Author: Rick Hautala
Date: 1993-09-15 20:44:59+00:00
Keywords: Horror
Description: Cindy Toland knows that her sister's violent death was no accident. She knows her abusive brother-in-law too well... knows the dark, brutal things he's capable of doing. That's why she took her niece and nephew away into the night—away from a dangerous and twisted madness called home. But ten-year-old Billy and his kid sister Krissy know something their Aunt Cindy doesn't. It's about the blue lady who comes late at night and whispers strange things. Billy and Krissy aren't scared of the lady. Even though she lives beyond the grave. But there's something else out there. Something much more terr
Publisher: Crossroad Press

GHOST LIGHT

By Rick Hautala

A Macabre Ink Production

Macabre Ink is an imprint of Crossroad Press

Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

Digital Edition Copyright 2013 by The Estate of Rick Hautala

Copy Edited by: Kurt M. Criscione

Cover design by: David Dodd

LICENSE NOTES

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.  This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.  If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.  If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy.  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Meet the Author

Under his own name, Rick Hautala wrote close to thirty novels, including the million-copy best seller Night Stone, as well as Winter Wake, The Mountain King, and Little Brothers. He published three short story collections: Bedbugs, Occasional Demons, and Glimpses: The Best Short Stories of Rick Hautala. He had over sixty short stories published in a variety of national and international anthologies and magazines.

Writing as A. J. Matthews, his novels include the bestsellers The White Room, Looking Glass, Follow, and Unbroken.

His recent and forthcoming books include Indian Summer, a new “Little Brothers” novella, as well as two novels, Chills and Waiting. He recently sold The Star Road, a science fiction novel co-written with Matthew Costello, to Brendan Deneen at Thomas Dunne/St. Martin’s.

With Mark Steensland, he wrote several short films, including the multiple award-winning Peekers, based on the short story by Kealan Patrick Burke; The Ugly File, based on the short story by Ed Gorman; and Lovecraft’s Pillow, inspired by a suggestion from Stephen King.

Born and raised in Rockport, Massachusetts, Rick was a graduate of the University of Maine in Orono with a Master of Arts in English Literature. He lived in southern Maine and is survived by his wife, author Holly Newstein.

In 2012, he was awarded the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Horror Writers Association.

For more information, check out his website www.rickhautala.com.

Book List

Novels

Beyond the Shroud

Cold Whisper

Dark Silence

Dead Voices

Follow

Four Octobers

Ghost Light

Impulse

Little Brothers

Looking Glass

Moon Death

Moonbog

Moonwalker

Night Stone

Shades of Night

The Mountain King

The White Room

The Wildman

Twilight Time

Unbroken

Winter Wake

The Body of Evidence Series (co-written with Christopher Golden)

Brain Trust

Burning Bones

Last Breath

Skin Deep

Throat Culture

Novellas

Cold River

Indian Summer

Reunion

Story Collections

Bedbugs

Occasional Demons

Untcigahunk: The Complete Little Brothers

DISCOVER CROSSROAD PRESS

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CONTENTS

GHOST LIGHT

Other Rick Hautala eBooks Available from Crossroad Press

GHOST LIGHT

Introduction

I have no idea how to start this… I’ve changed it a score of times.  If you’re reading this then you obviously have good taste in books and you are probably already well versed in Rick’s works… or perhaps this is the first Hautala book you’ve ever picked up…?  I have no way of knowing.

So I guess the best I can do is tell you my Rick story.  It means a lot to me and I’m still choked up that I was asked to write this intro in the first place.

A little over 20 years ago, around 1991, I was going through an interesting stretch in my life.  Bad things had been happening and my favorite escape was to go outside with a good book and read.  At this time I was given a box full of horror titles.  I was in my early teens, and while I had started out reading Tolkien and other fantasy stuff, horror called to me.

There were several good books in that box, but the only one that mattered was a perfect first printing of the Little Brothers paperback.  That was my first Rick Hautala book.  I was totally hooked.  It had everything I have come to love in horror (especially coming from a fantasy reading background): It had monsters (and cool original ones at that), it had a teenage protagonist avenging the loss of his mother (hey I was 13 and only had my mother at the time), it had role-playing (my other escape), it had a harrowing battle in the woods and underground (I love hiking and caving).  It had everything I love.

The rest of my ‘90s was spent reading King and Koontz, and then a return to reading fantasy.  Those dark times got worse and my mother and I found ourselves living out of car for a while and in worse places.  Moving constantly and losing parts of my life all over the state.  It culminated in finally having to leave home, my family, and even my dreams behind.

Ok… Bear with me – this really is about Rick Hautala, and we’re getting back to the better parts.  In 2008 I was in a better place and I wanted to read horror again.  I also had my dreams back… I wanted to be a writer.  I started hanging out in online creative forums and getting to know new writers and the small press.  One day, I found Rick Hautala on one of those websites, and my memories of Little Brothers flooded back in.  Through all my moving around, being homeless for a time, and everything else… I still had my first printing of that novel.  It was one of only a handful of books that had managed to stay with me through it all.  I started hunting more of Rick’s books and in my search I discovered this small Convention in Rhode Island.  NECON.

My first NECON was in 2010.  I arrive, nervous.  I know some of these people only from the Internet, and there were going to be a bunch of real writers there.  I unpacked and sat in my room for a few minutes.  During the trip from my car to the building I had run into a few people I knew on sight but didn’t actually know.  I gathered my courage and boldly stepped out into the “quad.”  While I fought to regain control of my nerves, I ran into one person I had met before.  He was kind enough to offer to take me around.  He pointed out Jack Ketchum going into a room and then turned and said, “There’s Rick Hautala.”  I was so excited!  Not more than 15 feet away from where I stood, Rick was signing into the register and collecting his room key.

My guide, sensing my excitement then said, “Want to go meet him?”

To which I replied, “What!?   I couldn’t, I mean he hasn’t even gotten to his room yet.  That would be annoying for me to just bother him and all.”

“What?  Writers are all an extroverted and easy going lot, no worries.  Hey Rick!  I got one of your biggest fans here!” he yelled, despite only a short distance separating us.  I took the extrovert comment to be a joke on the fact that I was rather introverted and shy.

“Bah.  I don’t have fans.”  Rick said.  I didn’t know he was called the ‘Eeyore of Horror’, yet.

Just like that I was walked over and introduced to Rick, and just like that I loved him.  He was great.  Someone took a picture of us, and every time I look at it I feel happy (and sad) all over again.  I told him the story of my teens and how I still had that first copy of Little Brothers and how much I loved it.  After that he would refer to me as the Little Brothers guy (usually when he forgot my name… hey we just met so I forgive that).  The rest of that weekend was great:  I got that book signed, Rick tried to give me a free book (I already had an ARC and a HC of it), during one night while I wandered alone he called me over to the gazebo and we talked about books and music and life and I got introduced to dozens of other people who have all since become my friends.

Every NECON has been magic and that particular NECON was my time with Rick.  It wasn’t enough time, sadly, but I treasure each of those conversations.  I wish I had called him more and I wish my job had allowed me to go to other cons and spend more time with him.

Now back to this novel.  When we (Crossroad Press) got the first books from Rick to convert into eBooks, there literally was a fight between myself and David Dodd over which titles we would get to edit.  For a very long time I thought Rick wrote awesome monster stories, it wasn’t until 2008 that I realized that he was a master of the psychological ghost story.  Ghost Light is a prime example of that genre.  It is everything Rick talked about when he talked about what a Ghost story was to him.  I don’t want to go too far into the details, into his definition, because I think that would give away too much of the story.  Since some of you might be first-time readers, it would be unfair of me to ruin it for you.

Hopefully I have not digressed too long, and have not bored you with my story.  I just wanted to share some of what Rick Hautala meant to me.  I miss him terribly and I’m thankful for every minute I got to spend with him.

Kurt M. Criscione

November 5, 2013

Prologue: August

Leaving Omaha

For the last three hours, Cindy Toland had maintained such a tight grip on the steering wheel that prickly waves of cold spread like dry ice up her wrists and elbows. The chilly numbness went deep, like a painful sickness, into her joints and bones. She alternately shook one hand, then the other. Leaning forward, she stared through the windshield at the rain-slick, black stretch of Interstate 80 as it unspooled in front of her. The wipers slapped back and forth with a steady, sloshy beat. The beams from her car’s headlights shot ahead of her, impotent translucent rays that did little to beat back the hot, pressing August night. Only the broken white lines of the passing lanes were in sharp focus, strobing like the steady flashes of runway landing lights.

Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m doing this… She sawed her teeth back and forth over her lower lip. A hot stinging filled her eyes and a sour taste flooded the back of her throat. She wanted to cry—had to cry, but she couldn’t let herself do it. Not now. Not yet. Maybe once she was safe…

A slipstream of cool air whistled in through the narrow opening of the driver’s window. Through it, Cindy heard her car’s tires on the wet pavement. It sounded like the long, slow tearing of cloth. She was tired, and the unvarying noise made her feel even more tired, but she shook her head and forced her eyes to stay wide open.

She tensed at the lights of cars coming toward her or from behind. Her foot would snap up off the accelerator, and she would check the speedometer, making sure it wasn’t reading even one mile over the speed limit. She was convinced that every car on the Interstate tonight was an Iowa State Police cruiser. Any minute now, she was sure she’d see the sudden flicker of blue lights start up on the roof of a distant vehicle.

Cindy couldn’t stop wondering if she was going to have to face the rest of her life like this, living with a cold, hard knot in her stomach, always looking over her shoulder and up ahead. Would she ever feel normal again? Whatever the hell normal was!

A cold sheen of beaded moisture stood out on her face. Her throat was parched, but she had finished the last of the Citrus Cooler she’d bought at the rest stop outside of Des Moines more than an hour ago. Now her bladder was full, swelling with dull pressure in her abdomen. She didn’t dare take an exit to find a roadside rest area. Not yet. Not until she had at least another hour between her and Omaha. And even then, it might not be safe. In fact, she knew it might never be safe again…

Every now and then, her gaze would shift from the road ahead to the rearview mirror. Her pursed lips, cheekbones, and eyebrows were underlit by the eerie green of the dashboard lights. The dim reflection of her fear-rounded eyes stared back at her, unsettling her even more.

Those are the eves of a crazy woman. A tiny whimper escaped from her—the sound of a small animal in pain.

She chanced looking longer into the rearview mirror, where she could barely discern other faces, small and round and ghastly white, floating in the darkness behind her back. They looked like sad, wrinkled balloons. A wave of chills rippled up her spine, and the flesh at the base of her neck turned slimy. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but the words—whatever they might have been—died in her throat, bottled up like a poison she dared not release.

The road continued to unroll in front of her, an eternal, straight black ribbon as shiny as black enamel in the glow of her headlights. At times, Cindy had the disorienting sensation that she wasn’t moving at all, that she was sitting perfectly still as the night washed over her like a cold, black river, and the darkness closed in behind her.

“I want to go home.”

The voice was faint, an almost inaudible gasp above the ripping sound of the tires. Cindy gripped the steering wheel even tighter, if that was possible, and her teeth sawed across her lower lip faster, almost drawing blood. She cleared her throat, about to say something, but couldn’t sort out the right words from the cascade of thoughts that filled her mind. She knew she should act with confidence, show no weakness, but the strain was finally getting to her. Now that she had really done it, she wasn’t at all sure she had the strength. She stared at the faces reflected in the rearview mirror, disoriented by the impression that they weren’t really there.

“Aunt Cindy… I want to go home.”

The voice almost light and airy, a little girl’s voice, but there was a terrified twist to it that cut Cindy to the quick.

“Yes, honey,” Cindy said, her own voice croaking like a frog.

“I—I want to go home now… Can we go home?”

Clenching her jaw, Cindy glanced into the rearview and shook her head. For a moment, the two faces hovering in the darkness behind her blurred as tears filled her eyes. She saw two pairs of eyes—scared and lonely, with tears glistening like the rain-slick road—staring back at her.

“No, honey,” Cindy said in a tight whisper. “I—I can’t take you back home. I—I’m sorry, but…”

“I’m hungry and I’m cold and I have to go pee,” said another voice.

Cindy’s gaze shifted back to the road for a second, then connected with the dim reflection of a boy’s face.

“Billy… honey, look, I just want to… to drive a little while longer, okay? I just want to make sure we… that we’re not being followed.”

“But why can’t we go back home with our father?”

The boy was obviously struggling to sound tough, and even through her panic and pain, Cindy had to admire him. “We just can’t, all right? We’re going someplace else.” She was struggling to control her voice. “We’re going someplace where we’ll all be safe and happy.”

“But I just wanna go home!” the boy said in a voice that perfectly mixed demand with frightened pleading.

“I’m sorry, but we just can’t,” Cindy said, but even before she had finished her statement, the sound of a heart-wrenching cry filled the car. The little girl’s frail voice fought through the hitching sobs that wracked her.

“I—I want to—want to see my mo-o-o-m-m-m-my!”

The last word rose and rose until it became a coyote-like howl that pierced like a cold, steel drill to the center of Cindy’s soul.

“Honey—” Cindy said. A hot, choking sensation filled her mouth. “Your mommy’s de—” Her voice suddenly cut off. Panicking, she stared at the road and corrected her steering. She blinked her eyes rapidly and wiped them with the back of her wrist so she could see what she was doing.

“You have to trust me—both of you,” she said. At least to her own ears, her voice sounded oddly like someone else’s. “I’m taking you to where we’ll all be happy… I mean really happy from now on.”

“But—but how … how can we be?” the little girl said between wrenching gasps. “How can we be… when even the… even she’s so sad?”

Cindy shifted her gaze to the rearview mirror again and let out a gasp. For a flickering instant, she thought she saw a third face, pale and translucent, floating above the children in the darkness behind her. But when she blinked her eyes, she realized that she was looking at her own reflection.

“Who’s sad?” Cindy asked even as a heavy pounding sound filled her ears.

“The blue lady,” said the little girl. “The blue lady’s sad. She’s crying all the time… all the time…”

PART ONE

ONE MONTH BEFORE

Chapter One

The Final Argument

Debbie Harris cringed when she heard the garage door roll down and then slam shut. It sounded like a mass of boulders, thundering down a hillside, stopping with a final rumbling shudder. She could tell, just by the way it sounded, that Alex was drunk on his ass; and now that he was home, she knew that it would all start up again, the same way it always started up.

Thank God, she thought, at least the kids are upstairs, asleep.

Just like nearly every other night of the week, Alex had gone out drinking with his buddies straight from work. Three or more nights out of five, he never even came home for supper. For better than a year, now, Debbie hadn’t even bothered to set a place for him at the dining room table. Why go through the agony? Why deal with the heart-breaking, unspoken questions on both Billy’s and Krissy’s faces?

Where’s Daddy? How come Daddy’s not home for supper?

Debbie guessed Alex had been out to the Eagle’s Nest, the bar at the airport, either that or else one of the strip joints in downtown Omaha. It was well after midnight now, and she knew with dread certainty that he would burst into the house, stewed to the gills. God, most nights he was lucky to make it home without getting stopped by a cop or killed in an accident.

No, wait a minute, that wasn’t luck!

She would have been lucky if one of these nights he wrapped his car around a telephone pole. But she was tired of waiting for something like that, some divine intervention to get her out of her own, private hell. After months of agonizing over it, of talking to her sister and her minister, she had made up her mind. Now, if only she had the courage to follow through. But, like so many times before, she was afraid that when it came right down to saying the words I’m leaving you and I’m taking the kids, she would chicken out.

Lord knows, in the past he’d beat her for saying much less!

Sitting on the edge of her chair at the kitchen table, she focused on the open kitchen window, waiting to see his shadow slide across the screen as he made his way up the steps to the side door. She regretted that she hadn’t gone up to bed and at least faked being asleep, but she knew from painful experience that he would come upstairs and wake her up as soon as he didn’t find her downstairs. No, facing him here in the kitchen was best. At least the kids might not wake up once they started in with the yelling.

And, oh, yes—there would be yelling tonight!

Debbie folded her arms across her chest, heaved a deep sigh, and rubbed her biceps in an attempt to get rid of the spray of goose bumps that had covered her arms in spite of the pressing heat of the June night. No breeze came in through the open window; nothing to stir the air. That was early summer in Nebraska, for you. The curtains hung there, damp and limp from the humidity. From outside came the high, whining buzz of the cicadas, and below that, like the clopping of an axe, Debbie heard the erratic scuff of Alex’s shoes as he staggered up the concrete walkway.

Why does it have to be this way? she wondered as she twined her fingers together in her lap. Why in the name of Christ does it have to be this way?

Tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill, but she sniffed loudly and wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands, fighting hard for composure. She thought back on what her minister had told her, that she was a vessel of God, and that she had an obligation to stop the suffering of one of God’s beautiful creatures.

Don’t cry! Just don’t cry! The time for crying is long past! she told herself. She knew, if he saw her sitting here, bawling her eyes out, he might not even give her a chance to say what she had to say before he started in on her.

Debbie sniffed, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and shook her head tightly.

Christ, as if he needed an excuse to start in on her. She could be wearing the wrong color nightgown or the dishes for supper, which he hadn’t come home for, would still be in the sink, and that would be enough to set him off. She had learned over the last eleven years of marriage to this man that nothing—absolutely nothing she did would please him. And that’s why—tonight she had decided that she had to tell Alex that she was leaving him. She’d made up her mind. Upstairs, she had a suitcase packed for her and one for each of the kids, and she was going to spend a few days or weeks at her sister’s house until she figured out what she was going to do, but this was it. She was leaving! She had to if she wanted to hang onto whatever shreds of sanity and self-respect she still had. She had to if she wanted to spare Billy and Krissy any more of the agony of living in the same house with a man as violent as Alex.

She jumped when she saw the dark smear of his shadow shift across the screen. His foot stomped heavily on the first step, sounding like a gunshot in the night. Debbie jerked forward and almost stood up, but then eased back into the chair.

No, she told herself. Don’t go to the door to meet him. Don’t even stand up. Stay cool and calm, as detached as you can be, so you won’t be an easy target. Sit here and as rationally and as quietly as you can, say what you have to say. Don’t give him a chance to react, much less overreact. And maybe, if you’re lucky, if there truly is a God who watches over widows, orphans, and maybe even abused wives, maybe he’s so damned drunk he’ll pass out before he can beat the living shit out of you.

Maybe…

Just maybe…

2

“What the fuck’re you lookin’ at?”

Alex pulled the screen door open and braced it by leaning against it as he gripped both sides of the door jamb and glared into the house. The overhead kitchen light was much too bright. It stung his eyes, making them water. The whining sounds of the cicadas rose higher and higher, spiraling around him like the whine of those goddamned jet engines he worked on at the airport five fucking days a week. He couldn’t see Debbie’s face clearly; it was nothing more than a watery blur, looming at him from the glaring yellow room, but damned if it didn’t look like she was smiling at him.

Christ, the bitch was laughing at him!

“What’s so fuckin’ funny?”

“…nothing…” came the reply, but he could barely hear her voice over the buzzing cicada sounds and the high-pitched ringing inside his head. For several seconds, he thought that he might still be staring up into the spotlight, and that the woman he was looking at wasn’t his wife at all, but one of the dancers who would soon begin to gyrate to the heavy beat of the music and start taking off her clothes.

Breathing deeply and shaking his shoulders, Alex took a step into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. When it hit with a bang, he noticed Debbie’s reaction: she jerked back quickly as if he had slapped her. And that—goddamnit!—was exactly what he was going to do if the bitch didn’t stop sitting there, smiling at him… laughing at him! The overhead light shadowed her eyes, and she looked like a raccoon—like a big-assed, fucking crazy, grinning raccoon.

“You got supper ready for me?” he asked.

He took a few lurching steps into the house toward the refrigerator, then tripped. He had to grab onto the door handle to keep from falling. The tile pattern on the floor spun around like the colored lights of a merry-go-round.

“I—there might be a few slices of left-over pizza,” she said. Her hand lifted and, trembling, pointed at the refrigerator.

“Pizza? Cold pizza? You expect me to eat fucking cold pizza?”

“I can put it in the microwave for you,” she said mildly, but he noticed that she made no motion to stand up. She just sat there, staring at him with that dumb-ass smile plastered across her face.

I’ll take care of that smile, he thought. I’ll wipe the goddamned floor with it if you don’t cut it out!

He moved toward her but tripped again on his own feet and banged into the table. Debbie let out a thin squeal and leaned back, but not fast enough to avoid his hand as he swung it around at her. The palm caught her squarely on the side of the face with a loud crack, and her head snapped back.

“Then get it for me!” he shouted, fumbling to pull out a chair. He sat down heavily and let loose a rumbling burp. “And get me a fuckin’ beer while you’re at it!”

He was satisfied by the expression of utter surprise in her eyes as she clamped both hands over her face and stared at him, trembling. He felt even better when she took her hand away and stood up, and he saw the wide, red welt blossoming like a flower on her cheek.

“That’ll teach you to just sit there like a fuckin’ stooge when I’m hungry.”

He cupped his face in his hands as he leaned forward onto the table. One elbow slipped off the edge, but he caught himself before he banged his head on the table.

“So what’d you do today?” he asked, watching like a hungry hawk as his wife took the cold pizza from the refrigerator, quietly spread three slices on a paper plate, covered them with a paper towel, and slipped them into the microwave oven. The beep-beeps the oven made as she set the timer felt like thin spikes were being driven into his ears. He glared at her, clenching his fists tightly.

“What’s with you tonight? Cat got your tongue? I asked you what the fuck you did today? You go shopping, or out to eat with your numb-nuts sister, or what?”

Debbie turned and looked at him, but she remained silent. Was that fucking irritating grin still on her face? Goddamn he was going to have to teach her a lesson if she kept that shit up!

“Noth—nothing,” Debbie finally replied with a quick shake of her head. She leaned back against the counter as though she needed it for support.

“Well I’d say you’re acting pretty damned peculiar,” Alex snarled. “What’d you do, total the car or something? Or did you blow the rest of this week’s grocery money on a fucking dress or something?”

“Well, I did do a little shopping,” she said. Her voice trembled terribly and was still almost too low for him to hear. “I—I had to get Billy some new sneakers.”

“Oh, yeah—and I suppose you had to buy him some of them fuckin’ designer sneakers, right? Nikes or Reeboks, right? Them kind that cost like a hundred dollars.”

“No. Actually, I got a pretty good deal at—”

She stopped talking when the sudden high-pitched alarm sounded from the microwave. Alex plugged his ears until the sound stopped, then sat back, hooked his thumbs through his belt loops, and watched her with slitted eyes as she slid the plate across the table to him. Was it his imagination, or was she still shying away from him, cringing, like she expected him to hit her again? Christ, didn’t she realize he only hit her when she irritated the shit out of him, when she made him do it?

He frowned as he looked down at the pizza in front of him. The cheese had turned into a thin, black crust, and watery tomato sauce ran onto the plate, threatening to soak through within seconds. Steam curled up like thin fog. The burned tomato smell almost made him gag.

“This is the best you can do?”

Debbie shrugged and went back to leaning against the counter. “I… had no idea when you’d be home.”

“You tryin’ to scald me or what?” Alex said, prodding the pizza with his forefinger. “And by the way, I thought I asked you to get me a beer, too.”

Debbie stayed where she was for a moment. Alex watched as her lips moved back and forth. She looked like she was trying like hell to say something, but she didn’t make a sound.

“Well… I’m waiting…”

“Alex,” she said at last, after clearing her throat. “I think we… we have to have a talk.”

“Oh, yeah? A talk? ’Bout what? Tell me the truth. You didn’t fuck up the car or anything, did you?”

Debbie was chewing on her lower lip as she shook her head in denial.

“Not about the car,” she said, barely a whisper. “About us.”

Alex licked his forefinger clean as he glared up at her. The light in the room was still much too bright for him. He had to squint to see her… to see if she was still laughing at him.

“And what do you want to say about us?” he asked, letting the words slur to show just how little he cared.

Debbie stood there, wringing her hands. Her eyes kept shifting around the room, from him to the door to the window and then back to him.

“I—uh, I don’t know quite how to put this,” she said, “but over the last few weeks, you know, I’ve been thinking… a lot, and I … I don’t like what’s happening between you and me, and I—”

“Don’t like what?” Alex shouted, so loud it hurt his throat. He was pleased to see her cringe away from him. She was getting the message. She knew who the luck was in charge around here!

“I… I don’t like how you’ve been acting,” she said. “How you’re never around and how you’re—”

“Never around?” he shouted. He clenched his fist and brought it down hard onto the table. “Never around! You mean I’m never around ’cause I’m out at the fucking airport ten or twelve fucking hours a day, bustin’ my goddamned knuckles, workin’ on that machinery? Is that why I’m never around?”

Debbie shrugged and obviously wanted to say more, but she remained silent.

“I mean, Christ on a cross! I don’t see you out there looking for a job.”

Debbie looked down at the floor, twisting her hands together. “I thought we agreed that I wouldn’t look for work, not until Krissy was in school full time.”

“Oh, yeah—sure! Jesus Christ!” He pushed his plate of pizza angrily away from him so fast it shot off the edge of the table and landed face down on the floor, not far from Debbie’s feet. Slouching back in his chair, Alex eyed her angrily, breathing heavily through his nostrils.

“So that’s the level of appreciation I get for what I do for you, huh? You wait up ’till after fuckin’ midnight just so you can start bitchin’ at me how I’m ‘never around.’ What is it? You begrudge me the little time off I get to spend with my friends? Is that it?”

Debbie shook her head tightly. “No,” she said, no more than a whimper. “But I—”

“But you nothing!” he said in a sing-song, pouty voice. Then he pounded the table again, even harder. “Christ, you get to fly around all goddamned day, doing whatever the hell you want, pissing away my hard-earned money. I don’t see where my going out for a few beers after work is asking all that much. Do you? ’Never around!’ Jesus Christ! You’re fuckin’ lucky I bother to come home at all, considering the bullshit I have to put up with from you!”

“Come on, Alex. Keep your voice down. You might wake up the kids.”

“Yeah—? Well, who gives a fuck about the kids! Fuck you and the kids! I tell you, I’m sick and fuckin’ tired of the way you lay this bullshit on me. ‘Never around!’Christ, I’ve had it! Right up to here! “He made a quick cutting motion with his hand as if he were trying to slice his own throat. “I’ve fuckin’ had it!”

“Well then maybe I’ll do you a favor, and you won’t have to put up with me anymore,” Debbie said. The words seemed to tumble out of her mouth so fast Alex wasn’t exactly sure he’d heard her correctly. He sucked in a breath between his teeth and held it a moment, scowling at her.

“What’d you say?”

“I said, maybe you won’t have to put up with my shit anymore. Maybe I’m just as fed up with all of this as you are!” She swallowed noisily before adding, “Maybe I want out just as much as you do!”

“What’re you sayin’?”

Alex bobbed his head like a chicken and shifted forward in his chair, his fists tightening at his sides. Blood rose to his face in a hot rush.

“What the fuck are you saying?”

Debbie squared her shoulders, but Alex thought it looked like she was shivering. And he saw—yes, goddamnit!—she was still smiling at him, smirking, like she had some huge, private joke. And in her eyes, he could see that she was laughing at him, laughing her mother-fucking ass off at him! Hell, she might look a little bit scared of him, but he’d just have to show her. He’d make damned sure she was scared of him! He leapt to his feet, kicking the chair back so it fell behind him as he glared at her, fuming with rage. His fists bobbed at his sides as if he were hefting bricks, testing their weight.

“Are you trying to tell me you want to leave?”

Debbie reached up and gingerly touched the red welt on the side of her face where he had slapped her. She nodded.

Alex stepped around the table moving slowly toward her, like a jaguar, stalking his prey. His wrists and forearms ached with a low, burning heat as he squeezed his fists tightly. He gritted his teeth, grinding them back and forth, bottling up the bellow of rage that was building up inside him.

“Do you think…” It took a great deal of effort to keep his voice steady. “Do you actually think that after all the years of putting up with your shit, that I’d let you walk out of here like—like that?” He snapped his fingers in front of her face, inches from her chin. She cowered away from him, her back arching over the kitchen sink. Her lower lip was trembling, and her eyes, round and glistening, reflected back two distorted images of himself as he loomed close to her face.

“Is that what you really think?” he hissed, smothering the last word with twisted laughter. “You really think you can just walk out on me and stick me with two kids to raise and an ass-high pile of bills? Your fuckin’ bills? Huh? Is that it?”

Debbie whimpered and shook her head, biting down hard on her lower lip. Her breathing was as fast as a frightened rabbit’s, hissing between her teeth.

Alex reached out and, almost gently, cupped the back of her head with one hand. Then he twined his lingers through her long, brown hair and pulled her forward, pressuring her until their noses almost touched. He felt a strong impulse to open his mouth wide and bite her, but instead he smiled, feeling wave after wave of exhilaration when he saw the look of stark terror in her eyes.

“Why, Debbie… Debbie darlin’,” he said in a low gravelly growl. “You know goddamned right well that I can’t let you walk out on me like that. No-fuckin’-way! Whatever gave you the idea that you could?”

“I—we—it’s just that—”

“Your sister! I’ll bet it was your fucking sister who put you up to this. She did, didn’t she?”

He balled her hair into his fist and pulled down, shaking her head roughly up and down, as if she were agreeing with him. A flood of tears streamed from Debbie’s eyes. Her lips and face were pale except for the bright red splotch on her cheek.

“Didn’t she?”

“… no …”

“Bullshit! I’ll bet my left ball she did. I’ll bet this whole fucking thing is something you and she cooked up, right? Right?”

He shook his head as though scolding a small child who had disappointed him.

“But you should have known that I wouldn’t let you do it. Why—hell, darlin’, my life would be a fuckin’ wreck without you. I’d miss your yummy home cookin’.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the pizza smeared on the floor. “And I’d miss the cute little way you wait up for me when I stay out late. And you know, the thing I’d miss most is the way you fuck me! I’d miss the cute little way you suck my dick.”

He twisted her hair around so her knees buckled and she had to kneel forward to try to stop the pain. Even so, tears filled her eyes and started streaming down her cheeks. Her lower lip was trembling, and anything she might have been trying to say was lost beneath the blubbering wail of pain coming from her.

“Why don’t you do that for me now, huh?” Alex said. His free hand went down to his crotch as he shifted his hips forward hard enough to knock her head back against the counter. “Why don’t you open wide and suck me dry?”

“… please….”

Alex laughed heartily as he looked down at the top of her head and, grabbing both of her ears, banged her face roughly against his crotch.

“Ah-hah, so you do want it! Don’t you? You want it so bad you’re beggin’ for it? Come on, then. Let’s do it! Let’s fuckin’-A do it!”

He released his grip on her hair and reached down to start unbuckling his belt. As soon as she was free, though, Debbie twisted to one side and started scrambling away from him on her hands and knees. Alex laughed, thinking she looked like a cat, trying to get traction on a slick tile floor. With a shout of rage, he grabbed her arm and tried to yank her to her feet, but she was dead weight and slipped from his grasp. She flopped back against the cupboard, her head lolling to one side as if her neck was no longer connected. Her lips moved. She seemed to be trying to say something as she looked vacantly up at him, but her voice was nothing but a strangled rattle in the back of her throat. A yellowish foam flecked her lips, which looked pale, almost white.

Alex took a step away from her to get better footing, but his foot slipped on the pizza he had dropped, and he flopped forward, slamming Debbie’s head back against the cupboard door. Pots and pans clattered inside the cupboard. Debbie looked at him, her eyes glazed as she exhaled noisily and silently slouched to one side. Disoriented and angry, Alex grabbed her by the shoulders before she could fall to the floor. He checked his footing and then, before he could think clearly about what he was doing, lifted her up to the level of the counter top and slammed her head hard against the edge. There was a heavy, crackling thud that sounded in Alex’s ears like a bagful of broken glass hitting the floor.

“There, goddamnit!” he shouted.

Panting heavily, he stood up and let her body slide back slowly onto the floor. He brushed his hands together, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he grinned viciously down at her. He hadn’t yet noticed the bright splash of blood that had squirted across the counter top.

“There, by Jesus! That’ll fuckin’ teach you to try ’n fuck with me, you bitch!”

He took a deep breath, and when his vision cleared, he saw the blood. An icy jolt traveled up his back to the base of his neck. Leaning forward, he looked closely and, without touching it, saw the deep, triangular indentation just above Debbie’s left ear. Pearly gray fragments of bone stuck out like teeth from underneath her hair, which was clotted with a thick wash of blood that dripped down onto her neck and shoulder, then to the floor.

“Oh, Jesus,” Alex muttered as he straightened up and took several unsteady steps backwards. He could see that Debbie wasn’t breathing, and her eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the floor.

“Oh, Jesus! … Oh, shit!”

3

“Well,” Detective Murray said solemnly, “we have reports from your neighbors on both sides of your house that they heard you and your wife arguing earlier tonight.”

Alex nodded agreement. He was sitting on the edge of a metal folding chair, his hands tight fists in his lap. The air-conditioner was running on high, so the squad room seemed arctic cold. At this late hour, the police station echoed with a deserted hollowness. He could see by the large clock on the wall that it was well past three o’clock in the morning. His head was pounding from all the beers he’d had that evening, but after the last two hours of interrogation, he thought he was completely sobered up. He would use the pain to help bring tears to his eyes. His body was trembling, and his breathing was high and fast. He hoped to hell the detective asking him these questions over and over would take all of this as proof that he was completely broken up over his wife’s senseless fatal accident. He had watched in numbed silence as the ambulance crew strapped her to the stretcher and wheeled her from the kitchen. One side of the sheet covering her face had a bright red splotch that had looked almost like a rose. As much as he hated to, for the sake of appearances he had to call Debbie’s sister and ask her to come over and stay with the kids while he went down to the police station and explained what had happened.

“Yeah, we’d had an argument,” Alex said. His voice was strained and raw. “About money. What else do married people argue about? Yesterday afternoon, she’d spent some of this week’s grocery money on sneakers for the kids, and I had thought she spent a little too much, so I kind of freaked out a little.”

“So tell me again—exactly—what happened?”

Alex took a shuddering breath and sighed. “Well, I called her from work, to tell her I was going out for a few drinks with some friends—”

“To the strip joint on Morrison Ave—Mark’s Showplace, correct?”

Alex nodded.

“She told me then that she had spent the money, and I got a little hot under the collar at her. We didn’t have an argument then or anything.”

“You mean over the phone.”

“Yeah. I just said something like we’d talk about it when I got home.”

“So then, when you came home—around midnight, right?”

Alex nodded and sniffed.

“Once you got home, that’s when you started arguing, right?”

Alex felt a flush of anger rise under his collar. He hated the way this detective was grinding at him, making him say the same thing over and over again. Shit what was his name? Murphy? Murray? Something like that. He wasn’t thinking straight! How could he keep his story straight if he couldn’t even remember this fucker’s name? The cop had already written everything down in his notebook when he first took his statement. Why the hell did he have to keep at him like this? Alex felt confident that he could hold it together if he could just take his time and think things through. He had to play the shocked, grieving husband, but he was having trouble concentrating with this asshole getting on him like this.

“Well—yeah. Maybe. We’d had some angry words. Nothing major. I mean, I earn a damned good paycheck, working out at the airport, but these days—hell, who can make money stretch far enough, huh? So—yeah. I told her that I thought she had spent a little too much for sneakers, and then she told me she’d also gone out to lunch that afternoon with her sister.”

“And did that upset you?”

Alex fought back the rush of anger he felt just thinking about Cindy, Debbie’s sister, but he was positive it didn’t show. His face remained a twisted, grief-stricken wreck as he squinted his eyes and forced the tears to flow from his eyes.

“Well—yeah, it upsets me that she—” He sniffed and rubbed his nose hard with the back of his hand. “Oh, God! Oh my God! I can’t believe it! I can’t believe that she’s… that she’s—my Debbie! Oh, God! My wife! How can she be dead?”

He slumped forward and, burying his face in his hands, sobbed loudly. He stayed like that for a long while, pretending to try to speak but choking his voice off as though he were strangling with this outpouring of emotion. He kept it up long enough, hoping that the detective would begin to feel uncomfortable watching him fall apart like this. In truth, the only clear thought in his mind was that he had to be careful; he couldn’t let the cop trip him up; he had to be sure to keep his story consistent. Every detail, every word he said would be written down and thrown back at him if the cops ever decided to press charges against him.

“I work real hard for my money,” he said after a while. His face felt slick with tears as he looked back at the detective.

Shit! What was his name? Detective Murray. Yeah! Pete Murray. That was it!

“I busted my ass at work that day, and—yeah, maybe I’d had three or four beers with my friends, so I guess I was a little buzzed and might have flown off the handle a bit. Hey, what married couple doesn’t go at it now and then?”

“But you said earlier that you patched things up right away after you let some angry words fly, right? That you and your wife exchanged heated words for—what? Less than five minutes?”

“Not even,” Alex said. Then he covered his mouth with one hand and nodded agreement. He had to bite down hard on his forefinger to keep from crying out or shouting with joy.

Jesus Christ! I can’t believe it! The bitch is finally through fucking up my life!

“When we first got married, you know, one promise we made to each other was we’d never go to bed angry at each other. No matter what problems we were dealing with, we promised to stay up—all night, if we had to—so we could work it out. So—yeah, I was pretty mad there for a moment, but once I calmed down and apologized, we made up.”

“And that’s when your wife went to get some wine glasses from the cupboard? That’s when she fell?”

Again, Alex nodded. He thought back on how he had arranged everything in the kitchen before calling the rescue unit and the police: the flipped-over chair, the broken wine glasses, the skid marks on the floor, and the position of Debbie’s body. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything he had overlooked, some tiny, telling detail which the cops, with their high-tech investigation equipment, would eventually discover.

She had… had heated up some pizza for me. In the microwave. And we were going to have a glass of wine together, to—to—”

He covered his face with his hands and once again feigned deep, wrenching sorrow. His shoulders shook as he wailed and uttered nearly incoherent words about how horrible things had turned out, how while he had sat at the kitchen table and started eating the pizza she had cooked for him, Debbie had dragged a chair over so she could reach down her special crystal wine glasses, which she kept on the top shelf in the cupboard so the kids wouldn’t get them. He told Detective Murray—again—how Debbie had leaned too far forward and had started to lose her balance, how the chair legs had skidded on the linoleum, and she had started to fall; how he had jumped up from the table and tried to catch her, but he had dropped his pizza on the floor and had slipped on it and fallen down, missing her; how she had fallen and banged the side of her head hard against the counter top; and how by the time he had gotten to her and cradled her head in his lap—See? There’s a big splotch of her blood here on my pants!—he had known she was already dead.

By the time he had finished sputtering out these details again, he was shivering with forced tears and faked emotion. He wiped his eyes viciously on his shirt sleeves and stared long and hard at the detective, letting his vision shimmer with tears.

“So can I go home now?” Alex said in a voice that was soft and trembling, twisted with emotion. “I… I want to be with my kids. I have to… be there to… to tell them… to explain to them why… why their mommy… isn’t… coming… home… anymore…”

Chapter Two

Suspicions

Throughout Debbie’s funeral, Cindy Toland sat next to Harry, her husband, leaning against him and grasping his hand so hard that at times he had to shake off her grip and flap his own hand to restore the circulation. The cloying smell of flowers and the somber organ music were stifling her, choking her with tight waves of claustrophobia bordering on panic. There was a heavy, muffled pounding deep inside her head, and she knew, tonight, once this was all over, it would blossom into a full-blown headache. Since first learning of her sister’s death, she had cried so long and hard, day and night, that today, the day of her funeral, a typically humid June afternoon in Nebraska, she felt as though she no longer had any tears left to cry. She felt wrung out, as dry as a creek bed in August. She was grateful that Dr. Stott had prescribed a mild tranquilizer for her. It was just barely taking the edge off what otherwise would have been a completely unbearable situation.

The worst aspect of the whole thing for Cindy—apart from missing Debbie and trying like hell to process the thought that her sister was gone and never, never coming back to her—was this feeling of utter loneliness, of complete desertion. It gnawed at her mind like a bloated worm. This same cold, utterly hollow feeling had been with her for three full days, now, ever since that early morning phone call from the police station, informing her of the accident that had claimed her sister’s life. And in all that time, whenever Cindy even thought the word “accident,” which the detective had used repeatedly to describe the incident, she would mentally correct herself and substitute the word “murder.”

Yes, goddamnit, murder! Cindy thought. That’s exactly what that son of a bitch did to her!

More than anyone else in the world, Cindy—with the obvious exception of Debbie’s husband—knew the horrible truth about how Alex had treated Debbie. Even today, she could hardly bear to look at him, all dressed up in his fine, fancy dark suit and looking so sad and serious as he accepted the condolences of his and Debbie’s friends and relatives. Behind the glaze of his tear-filled eyes, she could see the dark curtain that had dropped over what he was really feeling, and she sensed—no, she saw and felt the suspicion and hostility he had for her. She knew the truth, and Alex knew that she knew it!

Cindy’s feelings of anger and outrage rose even higher whenever she thought about Debbie’s two children, Billy and Krissy. Cindy and Harry were seated in the front row of the mourners, right next to the grieving family. Every time she glanced up at her nephew and niece, the tight waves of grief swelling up inside her would grip her throat like a fist and squeeze even harder, choking her until she thought she would have to scream out loud to relieve the building pressure in her head.

Oh, those poor children… those poor, poor kids!

Both children seemed to be trying so hard to hold up in this obviously confusing and scary situation. And they were doing a damned fine job of it, too, Cindy thought. Debbie would have been proud of her kids now. Ten-year-old Billy sat ram-rod straight in his just-a-wee-bit-too-small dark Suit, trying hard not to let his emotions show, even though his eyes were red-rimmed and his lips were pale and trembling. And five-year-old Krissy, with her straw-colored hair the exact color of her mother’s, looked so pretty in a prim, white dress and patent leather shoes—the ones Cindy had bought for her to wear to church on Easter Sunday, not so many weeks ago. Small and delicate, she slouched in her chair, her feet not even reaching the carpeted floor. The hanky she clutched white-knuckled in her hands was saturated from her crying and blowing her nose as her gaze darted nervously around the room, trying to absorb everything.

Jesus, those poor, poor kids… It’s just not fair!

Following a beautiful rendition of “Just a Closer Walk With Thee” by the Omaha First Baptist Church choir, of which Debbie was a member, Reverend Philip Rutherford delivered a heart-rending eulogy about how the accidental death of someone as pure and devout and kind-hearted as Debbie Harris can cause anyone—even a minister of Jesus—to waver in their faith and trust in the Lord’s purpose; but that it was exactly these tests of faith, like the forger’s fire, that strengthen our faith and assure us, like Debbie, of a place in Heaven.

Cindy registered less than half of what the minister was saying. She was caught up in her own bittersweet memories of her younger sister… of growing up together in small-town Aurora, Iowa, until their father’s job changed and they had to move to Omaha during Cindy’s senior year of high school; of sharing the same bedroom and, with only two years difference in their ages, sharing late night talks and secrets about boyfriends right up until Cindy graduated and moved away from home to go to college at the University of Nebraska. She recalled all the fun and sorrow their family went through, especially the support Debbie had given Cindy once she and Harry found out, after years of trying, that she would never be able to have children of her own… of drawing together even closer for emotional support just three years ago, following their retired parents’ death in a car accident while vacationing in New Mexico. All of these thoughts and more tumbled through Cindy’s mind as the minister droned on and on, saying what sounded to her like silly, superficial things that didn’t even come close to capturing what a beautiful human being her sister had been.

Had been… The thought reverberated in her mind like the slow thundering roll of a drum.

Had been… Debbie doesn’t exist anymore, not on earth and, as far as I’m concerned, not in her minister’s Heaven, either. She’s gone. Gone for good.

“Hey! You hanging in there?” Harry whispered. He nudged Cindy’s arm with his elbow as he slipped his hand from hers and shook it.

Cindy bit down on her lower lip to stop it from trembling as she looked over at him and, blinking back a fresh flood of tears, nodded. As soon as they made eye contact, though, another, stronger wave of loneliness rippled through her.

Why does he even bother to ask? she thought as she shifted her gaze down to the floor. What the hell does he think, that I feel like jumping up and doing a quick tap-dance on my sister’s coffin?

But it wasn’t just that, and in the dense silence of the funeral, another thought that she had been keeping at bay came forward with a vengeance.

He doesn’t even care! Not really! Oh, he pretends that he does and that he wants to be supportive, but he doesn’t really care. No, good-ole Harry’s keeping a nice, safe distance from all of this.

Cindy shivered at the thought and tried to tell herself that this might not actually be the case, but she couldn’t deny the truth. Now that she was being honest with herself in this moment of grief and weakness, she might just as well admit it, that this alienation had been going on since long before Debbie’s accident—

Murder!

Like so many other couples married better than ten years, she and Harry had been gradually drifting away from each other. They were getting so involved with their own lives and so stuck in their own patterns that they were losing touch with each other and whatever they used to share. Some day—maybe in the not-too-distant future—they would both realize just how much they had become strangers to each other. Perhaps then they would even split…

Stop it! Jesus Christ, stop thinking like that! Cindy told herself.

She shifted her hand onto Harry’s again and clung to it tightly, desperately seeking the strength she knew she didn’t have right now.

Please… please stop thinking like that!

But then her gaze shifted from the floor to the coffin at the front of the room. Her sister’s immobile face didn’t look at all real. This couldn’t really be her, she thought. It’s a shell, a wax figure made to look like her. This is all a bad dream, and I’m gonna wake up soon. The real Debbie—the sister I loved more than anyone else in the world, is someplace else.

And Cindy found herself grateful that, wherever the hell she thought Debbie was, at least she was no longer being brutalized by that son of a bitch Alex. No more “accidents!

Murder!

That single word rang in her mind like steel striking steel, sending sparks flying.

Was she crazy to be thinking like this?

Was she paranoid about Alex simply because she had never liked him, never trusted him? Was she unfairly focusing all of her misery and grief onto Alex because Debbie had confided in her that—yes, at times, usually when he’d been drinking, he slapped her around some?

Slapped her around some?

Jesus, more than once Cindy had seen the bruises on Debbie’s arms and back, and Lord knows they had talked often, especially over the past few months, about how Debbie had to get herself and the kids away from Alex before something terrible happened. Last summer, Cindy had been the one who had driven Debbje to the hospital when she had broken her arm. She had fallen off a chair while trying to hang a curtain, Alex had told the emergency room nurse, when he’d showed up later. Even then, Cindy had known better. No one goes about hanging curtains at ten o’clock at night!

Fallen off a chair! An accident!

—Murder!

Just like what happened three nights ago!

Cindy was certain that this was the lame excuse of a wife beater who, stuck for an alibi, had resorted to the same one he had used the last time he had seriously injured his wife. Wasn’t it obvious from the autopsy that Debbie had been repeatedly abused? Weren’t there traces of other untreated fractures, or unhealed bruises and scars, or signs of head injuries? Couldn’t they see? Wasn’t there any evidence of how bad it had been for Debbie during the last few years of her life?

But that was the problem: other than her dead sister’s say so, Cindy didn’t have any solid evidence. And that’s why, in spite of her growing suspicions, she had said nothing to the police, at least not yet. She figured the situation must look suspicious enough to warrant them to begin their own investigation into the matter. They didn’t need her telling them what to do.

Or were the cops too busy with “real” crimes in the city to give this “accident” the necessary time and attention it deserved? Maybe she should report her suspicions to the police and let them take it from there. Wasn’t that the right thing to do? If she could somehow speak from beyond the grave, wouldn’t that be what Debbie would want?

No, Cindy thought, she wasn’t about to start blurting out unsupported accusations, and then have Alex turn his anger against her! But then again, now that his wife was dead, who would he turn his anger against?

Oh, Jesus, the kids?

“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,” Cindy whispered, shaking her head from side to side as fresh tears spilled from her eyes. She clung even more tightly to Harry’s hand, wishing to God that it felt firmer, more solid in her grasp. She glanced again at Billy and Krissy, wondering how best to help them through this ordeal and give them the emotional support to—somehow—carry on their lives without their mother. She wished to heaven she could protect them, and her heart ached with worry for their safety, a worry that her dead sister had expressed to her so many times before… a worry so deep that Debbie had planned to leave with her children that very night of her accident.

—Murder!

Although she knew there wasn’t a shred of evidence that would stand up in court, Cindy was positive that Alex had beat Debbie to death and then set it up to look like an accident. It was murder, no matter what the police or anyone else said! Debbie had been afraid for her safety, for her life; otherwise, why would she have packed their suitcases and been ready to—

Oh, shit! … Oh, shit!… That’s it!

A cold, prickly tightening gripped her stomach. She let out a low moan and leaned forward, almost falling out of her chair. The minister droned on, ignoring the minor disruption, and Cindy hoped that anyone who might see what was going on would think she was overcome with grief, but she gave that almost no consideration as her vision blacked out for a frozen, scary moment and the thought exploded in her mind.

Debbie had suitcases packed and was ready to go!

“That’s it,” she whispered, turning toward Harry when she sensed that he was leaning over her, trying to comfort her. She felt a warm pressure on her back as he patted her, and he whispered something in her ear, but none of it made any sense; his voice was nothing but a high, winding cicada-like buzz.

“Oh, Jesus, Harry! That’s it! That’s it!” she whispered through her teeth as though in great pain. She tried to keep her voice low and steady, but she was afraid that every person in the room had seen her double over and was now craning forward, trying to hear what she had to say.

“The suitcases!”

“What—?” Harry said.

“She had suitcases… packed… ready to go!”

Cindy knew that she wasn’t moving, but she still felt as though she was falling forward in a long, slow tumbling roll. Harry—or someone—was tugging on her arm, trying to get her to sit up straight in her chair, but she couldn’t tell which direction was up. The room was a crazy, spinning smear of colors, sounds, and smells. For a moment, she imagined that she was sitting—no, she was lying down—no, she was rolling over and over in a field of flowers. The heavy-scented air and the hammering heat of the sun were pressing her down, squashing her, strangling her. Her throat felt as if it were coated with thick, yellow pollen that was congealing into thick clots that eventually—soon!-would seal off her lungs.

Suitcases!

The single word pulsated in her mind like a strobe light.

Suitcases… suitcases… suitcases…

She had no idea if she was repeating the word out loud or not. There was absolutely no feeling in her body, and what was left of her mind was swirling like sand in a hot wind. A solid, pulsating darkness had begun to nibble at the edges of her awareness, and it grew stronger with each repetition of the word.

Suitcases… suitcases… suitcases…

And then, with a hollow concussion that sounded like a cannon going off inside her head, the light winked out, and the darkness dragged her down… all the way down.

2

That son of a bitch couldn’t even bother to show up just to be here for me!

Cindy arrived at Roy Krendall’s law office, Alex’s and Debbie’s lawyer, precisely at two o’clock for the reading of her sister’s will. She was right on time and was disappointed to be informed by Roy’s secretary that the lawyer had been delayed in court and would be along in ten or fifteen minutes.

Cindy took a deep breath as she seated herself on the couch in the alcove opposite the secretary’s desk. She dreaded the thought that Alex might show up on time and that they would have to wait here in this small room together. There was no way she wanted even to see him—her sister’s murderer!—much less try to make small talk with him. Over the past week, she’d been seething with rage. More times than she could count, Cindy had found herself fantasizing about actually maiming or killing that man. Her sister’s murderer.

Cindy knew that Debbie had drawn up her own will; in fact, she had done it at Cindy’s insistence several months ago, following a nasty argument with Alex that had left Debbie with several bruises on her arms and back. Cindy didn’t know the contents of the will. She had been content knowing her sister had done something to protect herself, but she couldn’t help but wonder if its existence was a surprise to Alex and how he would react to its contents.

Cindy’s mind turned to her own husband. He hadn’t even come to the lawyer’s office with her. He’d claimed he was short-handed at the hardware store and would have to stay there all afternoon to cover the register.

But damn him! The least he could’ve done was take an hour off to meet me here… just to help me get through this!

It had been a week since her sister’s funeral, and Cindy still wasn’t coping very well. Sleepless nights and long days, dragging herself through work at the bank had started to take their toll. She wasn’t eating right, either, and was losing weight. For days now, her eyes had been burning and bloodshot, no matter how much Visine she used. So many times she’d be sure that she had cried herself out, but then another wave of sadness and the numbed hollowness of her loss would hit her again, and the tears would start to flow. It was terrible when that happened at work, when she was dealing with a customer.

She kept telling herself that getting over something like this was going to take a longtime. Her parents had died more than three years ago, and still—whenever she thought about them—she would feel a deep pang of loss, an emptiness in her life that she could never fill. She knew that, from now on, maybe for the rest of her life, it would be this way with Debbie, too; but in Debbie’s case it was much worse because of the circumstances surrounding her death. In the week following the funeral, the police still had given no indication that they suspected foul play or were doing anything to find out what had really happened that night.

So what the hell was the matter with the police? Cindy wondered.

Were they simply ignoring what had happened, sweeping it under the rug just to be rid of it? Was it some unspoken rule that men didn’t arrest other men—at least other white men—for beating their wives to death? Was this some crazy male, sexist, racist thing?

Or if they did suspect the truth, did they intend not to pursue it, concluding that Debbie—like most battered women—had somehow deserved or asked for what happened to her? Were they blaming the victim?

If the police were suspicious, maybe they were laying low, not wanting to let on that they were still actively investigating the possibility that Debbie had been murdered.

Maybe they were letting Alex think he’d gotten away with it, so they wouldn’t scare him off.

At least for now, as far as Cindy could see, Alex was putting up one hell of a good front. He was playing the grieving husband and sympathetic father roles to the hilt. Several mutual acquaintances had mentioned to Cindy how Alex seemed to be trying so hard to pull his life back together, if only for the sake of his motherless children. God, it was like he’d become some kind of martyr for what he was going through, and no one seemed to realize how abusive he had been to Debbie!

Or maybe… just maybe, Cindy thought, she was wrong about the whole thing! Maybe Alex was telling the truth. Maybe Debbie had exaggerated the problems between them, or maybe she was more at fault than Cindy was willing to admit or see. Maybe she really had died tragically in a stupid, careless accident.

That thought often crossed Cindy’s mind, but whenever it did, she would quickly dismiss it.

Day and night, Cindy found herself wishing she had the courage to talk about her suspicions to the police. Night after sleepless night, lying in the darkness of her bedroom, she went through it all with Harry, over and over again. As much as he tried to be supportive, he also tried to dismiss her suspicions by getting her to admit that she had never liked or trusted Alex, and that she was probably laying too much of her anger and grief onto him. She had to blame someone for her loss, he told her; and besides, it would come down to her word against Alex’s. While some neighbors might say they heard them arguing from time to time—what married couple didn’t have shouting matches now and again? Then there was the fact that Cindy hadn’t said anything right after the accident—

No, murder!

How far could Cindy really expect to get without any solid evidence?

One thing Cindy had to admit that she had never liked about Alex was how smooth and calculating he could be. He had an oily charm, a superficiality about him that she absolutely hated! If he had, in fact, killed his wife, then he must have framed an air-tight alibi and covered his tracks perfectly.

Perfectly… except for the suitcases!

That thought spun like a whirligig in Cindy’s mind day and night. Debbie had three packed suitcases up in the bedroom, one for her and one for each of the kids.

She had told Cindy just that afternoon that she was going to do it—that she was going to leave Alex; so if she had said something to him, or if he had caught her while she was trying to get out of the house, he might have lost his temper and hit her—hit her hard! Cindy knew just how bad Alex’s temper was because he had turned it on her more than once. She knew how much he resented how close she and Debbie were. She tried like hell not to, but she could easily imagine Alex losing control and beating Debbie senseless, and then setting things up in the kitchen to look as though she had fallen and hit her head. Why the hell else would she have packed three suitcases unless she was planning to get the hell out of there?

The heavy tread of footsteps on the stairs suddenly drew her attention. She clenched her fists and held her breath as she stared at the office door, watching, waiting for the doorknob to turn.

Oh, Christ! If it’s Alex, I’ll just die! I swear to God I will!

The doorknob turned, and the door swung slowly open. For a terrifying moment, a dark shape filled the doorway as someone—a man—walked into the office.

“Sorry I’m late. Got tied up in traffic,” he said, breathing heavily as he placed a heavy-looking briefcase onto the coffee table. His clothes were rumpled from the humidity outside. His tie was askew, and his shoes were in desperate need of some polish. Strands of thinning, white hair flapped like a limp bird’s wing over the shiny dome of his balding head.

“You must be Cynthia Toland,” the man said, stepping forward and extending his hand as Cindy stood up. They shook hands. Cindy was a bit taken aback by the clammy feel of his hand and the sour smell of his breath.

“I’m Roy Krendall. Awfully sorry about what happened to your sister. A terrible tragedy.”

It was murder! Cindy thought and almost said.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” Krendall said. “Just let me check for any messages and get some papers from my office. I’ll be right along. Please—” He walked to the closed door beside his secretary’s desk, opened it, and waved Cindy inside. “We’ll be meeting in my office. Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. Mr. Harris isn’t here yet, is he?”

Biting her lower lip, Cindy shook her head quickly.

“Have any idea if he plans to show up?”

Cindy tried to speak but couldn’t, and ended up simply shrugging. Her legs felt as brittle as match sticks that would break at any moment as she walked slowly into the room and took a seat in one of the two plush chairs angled in front of the wide, mahogany desk. The leather cushion of the chair whooshed as she sat down. She glanced quickly at the book cases, all packed tightly with law tomes and magazines, then twisted around so she could keep an eye on the door. She shuddered at the thought that Alex might enter the room and come up behind her without her knowing it. She sat there for several minutes, silently wringing her hands until Krendall reappeared, still looking wilted and harried as he slid his briefcase onto the desk and sat down heavily.

“Well, I certainly hope your brother-in-law plans to be here soon,” Krendall said, stretching out his arm and glancing at his wristwatch. “This will affect him as much as it does you.”

Burning with curiosity, Cindy almost asked if he could read it to her now so she could leave before Alex arrived, but the question died in her throat when the outside office door opened, and the secretary’s voice directed someone into the adjoining office.

“Ah, here he is now,” Krendall said, standing up and going to the door to greet Alex.

Cindy’s eyes narrowed to slits as she watched Alex shake hands with the lawyer, who expressed his sorrow at his loss. Then, moving slowly with his head slightly bowed, Alex took the chair opposite her. Tears stung her eyes, but she forced herself not to let them fall. Alex made fleeting eye contact with her and smiled tightly—more of a grimace, really; then he looked away, staring down at the floor with a pitiful, down-cast expression on his face. Once the minimal amenities were dispensed with, Krendall opened his briefcase and took out a thin, manila file folder.

“We—uh, well, the reading of this will won’t take long,” Krendall said, slapping it against the flat of his hand, “but it’s going to present some… some rather unusual problems—problems which I’ve never encountered in better than thirty years of practicing law.” He paused and cleared his throat as he flipped the edge of the folder. Cindy covered her mouth with one hand to help control the sobs that jerked her body. Krendall opened the folder, cleared his throat, and began to read.

“I, Deborah Toland Harris, being of sound mind and body, do hereby present this, my last will and testament—”

Krendall droned on, reading the convoluted legal language that barely made sense to Cindy until he came to one part of the will, which he read in a slow, deliberate voice.

“In the event of my death, pre-deceasing my husband, Alexander Harris, I do here-by appoint my sister, Mrs. Cynthia Toland, as legal guardian of my children, William Alan and Christine Anne, with all legal rights pertaining to their custody until such time as—”

“What the hell—?” Alex shouted.

His head suddenly shot up, and he stared, glaring, first at the lawyer, then at Cindy. “What the hell does that mean?”

Krendall looked at him, his mouth set in a thin, grim line as his eyes danced nervously back and forth between Cindy and Alex. He cleared his throat again with a deep rumble, placed the papers down on the desk in front of him, and smoothed them with the flat of his hand.

“What this means, Mr. Harris, is your wife came to me several months ago and had me draw up this will. And what it says, in effect, is that Mrs. Toland, your sister-in-law, has been given legal custody of your two children.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Cindy whispered, her voice so strangled and faint that neither man seemed to notice.

“Your wife—well, I don’t know quite how to put this without sounding accusatory or offensive, but she expressed some concern for the safety and well being of her children should she die. She came to see me and informed me that she would feel much more secure knowing that, if either both of you or she died, her children would be raised in a loving family situation which her sister Cynthia could provide.”

Alex’s eyes were wide open, staring in amazement.

“Why that’s—I don’t—This is complete, utter bullshit!” he sputtered, practically choking on his rage.

Cindy watched the hot scarlet flush color his face as his hands tightened around the chair arms and he leaned forward. The facade of the grieving husband and caring father was gone, to be replaced by the monster Cindy knew he really was. He raised his fists but restrained himself from slamming them against the desktop.

“Do you mean to tell me that you think… you actually think you can take my children away from me? You can’t do it!”

His voice broke, and—damnit—if Cindy didn’t see a glaze of tears filling his eyes.

Turning to Cindy, he shouted, “You can’t take my kids away from me! There’s no way in hell I’ll let you do this! You set her up for this, didn’t you? You pushed her! This is something you made her do!” His voice broke, sounding like an angry tear of cloth. “But I won’t let you! No fucking way! You won’t get away with it!”

For an instant, Cindy thought he was going to launch himself out of his chair at her and strangle her. She braced herself while fighting for mental calm. This was as much of a surprise for her as it was for Alex, and in the presence of a witness, she wanted to keep her cool, not get emotional.

“I… had no idea,” she whispered, locking eyes with Krendall and shaking her head.

Alex continued to make angry sputtering sounds, but after a moment he obviously gained control of himself. For several seconds—seconds that seemed to Cindy to stretch out into long, agonizing minutes—a muffled silence filled the room, broken only by the steady hum of the air conditioner. Her hands were shaking as she covered her face and took a long, hissing breath.

“I had no idea,” she repeated.

“The hell you didn’t,” Alex muttered.

When Cindy glanced over at him, she caught the malevolent stare he was giving her. It struck her with a cold, numbing touch.

“Well now—” Krendall said. He cleared his throat again and clapped his hands together, rubbing them vigorously. “As I said, this document creates an extremely difficult situation for the two of you. The first thing we should consider, I suppose, is if Mrs. Toland is not inclined to execute her obligation as expressed in—”

“No,” Cindy snapped, speaking before she could even think about the ramifications. “I want to have them.” She cautioned herself that there was no way she could clearly see all the consequences of accepting this responsibility, but a single, crystal thought echoed in her mind—

There were three packed suitcases upstairs! Debbie was so afraid of Alex she was packed and ready to leave with the kids!

“No, I definitely want them.”

“But you won’t get them,” Alex said. Hs voice sounded low and controlled, no doubt for the lawyer’s benefit, but she detected the implied threat in his words. “They’re my children.” He turned to the lawyer and held his hands up in a pitiful, helpless gesture. Tears filled his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. “They’re all I have left… of my wife, and I’m all they have left… for parents. You can’t sit there and tell me that the law will actually take them away from me.”

Krendall stroked his chin, considering his words carefully before he spoke.

“Your wife’s last will and testament is a legally binding document, Mr. Harris. I didn’t get to finish reading it, but further on it also provides financially for the children.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“I mean there’s a bank account which your wife opened up in the children’s and her sister’s name.” He slid a small, olive green booklet from the file folder and presented it to Alex, who opened it and flipped through the pages before tossing it back onto the lawyer’s desk.

“Apparently for the past year or more, your wife has been salting away money into this account. You can see that it was opened back in April of last year, and already there’s a balance of better than ten thousand dollars in there.”

Alex’s face was white. His mouth moved, but no words came out.

“I—my husband and I were never able to have children of our own,” Cindy said, her voice threatening to hitch with every syllable as she leaned closer to the lawyer, demanding his attention. “And I want to make it clear to you—absolutely clear that I’m willing—more than willing to take care of these children.”

Alex sneered. “What the hell can you provide that I can’t?”

A mother… and love, Cindy thought but didn’t say. Instead, she held the lawyer’s gaze, mentally commanding herself to be strong in front of him if only to prove that she was, indeed, the better person, the one who should assume responsibility of her dead sister’s children.

Krendall looked at her and frowned deeply. “Did you know anything about the contents of your sister’s will before today?” he asked.

Cindy shook her head and blinked her eyes rapidly so the tears wouldn’t fall. “No… She never mentioned anything about it. I mean, I had suggested she do it, but she never told me that she had.” She could feel the heat of Alex’s gaze, searing her as he glared at her.

“Well, then, Mrs. Harris—I’m sorry. I mean Mrs. Toland, I would advise you to consider this situation very carefully. Your sister has placed a grave responsibility on your shoulders, and you have to consider the impact all of this will have on your own life. Your home life, your job, your social life—everything will be affected. My first recommendation would be that you talk about this very seriously with your husband, and then get yourself a lawyer.”

“My husband uses William Holder for his business,” Cindy said sullenly.

“Sure, I know Bill. He’s a good lawyer. So, then, I’d suggest you give him a call and talk this over with him. Once you and your husband discuss all of this and come to some sort of mutual decis—”

“She doesn’t need to,” Alex said, his voice fairly crackling with controlled fury. Cindy looked over at him and was positive that, at that moment, she had never hated him more in her life.

“She doesn’t need to because she’s not going to get them. There’s no way in Hell! I’ll fight you on this. I swear to God I’ll fight it all the way to the goddamn Supreme Court if I have to. There’s no fucking way you’re going to take my children away from me!”

Krendall obviously felt uncomfortable, caught as he was in this emotional crossfire. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath before saying, “My initial advice to you stands, Mrs. Toland. I think you should contact your husband’s lawyer and fill him in on what’s happened so far.”

“But… but why can’t I use you?” she asked, hunching her shoulders. The skin at the back of her neck felt like it was on fire. “You know everything that’s happened so far, and you were Debbie’s lawyer. Why can’t you straighten it all out?”

“You said it—I’m your sister’s lawyer and, thus, I represent her husband’s interests. It would obviously be a conflict of interest,” Krendall replied. “If Mr. Harris chooses to contest his wife’s will—”

“You bet your ass I intend to!”

“—then you will need your own legal counsel. As I said when we began, this whole matter presents a quite complicated legal situation. It’s something I’ve never experienced before, anyway. Now, if the two of you can come to some kind of agreement, that would be best. If you can’t… well, then, I’ll be blunt—it’s going to get very brutal and very expensive.”

And you don’t know the half of what Alex is capable of, Cindy thought, cowering as she glanced over at her brother-in-law. She closed her eyes a moment, fighting back the tears and wanting to explode. Then, in a tight, high voice, she said, “Can they come with me now?”

“Who?”

“The children,” she said, a bit more forcefully. “Can they come home with me… today?”

“There’s no way in Hell!” Alex shouted as he slammed his fist on the chair arm. “You’re not taking my kids away from me! Not without a goddamned court order!”

Cindy looked at Krendall, but he gave her a helpless shrug and said, “Look, Mrs. Toland, until you’ve retained legal counsel, I’m reluctant to say much more. I’d recommend, and I’m sure the courts would recommend, that, in the best interest of the children, they stay with their father … at least for the time being… until all of this can be ironed out. I know this must be… difficult for you, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to make some very tough decisions over the next few days.”

Cindy nodded, knowing that—at least for the moment—she’d been backed into a corner. Again, she wished Harry had come down here with her today so he could have heard everything that had been said. But now, it was time to talk with Harry and their lawyer, and get things in motion. The bottom line was the safety of the children. Cindy’s first thought was that, if Alex had the capacity to murder his own wife, then his children might not be safe in his house, either.

Wondering if she could even stand up, Cindy rose slowly from her chair and leaned across the desk to shake hands with Krendall. Her hand felt like a tangle of cold spaghetti in his beefy grip. When Krendall offered to let her take the will and bank book with her, she declined, asking him to hold on to them until she had a chance to talk with her husband and lawyer. The thought crossed her mind—and she couldn’t dismiss it, not when she knew what had really happened to her sister—that Alex would begin to harass her for the documents as soon as she left the lawyer’s office. No, they—and she—would be much safer if the will and bank book were someplace where Alex couldn’t get at them.

“Thank—thank you for your time,” Cindy said feebly.

She turned and started to leave, making a point of avoiding any eye contact with Alex, who she felt was glaring at her. At the door, she stopped and looked back at Krendall. “Mr. Krendall,” she said in a tight, trembling voice. “You used the phrase ‘the best interest of the children’.”

“Yes. That’s a legal phrase judges often use in custody situations.”

Cindy nodded and, in a voice that warbled nervously up and down the scale, echoed herself. “The best interest of the children…”

Krendall looked at her expectantly, but she turned and left the office, unable to finish what she had intended to say— The best interest of the children. Mr. Krendall, would be to get them the hell out of the house of the man who murdered their mother!

Chapter Three

Plotting

“Goddamnit, I tell you, those kids are in danger,” Cindy told her husband. “I’ve been wanting to see them, to spend some time with them, but I … I just can’t. Not when their father’s around, anyway.”

The night was hot and pressing. The rattle of the air conditioner in the bedroom window was grating on her nerves. Harry sat propped up in the bed, reading a hardware trade magazine by the light of a small reading lamp above him while Cindy continuously paced back and forth across the hardwood floor.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting… I mean, just a little bit, honey?” Harry said, his pale eyes glancing up over the tops of his reading glasses.

Cindy heard more than a trace of exasperation in his voice; but after a full day working at the store and then the two hour meeting with their lawyer after supper, what else did she expect?

The meeting this afternoon with Roy Krendall had put a cold, sick worry in her stomach—and the meeting with William Holder earlier this evening hadn’t helped her to feel any better. Although Holder had assured her that, in his opinion, she had a better than fifty-fifty chance of getting the court to grant her custody, he told her what Krendall had already told her—if Alex decided to dig in his heels and fight this, it was going to be a long, involved, and expensive case.

As she paced, she licked her dry lips. Her breathing came in rapid, shallow sips, as if the air were water and she couldn’t quite quench her thirst.

“I don’t think so… I just don’t think so,” she muttered, shaking her head.

She had exploded at Harry earlier that day, cursing at him and crying because he hadn’t come to the lawyer’s office with her. She told herself that he was probably trying to remain calm and steady because he could see that she was falling apart. On the other hand Harry was acting so distant. Even if he didn’t believe that Alex had killed Debbie, the least he could do was acknowledge that Alex wasn’t the best person to raise Billy and Krissy. Her sister’s will had granted her custody of the kids, and—by Jesus!—whether Harry was going to help her out with this or not, she wanted them… now!

“Come on, Harry,” she pleaded, pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed. “Think back on how many times you told me how you could feel the bitterness and hostility between Alex and Debbie. Even when they weren’t yelling at each other, you have to admit there was always this undertone of hatred coming from him. Christ, just about every holiday or birthday we’d spend with them, you’d come away, vowing that you’d never go over to their house again. Why was that? Huh?”

Harry shrugged and scratched the back of his neck. “Mostly because I didn’t like Alex, I suppose. It’s not like we had all that much in common, and—yeah, I’ll admit it: I didn’t like the way he treated Debbie sometimes.”

“There! Exactly!” Cindy shouted. She stamped her foot on the floor so hard something on the bureau rattled.

“Yeah, but—I mean, that doesn’t mean he killed your sister, and it certainly doesn’t mean he’s going to do anything to hurt his own kids. Come on, Cin. Get a grip!”

Cindy bit down on her lower lip so hard the pain made her wince. “He’s a violent man,” she said in a low whisper, “a very violent man, and now that he doesn’t have my sister to… to—” A sudden flood of emotion choked off her words, and stinging tears filled her eyes. “—to knock around anymore, what if he does something like that? What if he turns all his hostility onto those poor kids?”

“He won’t, believe me. He’s their father, for Christ’s sake, he’s not going to—”

“And Debbie was his wife. Even if you don’t think he actually killed her, you know damned right well he hit her. You’ve seen the bruises on her arms. And that black eye she had a couple of Christmases ago. And you know damned right well he drinks too much, and he gets more and more belligerent when he does. That’s something you’d mention after every visit we’d ever have with them, too.”

“Well, sure, but honey… please…” He folded the magazine closed, placed it on the bed stand, and patted the bed beside him. “Come on to bed. You’re just getting yourself all worked up about nothing.”

“About nothing?” Cindy blew out her breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and gritted her teeth. Then she nailed him with an angry glare. “Jesus Christ, Harry, my only sister—my dead sister—” Again an up-welling of emotion choked off her voice. Tears streaked down her cheeks, leaving hot tracks. “—my sister who was murdered—and I don’t care what you or the police or anyone else says, she was murdered, goddamnit! She wrote a will giving us custody of her kids. You can’t call that nothing!” She was trembling as she looked at her husband, waiting for him to respond. “Christ, Harry, don’t tell me you’re backing out on me.”

“I didn’t say that,” Harry replied softly.

“You do want to take the kids, don’t you?”

“They’re going to be one hell of a responsibility,” Harry said. “I mean, becoming a full scale family overnight. Whew!”

“But you want them, right?”

Harry grunted and gave a quick nod of his head, not at all the overwhelming sign of support Cindy had been looking for.

“Well then, don’t make light of it and say it’s nothing, all right?”

“I didn’t mean it that way… Come on, honey. Jeeze, I just hate seeing you get yourself all worked up like this. It’s not good for you. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“I already am sick!” Cindy wailed, shaking her fists in frustration. “I’m worried sick about those kids and what might happen to them before we can get legal custody. I’m Krissy’s godmother, for God’s sake! My mother and father and sister are all gone. Krissy and Billy are… are all I have left… They’re the only thing real that’s left of my sister, and she gave them to me to take care of.”

“I know, hon. I know, but what the heck are you worried about? Bill told us we’ve got a really good chance of the court giving us custody.”

“I know, but…”

“So what do you think Alex is going to do, kidnap them or something?”

Or kill them, too, Cindy thought, but before she could say it she stopped short in her pacing and turned to Harry with her mouth gaping open.

“Oh, Jesus!” she whispered. What felt like a cold trickle of icy water ran between her shoulder blades. “Do you think he might…?”

“No. No, I don’t.” Harry slapped his hand against the bed in frustration. “There, great—just great! Now I’ve given you something else to worry about. Honey, please—I’m sorry, okay? Just come to bed now. It’s getting late, and you need your sleep.”

“Jesus, Harry, I couldn’t get to sleep now,” Cindy said.

She moved over to the window and stared out at the slate black night. The chilled breeze from the air conditioner lifted strands of her long, blond hair, making them twine like pale yellow snakes. She stared at her own reflection, focusing on her own eyes as she rubbed her chin, thinking, How can I do it? How can I get those kids away from him?

“I have to be at the store by seven o’clock,” Harry said, stifling a yawn as he shifted down and pulled the single sheet halfway up his body. He took off his glasses and placed them on top of his magazine.

“But what if…” Cindy said. “What if Alex does try something like that? What if he moves out of state just to keep them away from me? People do stuff like that, I’ll bet.”

“I’m sure they do,” Harry said. “Do you want me to turn off the light?”

Cindy said nothing as she shifted her gaze and studied his reflection, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Why was he trying to go to sleep now? He knew damned right well how upset she was. Why didn’t he get up and come over to her? Why didn’t he try to comfort her, hold her, kiss her, and tell her everything would be all right? She wanted to say something, but worry for Billy and Krissy blotted out everything else in her mind.

“I’ll bet if he goes to another state, even just across the river to Iowa, he could ask for custody there; and I’ll bet, because he’s their father, I’ll bet he could have Debbie’s will canceled or revoked or whatever. I’m sure there’s a legal term for it.”

Harry heaved a deep sigh and rubbed his forehead. “I’m sure there is, but he isn’t going to try something like that. First off, I don’t think he’d even think of it. He’s not all that smart.”

“Oh, yeah?” Cindy wheeled around and stared at her husband. “Well, then, I guess you don’t really know Alex Harris. He’s a damned lot smarter than he lets on.”

“Even so, he’s not going to do something as crazy as that because it would get the state police and maybe even the FBI involved.”

“True…” Cindy said, turning back to look out the window. “Alex may be crazy, but he sure as hell isn’t stupid.”

2

He wore sneakers so he wouldn’t have to worry about making any noise as he walked, but he soon realized that he didn’t have to worry about it, even this late at night—the buzzing sound of the cicadas and the distant hum of city traffic would drown out everything else. After cruising past the Toland’s house three times, he parked his car around the corner, on 52nd Street… just in case. Again, he realized that he needn’t have worried. There was a single light on in the upstairs bedroom window, and he knew that Cindy and Harry didn’t have a dog that would alert them if someone was creeping around outside. Besides, if either of them looked out and saw him, he could pretend that he was just out for a late-night stroll.

But this sure as hell wasn’t a casual, late-night stroll.

Alex was seething with rage, and just being near Cindy’s house made his rage boil all the higher.

Who the hell did she think she was, trying to take his kids away from him like that?

He knew damned well that she put his wife up to writing that will! There was no way Debbie would have thought of it on her own. He’d never like Cindy, and he knew that the bitch had never liked him, especially now. He was convinced she would do anything and everything in her power to make him suffer.

Christ, as if he hadn’t suffered enough already!

A little more than a week ago, he’d lost his wife in a tragic accident. He sniffed with laughter and thought, Yeah, some accident! She accidentally tried to fuck with me!

For the past week, his kids—especially Krissy—seemed to never stop crying and whining about how much they missed their mommy and wanted to see her. And then today this fuck-face lawyer Debbie had hired flashes a will that gives the kids away—his kids!—to that bitch, Cindy!

And maybe worst of all was the amount of money Debbie had stashed away in that bank account. Better than ten thousand dollars! So that’s where his hard-earned money had gone! No wonder it had seemed like he was working his ass off and there still wasn’t enough money for groceries and bills. She’d been hiding it, stealing it right from under his nose so she could get away from him.

Alex laughed again, a thin, dry sniffle and then spit onto the sidewalk.

Well, babe, he thought bitterly, I guess to Christ we could say you finally got away from me!

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do now, but one thing was certain: there was no way he was going to allow Cindy to take his kids away from him. No way in hell.

Melting into the dappled shadows on the side of the street opposite the house, he stopped and stared over at the silent, shadowed front door. The streetlight at the corner cast the front yard with a powdery, orange glow. Through the leaves overhead, Alex could see the faint blue light of the moon, glowing like a weak light bulb.

Crickets and cicadas whirred in the darkness so loud the sound was like a drill, biting deep into his brain. His hands were sweaty, jammed deep into his jeans pockets. He wanted like hell to light a cigarette but was afraid that even the tiny glow of it might draw attention to him. No, for now he had to play it completely safe. He had to watch and think and calculate just how he was going to get back at Cindy for what she’d done. Why, if she hadn’t convinced Debbie to try to leave him, she might still be alive today!

I didn’t kill her, he thought, directing his hostile thoughts at the house across the street. Cindy did by poisoning her mind against me and pushing her to try to leave!

Down at the distant intersection, a car turned onto the street and began moving toward him. Spinning quickly on his heel, Alex started walking away from the house, cringing as the wash of headlights caught up with him, casting long, angled shadows of his legs onto the sidewalk and lawn. His sneakers scuffed the asphalt. He loosened the tension in his shoulders and started whistling a tune as the headlights got steadily brighter. He wanted desperately to turn to see who it was, but he was certain that any second he’d see the flashing blue pulse of a cop car’s light. He was sure they’d pull over and ask what he was doing out here this late at night. He kept walking, pacing himself so he wouldn’t be going too fast or too slow.

Finally, at the corner of 52nd and Elmwood, the car whisked past him. He saw that it was, in fact, a police car. Alex let his breath out in a slow exhale as he drew to a stop and watched the taillights disappear around the next corner up ahead.

“Goddamned neighborhood watch,” he whispered, looking back and forth to see if there was anyone else—like maybe another cop car—in the vicinity. It looked as though the coast was clear, so he turned around and started back toward Cindy and Harry’s house.

Once he was stationed back under the maple tree, he crouched clown and leaned against the tree trunk. His mind was almost blank with anger as he stared up at the lighted bedroom window. He could hear the rumbling rattle of the air conditioner in the window. He jumped, and his heart started pounding heavily when he saw something—someone—walk over and look out the lighted window. With the glare of light behind her, he wasn’t sure at first if it was Cindy or Harry, but then he saw her long hair, rising up as the air conditioner blew air into her face. His hands balled into fists, and he had a vivid image of twining his hands in that long hair of hers and smashing her face against something hard—maybe the edge of the counter, just like he had done to her sister. His anger was a sour taste that flooded the back of his throat, almost gagging him.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. He hawkered deep in his chest and spit into the darkness.

He was watching her so intently that he didn’t even blink his eyes until they began to water. Then, moving quickly, he reached up and grabbed the lowest branch above him and swung up into the tree. It had been years since he had climbed a tree, but the branches seemed to come into his hand of their own volition. The tree hardly shook with his weight and he scaled the branches, hand-over-hand until he was almost level with the second floor window.

From this vantage point, the view still wasn’t that much better than it had been from the ground, but he could see into the bedroom enough to see Harry sprawled on the bed with his hands behind his head. He still couldn’t make out any of the features on Cindy’s face, but he could tell that they were talking. He couldn’t help but wonder what they were saying.

Probably talking about me and how they’re gonna steal my kids away from me!

Cocking his thumb up, he pointed his forefinger like a gun at the silhouette in the window. Squinting one eye to draw a bead on her, he held the pose for a few heartbeats, imagining that he was squeezing the trigger as he whispered, “Bang” and pulled his hand up in an imagined recoil.

A grim smile of satisfaction spread across his face, but it froze there when he realized that another car was rounding the corner at the far end of the street and moving toward him.

Shit! If these were the cops again, and if they caught him up in the tree like this, he would have one hell of a time trying to explain what he was doing. Being nailed as a Peeping Tom was one thing, but once they put it together that this was the house of his sister-in-law, he might be in for a heap of shit.

