Ghost Hope (The PSS Chronicles book 4), Page 3

No, silly. Kaylee mind-spoke to me. It’s a cube, not an artifact. It came out of the boy without PSS. You know, Olivia’s friend—the one who visited the dome with her.

  “This is from the dome?” I grabbed it out of her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I thought you knew, she said defensively. You were there when she pulled it out of him and used it to amplify her stone.

  “You mean when she blew us all to hell?” Back at the dome, with Dr. Fineman screaming in my face that he’d killed my sister, I hadn’t exactly been paying attention to what anyone else was doing. I knew there had been an embrace between Olivia and the guy she was with, and then she’d had something in her hands. A moment after that, everything had been sucked into a tunnel of darkness, including me, and I’d woken up in the middle of the desert with Kaylee bending over me. “This is what obliterated the compound?” I held the cube out, barely stopping myself from flinging it away. “What about the other one? The one we didn’t buy. That was from the dome too?”

  Of course. Kaylee said. I thought you didn’t want it because Olivia pulled it from the doctor and you hate him.

  The other cube had come from inside the man who’d killed Danielle.

  “If we had the other one, could you feel where the doctor was, just like you can feel the boy with this one? Could it lead us to him?”

  Yes, Kaylee said, sounding puzzled. But why would we want to find him? We just got away.

  To kill him, of course. To end the man who’d killed my sister. Thankfully, Kaylee could speak into minds, but she couldn’t read them. She couldn’t sense the gut-wrenching, soul-ripping hate I felt for Dr. Julian Fineman. But I couldn’t just run off after him. I had Kaylee to think of now, and the last thing I wanted was to lead her right back into his clutches. Maybe there was a way to protect her and get my revenge. But for that, I’d need the other cube to trace the doctor. “You’re right,” I said, composing my words carefully. “We did get away. But I think these cubes are important. Don’t you?”

  Yes, she said, eyeing me. They’re important to Olivia. That’s why I wanted both of them, but you said no.

  “And I was wrong,” I admitted. “I should have listened to you. Reiny might know the guy who was selling them. Maybe we can still get the other one.”

  Good idea, Kaylee said, taking the cube back and sticking it in her sweater pocket just as the door opened behind us and Reiny called out, “Time for lunch.”

  The BLTs Reiny had made smelled delicious. So did the apple pie she was baking in the oven. And Lonan returned from caring for the horses just as we sat down at the table. But after what Kaylee had told me about the cubes, I could barely eat. We had to get the other one before that old coot sold it to someone else.

  “Hey,” I said to Reiny, leaning back in my seat and trying to sound casual. “Did you see that guy we bought that cube from?”

  “Nope,” she said. “We were swamped at the corn booth, so I didn’t notice. Why?”

  “There was another cube,” I explained. “Kaylee really wanted the set, but I was worried about money. But now that I know I’m a millionaire, I thought maybe I could get her the other one.”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet of you,” Reiny cooed.

  “What did he look like?” Lonan asked. “I’m pretty familiar with all the vendors. I used to help them set up when I was a kid.”

  “He was older and native, with long hair,” I said.

  “You’ve just described every person in the village,” Reiny said, laughing.

  “What did he have at his booth?” Lonan tried again.

  “Lots of random metal made into weird sculptures. They were car parts mostly, I think.”

  “That would be Gordon Lightfoot,” Lonan said, glancing at Reiny. It was subtle and quick, but I didn’t miss the look that passed between them. “He’s named after the Canadian folksinger.”

  “Never heard of him,” I said. “So, does this guy live on the reservation? Because I was thinking I could walk over and see if he’d sell me the other cube.”

  “Well,” Reiny said, “it just so happens that Gordon’s partner, Mia, is the tribe registrar. She should be able to provide you with an official birth certificate, so if you’re going over there you could kill two birds with one stone. They live on the other side of the rez, and I have to work tonight, but Lonan could ride over with you.”

  “I promised I’d haul some firewood up to the lodge this afternoon,” Lonan said. “But we could go right after dinner.”

  “That would be great,” I said, just as Kaylee began tugging at my sleeve.

