Remember Tuesday Morning Part 14

The wind had dropped off considerably, and Alex rolled down his window, welcoming the fresh air. No matter what his father wished, Alex didn't think he could embrace G.o.d again. But there was something about his dad's faith that pounded at him, pushed him, and made him uncomfortable in his own skin. The talk with Clay earlier tonight came back again. What was that Scripture he'd talked about? There was a way that seemed right for a man, but in the end it would lead only to death, right? Wasn't that it?

More than that, the main thing he remembered from Clay's talk was the part about evil, and how Christ never intended for people to rid the world of all bad things, but for people to deal with the evil inside themselves. Alex tried to breathe, but his chest felt tight. It reminded him of a time when he was doing the bench press at headquarters, running through a few sets alone, without a spotter. Something had him frustrated that day, a drug bust gone awry, maybe. Whatever it was, he piled too much weight on the bar and, as he lowered it, he knew he was in trouble. He was able to hold the bar just high enough off his chest to keep it from crushing him, but he couldn't move it, couldn't get out from beneath it without calling for help.

That's how he felt now.

In the weight room that day, Joe Reynolds must've heard him shout, because he ran in and together they got the bar up and back on the rack. But who could help him now? And what about the evil in his own heart? At first the idea had seemed insane - he was one of the good guys! - but now that he'd had some time to think about it, maybe Clay was right.

He wasn't all good on the inside. What about the way he'd treated his mother, barely calling her and writing her off because she'd remarried? In the back Bo yawned and shifted to a different position. Alex looked back at his dog. He'd treated Bo better than he'd treated the people in his life, so what else could that be but a show of evil?

A car drove past, but it didn't hesitate at the winding dirt road. Alex closed his eyes, and he could see Holly exactly as she looked that day at his house when he sent her away. Her long blonde hair and deep blue eyes, the way they clouded with pain when he told her it was over, that he couldn't love her and that she needed to move on without him.

He blinked and stared at the road again. It was too late for him to make it right with Holly. Too late for any of the buddies he'd left behind. But it wasn't too late for his mother. The phone calls they shared always came from her, and every time he made the conversation brief and strained, with short answers and a sense that he had something pressing he needed to get back to doing.

The piece of paper was still in his hand, and he studied it one more time. His father would've been appalled at the way he'd lost touch with everyone - but especially with his mom. Why hadn't he thought about that before? Again, the pressure built in his chest and he had the sudden feeling that the canyon walls around him were closing in, threatening to crush him.

He looked at the time on his iPhone. It wouldn't be quite five in the morning in New York City, but it no longer mattered. Alex couldn't wait another minute to tell his mom what he should've told her years ago. What he should've told her September 12, 2001.

He found her number and tapped it once. It connected immediately, and on the fourth ring - just when Alex was chiding himself for calling so early - she picked up. "h.e.l.lo?" her voice was frantic. "Alex? Is everything okay?"

"Yes, Mom, I'm fine." He pressed his fingers to his brow. He should've waited until morning. Any mother of a police officer would be terrified of a call at this hour.

"Alex ..." she let go a rush of air. "You scared me. It's five in the morning."

He wasn't sure where to start. "I owe you an apology."

"Son?" she hesitated, calmer now, still trying to catch her breath.

He sighed. "I don't know if I can put it into words." He would tell her the whole story someday, the next time they were together. He held his breath, pressing through the moment. "I ... I haven't been the same since Dad died, and ... well, I'm sorry. That's all. I just want you to know I'm sorry."

She must've been too surprised to speak because it took her several seconds to respond. "Alex, what ... what happened?"

"I don't know." He anch.o.r.ed his elbow on his open window and rested his head in his hand. "It's a long story." His eyes felt damp again. "I couldn't wait another hour to make this call." Alex waited, but there was silence on the other end. He thought maybe they'd lost connection, but then he heard the soft sound of sniffling over the phone line. "Mom ... don't be sad ... it's all my fault. I can't live like this anymore, pushing everyone away." He paused, his sorrow suffocating him. "Dad would've hated what I've become." He set the piece of paper on the seat beside him again and grabbed the steering wheel. "Can you forgive me?"

"Yes." She sniffed again, although clearly she was trying to hide the fact that she was crying. "I've prayed for this ever since you left."

Alex wasn't sure what to say to that, but something felt different in his heart, the same tenderness he'd felt for the crazy old lady with the imaginary soldiers in her backyard. This time the feeling was almost a welcome one. He squeezed his eyes shut to keep from crying. "I love you, Mom. I do."

"I love you too." Her voice cracked and she couldn't hide her tears.

"Okay, then." Alex's throat felt thick. "Go back to sleep. I'll call you later."