The car was moving slowly up the street, well below the speed limit. Although he couldn’t see any markings or lights through the tangle of leaves, Alex was convinced that it was the police.

Shit!

What if Cindy had seen him out here and had called the cops?

What if—somehow—they had known what he was up to and were just waiting to catch him?

Or worse, what if they had finally found a hole in his alibi and were out looking for him to arrest him for killing his wife? He could tell, just by the way Cindy looked at him, that she didn’t buy the “accident” story. What if she finally convinced the police what had really happened?

Holding his breath, Alex clung tightly to the tree trunk and watched as the headlights crept slowly closer. The car’s engine hummed with a low, steady purr. The headlights blotted away the darkness on the road like a slow-spreading stain. Tension wound up tighter inside him as the winding, buzzing sound of the cicadas rose louder in his ears.

Just drive on by! he thought. Just drive right the fuck on by!

The car slowed to a crawl. In the stark glare of the headlights, Alex could see the texture of every pebble, every subtle depression in the road. Shadows of trees and bushes as thick and dark as ink swept to both sides like parting curtains. He sucked in a breath and held it when he saw the array of lights and sirens on the roof of the police cruiser. He glanced quickly up at the lighted bedroom window to see Cindy—the bitch!—was still there, probably watching it all, just waiting to see him get nabbed. He thought she was, but when he looked closer, he saw that her back was turned to the window.

Jesus Christ, just drive on by!

The cruiser was moving less than ten miles per hour now. Even before it was directly below him, he heard the chatter of the two cops and the scratchy, static voice coming over their radio. The driver was resting his elbow on the opened window, and Alex could easily imagine that the hand inside the car was gripping a service revolver and was just itching for an opportunity to use it on him.

That’s it… he thought when the cruiser was directly below him: Just drive on by… nice and easy now.

The cruiser’s brake lights flickered once, a bright red flash, but then the car sped up. Alex kept his gaze fastened on it until it rounded the corner and was gone, but he didn’t let out his breath until the sound of the engine had faded to nothing. When he looked back at the bedroom window, he saw that the light had been turned out.

“You fucking bitch!” he whispered dryly.

The grip he maintained on the tree branch was so tight that it hurt his hands, but he squeezed even tighter, imagining that his hands were wrapped around Cindy Toland’s throat and he was squeezing the life out of her.

“Don’t worry, you bitch. I’m gonna get you!” he whispered, his voice sounding like the rasping hiss of a snake in the darkness. “You just wait and see if I don’t!”

He climbed about halfway down the tree and then jumped to the ground, landing with a soft plop. There was a bad taste in his mouth, and he was hoping that a beer back at home would wash it away. Feeling at least a little bit buoyed from the evening, he started whistling again as he walked down the street and turned the corner to where he had left his car parked. His mood dropped when, as he was getting into the car, he saw the parking ticket, tucked underneath his wiper blade. Swearing as he grabbed it, he read the amount of the fine under the streetlight. Then, uttering a louder curse, he tore the ticket into confetti and sprinkled it onto the Street like a dusting of snow.

“Yeah, well fuck you, too,” he muttered, scowling as he fished his keys from his pocket and slid in behind the steering wheel. “Fuck you all!”

3

“Oh, my God, that’s it!”

“—hmmm—”

“I’ve got it!”

“Huh… whaa… got what?”

“I know what we have to do!”

The boxsprings complained as Cindy jerked up in bed and leaned forward to hug her knees. She stared at the square of window, glowing orange from the streetlight outside. In spite of the overworked air conditioner, her body was slick with sweat. She knew she was sweating as much from the dream she’d been having as the heat, but she couldn’t recall any of the details.

None except one… the idea that had exploded in her mind while she was asleep.

“We’ll have to do it, Harry! We’ll do what we thought he was going to do!”

The bed jiggled as Harry rolled over and looked at the clock; then she heard him gasp.

“Good Lord, Cindy, it’s almost four o’clock!”

“Umm, but I have it! Well kidnap the kids!”

“What kids?”

“Billy and Krissy.”

“Christ, are you crazy?”

“Maybe, but that’s not the point. Well take them away from him. They’re ours legally, anyway, so why not? We can take them over into Iowa and get legal custody there. Then Alex can’t touch us.”

“Jesus, you are crazy,” Harry said. He shifted down into the bed, pulling his pillow over his face so his voice was muffled when he said, “Come on, honey, go to sleep now. We can talk about this in the morning. I have to drag my ass up in two hours.”

“No, we have to talk about it now!” Cindy said, shaking his shoulder roughly. “I want to figure it all out so we can do it tomorrow… today!”

Harry let out an exasperated sigh as he rolled onto his side and looked at her. “You’re crazy to even think it, but don’t you think we should at least run it past Holder first? I mean, there’s got to be a whole shit-load of legal problems involved in doing something like that.”

“I’m sure there are,” Cindy said, her voice getting dreamy for a moment. “But I dunno—maybe we don’t want to get a lawyer involved. I mean, if it is breaking the law—”

“If? Jesus Christ, Cindy, you’re talking about kidnapping! There are no ifs about it!”

“Maybe there are if there’s a legal document appointing me as their legal guardian.”

“Yeah, but you can’t… just take someone’s kids away from their father.”

“Even if he killed their mother?”

Harry let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t want to get started on that again. There’s no proof Alex did anything, and the police sure as hell aren’t acting like they think he did.”

Cindy covered her mouth with both hands to choke back the sob that was building up inside her. A flood of desperate energy vibrated within her, making her want to leap out of bed and run around the room screaming.

“And I don’t think, even if you’re across the river in Iowa, that Alex would stand for something like that. He’d get a—an extradition order or whatever. We need to talk to Holder about this to see what all the legal issues are.”

Biting her lower lip, Cindy shook her head viciously, even though she knew the motion was wasted in the darkness.

“I don’t want to get him involved. No one else.”

“Well it sure as hell will involve the kids! Have you stopped to think how they might react to all of this?”

Cindy was silent for a moment, then said, “They probably already know what their father did. You sure as hell can’t pretend they didn’t hear and see what was going on in their own house. They may not know their father killed their—”

“You have no proof of that, Cin. Come on. You’ve got to stop talking like this. Just drop it!”

“No, this is something you and I are going to have to handle.” She covered her mouth with her hand for a moment, thinking. “If you don’t think we can do it in Iowa, then let’s take them even further.”

“Yeah, like where?”

“Like California, maybe, or someplace on the east coast. I don’t know. I think we should plan this all out and do it, though. Think about it! There are two children, two little kids—my nephew and niece—involved here. I swear to God, Harry, I think their lives are in jeopardy.”

Harry sighed with exasperation again, and Cindy felt him shift on the bed. Again—like oh, so many times since Debbie had died—she wished that he would reach out for her and hold her, letting her know that he still loved her and that he was going to do everything he could for her. But as tough as-it was to admit, she had to acknowledge that she didn’t feel anything like love or support coming from Harry. Maybe they had drifted too far apart over the years. Maybe he no longer cared for her… or no longer loved her.

“Look, Cindy… honey, I have to get up for work soon. Can’t this wait until breakfast?”

“I’ve got it. You could sell the hardware store,” Cindy said sharply. “Hey, you’ve hated it for years anyway, so why not get rid of it?”

“Well, I don’t exactly hate it…”

“Bull! I can’t count how many times over the last few years you’ve told me you felt like you were at a dead end with it, that in order to really make money you’d have to expand, and that you didn’t want to risk our savings. So why not consider it? Why not cash in and get out now?”

“Come on, you know it wouldn’t be that easy. I’d have to put it on the market. Just finding an interested buyer could take months… years.”

“So what? Let’s dump it and move. We’ve got that ten thousand dollars Debbie saved. Add that to what we’ve got in savings, and it gives us a damned good start. Why not start a whole new life in another state with Debbie’s—”

In spite of her rising enthusiasm, the mere thought of her dead sister made Cindy choke up again. Tears sprang from her eyes, hot and sticky in the darkness. A small corner of her mind was desperately wishing that Harry was more attuned to how she was feeling, more sensitive to her needs. She covered her eyes with her hands and sobbed softly in the darkness.

“Well… maybe…” Harry said, smacking his lips sleepily. “Maybe I’ll think about it.”

Harry’s response broke Cindy’s heart. He had to know she was crying, yet he still did nothing to comfort or reassure her. That’s all she really needed right now, for him to hug her and tell her they’d work it out… together. It was painful, but she had to admit to herself that she knew he was just saying those words, agreeing with her so he could get his precious sleep before getting up for work. A lash of bitterness uncoiled in her stomach. As if his work was more important than the lives of two children!

“I know what,” she whispered.

Harry was breathing deeply as though already sleep. She had to fight the impression that she was alone in the darkness, talking to herself.

“Your Uncle Richard’s summer camp at Little Sebago, in Maine. We went there a couple of summers ago. We could stay there.”

“Uh, you may recall, Uncle Dick died two years ago, and the rest of the family has been squabbling over who’s going to get the camp. Besides, why the hell would we want to move to Maine? Now that Uncle Dick’s dead, we don’t have family or friends there.”

“So Alex would never think that’s where we went! And we don’t have to stay there. I’m just talking about using it for a little while. Why not? I mean, if you explained our situation to your sister and brother.”

“I suppose so, I mean, if we had to; but look, Cindy—” His voice became edged with agitation. “I don’t want to talk about this right now, all right?” He slammed his fist into his pillow and, huffing, rolled away from her. “Lemme get some goddamned sleep!”

Well. I want to talk about it, Cindy thought, but she didn’t say anything. For the first time in over ten years marriage, she was thinking that there might be something that was going to split them apart. They had made it through job hassles and emotional problems, rough the anxiety and sadness of not being able to have children of their own, and through numerous family tragedies, including her parents’ deaths and her sister’s accident—No, murder!—but now Cindy was thinking that this might be it: this might be the issue, the wedge that would finally drive them apart.

When she searched her feelings, she was frightened to discover how much she didn’t care. Not really. Right now, protecting her sister’s children, sparing them the pain of being raised by an abusive, alcoholic father, maybe even saving their lives from the man she was positive had killed their mother was the most important thing in her life… even more important than her marriage.

And in the dark, humid pre-dawn silence, she decided that she was going to do it, with or without Harry’s help. It might take her a few days, maybe even a week or two to get things organized, but she going to kidnap Billy and Krissy Harris.

She had to!

Chapter Four

Rendezvous

The sun hammered down onto the asphalt and rebounded in rippling, watery waves as Harry Toland pulled his bright red Camaro into the parking lot of the Buzzy Bee Motel. As always, he was a bit concerned about the conspicuousness of his fancy car with the novelty license plate reading “HRDWRE,” but—as always—he told himself that the odds of someone on the Iowa side of the Missouri River recognizing his car were… well, at least small enough not to allow the worry to ruin his afternoon.

No siree, even though he was exhausted from not getting enough sleep last night, he had no intention of letting any worries spoil the fun he had planned for this afternoon with Elizabeth St. Claire. He glanced at his watch, saw that he was almost ten minutes late, and hoped like hell that Elizabeth’s attitude wasn’t already soured. She was on her lunch break from the credit union and would no doubt have to hurry to get back to work by two o’clock. But just thinking about her waiting for him in that dark, air conditioned room, made his erection harden.

Shifting his car into park, he killed the ignition and grabbed the bottle of white Zinfindel from the sea beside him. He was hoping it would go a long way toward making up for lost time; and as much as he hated to admit it, time was his enemy today. He had worked double-time all morning, trying to cover a full day’s worth of business by noon just so he could take off a few hours this afternoon. The drive from the hardware store, across the Missouri River to Council Bluffs had taken almost half an hour, what with the traffic heavier than normal and a bad run of luck with the traffic lights.

He sighed heavily as he stepped out of the air conditioned comfort of his car, and the heat of the dash washed over him like a gush of hot water. After making sure he’d locked the car doors, he squinted as he scanned the heat-hazed parking lot. A smile split his face when he saw Elizabeth’s white Toyota Camry parked at the far end of the long, low row of motel units. As always when she arrived first, she’d signaled that the door was unlocked by hanging her red scarf on the Levelor blinds in the window of unit 40, their usual rendezvous room.

“Ah, that’s my girl,” Harry whispered.

He slid his car keys into his pocket and started across the parking lot, wanting to hurry out of the heat but no quite having the energy to move fast. With each step his feet seemed to sink a few inches into the sun softened asphalt. The combination of heat, lack of sleep, and working at top speed all morning were taking their toll. By the time he rapped lightly on the enamel green door and jiggled the doorknob, he was thinking how much he’d rather take a short nap than make love this afternoon… even with Elizabeth.

“I’m waiting,” a light, feminine voice chimed from inside the room.

Smiling, Harry pushed the door open and stepped into the embracing arms of cool darkness. The air conditioner was humming softly, drowning out all other noises from outside. He shivered as he swung the door shut behind him and waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the thick gloom before running the security chain lock shut.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he felt his way cautiously forward and placed the bottle of wine on top of the TV. “Traffic was all screwed up downtown.”

“Don’t worry,” said the woman’s voice with just a hint of humor. “I didn’t start anything without you.”

Harry laughed softly. He could see a little bit better now, and could make out the mounded hump in the bed. A single, white sheet covered Elizabeth up to her neck. Her long, black hair spread out over the pillow. Her eyes seemed to glow dully as she stared up at him. A faint smile exposed the fine white line of her teeth as her tongue darted out and licked her upper lip.

“Oh… someone’s been sleeping in my bed,” Harry said.

His eyes lingered for a moment on the shadowed, rounded curves beneath the sheet… curves that made his mouth go suddenly dry. For a woman in her late thirties, Elizabeth was in fantastic shape. He loved the passionate enjoyment she brought to their love-making sessions. At times, but not often over the past three years of his affair with her, Harry wondered when and why and how he had lost that feeling with Cindy. Only lately had he stopped wondering if they would ever get it back. Why worry, when he had discovered it was so much better with Elizabeth?

“Would you care for some wine first?” He indicated the bottle with a sweep of his hand.

In answer, Elizabeth flung the sheet aside, exposing her naked body. Her firm, rounded breasts drew his gaze and held it for a moment, but then he looked down at the dark triangle between her legs as she slowly spread her knees apart.

“Would you care for some of this first?” she said.

“I—uh, I thought you said you hadn’t started yet,” he said, laughing.

“I’ve shown you mine, now get your butt over here and let me see what you’ve got,” Elizabeth said, lowering her voice to a husky, commanding tone.

Chuckling softly, Harry walked over to the bedside and stood at attention while Elizabeth, leaning on one elbow, reached up and began to unbuckle his belt. She unsnapped his pants, ran the zipper down, and then rolled his pants and underpants down to his knees in one swift motion.

“Umm,” she said, followed by a low, guttural growl. “I like what I see already.”

She grabbed his penis with one hand and, cupping his balls with the other hand, started kissing the tip, flicking it with her tongue. In an instant, Harry was hard and ready to go, but in spite of his arousal, he couldn’t suppress the yawn that shook his body.

“Oh, dear… What’s the matter?” Elizabeth said with a note of wounded pride in her voice. “Aren’t you all that interested this afternoon? Maybe I can convince you.”

Harry grunted but said nothing, choosing instead to close his eyes and lean his head back as she opened her mouth and took him inside. The warm, wet ring of her lips surrounded him, pulling up and down with a soft, steady pressure. Blood engorged his penis, but still, in spite of himself, he yawned again with a loud, warbling groan.

“Are you sure you’re up for this? No pun intended,” Elizabeth said as she shifted her knees to one side and sat up on the edge of the bed. Harry immediately plopped himself down beside her, bouncing a few times before flopping onto his back. Elizabeth leaned over him, her hand making cool, lazy circles on his chest and stomach as she pinched the loose, white flab of his belly—the belly of a man who was too busy with his work to exercise conscientiously.

“I—uh, well… you see…”

He smiled as Elizabeth shifted forward and let the soft cushions of her breasts brush against his ribs. He felt her nipples harden as she shifted up and down, breathing heavily into his ear.

“Hey, doll,” she cooed. “If you’re all stressed out, you can just lie there and let me take care of things.”

Again, her hand closed around Harry’s penis, squeezing and pulling gently; but the waves of sleepiness washing through him were too strong to ignore. He twisted his head to one side and covered his mouth with his hand as he yawned again so hard that tears filled his eyes.

“God, I dunno,” he said. “I’m just…” He sighed, laid his head back and closed his eyes.

“What, are things still out of control at home?” Elizabeth asked.

Harry had kept her filled in on most of the details about Debbie’s death and Cindy’s reaction—no, overreaction to it. They had talked—as they had often talked over the past three years—about when he would get around to divorcing Cindy so they would be free to get married. Elizabeth knew better than to push him about it now because she knew how upset his wife was about her sister’s death. Still, after such a longtime, she was starting to lose patience and was beginning to wonder just how sincere he really was. After all, if a man would cheat on his wife for three years and never get around to broaching the subject of divorce with her, what was the guarantee that he would remain faithful to her once they were married?

“It’s weird and getting weirder,” Harry said, keeping his eyes closed and smiling sleepily as Elizabeth continued to move her hand up and down, up and down.

“What is it now,” Elizabeth said. She shifted down a bit and started kissing his stomach, taking a few moments to ream his navel with her tongue before shifting further down.

“She wants the kids,” Harry said. Heated waves of pleasure mingled like whiskey in water with the soft pull of sleep. He told himself it was okay, that she had suggested he just lie back and enjoy himself.

“What kids?” Elizabeth snapped. “You’ve been telling me for three years that you don’t have any kids.”

The accusatory tone in her voice almost dragged him back to full consciousness, but he didn’t stay there for long. The softness of the mattress and cool sheets enfolded him like a billowing cloud.

“No, not ours… her sister’s kids,” Harry said. “There’s this—Her sister wrote a will that gave her custody of her children, and Cindy wants to take them.”

Elizabeth’s ministrations suddenly stopped. She heaved herself up so their faces were level, and she glared at him. “You’re not going to let her do it, I hope,” she said.

Harry craned his head up and looked at her, surprised by the flashes of anger and concern he saw in her eyes. He shook his head weakly and said, “Course not! No way! Besides, I’m sure their father’s gonna fight her on it—all the way. She’ll never get them, but get this—last night, goddamned if she didn’t keep me up almost ’till dawn, jabbering about how she wanted to take the kids away from him—kidnap them and take them out of state.”

“Good! Then let her do it!” Elizabeth said, snorting derisively before sliding back down and taking him into her mouth again.

His mind swirling with pleasure, Harry closed his eyes and eased his head back onto the pillow.

“Yeah, you know? Maybe you’re right,” he said, his voice drifting up and down the scale. “Umm—that feels great! Keep doing that. Maybe I can… I dunno… maybe I can work it so she does take off with the kids, and I’ll stay behind. Then—I dunno… maybe I can sue her for desertion or something.”

Elizabeth said nothing as she started moving her head up and down, faster and faster. The pressure in Harry’s groin was growing intense, almost to the point of pain. Just as he was about to explode, Elizabeth stopped what she was doing and, smacking her lips, shifted one leg around so she was straddling him.

“Hold on, there, buckaroo,” she whispered as she clawed at his chest and stomach. Her fingernails crosshatched red lines on his white skin. “We have to pace ourselves, baby.” She slid forward until the triangle of her pubic hair was only a few inches from his face and started thrusting back and forth. Closing his eyes, Harry stuck out his tongue and started licking her, gently at first.

Elizabeth groaned with pleasure as Harry picked up the pace, making her wet.

“I mean … we have… ourselves… a whole… hour … to kill…”

2

“Billy… I think I heard something downstairs.”

Krissy Harris’s high whisper barely penetrated the darkness of the bedroom she shared with her brother. Every night since their mother had died, nearly a month ago now, they had slept in the same bed together. Billy knew that his father didn’t want them sleeping together. “Sissy stuff,” he’d called it. But every night after their father sent them off to bed and had gone out for the evening, leaving them home alone, Billy would slip under the covers with Krissy, and they would hug each other until they were both asleep. Most nights, Krissy would cry herself to sleep, muttering as she drifted off how much she missed mommy. Then, every morning before his father got up, Billy would go back to his own bed, making sure to mess it up so his father would think he had slept there. They knew they shouldn’t be sneaking like this, but being close—especially at night—gave them both a small measure of security. Most nights, though, even that didn’t seem like quite enough.

“No… I didn’t hear—”

“Shhush… I think someone’s moving around downstairs.” Krissy waited a beat or two. “Listen! Did you hear that?”

Billy strained to hear, but the only sounds were the soft whispering rush of blood in his ears and the faint patter of rain on the roof. He didn’t like the darkness, didn’t feel safe in it, but he sure-as-heck couldn’t let his little sister know how scared he was. It was up to him to be the big kid in this situation.

“Naw… I don’t hear nothing,” he hissed. “Maybe it was just the wind… or dad getting home.”

“No… there’s someone sneaking around down there.” Krissy gripped his hand and squeezed it as tightly as she could. “Oh, Billy,” she said with a moan. “I’m scared. What if it’s that… that lady I saw?”

“What lady?” Billy asked, but when his sister didn’t answer right away, he whispered, “Hold on a sec.”

Sliding his hand from hers, he threw aside his bed covers and tiptoed toward the closed door, running one hand along the wall for guidance. His heart was hammering hard in his chest as he pressed his ear against the door and listened… listened for… something… anything…

“I know I heard something,” Krissy whispered. Her voice was like a moth, fluttering in the darkness. The tension she telegraphed only made it worse for Billy, too.

“Be quiet. Don’t worry,” he said. He knew she was too scared to notice the nervous quaver in his own voice. “It’s probably just Dad stumbling around down there.”

“No, it isn’t!”

Billy heard the bedsprings creak as Krissy shook her head.

“It’s not even nine-thirty. It’s too early for him to be home.”

Billy wanted to say something reassuring, but no words came to mind. He ran his tongue back and forth inside his mouth, surprised at how dry it was as he considered what he should do next.

Could there really be a burglar or something downstairs? It wasn’t like Omaha was New York City or anything, but he knew the city had its share of crime. There were parts of town his parents had warned him about.

So what should he do—go downstairs and check it out?

Was there anything up here he could use as a weapon? A baseball bat or something?

At the very least, he should go to the head of the stairs and see if there really was someone down there. He could always use the phone in his father’s room to call the police if he had to.

God! he thought, fighting the waves of tremors that rushed up his back. Why did it always have to be him who had to check these things out?

His hands was trembling as he turned the doorknob and slowly started easing the bedroom door open. He tensed, waiting for the hinges to squeak, but the door swung quietly open to reveal the dimly lit corridor.

“D’yah want me to come with you?” Krissy whispered from the darkness behind him.

You bet your butt I do, he thought, but he hushed her with a soft hiss and stepped out into the hallway alone. The thick darkness pulsed around him like it was alive and breathing. His knees felt weak as he tiptoed to the stairway and, gripping the railing, cocked his head to one side and listened.

Billy strained to hear or see anything unusual, but the house was silent except for the monotonous sound of rain. He wanted to switch on the stairway light but was frightened of what he might see if he did. Although he still heard nothing, a deep tremor of apprehension told him that he wasn’t alone in the darkness… there was someone else in the house.

What am I gonna do? he wondered as bolts of frantic worry shot through him. What the heck am I gonna do?

He was all set to go back to the bedroom, shut the door—maybe block it with a bureau or chair—and tell Krissy everything was all right when he heard the soft thud of footsteps downstairs. His blood instantly chilled. He could do nothing except stand there and stare into the well of darkness at the bottom of the stairs. He was dizzy with fear, but his tight grip on the handrail kept him from falling. He wanted to cry out. Maybe, if it was a burglar, he could scare him off; but his throat had closed up. He could barely breathe.

Oh, my god what am I gonna do—what am I gonna do?

A low whimper came from deep inside his chest when he saw something—something darker than the darkness shift at the foot of the stairs, moving from the living room. He couldn’t focus on it clearly. It seemed to dart back and forth, shifting like a heavy, black curtain in a strong wind.

Oh, shit, they’ll take the TV and VCR he thought, and the Nintendo!

Suddenly galvanized by a feeling of violation, he gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and sprang into action before he could think through the consequences. With a piercing, keening shout, he charged down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Wailing like an Indian, he flailed his arms about, punching at the darkness and hoping like hell that whoever was down here would be so frightened they’d turn and run. His shouts shifted into a sharp, rising scream when he ran straight into someone, and arms enfolded him in a bear hug. Then, even what little sound he was making was cut off as a hand clapped across his mouth.

“God, Billy, be quiet! You’ll bother the neighbors!”

Through his blinding panic, he didn’t immediately recognize the voice that hissed so close to his ear. All he could tell was that it was a woman. The pressure of her arms holding him grew tighter, squeezing the breath out of him. He was dimly amazed that he hadn’t passed out from fright. The person holding him turned and, dragging him across the floor, slapped at the light switch at the bottom of the stairs. The room brightened suddenly in an explosion of light.

“Stop your yelling,” the voice said, gentle yet commanding. “Come on, it’s just me.”

The brilliance of the overhead light was making his eyes sting. All he knew so far was that this was a woman. He almost collapsed to the floor when the grip she had on him eased up.

“Is Krissy upstairs?”

Still numb with panic and panting heavily, Billy nodded as he knuckled his eyes, trying to clear his vision.

“Come on, then, Billy,” the woman’s voice said.

Blinking his eyes rapidly, Billy looked at her and for a blinding instant thought he was looking at his own mother. Then recognition hit him.

“Aunt Cindy! What are you—?”

“We have to get moving… fast!” Aunt Cindy said.

When she glanced nervously over her shoulder at the living room, he noticed for the first time that she was wearing a raincoat, and it was dripping with water that left dark stains on the carpet. She took his hand and turned him, directing him back up the stairway.

“Get moving…? What do you mean? What are you doing here this late?”

“I’ve come to help you and your sister. Come on, we have to get packed.”

“Packed? What for—?”

“I’m taking you away from here,” his aunt said in a tight, serious-sounding voice. Billy’s vision was still blurry, dazzled by the bright light, but he could see the expression of deep concern on his aunt’s face.

“Taking us—? Taking us where?”

All the warnings his mother had given him throughout his life echoed in his mind. He wasn’t supposed to trust strangers or go anywhere with anyone unless his parents had said it was okay. But above those old warnings a single, clear thought: It’s gotta be okay! This is my Aunt Cindy! Everything’s gonna be okay!

“I—I’m going to take you and your sister someplace… someplace where we’ll all be safe.”

PART TWO

ON THE RUN

Chapter Five

Late Night Visits

Cindy’s eyes were burning with fatigue, and her face felt like a sand-filled bag as she leaned over the steering wheel and stared through the slapping wipers at the dark road ahead. The muscles in her arms and shoulders were starting to cramp up, and the skin at the base of her neck was tingling from tension. She continually glanced into the rearview mirror at the children in the back seat, unable to stop the waves of hivers as she watched, expecting to see that other ace—pale, translucent skin and wide, staring eyes—reappear, hovering in the darkness over her shoulder.

Christ! I’m losing it… losing it bad! she thought, and her throat made a high, whimpering sound.

A couple of times, she ran the car window down and, vetting her hand on the side of the car, slapped her face with water, but that wasn’t enough to bring her all the way around. Her body shuddered with deep anxiety. Every time she yawned, the wash of headlights on the road ahead would smear like streaks of yellow finger paint. Bright green signs with reflective letters announcing exits whizzed past her, leaving trailing re afterimages in the sides of her vision. The night had blended into a swirling chaos that perfectly reflected what she was feeling inside.

“Are you getting tired?” said a voice.

For a moment, she thought the voice was inside her head, but then she realized that it was Billy, talking to her. He was trying his best to keep his voice low and firm, hoping to sound completely confident and in control, but she could detect the nervous undercurrent in him.

“No—I … um, well, yeah, I am pretty tired… kind of,” she replied. “It’s been a—a helluva long day.”

“So where are we going?”

“We’re heading east,” she said simply.

Her mind was too numb to say much else, but she was happy that he hadn’t put any fear or hostility into his question. The tone of Billy’s voice seemed to acknowledge that they were all in this—this adventure together. Maybe he had reasons—some damned good reasons to want to be out of his father’s house!

If Billy went along with what was happening, then once she calmed down, Krissy would probably follow her older brother’s lead. It pained her deeply to hear the strangled sobs, coming from the back seat, but Cindy tried to assuage her guilt by telling herself that the five year-old was going to be much better off in the long haul. Maybe with her brother’s help, they could all pull together and work it out. And one thing to be grateful for—at least there were no police after them. For now it looked like they were going to be all right.

As long as the police and FBI don’t catch us… and as long as Alex doesn’t hire a private detective to find us or come looking for his children himself… and as long as I don’t have a goddamned coronary!

She couldn’t stop wondering what Alex was going to do once he realized his children were missing. In all likelihood, he would go straight to the police and give them a description of the kids and her. No doubt Debbie had some recent photographs of her around the house. Then the police and FBI would be on her tail.

On the other hand, Cindy was certain that Alex had killed his wife and faked it to look like an accident. With that worry on his mind, he might be reluctant to get the police involved. They might start putting the pieces together and draw the right conclusion—that he was guilty of murder.

Even if he didn’t notify the police Alex might follow them. A man like Alex might even be relieved to be rid of the burden of having children, and it might work to his advantage to have the one person who was convinced of his guilt feel like a fugitive. That of course, all depended on how convinced he was that Cindy knew the truth. But then she recalled that day in Krendall’s office, how flushed with anger he got when he swore up and down that there was no way—no way in hell!—she would take his children away from him.

No, Cindy concluded, he’d so something to get his kids back, if only to get even with her, and strike another blow against his wife—even in her grave!

Cindy realized that her game plan was shaky at best. After talking things over with Harry, she hadn’t acted the next day, as had been her initial impulse. As impatient as she’d been, and as concerned as she’d been for the safety of the children, she’d taken her time to get things ready. She’d packed clothes for her and the children, transferred money into one account and drawn out several thousand dollars in Traveler’s Checks. She’d figured out several alternate routes to Maine—both the fastest and the most circuitous. Finally, after a week or so of planning, in which Harry participated little, she had decided that she would take off and head for Harry’s uncle’s cabin in western Maine, on a lake called Little Sebago in the town of Gray. She would stay there with the kids until Harry had time to sell the hardware store and come east to join them.

After adding Debbie’s willed money to Cindy’s own finances, she had access to a little better than thirty-five thousand dollars. That was more than enough for them to get started with their new lives. At least she didn’t have to go right out and find a job so they could eat. Sc with money in her pocket, the kids as settled as best as could be expected, and a place to go, she told herself she should feel as though things were going to be all right.

She should… but she didn’t.

God! I can’t believe I’m really doing this! she kept thinking as she stifled yawns behind her hand.

“I can drive if you want a break,” Billy said. He leaned forward eagerly and rested his arms on the back of the front seat.

Cindy smiled, looked at him in the rearview, but caught herself before she laughed aloud.

“Umm… no, I don’t think so.”

“No, honest—I can. My dad let me drive his car a lot.”

“This is the Interstate Highway, Billy. I’d sure have a tough time explaining what was going on if a state trooper pulled us over, and he found a ten-year-old boy behind the wheel.”

A kidnapped ten-year-old boy at that, her mind whispered.

“Yeah, but I can do it. Honest! I know how to shift gears ’n everything.”

“I’m sure you do, Billy, but this car’s an automatic—”

“All the easier,” Billy said excitedly. “Come on. Let me try it.”

Cindy shook her head sleepily. “No, not now. Let’s just take the next exit and find ourselves someplace to spend the night, all right?”

“Yeah… sure,” Billy muttered as he flopped back in the seat, “but I can drive.”

“I’m sure you can, honey,” Cindy said, “I’m sure you can.” She was so tired, her own voice sounded like someone else was talking to her from far away.

2

The heavy banging on the front door awoke Harry with a start. Not bothering to put on his bathrobe, he tossed aside the bed covers and walked downstairs, wearing only his skivies and a T-shirt. Looking through the fish-eye peep hole, he grunted when he saw who was standing on the doorstep. He had no choice other than to open the door to the full extent of the security chain lock.

“What is it? It’s late, you know.”

Alex Harris glared at him through the narrow opening. The light from behind Harry’s shoulder washed over a wide slice of Alex’s face, bringing out in startling relief every detail of his bloodshot left eye and every pore of his weathered left cheek. Even before he spoke, Harry could tell that Alex was drunk; he could smell the sour wash of beer on his breath.

“Where-the-fuck-are-they?” Alex said, slurring the words into one long word. His eyes jumped back and forth. Harry could tell he was trying his damndest to nail him with an angry stare but was having trouble focusing. Looking past Alex, Harry saw that Alex’s car was parked down by the curb. The engine was still running, sending up a tornado-shaped plume of exhaust into the night.

“Where are who?” Harry asked. He enunciated each word carefully as he arched his eyebrows in confusion.

“Don’t play stupid with me, you miserable fuck!” The words tumbled out of Alex in a steady, nearly incoherent babble. “I know sure as shit you took ’em! You ’n your fuckin’ wife, so tell me where the fuck they are before I rip this fuckin’ door off its hinges and shove it up your ass! I wanna know where my kids are!”

“I have no idea where your kids are,” Harry said, trying his best to sound meekly innocent.

“The shit you don’t!”

Alex squinted and shook his head like he was an Airedale Terrier with a rat trapped in his jaws. It took Harry some effort to stay calm as he mentally calculated just how secure the security chain was and just how much of a fight Alex might be able to put up. Alex was taller and, because he worked at a manual labor job instead of a desk job like Harry’s, was obviously in better shape; but considering Alex’s present condition, Harry didn’t doubt that he could subdue him if he managed to break into the house. Still, he didn’t want to have to test that theory.

“I know you got ’em! Your fuckin’ wife all but said she was gonna take ’em from me, and now they’re gone! They’re fuckin’ gone!”

Alex gripped the edge of the door with both hands and gave it a violent shake that chipped paint off the door edge. Harry glanced over at the screws holding the chain lock plate to the doorjamb, expecting to see that they were loose and ready to pop out, but they looked just fine… for now.

“Listen to me, Alex,” he said, fighting for control of his voice. “I don’t want any trouble with you, all right?”

“Trouble? Fuck you, trouble! Just give me my kids back or else I’ll give you some fuckin’ trouble! You stole my fuckin’ kids!”

“I did not,” Harry said, shouting to be heard but still trying to keep a calm tone in his voice. “I swear to you, I didn’t take your kids.”

“Don’t bullshit me, all right, Toland! First off, let’s get something straight between us, okay? I never liked you. You know that. And I know, sure as shit you never liked me, but at least we never bullshitted each other, so don’t start in with me now. Got it?”

Harry could see that Alex was having trouble standing up, and for a moment he actually considered inviting him inside so he could tell him what was going on. He had known that this was going to happen, and been upstairs in bed unable to sleep because he had been expecting it; but he and Cindy had concocted a cover story, and he was prepared to deliver it. In fact, Harry was hoping that—eventually—he could use the cover story to help him out with his own plans of leaving Cindy for Elizabeth. But letting Alex into his home right now might not be the best idea. If the man got violent with him, Harry wasn’t so certain that he would be able to handle him. No, he decided to use the cover story to diffuse this situation, and then send Alex home under the threat of calling the police if he didn’t leave peacefully.

“I tell you I’m not bullshitting you, all right?” Harry shouted. “So just shut up and listen to me! Just shut the fuck up!”

It must have been his use of obscenity that finally got through to Alex. He shook his head groggily, ran his hands down over his face, and then, leaning forward against the partially opened door for support, gaped in at Harry. The light obviously was hurting his eyes as he tried to focus on him.

“I don’t have your kids, okay?” Harry said in a calmer, carefully measured voice. “And if Cindy does—well, there’s nothing I can—” He stopped and took a deep breath as though fighting for control of his emotions. He wished he could muster up a glassy-eyed stare that would look like he was about to cry but, in fact, he was close to bursting out with laughter. “If you really want to know the truth, Cindy left me today… She ran out on me.”

“No shit!” Alex whispered. His face clouded over as he tried to absorb what he’d just heard.

“No shit!” Harry echoed. He scrunched up his face and tried hard to look pained, but he was convinced the effort would be wasted on Alex; the man was too drunk to find his own ass without a road map. “While I was at work today, she… she left a note on the kitchen table, saying that she couldn’t stand it anymore and was leaving.”

“No shit …” Alex whispered again, even softer. Like a fast-moving thunderhead, the anger melted from his face. For a moment, Harry thought he had passed out on his feet.

“She… she—” Harry heaved a heavy sigh and looked down at his bare feet, shaking his head dejectedly. “I have no idea where she might have gone. If she—if she took your kids with her, which wouldn’t surprise me, I have no idea where she might have taken them.” He paused a moment, trying to gauge if his words were registering with Alex. “I already reported it to the police… that she was missing, anyway. If you want me to call them, I can also report that she’s kidnapped your kids.” He paused a beat, then added, “Do you want me to do that?”

“Huh? Call who?” Alex said.

“The police… about your kids.”

Alex shook his head. The fight seemed to have drained out of him. He looked at Harry as if he was someone he had never met before, like he had no idea why he was standing here on this man’s doorstep.

“Do you want to report your kids missing? Do you want me to do that for you? I’ve been dealing with a Detective—uh, Detective St Claire.” Harry used Elizabeth’s last name because it was the first thing that popped into his head. “He’s working on the case, but I—I—” Harry shrugged and slapped his hands helplessly against his legs. “I dunno. Cindy could be staying in a motel across town or—hell, she could be heading for California, for all I know.”

“Jesus Christ,” Alex whispered.

He seemed to be accepting this fabrication without any problem, but Harry wondered how long it would last. Alex might forget this entire conversation, and once he got home, later on tonight, or maybe sometime tomorrow, he might work himself up into a rage all over again and come looking for him and Cindy. Harry wanted to make damned sure Alex bought this story now so he wouldn’t bother him anymore. Besides, he had some planning of his own to do.

“Do you want me to call you a taxi?”

Alex looked confused for a moment, then a crooked smile flashed across his face. “Yeah—” he said, snorting with laughter. “I’m a taxi!” He staggered away from the door and started toward his car, zigzagging across the lawn.

Christ, he’d be lucky to walk home without hurting himself, much less drive, Harry thought. A flash of concern made him reach up and start to undo the security chain, but then he stopped himself.

So what if Alex was dead or in the hospital? Harry figured that would just be one less problem for him to deal with.

He watched as Alex swung open the car door and flopped into the seat behind the steering wheel.

Exhaust belched from the back of the car as he stepped down hard on the accelerator, making the engine whine high. The transmission made a heavy clunk sound as he shifted into gear. The tires chirped on the asphalt and spit out gravel as he pulled away from the curb and sped up the street. Harry listened at the door until the winding sound of the car had faded to silence.

Harry smirked as he eased the door shut and made sure the security chain was in place. One less problem… and Lord knew he’d had enough already!

3

“She’s here! She’s right here!”

The voice hit a high, shrill note that sliced like a razor through Cindy’s ears and into her sleep. In a flash, Cindy was sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes vigorously as she tried to remember where she was. For a heart-stopping instant, she thought she was back home in Omaha, in bed with Harry, and that the voice had been part of a bad dream—a nightmare. Then she saw and heard the flurry of activity coming from the queen-sized bed beside her, and everything came rushing back to her—where she was and what she had done.

“Krissy… Honey.”

Her voice was thick with sleep and edged with tension.

“It’s all right, honey. Your Aunt Cindy’s right here with you.”

She flung the covers aside and swung her feet to the floor, waving her hands in front of her as she made her way across the room, as if she could brush aside the darkness. She sat down on the edge of the bed, which the little girl was sharing with her brother.

The old bedsprings creaked beneath her weight. Cindy grabbed in the dark until she found Krissy’s hands. They were ice cold in her grip.

“Hey, hey, it’s all right. I’m right here with you.”

She pulled Krissy close, winding her arms around her and stroking her thin shoulders as she smoothed the sweat-damp hair away from her face. The little girl’s breathing came fast and thin, like a frightened bird, and her body trembled so violently that Cindy had the panicked thought that she might be having an epileptic seizure or something. The back of Krissy’s neck beneath her long hair was slick with cold sweat. She glanced over at the dark lump beneath the covers that was Billy, and was grateful that Krissy’s scream hadn’t awakened him.

“You can tell me, honey. What was it, a bad dream?”

Krissy shook her head vigorously and tried to speak, but her obvious panic and the gush of tears choked her off. The only sound she made was something that sounded a little like the word, “Mommy.”

Cindy couldn’t believe how tiny and frail the girl felt inside her hug. It nearly broke her heart. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision, but even at a moment like this, she allowed herself the fantasy that Krissy was actually her own daughter, not her niece. She remained silent as she held Krissy close to her and waited patiently for her panic to subside, but the girl’s body remained rigid in her grasp.

After being ripped from her own sleep, Cindy was feeling a bit disoriented as well. While she waited for Krissy to calm down, she thought back on everything they had done this evening. After another hour or so of driving, she had taken the exit for Cedar Rapids and pulled into the Great Midwest Inn, the first motel she had seen. After signing in under a false name, they had bought hamburgers, sodas, and French fries at the McDonald’s across the street and brought them back to the motel. After their meal, they had brushed their teeth and settled down for the night. Billy had fallen asleep pretty much right away, but it had taken Krissy more than two hours to calm down. She hadn’t been able to stop sobbing and murmuring how much she missed her mother and wanted to go home. Once the kids had fallen asleep, well past midnight, Cindy had turned off the lights and lain in bed, staring at the ceiling until the darkness and the confused swirl of her thoughts and fears blended into a thin, disturbed sleep.

“It was—it was—” Krissy whispered, but then her voice cut off again, as sharply as if someone had clapped a hand across her mouth.

“Don’t try to talk, honey. Just relax … just relax. You’re all right now. You’re safe with me,” Cindy said, hoping to hell that it wasn’t a lie.

“But I saw—her—she was—here—in the room,” Krissy said, her voice hitching with every breath.

Cindy’s eyes burned from fatigue as she stared into the swelling darkness of the motel room. Her vision had adjusted to the lack of light. She could make out the dark shapes of furniture and clothes hanging over the backs of chairs. The faint glow of a blinking yellow traffic light pulsed through the closed slats of the Levelor blinds. The room was silent except for the rattling hum of the air conditioner and Krissy’s reedy breathing.

“D’you mean you—you didn’t—didn’t see her?” Krissy asked after a long stretch of silence.

Cindy hugged her tightly, thankful that the girl’s body seemed to be losing its rigidity. Small hands grabbed at her back, giving her a measure of reassurance, but Krissy’s question had sent a wave of chills racing through her. Cold pressure filled her chest, squeezing around her heart. She shook her head and whispered, “No, I didn’t see anything.”

“But she was here—right here in the room with us!” “No one was in the room, honey. You were fast asleep. You just had a bad dream.”

Cindy could feel Krissy shaking her head in vigorous denial. She blinked back the tears gathering in her eyes, wishing to Heaven that none of this was happening. The cold, clutching feeling around her heart was getting steadily stronger.

“No, honest, Aunt Cindy. I saw her. She was sitting—in a chair—right over there.”

In the dark, Cindy saw the dark silhouette of the girl’s hand rise as she pointed toward the closet door.

“There’s not even a chair there, Krissy. We were all asleep in bed. There couldn’t have been anyone else in the room.”

“But you have to believe me! I saw her!” Krissy said, her voice twisting high into a tortured whine. “She was sitting right over there!”

“It couldn’t have been anyone, honey? Honest. Maybe Billy got up to go to the bathroom or something, and you just thought he was—”

“No! No! I know it wasn’t Billy! I could see that it was her! I—I recognized her!”

The winding, panicky edge in Krissy’s voice frightened Cindy so much she wanted to hold her all the tighter, if only to calm her down, to keep her quiet. The things Krissy was saying stirred something deep inside her and made her feel incredibly uncomfortable. A fleeting thought drifted at the edge of her mind, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. It was like the memory of a dream from long-ago, fleeting and elusive. Against her better judgment, and secretly dreading the reply, Cindy asked, “So who is she?”

“She’s the—the blue lady,” Krissy said, her voice edged with high, silver panic.

“The blue lady,” Cindy repeated, unable to stop the rush of shivers that ran up her back. This was the same thing Krissy had been talking about earlier in the car.

“Um-hum. I saw her again. I—I’ve been seeing her a lot lately.”

“But who is she?” Cindy asked in a strained voice. “Do you know who she is?”

She wished she could dismiss all of this as just part of a frightened child’s nightmare. That would have made things a lot easier. It was completely understandable that Krissy would be so distraught, considering all the grief and stress she’d had to deal with over the past month. But Cindy wasn’t able to push this aside quite so easily. Krissy’s words had reached down deep into her mind and were stirring up thoughts and memories and fears that she didn’t want to have… things she would just as soon not face.

Krissy shrugged, and, whimpering softly, clung desperately to her aunt.

“I don’t know who she is,” she said. “I never get to see her face. She’s all shiny and bright with… with blue light, but I—I—”

Her voice shut off with a loud click, and Cindy panicked, thinking for a frozen instant that Krissy had actually died from her fear. She felt only a slight measure of relief when she heard Krissy suck in a long, hissing breath before she added, “But I do know one thing…”

“What’s that, honey?”

“She’s scary… I mean really scary!”

Chapter Six

Big Decisions

A narrow beam of sunlight and a surprisingly cool breeze blowing in through the open window woke Alex up as he lay sprawled on the couch in the living room. His neck and shoulders were stiff from resting on the cushioned couch arm. Pain shot through his forehead and down his neck and back as he swung his feet off the couch and shakily stood up. Groaning and trembling like a man with a fever, he stretched his arms above his head and rotated his neck to ease the pain. He knew what he really needed right now to ease the pain was a slug of beer.

“The hair of the dog that bit me,” he muttered. He snickered and smacked his lips as he eyed the doorway into the kitchen, but then he noticed the dull pressure in his bladder and started instead down the hallway toward the bathroom, wading through the empty beer cans, dirty clothes, crumpled newspapers, and balled-up potato chip bags that littered the living room floor. He belched loudly, and the sour taste of vomit filled the back of his throat as he shouldered open the bathroom door and walked quickly over to the toilet. He opened his zipper, relieved himself, flushed the toilet, then went over to the sink. He ran the water until it was lukewarm before filling his cupped hands and splashing his face several times. Shaking the water from his face, he leaned forward on the counter and stared long and hard at his reflection.

“And a jolly-good-fuckin’-morning to you, too,” he whispered before belching again. The taste made him wince. He scratched his neck and watched as water streamed like sweat down his face. His eyes were bloodshot, and his complexion had a sickly yellowish cast to it that made him look as though he hadn’t been out in the sun for several weeks. At least a week’s worth of heard stubble covered his cheeks, but he didn’t feel like bothering to shave. What was the point? Squeezing his eyes tightly closed for a moment, he took a deep breath and tried like hell to focus his thoughts. He knew he had to make some big decisions today, but he wasn’t quite sure where or how to start.

Well, first off, it went without saying that he would have to report his children missing. He hadn’t called the cops last night before going over to the Toland’s house because he had been convinced that he’d find his kids there. The fact that they hadn’t been there had caught him completely off guard, but he was thankful now that he had slept—or passed out—on the couch after he had gotten home. This gave him time to think about things, and he realized now that it wouldn’t have looked all that good if he had shown up at the police station last night, blind drunk and ranting about his children being kidnapped by their aunt and uncle.

Of course, he had believed Harry when he told him that Cindy had taken off with the kids, but he wasn’t absolutely convinced that Harry had no idea where they had gone. In fact, he didn’t believe him at all. It’d be just like that sneaky little weasel to pull something like this and then pretend he had no clue what was going on… especially now that Cindy had access to over ten thousand dollars—ten thousand of his hard-earned dollars! So figuring out Harry’s and Cindy’s game plan would be his next step, after he called the cops and reported what had happened.

“Aww, shit!”he shouted when he glanced at his wrist watch and saw that it was almost eight o’clock. He should have left for work half an hour ago. The very first thing he had to do was call in sick for the day. Maybe he’d even ask for the rest of the week off. Why not? Even though his wife had died a little more than a month ago, he knew Floyd Harriman, his boss, was starting to get a little bit pissed off about all the personal time he’d been taking lately. But, hey he didn’t give a shit anymore. He was beginning to think he’d be leaving that job soon, anyway, so screw Floyd Harriman and Delta Airlines and Omaha International Airport. Screw ’em all!

He squinted and studied his face for several seconds. Water still dripped from the beard stubble on his chin, still making him look like he was sweating out a fever, but at least his eyes seemed a little bit clearer. He could actually see some white in there.

“Uh-huh,” he whispered, watching the reflection of his thin, almost bloodless lips curl into a sneer. “So where in the hell would they go? Where the fuck would they take Billy and Krissy?”

As soon as he said this out loud, another thought struck him like lightning.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to go to the police right away.

Although he still had a hell of a time admitting it to himself, and he tried his damndest to justify what had happened by reminding himself how much Debbie had pissed him off that night, he knew damned well that he had killed his wife. There was no way around it. Although much of what had happened now had a disorienting, dream-like quality to it, he clearly remembered certain moments. He remembered being engulfed by rage the instant he had walked into the kitchen and listened to the rash of shit Debbie laid on him. He could clearly recall the expression of shocked surprise on his wife’s face when he knocked her down; and he would never forget the sickening thump sound her head made when he had smashed it against the counter edge before dropping her to the floor. In rare moments of self-honesty, he admitted to himself that he had known exactly what he was doing when he killed her, and—sometimes—he even acknowledged that he had actually enjoyed doing it. Well, Christ, what did you expect? The bitch had deserved it, hadn’t she? He’d had to teach her a fucking lesson!

But now, the more he thought about the way Cindy had looked at him, both at Debbie’s funeral and then that day at the lawyer’s office, the more he thought that she must suspect the truth about what had happened the night Debbie died. Of course, there was no way Cindy could know with certainty what had happened, and there was no way in hell she could prove a thing. But if she ever voiced her suspicions, she might start the police asking all the wrong questions. At least so far, no one had even hinted that he might have been responsible for his wife’s death, much less arrested and charged him with it, and that was just the way he wanted to keep it.

But what if he couldn’t keep it that way?

What if the police were working on the case right now? What if they were getting close to making an arrest?

That’s when another thought hit him like a rolling clap of thunder. His head sagged forward, and he groaned out loud.

Maybe kidnapping the kids had just been a tactic on Cindy’s part, a trick to help the cops catch him. Maybe she was working with the goddamned police to flush him out, to get him to do something stupid that would help them pin Debbie’s murder on him. And if all of this was a setup, then reporting the kidnapping might not be such a great idea. He might say or do something that would make the police even more suspicious. As careful as he knew he could be, he might slip up somehow, maybe even enough to convince them of his guilt. So why go down to the police station and remind them that he even existed? There was no sense sticking his face into their’s!

“No sir,” he whispered, leaning so close to the mirror that his breath fogged over part of the glass. “No fucking way! I’m not gonna let them nail me!”

His eyes gradually widened, and his vision blurred as he stared past his reflection, following this paranoid line of thinking further. In the darkest corners of his mind, moving past his concerns for his own safety, he began to think; if he had enjoyed—even a little bit—what he had done to Debbie, he would be in sheer ecstasy if he could have Cindy Toland—the little bitch!—all to himself. She was to blame for everything, as far as he could see. His life probably wouldn’t have turned out the way it had if Cindy hadn’t been there, urging and helping her sister make plans to leave him. Debbie never would have thought of it on her own. Never would have had the courage. And she certainly wouldn’t have had the brains to start stealing money and hiding it away in a bank account! No doubt it had all been part of Cindy’s plan to get her hands on their money! Why, if it hadn’t been for Cindy, his wife might still be alive today, and his children might still have their mother, such as she was.

No, he thought, feeling a rising surge of anger, he owed Cindy. One thing he had learned, one thing his daddy had taught him quite well back there on the farm in Iowa—paybacks are a bitch!

Wouldn’t it feel just great if he could do it right now? Take her scrawny, little neck into his powerful grip and slam her fucking head as hard as he could against the bathroom mirror. No accident. No pretense of an accident. Just fucking do it! Wouldn’t it make a great sound? And wouldn’t it be just terrific to hear the sound of splintering glass and breaking bones as her skull cracked open? And wouldn’t he feel terrific, watching as her brains and blood leaked out of her head onto the counter and filled the sink? He knew he’d enjoy watching the light dim in her eyes as she faded away, knowing he had gotten back at her!

“Yeah, goddamnit,” Alex whispered as his focus snapped back to his face, and he watched the translucent oval of fog cover the mirror, obscuring part of his face for a moment and then disappearing to reveal his own reflection in stark, startling detail.

“Yeah, I just may have to do that.”

His fists clenched tightly, and before he could think about what he was doing, he twisted to one side and then with a wild scream brought his fist around in a wide, whistling arc. The impact shattered the mirror into a bright, jagged spider web pattern. Rectangles of glass clinked like tiny bells as they fell to the counter. He stared at his clenched fist, nesting inside the pocket of broken glass. From the stinging sensation, he knew that he had cut his knuckles, but he ignored the pain and the thin flow of blood as he slowly drew his hand back and stared at the mosaic reflection of his face. In dozens of oddly-shaped rectangles of glass, he saw that he was smiling a wide, savage grin, and that made him chuckle.

“Yes-sir-ee, by Jesus,” he hissed, having to restrain the rising wail of laughter that was building up inside him. “I just may have to find her and the kids by myself, and show her exactly what I do to people who steal my money and try to take my kids away from me!”

2

It was a little after two o’clock as Cindy crossed the Portsmouth bridge into Maine. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt a strange mixture of elation, apprehension, and… something else… something she couldn’t quite name.

“THE WAY LIFE’S SUPPOSED TO BE” read the big road sign on the Maine side of the bridge, and her first thought was, Oh. God, if this is the way fife’s supposed to be, I don’t want any part of it!

Both she and the kids were frazzled after spending the last two weeks—two of the hottest weeks of the summer—on the road. It hadn’t been long before the cheap motels had all started seeming the same and the food at roadside restaurants started to blend into a memory of odorless, colorless, and tasteless mush.

For most of the trip, they had stuck to side roads, taking wide detours to avoid the major highways, where Cindy expected the police to be looking for her—if, in fact, they were looking for her. She had listened to a lot of talk radio stations on the AM but—at least so far—hadn’t heard anything about Nebraskan authorities on the lookout for a woman who had kidnapped two children from their home in Omaha.

After the first few days on the road, though, she had found she couldn’t sustain her high-pitched sense of paranoia. She stopped panicking every time she saw a police cruiser, but the steady, grinding tension, coupled with her oncoming period, was still bearing down hard on her, making her an irritable bundle of nerves. Day after day, when the kids whined about being hungry or having to go to the bathroom, she found herself snapping at them more than she would have liked; and at night, when they had trouble falling asleep—especially Krissy, crying for her mother—Cindy found that she didn’t have the patience to deal with them as she knew she should. The children, in turn, were starting to act tense and alienated, especially Billy, who was still trying to put on a brave face. He seemed to respond to Cindy with increasing hostility and defiance, while Krissy was sulky and withdrawn, spending most of her days and nights either sobbing to herself or silently sullen. At least when she did sleep, she didn’t wake up from any more nightmares about the “blue lady”… none that she ever mentioned to Cindy, anyway. But Cindy was filled with concern because she could see that the three of them still weren’t pulling together the way they should be. She knew that she couldn’t hold out any high hopes for them getting along any better, not unless they started getting along… like a real family.

In western Massachusetts, she decided that she could be a little less cautious, so in Springfield she got onto the Massachusetts Turnpike, which she took to Route 290, south of Worcester. From there, she drove north to Route 495 and Interstate 95, crossing into New Hampshire and, shortly thereafter, into Kittery, Maine. She had a Rand McNally Road Atlas and written directions to Harry’s uncle’s camp in Gray, Maine, but the prospect of actually arriving at their destination began to fill her with a gnawing sense of worry.

Soon it would be all over… at least this part of it.

And then what?

In spite of the drain on her energy and nerves, their escape from Nebraska had gone pretty much without a hitch. She had saved Krissy and Billy from their father; she had lined up a safe place to go; she had brought along plenty of clothes and a few toys and books for the kids; and she had enough money in Traveler’s Checks and in a bank she could draw onto carry them for quite a while. Hopefully, in spite of the terrible economy, Harry would be able to sell his business fairly soon and join them. Once they were together again, Cindy was determined to hire a lawyer and see about gaining legal custody of the kids in Maine. Then they could make plans to move wherever they wanted to and begin a new life together… as a family.

It all sounded so good except for a few things that nagged at the back of her mind.

Her worst concern, at least right now, was how seldom she had gotten to talk to Harry since she had left home. She had tried calling him several times a day but had managed to get through to him, and not his answering machine, only three times the first week and twice the second. At night, the motel bed seemed frighteningly large without him beside her. She felt lonely and scared and vulnerable without her husband.

That in itself bothered her because she wished she could feel more confident, more courageous on her own; but there was also something else—something about the few conversations they’d had that bothered her. She couldn’t quite put it into words, and she felt uncomfortable even thinking about it, but she sensed a distance that was more than physical growing between her and her husband. At odd moments, day and night, usually when she was thinking about the last time they had talked, she would have unnerving flashes that she had been married to him a long time ago and was now divorced … and that Krissy and Billy were really her children from another marriage… or that she had never been married, except perhaps in another lifetime and that she had no idea who these kids in the back seat of her car were.

But even the few times she had talked to Harry, he had sounded impatient and detached, almost as if he thought he was wasting his time talking to her. Oh, he kept reassuring her, and he said all the right things, asking how she and the kids were doing and telling her how much he missed her, but in each of the five phone calls they’d had, there had been something else… something… wrong with his tone of voice. She hated to think that he didn’t really mean or feel anything he was saying. She tried to convince herself that it was just the geographical and emotional distance between them and the utter weirdness of their situation that made her feel this way, but no matter how hard she tried to push it away, a faint, nagging thought kept popping up in her mind—

What if Harry never comes here? What if he doesn’t even intend to join us here?… And what if I have to handle all of this alone?

Especially late at night and in the long stretches of silence as she drove, that thought hounded her.

What if I have to do all of this… alone!

She fortified herself with the conviction that she was doing the right and necessary thing, trying to save these kids and providing them with a safe, loving home.

Yeah, some home she’d made for them so far!

Two weeks straight of hours on end in the car, shabby motel rooms, and fast food restaurants for three meals a day. But this was the only alternative she had thought of, and she was convinced she had to do it because her dead sister had asked her to protect her kids, and Krissy and Billy were all she had left of any real family. Even if it meant losing Harry, she had to go through with her plans. Sometimes she would start to cry late at night or as she drove, and all she could do was hope that the kids didn’t notice.

These and other thoughts tormented her, but she tried to push them aside as the highway rolled out in front of her. Long blue afternoon shadows stretched like thin rubber across the road as the exits flew past one after another. Cindy was amazed—as she had been the only other time she had visited Maine with Harry—how the thick pine trees seemed to crowd in on both sides of the road. The horizon, which out in Nebraska seemed to stretch away forever, was much too close here. At times she had the odd sensation that she could actually reach out and touch it. Distances in New England were just too damned small. Even the three lane Maine Turnpike had far too many twists and turns as it followed the rolling contours of the land. Already she felt homesick for the wide open spaces of the Midwest.

After about an hour, she saw up ahead a sign announcing “EXIT 8 PORTLAND AND WEST-BROOK, 2 MILES.” The sun had become lost in the afternoon heat haze and cast an eerie pall over the land. She didn’t need to glance at her watch to know that it was already late afternoon.

“Hey, is anyone hungry? Want to stop and eat here?” she called out, her voice holding a light, happy tone in spite of her bleak thoughts.

Before either of the kids could respond, a loud explosion sounded from underneath the car toward the back. Cindy immediately eased her foot off the accelerator. Her hands reflexively tightened on the steering wheel when she felt the rear end of the car sway to the right, pulling hard.

“Oh, shit!”

A loud slapping sound shook the car, gradually lessening as she applied the brakes. Fighting the drag on the steering wheel, she eased into the breakdown lane and killed the engine.

“Shit, shit, shit!” she shouted as she pounded her fists on the dashboard. “Just what I need! A flat tire!”

After glancing over her shoulder at the oncoming traffic, she slid across the front seat and got out on the passenger’s side. The air was oppressively hot and alive with insect noises. Grasshoppers and crickets shot up from the knee-high grass along the roadside. Before shutting the door, she looked at the kids in the back seat. “You guys wait here while I change the tire, okay? It won’t take long.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Billy asked. He still didn’t smile, but she could see a subtle excitement brightening his eyes.

Cindy regarded him for a moment, then, biting her lower lip, nodded and said, “Of course I do.”

“I can do it for you, though. My dad showed me the right way to do it tons of times,” Billy said excitedly. “I know all about how you have to loosen all lug nuts first before you jack the car up, and once you take them off to put the lug nuts inside the hubcap cover so you don’t lose ’em.” He unsnapped his seat belt and shifted forward, reaching in front of Krissy to open the car door.

A car sped by, and the wind of its passing blasted into Cindy’s face like an open furnace. “No,” she said mildly, “you’d better stay in the car where it’s safe. I think I can handle this by myself.”

“Come on, you don’t know the first thing about changing tires.”

“Oh, really? And just how do you know that?”

For the first time in what seemed like days, Cindy saw a sly smile creep across Billy’s face. “Well, because rule number one, my dad always told me, is to make sure nobody stays in the car when you jack it up. If somebody moved around, it might snap the jack out, and you could bend the chassis if the car fell.”

Cindy considered for a moment, then, realizing she could use this to her advantage, said, “I suppose that makes sense. Well then, what do you say we take care of this together?”

She stepped back and opened the back door. In a flash, Billy crawled over his sister and jumped out onto the roadside before Cindy helped Krissy unbuckle. The little girl remained silent. She stepped out of the car and walked into the deep grass, moving like a robot when Cindy directed her to stand well back from the highway. Several cars went past, hitting them with hot wind blasts and raising swirls of dust that shimmered like pollen in the heavy air.

Reaching across the front seat, Cindy pulled on the emergency flashers and took the keys from the ignition before going to the back of the car and opening the trunk. She groaned when she realized that she would have to unload their suitcases before she could get at the spare tire and jack, but Billy set to work with an eagerness and energy that she found endearing. Within seconds, he had the suitcases stacked neatly on the roadside and was struggling to get the spare tire unbolted from the bracket inside the dark trunk.

“If you can’t see what you’re doing, there should be a flashlight in there somewhere,” Cindy said.

Billy felt around, then glanced back at her and shook his head. “I don’t see one.”

Sighing with frustration, Cindy went back to the car and fished under the front seat until she found it amongst the litter of empty soda cans and hamburger wrappers. When she clicked the switch, only a faint orange glow like a dying ember lit up the bulb. She swore under her breath and threw the flashlight back onto the floor.

By the time she got back to Billy, he already had the spare tire out on the ground and was fumbling with the pieces of the jack, trying to fit it into the base. The angled tire iron was on the ground at his feet.

“It’d be better if we had a star wrench,” he said.

Cindy nodded, having no idea what he meant.

“You know, maybe we should wait for someone to stop and help us,” she said, nervously watching as cars kept zipping past them. No one had bothered to stop at least so far.

“Naw, this’ll be easy. Well be done in no time,” Billy replied.

As it turned out, though, it took them better than twenty minutes to change the tire because they had so much trouble loosening the rusted lug nuts. Standing side by side, they gripped the angled tire iron, counted to three, and then pulled for all they were worth. It took more than a dozen tries on each nut, and before long they were sweating and panting, but eventually all of the lug nuts loosened with loud, complaining groans. Again, leaning close, side by side, they jacked up the car, took off the flat tire, and put on the spare. Cindy was grateful that the spare wasn’t flat, which was what happened to her the last time she’d had a flat. Once the tire was on, they eased the car down and were just setting to work to tighten the lug nuts when she heard a car pull to a stop behind them.

“Uh-oh,” Krissy said. Her voice was almost lost beneath the buzzing insect sounds and the roar of passing cars.

Cindy’s heart gave a hard kick in her chest, and her body froze for a moment. She licked her lips and tried to swallow down the dry lump in her throat, hoping to hell she could manage a smile. Just as she was turning around, flickering blue lights came on and, above the rushing sound of passing traffic, she heard the faint squawk of a police radio.

The tightening in her chest got worse. Her legs felt suddenly all loose and rubbery. Her hand let go of the tire iron, and it fell to the ground, clanging as loud as a school bell.

Oh. Jesus—oh, shit—they’ve found us!

Chapter Seven

Phone Messages

It was a good thing that Debbie had a key to her sister’s house, and it was even better that Harry apparently had known nothing about it. At least so far he hadn’t asked to have it back. If he ever did, Alex thought, it would make it a shitload tougher for him to get anything done. His kids had been missing for two weeks now, and he still wasn’t sure what he planned to do about it. At least he had one major obstacle out of his way: he had access to Harry’s house whenever the hell he wanted it … as long as the son of a bitch wasn’t home with his goddamned security chain locked. Alex’s blood boiled whenever he thought about what had happened that night he had first discovered the kids were gone. He fumed with trembling rage whenever he remembered how badly he had wanted to smash that mother fucker’s front door open, rip it right off its hinges, and beat him to a bloody-fucking pulp with it.

It was a little past noon on Thursday, and like the rest of the week so far, Alex had called in sick at work. The whole time he was showering, shaving, and sobering up, he had been constantly turning over ideas about what he should do. Finding the key in the kitchen drawer with Cindy’s name on the attached name tag had certainly brightened his prospects, but he immediately started thinking that this had fallen into place a little too easily. In fact, he had never even noticed the key in the silverware drawer before, and that made him a little bit suspicious about it.

What if it was part of the setup, too?

Debbie had never told him she had this key. Why had she even had it—to water their plants when they were away on vacation? Or had the cops placed it here sometime in the last few weeks? Was it here—for whatever reason—to help them nail him for killing his wife?

A ray of afternoon sunlight coming in through the kitchen window reflected off the key, making it sparkle like a fishing lure in the palm of his hand. He didn’t like the vague, worrisome feeling that he was the catch this lure was designed to snare.

A little after two o’clock, after he had dressed in a faded blue t-shirt and jeans, ate a light meal of toast and coffee, he tucked the key into his jeans pocket and left the house, being mindful to lock the door. The day was heavy with humidity as he got into his car. The temperature had to be at least ninety degrees. Wanting to keep his mind clear, Alex tried to forget about the beer he was craving so badly as he started up the engine and pulled the car out into the street. He cautioned himself that he had to stay alert and on his guard. Just like when he was in Vietnam, he could never let his guard down, even for an instant. It might be fatal!

Alex was positive his kids weren’t still at Harry’s house, but finding the key had given him the idea of going over there and breaking in… just to have a look around. He drove to Elmwood Street and cruised slowly past the house. It certainly looked empty. The garage door was down, and there were no cars in the driveway. Most of the shades were drawn, and this morning’s newspaper was still lying at an angle on the front steps.

“Yeah, he ain’t home,” Alex whispered, but even if he was going to use the key now and go inside, he would first have to make sure Harry was at the hardware store. He knew he could use the phone booth at the corner store to call and find out, but instead he drove across town, over to the store on 30th Street. He circled the block twice, slowing down for each pass by the front of the store. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of Harry through the plate glass door, but the glaring reflection off the sunlit Street obscured everything. Feeling a steady rise of frustration, he pulled into the parking lot and stopped at the far end, angling the car so it was aimed straight at the storefront. He killed the engine and just sat there, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he stared at the front door and considered what he should do next. Heat waves shimmered in the heavy air, making the asphalt look like it was flooded with running water.

Of course, the easiest thing to do would be to walk into the store and just take a casual look around; but he rarely—if ever—came by Harry’s store, and he certainly never bought anything from the cheap bastard! Although he wanted to make sure Harry was in the store before breaking into his house, he also didn’t want to be seen himself, so he decided against taking that route. No, he’d just as soon not have anyone see him here today, and a phone call might raise the same suspicions. His plans were still vague at this point, but if something happened later on he sure as hell didn’t want anyone to be able to draw even the slightest connection between him and… whatever.

Then again, he thought, it might be funny as hell to walk into the store and start yelling at Harry, pretending he was still royally pissed off about his kids being missing. That wouldn’t take much effort on his part although, in fact, Alex was more upset by the fact that Cindy and—no doubt—Harry had so far gotten away with it than he was that The kids were gone. Actually, over the last few weeks, for the first time in something like ten years, he was thoroughly enjoying the peaceful silence of his own home.

But why not just burst in there and pull a scene in front of everyone, employees and customers alike? He could threaten Harry and yell at him all he wanted, but he cautioned himself: he had to be careful not to hit him or start smashing things up. After all, there was no sense getting the cops involved. He still hadn’t informed the police that his kids had been kidnapped, and he certainly didn’t want to involve them at this late date. How would he explain that his children had been gone for two weeks before he reported the incident? But it would probably be a blast to go in there and get the other employees all riled up and let them see what an absolute asshole-shit of a boss they worked for.

As Alex thought about these things, time ticked away slowly. It was boiling hot out here in the sun-blasted car, and his thirst for a beer was getting much worse. After more than an hour he was seething with frustration and rage. His body was tense, and he continually shifted in the car seat because he wanted to get out and do something… anything!

But, he reminded himself, he didn’t have to rush into anything, either. All along he’d been taking his sweet time about things because he didn’t have to do any of the other things he was thinking about doing… at least not today.

What was the hurry?

Besides, it was smart to take his time and wait, if he waited long enough, something even better might present itself.

One thing for sure, though, it sure was a bitch being his own private detective. He wished to hell he had the resources to hire someone else to sit out here in the car and swelter, watching the store. And he would have been able to hire someone, too, he thought bitterly, if his fucking wife hadn’t scraped better than ten thousand dollars off him over the last year or so and given it to her sister… to her fucking sister!

“Yeah, Debbie,” he whispered as he wiped the wash of sweat from his forehead and stared intently at the storefront through the rippling heat waves. “1 hope to shit you’re roasting in hell for that one!” He snickered softly under his breath and added, “And I’ll try my damndest to make sure your sister joins you there r-e-a-l soon.”

He wasn’t sure which—if any—of the cars parked outside the store was Harry’s. Customers came and went, but one green Toyota remained parked at the side of the building. It might be Harry’s, Alex thought, or else one of the clerk’s. He tried but couldn’t remember what kind of car the asshole drove, so unless he went inside the store and checked or else called and asked for Harry, he couldn’t be sure. And after the scene he pulled at Harry’s house, he didn’t want to go over to the house and risk getting caught breaking in.

No, it might feel like he was sitting in an oven, but he had to take his time and make sure he didn’t fuck things up. He had to be clear and careful in his calculations. He wasn’t going to find Cindy and his kids—and get even with her!—unless he did.

“An ice-cold beer sure would go down smooth now,” he whispered in a dry, croaking voice.

He glanced at his watch and saw that it was already past four o’clock. He licked his lips and noticed for the first time the Pepsi vending machine outside the storefront. Opening the ashtray, he fished around until he found three quarters and a few nickels and dimes. Clenching them in his hand, he wondered if he should risk walking over there and getting himself something cold to drink. He tossed back and forth on the issue until he finally decided that it wasn’t worth it. His stomach was growling with hunger, anyway, so he started up the car, thinking there were plenty of places nearby where he could get something to eat. He could grab a quick supper, take a leak, and then come back in an hour or so to see what was going on.

After all, there was no sense hurrying.

He shifted the car into gear and was just about to pull out when a bright red Camaro, glimmering with reflections off the chrome, pulled into the parking lot. He saw Harry’s balding silhouette through the driver’s side window.

“Yeah, okay. Back from an early supper, huh, you lousy prick?” Alex whispered. He shrank down into the seat and turned to watch the driver.

Harry pulled up as close as he could to the store and stopped the car. A self-satisfied grin split his face as he stepped out of the car, pocketed his keys, and strutted purposely to the front door. Alex’s fists, still holding the coins, clenched with anger as he watched Harry swing the door open and step inside. As the door swung shut behind him, a glancing flash of sunlight reflected off the mirrored surface of the plate glass, stinging Alex’s eyes and leaving a trailing, white-hot afterimage.

“Okay, you rotten mother-fucker! … At least now I know where you are.”

He started up his car and, without pausing at the stop sign, darted out into the flow of traffic heading east. The trailing blast of a horn let him know that the driver behind him wasn’t pleased with his performance. He stuck his arm out the window and casually raised his middle finger over the car roof.

He still wasn’t sure what he thought he could accomplish, but he figured, at least for a little while, it was safe for him to drive out to Harry and Cindy’s house on Elmwood Street… just to have a little look around, he told himself.

2

Cindy couldn’t believe her luck, but in spite of how nervous she was and how badly she was stuttering, trying to explain who she was and where she was going and that she and “her boy” had already taken care of the flat tire, the state trooper never seemed to pick up that these were the two kidnapped kids from Nebraska she had in her car.

It was a miracle!

And Billy and Krissy—God love them!— didn’t say or do anything to give her away. Up until that moment, Cindy had never been absolutely certain that the kids even wanted to be with her; but with a state trooper right there, this was their chance to say or do something if they wanted to get away from her. Throughout the entire interaction, Cindy was inwardly cringing, just waiting to hear one of them, probably Krissy, because she seemed the most unhappy, start whining and say, “Hey, mister! This isn’t my mommy! My mommy’s dead, and this lady’s our aunt who stole us away from our daddy! But I wanna go home! I wanna see my daddy!”

But they didn’t.

They went right along with the story she concocted on the spot—that they were from Nebraska, obviously enough from the license plates on her car, and had driven to Maine to spend a few weeks with their uncle, who lived in Westbrook. She chose Westbrook because that was the last town or city name she remembered seeing on the exit sign. A couple of times, Billy nodded agreement—perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, Cindy thought—while Krissy remained silent, rooted to the spot on the roadside where she had been told to stand.

After making sure the lug nuts had been put on tightly, the state trooper replaced the flat tire and the jack back in the trunk, and got back into his cruiser. With his blue lights still strobing like lightning, he waited—and watched—while Cindy loaded the kids into the back seat, got them seat-belted, started up her car, and pulled back onto the turnpike as soon as she saw a break in the traffic. She was gnawing viciously at her lower lip as she drove away, gradually picking up speed. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the rearview mirror to watch the state trooper as he followed along behind them.

Is he just biding his time? Maybe he’s radioing up ahead to the state police barracks, asking them to run down the numbers on her Nebraska license plate! Or maybe he already knows who she is, and is just following along behind to keep tabs on her until other units get in place to cut her off!

Up ahead, Cindy saw the sign for Exit 8—Portland and Westbrook. Remembering her story, she snapped on her blinker and slowed down for the turn. The state trooper suddenly darted out into the passing lane. For a single, shimmering instant, Cindy thought she was about to see his blue flashers come on again, but then he tooted his horn a few times and waved to her before zipping up the interstate.

Relief flooded Cindy’s body as she eased her car around the long, curving turn, heading toward the toll booth.

“Boy, oh boy, that was a close one, huh?” Billy said.

He was smiling as he leaned forward with both arms over the front seat. He craned his neck to watch the police cruiser up the road.

“Umm, yeah,” was all Cindy managed to say, but at that moment, she knew—absolutely—that Billy was on her side. Maybe it was something as simple as letting him take charge of changing the tire that had swung him around… or maybe it was that he knew they were close to their destination. Whatever it was, he seemed to have transformed into a different kid, and she was glad. At least a small amount of the pressure bearing down on her seemed to have lifted.

What or how Krissy was feeling was still anybody’s guess, but as Cindy slowed down for the toll booth and dug into her purse for some money, she promised herself that, as soon as they were settled—anywhere—she would make a special effort to get Krissy to open up to her. That was the only way they would ever going to build trust and love… if, given their situation, that was even possible.

3

“Hi, honey, it’s me. Well, we finally got here late today, but—uh, we haven’t gone out to the lake yet ’cause of a—well, because we had a slight change of plans, I guess. I miss you, but we—uh, we’re doing okay. I guess—getting by, anyway. We had a bit of a problem yesterday, but it was nothing too serious. I’ll tell you all about it next time we talk, okay? Wish you were home; I hate talking to this thing. Anyway, I—umm, well, I’ll see yah. Take care. Bye. Love you!”

The combination telephone/ answering machine gave three quick beeps; then the tape rewound for a few seconds and clicked off.

With his chin resting on the palm of his hand, Alex just stood there in Harry Toland’s kitchen and stared at the blinking green light that indicated the answering machine was still on.

“Yeah, sure!” he said. “You’re there!… but where?”

His low, measured voice gradually ascended as a wave of heat flushed his face. He clenched his fists tightly, but couldn’t stop himself from trembling with rage at just hearing that bitch Cindy’s voice.

“Tell me where the fuck you are!”

He glared at the message machine but, as much as he wanted to smash the fucking thing to bits he held himself back, knowing that it would be a mistake. The point of breaking into Harry’s house hadn’t been to trash the place, but to find out whatever there was to find out. After going quickly through all the rooms, upstairs and down, especially checking through Cindy’s bureau and closet, he hadn’t found a single goddamned thing of interest. It was getting late, and he had been just about ready to leave when he had noticed the blinking light on the answering machine and had pressed the play button.

At least he had found something!

But the information, although interesting, just wasn’t enough. Certainly it wasn’t anything he could use.

They were there, wherever the hell there was, and she had plans to go to the lake, but that could be any place in the fucking United States… or Canada, for that matter, if she had the balls to cross the border with two kidnapped kids. The fact that it had taken her two weeks to get there, or at least in the vicinity of the lake, indicated that she must have driven a great distance from Nebraska, so even if he had involved the police by now, Alex realized that she and the kids were too far away for him to do anything right away.

He couldn’t do a goddamned thing until he knew where the fuck they were!

He hit the play button again and listened carefully to the message a second time, but his frustration only sharpened when he didn’t glean a single new piece of information.

“The lake… the lake… the fucking goddamned lake!” he muttered as he paced back and forth across the kitchen floor, all the while smacking his fist into his open hand. He stopped, turned and lashed out suddenly with his foot, kicking over one of the kitchen chairs. It sounded like something on the chair cracked when it hit the floor.

“Where the fucking hell is the lake?” he shouted, shaking his fists in front of his face.

This was a significant but—at least so far—absolutely useless piece of information; and it certainly wasn’t going to help him decide what to do next or even where to start looking. It was getting on toward supper time, and he considered waiting here at the house until Harry got home so he could confront him with this new tidbit of information. It might be fun just to see the expression on his face when he came through the door after a hard day’s work and saw Alex, sitting there at the kitchen table, waiting to greet him.,

Or maybe he should do a little more than that.

Maybe he should have a knife—no, a gun in hand before he played the message for Harry; then he could put the barrel to Harry’s head and force the squirmy little bastard to tell him what fucking lake his wife was taking his kids to. His fucking kids, for Christ’s sake!

Jesus, wouldn’t that be fun, watching the poor bastard sweat?

But it would also be dangerous and futile.

Wherever Cindy had taken the kids, Harry could easily get word to her before he could get to them… that was, unless he had some way of stopping Harry.

“Yeah,” Alex whispered, smiling as an ugly thought rose in his mind. Then he laughed out loud and rubbed his hands vigorously together. “Yeah, maybe I should just kill the douche-bag and be rid of him once and for all!”

It might even be fun, Alex thought, to make the bastard pay for the agony he’s putting me through.

But then again, killing Harry would be something that would be difficult—if not impossible—to get away with. In fact, it would probably be a big mistake even to let Harry know that he’d been in the house and had heard Cindy’s phone message. At least he had something! And anyway, he had the key to the house; he could get in here whenever the fuck he felt like it.

So why do anything rash?

The bottom line was, Harry didn’t have the kids; Cindy did. She was the one he had to find, and if anyone was going to suffer, it was going to be her.

He picked up the fallen chair and pushed it back against the table, then made sure the answering machine was as it had been before he had entered the kitchen. Just as he was turning toward the back door to leave, though, he heard a noise from outside. Footsteps, coming up the front walkway.

“Oh, fuck!” he said under his breath as, crouching low, he moved to the kitchen door and peeked around the edge of the doorjamb down the hallway toward the front door. The security chain was off. Alex’s body went rigid as he listened to the approaching footsteps, sounding louder as they came up the walkway.

Shit, is Harry home already? he thought, feeling pissed at himself.

Had he been so preoccupied, wondering about where Cindy was, that he hadn’t even noticed if a car had pulled into the driveway? He turned and tried to see out into the driveway but couldn’t from where he was standing. His legs tensed as he prepared to run out the back door the instant the front door started to open.

The heavy clump of feet sounded on the steps as a distorted shadow rippled across the closed, lacy curtain. Alex shied back, his eyes riveted to the door as he waited, expecting at any second to hear the key turn in the lock and see the doorknob begin to turn. Then the mail slot lifted open, and a handful of envelopes showered onto the floor. With an ear-grating clang, the slot dropped shut as the shadow shifted silently away.

“Christ,” Alex whispered hoarsely. “Just the mailman.”

He eased himself up straight and shook his hands to relieve the tingling tension. Then, laughing softly, he walked over to the front door and kicked at the pile of mail. It was mostly bills, from what he could see. He was about to leave them there when one return address caught his eye. He bent down and picked up the envelope, holding it at arm’s length as he read the address aloud.

“Midwestern Bell… hmmm.”

Sliding his forefinger under the flap, he quickly tore it open and scanned the enclosed sheets. On the third page, he saw a string of calls credited to Harry’s phone credit card number. Running quickly down them, Alex noted their points of origin—Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio.

“Well all right,” he whispered. “At least it’s a start.”

