Shadow of the Storm Page 13

  Malachi stands dead center, his eyes fixed on some unseen point toward the ceiling, uttering words in a language I’ve never heard. His voice is clear and smooth, not too high or low, and his love of music is apparent.

  I have a feeling he’s not singing for the audience, but just for the pleasure of singing.

  A hush falls across the room as the music swells, and with it, Malachi’s voice. Having worked here for almost a week, I didn’t know it ever got this quiet in here during business hours, but something about the song demands silence.

  The tempo increases as he switches to English and I recognize this song.

  I can’t place it, but it’s definitely familiar.

  The song continues for another minute or two before ending. Silence ensues for a second before the room erupts in applause louder than any I’ve heard for the supposed professional acts on any other night.

  Malachi smiles, offers a small wave, then quickly exits the stage.

  I turn to Drew to find him staring at the empty stage. He shakes his head slowly. “Wow. I did not know he had that in him.”

  “Pretty impressive.” I wonder why he’s not using a talent like that. “So I know that song wasn’t in any karaoke mix. Where’d he get the music?”

  “Probably a custom blend. We let people bring in their own stuff.”

  Someone else takes the stage. A woman, this time. She’s not bad, but after hearing Malachi, she sounds a bit flat.

  Poor lady. I wouldn’t want to follow an act like that, even if I did have talent.

  Drew pushes up from his seat. “Looks like the bar’s getting busy. Nice talking to you, though. Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

  I nod. Drew’s pretty good company. And not pushy with the religious stuff at all.

  Placing my napkin across my lap, I dig into my dinner. Between Drew’s arrival and Malachi’s performance, I’d all but forgotten my grumbling stomach.

  The food has cooled slightly but is still warm.

  And delicious. BBQ chicken definitely moves toward the top of my favorites list.

  I finish my meal and settle up the check before heading for the bar area. Why, I’m not sure, but it seems a better option than going out into the cold again.

  One of the TVs in the bar is on and I catch the news.

  The cold streak is expected to continue for the foreseeable future. Great.

  Drama in politics, drama in the financial world, drama with criminals. Seems it’s not only my world that’s falling apart.

  “Hey, Stormy. How’s it going?” Zak approaches, smile on his face.

  I shrug. “Well, I woke up again this morning, so I guess it could be worse.”

  “True story.” He leans on the counter next to me. “Anything new?”

  I know it’s not just casual small-talk. “No dreams last night.”

  At least none that I remember.

  And that concerns me. What if my memories are drying up? Will I be stuck in this half-knowing state forever?

  “Your brain probably needed the night off.”

  That’s easy for him to say. He’s not relying upon those dreams to piece together his past.

  “Right. Because it’s doing all the heavy lifting right now.” Stupid brain can’t even remember simple details like a name.

  “I don’t know. It got you out of a pretty bad situation, didn’t it?” He glances around the bar to make sure everyone is doing okay before refocusing on me. “Cut yourself some slack, okay? Given everything that’s happened, you’re holding it together really well.”

  His casual tone, as well as the words themselves, calm me.

  He’s right. Sure, I’ve dreamed almost every night, but that kind of pace can’t continue forever, right? And I have remembered a lot.

  So what if it’s not everything?

  Aside from that, most people don’t even remember their dreams when they wake up. So in that sense, some might say I’ve been lucky to get as much as I have in the last week.

  “Well, can I get you something?”

  “A functioning mind?”

  “No problem. I think we keep those behind the bottles of scotch.”

  If only. “How about a rum and Coke?”

  He arches an eyebrow. “Branching out?”

  “Maybe it’ll spark something.”

  “Coming right up.” He moves down the bar, chatting with a patron while he begins mixing my drink.

  “This seat open?” A man’s voice, behind me.

  I’m about to tell him to bug off when I realize I recognize that voice. I turn to find Malachi standing a few feet away. “Sure.”

  Huh. I didn’t realize it was that late. But the empty restaurant behind him proves it’s later than I think.

  Then again, it was almost nine when I ordered my dinner.

  Sam is also heading our way. Looks like this area has become the unofficial hang-out for the Midnight Lounge employees. He plops onto the barstool next to Malachi.

  Zak delivers my drink and takes both Sam and Malachi’s orders, which are exactly the same as what they ordered last night. It appears they’re both creatures of habit. Which must be a lot easier when you know what you like, a luxury I don’t have.

  I sip my rum and Coke. Pretty good, but probably not a favorite. Well, that’s one more thing I know about myself now.

  Resting my elbow on the counter, I study Malachi. While he always seems to be in a good mood, tonight there’s an added joy about him. His smile seems a little bigger and his eyes practically glow. “That’s quite a talent you’ve got hidden there, Malachi.”

  “Dude, if I could sing like that, I sure wouldn’t be working here.” Sam’s eyes bug a little and he rushes on, “Not that it’s a bad place or anything. But there’s a heck of a lot more money in music when you’ve got a voice like yours.”

  Malachi shrugs. “I sing to glorify God, not for money or praise. That’s enough for me.”

  That doesn’t make sense. Maybe it’s my amnesia, but I think I’m missing something here. “How does singing glorify God?”

