The Book of Fate

92

Driving up the curving brick driveway in front of Wes’s building, Nico rechecked Edmund’s wool blanket and nudged the brakes, reminding himself to take it slow. From the army to the speedway to this, his first goal was never to get noticed. Still, just being this close… Nico took his foot off the brake and gave a tap to the gas. The wooden rosary beads seemed to burn against his chest.

Almost there, son. Don’t get riled.

Nico nodded, throwing a wave to one of the tenants running out the front door for a jog. As the Pontiac followed the road to the parking lot in back, its headlights stabbed through the dusk like twin glowing lances.

Know where you’re going?

“Five twenty-seven,” Nico replied, pointing with his chin at the black apartment numbers painted on the concrete stops at the front of each parking spot.

Within a minute, he’d weaved up and down the first two aisles.

525… 526… and…

Nico hit the brakes, bucking the car to a halt. 527. Wes’s apartment number. But the parking spot was empty.

He could still be upstairs.

Nico shook his head. “He’s not upstairs.”

Then we should go up there and wait for him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Nico said, still studying the lot. Refusing to give up, he took another pass down the next aisle. His eyes narrowed, and he lowered the windows for a better look. To his ears, the rain on the nearby cars sounded like a ten-year-old letting loose on a drum set.

Weaving up and down each aisle, the Pontiac eventually looped back around to the far side of the lot where they first came in.

D’you even know what kind of car he drives?

Slowing down, Nico shook his head and opened the driver’s-side door. “I’m not looking for his car.”

What’re you—?

The Pontiac was barely in park as Nico hopped outside, crossed in front of his own headlights, and squatted down toward the ground. On the asphalt, a matching set of curved tire marks formed identical, partially overlapping Vs just outside a parking spot. Like someone left in a hurry.

Standing up straight, Nico looked over his shoulder, rescanning the full length of the lot. Lamppost by lamppost, aisle by aisle, he took in every piece, including the twenty-foot shrubs that completely circled the whole— No. Not the whole lot. Cocking his head, Nico blinked twice to make sure he was seeing it right.

It was easy to overlook — tucked back between the cars and filled with even more shrubbery, the narrow opening in the shrubs practically disappeared in its own natural camouflage. Fortunately for Nico, he had plenty of training with camouflage.

Nico, you got something?

Nico pulled his gun from his pants, tapping the barrel against the rosary beads on his chest. But as he strode toward the cutaway and into the dog run, all he found were muddy footprints scattered like buckshot, and patches of matted-down grass. At first glance, it looked like there could’ve been a struggle, but with the rain… the muddy runoff from the lot… it could’ve just as easily been nothing.

Undeterred, Nico searched the branches (so many crosses), the bushes, the trunks of each tree. God brought him here. The Lord would provide. He squatted down on his knees, peering under shrubs, swishing his free hand through shallow puddles. There were dog prints and footprints under a few overhanging branches, but most of the ground was already too muddy to read.

Crawling through the flooded grass, Nico felt the mud seeping through the knees of his jeans. His heart plummeted. He didn’t understand. God was… God was supposed to provide. But as Nico frantically searched… as he continued to crawl like a dog, pawing through the mud — the proof… where Wes went… all of it was gone.

“Please — please stop raining,” Nico pleaded to the now-dark sky.

The drizzle continued, falling like a mist from above.

“Please… stop raining!” Nico exploded, throwing a fistful of mud and wet grass in the air.

The drizzle continued.

Down on all fours, Nico lowered his head, watching the rosary beads swaying from his neck. How could…? Why would God bring him this far? As the rain ran down his face, Nico climbed to his feet and walked deliberately between the lampposts, back to the parking lot.

His head was still down as he approached the Pontiac. He clutched the rosary, trying to say a prayer, but nothing came out. He tried closing his eyes, but all he could picture was the mess of mud and grass and sticks that covered all tracks. His fist tightened around the rosary, pulling tighter, ever tighter. God promised. He… He swore to me—swore! — that the devil’s door would remain shut — that avenging my mother’s death would bring redemption. And now to just abandon me like—

With a sharp crack, the rosary necklace snapped, spilling dozens of wooden beads like marbles down on the asphalt of the parking lot.

“No… God — I’m sorry — I’m so sorry!” Nico begged hysterically, scrambling to pick them all up as they bounced, rolled, and scattered in every direction. Diving sideways as he scooped them against his chest, Nico lurched for a stray wooden bead like a five-year-old trying to catch a cricket. But it wasn’t until he skidded down on his already-wet knees… until the bead hopped, hopped, hopped, and rolled beneath the Pontiac… that Nico saw the mushy wet pamphlet stuck to the ground. Just in front of the right front tire.

From the look of it — the top half perfectly flat, the bottom half swollen and soggy from the rain — the pamphlet had already been run over. But even in the moonlight, even with the top half of it flaking away and pancaked from tire treads, Nico could still read the big red-lettered restaurant name at the top of the Chinese menu. And more important, the handwritten note at the bottom.

Ron.

Nico read the name again. And again. The Beast.

Ron.

The letters blurred in front of him. Gently peeling the menu from the asphalt, he could barely stop his hands from trembling… trembling just like his mom’s head. Half the menu ripped away as he tugged. He didn’t care. Clutching the soggy remains to his chest, Nico looked up at the sky and kissed the fistful of loose rosary beads in his other hand.

“I understand, God. Wes and Boyle — the traitors — together. One final test… one last chapter,” Nico whispered to the sky. He began to pray. “I won’t fail you, Mom.”