He had no doubt who had made these calls, and the pattern was obvious: Cindy was driving east with his kids. If these calls had been made a week ago, before the billing date, then—obviously—she had arrived at her destination. Without a map in front of him, he didn’t know what other states Cindy might have traveled through, but at least he now had something tangible. If he could wait another month until the next billing came, he could take a look at the return number and pinpoint exactly where Cindy was calling from. It was just going to take patience, and Alex knew he had plenty of that!

Chuckling to himself, he slid the telephone bill back into its envelope, folded it in half, and stuffed it into his pants pocket, thinking—What the hell? Why not let Harry get a few late payment charges? He jumped and spun around on his heels when the telephone in the kitchen suddenly rang. Moving quickly, he went back into the kitchen and stood stiffly beside the counter while he counted out the second, third, and fourth rings. Then the answering machine clicked on.

“Hi. You’ve reached 9924. If you got the right number, you also got the wrong time. You know what to do. Leave a message after the beep, and well get back to you as soon as possible.”

Alex was tempted to answer the call. At worst, he could pretend it was a wrong number, but he decided against that and waited while the machine wound ahead. After a few seconds—seconds that filled Alex with a tight, winding tension—the machine let out another irritating beep. Then, after another second or two, a woman’s voice began to speak.

“Hi yah, doll-face: The plane just landed here in Chicago, and I already miss you. Look, doll, I’m sorry about not getting out to see you yesterday afternoon, but I was way too busy, getting packed and all. I just couldn’t get away. Honest, I wish I could have seen you again before I left. Ummm, just thinking about you makes me feel so-o-o horny. I hope you don’t find a replacement for me while I’m away.”

She paused a moment and laughed a short, sniffing laugh. Alex had no idea who this woman was, but one thing he knew—this sure as hell wasn’t Cindy’s voice.

“But don’t worry, honey-bear, I trust you to save yourself for me; but—well, them’s the breaks, I guess. Oh, it’s just that I miss you so much already, and it’s going to be a long, long week. I wish I could’ve backed out of going to this damned convention in the first place! Believe me, I tried, but my boss was being a real dick-head about it. You know how he can get. So anyway, we’ll just have to wait until after I’m back, okay? I know you’re disappointed. Believe me, I am, too, but my flight gets back next Friday, a week from tomorrow, and you know, I was hoping we coul—”

The answering machine suddenly clicked off and beeped once, cutting her off in mid-sentence. Again, Alex felt like smashing the shit out of the machine as he stood there and stared at it numbly, watching the tape rewind.

“Goddamn!” he shouted, shaking his hands in frustration. It didn’t take much for Alex to figure out that Harry must be getting a little action on the side. “Come on, tell me more! Tell me more!”

It had just been starting to get interesting when the woman—whoever she was—got cut off. He couldn’t imagine the woman who could bring herself to call pudgy, balding Harry Toland “doll-face” and “honey-bear.”

The machine stopped rewinding. Alex huffed with frustration as he shook his head and stared at the silent telephone. “Well, well, well,” he whispered, sniffing with laughter. “I’ll be goddamned, you old son of a bitch! I never would’ve thought you had it in you.”

He knew Cindy was on her way to “the lake,” and this chick had been calling from Chicago. While this was all very interesting, especially considering that this was the “perfect family” that was trying to get custody of his kids, the phone message still hadn’t given him anything he could use.

He didn’t jump or shout with surprise when the telephone started ringing again. His only reaction was a tightening in his stomach and a slow, sly smile that spread across his face. After four rings and the same, lame message, the woman’s voice started talking again.

“Hi, honey-bear. It’s me again. I don’t know what happened there. We got cut off somehow. Probably the damned hotel switchboard operator. Anyway, as I was saying, my flight gets back on Friday—not tomorrow, but next Friday, around one o’clock in the afternoon. Write it on your calendar, okay? I was thinking, just for old time’s sake, you know, that we could meet one last time out at the Buzzy Bee. My car will be parked at the airport, anyway, just across the river, so I could drive straight over there after the plane lands. I could be there—oh, say two-ish. What do you think? That’d be a nice welcome home for me. I know, pretty soon we won’t have to sneak around like this, but I thought it would be fun to have one last fling at our place, you know? Give me a call sometime during the week and tell me what you think. Call me a dozen times during the week. You can reach me at the downtown Hilton Towers in Chicago. I’m in room 1237. I guess I’d better go now. I hope I hear from you soon. Bye, now… I miss you.”

The speaker rattled with a long, loud kissing sound that ended with a rising smack.

“I love you!”

“Yeah, and I love you, too, baby,” Alex said.

He took the phone bill from his pocket and, grabbing a pen from the counter, scrawled on the back of the envelope: “Buzzy Bee—Chicago Hilton—rm 1237—back next Friday, 1:00.”

He had no idea what—if anything—he could do with this new information, but it was something, and he was happy as hell to have it just in case something occurred to him later. At the very least, if there was ever a custody hearing, he could confront Harry with this evidence that he’d been having an affair. That would certainly blow Cindy’s snug little world right out of the water. She deserved it, the little bitch!

Before leaving the house, Alex wanted to do something else, like write a message on Harry’s appointment calendar or erase the phone messages or something else just to toy with Harry’s mind, but he finally decided against it. Instead, he carefully put the pen back on the counter right where he had found it, straightened up the kitchen, and then left by the back door, checking to make sure he had left no tracks on the floor before he locked the door shut behind him.

The sun was starting to set as he crossed the lawn to the Street and headed around the corner to where he had parked his car. He wasn’t worried. He had no idea what he was going to do next, but he knew if he took his time he’d think of something.

Chapter Eight

Trapped Wasp

I’m probably making a very big mistake here!

The thought echoed inside Cindy’s mind as she followed the heavy-set, sweating man up the creaking flight of steps to the second floor landing. The air in the apartment building was hot and dry, like the inside of an oven.

Krissy and Billy were only a step or two behind her. Both of them remained silent, except for Krissy’s initial comment upon entering the building that she didn’t like the “ucky” smell. Cindy wasn’t sure if the smell was from the hall or the man, but she shushed the little girl with a wave of her hand. She had wanted the kids to wait in the car, but Billy had insisted that, since they might be living here, too, they had a right to check it out with her.

She couldn’t very well argue the point.

The apartment building was on Coyne Street, off Forest Avenue in downtown Portland. After days of driving around the city, Cindy had a pretty good idea where it was in relation to everything else. The adjacent houses looked neat and well-cared for, and there was a church right across the street, which she took as indications that the neighborhood might be at least half-decent. After spending three days running down newspaper ads for furnished apartments to rent, she was so tired and frustrated, she thought at this point she’d settle for just about anything.

This was the slight change in plans she had mentioned to Harry a few days before in her phone message to him.

She still hadn’t had a chance to talk it over with him personally, but during the drive east, along with everything else she’d had to think about, she had decided not to go directly to his uncle’s cottage on Little Sebago Lake. She remembered the camp from her one previous Visit to Maine years ago, and she realized—finally—-hat one thing that had been bothering her throughout the trip was that she didn’t want to live in such an isolated situation.

Not with two kids.

They were used to living in Omaha which, although it was no New York City, was still a busy place. She and the kids were going to experience enough stresses, strains, and emotional upsets trying to live together like a real family, so why put any more strain on anyone? She had decided that it would be much better to settle in a town or city where the kids could eventually make friends and go to school and do all the normal things kids did. Besides, if the police and FBI were looking for her, and she was trying to “disappear,” she could blend in a lot better in a city… even one as small as Portland, Maine. If she hadn’t been so timid about being on her own, she might have even tried Boston or New York. She had no doubt that folks living in the small towns around the lake would take notice of her right away and perhaps start asking embarrassing questions. Living in the city, they could maintain their anonymity, but she would still be close to some kind of haven—if she needed it. And anyway, they probably wouldn’t even be staying in Maine once Harry sold the business and joined her. More than anything else right now, what she wanted for Billy and Krissy was as close to a normal life as she could provide. That wasn’t going to be easy, considering everything they had been through so far!

The man paused outside the door with a tarnished brass number “3” nailed to it. The yellowing paint was flaking off the door in potato chip-sized pieces. Only one nail remained, so the number hung at a cockeyed angle, revealing a ghost of the number in bone white, where the door hadn’t been repainted.

The man’s baggy pants flapped like a flag in a stiff breeze as he fished around in his pockets for his key ring.

“Ahh—got it,” he said triumphantly, after sorting through the keys and producing the one he wanted. He wiped the sweat from his face on his forearm, then slid the key into the lock. The tumblers turned with a harsh grinding sound, and the door latch popped. Cindy almost laughed aloud when she reminded herself to get some graphite to loosen up the lock. That’s what comes from living with someone who runs a hardware store. Her smile vanished, though, the instant the door swung open, and the strong smell of close, stale air and… and something else wafted over Cindy. Sucking in her breath, she followed the man into the apartment. When she glanced back at the kids, she saw that Krissy was pinching her nose shut, but at least she hadn’t said anything.

The living room walls were covered with dingy, red wallpaper that had a faded floral design. It was bubbled and peeling near the ceiling, which showed evidence of some serious water damage. The hardwood floor creaked underfoot and was worn to a sickly yellow hue of aged varnish. The chipped and gouged windowsills were littered with dead flies and spider webs. Cindy had to stop herself from opening a few windows just to air out the place.

“Well, as you can see, you got steam heat—works just fine in the winter,” the man said, waving one hand to indicate the living room. “Utilities are separate from the rent. ’Course, there’s no air conditioning. It’s usually not hot like this to warrant it. The windows-well, most of ’em have screens, so you can catch a breeze off the ocean most of the time.”

The ocean, Cindy thought, shaking her head in amazement. After living all her life in the mid-west, it seemed so strange to realize that the Atlantic Ocean was so close!

As they moved slowly through the apartment, the man continued to rattle on about it. He sounded bored, like this was a litany he had repeated a hundred times before. Cindy took in less than half of what he said as she followed along behind him with the kids in tow. She could clearly see that the place had its problems, but the only clear thought in her mind was— Will we be safe here?

“As you saw, the couch ’n easy chair, coffee table and end tables in the living room all come with the place. Not in the best of condition, but—hey, they’ll do. Couple of lamps. Probably no light bulbs in ’em. Down the hallway, here, there’s one bedroom on the left and two on the right. All of ’em have single beds and mattresses.”

Cindy poked her head into the first room and glanced around.

“They’re a little small,” the man said, “but there’s plenty of bureaus and closet space. ’Course, you can store stuff in the attic, too, but I don’t guarantee its safety. There’s a table ’n four chairs in the kitchen there. Refrigerator and dishwasher. Both of ’em work.”

As if he has to point that out, Cindy thought.

“And there’s a washer ’n dryer ’round back in the hallway. Bathroom’s down there on the left. Just a stand-up shower, though, cause—well, when you look in there, you’ll see where we had a bit of a problem with the bathtub leaking.”

Cindy nodded as though she had been listening to everything he was saying, but she had been giving the apartment a quick once-over, evaluating it for herself. It wasn’t anything close to what she had been expecting, considering the rent this man was asking for it. What was his name? She’d talked to so many people over the past few days, she couldn’t even remember.

I can’t believe the price he’s asking, she thought, but based on everything else they had seen over the past few days, this almost seemed like a bargain.

Almost.

“ ‘Course, you’re within walking distance of the grocery store, which is a big benefit. ’N the kids’ll be able to walk to school right up through high school. Now I don’t expect you to make up your mind right here on the spot, but I have to tell yah—there’s a young married couple that’s interested in the place who said they’d be back to me by four o’clock this afternoon, so if you think you might want it…”He let his voice trail away as he looked expectantly at Cindy. “Tell you what, I’ll wait outside so you can a little look around on your own. Take your time, ’n if you have any more questions, don’t be afraid to ask.”

Cindy opened her mouth, about to ask if there was a cockroach or mouse problem, but she let it pass. They watched the man walk back down the hallway and out the door, then listened as the heavy tread of his feet descended the stairs.

“Well…? What do you think?” she asked, turning to Billy and Krissy.

Krissy just stood there, a look of perplexity on her face. At least she was no longer holding her nose, Cindy thought. Billy, on the other hand, had spent the entire time moving quickly from room to room, sticking his head into every closet and banging open the bureaus and cupboards. He regarded Cindy with an expression of stern seriousness.

“Well, I think of everything we’ve seen, it’s probably the best,” he said in a low voice. “Still… it isn’t very much.”

“No, it isn’t,” Cindy said. “But we aren’t talking about staying here forever, either. Krissy—?”

“I dunno” Krissy said, shaking her head so her blond hair swished at her shoulders. “I just don’t like the smell. It reminds me of something.”

Cindy smiled, happy that the little girl would offer her opinion on anything.

“Then again,” Billy went on, “it would be nice to have someplace to settle after staying in all those motel rooms.”

“I know what you mean, partner,” Cindy said, letting her smile widen as she turned back to him. She was trembling inside and felt so knocked off-balance herself, considering that they had been reduced to actually considering a place like this, that all she wanted to do was scoop them both up into her arms and cry.

“Well, I don’t know if this ‘other couple’ he mentioned is for real or not, but—”She shook her head and wiped the sweaty hair away from her forehead. “I think we’ve seen pretty much everything else in Portland. Do you agree?”

Billy cocked one eyebrow and nodded, a slight tick that instantly reminded Cindy of her dead sister. When she turned to Krissy to ask what she thought, she. gasped with surprise. Krissy, who had been there just a second before, was gone.

“Krissy?” Cindy said in a high, tight voice;

A cold, tingling sensation flashed up her backbone. She wasn’t able to keep the razor-edge of panic out of her voice as she looked up and down the corridor and shouted again.

“Krissy!”

2

“Thank you for calling MCI. This is Ms. Costello. How may I help you?”

“Hello,” Alex said into the telephone.

He took a deep breath and wedged the receiver tightly against his ear with his shoulder. Staring blankly at some middle distance, he continued to doodle on the first page of Harry’s phone bill. While he was dialing, he had drawn a distorted woman’s face that didn’t look quite human and was now drawing several arrows through it.

“Ahh, who would I speak to about a question regarding my most recent long distance phone bill?”

“Just a moment, please, and I’ll connect you with the billing department.”

Before he could mumble his thanks, a series of clicks sounded in his ear, and then the phone began to ring in his ear again. On the third ring, someone picked it up and said, “MCI Billing department. Mrs. Clark speaking. How may I help you?”

“Yes, this is—uh, Harold Toland calling,” Alex said. He considered disguising his voice but decided he didn’t need to. “My most recent bill has quite a few long distance calls from several states, and I have a—well, it’s a rather unusual question. You see, my—uh, my wife is traveling east, and she’s been calling me just about every day. To check in, you see. Well, some of the calls have already shown up on the bill I just got last week, but you see, her last call was several days ago, now, and she said she was going to stay where she was for a few days but I—well, she gave me the number she was calling from, but I lost it. I was wondering if you had—you know, in your computer or whatever, some kind of record of the calls that will eventually be showing up on my bill.”

“Well, that all depends on the carrier she used.”

“Oh, we’ve used your company for years. I can give you the account number if that will help.”

“How recent was this call?” Mrs. Clark asked.

“Oh, just a few days ago—the end of last week. Thursday, I think.”

“Was it a collect call?”

“No, she dialed direct and charged all of them to my—I mean to our account. I don’t know for sure, but I’m fairly certain she used our phone credit card.”

“Well then, Mr.—”

“Toland.”

“Mr. Toland, if you give me your account number, I can run a billing check on those calls for you. I can’t guarantee anything until the next bill is due, but if the information’s in our computer, I’ll notify you within the next three business days.”

“Oh, sure—yeah, that’d be terrific,” Alex said. He let out his breath, unable to believe his good luck. This was almost too easy. “I feel like such an idiot, you know, losing the number like that. Oh—by the way, will you be notifying me by telephone or by mail.”

“We’ll send a printout report to your home address. Mind you, this is not your monthly bill, just a—”

No, that won’t do, Alex thought, and before he could stop himself, the words came out, cutting off Mrs. Clark. “No, that won’t do!”

“Well, that’s the normal procedure, Mr. Toland,” Mrs. Clark said. There was a harsh authoritarian tone in her voice that made her sound like a scolding school teacher.

“Well, you see, I’m a salesman, and I’ll be on the road quite a bit this week and next. I really wanted to call my wife back tonight and see how she’s doing.” He decided against elaborating further just so there’d be less of a chance that he’d get caught up in a lie.

“Okay, Mr. Toland,” Mrs. Clark said, apparently softening. “Tell you what. Give me your account number, and I’ll see what comes up on the computer right now.”

“Oh, that’d be great. Thanks—thanks a lot,” Alex said.

He cleared his throat and hardly dared to breathe as he slowly read the account number from the top corner of the bill. It was almost lost beneath the scrawls of his doodle. There was a long period of silence on the line after he heard Mrs. Clark punch the numbers on her computer keyboard. Alex closed his eyes and wished to hell he had a beer to slug down while he waited, but if his luck held, this was going to be a whole helluva lot easier than he’d expected it to be.

“Mr. Toland?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t quite know what to make of this, but it appears that the last call your wife made to you was from a pay phone.”

“A pay phone?” He licked his lips and hoped to hell his voice didn’t betray his anticipation. “Well, she—I know she’s been doing a lot of driving, so she may have, but I—”

His mind went almost blank as he mentally tried to form his next question.

“Could you please give me that phone number’?”

“I don’t quite see the point if, as you say, she called you from there several days ago.” After a short pause, Mrs. Clark read the number, and Alex scribbled it across the woman’s face he had drawn.

“And where exactly did she call from? Can you tell?” Alex asked, unable to keep the sharp edge of command out of his voice.

“It’s from area code 207. That’s the state of Maine.”

“Maine?”

“The whole state. The exchange number indicates that your wife called from the Portland area. Now, this may not be the call you were wondering about— Well, yes. Apparently it is. It was last Thursday, just after three o’clock in the afternoon. The total charge came to only… sixty-one cents.”

“Portland, Maine, huh? Well, Mrs. Clark, I want to thank you very much for your help with this.”

“Oh, it was nothing at all,” Mrs. Clark said. “My pleasure. And thank you for using MCI. I’m just sorry I couldn’t be of any more assistance to you.”

Alex sank back into the couch and let a wide, wolfish smile spread across his face. “Oh, believe me,” he said, almost laughing out loud. “You’ve been a great help.”

“Well, as I said, that call originated from a pay phone. I’d suggest, if you or your wife know anyone in the Portland area, you might want to give them a call.”

“Oh,” Alex said, “I don’t know about that.”

It took a great effort not to leap up from the couch and let out a wild whoop of joy.

“As a matter of fact, in a day or two, after I take care of a few things around, here, I was thinking about heading out to Portland, Maine, myself. Thanks again for your help.”

Before Mrs. Clark could say anything, he hung up the phone and, leaning his head back against the couch cushion, started to laugh. Wave after wave of laughter ran through him, and before long, he closed his eyes and had to double over, he was laughing so hard.

This was all falling into place much too easily!

3

While her aunt’s back was turned toward her, Krissy slipped into the small bedroom and eased the door quietly shut. The wooden floor creaked softly under her feet, but it had a muffled, quality that was almost comforting, like walking on crunchy, fresh snow. After so many days of sitting in the back seat of the car, her legs felt all gummy and weak. It felt funny to walk, sort of like being an invalid who had just gotten out of bed after a long illness.

The tattered window shade was drawn all the way down, turning the wide band of sunlight that filtered through it into a deep yellow, almost muddy color. Scattered beams of bright light angled through small holes in the shade and lanced the floor like laser beams. The lighting in the room reminded Krissy of the color of the river water the time last summer when her mother had taken her and Billy for a riverboat ride on the Missouri River. The dust suspended in the air was suffused with a subtle, shimmering glow that made the air look dense, like it was alive with sparkling flecks of gold. A wasp, trapped behind the shade, buzzed and bounced against the glass, seeking escape. Krissy watched its small, distinct shadow dart from side to side as the rasping buzz grew steadily louder.

Yeah, this is nice… really nice… Krissy thought, letting the warm, comforting feeling of the room fill her. I kinda like it here.

Forgetting all about the bad smell she had noticed in the apartment before, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, letting her thin chest expand to its fullest. The wasp’s buzzing grew louder, until it seemed to fill the room. A curious tingling sensation spread up from Krissy’s feet, twining and curling around her body like a mild electric current. The hairs on the backs of her arms stood up and began to sway subtly from side to side. Her cheeks and forehead tingled like the time she had splashed some of her father’s after shave on her face.

All sounds and sensations were deadened except for the high-pitched buzzing of the trapped wasp. That sound created such a lulling peacefulness that Krissy felt as though she had jumped into the Missouri River and was drifting down to its swirling, muddy bottom. She was surrounded by warmth and a tugging, yearning feeling that made her almost want to laugh—or cry—out loud.

“Krissy?”

She barely heard Aunt Cindy call to her from out in the hallway, but she ignored the call as she walked slowly to the center of the bedroom and stood there, her arms held up, suspended a little bit away from her sides. Looking down, she saw one sneakered foot, illuminated in sharp detail by a harsh beam of sunlight. The worn floorboards stood out in sharp detail, but everything else around her seemed dark and very distant. She had the sudden, disorienting feeling that her feet were lifting off the floor, and she was drifting, floating in the air and spinning lazily like a top. All the while, though, her gaze was fixed on the suffused wash of yellow light that came through the window shade. Motes of dust glittered like flecks of gold… shimmering planets, spiralling in the still air. As her vision sharpened, she thought she saw them forming levels that made a gossamer stairway leading up to, and through, the window shade.

“Krissy…”

When she heard her name called a second time, she thought for a moment that it was the buzzing sound of the trapped wasp; but then it came again, softly… teasingly.

“Krissy…”

This time she knew that it wasn’t the wasp, and it wasn’t her aunt’s voice. This voice sounded … different, somehow, as though it was muffled through some kind of filter or something. A wave of chills tingled up Krissy’s back, but she kept her unblinking gaze fastened on the embracing yellow light and the shimmering stairway. The light pulsated and began to spread like a slow stain, filling the room with enclosing arms of stifling heat.

“Krissy…” the voice repeated, sounding both fainter and clearer at the same time.

“Umm… I do kinda like it here,” Krissy whispered. She heard her own voice, but had the odd sensation that it was someone else’s. She licked her lips, feeling their rough, dry texture, like sandpaper, and was mildly surprised that she could make even the tiniest of sounds.

“Krissy… you’ll be… safe here…”

The eerily detached voice continued to whisper, saying words that seemed barely connected. They seemed to be coming at her from all directions at once… or else they were echoing inside her head, like distant memories.

“You have… to… believe in… me… you’ll be safe here…”

Krissy’s eyes began to fill with tears as she stared, wide-eyed into the light, which throbbed heavily now, keeping time with her high, hammering pulse. The electrical tingling that surrounded her body became stronger, almost painful. Hot pin prickles ran up and down the length of her body. She wanted to cry out, but even though she swallowed hard and licked her lips, she knew she wouldn’t be able to make a sound. Her gaze was held fast by the amber light that swirled in front of the window, surging and twisting like thick strands of honey, suspended in midair.

At some point—she had no idea when—she realized that the liquid spill of light was assuming subtle, indistinct shapes. Like the voice talking to her, the shapes melted from sight before she could quite grasp them. Then, in a single, shattering instant, she realized that the glow of light was taking on a vaguely human appearance. She saw eyes, wide open and staring at her. Long streamers of hair framed the face, cascading like fast-moving storm clouds, and a mouth with full lips pursed as though about to speak.

“You have to… trust me… believe in me… you’ll be safe… here… at least…for a… little while…”

The words echoed with a hollow rumbling sound inside her head, like someone was shaking a large sheet of metal. Each syllable made her ears flutter painfully, but the few words she did hear and understand made her feel welcome… welcome and safe.

“Krissy!”

Again, her aunt’s voice called from the hallway, louder this time, piercing, like the high screech of tires on a wet road. In the space of a heartbeat, the glow of light and the face inside it faded away. A clutching of sour nausea gripped Krissy’s stomach when she turned around just in time to see the bedroom door fly open so fast it hit the wall and rebounded with a vibrating rattle. Aunt Cindy’s dark silhouette was framed in the doorway, looking scary and big.

“Oh, there you are!”

Krissy’s skin felt like stretched leather as she looked at her aunt, swallowed, and forced herself to smile. A dull pressure in her lower stomach made her want to go to the bathroom.

“Hi,” she said. Her voice was dry and croaked like an old woman’s.

“Good Lord, Krissy! Don’t ever go sneaking away like that! You had me really scared!” Aunt Cindy said.

Krissy regarded her aunt with a tight, fearful gaze, but she was only vaguely bothered by the expression of concern she saw on her aunt’s face. Aunt Cindy’s voice sounded too harsh, too real, she thought, and she was angry at her for bursting in here and making that shiny face she had seen—and almost recognized—disappear so quickly.

“I was just… was just checking the place out,” she said. Her voice caught and almost choked off, but she was amazed that she could even speak at all.

Taking a fluttering breath, she walked over to the window and snapped the shade up so fast it flapped loudly against the roller. The motion raised a cloud of dust, and the sudden blast of light stung her eyes, almost making her sneeze, but her gaze was instantly fastened on the trapped wasp.

It was dead on the windowsill, nothing but a dry, empty husk. As Krissy stared at it, her vision became a watery blur, but she didn’t even consider whether it was from crying or from the bright light. Sniffling loudly, she turned and looked back at her aunt.

“So, do you think we’re… Are we gonna live here?”

Aunt Cindy’s expression softened as she took a step toward her and shrugged, slapping her hands together. “Gosh, I don’t know, honey… Maybe.” She seemed to want to come over and hug her but was holding herself back.

Flicking her forefinger, Krissy snapped the dead wasp onto the floor, surprised that it didn’t suddenly fly up and try to sting her. For an instant, she considered stepping on it, grinding it to dust under her toe, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“Well,” she said distractedly; she was unable to stop wondering how long that wasp had been dead there between the shade and window, “If we do, can this room be mine?”

Aunt Cindy considered for a moment, then nodded and said, “Sure. I don’t see why not.” She still sounded a bit bemused.

“Oh, good,” Krissy replied, nodding as she reached for the edge of the shade and pulled it back down. When she turned around to scan the rest of the room, the soft yellow glow of light was back, filtering through the shade and softening everything so once again the room looked old and faded. Any hint of a ghostly face or anything else was gone, but even the prospect that this room might be haunted didn’t seem to bother her. She believed what she had seen and heard, even though she couldn’t explain the really weird way it had made her feel. She hadn’t been really scared, but it didn’t make her feel completely happy or secure, either.

“Yeah,” she said warily, her voice no more than a sigh. “She said—I mean, I think we’ll be safe here… at least for a little while.”

Chapter Nine

The Fun Begins

Alex was wide awake more than an hour before dawn on Friday morning. The small amount of sleep he had gotten had done him little good, and three cups of black coffee hadn’t helped. He felt all tight and trembling inside; “Wound up tight as a tick,” as his mother used to say.

It was now a little before eight o’clock in the morning, and time to get things started.

After spending most of the last three days trying to figure out every possible angle of what he had planned, he couldn’t conceal his nervousness as he sat down on the couch in his living room and picked up the telephone. He stared without blinking for several seconds at the wash of dull orange sunlight that lit up rectangle of the faded carpet. The floor was littered with gray clots of dust, empty beer cans, and old newspapers; and there was a real bad smell of rotting food in the room. Shaking his head as though dazed, he exhaled noisily and started dialing the number in Chicago, which he had gotten the day before from directory assistance.

This was it—the first step.

If he fucked this one up, everything else he had planned to do would go down the shitter.

The telephone receiver was slick and cold in his sweating hand as he started punching the eleven numbers for the Chicago Hilton. Before pressing the last number, though, he hesitated, his mind flashing on his fear that, in spite of everything he had thought of, there still had to be something he had not taken into account. But when he thought about what that asshole Harry Toland and his fucking wife, Cindy, had done to him, his resolve stuck. Grinning grimly, he pushed down hard on the last number and pressed the phone to his ear.

The phone began to ring at the other end of the line and was picked up after three short beeps.

“Chicago Hilton,” said a woman’s voice, clipped and almost British-sounding. “How may I direct your call?”

“Yeah—uh, room 1237.”

“One moment, please, and I’ll connect you.”

A cold, hard tingling passed through Alex’s body, squeezing his chest as he listened to an assortment of clicks and buzzes on the other end of line; then the phone began to ring again. He sucked in a shuddering breath, but his lungs still felt like they were on fire and about to explode.

“—Umm—’ello,” said a sleepy-sounding voice. It was a woman’s voice, but Alex couldn’t tell from those two slurred words if it was the same woman he had heard on Harry’s answering machine last week.

Squeezing his nose shut with his fingers and purposely making his voice rattle, sounding thick with phlegm, he said, “Hi, yah… it’s me.”

“Huh?” The woman’s voice still sounded sleepy, but she seemed to be coming around slowly. “Who’s me?”

“Me—Harry… Who’d you expect?”

“Harry?” said the woman, sounding both surprised and perhaps a bit suspicious, but certainly fully awake now. “What’s the matter? Why, you sound absolutely terrible!”

“Oh, no—no. It’s nothing. I just… I just caught a bitch of a flu bug.”

Alex froze, wondering if Harry ever swore with this lady, but it was already even too late to worry whether or not he sounded at all like Harry, so he forged ahead before the woman’s suspicions could get any stronger.

“Yeah—” he said, pinching his nose so tightly it hurt. “I don’t know what it is—if it’s the flu or something, but I came down with it last night. I feel like sh—I feel terrible.”

“Oh, honey, that’s too bad,” the woman said. She sounded genuinely concerned, but all Alex could think was—Holy shit, I think she bought it! He wanted to shout for joy, but he realized that he had just started and still had to play it out to the end.

“Yeah, I—I don’t think I’ll even try to go to work today.”

“No, I don’t blame you, not from the way you sound. You should stay right home in bed. God, you don’t even sound like yourself.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m all congested and fevery,” Alex said, trying to disguise his voice even more. “I figured I’d just stay in bed and sweat it out.”

“Do you want me to come over? I can bring you some chicken soup or something once I get home?” Alex thought for a moment, unable to decide how to answer her: if he said no, she might get even more suspicious; but if he agreed, she might arrive at Harry’s house before he left for the Buzzy Bee Motel. That sure as hell would totally fuck things up! To buy himself a little time, he cupped his hand over the phone and started coughing noisily.

“Oh, honey-bear! You really do sound miserable!”

“Uhh,” Alex said, sniffing loudly and making every effort to sound completely stuffed up. “Yeah… yeah, some chicken soup would be nice, but maybe you don’t want to take the chance of catching whatever it is’ I got.”

“Oh, no, honey-bear, I don’t mind… not if I can help you.”

Shit! Alex thought. This was one of those goddamned things he hadn’t thought of, and he didn’t have an alternative. He snorted loudly again and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, how ’bout you come over later—say, sometime this evening. That’ll give me a chance to sleep for most of the day ’n see if I feel any better. Also, you’ll have a chance to unwind after your trip. By the way, how was the… the thing?” He had no idea if she had been on a business trip to a convention or whatever.

“Thing sure is the right word for it,” she said. “I had an absolutely horrible week… especially being away from you, baby! I spent as much time fending off good ole’ Mark Ford’s advances as I did working at the convention. God, that man’s a pig!”

“Uh-huh.”

There followed a short silence as Alex tried to think of something.else to say, but before he could speak, the woman continued, barely missing a beat.

“I don’t want to get going on all that again, but you know I didn’t do anything, baby-doll—especially not with my boss. Uggh! How could I? I’ve been saving it all for you, sugar.” It might have been his imagination, but Alex thought she sounded more disappointed and frustrated than concerned for how Harry “baby-doll” might be feeling.

Fucking women, Alex thought. They’re all alike!

“I just wish you weren’t feeling so bad. The only thing that kept me going all week was looking forward to our meeting at the Bee. You know, maybe I could try to reduce your temperature with that ice-cube-in-the-mouth trick we tried a few weeks ago.”

“Uh, no—not today,” Alex said.

He wasn’t really sure what she meant, but his first thought was that she might be hinting about giving him a blow job with a mouthful of ice. Yeah, that’d reduce the temperature and the swelling, he thought, almost snickering with laughter. Frozen dick on a stick! Then, for a tingling instant, he panicked when he thought that he might have forgotten to make himself sound sick. If he had, though, the woman seemed not to notice as she went right on talking.

“But it’s a good thing you called me when you did because I must’ve overslept. I have to get a move on if I’m going to get packed and catch my plane on time. Oh, I love you babycakes.” She made a series of smacking, kissing sounds into the phone that made Alex’s skin crawl. “And I hope you’re feeling better real soon, honey-bear. And when you do…”

“Umm,” Alex said, hoping he sounded too miserable to respond to anything she might suggest.

“Well, I’ll drop by later today, then, okay? Say, six o’clock?”

“Yeah… six will be fine.”

More than fine! Alex thought.

“Okay, then. I’d better be going now. Bye-bye, lovie. See you soon.” Again, she kissed into the phone. “And as sick as you are, I can’t wait to see you. Bye-bye, honey-bear… I love you!”

“Yeah, bye,” Alex said. “I-uhh—love you, too.”

Before she could start in again with any more cutesy talk, Alex clicked the phone off with his thumb and replaced the receiver. Staring blankly up at the ceiling, he sank back into the couch and let his breath out in a long, slow whoosh. It felt as though he had forgotten to breathe throughout the conversation, and now, as he inhaled, air ripped like a flood of water into his lungs. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands so hard against his eyelids he saw tiny yellow spirals of light that dissolved into the pulsating darkness.

A single thought whispered in his brain and reverberated until it started to grow louder and louder, like rolling thunder. The thought was almost masked by the high, keening sound of laughter, but Alex had no idea if he was laughing out loud or not.

He didn’t care because that single, echoing thought was—I did it! So far. I fucking-A did it!

2

On Monday of that week, the “young married couple” who had wanted the apartment so badly still hadn’t made up their minds, so Cindy decided to rent the apartment on Coyne Street. She didn’t want to move in until she had a chance to give the place a thorough cleaning, so early Tuesday morning, right after they handed over a deposit of two month’s rent and signed the lease, she and the kids went to the grocery store and bought buckets, sponges, mops, rubber gloves, and several bottles of Pine-scented Lysol. At Sears, they bought a small vacuum cleaner. From the motel where they were staying until the apartment was livable, she also called the local phone company and ordered a telephone, which was installed two days later, on Wednesday afternoon. With both the lease and the telephone company, she had debated whether or not to use a phony name but had finally decided against it if only because she had no idea how to prove she was anyone other than who her driver’s license and credit cards said she was. She knew, if the state police and FBI were after her, she was leaving such an obvious trail that it wouldn’t take long for them to run her down.

After spending two full days cleaning, the place was ready. Because they didn’t have any furniture, their move amounted to little more than lugging their suitcases and a few bags of groceries up the creaky flight of stairs. There were still plenty of items they had to buy—like oven cleaner and a toilet bowl brush. Over the next few days it seemed to Cindy as though they were heading off to one store or another at least half a dozen times a day. She was writing checks as if there was no limit to her funds.

Throughout the rest of the week, they did a lot more cleaning and then settled into their new place. But even after scouring the place with Lysol, the smell of something rotting still tinged the apartment. It was especially strong in the hallway. Krissy seemed unable not to mention it every time they either went out or came in. Cindy had to keep reminding herself as much as the kids that this was only a temporary situation, and that she had better plans for them once they got their feet on the ground. The kids, she thought, at least seemed genuinely relieved not to be sitting in the back seat of the car for ten hours a day or sleeping in cheap motels and eating every meal at McDonald’s. When she decided to splurge and buy them a small color TV and a Super Nintendo, Billy, at least, seemed fully content. She even ordered a cable hookup. Every evening while Cindy tried to distract herself from her problems with the latest Dean Koontz novel and Krissy either played with dolls or colored, Billy would fill the small apartment with repetitive electronic music and random bleeps, buzzes, and muttered curses.

Be it ever so humble…

Early Friday morning, just about the same time Alex was making his phone call to the Chicago Hilton, they went to the local Ames to buy some more sheets and towels and a few other odds and ends. Billy kept pestering her for a new Nintendo game until she finally caved in. As they wandered up and down the aisles, grabbing just about everything that drew their fancy, Cindy started to feel twinges of guilt. She justified spending money so freely as their reward after a full week of hard work, but she didn’t like spending money this way, especially because she still hadn’t had a chance to talk over her change of plans with Harry.

But where the devil was he? Cindy wondered whenever she thought about him and home, which was often. What the hell was he up to? And why hadn’t he called?

She tried to convince herself to say to hell with him! Yeah, she thought for the dozenth time already today as she grabbed several rolls of paper towels from the shelf and threw them into the shopping cart. To hell with him! She could make this work even if she had to do it alone!

It was only when she looked at the kids and saw the deep level of hurt still lingering in their eyes—especially at night, when she was tucking them in—that she couldn’t help but wonder if she really was doing the right thing and saving them instead of hurting them even more!

And she couldn’t stop wondering what was the matter with Harry. Granted, he might be busy with the store, especially if he really was trying to get it in order to sell the place; but, Jesus, the least he could do was call her! If he thought this was some kind of game for her, that she was having fun taking off like this, then the next time she did talk to him, she would make sure to let him know just how much worry and stress she was under.

“You know what?” Krissy said, wrinkling her nose as she walked along beside Cindy. One hand was hanging loosely off the shopping cart’s handle while the other one gripped the edge of Cindy’s jeans pocket.

“No, what?”

“Something’s been bugging me.”

“What, honey? You can tell me.”

“Well… I—I just don’t… don’t like it.”

“Don’t like what, honey?” Cindy asked.

She reached down casually and scruffed the little girl’s hair. It seemed like over the last week, Krissy had started to come out of her shell—at least a little bit. She was smiling a little more easily, now, and several times she had even started an argument with Billy, fighting back and sticking up for herself when she wanted to try the Nintendo game. In a week filled with work and stress, that was one of the few things that actually gave Cindy a slim ray of hope that she hadn’t completely ruined these kids’ lives by taking them away from their father. Their father!

Every time she thought about him, a clear image of Alex would form in her mind, making her blood run cold. The word murderer would shout inside her brain and echo hollowly, and then she would be filled with the cold, hollow sense of loss she still felt for her sister… would always feel for her sister!

“I don’t like the way she’s always watching us,” Krissy said. “I… I see her there almost all the time.”

“Huh? Who’s watching us?” Cindy asked.

She felt a mild ripple of apprehension but didn’t want to let it show as she looked back over her shoulder, thoroughly expecting to see someone—a police officer or security guard, walking purposely toward them.

“That lady… in our apartment,” Krissy said.

Cindy could feel the little girl’s skin go cold under her touch, and she remembered that night in the motel, somewhere in the Midwest, when Krissy had started screaming in her sleep about the lady… the blue lady.

“I—uh, don’t know who you mean, honey,” Cindy said, hoping the little girl didn’t notice the slight quaver in her voice.

“In the apartment next to us. What, haven’t you seen her?”

Cindy bit her lower lip and shook her head.

“Every time we’re going either up or down the stairs, she’s there in the door. There isn’t much light inside her apartment. It sorta looks like she has just the TV on, and it makes her face look all… all weird.”

A shiver raced up Cindy’s back. They had been so busy all week, and running in and out of the apartment so much, that she hadn’t even considered if there was someone living in the other apartment on their floor. At least so far she hadn’t seen anyone or heard anything, even late at night. Was there really someone there, or was this more of Krissy’s fanciful imaginings?

“Have you seen her?” Cindy asked.

“Uh-huh. Almost every time we go up the stairs, she opens her door, just a crack, and peeks out at us. I only see, like, her one eye, but she just stares at us… at me, I think.”

“If you haven’t really seen her, how do you know it’s a lady, then?” Cindy asked. The chill was getting worse. She wished she could blame it on the store’s air-conditioning.

“Cause I can see her hair… she has blue hair.”

3

As Friday morning slipped slowly toward noontime, the tension winding up inside Alex was getting so bad he really thought his head might explode. More than anything else, he wanted to slug down a beer or two just to steady his nerves. But he knew that once he started drinking he might not be able to stop.

Shit, no! he told himself. I can stop drinking whenever I want to… I just might not fucking WANT to.

He knew the last thing he needed right now was to blunt his edge, which was honed razor-sharp after only a few hours of sleep and more than his usual amount of morning coffee. Just like talking this morning to that woman—he still had no idea what her name was—he was fearful that something might come up that he hadn’t thought about.

He had to be able to think fast.

Before heading out to Portland, Maine, he had to wrap up one or two more things. The next on his list, after a short phone call from the phone booth in front of the Big Apple at the corner of 30th and Cedar, was a quick trip over to Harry’s house—for one last look around and to do a little something he thought might be necessary.

He looked up the number for Harry’s hardware store in the directory and then dialed it. After two rings, someone answered the phone. It sounded like a young kid. Alex asked to speak to Harry without offering his name. He piled it on thick, using a phony Southern accent, which at least was easier than trying to sound like he was sick with the flu.

“I’m sorry,” said the sales clerk, “but Mr. Toland is busy with a customer right now. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Y’all have any idea when he’ll be done?” Alex asked. He still hadn’t been asked to give his name and was hoping he could railroad the rest of this conversation without having to.

“Well—I dunno for sure,” replied the young man, sounding as though it was taking him quite a bit of effort to pull all of these salient facts together. “He said something about going out and not being available until sometime in the afternoon. Say, could I ask who’s calling?”

Damn! Alex thought. He had a story ready but would have preferred not to use it, just in case he somehow got caught up in a lie.

“Sure thing. This here’s Hank Wallace. I’m a salesman for Owens-Cornirg.” He let his voice drag on every other word, hoping the accent was convincing. “Yah see, I just took over this here sales territory last week, and—well, I don’t have my ’pointment book handy, but I thought for sure I had a meetin’ scheduled with Mr. Toland for late this morning, for, uh—” He checked his watch and saw that it was already a quarter past eleven. “I think it was for ’leven o’clock, but I’ve been running a little late, here, and cain’t make it for least half an hour, Could you leave Harry that message, that I’ll be by just as soon as I can?”

“Well, yeah, sure,” the clerk replied, “but I think Harry said something about not wanting to—”

“I’d ’preciate that, son,” Alex said, speaking over the young man. “I’m none too familiar with this here city and just got a little mixed up is all. Tell him I’ll be there as soon ’s I can.”

With that he hung up quickly. He checked the coin return to see if his quarter had dropped back out, then got into his car and drove straight to Harry’s house. He knew he should still be very cautious about being seen anywhere near the house—especially if what he had planned to do today really did happen—but the alternative was to be as bold as brass, and just pull into the driveway and walk into the house like he fucking-A belonged there.

Why the hell not?

So that’s exactly what he did. He pulled up to the top of Harry’s driveway and stopped right in front of the kitchen door. Before getting out of the car, he pulled on the pair of rubber gloves he’d gotten from under his kitchen sink. After digging the house key out of his pocket, he got out and walked quickly to the side door. His hand shook as he slid the key into the lock and turned it. The door knob twisted in his hand. He opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it quickly behind him.

Moving swiftly, he walked over to the telephone answering machine. His first impulse was to smash the shit out of the machine, but then he thought better of it. If things got fucked up—or even if they didn’t—and the police came around later, a broken answering machine might look a little suspicious. Instead, he followed the wire down to the outlet on the wall and loosened the plug, jiggling it just enough so the machine shut off but the plug was still in the socket.

“There,” he whispered, satisfied that if Harry’s lover tried to call, she wouldn’t be able to leave a message. There was no telling what she might want to say to “baby-doll” before she came over with her kettle of hot chicken soup and her mouthful of ice cubes.

Satisfied, he was about to leave but happened to glance at Harry’s appointment calendar on the counter. A telephone number, written in red ink and circled at the top of the page, caught his eye. It had an area code of 207.

“Shit, that’s in Maine,” he whispered.

He glanced over his shoulder, unable to shake the feeling that someone was standing nearby, watching him. The doorway and windows were clear, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was somewhere close, watching him. Shrugging it off, he tore a corner from the bottom of the page and quickly copied down the number. Once he got to Maine, all he would have to do is call directory assistance and ask for the address. Snickering under his breath, he replaced the pen on the counter. Confident that he had left no fingerprints with the rubber gloves, he left, making sure to lock the kitchen door behind him.

“Christ on a cross, this is, almost too fucking easy,” he said.

He almost laughed out loud as he got into the car and started it up. When he thought about what he was going to do next, though, the smile quickly melted from his face like spring snow. This was it—the big one. Up until now it had all been penny-ante stuff. He backed around and pulled out of Harry’s driveway, heading for downtown. From there, he intended to cross the bridge over to Council Bluffs, Iowa, and drive straight to the Buzzy Bee Motel.

That’s when the real fun would begin!

Chapter Ten

Motel Rendezvous

Just in case the horny old bastard couldn’t hold himself back and got there early, Alex arrived at the Buzzy Bee a half hour earlier than he probably had to.

He pulled into the parking lot and drove slowly around the building complex once, but he didn’t see Harry’s bright red Camaro. He figured Harry either hadn’t arrived yet or else was driving someone else’s car. Doubts and dark worries began to fill his mind.

What if Harry had gone first to the woman’s house, or decided to surprise her by meeting her at the airport?

What if she had a chance to tell him someone had called her earlier that morning, pretending to be him, so they decided not to come out here today?

And what if Harry had guessed it was Alex who was screwing around, and had called the police who were on their way over here right now?

There was no way of knowing, so Alex told himself not to worry as he parked between two cars facing the motel office and killed the engine. So far he hadn’t done anything wrong, nothing illegal. As long as the cops never found out he had broken into Harry’s house a couple of times, he was clear. He took a deep, steadying breath, glanced at his watch again, and checked to make sure the things he had brought along for the afternoon was still under his car seat. Then he settled down in the seat to wait.

Time passed slowly.

It seemed as though he checked his watch every other goddamned minute. Off to the west, a wide band of purple storm clouds was coming up fast, shadowing the outskirts of Omaha across the river. It would be raining and thundering soon, and Alex wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but he contented himself with the thought that there were always going to be things he wasn’t going to be able to control. Eventually, everything would work out as long as he didn’t do anything rash or stupid. He tried to calm himself by thinking how he would just have to be patient and wait. He wasn’t going to make a move unless he was positive he could keep it all under control.

Yeah, those were the key words, here… patience and control.

Of course, he had no idea if Harry was going to show up at all. The woman in Chicago could have contacted him a dozen different ways, especially if she had started thinking that it hadn’t been Harry she had talked to this morning. But like it or not, this was one of those things he couldn’t do anything about. If this plan all went to shit, then fine; he’d just have to come up with something else. It wouldn’t hurt to try to find out the name of that woman. But he had plenty of time, and he was patient. At this point, about all he could do was hope he had been convincing enough to keep that woman away from the motel and Harry’s house—at least until later this afternoon—and that Harry would show up.

Then he could take it from there.

Alex rolled down the window and inhaled the hot air, tainted with the smell of exhaust from the nearby highway. It was almost nauseating. Cars and semis speeding past on the highway created a loud, numbing backdrop of noise. He wished he had a beer to help stop the rushes of excitement and expectation that were racing through him. Hell, even a warm one would go down pretty smooth right now.

No! he told himself. All I have to do… all I CAN do is wait… wait and see what—if anything—happens.

2

Harry got out of his car and walked into his kitchen only seconds after Alex had pulled out of the driveway, but he didn’t see—or notice—Alex’s car, and even if Alex had left any obvious signs that someone had broken into the house, Harry was in such a hurry to get ready that he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

After yanking off his necktie and tossing it along with his sports coat onto the counter, he walked quickly through the kitchen, heading upstairs. He glanced at the answering machine and saw that there were no messages but was in such a hurry that he didn’t notice the power light was off. Whistling jaunty tune, he went into the bathroom, stripped off his clothes, started the shower, and stepped in.

The water felt good, almost stinging as it hit his body like hundreds of blunt needle points. Still whistling a hodge-podge of tunes, be shampooed his hair and started washing his body.

Damn, but didn’t the water feel terrific!

And, he told himself, this was only the beginning. It was going to get infinitely better as soon as he saw Elizabeth. From then on, it was going to be one hell of a great afternoon!

“What a wonderful life, a wonderful life,” he sang out loud to no particular tune.

After not seeing Elizabeth for more than a week, he got horny as hell just thinking about her. He had tried calling her at the Chicago Hilton this morning, but she had already left. He wasn’t too worried, though, because they had confirmed the time of their rendezvous over the phone last night.

And—Goddamnit!—he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her!

Just thinking about her full, round breasts and the ways she used her mouth and legs gave him an instant erection. It no longer bothered him that thinking about her thrilled him in ways that thinking about Cindy never did—or, if it ever had, it had been so long ago that he could no longer remember. Elizabeth had rekindled his life, giving it a new spark and energy which, until he had met her, he had been afraid had been lost forever.

He had told his employees that he had a dentist appointment at two o’clock and not to expect him back at the store until three-thirty or four. That would give them two full hours at the motel. Two hours in which they could screw until they were raw! About the only concern he had right now was that, as soon as they were in bed together, he would shoot his wad so fast he’d be useless for the rest of the afternoon. But then he smiled, remembering some of the little tricks Elizabeth knew to help him maintain his interest. His erection throbbed almost painfully as he lathered up the washcloth and scrubbed his crotch.

“Yes sir-ee,” he yelled, leaning his head back and gurgling as his mouth filled up with water. He couldn’t restrain himself from shaking his sudsy fists over his head as he whooped with joy.

“By Jesus, this is going to be one hell of a great afternoon!”

3

“Fuckin’-A! There he is,” Alex whispered when he saw the bright red Camaro pull into the parking lot and stop in the empty parking lot by the front office door. His body stiffened, and his hands clutched the steering wheel like claws as he leaned forward, prepared to duck out of sight below the dashboard if he had to. He was barely breathing as he watched Harry Toland get out of the car and, moving with a jaunty, almost effeminate step, walk up to the front door.

“Yeah, it sure as hell looks like you’ve done this plenty of times before,” Alex said to himself. “What do you do, have an arrangement with the manager to rent a room by the hour? You lousy son of a bitch!”

He considered the plan he had concocted and then wondered if, instead, it might not be better to try to get a few Polaroid shots of Harry with his mistress. Not a bad idea… just a little something to show Cindy once he found her.

And make no mistake—he would eventually find her… and his kids! In spite of the anger that boiled up inside him like lava, he hadn’t lost focus of what he was doing and why. He wanted his goddamned kids back. No one was going to take them away from him without paying dearly!

He lost sight of Harry behind the flash of sunlight reflecting off the plate glass windows, but after a while Harry came back outside, got into his car, and started it up.

Oh, fuck! What’s he doing? Is he leaving? Maybe he called her from the office to make sure she was on her way, or she had somehow gotten a message to him! Maybe the whole gig was up!

Alex watched anxiously as Harry backed the Camaro around. For an instant, it looked like he was going to leave, but then he cut the wheels sharply to the left and drove down the line of units until he parked in front of the next to the last door. He got out of the car and looked around, a satisfied smile splitting his face as he leaned his head back and took a deep breath. In one hand, he held a dozen red roses wrapped in a cone of shiny green paper, and a bottle of champagne; in the other, he tossed a room key up and down like a wise-guy flipping a coin.

“Yeah, awright!” Alex said, unable to stop himself from smiling as he watched Harry unlock the door, step into the darkened room, and close it behind him. He glanced at his watch again and saw that it was just past one o’clock.

“Just like fucking clockwork,” he whispered.

Alex fished the paper bag out from under the car seat and opened it up, spilling the contents onto the seat beside him. After pausing a second to steel his resolve, he picked up the rubber gloves and pulled them on; then he slipped the hunting knife into his hip pocket and opened the car door. As he stood up, he pulled his tee-shirt down to cover the knife as best he could. His hands were already sweating ferociously inside the rubber gloves. After glancing nervously around to see if anyone had noticed him, he made his way quickly across the parking lot to the unit. At the door, he made a fist and knocked twice, lightly.

4

Harry arrived at the Buzzy Bee not more than five minutes late. He was a little bit concerned when he didn’t see Elizabeth’s car in the parking lot, and his concern grew when he found out she hadn’t registered yet or even left a message for him at the front desk. Usually, if she was going to be late, or if there had been a change in plans, she’d call and let him know. After he got a room, signing in as he always did as John Donne, he made a quick call to Eppley Field, the Omaha airport, to confirm that her plane had landed on time. Telling himself not to worry, that he was just being over anxious and she was probably caught in traffic and would be right along, he went to the room, stripped back the bedspread, and started plucking off rose petals and sprinkling them all over the clean, white sheets. When he was finished, he had a quick impression that the bed looked like it was splattered with blood. He wondered if he should get rid of the petals before Elizabeth arrived.

“Damn… satin sheets would have been better,” he said, smiling to himself. “Yeah… black satin sheets.”

He laughed aloud, remembering the time they had rented a room in a fancy hotel downtown. They’d had so much trouble trying to keep from slipping off the satin sheeted bed.

But no, he decided, this looked nice… romantic, and if nothing else, Elizabeth would get a laugh out of it. He went into the bathroom, picked up the ice bucket, and was about to go for some ice for the champagne when there came a light knock at the door.

“Come on in. It’s unlocked, honey,” he called out, starting toward the door. What he had been about to say next instantly died on his lips when the door swung open, and the dark silhouette of a man filled the doorway. The man moved quickly to enter the room, kicking the door shut behind him and quickly snapping the deadbolt lock shut.

“What the fuck—” Harry shouted, backing up into the room. He wasn’t sure if it was real or not, but he thought he heard the distant, throaty growl of thunder.

At first he didn’t recognize the man, but as soon as he shut the door and the sunlit glare from outside was cut off, he saw that it was Alex Harris.

“Christ, Alex! What the—? How did you—?”

Harry’s voice caught in his throat when he saw the leering grin on his brother-in-law’s face. It wasn’t until Alex turned slightly and fumbled briefly to slide the security chain in place that Harry noticed he was wearing rubber gloves. That didn’t look at all right. A hot, dry lump formed in the center of Harry’s chest.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, trying to sound like he was in control. But he barely disguised the tight quivering in his voice.

“No, no, no, Harry,” Alex said, arching his eyebrows and staring at him. “The real question is: What the fuck are you doing here?” Alex’s smile widened like a leering fox as he took a few steps forward. Harry backed away to keep the same distance between them when Alex made a fist with one rubber-gloved hand and smacked it into the palm of the other, making a wet, slapping sound.

“Well I—you see—I’m—it’s—”

“No… no, you can save me the fucking excuses, all right?” Alex said, lowering his voice with menace. He waved one rubber-gloved hand as though scolding a wayward child. “I know exactly what you’re doing here: you’re meeting up with a woman. And I know it’s not your wife—” In an instant, Harry’s face flushed bright red. “Not the person who stole my kids away from me.” He paused with a look of smug satisfaction on his face as he let his words sink in; then he leaned forward and added with a teasing lilt to his voice, “Isn’t that right… honey-bear?”

Alex laughed at that, but not even for a second did he pull his steady, unblinking gaze away from Harry as he took another step closer.

“Why you lousy mother—”

“Hey, hey, don’t start getting all indignant with me, you miserable fuck! We can both cut out the bullshit, all right?”

He smacked his fist into his hand again. The sound was almost as sharp as a gunshot, and it made Harry flinch.

“I know all about the little afternoon love sessions you have here,” Alex said. When he focused on the ice bucket, still clutched uselessly in Harry’s hand, his smile went even wider. “What, were you just heading out for some ice… maybe so your slut girlfriend could do that little trick she does with the ice cubes in her mouth?”

“Jesus Christ! H-h-how’d y-y-you—how’d y-y-you k-k-know about t-t-that?” Harry said, his voice stammering on nearly every word. He was frantically trying to remember if he had seen evidence that anyone was staying in either of the rooms on either side of him. He hoped that, by raising his voice, he might draw attention.

As Alex stared at him, still grinning sardonically, he kept moving forward, making Harry back away until the backs of his knees bumped into the edge of the mattress. Another low roll of thunder came, sounding closer. The nervousness churning in Harry’s stomach was getting steadily worse. His legs didn’t feel like they could support him much longer, and he was afraid he was going to vomit.

“You see now, Harry, I know a lot of things about you that you didn’t think anyone else knew. Actually—” He punched his open hand again. “—there’s only one thing I don’t know, and that’s where the fuck your wife has taken my kids!”

He took another threatening step closer until his and Harry’s noses were almost touching. Harry winced, scowling as Alex’s hot, sour breath washed over him.

“And that’s why I’m here, Harry, to find that out. Before I leave, I’m gonna make damned sure you tell me where she is, because there’s one thing—” He held his rubber-gloved forefinger up so close to Harry’s face he was afraid he was going to poke his eye out. “—Only one thing that’s more important to me than anything else. I want my fucking kids back, Harry, and I intend to get them!” Taking one step back, he reached behind his back and pulled the knife from his back pocket. He brought the blade up close to Harry’s face and twisted it back and forth so it caught the dull reflection of light in the room.

“And I’m gonna find out… even if I have to fucking kill you, I’m gonna find out!”

“No… no, you—you have to believe me,” Harry stammered. “I have no idea—no idea at all where she is.”

He forced as much strength and conviction as he could into his voice, but he could tell by Alex’s expression that he wasn’t buying it. “Honest to Christ, I’d tell you if I knew. She—right after she took your kids, she cleaned out our bank account and ran out on me. I haven’t—”

“Cut the bullshit,” Alex said. “That was my money in that account! Your fucking wife stole it from me! And I’ve seen your fucking phone bill with all those calls from the east, so don’t think you can fuck with me!”

“What—? How’d you—”

Before Harry could continue, Alex, obviously enjoying having the superior hand, tipped his head back and started to laugh. The instant the eye contact was broken, Harry tensed and made his move. Gripping the ice bucket tightly with one hand, he dodged to one side, away from the hand holding the knife, and swung up and around in a whistling arc. With a dull, hollow thunk, the flat bottom of the bucket caught Alex a solid blow on the side of the face that sent him staggering back, his arms flapping crazily as he fought for balance. Harry didn’t consciously think about what to do next; his mind was nothing but a white blur as he dropped the bucket, clenched his fist, and swung wildly at Alex—

—and missed.

The momentum of his swing carried him around so his right leg banged against the mattress edge, making his knee buckle. When the lightning bolt thought struck him that he had to make a run for the door, he was already off balance. Nearly blind with panic, he rapidly tried to process what he would have to do: get to the door—throw the deadbolt—undo the security chain—twist the doorknob—open the door—and then run like a son of a bitch out into the parking lot, yelling for help.

Before he could take the first step, though, something snagged at his ankle. For a blinding instant, he thought his foot was tangled up in the bed sheets, but then whatever it was hanging onto him suddenly pulled back. Harry fell forward and hit the carpeted floor so hard the air was hammered out of his lungs along with a grunting shout of pain.

From somewhere far away, he heard another rip of thunder as Alex yelled, “Hey, hey, not so fucking fast!” Frantic to save his life, Harry rolled over onto his side and started kicking wildly in an attempt to get free.

But the grip on his ankle held fast, and before he could shake it off, another kind of pain grabbed his attention. A fiery sting flashed up the inside of his thigh like lightning, accompanied by the harsh ripping sound of tearing cloth. It took several seconds for the pain of the knife wound to reach Harry’s brain, and by then, Alex had his shoulders pinned to the floor with his knees planted on his shoulder sockets as he leaned over him. Twisting back and forth like a drill, the knife blade pressed painfully into the angle just below Harry’s jaw.

“No… please… don’t,” Harry whimpered, his eyes filling with tears.

“Don’t fuck with me, asshole, and you won’t get hurt,” Alex whispered close to his ear; but as Harry looked up into Alex’s eyes, he was filled with the sudden sinking conviction that it was already too late—there was nothing more Alex wanted to do in the world then gut him, right here on the motel room floor.

Tensing his legs, in spite of the pain, Harry thrust himself upwards, bucking like a bronco. The movement caught Alex by surprise and almost dislodged him, but he squeezed his legs together tightly, crushing Harry’s ribs so hard it was impossible for him to catch his breath. Bright spinning lights flashed in front of his eyes, and a sour, burning sensation surged from his stomach up into his chest and then into his throat. He tried to say something, but all that would come out was a strangled, choking sound.

“I said, don’t… fuck… with… me!”

And then something ripped into Harry’s throat, burning like a splash of acid. From faraway, he heard a low, whistling noise. As the darkness at the edges of his vision began to swell and close in around him, he wondered crazily if he might not still be back at home… yeah, that was it… he was still in the shower, whistling and singing while he washed up, getting ready for his afternoon with Elizabeth… and maybe he’d fallen and banged his head or something maybe he was imagining all of this. It was crazy, though, because he didn’t recognize the tune—it had a thick, bubbly sound that made him think of a clogged drain backing up. Then there came that other voice he’d heard before—the voice that didn’t sound at all like the voice he usually heard inside his head. It was shouting with an odd thundering reverberation that made it sound oddly close, maybe inside his head but also far, far away.

“You fucking idiot!… I told you not to fuck with me!”

Harry tried to understand the words, but the darkness was collapsing around him like a smothering wave. As the whistling song faded with a high-pitched, rising note, he fell deeper into the darkness…

And then he was gone.

Chapter Eleven

A Knock on the Door

Dark, heavy-bellied rain clouds drifted in off the ocean, obscuring the Portland skyline. At the top of the Casco Bank building, the huge flashing digital time and temperature sign was lost in a gray pall that looked as dense as smoke. Cold rain lashed in fitful gusts against the windows. A bone-deep chill penetrated the apartment, making Cindy wonder whether or not, come winter, this place would be able to keep out the razor-edged winter winds. After lunch, Krissy had gone into her bedroom to play with her dolls while Billy played Nintendo in the living room. He had the sound turned all the way down so Cindy, who was sprawled on the couch, could concentrate on her reading, though her mind wasn’t really on the book. Every few seconds, she would realize that she had lost her train of thought and would have to go back and re-read whole paragraphs and pages.

Ever since this morning, when Krissy had mentioned the woman she had seen watching them from the narrow opening of her door, Cindy had kept her ears tuned, listening for the sound of any activity coming from next door. She had honestly assumed that the adjoining apartment was empty. After living here for three days, she still hadn’t heard anything or seen anyone either coming to or leaving apartment 3-A. Then again, the people upstairs usually made enough noise to drown out just about every other sound in the building. Cindy was pretty much convinced this woman, like that “blue lady” Krissy had mentioned several times over the past few weeks, was just another one of her wild imaginings. At least there was one thing to be thankful for, Cindy thought: ever since they had moved into the apartment, both kids, but especially Krissy seemed genuinely much happier than they had been throughout the drive east. Maybe, this was all going to work out.

Her biggest worry right now was Harry. She hadn’t spoken to him in over a week. Although she still had friends back in Omaha, Cindy had been closest to her sister. Now that Debbie was dead, Cindy didn’t trust anyone else well enough to contact them and ask if they would check up on Harry for her. She also was hesitant to call anyone in Omaha because the police could be looking for her and the kids

Anyway, Harry’s just busy with work and trying to get the store sold. She had told herself this so many times, she should have believed it by now, but she still didn’t.

She was certain that something had happened. Something was wrong… very wrong!

After a few seconds of private debate, she picked up the phone and dialed her home number yet again. Her heart pulsed heavily in her throat as she waited for the line to begin ringing. Then it did—once… twice.

“Three… and four,” she counted out loud; then she cleared her throat, preparing to leave another message after the beep.

“What the hell?” she whispered when the phone rang a fifth time and the machine didn’t click on. Her face went suddenly hot as she waited, thinking she had miscounted, and now the answering machine would start.

The phone rang six times—seven… and then eight.

Before it could ring again, Cindy quickly hung up. Her face was clammy to the touch as she wiped her forehead and took a deep breath. Billy was so involved with his game, he apparently didn’t notice her reaction. Her hands were shaking as she slowly, carefully dialed the number again, whispering each number to herself as she pressed it.

A chill shook her shoulders, and she held her breath as she waited for the phone to start ringing.

Jesus, it isn’t like Harry to leave the answering machine off, she thought. He was compulsive about making sure he got all his messages—and they had agreed before she left that he would make sure he left it on all the time! Oh, God! What if something’s happened to him?

The thought that Alex would harass Harry gnawed at Cindy’s nerves. But she knew they had worked out a plan for that. Even if Alex got the police and lawyers involved; which they more than half-expected, Harry was supposed to maintain that Cindy had left him, and he had no idea where she had gone.

Of course, it would be easy enough to disprove this story if the police tapped his phone or got a list of Harry’s incoming calls. She had no doubt they could do that and had tried to think of some way around it, but she had no idea how to start assuming a completely new identity in a different state. She still had to use her real name on things, and she was still driving a car that was registered in her and Harry’s names. With a rising sense of panic and dread, she acknowledged that if anyone came looking for her, she wasn’t going to be all that hard to find.

She jumped and let out a high, little squeal when the phone clicked in her ear and then started to ring at the other end.

Once…

Please, Harry! Please be there! Pick it up!

Twice…

Come on, Harry, please don’t do this to me! Please pick it up!

Three…

Come on, come on, COME ON! Goddamnit, you’ve GOT to be there!

Four…

Okay, okay, now the machine will click on, and I’ll hear his corny message about having the right number but the wrong time!

Five…

A wild roaring filled her ears as an icy wave crashed over her head, engulfing her body. She wanted to jump up off the couch and start screaming.

No, please! Please! This can’t be happening!

In the back of her mind, a small voice was whispering that she was over-reacting, that for some innocent reason the answering machine had been switched off, and if she called back later tonight, she would get through to Harry. But that tiny voice was all but drowned out by the blaring of the sixth ring and a louder voice that shouted inside her head—Something’s wrong! Something’s happened!

And although she tried not to think it, her first thought was that Alex had to be involved.

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, trying to stop the flood of tears she felt building up there, she hung up the phone before it could ring again. Feeling drained and exhausted, and wanting to do nothing but cry out her nervousness and frustration, she sank back in the couch. Before she could even take a breath, there came a light, rapid knocking on the apartment door.

2

Harry’s blood poured like spilled ink from his throat wound and onto the motel room floor. Almost instantly, it started soaking into the cheap, beige carpeting, leaving a widening, reddish-black stain.

Alex couldn’t help himself; he started chuckling softly when he realized what had happened. He was still straddling Harry, pinning his shoulders to the floor with his knees. Glancing down, he saw that only a tiny splotch of blood had stained his left pant leg. The rubber glove on his knife hand, however, was streaked with blood, making it hard to get a grip on the knife. The handle almost slipped from his hand as he wiggled the blade in deeper and then dragged it slowly, steadily across Harry’s throat, severing the windpipe.

A high, whistling sound rushed from the wound when Alex dropped his weight on the dying man’s chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs. A thick, bloody foam bubbled from the open wound.

“You fucking idiot,” Alex whispered, still snickering as he leaned close to Harry’s ear. “I told you not to fuck with me!”

A wild tremor shook Harry’s body, but Alex knew this time that he wasn’t trying to shake him off; it was Harry’s leg and back muscles going into spasm as death gripped him. After a few seconds, with Alex continuing to pin Harry’s shoulders to the floor, the shaking stopped. With a final, shuddering sigh, the color drained from Harry’s face. His head sagged to one side, and his body relaxed.

Feeling wrung out and numb, and curiously elated, Alex leaned forward and looked deeply into Harry’s eyes. He recognized the distant, glassy stare. He had seen it many times before—first in Vietnam, on friends and enemies alike, and more recently in Debbie’s eyes that night he had to teach her a lesson.

Yeah, well, maybe just like Debbie, good ole’ Harry, here, had to learn his lessons the hard way, Alex thought, barely able to repress the gale of laughter that filled him as he stared down at Harry’s slack face. In a flash, though, his mood shifted, and he was suddenly filled with fiery rage at Harry.

“You rotten son of a bitch!” he shouted. He slapped the dead man’s face hard, once, leaving a bright red hand print on his cheek. “Now, see what you made me do!”

He shook Harry’s shoulders as he stared into the glazed, sightless eyes.

“Things weren’t bad enough before, huh, you fucking moron! Look at the fucking mess I have to deal with now!”

3

Cindy’s legs felt like they wouldn’t support her as she walked slowly to the door. The whole time, Billy was watching her, his mouth hanging open in shock. He never even noticed when something spiked and green bounced onto the TV screen and killed Mario.

“Probably just a salesman or something,” Cindy said. She was trying to fight the nervous waver in her voice, but she didn’t believe her own words. The whole time her mind was screaming: This is it! They’ve found us! This is it!

Her heart was a cold, motionless lump in her chest when she bent down to peer through the fish-eye security lens. A sigh of relief escaped her when she saw that it was a solitary woman, not the FBI and the entire police force of Portland, Maine, outside her door. She glanced back at Billy and smiled reassuringly, then snapped the lock and opened the door to the full extent of the security chain.

“Yes…?” Her voice didn’t sound quite right, but she didn’t care.

The woman outside the door was dressed in a baggy green t-shirt and faded jeans. She looked to be in her late thirties, maybe early forties. Her shoulder-length hair was mostly black but had streaks of dusty gray that immediately reminded Cindy of the rain clouds outside her window. The woman was smiling, and her pale blue eyes reflected a friendliness and humor that seemed like a single ray of sunshine in the otherwise gloomy hallway.

“Hi,” the woman said. Her voice had a warm, mellow tone. “I’m Alice… Alice Crowther, your neighbor in 3-A.” She hitched her thumb over her shoulder toward the door across the hall. “I figured, now that you’ve had a few days to get settled, it was about time I came over and introduced myself.”

“My name’s Cindy… Cindy Toland,” Cindy said. She wanted to say more but concluded with a smile and nod. The only thought in her mind was: So this must be the woman Krissy says has been spying on us in the hallway. Well, she certainly didn’t seem threatening in the least, but the last thing Cindy wanted was to start meeting new people; she had no idea how much of the truth of her situation she would need to reveal or hide, and she didn’t want any added pressure. Almost against her will, she undid the security chain and let the door open halfway.

Alice smiled and, clearing her throat, shifted from one foot to the other. “I—umm, well, it’s such a dreary day, you know.” She flapped one hand uselessly at her side. “I thought to be neighborly I’d invite you over for a cup of tea or something.”

“Well, I—” Cindy couldn’t think of what to finish the sentence with except a shrug. Then she glanced over her shoulder at Billy, who was watching them intently.

“Your kids are welcomed, too,” Alice said, “or we can leave the doors open so you can keep an eye on them. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

Still, Cindy hesitated, but Alice continued talking as if she didn’t notice—or wasn’t concerned—about her standoffishness.

“I don’t want you to feel any pressure or anything,” Alice said. “I just figured, you know—well, I don’t want to appear to be nosey or anything, but I had noticed you have Nebraska plates on your car, and I figured—well, that you might not know anyone around here.”

“No, that’s true,” Cindy said. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, but she almost didn’t mind; Alice seemed like the kind of person you could talk to about things easily.

“Come on, then,” Alice said, waving her hand. “We’ll leave both doors wide open so you can keep tabs on things over here.”

“Yeah, sure—okay,” Cindy said, nodding agreement. “Let me just tell the kids where I’m going. I’ll be right over.”

“Sure thing. I’ll get the tea kettle boiling.”

4

“Good Lord,” Cindy said, leaning forward and rubbing her lower belly as she laughed heartily. “I’ve had so much tea, I’ll probably be up all night, peeing.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we weren’t drinking wine or beer,” Alice said, joining in with her laughter, “or we’d be blind drunk by now”

Over the course of the last two hours, Cindy had learned a great deal about Alice Crowther. She was a divorced woman who for the last eleven years had taught English at the junior high in Westbrook. She had been born and raised in northern Maine, in a little potato-growing town Cindy had never heard of called Presque Isle, and had moved to Portland in the early seventies, right after graduating from the University of Maine. She had married Russ Parker, her college sweetheart, but the marriage had dissolved after five years, more out of a general lack of interest than any other single factor. She maintained that she was happy living alone, making a livable salary, at least for a single person, and was still cautiously looking for the “right” man but in absolutely no hurry. Several times, however, she expressed her envy that Cindy had two children of her own, since she knew her own “biological clock” was ticking away.

Throughout the afternoon, Cindy let Alice do most of the talking. She didn’t correct her on anything or add very much to Alice’s perception of her, preferring instead to reveal as little as possible about who she was and why she had come to Maine. She saw no way around telling Alice the kids’ real names, and she added the half-truth that she and her husband, Harry, were temporarily separated and that she had come east to stay with a distant relative, her husband’s uncle, but had decided to strike out a bit on her own. When Alice asked her if she was looking for a job, Cindy fudged her answer, saying that, at least for now, she was all set financially.

“How about school, then?” Alice asked. “Have you already got the kids registered for the fall?”

The question caught Cindy off-guard because, although she had thought about it—a lot—she still hadn’t made up her mind what to do. As far as the state was concerned, the kids didn’t even exist within the local school system. She had been debating whether or not to send them to public school so they could have something approaching a normal life, or else keep them out of school so she wouldn’t add any unnecessary complications in case they had to up and move fast, say to Harry’s uncle’s place on the lake or back to Omaha.

“I—uh, I really haven’t done much about it yet. We just got here and all, and I was pretty much going to wait until after school started.”

“Well, I remember you told me Billy was ten, right? So he should be starting—what? Either the fourth or fifth grade. Which is it?”

“Uh—fifth,” Cindy said, having no idea whether or not that was true.

“And you’ll probably want to get Krissy in kindergarten for the fall, right?”

Cindy nodded, hoping Alice didn’t notice her blush. “Look, I—uh, thanks for having me over, but I should probably get started making supper.” She pushed back her chair and stood up. When she reached for her empty tea cup, Alice waved her away, saying she could clean up the kitchen after she left.

“Well, then, thanks for coming over and introducing yourself.”

Alice smiled warmly and nodded. “I hope I wasn’t making a pest of myself, but I just wanted to make sure we met before I got all busy with school in a few weeks and to let you know that—well, if there’s anything you need—you know, like help with the kids or anything, feel free to ask.”

“Sure… thanks.”

“And I’ll have to meet the kids sometime soon, too,” Alice said brightly as she saw Cindy to the door.

The rain was still coming down steadily when Cindy walked back into her apartment. She closed the door behind her and slid the security chain into place, then went over to the couch and sat down. She wanted to pick up her book but didn’t even want to pretend to be interested in it; she had too much on her mind. Billy glanced up at her and nodded a greeting before turning back to his game. Krissy was sitting in the easy chair beside the window. She had a coloring book propped up on her knees and was busily coloring.

“How is she?” Billy asked without looking at Cindy again. His body jerked from side to side in response to the moving figures on the screen.

“Oh, she’s really nice,” Cindy said. Then, catching Krissy’s attention, she added, “And you don’t have to be afraid of her. She’s a very nice person.”

Chewing on her lower lip, Krissy nodded but said nothing.

Cindy got up and went over to look at what she was doing.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” she asked, scooching down and glancing at the page she was working on.

“Pinocchio,” Krissy said, her voice tight, barely above a whisper. “I’m coloring the blue lady.”

“You mean the blue fairy,” Cindy said, smiling as she twisted her head so she could see the drawing right-side-up. Krissy had used practically every shade of blue in her Crayola box to finely shade the flowing robes, arms and face of the figure. She had surrounded the blue fairy’s wand with tiny, concentric rings of blue lines that radiated outward, obscuring the character’s face and blurring everything around her.

For some unaccountable reason, the picture made Cindy feel a tremor of nervousness. A gust of wind whistled inside the window frame. Cindy shivered but smiled and said, “That’s really nice, honey.”

“Umm—I know she is,” Krissy replied. Her voice had a eerie, dreamy quality to it, almost as though she were talking in her sleep.

After ruffling the little girl’s hair, Cindy plunked herself down on the couch and picked up her book. During the next half hour before she prepared supper, she pretended to be concentrating on her reading, but all she could do was stare blankly at the pages and wonder if she had made a big mistake in the first place just by speaking to Alice Crowther.

5

Being careful not to get any more of Harry’s blood on his clothes, Alex swung off the inert body like a rider dismounting a horse. A tingling rush coursed through his body, enlivening every muscle and nerve. He found it difficult to take a deep breath, but he knew the tightening constriction in his chest wasn’t from fear or anything even close to remorse for what he had done. It was exhilaration, pure and simple. Just thinking about what he had done made him want to leap up and start shouting for joy.

“Harry is fuckin’-A dead, and I fuckin’-A killed him!” he said, fighting hard not to burst out laughing. “And it’s a damned good thing, too!”

Trying to control himself, he clenched his fists and stretched his arms behind his back to help relieve the balled-up tension in his shoulders and chest.

“By Jesus, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”

Rubbing his hands vigorously together and grinning wildly, he stared down at the motionless man. He was fighting for control but still felt dizzy, nearly delirious now that he had actually done it—had finally gotten even with the sorry son of a bitch! He’d made him pay, but good!

And this is just the start!

His mind crackled like a string of exploding firecrackers as he thought about what he had to do next.

Cindy had taken his kids to Maine, and his ultimate plan was to go there and find her and make her pay, too… make her pay in ways that would make what had just happened to her husband look like a fucking holiday.

First, though, he had to take care of this mess.

Unlike what had happened the night Debbie died, Alex had come into the situation knowing that Harry’s death was a distinct possibility. He wouldn’t have been packing a knife if he hadn’t. Although he felt confident that he had thought everything through and knew what he had to do next, he still had some nagging doubts that he had overlooked something… something that would eventually lead the police to him. It almost didn’t matter, he thought, because he planned to be long gone and on his way to Maine before anyone even found the body.

His idea was to make this look like a… what was it those rag newspapers at the grocery checkout counter called it?

A crime of passion.

Yeah, that’s it!

Although he knew he couldn’t change Harry’s fingerprints or dental records, he would do his best to get rid of everything else that would help the police identify the body. His hands felt slimy with sweat inside the rubber gloves, but he knew he couldn’t handle anything without them until he had gotten rid of them along with Harry’s clothes, wallet, and car keys.

Another rumble of thunder sounded outside, this one much closer. Alex walked over to the window and, unmindful of the smear of blood he left on the Levelor blinds, glanced out as rain began to fall. It swooped across the parking lot behind the motel like a shimmering, silvery curtain.

Rain will be good, he thought; it’ll help wash away any evidence once I’m outside.

Alex turned back to the body and, wanting nothing more than to haul back and kick the son of a bitch squarely in the balls, fought for control as he whispered, “Okay, lover-boy… or should I call you honey-bear? Let’s see about getting you undressed.”

He was surprised by the man’s dead weight as he grabbed Harry under both arms and lifted him up and struggled to heave him onto the bed. The bedsprings creaked beneath the dead man’s weight, a sound that was punctuated by another close clap of thunder

Rose petals sprinkled the bed like splotches of blood, set off against the pale white of the sheets and Harry’s skin. Alex set to work, rolling Harry back and forth as he struggled to remove his shoes, socks, shirt, pants, and underwear. The shirt was heavy, saturated with blood. Once Harry was naked, Alex rolled him over onto his stomach and arranged the body to look like that’s how he had died—naked and fighting for his life. He considered adding a few more knife wounds, or maybe even getting him onto his back and hacking off the dead man’s penis.

That would certainly give the cops something to think about!

But he knew any fresh wounds wouldn’t bleed without Harry’s heart pumping the blood, and not wanting to look like a fucking pervert, he decided against it.

No, this was cool! This was enough.

And he had it all lined up what he had to do next. After driving Harry’s Camaro back to his house and parking it in his driveway, probably leaving the keys in the ignition, he would have to find a ride back to the motel so he could pick up his own car. He’d probably take a bus instead of a cab, which might be easier to trace if he ever came under suspicion. After that, he would take all of Harry’s clothes, along with the rubber gloves he had used, and—well, he wasn’t exactly sure what he would do with them—either sink them in the Missouri River, bury them somewhere, or bring them home and burn them in the fireplace. He’d give it a little more thought to make absolutely certain he didn’t leave anything that could eventually be traced back to him.

Whistling a happy tune, he washed his rubber gloves at the bathroom sink and put them back on before going through Harry’s clothes. He found the car keys in his pants and over a hundred dollars in his wallet, which he pocketed. Then he balled up the clothes and stuffed them into the plastic laundry bag, graciously provided by the motel. After a thorough check around the room to make sure he hadn’t left anything valuable behind or any other visible evidence, he tucked the bag under his arm and walked out into the rain, remembering to toss the key back into the room before locking the door behind him. He opened the trunk of his own car and dropped the laundry bag into it. Then, glancing quickly around the parking lot to see if anyone was watching him, he walked boldly over to Harry’s Camaro, unlocked the car door, and got in. The car started up right away. Alex drove out of the parking lot, being careful not to draw any undue attention to him by speeding or running a stop light. Inside, he was still thrilled by what he had done, but he knew he couldn’t let it show in any way.

Throughout the drive back to Omaha to Harry’s house, all he could think about was how much more he still had to do before taking off for Maine.

Yeah, by Jesus, he thought, feeling an exhilarated sense of well-being, it sure as shit was going to be one busy fuck of an afternoon!

PART THREE

COMIN’ TO GIT YAH!

Chapter Twelve

Pine Knoll

It was a long and generally uneventful week.

Most of the time, Cindy couldn’t help feeling like they were outlaws, holed up in a hideout and waiting for the police to come bursting in with their guns blazing. Other than a few shopping excursions, she and the kids stayed pretty close to the apartment, just hanging around as if they were waiting for something to happen. It seemed as though their life had settled into a nerve-wracking stasis that was tinged with winding expectation, like the tense calm just before a thunderstorm cracks loose.

Yeah, Cindy thought on more than one occasion, here we are, sitting around, waiting for our REAL lives to begin!

