The Journal: Fault Line (The Journal Book 5) Page 8

  ***

  A noise woke Trevor from his restless, dreamless sleep. Groggy, he looked for the clock. 2:17A.M., and then the red digital display was gone. The power was out. Now fully awake, he sat up on the edge of the bed and listened. He heard voices coming from downstairs. Grabbing a flashlight, but not turning it on, he crept to the only window and looked out over the parking lot. Streetlights were still shining in the distance; it was only his building that was dark. The store step van was still parked where he left it, however there was a familiar vehicle parked next to it: a police scout car. Alarms rang in his head. Hunched back by the door, he strained to listen, hoping to catch the voices again. Calming the pounding of his heart in his ears, he recognized the first voice. Riley.

  “Come on, Riley! We’ve got the van full of food, let’s get out of here!” the second voice said. Deputy Johnson.

  “In a minute. I want to leave this asshole a message he won’t forget,” Riley snarled.

  Trevor stood at the confirmation of his most trusted employee. How could he have been so wrong about him? He silently pulled on his pants with his holster still attached and gun securely in place. Shoes were next, then a hooded sweatshirt. He listened at the door again. Silence. Going to the window he saw the scout car leave and the van starting to pull away. The thing he didn’t expect to see was the flames.

  A fire was difficult to prepare for, Trevor knew. The best thing to do was just get away from it and he intended to do just that. He slipped his go-bag backpack over his shoulders, leaving his hands free, and undid the first deadbolt. At the bottom of the stairs he opened the next deadbolt, and walked into a wall of fire. Quickly, he retreated and closed the door again, took a couple of deep breaths, and charged into the fury toward the open door. Halfway to safety he was forced to take a breath, and he smelled the overwhelming stench of gasoline.

  Trevor tripped over the hand truck and nearly fell, regaining his balance just in time. He stumbled out the door into the night, coughing on the smoke. Something hard made contact with his forehead and he fell back into the building as he caught a glimpse of the step van still parked a few feet away.

  ***

  Only a few moments had passed when an explosion of heat shook Trevor back to consciousness. He crawled low to the still open door to avoid the oily smoke and forced himself to look before he emerged. No cars were in sight. He stood on shaky legs and stumbled across the road to a clump of high bushes where he collapsed into darkness.

  Flashing lights and sirens roused Trevor from his stupor. He sat, his head pounding and still bleeding, while he watched through the foliage. Firetrucks and scout cars flanked the parking lot as a dozen fire-fighters sprayed water on the building. Trevor recognized his friend, Chief Mallory, and started to stand until the chief moved aside and Trevor could see Deputy Johnson.

  Under cover of the night, Trevor pulled the hood on his sweatshirt up and walked casually away from the fire that was destroying his business and that had almost taken his life.

  ***

  “Miss Tiggs?” Chief Mallory said when Christine answered the door later the next afternoon.

  “What can I do for you, Chief?” she asked, startled by his presence. She was hoping it was Trevor. He said he’d be over early and had not yet arrived.

  “May I come in? I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he said, taking his cap off and clutching it in his hands nervously. She held the door open and stepped aside.

  “What is it?”

  “There was a fire last night. The Spring Hill store is a total loss. It looks like arson. Although it’s still too hot for a complete examination, we believe… we believe Trevor was in his apartment and didn’t get out,” he choked on the last words. “I’m so sorry.”

  Christine sat there, stunned. It felt as if she’d been hit in the chest with a hundred pound sledge hammer. “Please leave,” she squeaked out.

  “Miss Tiggs…”

  “Just get out! Please.” She stood on rubbery legs and yanked the door open. “I want to be alone.”

  “Here’s my card if you need anything.” The chief left his card on the end table and walked out, his head hanging low.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Trevor walked for an hour until his legs wouldn’t go any further. Though his head still pounded from whatever he was hit with, at least the bleeding had stopped. He found another clump of shrubs to hide in while he rested and quickly fell unconscious.

  He felt the cold, wet nose push against his cheek. The distinct whine from a dog caused Trevor to open his eyes. “Hi there, pup. Thanks for waking me. You wouldn’t happen to know what time it is, would you?” The dog wagged his tail. “I didn’t think so.” He patted the dog on the head and sat up. The sun was just breaking over the horizon.

  His thoughts went to Christine. The first thing he had to do was get to her so she wouldn’t worry if she heard the news about the fire.

  Trevor had made deliveries for the store and before that for a pizza joint he’d worked at, and knew the area well. Staying to side streets, he slowly made his way across town. At an open park he used a near empty birdbath to wash his face, knowing the smeared blood would draw attention to him, or at least make him look worse than he felt, though he wasn’t sure if that was possible. He hurt bad. The cold water stung and sent a fresh cascade of crimson into his dark eyebrows. After rummaging around in his go-bag, he found a clean handkerchief, a bottle of water, and a squashed energy bar. Trevor chugged the water, leaving enough to rewash the wound. After the water and energy bar he felt better and continued on his trek.

