Coming Home
The train slowly coasted down the grade. June wildflowers were in bloom, a rare piece of nature up in the mountains that managed to survive the assault of industry from the ever-growing mines in Butte. The big steam engine hissed and groaned as the brakes brought it to a halt at the platform. Northern Pacific was written across the side of every car, most of them also having names of famous men immortalized in smaller lettering. Dozens of troops poured out onto the platform, most falling right into the arms of their wives, girlfriends, or parents. We'd all be right back in the mines within a couple of days.
Looking around the platform, I quickly realized that my family wasn't there to greet me. Something deep in the pit of my stomach said was telling me that all was not well. Quickly, I grabbed my duffle bag from the porter and started walking down the same street I had left just a little over a year ago. France and Britain after the war was nice, and some places were just peaceful enough that I had fleeting moments where I thought about not going back at all. But I could not abandon my siblings to such a cruel life out here in Butte, America.
As I walked down the street, a loud bang triggered a quick response. Instinctively, I ducked for cover, thinking that I was somehow under attack. It took a moment for me to realize that it was just a large drill associated with the nearby mine shaft breaking up larger rocks. It's cadence sounded like a German machine gun, and the resulting sound was nerve-wracking. Looking over my shoulder and noticing the whispering and gossiping of some passers-by, I decided to get back to the house as quickly as I could. It was just down the next block. The house seemed to still be in one piece. Activity outside of the house was lacking, however. Walking inside, I was first greeted by the young faces of Sean and Liam.
"Ethan!" They both cried simultaneously, jumping over the furniture and right into my arms. I hugged them both tightly, not wanting to ever let them go. I could, theoretically, still pick them up one at a time but both at once were too much and in a moment, we were in a pile on the ground, giggling.
"Oh, I missed you boys so much!" I said, tears forming in my eyes. "I thought of you every day, every waking minute."
"We've got something to show you!" Liam said, excited. "Sean, got get Riley!"
In a flash, Sean retreated back into our bedroom, coming back with a little girl I barely recognized. Riley must have doubled in size since I had last seen her! But the girl wasn't done with the surprises. To my astonishment, Sean set our sister down and she managed to keep herself upright on two trembling legs.
"Riley, go to Ethan." Sean said, pointing at me a mere few feet away. Riley, as young as she was, understood the command. She looked at me and somewhere behind those beautiful blue eyes the thought occurred that we were related. A distant memory to her of a young man that changed her, fed her, and held her whenever mom had other things to tend to. With a smile, she waddled my way, one foot in front of the other. I could hardly believe it; our little sister was upright and walking.
"That's it, Riley, right here!" I said, sitting up while Liam got out of the way. Right as she was about to trip, I leaned forward and caught her by the armpits before pulling her in tight, letting her sweet little face rest against my chest.
"Oh my God, I've missed so much." I said, closing my eyes. "And I thought of you too Riley. Every day."
"Bro'der." A little voice said, those eyes looking up at me, a hand reaching out to touch my nose.
"Yes, Riley. Your brother is here!" I said, smiling. I nuzzled her while climbing to my feet. Riley might have doubled in size but it was then that the boys had shot up a few inches as well.
"It feels like I've been gone for years." I said, walking over to the familiar couch. "Where is mom?"
"She's out back doing laundry." Sean said, reaching out to take Riley from me. Handing our sister off, I put my campaign hat back on.
"Woah, the army gave you that hat?" Liam said, reaching up to try and take it off my head.
"Yeah. It's the only part of this uniform I still have a use for. I'll let you have it when I get back into some regular clothes."
Out back, white sheets and laundry in dull tones of red, brown, and grey blew in the summer breeze. Amongst the lines of clothing was a familiar figure, the feline was lean like me and still had a figure that showed just how beautiful she was years ago. My mother was finally within arm's reach once again. Yet, something was off.
"Mom?" I asked.
She stood upright, frozen in time. My voice entering her ears, reminding her of her oldest son. She turned around to look at me, face emotionless.
"Ethan? It is you!" She exclaimed, hugging me tight, face buried in my chest. "Oh thank God! I know you said you were fine in letters, but the last one was from months ago. I didn't know when you would come home!"
"I'm here, mom. I went through Hell to get back here, but it's all done now."
"Yes, peace at last. We can finally be a family again, and just in time."
"Just in time for what? What happened while I was gone?" I asked, worried.
