by Neil Olson
“Sam,” he shouted again, but still she made no reply.
The slant of the hill blocked the house from sight, and flames no longer illuminated the woods. He could see very little but a silver strip of ground, twenty or thirty yards below. The road, bathed in moonlight. He could no longer hear any movement around him. He had not been far behind, but somehow he had lost her completely. Lacking a better idea, he made his way down the steep incline to the road.
As soon as he cleared the last trees, Will’s eyes caught a black heap sitting in the center of the moonlit roadway. He went to the object at once and picked it up. Eugene Stafford’s torn robe. He hoped the boy was wearing something underneath. He turned another slow circle, looking and listening with all the poor power of his ragged senses. Nothing. Where was the car? Farther up, near the entry to the driveway. Should he go get it and pursue her that way? But what if she had stayed in the woods?
As if in answer to his thoughts, he heard a car engine rumbling above. A moment later headlights descended the winding road from the hilltop. Will stepped to the edge of the narrow lane, but was caught in the beams before he could decide whether to jump back into the trees. He stood his ground as the familiar car pulled up alongside of him. The driver’s window rolled down.
“Get in,” said Muriel.
“What are you doing here?” he asked in surprise.
“Looking for you.”
“I’ve got to find Sam.”
“Good, we’ll find her. Now get it the car, quick. That lunatic is right behind me.”
On impulse, he went around the car and got in. Muriel pulled away before he had even closed the door. There was a determined look on her face. The interior smelled of cigarettes, and something more pungent.
“You didn’t leave,” said Will.
“No,” she agreed. “You lying little shit, I knew you would come up here.”
“It’s not your job to look out for me.”
“Yeah, whose is it? ’Cause they should be fired.”
“Which lunatic?” he asked.
“Margaret Price. Man, the way she was cursing me, I should have grown a tail and horns.” Muriel looked in the rearview mirror. “Speak of the devil.”
Will twisted around in his seat to see headlights bearing down on them swiftly.
“I’m not afraid of her,” he said. “Stop and let’s see what she wants.”
“I don’t think that would be smart.”
They reached the bottom of the hill and Muriel was forced to slow before the turn onto Seaview Road. The headlights raced up behind until their white glare filled the car. There was a bang and Will lurched forward, slamming against the dashboard.
“Crazy bitch,” Muriel yelled, accelerating into the turn. The tires screeched and Will was knocked sideways against the door. “Put your seat belt on, for Christ sake.”
He did so. The collision had not been that hard, but still he was shaken. He looked back and saw that the Volvo had turned with them, but it was rapidly falling behind.
“What was she cursing about?”
“You,” Muriel replied, accelerating through the sharp curves of Seven Corners.
“What about me?”
“Hey, if you don’t know, I sure don’t.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he insisted, praying it was true.
“No one said you did.”
“I think it was an accident.”
“What was?”
“Her hitting us. You stopped suddenly and she just—”
“Of course you think that,” Muriel snapped. “In thirty years you haven’t figured out how dangerous these people are. They killed your father. God knows what they tried to do tonight. Look at you. Where are your shoes?”
His sneakers, right. Melted, most likely.
“You look terrible,” she said.
He gazed down at himself. Feet dirty and bleeding. Stains and rips on his jeans and shirt. He could only guess what his face looked like. How did he explain to her that most of it was self-inflicted? How did he begin to speak of the things he had come to understand this night? Before he could try, she turned the wheel hard to the left.
At first he thought she was driving straight into the trees. Then he realized it was a narrow, unlit road. The far end of Old Forest Lane, in fact. He had forgotten they were near it. When the car was twenty or thirty yards in, Muriel killed the engine. Darkness enveloped them. Will twisted in his seat again and looked back. About eight seconds later Margaret’s Volvo went tearing by on Seaview. They had lost her.
“Clever move,” said Will. He turned to see Muriel staring at him oddly. “What?”
“It’s not enough that you have the same voice. Now you’re using his words.”
“Johnny?”
“You’ve said a bunch of things in the last couple of days that sound just like him.”
“Clever move? That was a Johnnyism?”
“Yeah,” she replied, smiling vaguely. “‘Clever move, Brownie.’”
“Brownie?” he laughed.
“Oh yeah, he had a dozen nicknames for me. Brownie. Teen Queen. Mure-Mure.”
There was a rushing sensation in his ears. As if he had stood up too quickly, though of course he had not moved.
“What?” he heard himself say.
“That was his favorite. ‘Aren’t you the clever one, Mure-Mure.’”
And why not? It was a perfectly obvious nickname. And perfectly logical that Johnny would pronounce it the same way that Abby did, or any of the old gang. Not Mure, but Murr. Murr-Murr.
Murmur.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
He did not speak for a full minute. The silence lasted long enough that he was certain she knew. Knew that something had changed between them in those few words. Perhaps she had only been waiting for him to grasp it. To notice that the pungent scent that the cigarettes could not quite hide was gasoline. Or to understand that it had been her voice shouting for him to get out of the house. Just before she blocked the door with the Jeep, then lit the place up.