  “All talents come from God. When we use them well, it pleases Him.” He thanks Zak as Zak drops off the drinks, then focuses in on me again. “Think about it. A parent gives their child a toy. Don’t they find joy in watching the child use it? Doesn’t it bring the parent pleasure to see the child having fun with the gift they’ve been given? Why would God be any different?”

  I guess I never equated God with a parent.

  Or maybe I did at one point.

  I don’t know.

  Either way, what he’s saying makes sense.

  Sam shifts in his seat. “So, uh, have you done a lot of singing?”

  “Pretty much all my life. Music runs in the family.”

  “What language was that?” It wasn’t one I recognize, although I guess that doesn’t mean too much these days.

  “Aramaic.”

  “Seriously?” Sam eyes him. “Does anyone even speak that language?”

  “They sure used to. It was really common in Jesus’ day.”

  This guy takes his religion seriously if he’s memorized a song in his God’s language. I shake my head. “I can’t believe you know an Aramaic song.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Sure. They teach you that right after the ABCs.” I chuckle softly. “What’s the most interesting place you’ve sung?”

  Malachi turns back to me, a mysterious smile on his face. “The open countryside. Our audience was shepherds and livestock. It was magical.”

  Is he serious?

  He can’t possibly be. The use of the word magical should’ve been my first clue. What kind of guy says something like that?

  Sam evidently agrees since he shakes his head. “You are one weird dude.”

  Malachi grins. “Guilty as charged.”

  I survey the bar. It’s emptied out some, but there are still a number of occupied tables. Karaoke really does bring more people out.

  “Excuse me a m
inute.” Malachi slides off the stool, leaves his limeade behind, and crosses the bar. He stops next to a man sitting by himself at a table. After talking to him for a second, he slides out a chair and sits across from him.

  Hmmm. Someone he knows, perhaps?

  “How are you liking Reno?”

  I turn my attention to Sam. “Liking it?”

  “That first night, you said that you’d just moved here, right? Now that you’ve been here a while, how do you like it?”

  “It’s okay, I guess. I really haven’t seen much and I’m not a gambler, so it’s just another place.”

  “Well, it’s good to have you here. I mean, uh, working here, uh, we needed the help and, uh, you’re doing good.” He clamps his lips together. Red washes across his cheeks.

  Poor guy. I offer a smile. “Thanks.”

  Maybe now would be a good time to bring up his injuries again. “Sam. I don’t want to be pushy, but are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”

  He purses his lips and studies me for a second. Indecision is written in his eyes and in the lines crossing his forehead. “You can’t do anything. No one can.”

  At least he didn’t deny that something was wrong this time.

  Or go with the “pick a fight” story again.

  “Are you sure?” Who am I kidding? I can’t even help myself. What do I expect to do for him? “What about Drew? I know he’s always trying to help someone. Make that everyone. I told him he has a superhero complex.”

  Sam chuckles, but it sounds forced. “Yeah, that sounds like Drew.”

  “What sounds like me?” Drew flattens his palms on the counter between us.

  “Saving the world.” I wave my hands dismissively. “You know, just another day in the life of a hero.”

  “Blast. My secret’s out.” He places a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder. “How are you, my friend?”

  Sam shakes him off. “I’d be better if everyone would stop asking me that. I’m fine.”

  “It’s not a bad thing to have people who care about you.”

  Sam swallows hard. Moisture lingers in his eyes, which are striped with red. “I’m fine. I can handle it.”

  “There’s no shame in needing help sometimes.” Malachi’s soft voice speaks up behind us.

  I hadn’t even heard him approach, but his presence seems to deflate Sam. It might be the tone, or his manner, or maybe some special bond the two of them have formed. Whatever it is, I see Sam’s guard lowering like a shield. Not all the way, but more than it had with either me or Drew.

  “No shame, huh? When you’re twenty-three and still let your dad smack you–” He clamps his lips together.

  So. It is domestic violence.

  But involving a parent, not a partner.

  “Why don’t you leave?”

  A ragged breath rips from him. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not?” Drew focuses solely on Sam. “You’re an adult and you’ve got a steady job with decent income. You could make it on your own.”

  “He’s not a bad guy. Things haven’t gone his way lately is all. Mom left and he started drinking more and I keep screwing up. It’s not all his fault.”

  Sure it isn’t.

  I can’t tell Sam that his answer fits the classic victim mentality. “None of that makes it okay for him to hit you. Or anyone else.”

  “We’re not saying you have to cut all ties with him,” Malachi interjects. “But make your interactions happen on your terms. In public or during times of the day when he’s less likely to be drinking.”

  “I can’t leave him.” Sam’s eyes plead with us to understand. “He needs me. He doesn’t have anyone else.”

  Drew places a firm hand on Sam’s shoulder. “He has a problem. It might take you leaving for him to see that and get help.”

  The yearning in Sam’s eyes makes my chest ache.

  He wants to be free. Needs it.

  Yet is scared to take the steps necessary to have the peace for which he longs so desperately.

  But on the other side of that, he obviously still loves his father and wants to do what’s best for him, even at personal expense.