My question was answered a few minutes later when I saw the tombstone in the little cemetery on a hill just outside town. It was plain stone, nothing fancy. The rock surrounded by yellow and red dirt over looking mines and bustling city on the other side of the tracks a half-mile distant. The description wasn't much either.
"Peter Kelly. 1878-1919. Husband, Father, Miner."
I could hardly believe it. The old man was really gone, a memory that passed while I was off fighting in a foreign land. Well, more accurately, resting and getting moved around western Europe after peace had been achieved. My mother was wiping tears out of her eyes.
"It was the Spanish Flu that came through here. All that drinking made him too weak to heal." He said, expecting me to feel something resembling grief.
"Well, I suppose it was to be expected. So you've been having to feed everyone without an income?" I asked, more concerned with the health of the living.
"The boys started working while you were away. Sorting rocks on the surface."
"What?! But they're just kids!" I protested. "Mom, we can't keep working here, there's no future for our family if we stay in Butte."
"Besides Ireland, Ethan, this place is all I know. I can't leave and you boys are miners. That's what you're meant to be. Now that you're back, we can finally start bringing in enough money to get new clothes, fix the house, plant a full garden instead of just vegetable seeds donated by the neighbors."
"I will be back at work as soon as I'm able, but I don't want my brothers working down below. They are too young and the work is far too dangerous."
"You'll have to talk to the foreman. But we need the money, Ethan. You three boys are going to make as much money combined as your father did before he got sick."
It was the one thing I couldn't deny my father. He was a hard-working miner and got paid accordingly. Years of experience granted him a wage few of us would ever dream of so long as the unions were kept out of town.
"By the way, Ethan. Your father wrote this before he passed. He wanted only you to read it." Mom said, pulling out a letter and handing it to me. Holding it that night, I couldn't bring myself to open it. I hated that man with every fiber of my being, and what little respect I had could never overpower my disgust and disappointment. Deciding to leave it for a different day, I placed it in the bottom of a small box alongside other things from the war, including a newspaper article the family had saved for me.
The Great War
"Three Manhattans!" A voice ordered, snapping me back to the present day. I had been zoning out now for several minutes while veterans throughout the speakeasy swapped stories. "Coming right up!"
"You stare off into space too, friend?" The guy asked me.
"Yes, but this time I was just lost in thought."
"Yeah, it's annoying…"
"The Zimmerman Telegram, that's what did it for me." The vet said as he knocked back a shot of Canadian Whiskey in the warm lights of the Lackadaisy. "Momma told me not to go, but the threat of invasion? Mexico surging across the Rio Grande to hurt my beloved Texas? Hell, I'd have sooner hanged myself in shame than let that go unanswered from this Southerner!" He declared, overpowering the band on stage who had been requested by Mitzi to play something more… relaxed.
The Lieutenant was in a circle of chairs and sofas pulled together in the middle of the room, all filled up with acquaintances and others who had come into the struggling speakeasy for a quieter night after the days' festivities. He continued with his story after pouring another glass for himself from the bottle that was being passed around. "Of course, she was right, I just didn't know it at the time; being so young and foolish. Fort Riley trained us up good, or so I thought. When we got over there in the fall of 1917 it didn't seem so bad. We ran supplies back and forth for the first few weeks, but then our unit was called up to fill a hole in the line, and that's when things got as prickly as a porcupine stuck to a cactus. I still remember Pete; we grew up together. He was the first one to fall, dropped by one of them cowardly sharpshooters."
"How about a toast then, for your good friend Pete?" One of the others proposed, and after a loud cheer and clinking of glasses, what remained of the bottle was used up. Picking it up, the Lieutenant made his way back to the bar for another. Though I tried to mind my own business, it was interesting to hear about how others found their way into the war. A couple of navy boys had shown up but were mostly just there to listen and get drunk. A medic was no doubt trying to drown out his memories. Not my style, but hard to blame him. Most of the rest were in the infantry. It was then I heard a request for yours' truly, the bartender. "Hey barkeep, mind if we purchase another bottle off ya? A fresh one like the last will do fine."
"Sure thing sir!" I replied, reminding myself to keep up a smile and upbeat attitude. Exchanging cash for booze, I watched as the Texans sauntered off back to his buddies. Behind them the band was making do without their fearless—nah, philosophical would be a better fit, leader. Rocky was center stage, having tuned his violin up as a southern fiddle to better fit with the customers we had attracted. It wasn't really Wick's cup of tea though. "Ethan, could I get another one of those 'Montanan's'?"
