by Amy Cross
She stares at me, as if in disbelief, before nodding. “I've heard that. Sure. But what do a bunch of stupid old stories have to do with any of this?”
“There was a man once,” I tell her. “I don't know exactly where he came from. People called him the devil, though, and he didn't mind the name. He lived in a house deep in this forest, and he tortured anyone who dared wander across the boundary. I think he was human to begin with, but he changed over the years, and he played his games for a long time until one day a witch arrived in the area. History never recorded her name, but she wasn't quite so easy for the devil to deal with. She put up a fight. She wasn't powerful enough to stop him, not entirely, but she pushed him to the brink of oblivion before he managed to push back. The devil couldn't kill the witch, but he found a way to imprison her. He made a fatal mistake, though. He forgot to bind her mouth, and she managed to give him one final warning. She foretold of a whore who would one day come to the forest and free her. The devil flew into a rage and covered her mouth, and then he threw her down into a maze beneath the forest and he left a creature of pure fear to act as a guardian, so that nothing and nobody would ever dare go close. And he thought that would be enough, except it wasn't enough at all. It wasn't even close to being enough.”
I wait for her to reply, but she seems completely startled by the story. It's clear that she doesn't believe me, and I don't blame her for that at all.
“Paranoia grew in the devil's chest,” I continue. “He began to leave his home in the forest less and less. He found that his games no longer entertained him, because in the back of his mind he was constantly thinking about the witch's warning, and about the prophecy that a whore would come to release her. Some say he grew truly insane, others say that he merely became fearful, almost too terrified to move. He knew that when the witch was eventually released by the whore, she'd have her reckoning. But what could he do? He waited and he waited, and then finally he realized that his only hope was to find the whore first and to destroy her. So while keeping the witch contained in the maze, he set about doing everything in his power to locate the whore. And believe me, he knows you've finally arrived, and he knows how close you came to the witch, and he knows that he has no option but to kill you before you get another chance to save her.”
She stares at me. She's still got that look in her eyes, like she thinks I'm crazy.
“And now I have to take you back to the maze, so that the creature down there can finish its work. It means to pin you down and drive you insane with fear, so that you can never even begin to free the witch. And then, finally, I'll be free to go back to my family.”
I wait.
Still, she stares at me.
“He'll keep his word,” I continue, getting to my feet. I'm still in pain, but I'm starting to think that the devil didn't split me open because he was trying to kill me. Instead, he was warning me that I have to finish the job. “Perhaps he sensed a hint of doubt in my mind,” I tell her. “Perhaps he realized that there was a chance I might feel sorry for you and betray him. None of that matters now. All that matters is that you come with me.”
I reach my hand out to her.
“You can't escape it,” I explain. “You're part of something that's much bigger than you can possibly imagine.”
She pauses, before slowly starting to shake her head.
“He won't let you go,” I continue. “Seriously, Ramsey, you -”
“I'm not a whore,” she says suddenly.
I can't help sighing.
“I'm not!” she hisses, getting to her feet. “Listen, even if I believed all that crap for even one second – which I don't, by the way – but even if I did, how the hell could I be a whore?”
“That term meant something different in the old days,” I explain. “Back when the prophecy was created, when the witch uttered her final words, the word whore simply referred to an unmarried girl who let a man have his way with her.” I watch her carefully for a moment, and I can see a flicker of discomfort in her eyes. “And that describes you pretty well, doesn't it?” I add. “You might not want to admit it, but you do fit the old-time definition of that word.”
“Go to hell,” she replies, turning and walking away.
“It's not that easy!” I call after her.
Instead of replying, she simply holds up her right hand and extends her middle finger.
“You're being childish!” I explain, hurrying after her. “Events conspired to bring you here once already, Ramsey. The same thing will happen again! None of us can fight this!”
“I think I'll take my chances.”
“You don't even know why way to go! You're already heading in the wrong direction!”
“Then tell me the right direction!” she shouts, turning to me. “Are you seriously so pathetic that all you can think about is dragging me back to those tunnels? If the story you just told me is true, then what does that make you? You're just the servant of some asshole who wants to hurt me!”
“I don't have a choice! You're destined to go back down there and try to save the witch! Maybe the devil will stop you, maybe he won't, but your destiny is to at least try!”
“My destiny is to go home,” she replies, “take a long, hot bath, and forget that any of this ever happened. And no offense, but your destiny is to leave me the hell alone! And if you don't leave me alone, then your destiny is a really hard slap in the face!”
“It doesn't matter what you say! It doesn't matter what I say, either! You can't fight this!”
“Watch me!” she hisses, before turning and once again walking away. “I tried to help you when I thought you were sick, Esther, but obviously you were faking that somehow. And you might have time to mess around out here in the forest, in the cold and the dark, but I have better things to do.”
“Like go back and talk to the father you hate?”
She turns to me, and I can see the shock in her eyes.
