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 r
ight.
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?”
Ghost Light Page 8