  “Yeah, yeah, of course you can come,” I told her. She loved the horses, and they loved her, and she’d been begging Lonan for a night ride for days.

  3

  OLIVIA

  “If you think, for a minute, I’m going to let you out of my sight again,” my mother said, clamping her lips into a firm, thin line, “then you are sorely mistaken.”

  “Mom, come on, it’s just a little road trip. I’ll get to see some scenery. It will be therapeutic.” That was my cover story: that the hackers had invited me on a scenic drive up the Columbia River Gorge. But I’d known it was weak, and everyone had been so upset about Mike leaving in the middle of the night, I’d put off broaching the subject until now, at dinner. And it wasn’t going well, even though it wasn’t completely a lie. We did have to drive up the Gorge to get to the Umatilla Chemical Depot, and I would no doubt see some scenery along the way. I hated lying to my mom, but her reaction was exactly why I had to. She would never let me go if she knew what the hackers were really up to.

  “No,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Absolutely not.”

  “I can’t hide in this house forever.” I tried to reason with her while simultaneously looking around the table for support from Grant, Passion, and Samantha. I’d hoped their presence might make my mom more receptive. “Sooner or later you’re going to have to let me start doing normal things like going outside and driving around. Otherwise, the CAMFers have won, and I’ve just exchanged one cell for another.”

  I was working her hard, pulling out the “they’ve won” argument, and I knew it.

  “It’s too soon,” she said, her eyes pleading with me. “You have no idea what it was like not knowing where you were or if you’d ever come back, wondering if you were even alive. Don’t ask me to do this. Not yet.” Her begging nearly broke my resolve. Her hair was growing back into a pale, gray spike that made her look like a surprised hedgehog. She’d shaved her head after I’d left last time, like someone dying of cancer. I didn’t want to hurt her again. I didn’t want to lie to her. We’d promised not to fight anymore. We’d promised to hear one another out and be reasonable. But if she wouldn’t even let me out of her sight, what was I supposed to do? How could I be honest with her and still live my life?

  “Mike obviously thought it was safe enough to leave the house,” Grant said, trying to help.

  “Yes,” Samantha jumped in. “Olivia, what did Palmer say before he left? He must have had some plan for what we should do while he’s gone.”

  “He didn’t tell me anything specific,” I said. I certainly wasn’t going to recount Mike’s ramblings about people looking to me for guidance. That was Samantha’s thing, though I’d heard her say more than once that she’d led people to the slaughter at the Eidolon and didn’t deserve to lead anyone ever again. I suppose I wasn’t the only one in the house suffering from PTSD.

  “Listen.” I turned back to my mom. “All I want to do is get out of this house for a little while. That’s it. Chase and T-dog have promised we’ll be back by tomorrow evening.” They hadn’t, but surely we would be.

  Compassion and fear battled in my mother eyes.

  “Mom,” I pleaded, “It’s just one night and one day. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” she exhaled, her face softening and a calmness settling over her. “You can go.”

  “Really?” I couldn’t believe she was caving so eas
ily.

  “It’s such a good idea, in fact”—she nodded—“that I think we should all go. You kids have had it rough, and I’ve never seen the Gorge myself. I can rent a van, and we can even stay more than one night. Who’s up for a road trip?” she asked enthusiastically.

  “No, that’s not—I’m not sure that would be cool,” I scrambled. “I mean it’s the hacker’s trip and I was just tagging along for the ride.”

  “Well, that’s the only way you’re going,” my mom said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Take it or leave it. And I’m sure they won’t mind. They seem like nice boys.” She didn’t mean it. What she really meant was, “They seem like derelict potheads I would never let my daughter ride in a vehicle with.”

  “Yeah, but can we afford this?” I asked. “A rental car and a motel for all five of us is going to be expensive.”

  “I think we can manage,” she said. “I still have some funds from my private practice.”

  “No, really, you guys don’t have to come.” I looked around the table at my friends, hoping one of them would rescue me from this disaster.

  “Are you kidding? I love road trips,” Grant said, smiling at me with a glint in his eyes.

  “Me too,” Passion chimed in. “What time are we leaving?”