"Oh, is the more 'rural' music beginning to affect your tastes, Mr. Sable?" I teased while whipping out a new one.
"Hardly", he replied. That swinging Jazz will be most welcome next time, though I do say you westerners know how to make a good, stiff drink!"
"So I take it you approve of my new bartender, dear?" Mitzi asked as she came up to the bar, having come downstairs from the apartment. Wick noticed the light shining through Miss M's hair, highlighting it and seemingly setting it aglow like a warm, sweet fire. Her eyes even sparkled in the incandescent light.
"Indeed I do, Miss M! Ethan, I never thought you to be a bartender?"
"Well, truth is sir, a man with mouths to feed tends to pick up all manner of skills. Now I just need to learn all these in the next few days." I explained, pulling out a list of drinks from under the bar. "Miss M, mind explaining what a 'sunset rose cocktail' is?"
"Oh, don't worry about that hon, we don't have the stock for it anyway. How is business tonight?"
"Well, the Texan over there is on bottle number two, and they should all be ready for the cut stuff when they come back for more. Keep 'em drinking and smoking until the early morning, I'm sure they've got enough stories to tell."
Mitzi seemed to be impressed by the strategy. "Tell me, Ethan, is that one of those 'skills' you picked up, or did you ask Viktor ahead of time how to dole out our stock?"
"Ah, just street smarts, ma'am. Even so, at the rate these fearless heroes are burning through our stock someone is going to need to figure out where else to get more."
"Rocky will sniff out some more, he's rather good at it." She replied, though I wasn't too enthused with the idea. "If I might make a suggestion, Miss M, Rocky ought to rest up for a few days until those stitches come out. If he gets hurt like that again, the injury might kill him. We both know he's far too eager to not risk it."
I saw Mitzi rest her chin on her hand, leaning into the bar in thought. "It is only a suggestion though, Miss M." I said, hoping to not get her too stressed out.
"No, you're right, Ethan. I suppose you and Freckle will have to go find the stock."
"Hey, don't forget me!" Ivy called as she helped Viktor through the door. Freckle and Riley were behind them.
"Ah yes, who could forget the getaway driver?" I said, sending a wink in Miss Pepper's direction. Viktor was hardly amused. The big guy was quick to poke a finger into my chest. "No traouble, no funny business while I'm gone. Understand?"
"Hey, you worry about what you got to do, Viktor. I'll worry about keeping the kids safe."
Just then we both heard a call from the group of vets in their lounge. "Now there's an accent I haven't heard in a while. I didn't know this club let the enemy in too!"
Ivy tried to hold Viktor back, but he shrugged her off and limped up to the group of soldiers. Taller and stronger than all of them individually, grasping the head of his newest "walking stick" courtesy of our reluctant financer. A fight is the last thing anyone needed, especially over something as stupid as an accent.
"Well, where'd you fight at, big guy? Got a lot of nerve showing up to a room full of guys who killed Huns for a living." Viktor growled in response and was about to swing at the stupidest of them when Ivy caught his elbow. "Boys, the war's over! Let's not ruin a good night."
"Stay out of this, girl. This holiday is for American heroes, not whatever trash blew in from Eastern Europe." Just then the music stopped, and tension hung in the air. Half-drunk Americans about to make a big mistake, and one I wanted to correct before things got bad and the evening was ruined. Before either side could make a move, I stepped in between.
"That's where you're wrong, friend. Viktor here is no enemy."
"No enemy? I'm not deaf 'friend', he's clearly from Hungary."
"Oh, make no mistake, Viktor is a Slav. But he was fighting on our side in the war. He also probably killed more Germans, Austrians, or Hungarians than all of us combined." The last part was a gamble, but it did ease the tension slightly.
"Really?" The Texan said as he pushed his way to the front of the group. "So this guy right here fought under our flag, huh? Where was he in the war then?"
"79th Division at Lorraine." I replied. "One of the first to volunteer too, he was there way longer than me."
The boys looked at each other and I could tell they weren't completely convinced. "Alright, if you don't believe me, then perhaps it is story time. Viktor, you want to tell our customers about Lorraine?"
The big guy moved to one of the chairs and sat down alongside the rest. He was quick to anger, but whether it be Ivy's constant demands not to beat anyone to a bloody pulp that looked at him wrong, or the chance that he had enough respect for fellow soldiers to offer knowledge to dispel ignorance rather than turning a room full of customers into his personal punching bags, Viktor seemed to agree with the idea. Satisfied, I went back to my business behind the bar, but everyone, even the band, remained interested.
