On Mystic Lake Part 10

He read the book in a soft, singsong voice, and then gently placed it back on the bedside table. "Goodnight, Izzy-bear," he whispered, placing a last kiss on her forehead.

Back downstairs, he went to the kitchen and poured himself a stiff drink. He kicked open the front door and slumped onto a chair on the porch.

It came to him then, as he'd known it would. He could recall suddenly how it had smelled at the Weaver house, of bacon and Lysol, and how a thin strip of linoleum had been peeling up from the edge of the kitchen floor. He remembered the bruise on Sally's cheek, how it had been spreading already, seeping like a spot of blood through a bit of tissue paper.

Once, long ago, he had believed he could rescue people like Sally. He'd thought that when he put on his uniform, he would be invincible. G.o.d, he'd been such an idiot, believing in the words that meant so little today: honor, respect, justice. He'd actually thought that he could save people who had no desire to be saved.

But life had taught him a lot. Between his job and Kathy, his idealism had been hacked away, bit by bit, until now there was nothing left but rusted sc.r.a.ps. Without it, he didn't know who he was.

He took a long drink and leaned back in the chair, looking up at the night sky. He was startled for a moment to realize that outside, everything was still as it should be. The lake still glittered in the moonlight. Night still fell softly across the mountaintops and through the forests. Soon, dawn would come, chasing darkness to distant corners of the globe.

Once, he'd watched such things with wonder. He'd thought in those days that his needs were simple and easily met. He'd wanted only his family, his job, his home. He'd imagined that he would grow old in this house, sitting in this chair on his porch, watching his children grow up and move on. He'd thought then that age would pull the black from his hair, and that it would take years. He hadn't known then that grief and guilt could age a man and turn his hair silver in the span of a single season.

He drank until his head began to spin, until his vision blurred. The empty bottle slipped through his numb fingers and rolled away, clattering down the steps one by one to land silently in the gra.s.s.

The next morning, Izzy woke to the sound of her mommy's voice. She kicked the covers away and sat up, blinking. Mommy? Mommy?

At first, all she could hear was the rain. In the old days-before the bad thing-she'd loved that sound, the way it rattled on the roof. She looked out the window, disappointed to see nothing out there but pink and yellow sunlight. No rain.

Mommy?

There was no answer, just the creaking sound of the house. Izzy slipped on her favorite bunny slippers and crept out of her bedroom. She moved silently down the stairs, hoping not to wake her daddy. He was asleep on the couch, with one arm flung across the coffee table and his bare feet sticking out from the end of his blue blanket.

She tiptoed past him, her heart thudding in her chest as she eased the front door open and closed it silently behind her. She stood on the porch, looking out. A pink mist floated across the lake. Mommy? Mommy?

She walked through the gra.s.s, to the edge of the lake. She squeezed her eyes shut and pictured her mommy. When she opened her eyes, her mommy was there, standing in the middle of the water, too far away for Izzy's hands to reach.

Mommy didn't seem to move, but all at once, she was beside Izzy, so close that Izzy could smell her perfume.

It's okay now, Izzy. Her mom's voice mingled with the breeze. Somewhere, a bird squawked and flew up from the brush, flapping its wings as it rose into the sky. Her mom's voice mingled with the breeze. Somewhere, a bird squawked and flew up from the brush, flapping its wings as it rose into the sky.

It started to rain for real, a slow pattering shower that kissed Izzy's hair and fell on her lips. She saw that the rain was tinted, a million rainbow-hued flecks landing on the surface of the lake. But on the other side of the water, it wasn't raining.

It's okay now, Mommy said again. Mommy said again. I have to go. I have to go.

Izzy panicked. It felt as if she were losing her mommy all over again. Don't go, Mommy. I'm disappearin'as fast as I can. as I can.

But her mommy was already gone. The multicolored rain stopped falling and the mist went away.

Izzy waited and waited, but nothing happened. Finally, she went back into the house. Crossing the living room, she wandered into the kitchen and started making herself breakfast. She got out the Frosted Flakes and the milk all by herself.

In the other room, she heard her daddy wake up. She'd seen it a bunch of times, and it was always worse when he fell asleep in the living room. First he'd sit up on the sofa, then he'd grab his head and make a little moaning sound. When he stood up, he always. .h.i.t his shin on the coffee table and yelled a bad word. Today was no different.

