Shimmer: A Novel (37 page)

“I want to make sure
this
still works,” she said as she ducked in for a kiss.

Logan closed his eyes when their lips met, and he received the full swooping weightless effect, combined with the pleasant tingling that coursed along his skin and he sighed aloud. Fallon placed her palms on either side of his face and moaned with pleasure.

“Works for me,” Logan murmured against her soft lips.

“Better than ever,” Fallon said dreamily. “Could do this all day.”

Careful of her sore hip, Logan slipped his hands around her waist and removed the last vestige of distance between their bodies. As his tongue bumped into hers on a path of exploration, he whispered, “You’re welcome.”

“Not done with the thanking,” she said quickly, sliding her right hand around the nape of his neck to hold him firmly in place. “Hmm? Are you happy to see me, or is that a star-dagger in your pocket.”

“Exceedingly happy,” he said, chuckling against her eager lips, “but also carrying a lethal off-world metal weapon.”

The outside door opened and closed. “Fallon!”

Fallon disengaged, patted her hair, and looked generally flustered. “My father,” she whispered to Logan. She retuned to her side of the table and called, “In the kitchen! With company!”

Logan hastily took his seat and exhibited an inordinate amount of interest in the small print on his diet soda can as Fallon’s father stepped into the kitchen. He was tall, with dark brown, wavy hair in need of a trim, and green eyes that seemed too young for his deeply lined face. Fallon made quick introductions, and mentioned that Logan’s family had bought Wilhelmina Kemper’s house.

“Good to meet you, sir,” Logan said as they shook hands.

“Same,” Daniel Maguire said, perhaps a bit suspiciously before opening the refrigerator. “Suppose you were studying or something?”

Logan almost took the bait, but clamped his mouth shut when he realized there wasn’t a book in sight.

“Unplanned visit,” Fallon said. “Logan was driving home, saw me bringing in the groceries, and offered to help. I, uh, thanked him with a soda.”

“Uh-huh,” her father said distractedly. Fortunately he was examining the contents of the refrigerator because Logan felt his face burning at her mention of thanking him. “So you went grocery shopping?”

“I left a note.”

“Right. I forgot,” he said. “Pick up any beer? Looks like we’re all out. I put it on the list.”

Fallon frowned. “They card at the liquor store, dad.”

Closing the refrigerator door, he turned to face them, and chuckled at his absentminded mistake. “Right. What was I thinking?”

If anything, Fallon’s frown deepened. She took a swig of her soda.

“But listen,” he said. “I wanted to celebrate, sugarplum.”

With her back to him, she looked at Logan, mouthed the word “sugarplum” and rolled her eyes. Despite the gesture, Logan could tell she was pleased with the term of endearment. “Celebrate what?”

Her father pulled out a chair and sat on it backwards, his crossed arms resting on the back as he faced her, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. “You had the truck, and I decided to get some fresh air, so I took a walk. Guess who I bumped into? Jimmy Burke! Remember him?” Fallon shook her head, but her father continued unperturbed. “Old friend from high school. We lost touch. Anyway, he’s in construction now. Refurbishing an old mansion in Woodbury. Now, nothing’s definite, but it sure looks good.”

Fallon swung around to face him and grabbed his forearm. “You got a job?”

“Said he could probably use me,” her father said, smiling. “Couple months anyway on that project. But who knows? Could turn into a full time thing. On his crew, I mean.”

“That’s great, Dad,” Fallon said, leaning forward to hug him, cheek to cheek. “I’m so happy for you.”

“For us,” he said. “We need this.”

Logan was starting to feel a little awkward for witnessing this intimate family scene. He was a moment or two away from excusing himself, and would have already if the interruption wouldn’t have been equally as awkward. He considered quietly slipping out of the house.

Fallon pulled back and frowned at her father, but it was good-natured. “You’re cheek’s all scruffy. Don’t forget to shave before you go back.”

“I remember how to shave, miss.”

“See that you do,” Fallon said with mock sternness. “Logan and I are going for a drive. I’ll be back in time to cook us a celebratory dinner. Okay?”

“Leaving the pickup here?”

Fallon glanced at Logan. “Sure. We’ll take the van.”

