by Clea Simon
On the other side of the street, she had to reverse the process, though at least she was climbing down on to a well-shoveled walk, the snow parted to make a channel all the way to the end of the block. On each side, the snow had been piled waist high. Beneath her, she noticed, the bricks looked scrubbed, shining under the street light.
Which she was suddenly staring straight up at, as she lay on her back on the icy bricks.
Dulcie had slipped so quickly, she had barely been aware of it happening. Just a quick rush of air and her world had turned upside down. If not for her coat and the thick wool of her hat, she realized as she sat up with care, she might have been seriously hurt. As it was, she’d had the wind knocked out of her and one ankle seemed a little sore. Standing took an effort, but with nobody else around, at least she’d been spared embarrassment.
Back on her feet, she vowed to tread more carefully – especially where the more prosaic concrete gave way to Cambridge’s iconic brick. One block further, and she was moving at a snail’s pace. The fall had made her timid, plus her ankle was beginning to throb.
‘This is crazy.’ Dulcie reached into her pocket. She’d call Chris – or call a cab. But her pocket held nothing more than a wad of tissues. Her phone was still back at the apartment and, possibly, still in pieces. Helplessness and the growing ache in her ankle were making her angry. Bad enough that Chris kept disappearing on her. If he wasn’t going to keep his promises …
‘Hello?’ She turned and staggered a bit as her boots slipped on the ice. ‘Is someone there?’
Nothing. It must have been an icicle falling. A clump of snow finally succumbing to gravity. A rat.
She toddled on a bit farther. It was half a block before a patch of ice stopped her in her tracks. Anxious about falling again, she grabbed on to the shoveled snow that lined the walk, its crusty surface cold but solid enough, and gingerly stepped on to its edge, trying her hardest to work her boot into the snow. Another step, again avoiding the slick red brick. Another.
That sound again. ‘Hello?’ She spun, barely catching herself as her feet slid out from under her. ‘Who’s there?’
Nothing, and in truth her heart was now beating so hard she couldn’t tell what she had heard. Maybe her awkward moves had knocked some snow into the street. Maybe another pedestrian only a little further back was also trying to navigate the treacherous walk.
Didn’t anyone put salt down any more? Sand?
The next stretch was a little better. Paradoxically, someone had gotten lazy with the shovel, and the resulting mix of hard-packed snow was uneven, but easier to traverse. Soon Dulcie would hit Central Square. Not long after that, she’d be home. And if Chris hadn’t fixed her phone, she would … Well, she would just be grateful that he was working on it.
‘I don’t mean to be too demanding, Mr Grey.’ The street light above seemed to glow with a blue halo. Beyond it, she could see the moon, gleaming full. ‘It’s just that I don’t always know what’s going on with Chris any more.’
She spoke out of habit and because it was comforting. This afternoon, she hadn’t taken full advantage of her spectral pet’s visit. Tonight, out alone in the oddly quiet city, she could use the company – as well as any advice her feline friend could give. ‘Am I asking for too much?’
Walking with baby steps across another slick patch, Dulcie found herself thinking again of Gus. The theater cat had definitely intended to show her something, of that she had no doubt. But if his plan was to expose the true object of Heath’s anger, then why cozy up to the actor afterward? Could the Russian blue have been trying to disarm Heath? Was he so dangerous that he would take out his rage against a cat?
‘Gus was outdoors this morning,’ Dulcie murmured to herself, remembering. ‘I thought that Doug let him out, but maybe it was Heath.’ Deep in thought, Dulcie didn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind her. ‘Gus saw what happened the night Amy was killed. If Heath thinks Gus is a witness, he could be dangerous.’ She caught herself and almost laughed. Who was she kidding? Heath was dangerous.
‘Dulcie?’ The voice – a man – was right behind her.
At the sound of her name, Dulcie spun around. This time, she felt herself falling – flailing – grabbing at the air. She saw the street light spin – the sky. And then strong arms were grabbing her, pulling her to her feet. Holding her steady as she blinked in shock. And found herself face to face with Heath Barstow.
FORTY-NINE
‘Heath!’ Dulcie jumped back in fright, pulling herself free of the actor’s strong grip. Immediately, she felt herself start to fall again.