A dozen clues must have preceded these. And he might have noticed them, had it not been her. Muriel. Queen of his youth, Abigail had called her. With a sneer in her voice. Did Abby know? She was the only one who might have understood, and still kept the secret. Will ran a finger over the fogging window glass. Why did it have to be Muriel?
“What’s the real story with your mother?” he asked.
She took some time to answer.
“She doesn’t have very long,” Muriel said finally. “She’s been mostly unconscious since the last time I was there.”
“So she wasn’t eagerly awaiting your visits.”
“No. She hasn’t known who I am for years.”
“That day I arrived,” Will said, the details coming back to him. “You were packed for a long trip. Because you didn’t know when you would be back, or if you would. You didn’t know if Abby would wake up or not, or what she would remember. Like you pushing her down the stairs.”
“I didn’t push her.”
“No?”
“She stopped short and I ran into her. And then I couldn’t grab her in time.”
“But you were chasing her,” Will pressed. “She looked at you like you were evil. You said so. She knew something. She was afraid of you and she ran, and you chased her.”
“I wouldn’t have hurt her, Willie.”
“But you did. You did hurt her.”
“It was an accident.”
“And what about the others?” he demanded. “Were they accidents too?”
“Not accidents,” Muriel conceded. She took a box of cigarettes and matches off the dashboard and lit up. Her hands were shaking, but her face was calm. “But not what you’re thinking either. Every one of them deserved to die. But it was just, li
ke, these opportunities. I didn’t look for them.”
“Were you in that hotel room with Doug Payson?”
“That’s what I mean,” she said. “No, I wasn’t. He called me. He called me. Drunk. Crying into the phone about how much he missed Johnny, how guilty he felt about the whole thing. How he just wanted to die. Wasn’t the first time he called me like that. Like I was supposed to comfort him. Useless loser.”
“What did you say?”
“The other times I just hung up. That time, though, I’d had enough. I said, you know what, Dougie? That’s exactly what you should do. You should kill yourself. Because you’re going to do it sooner or later, so you might as well get it over with and save everybody the pain of listening to you.”
“And he took your advice.”
“Yeah,” she said, no remorse in her voice. “First smart thing he did in his life.”
“And you didn’t feel bad?”
“Why should I?” she snarled. “He asked my advice, and I gave it to him. Are you going to call that murder?”
“No,” he answered, hesitantly. “But it’s not exactly—”
“He was a grown man—he made his own decision. At worst I sped up something that would have happened anyway. Same thing with Liza.”
Will would have sworn that he felt the temperature drop. Eliza Stafford. She had done that, as well. Half of him wanted to reach out and cover her mouth, to say “no more, tell me no more.” The other half wanted to throw the door open and run away. Get far away from this creature he did not know anymore.
“She didn’t drown skinny-dipping?”
“That’s exactly what she did. That’s probably what she would have done if I never existed. That, or drive off the road. She was a bigger lush than Dougie, and she loved taking risks. Doing things she thought were crazy or cool. Instead of just stupid.”
“But you encouraged her in some way,” Will nudged.
“Bunch of us were at Murphy’s. Or whatever it was called then. She was trying to get someone to go with her to Chebacco. One of the boys. Sometimes she’d take them out there to screw, then go swimming afterward. Mostly she went on her own, but for some reason she had to have a pal along that night.”
“And you went.”
“We took her car,” said Muriel. “I drove—she was blotto. There was a pint of whiskey on the seat. Yes, I bought it. Did I make her drink it? Did I make her jump naked into that cold water? Did I ask her to swim after me into the deepest part of the lake?”
“I wasn’t there.”
“All her own choices,” Muriel testified. “And it was mine not to help when she cramped up and panicked. I just swam back to shore. Put my clothes on and walked home in the dark. Took me over an hour.”
“Jesus Christ, Mure,” he groaned.
“What? Tell me what was lost? What was she going to do with her precious life besides spread herpes or kill some kid in a head-on collision? That deserves to live more than Johnny?”
How could he tell her? How could he explain how much more horrible these calculated nonactions were than a spontaneous act of violence would have been?
“What about Jenny Duffy?”
“What about her?”
“You didn’t do anything?” Will asked.
“You think I can cause cancer? She died hard enough without any help from me.”
“And the rest?” he said in a dull voice. Both sickly fascinated and wanting it to be over.
“How do you know there’s more?” But she couldn’t keep up the bluff, or she did not want to. “I told Louise about her beau. That old goat Doc Chester, banging Sally Price. That’s all I did is tell her. Anyone else might have done it—other people knew.”
“And?”
“She got mad. Did nothing for a while. Then she finally told Eddie, like I knew she would. And things took their course.”
“How did Louise feel about that?”
“Freaked out,” Muriel said, with a hint of pleasure. “She was the worst of them, Willie, the very worst.”
