Dance with the Devil Read online

  The train lurched, and Abbie stumbled forward. Strong hands caught her, kept her from falling, but when she looked up to see who it was she could find nothing but darkness. Something reeked, the stench thick in her nostrils. Choking. It smelled of blood and shit and puke; it was the stink of lying in a ditch on the side of the road in your upside-down car while you waited to die.

  The EMTs would load her on a stretcher and take her to the hospital. It would be her first ride in an ambulance. They would not bother with a siren, because she was already gone. There was no white light, no tunnel, no chorus of angels or parade of loved ones waiting for her. She’d left everyone she loved behind her in that ditch, long ago.

  “Abbie.” Someone shook her, then again. “Abbie, wake up. Now!”

  Not the voice of God. Not a doctor. Abbie clawed her way up and out of the dreams to find Cal bent over her, his hair so shaggy and in such disarray she moved without thinking to push it off his face. He captured her hand, his grip too tight. Mouth a frown. Expression urgent.

  “Get up,” Cal said. “We need to get into the bathroom.”

  “What?” Blinking, the taste of beer and sex furry on her tongue, she couldn’t focus. He was shouting, she realized. He had to shout over the sound of the train.

  Not a train.

  The wind.

  Cal pulled her out of bed. He was naked. She was naked. Together, they stumbled across the grotty carpet. She stubbed her toe on the leg of the bed, but there wasn’t time even to yelp. She wouldn’t have been able to hear herself over the roar of the wind if she had.

  In the bathroom, Cal didn’t even pull back the curtain. He pushed her into the tub. Abbie’s knees hit the cold, slick porcelain, and this time it was hard enough to shove a cry out of her.

  Then he was there with her, his body covering hers. Warm. Slick with sweat. She remembered how they’d moved against each other and how he’d touched her with those strong hands, but there was nothing sensual about the way he grabbed her now. Cal pushed her down, down, down, her cheek against the bottom of the tub. Her teeth cut into her skin. She tasted blood.

  He might’ve been shouting something, but she couldn’t make out words, just rough, hoarse shouts. Her own screams bit at the inside of her throat, but her clamped-tight teeth wouldn’t let out a single sound. Cal pushed her down harder, harder, even though this tub was barely big enough for one, not big enough to hold two even if they were in an intimate embrace as they were now, intimate but graceless, nothing kind or generous about it.

  The tub rocked.

  The floor creaked. The walls strained, rattling the light fixtures so fiercely the glass globes covering the bulbs fell onto the linoleum floor and shattered. Abbie could see nothing, but the song of shattering glass was a noise she knew well enough to understand.

  This was…something. Her brain wanted her to understand what was going on, it wanted to clear itself of the haze of alcohol she’d once again been so cruel to subject it to, but though fear could always give the appearance of sobriety, nothing but time would clear her bloodstream of her favorite sweet poison. She was drunk. She was a drunk.

  Silence didn’t drop over them like a blanket or a hammer. The sound of the walls shaking in their foundation eased and the hoarse chuffing cacophony of the runaway dragon train faded and left behind the equally hoarse sound of Cal’s breath in her ear. It warmed her cheek, just like his bare flesh warmed hers. It seemed wrong for her to be so chilled, but then Abbie realized she was also soaking wet.

  As Cal pulled himself off of her, Abbie looked up. Blinking into the frigid spray, she saw the shower head had come completely unhooked from the wall. Water gushed out in fits and spurts, soaking the wall and the place where the ceiling ought to have been but now showed only the first blush of morning sky.

  Cal sat back, legs drawn up, and rubbed at his eyes. “Holy shit. Holy shit.”

  Abbie sat too, her joints creaking and scars singing the way they did even when she slept in the softest of beds — she could only imagine how she’d feel in a few hours. Water pattered down all around them, but though it was cold enough to force her teeth to chatter, she couldn’t muster the energy or coordination to get herself out of the tub.

  She did find some words. “What…was that?”

  “Cyclone.”

  “You’re fucking with me, right?” Laughter bubbled up and out of her, incongruous and painful as it shook her aching back and shoulders. “A tornado? At night?”

  Cal pushed up with one hand on the side of the tub, stepped over, slipped on the wet floor but caught himself against the edge of the sink. He fumbled for a towel, and she had time to be embarrassed that she hadn’t had the maid service come in to change them. Not that it mattered, they were on their way to being soaked. Besides, he’d had his mouth between her legs, would he really care if he wiped his face with a towel that had been in the same place?

  The sound of a car horn drifted to her over the patter of water and her own delirious chuckles. Abbie took Cal’s outstretched hand and let him pull her upright. He wrapped a damp towel, not as wet as she’d thought, around her and shoved her through the doorway into the bedroom…or at least what was left of it.

  The windows had blown inward, scattering glass across the carpet. Hail the impossible size of her fist gleamed on the dresser, the floor and the beds, which had been stripped of sheets and comforters but otherwise incongruously left untouched. It melted even as she watched. One wall of the room had buckled, showing glimpses of the parking lot outside. Wet pavement. Downed trees. She could see a red pickup truck tilted on its side. The blaring horn died as she listened.

  Abbie clutched the doorframe as Cal stepped around the glass to stand in front of the windows. He didn’t seem to care that he was naked — but she suddenly did. Blinking, she sought any sight of her suitcase, which had been left open in the corner of the room now exposed to the daylight. It seemed unlikely the storm had taken the sheets and comforters and left her underpants, but she took a step or two in that direction anyway.

  “Watch it.” Cal grabbed her elbow to keep her from stepping on a jagged shard of glass. “Jesus, Abbie. Stay put.”

  “I want my clothes.” She sounded petulant and pouting and hadn’t meant to, but tears were suddenly thick in her throat. She covered her breasts with one arm, but it wasn’t enough. The world had forced its way inside this shelter, and not even a suit of armor could protect her from that.

  “I’ll get your clothes.” He swiveled carefully on the rug and took both her upper arms. “Look at me.”

  She did. Cal didn’t smile, but his gaze pinned her. He made sure she was looking into his eyes before he spoke again.

  “This is going to be all right.”

  The world tipped a little. Too much drink. Not enough sleep. Oh, yeah, and a tornado that had torn apart her motel room.

  “Almost everything I owned was in my suitcase.” Some of it had been in the dresser drawers, but those looked like they’d been emptied too. Some of her belongings were in her car, but she didn’t dare hope it had escaped the red pickup’s fate.

  “We’ll find your suitcase. Your things. It’ll be okay.” Cal rubbed her arms with his fingertips.

  She shivered and sucked in a breath, feeling at least a little more sober. A little less tipsy-topsy, as she’d always said to her boys when they were out of sorts and she was trying to humor them into happiness. Let’s be a little less tipsy-topsy. They always laughed when she said it, but she couldn’t manage even a chuckle now. Abbie dug her toes into the carpet and closed her eyes, concentrating on the air she pulled with so much effort into her lungs. Held it in. Let it back out. When she opened her eyes again, he was still looking at her.

  Abbie straightened her shoulders. “We both need clothes.”

  He smiled, just a little. “Shoes first. If we can find them.”

  She nodded and squinted, searching for the ballet flats she’d worn the night before and his boots. Her memory was hazy, but she tho