‘Dulcie, please.’ He grabbed her, holding her upright. ‘Be careful.’
‘Me? You’re warning me?’ He had let go of her, and she stepped back – a bit more cautiously this time. Keeping her voice low and calm, she stared at the man before her. ‘What do you want, Heath?’
‘I need to talk to you.’ From the way his brow knitted, Dulcie would have thought he was the one with the throbbing ankle. ‘I need to,’ he repeated.
‘That’s why you’ve been following me?’ She worked to keep the alarm out of her voice, playing for time. If only she had her phone.
Heath nodded vigorously. ‘I needed to wait till you were alone. At the theater, I – well, I couldn’t talk.’
Dulcie took another step back, reaching into her pocket. No phone, but she found her keys and made a fist around them. If she had to, she would fight. ‘I’m not sure what we have to talk about, Heath.’ Another step. ‘Roni and I are going to the police first thing in the morning.’
Why, oh why, had she not insisted they call Rogovoy immediately? Roni had been squeamish, for sure, but Dulcie could have pressed her. At least Roni was still at the theater, where she would be safe.
Or not. Heath was shaking his head. ‘No, she won’t,’ he was saying. ‘Roni won’t go to the cops.’
Dulcie’s blood ran cold. ‘What did you do to her?’
‘Me?’ He had the audacity to sound shocked. ‘I didn’t do anything. I just know she won’t. You have to trust me.’
That was the last thing Dulcie was prepared to do. However, she did want to keep him talking. ‘Well, we’ll get back to that.’ It was the best she could muster. ‘What did you want to talk to me about, Heath?’
‘Don’t …’ He shook his head, some of those long locks escaping from his knit cap. ‘Look, there are things you don’t know about me.’
Dulcie held her breath. Was he going to confess?
‘But it’s not what you think – not what you said.’ He took a step toward her, a strange look on his face. A man turning into a wolf … The words sprang into Dulcie’s mind.
‘I’m not that guy, and Roni knows it.’ Heath was still talking. ‘She’s the one who …’ He stopped and bit his lip.
‘She’s the one who saw you and Amy,’ Dulcie finished the sentence. ‘She saw Amy at her computer. Maybe you helped her. Maybe you even forced her to do it.’
‘No, that’s not what happened.’ Heath rubbed his face with a gloved hand. ‘Yes, Roni came in and saw us. Amy was at the computer. At Roni’s computer. But Amy wasn’t doing anything wrong. And I—’
‘What?’ Dulcie waited for his declaration of innocence.
‘I wouldn’t hurt her. I would never have hurt Amy.’
That wasn’t what she had thought he would say. In fact, everything about it – the syntax, the phrasing – was wrong. ‘You’re not being honest.’ The moment the words were out of her mouth, Dulcie regretted them. She shouldn’t antagonize this man. She should agree – and get out of there.
‘No, I’m not.’ He looked pained. ‘I … look, there are things I can’t tell you. But I would never have hurt Amy. You’ve got to believe me.’
Again, he was using the conditional. And so, no, she didn’t trust him. But she nodded, the better to placate the man before her. ‘Yeah, okay,’ she said. ‘Amy was acting alone. Maybe you didn’t even know what was going on. But now Roni is involved.’
To her surprise, he nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘You’ve got to stay away from Roni, Heath. Promise me that.’
‘I wish I could.’ His voice had fallen to a whisper. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I need you to understand why I …’ He stopped, mouth open, and Dulcie found herself wondering if he was expecting a prompt. ‘She’s making me do things.’
‘Roni is.’ Dulcie took another step back. This was creepier than she expected, and she needed to get away.
‘She’s not who you think she is.’ Heath stepped toward her. ‘I mean, I’m not either.’ Another step, but Dulcie was backing up steadily now. ‘But Roni knows things.’
‘And that’s why you need to keep her quiet.’
‘Yes.’ He looked positively relieved. ‘You understand!’
‘I understand that you murdered Amy Ralkov.’ Dulcie gripped the keys in her fist. ‘And now you’re planning on silencing Roni, too. Permanently!’