  ***

  Christine sat with the drapes closed for an hour after the police chief had left. She had cried until her eyes were swollen and then cried some more. How could this happen? She had finally found someone she cared about and now he was gone. She stumbled into the shower and stood under the hot water until it ran cold. Dressed in sweatpants and a too large t-shirt, she went to the kitchen for some juice. The fullness of the refrigerator reminded her of Trevor and she started crying all over again.

  There was a knock on the back door.

  “Go away!” she shouted at her unseen visitor.

  The knock came again. Angry she yanked the door open.

  “Hi,” Trevor said softly and collapsed onto the kitchen floor.

  ***

  “Trevor! Trevor! Wake up!”

  Christine couldn’t believe he was there and alive. His face was streaked with dirt, soot and blood. She pulled on the hood of his sweatshirt to get him fully into the house, and closed the door. She wet a towel and dampened his face, hoping to wake him. She wiped his forehead and saw the cut and the growing bruise. She pulled the backpack off his shoulders and tossed it aside. He moaned from the jarring and opened his eyes.

  “We need to get you off the floor, Trevor. Can you stand?” Christine pulled him to a sitting position, then shouldered one of his arms. Together they got him standing.

  “Whoa, everything is spinning. Just stand still a minute, okay?” he slurred. After he felt steadier to her, Christine led him to the bedroom where she helped him undress and put him to bed. When she pulled the covers over him he grabbed her arm. “Don’t tell anyone I’m here,” he said, his eyes closed.

  “You need a doctor, Trevor.”

  “No, not yet! Someone tried to kill me, Christine. I don’t trust anyone… except you. Just let me rest for a while.” He drifted off to sleep.

  Christine paced the length of the living room and back again trying to decide what to do. If the police thought Trevor was dead, then so would whoever tried to kill him. Maybe keeping his presence secret was the best course of action for now.

  She filled a bowl with warm water and a splash of peroxide. On top of a shelf in the bathroom was a pile of washcloths, and she grabbed the entire stack. Sitting on the edge of the bed she could see how pale Trevor looked and it worried her. Counting on her previous training, she gently washed the wound. When Trevor didn’t even flinch, she got more
aggressive and thoroughly cleaned the gash, removing a splinter of wood and set it aside. After she was satisfied the wound was clean, Christine applied two butterfly strips, some antiseptic gel, and a gauze pad. Then she washed his face of the soot and grime. He looked beautiful to her, fragile and vulnerable. She emptied the bowl of dirty water and slid into bed next to him.

  ***

  The days passed slowly. Trevor roused long enough each day to drink some broth and for Christine to help him to the bathroom. His dreams were a mix of scorching heat from the fire and comforting heat from, from… he wasn’t sure, but it was nice and soothing. He slept and he healed.

  ***

  Christine felt the heat at her back and smiled, knowing Trevor’s arm was holding her to his chest.

  “Good morning. You smell good,” Trevor nuzzled her neck. She snapped fully awake and sat up. “Oh, don’t go, this feels good,” he said drowsily.

  “Trevor,” she said softly, “how are you feeling?” She knelt on the bed and lifted one of his eyelids, then the other. His pupils were back to normal, and his forehead was cool to the touch, a vast improvement from the last couple of days.

  “Hungry,” he said, opening his eyes again to see Christine hovering over him.

  “That’s really good to hear. How does your head feel?”

  “Much better, though it still hurts some. I think what I’d like more than food right now is a shower.” He wrinkled his nose.

  “If you promise not to keel over, that can be arranged.” Christine helped Trevor sit on the side of the bed to get his equilibrium back while she got fresh clothes set out for him. He stood when she held out her hands to him, grasping them tightly.

  ***

  “I don’t think a shower has ever felt so good,” Trevor said, walking into the kitchen where Christine was scrambling eggs. “I do need to ask, whose clothes am I wearing?”

  “My dad’s. I raided his closet. The sweats are a little short on you, but you’re a couple of inches taller than he is.” Christine set a plate of food in front of him and went to pour more coffee.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked, taking a scoop of eggs.

  “I will. Right now I need to know what happened, Trevor?”

  “First, how long have I been out?”

  “It’s been five days since the fire. Everyone thinks you’re dead. The chief came to tell me about two hours before you showed up. He was really upset.”

  “Five days. It must have been a real shock to see me at your door if you thought I was dead.”

  “That’s an understatement. It was the best shock I could have asked for though,” she grinned. “Tell me what’s going on? Who tried to kill you and why?”

  “I can’t answer all of that, I’m sorry. I’m sure it was Riley who set the fire and bashed me in the head. I don’t know why though. I had always considered him more than an employee, and I trusted him with everything. There was someone else there, and I think it was Officer Johnson, though I’m not a hundred percent sure. I am sure it was a cop.” Trevor pushed his empty plate away. “Think it’s okay for me to have some coffee?”