Early in the week, Billy had started to make friends with two boys he met in the neighborhood who were roughly his own age. Their names were Michael Downing and Chris Russell, and they spent every nice day riding their bikes around the street and in the neighboring church parking lot, where they popped wheelies and jumped curbs. Wanting desperately to join in with them, Billy pestered Cindy to buy him a bike until she finally relented, so every day he was off playing with his newfound friends, either riding bikes around the neighborhood or else hanging around Art’s Variety, the corner candy store. One rainy afternoon, Michael and Chris came up to the apartment to play Nintendo for a few hours, and on Thursday, Michael’s mother called to invite Billy to go to a movie with them.

Cindy was glad to see that Billy was starting to get involved with his own life again, but her real concern was for Krissy. During the day, while Billy was off with his new friends, Krissy spent her time alone, playing with her dolls either out on the front steps or up in her bedroom. She had withdrawn deeply into herself and wasn’t talking much to anyone—except her dolls. Cindy might have taken all of this as normal, but Krissy wasn’t sleeping well, either, and late at night she often woke up and heard Krissy talking to herself in her darkened bedroom. She knew the little girl needed to get more connected, more involved with life once again, but given their current situation, she had no idea how to make that happen.

Alice Crowther had told her about a little girl only a year or so older than Krissy who lived two houses up-the Street, but—at least so far—Cindy hadn’t made much effort to go over and meet her and her mother. One pleasant evening after a refreshing rain shower, she and Krissy walked up the street and circled around a couple of times, hoping to draw out the little girl and her mother, but there was no sign of anyone.

For her own part, Cindy spent most of her time worrying that she still hadn’t heard from Harry, but that had gone on so long, now, that she was finally beginning to accept the idea that he might be actively avoiding her.

What other explanation could there be?

Whenever she called, no matter if it was morning, noon, or night, the telephone in their house in Omaha would ring and ring. No answering machine would click on, and no one would pick it up. The constant worry made her stomach ache.

A few times, she tried calling Harry at the hardware store; but every time she got one of the sales clerks, she would panic and hang up before speaking, afraid that whoever it was might recognize her voice. She had no idea what Alex or the police might be doing to try to locate her and the kids, but she didn’t want whomever might answer at the store to have any idea where she was or that Harry knew where they were. And anyway, wouldn’t the FBI have the phone lines tapped so they could trace her calls? Even if they didn’t, to help explain her cowardice to herself, she told herself that she didn’t want anyone else involved in their situation. She certainly wasn’t looking for anyone’s sympathy! This was a serious, personal affair with the future happiness, even the mental stability of her dead sister’s two kids hanging in the balance. She didn’t want to put them any more at risk until she got legal custody of them. The only reason she hadn’t met with a lawyer in Maine yet was because she was waiting to hear from Harry.

Cindy felt terribly alone and cut off from the rest of the world, and all she could do was keep trying to call the house and hope to hell that—eventually—Harry would be there to answer.

The worst part of all of this was she couldn’t stop wondering—Why is Harry doing this to me? Why hasn’t he written or called or sent a telegram or something? Did he set me up? Was this all part of his plan to get rid of me all along?

Realizing how risky it was, she had left her new phone number on Harry’s answering machine, but he never called back, and each unanswered call only added to her gnawing sense of helplessness and isolation. But it also helped her further steel her resolve to make it. She had to! There were two young lives at stake, and she’d do it all on her own if she had to.

And, apparently, she was going to have to.

As Cindy reflected on their married life together, she recalled the various tensions, misunderstandings, and distances between her and Harry. She began to examine little things about him until, late at night, they started to eat at her mind, nagging at her, teasing and tormenting her. Things that she used to like about him now angered her, like the long hours he worked at the hardware store even though he admitted that his employees were all good, solid workers, and the business was firmly established. As manager of the family budget, she saw, month after month, that the store’s profits were good—great, actually, when you considered the current state of the economy.

She couldn’t stop recalling how many times she had to press Harry to take a vacation with her, and how hard it was to get him not to cancel at the last minute. Why, in nearly twenty years of marriage, they had never gotten away for a vacation together more than once every two or three years. For a childless couple where both of them were making very good money, she maintained that they should be able to take the time and enjoy the money they were earning—to have a little fun, goddamnit! She thought they should spend a whole month—maybe even an entire winter every year in Florida or the Caribbean, but Harry always insisted that he couldn’t leave his business unattended for that long.

And the more she thought about things, the more Cindy began to have other, more unnerving thoughts about her husband. In his absence, his personality quirks became magnified, filling her with dark suspicion and anger.

Like, why did he seem so distant, so removed from showing affection to her?

He hadn’t been like that when they had first gotten married. If anything, he was the one who seemed not to take life, much less his work, very seriously, and he was always wanting to play while she busted her hump to establish herself at her own job. When they first realized she was unable to have babies, she had actually sensed relief in Harry, thinking he was secretly happy, knowing that kids would never ruin their lifestyle.

But as they got older, and their years together lengthened, was he distancing himself emotionally from her by throwing himself into his work simply because he had nothing else—certainly nothing in his personal life—to fulfill him?

Or was everything all just a cover for something else, a smokescreen to hide what he was really doing. Maybe he had a drug or alcohol addiction, or a gambling habit, or maybe he was having an affair… or what if he’d had several affairs?

That thought chilled her, bringing tears to her eyes. The painful truth was, she’d had that thought quite often, especially late at night when she was lying awake, unable to sleep.

There was no denying that, over the years, their sex life had dwindled from once a night during their first years of marriage to once a week and then, after seven or eight years, to no more than once or twice a month until—she hated to admit it, even to herself—they now had sex only a couple of times a year… at best. She knew she was finding private relief in masturbation, but what was Harry doing? She remembered how much he had laughed when he turned forty, and the birthday card from his employees had berated him for “Taking all night to do what you used to do all night.”

As painful as the thought was, she was fairly certain men still like sex, no matter how old they were or how long it took them.

This was the deepest, most painful realization of all—that the spark was gone. In the face of living together day by day and working hard at their jobs, the headspinning romance had dried up and blown away. They had lost touch with each other and whatever they used to share, and no matter what she or he or they did to resist it, their twenty-plus years together had dulled their appreciation of and affection for each other.

Late at night, Cindy would lie in bed and listen to the sounds in the street, thinking that maybe this was the simple, sad truth—their marriage had run its course, and now she was off on her own, and maybe that would have been fine… except for these two kids she had… kids who weren’t even hers!

Goddamn! How in the hell could I have let something like this happen to me?

During the week, Cindy had spent another afternoon and then a couple of evenings drinking wine and talking with Alice Crowther, but she never revealed to her much about her real situation, choosing instead to keep everything bottled up inside herself where it quietly ate away at her heart.

She was beginning to feel good about Alice, and at times she even found herself wishing their situation was different so they could become genuine friends; but—just like her friends back in Omaha—she didn’t want to involve Alice in what was really going on in her life. She was very much aware of the wall she was putting up around herself, but she convinced herself that it was necessary, just in case the police or the FBI or someone came around, looking for her. She wanted few—no, make that no attachments here in Maine because she wanted to be able to pick up and leave at a moment’s notice if she had to.

The only other thought that nagged at her mind in the darkest hours was about the kids? Are they going to be all right? And what if I ever decide I want to leave THEM behind?

2

“So, do you want the usual? Just a little bit off the back and sides?”

Alex was sitting in the barber’s chair with the silky sheet draped over his shoulders as he stared blankly at his reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror. A twisted smile pulled up the corners of his mouth, but he kept his gaze hard when he met the eyes of Ron Burns, his regular barber. Ron—like everyone else who knew Alex—had heard about what had happened to Debbie, but other than a brief expression of his condolences, he said nothing about it. Obviously he felt awkward talking to Alex. Death was a difficult subject.

“Uh, no,” Alex said, having to fight back his widening smile. “Take a lot off this time, I think. Trim it right up so it’s above my ears and collar.”

“Jeeze, what’s with this new look?” Ron sounded surprised, but Alex could sense the nervous tension in the man. “Are you applying for a new job or something?”

“Yeah, or something,” Alex replied, sniffing with laughter and thinking—If you only knew!

While Ron stood behind him, flicking his scissors, like an artist, preparing to begin, Alex silently studied his own reflection.

“You know,” he said, as if it was a spur-of-the-moment decision, “while you’re at it, why don’t you take out that old straight-edge razor of yours, strop it up, and get rid of this goddamned mustache for me.”

Ron looked at him with surprise and snorted with laughter.

“Are you serious?” he said. “Christ, Alex, you’ve been coming in here—what? Better than ten years, now, and I ain’t never seen you without your mustache.”

Alex was unable to stop it as his smile widened. “No, I don’t think anyone has,” he said. “But I—you know, I just feel like I need something new in my life. It—it’s been a pretty rough period in my life—”

“I know.”

“And…” Alex shrugged as though caught between emotions. “I don’t know. I guess I want to surprise everyone with my new look.”

“Well, you sure as hell will,” Ron said. “Here goes.”

He scratched behind his ear before taking the first snip. A long strand of brown hair rolled off Alex’s shoulder and landed on the floor.

“I hope to hell you’re gonna like it.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Alex said, settling into the seat. “I know I will.”

3

With only a week to go before school started, Cindy decided on Thursday morning that, as risky as it might be, she had to register the kids in the public schools. She called the superintendent’s office for an appointment, and that afternoon, with both children in tow, drove the short distance to Pine Knoll Elementary, on the corner of Deering Avenue and Prospect Street, to meet with Ester Castine, the school’s principal. The knot of tension that was twisting in her stomach got steadily tighter as she pulled into the school parking lot and, ignoring the signs that said “School Buses Only,” stopped the car in the circular driveway as close as she could get to the front door. Sucking in a deep breath, she turned off the ignition, and they all got out of the car.

Before starting up the walkway, she stopped the kids and knelt down to make sure they looked all right. Licking the palm of her hand, she tried to slick down Billy’s cowlick, but it wouldn’t stay flat.

“Now look here,” she said, eying them seriously. “Once we’re inside the school, I want you to be quiet and let me do all the talking, okay?”

“Even if she asks us a question?” Billy said.

Cindy frowned. She wasn’t half as worried about Krissy as she was concerned that Billy might say or do something that would contradict the story she had concocted.

“Well, you see—” she said, rubbing her hands nervously together, “because of all the… you know, because of everything’s that happened and all, I—uh, I’m not exactly going to be telling the truth in there.”

Krissy stared at her blankly as if she barely understood her and simply shrugged; then she glanced up at the sky and, looking like she was about to cry, started blinking her eyes rapidly. Billy smiled brightly at Cindy and said, “Hey, don’t worry, Aunt Cindy. I didn’t think you were going to tell her that you kidnapped us.”

For an instant, Cindy bristled. “It’s not like that!” she said in a low, harsh voice. “I—you see, your mother—”

A warm swell of emotion made her eyes fill up with tears as she fought for control. The heat of the day seemed to rise suddenly. It pressed in on her, making it difficult for her to catch her breath.

“Look, it’s probably much too complicated for you to understand,” she said. “God, it’s too complicated for me to understand, but the bottom line is this—in a very legal way, you are my kids now, and I’m your mother. If you have to address me in there, please try to remember to call me Mom. Got it?”

She felt completely bogus, asking these kids to do that, and the memory of their real mother—her dead sister—filled her with the cold, hollow ache of loneliness. Close to tears, she sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I know it’s hard for you to understand, but your mother left a will—that’s a legal piece of paper, Krissy—saying that, if something should ever happen to her, she wanted me to be the one to raise you. But you see—”

She wanted to say more but absolutely didn’t want to say anything about her suspicion that their father had killed their mother. It wasn’t that she wasn’t convinced that was the truth; she had no doubt of it, but she didn’t want to add anything more to the burden these kids were already carrying.

“Come on,” Billy said, smiling at her brightly. “It’s not like we’re stupid or something. We’re not gonna blow it for you. Honest!”

“It’s not just a matter of blowing it,” Cindy said, feeling a slight rush of anger. “I mean, I’m nervous as hell about doing this. I wouldn’t have even brought you along except Mrs. Castine thought it’d be a good idea if you saw the school before classes start in the fall. I—I think I’ve thought of everything that could happen in here, all the questions she might ask, but I … you see, I may have to tell this woman some things that might surprise you.”

“You mean you’re gonna lie to her,” Billy said.

Cindy’s anger bristled all the more.

“Well—yeah, kind of, but I want you both to know that I—that I love you, and I…”

A deep swelling of emotion made her eyes sting with tears as she reached forward and pulled the two kids close to her. Her hands felt numb as she grasped them to her.

“I love you both… as much as if you really were my own kids, and I—I’m doing what I think is best for both of you. It’s just, I don’t want you to think that it’s okay for people to… to lie.”

“Except in cases like this,” Billy said matter-of-factly. He pulled a little bit away from her and glanced around nervously, as though embarrassed that someone might see her hugging him.

“Well—yeah, I suppose so,” Cindy replied. “I think the number one important thing we have to keep in mind here is that, after things settle down a bit, I’m going to talk with a lawyer and do everything I can to make sure it’s absolutely legal for me to have you, that you don’t have to worry about being taken away, and I—”

“But what about our daddy?” Krissy said in a high, broken voice. She looked like she wanted to cry. Her brown eyes were sparkling like wet marbles in the sunlight, but she stood there with her body rigidly erect, her arms clamped to her sides.

“Won’t I ever see my daddy again? I … I miss him and where we used to live. Why can’t I see him? Why can’t we go back home to Omaha now?”

Cindy knelt down in front of Krissy and pulled her close to her, but the little girl wouldn’t yield. Her body remained rigid as her thin shoulders shook with deep, dry sobs. Still, no tears fell, and all Cindy could do was hold her tightly and mutter, “There, there, honey… there, there…”

All the while, Billy stood by, looking impatient and maybe a little more nervous than he wanted to let show as he scanned the front of the school building. After a time, Cindy glanced over Krissy’s shoulder at her wristwatch and saw that they were already five minutes late for the appointment. Taking a tissue from her purse, she leaned back and gently wiped Krissy’s eyes, then her own. It pained her deeply to see how much like her mother Krissy looked.

“It doesn’t look all that different from my school in Omaha,” Billy said, “And besides, I already know two kids who’ll be going here. Maybe I can ask to be in their class.”

“Maybe,” Cindy said as she stood up and took Krissy’s hand. The sudden rush of blood from her head made her dizzy, and tiny white spots zigzagged in front of her eyes.

“And Krissy,” she said, “I know you’re probably nervous as heck about starting first grade in a new place like this, but you have to trust me—I’m doing what I think is best for you because I love you.”

Krissy looked at her with a blank expression and didn’t reply, but Cindy was surprised to find no resistance from her as she led her up the asphalt walkway to the front door with Billy following along, a step or two behind.

One side of the double front doors was unlocked.

Cindy pulled on it, and a door swung open heavily. She held it open as Krissy and Billy entered. As soon as she stepped inside, and the door slammed shut behind her with a loud clang, the hot, stale air inside the building assaulted her, making the winding tension inside her worsen.

“This way, I guess,” she said, trying to sound confident and in control as she pointed to the red arrow sign with the word “Office,” pointing to the right. Neither child said a word as they walked down the corridor. The sound of their sneakers, squeaking like tiny mice on the freshly-waxed floor, soon got on Cindy’s nerves, but she said nothing.

“Now remember what I said,” she cautioned as they approached the closed office door. She looked through the wire-mesh window and saw an elderly-looking woman with gray hair, sitting behind the front desk. She was dressed conservatively in a dark blue dress and wore narrow reading glasses, which were perched on the tip of her nose. She smiled a silent greeting when Cindy rapped lightly on the door, then waved for her to enter.

Please, God, just get me through this! She forced a smile across her face and opened the office door. Swallowing noisily, she said, “Hello. You must be Mrs. Castine.”

“And you must be Mrs. Toland. Please. Come right in.”

4

By twelve o’clock Thursday afternoon, just about the same time Cindy was walking into Mrs. Castine’s office at Pine Knoll Elementary, Alex threw his packed duffel bags into the trunk of the car and took to the road, heading east on I-90. He was determined to make the trip to Maine as fast as possible, so he drove fifteen to twenty miles per hour over the speed limit and planned to stay behind the steering wheel up to fourteen hours a day. He had considered flying to Maine and renting a car once he was there, but thought better of it, deciding that, just in case things got out of control—and he knew there was a damned good chance they would!—he wanted as little record as possible that he had been in the state.

No, it was better this way, to play it cool.

It had been more than a month, now, since Cindy had stolen his kids away from him, and in that time, he’d had a lot to think about, lots to consider and plan. Over the years, he had never thought much about Cindy considering her nothing more than a royal pain in the ass, the way she hung around with Debbie so much, twisting her mind and, no doubt, turning her against him. But based on what little he knew about her, he suspected that she was probably shitting her pants with worry that he had already reported her to the police, and that the state police and FBI in all fifty states were on the lookout for her.

He liked that idea.

Yeah, let her worry her ass off!

A little pressure… Christ, no! A lot of pressure building up on her would be a damned good thing! He was going to make her pay.

Like her dip-shit husband, maybe she’d end up fucking-A dead! No matter what happened, he was going to tell her every detail about what he had done to her husband, and how he’d been waiting in a motel room for his whore to show up.

Ummm, yes, that was going to be sweet!

It would probably be the very last thing he told her before he killed her… if it came to that. He had killed plenty of men in Vietnam, so he knew he wouldn’t flinch at killing her when the time came.

No, that was going to be pleasure, if it came to that!

And, yeah, he thought over and over to himself as he drove the long, straight highway through the late-summer cornfields of Iowa. You can bet your goddamned ass I’m going to have one hell of a good time with this!

5

“Well… you see… we weren’t exactly sure where we were going to end up, and, unfortunately, the records we had from the school were in the car along with some other important papers when the car was stolen, and when it was finally returned—well, everything, of course, was gone.”

The words tumbled out of Cindy’s mouth in a gush, and all she could think was, Good Lord, I’m blowing this horribly! I’m making it sound all so rehearsed!

“My, my, that’s too bad,” Mrs. Castine said. She smiled, and the motion made the loose skin at the corners of her mouth stretch tightly. Cindy could see the individual pores in the woman’s wrinkled cheeks. “Of course, you must realize that we really have to have the children’s permanent records on file. I don’t know how they do it in your home state, but our policy is to never release the originals. Do you mean to tell me the school gave them to you?”

“Oh, no—no, these were just photocopies,” Cindy said, quickly recovering.

“Well, then,” Mrs. Castine said, “perhaps if you have the school’s telephone number in… Where was it you said you’re from?”

“Council Bluffs, Iowa,” Cindy said, horribly aware of the tremor in her voice. She wished to hell she had the lack of scruples to lie convincingly… or else the nerve to tell this Mrs. Castine the whole truth of their situation and hope she became an ally.

“Yes, Council Bluffs. Well, then, if you can give me the phone number for the school, our usual policy is to contact the office directly and request that they—”

“Oh, I’ve already called them and asked them to send me replacements—another set of photocopies, I mean. I should have them in—well, they said they would send them out no more than a week or two after school begins. That’s next week for us out there, too.”

In truth, she had no idea when school started for the kids in Omaha. This was just another one of those little things—like having photocopies, not the originals of the school records—which she hadn’t foreseen. If there were many more like that, she knew her story would crack.

“You know, I just feel so badly about this,” Cindy said, “but, well, like I said, we had no idea where we were going to end up. But this won’t hinder the kids being able to start school on time, though, will it?”

“Oh, no, of course it won’t,” Mrs. Castine said although the slight frown on her brow contradicted her words. “It’s just that, handling it this way is—well, a little bit out of the ordinary.”

She was still smiling benignly as she glanced from Krissy to Billy, then back to Cindy again, but all Cindy could see in her expression was a growing hint of suspicion.

Christ, she’s on to me! She knows I’m lying! she thought. Hell, I’d be suspicious, too, but at least I didn’t use the lame-o excuse that the school burned down with all their records in it. I dunno… maybe this is going to work!

“Well, then, if that’s the case, Mrs. Toland, I’d say, once you finish filling in those forms, the only other thing we have to do is pay a quick visit to Mrs. Lowry, and then you’re all set.”

“Mrs. Lowry?”

The cold lump that had been forming in the center of Cindy’s chest throughout this meeting got suddenly colder. Her hand holding the pen went suddenly numb.

“Yes, Mrs. Lowry. She’s the school nurse,” Mrs. Castine said as she pushed back her chair and stood up from her desk. “She’ll want to have the children’s immunization records on file and, perhaps, she’ll give them each a brief physical examination. Nothing exciting, just a quick check of their height and weight, maybe look down their throats.”

“Their immunization records—?” Cindy echoed hollowly.

Shit, this is it! This is the one goddamned thing I didn’t think of that’s gonna break me!

Mrs. Castine seemed not to notice Cindy’s reaction as she came around the side of the desk and said, “I do wish the teachers were here so your children could meet them, too, but our first teachers’ meeting isn’t until next Monday morning. Krissy—” She turned to the little girl, who had been standing silently beside the door throughout the interview. “I just know you’re going to love Ms. Remick. And Billy, I can’t make any promises, but I’ll see what I can do about putting you in the same class as Chris Russell and Michael Downing.” Then she turned to Cindy and added, “After we drop by Mrs. Lowry’s room, I can give you all a quick tour of the building so the children will have at least some idea where everything is.”

Cindy still hadn’t finished filling in the forms; her mind was still frozen on one thought—the immunization records. How was she going to get them? She looked up at Mrs. Castine, absolutely positive her face was sheet-white.

“But… but I don’t have their immunization records,” she said softly.

Mrs. Castine regarded her with one upraised eyebrow. Cold sweat ran down her sides from Cindy’s armpits, and the center of her stomach felt like it had turned to ice. She couldn’t take a deep enough breath. Suddenly she felt compelled to blurt out the whole truth to Mrs. Castine and let her handle it however she wanted to—or legally had to. Instead, she took a shallow breath and hoped, when she spoke, that her voice didn’t betray her.

“Those—uh, I had copies of their medical records in our car, too, and they were lost when it was stolen.”

“Well, then, it will be easy enough for us to contact your family doctor and ask him to send those records along. What was the name of your doctor back home?”

“Our doctor…” Cindy said softly as she stared down at her hand that was gripping the pen. She wanted to say that she had thought of that already, too, and had asked for a new set of records to be sent, but it was already too late; she had delayed too long.

“Yes, Mrs. Lowry will need the name of your family doctor so she can request the necessary information,” Mrs. Castine said. Her voice was still low and patient sounding, but Cindy was now absolutely convinced that the woman knew exactly what was going on, and that she would call the police the instant they left the school building.

“Oh, you mean Doctor Medford?” Billy piped in.

The whole time Cindy had been filling in the forms and talking with Mrs. Castine, he had been standing over by the bookshelves, looking at the assortment of sea shells that lined the cases. Cindy had assumed that he hadn’t been paying the slightest bit of attention to what the adults had been saying, but just then, she wanted to rush over and give him a gigantic hug and kiss.

“Yeah, sure, Doctor Medford,” Cindy said, her voice nothing but a weak echo of Billy’s as relief flooded through her. When she looked over at him, he made sure Mrs. Castine’s back was turned before giving her a quick smile and thumbs up signal.

Cindy vaguely remembered the time she had given Debbie and Billy a ride over to the doctor’s office to check out the sore throat he’d had for several days.

Billy couldn’t have been more than two or three years old at the time, so that would have been seven or eight years ago. She would never have dredged up that name without his help.

“And his office,” Mrs. Castine said, “that’s in Council Bluffs, too?”

She was leaning over her desk. Cindy could see that she had jotted down the name on a sheet of paper and was now poised to write down the phone number if Cindy could produce it.

“Uh—no, he’s in Omaha, right across the river,” Cindy said “Omaha and Council Bluffs are really one big city, you know, separated by the Missouri.”

She was frantically trying to remember what street the doctor’s office was on, but all she could recall was a sharp memory of the blustery winter day as she helped Debbie carry the sick boy into the doctor’s office. She remembered how the icy wind had blown harsh pellets of drifting snow across the parking lot and into their faces.

“I—you know, off hand I don’t remember the phone number. I should. Good Lord, with two kids, it seems like I’m calling the doctor every month with a runny nose or a sore throat or whatever. I’ll bet you I remember as soon as I’m back home, but—you know, with speed dial on the telephones now, it makes you forget the numbers you use all the time. If you can’t get the number from directory assistance, I can give his office a call later today and ask them to send the records along.”

Mrs. Castine placed her pen back on the desk and, looking like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how to phrase it, stared at Cindy intently for a moment. Cindy cringed beneath her gaze and hoped to hell that her nervousness wasn’t showing as much as she thought it was.

“No, I’m sure it’ll be fine if you just get the information from them and call me with it. I won’t be in all day tomorrow, but you can leave it with the secretary. Just make sure you call sometime before school starts, because I know Mrs. Lowry certainly won’t let them start school unless she has that information.”

“Oh, sure. No problem,” Cindy said. “Don’t worry. I’ll have it for you by Monday at the latest.”

She quickly finished filling in the forms and handed them over to Mrs. Castine. The top sheet had a wide, wet dimple where her sweaty hand had been resting on it. Her hands were shaking when she placed the pen back on the principal’s desk and stood up.

“Well, then, what do you say we drop by and see if Mrs. Lowry is back from lunch yet?” Mrs. Castine said. “After that, I’ll give you the fifty cent tour.”

“That’ll, be great,” Cindy said. Her voice still shook when she spoke. Her legs felt like rubber as she stood up and followed the woman and two children out into the hallway. Mrs. Castine walked beside Krissy, her hand resting gently on the little girl’s shoulder. Cindy and Billy followed a step or two behind them. As they went down the hallway, the children’s sneakers squeaking on the waxed floor, Cindy reached out and tapped Billy lightly on the shoulder. When he looked at her, she leaned close and whispered, “Hey, man, I owe you… Big-time!”

Chapter Thirteen

“I See the Moon”

Alex had been anxious as hell to dial the telephone number he had copied from Harry’s calendar, but—at least so far—he had been able to hold himself back. But what had been a mild agitation throughout the drive east became almost intolerable when, on Friday morning, he crossed the bridge from New Hampshire into Maine. All along, he had figured he would find a cheap hotel room and get situated in Portland before trying to find out where Cindy was; but as he drove north on the Maine Turnpike, he was unable to resist the temptation any longer. Just outside of Portland, he pulled off the highway at a rest stop, dropped a quarter into a pay phone, and dialed the number.

It rang at the other end five times.

He was starting to lose his patience, and was just about to hang up when someone—a woman—picked up the receiver and said, “Hello—?”

Jesus Christ, is that really her?

A damp sweat broke out over his entire body, and for an instant, he forgot all about the cover story he had cooked up. His grip on the receiver tightened painfully, and he took a quick sip of breath before speaking.

“Yes, hello. Is this 3171?”

As he spoke, he tightened the muscles in his neck, hoping to distort his voice enough so—if this really was Cindy—she wouldn’t recognize him.

“Yes,” the woman said hesitantly.

“And am I speaking to the lady of the household?”

“Yes,” she said. A growing hint of suspicion colored her voice.

“Well, congratulations! Your telephone number has come up in our weekly random drawing.” In the background, he could hear at least two kids, yelling at each other. “May I ask you, ma’am, are there any children in your household?”

“Well… umm, yes,” the woman said, sounding even more guarded.

Alex’s face suddenly flushed with anger. He hoped to hell this was Cindy, but he still wasn’t absolutely sure.

For all he knew, this could be another one of Harry’s whores who had moved away. Alex wished there was some way he could draw this woman out, get her to say a full sentence instead of only one or two word answers. He had certainly never associated with Cindy any more than he had to—mostly because he could never stand the silly bitch and the negative influence she had on his wife!—but he was positive, if he could just get her to say a complete sentence, he would know if this was really her or not.

“And may I ask how many children you have?”

“Well, uhh—one… only one,” the woman said. Her voice was clipped and tight, still not quite enough for Alex to place it.

Fucking shit! This has to be her!

His heart thumped heavily in his throat, and his gaze went unfocused as he stared past the pay phone mere inches from his face.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am—”

Oh shit! That was a little too Mid-western sounding!

“—but I thought I heard more than one child, talking there in the background.”

It sure as hell sounded to him just like the little bastards had sounded back at home!

“Anyway—now tell me, ma’am, you live in the Greater Portland Area, is that correct?”

“Excuse me, but could I ask what this is all about?” the woman said.

Her voice was still high and tight with tension. Whenever she spoke, Alex held his breath, frantically trying to place it; but still, all he could determine was, whoever she was, she certainly had a Mid-western accent. Christ, she sounded just like someone from back home. How many people in Maine had accents like this?

“Well, ma’am, my name’s Chip Johnson, and I represent the Universal Children’s Encyclopedia Library,” Alex said. “I’m pleased to inform you that your telephone number has come up in our weekly prize drawing.”

“Thank you, but I’m not—”

“This means that you’ve won a free copy of this year’s Universal Encyclopedia Science Yearbook and are now eligible for a drawing, with a grand prize of a complete set of the Universal Encyclopedia. What do you think about that, ma’am?”

“Excuse me, sir, but I’m really not interested,” the woman said. This time when she spoke, her voice was lower, with a bit more control in it.

Christ, if that doesn’t sound just like Cindy! It has to be her!

Alex flushed with excitement. He felt just like he had when, as a little boy fishing for catfish in the Missouri, he had felt a subtle tug on the end of his fish line.

Steady, now. Gotta reel her in nice ’n easy, now, he cautioned himself.

“If you’ll just let me explain what’s involved here, ma’am. You see, the Universal Science Yearbook alone is a thirty-five dollar value, and the deluxe edition of our encyclopedia is worth well over a thousand dollars. Now, you said you had children, correct?”

Let’s see if I can catch her up in a little lie here, he thought, smiling maliciously.

“Yes—uh, one child,” the woman replied, but, again, the nervous quaver tinged her voice. Alex could tell she was close to hanging up on him.

“Right… one,” Alex repeated. “Now, may I ask, is he or she of school age?”

“No, actually not yet,” the woman said. “She—she’s only three years old. Those—uh, children you hear in the background are some neighborhood kids who just stopped over to play with him—I mean, with her.”

“I see,” Alex said, smiling to himself. He was absolutely positive, now, that this was Cindy, and the paranoid bitch was lying through her teeth. The children he had heard squabbling in the background—and who now were silent, obviously hushed by Cindy’s angry signal—had to have been Billy and Krissy.

A cold anger stirred like a snake inside Alex, but he realized that it wasn’t so much from wanting to get his kids back as it was a desire to make Cindy pay for what she had done to him. All he had to do was keep her talking and soothe her suspicions, and he might eventually be able to draw her address out of her.

“I won’t take but a minute more of your time, ma’am,” Alex said, “but please let me explain.”

He had decided to go with his Mid-western accent, hoping that it would stir memories of home for Cindy and help lower her guard.

“You see, I’m working my way through college here in Maine. If I may say so without sounding too prying, you sound like you’re from out west somewhere, too. Do you mind if I ask where?”

“Well, I’m originally from… from Illinois,” the woman said. “My husband and I moved here some five years ago. Job related.”

Nice try, you fucking bitch! Alex thought, fully convinced now that this was Cindy.

“Well, you don’t say!” Alex said, pouring the accent on thick now. “Why, I’m from Illinois, myself. Do you mind if I ask what part of Illinois you’re from?”

“It’s—uh, it’s a little town you probably never even heard of, called—uh, called Blue Point.”

“Nope,” Alex said, “I can’t say as I’ve ever heard of that place. I’m from just outside of Chicago, myself.”

He was silently pleased that he had pushed her so hard she had to make up such an elaborate lie. For a moment, he considered playing this awhile longer just to see if he could trip her up, but he decided that it was best just to get her address and be done with her… for now.

“But maybe—you know, as one transplanted Mid-westerner to another—you’d allow me to stop by your house so I can show you just what the Universal Encyclopedia has to offer.”

She hesitated for a lengthening moment, and Alex couldn’t repress the rush of almost sexual pleasure that filled him when he thought about the things he could do to her.

She’s gonna go for it! Jesus Christ! She’s gonna bite!

“No, I—I’m sorry,” she finally said. The tight control had come back to her voice, and her distanced tone of voice filled Alex with rage. “My child’s too young for something like that, and I’m really not interested.”

“Well, then, why don’t you give me your address so’s I can at least send you your free Science Yearbook. It’s loaded with interesting articles and contains a complete yearly account of the latest discoveries in medicine, astronomy, and all the other sciences. You might find some of these articles interesting yourself.”

“No. Thank you, but no,” the woman said, her voice even steelier.

A flash of anger filled Alex, and for a dizzying instant, he was tempted to reveal to her exactly who he was and let her know that he knew where she was, and he was coming to get her and the kids!

But he took a deep breath and let that feeling pass, knowing that it would be foolish, after coming this far, to blow it with a single phone call. She’d be packed and on the run again, and he’d have a hell of a time trying to run her down. No, he needed her to feel safe and secure so she would stay in one place. Besides, this was his first attempt to find out exactly where she was, not his last. Now that he knew from the exchange number he had dialed that she was staying somewhere in the Portland area, it was just a matter of time until he found her. Portland couldn’t be that big a city! He’d just have to come up with some other way to find out where she lived.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Well, ma’am, as one fellow Midwesterner to another, I’m real sorry that you’ve decided not to take advantage of this remarkable opportunity. Are you sure you won’t reconsider?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Thanks for calling, and—and good luck.”

“Why, thank you very much—” Alex said, and then he hung up. “— You fucking bitch!” he added through clenched teeth.

He still gripped the handle of the receiver tightly with one hand. His head was throbbing, and his vision blurred. His face felt flushed, and his body was slick with sweat as he exhaled noisily, leaned forward, and rested his head against the telephone, trying to compose himself.

He couldn’t stop thinking, Shit, I was so close… I was so fucking close!

His throat was constricted, and his breathing came in high and fast gulps. A hammering pulse filled his ears like the heavy pounding of horse’s hooves. He glanced around the parking lot to see if anyone was watching, and when he saw that the coast was clear, he clenched his fist into a tight ball and, grunting loudly, punched the glass window of the phone booth. A spider web of white lines shot out from the center of impact, but even after he punched the window three more times, shouting out his pent-up rage, he didn’t feel any better. Wave after wave of vibrating darkness folded over and around him like tumbling storm clouds flecked with exploding wires of white lightning.

Jesus H. Christ, I was so close!

He was so filled with anger, he knew he could easily kill someone just then, and he wished to God he had Cindy’s throat in his hands.

“I almost had her!” he shouted, so loud his throat felt like it ripped wide open. “I almost fucking HAD her!”

2

“Who was that? Billy asked, as he handed his Nintendo controller over to Krissy and turned to look at Cindy.

“Oh—no one… just an encyclopedia salesman,” she replied from her seat on the couch.

“Auugghhh! … Salesman!” Billy shouted, his face split by a wide grin as he repeated one of his favorite lines from the old “Pee Wee Herman Show”: “I’m going door to door to make you this incredible offer!”

Cindy smiled weakly as her mind churned over the phone conversation. Although she couldn’t quite place it, there had been something about the encyclopedia salesman—something in his tone of voice, something that bothered her.

Maybe simply hearing a voice that sounded so much like the way people spoke back home was what filled her with a sullen sense of loneliness and longing. It was probably nothing, she concluded, just something in the tone or pitch of that young man’s voice that had gotten to her. She didn’t like the way she had lied to him, but—obviously—she felt extremely protective about her privacy, and she certainly didn’t intend to reveal the truth about her situation to anyone, especially not a complete stranger.

In some way, although he’d had a pleasant enough voice and manner about him, there had definitely been that subtle pushiness she always associated with salesmen. Maybe that’s all it was that had set her off.

Maybe.

But for some reason, she sensed that it was more than that.

Something was eating away at nerves, making her feel jumpy and… threatened.

Panic rippled through her suddenly like an electric current. Her breathing came fast, and it burned her throat as if she had just finished running a couple of miles. The walls of the dingy, drab apartment started to squeeze in on her, like a steadily tightening grip. Her eyes darted around the apartment as though she suddenly knew she and the children were in grave danger, and she had to locate the nearest, fastest escape route. Her body was cold and tingling as she got up from the couch and began pacing back and forth across the living room floor. Krissy was too involved with the Nintendo game to notice, but she saw that Billy had registered her reaction and was watching her carefully.

“Is everything all right?” he asked. His voice had just an edge of tension to it, which he tried bravely to mask.

“Yes—yes, of course everything’s just fine,” she snapped.

“That wasn’t my father or the police or anything, was it?”

“No! Jesus Christ, I told you—”

Her face flushed bright red as she gripped her fists and shook them with pent-up frustration. Then she caught herself and, mentally chastising herself for losing her patience with him, commanded herself to calm down. It wasn’t fair to scare the children like this. She had to be the adult in this situation; she had to remain in control.

“No, honest-to-God, Billy, it was just a telephone salesman,” she said, lowering her voice and trying at least to look relaxed. “He was just trying to hook me with a dumb sales gimmick. God, it irritates me, the way they do that! Come on, don’t think anything about it, okay?”

Still looking mildly perplexed, Billy nodded and turned back to his game.

Still, though, no matter what she advised Billy, Cindy couldn’t stop the twisting rushes of fear that were gripping her. Every time she glanced at the window, she more than half expected to see a grinning, leering face, staring in at her; and every time she glanced down the hallway, she expected to see something… She had no idea what—maybe a shambling, dark figure that was reaching out to grab her.

Jesus Christ, what’s the hell’s gotten into me? she thought frantically. Why am I so damn jumpy?

Still pacing back and forth, she released her fists and shook her hands in an attempt to get the circulation going again. She tried to inhale slowly and evenly, but her breath still hitched maddeningly in her chest, making it ache. Reaching behind her head, she pressed her hands against the back of her neck and rotated her head while she massaged the top of her spine.

“I… I guess I’ll take my shower now,” she said, her voice a fragile whisper. “You kids’ll be all right for a while, huh?”

“ ’Course we will,” Billy said, even though there was still a look of mild confusion in his eyes.

Krissy was too involved with her game to respond, so after checking to make sure the apartment door was locked, Cindy went down the hallway to the bathroom, undressed, and stepped into the shower.

The blast of warm water helped relax her a little, but as she shampooed her hair and lathered up, her mind kept turning over so many questions… questions to which she had no answers. By the time she was out of the shower and drying off, she had decided that it might not be such a bad idea if she went over and visited with Alice for a while. She still had no idea what had initially upset her so badly, whether it was the conversation with the encyclopedia salesman or something else eating away at her nerves, but she had reached one conclusion: she needed someone to talk to, someone to listen to her; and she decided that she would take the risk of telling Alice Crowther exactly what her situation was, if only so she could have a sympathetic listener she could trust.

3

“Directory assistance. What city please?”

“Yes, uh—in Portland, I need the telephone number for a Cindy—I mean, Cynthia Toland.”

“Just a minute, and I’ll check that for you, sir. Is that Toland with a ‘D’?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

“Umm, no, sir. I’m sorry, but I don’t seem to have a number listed for a person by that name. I have a Ronald and Sarah Toland, in Cape Elizabeth.”

“No, that’s not it. I think this would be a new listing, probably only a few weeks old.”

“Just a moment, and I’ll check the new listings for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Yes sir, there is a number listed for her, but I’m afraid it’s classified as unpublished at the owner’s request.”

“Oh, you mean you can’t give it to me?”

“No sir, I’m sorry. I can’t give out any information on that.”

“Even if I told you this was a family emergency?”

“That is correct, sir.”

“Well—uh, look, I realize this is a bit unusual, but I really need to contact Mrs. Toland. It’s a matter of extreme urgency.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but our policy is not to give out any unlisted telephone numbers. I’m sure you can understand that we can’t invade that person’s right to privacy.”

“Oh—oh. Hey, look at this. I just found a note here in my briefcase that has her phone number. It ends with 3171, right?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t verify that for you.”

“Listen, this is very important. I know those are the last four digits of the number, so could you at least give me her street address?”

“I told you—”

“Believe me, this person I’m trying to reach is in a very serious situation. I’m a lawyer, representing the execution of her uncle’s will. All I want to do is—”

“Unless this is a police emergency, I can’t do anything for you. I can connect you with a service representative if you’d like, but if you already have the number, why not try calling her yourself.”

“No, there’s a … I found a note attached to it from my secretary, saying that she has tried this number several times a day for the last week or two, and hasn’t gotten an answer. Look, I don’t have much time left.”

“Well, if you choose not to speak to a service rep, there’s really nothing I can do for you unless you want to get the police involved in this.”

“No, no, it’s not serious like that, but there’s a you see, there’s a financial situation that has come up, and I really have to get in touch with this person. She has been left some money—a very sizable amount of inheritance money from her uncle’s estate, and it’s frustrating that there appears to be no way I can get in touch with her.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but we are unable to release any information regarding unlisted telephone numbers. It’s that simple. The only thing I can do is turn you over to a service representative.”

“But this is a family emergency, don’t you see? All I have is this person’s name. I have to get in contact with her as soon as possible. Her absence is holding up the resolution of this matter. Are you sure you can’t—well, you know, bend the rules a little… just this one time?”

“Absolutely not, sir.”

“But this person stands to inherit better than one million dollars, that’s if I can get in touch with her within the next few days. Time’s running out, and I don’t have the time to go through a bunch of bureaucratic red tape!”

“I’m sorry, sir, but short of a court order to release this information, I can’t do a blessed thing for you. Believe me, I would if I could, but that’s—”

“Yeah, well then fuck you!”

“Thank you for calling… and have a nice day.”

4

After making sure the kids were settled in bed, Cindy left the apartment door open and went over to Alice’s apartment. They sat side by side on the couch in Alice’s living room and, over the course of two hours and several glasses of red wine, she unloaded everything on Alice—her conviction that Debbie had been murdered by her husband, her worries that she still hadn’t heard from her husband and what it could mean, and her fears for the safety of the children, especially from their abusive father, whom she was convinced still wanted to get them away from her.

Alice, for her part, listened intently, adding little and letting Cindy say anything she needed to say and cry whenever the emotions raging inside her got too intense. They cried and hugged, and Cindy found herself expressing some of her deepest, darkest thoughts. Sometime before midnight, feeling emotionally and physically drained, she got up to leave.

“I—you just can’t believe how good it feels to… you know, to get all this stuff out in the open like this,” she said.

Her body was shaking, and she almost couldn’t stand. Her eyes were burning from crying so much over the past two hours, but she wiped her cheeks and forced a wide smile.

“Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?” Alice said softly. She took a step closer and placed her hand gently on Cindy’s shoulder, giving her a bracing squeeze.

“No, I know… it’s just been such a… such a burden, carrying it around, all bottled up inside myself, you know?” Cindy said. She sighed heavily and, covering Alice’s hand with hers, returned her affectionate squeeze. “Thanks for listening.”

Alice smiled and said, “Hey, who knows? Maybe someday I’ll come knocking on your door, asking you to listen to me while I unload.”

“Believe me, I will,” Cindy said, but even as she said it, she realized with an aching touch of sadness that chances were she never would; it might be a matter of weeks or maybe only days before she and the kids had to up and move again. She knew she was leaving an obvious trail behind her. All her life, she had been a law-abiding citizen, so she had no idea how to “disappear.” It wouldn’t take much determined effort on the part of the police or FBI to find her. It was just a matter of time before someone found her.

“You just take care of yourself, now, you hear?” Alice said.

Cindy nodded.

“And any time you want to talk—I don’t give a damn what time it is, you know my door is always open, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Cindy said, looking down at the floor.

“I said, right?”

“Yeah,” Cindy replied, nodding. “Right.”

She turned away, wanting desperately to avoid eye contact with Alice because she knew, the instant she looked into her eyes, she would break down all over again. Biting her lower lip and keeping her head bowed, she started for the door.

“Hey, I really mean it,” Alice said.

Cindy chanced a quick glance at her and saw her new friend’s smile had blended into a hard, serious line.

“Thanks,” she said, taking a deep breath and holding it a moment. “Thanks a lot for… just for listening.”

“It’s important, sometimes, just to listen,” Alice said, smiling gently as she waved before Cindy left, closing the door gently behind her.

But Cindy didn’t feel very much better. As she walked the short distance across the hall to her own apartment and went inside, the sense of impending doom that filled her was almost overwhelming. Her breath came in high, short gasps, and a cold sweat slicked her back as she eased the door shut behind her and locked it. The apartment was dark except for the faint, lemon glow of the night light they kept on in the bathroom at the end of the hall. Cindy felt for the wall switch until she found it and flipped it up, but the overhead light didn’t come on.

“Shit!” she muttered, flicking the switch rapidly up and down several more times. “The damned bulb must be burned out.”

Stretching her hands out in front of her and feeling her way with her foot, she made it through the darkened living room over to the table light beside the couch. After a few tense moments of fumbling around blindly for the switch, she found it and turned it on. The sudden blast of light stung her eyes, making her feel all the more like all she wanted to do—all she was capable of doing—was to cry some more. It had truly been a relief to tell Alice everything, and she appreciated the open, honest friendship of this woman she barely knew; but still, she realized that nothing had changed substantially. Regardless of the circumstances, she was still a kidnapper who was no doubt wanted by the FBI by now.

She considered having another glass of wine alone before heading off to bed, but her head was spinning enough, and she didn’t want to have to deal with a hangover in the morning, so she turned the light off and started down the hallway to her bedroom. As she passed Krissy’s bedroom on the right, she eased the door open and peeked inside. A wash of blue light from the streetlight outside was cut into parallel bands by the Levelor blinds. It made a zebra pattern on the foot of Krissy’s bed, and she could see the dark lump of the little girl, tucked underneath the covers, right where she had left her. Cindy cocked her head to one side and, holding her breath, waited, listening for the faint rustle of the sleeping girl’s breath. For a second or two, when she didn’t hear it, a mild jolt of tension went through her, but then, just at the edge of hearing, there was a long, slow hissing of breath, in and out… in and out.

“Sleep well, little darlin’,” Cindy whispered before shutting the door quietly.

She turned and had just started down the hallway when she noticed a wash of blue light coming from underneath the bottom edge of Billy’s bedroom door. It angled across the carpet, raising the cloth texture into sharp, detailed relief.

What the hell, is he still awake in there? she wondered, halting in her tracks outside the door.

As she stared at the glow of light, it seemed almost to pulsate, getting stronger as it shifted slowly to the left.

Sharp angles of light swept across the floor, making shadows stretch out like long, black spikes. Even the tiniest bulge in the carpet showed. After a moment, the shadows began to swing back the other way as the light moved to the right.

Cindy’s first impression was that a light bulb was moving slowly back and forth, swinging on the end of a long wire, but she knew Billy didn’t have anything like that in his room. There was just the overhead light and the small desk lamp he kept by his bed. She watched, concerned as the light moved back and forth, gradually picking up speed. For a panicky instant, the light shifting down by her feet made it look as though the floor was no longer substantial. The sensation was dizzying, almost nauseating. She shook her head and had to grab at the wall to help her maintain her balance, but her gaze was fixed on the black lines of shadow as they swayed back and forth from underneath the edge of Billy’s door.

What the hell’s going on in there? she wondered, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to open the door and see.

Holding her breath, she clenched her hand into a fist and was just about to knock on his door when, from inside the room, there came a low, keening cry that rose rapidly up the scale until it was a high screech of terror that drilled into her ears.

“h-h-h-e-e-e-l-L-L-P-P-P-P-M-M-M-E-E-E!”

In a flash, she spun the doorknob and, shouldering open the bedroom door, burst into the room. She was only vaguely aware that the shifting glow of blue light had vanished in the split-second between the time she opened the door and slapped on the wall switch.

“Billy! Billy!” she shouted. “Hey, it’s all right!”

She winced from the sudden blast of light from the overhead and the sharp sting of panic that filled her, vibrating every nerve and muscle.

Billy was sitting bolt upright on the bed, his face had gone pale, almost sheet white in spite of the summer tan he had gotten while playing outside with his new friends. His eyes were wide and staring, and his mouth hung open, a perfect, black circular “O.” His hands were clenched into fists that gripped the bed sheet and held it tightly against his thin, heaving chest.

Cindy rushed over to him and sat down on the edge of his bed, twisting around so she could hug him with both arms, but he was wild-eyed and frantic.

“Who are you? Where is she? What are you doing here? How’d you get in here?” he screamed so loud it sounded as if his throat was about to rip. Cindy hushed him, fearful that he would wake up his sister in the next room.

“Easy now, honey. Just take it easy,” she cooed. “It’s just me.”

But Billy either didn’t hear her or else he didn’t believe her. He shied away from her and started punching at her, his arms flailing wildly in front of him. The blows rained down on Cindy’s arms and shoulders, but he didn’t have enough force behind them to really hurt her. She pulled him even closer into her embrace and wouldn’t let him go until he calmed down. She stroked the hair behind his ear and whispered softly to him.

“Easy, now, honey… just take it easy now. I’m with you.”

His body felt like it was wound up to the breaking point. Violent tremors shook him and she could feel his muscles convulsing. His breathing whistled high and fast in his throat, like he was having an asthmatic attack.

Jesus Christ, what’s happening to him? Is he having a seizure or something?

“Leave me alone! What were you doing?” he said with only a slight measure of calm in his voice.

Cindy choked back her own panic as she clutched him closer to her. He continued to shudder, but the worst of it—whatever it was—seemed to be over. Second by second, she could feel his body unwinding as his breathing slowed.

“There… there,” she said soothingly. “You must have been having a bad dream.”

“No! I saw you there. You mean you weren’t—” His voice choked off as sharply as if someone were choking him.

“Don’t try to say anything,” Cindy said. “You were just having a bad dream.”

“No I wasn’t,” Billy said in a strangled whisper. “It wasn’t a dream. I saw—you were—there was someone here in my room with me.”

“No, it was just something you imagined.” Cindy said.

In the back of her mind, she was still wondering what might have caused that shifting blue light, but she pushed aside any such thoughts and concentrated only on soothing Billy.

After several seconds, he seemed to be completely awake, and he pulled himself out of Cindy’s hug. He looked at her, his face still pale and waxy looking, but there was a faint blush of color returning to his cheeks. It was his eyes—his eyes that drew Cindy’s attention and sent a ripple of fear through her. They were wide and glassy, staring as though he was still looking at whatever it was that had frightened him so badly. “Here, lemme get you a drink of water,” she said as she stood up from the bed. An old floorboard creaked underfoot, and the sound made her jump. “You… you’ll be all right here for a minute, won’t you?”

Billy bit his lower lip and nodded quickly. When he tried to say, “Sure,” all that came out of his mouth was a twisted, croaking sound.

Cindy left the room quickly and raced into the bathroom, where she let the water run until it was nice and cold before filling a paper cup. When she brought it back to Billy’s room, he took it from her and drank it down in two greedy gulps.

“Umm, that’s good,” he said, smacking his lips as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at her and forced a smile, but it wasn’t very convincing.

Cindy wasn’t sure what to do next, and she felt ridiculously helpless. Over the past several weeks, she had gotten them all over some major hurdles, yet now she was at a loss in handling a “typical” childhood problem like a nightmare. Should she ask him what his dream was? Or should she just let it drop and not remind him of it? Probably the most important thing right now was to get him settled back to sleep. On the other hand, she had felt better after telling Alice everything, so she figured it might be best to get him to talk about it.

“So,” she said, once Billy appeared to be much more calm, “is it anything you want to talk about?”

Billy considered for a moment, his eyes clouding over as he looked past her, focusing on some middle distance. For an instant, it seemed to Cindy as though his face paled again, and his hands involuntarily clenched into fists, crushing the paper cup. A mystified expression filled his face. He wrinkled his mouth and squinted one eye as he thought.

“You… you didn’t come in here… I mean, into my room earlier tonight, did you?”

Cindy shook her head but didn’t say anything when she remembered the blue light she had seen shining from under his door. It was strange—now she wasn’t sure about seeing that light, as if it hadn’t been there at all. “No, I was just heading to bed myself. I was right outside your door when you called out.”

Billy’s mouth twisted into a sideways curl as he reflected silently for a moment.

“No, I … I don’t know,” he said in a low, hushed voice, almost as though he were afraid that someone else might overhear him. “I— It must have been a dream, but it seemed so… so real.”

“What seemed so real?” Cindy asked as worry filled her with a dull, throbbing ache.

Billy shook his head as though mystified. “I dunno… I mean, I thought it was you who was in here, but I know there was someone here… a lady, I think, and she—” He shook his head and raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know, she was, like, leaning over my bed and singing… singing a song to me.”

Cindy smiled tightly. “It must have been a dream because I was standing right outside your door, honey, and honest to God, I didn’t hear a thing.”

But I did SEE something! she thought, and the surge of fear winding up inside her got suddenly stronger. I sure as hell saw SOMETHING!

She wanted to believe that it had just been a light coming from outside—maybe just a passing police car with its flashers on, or a streetlight, or maybe just moonlight—but she wasn’t convinced. How could any light from outside the building have come in at such a low angle that it would shine underneath the door and clear across the hallway floor? And the way it had shifted back and forth. She knew there was no light in Billy’s room that could have shined like that, not with that weird, blue glow.

“It … it was a song,” Billy said. “I … I don’t really know what it was, but it seemed like—I dunno, kinda familiar, like… like.” He shook his head in exasperation. “Jeeze, I dunno.”

“Well, what was the song?” Cindy asked.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, she felt incredibly dissociated from herself and was surprised that she could speak at all. Chills ran up and down her back like the lingering touch of cold fingers.

Again, Billy shook his head and, looking past—or through—her, he started singing in a high, fragile voice that was surprisingly on key.

“ ‘I see the moon, and the moon sees me. I see its light shining down on me—’ ”

By the third line, Cindy joined in. Making no attempt to harmonize with him, she just sang along in a childlike, sing-song voice.

“ ‘Somewhere I know in the deep dark night. Someone shines on me with a guiding light.’ ”

As Cindy sang with him, tears suddenly filled her eyes, burning before they started streaming down her cheeks. Caught in a sudden rush of emotion, she leaned forward and hugged Billy, holding him so tightly she almost squeezed the air out of him. Strong rushes of emotion filled her as the words and tune brought back vivid childhood memories of herself and her sister, listening as their grandmother sang this song to them and rocked them back and forth in her creaking old rocking chair. Cindy even experienced a strong memory of smells, a combination of aromas she hadn’t sensed in such a long time—rose-scented powder, the lingering aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, and the fresh-air smell of clothes that had been dried outside on a clothesline. All of these smells she associated with her grandmother’s house.

“That was… that was mine and your mother’s favorite song back when we were kids,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. She sat back and stared up at the ceiling for a moment, wiping away her tears with the flats of both hands. “Our grandmother—Grammy Clayton—used to sit us in her rocking chair and sing that to us whenever we’d sleep over at her house.”

Billy sat there in bed and watched her silently for a moment. Then, almost as if he was embarrassed that she was crying in front of him, he cleared his throat and, bracing himself, said, “Yeah, well, I don’t remember my mom ever singing it to me when I was little.”

After a moment, Cindy caught herself and, looking at him squarely, said, “Well, then, I guess you must have heard it somewhere else.”

“Umm,” Billy replied, frowning as he looked at her. “I guess so.”

She glanced at her wristwatch. “Good Lord, it’s way past midnight. It’s time for you to settle down and get some sleep.”

Her hands were trembling, but she hoped Billy didn’t notice as she fluffed up his pillow and slid him back under his covers. In spite of the warm night air, she tucked him in cozily with the blanket pulled up under his chin. She glanced quickly at the window, hoping to see something outside that could have caused that glow of blue light; but the shade was drawn down to the sill. After kissing Billy on the forehead and whispering a good night, she got up to leave the room.

“Uh, could you leave the light on… at least for a little while?” Billy asked.

“Sure thing,” Cindy said. “I’ll leave the door open a crack, too, if you want.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, nodding. He folded his hands across his chest, settled his head on the pillow, and, sighing deeply, closed his eyes.

Cindy watched him for a few seconds, then stepped out into the hall, easing the door halfway shut. As she walked down the hallway to her own bedroom she hummed “I See the Moon” softly to herself, but she wasn’t even conscious of doing it. Her mind was preoccupied, caught up in a turmoil of nostalgia and grief as she remembered fragments of her own lost childhood and her long-dead grandmother, and the more recent pain of the loss of her sister. For her, sleep didn’t come soon or easily. She was awake for several hours, lying on her side and staring at the soft yellow glow of light coming from the hallway as a confusion of thoughts filled her.

Chapter Fourteen

Off to School

It was early Wednesday morning, the first week of September and the first day of school.

The cold, hard knot of tension Billy usually felt in the pit of his stomach on the first day of school was worse than it had ever been… a lot worse. The skin on his fresh-washed face felt as tight as a drum, and his heart was racing so fast he could feel his pulse, throbbing in his neck as he followed Krissy and Aunt Cindy out to the car. He wanted to take a deep breath of the cool, autumn-crisp air, but it only made him shiver with apprehension.

Without a word, he slung his backpack onto the floor of the car, then slid into the back seat. Sighing heavily, he snapped the seat belt over his lap before Aunt Cindy had to remind him even once. After checking to see that both kids were belted, Aunt Cindy started up the car and backed out into the Street. Shadows from the maple trees along the driveway rippled like dark water over the hood of the car.

Other than Mike and Chris, the two friends he had already made in the neighborhood, he knew absolutely nobody at Pine Knoll Elementary. The principal, Mrs. Castine, sure as heck didn’t count. He was trying to remember where certain rooms were from the brief tour Mrs. Castine had given him of the school two weeks ago, but his mind was drawing nothing but blanks. He felt so nervous, he was afraid he’d be asking to go to the bathroom every fifteen minutes, but he didn’t even remember where the boys’ room was. He supposed he should feel at least some measure of security in having his aunt drive them to school, at least for this first day, but he didn’t like the idea. He thought it was going to make him look like a pansy, and he didn’t want any of the kids who might see him to start teasing the “new-kid.” Sure, Krissy would need a little help getting settled in her kindergarten class, but he wished to heaven his aunt had just let him walk to school with Chris and Mike, like they had planned.

Oh, well, he thought, maybe tomorrow.

But he had to get through today, first.

Pine Knoll Elementary!

Every time Billy phrased the name of the school in his mind, it sent a chill zipping through his gut. He stared blankly out the window as they drove up Coyne Street and took a right turn onto Fairmont Street. He ducked down below the edge of the car window when, up ahead, he saw Chris and Mike, walking with three other boys he didn’t recognize. He stayed out of sight until the boys were far behind.

Jeez… Pine Knoll Elementary!

A “little kids” school, as his buddies referred to it. Next year, they would all be starting at the Warren Middle School, on Forest Avenue. For some reason, his friends seemed to think that was a big deal, but Billy could just imagine the pit in his stomach that would cause.

But—God—this was bad enough.

Here he was, in Portland, Maine, more than a thousand miles away from his father, his friends, and the only home he had ever known. He was living with his Aunt Cindy, who had stolen him and his sister away from their father. And his mother had been dead for more than two months, now. He tried so hard never to think about her. The pain of losing her was like nothing else he had ever experienced. More nights than he would ever admit to anyone, he would lie awake in bed, crying his eyes out because he missed her so badly.

And the dreams…

The dreams he had about her were absolutely horrible! Sometimes she came to him in his dreams, looking all happy and glowing; but other times, her face would be peeling apart with rot and squirming with the maggots and bugs that were burrowing in her dead flesh. In spite of how miserable their family life had been—mostly because his father and mother seemed always to be yelling at each other, or them—he missed her and the slight sense of security he’d had at home. Living in a town where he knew only two other people sure as hell wasn’t any better!

But he knew he couldn’t let any of his feelings show to Aunt Cindy or Krissy or anyone! One of the few things his father had taught him, in between the yelling and the beatings, was that you can never let show how much you hurt… especially boys, because big boys don’t cry even when their drunk fathers punch them in the stomach so hard they puke.

Yeah, big boys don’t cry… except maybe late at night, when they miss their dead mother.

“Now, Billy, do you remember where to go?”

Aunt Cindy’s voice pulled him away from the downward spiral of his private thoughts. He looked out the window and almost fainted when he saw that she had turned into the school parking lot.

This is it. Showdown time! he thought with a bone-deep chill.

His body was stiff, almost unbendable as he leaned forward and picked up his backpack, placing it carefully on his lap. His right hand gripped the door handle as if he were going to snap the door open and start running even before the car stopped moving.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. I remember,” he said, cringing inwardly at the lie. “You—uh, you’re probably going to walk Krissy up to her classroom, aren’t you?”

“Well, we have plenty of time,” Aunt Cindy said. “I can help you find your room, too. It’s Mrs. Morrison’s class. Room number—”

“I know! I know where it is,” Billy snapped. “Room twelve.”

As soon as Aunt Cindy stopped the car, Billy unfastened the seat belt and popped the car door open. When his feet touched the pavement, he thought his legs were going to give out on him so for a moment he just stood there, staring up at the brick-fronted building. The sunlight stung his eyes, but he told himself that he wasn’t close to crying. And so what if he was? None of the school busses had arrived yet, and except for three kids way over on the swing set, there wasn’t anyone around to see him. He leaned down and glanced back inside the car at his aunt, who was fussing with Krissy’s hair. He waved to her and said, “Well, guess I’ll see yah later.”

“No, wait Billy,” Aunt Cindy said, looking over at him with an expression of concern. She got out and came around the front of the car, but he started up the walkway, hoping to put as much distance as he could between them.

“Billy! Wait!” Aunt Cindy called out.

He knew she wouldn’t leave Krissy alone in the car and start after him. She was going to be mad at him for this, she might even ground him from Nintendo or something, but he desperately wanted not to be seen with her.

“See you later,” he called out.

“School gets out at quarter past two,” Aunt Cindy yelled, cupping her hands to her mouth. “I’ll be in this same spot to pick you up, okay?”

Halfway up the walkway, Billy hesitated; then he turned around and looked at her. His voice felt like a hot coal, trapped inside his chest, but he shouted back to her, “Don’t worry. I’ll probably walk home with Chris and Mike.”

She started to say something else but fell silent when he turned and strode purposefully toward the front door of the school.

This is just like going to school back home, he told himself. At least Mike will be in the same class with me, so there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. Just handle it, and—whatever you do—don’t ever let anyone see how you really feel!

2

The seasons seemed to change from summer into autumn overnight. Alex figured that the August heat wave must have been keeping a pretty close eye on the calendar, because the day after Labor Day, an autumn chill tinged the air and dropped the temperature low enough so, at least early in the morning when he went out to his car, he could see his breath whenever he exhaled.

Every morning, after a leisurely breakfast at Denny’s, Alex would spend a good portion of his day driving around the city, just looking. Actually, Portland was quite a bit larger than he had expected it would be. It certainly wasn’t as built-up or as spread out as Omaha was, but it was damned big enough. On his first day’s excursion around town he had picked up a detailed street map of the city, but after a week of driving up and down every side street he could find he had pretty much given up hope of ever spotting Cindy or one of the kids by chance.

If only he could have gotten Cindy to tell him where she lived when he had called, pretending to be an encyclopedia salesman, or if only that by-the-book bitch at the telephone company had given him the address, then he wouldn’t have to be wasting his goddamned time like this.

He calmed down by telling himself that it was just a matter of time before he found them, and then it would be just a matter of time before he decided what to do with them. But he knew he had to come up with a better plan than just driving around, hoping to bump into them. There had to be something else he could do!

On Wednesday afternoon, while he was eating lunch at the Ground Round restaurant near the Maine Mall, he noticed a lot of mothers with their children and he overheard a couple of conversations—and arguments—about school clothes the kids wanted to buy but which the mothers said were either too expensive or too impractical. Three times, he heard almost the exact same sentence: “I’m certainly not going to spend that much for a pair of sneakers!” While he sat there, nursing his beer and munching on a burger, an idea suddenly struck him—

Back to school!

Jesus Christ, that’s it!

He didn’t know Cindy all that well, but if she was as nervous as he hoped she was, he figured she would try like hell to have everything appear as “normal” as possible with the kids, so no doubt she would have to register them for school. Debbie used to handle all the bullshit with school, so Alex couldn’t remember for sure, but he thought that Krissy might be starting kindergarten this year. Billy was probably entering fifth grade.

Alex realized that it wouldn’t be difficult to locate all the elementary schools in Portland. Then all he would have to do is stake out each school, maybe a day or two at a time so he wouldn’t draw anyone’s attention, and wait until he saw one of them. Simple as shit!

He’d get his kids back and maybe even get an opportunity to kick Cindy’s sorry ass.

He smiled a self-satisfied smile as he cleaned his plate and drained his beer. Then he paid his tab, leaving a generous tip because he was feeling so goddamned good about this idea, and walked out to the phone booth in the lobby. He looked up the School Department under the City of Portland, and tore out the page that listed each of the local schools. Then, as  precaution, he checked the map in the front of the directory and tore out the pages that listed the schools in each of the towns that surrounded Portland—South Portland, Scarborough, Westbrook, Gorham, and Falmouth.

Christ All-Mighty, maybe this is going to be easier than I thought!

He chuckled softly to himself as he folded the pages and jammed them into his jeans pocket, and then walked out into the bright September sunshine.

“Yes-sir-ee,” he said, having to struggle not to laugh out loud as he walked across the parking lot to his car. “This is going to be almost too fuckin’ easy!”

3

More than a week later, on a Friday afternoon in the second week of September, Alex was parked alongside the curb on Deering Avenue in front of Pine Knoll Elementary School when he saw her. The sky was gray and lowering, and a steady rain hissed like baby snakes against the windshield. He kept the car idling so the defroster would work, and every now and then he’d switch on the wipers to keep his view clear.

At first, he couldn’t believe his eyes, and he thought for a heart-dropping instant that he must have only imagined it was her. He’d only caught a glimpse of the side of her face, and after watching at three other schools through the end of last week and all this week, it hadn’t taken long for the throngs of school children to all start looking alike—especially when they were lost inside the shiny hoods of their raincoats.

Alex’s pulse started pounding heavily inside his head, and he was filled with a euphoric rush as he held his breath and, leaning forward over the steering wheel, watched the little girl. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head, not quite daring to believe that, after all this time and everything he’d been through, it really could be her. She was wearing a bright red raincoat and her face looked like a pale, full moon, peering out from inside the yellow-lined hood. A small, light purple knapsack was slung on her back as she moved down the walkway, the slowest in the swirling mass of kids who were pouring out the front doors and racing for the waiting school buses.

“Mother-fucker, “Alex whispered, unable to believe what he was seeing.

He felt a strong urge to get out of the car and run over there and grab her on the spot, but he fought it down. There was no reason to blow it now. If it wasn’t her… or even if it was, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be forced into doing anything hasty or stupid.

No, it had taken him this long to find her; he could wait it Out a little longer and make damned sure this was Krissy before he did anything.

His head moved slowly, like a robot, as he tracked the little girl, wishing desperately that he could get another look at her face.

“Come on, you little cunt, look this way. Look this way, Goddamnit!” he whispered in a tight, rattling voice.

The girl moved hesitantly down the walkway, and when she was halfway to the street, she suddenly stopped, frozen in her tracks. An expression of—what? confusion, concern, or something crossed her face as she turned around and scanned the idling cars that were lined up in front of the school. Anxious parents waited for their little darlings so they wouldn’t have to walk home in the rain. The little girl looked momentarily perplexed, as though someone she couldn’t see had called out to her. For a flashing instant, when her head turned and her gaze alighted on Alex’s car, he clearly saw her face again. A jolt of panic zapped through him.

Holy shit! … It is!… It is Krissy!

Alex felt a jolt of surprise when he recognized his daughter. His hand immediately went to the door handle, and he was about to get out of the car and run over to her, but then he checked himself.

No, goddamnit! Not yet! he thought, trembling as he stared at Krissy.

He knew he should feel at least a slight measure of relief to see that she was alive and all right, but instead of love, he felt a burning rush of anger, so hot and violent it almost choked him.

“You bitch,” he whispered. Narrowing his eyes, he squeezed his hands together and imagined that they were wrapped around Cindy’s throat. “I’ll get you now, you fucking bitch!”

Now, as he looked at Krissy, he felt no happiness or love, only a burning surge of anticipation, knowing that Cindy must be in the area. Now he could really start working to get even with her.

The girl continued to stare straight at the car, her eyes wide and unblinking. Masking his face with one hand, Alex slouched down behind the steering wheel, hoping to hell Krissy didn’t recognize him or the family car. But why had she stopped and looked over at him in the first place? Had the car drawn her attention, or was it something else?

Krissy hesitated only a moment longer, but it felt like long, dragging minutes to Alex as he watched his daughter shake her head as though dazed and then start walking again. With practically every other step, she would falter and look around expectantly, cocking her head from side to side as though listening for someone, but she kept moving in a straight line toward the powder blue Toyota Camry that was parked underneath a towering spruce tree across from the school. Alex could see a woman’s arm, waving through the half-open car window. Above the squeals and laughter of children happy to be out of school for the weekend, he thought he heard a voice calling out, “Hey, Krissy! Over here!”

Alex tried to see the woman’s face, but it was nothing more than a dark blur behind the rain-streaked windshield.

Then again, he didn’t have to see her. He knew damned-right well that it was Cindy!

“Yeah, you fucking bitch, I finally found you!” he whispered.

Leaning his head back, he let his voice wind up into a high, cackling squeal of laughter as he drummed his clenched fists on the steering wheel.

“Yes—yes—yes! I can’t fucking believe it, but I found you!”

Suddenly, he shook his head as though he had been doused with cold water. Gritting his teeth and realizing how important the next few minutes—or seconds would be, he forced himself to calm down. He would have to think clearly and not let himself get too carried away… not yet.

His grip on the steering wheel was so tight his hands began to ache as he waited, ready to drive the instant Cindy’s car started to move. His foot pumped the accelerator a few times, making the engine roar.

“Yeah, come on, come on, you bitch,” he whispered hoarsely. “Now all I gotta do is follow you home and you’re mine!”

Holding his breath until it burned in his chest, he eased the car into gear, but he kept his foot planted firmly on the brake pedal and waited.

“Yeah, and after that? After that— Well, we’ll just have to wait and see what happens after that!”

He watched as Krissy walked around the front of the car to the passenger’s side and got into the front seat. Cindy had swung the door open for her. Then the window on the driver’s side slid smoothly shut. Alex took a deep breath and held it. He was bubbling with tension as he waited to make his move, but Cindy’s car didn’t pull away from the curbside right away. There was no oncoming traffic, and the school buses hadn’t started leaving the schoolyard yet, so he was confused for a moment, wondering why she didn’t drive away. He hadn’t seen Billy. Did he go to this same school? If he wasn’t already in the car, maybe she was waiting for him.

“Come on, come on, come on!” he whispered. “Get your fucking ass moving.”

He flipped on the windshield wipers and jiggled his foot up and down on the brake pedal, anxious to get going, but still Cindy’s car didn’t move. A tingling thrill raced up between his shoulder blades, making him shiver. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles went bone white.

Goddamn, I’ve been waiting a long time for this! Too fucking long!

4

“Hey, what’s the matter, sweetie?” Cindy asked as she reached over to make sure Krissy’s seat belt was secure.

“Umm—nothing,” Krissy said, shrugging stiffly. She shivered slightly as she stared straight ahead at the front of the car.

After checking for pedestrians, Cindy snapped on her turn signal and pulled away from the curb. The little girl’s eyes jerked back and forth, keeping time with the steady slap-slap of windshield wipers. Streams of water were dripping from her raincoat and soaking into the car seat. Because she hadn’t taken off her backpack, she leaned forward in the seat and rested her hands on the dashboard.

“Well, you seem kind of… Did school go okay for you today?”

Krissy nodded and said, “Sure it did,” but there was an undercurrent of tension in her voice and manner that Cindy didn’t like.

Something was wrong.

“So, tell me—what did you do today? Did you do some artwork, or counting, or alphabet, or what?”

“Oh, Mrs. Remick read us a really neat story.”

“What was it about?”

“A pig that could dance.”

“Ummm. Do you remember the name of the book? Maybe we can find it at the library.”

Krissy shook her head tightly, but when Cindy glanced over at her, she had the impression that she wasn’t thinking about the dancing pig story at all.

“Anything else happen today?” Cindy asked.

“Well…” Krissy said, shifting uneasily in the seat. “I … I think I saw her again.” Her voice was hushed and had taken on a subtle edge that bothered Cindy.

“Who?”

“Her… She was there today.”

A ripple of nervousness went through Cindy, and as she approached the intersection where the crossing guard stood with her arms outstretched, she pressed down a little too hard on the brakes. Her tires hissed on the wet pavement, and for a heart-squeezing instant the rear end of the car started shifting around to one side, as though it were spinning out in snow, but she was going slow enough so the brakes held. As soon as the car was stopped, Cindy turned and looked at Krissy, but the little girl still hadn’t shifted her gaze away from the moving wiper blades.

Fighting to keep her voice steady, Cindy said, “Who are you talking about?” Unaccountably, a hard lump had formed in her throat, distorting her voice.

Krissy’s mouth opened, as if she were about to say more, but before she could, a flurry of motion caught Cindy’s attention as the crossing guard waved for her to move, probably because a line of school buses was waiting behind her. Cindy stepped down on the accelerator and darted across the intersection, withering guiltily under the harsh stare of the crossing guard.

5

A hard, burning lump formed in Alex’s chest when he had seen the Toyota’s left turn signal begin to blink. After waiting for a group of kids to pass by in front of her, Cindy had eased her car out into the street. Alex had watched her drive slowly up to the stop light at the intersection of Deering Avenue and Prospect Street, where a crossing guard—it looked like a dumpy old woman, lost inside a black, hooded slicker—had halted all of the traffic.

“Oh, shit!” Alex muttered when he realized the situation.

He stepped on the gas and pulled out into the road, cutting out in front of a dump truck that was coming up behind him. The whoosh of air brakes and the blast of a horn let him know of the driver’s response, but he resisted the urge to flip him the bird as he concentrated intensely on Cindy’s car. The angle was bad, but he thought he could see the Nebraska license plate on the back of the car.

Fuck everything else! I’m not gonna lose her now! he thought, angrily clutching the steering wheel.

The crossing guard waved the three cars in front of Alex through the intersection, but then she held up her arms, stopping him, and signaled for all of the traffic to stop while she crossed a group of kids, who had been waiting, huddled on the sidewalk. Once they had crossed safely, she motioned with a quick wave of her hand for Cindy to cross the intersection. Right behind her were three school buses, which coughed out thin plumes of blue exhaust as they started up.

Impotent with rage, Alex pounded his hands against the steering wheel. His vision blurred as he watched Cindy’s Toyota shoot up Prospect Street, off to his left. He was left sitting there at the intersection, feeling as conspicuous as a turd floating in a punchbowl. One of the school buses followed behind Cindy while the other two took a right hand turn onto Deering Avenue.

Alex snapped on his left turn signal, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Now he had a school bus between him and Cindy, and there was no way he could either pass the bus or else get around it by taking side roads. The best he could do was tag along behind the bus while it made each and every stop to drop off kids.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he screamed, feeling his face flush with blood.

He was filled with a sudden desire to pull out into the middle of the intersection, get out of his car, and pound the living piss out of the crossing guard for what she had done to him. Boiling with rage, he waited until the other two school buses had finished their turns. Then, smiling at him from underneath her shiny, black rain hood, the crossing guard waved for him to make his left turn onto Prospect Street—but it was already much too late. Cindy’s car was long gone. Alex was left with the haunting impression that she had never really been there at all, that he had imagined seeing Krissy and the Nebraska license plates on the Toyota. He knew he couldn’t catch up with her—not today, not without speeding; and that, like trying to pass a school bus, was something he didn’t want to do because it would no doubt draw the attention of the police.

Hissing noisily as he exhaled, he took the turn onto Prospect Street slowly. When he passed close beside the crossing guard, he smiled a twisted little smile as he glared out the driver’s window at her.
Then he shouted “Fuck you,” and flipped his middle finger up at her. She jerked her head back and stared at him, an expression of genuine surprise on her face. Her lips moved, but he didn’t hear whatever it was she said. Laughing grimly to himself, he stepped down hard on the accelerator and drove away, satisfied by the whining squeal his tires made on the rain-slick road.

6

“But what do you mean?” Cindy said as they cruised down Prospect Street. “Who was there? Did you have someone visit your class today?”

Krissy’s lips were pursed tightly as she shook her head and continued to stare out at the rain-slick road ahead. Her face looked unnaturally pale inside the cone of her raincoat hood. Her mouth moved as though she were trying to speak but something was restraining her.

“Tell me the truth, sweetie, everything’s going Okay at school, isn’t it?”

Krissy made a high, strangled noise in the back of her throat as she nodded.

“So what’s bothering you? I can tell there’s something bothering you.”

“It’s just… seeing her, just now… She was outside the school.”

“Who do you mean? Who was outside the school?” Cindy said. The tightness around her own throat seemed to be getting worse.

For a moment, Krissy didn’t answer. Her lower lip started to tremble, and her eyes misted over as though she was about to cry. The surge of torment Cindy saw raging inside the little girl almost broke her heart.

“You can tell me all about it, you know,” she said, resting one hand on Krissy’s shoulder and giving her a reassuring squeeze.

“Well… when I was coming down the walkway, I … I thought I heard someone call to me,” Krissy said in a high trembling whisper. “A couple of times, she—someone called out my name.”

“I was waving and yelling to you,” Cindy said as she slowed for the right hand turn onto a side street that would bring her to Coyne Street.

“No, before that,” Krissy said, “as soon as I came out the front door. And when I looked up at the road, just past the flag pole, she—she was there.”

“Who was there?” Cindy shouted, no longer able to keep the worried edge out of her voice.

Krissy hesitated a moment and took a shuddering breath as though she dreaded what she was about to say. A strong shiver shook her thin shoulders. Her hands, resting on the dashboard, curled, and her stubby little fingernails pressed into the dashboard padding.

“The blue lady.”

“The blue—”

That was all Cindy could say before her throat closed off. Although it had been weeks ago, back when they were still on the road, heading to Maine, that Krissy had said anything about her, somehow it didn’t surprise Cindy that she would mention her again. In a strange way, this blue lady—whatever kind-of imaginary thing she might be—seemed to have become an unspoken presence in their lives, something that had never gone away since that night in the motel.

“She was… was standing there in the grass, up by the street… right next to where one of the cars was parked there.”

“And you saw her? You know for sure it was her?”

Biting her lower lip, Krissy nodded.

“Well, what did she look like?”

“Like she always does,” Krissy replied simply, but there was a hushed, awed tone in her voice.

For some reason, Cindy had the distinct impression that Krissy had seen the blue lady more times than she had told her. A tingling thrill ran up her backbone, and she had to struggle to keep her voice steady.

“But this wasn’t just—you know, someone else’s mother, waiting to pick them up, was it?”

Krissy’s bite made her lower lip go bone white as she shook her head.

“No… no, I know what she—she was just… just standing there beside a blue car, watching me like she… like she had been waiting for me to come out or something.”

“Have you seen her often?” Cindy asked.

Krissy shrugged. “Sometimes… not much.”

“And did you see her face this time?” Cindy asked, remembering how, the only other time Krissy had mentioned this blue lady to her, she had said she didn’t recognize her.

Krissy shook her head tightly.

“No, I never really get to see her face ’cause it’s so so bright.” She let her withheld breath out in a long, whistling rush. “I never see her face very good, whenever I see her, but I—I know it’s her. She doesn’t look like ordinary people.”

“She doesn’t?”

Krissy shrugged and said nothing.

“Uh-huh. I see,” Cindy said after a long, uncomfortable silence. She was trying hard to ignore the cold rushes of panic that filled her, squeezing her heart.

Finally, Krissy took a breath and said, “But she’s never spoken to me before, you know, and when I … when she called my name, and I stopped and looked at her, she… she—”

For a terrifying instant, Krissy looked up at Cindy with the most horrified expression she had ever seen on anyone’s face. Her blue eyes were wide open and staring, glistening with tears. Her forehead, her whole face was sheet white and pinched with worry and a deep, unspoken fear. Her mouth was hanging open, down-turned into a frightening rictus that made Cindy think of what a dead person’s face must look like if they have died in horrible pain. Trembling with twisted, repressed emotion, Krissy looked as though she was either going to break down in tears or else start screaming.

Cindy’s first impulse was to pull over to the side of the road and hug the frightened little girl, enfold her in her arms and hold her close until she cried out everything that was eating away inside her. And although Krissy hadn’t been able to say it in so many words, Cindy knew exactly what was hurting her—it was the overwhelming sense of loss she felt for her dead mother and the frustration of not having any of the grown-up words even to begin to express what she was going through. Cindy knew this because she felt her own grief churning deep inside herself, gnawing away at her like a malignant disease. And she knew—like Krissy—she would never get over her sister’s death, especially considering the terrible way Debbie had died. It tormented her all the more to see such a precious little kid like Krissy—someone who looked so much like she remembered Debbie looking when she was a little girl—being forced to deal with something so painful, so unfathomable.

Jesus Christ, she thought, wanting to scream out loud herself. It just isn’t fair!

Cindy was suddenly fearful that there really might have been someone outside the school, someone who had been following them… someone who wanted to take Krissy and Billy away from her. Could it have been a woman from the state police or an FBI agent who had tried to contact Krissy?

“She just—just stood there, staring at you?” Cindy said. Her voice was high and tight, and almost broke on every syllable.

“No,” Krissy said, shuddering as she shook her head. Suddenly, her eyes widened even more and, twisting in her seat, she glanced over her shoulder as though she expected to see someone, either hiding in the back seat or else following behind them.

“No, she… she waved to me.”

Her voice and expression shattered like fragile glass. “She waved to me like she… like she wanted me to come with her!”