As the call ended, Alex sat back and inhaled fully. He could breathe again, and he took stock of the condition of his heart. On this windy Wednesday night, he had rid the world of one more bad guy, and he'd guarded a development and a neighborhood from the terrorist attacks of the REA. Okay, so what? He couldn't sit up here every night. Besides, the world was no different now than it had been when he woke up. There was no less evil around him.

But he'd told his mother he loved her, and as a result there was less evil inside him.

And that - more than any crime solving - would've truly made his dad proud.

TWENTY-THREE.

Owl felt sick to his stomach. Only one thing could explain his nervousness tonight - the same thing he'd been feeling for the past month. He was having second thoughts. He paced along the front window of the rented house at the base of the foothills. The winds had died down last night, but now it was just past midnight and they were back with a vengeance. The decision was made.

It was Thursday night and the winds were in full force, same as yesterday. But an hour ago the orders had been given by Leo. This was the night the Oak Canyon Estates was going down.

"Listen to this." Steve Simons adjusted his gla.s.ses and grabbed a piece of paper off the printer. People thought Steve was the leader among the three of them, but they were wrong. Leo was in control. All three-dozen members of the REA answered to him, and it was Leo who ran the show a few weeks ago when he and Steve masqueraded as brothers and cased Oak Canyon Estates the first time.

A single light reflected off Steve's bald head as he held up the printed doc.u.ment. "We're leaving this at the guard station. If it survives the fire, great. If not, we'll send a copy to the paper." He sat on the edge of the table at the center of the living room. None of them lived here, but they spent more time here than anywhere else. The mission was that demanding.

"Hurry up." Leo was sunk into the sofa along the back wall. Owl tried not to cower. Sometimes he wasn't sure how he got mixed up with Steve and Leo. Somewhere along the way the ideals Owl prided himself in keeping had distorted so that property, possessions, even people took a lesser role than the environment. But at this point he was committed. He knew too much to back out, and Leo was just psycho enough to kill him if he tried.

Leo waved his hand at Steve. "We need to get on the road. The winds are perfect."

Steve stared at the paper. "We, the members of the REA, committed this act of civil disobedience fully aware of the damage it might exact. In doing so, we take a public stand against the wasteful practices of our society and the materialism that drives industries such as the luxury housing market. Hillsides are better off left alone, in the pristine condition that is their inherent and unerring right. Better to burn the blight of increasing gluttonous materialism now, than to allow it to encroach unchecked into the hills surrounding our city, where continued excess will add to global warming and the demise of our planet. We make a call to all people to reduce, recycle, and respond to the mandate of environmentalism. This is a global war. We stand by our decision. Officially, the REA."

"Perfect." Leo's voice was dry. He stood and slipped his hands into his pockets. "Let's go."

Owl was still looking at Steve, thinking about the letter. "You didn't mention natural resources ... you know, the limited natural resources and how the wasteful habits of overindulgent people are leading to a critical reduction in natural resources whenever "

"Shut up." Leo walked over to Owl and leaned in close. His breath reeked of stale onions and fresh Diet c.o.ke. He turned to Steve. "The letter's fine. We're out of here."

Owl didn't dare say anything else. After the whole Danny thing, he sort of hoped the guys would kick him out. He wasn't sure how else he could break ties with them now - when he knew so much. His hands shook as he headed for the door. Both Steven and Leo smelled a rat after the meeting with Danny - never mind that the guy said the right things. Leo even thought he might be a cop, of all things. Then there were those detectives sniffing around after the last fire. Owl shuddered and grabbed his bag. If he'd let a cop in on their activities, the guys would kill him and toss his body over a canyon somewhere. Leo, for sure, wouldn't have hesitated to take him out.

"Got everything?" Steve drilled a look at him. They'd been over this a number of times. It wasn't like this was the first fire they'd ever set. But it would definitely be the biggest. Especially with the winds like they were tonight.

Owl definitely wanted to throw up. He thought a moment. The kerosene was in the trunk. He had a dozen rags, six oversized barbecue lighters, and a map of the fire roads around the Oak Canyon Estates - in case they couldn't exit by the gravel road. He nodded at Steve. "Got it."

"What about the gun?" Steve looked at Leo.

"Do you have to ask?" Leo rolled his eyes. "I've got two. Now come on. A couple of our other guys are starting fires tonight. We want to be first."

Owl's teeth began to chatter. He clenched his jaw and made his way to the car before the others. In the beginning he agreed with everything the REA stood for. But now ... now they seemed a million miles from their goals of protecting the environment. Like the whole setting fires thing had become an obsession, not a means to an end. Owl took a spot in the backseat. Steve had traded in the green Honda after it was spotted at the last job. Police never got a read on his license plate, so there were no red flags when he made the trade. And with Steve's tech salary, he could afford to trade his car whenever he wanted. Now Steve had a Toyota Prius, a hybrid that could go from city to city on fumes. Owl settled in and tried to calm his pounding heart.