"s.h.i.t!"

Izzy hurried to put the pink tablecloth on the table-the one her mommy always used for breakfast. She wanted her daddy to notice how smart she was, how grown up. Maybe then he'd finally look at her, touch her . . . maybe he'd even say, Heya, Sunshine, how did you sleep? Heya, Sunshine, how did you sleep? That's what he used to say in the mornings, and if he talked to her, maybe she could find her own voice, answer, I'm fine, Daddy-O, and make him laugh again. She missed hearing him laugh. That's what he used to say in the mornings, and if he talked to her, maybe she could find her own voice, answer, I'm fine, Daddy-O, and make him laugh again. She missed hearing him laugh.

That's all she really wanted. She had given up on lots of the other things that used to matter. She didn't care if he told her he loved her. She didn't care if he kissed her good night on the forehead, or took her on picnics, or twirled her around in his big, strong arms until she squealed. She just wanted him to look at her the way he used to, as if she were the most important person in the world.

Now, he hardly ever looked at her. Sometimes, he looked away so fast, she'd get scared and think she had finally disappeared. But it was never true; she was always there, most of her anyway, except her hand and a few fingers. He just didn't like to look at her anymore.

He stumbled into the kitchen and came to an unsteady stop. "Izzy. What are you doing up?"

She blinked at him in surprise. You c'n do it, You c'n do it, she thought. Just answer him. I'm makin'you breakfast, Daddy. But the words tangled in her throat and disappeared. she thought. Just answer him. I'm makin'you breakfast, Daddy. But the words tangled in her throat and disappeared.

"Frosted Flakes," he said with a thin smile. "Annie will love that." He went to the refrigerator and poured himself a gla.s.s of orange juice.

He headed toward her. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought he was going to pat her shoulder and tell her she'd set the table real pretty. Or that she she looked pretty- just like she used to look, with her hair all braided. She even leaned slightly toward him. looked pretty- just like she used to look, with her hair all braided. She even leaned slightly toward him.

But he moved on past, and she had to squeeze back tears.

He looked at the table again. Not at her. "I don't have time for breakfast, Izzy-bear." He touched his forehead and closed his eyes.

She knew he had a headache again-the same one he'd had ever since Mommy went to heaven. It scared her, thinking about that. It always scared her to see how sick her daddy looked in the mornings. She wanted to tell him that she would try harder to be a good girl, that she'd stop disappearing and start talking, and eat her vegetables and everything.

Her daddy smiled-only it wasn't his real smile. It was the tired, shaky smile that belonged to the silver-haired daddy-the one who never looked at her. "Did you have a good time with Annie yesterday?"

Izzy tried and tried but she couldn't answer. She saw how her daddy looked at her, like he was gonna cry, and it made her ashamed of herself.

Finally, he sighed. "I'm gonna go take a shower. Annie should be here any minute."

He waited a second-as if she were going to answer- but she didn't. She couldn't. Instead, she just stood there, holding two bowls, and watched him walk away.

Later, long after he'd left for work, Izzy sat down on the sofa, her knees pressed together and Miss Jemmie asleep in her lap. Annie came bright and early and started cleaning the house again. All the time Annie was working, she talked to Izzy. She talked so much that sometimes Izzy couldn't listen to it all.

Izzy liked the way her house looked now, after Annie had finished cleaning it up.

It made her feel safe.

She closed her eyes, listening to the soothing sound of the broom. It made her think of her mommy, and all the times she'd sat by herself, looking at a book while her mommy cleaned the house.

Before she knew it, a sound had slipped from her mouth. It was a faint schk-schk schk-schk noise, the same sound that the broom was making on the floor. noise, the same sound that the broom was making on the floor.

Her eyes popped open. It shocked her to hear her own voice after all this time. Even if it wasn't words, it was Izzy. Izzy. She thought that part of her-the talking part-had dried up and disappeared, just like her hand and arm. She hadn't meant to stop talking, but one day after her doctor's appointment, she had opened her mouth to speak and nothing had come out. Nothing. She thought that part of her-the talking part-had dried up and disappeared, just like her hand and arm. She hadn't meant to stop talking, but one day after her doctor's appointment, she had opened her mouth to speak and nothing had come out. Nothing.