Chapter Fifteen

“and the moon sees me”

Alex was feeling smug and self-satisfied as he sat in the front seat of the van he had rented yesterday afternoon, following the fiasco in front of the school. The van was parked alongside the curb on Prospect Street, underneath a row of maple trees a little bit past the traffic light where that idiot of a crossing guard was stationed. He was slumped behind the steering wheel and couldn’t stop glancing from his watch to his rearview mirror. It was almost a quarter past two, and he was anxious as hell to see a certain little light blue Toyota Camry drive by.

The day before, when the rental agent had asked him for some identification, he had told her that he had lost his wallet, his license and all identification during his move to Maine. Pleading desperation, he had told her that he needed the van for only a few days—no more than a week, to move his family from the apartment they had rented to the house they had just bought.

Because the house was still under construction, he told her, he didn’t want to move everything all at once, so a larger moving van wouldn’t do. He had delivered his fabricated story with such earnest intensity—smooth bastard that he was!—that she had believed his every word. With the generous application of an extra twenty dollar bill, she had handed over the keys without asking to see any of the necessary identification.

The lousy weather had cleared out overnight, and it was a beautiful September afternoon. Autumn was coming in fast. During the day, the temperature was holding in the low sixties, but the last few nights had been cool, down into the forties. A blue jay was singing its raucous song from a nearby yard and from where Alex sat, he could see a splash of bright yellow maple leaves dancing in the stiff breeze that blew in off the ocean, which was not far away. Dappled shadows danced on the street and sidewalk, making everything look alive with vibrating energy. Alex had the window on the driver’s side halfway down as he inhaled the fresh, tangy air.

Umm, yes! Autumn in Maine! What a great fucking way to spend his vacation time!

After the frustration of losing track of Cindy the day before, Alex wasn’t about to let that happen again. He was parked just before the first turn, which was a right onto Almonte Street. Yesterday afternoon, after he had lost Cindy behind a squad of school buses and before he had gone to the rental agency, he had spent an hour or two driving up and down every side street in the immediate area. He figured Cindy and the kids must be renting a house or apartment nearby—otherwise, Krissy would no doubt have taken the school bus—but he didn’t see the Toyota. He guessed she must keep it parked inside a garage or out behind a building.

Then again, he thought, he hadn’t seen Billy yet, either. If he wasn’t going to the same school Krissy was, then he must either be bussing or walking to and from school.

No problem, though. It was just a matter of time before Alex found them all. Because he’d had the night to cool out about it, he was once again more in control and determined as all hell not to do anything in a hurry.

No, if things went the way he expected they would today, then he’d find out exactly where they were staying.

And after that…?

Well, he would have to hold back for at least a little while. Maybe he’d think of a few little things to do to throw her off-balance before he contacted her directly. He had no intention of letting her know who was after her, at least not right away. That would give him plenty of time, and he found it rather amusing, knowing that she had no fucking idea how fast her own time was ticking away.

But what about the kids? he wondered. What the fuck was he going to do about them once he got them back? It wasn’t like he was hoping they could ever go back home and live their lives peacefully, like nothing had happened. In fact, in the short time he had been on his own, he had discovered just how much of a pain in the ass his kids were. Maybe he should do something about them, too.

His fists clenched tightly, and he had to refrain from slamming them against the van window.

Why the fuck not? The kids sure as shit didn’t seem to be trying very hard to get away from their fucking aunt. If the little bastards had really wanted to get away from her, they could have phoned home anytime and told him where they were. Billy, especially, sure as hell knew the number.

Ah, fuck the kids! Alex thought as anger blurred his vision and made him shudder. He punched the steering wheel, making it vibrate.

Yeah, fuck ’em both! I’ll get ’em back, and after I deal with Cindy, I’ll worry about straightening out their little asses!

For now, he had to be content to take things a step at a time. Once, he found out where they were living, he would bide his time and think about a few little tricks he could pull. Nothing serious … at least not at first; just a little something so Cindy could start worrying a little more.

Alex was so swept up in a hot rush of anger, thinking about Cindy, that he didn’t notice the light blue car coming up the street until it was almost beside the van. It moved quickly and silently, like in a dream, with sunlight glinting white fire off the windshield. He never got a good, clear look at the driver—all he saw were two silhouettes, one adult and one child—but his pulse started racing when he saw the Nebraska license plate.

Stupid fucking bitch, he thought as he reached for the key in the ignition, doesn’t even have the fucking brains to try to change it!

His hand was shaking slightly as he started up the van and shifted into gear. There was no other oncoming traffic, so he eased out into the street without signalling, all the while keeping a steady watch on the blue Toyota. As he started off after her, he had to hold himself back from driving too fast and not keeping a safe distance between them.

“Come on, now, you little bitch. Let’s just see where you go,” he whispered, squinting as he followed her slowly down Prospect to a left turn onto Beacon Street. A hundred yards or so down Beacon, she took a right onto Coyne Street.

For a moment, Alex hesitated at the intersection, not daring to get any closer. If she was as paranoid as he thought she was, then she would no doubt notice if a van was tailing her. He waited until she was halfway down the street before making his turn, but he was immediately surprised when he saw the Camry pull into a driveway on the left side of the road, directly across from a brick-fronted church.

“Fuckin-A,” Alex whispered.

He pressed one hand hard against his mouth to contain the burst of laughter that threatened to break out of him. Holding his breath and mentally counting from one to ten so he could pace himself, he started slowly down the street. As he got closer to the large, white house, he rolled up the driver’s side window and leaned his back against his headrest, hoping to hell that Cindy wouldn’t chance to look up just as he was passing by. When he was at the foot of the driveway, he looked to the side, up into the driveway.

Jesus Christ! It IS her!

A freezing rush of elation filled him when he saw Cindy getting out of the car. Then a flash of burning white anger exploded inside his mind. His foot went automatically to the brake pedal, and it required an immense amount of willpower for him not to turn into the driveway and park right behind Cindy’s car. His vision got all blurry, and he was swept up by the murderous rage he directed straight at Cindy.

As he drove slowly past the driveway, the van started to drift toward the left side of the road as though it were caught in the grip of a huge magnet. Shaking his head and gritting his teeth, Alex jerked the steering wheel hard to the right in order to stay on his side of the road. He caught a quick glimpse of Krissy, who was already out of the car and running around toward the front of the building. The same light purple backpack she’d been wearing the day before bounced on her back with each step. For a flashing moment, Alex thought she looked like a kid who was thrilled to be out of school for the day, but then the expression on her face caught his attention. Tight anxiety pinched his daughter’s features as she stopped and directed her gaze straight at him. Their eyes seemed to connect, sending an electric spark arcing between them, but Krissy’s expression never wavered.

Alex froze.

His body went numb, and his hands clamped the steering wheel. The beat of a heavy, muffled pulse throbbed painfully in his ears. He wasn’t aware of anything except the expression of stark terror he had seen, for just a moment, on his daughter’s face. He considered it a miracle that he was able to continue driving slowly down the street to the stop light at the intersection with Forest Avenue. Unable to stop staring into the rearview mirror, he thoroughly expected to see Krissy and Cindy dart out into the road and watch as his van slowed for the right hand turn onto Forest Avenue. Had she seen him? Did she recognize him, in spite of his short hair and shaved mustache? Would she remember the type of van or the license plate number?

“I can’t fucking believe it,” he whispered as he glanced at his own reflection in the rearview and grinned crazily at himself.

As he took the turn heading toward Portland, his vacant gaze was drawn to the hazy city skyline. He realized that he hadn’t noticed what number the house was, but it didn’t matter. Its location was etched like burning lines of acid into his memory. All he wanted to do right now was find the nearest bar so he could have a beer or two to steady his nerves.

After that, he’d start thinking about what his next step would be.

2

The instant the telephone started ringing, Cindy’s eyes snapped open. Grunting softly, she reached out in the darkness and fumbled with the receiver, cutting off the phone’s bell in mind-ring. As she pressed the receiver to her ear, she glanced at her alarm clock and saw that it was almost two o’clock in the morning.

“Hello,” she said in a tremulous whisper. Her heart was punching high and fast in her chest, making her voice warble higher than normal.

“Hey, how ya doin’ there, sexy,” said a man’s voice. “Tell me, how you feelin’ tonight?”

“Who is this?” Cindy demanded, shifting to sit up in bed. The center of her stomach had gone stone cold, and a tight, choking sensation gripped her by the throat.

“Come on, you know damned right well who this is,” the man’s voice on the other end of the line said teasingly. “And d’you wanna know what?” He spoke with no pause, not allowing her to answer. “I’ve been thinkin’ about you, day after day… and night after night. Thinkin’ ’bout you a lot. Oh, yeah… I get so-o-o fucking horny just thinkin’ ’bout your cute little titties, I just might shoot my goo in my underpants right now.”

“I—I’m sorry,” Cindy stammered, fighting back an urge to slam the receiver down, “but I think you have the wrong number.” She knew she should just hang up on him, but she wanted to make it clear to whomever this was that he must have misdialed so he wouldn’t call her number again.

“Oh, shit, no! I know I’ve got the right number, all right,” the man’s voice said. He slurred his words, sounding more than a little bit drunk. “And you know, I’ve been layin’ ’round here in bed, feelin’ all hot and horny just thinkin’ ’bout what you ’n me could be doin’ together.”

“I—I’m really sorry, but you must have dialed the wrong number,” Cindy said. “What number were you trying to reach?”

She was fighting to keep her voice steady and firm so she wouldn’t give away just how afraid she was. She hoped to hell this person hadn’t dialed her number on purpose, and she mentally vowed, if he ever called a second time, to get her unlisted number changed.

“Oh, no, no, I don’t think so, ma’am,” said the man. “Why don’t you just lay back ’n play with yourself, ’n listen while I tell you what I plan to do with—”

Finally, Cindy could stand it no longer. Before she heard another word, she slammed the phone down so hard it made a loud clang. Trembling, she sat there in the dark for a long time, her face cupped in her hands.

At last she eased herself back down onto the bed and let the warm darkness enfold her, but her face was still burning with embarrassment. She wanted to erase the incident from her mind, but hearing that man talk like that, as gross as it had been, had immediately reminded her of just how long it had been since she had felt the loving touch of another human being. Thoughts of Harry and his obvious avoidance of her filled her with a cold, dull aching loneliness that was centered in her lower belly. She knew and accepted that their marriage was over. It had to be. He was just using the situation to abandon her and the kids.

Jesus Christ! Cindy thought as hot tears filled her eyes. She gripped her pillow and bit it, pressing it hard against her face. How could it have come to this? How could I have let my life turn out this way?

Breathing deeply and trying to relax, she ran her hands down the length of her body, flirting with the idea of rubbing herself to climax, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Missing Harry was one thing, but the way that man had spoken to her had disgusted her, making her think that any kind of sex right now would be dirty and degrading. But as she lay there in the dark, her vision pulsing in the hazy gloom of the room, she realized that there had also been something more… something else that didn’t seem quite right.

For the longest time she couldn’t fix on what it might be, but then, like a stinging slap across the face, it hit her.

His voice!

There had been something disturbingly familiar about that man’s voice.

Cindy whimpered softly when she thought how—as crazy as it might seem—the man’s voice on the phone had reminded her of… of someone she knew.

But who?

The closest she could come up with was that he had sounded a little bit like the encyclopedia salesman, that young man working his way through college who had called her a few weeks ago.

Could it have been him, calling this late at night to harass her because she had turned down his prize and refused to give him her address? Had he somehow fixated on her and tonight, drunk on his ass, was calling just to get back at her?

“No,” Cindy whispered. “Why, that’s… that’s ridiculous.”

Sighing heavily, she rolled over onto her stomach and snuggled her face into her pillow. She tried her best to push the incident out of her mind, but as she drifted back off to sleep, the man and his throaty, suggestive voice teased and tantalized her.

Sometime before dawn, she had a frightening dream, but when she woke up the next morning, she couldn’t quite remember what it was.

3

“I see the moon…”

The dark bedroom filled with the sound of a long, rasping exhalation.

“And the moon sees me…”

Again, the darkness seemed to sigh.

“I see its light…”

But before the next line was sung, Krissy’s eyes snapped open.

In the brief, flickering moment as her eyesight adjusted to her surroundings, she stared blankly up at the dull gray ceiling. She had the momentary sensation that she was lying at the bottom of a lake, looking up at the surface of the water. A current of panic raced through her, and her breath felt like fire in her chest.

Krissy shifted in bed and, in a fragile whisper that broke on nearly every syllable, sang, “Shin-ing… down … on… me…”

She shifted in her bed and tensed, waiting to hear—someone else sing the next line, but the darkness and silence remained unbroken.

Gradually, Krissy saw the details of her bedroom resolve out of the gloom. The streetlight outside her window was sliced into bright blue bars of light that angled across the floor. She sat up in bed and cocked her head back and forth, momentarily confused as to where she was. Her eyes were wide open, rounded so they could take in more light. She could see the stark texture of the floorboards and, against the far wall, the dark bulk of her dresser and closet door. Everything around her seemed suspended in a murky, dark whirlpool that was familiar and, at the same time, scary.

Turning her head slowly to the side and hardly daring to breathe, Krissy blinked and rubbed her eyes before surveying the room. Her throat felt dry and raw. A thin sheen of sweat covered her forehead and gave her a mild chill. She was positive that she hadn’t dreamed hearing the voice that had been singing that song to her, and she had no doubt who it was.

Almost every night since they had moved into this apartment, Krissy would wake up in the middle of the night and see the blue lady. More often than not, she would simply be sitting on the edge of Krissy’s bed with her face turned away from Krissy as she brushed her hair and sang “I See the Moon.” Krissy could never tell if the glow that surrounded the lady came from her face or from the streetlight that shined through her bedroom window. The first few times she had seen her Krissy had been scared to death, too scared even to cry out or scream. She knew enough to know that this must be some kind of ghost, but—somehow—she wasn’t as scared of her as she thought she should be. After a while, the nightly visitations became almost routine, and Krissy realized that the blue lady, no matter what she was, wasn’t here to hurt her or even to scare her. A couple of times, once she got up her courage, Krissy even tried to speak to her, but no matter what she said, the blue lady simply continued to brush her hair and sing, her voice no more than a feathery whisper in the dark.

“Are you… here?” Krissy said in a tiny, frightened whisper.

She shifted her feet out from under the covers and onto the floor, continuing all the while to scan the room as she waited and listened to the silence that fluttered like the muffled sound of birds’ wings. She told herself not to be so scared, that the blue lady was her friend. Why else would she have been outside her school the other day, pointing at the car that looked exactly like her daddy’s car, which was parked up on the Street? And why else would she have seen her again today, right when she had gotten home from school? Although it had been almost impossible to see her in the bright glare of sunlight, for just a second or two, she had seen the blue lady standing right there in the middle of the street, in front of the church parking lot. She had looked all hazy and transparent, like the ripples in the air over a hot road. The one car that had passed by seemed to drive right through her. She had been holding one arm up as if she were pointing to something, but Krissy was grateful that, at least this time, she hadn’t waved to her like she wanted her to follow her someplace!

Several times, Krissy had wanted to talk to Aunt Cindy or Billy about it, but she knew—somehow—that it would be best if she kept all of this to herself, no matter how scared she might get. She knew that Aunt Cindy was already worried enough about what was happening to them, and she certainly didn’t want Billy teasing her about being a cry-baby. But more than that, she sensed that the blue lady didn’t want anyone else to know about her… not yet, at least.

No, Krissy knew she had to deal with this all by herself, no matter how scary it got.

She had no idea if other people saw things the way she did, and she wondered if she was normal or not. She remembered her mother reading her different stories about fairies and elves and other magical things, but she was pretty sure this wasn’t the same thing. She often thought—or hoped—that her blue lady wasn’t a ghost, but that she was some kind of guardian angel or saint or something. In fact, Krissy thought she looked quite a bit like the woman in the stained glass window in the church across the street, the one with the halo who was wearing a bright blue robe. She had asked Aunt Cindy about that lady, and her aunt had told her that it was the Virgin Mary. From the Sunday School class she had gone to while her mother was in church, Krissy knew that Mary had something to do with Christmas and the baby Jesus. Although her blue lady’s face shined with the same sort of light, like the halo around Mary’s stained-glass head, Krissy sensed that she wasn’t the Virgin Mary.

No, her blue lady usually just sat there on the edge of her bed in the dark bedroom, brushing her hair, softly singing “I See the Moon.” Krissy was positive the mother of Jesus had better things to do than something as silly and plain-old ordinary as that.

“Somewhere I know in the deep, dark night—”

The words came to Krissy with a soft, brushing sound out of the embracing darkness. A tingling thrill raced through her limbs. Her stomach started to ache like she had to go pee real bad. Her eyes widened as she looked at the foot of her bed, but the blue lady wasn’t there. Krissy glanced all around the room but she still couldn’t see anyone.

After clearing her throat, Krissy started singing in a halting, raspy breath, “Someone watches me with a guiding light.”

Wondering, as she had so many times before, if she might still be asleep and dreaming all of this, she covered her mouth with both hands, too frightened to move. The throb of her pulse in her neck felt like tiny fingers were trying to squeeze her throat shut. Slowly, she turned her head toward the window and saw her.

“Yes, you are here!” was all Krissy managed to say before her throat closed off with a loud click.

The glow of light from outside cut vertical lines across the floor. Although she cast no shadow, Krissy could see the vague outline of the lady standing over by the window. She wasn’t much more than a subtle blue glow that stood out against the dark slats of the closed blinds. She was leaning forward, the profile of her face edged by the streetlight as she looked outside. The glowing traces of her lips were moving up and down as though she was saying something, but Krissy couldn’t hear what it was over the sound of her heartbeat. It might have just been a trick of the light, but it certainly looked as though a silvery line of tears was streaming down the lady’s face.

“I… I knew you were here,” Krissy said, surprised by the high, strangled sound of her own voice. Again, as she had so many other nights before, she wondered if this could be a dream. She pinched herself on the back of the hand, just to make sure she was awake. It felt like a bee sting and made her hand go numb.

“What… what do you want?” Krissy asked. Her body was alive with pins ’n needles. “What are you looking at?”

The blue lady slowly turned her head and regarded Krissy with a steady, unblinking stare. The lady’s face looked so familiar it sent a jolt of surprise racing through Krissy, but she was too frightened to register who it was. She watched as shimmering tears streamed down over the woman’s cheeks, and she felt the lady’s sadness as deeply as if it were her own. Then slowly, dreamily, the blue lady raised her right hand and, curling her fingers in upon themselves, beckoned to Krissy while her left hand gently extended and pointed downward. It seemed almost to pass straight through the closed blinds without disturbing them.

“Wha—what is it?” Krissy asked, gasping. Her voice shook horribly, and the pressure of having to go pee became almost intolerable. “Is there… is there something outside you want me to see?”

Very subtly, the luminous figure slowly rotated its head up and down, all the while continuing to point and beckon.

Krissy stood up on legs that didn’t feel at all strong enough to support her. As she took a few tentative steps forward, her feet dragged over the floor as though they were encased in cement. All the while, her gaze was fixed on the blue lady, who seemed to be melting from view, blending into the narrow bars of light that shined in through the blinds. All around her, the darkness seemed to be vibrating with swirls of energy. Pinpoints of pale light blossomed and faded in sporadic bursts. Krissy thought she detected faint motions of other, darker figures moving against the blackness, and she thought she could hear faint whisperings, but she was too scared to stop and listen carefully as she moved steadily forward, her breath panting rapidly in and out.

I’ll be okay… I’ll be okay… She doesn’t want to hurl me, she kept telling herself, wishing she could cry out, so Aunt Cindy would come racing to her room. She doesn’t want to hurt me! She’s just trying to help. I can tell… I’ll be okay…I’ll be okay!

It struck her as strange how, the closer she got to the blue lady, the less distinct she became. Once Krissy was within arm’s reach of the window, the figure shimmered and faded away, filling the air around her with a soft, crackling hiss. Krissy’s hands were clammy and trembling as she reached out and gripped the pullstring of the blinds.

“I… see… the… moon…”

The high, lilting voice sounded close to Krissy’s ear, seemingly surrounding her like a soft blanket in the dark.

Never in her life had she wanted to scream more than at that moment… not even on that night last spring when she had heard her mother and father arguing downstairs and had come down to the kitchen and, hiding in the darkened doorway, had seen what her father was doing to her mother.

Terror like a pure, blinding white light began to fill her now, erasing every other thought in her mind. It looked and felt to her like someone else’s hand was tugging down on the pullstring. And as the blinds ran up, the sudden intensity of the streetlight nearly blinded Krissy. She took an involuntary step backward and almost fell, but somehow her grip on the pullstring helped her keep her balance.

“And… the… moon… sees…me…”

Her eyes were drawn irresistibly to the view outside her bedroom window. After her eyesight had adjusted, she saw that the light from the streetlamp was soft and glowing, casting everything with a pale blue luster. It looked almost like a skimming of fresh snow had covered the world. Down the Street, a few lights were still on in some buildings, but for the most part, it looked like a sleepy little town. Only on the horizon, above the trees that bordered the church parking lot, could Krissy see the jagged canyon-edged skyline of the city. No cars were moving on the street except for down at the intersection, where a police car was waiting for the traffic light to change to green.

What were you looking at? Krissy thought.

She desperately wanted to ask her question out loud, but the tightness hadn’t let go of her throat. She could hear herself gasping to take a deep breath. It sounded like the shuddering sobs she made after she had been crying a long time.

“I … see… its… light… shining… down…”

Krissy tensed, having no idea if she were hearing the words or if they were in her mind. Her gaze suddenly shifted upward to the wash of night sky, which had been turned a hazy charcoal gray by the distant city lights. High above the city, she could barely make out the faint sparkle of a few stars, but when she pressed her face against the glass and looked toward the front of the apartment building, she saw the thin crescent of moon, riding low in the sky above a drifting bank of clouds. It looked like a single, vicious horn. She felt her attention attracted to it, almost as if, were the window open, she would be able to spread her arms out wide and fly up into the sky.

“Somewhere… I … know… in … the… deep dark… night…”

God, this HAS to be a dream! she thought frantically. Please let me wake up now!

Krissy was only five years old, but she knew that it was impossible to fly. That was something only Peter Pan could do in the cartoon her aunt had rented for her last week. But that didn’t dispel the dizzying sensation that she had drifted out her bedroom window and was suspended high above the ground, looking down at the sleeping city. Her eyes filled with tears that made every pinpoint of light sparkle like a jewel. Reds, greens, blues, and yellows all shattered into bright, watery circles. Looking down from the moon to the street in front of the apartment building, she noticed several cars that were parked along the curbside. Straight down below the moon, caught in the dark, angled slash of shadow cast by the church, she saw a pale white van. It glowed in the night with an eerie greenish-white, looking like that scary “Glow-in-the-dark” skeleton Billy used to have hanging in his bedroom back home in Omaha.

Krissy felt an inexplicable shiver run through her when her gaze lighted on the black rectangle of the driver’s window. The streetlight reflected off it like sunlight off a frozen pond. Hissing whispers filled Krissy’s ears, but if any words were spoken she couldn’t quite make them out. She watched in mute horror as a dark shape shifted against the darkness inside the van.

Oh, my God! Is that a person? Is someone really sitting out there?

The burning need for air twisted inside her lungs, but no matter how hard or fast she breathed she couldn’t quite catch a deep enough breath. Her eyes were wide open circles that pulsed with her racing heart as she stared down at the van window and tried to pierce the darkness to see what—or who—was inside.

No, I must just be imagining it, she thought, wishing she had enough air in her lungs to scream. It’s just the light, playing tricks on my eyes.

An aching tiredness filled her, and she wanted nothing more than to go back to bed and forget everything.

“Someone … watches… me… with … a… guiding… light….”

Shivering wildly, she hugged herself tightly and stepped away from the window. Her knees almost buckled under her, but she steadied herself and felt her way, step by step, back to her bed. When the backs of her legs bumped into the mattress she flopped backwards, twisting around so she landed with her head on her pillow. The headboard bumped hard against the wall, and she wondered if the sound would wake up her aunt, but for long, tense seconds, the silence remained unbroken. Krissy strained to hear if the blue lady was still singing, but the night was quiet now.

No, there’s nobody out there! Krissy thought, trying to calm herself and still wishing desperately that she could call out to her aunt. There can’t be! That’s crazy! Who would stay outside all night, sitting in their car? No one would do something crazy like that!

But even as she thought this, she sensed that she was lying to herself. She knew she had seen something out there, and lying in the darkness, thinking about it now, she thought she now remembered actually seeing a face inside the van. It was squashed flat against the van’s window and looking up at her with eyes that glowed flat and dull in the glare of the streetlight. She whimpered softly, remembering the vacant stare she had seen in her mother’s eyes that night last spring after her father pushed her against the counter top.

And as hard as she tried not to, Krissy lay there in the dark, imagining that the face was still out there in the van window… still staring blankly up at her bedroom window and smiling hungrily at her.

Chapter Sixteen

Cat and Mouse

You stupid bastard! You stupid fucking bastard!

That was all Alex could think as he staggered, bleary-eyed and weak, into Denny’s on Brighton Avenue for breakfast. He’d been sitting in the van for most of the night, so his neck was stiff and his body felt like someone had tied it into a few dozen knots. A line of drool from the corner of his mouth had dried on his chin, leaving a thin crust that itched maddeningly even after he had rubbed it away.

It was a little before six o’clock in the morning as he sat down at the half-filled counter and ordered breakfast—two eggs over easy, bacon, juice, and toast. The waitress, her name tag said “Brenda,” poured him a cup of coffee. It scalded his throat when he took his first gulp, but he smiled to himself and smacked his lips. It made him feel almost half-alive.

When he thought about last night, though, at least the parts he could remember clearly, he started to feel really pissed. He couldn’t believe what he had done!

Once he was sure he had found where Cindy was living with the kids, he had stopped off at a place called the Great Lost Bear on Forest Avenue and had supper and a few—no, make that more than a few beers. On his way back to the motel near Exit 8 where he was staying, he picked up a twelve pack of Bud at the 7-Eleven. After he’d had a few more, too many to count, he had called up Cindy and talked to her. That must have been sometime around one or two o’clock in the morning. He couldn’t remember exactly what he had said to her, but he vaguely recalled teasing her, talking to her like they were lovers who were having a passionate, sexual affair. He chuckled, thinking about what he had really meant when he told her he’d been thinking about what he wanted to do to her. Then, once he was so drunk he was barely in control of what he was doing, he had actually driven over to her apartment and parked out on the street where he had continued drinking warm beer until he passed out, some time before dawn.

Christ, was that ever a fuckin’ stupid thing to do! What if Cindy had recognized his voice and now knew that he had found her?

Or what if the police had seen him parked there and had stopped to question him?

Or what if, once he was completely loaded, he had tried to drive back to the motel and had gotten into an accident or been pulled over for drunk driving?

Hell, the way he was feeling last night, he knew damned right well he would have punched the shit out of any cop who tried to hassle his ass.

Thankfully, none of those things had happened, and in the blood-shot light of day, he realized that what he had done last night had been completely asinine. He could have easily blown everything he’d been working for weeks to set up. As he took a second, more tentative sip of his coffee, he resolved not to drink any alcohol, at least not until he had settled his score with Cindy.

And then, by Jesus, he was going to go on one hell of a bender!

Now, however, all he felt was irritation.

His stomach was sour and queasy, roiling like a witch’s cauldron; his eyes felt like someone had doused them with battery acid; his head was pounding like a drop forge; and he couldn’t stop shaking as he held the warm mug with both hands and tried to take another sip of hot coffee. He knew the workers at Denny’s were used to seeing people in his condition—and worse, especially on weekends—but he was angry at himself because he didn’t want to do anything that would draw any undue attention. He could just imagine, if he was ever nailed for messing with Cindy, seeing Brenda on the evening news, snapping her gum as she spoke into the newscasters’ microphones, saying, “Oh, yeah, sure. I remember him. He used to come in here early in the morning, just about every day, looking like he’d been on a week-long binge. He always looked like trouble to me.”

No, if things were going to work out the way he wanted them to, he was going to have to start controlling himself better than he had last night, that’s all there was to it.

He glanced at his watch, thinking it was taking too damned long for his food to show up. He knew he wasn’t going to start feeling better until he had something in his stomach besides sour acid, but right now, the thought of swallowing even a bite of plain white toast made his stomach churn. Maybe what he should do was go back to the motel, chop down a handful of Turns, and get some sleep first. After all, he wasn’t on anyone’s timetable.

He decided to give Brenda another few minutes to get the food in front of him, mostly because he didn’t feel like getting up and walking out just yet. Groaning loudly, he closed his eyes and rotated his neck, trying to work out some of the kinks. Damn, he wished he’d thought to buy a bottle of aspirin before coming in here. Denny’s should be used to having customers with hangovers. Didn’t they have an aspirin dispenser somewhere? Maybe in the restrooms.

Yeah, the restrooms, Alex thought, suddenly aware of the aching pressure in his bladder.

He spun off the counter stool, surprised that his legs supported him as he headed for the men’s room. He took halting steps and dragged one hand along the wall to help him maintain his balance. Bursting through the bathroom door, he kicked it open so hard it slammed against the tile wall with a rumbling reverberation. The stab of bright fluorescent lights hurt his eyes. His vision swam as he looked at the array of open toilet stalls and smelled the sharp sting of disinfectant, which made the bile in his stomach kick up into his throat.

Oh, shit… oh, shit! I’m gonna puke!

Suddenly panicking, he lunged forward, trying to make it to the nearest toilet stall, but his stomach squeezed like a fist and a hot flood of vomit shot out of his mouth, splattering onto the tile floor. He twisted to one side, hoping at least to make it to the sink before the second wave came. He slipped in the wet puke and almost fell but, grabbing the edge of the counter, pulled himself up. Dizzying waves of nausea made him double over as another fountain of vomit spewed onto the floor.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! he thought.

Snorting loudly, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as hot flashes made a sheen of sweat break out over his face. He was trembling like a man with epilepsy and couldn’t believe what he was seeing when he looked into the mirror over the row of sinks and saw the pale, sick man reflected there. Nearly blind with misery, he fumbled to turn on the cold water faucet, but it was the kind that automatically shut off as soon as you let go of it. That may help save on the water bill, but there was no way he could fill his cupped hands to wash his face. Leaning down into the sink, he did his best to fill one hand and splash the water against his cheeks. He slurped up a mouthful or two of water, hoping it would wash away the sour taste in his mouth, but a third wave of sickness took hold of him, shaking him as a thin, yellowish fluid shot into the sink and splattered the counter top.

You fucking moron! he thought. He wished he’d had the sense not to drink so much last night or at least to go back to his motel room if he was going to be this bad off.

He leaned forward and, resting his head on his forearm, ran the water so he could flick it up into his face. Alternating waves of chills and fever shook his body, but now that his stomach was empty he did feel marginally better. At least there was nothing left in his stomach to spew out. He lost track of time and almost forgot about his breakfast, which must be on the counter by now, as he waited for his stomach to settle. The after taste in the back of his throat was terrible, but as he started to calm down he was filled with sudden violent surges of anger. He didn’t even consider why or against whom his anger was directed—whether it was at Cindy, his dead wife, his fucking children, or himself; all he knew was a blinding red rage that made him want to destroy something.

Sputtering, with water still dripping from his face, he straightened up and looked around the bathroom. The bright, clean tiles and empty toilet stalls seemed almost to mock him. He clenched his fists tightly and watched the veins in his arms fill with blood. Muscles and tendons stood out on his arms like knotted strands of rope. A low cry started to build inside him, and before he knew what he was doing he lunged forward and punched the mirror as hard as he could. It shattered and spilled broken glass onto the counter. Spinning around on his heel, he punched the door of the nearest stall. The impact sent a jolt of pain through his hand, but he was satisfied when he saw the cratered dent he made. Lashing out wildly, he kicked and punched his way down the line of stalls, not caring where his blows landed. The restroom echoed with deafening booms like pounding drum rolls as he flailed around, smashing anything he connected with. A spinning kick knocked the paper towel dispenser off the wall. It clattered on the floor, echoing as loud as a car accident.

The outburst didn’t last long, no more than half a minute. When it was over, Alex stood there in the middle of the restroom floor, leaning over with his hands on his knees and panting heavily as he scanned the damage he had done. He saw the gigantic spider-web crack in the mirror but didn’t even remember doing. Looking at his fists, he expected to see that they were bruised and bleeding from cut glass, but, except for a bone-deep ache, they seemed fine… for now. The pain might come later. The doors of the toilet stalls, especially the one closest to him, looked like someone had been pelting them with barrages of rocks. One door was hanging from a single hinge. There were streamers of toilet paper strewn all across the floor like there had been a ticker-tape celebration in the room.

“All right, goddamnit,” Alex whispered, wincing as he wiped the sweat from his upper lip on his forearm.

He went over to the sink and washed his face again as best he could, then dried himself with a handful of paper towels he picked up off the floor. His whole body was vibrating with tension as he started for the door, feeling equally exhilarated and close to physical collapse. He was mildly surprised that no one from the restaurant had heard what he was doing in there and had come in to investigate. Either they were all deaf, or else they were used to shit like that happening now and again.

What the fuck!

It didn’t matter.

As he stepped out into the hallway and headed back to the counter, Alex decided that he wasn’t very hungry. His plate of eggs and bacon sat steaming on the counter, but he simply nodded at Brenda and walked past her for the front door. Over the waitress’s shouted protests that he couldn’t stick her with his tab he went outside, got into the van, and drove away. He had decided that what he needed right now was about twelve hours of sleep, then he’d see what he wanted to do about Cindy.

And so what if he couldn’t go back to Denny’s any more. He was getting tired of their fucking food, anyway!

2

Now that school had started and the kids weren’t around the apartment for most of day Cindy had no idea what to do with herself. Every day, rain or shine, Billy chose to walk the mile or so to and from school with his friends, Chris and Michael. Rather than have Krissy ride the school bus, Cindy picked her up from school around two o’clock. That still gave her almost six hours a day where she had absolutely nothing to do. After the first full week of school, she realized that she could clean the apartment and do laundry only so much. Starting with the second week of school, she spent a lot of time shopping at the Maine Mall and wandering around downtown on Exchange Street, looking at all the quaint shops.

Although money wasn’t a problem—not yet, anyway—Cindy considered applying for a part time job, if only so she’d have something to do with her time. The biggest obstacle was that there was no way she would be able to supply references from her bank job back home in Omaha. She considered lying about her experience, saying that she had been out of the work force for the past ten years while she raised her children, and now that her youngest was in school all day she was ready to start a career. She also realized the best thing she could probably get would be a job bagging groceries at the local Shop ’n Save. Besides, it had been risky enough opening a bank account and renting the apartment under her own name; there was no sense in advertising who she was to the police or anyone else.

In all this time, she still hadn’t stopped thinking about Harry and wondering why she hadn’t heard from him. She had long ago given up trying to call and leave a message on his answering machine. His total silence confounded her. Even if he intended to abandon her he should at least have been in touch with her so they could begin divorce proceedings, if it had come to that. Didn’t he owe her that much? She just couldn’t believe that, after all the years they’d been together, he could just drop her without a word. Even if he was hurt or in some kind of serious trouble, maybe with the business, she expected that he would at least call or contact her somehow.

She wracked her brain trying to think of some way to get in touch with him, but everything she came up with seemed too risky. Contacting an old friend in the area was out of the question because she didn’t want to involve anyone, no matter how worried she was. She knew that he would have to sign for a registered letter if she sent one, but she didn’t want anything going to Omaha with her new address on it. She had considered asking Alice if she could use her name and address for such a letter, but after the night when she had unloaded her whole story on her, Cindy didn’t feel at all comfortable asking Alice to get any more involved. It was one thing to know what was going on, but quite another to ask for help with this complicated business.

No, as painful as it was, it was best to leave things as they were and just hope… yes, hope, even after this long, that he would eventually get in touch.

Friday morning started out chilly and foggy, but by eleven o’clock, the sun broke through, and a surprisingly warm current of Indian Summer heat blanketed the city. Cindy thought it might be fun to pack a lunch and drive out to Fort Williams, near Portland Headlight, for a picnic, but waves of loneliness rippled through her as she got ready. She found herself wishing that Alice wasn’t at work so she could invite her along, but she told herself that she had to get used to doing things by herself. Even if she ended up keeping Krissy and Billy until they grew up and moved away to college or whatever, she could see that they were starting to develop attachments here, lives of their own. She could almost envision them staying right here in Portland, making new lives for themselves—Cindy without her husband, and the kids without their mother and father. The pain of all of their losses would go away… eventually.

She drove across town and took Shore Road in Cape Elizabeth out to the lighthouse. With every mile, she felt her nervousness slowly unwinding. She kept telling herself to believe that everything was going to be all right; they had made it through the roughest part. Now all she had to do was wait a few months and then contact a lawyer so she could begin working to gain legal custody of Billy and Krissy.

Everything was going just fine, she told herself, even though a small whispering voice in the back of her mind told her not to believe it.

Summer, apparently, was giving one last strong kick before allowing Autumn to settle in. There weren’t many people at the park, only a few mothers with preschoolers and a few groups of men and women dressed in business suits and dresses, obviously taking advantage of the nice weather during their lunch hour. Cindy parked the car, took her lunch, and walked over to one of the picnic tables close to the, cliffs that looked down at the rocky shoreline. Having spent her entire life in the midwest, she was astounded by the power and beauty of the ocean. Close to the shore, strands of kelp and seaweed swayed in the green pull of the tide like loose tangles of hair. Further out, the ocean was a shade of brilliant blue that she was sure she had never seen before in her life. Small boats, mostly lobster and fishing boats mixed with a few pleasure crafts, dotted the inner harbor while far out to sea, moving imperceptibly along the horizon line, was the dim silhouette of what looked like an oil tanker. Seagulls wheeled high overhead, calling out their harsh cries as they were buffeted about like stringless kites in the strong, salty breeze that blew in off the water.

Cindy ate her lunch slowly and in silence, often closing her eyes and leaning her head back to allow the sunshine and fresh air to work at soothing her nerves. After she was finished, she threw her trash away and wandered along the network of narrow paths that wound through the thick stands of scrub pine, sumac, and wild roses that clung to the rocky cliffs. The chilly nights had already started to change the color of the leaves, so mixed in among the bright green were shocking explosions of bright yellows and fiery reds. Cindy found the damp, woodsy smell mixed with the ocean air unbelievably refreshing. She was surprised when she glanced at her watch and saw that she had already been here walking around for almost an hour. There was no hurry, but she would have to leave within the next half hour or soil she were going to be in time to pick up Krissy from school.

She followed the trail out to the crumbling ruins of the old fort, which commanded a beautiful view of Casco Bay. After looking around awhile, soaking in the view while trying hard to ignore the bright splashes of spray-painted graffiti, she hiked back up the slope to where she had left her car. Breathing heavily from the unaccustomed exertion, she started up her car and headed back through South Portland. The brief respite from her worries seemed to have passed by in a flash. In no time she could feel the familiar dark gloom pressing down around her, enveloping her like a blanket.

Jesus, this isn’t any good, she thought, sighing heavily and chewing on her lower lip as she drove. This isn’t good at all to let things get me so down… It’s not good for me or the kids.

She drove through Cape Elizabeth and South Portland, and was just rounding the long curve after crossing the Million Dollar Bridge into Portland when a loud thump sounded from underneath the car.

“Oh, shit!” she shouted.

For a split second, she thought she had hit something in the road that she hadn’t seen, but then she recognized the sound and realized it was a flat tire. The car swayed heavily around the turn, the steering wheel almost pulling from her grip, but she held onto it, fighting hard to keep it under control. For a terrifying instant, the guard rail loomed close, but in spite of the dragging pull, she negotiated the curve and pulled off the road into the first available space she saw. After shutting off the engine, she took the keys from the ignition, slid across the seat, and got out on the passenger’s side.

“Goddamnit!” she shouted once she was standing on the roadside and staring at the fiat. For a flickering instant, she felt a curious dissociation, as if this couldn’t really be happening to her; but there it was. The tire was squashed flat, looking like it had melted into the roadside.

Heaving a trembling sigh of frustration, she glanced at her watch and did a quick mental calculation. If she could get the tire changed within five or ten minutes, she’d still be on time to pick up Krissy. She wished she had a car phone so she could call the school and tell them what had happened. She swore again, louder, when she opened the trunk and saw that the spare tire was flat, too. Sputtering with anger, she hauled back and kicked the side of the car, denting it slightly.

“Goddamnit!”

She hadn’t fixed the spare since they’d gotten that flat tire on the turnpike several weeks ago, when they had first arrived in Maine. Now she wished she had a car phone so she could call a tow truck. She paused in thought for a minute, staring vacantly at the stream of cars zipping past her like comets. She wondered if she should just sit tight and wait for help to arrive—maybe a policeman or someone else would stop. Or maybe she should start walking and hope to find a nearby service station.

A sudden blast from a car’s horn drew her attention, making her yelp with surprise as she shook her head and looked around for the source. A white van had just come around the curve, moving slower than the rest of the traffic. Cindy squinted, unable to see the driver through the sunlight glaring off his windshield, but she saw a hand rise up and wave to her as if he recognized her. The brake lights flickered as if he were about to stop, so she waved, hoping this was the help she needed, but the driver—whoever he was—drove right past her, turned left at the next intersection, and was gone, leaving behind a thin haze of exhaust.

“Shit! Fuck! Damnit!” Cindy cried, raking her fingers through her hair in frustration. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

3

Krissy came slowly down the school walkway, her eyes flicking quickly back and forth as she scanned the schoolyard trying to spot her aunt’s car. All around her, laughing and yelling kids streamed from the school building to the buses and the cars that were waiting at the curb, but she didn’t see her aunt’s light blue one anywhere. On the street in front of the school, more cars and trucks whizzed by, their tires making loud tearing sounds on the road. As her tension mounted, everything seemed to start moving in dreamy slow-motion as Krissy’s hands clenched into fists and she looked around, expecting to see… something else—Like maybe the blue lady, she thought, feeling a clammy ripple go through her.

Is she around here somewhere?

Nervousness tightened her stomach as she looked around but still saw no trace of either her aunt or the blue lady. The knapsack kept bouncing against her lower back, making her realize how bad she had to go pee.

Once she got down to the sidewalk and was standing under the sparse shade of a spindly maple tree, she shaded her eyes with both hands, all the while looking around.

Come on… come ON!… She’s GOT to be here somewhere! she thought, but another voice whispering in the back of her mind told her—No, your aunt isn’t here… She’s left you stranded!

Krissy’s lower lip began to tremble, and a sharp stinging filled her eyes, making the sunlit world go all blurry. The sounds of the kids seemed to fade away almost to nothing. Her chest hurt with every breath she took as she stood there, wondering what to do next.

If she could only find Billy, he might let her walk home with him, she thought, but she was sure that by now, Billy was long gone with his friends. They usually burst out of school as soon as the bell rang and ran to Art’s Variety to buy soda and candy before heading home. She wished she could catch up with him, but he probably wouldn’t even allow his “little sister” to tag along with him and his friends anyway. Sometimes he could be so nice to her, but lately, ever since he’d made friends with those boys from the neighborhood, he’d been ignoring her a lot.

Of course, she could go back into the school and wait until Aunt Cindy showed up. She knew that would be the smart thing to do because she was sure her aunt didn’t really mean to leave her abandoned like this. No, Krissy thought, trying to hold back uglier, scarier thoughts, she must be out shopping or something and just lost track of the time, or else she’s stuck in traffic somewhere.

Her other choice was to start walking. Her aunt had been driving her back and forth to school for two weeks now, so she was pretty sure she knew the way home. Anyway, there were groups of kids heading that way now, so as long as she kept up with them she should be all right. And even if she didn’t recognize where she was, she could always ask a policeman for help.

Sucking in a deep breath, she squared the knapsack between her shoulders and headed out, running until she was only a few paces behind a group of five other kids, all older. The crossing guard smiled at her as she held up traffic and signaled her across the street.

There, see? Krissy told herself. Everyone around here’s nice and friendly. There’s nothing at all to worry about.

4

“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe it worked! It fuckin’-A! worked!”

After tooting his horn and waving at Cindy, Alex drummed his hands joyfully on the steering wheel as he slowed for the turn onto State Street. He told himself to be satisfied if all that resulted from Cindy’s flat tire was a mild case of aggravation for her today. If anything more happened as a result of it, well then, fine; but he cautioned himself not to get too excited. He had to hold himself back from speeding as he drove through Portland, heading toward Pine Knoll Elementary. There was no sense getting stopped by a cop now. If what he had in mind next worked out, that would be great; but if it didn’t… well, there was always another day.

Yesterday, after spending the previous day sobering up, he had gone over to Cindy’s apartment building to have a look around. He had parked on Lincoln Street, which runs parallel behind Coyne Street. Wearing a work suit and holding a clipboard so he would look like the electric company’s meter reader, he had gone to each house on the block, all the while checking out the area. Most of the houses were packed close together, with nothing more than postage stamp-sized yards. Less than half of the houses had garages. Some of the larger buildings which, at one time must have been private residences, had obviously been turned into apartment buildings, judging by the number of cars parked in most of the driveways. It was dangerous, he knew, to be sneaking around like this. He could see Cindy’s car parked in her driveway, so he knew she was home; but even if she didn’t notice him, someone else might and call the police. But he just wanted to get a quick lay of the land.

Behind Cindy’s apartment building was a garage that looked too decrepit to use. One wall sagged inward and was supported with rotten, unpainted wood. He didn’t see much inside the building from the quick glance he got through the spider web-encrusted window. A footpath went around behind the garage to Lincoln Street. Alex studied it for a moment, just in case he had to come this way to get away from the building fast some time.

After pretending to check the electric meters on Cindy’s building, he went over beside her parked car. On the ground by the garage, as if it had been placed there just for him to see, was a bent, rusty nail. Thinking quickly, he picked it up and then, bending down while pretending to be tying his shoelace, tried to wedge the point in between the treads of her tire. It kept falling out, so he finally gave up on it, but he had the idea now. He would stake her out and follow her around town. When and if the chance occurred, say when she was parked at the mall or whatever, he would drive a nail or screw into her tire so she’d get a blowout. Satisfied now that he had a plan, he straightened up and dusted off his clothes, then continued his leisurely stroll down the block back to where he had parked his van around the corner.

Then this morning, he had followed her out to Fort Williams. Once he was sure she was out of sight down by the water, he had driven a nail into her right rear tire and placed another one at an angle under it so it would go into the tire as soon as she backed out of her parking space.

And by Jesus, it had worked! He had been surprised and angry as hell to see her drive away without a problem, but one of the nails must have worked its way into the tire. Why else would she be pulled over off the road and looking so fucking pissed?

Yes-sir-ee, Alex thought joyfully, things just might be turning his way.

He drove down Forest Avenue, jiggling with impatience at each red light, and then turned left onto

Coyne Street. He drove up to Beacon and turned right onto Prospect Street. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was two o’clock. School must have let out now, and Krissy—poor, little Krissy!—would be left standing there, wondering when her aunt was going to show up. A wide smile tightened Alex’s face as he approached the twenty-five mile an hour school zone.

His foot touched the brakes, and he almost pulled over when, up ahead, he saw three boys racing down the sidewalk. Even at a distance, one of them looked like Billy, and as they drew closer, Alex saw his son for the first time since he’d been kidnapped from him. Again, though, just like when he had first seen Krissy, he was filled with anger instead of longing and love. This was the little son-of-a-bitch who could have called him or tried to get away from his aunt if he had really wanted to! But no, apparently he wanted to be with his Aunt Cindy more than he wanted to be with his real father. Well then, by Jesus, the little brat was going to suffer for it once he got ahold of him.

But right now wasn’t the time. Billy was with friends, and there was no way Alex was going to risk being seen by any witnesses. He took a good look at both of the boys with Billy, just in case he needed to find them again, and drove on.

“I’ll be back for you, you little shit,” he whispered as he watched the boys fade in the rearview mirror. “Maybe after I get your little sister, huh?”

He laughed and squeezed the steering wheel tightly when he saw the crossing guard up ahead, her hand raised as she signaled for him to stop. For a few seconds he was so focused, directing all of his hatred at the crossing guard, that he almost didn’t see Krissy as she scooted across the intersection a few steps behind a group of kids. Alex swore under his breath, knowing that he would have to turn around, but he told himself not to worry. He knew where she lived, and he knew that her aunt wasn’t going to be home… at least not for a while.

Hopefully, he would have enough time.

He whistled a tune between his teeth as he waited for the crossing guard to allow him to move. He drove straight across the intersection, turned around in the school driveway, and came back to where the crossing guard was again holding up traffic, this time so the fleet of loaded school buses could move out.

“Hey, no Sweat… no sweat at all,” Alex whispered.

He took a shallow gulp of air and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“There’s nothing to worry about… I’ve got plenty of time to catch up with her.”

5

Krissy stopped in her tracks the instant she spotted the blue lady, standing motionlessly underneath a large maple tree on the corner of Prospect and High Streets. Her feet appeared to be suspended several inches above the ground, and her body was shimmering in the flickering interplay of shadow and light like heat waves rippling up from a sun-baked road. She was staring straight at Krissy, her face radiating blue light as she raised one arm and, with a wide, sweeping gesture, pointed down the street in the opposite direction from which Krissy had been heading.

“No… no, tha—that’s not the way to go,” Krissy said in a high-pitched voice that almost broke with fright.

She glanced nervously over her shoulder and watched as the group of kids she had been following turned a corner and disappeared from sight, not even noticing that she had lagged behind.

“I… I know you probably won’t even talk to me,” Krissy said, her voice still barely above a whisper, “but if you’re trying to get me to go that way, I know it’s not the way my aunt goes when she drives me home.”

Sawing her teeth back and forth over her lower lip, Krissy mentally debated what to do next. She watched the luminous figure as it continued to point down the street, and once or twice, she thought she heard her name being whispered as softly as a passing breeze.

“No, I can’t do that,” Krissy said, shaking her head firmly. She was positive she was supposed to go straight down this street until she came to a stop sign; then she had to turn left and walk until she came to the street their apartment building was on. She knew she shouldn’t start wandering around Streets she didn’t know—she might get lost.

As she stared blankly back at the blue lady, the air around Krissy seemed to change. A sharp, stinging smell filled her nostrils, and a faint electrical current stirred the wispy hairs on her forearms. The back of her neck felt like someone was touching her with cold, clammy hands. She shivered even as she told herself that she didn’t have to be afraid of the blue lady. In fact, although she hardly ever mentioned her to her aunt anymore, she had actually come to accept the blue lady as part of her life now. Still, a trembling chill raced through her when she saw the translucent figure raise her other hand and slowly beckon for Krissy to follow.

“No, I—I can’t,” Krissy said, and then her throat closed off. She had to lick her lips and swallow before she could speak again. “I know that’s not the right way, and I’m not gonna come with you!”

She stamped her foot down hard as if she really meant what she said and clenched her hands into fists, but the hazy figure grew more insistent in its motions, waving its transparent arm almost angrily. The blue glow surrounding her seemed to throb with crackling energy.

Krissy had no choice but to obey. Almost against her will Krissy started moving forward, the toes of her shoes dragging on the asphalt sidewalk with a chattering scuff.

This is a big mistake! That’s not the right way, she thought, but she continued to move slowly forward as if she were drifting in a dream. Her eyes remained wide open and staring at the blue lady so much they hurt, but by the time she got to the street corner, the blue lady had faded from sight, thinning out like a passing shadow until she was simply no longer there.

Krissy paused beneath the maple tree for a moment. Her legs felt all rubbery, and she had to lock her knees to keep from falling down. She looked longingly back the way she had come, but then, for some reason, she felt a sudden jolt of panic and ducked quickly behind the maple tree, flattening herself against the rough bark. Her breath caught in her throat when she looked and saw a battered white van making its way slowly down the Street.

“Oh, my God!” Krissy whispered.

A wave of dizziness swept over her and almost dragged her under.

She couldn’t be sure, but it sure as heck looked like the same van that had been outside on the street in front of their apartment building a few nights ago.

Her throat constricted when Krissy remembered the face she had seen—Had she really seen it?—squashed flat against the window as the man in the van stared up at her. She remembered—or imagined—how his face had glowed as white as bone in the harsh glare of the streetlight. Panting rapidly, and close to crying, she hugged the tree trunk and cautiously peeked around the edge with only one eye open, tracking the van as it moved slowly down the street, heading toward the stop sign.

Oh, my God! Was he following me? she thought.

Her panic was as sharp and stinging as the cold edge of a razor blade.

Well, at least he didn’t see me… not so far, anyway!

She had no idea what to do next as she looked frantically around her. The bright sunlight made the street and the houses lining it vibrate with a scary intensity. Colors were so bright they hurt her eyes as they blended together like smeared paint. She didn’t know any of the neighbors, and no matter how scared she was, she certainly had enough street sense to know that she couldn’t trust just anyone who might happen by. She certainly couldn’t trust the man in that van!

So what was she going to do? Fear and indecision paralyzed her for several seconds.

Finally, realizing that she had no other options, she pushed herself away from the tree and started running down the street in the direction the blue lady indicated.

Who cares if I get lost? she thought as the wind tore into her face and burned her lungs. She wasn’t even aware that she was whimpering out loud with fear, but she didn’t stop running, and she didn’t care about the tears that were streaming down her face. All she knew was she had to get away from that man and make sure he didn’t see her.

Realizing that she had to get off the street in case he circled around the block looking for her, Krissy cut across somebody’s lawn to their backyard. Slowing her pace, she started wending her way between buildings, always keeping houses and hedges and gardens between her and the street. She was pretty sure she was still heading in the right direction to take her home, but time and again she found herself wishing that the blue lady would show up again and show her which way to go.

6

Cindy was close to tears as she drove away from the school after checking at the principal’s office and not finding Krissy there. She had tried not to pull a scene in there, but she had wanted to scream at Mrs. Castine for allowing a little girl to leave without someone making sure she had a ride. Now she was afraid that the principal was going to notify the police in spite of her reassurances that Krissy must be home by now. She left with a promise to call to let her know whether or not Krissy had made it home safely. Cindy doubled the speed limit as she drove down Prospect Street, all the while scanning both sides of the road looking for Krissy.

It would have been nice to think that as soon as Krissy had seen no one was there to pick her up, she had started walking home, maybe with Billy and his friends; but as she drove, Cindy couldn’t keep herself from thinking the absolute worst—that the police had finally found them, had picked up Krissy and Billy after school and had them in custody, and now were just waiting for her to show up at the apartment so they could slap the handcuffs on her.

She groaned aloud when she glanced at her watch and saw that it was a quarter of three.

“Jesus, please be there! … Please be there!” she chanted over and over.

Her hands were hurting from the tight grip she maintained on the steering wheel. As she turned onto Coyne Street and floored the accelerator, her heart was pounding painfully in her chest. Halfway down the street she could see the apartment building, but her view of the front steps was blocked by the spray of uncut hedge. She was focused so intently on the apartment building, hoping—praying—to see a hint of motion in the upstairs windows that she didn’t notice the battered white van that had appeared at the other end of the street, hesitated for a moment in the middle of the road, and then backed around into a driveway and driven away.

Her tires squealed loudly on the pavement as she pulled into her driveway. She slammed on the brakes so hard she was thrown forward and bumped her chest against the steering wheel, but she didn’t notice the pain as she yanked the keys from the ignition, opened the car door, and jumped out, hitting the ground running.

She stopped short in the middle of the lawn and, looking up at the living room windows, shouted, “Krissy! Billy! Are you guys home?” She didn’t care who heard her or if they recognized the panic in her voice.

But there was no reply.

A muffled silence seemed to have settled over the neighborhood. The only sounds Cindy could hear were her heavy breathing and the feathery pulse, whooshing in her ears.

No, they couldn’t be up there because I locked the door and neither one of them has a key!

Taking a quick sip of air, she darted around to the front of the building and raced up the steps, taking them two at a time. She was fumbling to get out the key to the front door when she sensed more than saw someone behind her. She couldn’t stop herself from screaming when she turned and saw Krissy, crouched at the far corner of the porch behind one of the rusty lounge chairs. For a blinding instant, Cindy actually doubted that the little girl was even there.

“Krissy…?” she said, her voice cracking with emotion.

The little girl was hunched over with her arms wrapped around her knees. Her face looked ghastly white and Cindy could see that her hair was hanging in sweaty dumps down around her neck. There was a wide smudge of dirt over one eye and a scratch on her left cheek where blood had beaded up like tiny rubies.

“Krissy… honey.”

Cindy took a few steps forward with her arms outstretched but was surprised when Krissy sat there perfectly still, staring up at her as if she had no idea who she was.

“Honey, I’m sorry I was late. I—I had a little trouble with the car and I couldn’t make it on time.” She paused to try to catch her breath but was still amazed that Krissy hadn’t moved or said anything. She looked like a realistically painted statue.

“Krissy, are you… all right?”

The only sign of life was when Krissy shifted her gaze up and looked at her. The blank expression on her face sent a jolt of panic racing through Cindy.

“Wha—what is it, honey? Is something wrong?”

Krissy’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Then she took a deep, shuddering breath, and for the first time the little girl’s eyes seemed to brighten as they focused on her. The glazed, distant stare began to evaporate as tears filled her eyes.

“I was… I was scared that—that you… that you…” Krissy said, her voice trembling horribly before it faded away.

“Hey there, squirt, come on—don’t worry, all right?” Cindy said.

She bent down and scooped the little girl up into her arms, hugging her tightly. She was amazed at how small and trembling she felt. Her heart was racing like a frightened bird’s.

“It was… when you weren’t there, I… I got so scared, and I… ’n I started walking home, but there was a—a man, and he—well, I … I couldn’t remember the way home, ’n got kinda lost somewhere.”

She indicated the street with a tight nod of her head, then looked back at Cindy with a trembling lower lip.

“Well, you’re safe now, honey” Cindy said, squeezing Krissy even tighter and rubbing her back. “You’re perfectly safe with me.”

She closed her eyes and sighed, tearfully grateful that Krissy was safe, but her words of reassurance sounded hollow to her own ears, and she wondered again—as she had so many times since they had left Nebraska—if it was true.

Were these kids really safe with her?

Chapter Seventeen

Break In

Well, it sure as shit doesn’t make any sense to sit around with my thumb up my ass, Alex thought.

A little after seven o’clock in the morning he had parked the van at the far corner of the church parking lot across from Cindy’s apartment building, positioning himself so he had a clear view of the front door and driveway. He had gone to the Maine Mall last night and bought a pair of binoculars, along with some other things he thought he might need. For the better part of an hour he focused his binoculars on the apartment, sweeping back and forth so he wouldn’t miss anything. Several times this morning he had seen the blurry silhouette of either Cindy or one of the kids shift past the front windows on the second floor, so at least he now knew which apartment was her’s.

A little before eight o’clock, he had watched when Billy left for school with his two friends. Alex focused his attention on the other two boys, fixing their faces in his memory, just in case. About fifteen minutes later, Cindy had rushed out to the car with Krissy in tow and had driven off, no doubt taking her to school. Half an hour later she still hadn’t returned, and Alex was beginning to wonder if she was planning to come back to the apartment, or else had gone off for the morning to do some errands. Maybe she’s at the school, bitching out the principal for letting “her” little girl walk home alone the day before. The thought made him snicker with laughter.

The more he thought about it, though, the angrier he got that things hadn’t worked out the way he had wanted them to yesterday. He couldn’t stop wondering how the fuck he had lost track of Krissy after seeing her walking down Prospect Street. He had felt like he was in no hurry as he turned around in the school driveway and headed back through the intersection, but as he had driven down the street, he didn’t see a trace of Krissy. Thinking she might have covered more ground than he thought possible, he sped up and went straight to the apartment.

But she hadn’t been there, either, and although he had spent the next fifteen or twenty minutes going up and down the side streets, she seemed to have disappeared. He was sure she couldn’t have made it home in that short a time, just as he was sure he would have seen Cindy’s car if she had driven by and picked her up. He hadn’t seen Cindy until later, when she had pulled into the driveway, like there was a fire in her pants.

So how the hell did Krissy get away from me? he wondered. Where the fuck did she go?

Well, it didn’t matter anymore.

So she had slipped away from him once. He felt confident that she hadn’t seen him, and certainly not recognized him, so she probably had no idea just how much danger she was in. It might be today, or next week, or even next month—but he was going to catch up with her and all of them, eventually.

By nine o’clock, when Cindy still hadn’t come back to the apartment, Alex decided it was time to try the plan he had come up with last night.

What the hell?

He had a good enough cover story in case things went wrong.

Whistling a jaunty tune, he got out of the van and slipped the keys into his pants pocket as he adjusted the blue workman’s coveralls he was wearing. He had bought them last night at Sears. Walking to the back of the van, he opened the double doors and took out the large, green metal tool box which he had also bought at Sears. The box was nearly empty. It contained only a couple of screwdrivers, a pinchbar, a claw hammer, a roll of duct tape, and a hunting knife—things he thought he might need. He had seen no reason to piss away a lot of money just so he could present a convincing cover as a repairman. Just in case someone had noticed and was watching him, he hefted the tool box, letting his arm drag down as though it weighed close to fifty pounds as he started across the parking lot.

He walked boldly to the front door, opened it, and stepped inside. The hallway was hot with trapped heat, and there was a strong, musty smell that made him wrinkle his nose as he started cautiously up the stairs. Old boards creaked underfoot, as though announcing his presence. He looked all around, up and down the stairway, expecting to bump into a curious neighbor who had heard him.

No sweat, though, he thought, feeling a tingling rush of excitement in his stomach. I can bullshit my way through anything as long as I don’t bump into Cindy… I don’t want to see her… Not yet!

He paused on the second floor landing, placed the toolbox at his feet, and wiped his forehead on his sleeve, wondering how the hell the air in the stairway could be so stifling on such a chilly morning. Was he that nervous?

“Naw,” he said, chuckling as he picked up the toolbox again and walked to the door straight across from the stairs. There was no name plate on the door, just a brass number “3” and a hand-drawn “B.”

Alex hesitated.

This had to be the door. The only other door was to his left. Based on what he remembered of the building from his survey of it from the outside, he guessed it must be for the apartment on the back side of the building. After glancing nervously over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching him, he reached into his pocket and took out the pair of rubber gloves he had bought at the pharmacy last night. A small cloud of powder arose as he wiggled his fingers into the gloves and snapped them tightly at his wrists. Then, licking his lips, he took hold of apartment 3-B’s doorknob and gave it a strong twist.

For a flashing instant he thought the door had been left unlocked and was going to open, but as he leaned his shoulder against it, the lock fetched it up.

“Shit!” he hissed under his breath.

He pushed harder against the unyielding door until a sheen of perspiration broke out on his forehead, but he could tell the door wasn’t going to yield easily. He stood back and considered what to do next. He could take the hard way and try to jimmy the lock open with a credit card, or he could take the easy way and pry the fucker open with the pinchbar he had in the toolbox. Forcing the door would probably be faster. He sure as hell didn’t want to be caught out here on the landing, trying to pick the lock. But, on the other hand, using the pinchbar would leave some telltale evidence.

“Ahh, what the fuck,” he said as he undid the clasps on the toolbox and took out the pinchbar. It felt good when he hefted it in his hand. He chuckled softly when he had a brief mental image of using it to bash in Cindy’s skull.

Yeah, that might not be a bad idea, he thought. And so what if Cindy came home and realized someone had broken into her apartment? What was she going to do about it? All along he’d been toying with the idea of trashing the place once he got in there. Why the fuck not? Cindy was on the run with two kids—his two kids—so she sure as hell wasn’t going to go squawking to the police.

Then again, if she was aware that someone had broken in, she might get even more paranoid than he wanted her to be. She might pack up and take off again, and Alex sure as hell didn’t want that to happen. Now that he had her where he wanted her, he didn’t want to go through the aggravation of tracking her down all over again.

But I don’t have all morning to fuck around out here, either, he thought.

He gripped the bar tightly and jiggled the chiseled edge in between the door and the frame. After positioning his feet, he leaned back, pulling with a slow, steady pressure. Chips of paint fell to the floor, but he thought if he was careful enough, he just might be able to pop the lock without leaving much noticeable damage.

The wooden door creaked loudly and sagged inward under the pressure he applied, but no matter how hard he pushed, it didn’t seem to want to give.

What the fuck, he thought, does she have a three inch deadbolt on this?

He eased up and stood back to wipe the sweat from his face again. His breath was coming hot and fast, and he could feel his anger rising to a breaking point.

“Come on, you bitch! Give it up!” he said as, once again, he wedged the pinchbar into the door, leaned back, and, grunting fiercely, pulled back as hard as he could. With a loud splintering of wood, the door suddenly snapped open so fast that Alex lost his grip on the pinchbar and it went flying from his hands. It hit the floor, clanging as loudly as a fire alarm.

Alex straightened up and looked around anxiously, but as far as he could tell, either the building was deserted or else no one gave a shit. At least no one came out to see what the noise was all about, so as long as someone wasn’t already on the phone to the police to report a break in, he was okay for a little while.

Alex replaced the pinchbar in the toolbox and entered the apartment, sniffing the stale air as if he could sense the immediate presence of danger. Before closing the door behind him he inspected the lock and door frame for damage, and was happy to see that it wasn’t too bad. In fact, unless she was looking for it, he was pretty sure Cindy wouldn’t even notice it. He felt a growing sense of self-assurance as he walked from the living room into the kitchen, and then went down the hallway. He poked his head into each of the bedrooms and could tell at a glance which was Billy’s and Krissy’s. Again, though, he was struck by the notion that seeing where his children had been staying didn’t fill him with a sense of love or longing to see them again. No, he felt only violent anger, which he focused on both his children and their kidnapper.

Oh, yes, by Jesus! They were all going to pay!

As he took a quick inventory of the drab surroundings, his mind was racing through all the possibilities of what he could do here. The most sensible thing, of course, would be just to leave, content with the knowledge that he had invaded her privacy and could do it again, whenever he felt like it. But he felt compelled to do something, if only to mark his presence here. Putting his toolbox down, he came back to the kitchen and stood in the middle of the floor with his arms folded across his chest as he considered what to do. His plan had never been to do very much. He just wanted to rearrange a few things, maybe move things around a bit. Little things that might not even be noticeable but which, hopefully, would put Cindy even more off balance than she already was.

Oh, yeah!

The ideal would be to drive her right out of her mind with paranoia and worry.

His eyes lighted on the wall telephone over by the refrigerator. It was an old fashioned rotary dial phone, and that gave him his first idea. Remembering a little trick he used to pull with the pay phones in his high school, he picked up the receiver, quickly unscrewed the mouthpiece, and shook the transmitter out into his hand. He chuckled to himself as he slipped it into his pocket, knowing that the next time Cindy tried to make or answer a call, no matter how loud she yelled, the person at the other end of the line would hear nothing but dead air.

“Damn, I wish I could be a fly on the wall to see that, “he said, snorting with suppressed laughter.

He spent the next fifteen minutes or so going around the kitchen, repositioning things on the counter and table. He took brand new, full boxes of cereal and a near-full jar of instant coffee, and dumped most of their contents into the toilet and flushed them away. Using one of his screwdrivers, he loosened the towel rack inside the cupboard door beneath the sink, then he poked a hole into the bottom of the plastic bucket Cindy kept under there. Opening the refrigerator, he dumped a fairly large amount of milk in behind the vegetable storage drawers, hoping it would spoil soon and start smelling all to hell. Next, he loosened the refrigerator light bulb in its socket, and then removed one of the refrigerator shelves and wedged it back in so, as soon as Cindy put more weight on it, it would collapse. He even resorted to the old high school cafeteria trick of swapping the contents of the salt shaker and sugar bowl on the kitchen table.

Once he was through in the kitchen, he went back to the living room to do a few little things. He pried the TV’s on/ off switch loose so the next time someone tried to turn it on, it would come off in their hand. He tilted back the easy chair and couch and, using his screwdriver again, loosened a leg on each of them so the next time someone sat down, the leg would break off. Satisfied with his work in the living room, he went down the hallway to the bedrooms.

He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he decided not to do anything to either of the kids’ rooms. It wasn’t from sentimentality, he told himself, it was just that his goal was to drive Cindy bug-shit, not the kids. Besides, they probably wouldn’t even notice if anything was missing or broken, anyway. He went into the bathroom and loosened the screws on the hot and cold water faucets on the sink and then, using a razor blade he found in the medicine cabinet, he made a long slice along the side of the toothpaste tube.

“Yeah, that should be enough for here,” he said as he started down the hall toward Cindy’s bedroom.

He paused in the doorway and looked around the room, waiting for inspiration to hit. He couldn’t think of very much else to do—but then again, he told himself that he didn’t want to do anything too blatant or obvious so she would instantly know someone had been in the apartment, screwing around. No, he wanted to be as subtle as possible so things just started fucking up on her, and she would have no idea why.

His first impulse when he entered the room had been to peel back the bed covers, drop his pants, and take a big shit right there in the middle of her bed. But that was obviously out of the question. He satisfied himself with loosening the screw holding the doorknob on her bedroom closet so it would slide off into her hand the next time she tried to open it. Then he went through her bureau drawers, rearranging things and wrinkling them up. When he opened the top drawer and saw the folded up piles of silky underwear, a idea struck him that made him laugh out loud.

“Yeah, Goddamnit,” he whispered. “That’s just what the fucking bitch deserves!”

He cast an anxious glance over his shoulder, then took out the top pair of underpants and unfolded them. After placing them carefully on top of the bureau, he quickly undid his belt and zipper and pushed his pants and underpants down around his knees. Then he slid his hand inside Cindy’s underpants, gripping his penis, and started stroking himself up and down until he felt himself stiffening. Closing his eyes and leaning his head back, he filled his mind with images of other things, sexual things he could do to Cindy to humiliate her. He was rocking back and forth and moaning softly when he reached orgasm, shooting a hot flood of sperm into the flimsy cloth.

“There you go, you Goddamned bitch!” he said, feeling weak in the knees and smiling with satisfaction. “Sit on that load!”

He started whistling an airy tune as he carefully refolded Cindy’s underpants, now sodden with his semen, and replaced them neatly on the top of the stack in her bureau drawer.

“Well, now,” he said, brushing his hands together and nodding with satisfaction as he glanced around the room one last time. “I may be back, but I guess that just about does it for this time around.”

He went out into the hallway and had just bent down to pick up his toolbox when he heard a soft click from the living room.

Someone was unlocking the apartment door.

2

Hmm, I wonder why I never noticed that before?

That was Cindy’s first thought when she unlocked the apartment door and saw the splintered wood of the door frame around the deadbolt lock. She put the two bags of groceries she was carrying down on the floor and took a few seconds to inspect the damage, carefully running her fingertips up and down along the jagged split. The break looked fresh, and the thought crossed her mind that someone must have tried to force the door to get into the apartment.

When? she wondered as a current of apprehension went through her.

She knew that Alice was off to work every day, and she had been out all morning, so someone who had been casing the place might have tried to break in this morning. The thought made her nervous as she glanced over her shoulder at the apartment, wondering if she was safe. Under the circumstances, there was no way she was going to report something like this to the police. Why draw any undue attention to herself?

No way!

Then again, she thought, if someone had tried to break in, maybe it had been the cops who were out to arrest her for kidnapping.

“Naw… No way,” she whispered, dismissing the idea with a quick shake of her head. If the police or FBI were onto her, they sure as hell wouldn’t resort to break-ins; they’d come knocking on the front door and then politely present her with a warrant for her arrest before slapping the handcuffs on her wrists.

“Ahh, to hell with it,” she whispered as she eased the door shut behind her. She twisted the doorknob, giving it a few strong pulls to make sure the lock still held and then, satisfied, picked up her groceries and walked into the kitchen. She was still feeling tense so before she put away the few things she had bought, she sat down at the kitchen table, sighing heavily as she leaned forward and rested her head in her hands.

It had been one hell of a morning!

After seeing Krissy off to school, she had gone straight to the principal’s office and talked to Mrs. Castine about yesterday’s incident. Although she had tried not to say or do anything that would send up a red flag for Mrs. Castine, she had let her know in no uncertain terms just how upset she had been that the school officials would have allowed a little girl to wander away from the school unobserved.

“What if she had been kidnapped or hurt?” Cindy had asked Mrs. Castine repeatedly, cringing inwardly and hoping it didn’t show every time she said the word kidnapped. “What if she had gotten lost, trying to find her way home, and something had happened to her?”

What if—? What if—? Nothing had happened, but she knew she could drive herself crazy thinking about all the what-ifs.

She realized that she was laying a lot of her own fears and anxieties onto Mrs. Castine, but she couldn’t help it. What had happened to Krissy yesterday threatened her on a deep, subconscious level. She had finally left the principal’s office after agreeing that she would come to the classroom every day to pick up Krissy, rather than wait for her out in the car. Cindy didn’t like that idea because it seemed to set Krissy apart from the rest of the kids, drawing more attention to her, but anything was better than going through the kind of panic she had experienced yesterday when, for nearly half an hour, she hadn’t been able to find her.

“Goddamn it all,” she whispered, staring blankly at the kitchen wall and shaking her head.

Sighing again, she got up slowly and began unpacking the bag of groceries. She lined everything up on the counter before starting to put things away. She carried the gallon jug of milk over to the refrigerator, swearing softly when she opened the refrigerator door and the light didn’t come on. When she knelt down to place the jug on the bottom shelf, her hand bumped against the shelf above it, and the shelf came down like a guillotine, banging hard against her wrist. She hadn’t let go of the milk jug’s handle yet, and as she jerked back with a cry of pain, she pulled the jug forward. It slipped from her grasp and, spinning around, hit the floor with a loud thump. The plastic cap popped off, and a fan tail of milk shot out across the floor, splattering across Cindy’s thigh.

“Shit!” she shouted.

She quickly righted the milk jug, but it was already too late; a comma-shaped splash of milk covered the floor and her left leg was saturated. Muttering angry curses, she grabbed some paper towels from the sink and wiped up the mess. Then she recapped the milk jug, which was now almost half empty, and, after making sure the refrigerator shelf above it was secure, carefully replaced the jug on the bottom shelf. She’d worry about checking out the burned-out light bulb later, she told herself as she headed down the hallway to her bedroom to get some clean clothes. She walked into the back room where the washer and dryer were, peeled off her pants, and sputtering more curses, tossed them into the washing machine.

3

Jesus Christ, I couldn’t have planned this any better if I had wanted to, Alex thought, snickering softly as he crouched inside the closet in the laundry room. There was a damp aroma of mildew in the close darkness that almost gagged him, but he smiled as he listened to the angry sounds Cindy was making as she moved about the apartment. He almost laughed out loud when he heard her start swearing away like a pirate.

Well, well, well… you must have had a little surprise or two… sounds like you’re out in the kitchen.

He wished there was some way he could see what was going on out there, but he knew he had to lay low for now. There was that little problem of how long he would have to stay in here so she wouldn’t see him.

He cringed when he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. Thin trickles of sweat ran down his sides and a sheen of perspiration formed like dew on his upper lip. He jumped involuntarily when he realized that she had entered the laundry room. He craned his head forward, trying to catch a glimpse of her, but saw only a blurred hint of motion. Through the angled slats of the closet door, something dark—it looked like a twisted pair of jeans—sailed through the air and hit the inside of the washing machine with a loud, ringing metallic sound.

No, no, don’t look in the closet, sweetheart! Don look in the fucking closet! he chanted mentally when he saw her shadow shift across the laundry room floor, coming closer. He held his breath until it hurt. After a few anxious seconds, the shadow shifted away, and he listened to her light tread as she went back up the hallway.

Tensed and listening carefully, he opened his toolbox so he could have something to use as a weapon if he needed it. His hand wrapped around the handle of one of the screwdrivers he had bought at Sears last night.

Yes-sir-ee, by Jesus, he thought, feeling a calming measure of security as he squeezed the hand grip tightly. This’ll punch a few good-sized holes in you if you find me here and I have to do something about it.

But this wasn’t the right time to get Cindy, he told himself. This wasn’t the way he intended for it to go. Hell, no— The fun was just beginning. If he could spend the next few days or weeks doing shit like this to drive her absolutely, bug-shit crazy, why—it’d be fun as hell… even a lot more fun than the rush of pleasure he’d felt when Cindy’s husband, good ole’ Harry, had opened the door to that sleazy motel room and seen him sitting there on the bed instead of his whore.

Yeah, it’s too bad I had to kill the sorry bastard, but he had it coming… Christ, did he ever!

His grip on the screwdriver was so tight it began to hurt.

Shit, yes! Good ole’ Harry had it coming almost as much as you do!

4

Cindy was still feeling upset and angry after she put on a clean pair of jeans and went back to the kitchen. She considered taking a shower, but by the time she was done putting away the groceries it was a little past eleven o’clock—almost lunchtime—so she prepared herself a light lunch. She ate only half of it before scooping the rest into the garbage.

She sat at the kitchen table and looked around the room. The lighting was muted, and every corner of the kitchen seemed dingy and drab. The environment was depressing—no doubt about it—but today for some reason, everything around her seemed threatening. She sat hunched up as though she expected something to come popping out at her any second. Her body and mind were wired with expectation, and she knew why.

She was convinced that something was wrong.

She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she was filled with a pervading sense of anxiety, a gnawing dread that things weren’t quite right. She knew a lot of it was her own guilt for what she had done and fear of eventually getting caught, but she also realized that what had happened to Krissy yesterday had shaken her more than it should have. She knew the healthy thing to do would be to put it all behind her, but she couldn’t. Her fears for Krissy’s and Billy’s safety left her with a cold, hollow emptiness, like a disease that was slowly eating away at her insides.

God I’ve gotta get out of here, she thought. She was filled with agitation as she stood up on shaky legs, grabbed her purse, checked for her keys, and went out the front door. Once she was in the hallway, she closed the door and checked the lock again by pushing as hard as she could against the door to see if it would snap open. It seemed secure, but that didn’t make her feel any better. A winding nervousness was bottled up inside her, building up pressure, and she knew that it would explode out of her if she didn’t do something.

Maybe once the kids are home from school, we’ll go out and do something special… maybe eat out at a restaurant and take in a movie or something, she thought as she walked out to the car.

All morning long, and even yesterday, she had been feeling tense and tight like this. Over and over, she tried to tell herself that the kids were doing fine, and that she should probably get a part-time job to keep herself occupied while they were in school. But she couldn’t quite work up the enthusiasm for going around and applying for jobs. And anyway, although she knew that wasn’t what was bothering her, she had no idea what was.

God, I’ve got to do something to get myself out of this mood!

5

Alex heard Cindy leave by the front door, but he wanted to be positive she was gone before he came out of his hiding place, so he waited in the laundry room closet another ten or fifteen minutes after he had heard the front door slam shut before he put the screwdriver back into the toolbox and opened the closet door. He glanced into the washing machine and smiled when he saw the wet jeans. As he walked down the hall, he couldn’t resist pausing to haul back and kick at the wall. The toe of his shoe made a fist-sized hole in the wallboard.

Goddamned good! he thought, laughing a full-bodied laugh as he walked boldly out the front door. He closed the door behind him, making a point of leaving the door unlocked… just so she’d have one more thing to worry about when she got back home.

Chapter Eighteen

Paranoia

“Com’on, I’m gonna be late for school if I don’t get going,” Billy said.

There was a high whine in his voice that irritated Cindy as she looked at him, sitting across from her at the kitchen table. She stared steadily at him, her mouth set in a hard, tight line. A wash of bright sunlight poured in through the small window above the sink and glinted like white fire off the chrome, hurting her eyes.

“I don’t care if you’re late,” she said in a steady, controlled voice. She averted her head and shielded her eyes, but red flashing afterimages were cutting across her vision and she could feel the beginnings of a headache. “You can ride with me when I take Krissy to school, after we have a little talk. I need a few answers from you, young man.”

“But the guys are expecting me,” Billy said, shifting nervously, in his chair and glancing longingly over his shoulder at the doorway. He had already finished breakfast and brushed his teeth, and was sitting there with his jacket on and his backpack slung over one shoulder. Both legs were jiggling rapidly up and down as though he were running in place.

“We have to talk first,” Cindy said through clenched teeth. “There are a few things I want explained.”

Billy looked her straight in the eyes and said, “Yeah? Like what?”

Taking a deep breath, Cindy sat back in her chair and wrung her hands in her lap as her mind filled with a cascade of what she could say. She knew she had to be careful with him; being accusatory surely wasn’t the way to go. Plus, she didn’t want to upset Krissy, who was sitting silently at the other end table, apparently having a staring contest with her empty cereal bowl. For a moment, Cindy cupped her chin with one hand and ran her teeth over her forefinger.

“Well, for one thing,” she said, “I want you to admit it if you’re the practical joker who’s been messing things up around here.”

Billy stared back at her and shook his head, looking all innocence. “I haven’t done anything!”

“Well…” Cindy said, letting her voice drag a little. “I’ve been finding all sorts of things that have been screwed up. The toothpaste tube has a slice in it. Someone broke off the TV switch—”

“Hey, I didn’t do that,” Billy protested, holding up his hands and shaking his head. “It came off when I was trying to turn it on. Why would I break something like that? I was the one who wanted to play Nintendo last night.”

“How about the salt and sugar switch, then?” Cindy said, leaning forward and giving him a harsh stare in spite of the reflecting sunlight that hurt her eyes. “That was certainly no accident. Did you pick up that little practical joke at school?”

Again, Billy shook his head vigorously, then turned and looked anxiously at the door. “I didn’t do that, either. Honest,” he said.

“Well, I certainly know I didn’t do it, and I can’t believe Krissy would think up with something like that.” She glanced over at Krissy, who didn’t even bother to look up when her name was mentioned. “So as far as I can see, that pretty much leaves you.”

Cindy took another, deeper breath, fighting hard to control her rising temper.

Is it really anger, she wondered, or is it fear?