“We know about you, Ramsey,” I continue. “We know everything about you. As soon as you were identified as the whore, we made it our business to understand your life, even when there were still a few doubts about the role you'd come to play. We know you were taken to New York by your mother when you were young. We know you haven't spoken to your father for a long time. We know you argued with your mother, we know you made some mistakes in New York and that's why you decided to leave town. We know you came back to Deal because it was the only other place in the world where you felt remotely at home. And we know that you didn't go straight to your father's house, because you still don't know whether you ever want to see him again.”
She stares at me, and now her eyes are filled with tears.
“Walk away right now,” I add, “and you will wind up right back here in the forest. Right back down there in the tunnels. If this wasn't your destiny, if you weren't the whore, then the marker on your hand would have worked and you never would have even been able to see the witch. You'd be dead by now.”
She looks down at the mark I carved on her left hand.
“The creature in the tunnel creates fear,” I explain. “That's always the devil's favorite weapon. He uses fear to destroy people, because it's the easiest way. It's the one thing that binds every living creature that ever lived, and that ever will live. Fear is control, and he uses it sublimely. He'll pick out your worst fear and turn it against you.”
“You don't know anything about me,” she says finally, sniffing back tears. “None of you do. But I'll tell you one thing for free. I'm not a whore. And I'll tell you something else, too. There's no way in hell I'm going anywhere with you. I'm going home. None of this even makes sense. I thought the creature in the tunnels was supposed to be the devil, but now apparently there's another devil. You can't even keep your goddamn story straight!”
With that, she turns and walks away. I open my mouth to call her back here, but I can tell that this time she won't stop, not for anything. So I'm going to have to do the only thing that's left.
Grabbing a rock, I hurry up behind her and bash the back of her head, knocking her out cold and sending her slumping to the ground.
“I'm sorry, Ramsey,” I whisper as I tower over her, with the bloodied rock still in my right hand, “but I have to do what I have to do. I think the devil will still honor his word if I prove myself to him. And that means taking you back to the tunnels.”
Forty-Four
Sheriff James Kopperud
Today
It's morning.
All of a sudden, with no warning at all, I open my eyes and find that morning sunlight is streaming through the window. I blink, half-expecting night to return, but the morning light just won't go away and a moment later I feel a familiar, nauseating headache starting to drum on the back of my skull. I start to sit up, and that's when the smell of whiskey hits me, and I realize I was drinking long, long into the night. And now I'm...
I look around at the neat, almost empty apartment.
Where the hell have I woken up, anyway?
A moment later, I hear someone moving about in the next room. I look over at the doorway, and to my surprise I see Hinch stepping into view.
“Hey boss,” he says with a cautious smile. “How are you doing there?”
“Is this your apartment?” I ask, still trying to put all the pieces together.
“Um, well... Yeah. Are you all sobered up?”
“How did I get here?”
“You don't remember?”
“All I remember is...”
I hesitate for a moment, and I think maybe I have some vague recollection of being at Buddy's place. I was on his porch, talking to him, and Harry came out and then...
Did I argue with someone?
I didn't argue with Harry, did I?
Did I?
“I got a call around 2am,” Hinch explains, “to deal with a drunk and disorderly individual out on Viner Street. When I got there, it turned out to be you! Obviously protocol would usually dictate that I should've taken you to the drunk tank for the night, but I kinda used my initiative and decided to bring you back here instead. You were pretty animated, but you didn't seem aggressive in any way. You just kept talking about Buddy, and about your wife and your kid, and then you talked about Harry for a while. Quite a while, actually, and then finally...”
He sighs.
“Well,” he adds, “you were getting quite emotional. It wasn't easy, steering you back here to my place, but I made sure you drank lots of water and then you passed out right there on the sofa. It's almost midday now, so it's good you're awake. I kinda need to head into the office, but I didn't really think it was right to just leave you here.”
“Midday?”
I check my watch, and for a moment I feel certain that I've missed something important. Finally, I remember what was supposed to be happening this morning.
“Ramsey,” I stammer, pulling my phone from my pocket. “They were going to try to wake her!”
I fumble to unlock the home screen, but the goddamn phone slips from my hands and falls to the floor. Reaching down to grab it so I can call, I somehow slip off the sofa and land hard next to the coffee table. What the hell kind of father am I?
“I spoke to the hospital about an hour ago,” Hinch tells me. “You'll be pleased to know that Ramsey is awake and talking. She's basically more or less unscathed, from what I can gather, other than a broken ankle. Something of a miracle if you ask me, given the state she was in when we found her, but I figured she could wait until this afternoon before someone goes in to talk to her. Apparently she's being a little feisty and argumentative with the doctors.”
“You should've woken me earlier,” I mutter, getting to my feet and finding that I'm a little dizzy.
“I tried, but you weren't having any of it.”
“Still a drunk after all these years,” I whisper, before turning and making my way toward the hallway. “What the hell is wrong with me?”
“Where are you going?”
“Where do you think? I have to get to the hospital.”
“I'm not sure that's a good idea, boss. You still seem a little soaked.”
I turn to him. “Soaked?”
“You drank a lot of whiskey last night.”
