Burn (Pure #3)(99)

“Not happy to see the likes of me?”

“Last time I saw you you’d been hit by a spider, locked in. So, you didn’t blow up?”

“I was spared. By God.”

“A gift from the Dome, I’m guessing, to be spared like that.”

“And they’re not happy with us, El Capitan. They are not happy at all.”

“But they wanted their son to be returned to them and he was! What could they possibly want now?”

“They must want another sacrifice,” she says.

El Capitan nods slowly. “I’m guessing that it won’t be a self-sacrifice.”

“Me? No. I want to be here when we are called to join them in the heaven of the Dome. Not to be ash in the wind.”

“I see.” El Capitan knows what the biodiesel’s going to be used for now. Burning to death—not his preferred way to go. “But I’m asking you a kindness.”

“What’s that?”

“Spare my brother,” El Capitan says. “He’s an angel. He’s good. Spare my poor brother.” He can’t help the fact that there’s an ironic edge to his voice.

“Now how would we spare him and not you, foul man?”

“I guess you’d have to go light on me.” El Capitan raises his eyebrows. “You can’t let another good soul die, could you?”

Margit lifts her clenched fist and knuckle punches El Capitan in the head. It reminds him of his grandmother who would rap him on the head when he got underfoot. “Maybe that’ll be the best part—you knowing your sins caused your brother’s death.” Margit turns and says to Gorse, “We should beat them good and solid first then set the brother on his back afire so El Capitan gets to hear his cries.”

Gorse likes the idea. “Hell yes!” he says, mocking El Capitan from the night before. “Hell yes!”

And before El Capitan can spit out something else, Margit shoves the gag back into his mouth.





PARTRIDGE





GUNSHOT WOUND




Within a half hour, Partridge is standing next to Albertson at the entrance of the Personal Loss Archives. They knock and wait. It’s the middle of the night. Will anyone be on duty?

A woman’s pale face appears in the small rectangular window beside the door. She’s startled to see Partridge. He waves. She freezes for a moment and then holds up a ring of keys. She disappears. The locks are clicking open.

She opens the door wide. “Can I help you?” She’s a small woman with a sharp bob.

“I was hoping for a few minutes. There’s someone I want to look up,” Partridge says.

She glances behind her and then says, “It’s after hours. We don’t usually have visitors, but in your case,” she says, flustered. “Come in.”

“Thank you.”

“You know your father doesn’t have a box yet.”

“I’m not here for my father.”

Albertson says, “I’ll give you your privacy.” He looks at the clerk who nods quickly.

She locks the door. “Perhaps you know your way.”

“I do.”

“Okay then. I’ll check on you in a few minutes.”

As Partridge heads down the aisle, he feels a strange sense of calm. The last time he was here, he was a thief. He stole the contents of his mother’s box. His father knew he would. He was played.

This time, he’s aware of his father. In fact, at this moment, he feels closer to his father than at any of the memorial services—or is it that his father is closer to him? Closing in?

He finds the alphabetically correct aisle at the end of the room and heads down it. His heels hit the tile floor—quick, sharp knocks as if there’s someone at a front door in the cold, waiting to be let in. He’s afraid for a second that he won’t have the nerve to open his brother’s box—just like last time. But the feeling is fleeting. He will open the box, but he’ll never know if what’s inside of it is what his brother actually left behind or if it’s something his father planted in the box for Partridge to find. That’s the thought that slows his footsteps. He doesn’t want to have anything more to unravel about his father. Leave me alone, he wants to say to the old man.

He runs his eyes over the names on the fronts of the boxes as quickly as he can. Under the names, there are the lists of causes of death. He’s looking for Willux—Sedge Watson Willux. He walks past the Vs and into the Ws, and then he stops.

Weed.

Marta Weed. Victoro Weed. Arvin’s parents’ names. They were on his mother’s list. Partridge asked Arvin about his parents. He said they were fine, that they had colds, but that was it. They’re dead?

Their causes of death read, simply, CONTAGION.

And then there are two more names: Berta Weed, whose death is listed as HEART ATTACK, and Allesandra Weed, who has only one word written under her name: INFANT.

Partridge remembers the day of the field trip with Glassings’ World History class. It was Arvin who asked if they could open the boxes. He’d found an aunt—maybe Aunt Berta. His parents weren’t dead. Had his mother gotten pregnant again?

Partridge has the strange desire to open Arvin’s parents’ boxes. No one’s here. He’s alone.