Before they left, Fallon gave her father a quick kiss on the cheek, complete with a second grumble about his stubble, but genuinely congratulating him again on the solid job lead. Out on the front stoop, she said, “I’m so happy for him. That’s the most…involved he’s been since my mother…”

“I’m glad,” Logan said.

She nodded, beaming, and with the ease of contentment, she was stunningly beautiful. “I’m not trying to abduct you or anything,” she said abruptly. “It’s just that after—in the kitchen—I thought maybe we should talk or something, but definitely not with my father around. Do you have time for a drive?”

“Strangely, enough, Ambrose prescribed a drive,” Logan said. “Or a walk in the park.”

“We could drive to the park,” Fallon said, and then pursed her lips as a mischievous glint filled her eyes. “Or we could just drive somewhere and park. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.”

“As plans go,” Logan said. “I can’t find fault with it.”

“Didn’t you know?” she said. “Master strategist here.”

“Except…”

“No, no exceptions,” she said and grabbed his hand, then closed her eyes and smiled from the contact high. “Whoopsie! Okay, I’m back. That was a fun little trip, but I’m sure we can do better.” She heaved a sigh and her grin faded. “Business before pleasure.”

“Maybe a drive is just a drive, and a walk in the park is a stroll, but I was wondering if Ambrose secretly hoped my dousing would… find something.”

“Like a rift? Would he want you to face that alone?”

“Gideon told me to take my cell phone.”

“Okay, spoilsport,” Fallon said. “Here’s the deal. We’ll drive around for a while and see if your antenna perks up.”

“It already has,” Logan said and nimbly dodged her playful elbow jab.

“Anyway, if we drive around and you don’t get a signal,” Fallon said. “I want your radio turned to my frequency. But I’d better not hear one pun about fiddling with my knobs.”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” Logan said. “Punning, that is.”

For all her lighthearted banter, Fallon became serious about Logan’s appointed mission once they were inside the van. He drove randomly, letting momentary whim decide if he would turn left, right, or continue straight ahead. After fifteen minutes, he was driving on Kings Highway, but past the scene of the bus accident. He turned onto Route 322 and seemed to be zoning out when Fallon said, “They’re everywhere, aren’t they?”

“What?”

Then he saw she was pointing at the sentinel line of utility polls, each one stapled with a lavender or crimson or turquoise flyer. “Is somebody campaigning?”

“They’re for that Bridget Bane concert at the Renaissance Mall,” Fallon said. “Some radio station is promoting it. Those flyers are all over the school, in store windows, in the gutters. But this is overkill, don’t you think.”

“Renaissance Mall? It’s this way, isn’t it?”

“You’ve never been there?”

“New in town, remember?”

“Right,” Fallon said. “Yep, it’s this way, if you want to go by the back roads and avoid the main highways.”

“Guess that’s where I’m going,” Logan said. “She’s there today, right?” He eased off the accelerator, leaning over the steering wheel in an attempt to read the small print.

“Yes, it’s today,” Fallon said. “Are you a big Bridget Bane fan?”

“Never heard of her.”

“Well, FYI, she has the current number one pop single, debut album has already gone platinum, maybe even double platinum, and she’s all over the TV, morning shows, late shows, late late shows, MTV, VH1, you name it.”

“We should go.”

“It’s gonna be mobbed.”

“I had a feeling.”

Chapter 49

When Logan saw the vast sea of cars surrounding the Renaissance Mall, he began to worry. Rather than circling the sprawling two-story complex several times in hopes of finding a recently vacated parking spot, he drove to the far end of the lot and took a space opposite a Jiffy Lube, part of a neighboring shopping complex that might as well have been called Franchise Row.

Logan’s fears began to escalate. As if the filled-to-capacity parking lot hadn’t disgorged enough potential victims into the mall, an NJ Transit bus pulled up at the main entrance and dropped off another two dozen. Logan hurried across the parking lot.

“Hey! Wait up!”

He slowed until Fallon caught up to him and grabbed his hand. “Making me dizzy on purpose?” he asked, after closing his eyes for a moment to let the swoop and tingle pass through him.

“What’s the rush?”

“I need to get inside,” he said. “I need to know.”