"I remember we train at Camp Meade. Ship off to France in July 1918. It was wet, cold, muddy, terrible. We fight in trenches that summer. At first, fighting was okay, then not okay. We lost many men, but then the final push came. We fight through Lorraine, many machine guns, and what you call 'snipers'. I learn to kill sniper and machine gun with grenade. Pull pin, throw, go boom, move on.
In middle of battle, Germans decide to attack us. Attack almost worked, but we held ground. I fight with rifle, then with knife, then with fists. Gas roll in from North, more men die, then all quiet. Later it get cold, winter is coming. I remember the land between trenches, see it when I close my eyes. Smell it, taste it, feel it, remember it always."
"Well, that certainly sums up a tour of France in 1918. What else ya got?" The Texan asked. Viktor pulled out his wallet and produced a small card from the fold where money was normally kept. It was a grey cross on a blue shield, the Cross of Lorraine. On the back was all his information which he passed around in exchange for a shot of whiskey. Eventually it was passed to Riley who was curious about the stories the men were sharing. "Viktor, you were in the war?" She asked.
"Yes, little one. Bad war, but I was there."
"Is that why you have to walk funny?"
"Eh… No, that was different. I only get a piece of metal in shoulder. Right here." Viktor explained as he moved the hair away from a scar on his right shoulder.
The others were quite impressed. A look from Mitzi prompted the band to get back to business, but it was indeed a rare opportunity to hear about Viktor's past. I only wished I was so open about it. Riley hadn't gotten anything significant out of me in the years since the war had passed, it was just too much to think about for any length of time.
One of the others, noticing Riley as the young kitten sat down next to Ivy and Freckle, was curious where they'd all come from. "Hey, where's your parents, kid? Don't tell me you're the big Slav's offspring."
"Oh, no, I'm Ethan's sister. The guy behind the bar over there next to Miss M. I came down with Ivy and Freckle to learn how to dance, but if you are all telling stories about the war then I want to listen instead."
"Well kitten, I'm certainly grateful for an audience, but I hardly think it would be appropriate to—" But the Texan was cut off by Riley's first question.
"What's the 'Argonne'? Was it in France?"
"Oh, it's, uh, a forest. Very old, deep, dark, easy to get lost. The Germans set up many lines of defenses there, it was like a living forest. None of us had the misfortune of going right through there, but a lot of stories came out of that place."
"Woah, so a forest that's also a fortress? You know, Ethan was there."
"Wait, your brother was there?" One of the men said. "Hey, barkeep, you didn't say you were in the war too!"
Ghost Story
I had hoped to keep out of the conversation, but Mitzi patted my hand while Wick swallowed down another glass. "It's alright, Ethan, you only have to share as much as you want to."
"Right, well, I suppose I can tell you a thing or two. Pay attention though, I'm not going to go over this stuff again." All eyes and ears were now upon me, though the band kept playing.
"Alright, kid, where'd you serve?"
"I was in the… it was the 77th Division."
"One of the lost ones, he said." Viktor clarified. Instantly, the mood seemed to change amongst the men.
"Wait, you mean to tell me you were in the Battalion?" The Texan asked. "That's almost too good of a story. How'd you make it out in one piece?"
"I didn't. But I'll tell you what. If you really want to know the truth, I suppose I should show you something instead of just my word." Riley then tugged on my sleeve. "I found this in your room earlier when looking for a comb." She placed an old newspaper in my hand.
"Oh yeah, this old thing. A reporter interviewed me shortly after we got back into friendly territory. My name is right here, circled in red." Now that everyone was convinced, I folded up the article again. "And you, young lady, should have asked before going through my things. But as long as you know where the box is, mind running this upstairs to put it back?"
"Okay…" She said, not happy to be torn away from story time but hopefully Riley would understand that my stuff was to stay where it is unless I decided otherwise.
"Good, now with my sister out of the room, we really ought to toast your new friend here, Viktor. He's taking a leave of absence from the Lackadaisy to go reconnect with some loved ones, and I would like to wish him the best before the evening is out. You two Mr. Sable, Miss M, better pour yourselves a glass."
"To Viktor!" Mitzi said as she walked over, rubbing man's back. "Cheers!" We all said, raising a glass to the big Slav whom I'm sure was now embarrassed to be the center of attention, even for a moment. After swallowing the poison from the funeral home, Mitzi then had a follow-up. "And I do hope, Viktor, that you know how much we've all appreciated your work here. I do hope you'll come back as soon as you're fit and ready, dear." Viktor didn't respond, but did cover Mitzi's hand with his own, holding it in reassurance.