  The front door bell rang, startling both of them.

  “Stay out of sight while I see who it is,” Christine said, heading to the front door. She opened it. “Chief Mallory. What can I do for you?”

  “Sorry to intrude, Miss Tiggs. I thought you should know we found the store van,” he said.

  “I didn’t realize it was missing.”

  “That was the part that was bothering me. At first we all thought Trevor had died in the fire, which has been confirmed as arson. Then we discovered the van was missing. It crossed my mind that Trevor torched the place for the insurance and took off, however, that’s just not him. I know him too well.” The chief took off his hat and ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “We found the van this morning in a field about ten miles outside of town. It had been torched, and there was a body in it that fits Trevor’s description.”

  Unable to stay quiet any longer, Trevor stepped into the living room. “Well, Marty, it wasn’t me.”

  The chief jumped to his feet. “Trevor!” he rushed over and hugged the younger man. “You’ve got some explaining to do!”

  “Why don’t you join us for coffee, Chief? I think Trevor should stay off his feet,” Christine said, leading them back into the kitchen.

  Trevor went over the entire story again for the chief, leaving out the part about the scout car and the second person.

  “And you’ve been here since then?” Marty questioned.

  “Here and out like a light,” Christine confirmed. “Trevor showed up an hour or two after you were here. The cut on his forehead is healing nicely, after I took a splinter of wood out. He had a severe concussion. I wanted to call a doctor, but Trevor refused to go, knowing someone had tried to kill him.”

  “I understand. I don’t agree, but I understand. My guess from everything you’ve said, Trevor, it’s Riley’s body in the van and it was Riley who set the fire and tried to kill you. Then who killed Riley?”

  The question hung in the air.

  “I can’t help you on that, Chief, I got quite a blow to the head,” Trevor said.

  “If you don’t mind, I’m calling Doc Adams. I think he should check you over. No offense, Miss Tiggs, I’m sure you took care of Trevor as best you could, but he should be seen by a doctor now.”

  ***

  “You’ve had excellent care, my boy,” Doc Adams said, flicking his penlight in Trevor’s eyes. He had taken his blood pressure, listened to his lungs and heart, and examined the healing cut. “I might have put in a stitch or two, but these butterflies worked just fine. Nice job, Miss Tiggs.” He stood and closed his black bag. “Keep watching for the headaches and nausea, and if anything changes, call me.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “I don’t like wearing your father’s underwear, Christine. It’s… creepy,” Trevor said loudly. “Let’s go shopping so I can buy some new clothes.” Trevor took the pouch from his battered backpack and tossed it back in the corner.

  They wandered the resale shop and found Trevor some jeans that he liked, along with a warm jacket. He insisted on going to the nearest Walstroms to get new underwear and socks, fresh t-shirts, and a pair of boots.

  “I feel better now.” He grinned at Christine while she drove.

  “Where to next?” She didn’t tell him how much she loved shopping. It was obvious she was having a good time, even though none of the purchases were for her.

  “The bank. I should make this deposit and confirm that I’m alive,” Trevor said. “I must have been really tired the night of the fire. I didn’t even take my wallet out of my pocket like I usually do. At least I’ve got all of my ID.”

  ***

  “Mr. Monroe, I’m so happy to see the rumors about your death were false. Please come in my office,” the branch manager said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve got a deposit from last week that any teller can handle. What I would like to know is if there’s been any activity on the accounts?” Trevor leaned on the desk. The manager typed in a few commands and turned the screen for Trevor to see. Nothing. Trevor breathed a sigh of relief seeing all of his accounts were still safe. “Thanks. My computer was lost in the fire, too, so I couldn’t check. I plan on fixing that today, so don’t be concerned if you see activity again, I will be back online.”

  “Next stop, a computer store,! Trevor said. “I’ve worked my entire life to save money to make more money. I never realized before how much fun it is to spend it!”

  ***

  Christine cleared off one of the work stations that wrapped around three walls in the third bedroom. This was the office she and her dad shared. Trevor took over a large section of the desk. The new computer cost double what it should have since prices had double or tripled across the board for everything, and Trevor had reluctantly paid the outrageous price. He plugged the new machine in, and then plugged in the hard dr
ive from his go-bag, vowing to never be without that pack ever again. His new cellphone was on the charger. Although he was able to get his previous number back, he had lost all of his contact numbers. Fortunately, those were in a file on the thumb drive and he spent an hour repopulating his contact list.

  While Trevor got his new computer functioning to his liking, Christine worked at the other station, checking her email and her bank accounts. She confirmed that the dental clinic had deposited her last check. They had also sent her a notice that her services were no longer required. She had been fired. At least her final check had been for a full month, along with the expense report she had filed for mileage and damage to her car.

  ***

  “I’m actually feeling normal again, Christine. Let’s celebrate!” Trevor said. “How about dinner at that sushi place?”