Maybe once they got up there he could take off on foot over the hill and down the canyon, find a footpath or some other way out. After all, he was the firesetter tonight. Steve and Leo would help place the kerosene rags and make sure they'd get the most destruction in the least amount of time on site. But he - Owl - would light the flame.

He wondered what his friends in college would think of him now? Save the earth ... stop global warming ... back then their ideals had been so altruistic, so crucial to the survival of the planet.

But now ...

Up in the front seat Leo was barking orders to Steve, who was behind the wheel, sweat glistening off his smooth head. "Turn off your lights twenty yards before the road turns up to the estates. You remember the place, right?"

"Of course."

"Yeah, but don't forget about the lights."

Owl had heard about Steve and Leo's visit here, how they'd pretended to be a couple of brothers and businessmen on their lunch breaks. Got the whole tour and everything. Now they knew exactly where they wanted to start the fires.

"We're almost there." Leo couldn't sit still. He looked at his watch. "Timing's perfect."

"The wind too."

Five minutes later, the two of them were still talking about the perfect conditions when they approached the gravel road. The main street was empty at this hour, so Steve slowed down and turned off his headlights.

"Don't miss the turn. Take it slow. We don't need any two-bit security guard hearing us at this point." Leo hissed the words. They were only half a minute up the dark hill when he let out a sharp, "Hey! What's that?"

"Looks like a guard station." Steve hovered over the steering wheel and peered into the windy black night. "When did they put up a guard station?"

"Doesn't matter." Leo pulled his gun from his pocket and c.o.c.ked the trigger. "Looks like a barrier's blocking the way on both sides."

Owl's heart raced. They weren't going to shoot someone, were they? He grabbed hold of the door handle. Maybe he could jump out when the car slowed down. Jump and run for it, because Steve and Leo were crazy if they were willing to shoot a security guard.

"What'ya want me to say?" Steve slowed the vehicle.

"Don't say anything! Drive straight through it."

"He'll call the police." Frustration laced Steve's voice. "We'll be arrested before we light the first fire."

"You drive. I'll take care of it."

Owl's heart beat harder, faster. They never should've brought a gun. He bit at the cuticle on his thumb and waited, looking for his chance. If Leo shot someone, they could all go to prison for a very long time. He sank back in his seat, his eyes wide.

"There's a guard." Steve wasn't slowing down. "You still want me to drive through the barrier?"

"Do it. Gun it!"

Steve did as he was told, pushing the hybrid as best he could. Just as they were about to drive through the gate, the guard stepped out to stop them. Steve almost hit him, but at the last second he swerved and took out the bar instead. The guard had a gun, but before he could fire it, Leo leaned across Steve and clicked off three quick shots.

In the craziness of the moment, Owl forgot to jump. He sat in the back, slack-jawed and stunned. What had just happened? He didn't want to turn around and look, but he had no choice. He had to know if the bullets had hit their mark.

Up front Steve was shouting, "What'd you do that for? Did you hit him?"

"Who cares?" Leo pointed the gun straight ahead. "Let's get this thing burning."

That's when Owl turned, just a quick look over his left shoulder. The road ahead was curving, but in the shadowy light from the guard station he saw a body lying facedown on the ground. Owl felt his heart skip a few beats and then slip into a wild and crazy rhythm. Leo was insane. There was nothing in the REA guidelines that said anything about killing people. Civil disobedience, yes. Arson and vandalism, yes. But murder? His upper lip began to twitch, and he looked at the bag of rags and lighters on the floorboard.

They were going to get caught. He could feel it.

Holly hadn't worked this late in a month, but there had been a burst of activity lately. Mortgage rates had fallen, and more people must've felt confident about the economy. Whatever the reason, she had a mountain of paperwork ahead of her and back-to-back meetings tomorrow. Better to get the extra work done on a Thursday night than let it spill into the weekend. She narrowed her eyes and fought back a yawn. Ron had offered to stay and help, to take care of his own paperwork here with her.

But then his father had experienced chest pains - something that had happened twice in the last week. Ron decided it was better to take him to the emergency room and have him checked. Just in case it was something serious. Dave was worried sick about the threat of arson, and the people who might get hurt if a blaze was set.