Upstairs, Riley opened up the door to Ethan's room and pulled out the box from under the bed. She also pulled out the comb from earlier and placed both neatly in the box. However, among the stack of different papers and mementos, she spotted a couple of things. First was a letter, still sealed, with a name she hardly remembered written across the front, "To Ethan, from Peter Kelly." It was their father. Strange that it was unread, stranger that Ethan hadn't mentioned it to her. She'd ask later, but she also found what looked like a short novella in the back of the box.
The author's name was familiar, and remembering in an instant where she'd seen it, Riley pulled out the news article from Billings yet again. The authors were the same. Apparently, the reporter had also written a short book about the war. It was titled "The Ghost of Charlevaux."
Meanwhile, I was in the middle of telling my own story. "So, by day five things were looking pretty desperate. We had to pull back to a redoubt of our own making and fought through the rest of the day. By morning we were exhausted and out of options, but then we heard the sweetest sound imaginable to us at the time. Americans were screaming, hooting, and hollering as they charged in from the South. Whittlesey ordered us to fight down into the ravine and try to make contact. Took half the day, but we finally met up with the rest of the division, or rather the division finally caught up to us."
"What happened after that, Ethan?" Mitzi asked, genuinely interested in what I had to say.
"Well, most of the survivors were injured and had to be evacuated. The rest of us had to fight on after a couple days' rest. We were still in the middle of a massive battle. We fought on, going North, until we finally walked through the Argonne. I'll tell you; I was very happy to be in open ground again."
"Was it true you guys were originally going after a mill?" One of the gathered asked.
"Nah, the mill itself wasn't anything special. It was all the German positions around the village that needed our attention. Took long enough, but we eventually cleared the whole area out." I then heard Riley enter. "Aww, did I miss the story?"
"Sorry squirt, but I'll tell it to you again later, perhaps not tonight though. Now if you all excuse me, there's some glasses which need polishing."
The boys gathered around were impressed. "Well, a real slog that battle was. I read about it in papers, but never imagined we'd get to hear about it straight from the mouth of some cat who was there." One of the soldiers commented. Riley now had a new question on her mind. "Could I ask you all something?" She said, sitting back down next to Ivy.
"Go for it miss. A couple of us love telling these stories, it keeps the memories of friends alive."
"Okay, so what's the Ghost of Charlevaux?"
I froze in place hearing the name again. Wick took notice, but he was quickly getting drunk. The rest were fixated on Riley. I was just happy that she wasn't asking me, because of all the things that happened that week in France, some deeds were worth forgetting.
"Oh, that old story? Heck, your brother just told a real one, but the "Ghost" is just a myth." The Texan clarified.
"So it's not real?"
"Sorry sweetheart, but that tale was spun from some pretty weak yarn. The Germans were talking about a "ghost" in their own papers, but I imagine some author got wind of it and ran with the idea. Supposedly during the battle in the Argonne some Germans were ambushed by a crazed cat. Cut to pieces they were."
"By gunfire?" Freckle asked.
"No, dear boy. Supposedly some were stabbed, other's clubbed to death, a few strangled. A sniper or two is said to have gone missing. But no one fights like that, and the idea of one person sneaking around and slitting throats in the middle of the night is just absurd." One of the others chimed in.
"Sounds like war to me." Ivy said. "Why is something like that hard to believe?"
"The Argonne forest is so thick and tangled that in a lot of places you can hardly see even during the middle of the day. The Germans at the time were getting paranoid, no doubt hearing stories about how we were butchering them in the open battlefields. A few of them went mad with worry and invented the story to explain things like suicides, friendly fire, and accidents. By making us look like monsters, it kept focus on beating back the Americans."
"What my friend means to say, kids, is that the Ghost of Charlevaux is a ghost, a myth, a fiction." The Texan finished.
And I would rather keep it that way.
Intruder
The evening wore on and by midnight everyone was either falling asleep or drunk. Wick called it an early night, leaving with the help of Mitzi back up to the street. Ivy and Freckle took a tired Riley up to the apartment, making sure she was safely inside before getting in with Rocky and heading to their own homes. Viktor, still sober despite drinking almost as much as the rest, put on his overcoat and went out to call a taxi. The band all called it a night, and retreated into the back of the cave once their instruments were put away. I was exhausted as well but did my duty to clean up the bar as best as I could. An hour later, all was in order and cash was counted.