The way things had gone around here last night and again this morning, it was almost bordering on the ludicrous. Doorknobs had flown off doors; one of the couch legs had snapped the instant Krissy had jumped onto the couch; the towel rack in the kitchen had fallen off with a clang; and the hot water wouldn’t turn on in the bathroom, no matter how hard Cindy twisted the faucet. It seemed as though the warranty on practically everything had expired overnight, and the apartment was falling apart all around them.

“Well, then,” she said, still struggling to control her anger, “what about that hole in the wall, out in the hallway? Are you sure you didn’t do that, maybe last night when I sent you to your room because you were so mad that you couldn’t play Nintendo?”

Billy shrugged as though he were the innocent victim of a frame-up. “You have to believe me, Aunt Cindy, I didn’t do that… at least, not that I remember.”

“Uh-huh,” Cindy said, nodding her head suspiciously and stroking her chin. “Well, I don’t remember doing it, either, and Krissy says she didn’t do it, so tell me—who did?”

“I dunno,” Billy said. He shrugged, then sat back, slouching his shoulders, apparently giving up on the idea of meeting his friends to walk to school. “Maybe that hole’s been there ever since we moved in, and we just never noticed it before.

“Oh, you mean like the split wood in the door frame?” Cindy asked archly. The longer this discussion went on, the more it wore on her nerves. It took a great effort not to let her emotions fly wild, but again, she wondered if she wasn’t overreacting because of something else.

Billy shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, looking genuinely bewildered. “Honest to God, Aunt Cindy. I don’t know a thing about any of this stuff.”

Exasperated, Cindy slouched back in her chair and exhaled noisily as she closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Either Billy was telling the truth, or else he was one hell of a smooth pathological liar. Flaming afterimages of the reflecting sunlight still zigzagged across her vision like trailing fireworks, and behind her eyes a headache was building up like a slow-moving thunderstorm, crowding over the horizon.

“Look, if it wasn’t you, then who was it? Did you have some friends over without my knowing about it?”

Billy shook his head in firm denial.

Her next question was: If it wasn’t you or your friends, then who was it? but she kept silent as she sat and just studied Billy’s face for a few intense moments. With a deep shudder, she suddenly realized just how much Billy looked like his father, the man who, in cold blood, had murdered his wife—Cindy’s sister, and Billy and Krissy’s mother. A numbing chill knifed through her and spread up to the back of her neck. She waved her hand at the door, shooing him. Her voice almost broke when she said, “Go on. Get going. I’ll bet, if you hurry, you can catch up with your friends.”

Billy hesitated a moment.

“I said get going.”

In a flash, he was up out of the chair and running, his footsteps shaking the floor as he zipped through the living room and out the front door. He slammed the door so hard behind him that Cindy thought it was no wonder the door frame had a split in it. Sighing, she leaned back, yawning as she stretched her arms up over her head. The headache was still gathering strength, but she smiled at Krissy.

“Well, Squirt,” she said. “What do you say we brush your hair and get going so you won’t be late for school, huh?”

She was surprised when Krissy didn’t move or say a word. Looking like a condemned victim waiting for the executioner’s axe to drop, she just sat there with her head bowed and her hands folded tightly in her lap.

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

Krissy shook her head slightly and sniffed, keeping her face averted.

“Are you feeling all right?”

Moving as stiffly as a marionette, Krissy raised her head and looked sidelong at her aunt. Her face was pale, and her thin lower lip was trembling. A distant glaze filmed her eyes as if she were about to cry. In an instant, Cindy was up out of her chair and kneeling beside the little girl, her hands resting gently, reassuringly on her shoulders.

“Hey, come on, Squirt,” Cindy said, pulling at her gently, trying to nudge her into a hug. “If there’s something the matter, you know you can tell me about it.”

“Uh-huh,” Krissy said.

“Well then…?”

“It’s just—” Her voice caught in her throat, choking her off.

Cindy waited expectantly for Krissy to say something more, but she thought she already knew what was bothering her; it was the same thing that still got to Cindy from time to time, filling her with a cold, aching sense of loneliness, loss, and dread.

She still misses her mother, Cindy thought as something cold stabbed right through her heart. And God—who can blame her?

At Cindy’s persistent urging, Krissy finally made reluctant eye contact with her. It frightened Cindy to see how closed off she looked. The only real struggle seemed to be to keep all the hurtful feelings bottled up inside her, as if she were thinking, maybe they wouldn’t hurt me if I don’t let them out.

“I’ll bet you’re still feeling sad… you know, about what… what happened, aren’t you?” Cindy said in a low, comforting voice.

Krissy nodded agreement, but her expression suddenly shifted, hardening as she looked up and focused on Cindy’s face. Her throat made a strange, gasping sound when she opened her mouth to speak.

“But it … it’s not just that,” she said in a low, trembling whisper. “It—it’s something else.”

“What, then?” Cindy asked sharply, feeling suddenly fearful.

She thought maybe Krissy was upset by the way she had grilled her brother, so she wasn’t quite sure she heard correctly when Krissy said, “I dunno… I was wondering if—maybe—it was that man in the white van who did it.”

“A man—? Did what? What white van? What the heck are you talking about, honey?”

“The person who got into the apartment and messed around with our stuff.” Krissy suddenly stopped and gave her aunt a piercing, questioning look. “What, you mean you haven’t seen him?” she asked.

“No, I—I haven’t seen anybody. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cindy said, but she couldn’t deny the chill that lanced through her. Trying to keep the edge of growing hysteria out of her voice, she said, “Tell me what you mean, Krissy.”

“That man in the white van.” Krissy cringed as she repeated herself. “I’ve seen him parked outside on the street, in front of the apartment lots of times.”

“Really?”

Krissy nodded. “Uh-huh. And do you remember two days ago?”

“Do you mean when I didn’t get to school in time to pick you up?”

Krissy nodded again, her face tight with tension, but she didn’t say anything as she bit down hard enough on her lower lip to make it go bloodless.

“Yeah… What about it?” Cindy said, still trying to keep the demanding edge out of her voice. The tension winding up inside her was almost unbearable.

“Well, he was there,” Krissy said in a deep, quavering voice.

“Who? Do you mean the man in the white van?”

“Yeah,” Krissy replied. “He tried to follow me when I was walking home, but then she… she helped me out.”

“Who did?” Cindy almost shouted. “Who helped you out?”

“The… the blue lady,” Krissy replied, barely above a whisper.

“The blue lady,” Cindy echoed.

“Uh-huh.” Krissy said, nodding vigorously. “See, I was pretty sure I knew the way home, but then she showed up and told me which way to go.”

“You mean she spoke to you?”

Krissy shook her head. “No, no, but she pointed the way for me to go, down a different road than the one I thought I should take, and when I did, I saw him drive by… in his white van.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. He was going real slow, like he was looking for someone.”

“Did he stop? Did he see you?”

“No, I hid behind a tree and then cut through some yards to keep away from him.”

“That was a smart thing to do, but how do you know he was looking for you?”

Krissy shrugged tightly. “Because she wouldn’t have been there unless I needed help.”

Cindy’s legs were starting to go numb from kneeling down for so long, so she straightened up to get the circulation going again.

“This isn’t just something you’re making up, now, is it?” she asked.

Biting her lower lip, Krissy shook her head in vigorous denial and shrank away from her aunt as though she feared she was about to strike her. Her eyes twitched nervously back and forth as though she expected to see someone else in the kitchen with them. Her thin chest rose and fell rapidly as she panted, trying to get enough air into her lungs to continue speaking.

“No, I—I saw him… well, not him, really, ’cause his van has dark windows, but I saw his van, and it was the same one I saw parked outside the school one day last week. Remember that rainy day when you picked me up?”

Cindy nodded, although her memory wasn’t all that clear.

“She was pointing at a car in front of the school, like she wanted me to see it. And then—well, for a whole bunch of nights, now, she woke me up and has shown me where he’s parked out there on the street in front of our apartment.”

“Well… I don’t know,” Cindy said. She spoke slowly, trying to keep at bay the rushing currents of fear that were rising up inside her. “Maybe he—he’s just a… he probably lives in one of the apartments nearby.”

But her words didn’t even begin to reassure herself, much less Krissy. The dark, gnawing worry had blossomed full strength in her mind. She couldn’t forget or ignore the dozens—no, hundreds, maybe thousands of times she had been convinced there was someone lurking nearby, keeping a close watch on them but staying just out of sight. She had never seen anyone or anything suspicious, but for weeks now, she had definitely felt a presence. All along she had been trying to convince herself that it was just her paranoia, her near-constant worry that the authorities would eventually nail her for kidnapping the kids.

But maybe that wasn’t it… Not if Krissy had been feeling it, too… Not if she had actually seen someone watching them… Not if someone had tried to follow her home that day!

Cindy’s throat went suddenly dry. Whimpering softly, she pulled Krissy close to her and hugged her tightly. A warm, well-spring of tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back. A cold, steady pressure was squeezing her heart like a fist.

God help us, she thought, wanting to cry but knowing she had to be strong if only for Krissy’s sake. They’ve found us!… Someone found us!

2

For the first time in her life, Cindy wished she had ordered tinted windows for her car back when she had bought it. That way, she might not have felt quite so foolish when she parked between two cars in the Pine Knoll Elementary School parking lot and sat slouched behind the steering wheel like she was a private detective on a stake out. What did she expect to see, anyway?

In spite of the three Extra-Strength Tylenols she had taken earlier, the headache that had started during her conversation with Billy at the breakfast table had only gotten worse throughout the morning. Her temples were throbbing with a dull ache. It was almost eleven o’clock now, and she wanted to take some more Tylenol. She never could swallow pills dry, and wished now that she’d had the foresight to bring along something to wash them down—a can of Diet-Pepsi or something—but she certainly didn’t want to leave the parking lot now.

She didn’t dare.

After dropping Krissy off at school, she had decided on the spur of the moment to sit out here for a little while and watch. She could barely admit it to herself, but she knew what she was looking for—she was waiting to see if that white van that Krissy had mentioned would show up. More than likely, it was just like that “blue lady” Krissy was always talking about; the product of a little girl’s overactive imagination.

Cindy half-suspected, or at least she wanted to believe that there was absolutely nothing to worry about. She told herself repeatedly that she was overreacting to an accumulation of everything she and the kids had been through over the past few months. She was letting little things, like a few things going wrong with the apartment, ruin her day. She heaved a sigh as she massaged her temples, but that didn’t do any good. Maybe, she thought, what it all came down to was she didn’t want to accept the idea that she had actually pulled it off, that she had saved her sister’s kids from their abusive, murdering father. If the police and FBI were actively searching for her, they certainly should have found her by now. She was leaving a trail that a blind hound dog could have followed.

What if she went back to Omaha and challenged Alex for legal custody of the kids? What if she could even convince the police to investigate if Alex had murdered Debbie?

Or maybe it was living with the kids that was getting to her. Maybe she was feeling guilty that she had stolen them away from their father. Maybe she felt uncomfortable with the idea that now she was the closest thing Billy and Krissy had to a family. She was absolutely convinced that Harry had used this situation to get her out of his life, and she had long since given up on ever seeing him again.

Why else would he be so completely out of touch? It was like he had dropped off the face of the earth. She was sure, if something had happened to him, that she would have found out about it somehow. Besides, she wasn’t having any trouble drawing money from the bank in Omaha. If something was wrong, they no doubt would have put a freeze on the funds.

Maybe she was just having a tough time because she felt so completely isolated from her former life back in Nebraska. She couldn’t deny that she missed her friends and job—her sister Debbie most of all—but now that life felt like it had all been a dream… or someone else’s life. She knew she could never go back, but that left the future wide open, and that was scary.

But she couldn’t quite accept that this was what her life had become. She didn’t like living in a dumpy apartment and wondering every minute if the next phone call or knock on the door was going to be the police. And even if the police never did find her, she was starting to question if she was really ready for the long-term commitment of raising two kids alone.

She couldn’t deny that she was alone, and she was beginning to suspect that no amount of love and affection from Krissy and Billy could compensate for what she had given up for their sake and for the sake of her dead sister.

Perhaps she was beginning to regret her decision, that it had been absolutely foolish to do what she had done. Debbie’s will had specified that she wanted Cindy to take care of her kids if she died, but what if she wasn’t up for it?

Or maybe, because she certainly couldn’t focus the blame or any of her anger on the kids, she was beginning to resent what she had done to herself and had come to hate herself for throwing away the rest of her life.

Should she consider giving up the children? She couldn’t very well send them back to their father, but rather than pursue legal custody of them, perhaps she should turn them over to the state and be rid of them. Then she could see what kind of life she could make for herself. Why did she have to be the one making all the sacrifices?

Didn’t she deserve better?

Maybe she should make an appointment to see a lawyer—today—and begin finding out what the laws in Maine were regarding child custody. She was fairly well established in Portland, though she should get a job so she could prove that she could provide for them.

Such thoughts instantly vanished from her mind when she saw a white van pull up and stop at the curb in front of the school. For a shattering instant, Cindy thought she must be imagining it, but after shaking her head and rubbing her eyes, she saw that it was still there. Holding her breath until it began to hurt, she watched tensely. But no one got out of the van, at least not right away. She could see the indistinct silhouette of the driver, sitting hunched behind the steering wheel, but there was almost no movement. The thin cloud of exhaust from the back of the van indicated that the driver had left the van running.

Cindy jumped and screamed out loud when the school bell suddenly rang with a shrill clang that signalled recess. Within seconds the school doors burst open, and the playground was filled with shouting, laughing children. Spontaneous games of kick ball and tag started up, and the swings, slides, and monkey bars were instantly crowded with squealing kids. Cindy scanned the crowded schoolyard, trying to pick out Krissy, but didn’t see her. She tensed when her eyes shifted back to the waiting van.

It was still there, idling at the curb. The driver seemed not to have moved at all. Cindy gripped the steering wheel tightly as strong surges of fear, anger, and doubt rippled through her. Her chest felt like it was tightly bound with metal bands that kept her from taking too deep a breath as she stared at the van, waiting for something—anything to happen.

Who the hell are you? What the Christ are you doing here? she wondered. What the fuck do you want?

Tears welled up in her eyes, and a sick, sour taste filled the back of her throat as another thought occurred to her.

I hope you’re not waiting out here to see my little girl!

“Yes, goddamnit!” Cindy said in a high, shattered whisper. “She’s mine now!”

The palms of her hands were aching from the grip she maintained on the steering wheel. Her throat felt raw as tears streamed from her eyes, carving warm tracks down her face.

“She’s my little girl, goddamnit, and no one… no one is going to take her away from me!”

3

Cindy was trembling so badly with emotion that she thought both Krissy and her teacher couldn’t help but notice how she looked when she picked Krissy up after school. Once they got back to the apartment, she had a short argument with Billy when he said he wanted to go over to Michael’s house to play, but then she surprised him when she told him, instead, he could have his friends in to play Nintendo. As it was, she didn’t want either of the children out of her sight even for a few minutes, so when Krissy asked if she could go and ride her bike, Cindy went with her.

The weather was mild and sunny, and a cool breeze was blowing in off the ocean, but Cindy found herself breaking out in a sweat, like a patient trying to break a fever as she sat down on the front steps and started browsing through an old issue of Entertainment Weekly. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought that she was coming down with the flu, but she knew—all too well!—what was working on her nerves.

Her fear for the children’s safety!

The arc of bright blue sky and the interplay of sunlight and shadow gave the street a clean, vibrant look that reminded her of Omaha. Although she still hadn’t found anyone to play with, Krissy seemed happy to be riding her bike around the church parking lot across the street. Through the open living room window, Cindy could hear Billy and his friends hooting with laughter as they played their video games. Most of the time, though, she kept a wary watch up and down the street, dreading another glimpse of that white van. One time she thought she saw it flash by at the far end of the street, going up Forest Avenue, but it was out of sight before she got a good look at it.

All day long her headache had been pounding away like a jackhammer at the inside of her skull. At times, the pain was so sharp it affected her sight, making tiny white stars zigzag across her field of vision. Her insides felt knotted up and rubbery and she felt wrung out—exhausted from the pain, worry, and fear. She was terrified that the slightest thing would trigger the flood of tears she felt building up inside her, but she knew damned well, no matter how tired she felt right now, she wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight even after the kids were tucked safely into bed. The strain of constant tension was like a chronic, lingering illness, and she didn’t dare contemplate what she might have to do to cure it.

Although she hadn’t seen the white van again since this morning, she couldn’t get rid of the persistent feeling that the driver was still lurking around here somewhere, keeping a watchful eye on them. Every shadow around every corner, and every window and darkened doorway of every building on the Street seemed to vibrate with hidden menace. In the corner of her eye, she caught glimpses of thin, fleeting shadows that shifted out of sight just before she turned to look at them. Sunlight glinted off reflective surfaces, leaving bright trailing afterimages that blossomed and faded like fireworks in her vision. Whenever a car drove by, she would tense up and lean forward, staring at the driver as though she expected to see him pointing a rifle at her head.

Who the hell is he? she repeated to herself over and over again. Who the hell is he, and what the hell does he want?

Although she tried to deny it, she was afraid that she already knew the answer.

Someone had found them!

It didn’t matter if it was the state or local police or the FBI, or whomever—someone seemed to be checking them out to make sure it was her before he made his move.

Cindy took a deep, shuddering breath and forced a smile when Krissy called out to her from the far end of the parking lot.

“Hey, Aunt Cindy!” she shouted. “Watch this! I can ride with no hands!”

Before Cindy could yell for her to be careful, Krissy pedaled hard a few times, then sat back on her seat, balanced herself, and quickly lifted both hands up off the handlebars. She went no more than ten feet with her hands held high over her head before the bike started to wobble, and she had to grab the handlebars again and continue pedaling to maintain her balance.

“Wow, that’s great!” Cindy shouted, clapping her hands excitedly and hoping to God she didn’t look and sound as phony as she felt.

Good Lord, she’s beautiful! she thought, watching the sunlight and shadow play across Krissy’s round, smiling face.

And it’s just not fair that someone as precious and innocent as Krissy had to go through something like this… something so heart wrenching and utterly horrible that she doesn’t even realize a tenth of how terrible it is!

Cindy was swept up by a painful, almost overwhelming rush of sadness as she watched Krissy ride. Her face was set with grim determination as she positioned herself on the bike again, got her momentum going, and tried to go even further, riding without holding on. She suddenly squealed out loud, and Cindy jumped to her feet in panic when she saw the front wheel of Krissy’s bike hit something and almost flip out from under her; but before Cindy could take even one step forward, Krissy caught the handlebars and righted herself. Her face was pale, and she was obviously trembling when she stopped and, straddling her bike, smiled back at her aunt.

“I’m okay!” she shouted, apparently satisfied with her efforts.

We’re going to have to leave!

The thought was there, shouting inside Cindy’s mind long before she had dared acknowledge it.

We’re going to have to run again!

Her eyes began to sting and tears blurred her vision as she stood there, staring back at Krissy. Her heart was filled with a deep, aching sadness when she thought about how she would do anything… absolutely anything to protect that little girl and her brother.

“Enjoy it while you can, sweetheart,” Cindy whispered as the sadness clutched tightly around her heart, almost stopping her breath. “Enjoy it while you can…”

4

Throughout supper and into the early evening, Cindy found it difficult to pretend that everything was normal. She was feeling unaccountably nervous and edgy, and she was convinced that both kids had picked up on it but weren’t saying anything because they didn’t want to get yelled at. Around eight o’clock, she was in the bathroom, trying to get Krissy to brush her teeth before bed, when the telephone rang. The sudden sound made her jump and squeal with surprise. She knocked the tube of toothpaste onto the floor as she turned and ran down the hallway to the kitchen to answer it. When she picked up the receiver and said “Hello,” for several seconds there was no answer from the other end of the line. Then, very faintly, she heard—at least she thought she heard the soft, chuffing sound of repressed laughter.

“Hello?” Cindy said. Her hand tightened painfully around the receiver. “Who is this?” she demanded.

Her own voice sounded curiously flat in the phone, but she heard nothing but dead silence at the other end of the line. She listened a few seconds longer, then, shaking inside, she gently replaced the receiver. Before she could turn and start back to the bathroom, though, the phone started ringing again. She hurt her hand when she snatched up the receiver, pressed it to her ear, and shouted, “Hello!”

She waited for the other person to say something, but again there was only a dead, hollow silence at the other end of the line. She strained to hear another dry rattle of laughter, but it never came.

“Look,” she said, trying to keep her voice low and edged with authority to hide the trembling. “I have no idea what you think you’re doing, but if you’ve got the wrong number or if you’re not going to say anything, I wish you’d stop pestering me.”

She was holding the receiver close to her ear and couldn’t repress the shiver that went through her when she heard the person at the other end of the line take a slow, deep breath. It sounded frighteningly close to her, almost as though this person were standing right there in the room beside her.

“Are—are you going to say anything?” Cindy said.

She waited, but still there was no response.

“Look, you—ah, you’ve probably got a wrong number,” she said, trying her damndest not to sound as nervous as she felt. “But if you call this number one more time tonight, I’m going to report you to the phone company and have your calls traced.” She waited for a response that never came. “You know, you can get into a lot of trouble harassing people over the telephone like this.”

She didn’t dare wait to hear if the person was going to say anything, so she hung up quickly. Before she headed back to the bathroom to help Knssy finish up, she lifted the receiver and placed it on top of the phone. After waiting to hear the beginning of the taped message, “If you’d like to make a call, please hang up and dial again…” she left the kitchen, telling herself to put the incident out of her mind. It was just someone, probably a kid, making prank calls.

Before she was three steps down the hail, her headache, which had eased up a little after two glasses of wine with supper, came back with a throbbing pulse that staggered her and made her close her eyes and grab at the wail for support. Shaking her head as though dazed, she entered the bathroom. The sudden flood of bright light only made her headache worse. She tried to act as though nothing was the matter as she took Krissy’s toothbrush and gave her teeth a quick once-over, but she was curt with both Krissy and Billy once it was time to send them to bed. She finally lost her patience and started yelling when Billy told her that he wasn’t very tired and that he might just as well stay up and watch a movie or something. She pointed angrily at his bedroom door and sent him to bed without another word, and he had the sense not to argue with her.

After that, she turned off all the lights in the apartment, went into the living room, and sat down on the couch. She was feeling overwhelmed with guilt. Yelling at the kids was something she had never done before… at least not until the last few days, but tonight she had been so mad, especially at Billy, that she had been just about ready to slap him.

What the hell’s the matter with me? she wondered.

Closing her eyes and covering them with both hands, she leaned her head against the couch and stared at the swirling darkness. Every time she shifted her weight, the rusty springs inside the couch would make a slow, groaning creak.

She was trying to convince herself that she was overreacting to all of the pressure she and the kids had been under lately, but that didn’t negate the twisting guilt she felt for yelling at Billy and sending him off to bed, nearly in tears. She felt absolutely rotten, a complete failure as a parent.

No, make that PSEUDO-parent! she thought bitterly, shaking her head and fighting back a hot rush of tears. I’ll never be anything even close to a REAL parent for either of those kids!

She lost track of the time as she sat there in the darkened living room, stewing in her misery and guilt, so she wasn’t exactly sure when she became aware of the voice that was vibrating softly in the darkened apartment. Tensing suddenly, she sat straight up. Her eyes were wide open and staring as she leaned forward, straining to hear if the voice was real or only her imagination. The soft, blue glow of the streetlight from outside cast an eerie haze into the room. The air seemed thick, almost as if the room were filled with thin rafts of smoke. As soon as Cindy tried to focus on the sound, it dropped down, fading away almost to nothing. The darkness of the apartment tightened around her. She let out a little gasp and, shifting forward, was about to stand up when the sound came to her again, fluttering just at the edge of hearing.

“What the…?” she whispered.

She cocked her head trying to get a fix on the source of the sound, but it seemed to be coming at her from several directions at once. It sounded like someone talking, she had no doubt about that, but when she told herself it must be a TV or sounds from one of the downstairs apartments, she immediately dismissed the idea.

This sounded too close, too real to be coming from another apartment. She wished to hell she could hear what it was saying, but it remained an indistinct buzzing that made her think of the sound a fly or bee would make, trapped between closed windows.

Cold, winding tension raced up and down Cindy’s back when she thought that the voice— Was it really a voice?—seemed almost to be a part of the soft darkness that surrounded her. She glanced around uneasily, her mouth and throat working to contain the scream she felt building up inside her. She had no idea what she expected to see, but she resisted the strong urge to get up and turn on the lights.

She couldn’t move.

She didn’t dare.

At times, the voice seemed almost as though it was someone speaking in another language, but it was impossible to tell what it was saying. Like the soft flutter of bird’s wings in her ears, it continued to tease her, pulsing lightly in the darkness.

“Aunt Cindy?… Aunt Cindy!… Could you come here?”

Cindy immediately recognized Krissy’s voice, and the winding, terrified tone she heard in it instantly galvanized her. Leaping to her feet, she ran down the darkened hallway to the little girl’s bedroom and threw open the door. For a fleeting instant she saw a wavering, blue glow by the window, but it instantly faded as her eyes tried to adjust to the light in the room.

“Yeah, what is it, Squirt?” Cindy said in a high, frightened voice. She felt dizzy, a little bit disoriented by her sudden activity. In a single, panicky instant, she realized that Krissy’s bed was empty.

“Krissy?” she called out, her voice sharp with panic.

“I’m over here,” Krissy replied.

It took Cindy’s eyes another moment to adjust to the darkness in the room before she saw the little girl, standing beside her window. Her body seemed to blend in with the hazy gauze of the curtain, which glowed a dull blue from the light coming in from outside.

“What’s the matter?” Cindy asked.

She was tempted to turn on the ceiling light but didn’t want to hurt her or Krissy’s eyes.

“He’s out there again,” Krissy said in a low, flat monotone.

Who is? Cindy thought, but she didn’t have to ask as she moved swiftly over to the window and, resting one hand on Krissy’s shoulder, pulled the curtain aside and looked out into the night. Down on the street, parked a little bit past the streetlight, was a white van. The sight of it sent chills through Cindy.

“Has he been there very long?” Cindy asked, giving Krissy’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. She stared at the van’s window, which looked as black as slate, but couldn’t tell if there was someone sitting in there or not.

She felt Krissy shrug.

“I dunno,” Krissy said. “I … I just got up a second ago and… and looked outside and saw him.”

“Were you asleep?”

Cindy glanced at Krissy and saw that she was nodding her head slowly up and down. Her eyes were wide open and glistening, and her mouth was set in a thin, hard line. Cindy was unnerved by how thin and pale, almost ghost-like Krissy looked.

“Yeah,” Krissy said in a breathy whisper. “She woke me—I mean, I woke up and I… and I just looked outside and saw him.”

“And that’s the same van that you said was following you the other day, right?”

Again, Krissy nodded and said, “Uh-huh.”

Cindy could feel the little girl’s body tensing beneath her touch. Her own breath was fast and raw in her throat as she stared down at the motionless van. Unaccountably, she felt a dim spark of recognition.

Whose van is that? Where have I seen it before? she wondered.

Winding tension filled her as she sifted for a memory that she was suddenly convinced was buried somewhere in her mind. It couldn’t be just the power of suggestion or her fear for Krissy that was making the van seem so familiar; there was something about it… She had seen it somewhere before…

Sensing the apprehension and fear inside Krissy suddenly strengthened Cindy’s resolve.

“Well, goddamnit, we’re not just .going to stay up here, wondering what the hell’s going on!” she said with a snarl. She gave Krissy’s shoulder a bracing shake. “I’m going to find out what the hell is going on! You wait here, and keep an eye out for me, okay?”

Before Krissy could respond, Cindy turned and strode out of the bedroom. She went quickly down the hall to the living room, and threw the front door wide open. A single, uncovered light bulb in the hallway cast a thin wash of yellow light, lighting her way as she stomped down the stairs to the front entryway. With every step, her anger and resolve grew until she thought, if there really were someone sitting out there in the van, whether or not they were watching her apartment, she was going to fling their door open and ask them just what the hell they thought they were doing out here. Without a pause, she unbolted the front door and stepped out onto the steps. The chilled night air turned her breath into a misty fog that curled over her shoulder like a scarf as she went down the steps and crossed the lawn to the sidewalk. Looking up, she drew to an abrupt halt.

“What the hell—?” she muttered. The van was gone. Cindy stared in stunned amazement at the empty street. The cone of light from the streetlight seemed much brighter. It cast a harsh glare onto the deserted street that throbbed with the heavy pulse in her head.

The tension wound up inside her as she ran out into the middle of the street and looked down toward Forest Avenue, the direction the van had been aimed. There wasn’t a trace of the van, not even a trailing wisp of exhaust. Cindy paused and listened, trying to hear the receding sound of the van’s engine, but everything was eerily silent except for the soft sigh of a night breeze.

“What the goddamned hell?” she said, shivering wildly and hugging herself.

She couldn’t deny the almost overpowering impression that the van had never even been there. She wondered if she and Krissy had imagined seeing it. Glancing over her shoulder, she looked up at the building, washed with the blue glow of the streetlight. Very faintly, she could see the silhouette of Krissy, who was still standing in the darkened window. Cindy raised her hand and waved to her, then, with a shrug, turned to look helplessly down the street once again.

How could he have gotten away so quickly, she wondered. She was boiling with anger. Her fists were clenched so tightly they began to hurt. But it’s a goddamned good thing you didn’t stick around, ’cause if you had, I would’ve ripped that goddamned door right off your goddamned van!

She stood in the middle of the street a few seconds longer, but then the penetrating chill of the night air drove her back into the building. As she started up the stairs to the apartment, a new worry suddenly struck her: But now, what if he knows that I know he’s watching us?

The thought made her whimper with repressed fear.

She paused halfway up the stairs, but as much as she tried to push it away, the thought became an incessant chant inside her mind.

Somebody’s watching us!… Somebody’s watching us!

By the time she was back inside the apartment and had the door safely bolted behind her, she had made up her mind. They were going to have to leave… now!

5

“Whaa… whozit?”

The voice coming through the closed door was faint and crusty with sleep. Cindy leaned close to the door and spoke slowly, although it was an effort to keep the panicky edge out of her voice.

“Hey, Alice… It’s me, Cindy.”

“What the hell?” Alice said. She sounded sleepy and genuinely confused. Through the door, Cindy could hear her as she fumbled to open the deadbolt lock. The latch finally clicked, and the door swung open to reveal Alice, dressed in her tattered bathrobe and slouched over like a hunchback. Her curly, dark hair was a rat’s nest of tangles. She smacked her lips wetly as she rubbed her eyes and tried to focus on Cindy’s face. “Do you know what time it is?”

“I know—I know” Cindy replied shakily.

“Well, I hope, for your sake, that the goddamned apartment building’s on fire or something.”

“No, I … I need your help.”

“What is it? What can I do for you?”

“We have to leave,” Cindy said without preamble. There was still a keen edge to her voice, but Alice, torn from sleep, seemed unable to respond to it.

“Whad’da’yah mean, we? D’you mean you and me? Who? Is the building really on fire, or what?”

A panicked expression flashed across Alice’s face, but Cindy quickly shook her head in denial as Alice stepped aside so she could enter the apartment.

“No, no,” she said, “it’s nothing like that. Leave the door open, will you?”

Alice nodded, “So…? Tell me what’s up.”

“I—well, you know I told you about our situation—you know, about me and my sister’s kids…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alice said, nodding sleepily but sounding impatient. She seemed to be making a valiant effort to come awake, but it just wasn’t working. She glanced at her wrist watch, sighed, and shook her head.

“Well, I think—I’m pretty sure that someone’s been watching us.”

“You mean you… and the kids.”

“Yeah.” Cindy nodded her head. “For the last few nights, there’s been a white van parked outside the building, and I—I’m pretty sure someone broke into my apartment yesterday.”

“What? Is anything missing?” Alice said. She suddenly looked a lot more awake at the mention of a break-in. With a quick hand gesture, Cindy reassured her that she and the kids were all right.

“No, everything’s okay, it’s just that… I dunno, it seems like stuff had been messed around with, you know? And the kids won’t admit to it. It’s little things, like things falling apart and some stuff has been shifted around, all messed up. Nothing valuable is missing.”

“Yeah, so what are you gonna do?”

Before Cindy could reply, Alice turned and walked into the kitchen. Without asking if Cindy wanted any, she started making a pot of coffee. Cindy followed her into the kitchen, but she made sure she positioned herself so she could still see through Alice’s opened apartment door to her own door across the hall. It was locked, and she had the key in her jeans pocket, but she didn’t feel at all secure.

“Well, I hate to say it, but I think the kids and I are gonna have to leave… at least for a little while,” Cindy said. She felt increasingly frustrated as she watched Alice as she slowly, deliberately measured coffee and poured cold water into the coffee maker. She wanted her to shove everything aside, wake all the way up, and listen to what she had to say. Maybe Alice would have a better idea of what she should do.

“Well,” Alice said, dragging her voice. “I mean, don’t you think you’re overreacting? Maybe just a little bit?”

Cindy shook her head firmly.

“I don’t think so. That same white van’s been parked out there for several nights, now. Krissy was the first one to notice it, but I—”

She suddenly jerked her head back and snapped her fingers. Her mouth tightened into a thin line.

“Oh, my God, that’s it!” she said in a voice that was low and raspy, and almost broke. Vague traces of a half-forgotten memory suddenly rushed into her mind.

“Huh? What’s it?”

Alice had switched on the coffee maker, and the water was sputtering as it dripped into the carafe. “That van,” Cindy said.

“Are you sure it doesn’t belong to someone who lives on the street?” Alice asked. “I mean, that would make the most sense, don’t you think?”

“No, no, I saw it once before, too… on that day—”

“Wait a second. You’re losing me here, Cindy.”

Alice regarded her with genuine expression of concern in her eyes, but Cindy leaned forward and started massaging her forehead. She had to take a deep breath before she was able to speak again.

“A couple of days ago, I got a flat tire and was late picking up Krissy…”she said, staring blankly at the kitchen wall as the memory came into sharper focus in her mind. Second by second, she could feel her eyes widening with her rising terror. “Just after I’d pulled over to the side of the road, I remember a van… a van went by.” Wide-eyed, she focused on Alice. “A white van.”

“Yeah? So what?” Alice said. “I mean, I’m pretty sure there are at least one or two white vans in the Greater Portland area.”

“Yeah, but the driver tooted his horn at me. I couldn’t see who it was, but I remember wondering at the time who the hell would drive by, apparently recognize me, but then not stop to help out.”

She stepped forward, grabbing both of Alice’s arms at the elbows, and squeezed tightly.

“What if that was the same person then, too?” she said in a tremulous whisper. “What if he had followed me out to Fort Williams that day and then did something to make my tire blow? Put a nail in it or something. Jesus, Alice! What if he set the whole thing up so he could try to nab Krissy? What if it had all been part of his plan?”

Alice took a step back, breaking Cindy’s hold on her arms, and shook her head. “Well, I don’t know, Cindy. I don’t mean to sound nasty or anything, but you’re sounding awfully paranoid to me.” She concluded with a nervous sniffle of laughter.

“What, and you wouldn’t be?” Cindy snapped. “Christ All Mighty, Alice, there has to be someone following us! Someone’s trying to get these kids away from me!”

“But he didn’t. Krissy got away from him,” Alice said. She was still sounding too damned reasonable.

“Yeah, but only because the blue—” Cindy had been about to tell Alice what Krissy had told her about the blue lady, but she stopped herself. It was already pretty clear that Alice thought she might be losing it. “What if he tries again?” she said. “I bet to Christ he’ll try again!”

“If you’re so sure of that, then why don’t you tell the police about it?” Alice said, staring at her and looking a bit befuddled.

“Oh, yeah—sure!” Cindy slapped her hands against her thighs. “How the hell could I do that? They’re not my kids, remember? I kidnapped them from their own goddamned father!”

“Umm, yeah. Good point there,” Alice said, nodding. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the coffee was ready. She went over to the cupboard and, again without asking, took down two coffee mugs, picked up the carafe, and started to pour.

“Cream and sugar?” she asked as she slid the first full cup across the counter in Cindy’s direction.

“Just some milk… thanks,” Cindy said distractedly. She stared ahead blankly, lost in thought as Alice took a half gallon of skim milk from the refrigerator and poured a dash into her coffee. It barely changed the color, but she didn’t care. Right now, good tasting coffee wasn’t very high on her list of concerns.

“But what if it is someone trying to get the kids?” Cindy asked. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded numbed and completely detached. She felt weak and helpless, and wished she could just disappear right then and there, simply melt into the floor and be gone! Try as she might, though, she couldn’t stop the memory of that day from replaying over and over in her mind. She closed her eyes and gripping the edge of the counter for balance, tried to picture exactly what had happened and what she had said and thought and done when she had seen that van go by and honk at her.

Yes, by Jesus! It had been a white van, no doubt about it, and as far as she could remember, it was just like the one she and Krissy had seen outside on the street tonight!

A cold, clutching sensation tightened around her chest and wouldn’t stop squeezing.

But was it the same white van, the one that, later that same afternoon, while she was occupied getting her tire fixed, had followed Krissy home only she lost him at the corner? Was she making all of this up, or were they all really in danger?

She scalded her mouth when she opened her eyes and unconsciously took a sip of the hot coffee, but shaking it off, she placed the cup down on the counter beside her and nailed Alice with a piercing stare.

“Look, Alice, I don’t want to get you any more involved in this than you already are. I mean, as it is, you could probably be arrested for aiding and abetting a criminal or something.”

“Believe me,” Alice said with a reassuring smile, “I think I can handle myself.”

Cindy cleared her throat and shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “Well, then, can I ask you one favor? Just one?”

“Anything you want,” Alice said.

Even though her smile widened so Cindy knew she meant it, Cindy had the fleeting impression that Alice was simply going along with all of this to humor her in hopes that, come morning, she would realize that it had all been some wild fabrication of her overactive imagination.

And maybe that’s all it is, she thought with a bone-deep shiver, but no matter what else, she couldn’t deny that a whole series of subconscious alarms were going off, clanging and hooting like the tornado alarms that were so common on those heavy, humid summer days back home in Nebraska. She couldn’t deny her conviction that something was wrong, and she knew that she would be a fool not to listen to her own intuition.

“I think I need to borrow your car,” Cindy said at last. Each word felt like dried, crusty sand in her mouth, and she had to lick her lips repeatedly with the tip of her tongue.

“My car,” Alice echoed.

Cindy nodded. “Yup. If someone’s on to us, changing cars might throw him off, at least long enough for us to get away. We’ve got a place to go to, a place we were heading to when we first got here, but I got sidetracked and ended up in Portland, instead. Maybe now’s the time for us to go there before… well, before things totally get out of control.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Alice asked. Her face was creased with an expression of genuine concern for her friend as she stepped close to Cindy and rested one hand on her shoulder. Cindy covered Alice’s hand with her own, smiled, and gave Alice’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“Of course I am… at least I’m sure I will be,” she said softly. “I think the really important thing right now is for me to take the kids and leave.”

“Where will you go?” Alice asked.

Cindy had the sharp impression that Alice was deeply saddened to hear that she had to be leaving, but she shook her head with resolve and said, “I told you. We have a place. Look, I don’t want to sound too melodramatic or paranoid, as you put it, but for your own protection, I probably shouldn’t tell you.”

“Bullshit!” Alice snapped. “And anyway, how will you get your car back? I don’t want to sound ornery about it or anything, but your car’s just a little bit better than my old rust bucket. I don’t want to stick you with something like that.”

Cindy shrugged as if she didn’t care and, in truth, she didn’t, as long as she could do everything within her power to make sure Krissy and Billy were safe.

“I’m not worried about it, honest,” she said, “but once we get settled, I’ll give you a call and we can arrange to meet and swap back. Where we’re going isn’t very far from here… at least I don’t think so.”

“And you’re sure you’re all right?” Alice asked, nailing her again with an intense but caring look.

“Yes, honest. Stop worrying.”

“Okay, then,” Alice said, nodding as she picked up her cup of coffee and took her first tentative sip. “Just let me have a gulp or two of this, then I’ll get dressed and help you get packed.”

“No, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

PART FOUR

TO THE LAKE

Chapter Nineteen

Running Again

Something was wrong.

Alex could sense it almost from the instant he pulled the van to a stop in the church parking lot. Twisting around in his seat and resting his elbow on the steering wheel, he leaned against the driver’s door so he could keep a close watch on the apartment building across the street. A bright wash of morning sunlight made the white building stand out starkly against the brilliant blue of the sky. Towering white puffs of clouds were moving slowly across the horizon from west to east.

Frowning deeply, Alex carefully peeled back the arrowhead tab on the plastic cover on the coffee he’d bought at Dunkin’ Donuts and stirred in a packet of sugar and two cups of Half-and-half. He took a slurping sip, all the while keeping his gaze fastened on the upstairs living room window. At least so far, he hadn’t caught even the slightest hint of activity up there, and he knew, by now, he should have.

“What the fuck?” he muttered.

He glanced over at the driveway and saw that Cindy’s car was parked right where she always left it, in front of the weather-beaten door of the garage.

From every other morning he’d sat out here, he knew that Cindy and the kids should be bustling around by now, getting ready for school. Every day he would see the dim silhouette of at least one if not all of them shift past the upstairs window. Sighing with frustration and trying to ignore the subtle winding of tension in his stomach, he glanced at his watch. It was seven thirty-three. Cursing softly, he held his watch up to his ear to make sure it was still ticking.

“Yeah, takes a lickin’ but keeps on tickin’,” he whispered, but he found almost no humor in it.

He knew from experience that, within a few minutes, he should see Billy come out the front door and, leaping from the porch to the ground, head out for school. On some days, apparently whenever he was running a little late, his two buddies would come around to meet up with him. So far today Billy wasn’t late, but Alex couldn’t ignore the cold churning deep in the pit of his stomach that was telling him something… something was seriously wrong.

“Fucking Christ,” he whispered, leaning forward and straining to see any indication of activity up there in the second floor apartment. He considered fishing out the pair of binoculars he had bought but didn’t want to take his eyes off the building for even a second. He started jiggling his foot impatiently on the floor as he wondered what could have gone wrong and what he should do about it.

Oh, yeah… sure as shit, something was wrong, but what was it? Could one of the kids be sick? Maybe both of them had caught colds and were staying home from school today. Even so, though, Alex expected to see Cindy move past the front window at least once or twice.

… Unless she was sick, too.

Shit, yes! Wouldn’t that be something? Alex thought with a widening smile, but all he could feel was nervousness about what might have gone wrong.

He took a sip of his coffee, swallowed noisily, and waited. After several minutes, he saw Billy’s two friends come around the side of the building. Both were carrying backpacks and had their baseball hats on backwards as they stood at the foot of the steps and looked up at the apartment windows. One of them cupped his hands to his mouth and, leaning back, called out, “Yo! Hey! Billy!”

His high-pitched voice echoed dully in the chilled morning air. Alex watched as the two boys exchanged meaningful glances; then the other one counted with his forefinger—one, two, three—and they both shouted for all they were worth.

“Bil-ly!”

Alex’s tension grew steadily stronger as he watched them wait for several seconds, and still there was no response from the upstairs apartment. After a moment, one of them called out, “See yah later!” They settled their backpacks on their backs, then cut across the yard and disappeared behind the building.

By the time they were out of sight, Alex was feeling nervous as hell. Someone should have come to the window by now, even if it was one of the neighbors, complaining about the noise this early in the morning.

What the fuck is going on here? Alex wondered as he stroked the rough beard stubble on his chin.

After several more minutes of watching, his impatience finally boiled over. He popped open the door, dumped the remains of his coffee onto the ground, and started across the parking lot toward the building, all the while keeping his eyes focused on the upstairs window. He was positive, now, that there was no one inside the apartment. Grunting, he mounted the front steps, shouldered open the door, and went up to the second floor landing. His feet stomped heavily on the creaking stairway.

Clenching one hand into a fist, he pounded heavily on the closed door three or four times; then he stood back and counted to ten, waiting for someone to answer.

But he knew no one would answer.

His heart-sank with the thought that—somehow—Cindy must have caught on to him and had split during the night.

“Shit, the mother-fucking little bitch!” he hissed between clenched teeth.

He didn’t wait to knock a second time. Turning the doorknob as hard as he could to one side, he rammed his shoulder against the door. With a sharp, crackling sound of splitting wood, the apartment door sprang open and Alex staggered inside.

“Hey, is anybody home?” he called out in a light, teasing “Big Bad Wolf’ voice. He brushed his hands on his pants legs before tiptoeing into the living room. Everything appeared to be perfectly normal, just the way it had been the other day, but the silence in the apartment seemed somehow different. When he glanced over toward the window and saw that the television set and Nintendo game were gone, he knew for sure that Cindy had bolted.

“Jesus Christ!” he sputtered as he stalked from the living room into the kitchen and looked around. “Jesus H. Goddamn Mother-fuckin’ Christ!”

All of the furniture was just the way he remembered it, but a quick check through the kitchen cupboards revealed that most of the dishes and glasses, and all of the food he had seen there only a few days ago was gone. His face flushed with anger as he stomped down the hallway toward the bedrooms. He pushed open the door to Krissy’s bedroom and uttered a loud curse when he saw that all of her bureau drawers had been pulled open and emptied. The closet door hung half-way open, and he could see that none of the few clothes she had were there.

Boiling with anger, he walked over to the bureau, grabbed the drawers, and threw them onto the floor. Sputtering incoherent curses, he started kicking the drawers, caving in their sides and bottoms until they were nothing but splinters.

Seconds later, when the first rush of anger had begun to subside, he stood in the middle of the room, panting as he stared at the bare mattress cover. A bright ray of sunlight came in through the open window, illuminating the gray swirls of dust he had stirred up. After giving the bureau one last solid kick, he left the room, knowing that he didn’t need to check the rest of the bedrooms.

Cindy and the kids were long gone!

“Mother fucker!” he shouted. “Mother-fuckin’-fucker!”

He gritted his teeth and shook his fists at the ceiling. Then, letting out a wild whoop, he spun around on his heel and smashed his fist against the wall. The cheap wallboard caved in, leaving a hole about the size of a softball. A red haze of anger filled him, tingling every nerve in his body as he let out another wild stream of curses and started kicking and punching the hallway walls. He was so swept up in his fury and rage that he almost didn’t notice the voice that called out from the living room.

“Uhh… excuse me…?”

2

It had taken Alice and Cindy most of the night to pack up everyone’s clothes and throw the very basics—food, plates, glasses, cooking utensils, silverware, and a few toiletries—into cardboard boxes. Not wanting to lug around anything more than necessary, Cindy had decided to leave the TV and Super Nintendo behind, but Billy insisted they bring it, maintaining that once they got to the lake, he wouldn’t have any friends to play with or anything else to do. Krissy had been quiet the whole time, but whenever Cindy or Alice checked on her, thinking she had fallen asleep on the couch while the adults did all the heavy work, they had been surprised to find her still wide awake.

All during the time they were packing, Alice continued to drink coffee, so by five o’clock in the morning, after seeing Cindy and the kids off, she had gone back to bed but had been too wired to sleep. She lay awake, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about how sad she had felt, watching Cindy and the kids leave. The night air had been winter-brisk and gray traces of morning light had just been starting to tinge the eastern sky as her car, on loan to Cindy, sent up a thick plume of exhaust as it headed down Coyne Street toward Forest Avenue. Although she hadn’t gotten to know Cindy very well, Alice had genuinely liked her and felt sympathy for her situation. She had been looking forward to spending more time with her once—if ever—things started settling down at her job; but now that opportunity—like so many other opportunities in her life, she thought—was gone forever. A little after seven o’clock, she called work and told them that she was sick and wouldn’t be in that day.

Her first thought when she heard the heavy clomp of footsteps coming up the stairs was that Cindy had forgotten something and had come back for it. She slipped out of bed, pulled on her tattered bathrobe, and went to the door to peek out through the fish-eye lens, but by the time she got there, all she could see was the door to Cindy’s apartment across the hall hanging halfway open. She clearly remembered that Cindy had closed and locked the door behind her after carrying the last load of boxes downstairs, so even though those footsteps in the hallway had sounded much too loud to be Cindy’s, Alice figured it had to be her. After struggling to get her door unlocked, Alice walked across the hall just as a loud crash sounded from somewhere inside the apartment.

“Hello, Cindy…?” she called out tentatively.

She wondered why Cindy would come back here, certainly not to start trashing the place. Glancing back at her own apartment, Alice thought that it might not be such a bad idea to go back and call the police first, but she decided against that, just in case this was Cindy. Stepping gingerly into the living room and craning her head forward, she tried to see what was going on in the darkened hallway.

The apartment echoed dully with the sound of breaking, splintering wood. When she heard a man’s low voice start muttering curses, and then she saw him step out into the hallway, spin on his heel, and pound his fist against the wall, she knew it was already too late to get out of there unseen.

“Uhh… excuse me…?” she said after clearing her throat.

The man jerked his head up and looked at her, his eyes wide with surprise. After pinning her with a piercing stare, looking at her quizzically as if he should recognize her, he shouted, “Yeah, and what the fuck do you want?”

Completely flustered, her hands weaving in front of her, Alice tried to think of something to say, but nothing would come out of her mouth except a series of stammers and gasps.

The man tensed his arms, bouncing both fists at his sides as he moved slowly forward. When Alice got a better look at him, her stomach contracted into an icy ball. His face was flushed with exertion, and his pale eyes glowed with a wild, crazed gleam. A single, pulsing blue vein stood out on the center of his forehead. The tendons in his neck looked like thick pencils underneath his taut skin. His close-cropped blond hair gave him a strict, almost military look. Knowing what she knew about Cindy’s situation, Alice wondered if this might not be a policeman or FBI agent who had been keeping Cindy under surveillance and now was pissed at discovering that she had taken off.

“I asked you,” he said, dragging his voice with menace and all the while moving steadily forward. “What the fuck do you want?”

For the first time, Alice noticed his accent, which had a slight western twang to it. Actually, it sounded quite a bit like Cindy’s accent.

“I—I was just… see, I live next door and I … and I heard some noise,” Alice said, ending in a tight giggle.

She wished she didn’t sound so flaky, but the man’s presence had thrown her completely off balance. She was trying desperately to think of a way to get out of this gracefully. “I was—you know, trying to sleep. I called in sick at work, and the noise woke me up.”

She paused and stared back at him, her mind a white blank of mounting fear. Then an idea suddenly struck her.

“Hey,” she said, snapping her fingers and pointing at him, but still horribly aware of the nervous tremor in her voice. “I’ll bet you’re the guy who’s moving into this apartment, right?”

He seemed to recognize the fear he had generated in her and silently regarded her with a long, cold stare. Then, very slowly, a smile spread across his face, exposing his upper teeth.

“Where the fuck is she?” he said in low, measured tones that sounded like an angry parent who was trying his best to keep his anger under control.

“Huh?… Where’s who—?” Alice said with a silly shrug. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

He said nothing as he glared at her, apparently enjoying how scared she was.

“I… I thought—you know, this apartment’s been vacant for a couple of weeks, now, maybe even a month. When I first heard you in here, I thought maybe you might be Mr. Lindeman, you know, the landlord—”

“No, I ain’t no fucking landlord,” the man said with a dark, deepening frown as he moved even closer to her. He stopped only a few feet away from Alice, so close that she could feel the heat of his breath wash across her face when he spoke. She knew he could easily grab her if she tried to get away now, but she couldn’t stop thinking longingly about her own apartment just across the hall, and how safety was so close… so close…

Why the hell didn’t I just keep my nose out of this? she asked herself as her mind clicked through several possibilities of what she might do next. It was obvious that playing dumb wasn’t going to work. This guy—whoever the hell he was—knew damned right well that Cindy had been here as recently as yesterday.

“Uh, look, mister, I don’t want any trouble, okay?” Alice said shakily. Involuntarily, she took a quick step away from him, but he followed it up with his own step forward. “When I first heard you knocking around in here, I called the police to report a break-in, so you might want to—”

“Bullshit!” the man snarled, followed by a burst of snorting laugh. “I know damned right well you didn’t. You see, the trouble with you—with all of you fuckin’ bitches is, you just don’t know how to lie convincingly. Now, men—” He straightened up and smacked his fist into the palm of his hand. “Men, on the other hand, can lie through their fuckin’ teeth and never get caught at it. But you fuckin’ women! Christ on a cross, you get so nerved up and fidgety whenever you even try to pull one over on us men.”

He looked down at the floor a moment and, stroking his chin, shook his head as though deeply saddened.

“No, I know damned right well you haven’t called the cops,” he said softly, “because you told me just a second ago that you thought I might be the landlord when you first heard the racket in here.” He took a deep breath and exhaled noisily, like he was trying his best to control his impatience. “No, I suspect the real truth is, you might have thought it was Cindy still knocking around in here. Didn’t you?… Didn’t you?”

Alice opened her mouth and tried to say something, but her throat closed off with a sharp gasp. All she could do was shake her head in earnest denial.

“I know that’s what you thought, so don’t try to bullshit me, telling me this place has been empty, or that you’ve already called the police. Don’t give me any of that shit, okay?”

Before Alice could respond, he suddenly lunged forward and grabbed the front of her bathrobe. Balling it up into his fist, he pulled her helplessly forward, dragging her until her face was inches from his. The wild gleam in his eyes sent a bolt of terror through her. Beneath her fear, a calm, rational voice deep inside her brain was telling her that this guy wasn’t anything close to a cop or FBI agent. No, he was a full-tilt-boogie loony tunes nut-case.

Jesus Christ, Cindy was right! Alice thought as numbing icy waves of terror rippled through her. There really was someone after her, and he is seriously dangerous!

“Now, I’m gonna ask you one simple question,” the man said in a low, raspy voice. He held his forefinger so close to her face she couldn’t focus on it.

“Just once, and then I’m going to give you about three seconds to give me an answer.” He skinned his lips back, exposing his teeth, and Alice was suddenly fearful that he was about to bite her. She almost gagged on his stale breath.

“And if you don’t… well, then…”

He let his voice trail away menacingly and punctuated it with another low rumble of laughter.

Limp with terror and fearful for her own safety, Alice shook her head weakly from side to side. The strength and any spirit of resistance was draining from her body, and she couldn’t stop the simpering, whiny noises she was making.

“Now, you tell me,” the man said evenly, “exactly where the fuck she went!”

Alice was close to fainting. Her vision blurred, making dozens of splintered images of the man’s face rotate in watery circles in front of her eyes, like a crazy kaleidoscope. Her ears thundered with the steady pounding of her heart that kept going faster and faster as a deep, burning pressure built up inside her head. “You’d better tell me, you lousy bitch. Right now, or else you’re gonna be one very sorry lady. I’m startin’ to count. One…”

He waited a beat.

“… Two…”

Alice couldn’t have spoken if she had wanted to. The man’s twisting grip was tightening the collar of her bathrobe around her throat, cutting off her air supply. A thin slip of air hissed between her teeth.

“…Three…”

Bright, trailing pinpoints of white light tracked like comets across her vision, and from every side, a thick, vibrating blackness started seeping inward like a slow-spreading ink stain.

“… Four…”

Her lungs, starved for air, felt like they were on fire. She was barely aware of the burning itch of pins-’n-needles that was spreading through her body. Something in the back of her head was making a wild crackling sound, like a raging brushfire.

“… Five!”

The man’s voice sounded muffled.

“Now, tell me where the fuck she went, or I swear to Christ, I’ll fucking kill you!”

Alice suspected that the man was yelling at her, but his voice was strangely faint and hollow, as though he were calling to her from the distant end of a cave. The darkness in front of her-eyes was frothing like powerful surges of night surf, engulfing her awareness. She was only dimly conscious of herself shaking her head back and forth in denial.

I’ll… never.., tell… you… you… bastard!… I’ll… never… tell!…

The words echoed like rolling claps of thunder in her mind, but she had no idea whether or not she said them out loud. The swirling darkness filled her vision, shifting gradually with vibrant, angry red flashes. The rapid pounding of her pulse in her ears sounded like distant cannon shot, but then, with a loud, clean snap, it all suddenly stopped. She felt herself floating… gliding

… gliding lazily downward?…

… upward?…

… sideways?…

… It suddenly didn’t seem to matter as she felt herself being enfolded into a soft cushion of impenetrable darkness.

The last thing she realized was, The pain… the excruciating pain is over…

3

Jesus Chris, this could have gone better!

That was Alex’s first thought when he felt the woman slump forward into his arms. Slight tremors shook the muscles in his legs and arms as he lowered her limp body gently to the floor, letting it slide until her head bumped the carpet with a dull thud. Kneeling beside her, he loosened the bathrobe collar from around her neck and stared, long and hard at the angry red ring of wrinkled skin that circled her throat like a twisting necklace. Her face looked slightly swollen and was infused a bright red, almost purple, but the color was starting to fade now that the constriction around her neck had been relieved. Shivering, Alex felt for a pulse in her neck, but there was none. He peeled back her eyelids and stared at the bulging, glistening eyeballs. They had rolled far up into her head as if she were trying to study her eyebrows.

“I warned you, and you should’ve listened to me,” he said in a low, trembling voice. “You should’ve fuckin’ told me where she went.”

He stared at the woman’s slack expression a moment longer, then, realizing he couldn’t hang around here regretting what had happened, he stood up and shook himself. He had to clear his mind and think about what he wanted to do next. He certainly hadn’t planned on killing this woman, but he told himself that he had realized, as soon as she started talking, that she would have made trouble for him if he had ever let her get away. Hell, she had gotten a good, close look at his face, and if she had gotten a chance to report him to the police they might have caught up with him before he caught up with Cindy.

There was no way he could allow that to happen!

No, this was bad, but it wasn’t a total disaster. He’d think of something!

Clasping his hands together and taking a deep breath, Alex stood up and looked around at the deserted apartment. Bars of warm, yellow morning sunlight filtered through the grimy windows, casting hot, hard shadows across the worn carpet. Dust swirled in the stale, close air. He looked again at the motionless woman on the floor and, this time, he smiled. At least there wasn’t any blood to clean up.

His first thought was to stuff the dead woman into one of the closets and leave her there. Let her rot away and start stinking until the police or the landlord or someone came snooping around. Once they found her, they couldn’t help but connect Cindy with her.

What if they suspected her of killing this woman before taking off? Yeah, and wouldn’t that be a laugh riot? Alex thought. At the very least, it’ll sure as shit put a dent in Cindy’s credibility if she ever tries to get legal custody of my kids!

Alex stood there in the middle of the living room, his chin resting in the cup of his hand as he considered what to do next. There was no doubt that he wanted to see Cindy suffer, but he wasn’t quite sure he wanted it to be that way.

No, he wanted to get to her first and make her pay his way.

The only thing that really pissed him off about this new wrinkle in the situation was that Cindy had gotten away clean, and now he had no idea where to start looking for her. It had been hard enough finding her the first time! Now, with her on the run, there was no telling how far she might go. It’s too bad this bitch, whoever she was, had to die before she could tell him what he needed to know!

“Fuckin’-A! Wait just a goddamned second,” Alex whispered, suddenly snapping his fingers and letting his smile widen. He remembered seeing Cindy’s car parked in the driveway as he was coming up to the apartment. That meant, if she had taken off, she had used this woman’s car and left her own car for her to use. If that was the case, then sure as hell she must not be going very far…

No, just far enough to lose him.

He had no doubt that Cindy now realized he—or someone—was after her; she’d obviously panicked and bolted. He chastised himself for going a little too far when he broke into the apartment and messed things up, putting her on alert.

But so what? he thought, sneering. So fucking what?

His mind continued to click through the many options he could choose. When he remembered seeing those two boys out in front of the apartment building this morning, calling for Billy, another thought occurred to him.

“Yeah, by Jesus, that might be it,” he said, snapping his fingers again and laughing out loud. “I’ll just have to find one of them and ask him.”

He glanced down at the dead woman and snorted in the back of his throat.

“This time, I’ll just have to make sure I get the information I need before I do anything else, that’s all.”

After checking to make sure the corridor was clear, Alex grabbed the dead woman’s feet and dragged her across the hail, back to her own apartment. After depositing her on the floor, he took a few moments to look around, being careful not to touch anything that might leave fingerprints. Satisfied that she apparently lived alone, he dragged her down the hallway to her bedroom and, using his shirt sleeve so he wouldn’t leave any fingerprints on the doorknob, opened the closet door and slid her into it. He had a bit of trouble keeping one of her arms from flopping out and blocking the door, but he finally got it inside and shut the door by bumping it with his butt. He left the room, wiping his hands together and smiling, feeling confident that it might be a couple of days, maybe even a week or two before someone found her. He left the apartment, being careful again to cover his hand with his shirttail before closing the door, and started down the stairs, whistling a happy tune.

He was still a little bit pissed off that Cindy had gotten away from him, but he told himself not to worry. Shit, he’d found her once before, and by Jesus, he’d find her again!

4

In her dream, she is running again…

Then the scene shifts crazily, the way dreams do.

At first it is night, and she is running through her strangely enlarged house back in Omaha, running through cavernous rooms she vaguely realizes aren’t there in real life. Then, as the night sky gradually blends into a pale hint of dawn, she is racing along streets in an oddly deserted downtown Portland. Her footsteps echo hollowly on asphalt and old cobblestones. And then she is running in a bright blast of sunshine, across a vast, grassy park area which she at first doesn’t recognize as a dream-distorted version of Fort Williams. She is heading toward a shrub-covered spur of land that juts out into a wild, churning ocean. Gray, froth-streaked waves shoot high into the sky. Each wave seems to tower above her, rippling against the sky before it subtly transforms into the shape of a huge hand that reaches out as though to swat her before it melts away with a bubbling hiss. She looks up and, high overhead, can see dozens—no, hundreds of black birds with wide wings, circling in lazy circles against the blue sky like vultures waiting for death. Above the thundering roar of the waves she can almost hear the faint sound of their grating, cawing shrieks.

She is running again…

Although she can’t see the person she is running from, she can hear his heavy breathing, rasping like faulty bellows close to her ears. The heavy thump-thump of his footsteps punches the air like distant gunfire. The panic winding up inside her feels like a glowing red coil in the pit of her stomach.

He’s getting closer… closer…

She runs harder, her lungs flaming with exertion.

Like the hand-shaped waves crashing all around her, she can sense that her pursuer is reaching out for her, trying to snag her by the shoulder or foot so he can trip her up… trip her up just enough so she will fall..

And then, she will be his!

But she is running…

Now she is on a narrow, brush-lined path that winds like a tangled brown ribbon along the cliff high above the water’s edge. Cold, prickling spray shoots up all around her, washing over her face and arms like sweat. She feels an almost overpowering urge to look behind her, to see who is pursuing her, but she doesn’t dare look away from the inches-wide dirt path she is following. One false step and she will tumble into the sea that churns far below her like an angry, boiling kettle. She sees tangled seaweed and brown kelp twisting on the water like mermaid’s hair. The jagged rocks below are pointed, like rows of gigantic teeth. In spite of the dizzying vast expanse around her, a choking sensation of claustrophobia embraces her, compressing her chest and burning her lungs.

But she is running…

Running until she comes to the edge of the cliff overhanging the storm-tossed ocean, and then there is nowhere left to run. Trembling inside and feeling an overpowering urge to start screaming and keep on screaming until her throat becomes bloody and raw, she turns around in terrified slow motion to face her pursuer.

For a shimmering instant, the path before her is clear, but she can still sense him, an unseen presence that—she knows—is going to explode into view at any moment. The wind screams in her ears like a woman in pain, but then the dream world around her becomes oddly hushed, muffled with electric expectation. And then, in the flicker of an eye, the space between two throbbing pulse beats, a shape appears along the horizon—a dark, vibrant silhouette that looks like a black hole has been cut out of the sky. It ripples as it shifts swiftly forward, enlarging with frightening speed, but still it is nothing more than a perfectly black human shape with two burning red eyes glowing as they stare unblinking at her and burn into the core of her being.

As the shape moves steadily closer, the scream that is welling up inside her suddenly finds escape—

5

Awakening with a startled yelp, Cindy was surprised to find herself sitting bolt-upright on a couch in unfamiliar surroundings. Momentarily dazed, she looked around at the dingy, dust-glazed room until where she was and how she had gotten there all came rushing back to her. She and the kids had driven for more than an hour before, shortly after dawn, they found Harry’s uncle’s camp on Little Sebago Lake. She’d had a bit of trouble finding the Campbell Shore Road, but the key to the front door was hanging on a nail in the boathouse, right where Harry had told her it would be. After unloading a few necessities from the car, she had settled the kids side by side in the double bed upstairs, and then, exhausted, had collapsed onto the couch and slipped into a thin, disturbed sleep within seconds.

Yawning and stretching, she squinted at the thin haze of yellow sunlight that was shining through the rough flaps of burlap that served as window curtains. The light cast a wash of brown shadows across the bare wooden floor. In one corner of the living room, just in front of one of the windows, was a battered, round oak table, surrounded by four mismatched chairs. The old wood looked as gray as slate because of the thick coating of dust.

Jesus Christ, what have I gotten us into? Cindy wondered as the gloomy atmosphere of the camp swept over her.

The small of her back complained as she shifted her feet to the floor and slowly stood up, stretching. That movement raised a strong musty smell from the couch that made her cough hoarsely. Rubbing her face with both hands, trying to force herself awake, she walked into the adjoining kitchen. Her eyes darted back and forth, taking in the grimy stove and yellowed enamel of the old-fashioned refrigerator. She walked over to the rust-stained sink and unconsciously turned the faucet.

“Of course not,” she whispered when no water came out. Harry had told her that the water would probably be turned off so the pipes wouldn’t freeze in the winter. No doubt the electricity had been turned off, too, she thought, so she was prepared for nothing to happen when she flipped the light switch above the sink. Harry’s uncle, Dick bland, had died the year before, leaving the camp to his only daughter, Harry’s cousin Louise, who lived out in Oregon. With no other surviving family members living nearby, the camp had been shut up until Louise decided what she was going to do with it.

Getting the power turned back on wasn’t going to be any problem, Cindy thought, all she had to do was drive into town and call Central Maine Power, but she wasn’t so sure about getting the pump running so they’d have water and could flush the toilet, if that even worked. Whether or not the stove and refrigerator were still functional was anybody’s guess.

“Shit, I’ll worry about that later,” she muttered, feeling much more awake as she walked back into the living room and took another look around.

Although Harry had told her the place had gone unused for no more than a year or two at the most, it looked like it hadn’t seen a good cleaning in years, possibly decades. She recalled hearing that Uncle Dick’s wife, Aunt Ruby, had died something like ten years before, and it was obvious this place hadn’t seen a woman’s touch in at least that long. Dirt, dust, and grime were everywhere. Even the mirror beside the stairs leading up to the two small, adjoining bedrooms was smeared so badly Cindy couldn’t see much more of her reflection than a hazy silhouette. She frowned as she wiped the mirror clean, then looked at her hand and wiped it on her pants leg.

“Damn,” she muttered, shaking her head with disgust. It was going to take some real work to clean up this place if they were going to stay here for any length of time. The thought gave her a cold, hollow pit in her stomach, and she wondered just how desperate, how crazy she would have to be to actually consider living here all winter as a valid option.

Sighing heavily, she went over to one of the windows and pulled aside the rough curtain. The sudden blast of sunlight stung her eyes, but she had to admit that, if nothing else, the view of the lake was beautiful. The dark water was smooth and glassy, reflecting the surrounding trees and cloudless blue sky like a polished mirror. Across the lake, the deep green of pine trees was interspersed with the flaming reds, yellows, and oranges of changing maples and oaks. It struck Cindy as strange how, even this short a distance north of Portland, autumn seemed to be so much further along.

Thinking about Portland made her sigh again. Her eyes began to burn as if she were about to cry, but she told herself it was because of the bright sunlight streaming in through the grimy window. It fell on her skin with a tight prickly heat that she should have found soothing, but she couldn’t push aside the tormenting thought that—perhaps—she had overreacted to the situation back in Portland. Even in so short a time, her fears and mounting paranoia about that white van and her worries that someone had been watching her and had broken into the apartment on Coyne Street now seemed almost foolish. She cursed herself for uprooting the kids and herself from what now looked like a fairly comfortable, almost pleasant situation, and bringing them into… into this!

She frowned as she glanced over her shoulder at the small, dingy living room. It would take the better part of a week, if not a miracle, just to make this place habitable, and they weren’t going to get anything done without electricity and hot water.

“Goddamn, what have I gotten us into?… What have I gotten us into?” she whispered.

She shook her head sadly from side to side, bravely fighting back the tears that burned in her eyes; but then, sighing again, so loud it sounded more like a rumbling groan, she leaned her forehead against the cold, flat glass, closed her eyes, and began to cry.

Chapter Twenty

Interrogations

“I have to talk to the principal! Right now!” Alex shouted as he threw open the office door and strode up to the almost chest-high counter. After hiding the dead woman in her bedroom closet, he had tried to calm himself down, but he was still almost dizzy with adrenalin rushes and his outrage that Cindy had gotten away from him so easily got stronger until he finally exploded with rage and decided he had to visit the elementary school.

“Oh, I—I’m sorry, but Mrs. Castine is busy right now,” said the thin, blond woman who stood at the counter, sorting through a stack of yellow file cards. She blinked her eyes rapidly behind wide, round glasses that made her look owlish as she glanced first at him, then over her shoulder at the closed office door to her right. Two other women, who had been busily typing at their desks, paused and looked at Alex. He could practically feel their mounting alarm as he followed the owlish woman’s gaze and caught a glimpse of the principal inside the glass enclosure of her office. With a feeble sweep of her hand, the owlish woman indicated the row of padded chairs lined up against the wall beneath an array of children’s art.

“If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat over there, I’ll see if she can—”

“No! This can’t wait!” Alex snapped.

He leaned forward, his clenched fists on the counter, indicating that he meant business. Then, squaring his shoulders, he walked boldly around the counter, heading straight for the principal’s office. The thin woman took a few steps forward, as though she intended to intercept him, but then she apparently thought better of it and backed off, fluttering her hands helplessly in front of her.

“I—I’m sorry, but she’s on a—a very important telephone call right now,” the owlish woman said. “If you would please wait just a second, I can check with her to find out when she could see you.”

Alex detected the high, nervous twitter in the woman’s voice, and he found it almost laughable as he shook his head and said, “No.” The thought crossed his mind that this woman might be scared enough to call the police, but he didn’t care; he was too pissed off now to hold himself back. If he was going to make a strong impression here and get the information he needed, he couldn’t very well pussy-foot around.

“It can’t wait,” he said, pausing just outside the office door, his hand squeezing the doorknob until his knuckles went white. “It’s extremely urgent.”

He twisted the doorknob and, shouldering the door open, entered the small office. The glass window in the door rattled from the impact as he swung it shut behind him. The rather large, elderly-looking woman who had been talking on the telephone looked up at him in surprise as she gently replaced the phone on its cradle.

“Yes…? How may I help you?” she asked.

She was smiling at him, but there was an iciness in her tone and expression that made Alex’s anger surge all the higher. The woman’s voice betrayed none of the surprise or anger or abject fear he wanted her to experience at this moment. She only looked mildly annoyed that he had interrupted her like this. Alex wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. The thought flashed through his mind that he certainly might enjoy talking to the principal in more private surroundings… like—say, out in the back of his van, where he had a knife and a length of strong, thin rope… just in case.

All the better to strangle you, my dear, he thought and almost laughed out loud.

“It’s my kids… they’re missing,” Alex said, trying as hard as he could to make as much of the hostility he was feeling come across as frantic parental worry.

A hint of concern crossed the woman’s face, and she shifted forward and cocked her head to one side, like a chicken, as though to hear better.

“Your children…?”she said, frowning and shaking her head. “I—I’m sorry, but I don’t seem to remember exactly who you are.”

What had that bitch out front said this woman’s name was? Mrs. Castile? Mrs. Castle?… Shit, it was something like that!

“My name’s Alex—” he said, reaching out to shake hands with her. He hesitated just a moment before saying, “Alex Porter. I believe you have my children registered in your school, and now they’re missing.”

“Sit down—sit down and relax, Mr. Porter,” the woman said, indicating the chair beside her desk. “Tell me exactly what the problem is.”

“The problem—?” Alex threw back his head and snorted with raw, twisted laughter. “The problem is my goddamned wife—”

He gritted his teeth and shook his clenched fists at the ceiling. Then, sighing deeply and knowing he had to be careful not to blow it here, he made an effort to calm himself down. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to swear like that. I mean my ex-wife.”

He considered sitting down and trying to appear entirely rational and in control to this woman, but he was still so swept up by his anger that he couldn’t stop himself from pacing back and forth in front of her desk. With every other step, he smacked his fist into the open palm of his hand. “My ex-wife is trying to take—has stolen my kids away from me! And… and now she—she—”

He took a shuddering breath, scrunching up his face, trying to look frightened and miserable.

“Now she’s disappeared with them. She’s kidnapped them!”

He took another deep breath and looked at her, trying to gauge if she was buying any of this and was feeling sympathetic toward him, or if her first reaction was one of immediate suspicion.

The principal—Goddamnit! Alex thought, What the Christ is her name?—cocked one eyebrow at him and, frowning, shook her head and said, “I’m sorry, but the only child named Porter registered in this school is Ian Porter, and I happen to know his mother and father quite well.”

Alex shrugged tightly, resisting the sudden violent urge to reach across the desk, grab this officious fucking bitch by the throat and throttle her until she told him where Cindy had taken the kids. He realized that it was a long shot, but he was trusting on Cindy’s basic naiveté to have confessed her whole situation the day she had registered the kids for school.

“Well then, she must be using a different last name,” he said, trying to sound calm and rational as he sat down beside her desk. “My kids names are Krissy and Billy Porter. You must know who they are. You certainly don’t have all that many new students every year.”

The principal was silent for a moment as she stroked her fleshy jowls and looked steadily at him; then she nodded her head slightly and said, “Yes, I know Billy and Krissy… and their mother.”

“She’s not their—” Alex started to say, but then he cut himself short. Hoping she wouldn’t notice how fast he was shifting gears, he leaned forward and asked her, almost pleading, “Tell me, please, are they in school today?”

The principal’s frown deepened. Covering her mouth with one hand, she glanced at the front office, where the thin, owlish woman stood watching them intently through the glass partition.

“As a matter of fact,” the principal said, “neither one of them showed up for school today. I believe Miss Hollowell has been trying to call home, but there’s been no answer at the house.”

“There, see?” Alex shouted, jabbing his forefinger like a gun at her.

Again, blinding anger swept through him like wildfire and he had to restrain himself from pounding his fists on the woman’s desk.

“She’s taken off with them because she doesn’t want me to see them any more. She thinks I’m the problem, but the sad truth is, she is! She’s the one with the problems!” He stared at the principal with a burning gaze. “She’s a goddamned alcoholic, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s back using coke, either. I swear to God—” He closed his eyes, trying to squeeze out a few token tears, but it didn’t work. “Those kids… those kids are in danger if they’re off somewhere with her! Damnit!” He bit his lower lip and shook his head as though filled with dejection. “I could kick myself in the ass for not making sure I got legal custody of them back when we first separated.”

“Look here, Mr—uh, Mr. Porter,” the principal said. “I think you might possibly be overreacting in this situation. I realize that in a divorce situation, tempers can fly and people can seem… well, not as stable as they might truly be. I’ve spoken to your wife, and I think she seemed like a—”

“My ex-wife!” Alex barked, cutting her off sharply.

Just thinking about Cindy and how she had gotten away from him made him want to rip this fucking office apart with his bare hands. His clenched fists began to hurt all the way up to his elbows as he closed his eyes for a moment and held his breath, fighting to control his surging fury.

“Yes, your ex-wife,” the principal said mildly. “But I’ve spoken with her, and she seemed like a very nice person who had nothing but the children’s well-being and best interests in mind.”

Just hearing that legal term his lawyer had tossed out—in the best interest of the child—made Alex cringe.

“Now, thinking back on it,” the principal continued, “I’ll have to grant you that the children—especially Billy, seemed a bit… oh, I’d say aloof—standoffish. I naturally assumed it was his nervousness at being in a new school, but who can tell. Krissy seemed quite withdrawn, but at her age that would be entirely normal. I’d like to assure you, however, that, at least in my opinion, your ex-wife seemed to be greatly concerned and caring when it came to her children.”

They’re NOT her fucking children! Alex thought, and it was a struggle not to say it out loud. Instead, though, he smiled thinly, cleared his throat, and said, “Well—yeah, then—uh, maybe you caught her on a good day, before she’d started drinking.”

“Now Mr. Porter, I don’t think it’s any of my business to sit here and try to analyze what, if any, problems you and your ex-wife might be having.”

She regarded him with a smug expression that made him feel all the more angry, but he forced himself to remain calm. He twisted his hostility around, hoping he would appear nearly sick with worry. In a moment of calmness, a sudden chill swept through him when he realized that he might have already blown it by coming here today, but he knew now that he had started it, he would have to follow this conversation through to the end, otherwise, it would look suspicious as all hell.

“Well then,” he said, trying to make his voice tremble as though it was breaking with repressed emotion, “do you have any idea, if she did take off with my kids, where she might have taken them?”

For what seemed like several seconds, the principal simply stared back at him, making him feel like an insect, squirming beneath her steady gaze. Again, he thought just how great it would feel to choke the fucking life out of her just as he already had with one other woman who had gotten in his way this morning. With a little distance, now, the incident in the vacant apartment seemed to have invigorated him. Thinking how the dark-haired woman wearing the bathrobe had felt as she slumped unconscious into his arms, the life ebbing away from her, filled him with a dark, gushing pleasure that he hadn’t felt since… well, actually not since he had taken care of Cindy’s husband in the motel room back in Council Bluffs. He tried to calm himself by focusing his mind on how terrific he would feel once he—finally—got his hands on Cindy!

“I… I need to know,” he said, forcing himself to make a hitching, sobbing sound. “If she hurts them again… If she even touches them… I—I don’t know if I can stand it.” He looked at her, blinking his eyes rapidly as though fighting back the tears. “But did she… did she ever say anything about any friends she might have or… or a place where she might go. I… I have to find them—the kids, to… to make sure they’re all right.”

He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand, trying hard to make his eyes tear up, but he couldn’t quite manage it.

“Look, Mr. Porter,” the principal said, raising her hands and letting them drop onto the desk as though she was entirely helpless in this situation. “Your children, when I saw them, seemed to be perfectly happy and healthy. And they didn’t disappear into thin air. Because they weren’t at school when this incident occurred, I can’t do anything official to help you. If you’d like, I could put you in touch with the Portland police.”

“And what good would they do?” Alex said, trying to make his voice break as his anger surged again. “I have no idea where they’ve gone or even if they’re all right. And the police would have to wait—how long before they’d file a missing persons report? A couple of days? No—” He shook his head vigorously. “By that time, she could have taken them anywhere!”

“I’m truly sorry,” the principal said softly, “but there’s nothing else I can do. If you’d like to leave your phone number, I’ll call you if they show up at school or if I hear from your wife.” She caught herself and added, “Your ex-wife, I mean.”

Alex looked at her with a steadily mounting suspicion that this woman knew exactly where Cindy had gone. Maybe she had spilled her guts and told her everything, and now she was working with Cindy and maybe even the police to find out where he was staying so she could sic the police on him for killing Debbie. He realized he had misplayed this hand, but, snorting loudly, he eased back in his chair and, pressing one hand against his forehead, said, “No… no, I—”

He heaved a heavy sigh, hoping to hell he looked and sounded utterly shattered and miserable. Realizing that—for whatever reasons—he wasn’t going to get a damned thing out of this woman, he stood up, forced a smile onto his face, and then started for the door.

“Thanks. Thank you for your time,” he said as mildly as he could as he opened the office door and stepped outside. He had to resist the sudden, violent urge to slam the door shut behind him and shatter the glass. He glared at the owlish woman who watched him from behind the counter, but he didn’t say a word to her as he walked out of the office and left the school by the front door.

It’s okay, it’s okay, he told himself as he crossed the schoolyard to the street where he had parked the van. It’s no big deal! I didn’t get what I wanted, but so what? So fucking what?

Already, he was formulating another plan in his mind. All he had to do was wait for school to get out before he could begin to implement it.

2

The next morning, after unloading the car, Cindy drove with the kids into downtown Gray to find a phone booth so she could call the electric company to ask them to turn on the power at the camp. The woman she spoke with said they could get a repairman out there within the next five business days, but when Cindy told her that she and two children were living there now, having lost their house, the woman promised to have everything taken care of before the end of the day. When she asked Cindy who she was, Cindy lied, saying that she was Dick Toland’s daughter. She knew that her husband’s Uncle Dick had a daughter who lived somewhere in Oregon, and Cindy had decided, for her own and the kids’ protection, to adopt this as her cover. She just hoped to hell no one locally knew Harry’s cousin well enough to recognize her on sight.

They did a bit of grocery shopping, mostly for fresh milk and produce and a few cleaning supplies. Then she and the kids got back into Alice’s car and headed back to the camp with plans to start making the place at least semi-habitable. On the way, they saw a farm stand on Route 202, advertising apples and fresh pressed cider. At Billy’s urging, they stopped, but no matter how hard Cindy tried to coax Krissy, she insisted on waiting in the car while she and Billy got out and looked over the bags of Macintosh apples and gallons of cider.

It was a beautiful October morning, with a chilled, clean-smelling crispness in the air and bright sunlight flickering like fire through the bright orange and red leaves, but Cindy couldn’t begin to feel even a small measure of contentment. Above her own twisting fears and worries, she was concerned about the kids. Once again, she had uprooted them, torn them away from the little bit of stability and security they had known. Already, Krissy was starting to act withdrawn and detached. She’d sit for long periods of time, not saying a word as she stared into some middle distance and sawed her teeth back and forth across her lower lip. It was at times like this, in particular, that Cindy could see how frighteningly much Krissy looked like her mother; at times, it seemed almost as if a transparent image of her dead mother had been superimposed over the little girl’s features.