It had terrified her, especially when she realized that she couldn't change it. After that, everyone treated her like a baby and pretended she couldn't hear, either. It had made her cry, the way they all looked at her, but even her crying had been silent.

Annie was different. Annie didn't look at Izzy like she was a broken doll that belonged in the trash.

Annie looked at her the way her mommy and daddy used to.

Izzy smiled, and the sound kept coming, softly, barely louder than the sound of her own breathing. Schk-schk-schk. Schk-schk-schk.

Chapter 10.

The county courthouse had been built a hundred years ago, when Mystic had been a booming log town, when the inlets were swollen with miles of trees waiting to be piled onto locomotives and employment was always high. It was an imposing building of hand-cut gray stone, fronted by dozens of double-hung windows and placed squarely in the middle of a flat green lawn. Precisely trimmed rhododendrons and azaleas outlined the brick walkways. A Washington state flag fluttered in the spring breeze.

Nick stood on the courthouse steps, leaning back against one of the stone pillars that flanked the huge oak doors. He flipped through a slim notebook, reminding himself of the facts of an arrest that had taken place more than a month ago. Testifying was part of his job, but it wasn't something he liked to do-especially not in family court, where everything usually came down to broken families and lost souls.

Today it was Gina Piccolo. He'd known Gina since she was a little girl. He remembered her only a few years back, when she'd had the lead in the junior high production of Oklahoma! Oklahoma! She was a bright, sunny girl with jet-black hair and shining eyes. But in the past year, she'd gone more than a little wild. At fourteen, she'd fallen in with the wrong crowd, and she wasn't a bright-eyed girl anymore. She was a sullen, nasty, baggy-clothed young woman with a logger's mouth and a penchant for trouble. Her parents were out of their minds with worry-and it didn't help that she'd recently started dating a seventeen-year-old boy. Nothing her parents said seemed to make a difference. She was a bright, sunny girl with jet-black hair and shining eyes. But in the past year, she'd gone more than a little wild. At fourteen, she'd fallen in with the wrong crowd, and she wasn't a bright-eyed girl anymore. She was a sullen, nasty, baggy-clothed young woman with a logger's mouth and a penchant for trouble. Her parents were out of their minds with worry-and it didn't help that she'd recently started dating a seventeen-year-old boy. Nothing her parents said seemed to make a difference.

And so Nick was here, preparing to make a statement to the judge about Gina. He checked his watch. Court reconvened in ten minutes. He flipped through his notes again, but he found it difficult to concentrate.

It was a problem that had plagued him for the past four days-really ever since Annie Bourne had shown up in his life again.

Already Izzy was improving. She wasn't talking, of course, and she still believed she was disappearing, but Nick could see the changes. She was interacting, listening, smiling . . . and the reasons were obvious.

Annie was just so d.a.m.ned easy easy to be around. That was the problem-for Nick, anyway. Memories of their lovemaking were everywhere, and Annie fascinated him-the way she squinted when she smiled, the way she kept tucking nonexistent hair behind her ear, the way she shrugged helplessly when she screwed something up. to be around. That was the problem-for Nick, anyway. Memories of their lovemaking were everywhere, and Annie fascinated him-the way she squinted when she smiled, the way she kept tucking nonexistent hair behind her ear, the way she shrugged helplessly when she screwed something up.

Most of the time, he couldn't look at her; he was afraid that the wanting would show in his eyes.

With a sigh, he flipped his notebook closed and headed inside the courthouse toward courtroom six.

Gina was waiting by the door, wearing baggy black jeans and an oversized black sweatshirt that hung almost to her knees. Her once-black hair was streaked with pink and purple highlights, and a silver ring pierced her nose.

She saw him, and her eyes narrowed. "f.u.c.k you, Delacroix," she said. "You're here to tell them to put me away."

Where did they get all that anger? He sighed. "I'm here to tell Judge McKinley what happened on February twenty-sixth."

"Like you would know anything about that-or me. I was framed. That wasn't my c.o.ke."

"Someone put it in your pocket?"

"That's right."

"If that's the way you want to play it, Gina, fine. But honesty would be a smarter course."

She tapped her thigh nervously. "Yeah, like you would know about honesty. You cops make me sick."

"You're young, Gina-"

"Screw you."

"And like all young people, you think you're a pioneer, the first person ever to find the great undiscovered country. But I know you. I've been where you're going, and believe me, it isn't pretty."