‘What? No!’ Heath reached for her, but Dulcie was waiting. Whipping her fist from her pocket, she slashed at him – keys extended. With a shout, Heath recoiled and slipped, his feet flying up into the air as the actor fell on to his back.
‘Dulcie!’ He struggled to get up.
‘Stay away from me!’ Dulcie began backing up, too afraid of falling to run. ‘Stay away from Roni, too!’
He was on his feet. He was coming closer. Larger and more agile than she was. The street was lonely. Quiet. Deserted.
And then they heard it – low at first, and rising, it split the night. As eerie as those strange blue shadows, and as clear. The howl.
FIFTY
Scrabbling like a scared cat, Dulcie pulled herself over the wall of snow into the street and took off.
‘Dulcie, wait!’ Heath called.
She didn’t; nor did she look back. The loosely packed snow on the street’s edge squeaked and shifted as she ran, but at least it gave her traction and she was a block and a half away before she dared look back. Heath was not behind her. She strained, but could make out no movement under the street lights.
Briefly, it flashed through her mind that perhaps he had hurt himself in his fall – hurt himself more than she had, anyway, she amended. Her ankle felt red hot, but she could still walk. Perhaps he hadn’t been reaching out to grab her as much as trying to steady himself.
For a moment, she wondered if she should go back. But, no, that was crazy. She might have just escaped from a killer. She would call the cops as soon as she got home – unless, no, none of the storefronts were open at this hour, if they opened at all today.
Besides, she thought as she limped along, there had been that strange howl. Now that the adrenalin was wearing off, she had to wonder what she had heard. The wind had been strong all night, blasting up from the river. She had heard it rattling street signs and moaning as it forced its way through the slats of a bench. Besides, the city was unusually free of traffic tonight. Maybe, in the absence of other sounds, the whistle of the wind had simply been exaggerated, amplified by her fear into something more threatening and wild.
After all, if there really had been something threatening out there, wouldn’t Mr Grey have come to her aid?
‘You would have, wouldn’t you?’ She looked up at the moonlit sky, pausing for a moment on the street. ‘If something were really out there?’
A blast of wind threw up a whirl of snow, the crystals dancing before her.
‘Mr Grey?’ She shifted her weight off the bad ankle as she watched the swirl rise up and subside. In the back of her mind, a memory echoed: ‘You have to listen, Dulcie.’ But what did that mean? That she should have paid more attention to the howl? Or that it wasn’t a howl at all?
‘Whatever.’ She turned away from the sparkling snow devil and began to trudge down the street again. The adrenalin gone now, leaving her exhausted as well as in pain. By the time she reached her corner, she was barely thinking, putting one foot in front of the other automatically, desperate to get home. To get out of the cold. The next blast of wind caught her full on, and she ducked her head, leaning in. This time, she could hear it moan, a sad and lonesome sound that only served to dramatize her thoughts. She had been scared and, worse, hurt. A man had threatened her, and then, perhaps something more. And she had been alone. Nobody, not even her special spirit friend, had come to her aid.
The cold was overwhelming now, chilling her even through her layers of wool and down. Where her face was exposed, the skin stung as if burnt, and when the wind picked up again, it felt like a slap. Head down, Dulcie kept on. Four more blocks. Three. Two.
It was the wind, she told herself – that moaning constant wind – that was forcing the tears from her eyes. Tears that froze even before they left her stinging cheeks.
FIFTY-ONE
‘Dulcie!’
At the sound of her name, Dulcie spun around, ready to jump. When she had first gotten up to their building, minutes before, she had felt near to collapsing, the stairs up to the apartment barely surmountable. She had made it up to their flat, but that was the last of her strength.
‘Chris?’ She had called as she staggered in, too numb and tired to worry about her boots or the loose snow they had tracked in. All she wanted was to be held, to be comforted. ‘I’m back!’
She’d been greeted by silence. Even Esmé, it seemed, had abandoned her, and she’d just stood there.
‘Dulcie!’ When the door burst open behind her, she didn’t know what to expect. But before she could even formulate a response, Chris had her in his arms, kissing her and calling her name.
‘I was so worried,’ he said finally, after he let her go enough to remove her coat. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’
‘Looking?’ She let him take her scarf and hat and then sat to remove her boots.