  “Well, the plan was to leave at 9:00 tonight,” I stammered, glancing at the clock in the kitchen. It was already 6:25. Surely my mom couldn’t arrange a rental van in less than three hours. She never went anywhere without planning weeks ahead and confirming multiple times. The Sophie Black I knew didn’t have a spontaneous bone in her body. There was no way she was going to pull this off. She had to be bluffing. Maybe she thought if she threatened to come, I’d back down. Well, I would call that bluff.

  “So, I guess we’d better get packing,” I said, getting up and putting my dishes in the sink.

  To this day, I don’t know how she did it, but two and a half hours later, at 8:55 sharp, my mother was parked outside the Burnside house in a rental van.

  While Grant, Passion, and Samantha loaded our luggage into the back, I stepped away to intercept Chase and T-dog at the curb next to their beat-up VW Westfalia.

  “Hey,” I said, cringing a little and gesturing at the rental van behind us. “Sorry about this, but my mom wouldn’t let me come without an entire entourage. She’s a little overprotective at the moment.”

  “Um, okay,” Chase said, pulling the door to the Westfalia open. From the outside, it appeared to be your typical hippie camper, but the inside was like something out of a techno-thriller. There were computers and various pieces of electronic equipment covering every nook and cranny. The interior of the pop-up housed some kind of satellite array. “So, you told the rest of them about finding the compound?” he asked.

  “Not exactly,” I said softly, smiling and waving at my mother. “They think we’re driving up the Gorge for some sightseeing, but don’t worry. I’ll figure out how to tell them before we get to Umatilla.”

  “Okay,” Chase said, shrugging. “You’re the boss.”

  “No, I’m not,” I snapped. Why was everyone trying to make me the leader of everything? “I’m just—I’m your equal,” I said more gently. “We’re all just people.”

  “Right,” he said, glancing at T-Dog as they climbed into the Westfalia. “She’s just people like us, Tee.”

  “Nah,” T-Dog said, his eyes mocking me. “She’s special. We all know it. We have finally found The One.”

  “Very funny,” I growled. “This is not the Matrix. Just drive and try not to lose us.” I told them, marching back to the van and my mother.

  4

  DAVID MARCUS

  The firewood job went faster than Lonan expected, so we ate an early dinner, geared up the horses, and were on our way to Gordon and Mia’s before sunset. Even so, I was surprised we were visiting the old couple so late in the day, but I certainly wasn’t going to object because I really wanted that cube.

  A twenty-minute horseback ride later, across the dusky hills of the rez, and we came upon a giant junkyard. Burnt out and smashed cars were everywhere. There were rusted appliances stacked like totem poles and a giant sculpture made of hubcaps welded together. In one massive pile of metal, probably twenty feet high, a huge red backhoe jutted out, its shoveled arm seemingly frozen in the act of trying to unbury itself. It reminded me of a book I’d loved as a kid about Mike Mulligan and his steam shovel, Mary Ann. But this Mary Ann hadn’t made it out alive.

  “Hold it right there,” a gruff voice called, and a short knight in bizarre piecemeal armor stepped out from behind the mountain of metal, wielding a flaming blowtorch. The knight raised a gloved hand, pushing up a faceguard and revealing a middle-aged, but still beautiful, native woman.

  “Hey, Mia,” Lonan greeted her. “I brought some visitors.”

  “You know we hate visitors,” she replied, teasingly, dialing down her blowtorch.

  “They bought something from Gordon at the bazaar today and were hoping to buy another one. Plus, David here,”—he gestured at me—“was born on the rez and needs a birth certificate.”

  “You bought one of my sculptures from Gordon?” she asked, her face suddenly beaming at us. “Which one?”

  “No, not a sculpture,” I clarified. “A metal cube. He said he found it in the desert.”

  “Oh.” Her face fell. “Of course. I spend hours and days creating unique hand-crafted art, and all that old man has to do is go out in the desert and pick up junk and it sells. Such is the life of an artist, I guess. Anyway, he’s around back in his studio.”She gestured toward the far side of Trash Mountain. “I’m in the middle of something, but when I’m done I’ll come inside and put on my registrar hat.” She knocked her faceguard back down and her blowtorch flared to life as she turned away from us.