Billy, on the other hand, seemed to be seething with hostility and, contrary to how he had responded during their cross country drive last August, he now seemed much less shy about expressing exactly what was on his mind. Cindy thought it might just be the differences in their ages that made them react in such different ways; or maybe it was the differences in their personalities. She found it unnerving at times how much Billy reminded her of Alex. Whatever it was, it seemed as though every few minutes or so, Billy would start angrily complaining how she had ruined what little life he had by taking him away from the only two friends he had made since she had stolen him away from Omaha. A few times, but—thankfully—not often, he would even say something about how he might rather be living with his father back in Omaha. To make life all the more miserable, he complained incessantly about how there wasn’t even any electricity at the camp so he could watch TV or play Nintendo—and once they got it, they wouldn’t have cable TV!

When they turned onto the rutted dirt road leading to the camp, Billy suddenly brightened. “Hey, maybe I can try driving the car now?” he said in a pleading voice as he leaned both arms over the back seat.

Cindy considered his request for a moment, then shook her head firmly as she glanced at his eager, wide-eyed reflection in the rearview mirror.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “This road’s much too bumpy and narrow. What would you do if there was another car coming towards us?”

“Don’t be stupid. I’d pull over as close as I could to the side of the road, of course,” he said, sounding almost insulted.

“Watch who you’re calling stupid,” Cindy said. She shook her head again, then glanced at Krissy, who was sitting in the front seat beside her, staring straight ahead at the road and not saying a word.

“Aww, come on, Aunt Cindy. I didn’t mean it,” Billy said, bouncing up and down like a kid anxious for Christmas to come. “I already told you how my father used to let me steer the car all the time. Honest to God, I’m a great driver. You’ll see.”

“But this isn’t even our car. It’s Alice’s.”

“So what? She won’t mind. I promise I’ll be careful.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Cindy said, shaking her head more firmly. “Besides, we’ve got a lot of work to do back at the camp, and I—”

“Come on. Just a little bit,” Billy said. The high whine was back in his voice as he pointed ahead to where the road disappeared over a small crest. “Just down to there.”

“You really want to give it a try?” Cindy asked. Something was telling her this could be a mistake, but a louder voice in her mind was telling her— What the hell? Loosen up a bit. At least let the kid have a little bit of fun.

“Umm, yeah… okay,” she said. “Let’s see what you can do.”

She pulled to a stop, shifted into park, and slid over beside Krissy as Billy, whooping with joy, scrambled over into the front seat. A look of grim determination set across his face as he snapped on the seat belt and then gripped the steering wheel with both hands. He pumped the gas pedal several times so the engine roared. The car jerked forward like it was a restrained beast, anxious to run free.

“Hey, easy there, hot shot,” Cindy cautioned him with a laugh. “You’re not Mario Andretti yet.” She slid her left foot-close to his so she could hit the brake pedal if she had to.

“Now, keep your foot down hard on the brake as you slide the shift down to the ‘D’,” she said. She couldn’t resist placing her hand lightly on the steering wheel, but Billy was staring so intently at the road ahead he seemed not to notice or care.

“I know what to—” he said, but he was cut off sharply when he stepped on the gas, and the car suddenly leaped forward with a rough, tearing sound of tires spinning in the dirt. A yellow cloud of dust swirled up like smoke behind them. Rocks rattled against the underside of the chassis like hail on a metal roof as the car darted forward. Billy eased up too much on the gas, and everyone was thrown forward.

“Easy, there,” Cindy said, feeling a slight rush of apprehension. She glanced behind them but could see nothing through the swirl of dust.

“Don’t worry. I can handle it,” Billy said.

The car moved forward in fits and starts for about fifty feet until Billy got the feel of the accelerator; then his driving smoothed out. Cindy was actually surprised that he navigated the curves in the road so easily. She didn’t say a word when he drove over the crest where he said he would stop and continued on his way down the road. Sunlight shining through the pine trees rippled like a strobe light over the windshield, but it didn’t seem to distract Billy. He was sitting way forward in the seat so his foot could reach the gas pedal. The steering wheel rubbed against his chest and legs as he navigated the curves in the road.

“Hey, you know, once you get going, you do a pretty good job,” Cindy said. She glanced over at Krissy and nudged her. “Doesn’t your brother drive great?”

Krissy didn’t say a word or even bother to look at her.

“Slow down and stop now. I think that’s the turn for the camp coming up,” Cindy said when, up ahead, she saw a white arrow-shaped sign that was nailed to one of the pine trees. As they got closer, she saw the black-painted name “Toland.” Billy slid forward as he pressed his foot down hard on the brake pedal. For a scary instant, the tires skidded, and the car started to shift around to one side, but then, in a swirl of dust, it skidded to a halt.

“Whew!” Cindy said, wiping her brow with exaggerated relief.

“Hey, that was fun! Can I do it again?”

“Not right now,” Cindy said, sniffing with laughter. “You’ve got to get better at starting up, but once you got it going, you did just fine. You have to ease down on the gas pedal, not stomp it down to the floor.”

“Come on, can I try it again? Please!” Billy said, looking at her with a bright excitement lighting his eyes. “Why can’t we just go up and down the road one more time?”

Cindy was relieved to hear a happy, excited tone back in his voice, but she shook her head and said, “Not right now. We’ve got a lot of work to do back at the camp.”

Begrudgingly, Billy climbed back over the seat, and Cindy slid behind the steering wheel. “But you did real well,” she said as she eased the car into gear and started down the steep, narrow driveway. “We’ll make a Mario Andretti out of you yet.”

3

“Hey there.”

The boy was walking alone. He seemed either not to hear or else to be ignoring the greeting as he strode along the sidewalk, his backpack bouncing between his shoulders with every step.

“Hey! Wait a second! I have to talk to you!”

Alex had the window on the passenger’s side rolled down, and was leaning across the seat as he called out to the boy. He had been parked here along the curb on Prospect Street for nearly two hours, waiting to see those two boys he had seen outside the apartment this morning. He was pleasantly surprised to see only one of them, walking alone. The other one had probably been picked up from school for a dentist appointment or something or, more likely, had to stay after school for fooling around. Alex started up the van and drove slowly up the street, trying to keep pace with the boy.

“I recognize you. You’re Billy’s friend, right?” he called out.

For an instant, the boy’s step faltered, and out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw him shift his glance over at the slow-moving van. He recognized the kid’s street-smart caution and was frantically trying to think of some way to get him to lower his guard so he could get him into the van. He didn’t want to talk to him out on the street where someone might see—and remember seeing—the white van.

“Uh, look,” he said, playing the steering wheel back and forth, trying to keep the van going straight. “I know your parents probably told you never to talk to strangers or anything, but I’m Billy’s father, and I need your help.”

The boy continued to walk, not even looking at him.

“Honest. Will you please just stop a second and talk to me? Billy’s in trouble, and I need your help!”

The boy—he was definitely one of the two Alex had seen this morning outside Cindy’s apartment—stopped short in his tracks. He glanced nervously up and down the street as though looking for a place to run the second things got scary; then, leaning forward, he peered into the van and silently nodded.

“What’s your name?” Alex said, forcing a pleasant cheeriness into his voice.

“What’s yours?” the boy snapped. His eyes were dark with suspicion. He had his jaw set like he was a prize fighter, measuring up his opponent. Alex had to admire the kid’s gumption, but he didn’t have time for any bullshit cat-and-mouse games.

“Look, kid, my name’s Alex Porter, and I’m Billy’s father,” he said. He tried to get a fix on the boy’s reaction, but so far the boy’s face remained absolutely impassive.

“I’ve already been to the school today looking for Billy, and I know he wasn’t there today. He wasn’t, was he?”

Biting his lower lip, the boy shook his head quickly.

“Look, I don’t know what name his… his mother’s using for him now, but his real name is Billy Porter. He lives in the second floor apartment on Coyne Street. I don’t want to scare you or anything, but I think Billy’s in trouble.”

The suspicion never left the boy’s eyes, and he seemed to tense up even more as he said, “Oh, yeah? What kind of trouble?”

“Real bad trouble,” Alex replied. “Just give me a minute to explain, okay?”

The boy folded his arms across his chest, cocked his head to one side and said, “Okay. Go ahead … Explain.”

A rush of anger filled Alex, and for a flickering instant, he wanted nothing more than to grab this wise little asshole by the scruff of the neck and beat the shit out of him. He had that same cocky pre-teen attitude that Billy had been getting lately. Feeling hot with frustration, Alex closed his eyes a moment, rubbed his forehead, and took a deep breath.

“Look, his mother… she’s kidnapped Billy, taken him and his sister away from me. Come on, hop into the van. I need to ask you a few questions. I’m not gonna hurt you. I need you to help me.”

Again, the boy glanced up and down the street; then he shook his head and said, “No, you can ask me whatever you want right here.”

“Well then, do you have any idea where he might have gone? His mother—you see, we’re divorced, and—well, I don’t want to get into any of the messy details, but I was given custody of Billy and his sister, but his mother stole them away from me and has been hiding out with them ever since. He must have told you where he was from.”

“Yeah… he did,” the boy said.

“He said he lived in Omaha, right?”

The boy nodded slowly.

“There, you see? I’m not making any of this up. Honest to God, I’m his father, and I need your help to find him.”

A faint smile twitched the corner of the boy’s mouth, and he looked like he was about to say something, but he remained silent, his arms still folded protectively across his chest.

“Look, I know they must’ve taken off early this morning. You see, I just found out where they were staying yesterday, and I was going to get a court order today for their mother to turn them over to me, but she—well, somehow, she must’ve figured out that I’d found her, because she took off with the kids early this morning before I could get them.”

The boy shook his head and shrugged. “Sure, that all makes sense,” he said, “but I have no idea where they could have gone. Me and Mike went by the house to pick him up this morning, but he never showed. I just figured he was sick or something.”

Alex almost said I know—I saw you there this morning, but then decided not to let this kid know that he had been staking out the apartment building. The less anyone he talked to knew, the better. He could still kick himself for pulling such a stupid scene in the principal’s office this morning, and the thought that she might have called the police after he left prompted him to act quickly and decisively.

“But Billy never said anything to you about… about where he might be going? He never gave you a clue?”

The boy squinted, apparently trying to remember, but then he shrugged again and said simply, “Nope.”

Alex hissed with frustration. His grip on the steering wheel tightened until it hurt. He thought for a moment about the knife and length of rope he had under the front seat, and how much he’d enjoy wrapping the rope around this little brat’s throat and pulling it tighter and tighter, making him squeal until he spilled his guts about everything, but he knew he couldn’t very well hop out of the van and start chasing after him. What good would that do?

“Try to think. This is really important.”

The boy was silent for a moment, then his eyes suddenly brightened.

“Yeah, I remember something. He did say something about not wanting to go live out at the lake.”

“The lake?” Alex echoed. “The lake!”

In a flash, like a stroke of lightning, he recalled the taped message from Cindy he had heard on Harry’s answering machine, informing her husband that she wasn’t going directly to the lake but was staying in town.

But what lake?… What fucking lake?

“That’s all?” Alex said, trying hard not to yell at the kid. “That’s all he said? Just, out of the blue, he told you that he didn’t want to live at the lake?”

Frowning, the boy shrugged and threw his hands up as though he were helpless to recall. “I don’t remember what it was all about. I just remember that, one time, Billy said something about how he was glad they hadn’t gone to live out at the lake, ’cause then he never would have met me and Mike. Sorry.”

“Sorry…” Alex repeated, squinting hard to control the swell of anger that was churning inside of him.

“Yeah. That’s all,” the boy said, nodding. “He said something about staying at his uncle’s cabin on the lake, but I don’t know what lake. Look, I—uh, I don’t want to be late for my job. I have to rake the leaves at Old Lady Johnson’s house and then get my homework done before I can do anything else today, so I—uh, I’ve gotta go.”

“Well then let me give you a lift,” Alex said in as calm and steady a voice as he could manage.

The boy hesitated a moment, then nodded as he reached for the door handle. He snapped the door open and slid onto the seat, then slammed the door shut.

“I told you my name, but you never did tell me yours,” Alex said, smiling at the boy through gritted teeth.

“Chris … Chris Russell,” the boy said. There was no longer even a hint of suspicion in his expression. All Alex could think was, Great!

“Pleased to meet you, Chris,” Alex said, holding his hand out so they could shake hands. The boy’s hand felt small in his grip, easy as shit to crush to a pulp if he wanted to. “Hey, you’d better put on your seat belt. There’s that new state law, you know.”

Chris nodded as he pulled the shoulder strap across his chest and clicked it into place. While he was doing that, Alex shifted forward in his seat and dropped his left hand down to the floor where he felt for the rope and knife.

Just in case I need to jog his memory, he thought, smiling to himself. Just in case.

“So… tell me, where do you live?”

Chapter Twenty-One

The Wolf’s Hour

Cindy was beginning to realize that even after several days of intensive cleaning, the camp was still going to look like a disaster had hit it. Right after lunch, the man from Central Maine Power—a young, dark-haired guy named Roger—showed up. It didn’t take him long to get the power turned on. Cindy was happy they would at least have electricity and, hopefully, running water before dark. The water pump was in the pantry area next to the kitchen. She asked Roger if he could help her get it started, or at least take a look at it with her. Although he told her he shouldn’t because he was on company time, he checked it out for her, found there was nothing wrong with it, and after about fifteen minutes of tinkering around got it started. Cindy tipped him twenty dollars, and he left, saying he’d raise a toast to her when he hit the bar after work today. She checked to make sure the toilet upstairs flushed, and then ran the water in the bathroom and kitchen sinks for several minutes, until the brick-red rusty stream turned clear… at least mostly clear. Then she stripped the bed sheets off the two double beds upstairs, washed them with dish detergent in the kitchen sink, and hung them out to dry on tree branches.

Thank God, she thought, at least we’ll have clean sheets tonight.

After that, her first priority was to clean up the kitchen, or at least make it semi-sanitary. After she sprayed the stove top with cleaner, she realized that it was a gas cook top. Sighing with frustration, she turned on each control in succession and held a burning match up to them, but nothing lit. She didn’t want to bother driving back to town again today to call the gas company for a delivery, so she gave the stovetop a quick once-over and satisfied herself that they would have to eat a cold supper tonight. At least, if it got cold later tonight, the electric heaters were working.

Safe, dependable… and expensive, she thought, grimly aware that her funds weren’t unlimited.

She decided that if they did end up staying here for any length of time, she would look into getting a load of firewood delivered and using the wood stove in the living room. Of course, that had its own set of problems, including making sure the flue was clean so it wouldn’t start a chimney fire.

The refrigerator wasn’t in too bad a shape, considering how long it had gone unused, but it seemed like it was on its last leg, rattling and bumping like a jackhammer whenever the motor kicked on. She threw away the leaking pickle jars, crusted ketchup bottle, half loaf of moldy wheat bread, and other unidentified items that had been left behind; then she washed the shelves and inside walls of the refrigerator and placed an open box of baking soda on the bottom shelf. After that, she tackled the kitchen cupboards, which were much more of a mess. Ancient cans of vegetables and soups had apparently frozen and thawed several times over the past few winters, leaking black sludge as thick as used motor oil all over the shelves. Cobwebs, crumbs, fragments of acorn shells, and crumbling pine cones littered all of the shelves inside the food closet. In one kitchen drawer, behind a tray of tarnished silverware, she found a ball of shredded newspaper, gray string, and rotting cloth. It took her a moment to realize that this was a mouse or squirrel nest, but whatever it was, she swept it into a trash bag, wishing she’d had the foresight to buy some mousetraps and a few boxes of D-Con. With cold weather coming, no doubt mice and other creatures would be looking for safe places to spend the winter.

Throughout the day, while Cindy was working in the kitchen, the kids occupied themselves outside. She kept a close eye on them, but Billy was out of sight much of the time. Krissy spent more than half of the afternoon sitting on an old tree stump with her hands squeezed between her knees as she stared blankly out at the rippling blue lake. Puffy white clouds slid slowly across the horizon and were reflected in the water. A steady breeze coming in off the water blew her hair back like thin, yellow streamers. Once or twice Cindy called out to her, asking if she was too cold, but Krissy just sat there, ignoring her and—apparently—pretty much everything else.

What the hell can I do for her… for both of them? Cindy wondered so often tears sprang to her eyes. Her throat and nose were raw from the fumes of the cleaning agents she’d been using, and the tears made her eyes sting horribly. By the time darkness began to fall, around six o’clock, the kitchen didn’t look noticeably better than it had when they first arrived, but at least she wasn’t afraid of putting her food in the refrigerator. She called the kids inside for a supper of cold-cut sandwiches, chips, and milk.

“Will we be going to school around here?” Billy asked after they were seated around the table. Cindy had been eating slowly as she stared out at the thick bands of yellow and purple clouds that streaked the western sky. The skeletal lines of tree branches against the fading horizon made her shiver deeply. It was definitely a winter sky.

“I… I don’t know,” she replied distantly, shaking her head. “I just want to… you know, take a few days to figure things out and all.”

Billy sniffed loudly. “Well I don’t see why we can’t just move back to Portland,” he said huffily. “Things were going just fine for us there.”

There was an edge of accusation and downright meanness in his voice that Cindy couldn’t ignore.

“Maybe we will,” she replied, looking at him steadily and mentally pleading for him to give her a tiny break, just this once. “I just want to lay low for a day or two, that’s all. I have to go into town tomorrow to order a tank of gas for the stove, so I’ll call Alice then to see if… to see how things are.”

The thought also crossed her mind that she should give Harry a call, to let him know that they had finally arrived at the camp; but it had been so long since she had heard from him that she had given up on him. All along, she realized, he must have been planning to use this situation to get rid of her.

Billy slumped back in his seat and stared blankly at the half-eaten sandwich on his plate.

“You know, this really sucks,” he muttered, so softly Cindy almost didn’t hear him.

“Hey, look,” she said, leaning forward and taking his hand in hers in spite of his resistance. “I know you’re upset about leaving your friends and all, okay? But this isn’t easy for any of us, do you understand? You have to believe me! After what happened to Krissy with that man in the white van, I just don’t want to take any unnecessary chances.”

“Why not?” Billy said in a loud, hurt-sounding voice as he jerked his hand out of her grasp and squared his shoulders. “What the heck are you afraid of, anyway?” He was trying his hardest to look and sound tough, but all Cindy could see was a scared and angry little boy.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she said mildly, trying to force back the torrent of emotions she felt bubbling up inside her. “I’m afraid for! For you, goddamnit! For both of you kids! I know you probably won’t believe me, but I worry more about you guys, I’m afraid for you even more than I’m afraid for myself.”

She wanted to get out of her chair and hug both of them so close to her she could smother them, but she was feeling too drained emotionally and physically even to move. What she had been about to say next, that he and his sister were all she had left to remind her of her own dead sister, caught in her throat and died there before she could speak it.

“So what is it you’re afraid of, that my dad’s gonna eventually find us and take us back?”

Feeling utterly betrayed and defeated, Cindy slouched back in her chair, closed her eyes, and shook her head weakly.

“I don’t know,” she said followed by a weak sigh. “I just don’t know.”

The room was silent for a moment as she let her gaze shift back to the descending night, which had fallen across the lake like a purple curtain.

“Well … yeah,” she said finally. “I guess that is it. I’m afraid that your father or… or someone will find us, and—well, you know your mother asked me to… to take care of you both if anything ever happened to her, and… and I—”

“But not like this!” Billy suddenly shouted, cutting her off sharply as he banged his fist onto the table. He pushed himself violently away from the table, leaped to his feet and, balling up his napkin, tossed it so it landed in his glass of milk. A white tongue of milk slopped out onto his plate, soaking the remains of his sandwich.

Fairly trembling with anger and hurt, Cindy scowled at him as she fought for control. “Look, Billy,” she said as evenly as she could, “it’s been one hell of a stressed-out day for all of us. I want you to go upstairs and get ready for bed now.”

“But I don’t want to! I’m not tired yet!” Billy shouted, shaking his clenched fists in frustration in front of his face.

Cindy was momentarily afraid that he was so mad he might even attack her, wanting to hurt her more than his words already had. Again, she was shocked into silence by how much he reminded her of his father—especially when he was angry like this. She could see—almost feel Alex’s violent rage seething inside of Billy; but she looked at him steadily, hoping that, beneath it all, she would also be able to see the hurt little boy she knew he really was—the scared ten-year-old boy who was crying for help, begging to be comforted.

He misses his mother more than he’ll ever be able to say, she thought with a cold touch of sadness; but as she looked at him, all she saw was his angry, hate-filled stare, and it was directed straight at her.

“You’ll do it,” she said in low, measured tones, “because I told you to!”

Rising slowly from her seat, she didn’t say another word as she picked up her and Krissy’s plates and walked into the kitchen with them. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision as she dumped the chip crumbs and bread crust Krissy hadn’t eaten into a trash bag and then stacked the dirty dishes and utensils beside the sink. Reflected in the window above the sink she could see Billy, standing there in the middle of the living room floor as motionless and transparent as an apparition. For a nerve-tingling instant, her vision doubled, and she thought she saw someone else, another indistinct figure, standing beside him. At first she thought it was a double reflection in the window, but then she realized that the figure was different. In the blink of an eye, though, it dissolved into hazy darkness.

Sniffing back the tears and biting down hard on her lower lip, Cindy stared at Billy’s reflection, waiting for him to say or do something, but he just stood there as though frozen. As time and the hostile silence stretched out, the back of Cindy’s neck began to burn. All she could hear was the steady, rapid thunder of her pulse, pounding inside her head.

Finally, Billy turned around and, without another word, ran upstairs, stomping his feet on every step before he slammed the bedroom door shut behind him.

Forcing herself to remain as calm and in control as possible, she walked back to the table, cleaned up the mess Billy had made, and carried his silverware, glass, and plate into the kitchen.

“Hey, Squirt, you must be pretty tired, too, huh?” she said, glancing over her shoulder at Krissy.

The little girl didn’t say a word. Throughout the argument, she had just sat there with her shoulders hunched forward, not moving a muscle. Her face looked drawn and pale, and her expression seemed oddly blank, as though she was only partially aware of what was going on around her.

“D’ you think you might go to bed now, too?” Cindy asked.

Without a word, Krissy shifted out of her seat and trudged upstairs, shuffling her feet slowly on each step.

“Yeah … Good night,” Cindy said in a whisper that was too low for Krissy to hear. Tears were streaming down her face as she turned around and faced the window again, still wondering what—if anything—she had seen reflected there. With a sudden convulsion, she bent forward and threw up into the sink.

2

Fucking shit, this ain’t gonna be easy, Alex was thinking as he sat on the bed in his motel room. But then again, nothing worth shit ever is!

It was well past midnight, and he was feeling quite blitzed after having more than a few beers at Three Dollar Dewey’s, a bar in downtown Portland. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with a map of Maine spread out over his lap as he nursed a beer from the six pack he had picked up on his way back to the motel. He couldn’t help but chuckle every time he thought about that kid he’d talked to earlier today.

What was the little brat’s name again? Chris something-or-other. What the hell! It didn’t matter! It cracked Alex up how the little twerp had acted so cocky and self-assured, never even suspecting how close he was to getting his scrawny, little neck strangled.

In spite of his growing frustration that Cindy had slipped away from him—That’s. twice, now, and oh, baby, are you ever going to pay!— Alex thought it had been the high point of the last few days, toying with that stupid little kid and leading him on to think that he was actually helping him find his son when, in actuality, he didn’t have a clue how easy it would have been for Alex to snuff him out and drop his useless carcass off somewhere into the woods.

“What a fuckin’ hoot that would’ve been,” Alex said, slurring the words and laughing as he rolled his head back and took a deep gulp of beer. He swallowed wrong, and the carbonation surged, stinging, up into the back on his nose.

“Yeah,” he whispered, snorting loudly as he wiped his nose. “Maybe I should’a fuckin’ done it!”

But as much as he had enjoyed himself and the absolute power he’d had over that kid’s life, it still didn’t solve his immediate problem of finding out where Cindy had taken his kids. His guess was that Maine had been her goal all along, and that, more than likely, she hadn’t gone very far—probably not more than an hour or so out of Portland.

So all he had to do to find her was find that fucking camp on the fucking lake!

It sounded easy enough, but a quick perusal of his map showed him that there were plenty of lakes, even in the immediate Portland area. He had a lot of area to cover and a feeling that he didn’t have a lot of time left, especially with winter coming on. The first lake that caught his attention was the largest one—Lake Sebago. A little to the east of that was another, smaller lake designated as Little Sebago. Besides those two, there was Long Lake, Moose Pond, Thompson and Pleasant Lake, and a bunch of other unmarked little blots of blue on the map. Further north, above Lewiston, there were a shit-load more, but Alex decided to concentrate his search on the nearest lakes first. He might be wasting his time—”pissing up a rope,” as his daddy used to say—but he had to play his hunches. This whole thing was a crap shoot, and as much as he tried not to think about it, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that Cindy had gotten away clean.

He might never find her!

Taking the pen and memo pad from the bed stand, he quickly jotted down the names of the towns surrounding Sebago Lake—North Windham, Raymond, Casco, Naples, East Sebago, Gray, and Dry Mills. These would be the first towns where he would check, but even in his half-drunken stupor, he realized that his prospects weren’t very good.

“Shit! Damn! There’s got to be an easier way to run her down,” he muttered to himself. A line of drool ran from the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Clenching both hands into fists, he wrinkled the map into a tight ball and tossed it at the wastebasket.

“But how, goddamnit? How the fuck am I gonna find her?”

As he was leaning to one side to replace the memo pad on the table, he momentarily lost his balance and started to fall forward. As he did, his hand shot out to catch his balance and knocked the telephone book from the table onto the floor. Before he could straighten up, he found himself staring, unfocused, at the list of names on the page the book had opened to, and like a jolt of electricity, an idea hit him.

“Fuckin’ yes! That’s it!” he shouted, whooping for joy as he straightened up and carefully placed his beer bottle on the night stand. “That’s gotta be it!”

His hands were trembling as he picked up the phone book and started rifling through the pages, turning them so fast he tore several of them. He had a bit of trouble focusing his eyes as he dragged his forefinger across the top of page after page until he came to section marked “T”.

“Toland… Toland… T … T-O-L,” he muttered as he mentally ran through the alphabet. “It’s gotta be Toland, right?… Yeah, good ole’ Harry’s uncle… T-O-L-A-N-D.”

His finger dragged down the page, smearing the print.

“Yeah, all-fuckin’ right! Here it is.”

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his vision, he stared intently at the two listings for the name.

Toland, Mark and Valerie, on Maple Street in Westbrook, and Toland, Richard S., on Campbell Shore Road in West Gray.

“West Gray… Campbell Shore Road in West Gray,” he said with a low, rumbling chuckle.

He picked the map up from the floor and, flattening it out with his hand, looked around the Sebago Lake area until he located the small, black circle designating West Gray. It was on Route 202, wedged between Interstate 95 and Little Sebago Lake, just above a place called Foster’s Corner at the junction of 202 and Route 302.

“Shit, yes” he said, scanning the distance it was from Portland. “That ain’t very far.”

Suddenly, he jumped up from the bed, letting the phone book and map fall to the floor, and did a crazy, spinning dance beside his bed, all the while shouting, “That’s gotta be it! That’s fuckin’-A gotta be it!”

He paused a moment, picked up his beer bottle and, tilting his head back, drained what was left in it before throwing it against the wall where it smashed to pieces.

“Yeah, you fucking bitch!” he shouted, cackling as he waved his clenched fists high above his head. “And you thought you could get away from me! Ha-hah! But you couldn’t! No-sir-ee! You can run, but you can’t hide!”

Hysterical laughter filled the small motel room until someone in the next room banged on the wall and yelled at him to shut the fuck up. Alex paused long enough to grab another bottle of beer from the six pack and spin off the bottle cap.

“Oh, yeah? Well, fuck you, too!” he shouted before taking another long, slurping mouthful of beer and spraying it onto the wall. Beer foam dribbled down the sides of his mouth like a Fu Manchu mustache, but he didn’t notice as he continued to laugh wildly and spin around the floor in crazy circles, all the while shouting, “I found her! I fuckin-A found her!”

3

Something made Cindy wake up with a start.

Suddenly, she was ripped out of the thin sleep she had slipped into after hours of lying in bed wide awake. Now she was instantly and completely conscious. She sat up in bed and stared at the dense darkness that filled the bedroom like ink. For a flickering instant a deep panic filled her when she didn’t remember where she was, but then, as her eyesight adjusted to the darkness, she recognized the camp bedroom. A thin wash of moonlight lit the windowsill with a dusty, blue glow.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered, rubbing both hands over her face. Her skin was cool, almost clammy to the touch, and she shivered when she remembered a fragment of the dream she’d been having. She had been either lying down or sitting up in an almost totally dark room.

Just like this one!, her mind whispered, but she tried to ignore it.

And she had seen a… a hand… a thin, almost skeletal hand, glowing with a peculiar blue light. It had materialized out of the surrounding darkness and had drifted toward her, floating like a log being swept along by the gentle current of a stream. She could clearly see the curled fingers, the wrist, and half of the arm up to the elbow, but then it simply faded away into nothingness. Cindy shivered, unable to deny the impression she’d had that the hand and arm weren’t so much a part of someone as they were a part of the darkness that surrounded her in her sleep and had materialized, reaching out for her, trying to grab her with wispy, ethereal fingers.

Was that what woke me up? she wondered.

The bedroom was uncomfortably cold. She shivered again and pulled the musty-smelling wool blankets up under her chin. All the while her gaze was fixed on the cold, crisp bar of moonlight that was shining on the windowsill. Beyond that, outside the window, through the ragged silhouettes of dark, jagged pines, she could see the faint twinkle of a few stars in a cloudless, velvety sky. As she was staring out the window, a high-pitched howling sound suddenly filled the night, warbling up and down the register with a lonely, hollow echo.

The sound tingled every nerve in Cindy’s body. She pulled the covers even closer to her chin and stared, wide-eyed, at the window, wondering, even before the sound had entirely faded away, if it was really there at all, or if she was imagining it. She waited for the sound to come again, hardly daring to take a breath.

What the hell was that? she wondered in a rush of frantic, icy fear.

It had sounded like a wolfs howl. She had no idea whether or not there were wolves in the state of Maine, but if there were, then there sure as hell was one in the area around the camp. Her memory magnified the sound, making her think that it had been right outside her bedroom window.

Tense seconds dragged into minutes as she waited for the sound to come again, but it didn’t. Her heartbeat was thin and high, pattering like raindrops in her chest. As she tried to recall the exact pitch and duration of the sound, she began to wonder if maybe—that’s what had penetrated her sleep and awakened her in the first place.

Yeah, the wolf’s howling at the door, she thought, unable to laugh at the grim humor of the thought. It was all too true!

After a long wait, when the sound didn’t come again, she shifted out from under her covers and sat on the edge of the bed. The rusty bedsprings twanged like guitar strings as they stretched beneath her shifting weight. A chill went up the backs of her legs when her feet touched the cold wood floor. She glanced at the illuminated dial of her wristwatch and saw that it was already well past three o’clock. She sighed, exasperated by the thought that she wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep again tonight and that she was probably going to be dragging her butt all the next day. After how hard she had worked, cleaning up the kitchen all day—not to mention the stress she had been under for the last several days—she was surprised that she hadn’t slept at least ten hours straight.

“Shit,” she whispered in a high, hissing voice.

She debated whether or not she should go downstairs for a cup of tea or something—anything—to relax her, but then she remembered that there wasn’t any gas to run the stove. Besides, she would have to walk through the bedroom where Billy and Krissy were sleeping, and she didn’t want to risk waking them up. She knew she needed her sleep and told herself that if she would just lie down and close her eyes, sleep would eventually come. She reminded herself that she wasn’t under any pressure to get the cabin clean or do anything else. She and the kids weren’t following anyone’s schedule. Hell, they might not even stay here another night. In the morning, she planned to call Alice and see how things were back at the apartment. And then, who knows? She just might end up taking the kids back to Portland where they could have a semblance of normal life. They sure as hell weren’t going to get it living out here in the boon docks!

“… Aunt Cindy…?”

When the faint voice came to her, she thought again—that it had been a trick of the darkness and her loneliness, but in a flash she recognized Krissy’s fragile, frightened voice. Standing up quickly, Cindy walked to the bedroom door and eased it open, giving her eyes a second or two to adjust to the darkness before entering the bedroom where the kids were sleeping. After a moment, she saw a white, indistinct blur that was the little girl sitting up in bed.

“Shussh. I’m right here,” Cindy said, tiptoeing forward, feeling blindly in front of herself so she wouldn’t bump into the edge of the bed. She didn’t want to wake Billy up; he was sleeping soundly, his breath whistling in and out like a hissing tea kettle.

“What is it, sweetie?” Cindy whispered. “Did you hear that sound outside, too?”

For several seconds, the room was completely silent, and Cindy became fearful that Krissy had called out to her in her sleep; but then she heard a low, shivering sigh.

“I… I don’t know wh-what it was,” Krissy said in a high, tremulous voice.

“No, I don’t either, but you don’t have to worry. We’re safe in here.”

No response came from Krissy, and—again—Cindy had the impression that the little girl was talking in her sleep. Her voice had a dragging, monotone quality to it that didn’t sound at all like it usually did.

“Do you want to come in and sleep with me?” Cindy asked.

Her answer was a rustling of sheets as Krissy slipped out from under the covers and crawled to the end of the bed. Cindy reached for her and was surprised how warm—almost feverish—the little girl felt when she put her arm around her shoulder and directed her to the bedroom.

“I was having trouble sleeping, too,” Cindy said, “but—hey, we can sleep ’till noon if we want to.”

“Uh-huh,” was Krissy’s only response.

They made their way back to Cindy’s bed, and after tucking the little girl in, Cindy snuggled close to her, inhaling the sweet, almost cat-like smell of her hair. The room was quiet for a longtime, but Cindy lay there with her eyes wide open as she waited for the howling outside the camp to start again… if it had ever been there in the first place. After a while, she became aware that Krissy wasn’t asleep, either.

“Is there something the matter?” Cindy whispered. Her mouth was close to Krissy’s ear, as though they were sharing secrets in the dark.

For a long time, Krissy didn’t reply, but then Cindy heard her sigh heavily and lick her lips before she said, “I… I think I… saw her again.”

A numbing chill raced up Cindy’s back, and almost against her will she found herself asking, “Saw who?”

“The… lady,” Krissy answered simply, as if she didn’t need to say any more.

“You mean the blue lady?”

“U h-huh.”

Cindy’s throat felt parched, and her breath caught in her chest like a ball of ice.

“When did you see her?” she asked. She had an odd, disembodied feeling, as though she wasn’t really speaking for herself, but someone else was using her voice as their instrument.

“Just a little while ago,” Krissy said, her voice still sounding high and fragile, like fine crystal that was too thin not to shatter soon. “She was… she was sitting in the bedroom, over by the bathroom door.”

Cindy knew there was nothing there except a blank wall with hardly enough room for someone to get by the bed.

“You’re sure it wasn’t just—you know, the moonlight or something?” she asked, though she already knew the answer to that question because the moon was shining in through her window, and the door between the bedrooms had been shut tightly.

“No … no, I’m sure it was her,” Krissy replied.

“Did she say or do anything?” Cindy asked. She wasn’t sure if she was humoring the little girl’s imagination or if she actually believed her. She felt Krissy shake her head in the darkness.

“Nope,” she said. “She was just… just sitting there, singing that song she always sings.”

“You mean ‘I See the Moon?’ ”

“Um-hum, and she was… she was brushing her hair. She had her head leaning way forward so her hair was hanging in front of her face, and she was brushing it.”

“I see,” Cindy said, unable to resist the shiver that shook her shoulders.

“And when she wasn’t singing,” Krissy said with a touch of sadness and hushed awe in her voice, “She was… she was crying.”

“Well, look, honey,” Cindy said. “It’s really late, and we should both be asleep.” She leaned forward, kissed Krissy on the cheek, and tucked the blankets up around her face. “Try to get to sleep, okay?”

“Umm… okay.”

“G’night, Squirt” Cindy said.

“Night.”

With that, Cindy rolled over, sinking her head into the soft well of the pillow as she closed her eyes; but her eyes didn’t stay closed for very long. She found herself staring almost without blinking at the pale blue wash of moonlight on the windowsill, and she couldn’t push out of her thoughts the memory of that dream she’d had of a thin, glowing hand, reaching for her out of the darkness, trying to grab her. And all she could think was, what if that sound she’d heard, that pitiful, wailing howl that had echoed across the hollow stillness of the lake, had, in fact, been the mournful, muffled cries of Krissy’s blue lady?

Chapter Twenty-Two

Bow Hunting

It was the second week of October, heading into Columbus Day weekend, and the foliage season was in full swing as Alex drove north on Route 302, heading for West Gray. Explosions of bright reds, oranges, and yellow leaves filled the woods on both sides of the road and stood out like smokeless wildfire against the bright, cloudless blue of the sky. There was a chill in the air that Alex found bracing, and that was exactly what he needed to help counteract the hammering hangover he was fighting after all the beer he’d drunk last night. His stomach was churning with sour acid, but a solid breakfast of over-easy eggs, bacon, toast, juice, and plenty of coffee at a local cafe called Pat’s had helped. He was pretty sure that, by noontime, he’d be feeling just fine again.

Fine enough, anyway, so he could start thinking through the rest of what he had planned as a cover story if he encountered anyone who got curious as to why he was snooping around in the woods in the vicinity of Little Sebago Lake over the next few days. He had heard on the radio that the bow and arrow deer hunting season had already started, so before leaving Portland, he had stopped at a sporting goods store and bought a Bear compound hunting bow with a sixty pound pull and fifty percent let-off, a quiver full of broad head tipped, aluminum shaft hunting arrows, and a hunter’s camouflage jacket and hat. He was pissed that he had to spend so much more than he had wanted to, but he was even more pissed about what had happened when he had tried to get a three-day, nonresident’s hunting license. The store owner had refused to sell him one because Alex couldn’t produce a previous year’s hunting license or proof that he had taken a bow hunting safety course. After an attempt at friendly persuasion, Alex realized there was nothing he could do about it and decided he would just have to risk going into the woods without a license and hope to hell he didn’t encounter a game warden.

Besides, if things went well, he should be able to find Richard Toland’s camp by this afternoon. By tomorrow afternoon at the latest, he figured he would have his kids back… after making Cindy pay for all the shit she’d put him through.

Yes-sir-ee, except for not having a valid hunting license, he looked like a full-fledged, out-of-state hunter, ready to brave the Maine woods and come home with at least a six-point buck slung over the roof of his van. The only difference was, his quarry was human!

Route 202 followed a winding course, heading generally east past numerous rundown farm uses and a few antiques stores, but Alex didn’t see any signs for West Gray. He found himself stopped at the traffic light beside the Civil War monument in downtown Gray before he realized that he obviously must have missed the turn for Little Sebago.

Muttering curses under his breath, he pulled up to the self-service gas pumps in the Mobil station across the intersection, got out, and started filling the gas tank. The station had an attached convenience store, and on the paint-chipped wooden bench out front, sat three old men. All of them had gray stubble beards and were wearing flannel shirts, khaki trousers, and mud-crusted work boots. Two out of three of them had faded cloth work hats pulled down low on their brows, shielding their eyes from the glaring sunlight. The hatless man’s bald head shined in the morning sun as if he had just polished and waxed it this morning. Alex thought they looked like they were all in uniform, sitting in front of the store on purpose, just to add a touch of local color to the town for any tourists who might be out looking at the foliage. He couldn’t help but chuckle, painfully aware that he, too, in his own way, was in costume. He finished pumping the gas and walked into the store to pay.

The kid manning the cash register was young, with long, greasy black hair and a bad complexion. He was wearing jeans with frayed holes in the knees and a black t-shirt with a picture of a bleeding skull on the front and the logo of some rock band Alex had never heard of. A cigarette with at least an inch of gray ash hung from the down-turned corner of his mouth. As Alex handed him a twenty dollar bill to pay for the gas, he cleared his throat and said, “I was wondering if you could help me.”

Scowling through the thin haze of cigarette smoke, the young man looked back at Alex, but for several seconds didn’t say anything; then he simply nodded his head slightly to indicate that he was listening.

“I’m—uh, I was looking for a place out on Campbell Shore Road. I was wondering if you knew where that was.”

The young man ran one hand through his hair, tucking it behind his ear, and squinted one eye a though he was trying hard to remember. Finally, he shook his head and said simply, “Nope. I don’t live around here.” Concentrating his attention on the cash register, he rang up the sale, then counted the change back into Alex’s opened hand.

Alex fought back the surge of anger that was boiling up inside him. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to give this little punk something to think about, but he knew that he had to maintain his cool and not do anything that might draw undue attention to himself.

“Well, then,” he said, clearing his throat and using as calm and measured a voice as he could manage, “is there anyone around here who maybe could help me out?”

Again, the young man scowled, his dark eyebrows almost touching above his nose; then, with a quick nod of his head, he indicated the front of the store. “I dunno. Ask those three old farts sitting out front,” he said. With that, he slammed the cash drawer shut, turned away from Alex, and leaned down to crush his cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray beside the counter.

“Yeah, thanks. Thanks a whole bunch,” Alex said as he turned to leave. He shouldered open the door, pausing a moment in the doorway to slip the bills back into his wallet before turning to the three old men.

“Hey, you fellas must live around here, huh?” he said, letting a dopey grin spread across his face.

All three of the old men nodded and looked up at him with not so vague hints of curiosity, if not suspicion, in their expressions. One of them coughed deeply, tumbled something around in his mouth for a moment, and then spit onto the sidewalk. Alex glanced down at the sidewalk and saw the large splotch of accumulated spit that indicated this guy must have seen sitting here since dawn.

“You see,” Alex went on, shifting from one foot to the other and trying his best to look and sound casual, “I’m looking for a place on Little Sebago, on Campbell Shore Road. You happen to know where that is?”

“Little Sebago—? Sure do,” one of the old codgers, the one not wearing a hat, said. He glanced at his buddies and started to laugh, exposing a row of yellowed-stained teeth. Both of his friends were smiling, appreciating his wit. Before Alex could say anything else, he added, “ ’N just who might you be looking for down ’round there, young fella?”

“Uh—well, a friend of mine’s got a camp down on the lake, and I’m just heading up to use it for a few days,” Alex said. “Thought I might get in a day or two of bow hunting before they bring out the heavy artillery.” He hoped it wasn’t too obvious that this kind of direct questioning had caught him off guard.

“ ’N just who might that friend of yours be?” the same old man asked.

His two friends remained silent, but both of them were staring up at Alex with glazed, watery eyes. One of the men, the one who had spit, kept moving his mouth back and forth as though he were about to say something, but Alex realized he was just working up mother gob of spit so he could continue decorating the sidewalk.

“I—uh, I’m looking for the Toland place,” Alex said, loping these guys would simply tell him where it was and be done with it. If the kid at the counter had to deal with these guys day in and day out, no wonder he was so cranky.

“You mean Dick Toland’s place, huh?” the old man asked, his eyebrows rounding up in surprise. “Shit Dick Toland’s been dead for—what? Going on two years now.”

“At least,” said the spitter, and the man without hat nodded and said, “Yes-ah.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Alex said, covering for himself “but you see, my dad and he used to be good friends and years ago I got permission to use his place whenever I want to.”

“S’ that a fact?” the old man said, casting a curious glance at his two companions. Alex thought he could sense some kind of silent communication going on among them, and he was cursing himself for talking to these guys in the first place.

“Why hell,” the old man said. “I didn’t know Dick’s daughter even cared about the place no more.” His remark was punctuated when his buddy finally hawkered up and spit onto the sidewalk again.

“Ay-yuh. From what I hear,” said the man who had just spit, “Louise’s been thinking ’bout sellin’ off the place.”

Alex shrugged as if he could care less, but he didn’t like the way these men were probing so deeply into his business. All he could think was, if Cindy really was out there, it wasn’t such a good idea to ask these three old men about the place. If he found her out there today, he was probably going to have to act fast, whatever he did, and he didn’t like doing that; he’d much prefer to take his time and set things up, make sure everything was in place before he nailed Cindy’s ass.

“I don’t know anything about all that,” Alex said, trying to drop his accent and adopt a good-old-boys tone of voice. “But I do know that my father and me have an open invitation to use the camp whenever we want to, and I—uh, well, when I asked Louise if I could use it during deer season, she said no problem.”

“So why didn’t she give you directions?” the most talkative of the old men asked.

Thinking quickly, Alex said, “Well, she did, but I lost ’em. I know it’s off the road there, Route 202 in West Gray. I just drove up from there, but I’ll be damned if I know which turn it is.”

“Well, sir,” said the old man, scratching his forehead with one hand and pointing toward the intersection :h the other gnarled forefinger. “You head right back down the road the way you come, crossing the Interstate, and go—oh, I’d say it’s ’bout a mile or two before you’ll see a place on your right. Big old gray building with a sign that says West Gray Antiques.”

Biting his lower lip, Alex frowned and shook his id. “No, I didn’t notice anything like that on the way out.”

“Well, when you see it, take a turn there, to the right, I’d say it’s about a mile or so to the next turn—”

“More likely two miles,” one of the other old men piped in.

“Whatever, on your left, you’ll see a big white sign with a whole bunch of camp names on it. That’s Campbell Shore Road. It changes to dirt right there. A little ways down, there’s a fork in the road. Dick’s place ff to the left, I’d say another mile, mile and a half.”

“Less than a mile, I’d reckon,” said the spitter.

“Whatever, you can’t miss it. I think they’ve still got big sign out front that’s cut in the shape of a steamin’ pot of coffee.”

“Nope. Don’t think so,” said the hatless man. “I thought I heard Frankie tore it off by mistake last winter with the town snow plow.”

“Whatever,” the old man said, glaring angrily at his companions for a moment. “The camp’s painted brick with white shutters. Can’t miss it.”

“Well thanks—thanks a lot,” Alex said, backing a few steps away from them. “I think I can remember from there. I appreciate your help.”

“No problem,” the old man said as he touched forefinger to his forehead in mock salute. Spitter coughed into his fist and then spat again onto sidewalk.

Not wanting to get caught up in any more of their idle chatter, Alex walked away quickly and got back into his van. It was bad enough, he was thinking, that anyone in town knew he was around asking about Dick Toland’s place, but especially bad that it was these three old farts who had nothing better to do than sit around and gossip all day. As he started up the van, Alex wanted to do was get out to the lake as fast as could and take care of things.

2

You’re getting zoo nervous… too jumpy… that’s all it is… you’re still feeling too paranoid about everything, Cindy thought, but late that morning, she was driving west on Route 202 heading back Portland, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from t rearview mirror as she watched the vehicle she had just passed disappear around a bend in the road behind her.

No, there’s no way that could have been the same white van… No way in hell!

She looked at the road ahead as she corrected her steering, then glanced over at Krissy to see if she had noticed the van and reacted to it; but the little girl was sitting perfectly still in the front seat, the seat belt strapped loosely across her chest. Her eyes looked glazed over, almost lifeless as she stared straight ahead at the road. In the rearview mirror, Cindy caught glimpse of Billy, who was slouched in one corner of the back seat, wearing a sour expression on his face as he gazed out the side window.

No… neither one of them saw or noticed it, she thought; but as much as she tried to tell herself otherwise, she couldn’t stop thinking that—by God!—the van had looked exactly like the one she’d seen on the street outside their apartment in Portland.

“Are we gonna be staying there tonight?” Billy asked.

Cindy immediately detected the edge of accusation in his voice which, for the last day or two, seemed to have been there no matter what he said, even when he was asking for a glass of milk. At first she wasn’t sure what he meant, but then she realized that he was talking about them staying at the apartment in Portland.

“Umm, I’m not sure just yet,” she said softly.

Her gaze kept drifting to the rearview mirror as though she expected to see that same white van, its driver grinning maniacally from behind the steering wheel as he pulled up behind her and start riding close to her rear bumper.

“I just want to get Alice’s car back to her and have a look around first,” she said. Earlier that morning, she had tried calling from a phone booth in Gray, but when she had gotten no answer, she had assumed Alice had gone off to work as usual. She had considered calling her at work, but they had already agreed on the night she left that Alice would leave the keys to Cindy’s car in the ashtray so she could pick it up, and Cindy would do the same for her when she returned it.

Billy sniffed with disgust as he shook his head and glared at her. It pained Cindy to realize how she was the object of his intense hatred, but she consoled herself with the thought that this wasn’t really the case; he was hurting and angry about other parts of his life—parts which she had no control over but was trying her damndest to fix.

So why couldn’t he see that?

Why didn’t he realize that she was doing everything in her power for him and his sister!

The rest of the drive back to Portland was mostly quiet, broken only by a few of Cindy’s exclamations about the beautiful foliage, which she encouraged both kids to appreciate. Having grown up in Nebraska, they weren’t used to this kind of scenery, but any trace of enjoyment or relaxation she might have been feeling instantly dissolved as soon as she was driving down Forest Avenue. Rushes of chills played up and down her back as she slowed for the turn onto Coyne Street.

“I—uh, let’s just drive by once and have a little look around first, okay?” she said to no one in particular.

From the back seat, Billy muttered something she was glad she didn’t catch. She snapped on her turn signal and took the turn, driving slowly as she approached the apartment building. To control her rising nervousness, she concentrated on taking deep, even breaths.

What the hell am I so afraid of, anyway? she wondered. What do I think will happen?

They drove past the building. When she looked up at its white sides, glowing like marble in the strong morning sunlight, she had a strong, almost overwhelming sensation of detachment. The building looked so strange, so oddly foreign to her, that she couldn’t quite accept the idea that, right up until two days ago, she and the kids had actually lived there. In an uncanny, disorienting sort of way, it seemed like a place that she had only heard about or else experienced in the far distant past.

“Hey, there’s your car,” Billy said. “Are you gonna just take it?”

Cindy shrugged as she slowed down and almost pulled into the driveway; but then she continued down the street, determined to check out the whole area before stopping. At the stop sign, she turned right onto Beacon Street, then right again onto Lincoln Street.

“Hey, wait a minute. This is where I came that day I walked home from school,” Krissy said. Her voice had a peculiar flatness to it, and just hearing it made Cindy worry about how Krissy was handling all of this. Had she sustained some deep psychological damage from everything that had happened to her?

Surprised to hear Krissy speak at all, Cindy glanced over at her and winced as she tried to imagine the fear and anxiety the little girl must have felt that day she realized the man in the white van really was following her. She reached out and took Krissy’s hand in hers, giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze. She was surprised by how cold and limp Krissy’s hand had felt inside her grip.

At the end of Lincoln Street, she took another right onto Forest Avenue, and then another onto Coyne Street. As she approached the building, she drove even slower this time. Once she was assured things looked absolutely the same on the second pass, she pulled into the driveway and stopped the car.

“Can I go in and take a look around?” Billy asked after unsnapping his seat belt and stepping out into the driveway.

“No, I don’t think so,” Cindy said.

She pulled the keys from the ignition, opened the ash tray, and dropped them into it. Then she and Krissy got out of the car and walked over to where hers was parked. She shivered and hugged her shoulders, suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that—somewhere—hidden just out of sight, someone was watching them.

“Aww, come on, Aunt Cindy” Billy said with a high, irritating whine in his voice. “I left some stuff behind that I want to get.”

“No. It can wait,” Cindy said, trying to keep the edge of rising terror out of her voice. “Come on, both of you get into the car, and let’s get going.”

She looked fearfully up at the flat reflections in the apartment building’s second story windows, and for a dizzying moment, she thoroughly expected to see someone up there looking down at her. She shivered, imagining that she might see a pale, ghostly image of herself staring out at the street from every window in the building. Hurriedly, she opened the passenger’s door for Krissy and strapped her in.

“Come on, Billy!” she said, pointing at the car and trying hard not to shout. “Get into the car—now!”

Muttering something under his breath about how unfair she was being, Billy opened the car door and dropped onto the back seat. He made a point of slamming the door shut behind him.

After casting one last fearful glance up at the apartment windows, Cindy slid in behind the steering wheel and shut the car door. At first, when she opened the ash tray and felt around for her keys, she didn’t find them. A sudden tightening of fear gripped her. She was afraid that Alice had forgotten to leave the keys for her, and that she was going to have to leave in Alice’s car and come back again. Then her fingertips brushed against them. Sighing loudly, she pulled out the keys and stared at them in her hand as if she didn’t quite know what to do with them.

“I think we should at least go in and say hello to Alice?” Billy said. “We should let her know that we’re taking your car so she won’t think it’s been stolen.

“No.” Cindy shook her head tightly. “She’ll know it was us when she sees that her own car is back.” Cindy grimaced as she slipped the key into the ignition and turned it, starting up the car. She was still unable to get rid of the pressing, nervous feeling that they were being watched. Her eyes kept jerking back and forth, scanning the neighborhood, especially the upstairs windows of the apartment building as if she expected something to come flying out at them. Sighing again, she backed out of the driveway and onto the street.

“Let’s go back to the lake for now,” she said in a voice that, to her own ears, sounded tight and near breaking. “I’ll give Alice a call later tonight, and we’ll see how things are.”

“Yeah, sure—great,” Billy said from the back seat. “There’s nothing to do up there at the lake!”

Cindy forced a smile as she glanced at him in the rearview and said, “Well, maybe if you stop your complaining, I might even let you drive a little bit again.”

“Yeah, that’d be neat!” Billy shouted, leaning forward and grabbing the back of the seat. Cindy smiled weakly, glad to hear a flash of enthusiasm in his voice, even if it did only last for a second or two.

3

If Alex had been upset before, then he was royally pissed off now!

Ever since he got out of bed this morning, even after having breakfast, his stomach had been growling with a cold, aching emptiness. Just to be on the safe side, in case finding the camp on Little Segabo took longer than he expected it would, he stopped for a quick lunch at a small restaurant called Dell’s, in downtown Gray. But the hamburger, fries, and draft beer he ordered took much too long to be served, and it was well past one o’clock before he was back on the road. To top it all off, the greasy meal wasn’t sitting well in his stomach, and he kept burping up sour acid into the back of his throat. He wished he felt like going back to the store at the Mobil station to buy a roll of Turns, but he didn’t want to lose any more time; besides, there was no way in hell he wanted to see or talk to the three old men who were no doubt still posted outside the store on the bench. It was getting dark earlier now, around six o’clock, and that gave him just about five hours to find the camp, and by Jesus! he had to find Cindy and the kids today!

He drove west on Route 202, and this time he had no problem finding the right turn; it was there by the gray asphalt shingled building that looked like it might once have been a corner store but was now, according to the large, peeling sign nailed above the sagging porch, “West Gray Antiques.” The porch was piled high with old furniture, and through the dirt-streaked windows, he could see stacks of old-fashioned chairs and an array of straw baskets.

Alex was pissed that he hadn’t noticed it before. Christ! he thought, shaking his head. I must have been half-asleep when I passed this place earlier this morning.

After taking the turn, he followed the road a little more than two miles until he came to the left hand turn, which he found just as the old man outside the store had described it. At the turn there was a large, white-painted wooden frame from which hung more than a dozen small, rectangular signs, all of which were painted white and bore the names of the families that had camps down the road. Scanning the signs quickly, Alex saw, about halfway down, the name “TOLAND,” printed in chipped and fading black letters.

“Yes sir!” he said, breaking out with a wide grin as he slowed for the turn. A tingling excitement coursed through him as he started down the dirt road.

The road curved around to the right, passing between a small green farmhouse and a gray-weathered barn, and then down a steep incline. There were several pieces of heavy machinery lined up outside behind the barn. A small, dun-colored mutt trotted from behind the barn and stood in the entrance, slowly turning his head to watch as the van went by. Up ahead, through a V-shaped break in the trees, Alex caught a glimpse of distant purple-hazed mountains and the deep blue water of the lake, which sparkled like diamonds with reflected sunlight. The road wasn’t in the best shape, and the chassis of the van rattled and chattered as Alex weaved back and forth, trying to avoid the deepest ruts and washouts. Halfway to the bottom of the hill, he turned left again, and the road got even worse. Exposed tree roots and rocks the size of football helmets stuck up high enough to scrape the underside of the van. At one spot, a stream had washed out a wide section of the road. No matter how slowly he went over it, he couldn’t prevent the van from bottoming out.

Shit, this can’t be the right place, Alex thought, but he reminded himself that he had followed the old timer’s directions perfectly, so unless the old fart was having himself some kind of a hoot, giving out-of-towners wrong directions, this had to be it. Through the thick stands of trees off to his right, he caught a better view of the lake. The bright white sparkles of reflected sunlight left swirling afterimages dancing like tracer bullets across his vision. The opposite shore looked surprisingly close until he realized it was either an island or peninsula. Beyond that, he could see a wider stretch of rippling blue water.

Alex slowed the van to a crawl, not so much because he wanted to spare the van’s suspension, but because he wanted to make sure he didn’t miss the camp. The old man had said it was red with white trim, but—at least so far—all he had seen were two or three unpainted, weather-stained shacks that were overgrown with moss and decay, and looked like they were more than likely to cave in under a load of winter snow. Then, just as he crested a slight rise, he saw the coffee pot-shaped sign that was nailed to the thick trunk of a pine tree.

“TOLAND” was written above the coffee pot in a winding swirl of gray as if the name were part of the steam coming from the pot’s snout.

“Fuckin’-a, now ain’t that cute,” Alex whispered with a chuckle. It took a great deal of effort to keep himself from whooping out loud with joy. “Looks like that asshole didn’t rip it off with the snow plow after all.”

As he pulled to a stop by the side of the road, his grip tightened on the steering wheel so hard it hurt the palms of his hands. Heaving a satisfied sigh, he jammed the gear shift into park and looked down at the camp.

Just like the old timer had said, it was a small cabin that was painted red with trim that might have been white once, but was now peeling and weather-stained to a lifeless yellow that looked like old bone in the shade of the pine trees. The main building was nestled at the bottom of a steep incline, its front porch not more than twenty feet from the narrow strip of sandy beach at the water’s edge. To one side, there was a smaller shed with an attached carport that was filled with old machinery, rusted tools, and rotting cardboard boxes.

“Christ, people sure do like to hang on to their old shit around here,” Alex whispered, remembering the pile of clutter in the antique store.

A rutted, switch-back dirt driveway that looked like it hadn’t been used much lately rounded down the slope and ended in a Y-shaped turnaround in front of the carport and camp. He didn’t see Cindy’s car, but it could easily be hidden behind the carport. It’d be just like her to do something like that!

Biting his lower lip and glancing ahead and behind him to make sure there was no one else on the road, Alex sat with the van idling as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and considered how best to proceed.

Of course, if not the best way, certainly the most direct thing to do would be to drive right down there and pull up by the cabin, get out and kick open the front door. If Cindy was there, he could just walk right on in and take his kids back. After all, she had no legal right to them—not yet, anyway—not unless, in the time they’d been here in Maine, she had seen a lawyer and done something about it.

But Alex sighed out loud and, gritting his teeth, shook his head as he considered that option. It was too direct, he thought, almost too easy—like shooting fish in a barrel, as his old man used to say. And probably worst of all, it certainly wouldn’t make Cindy suffer half as much as she deserved for everything she had put him through over the last few months.

“No, goddamnit!” Alex said, shaking his head from side to side. “I’ve gotta do a little something more than that.” He took a deep breath and held it until his lungs began to burn; then he exhaled slowly, letting a smile spread across his face.

“Actually… I want to do a whole lot more than that!”

Shifting the van back into gear, he drove further down the dirt road. After rounding the bend and passing two more driveways of apparently deserted summer camps, he pulled off the road into the brush halfway up onto the embankment. He pocketed the keys as he got out and then, taking a deep breath stretched his arms over his head and took a moment t look around. The terrain was uneven, with numerous rounded hillocks covered with scrub brush and strewn with large granite boulders. The road had been cut out of a rather steep slope that ran down to the lake am continued up on the opposite side of the road where it was lost in the dense foliage of a thick stand of beech trees. Down below, closer to the lake, stood the older darker pines. The air was cool and fresh, tinged with rich, resinous aroma. The silence of the forest was broken only by the hissing of the wind high overhead in the pines, and the raucous squawking of a blue jay somewhere off in the distance. Between the thick, black vertical lines of the pine trees, the lake sparkled in the sunlight like a gigantic jewel.

Whistling merrily to himself, Alex opened the back door of the van and took out his hunting gear. After slipping on the camouflage jacket, he pulled the slouch hat down low over his eyes and adjusted the side-mounted quiver on the bow, making sure all six arrows were secure. After drawing back the bow a few times to test its strength, he took an arrow, notched it on the bow string, and drew it back.

“What I wouldn’t give… to have that fucking bitch… in my sights… right now,” he whispered as he swung his aim around, focusing on one tree after another. Finally, he paused on a beech tree on the upper slope and released the arrow. It flew straight, with a sharp whisk sound, and then stuck squarely into the tree where it vibrated with a high, humming sound. “Yeah, I’m fuckin’ Robin Hood,” Alex said, snorting with laughter as he walked up to the tree and pried out the arrow. A thin, transparent stream of liquid ran from the cut.

He slid the arrow back into the bow-mounted quiver and then, squaring his shoulders, started walking back up the road. After a hundred feet or so, he cut down along the wooded slope, angling toward the camp.

Boy-oh-boy, is she ever going to be surprised when she sees me! he thought. The hissing silence of the woods was broken by the deep rumble of his laughter.

Soon enough, though, his laughter changed to a low, guttural curse. He hadn’t seen her car in the driveway on his first pass, but he had assumed it was either parked behind the shed and carport or else so close to the side of the steep embankment that he hadn’t been able to see it from the road. As he approached the cabin on foot, wending his way through the thick stand of pine trees, he realized that there was no car parked anywhere near the camp, and there was no sign of life, either. He could tell, just by the feeling of the place, that it was empty.

“What the hell?” he muttered, crouching low behind a bush and scanning the small yard around the camp. The immense silence of the forest seemed to press in on him, and he began to wonder again if the old man outside the store might have been putting him on, sending him on a wild goose chase to an abandoned camp. He had the creepy feeling that somewhere in the woods unseen eyes were watching him, staring at him with a cold, penetrating hatred. The thought made him shiver.

Squinting his eyes and crouching low, he started toward the camp, keeping inside the deep shadows of the trees as much as possible. The carpet of pine needles on the forest floor made his approach almost completely silent, but he realized that his caution was a foolish waste of effort.

There was no one out here!

Still, he thought, this might be the right place. It had to be! It certainly belonged to someone with the same last name as Cindy’s husband, so he knew he’d better take the time to check it out thoroughly. Besides, it was the only possibility he had. If he didn’t find her here, h might just as well go back to Nebraska and forge about the whole thing.

Standing up straight, with his bow in one hand, he walked boldly out into the clear. As he crossed the dirt driveway, he bent down and carefully checked for tracks. He saw plenty of markings in the dirt, but he couldn’t make much sense of them. Although he had done some hunting in his life, he certainly was not a skilled tracker. These marks could have been made a day or a month ago for all he knew.

He walked boldly up to the back door of the cabin and, leaning close to the window, peered inside. Through the grimy glass he could see the entryway, where there was an old-fashioned wringer washing machine, and into the kitchen. The counter certainly looked clean and neat. There was half a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter placed carefully beside a stack of paper plates and blue plastic cups. He could see several plastic glasses and clean silverware in the dish drainer beside the sink.

Well, at least, by the looks of thing, someone’s been here recently.

Stroking his chin thoughtfully, Alex considered breaking into the camp to have a better look around; but if it really was Cindy who was staying here, he didn’t want to do anything that might scare her off again. He contented himself with going from window to window and looking inside. In the living room, he saw something that made his heart jump in his chest. There on the floor was a television set, and resting on top of that was the small gray box of a Super Nintendo game unit. It looked exactly like the TV and game unit he had seen in Cindy’s apartment when he had broken in there a few days ago.

“Jesus Christ, it’s gotta be them!” he whispered in an excited voice that fogged the glass; but short of breaking into the camp, there was no way he could be absolutely sure unless…

… Unless…

“Shit yes, that’s it!” he said, snapping his fingers.

A twisted smile spread slowly across his face, and he congratulated himself for having had the foresight to buy a camouflage jacket this morning. All he had to do was pick out a nice, comfortable place to wait—say, up in the grove of beech trees on the slope across from the amp road. He could settle in there and wait to see who—if anyone—drove up to the camp between now and evening.

And then, if he saw her, once he was positive it really was Cindy and the kids who were staying out here, why—shit! He had them! And in a lonely, isolated place like this he could take his sweet old time to figure out exactly what he wanted to do with them!

Chapter Twenty-Three

Night Voices

Something’s wrong… something’s really wrong!

The thought became a mental chant almost the whole time Cindy was in Portland after swapping back Alice’s car for her own. She and the kids ate lunch at a little pizza place called Amato’s, then went shopping at the Maine Mall. Cindy told the kids that she wanted to pick up a few more things they would need out at the camp, but—at least to herself—she admitted the real reason: she didn’t want to go back to the camp on Little Sebago unless she felt they absolutely had to. It was too lonely out there, and she was nearly frantic, thinking about what she should do next. All day she had felt like she was a hair’s breadth away from bursting out in tears, but she had held it all inside, not wanting to let Krissy and Billy see her feeling this fragile.

Late that afternoon, after stopping at Shaw’s for a few groceries, they were on their way back to the camp when she stopped at the phone booth outside a corner store in South Windham to call Alice. She dialed the number and let it ring seven or eight times before finally giving up.

“Damnit, where the hell is she?” she whispered.

She fought back her tears by closing her eyes and leaning her forehead against the cold, black box of the telephone. Sobbing, she rocked her head back and forth as gnawing thoughts about how long it had been since she had heard from her husband made her mach feel all twisted up and tight. She was filled with the cold realization that she was all alone; just as had been all along. Now she couldn’t even get in touch with her one remaining friend, Alice.

Something’s wrong… something’s really wrong!

It was already past four-thirty. She knew that Alice’s daily routine was absolutely set. She came home from work every day between three-thirty and four o’clock, took a quick shower, and then, while supper was cooking, she could sit at the kitchen table watching Oprah and sipping a glass of wine.

Alice did that every day—every single day… except today!

Something’s wrong… something’s really wrong!

As she stood in the phone booth, sniffing back her tears, a chilly gust of wind blew in some dead leaves that swirled like a muddy river current around her ankles. She shivered as she wiped her eyes on her wrist and wondered what the hell she should do next. All of their essential possessions were back at the lake, so they had to go there at least for tonight; but then what?

All she knew was, she would have to come up with something better than what she had right now…

But what?

Thoughts of moving someplace else, to another city or state, filled her with apprehension. How long could she expect the kids to cope with this kind of instability in their lives? She couldn’t just keep uprooting them and dragging them halfway across the country, then expect them to feel just fine and dandy. Their mother was dead and their father, as far as she knew was an abusive tyrant. Billy was already showing signs of serious alienation. Almost all the time now, anger and downright hostility was directed straight at her. And Krissy seemed to be withdrawing deeply into herself, enclosing herself inside a bubble of isolation that Cindy knew wasn’t healthy.

Something had to change… soon!

Maybe they should take a chance and move back to the apartment on Coyne Street. That, certainly, was what Billy would vote for; Krissy probably wouldn’t express an opinion even if Cindy asked her directly. She hadn’t notified the landlord that they were leaving and the rent was already paid up through to the end of the month, so why not just go back there? As bad as their situation had been, the kids—at least ever since they had been living in Portland—seemed to be doing all right. Maybe this business with the white van was just a fabrication on her part, a product of her nervousness and paranoia.

What else could it be?

If the FBI, police, or anyone else was after her, wouldn’t they just swoop down on her and take the kids away? The idea that they were being stalked, being hunted by someone was absolutely ridiculous.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking along those lines. Coincidence or paranoia, Krissy had been followed by a man driving a white van, and both she and Krissy had seen what looked like the same vehicle parked outside their apartment, as though someone were keeping them under surveillance.

Good God, she had to think clearly! She had to come up with the quickest and best solution for all of them!

The sudden blast of a car horn made her jump. She turned and saw Billy, who was sitting behind the steering wheel and waving frantically for her to come back to the car. She raised one hand, signaling him to wait just a minute, then deposited a quarter into the phone and dialed Alice’s number again. Her hand was shaking—from the cold, she told herself—as she pressed the receiver to her ear and mentally counted each time the phone rang at the other end of the line.

One… two… three…

“Come on! Come on, Alice! Pick up the damned phone!”

She mentally pictured Alice’s tiny apartment, and heard the shrill ring of the telephone, breaking the hollow, deserted silence.

Four… five… six…

“Please, pick up the goddamned phone!” she whispered in a voice that sounded tight and ready to crack.

Seven…

“Where are you?”

Eight…

“Where the hell are you?”

She let her head drop and stared, unfocused, down at her feet until her vision blurred from the tears filling her eyes.

Something’s wrong… something’s really wrong!

After the ninth ring, she hung up and waited for her quarter to drop into the coin return. Taking a deep breath, she replaced the receiver gently, but what she really wanted to do was scream as loud as she could and smash the goddamned telephone booth to pieces.

Alice should be home by now! Why the hell isn’t she answering?

Cindy grabbed the telephone book and hurriedly looked up the number for the Portland police station. She put her quarter into the machine again and dialed the number before she had a chance to reconsider. She almost lost her courage and hung up when the telephone started to ring at the other end. It was answered on the second ring.

“Good afternoon, Portland Police Department. This is Sergeant Conners. How may I help you?”

Cindy hesitated and licked her lips before she began speaking.

“Yes—uhh, who would I speak to about… about checking out something for me.”

“Exactly what do you mean, ’mam?” said the steady voice at the other end of the line.

Cindy suspected that the police could trace back every call that came into the station, so she wanted to say what she had to say as fast as she could and get away from the phone booth before they could send someone out to check up on her.

“I—uh, I’m really worried about a friend of mine,” she said in a trembling voice. “She—she lives in an apartment on Coyne Street. On the second floor. Her name’s Alice Crowther. That’s number 37 Coyne street. Got that?”

“Yes, ’mam.”

“Could you please send someone over there to check on her?”

“If you don’t mind me asking, just why do you think there might be a problem over there, ’mam,” the desk dispatcher said in a cool, even voice.

Cindy sensed that he was leading her on, trying to keep her on the line as long as possible.

“I … I don’t know why!” Cindy said, almost shouting. “I just… I just know she’s… she’s been really sick lately, and she was supposed to call me earliertoday but she hasn’t, and now I’m worried. I can’t get there myself to check on her, but if you’d—”

“Look, I’ve taken down her name and the street address. I’ll send a patrol car over there as soon as I can, but would you mind giving me your name so I can get back to you if—”

Cindy hung up on him, cutting him off in mid-sentence. She was trembling as she stepped back from the phone. Fearful of leaving behind fingerprints, she quickly wiped the receiver with her jacket sleeve and then, glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone had seen her using the telephone, walked quickly back to the car.

“Come on! Move over,” she commanded, shooing Billy out from behind the steering wheel. As she slid the keys into the ignition and started up the car, she glanced at Krissy, who was sitting in the back seat with her legs drawn up in front of her. The little girl’s pale, blank stare unnerved her, so she reached into the back seat and placed her hand reassuringly on her shoulder.

“Hey, Squirt, don’t worry, all right?” she said softly.

She could see that Krissy’s eyes were tearing up, and she felt close to crying herself.

“Everything’s going to be just fine, so don’t you worry, all right?”

Biting her lower lip, Krissy regarded her with a steady, unblinking stare as she slowly shook her head from side to side.

“No… No, it isn’t,” she said in a voice that sounded paper-thin and ready to rip.

The transmission made a loud clunk as Cindy shifted the car into gear. She stared back at Krissy, feeling a sudden surge of anger which she knew was nothing more than a product of her own frustration and worry.

“Why would you say something like that?” she asked, biting back the angry, hurtful words that threatened to explode out of her. “Why?”

“Because… because she… told me… about it.” Krissy said, swallowing noisily between every other word.

Cindy’s anger rippled like a wall of fire inside her. “Who told you? About what? What the hell are you talking about?”

“The… the blue lady,” Krissy said haltingly through clenched teeth. Her lower lip was trembling horribly as she stared straight into Cindy’s eyes. “Last night I think I saw her again, and she talked to me.” She took a whistling breath. “She said…” she began, but then her voice faded away to nothing as she shook her head from side to side as though confused. “I can’t really remember, but she told me that something’s wrong… something’s really wrong!”

Cindy sat back, stunned to silence, hearing Krissy use the exact same words she had been repeating to herself all day.

Something’s wrong… something’s really wrong!

2

The afternoon was passing slowly for Alex.

A brisk, chilly breeze was blowing steadily in off the water. It stirred the yellowing beech leaves overhead, making them rustle like a crackling fire, but there was no sense of warmth in the sound. As the sun gradually lowered in the west, sunlight angled across the water and the reflections hurt Alex’s eyes. Except for a few times when he had to get up and urinate, he stayed right where he was, hidden behind a thick clump of beech trees and brush. He had positioned himself so he could stay hidden while still keeping a clear view of the dirt road and the camp’s front door at the same time.

Now all she has to do is show up, he kept thinking, but over the next two hours, the only vehicle that went by was a pickup truck that spewed a billowing cloud of dust in its wake. Probably another bow hunter, Alex thought, but as the truck moved past his hiding place, he caught a glimpse of the driver, just enough to see that he was an old man wearing a heavy overcoat. As soon as he saw him, Alex wondered if it might be one of the old farts from the convenience store, driving out here to check up on him. He tensed, listening to the receding sound of the truck’s engine, suddenly fearful that the driver might be curious enough to stop and check out the white van, which he had left parked a hundred yards or so down the road. Finally, he decided that he didn’t give a shit. Right now, he had one thing and one thing only on his mind.

All she has to do is show up, and we’ll take it from there!

The woods were filled with bird song and the noisy chatter of chipmunks and squirrels as they scurried about, collecting winter food and jumping from branch to branch. Behind him, in the thicker brush, Alex kept hearing dull plopping sounds that sounded like heavy footsteps. He squeezed the handle of his bow and wondered if it might be a deer, browsing in the woods. Or maybe it was that old man who had driven by, trying to sneak up on him from behind. He kept checking over his shoulder and, after a while, realized the sound was nothing more than acorns or beech nuts falling through the dried leaves. That must be what was keeping the squirrels and chipmunks so damned happy.

But this waiting game was getting to be a real pain in the ass. The ground beneath his butt felt colder and harder with every passing minute. Whenever his legs went numb with pins-and-needles, he would shift his legs forward and shake his feet until the circulation started to come back. Still, he stayed where he was because he was betting everything that this was where Cindy had taken his kids, and that she’d be back here sometime today, hopefully before it got dark.

And by Jesus, sooner rather than later, Alex was going to get his kids back!

The sun was setting slowly, touching the distant tree line across the water with a fiery red edge as deep purple clouds reached up from below the horizon like flat fingers, stretching across the sky. Deepening shadows of twilight seeped into the woods like slow spreading ink stains. The temperature seemed to be dropping steadily. Alex huddled deep inside his thin jacket, wishing to hell he had thought ahead enough to put on something warmer underneath it.

“Come on… come on! Hurry up, you bitch!” he whispered, surprised by the sudden intrusion of his voice in the eerie stillness of the twilight.

He knew he couldn’t last much longer out here. His fingers already felt numb and stiff, and the cold was penetrating his clothes like sharp knife blades. His bones ached from sitting in one spot so long, and all he could think about was taking a long, hot shower and drinking several cold beers before, during, and after supper. His attention had started to drift when he suddenly became aware that something was coming down the road. Tensing and leaning forward, his bow gripped tightly in his hand, he stared down the darkening road and saw two yellow pools of light approaching.

Headlights!

With the bright light shining at him, he couldn’t make out the color of the car. It looked like dull battleship gray, but as it got closer, he ducked down behind the brush after catching a glimpse of the light blue Toyota.

Cindy’s car!

“Bingo,” Alex whispered, grinning to himself as he peered through the screen of brush and tracked the car. It was too dark to make out anyone in the car, but he saw one large silhouette and two smaller ones, one in the front seat and one in the back.

Cindy, Billy, and Krissy!

“It’s gotta be them. It’s gotta be them,” Alex chanted softly.

He watched, scarcely daring to breathe when the brake lights came on, washing the area with a harsh red glow as the car slowed for the turn into the driveway. Once the car had started down the steep embankment; he broke out of his cover, ran down to the edge of the road, and dropped onto his belly. He army-crawled up to the edge of the embankment and looked down just in time to see Cindy and the two kids getting out of the car. Once they had all exited the car and gone into the camp, the outside floodlight above the door came on, washing the yard with harsh yellow light. Alex flattened himself on the ground, then peeked up just as Cindy came back outside to get something from the car trunk. Inside the camp, the blue glow of the TV came on, its flickering light shining through the living room windows.

Knowing that the black backdrop of trees would hide him, Alex shifted up into a crouch and notched an arrow on the bowstring. Smiling grimly to himself, he pulled it back and held it at his ear as he drew a bead on Cindy and followed her every step. No more than a hundred feet separated them, and in the harsh glare of the outdoor light she was an easy target, another fish in the barrel.

“So fuckin’ easy,” Alex whispered to himself.

Sighting down the pointed tip of the arrow, he tracked her as she opened the car trunk and bent over to pick up two bags of groceries. His pulse was racing, a high, tinny beat in his ears. A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead and his hand started to tremble as he considered that this was it!

Now! Do it now! he thought, feeling a cold rush of adrenalin.

After weeks… months of searching and planning, this was it! He had her at his mercy, and she didn’t even know it!

Several times he started to let his grip slip, almost letting the arrow fly, but every time he checked himself and pulled back, telling himself that he might want to get even closer before he shot so he could be absolutely sure to hit a vital spot. Easing the arrow down and lowering the bow, he watched as Cindy carried the load of groceries into the camp. A sense of opportunity missed filled him, but then he realized that she had left the trunk open, so she would have to come back outside again if only to close the trunk.

Maybe then! he thought, tensing the bow. Maybe I should do it then!

About halfway down the slope, he noticed a rather large pine tree behind which he could hide. Looking back and forth between the tree and the open camp door, he tried to estimate his chances of getting down there without her seeing him. He had just started to tense his leg muscles, about to make a run for it, when Cindy came outside again and walked over to the car. He heard her call out something over her shoulders to the kids but couldn’t quite make it out.

Crouching low, he narrowed his eyes and raised the bow and arrow again.

Yeah, come on, do it! Do it now! he commanded himself. It’d be so fuckin’ easy—the quickest and easiest way to take care of her—just drop her right there in her tracks!

He stretched the bow string back and sighted in on her, but after a moment he eased the bow back down again.

No, no fucking way! he thought, stifling a frustrated sigh. It’d be too goddamned merciful!

More than anything else, he still wanted to make sure Cindy suffered for everything she had done to him and his family. She had a lot of debts to pay, starting years ago, when she had first encouraged Debbie to leave him. Well, Alex certainly had taken care of that situation, and if there was one thing he had learned from life up to this point, especially from his own father, it was that paybacks were a bitch. Killing Debbie and then getting rid of Harry had been just the beginning of how much Cindy was going to have to pay for what she had done. Before he killed her, he was going to make damned sure she understood that he had won, that no matter how hard or how far she had tried to run away from him, he had found her and—goddamnit!—he was going to take back the kids… his own goddamned kids!

“They’re not yours and they never will be!” he whispered to himself.

Letting the bow drop to his side, he watched as Cindy picked up another armload of groceries, slammed the trunk shut with her elbow, and carried them into the camp. A moment later, the outdoor floodlight winked off, plunging the yard into darkness. Rage seethed like molten lava inside Alex as he stared down at the warm, yellow glow of light shining out from the windows, pushing back the surrounding darkness and making everything inside the cabin look so cozy and warm.

“Yeah, go ahead. Enjoy it while you can, you bitch,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “But not for long. You may think you’re safe and secure down there, but not for long!”

He stayed where he was for another five or ten minutes, watching the few glimpses of activity he could see through the cabin windows, then he stood up and stretched his cramped legs. Thinking about the long drive back to Portland depressed him, so he decided that he would try to find a motel nearby so he could be back out here first thing tomorrow morning. Before he turned to leave, though, he drew the arrow back, sighted on the dark bulk of the camp, and let it fly. The arrow whisked through the darkness, sounding like a knife slicing the fabric of the night and ended its flight with a vibrating hum as the point dug into the side of the camp.

“Sleep well, darlin’,” he said, snorting with laughter. “I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning.”

All the way back to his van, he chuckled softly to himself, satisfied with the day’s events. He got into the van, started it up, and drove away.

Tomorrow was another day; and by Jesus, as far as he was concerned, it was going to be one hell of a good one!

3

“What the heck was that?” Cindy shouted, startled. The sound of—something—hitting the side of the camp had made all three of them jump. Billy, looking round-eyed and frightened, leaned forward and turned down the volume on the TV; then he looked around at Krissy, who was sitting on the couch. She didn’t move or even shift her blank gaze away from the TV as Cindy, who had been in the kitchen putting away the groceries, walked into the living room.

“Gee, I don’t know,” Billy said, frowning. “It sounded sorta like something hit against the side of the house.”

Cindy scowled as she went to the nearest window and looked outside, but she couldn’t see much because of the light reflecting from inside the camp. Up over the ridge, she thought she saw headlights move past, but she couldn’t be sure. A sudden, nameless panic seized her and she dashed quickly to the camp door to make sure it was locked. Even then, though, she didn’t feel at all secure.

“Probably just a branch falling off a tree of something, huh?” Billy offered.

Cindy shook her head and frowned. “Umm. I don’t know. It sounded more like whatever it was hit the side of the camp, not the roof.”