Walking up the stairs, I slipped the envelope of cash under the door to Mitzi's office. It was a good haul for the evening, easily one of our better nights. There was little doubt in my mind that she was going to be quite pleased with the holiday weekend. I had even overheard discussion between Wick and Mitzi about my idea before of him buying the building we lived in. At least to me it sounded like a win-win. Mitzi would get enough money to put Lackadaisy back on the map and Wick would get a location for new offices plus one or two businesses paying monthly rent. But that could all wait until the morning. Finally at the apartment door, I pulled out a key and unlocked the deadbolt, slowly swinging it open enough for me to slip in. Putting my coat on the rack and kicking of my shoes, I fumbled for the light. It was a new enough apartment that I hadn't yet figured out exactly where all the switches were, so it was a guessing game for me.
But I quickly realized that I didn't need to turn the lights on, because one came on for me. I damn nearly jumped out of my skin seeing a well-dressed black cat sitting in the corner, admiring my Springfield rifle through spectacles that only reflected the ambient light. I tried to make a move, but quickly spotted the barrel of a pistol pointing right at me from across the room.
"Quite the rifle, Mr. Kelly. I'll admit that leaving this one here was an oversight on my part, but that hardly matters now."
"Where's Riley?" I growled.
"Safe and sound asleep, I assure you. Let's keep it that way, shall we?"
"Fine, Mr. Heller. If you want me, you've got me dead to rights. Just make it quick and don't involve her, please."
"Oh please, if I wanted to kill you here and now, we wouldn't have gotten this far into a conversation. I also wouldn't have bothered to pick the lock and lay in wait in your own apartment. I could kill you without drawing so much attention when out of town or in one of the alleyways that run through the city."
"Very well. So why are you here?"
"I think it was past time you and I had a talk, Mr. Kelly."
"If it's another warning, I'm not going to heed it."
"Then you're a fool like the other two. There is something you should know, Ethan. Your activities have brought you some unwanted… attention."
"What, you mean that liquor run last week? Went off without any trouble."
"The liquor itself arrived safely, but you also killed four agents from Marigold."
I decided it was best to leave Freckle out of the picture. At least that attention would be drawn to me alone. "Yeah, so I killed some agents who got in the way. That's just business, right?"
"Indeed it is, but you are poking a bear, Mr. Kelly. It's not your fault, of course, you are under orders from Mitzi to help rebuild the Lackadaisy. But now is the time to stop this ridiculousness and accept that the Lackadaisy is done. Mitzi won't accept it, but I'm hoping you will before things get messy."
"You know, Mordecai, you're taking an awful big risk giving me this kind of warning."
But Mordecai ignored the observation. "Consider it a professional courtesy. Those agents weren't anything special, but they were useful to my boss' superiors. He called in a detective by the name of Moreau."
The name shook me out of my fatigued state. "Moreau? I know that name…"
"Good, then you know exactly how hazardous he is to you and the rest of the crew. He currently doesn't know who killed those agents, but when he figures it out then I'm going to be forced to come back here to finish the job. Anyone who gets in the way will die, doesn't matter who they are."
I took a chance and turned my back to Mordecai. My throat was parched and if we weren't going to kill each other then perhaps a drink was at least in order. "So what, exactly, do you want from me? How would I keep—" But, when I turned around, he was gone. The only sign of his entry was an open window blowing a cool night time breeze into the apartment. Seizing the opportunity, I quickly ran to the window but saw nothing and no one in the alley. It was as if he disappeared into thin air, a handy trick for a triggerman. Grabbing the rifle, which was leaning against the recliner, I was quick to stash it in my room. Just as the adrenaline wore off, I began to tremble. It took all I had not to go down into one of those memories, and there was no telling what I would do if I lost control. A lot of things could happen, but the thought of hurting Riley scared me the most.
Speaking of Riley, I remembered that she should be in her room, asleep. Quietly, I opened the door while praying that she was there. Just like Heller had said, she was fast asleep, undisturbed by our intruder. While certainly a relief, I couldn't get much sleep that night. Even with a locked door, locked windows, a loaded rifle in the corner, a bayonet on the night stand, and a 38 revolver under my pillow, this apartment still felt less safe, and that feeling was going to be around for a while. The question hung on my mind through it all though, "why would Mordecai give me a warning?"