“I'm not drunk anymore,” I reply. “I'm hungover like hell, and I feel like crap, but that's no more than I deserve. I have to go to the hospital so I can -”
Suddenly I realize that nothing will have changed. Emma will be glued to Ramsey's bedside, giving her all the care and attention and love that's possible, while Ramsey will be struggling to cope with whatever she went through. If I turn up there, they won't suddenly welcome me with open arms. Most likely, Ramsey'll look at me as if I'm some kind of monster, and Emma'll politely take me out into the corridor – to avoid creating a fuss in the room – and explain to me that I have no place with them.
The worst part is, she'll be right.
No, wait, that's not the worst part. The real worst part is that everything Emma said to me last night, I'll have to hear all over again, this time coming direct from Ramsey's mouth.
If I ever thought that I could change, and that I could prove to Ramsey that I'm not the same drunken asshole I was when she was a kid, I've surely blown that chance now.
“Are you sure she's okay?” I ask, turning to Hinch.
“Ramsey? Yeah, sure, the doctor seemed kind of shocked, to be honest.”
“And she'll be out of there soon?”
“He said they want to run some more tests, but basically her head's fine and the only damage is a fractured ankle.”
“Huh,” I mutter, allowing myself a faint, sad, proud smile. “She really is tough.”
“You should at least go home and find some fresh clothes before you go to interview Ramsey,” Hinch tells me. “No offense, boss, but you smell pretty foul.”
I hesitate for a moment longer, before turning to him.
“You do it,” I say finally.
“Sorry?”
“You go and interview Ramsey. Somebody has to find out what happened to her, but I don't think it should be me. I need you to go and get all the details and let me know as soon as you can.”
“You're not gonna go and see her at all?”
I shake my head.
“Well...” He pauses. “I was actually gonna head out to check on some other leads this afternoon, but I guess Lewis or one of the others from the station could go and talk to Ramsey. Are you sure you don't wanna do it, though? I mean, she's your daughter, so -”
“I don't think that'd be a very good idea,” I reply, interrupting him. “I don't want to go into it now, but I think for Ramsey's sake, someone else should be the one to talk to her. She doesn't need me.”
I hate saying those words, but at the same time I've never believed anything so strongly in all my life. Ever since Emma took Ramsey away, I've been fooling myself by promising that one day – when I finally saw Ramsey again – I'd be sober and healthy and ready to prove that I can be a good father. And now here I am, standing hungover in Hinch's apartment, not remembering how I got here, stinking of whiskey and feeling as if my cancer-ridden belly is about to rise up and burst out through my mouth. I had years and years to prepare for this moment and to become a better father, and I failed.
“Get someone to talk to Ramsey,” I say finally, feeling a crushing sense of disappointment in my chest. “Make sure she's okay, and extend every possible service to her and to her mother. Help them with anything they need. Find out what happened to her, and write it up in a report for me to read. We're going to catch this son-of-a-bitch. That's what I'm going to do for Ramsey.”
“I'll get someone right on it.”
I stumble toward the door, before turning back to him.
“Send Collins,” I continue, “or Baxter. One of those two, if you can. They're both good at this kind of thing. They have great bedside manners, and they'll be real sensitive. They'll make sure not to upset Ramsey.”
He nods again. “Okay
, boss. Anything you say. But do you want anyone to give her a message from you?”
I try to think of something, before realizing that she most likely just wants me to leave her well alone.
“I have to go home and change,” I tell him, “and then I'll go straight to the station.”
I stare at Hinch for a moment, and I can't help feeling that he looks a little lost and alone. In fact, glancing around at the rest of this cramped little apartment, I realize that the place barely looks like anyone lives here at all. There's almost no furniture, and even the shelves are completely empty. He's been living in Deal for several months now, but it's almost as if he's barely moved in at all.
“Do you have a girlfriend, Hinch?” I ask finally.
“Me?” He seems shocked by the question, and after a moment he starts blushing. “Um. No. Not really. Not right now.”
“Nothing like that at all?”
He shakes his head.
“You just come to work each day, and that's your life?”
“Well, I do a few other things,” he replies. “I mean, those groceries don't buy themselves.”
“Don't let the job be your entire life,” I tell him. “Find someone to be with, Hinch. You're a good guy, and I'd hate to see you end up all alone.”
“I read a lot,” he continues. “Like, a lot! And I'm interested in the history of the town and the surrounding area. Plus, I really do love my work. I mean, I know I'll never be sheriff material, but I take a lot of pride in helping people out. We do good work, don't we?”
“We do,” I reply, feeling a flicker of pity for him as I realize that he must be all alone here in this empty apartment. “It's good to have people in your life, though. Never forget that. I'm not saying you should rush out and grab the first girl or boy who takes your fancy, but don't stop being open to the possibility of a better life. Don't isolate yourself. Trust me, it's not good.”
We stand in silence for a moment.
“Are you sure you're not still a little drunk?” he asks finally.
“Get to work,” I reply, opening the front door and immediately wincing as I see the bright sunlight outside. This must be what a vampire feels like. “Make sure someone talks to Ramsey, and then meet me at the office later. We still have a dead girl named Leanne Halperin in the morgue, and I'm not going to stop until her killer has been brought to justice. We should be closer to finding that bastard by now. Is that understand?”