“She was your cousin.”
“That’s how I know. The biggest braggart, and over what? What did she ever do? The biggest gossip, the meanest, most malicious woman. She was the one they sent upstairs to get you! Liza told me later. If Johnny hadn’t stopped her...” She looked like she might reach out for him, but restrained herself. “Oh yeah, she was the worst of them, Louise. I should have started with her. She was my one exception.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean I didn’t wait for fate. I did it myself. She suspected I had something to do with Liza. She also blamed me for Doc’s death, instead of blaming her own big mouth. She was working herself up to accusing me. Or maybe that was just my excuse.”
“What did you do?” he asked.
“She had a heart condition. I had this home remedy made up. I don’t know what all was in it. Foxglove for sure, some other stuff. She was supposed to take just a little at a time.”
“But you made sure she took a lot.”
“In her tea,” Muriel replied. “Sitting in her garden, with the mugs on our knees. Shooting the breeze. Like we were friends and did this all the time. I guess it didn’t taste like much—she drank it down. Looking right at me, with this funny expression. Like she had indigestion or something. I watched the light fade in her eyes. Watched her check out right in front of me. She didn’t even fall over, just kept sitting there. I sat a long time with her. Anyone could have seen us, but nobody did. I waited to feel bad, but the only thing I could think was that’s it for you, bitch. You’ll never hurt anyone again.”
He glanced over and saw her wipe her eyes. Dampness glazed her face, in contradiction to her heartless words. She would not reach for the tissues, unwilling to register the hurt. Tough girl. It almost made him feel sorry for her.
“Abby,” Will said after a moment. “That’s who made the remedy for you.”
“Yeah,” she answered quietly.
“Did she know what you did?”
“Not then, but a few weeks back. You know, that day. She was going on about her dream, about imagining someone going upstairs to harm you. I flat out told her it was Louise. Told her what I thought of my dear cousin, in detail.”
“She didn’t know before?”
“Nobody did. They thought we were pals. Abby was so upset. ‘But I know you cared about her, you had me make that heart medicine.’ Then she just stopped. Like she finally got it. I guess I should have denied it, but I was tired.”
“That’s when she gave you the look,” Will said, his muscles tensing. Like he was about to strike her. About to defend his mother, three weeks too late.
“It was the way she got up from the table,” Muriel said, shaking her head. “Not just horror, but fear. Fear, of me. Like I was going to hurt her!”
“Was that so crazy a thought?” he said.
“Of course it was,” she shouted. “She was as much a victim of those bastards as you. I hated her uselessness. I didn’t like trusting your safety to her, but I wasn’t going to hurt her. I got so angry. So angry, she could see it. She ran, and I ran after her.”
And here we are, he thought. It all sounded so reasonable when she said it. Not right, but reasonable. The logic of revenge was a frightening thing. Had he been older, had he been a slightly different person, would it have been him? Would Jimmy have been right?
“Nancy Chester?” he asked. “Marty Branford?”
“Nothing to do with either,” she said, with a wave of her hand. “Funny, huh? That’s how it is with curses. People get hurt and die on their own, all the time. People looking for a pattern see one.”
And yet there had been a pattern. In a weird kind of way, the very paranoia of people like Jimmy, and the need for reasonable people to reject that paranoia, had been Muriel’s best protection. She had been ca
reful in some ways, but totally reckless in others, and might easily have been caught at any point.
“Why did you come back?” Will asked. “After Abby woke up?”
“I never confessed anything to her. It sounded like her memory might be scrambled. I took a chance.”
“You knew she wouldn’t turn you in.”
“I didn’t know anything,” she said. “Driving around the back roads of New Hampshire. Looking at maps of Canada, trying to figure out where to go.” She shrugged. “I knew it wasn’t in me. To run. This was home, and I would take whatever I had coming. I’m not ashamed of what I did. A lot of people would agree with me if they knew.”
“Am I supposed to be one of them?”
She didn’t answer, but put her hand back on the key and started the car.
“Louise wasn’t your only exception,” he said. “There was tonight.”
“That’s true.”
“A lot of those people had nothing to do with the old coven.”
“And a lot of them did. I couldn’t believe it,” she said furiously. “I couldn’t believe they were starting that shit up again. Didn’t they learn anything? They’re either so damn stupid they don’t deserve to live, or else they sold their soul to the devil. Either way, it was the fire for them. I made sure you got out first. And that idiot Stafford kid.”
“And Sam.”
“And Sam,” she agreed, begrudgingly. Will wondered if Samantha had not, in fact, been intended for the flames. He had so many questions. His mind raced through the maze of the last twenty-eight years, down blind alleys, doubling back on itself. One thing in particular distracted him so badly that he barely noticed she was backing up toward the road.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Anywhere,” she said, pulling the wheel to the right as they swung out onto Seaview, then hard left again. Back the way they had come. The opposite way from home. The way out of town. “You offered to come with me. Now you’re coming. Until this blows over.”
