Alex glanced away. “Hadn’t thought about it, but yeah, probably. It’s where I live.”

“Maybe you’ll like Seattle.”

“Doubt it.”

“A rich man can go anywhere he likes.”

“I’m still not convinced you’ve got the right guy. If my parents were so rich, why didn’t they leave a will? Why weren’t there relatives to take in a little rich kid? Or at least a guardian or something?”

George shrugged. “Valid questions. Maybe you’ll find the answers in Seattle.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

George was about to respond when a lanky young woman screeched Alex’s name from a couple of tables away. Before he could turn around she’d thrown herself into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Hey, babe. Where ya bin?”

Alex grinned at the girl, then flashed a glance at George. “Workin’, Sal.”

Sal twisted around to peer at George. “Who’s this?”

George extended his hand across the table. “Name’s George Bronsky.”

Sal let go of Alex’s neck long enough to shake hands. “Sally. Call me Sal. So you guys in town for a good time or what?”

“Just a one-nighter. I left a note on your door. We’re leaving tomorrow for Seattle.”

“Seattle! What for?”

“Business. Can you check on my dogs? I left the boat at the usual spot.”

“Sure. No sweat. When ya comin’ back?”

“Quick. Gotta get my wood in.” Alex’s mouth twisted into a sideways grin. “Wanna help?”

Sal sat up straight and peered into Alex’s eyes. “You serious?”

“Sure. I’m tired of cookin’ for myself.”

Sal tossed her long hair. “Well, I can cook, dude, but you’d be doin’ half of it.”

Alex dumped her off his lap. “What kind of arrangement is that? A man comes home after a hard day’s work and you tell him to cook his own supper? No way.”

Sal shook her head, her hands on her hips. “Guess we just wouldn’t make it then, Alex. Too bad. You’re kinda good lookin’, ya know.”

Alex smirked. Shaking his head he grinned at George. “The Yukon—where men are men—and the women are too!”

Sal slapped his arm and Alex chuckled. He looked up at her. “What’s up tonight?”

“I’m headin’ over to Melanie’s pretty quick. Heard there’s a kegger goin’ on. Why dontcha come?”

Alex glanced at George, then winked at her. “Sure. We’ll show George here some real Yukon hospitality.”

George was shaking his head. “I…uh, I still have to try and arrange your flight. Then I think I’ll call it a night.”

Alex’s smirk widened as he stood up. “Somehow I figured you’d say that.”