Holly didn't blame him, but she figured if the members of the REA were going to hit Oak Canyon Estates they would've done so already. The group had certainly had its chances. For two weeks straight, Holly had avoided working here alone, but with the guard in place, she felt safer than ever before. Tonight - even with the wind - the development felt like an oasis above the Valley floor - safe and serene. The wind howled outside, rattling the windows and beating against the walls, but the forecast was for the winds to die down before morning.

Holly focused on her paperwork. The music playing from her iPod speakers was a country list, and Holly sang along to something by Carrie Underwood. The lyrics reminded her that things weren't going well with Ron. He'd cooled his advances toward her, and she hadn't really minded.

Her mother thought the two of them were being ridiculous. "It's like I told you, Holly. You have to work at love. That means two busy people need to take time from their schedules to date and talk and be together."

Holly still hadn't been able to explain to her mother that a person could only work so hard to find sparks. If they weren't there, they weren't Suddenly, from somewhere nearby came three loud, sharp pops - like the sound of gunfire. Holly turned down the music and sat perfectly still. She wasn't sure, but it sounded like a car was coming up the road. She glanced at the clock near the top of the computer screen. Two thirty-five. Who would be coming up the road at this hour, and what were those noises?

She picked up her radio, the one that connected her to the guard at the gate. She pressed down the speaker b.u.t.ton. "Michael, come in ... this is Holly in the office, come in."

Static sounded on the other end, but nothing else.

"Michael, this is Holly. I heard something, and I need to know what it was." Fear raised the pitch of her voice and she fought back a wave of panic. "Come in, please."

Again there was no answer, but just then she definitely heard the sound of a car. Much closer than before. She stood quickly, rushed to the other side of the office, and flipped off the light switch. Whoever it was, she didn't want them to see her in here alone. The rest of the lights in the house were already off. Without wasting a single second, she hurried across the dark office to the phone and s.n.a.t.c.hed the receiver. Her eyes still glued to the top of the gravel road, she dialed 9-1-1.

In a frantic voice, she told the operator who she was, where she worked, and that she was up at the model house in Oak Canyon Estates by herself. "I think I heard gunshots, and now someone's driving up the private road. It sounds like they're coming very fast."

The operator promised to dispatch a deputy. "Stay put, and call back if anything else happens."

As soon as Holly hung up, the car came into view. It peeled up the hill and onto the paved street. Without hesitating, the car made a sharp right turn and sped toward the far end of the street.

Holly's heart was pounding, and her mouth was dry. She hadn't been able to make out the model or color of the car, let alone a license plate. But what could the people in the car be up to? And why wasn't Michael answering at the gate? Michael should've stopped them, and if he'd run into trouble, he should've called 9-1-1. So what was happening? A gust of wind blew against the house. Were the threats coming to fruition? Were the people in the car about to set fire to the development?

She dialed 9-1-1 again, and this time she spoke in a terrified whisper. "Someone's come up the hill, driving very fast. I can't reach the guard station. I think something very bad is about to happen."

Not until after she hung up did she smell something strange wafting in through the one open window. It wasn't a construction smell - roofing tar or paint or carpet. Rather, this was a smell that paralyzed her with fear.

It was the smell of kerosene.

TWENTY-FOUR.

Linda Brady couldn't sleep. Yesterday around this time, Alex had called her to apologize. The best she could make of his call was that G.o.d had been working on his heart. He didn't mention the Lord or what had driven him to call her number in the wee hours of the morning, but in his voice she heard a remorse that hadn't been there since before the terrorist attacks.

G.o.d must be answering her prayers.

Now she should've been sound asleep. Alex hadn't called again, and no real reason remained for her to be up alone, wandering through the living room looking at old photographs. Her husband Lee was asleep in their bedroom, and already her restlessness had woken him once. He was concerned for her, aware of the situation with Alex, the way that only now after seven years he was finally showing signs of returning to the young man he'd once been.

"Everything okay?" he'd asked her an hour ago. He sat up in bed, half awake, his forehead creased with worry.

"Fine." She smiled at him, grateful for him. "I can't sleep. I'll be out in the living room."

Since then she'd read the Bible and straightened the office. The sun would be up soon, but still she couldn't sleep. She looked over the framed pictures that sat on various shelves and hung on the wall in the living room - photos that reminded her of the old days, pictures that kept her company when Lee was at work and she wanted to reminisce.

Alex as an eight-year-old at work with Ben, both of them wearing the FDNY helmets and sitting in the front seat of a fire truck. A family portrait of the three of them when Alex was fifteen. Ben and Alex fishing in the Adirondacks when he was three years old, and another one when Alex was a high school soph.o.m.ore. Lee didn't mind the photos. He had a past too, a wife who'd been killed in a car accident the summer after the terrorist attacks. Photos were an important part of the healing process, he'd told her.

So the pictures remained.