  “I–I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

  “Dad knows some guys who have rentals. I bet we could find you a good deal. Just say the word.”

  “I–I don’t know…”

  “Think on it, okay?” I adopt the most soothing tone I can. “You deserve better than this.”

  Sam gulps down the last of his beer and pulls out a few bills. “I better get going. Dad doesn’t like it when I’m late.”

  At twenty-three, it shouldn’t matter what time he gets home. I bite the words back.

  Sam crosses the bar without another glance our direction.

  If his shoulders were any lower, they’d be dragging the floor.

  A face flashes into my mind. A girl. No older than fifteen. Shiny white-blonde hair, clean and carefully brushed, contrasting sharply with her hollowed cheeks and haunted eyes. I feel burning on my cheek, my head snapping back, my teeth coming down on my tongue, the bitter taste of blood in my mouth. Somehow I know I took at least one blow meant for her.

  Who is she?

  The image flits away like a shadow from the light. No matter how I try, I can’t force it back.

  I turn to Drew and Malachi. “Did you guys know about this?”

  “Not the extent of it.” Drew collects Sam’s money and empty glass. “He told me yesterday that his dad had gotten rough with him, but he made it sound like a one-time thing.”

  “I suspected, but until he was ready to admit it, there wasn’t much I could do.” Malachi reclaims his stool.

  Well, now he has admitted it. And we all know.

  This won’t continue. I won’t let it.

  One way or another, I’ll find a way to stop it.

  Eleven

  “Yeah, babe. I miss you, too.”

  I freeze, my gaze locked on the light brown head only a few feet in front of me.

  Who is Ryan, my boyfriend, calling “babe”?

  The cell phone pressed against his ear offers incontrovertible proof that “babe” isn’t me.

  I step back, hiding behind the curtain that conceals my family’s box seats at the theatre, and wait.

  “It shouldn’t be much longer. A few weeks, tops. Then we’ll be together again.”

  The silence lasts through several of my madly thrumming heartbeats.

  “Nah. She doesn’t suspect a thing.”

  She. I bet that “she” he’s referring to is really me.

  More silence. What I wouldn’t pay to hear the other side of this conversation.

  “Me, too. Hey look, she should be back any second. I better go.”

  Yep, definitely me.

  Another beat.

  He speaks again, saying things he’d like to do with her that make me want to both gag and cry, then closes with, “Love you, babe.”

  I scurry backward a few steps to lean against the wall.

  This can’t be happening!

  Ryan, who started working for my dad only two months ago, who asked me out for the first time two weeks after that, who is always wanting to be with me… Ryan, a faker?

  How? How could he so totally steamroll me?

  I can understand dad falling for his sham, but me? I’m the one who suspects everything and everyone. How could I not know?

  Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe there’s a perfectly logical explanation for it all.

  No. The things he said to the person on the phone, presumably another woman, leave no question as to the nature of their relationship.

  Why would he do this to me?

  Money? Heaven knows dad has enough of it.

  Vying for a higher position in dad’s company?

  Or could it be connected to my work? Is he trying to use me to get to a bigger fish?

  I’ve always known it’s a possibility and I’m so careful, but Ryan had me convinced.

  My throat burns. Tears
sting my eyes.

  I should’ve known, shouldn’t I? After all, he was a little too perfect. He likes all the same things I do. Meshes with my family. Is handsome, smart, funny, successful, and charming.

  Heck, dad likes him and dad doesn’t like anyone!

  How could I have been so blind?

  I swipe away a tear that escapes. All this time, I was nothing more than a pawn to him. He never really loved me. He loved what I could give him.

  Whatever that might be.

  He and that… that whore have probably been laughing at me behind my back this whole time! How dare they!

  I have to confront him. And what better place than here, with people watching?

  Publicly embarrass the man who has so thoroughly humiliated me.

  I’ll teach him that you don’t mess with a Parker. And when my father finds out, Ryan can kiss his cushy job good-bye. And probably his Corvette, his condo, his country-club membership, and his lifestyle, too.

  In fact, when dad’s through with him, he’ll have to leave town to find a decent job, because no one in this town will hire him.

  He’ll regret the day he messed with me.

  Fire flashes through me as I whirl and close the distance between me and the box seat.

  Ryan, you lying scum, just wait until I’m through with you.

  My fingers touch the velvet curtain. I slip inside.

  Ryan sits, facing the stage.

  Look at him! All nonchalant. Acting so innocent when he’s really a devil in disguise.

  Well, I’ll show him.

  Wait.

  The word echoes inside my head. Funny how it sounds like dad’s voice.

  Think.

  I glance around the general seating below, the other family boxes around.

  If I expose him here, he might expose me. He knows a little about my job, knows closely guarded secrets about dad’s company. What if he blurts some of those things out and the wrong people hear?

  I can’t take that kind of risk.

  Besides, making a scene won’t just humiliate him. It’ll show everyone around how stupid and gullible I was, too.

  It’s better to wait until after the play, then confront him when he takes me home.

  For now, it’s time to put on the best performance of my life.

  I take my seat and Ryan looks over at me, a smile on his chiseled face. “I thought I was going to have to call search and rescue.”