"You don't know s.h.i.t about the real world. You're a cop . . . in Mystic Mystic." She pulled out a cigarette and lit up. Her gaze cut to the no-smoking sign behind her and she grinned, daring Nick to do something.

He saw the challenge in her eyes as she exhaled a stream of smoke. He c.o.c.ked his head toward the open doors. "Follow me."

Without looking back, he crossed the hall and went outside. He was mildly surprised to find that Gina had followed him. He sat down on the top step.

She sat cross-legged a few feet away. "Yeah? What?"

"When I was your age, I lived on the streets."

She snorted. "Uh-huh. And I'm one of the Spice Girls."

"My mom was an alcoholic who used to prost.i.tute herself for booze. It was a lovely life . . . normal for an addict with no formal education and no particular job skills. She dropped out of school at sixteen when she got pregnant with me. My old man dumped her pretty fast-and she didn't have anywhere to go after that."

Gina went very still. The cigarette sagged in her black-painted lips. "No way," she said, but this time there wasn't much conviction in her voice.

"We couldn't afford to pay rent-that's another thing addiction does. It takes your money, fast, then your will and your pride. Pretty soon you don't care that you live in an old Chevy Impala and that your son has no winter coat. All you care about is getting high or drunk. You'll sleep under a sheet of newspaper on a park bench and not even know you're freezing or that some time in the middle of the night you threw up all over yourself."

"You're trying to scare me."

"You're d.a.m.n right I am. The road you're on leads three places, Gina-to a park bench or a jail cell or a coffin. You think about it."

She slowly lifted her gaze to his. He could see that she was scared. For a split second, he thought she was going to reach out for help.

Come on, Gina, he thought. he thought. You can do it. You can do it. He pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. "Call me. Anytime." He pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. "Call me. Anytime."

"I-"

"Hey, Gino, what're you doin' talkin' to that jerk in blue?"

Gina drew back as if stung and lurched to her feet. The white business card fluttered to the gray stone steps at her feet. She turned and waved at the green-haired boy who was bounding up the courthouse steps. Chains jangled from his ears and pockets, and a thin silver hoop glittered in his eyebrow. He slipped an arm around Gina and pulled her close. Taking the cigarette from her mouth, he took a long drag and exhaled slowly. "You're here to send Gino to lockup, aren't you?"

Nick stared at the boy, Drew Doro. A bad seed who'd first come into contact with the law at age ten, when he'd burned down his family garage. Two years ago, his parents had quietly, and with broken hearts, given up on him. It was only a matter of time before this kid was doing time in Monroe. He was Gina's first boyfriend.

"I'm here to give the family court judge my opinion, Drew. That's all. It's not a trial." He glanced at Gina. "Not yet, anyway."

Gina took a step toward Nick. The uncertainty in her eyes reminded Nick that underneath all that black mascara and att.i.tude, she was still just a kid, scared and trying to find her way in a confusing world. "What are you gonna tell the judge?"

He wished he could lie to her right now, tell her what she wanted to hear. "I'm going to tell her that you present a threat to yourself and others. You left me no choice."

The uncertainty was replaced by a flash of pure hatred. "Screw you, Delacroix. It wasn't my c.o.ke."

Slowly, Nick stood. "If you need help, Gina . . . you know where to find me."

"Why in the h.e.l.l would she need your your help?" Drew laughed. "She's got tons of friends who really care about her. You're just a low-rent cop in this backwater dump of a town. All you're good for is getting cats outta trees. Come on, Gina." help?" Drew laughed. "She's got tons of friends who really care about her. You're just a low-rent cop in this backwater dump of a town. All you're good for is getting cats outta trees. Come on, Gina."

Nick watched them walk away. He hadn't expected Gina to listen to him. Hoped, perhaps-it was that uncontrollable surge of hope that had chewed viciously through his life. He couldn't seem to completely walk away from it.

He'd had the same talk with a dozen teens over the years and none of them ever listened. None of them ever changed. Most of them died young and violently and far away from the families who loved them.

Just once, he thought dully. It would be nice to actually protect and serve. Just once. he thought dully. It would be nice to actually protect and serve. Just once.

He saw Gina, loitering outside the front door, finishing her cigarette.

"You remember that park bench," he called out.

Gina's answer was an all-too-familiar hand gesture.