‘Trista called and told me what happened.’ He pulled his own boots off and reached to help with hers. ‘She felt bad that she’d left and wanted to apologize. She said you’d stayed to talk to the office manager but didn’t want to wait. It’s cold out and it’s late – and I knew you didn’t have your phone.’
‘I had a scare.’ Here, with Chris, it was easier to dismiss. ‘I – ow! I twisted my ankle.’
By the time he got her boot off, they could both see why: her ankle had swollen and was hot to the touch. But despite Chris’s repeated pleas, Dulcie refused to go to the emergency room.
‘What are they going to tell me? That I’ve sprained it?’ Taking Chris’s shoulder, she hobbled over to the sofa. ‘Let me just keep it elevated, and we’ll see how it is tomorrow.’
‘You should have it X-rayed.’ Chris tucked a pillow under her foot, and went to make cocoa.
‘Tomorrow …’ Dulcie had almost acquiesced when her memory kicked in. ‘Bother. Chris? Did you manage to finish working on my phone?’
‘Just about.’ He came back in, and then stopped. ‘Why? Who do you want to call at this hour?’
‘I need to call the police.’ Lying on the sofa, with an afghan tucked around her, as she relayed what had happened, the whole encounter sounded less threatening. ‘At the very least, I should talk to Rogovoy,’ she said, when she had finished. ‘Roni and I are going to talk to him first thing tomorrow.’
‘But you still want to call now?’
She nodded. ‘I have his personal numbers – his desk and his cell. If I can leave him a message, he can be there to meet us.’
‘Oh.’ His face fell, and Dulcie jumped in.
‘I promise, I’ll take a cab. And if my ankle still hurts, I’ll go to health services right after.’
‘It’s not that, Dulcie.’ He looked up, a hangdog expression on his face. ‘I wanted to make sure I’d gotten the worm off your phone, so I had to wipe it clean.’
‘Clean?’ She envisioned a muddy device.
‘Clean.’ He nodded. ‘Your memory – your directory – is gone.’ Before she could complain, he jumped back in. ‘But I may have some good news for you, too.’
‘Ye
ah?’ Somehow, she wasn’t sanguine.
‘Yeah.’ He was nodding. ‘The worm? It wasn’t breaking into anything. It was a diversion program. A cache, of sorts.’ She shook her head. ‘It didn’t steal anything per se; it was waiting for you to type information in. That’s why it was connected to the ticket offer. If you went for it – you know, typed in a credit card number – it would copy your number down. Passwords, too.’
‘Wow, do you think Amy designed it?’
Chris shrugged. ‘She could have. It’s a neat bit of programming, but not overly complicated. Basically, it works because nobody suspects it’s copying down the info.’
‘Copying it, huh.’ Dulcie shook her head, puzzled. ‘I feel like there’s a question I should be asking, Chris. I just can’t place it.’
He laughed, but his voice was sad. ‘One question? Try a million. Why would she do it? If nothing else, she was still a student. If the acting thing didn’t work out, she could finish her degree, make her money legally. And why rip off a theater company she was part of?’
‘That’s it.’ Dulcie wasn’t quite sure, but it felt right. ‘The theater company – I just got that email last night. It was sent after she died. So she either had an accomplice or we’re barking up the wrong tree.’
Chris was waving her off. ‘No, not necessarily. The email could have been generated automatically. You know, every day or two days, once you’re on the list. At least until you opt out.’
‘Either way, it’s not any reason to kill someone.’
‘No, sweetie,’ said her boyfriend. ‘It isn’t.’
FIFTY-TWO
‘Twas not the jostling of the coach nor the headlong rush of the great steeds, their eyes white with fright as they surged and scream’d into the night that made her head spin so. No, the wild Fear that tore at her, sparking the wildest Imaginings in the dark and fatigued corners of her mind, came not from the rush of the road – nor the lurch and tilt of their Vehicle as it careened along that rocky Road. ‘Twas the Stranger himself, so calm and so preternaturally still e’en as her glov’d Hands grasped the cracked and faded leather of the seat. ‘You are not whom you Seem,’ she cried, her very Voice lost amid the jangle and bustle of their frantic ride. ‘And I who had been warned – counseled by your very words – have Fallen into Error at your hands.’