  “Come on,” Lonan said, getting off his horse. “We’ll walk them from here. They get skittish in close quarters like this.”

  Kaylee and I got down and followed him, leading the horses through a labyrinth of debris to a tiny house with a shack hanging off the back of it like a tumor.

  We tied the horses to the porch rail and Lonan pointed at the door of the shack. “That’s his studio.”

  “If he just collects junk, what’s the studio for?” I asked, staring at the door.

  “He’s also a painter,” Lonan said.

  The way he said it was strangely weighted, as if the word “painter” carried some deeper significance. And then I remembered the look he and Reiny had exchanged at lunch when they’d first mentioned Gordon.

  “A painter,” I echoed, thinking of the mural at Kah-Nee-Tah Resort. The painting that resembled me titled Ghost Heart. “You mean the painter?” I stared at Lonan, the pieces finally falling together. “Gordon painted the mural?”

  “Yes.” Lonan nodded.

  “Okay, now I really want to talk to him,” I said, charging up to the shack door and rapping on it with my fist.

  As it opened, I could feel Kaylee come up behind me.

  “What do you want?” Gordon demanded, standing in the doorway of a softly lit painting studio. There was paint on his face and in his hair, and he was holding a wet red brush in his hands.

  “I—we came to buy the other cube,” I said, gesturing at Kaylee. “She wants the set.”

  “Do you now?” He scrutinized us. Behind him, I could see portraits covering the walls, amazingly done, brightly colored portraits in a similar style to the mural, but more refined. And on the easel in the corner, where’d he’d just been working, was the beginning of a new one of a small girl in a rainbow-hued sweater-coat, her glowing face peeking out from the hood. He was painting Kaylee.

  “Let’s cut to the chase,” I said, more desperate than I realized. “That mural you painted at the lodge—it looks like me.” This was not the way to get what I wanted. The direct approach never worked. If you wanted something you had to be sneaky about it, but I just couldn’t seem to help myself. “But I’ve never met you. At lea
st, I don’t think I have.”

  “We’ve never met, not until today,” Gordon said, turning to put his brush in a jar full of clear liquid before turning back to me. “At least not in the flesh.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means you should learn some respect for your elders and the spirits of your ancestors,” Gordon Lightfoot snapped. “Your grandparents would be grieved their grandson has turned into such a chooch.”

  A chooch? I had no idea what that meant, but it obviously wasn’t good. “So, you knew my grandparents,” I said, an anger growing in me. “Big deal. They’re dead, and my parents with them. My ancestors didn’t stick around long enough to teach me anything, and as for their spirits—”

  David, Kaylee’s voice whispered in my head, calm down. He isn’t our enemy, and we need his help. She held my hand, pulling me back from lunging at him.

  “No, listen. I’m sorry,” I said to Gordon, composing myself and squeezing Kaylee’s hand. “That was rude. I—it’s just—”

  “You want answers,” Gordon finished for me, his eyes suddenly gentler. “And you’re wrong about your ancestors. You have your grandmother’s fire and tenacity. Come into the house,” he said, stepping past me and Kaylee out into the junkyard.

  He led all three of us to the front door and into a cozy living room surrounding a small wood stove radiating warmth. There were pictures all over the walls, not paintings but photographs and articles and newspaper clippings, many of them in black and white. A few were framed, but most were just tacked or glued to the wall, their edges curling, their captions fading.

  Gordon invited us to sit, but Lonan said something about coyotes and needing to check the horses, and he quickly went back out. I sat in an old stuffed chair by the fire and Kaylee sat on the floor at my feet, watching the flames through the little woodstove’s window. Gordon went to wash the paint from his hands in the kitchen. When he came back, he crossed to one of the few framed color photos on the wall, a picture of a bunch of young people from the 70s or 80s trying to look cool, like they were posing for an album cover or something. He took the picture down and brought it over, handing it to me, then sat heavily in one of the two remaining chairs by the fire. “Recognize anyone?” he asked.