“Don’t. We shouldn’t turn the car on. Don’t want people to see two weirdos just sitting in a car. They might get suspicious,” she said through chattering teeth.
“You’re paranoid. And you’re freezing. I’m turning the heat on. Besides, it’s not like they’re any survivors roaming around,” I replied, reaching forward.
Jo smacked my hand away. “You ever think there might be some things worse than survivors, Middleton?” she asked, her voice rising. Her eyes darted across the street, and that’s when it hit me. That’s when I remembered. She used to live on this street too.
“Jo? We shifted back here because of you. Didn’t we?”
She glared at me before turning away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course I do, Jo. Nothing of any importance has ever happened to me. My parents died before I could remember them or learn to miss them. That’s about it. So, we have to be here for you. What happened on Christmas 1999?”
“Nothing,” she stammered again, her voice catching.
A set of headlights cut across our windshield. A taxicab pulled into the driveway of Jo’s childhood home. “Who is that, Jo?”
“No one. Just drop it.” She was rocking back and forth now, her eyes tightly closed. Was she about to freak out on me?
A skeezy looking man stepped out of the car, throwing a look down the street. He rang the doorbell. While he waited, his hand kept rubbing at his nose. I’d seen enough drug/mob movies to know this was tell-tale sign of a junkie. That combined with the way he kept scratching at his skin confirmed it.
The next thing I saw nearly stopped my heart.
A young Jo answered the door. Her hair was a wild nest of red curls. I couldn’t see her facial expression through the rain, but I could tell by her body language she wasn’t thrilled to see the man. Her little head was bent down. Her eyes on the floor. When she wouldn’t open the door all the way, the man pushed through her, slamming the door shut behind him.
Something took over me then. Something words will never be able to describe. Something I’d never felt before. I wrapped my hands around the steering wheel, the knuckles on my fingers turning white. “Who is that man, Jo?” I growled. I almost jumped at the sound of my own voice. Never had it sounded so dark, so reckless.
Jo’s hands moved to her head and she pushed her face into her lap. “Someone will stop it,” she yelled into her skin. Her voice came out frantic, muffled, unsure.
I grabbed her by the arm to force her to look at me. My touch caused Jo to throw herself against the passenger side door. Her hands curled into fists in front of her. “I’m not going to hurt you, Jo. But I need you to tell me. I’m your partner for a reason. This is the reason. We’re meant to help each other through all this. Please, Jo. There’s something to learn here. It’s important.”
Jo closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. When she opened them, she looked directly at me. “My father..” She stopped. Took another deep breath. Closed her eyes again. “My father got in some trouble with some drug guy. Owed him some money. He...he...he told him about me...and the man...the man...”
Jo pushed her face back into her lap. “I can’t do this, Logan.”
A scream rang out faintly amidst the thunder and pounding sounds of rain against the roof of the car.
Jo.
I didn’t need to hear anymore.
I threw open the door to the car and began to run straight for her house. I didn’t bother knocking. I slammed my body against the door, and it opened slightly. Only one of those damn silly chains kept it from opening all the way. With a grunt, I kicked the door with all my might. It flew open and hit the wall with a bang. Jo’s father's eyes met mine. I would have recognized them anywhere. A white powder covered his upper lip. Before he could reach for the gun that lay by his side on the couch, I lifted the glass coffee table in front of him and threw it at the wall behind him. I had a good arm. The table shattered against the wall above his head, raining glass on him. The distraction was just enough that I had time to grab the gun.
Before I had enough time to decide whether to shoot the bastard or not, and I was disgusted enough to think it wouldn’t be such a bad idea, I heard little Jo scream again. I whipped around, following the noise up the stairs.
As I crept to the only room where a light was on, I tried to remember how to use a gun. It’s not like I’d ever shot one before. The good thing was the perv wouldn’t know that. I’d have to hope I could scare him. When I entered the room, I almost came undone.
Little Jo was lying curled on the bed, her arms pressed against her chest. Her eyes were wide and went from me to the junkie and back to me. The scumbag was pressed against the wall.