A cold tingling gripped her as she shifted her eyes from window to window. She had no idea what she expected to see, but her mind was filled with dozens of horrible images.

“Yeah,” she said, “probably just that or—or.” She shook her head. “I don’t know, maybe a squirrel or something, trying to get inside. Come on. Isn’t anyone hungry? Let’s get something to eat.”

Casting a nervous glance around the room, Billy got up and wandered over to the dining room table, but Krissy stayed where she was, sitting as though entranced. Her eyes looked totally devoid of expression as she stared at the TV. Cindy walked over to her and coaxed her off the couch and over to the table.

“Hey, come on, Squirt,” she said softly. “I’ll make you a tuna fish sandwich, okay? Your favorite.”

“Yeah … sure,” Krissy said in a lifeless, mechanical voice.

Five minutes later they were all sitting down at the table, but throughout most of their supper, a hush, expectant tension filled the room as though all three of them were just waiting for something to happen.

The rest of the evening passed quietly, with no other unusual sounds, and around nine o’clock all three of them went off to bed.

4

“Hey, Krissy… Krissy, honey… Can you hear me?”

“Of course I can hear you.”

“Are you sure of that? I’ve been trying to get through to you, to talk to you, to make you understand something, but it… sometimes it’s so hard to know if I’m reaching you. Did you hear what I told you last night? Do you remember?”

“I’m not sure. What do you mean?”

“I was talking to you, telling you something, but I wasn’t sure you could hear me.”

“Well, I can hear you real good now.”

“I have something important to say, but first, do you know who I am?”

“Sure I do. You’re the blue lady. I’ve seen you around a whole bunch of times. You’re the one who helped me out that day that man in the van was chasing after me.”

“That’s right, I think I remember that. Do you know who that man was? Did you recognize him?”

“Not really. I never saw his face or anything. Do you know him? Tell me if you know him.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“I already told you that. You’re the blue lady.”

“No, I mean do you know who I really am?… Krissy?… Are… are you sure you can hear me? It’s so dark in here. I… I can’t see you at all, although I can feel your presence.”

“I can’t see you, either. That’s because all the lights are turned off, silly. But don’t worry, I’m right here in my bed.”

“I can hear someone breathing. Is that Billy sleeping there beside you?”

“A course it is. Hey, how come he never sees you like I do?”

“I … I’m not sure. Like I said, I have trouble finding you sometimes. It’s so cold and… and lonely where I am, and sometimes it’s so dark I can’t always find my way.”

“But you still haven’t told me who you are.”

“Do you ever… miss me, honey?… Krissy? Can you hear me? Tell me! Do you ever miss me?”

“Well, you scare me sometimes, but I don’t like to talk about you very much to Aunt Cindy or Billy or anyone else. I don’t want them to worry.”

“Worry?… Your Aunt Cindy… that’s what I… I have to tell you… you have to tell her… for me… tell your Aunt Cindy something… for me.”

“I don’t know if she’d even believe me.”

“She has to. At least you have to try… you’re in danger… all of you… in very great danger… he’s finally found you…”

“What? Who has? You’ll have to speak louder. Your voice keeps going funny on me. What did you say?”

“I’m slipping away… I can feel it… but you have to tell her… tell your Aunt Cindy that he… he’s found you and you have to… have to get away… get away… please… go far, far away…”

“But who are you? If you tell me who you are, maybe she’ll believe me.”

Don’t… you… know… me?… I’m… your … mother …”

“What? What did you say? Don’t talk so low like that. Your voice is getting all funny again. I can’t hear you.”

“Tell… Aunt… Cindy… that… your… mother… told … you … you… have… to… leave this… place… right… now! … tonight…”

“Wait! Don’t go away! I didn’t hear you! Tell me what you want me to know! I can’t hear you anymore! Tell me!”

5

With a sharp intake of breath, Krissy woke up and found herself sitting bolt upright in bed with her pillow clutched tightly against her heaving chest. Her eyes were wide open and staring at the surrounding darkness, which seemed to vibrate with a solid, black intensity. In the corner of her eye, she thought she caught a glimpse of a fading glow of blue light, but when she turned to look at it, it was immediately swallowed by the pulsating black of the night.

The dream—whatever it had been—had disappeared, dissolving in the shattering instant between sleep and wakefulness. Sobbing deeply, but telling herself that she couldn’t cry out loud because she didn’t want to disturb Billy or Aunt Cindy, Krissy covered her face with her pillow and muffled the long, agonized wail that was resonating deep inside her.

She pressed her hands so hard against her eyes that vibrant red and yellow light patterns began to spiral across her vision. Whimpering softly, like a wounded animal, she searched her memory for a trace… just the tiniest trace of what her dream had been about, but it was gone like dry sand, blown away by the wind. All she knew, as she sat there shivering and lonely in the pressing darkness, was that the dream had left her with a cold, gnawing tension deep inside her stomach. She sensed immediate danger, but there was also something else… something that she didn’t like to think about because of the hollow, aching feeling it gave her.

She started to cry when she thought about how much she missed her mother.

Sobbing in the darkness, she wished to God that her mother could be here with her right now so she could cry out all of the hurt and fear and sadness that was bubbling up inside her. Her anguished sobs filled the darkness for more than an hour before she finally drifted off to a fitful sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Showdown

“Our top story this morning. Late yesterday evening, Portland police discovered a Portland woman dead in her Coyne Street apartment, apparently the victim of foul play.”

Cindy was in the kitchen, scrambling eggs for breakfast while she listened to the morning news report on the TV, which was on in the living room. As soon-as she heard the words “Coyne Street,” she let out a long gasp and dropped the whisk she was using onto the floor. Moving like a stiff-legged zombie, she walked into the living room, her eyes wide open, unblinking. She stared at the news reporter’s fresh-scrubbed face until his features began to blur together. His smiling, chipper attitude seemed to be in total contradiction to the words he was saying.

“Responding to a tip from an anonymous caller yesterday afternoon, Portland police went to an apartment on Coyne Street, where they found the body of Alice Crowther. The young woman appears to have been strangled and then was left for dead inside her bedroom closet. State and local officials are investigating the case, but so far Portland Police Chief Greg Mitchell says there is no apparent motive, and that there are few leads. He does ask if the individual who initially reported the incident to police yesterday afternoon has more information, would she please step forward. We’ll keep you up to date on this story as it develops.”

She’s dead… sweet Jesus, Alice is DEAD!… just like Debbie! was Cindy’s first thought.

For several heart-pounding seconds she just stood there, frozen, unable even to take a breath, much less begin to process what she had just heard. The newscaster had started in on a report concerning a mill strike in the northern part of the state, but Cindy could barely hear him above the roaring sounds that filled her ears and the voice that was screaming inside her mind.

Alice is dead!… oh, dear God in heaven… Alice is DEAD!

The thought was like a spike driving deep into the center of her brain. And as the true import of what she had just heard began to register in her mind, she was filled with another, even more terrifying thought.

When we were at the apartment yesterday… when I had that weird feeling outside the apartment that something was wrong, I didn’t know it… I had no way of knowing, but she was probably already dead! She was up there, dead, and if I had gone upstairs, I might have been the one to find her… But now… how can she be dead?… No, NO!… She can’t be… DEAD!

Her body felt suddenly leaden and numb. She was hardly aware of the hot tears that were streaming from her eyes. Burning, stabbing pains lanced her chest every time she took a sip of breath. Every muscle in her body was tensed and trembling as the idea slowly began to worm its way into her mind.

Alice—the one and only friend I’ve made since I moved here!… How can something like this happen? How can she be snatched away from me like this, in an instant, and I wasn’t even aware of it!… Oh, God, was there anything I could have done to help her, to stop this from happening?

But right now, even the fact that Alice was dead—It had to be true; the newscaster just said it!—was too crazy, too impossible for her to grasp! Any coherent thoughts were swept away by a confusing rush of sadness and terror that struck the very core of her soul. She closed her eyes, almost collapsing as she stared at the internal darkness and wished that it would simply sweep her up, take her away forever from the loneliness and hurt she was feeling.

But then… somehow, the thought of her sister’s two kids sleeping upstairs invaded her consciousness, drawing her back to awareness. She was instantly flooded with a near-frantic fear for their safety.

What if it was him?

The thought tore like a bullet through the blinding swirl of her emotions.

Somehow, she knew that it had to be him, the man who had been hanging around outside the apartment the man in the white van who had tried to pick up Krissy and who had followed her out to Fort Williams that day.

Jesus, he must have done this to Alice!

And what if, all along, he wasn’t even after Alice?, Cindy thought with a mounting rush of panic. What if he was looking for us?… looking for the kids?

Staggered by the idea, Cindy let out a roaring gasp and had to grab onto a chair back to keep from falling down.

But who is he? Who in the name of Christ is he?

“Hey, kids!” she suddenly shouted, so loud that it hurt her throat. She wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands as she directed her voice up the stairway. “Hey! Come on! Both of you! Wake up! We have to get going!”

Taking the steps two at a time, she raced up the stairs to the bedroom and started alternately shaking both Billy and Krissy by the shoulders.

“Come on! Come on! Wake up! Something’s—”

She almost told them then that Alice had been killed, but she stopped herself and, clutched with a panicky, frantic feeling, shook them all the harder.

“Come on!”

Mumbling a low, groaning complaint, Billy rolled away from her and buried his head under his pillow. Krissy sat up, rubbed her eyes and looked up at Cindy with a dazed, frightened expression.

“I’m not kidding,” Cindy said, trying her best to keep the rising edge of panic out of her voice. “We can’t stay here anymore. We have to get going.”

“Wha—? Where?” Billy asked. His voice was barely audible from underneath the pillow. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter,” Cindy said shakily, wanting nothing more than to collapse onto the floor and cry, “but we’ve got to pack the car and get going. Now!”

Billy shifted the pillow to one side and opened one eye to look at her. Frowning, he said, “What the heck? Why are you in such a panic?”

“I … I’ll tell you later,” Cindy said sharply, turning away so he wouldn’t see that she’d been crying. “For now, just get your butt out of bed and get dressed. Pack up all your stuff and hurry. Well have breakfast on the road. Come on, hurry!”

Not waiting to see if either of them got moving, she raced into her bedroom and, still sobbing, hurriedly threw all of her clothes and toiletries into her suitcase. Her hands were trembling and slick with sweat, and she kept dropping things, but she didn’t care as she crammed the suitcase full of rumpled clothes and then sat on top of it to latch it shut. Seconds later, she was pushing it across the bedroom floor toward the stairs.

“Come on, kids, I mean it! You’ve got to get moving,” she shouted when she saw that both kids were still in bed, staring at her in amazement and looking stunned and surprised. When Billy finally tossed aside the bed covers and stood up, she picked up the suitcase and started down the stairs. The heavy suitcase bounced off each step on the way down, sounding like steady hammer blows. As she made her way through the kitchen, heading toward the front door, she noticed the bowl she had been using to mix the eggs and paused, wondering how crazy she must be to overreact like this.

Christ, this whole thing is absolutely insane! How can this be happening?

As terrible, as eerily unreal as it now seemed that Alice had been killed—and there had been no mistake about that; she had heard the news report—why in Heaven’s name did she think it affected her so much?

Why was she freaking out like this?

Why couldn’t she take the time to fix them all a good breakfast before they took off?

As much as she felt impelled to contact the police about what had happened to Alice, she knew she couldn’t. No doubt as soon as they began investigating, they’d discover that the adjacent apartment was now empty, and—damnit!—she had rented it under her own name, not an assumed one, so it wouldn’t be long before they’d be looking for her.

If her name was already on any wanted posters for kidnapping, this would only add to the list: Wanted for questioning concerning a recent murder.

Jesus! What should she do? Where could she go?

She wasn’t sure. All she felt was an urgency to get moving—and fast! Once they were packed up and on the road, she and the kids could stop and buy whatever food they wanted later.

Feeling limp and already fatigued from the unbearable tension, she unlocked the camp door and pushed it open, blocking it with her hip as she slid the suitcase out onto the front steps. The icy bite of the morning air sent a shiver through her, but that was nothing compared to the jolting shock she felt when she caught a glimpse of something in the corner of her eye and looked up to see the arrow that was sticking out of the side of the house, about six inches above the door frame.

What in the name of Christ? she wondered. How the hell did that get here? Was that what they had heard, hitting the side of the camp last night?

Raising her arms protectively, she scanned the small front yard and looked cautiously around the side of the camp down toward the lake. The long, uncut summer grass and weeds were silvery with dew and looked undisturbed. The water looked like a flat, pewter mirror, and small ripples of waves gently lapped the sandy beach. A rich, earthy smell filled the chilly air, and her breath sent out a steaming plume of moisture as she panted from nervousness and the exertion of carrying the suitcase downstairs. She jumped and let out a piercing squeal when, from somewhere off in the woods, a blue jay suddenly squawked. Shifting her gaze up toward the trees at the top of the crest by the road, she at first thought she was imagining things when she saw what looked like a vaguely human shape, a man, standing in front of one of the large pine trees at the top of the crest.

What the hell? she thought, wondering if her nerves were wound up so tight she’d see monsters in every shadow.

The shape was nothing more than an indistinct blur of dark gray against the misty gray backdrop of the forest. He appeared to be nothing more than an illusion, a fabrication of the diffused light and the twisting tangle of branches and trees that surrounded him, but as her eyes focused more clearly on the figure, she saw that it was indeed a man. He was wearing a camouflage hunting jacket and had a wide-brimmed camouflage hat pulled down low, shielding his eyes. He was leaning on something which, at first she thought was a walking stick, but in the space of a heartbeat, realized was an elaborate hunting bow with pulleys and a quiver full of arrows stuck to one side.

Sweet Jesus, is he really there? she wondered as a wave of numbing panic swept over her.

She wanted to call out to him, but no matter how much she licked her lips and tried to form words the only sound that would escape her dry throat was a high, strangled whimper.

Still not quite able to believe that he was really there, Cindy straightened up, locking eyes with the man. His cold, pitiless stare bore into her, nailing her where she stood so she felt like a deer, paralyzed by fright into immobility. She desperately wanted to say something, to ask him if this was his arrow that was stuck into the side of the camp. If it was, she wanted to let him know in no uncertain terms that, hunting season or not, people lived out here and he should be more careful where he shot, but words failed. Her throat felt constricted as if a thick, knotted rope was strangling her.

Slowly and deliberately, the man took a few steps forward, shifting silently toward her. Cindy’s impression that he wasn’t even real became all the stronger, but her surprise and anger gradually blended into a cold, rising terror when she saw him raise his bow, take an arrow from the quiver, and draw it back to his ear as he took steady aim straight at her.

Cindy’s mind was suddenly ablaze with panic as she tried to think what to do next.

Is this man crazy? Does he really intend to shoot at me? What the hell is going on? Who the fuck is he?

Forcing chilled air into her lungs, she cleared her throat and said in a high, trembling voice, “What the—what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Without a word, the man started down the slope. The closer he got, the more substance he took on until he was terrifyingly real. His footsteps made squishy, sliding sounds on the damp leaves that carpeted the sloping forest floor.

“Good morning,” he said, almost cheerfully, his deep voice reverberating like rolling thunder in the still morning air. He sounded almost friendly, but the whole time, he kept the arrow pointed straight at Cindy.

The icy ball of fear that had formed in Cindy’s stomach spread out frigid tendrils to every nerve and muscle in her body. Her legs felt like they were going to fold up on her.

This is insane! This can’t be happening! she thought, but when she tried to speak all she could do was stammer senselessly.

The man made his way down the slope until he came to the edge of the driveway; then he stopped. Cocking his head to one side so he could sight along the arrow, he steadied his aim and then, in between heartbeats, drew back and let the arrow fly.

Cindy let out a piercing scream that echoed in the morning stillness as she covered her face with her hands and dropped quickly to her knees. The arrow whisked through the air and stuck with a reverberating hum into the side of the camp mere inches from where her head had been.

“You know,” the man said, still with a slight trace of good-natured humor in his voice, “I could’ve hit you if I’d wanted to.”

Cindy focused on his lopsided smirk as she slowly stood up and brushed the grit from her hands and knees. Beneath the shadowing brim of his hat, his eyes seemed to glow with an unnatural light. She glanced quickly over her shoulder at the camp door, wondering if she could get inside and lock the door fast enough to keep him out. Was there anything in the camp that she could use as a weapon? How could she get help out here? She knew the phone in the camp had been disconnected for the winter, and in an isolated place like this screaming wasn’t going to do her any good.

“Don’t even think about running,” the man said with harsh, grating malice in his voice. “You’re not gonna get very far this time.”

The more he spoke, the more Cindy became aware of something in his voice that struck her as… odd, almost familiar. In spite of the tornado of fear winding up inside her, she almost recognized the strange twang in his voice which wasn’t at all like the accents she had gotten used to hearing here in Maine. In fact, his accent reminded her quite a bit of the way people sounded back home in Nebraska. As if reading her thoughts, the man gazed directly at her and then, chuckling softly, slid his hat back to reveal more of his face.

“Christ on a cross, Cindy, don’t you even recognize me?”

The cold, steady gleam in his eyes transfixed Cindy. Her pulse was hammering high and heavy in her ears, so she almost didn’t hear anything he said, but as she stared long and hard at him, recognition—as impossible as it might be—slowly dawned.

Christ, no! How in God’s name can it be? It can’t be… him!

He had shaved his mustache and cut his long hair, but even with these few physical changes, no disguise could hide the pure hatred and violence she saw, shimmering like wildfire in Alex Harris’ eyes.

“No… no,” she stammered, her voice nothing more than a strangled whisper as she took a staggering step backwards. “How in the name of…? It can’t be…”

“Oh, but it is,” Alex said with a leisurely drawl as he shook his head up and down. Snickering, he took another arrow from the quiver and casually notched it on the bow string. “And now, by Christ, Cindy, I’ve got you right where I want you, you bitch!”

Still aiming at her, he tossed his head back, and the early morning stillness echoed with his spiralling, hollow laughter.

2

“Oh, no! … No!… Not that!”

Krissy’s voice was panicky as she sat bolt upright in the bed and stared wide-eyed at her brother who was standing beside her, hopping up and down as he pulled on his jeans. He tried to hide his surprise as he looked over at his sister.

“What’s the matter?”

“She… she said something to me… last night. She was here! … It was … it’s about—”

Krissy was cut off sharply when something suddenly slammed into the side of the camp with a loud bang and was instantly followed by a piercing scream that made both the children jump and look fearfully down the stairway leading to the living room.

“What the heck was that?” Billy asked.

“It sounded just like that sound last night,” Krissy said in a soft, terrified whisper.

“Yeah,” Billy said, looking back and forth between the stairway and his sister.

“Aunt Cindy,” he called out. “Are you all right?”

Bending at the waist, he picked up the shirt from where he had tossed it on the floor last night and slid his arms into it. His hands were shaking as he buttoned it up. He looked again down at the stairway when Krissy scrambled out from under the bed covers and hurriedly began to dress.

“What do you think’s going on down there?” Billy asked, fighting the slight tremor in his voice. He strained to hear, and shivered when he heard an outburst of loud laughter.

He jumped and let out a little scream of his own when Krissy spoke close beside him.

“I dunno,” she whispered in a soft, amazed tone of voice. “But that must have been what she was talking about last night.”

“Who? You mean Aunt Cindy?” Billy asked. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled on a clean pair of socks and hurriedly laced up his sneakers.

Krissy was silent as she put on the same pair of jeans and sweater she had worn yesterday. Without another word between them, Billy started toward the stairway with his sister one step behind him. She held onto the back of his shirt like it was a lifeline.

The stairs creaked beneath their feet as they made their way downstairs. Halfway down, Billy could see that the camp was empty, but he was pretty sure from the muffled voices he heard that someone was out front.

Voices!

It wasn’t just Aunt Cindy talking to herself. Someone else was outside with her.

He paused at the bottom of the steps and looked fearfully back at Krissy. His first impulse was to tell her to go back upstairs and hide until he told her everything was all right, but his throat was so tight with tension he couldn’t speak. Turning slightly so he could grab her hand, they started, side by side, toward the front door. They were just coming into the kitchen when the camp door suddenly burst open, and Aunt Cindy stumbled into the entryway, slamming the door shut behind her.

“Go upstairs! … Quick! … Go hide!” she shouted between gasping breaths as she fumbled to lock the door.

Billy was immobilized with fright. He stood there, watching in stunned silence as his aunt dashed into the kitchen and started yanking open all the kitchen drawers, frantically throwing things in a clatter onto the floor as she searched for… something. At last, she pulled out a large, thick-blade carving knife and, spinning around on her heel, held it out in front of her just as the camp door burst open with a deafening explosion of splintering wood and breaking glass. The top hinge of the door pulled out of the jamb, and the door hung like a broken shutter. Billy turned around, amazed and unable to believe his eyes when he saw his father standing there in the doorway. In one hand, he held a bow and arrow. A crazed gleam lit his eyes.

“So there you are, you little son of a bitch!” his father said. He stepped forward and curled back his upper lip as though he wanted to take a bite out of him.

“Yeah, and your little sister, too!” his father said when his eyes lighted on Krissy, who was cringing behind her brother.

Too surprised and scared to respond, Billy took a staggering step backwards and bumped into Krissy, almost knocking her over. His first impulse was to turn and run—run away from this man who had made a habit of yelling at him and belting him around whenever he was in a foul mood—but Billy’s legs were locked.

“Hey, I’ll bet you never expected to see me again, now, did yah?” his father said, eyeing Billy narrowly. Billy couldn’t get enough air into his lungs to reply. His stomach tightened, and his leg muscles started vibrating.

“I said, did yah? I’ll bet you thought you were rid of me for good, huh?”

“Stay away from us,” Cindy yelled in a high, quaking voice as she waved the knife back and forth between them in a looping figure-eight. “Get the hell out of here! I already called the cops.”

“Like hell you have,” Alex snarled.

“Leave us alone! We don’t want any trouble!”

“You don’t want any trouble?” Alex said, tossing back his head and letting loose a wild roar of laughter. “So that’s it, huh? You don’t want any trouble! Well, if that’s the case—”

He took a few more steps into the kitchen but shied back, obviously wary of the blade Cindy had in spite of the bow he carried.

“If that’s how you feel, then maybe you shouldn’t have tried to steal my goddamned kids away from me, now, huh?”

He clenched his fist and shook the bow violently.

“I didn’t steal them,” Cindy said, her voice twisting up high and almost breaking. “My sister wanted me to have them, and they came… they came with me willingly because… because they’re afraid of you.”

“Yeah, well, they damned well better be afraid of me, because once I get ’em back home, I’m gonna whoop the friggin’ tar out of ’em! Out of both of ’em!” He turned and stared straight into Billy’s eyes, making the boy’s blood run cold.

“Tell me, boy. Is it true what she says?” his father asked, nailing him with a cold, angry stare. “S it true that you don’t want to stay with me?”

“I… I—” Billy’s lower lip began to tremble as he tried to speak, but the only sound he could make was a strangled stammer. Burning pressure was building up in his bladder, making him have to go pee real bad.

“Well…” his father said, letting a gruesome smile split his face, “we’re about to change all that, now, ain’t we, boy?”

Billy thought he had no control over his body, but his head started nodding up and down as though he was in complete agreement with his father.

“That’s right,” his father said, turning to Cindy. “You see that? He wants to be with his daddy. Don’t yah, boy? And his sister does, too. Ain’t that right?” He took a deep breath and indicated the door with a quick flick of his head. “Now, why don’t you and your little sister get your skinny butts outside while I take care of things in here, okay?”

“I’m warning you!” Cindy shouted. “The police are already on their way. Leave us alone!”

“You didn’t have time to call the police, and besides, I took the liberty of cutting the phone line. Stop trying to bullshit me.”

Billy’s gaze moved frantically between his father and Aunt Cindy. He was dimly aware that they were yelling at each other—just like his father and mother used to yell at each other—but their voices hardly cut through his raging confusion and fear. He felt riveted to where he stood, trapped as if someone had glued his sneakers to the floor.

“I’m warning you,” his father said. Billy watched in silent horror as his father turned to Aunt Cindy and jabbed his forefinger at her. “You fucked things up enough as it is, so you just keep your goddamned mouth shut, all right?”

He glared over his shoulder at Billy and saw that he hadn’t moved.

“And you, boy! Get your goddamned ass moving or I’ll kick it all the way back to Nebraska! My van’s parked up at the top of the hill. Go get inside it and wait. I’ll be along shortly.”

“The white van,” Krissy said in such a hushed voice that Billy almost didn’t hear her. “All along, it was you… she was warning me about you!”

“Billy! Krissy! Don’t do it! Don’t go!” Aunt Cindy shouted, taking a step forward as if to intercept him.

Then everything happened so fast Billy registered only a portion of it. Letting loose a wild scream, his aunt suddenly lunged at his father with the carving knife. As she brought it around in a vicious arc, the blade gleamed with a reflection of white light; but in a quick reflex move, his father brought the bow around like a baseball bat to block her. The bowstring whistled loudly, but the sound abruptly stopped with a loud cracking sound as Aunt Cindy cried out sharply and, leaning forward, clutched her left wrist to her side. The knife clattered to the floor, and his father stepped forward and kicked it away.

“Don’t try any shit with me!” he shouted.

“You bastard!” Aunt Cindy shrieked. “You goddamned bastard! You broke my damned wrist!”

“That ain’t all I’m gonna break,” Alex hissed, laughing.

Billy stood rooted to the spot as his father moved quickly forward, grabbed his aunt by the hair, and pulled on it so hard her head was thrown back, exposing her throat. He watched in horror as his father clenched and raised his fist, looking like he was a split second away from punching her in the face, but then he violently shoved her away from him. Aunt Cindy stumbled backward, scrambling to keep her balance, but collapsed in a heap on the floor amid the clutter of kitchen utensils she had thrown there.

In a controlled, almost lazy voice, his father turned to him and said, “Now why don’t you do what you’re told, and take your little sister up to my van and wait for me there?”

“Don’t hurt her,” Billy said in a ragged, breaking voice. “Please, dad, don’t hurt her! She never hurt you.”

Tears filled his eyes, burning as they ran down the sides of his face.

“Stop your goddamned crying, boy!” his father bellowed. “What, did she turn you into a little pansy or something?”

Billy stared back at his father, trying hard to stop the motions, but there was no way he could.

“Now, do what you’re told and get your ass out there!” his father shouted, but still, Billy couldn’t move. In two big steps his father was beside him, and like a stroke of lightning the flat of his hand smacked Billy in the side of the head so hard it made his teeth rattle. A high-pitched ringing sound filled his head, and e covered his ears with both hands as fresh tears owed.

“Fuckin’ pansy! Now do as you’re told! Don’t make me hit you again!” his father bellowed.

Dazed and blinded by tears, Billy reached behind him for his sister’s hand. Once he found it, he squeezed it tightly and started in halting baby-steps for the door, shying away from his father, expecting another slap. The last thing he heard as he walked through the shattered door was the strangled, whimpering sound his aunt was making deep in the back of her throat.

“He’s gonna do it to her,” Krissy said in a tiny voice that Billy could barely hear above the ringing in his ears. “Can’t you stop him? He’s gonna hurt her… just like he hurt mom.”

3

Alex carefully placed his bow and arrow on the counter before stepping forward and grabbing Cindy by the hair again. He pulled up, almost lifting her off her feet. The pain was excruciating. Her scalp felt like it was on fire as he levered her back against his knee and forced her head back further and further until she was sure either her neck or spine was going to crack.

This is it! I’m going to die! was the only clear thought she had through the whirling confusion of panic and pain.

As the agony intensified her vision became a watery blur, a confusing swirl of colors that blended like smeared watercolors. Off to the side, she had caught only a hint of motion as Billy and Krissy did what their father had told them and left the camp; then Alex’s face, looking as bloated and pale as a fat, full moon, loomed close above her, transfixing her with an enraged stare.

“And now, you fucking bitch, you’re gonna pay,” he said in a low, steady voice that sounded like he was thoroughly enjoying this. “You’re gonna pay for all the bullshit you put me through these past few months.”

“… you’ll… never…”

But that was all she could manage to say. The backward pressure on her throat was cutting off her words and supply of air. Exploding white spirals of light filled her vision. A heavy, repetitious crashing sound was roaring inside her head so loudly she could barely make out anything he was saying. His lips, terrifyingly magnified, moved in soft, rubbery twitches, exposing his wide, flat teeth.

“Before I kill you, though, I have a little something to tell you.”

Cindy’s mind was slowly blanking out as excruciating pain swept through her like a boiling flow of lava.

“I want you to take this final thought with you on your way to hell,” Alex said.

Every word he spoke sounded sludgy, dragging like a record that was being played on the wrong speed.

“I didn’t just kill your sister, you know. I also killed your fucking husband!”

Through her pain, Cindy barely understood what he had said, but his words filled her with a depth of misery she had never experienced before in her life… not even on that day when she had first found out her sister had died!

“Oh, yeah, I did,” Alex said, snorting with laughter and spraying her face with spittle. “I killed Debbie because she was a royal pain in the ass, almost as bad as you are, but after you took off with my kids, I followed your husband, and do you know where I found him?”

Cindy’s mouth moved but made only a grating, gasping sound.

“I found him at a motel, where he was getting ready to fuck his girlfriend.”

His grip on her hair tightened. Balling it into his fist, he shook her head violently up and down as though she was agreeing with him. She heard something crackle in her neck. Tears streamed from her eyes, and thick mucus clogged her throat, blocking off her air. “Did you hear what I said?” he yelled.

Again, he shook her head, even harder. The pain was like hot irons, piercing her head and shoulders.

“Did you even know he had a fucking girlfriend?”

He snorted, then shook his head, regarding her with feigned sadness in his eyes.

“No, you probably didn’t, you’re so fucking dense; but he did, and I found him there and I fucking-a killed him. And your nosy neighbor, too. Shit, I never even knew her name, but I killed her, so rest assured—they’re all waiting for you… in hell!”

Cindy hung there, suspended by her hair, watching in silent terror as Alex again raised his fist, preparing to bring it down squarely into her face. But as the import of his words slowly registered in her pain-wracked brain, a sudden fury filled her. Suddenly, she felt as though she was beyond any physical or mental pain he could inflict on her. With a long, trailing scream winding up inside her, she found a reserve of strength—somewhere—and suddenly lurched forward, kicking out wildly at him. She was only dimly aware that she even connected.

But she must have because Alex’s gloating expression suddenly exploded with pain and surprise, his eyes bugging out of his head. The burning pain on her scalp suddenly stopped, and she felt herself plop down hard on the floor. A jab of pain lanced up her spine like lightning.

Alex staggered backwards, coughing and sputtering as he doubled over and grabbed his crotch with both hands. His face turned bright purple, and his lips and cheeks puffed out with a long, agonized groan.

“You bitch!” he screamed, his voice shrill with pain and rage. “You fucking bitch!”

Cindy’s mind was a blank, white sheet of terror as she scrambled to her feet and, dodging past Alex, started unsteadily for the door. When she banged into the counter once, she felt something snag her leg and tug her back, but she couldn’t tell if it was Alex or if her foot had caught on something else. It didn’t matter. As she pulled away, the single clear thought in her mind was to run!

Run!

Air roared into her lungs, burning in her throat as she leaped through the smashed door and stumbled outside. For a frozen, dizzying moment, she hesitated, looking around like a punch-drunk prize fighter who didn’t know where she was. Then her gaze swung up to the top of the crest, and she remembered.

Yes!… The kids!… They’re up there!… He said he parked his van up on the hill!… That’s where they went!

As she stumbled forward, her entire body was a symphony of pain. She clutched her bruised or broken left hand close to her side as she started to run. Tears blinded her, and she careened off the trees like a pinball as she zig-zagged her way up the slope. Her footing wasn’t very secure, and as the slope got steeper, her feet kept slipping on rotting leaves and pine needles. Whimpering with pain, she dropped to her hands and knees and started crawling, frantic to get away but knowing that Alex would be coming after her the instant he recovered. When she was halfway up the slope, something whistled past her ear with a quick zip. Glancing to her left, she saw the feathered shaft of an arrow sticking out of the embankment less than an inch from her hand.

“Hold it right there, or the next one’ll go right through you!” Alex shouted. His voice echoed like thunder in the uncanny stillness.

Cindy skidded part way down the slope when she hesitated and turned to look at him. He was standing on the doorstep with his bow, minus two arrows, gripped firmly in his hand. Slowly, without ever shifting his eyes away from her, he took another arrow from the quiver and notched it.

“You know, maybe I ought to give you a little running start,” he said, smiling grimly. “That way, I could shoot you in the back and make it look like it was a hunting accident. Think that’s what I ought to do?”

Cindy was panting too heavily to reply. The cold air seared her lungs. She just sat there, distantly aware of the dampness from the forest floor penetrating the seat of her pants. She stared back at him wordlessly, hoping that, when death finally came, it would be mercifully swift.

I don’t want to die!… I don’t want to die!

“Well…? Is that it? Do you want a fighting chance?” he shouted, “or do you think I should end it quick and clean right now?”

Right here and now!… Please!… Do it quickly!

That was her only thought, but she still couldn’t reply. Her body was consumed with pain that numbed her mind and spirit.

“Well then…” Alex said finally. “Fuck you!”

He shrugged as though helpless in his decision, then raised the bow and took careful aim at her. “We’ll end it right now!”

Cindy didn’t see or hear the arrow fly.

In a blinding instant, as soon as she sensed that he had released the arrow, she dodged to one side and was up and running, stumbling as she cut across the slope and headed off into the woods. Her only hope… her only prayer was that the trees would shield her, and she could get away from him and somehow find help. The only other clear thought in her mind as she ran was that—hopefully—Alex wouldn’t leave with the kids.

Not yet.

Knowing Alex as she did, she was positive he wouldn’t give up until he had run her down and killed her.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Pursuit

Nearly blind with panic, and with no clear idea of where she was going, Cindy ran for all she was worth.

Doubled over, she clamped her swollen left wrist tightly against her side as she ran up the gradually sloping hillside, ducking and dodging low-hanging branches and clumps of pine and beech trees and other brush. Flaming pain shot up her arm like a hot spike to her elbow. Her pulse was like sledgehammers in her ears, drowning out nearly every other sound except the crunching leaves underfoot and her heavy breathing, which came hard and fast, rattling with phlegm in her throat. The cold morning air made her eyes tear up and set her lungs on fire. Several times, her footing slipped, and she almost fell and twisted an ankle, but she pushed herself all the harder knowing that Alex must be following close behind. It took every reserve of strength she had to keep going, but she knew she was going to have to save herself before she’d be able to do anything to help the kids.

Her kids, by Jesus!

She had never forgotten that they were Alex’s and her dead sister’s children, but after everything they had been through, she couldn’t help but think of them as her own. One of the clearest thoughts in her pain-wracked brain was that she had to do anything and everything in her power to keep them away from their own father.

But what could she do?

She had no idea how long she’d been running, but her body was wrung with exhaustion, so she slowed her pace a bit once she realized she must have gained some distance on Alex. There was no indication that he was close behind… not yet, anyway. And even if he was, she was within the relative safety of the dense woods; he wouldn’t be able to get a clear bow shot at her unless he was very close. She still ran, but at a steady, if awkward jog, stumbling on the uneven terrain. Her panic lessened slightly and her mind gradually began to clear—at least enough so she could start to think about everything that had happened and what she should do next.

There was no doubt that Alex intended to kill her. She realized that it may have been a mistake to leave Portland and come to an isolated place like this, but it was too late now to change that. Alex could easily fake her death to look like a hunting accident and leave her body out here in the woods to rot. It could be months, possibly years before anyone would even find her; and by then, Alex could be back in Nebraska with the kids, and the authorities would have no idea who she was or low she had died. Besides, now that Debbie and Alice and Harry—the three most important people in her life—were dead, who would miss her?

Dead! How can Alice be dead? I saw her just the day before yesterday! she thought.

Sweat streaked her face, and cold, tingling chills raced up her back and shoulders.

Could it REALLY be true, or had he just been making that up to torment her before he killed her?

Well, at least as of right now, the kids were safe; but she had no doubt that, once Alex had finished her off he would turn his sick anger against them… especially Billy. He had said as much back at the camp. Cindy felt especially badly for Billy, who had to stand there and listen to his father—his own father!—berate him like that, calling him a pansy and then slugging him. The blow to the head had to have hurt, and if that’s how his father treated Billy and his sister, no wonder over the past few months she’d heard so few complaints from either of the children about wanting to go back home. And if Alex was capable of killing three people, as he had so gleefully admitted, what would stop him from beating and possibly killing his own children?

Cindy knew the answer to that.

Nothing!

And although she had to do something to save them, she also knew that it would be absolutely foolish to go up against Alex directly… even if she didn’t have a broken wrist or was in as much pain. He still had his hunting bow and a handful of arrows, and she knew ii he caught even a glimpse of her he’d kill her on the spot. So she had to come up with something!

She was panting so hard her throat made loud, gasping sounds as she ran. She kept on a straight course parallel to the dirt road. In between breaks in the trees, she caught flashes of the dull gray lake off to her left.

Think of something!… Come on, damnit! You’ve got to think of something!

She couldn’t very well leave the kids behind and run just to save herself, but what in God’s name could she do?

The most obvious thing would be to head out to the main road, which considering how far she had run, couldn’t be more than a mile or so more through the woods. There she would eventually find a house, hopefully with somebody home so she could use their telephone to call the police. If she had to, she was determined to break in to use the phone. The situation warranted it. So if she could just stay close to the road o she would see if he left in the van with the kids, she just might have a chance of stopping him before he got away. She had to hope that he was so angry he wouldn’t think clearly and would come after her, forgetting for a few moments about the kids in the van.

She was near collapse; so she slowed her pace and looked back the way she had come. Right now, for all he knew, Alex could be trailing after her, steadily closing the gap between them. She realized she might never even hear him over the noise she was making, panting like a race horse as she plowed through the thick underbrush. Whether she saw him or not, she could feel his presence closing in behind her like the swelling, dark pressure of the rain storm that was bearing down on the lake. She had no woodland skills and wasn’t any good at running silently or hiding in the forest; she knew she was leaving a trail even an idiot could follow, so—for now—the best she could hope for was to keep moving and try to outdistance him.

If she could.

But as she ran, with branches swatting her face like stinging whiplashes and exhaustion burning in her lungs and leg muscles, she began to have her doubts. She knew that what she hoped to do was probably the most obvious thing, and Alex was no doubt smart enough to second-guess her on it. The dirt road was her easiest and, possibly, her only way out of here short of hiking—how many miles through the woods? As exhausted as she was, she wouldn’t get very far, so all he had to do was make sure she didn’t get out to the main road. Christ, he might already be stationed up where the road first turns onto Campbell Shore Road, just waiting for her to show up so he could finish her off.

So maybe she should consider something else—something that might have an element of surprise to it.

Maybe, if she could elude him by hiding and staying quiet until he passed by, she could circle back around to the camp and get the kids out of the van. Her car was still parked down by the camp. She always kept a spare key under the floor mat on the passenger’s side. As long as Alex hadn’t taken the time to sabotage her car, they could leave.

She ran on, knowing that Alex might be only a few paces behind her. She expected, any second now, to hear him call out her name and feel an arrow pierce her from behind, bringing agony and death.

Sharp, stinging waves of pain consumed her left wrist, radiating all the way up to her shoulder. Her scalp felt like it was bleeding, and her neck and back throbbed in time with her racing pulse. Sweat ran down her face, stinging her eyes. There wasn’t a square inch of her body that didn’t feel bruised, sprained, or bleeding.

Still she ran, pushing all the harder, but after a while, as exhaustion began to set in, she slowed her pace to a fast walk. Then, casting fearful glances behind her, she stopped and leaned over, bracing herself with both hands on her knees as she panted so heavily her throat made raw, choking sounds.

Be quiet … Be quiet, goddamnit! she told herself.

Her breath wheezed in and out of her throat as she looked all around, scanning the suddenly silent woods. A gentle breeze stirred the yellowing beech leaves overhead, and through the leaves she could see splashes of the overcast, gray sky. There was a hushed calm in the air that she should have found soothing, but it was fraught with pressing menace. She cringed inwardly, imagining that—at any moment—Alex would suddenly appear from behind a tree or bush, aim at her and shoot her with one of his honed arrows. But, except for the distant squawking of a blue jay and the hissing rustle of leaves overhead, the woods remained perfectly silent.

No thrashing of dead leaves.

No snapping of branches.

Moving closer down the slope to the road, Cindy strained to hear any indication that Alex was nearby. She suspected, if he was after her at all, that he was a stealthy hunter who was sneaking up on her silently. She probably wouldn’t even know how close he was until she heard the twang of his bowstring and felt the piercing sting of his arrow. After several seconds of agony, she started to wonder—and fear—if he might have already decided to hell with her and had left with the kids.

Her kids!

Sweet Jesus, what would she do then?

She would have to go to the police and report Alex now, but even in spite of what he had done, what kind of case would she have to keep the children? No matter what Alex had done to torment her, she couldn’t very well expect the authorities to let her keep Billy and Krissy. No doubt they’d be turned over to the state. Then again, she had a confession from Alex’s own mouth that he had killed Alice as well and his own wife and her husband back in Omaha. The newscaster had said the Portland police chief would like her to call again with more information, and by God, she would have to do just that. Why, she could give him the name, address, and complete description of Alice’s murderer!

But first, she had to get back to the camp and find out if the kids were still there. Beneath all of her frantic thoughts and worries was that clear, overriding concern for their safety and a single, terrifying thought.

What the hell am I gonna do to save them?

A gnawing fear filled her that Alex would be frustrated at not being able to run her down, and so would turn on his kids. He had already committed murder, so maybe he was crazy enough not to care what he did anymore. He might even realize that he had already gone too far, and his only thought now was to kill Cindy and his kids before he was brought down.

“Jesus … Jesus… Help… me,” she whispered, panting heavily. Her ragged voice hissed like a snake, sliding through the dead leaves.

Tears blurred her vision as she looked up at the lowering gray rain clouds and took a deep, rasping breath. Fighting back her tears, she turned and started back down toward the road. Her plan was to go all the way down to the lake shore and then head back to the camp, staying out of sight as much as possible. Maybe, if she was lucky, Alex would be looking for her there. He might still be off in the woods somewhere searching for her. If the kids were still in the van and Alex wasn’t anywhere around, then she would do whatever she could to get them all out of here.

If Alex wasn’t there!

And if he was…?

Well, she would just have to hope to hell he wasn’t!

2

“So what are you gonna do?” Krissy asked.

“What do you mean, what am I gonna do about it?” Billy snapped back. He started to turn to look at her put, ashamed that she had seen him cry, looked away and sniffed loudly as he wiped his nose on the back of us hand.

“What do you think I oughta do?”

“I dunno… but… well… you gotta do something!”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

Billy was sitting in the passenger’s seat of the van. He glanced at the dim reflection of his sister in the windshield. She was sitting scrunched up on the back seat with her feet up on the seat as she hugged her legs protectively against her chest. Billy’s ears were still ringing from the blow to the head his father had given him. His chest hitched painfully every time he took a breath, and tears streaked down his face, making it feel greasy. It struck him as sort of strange that Krissy seemed so calm, considering everything that had just happened, and he was angry that she was seeing him upset like this. Usually, she was the cry baby.

“Well,” Krissy said, sounding almost scolding, “I don’t think you should just sit here doing nothing!”

The trace of impatient anger in her voice bothered Billy, but nothing she said and nothing he thought gave him any idea what he could do. As far as he was concerned, they just had to sit here and wait for their father to come back, and when he did…

Well, he preferred not to think that far ahead.

Sniffing loudly, he slouched in his seat and, hardly blinking, stared out at the front of the van. Off to his left, he could see the flat surface of the lake and the roof of the camp. Straight ahead was the winding stretch of dirt road that led out of here.

He was close to crying again but held himself back so Krissy wouldn’t see him cry.

“There’s nothing we can do,” he said but he spoke so softly, he was pretty sure Krissy didn’t even hear him.

3

Every one of Cindy’s senses was tingling with few and expectation as she crouched behind the trunk of a fallen pine tree and scanned the dirt road in both directions. The heavy gray overcast was steadily thickening. It would start to rain soon. Cindy had the curiously disorienting feeling that she had been running in the woods for hours if not days, but a glance at her wrist watch showed that it had only been a little less than an hour since she had first heard on the morning news that Alice had been found dead.

That’s impossible! she thought, still unable to absorb the fact that death had struck so close to her… again. A wild shiver shook her as she looked down the road toward the camp.

Craning her head forward, she tried to see or hear any indication that Alex was coming after, but the forest was filled with a tense, hushed expectation. Finally, she sucked in a deep breath, coiled up the last shreds of strength, and stood up to run across the road and into the thick brush on the opposite side. When she was in the middle of the road, she paused for a second and looked both ways to see if there was anyone else around. The road was deserted, so she ducked into the roadside brush and, after catching her breath, started walking in a slow, unsteady gait toward the lake.

She cut through the thick underbrush for a few hundred feet, and then the woods began to thin out, opening up into the yard of one of the neighboring imps. After checking all around her again, she darted cross the clearing to side of the camp, flattening herself against the rough wooden shingles. From there, she made her way down to the water’s edge.

The lake’s gray surface was ruffled by a steady, icy rind from the north that made it look like a wide sheet f pebbled aluminum. Circling in the sky high above one of the small islands were several white birds that looked like seagulls. The distant, echoing cry of a loon wafted to her on the wind, rising and falling, sounding almost like the lonely, plaintive howl of a wolf.

Please, God, please let him not be there!

As she started along the shoreline heading back toward the camp, her heart was pounding heavily in her neck. She moved carefully along the water’s edge, walking in a crouched position and cradling her injured hand across her stomach.

At least this way, she told herself, she wouldn’t have to worry about looking all around her. The danger was, Alex found her down here, there was no place for her to run. She certainly couldn’t dive into the lake and swim away.

The going was easy along the small stretches of cleared beach front, but in between each camp’s property there was a thick stand of trees and brush, no doubt left uncut to ensure privacy, that made the going tough. A few times the brush was so dense that she had to walk out into the lake, balancing on slick rocks that stood up out of the water. Tiny waves lapped at her feet, soaking her sneakers and socks. She was just rounding a small spit of land when she saw something at made her jolt to a stop and squeal with surprise.

A huge, black, bloated shape had washed up halfway into the shore. It took her a moment to realize that it was a dead animal of some kind. The belly was rounded, swollen with trapped gases. Stringy tatters of rotting flesh waved like kelp in the lapping currents of water. The closer Cindy got, the stronger the nauseating stench became. She shuddered, thinking how bad it would be if that gas-inflated belly were to burst. The creature’s face—she had no idea what it was—had been stripped clean of flesh, exposing a snarling, grinning row of sharp teeth. Fat white things—slugs or maggots—wiggled inside the nostrils and empty eye sockets, making the beast’s features look almost animated. Cindy cringed away from the carcass, half expecting to see it suddenly lurch to its feet and snarl at her.

What the hell is this thing? she wondered, knowing that she was either going to have to step over it or else go a long way around through thick underbrush to get past it.

The dead thing looked big enough to be a deer or moose, but Cindy, cringing inside, inched her way toward it and leaned down to inspect it. She realized that it was—or at least had once been—a dog of some kind. Its matted, patchy fur had the markings of German shepherd.

Stepping carefully from one stone to another, she skirted around the carcass, taking careful steps on the water-slick rocks.

Jesus, that could be me! she thought. An icy shiver wracked her body, and her empty stomach gave a cold, twisting turn.

When she was standing beside the dead beast, balanced on a pointed rock, she glanced down along the shoreline and saw Harry’s uncle’s camp no more than a hundred feet away. Her racing heart skipped a beat when she saw that there was no indication of anyone there… at least not in the back yard.

“Please let the kids still be there,” she whispered softly, ducking low and hoping the brush would screen her.

She was focusing so intently on the camp that she forgot where she was for a moment. When she shifted her weight, her foot slipped on the wet stone, and she started to fall. Choking back a high screech, she twisted around, waving her arms frantically for balance as she tried to stop her fall. When her leg slipped into the ice cold water almost up to her knee, her foot got caught between two submerged stones. A numbing chill gripped her as her momentum carried her around and she pitched forward, falling into the water. Her knees and hands hit the rocky lake bottom hard, splashing water up into her face and soaking her. She was shivering and sobbing hoarsely as she lunged blindly for the shore. Instead of hitting solid ground, though, her hand slapped against the bloated carcass, and with a blubbering noise that sounded like a roaring fart, a cloud of noxious gas erupted through the punctured skin as it exploded outward.

In a frenzied flurry of activity, Cindy splashed and scrambled for the shore, coughing and gagging as the stench of decay choked her senses. She staggered a few feet away from the dead dog, then collapsed face-first into the small stretch of sandy beach. She was panting so heavily, each inhalation felt like it was tearing her throat to bloody shreds. After a few miserable moments, she moaned loudly and rolled over onto her back. Looking up at the heavy, gray sky, she forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath of fresh air, but the horrible smell still clung to the back of her throat like the rancid aftertaste of vomit. Her stomach tightened and convulsed as icy shivers jabbed her like thousands of tiny needles.

Help me, God… please… help me!

The thought was nothing but a feeble voice, whispering in the chaotic darkness inside her brain.

After lying there on the sand for another few seconds—seconds that felt like hours—she got up brushed the sand from herself as best she could, and forced herself to continue toward the camp, knowing that every second counted for Billy’s and Krissy’s safety. Her teeth were chattering wildly, and she knew that she was going to be seriously sick if she didn’t get warm soon, but she had already decided that if the kids and Alex were gone, she didn’t care if she died.

Christ, she couldn’t take much more!

If the kids were gone, she told herself she would simply lie down on the ground and pray to die!

4

Alex was getting increasingly anxious as he crouched behind the same clump of brush he had hidden behind yesterday afternoon while he was waiting for Cindy to show up at the camp. The day was cold, the air damp. He could tell that it was going to rain soon; he could smell the heavy moisture in the autumn-tinged air. He had bet everything on one simple fact—that Cindy, no matter what else, wouldn’t be able to leave the area without trying to save the kids. If that was the case, then she would have to come back for them… or else die trying.

“And when she does, by Jesus,” Alex whispered, smiling as he squeezed the hand grip of his bow. “When she does, she’s gonna die!”

He was counting on it, but each passing second stretched out intolerably into seemingly eternal minutes as he waited to see if she was going to come back. If, instead, she had chosen out of fear or self-preservation to try to escape and find help—well then, maybe he was screwed, and he’d deal with it when and if that happened. But he was convinced that he knew how women thought, and he was confident that all he had to do was sit here quietly and wait. He smiled as he gripped the handle of his bow, thinking this was almost s if he really was stalking a deer.

And by Jesus, he’d get her yet!

Alex’s mouth tightened into a wide smile when, off o his left from down below the embankment toward he camp, he heard a faint rustle of activity. It could be deer or a dog or something. He listened as dried eaves crunched underfoot and a tree branch snapped as loud as a pop gun. He strained forward, trying to rear better, and was just about to break cover to go investigate when Cindy’s face appeared over the rise about twenty feet behind the parked van. Her hair was dripping, and the expression on her face was pinched as though she were in great pain.

Good for you, you fucking bitch! You’re just too fuckin’ predictable, he thought.

He shook his head from side to side, almost laughing , out loud as he watched Cindy cautiously creep out from the brush and into the small clearing where the van was parked.

Alex watched, his body tensing, as Cindy, crouching low and looking all around her like a frightened animal, made her way slowly toward the back of the van. Shifting silently onto one knee, Alex took an arrow from the quiver and settled it on top of his fist. Drawing the bow string back to his ear, he took careful aim. Holding his breath, he made himself wait until she was standing beside the van, and then, just when she looked like she was about to make a run for it, he led her with the arrow and let it fly.

The shaft flew straight and true, but at the last foment, as though she sensed danger, Cindy halted in her tracks. Instead of hitting her, the arrow smashed into the rear taillight, shattering red plastic so it flew everywhere.

“Damn!” Alex shouted as Cindy squealed and spinning around on one foot, dove to the ground.

“Hey, it won’t do you any fucking good!” Ale shouted as he stood up and fixed another arrow on the bowstring. “You’re not getting very far this time. No fuckin’ way!”

He started down the slope, all the while keeping his arrow aimed squarely at Cindy as she scrambled to her feet and then stood there, panting heavily and staring at him with a panic-stricken expression. Her lower lip was pale and trembling, and a watery film filled her eyes. Her clothes hung in damp folds over her body. Alex was glad to see that she was still clinging to her injured wrist.

Maybe I did break it, he thought. Serves the bitch right!

“You’ve had all the chances you’re gonna get Cindy,” Alex said in a mild, almost pleasant voice. “Now there ain’t no one who’s gonna save you.”

In a flash, Cindy turned and started to run. She darted to the front of the van, obviously hoping to position herself so the van was between her and Alex, but Alex quickly side-stepped, all the while tracking her with his drawn arrow. She was in front of the van maybe twenty feet down the road when he let the arrow loose. He realized his aim was true when he heard a shrill scream and saw Cindy throw her hands into the air, then stagger a few more steps and fall. A wild scream of pain echoed from the trees as she rolled over onto her side and pulled frantically at the metal shaft that was sticking up out of her upper thigh. The razor sharp point had pierced her skin and was sticking out the back of her leg. Alex smiled when he saw the widening dark splotch of blood that was soaking through her pants leg.

“God damn it! I told you it wouldn’t do you any good to try ’n run,” he said, his voice tinged with a tone mock pity.

He couldn’t help but laugh as he looked at her, lying there on the ground, her face twisted in agony. Leaning his head back, he let his loud, ringing laughter fill the woods as he strode forward until he was standing a few feet in front of the van. Then, slowly and deliberately, took another arrow, his next to the last one, from the quiver and fitted it onto the bow string. The only sound Cindy was making was a high, terrified whimper as she thrust back with her unwounded leg, propelling herself backwards on the ground in one last attempt to get away.

Alex grunted as he advanced inexorably toward her with the arrow pulled back to his ear. Shaking his head sadly from side to side, he steadied his aim at her heaving chest.

“Well, Cindy, it’s been fun as hell, hasn’t it?” he said. Then he let the arrow fly.

5

Alex was so swept away by the dizzying realization at this was it—I’m finally getting revenge on Cindy r everything she’s done to me!—that for a split second he didn’t recognize the sound that suddenly roared in his ears. A senseless curse burst from his mouth when he turned around quickly and, in a shattering instant, recognized the sound and saw that he van was moving straight at him. In a single, blazing instant, before he could dodge out of the van’s path, the front bumper slammed into his legs, buckling him forward just below the knees. There was a loud snapping noise that sounded like a rifle shot, and the pain that leaped through his body felt like he’d been caught in a hail of bullets. He lost consciousness for a split second, and wasn’t even dimly aware when the impact knocked his aim off, and the arrow flew off harmlessly into the woods. When his mind cleared, he was already on the ground and there was an intolerable pressing weight on his legs. Immediately following the impact, the van lurched forward once, and then the engine died.

Alex closed his eyes and threw his head back, unable to stop the loud howl of pain that ripped out of him. H knew, even then that at least one leg, probably both were broken. His right foot was being crushed beneath the van’s front tire. Through a shimmering haze a pain, he looked up as the driver’s door opened and someone stepped out.

He was stunned and had to lick his lips furiously before he could make a sound other than a gut wrenching groan. A hot, burning pressure was building up inside his head, making him think it was going to burst as he stared into the steady, glassy gaze of his son. His silhouette looked massive, towering against the churning gray clouds overhead.

“Billy, please!” he shouted, his voice little more than a ragged gasp. “For Christ’s sake! Get this fuckin, thing off me!”

He leaned back on his elbows and tried to wriggle his foot free from underneath the tire, but any movement merely ground it down all the harder and sent searing waves of pain through his body.

“Do what I say!” Alex shouted, trying hard to keep a commanding edge in his voice. “Right now… get the fuck… back into the van… and get… this thing… off me!”

Tears of pain were streaming down his face as he stared up into Billy’s pale, trembling face. Billy was breathing so fast his cheeks puffed in and out like overworked bellows, but there wasn’t the slightest trace pity in his expression as he stared down at his father d slowly shook his head.

“Christ, Billy, it hurts! It fucking hurts! Get the fucking thing off me!” Alex bellowed, but Billy simply clenched his fists and, looking past him toward where Cindy was lying on the ground, continued to shake his head from side to side.

“You little shit! You little fucking shit! You broke y goddamned legs!” Alex wailed.

Dark, crashing waves closed over his mind, and he struggled not to lose consciousness in spite of the deep pain that embraced his legs and flooded up into his hips.

“You bastard! You rotten little piece of fucking shit!” he shouted, but his voice started to fade and he closed his eyes and leaned back as another, stronger wave of pain almost dragged him down into unconsciousness.

“When I … when I get my hands on you—”

He ended with a loud, gasping grunt. With one last burst of energy, he tried to ignore the overwhelming pain and pull his leg free, but it was caught beneath the tire as surely as if he had stepped into a bear trap. With very second the pain got stronger and stronger, and thick blackness nibbled at the edges of his vision, threatening to close in on him.

“I had to do something,” Billy said.

His voice was so fragile and shattered Alex barely card—or understood—him.

“I couldn’t just… just sit there and let you hurt Aunt Cindy any more. I couldn’t do it, dad!”

6

Cindy had closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind as she waited for the sting of death. But when that last fatal pain didn’t come, and then when she heard the van’s engine roar to life, she opened her eyes. For fluttering instant, she didn’t dare to believe what she was seeing. Ignoring the pain in her leg, she lurched forward, as if she could somehow stop what she could see was going to happen, but it was already too late. Billy was sitting behind the steering wheel of the van leaning forward in his seat like an enraged race driver. The van bucked forward—just like it had the last time Cindy had let Billy try to drive—and slammed into Alex. The impact knocked Alex onto the ground just the arrow whisked off out of sight. As the swirl of exhaust and dust started to clear, Cindy saw that Alex was down on the ground… and he wasn’t getting up.

Cindy cringed, listening as Alex swore at his son, telling him to move the van, but Billy just stood there, wearing an expression of grim determination as he shook his head, and said, “I couldn’t just… just s there and let you hurt Aunt Cindy any more. I couldn’t do it, dad!”

Covering her leg wound with her good hand, Cindy forced herself up onto her feet. Limping horribly, she made her way toward the van. All the while, her ears were ringing with the echoes of Alex’s curses. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from Billy’s face. He looked stunned, completely drained of all energy and life, and beneath that was the soul-deep fear of what would happen to him if his father ever got his hands on him.

He did that for me! Billy saved my life! Cindy thought. I can’t let Alex get him! Ever!

Every step sent sharper, deeper jabs of pain lancing through her body, but she made her way slowly over to where Alex lay on the ground. After staring for a moment into his pain-glazed eyes, she noticed the hunting bow, lying to one side, only a few feet from Alex’s grasp. Moving as quickly as she could, she went over to it and picked it up.

“You’re dead!” Alex screamed when he looked over at her. “I’m gonna fucking rip you to pieces!”

He thrust himself viciously away from the van. His hands dug deep furrows into the soil as he strained back, trying to wiggle free. Above the labored sounds of his breathing, there was another sound—a loud, crackling, grinding noise that Cindy knew was Alex’s ankle bones, being ground into mush. With a keening wail of agony, he stopped his efforts and collapsed back onto the ground.

“No, I don’t think so,” Cindy said. It took a great effort to speak at all. The pain rippling like waves of acid through her leg made her mind go blank, but she shook her head to clear it, focusing every ounce of her remaining strength on a single thought—

He killed them… killed them all! Every person who ever meant anything to me! Debbie!… Harry!… and Alice! And he liked it! He was gloating over what he had done as if he had thoroughly enjoyed himself. As if life had no value at all to him!

Her hands were trembling as she gripped the bow handle with her left hand. A jolt of pain from her broken wrist stung her like a bee sting, but slowly, deliberately, she pulled the last arrow from the quiver, raised the bow, and rested the arrow on the hand grip.

“You miserable bastard,” she whispered through raw, cracked lips. Burning tears streamed from her eyes. Every word, every movement, every breath took an immense effort. The pain in her leg was almost intolerable, and her mind felt mushy and floating from the loss of blood. She was afraid she was going to pass out soon, but she had in her mind the single, clear thought that this man was responsible for everything that had happened to her.

And he will have to pay for it with his life!

Trembling with rage and pain, she gripped the feathered end of the arrow and started to pull back.

“You don’t deserve to live,” she said in a low, rasping voice. “I’m gonna do to you exactly what you were going to do to me.”

She pulled back on the arrow a little more, but suddenly a jolt of pain made her stop and cry out as her left wrist collapsed under the mounting pressure. A gauzy haze filled her vision, and she staggered backwards a few steps. She almost lost her grip on the bow, but, gritting her teeth, she held on to it, shook her head to clear it, steadied herself, and then started to pull the arrow back again. Once more, though, her wrist folded in on itself from the pressure of the pull, and this time the arrow dropped to the ground.

Cindy had been putting all of the pressure of standing up on her one good leg, and when she bent over to pick up the arrow, she fell down. The impact jiggled the arrow sticking in her leg, and her agony went to an entirely new level of pain. A burst of raw laughter from Alex hammered her ears.

“Ain’t that too bad, huh?” he shouted with a wild snort of either laughter or pain. “That’s just too fucking bad!”

Murderous fury filled Cindy, but she knew the loss of blood was weakening her, fast. She realized that, probably even if her left wrist hadn’t been broken, she wouldn’t have been able to pull back the bow. It was too powerful for her. She wished she had the strength to get up again and use the bow to beat Alex to a bloody pulp, but she was close to fainting. Panting heavily, she swung her blank gaze in Billy’s direction and waved for him to come over to her.

For a frozen instant, Billy just stood there. Cindy could see by the twisting expression on his face that he knew, if he went to her now, it would be the ultimate betrayal of his own father. His lower lip was trembling, and his chest hitched as though he were crying tearlessly.

“Please… Billy,” Cindy gasped, collapsing back onto the ground. “Help me…”

Just then, the rain that had been threatening all morning began to fall. Cold, plump drops hit her face like stinging pellets of ice, sending deep shivers racing through her body. Cindy tried to keep her eyes open, but the darkness was swirling inside her like a tornado and pulling her down… down…

“What should I do, Aunt Cindy?”

The desperate-sounding voice seemed to come at her from inside the torrent of darkness that was dragging her under. It sounded a bit like Billy’s, but there was a hollow, echoing quality to it that frightened her.

Am I dying?… Is this it?… I’m dying?

The thought filled her with a cold dread, but she also found a measure of relief in it.

Maybe now I’ll see Debbie again… and mom and dad, and Harry, and Alice… Maybe now I’ll finally be at peace…

The stinging drops of rain splashing against her face brought her back to awareness, at least a little bit, but the loss of blood had been too severe. As consciousness slipped away, she felt like she was floating on a dark cushion of air. The chill that had gripped her body was gradually fading away into a soothing, red heat. She sensed that someone was standing there beside her, and when she wedged open her eyes, in her shattered vision she saw, not just Billy, but someone else; it looked like a tall woman whose smiling face glowed with a soft, radiant blue glow.

Cindy wasn’t even sure if she was talking out loud or not, but she heard herself or someone say, “Billy… go get help… the keys to the car… under the floor mat… go… drive and get… get… help!”

Then, like an avalanche of night, the darkness finally closed in and dragged her under.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Final Words

For the first few seconds after she woke up, Cindy had no idea where she was. Through slitted eyes, she looked around but could see only that she was in a room that looked almost too clean and orderly to be real. The thought crossed her mind that she really might have died and gone to Heaven.

She forced her eyes open wider, but the streams of hazy white light pouring in through the half-closed window blinds made them sting. Her vision doubled, and a watery film of tears made everything shatter and sparkle with spirals of vibrating light.

No, I’m not dead, she thought, fighting hard to clear her mind, but I must be damned close to it.

She licked her lips, feeling their rough, leathery texture. When she swallowed, her throat made a loud gulping sound and sent a burning pain down into her chest that brought tears to her eyes.

No, I’m alive all right, she thought. I must be in the hospital or something.

She realized that she was lying in a bed with fresh, clean sheets covered by a thin blanket. The pillow underneath her head made a wild crinkling sound whenever she shifted. When she raised her right hand to wipe the stickiness she felt around her mouth, she saw the network of plastic tubes that was taped to the back of her wrist. Glancing to the other side of the bed, she saw that her left hand was encased in a white cast that went all the way to her elbow. Feeling down her leg with her right hand, she encountered the thick padding of the bandage that was wrapped from below her knee all the way to her crotch.

Okay, so I’m not dead, but where am I? What the hell happened? How long have I been like this?

She closed her eyes and tried to remember everything that happened. A cold shudder filled her as images ol the events out at the camp came back to her in disjointed, scary flashes.

Alex… and a searing pain… an arrow sticking right through her leg… and her wrist… broken… a bloated, black corpse, half-submerged in the lake… and Billy, seen hazily through the windshield of the van… yes, Alex’s van… the gagging stench of rotting meat… and the roar of the van’s engine, racing whining high… a grinning mouthful of pointed teeth… Alex’s? Or someone else’s?… the whistling hiss of an arrow, passing close to her ear… and screams and curses, echoing from the surrounding woods… strangest of all, a vision—it had to have been a vision—of a woman, just like the one Krissy had talked so much about, surrounded by a dazzling glow of soft, blue light… vaguely familiar…

These and other images and memories twisted inside her mind like a nest of snakes, but no matter how hard she tried to sort them out and connect them into some kind of logical sequence, they would keep shifting and fluttering in her mind like a shuffling deck of playing cards.

She lost track of the time as she lay there, trying to make sense of her fragments of memory. The harsh white light gradually shifted across the floor and rippled up the wall like the surface of the water seen from down below. Eventually, she slipped back down into the soft darkness where all confusion and fear melted like snow in a hot, March wind.

2

The next time she became conscious, she was immediately aware that there was someone in the room sitting in a chair next to her bed. Fighting waves of dizziness and grogginess, and coiling fear, she wedged her eyes open. She let out a strangled yelp of surprise when she saw that her visitor was a man she didn’t recognize. He was dressed in a sharp, three-piece suit, and was smiling down at her. His short-cut, dirty blond hair framed a squarish face and piercing eyes.

“Hello,” the man said softly.

Cindy liked the mellow tone of his voice. She forced smile and tried to say hello, but her throat felt like it was packed with sand. She looked on both sides of the bed, then indicated with a feeble wave of her right hand the glass of water she saw with a straw sticking out of it.

“Here, let me help you,” the man said, smiling as he held the straw up to her lips.

Cindy took a tiny sip, just enough to wet the back of her tongue. Even the slight motion of shifting up in the bed sent a spike of pain through her, and she felt completely wrung out from the effort.

“Thanks,” she said. Her voice sounded like an old woman’s dying gasp.

“Well, I see you’re feeling… at least a little bit anyway,” the man said. He was still smiling, but then was an officiousness about him that put her on her guard.

If he thinks I’m doing better, then I must ’ye beer pretty bad off, Cindy thought, but the only sound she could make was a strangled whimper that sounded little bit like the word, “Yeah.”

“Look, if you’re not feeling up to talking right now, I can come back tomorrow,” the man said. “I’ve been checking on you every day.”

“Who—”

That was all she could manage to say, but the man apparently understood her question. Leaning closer t the bed, he filled her field of vision with his square smiling face.

“My name’s Greg Mitchell. I’m the police chief for the City of Portland.”

“Uh—”

“Look, I’ll just leave for now and let you rest. I can come back tomorrow.”

“No,” Cindy gasped. “Tell… me—”

Her voice cut off sharply, ending with a low gagging sound. Mitchell lifted the straw to her mouth again and she took a longer sip. This time, the water actually felt as though it made it all the way down her throat.

“Where are… kids?” she said.

“Oh, don’t you worry a bit about them,” Mitchel said. “We’ve temporarily placed them in a foster home They’re doing fine and just waiting for you to get out a here.”

“Is he… dead?”

“Who, you mean Alex?” Mitchell said.

As soon as he said the name, a hardness came over his features that unnerved Cindy in spite of her semi-conscious state. She nodded her head, indicating she wanted him to continue. The pillow crinkled like an exploding string of firecrackers inside her ears.

“Well, he’s in pretty rough shape,” Mitchell said, “but he’ll live… long enough to stand trial.”

“Do you… know… who I am?” Cindy said.

The effort of speaking and focusing her eyes on Mitchell’s face was tiring her out. Once again, a powerful wave of blackness swept around her, nibbling at the edges of her vision. Trailing white streaks of light zipped in front of her eyes, hiding the policeman’s face.

“Well, we know pretty much everything about you, Mrs. Toland. We’ve already been in contact with the Nebraska authorities, and I’ve had a pretty interesting conversation with Bill Holder, your lawyer.”

A tingling jolt of panic traveled the length of Cindy’s body, but she was fading too fast to react.

Oh, God! They know I took the kids, and now they’re going to take them away from me!

“When they brought you to the hospital three days ago—”

“Three… days?”

“That’s right. You’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness for three days, now. When Tom McDonald, the cop from Gray found you out there at the camp, he said you were babbling on and on about—well, a whole slew of things, but after you said something about Alice Crowther, he remembered the news report about her death a few days ago and notified me.”

Cindy shifted in the bed as if she wanted to sit up, but Mitchell rested his hand gently on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, now. Like I said, we’ve been in touch with your lawyer, and we’ve got a pretty good idea what happened and why you stole your nephew and niece away from their father.”

Cindy looked at him, her vision shimmering with tears. She wanted to ask him if she would ever see Billy and Krissy again, but the burning pain welling up inside her choked off her voice.

“Look, Mrs. Toland, what you need right now is rest. But don’t you worry about a thing. The Nebraska authorities have assured us that you will be granted legal custody of those kids. We’ll be keeping them in foster care only as long as we have to.”

“And… Alex—?”

The effort of speaking was too much. She let her head fall back against the pillow and closed her eyes. Mitchell kept speaking, but his voice sounded as though he was using a megaphone a great distance away from her.

“We’ve already gathered some preliminary evidence, indicating that Alex was responsible for Alice Crowther’s murder. If we can get enough, we’ll try him for murder, and believe me, after what he did to you—well, if you decide to press charges for attempted murder, I’m fairly confident we’ll be able to convict him. Of course, I would like to nail him for Miss Crowther’s death, too, but that’s a bit more up in the air at this point.”

Mitchell’s voice echoed inside Cindy’s mind like a long, rumbling roll of thunder.

“But I suspect he’ll be hoping we do put him in jail here. If the folks in Nebraska ever convict him of what they think he might have done, he faces the death penalty out there. Hell, he’ll probably be begging us to convict him here in Maine.”

He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice caught a little in his throat.

“The Nebraska authorities have been checking up on several John Doe cases out your way, and—well, they have positively identified your husband as the victim in an incident in Council Bluffs, Iowa. I—I’m awfully ;sorry.”

Cindy tried to respond. A hot flood of tears was building up inside her, but she was dropping deeper and deeper into sleep. In her mind, she kept repeating Conners’ last words, hoping that the next time she woke up she would be able to remember everything he had said, but they, like her memory of the events out at the camp, soon blurred together.

3

“Hey, so how you guys been doing?” Cindy said.

Squaring her shoulders, she sat up straight in the bed and smiled as the two children were ushered into the room. The hospital attendant signaled that he’d be back in a few minutes and closed the door quietly as he left. Cindy held her breath so the tingle of pain dancing through her wouldn’t show on her face as she raised her hand and waved them over to the bed, but both of the children seemed to be holding back, shying away from her. Billy looked especially nervous as he cast a fearful glance over his shoulder at the closed door.

“Hey, come on, you guys. I’ve missed the heck out of you! Tell me. How’ve you been getting along?” Cindy asked.

“Pretty good, I guess” Krissy responded quickly in a high, tight voice.

Billy said nothing; he simply nodded and looked down at the floor.

Fighting back her tears, Cindy felt a rush of deep sadness fill her as she looked back and forth between the two kids. She wanted to leap out of her bed and hug them both so closely to her they’d almost suffocate, but he was having a difficult enough time just sitting up and looking a lot more chipper than she really felt. After a moment of awkward silence, Krissy edged up to the bedside and leaned forward to kiss Cindy lightly on the cheek. After that, she drifted over toward the window where the light coming through the slatted blinds silhouetted her body with a soft glow.

“Well now, Mr. Mitchell told me you were staying with a family in Portland, pretty much in, the old neighborhood,” Cindy said. “So are you happy to be going to school again?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Krissy said. “Ms. Remick’s really neat!”

Again, Billy said nothing and simply nodded his head. He was still hanging back, keeping close to the door.

“So Billy, you must be happy to see all your old friends again, huh?” Cindy said.

The physical and emotional strain were already beginning to wear her down, but, considering everything these kids had been through, she knew she had to hold up and be strong… at least in front of them. She stared at Billy, making intense eye contact with him. After a heartbeat or two, his lower lip began to tremble and a watery glaze filled his eyes. Cindy could almost hear his thoughts, and she wished she could say or do something that would help him—somehow—deal with what had happened… especially the guilt he must be feeling for what he had done, deliberately trying to run over his father as if he wanted to kill him. She knew it didn’t matter that he had done it to save her; he was terrified that he had done it in the first place!

“Hey, come over here,” she said, patting the edge of the bed with her right hand.

Billy took a single step forward, then paused and looked back as though he were still desperate to find an escape route. Repressed emotions churned inside him like a thunder storm that was threatening to break at any second.

“Please, Billy,” Cindy said in a low, mild voice. “Come over here and sit with me. I—I know you’re confused and… and upset about everything that’s happened. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if you were even little bit angry about it all, but you have to know that it’s okay to… you know, to feel whatever it is you’re feeling.”

Her scalp tingled and her face flushed when she recalled watching Billy stand there in the camp kitchen, his expression twisting with hurt and fear as his father had shouted at him, calling him a little pansy.

With a sudden, loud cry, Billy dashed over to the bed, leaped up onto the mattress, and wrapped both arms around Cindy as he released his emotion in a raw, barking sob. His body was shaking violently as Cindy raised her one good arm and wrapped it around his heaving shoulders, pulling him all the closer to her.

“There, there,” she whispered softly into his ear. “It’s okay, honey. Let it out… let it all out.”

But Billy no longer needed encouragement. His cries came in long, warbling howls that shook his body and filled the room. The position she was in was hurting her, but Cindy didn’t care a bit as she hugged Billy to her and tried to soothe away all the confusion and grief she felt was bottled up inside him. She was so concerned about comforting him, that her body stiffened, and she let out a tiny, surprised shout when she looked over and saw Krissy staring back at her. The little girl’s face was split by a wide grin that showed a row of beautiful teeth. Her blue eyes were sparkling, but not with tears. She looked for all the world like she was about to leap into the air and start squealing with joy. Confused and more than a little unnerved, Cindy beckoned to her with a wave of her hand.

“Krissy… honey,” Cindy said, shuddering wit deep emotion. “Come here, too.”

For a moment, Krissy eyed her with a steady gaze. Then, in a voice that sounded much more mature than her years, she shook her head and said, “Oh, Aunt Cindy. Don’t be silly. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Cindy choked back a sob and held her hand out to the little girl. Finally Krissy relented and took her hand, giving it a bracing squeeze that seemed almost to tingle with energy.

“Seriously,” Krissy said, and her smile widened all the more, “you don’t have to worry about me. I’m doing just great, and she—”

Krissy cut herself off sharply, and a guilty expression clouded her face for a moment.

As Cindy stared at the little girl, her figure still backlit with the light coming in through the window, another image rose up in her mind. This was of a lady—a woman who had been standing above her, lookin down at her as she lay on the ground, trembling an weak with fear and exhaustion as she bled from the arrow wound in her leg. She remembered seeing a soft vibrant glow of blue light that surrounded the figure. Although Krissy was nothing but a little girl, Cindy thought that the light edging her silhouette now looked almost exactly the same. She inhaled deeply, held her breath for a moment, and then let it out slowly.

“So tell me,” she said in a tremulous voice. “What about… her?”

“Well…” Krissy said. She shrugged and looked up at the ceiling. “I saw her again.”

She folded her hands together in front of her and twisted them together like a little kid who was nervous about revealing a long-held secret. “I saw the blue lady and for the first time she was… she was smiling.”

“Oh, really?” Cindy said, nodding her head up and down and feeling like a senseless puppet.

“Yup,” Krissy said. “I really did. And she even talked me.”

“You don’t say,” Cindy replied, fighting the impression that her voice sounded hollow and mechanical. She still found the image in her mind a bit disturbing, at she also felt a deep gush of warmth wash through r chest and stomach.

“Uh-huh,” Krissy said, “and she told me not to worry anymore. She said we’re all safe, and that things are gonna be just fine from now on.”

Krissy smiled and gave a cute, almost careless shrug. “You don’t say.”

“Uh-huh. So, you see? We don’t have to worry about anything ever again. That’s what she told me.”

Other Rick Hautala eBooks Available from Crossroad Press

UNTCIGAHUNK: THE COMPLETE LITTLE BROTHERS

It has been five years since Kip Howard saw his mother killed horribly by a blur of "little brown things." Five years of nightmares and a terror of dark places. Five years of struggling to overcome what must have been just his imagination…But the "untcigahunk," the Indian word for "little brothers," are no one's imagination. Hideous forest creatures who feed every five years on human flesh, the little brothers are about to emerge from underground once again. Only this time, there will be no escape for the young boy who witnessed their last feast.

Untcigahunk —The Novel is an updated version of Rick Hautala's classic novel Little Brothers. Also included are seven short stories about the Untcigahunk:

Little Brother

Little Brother Speaks

Redman

Chrysalis

Love on the Rocks

Deal with the Devils

The Birch Whistle

Oilman

OCCASIONAL DEMONS

This collection, from an acclaimed Master of Dark Fiction, consists of twenty-one tales with some being straight genre entries, others psychological terror and finally a few shorts that include science fiction elements. The first eighteen are short stories written solely by Rick and the final three are collaborations with Jesse and Matti Hautala, Matthew J. Costello, and Jim Connolly.

The stories included in this collection are:

The Nephews

Nightmare Transcript

Non-returnable

Dead Legends

I’ve Been Thinking About You

The Man Who Looked Like Murphy

Toxic Shock

The Call

Getting the Job Done

Every Mother’s Son

Knocking

Hotel Hell

The Compost Heap

Iron Frog

Setup

The Gates of Dawn

Off the Cuff

The Screaming Head

Abduction (written with Jesse and Matti Hautala)

And the Sea Shall Claim Them (written by Matthew J. Costello and A. J. Matthews)

Scared Crows (written with Jim Connolly)

BEDBUGS

From the subway tunnels of Boston to the rain-swept streets of Quebec City to the deepest snow-filled forests of Hilton, Maine, no one in these chilling stories by horror master Rick Hautala is safe from the darkness or the dangerous things that lurk in the shadows. Waiting for us. Reaching for us...

Over the years, Rick Hautala's stories and novels have terrified and captivated millions of readers around the world. Bedbugs is a career-spanning collection of stories that whisks you away on a guided tour of the darkest reaches of the human maind and soul — a tour that could only be conducted by someone with Rick Hautala's ability to make your blood run cold.

The stories included in this collection are:

The Back of My Hands

Schoolhouse

The Voodoo Queen

Surprise

Tunnels

. . . from a Stone

Crying Wolf

The Sources of the Nile

Silver Rings

Colt .24

Bird in the House

Cousins’ Curse

Speedbump

Rubies and Pearls

A Little Bit of Divine Justice

Karen’s Eyes

Master Tape

Breakfast at Earl’s

Closing the Doors

Worst Fears

Winter Queen

Late Summer Shadows

Hitman

Perfect Witness

Piss Eyes

Served Cold

MOONBOG

THE EVIL GLOW OF THE MOON...

lit the path as twelve-year-old Billy Wilson walked past the bog. He knew he shouldn't have gone near the inky shadows of the swamp — but something forced him to come closer to the yawning darkness, the suffocating tangle, the flesh-tearing brambles of Holland Bog.

THE MURKY DEPTHS OF THE BOG...

sucked the boy into its fetid earth and claimed its human sacrifice. But one child wasn't enough. It needed a second, a third — and then nothing could stop the unquenchable hunger, the raging bloodthirst of the MOONBOG.

THE SIEGE

Formerly titled MOON WALKER

In Dyer, Maine, the dead won't stay buried!

The people of Dyer liked their quaint little farming community just the way it was.  So they didn't question the bizarre, unexplained disappearances that had begun to plague their town.  No one talked about the hideous screams that shattered their sleep, nor asked why the lights at the funeral parlor blazed long into the night.  And they never... never... discussed the eerie figures seen harvesting the potato fields by day — the slow, lumbering hulks with expressionless features and a blood-chilling deadness behind their eyes...

Engineer Dale Harmon was unaware of the unspeakable evil that infested the sleepy New England village.  But now Harmon and four others are about to face an unstoppable onslaught of bloody terror that will far surpass their most gruesome nightmares.  For the siege is about to begin.  And the army of the dead takes no prisoners!

Look for more Rick Hautala titles coming soon from Crossroad Press

Cold Whisper

Dark Silence

Impulse

Shades of Night

Twilight Time

Writing as A.J. Matthews:

The White Room

Looking Glass

Follow

Unbroken

Also Available from Crossroad Press

ASHES

Desperately searching for a kindred spirit, an evil force, filled with a terrifying hunger that leaves its victims burned to ashes, arrives in a small Pennsylvania town, plagued by its own dark history, where it has discovered what it has been yearning for over the centuries.

A Note from Crossroad Press

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Table of Contents

- PART ONE
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- PART TWO
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- PART THREE
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- PART FOUR
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six

- Other Rick Hautala eBooks Available from Crossroad Press