Chapter 3 - The Blue Bird
Gabriel did not move for almost a full minute.
Renley watched him from the kitchen table.
The photograph trembled in his hand.
Jenna looked from the picture to Gabriel.
“Your mother died?”
“When I was sixteen.”
“How?”
“Car accident.”
His voice sounded empty.
At least that was what Gabriel had believed for twenty-six years.
The picture had been taken outside what looked like an old warehouse.
Walter stood near a loading dock.
Victor Dane stood several feet behind him.
A woman was visible through a car window.
Gabriel’s mother.
Sophia.
On the back, beneath Walter’s accusation, was another line.
The truth is where Sophia stopped singing.
Gabriel read it twice.
Renley asked, “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Jenna immediately said, “Then figure it out without involving my daughter.”
Gabriel looked at her.
“You’re right.”
Renley groaned.
“Why does everybody keep saying that?”
“Because I’m your mother.”
Gabriel almost smiled.
Then his phone rang.
Marco.
Gabriel listened.
His expression became sharp.
“When?”
Pause.
“Did anyone enter?”
Another pause.
“I’m coming.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” Jenna asked.
“Walter’s apartment.”
Renley stood.
“What about it?”
“Someone broke in.”
Her stomach tightened.
Gabriel held up a hand.
“Nobody was there. The building manager found the door damaged.”
“The bird,” Renley whispered.
Gabriel nodded.
“Whoever went there was probably looking for this.”
Jenna moved immediately toward Renley.
“Then get that thing out of my house.”
Gabriel picked it up.
“I will.”
Renley pointed at the photograph.
“And that.”
He slipped it into his jacket.
Then he looked toward Jenna.
“I’m putting security near your building.”
“No.”
“It won’t be obvious.”
“No.”
“Mrs. Hart—”
“I do not want your criminal world following my child.”
“It already followed her.”
The statement silenced the room.
Gabriel regretted it instantly.
“I’m sorry.”
Jenna’s face tightened.
“I want police.”
“You should call them.”
“You’re telling me to call the police?”
“Yes.”
“About you?”
“If necessary.”
That surprised her.
Gabriel continued.
“I’m not asking you to protect me.”
“What exactly are you asking?”
“To let me make sure Victor cannot reach Renley.”
Jenna looked at her daughter.
Renley suddenly felt younger than twelve.
She hated that feeling.
“Mom.”
Jenna rubbed both temples.
“Fine. But I choose who stays near us.”
Gabriel nodded.
“Marco.”
“Who?”
“The guard from earlier. Former Marine. Has two daughters.”
“How do I know I can trust him?”
“You don’t.”
Again, the honesty.
“So check him.”
Jenna gave him a long look.
“I will.”
Gabriel left.
That evening, Harbor Light Community Kitchen closed early.
Not because of danger.
Because the freezer stopped working.
Mrs. Alvarez stood in the middle of the kitchen staring at three hundred dollars’ worth of spoiled vegetables and meat.
“Oh, no.”
Renley arrived after school.
“What happened?”
“Compressor.”
“Can it be fixed?”
“With money.”
“How much?”
“More than we have.”
Harbor Light had been struggling for months.
Donations were down.
Utilities were up.
Two refrigerators already worked only when someone kicked the side panel.
Walter used to joke that the kitchen appliances had “unionized.”
Renley looked at the silent freezer.
“What do we do about deliveries?”
“Sandwiches tomorrow.”
“For everyone?”
“Until we fix this.”
Renley immediately thought of Mr. Jenkins on Elm Street, who couldn’t chew hard bread.
Mrs. Avery, who needed low-sodium soup.
The Torres twins, eighty-six years old, who shared one meal because they never admitted they needed two.
“We can’t stop.”
Mrs. Alvarez smiled tiredly.
“We’re not stopping.”
A black SUV pulled up outside.
Renley groaned.
Gabriel entered five seconds later.
Every volunteer stared.
Mrs. Alvarez folded her arms.
“Absolutely not.”
Gabriel stopped.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re about to offer money.”
He glanced at the freezer.
“I was.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Harbor Light does not take criminal money.”
One elderly volunteer dropped a spoon.
Gabriel looked around.
“Fair.”
Mrs. Alvarez blinked.
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He turned toward the freezer.
“How much?”
“I just said no.”
“I heard you.”
“Then why ask?”
“I know a refrigeration contractor.”
Mrs. Alvarez narrowed her eyes.