She nodded her understanding. Hand in hand, they ran to the main entrance, pulled open the heavy glass doors, and stepped into the cool wash of industrial air conditioning. Before walking any farther, Logan took out his cell phone and speed dialed the Walker home number.

“What are you doing?” Fallon asked.

“If it happens here, we may not have much warning. I’ll put them on alert.” Ambrose answered the phone. Logan explained in concise fashion how his psychic autopilot had led him to the mall, which in a few minutes would be hosting a live concert to a packed house. “Call Grainger. He may need to get people out of here fast.”

After Logan disconnected, Fallon said. “Now what?”

“We go in,” Logan said. “See if it’s a false alarm.”

On one panel of the triangular mall directory was a large poster announcing Bridget Bane’s appearance. Standing nearby, a flock of excited teenaged girls were debating the relative merits of Ms. Bane’s asymmetrical blond haircut—short and spiky on one side, long and flowing on the other—and her distressed clothing—metallic silver mesh top with a plunging neckline and low-slung black leather pants—both of which sported at least twenty strategically placed rips and holes. Tatter-wear, for the post-apocalyptic casual look. On the poster, Bridget Bane was pushing through futuristic chrome doors embossed with large back-to-back letter Bs. The doors were streaked with grime, the metal pitted, as if from an acid bath, and a lavender smoke haze swirled around Bridget without obscuring her entrance. Despite her confident stride, a single tear glistened on her cheek. Along the bottom of the poster, also in distressed three-dimensional chrome, were the words,
World Crashes Down.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Logan asked.

The girls giggled at his public display of ignorance and walked away.

“Title of her album,” Fallon said.

“Let’s hope it’s not prophetic.” Logan checked his watch, and compared the time listed on the poster for the start of the concert. “She’s probably here already.”

As they walked deeper into the mall, Logan realized they had come in through an upper level entrance, close to one of the three department store anchors. Pop music played on hidden speakers but was no match for the collective susurration of crowd noise, the hundreds of overlapping conversations punctuated by the continual and varied march of footfalls, the rustlings of shopping bags, the shrieks of playful children, and the admonitions of overprotective parents.

A wide walkway ran along the perimeter, with the center of the upper level open to overlook the rows of stores and island kiosks below. A series of interconnected skylight panels admitted enough light to keep the potted trees alive and ward off any feelings of claustrophobia. Typical of any moderate to large mall across America, the Renaissance Mall offered multiples specialty stores for every type of purchase: jewelry, books, music, shoes, athletic wear, his and her apparel, restaurants and snack food kiosks, holiday cards, electronics, video games, bath and beauty items. To infer a bit of consumer psychology, the easy access to instant comparison shopping probably led to more sales within the complex, ensuring the overall health of the mall even if one store lost out to in-house competition. The only stores with a relative monopoly in the confines of the mall were the travel agency and hair salon. Logan saw so many sale posters and specials offers and super discounts and window displays that it was hard for him to focus on any one location.

On both sides of the upper level, the lanes became more crowded the closer they walked to the intersection of the three branches of the mall, an area that formed a central access hub with three sets of escalators, a wide switchback staircase, and an elevator for those pushing strollers or confined to wheelchairs. The burgeoning crowd packed itself around the hub’s safety railing, already three rows deep. Logan stood so far back he couldn’t see down to the lower level. The staircase was standing room only, and the escalators were doing a brisk business as some mall patrons continually sought a better vantage point.

As they searched for a better view, Logan said. “You seem to be… I don’t know,
okay
with all the Walker strangeness.”

“Sure it’s scary and weird,” Fallon said. “At the same time, it’s a relief to know I’m not alone, that I’m not slipping down some inevitable slope to insanity.” Suddenly she grabbed his hand and tugged him into the elevator.

The back the elevator faced the central hub and, since it was made of smoked glass, provided an excellent view of the courtyard below. A modular, T-shaped black stage stood in the center of the courtyard, buttressed with monstrous black speakers and featuring an unattended drum kit. Adjacent to the stage was a black-draped table with a radio station’s banner wrapped around the front. A middle-aged, goateed deejay, wearing headphones, black clothes and a red silk vest, sat behind the table, fiddling with a microphone and an assortment of blinking electronics. Dozens of red helium-filled balloons imprinted with the radio station’s call letters strained against black ribbons affixed to the corners of the table.