“Are you going to secretly pay him?”
“No.”
Renley said, “He’s going to secretly pay him.”
Gabriel looked offended.
“I’m standing right here.”
“You look like somebody who secretly pays people.”
Marco entered behind him carrying two boxes.
Mrs. Alvarez pointed.
“What are those?”
“Replacement parts,” Marco said.
She looked at Gabriel.
He lifted both hands.
“I did not pay for them.”
“Who did?”
Marco cleared his throat.
“Me.”
Everyone looked at him.
Marco shifted awkwardly.
“My wife volunteered here before she died.”
Mrs. Alvarez’s expression changed.
“Laura?”
Marco nodded.
“You’re Laura Bell’s husband?”
“Yes.”
Renley remembered Laura.
She used to bake cornbread every Wednesday.
She had died from cancer three years earlier.
Mrs. Alvarez slowly lowered her arms.
“You never came in.”
“I couldn’t.”
Marco looked around the kitchen.
“Too many memories.”
He set down the boxes.
“But she would be furious if I let your freezer die.”
The room softened.
Gabriel quietly stepped back.
For the first time, Renley realized the people around him had lives outside the dark suits.
Families.
Grief.
Reasons.
That did not make the dangerous things harmless.
It just made people more complicated.
Two hours later the freezer was running again.
Gabriel remained near the doorway.
Renley approached him carrying a container of chicken soup.
“Take it.”
He frowned.
“For what?”
“Dinner.”
“I have food.”
“Nobody here needs free food,” Renley said, imitating the guard from the mansion.
Gabriel almost laughed.
“You remembered that?”
“I remember everything.”
His smile faded.
“So did my father.”
Renley looked at the soup.
“Why didn’t he call you?”
Gabriel stared through the kitchen window.
“Maybe he did.”
“What?”
“I changed my number eleven years ago.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
He understood.
“He wrote letters.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t open them?”
“Some.”
“And?”
“I stopped.”
“Why?”
“Because every letter said the same thing.”
“What?”
“Leave before you become someone you can’t recognize.”
Renley considered him.
“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Become someone you can’t recognize?”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t know.”
Renley handed him the soup.
“Mr. Pike would probably tell you to figure it out.”
Gabriel accepted the container.
“You sound like him.”
“That’s either good or bad.”
“Both.”
His phone buzzed.
A message.
Gabriel read it.
His expression darkened.
“What?”
“Victor wants to meet.”
“Are you going?”
“Yes.”
“Bad idea.”
“Probably.”
Renley stared at him.
“You’re still going?”
“Yes.”
“That’s dumb.”
“Also probably.”
She turned to leave.
“Renley.”
She looked back.
Gabriel held the soup.
“Thank you.”
She shrugged.
“Bring back the container.”
He nodded solemnly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Gabriel met Victor that night inside a private dining room downtown.
Victor Dane was fifty-eight.
Silver at the temples.
Perfect suit.
Warm smile.
The kind of man who remembered birthdays and ordered champagne before anyone asked.
He embraced Gabriel.
“I heard about Walter.”
Gabriel watched carefully.
“You knew?”
Victor’s expression barely changed.
“Knew what?”
“That he was alive.”
Silence.
Then Victor poured wine.
“I suspected.”
Gabriel did not sit.
“My father left me something.”
Victor’s hand paused for half a second.
“What?”
“A message.”
“What kind?”
“The kind that mentioned you.”
Victor slowly set down the bottle.
“Gabriel.”
“Yes?”
“Your father hated me.”
“He apparently had reasons.”
Victor smiled sadly.
“Walter hated everyone who helped you build something without him.”
Gabriel studied his face.
“Did you kill my mother?”
The room became silent.
Victor stared.
Then he laughed.
Not loudly.
Almost affectionately.
“Oh, Gabriel.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.”
“No, you didn’t?”
“No, I am not answering a question based on the paranoid writings of a dead man.”
Gabriel stepped closer.
Victor’s smile disappeared.
“What happened the night she died?”
“You know what happened.”
“Tell me again.”
“She drove off the coast road in a storm.”
“Was anyone following her?”
Victor’s eyes sharpened.
“You’re letting a twelve-year-old delivery girl resurrect ghosts.”
Gabriel froze.
Victor realized his mistake.
Too late.
Gabriel’s voice became dangerously quiet.
May you like
“I never told you about Renley.”
For the first time that evening, Victor Dane looked afraid.
