The old man walked over and sat on a rock beside Harrison.
“Name’s Connelly. Lawrence Connelly.”
“Chief Connelly!” Harrison readily recognized the name if not the man. “I’m Harrison Allen. I’ve been hoping to meet you.”
“Well, I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Allen. Always happy to meet a man who’s brave enough to tackle a winter up here. Most people hightail it back where they came from ’fore November sets in. Summer folks. I hear you come to stay.”
“For a while anyway. And please, call me Harry.”
“And you can call me Chief; that is, if you’ve a mind to. Most people do around here. ’Course I gotta tell you, it ain’t an official title no more. I’m retired. But most folks got used to it, and I sorta like the way it sounds.”
The two men shook hands. Harrison noted the old man’s firm grip.
“Mind tellin’ me why you been hopin’ to meet me, Harry?”
“Not at all. Mark Chittenden, the guy who owns the house I’m living in, suggested you as one of the people I should talk to. I’m a member of the American Cryptozoological Society. I’m here doing research on the Lake Champlain Monster. As a matter of fact, I’m on a monster watch right now.”
“And what is this… cryptozoology?” Chief Connelly pronounced the word with great care, but Harrison didn’t miss how skillfully he’d converted it from an adjective to a noun.
“Essentially, we investigate the zoology that’s unknown to science. We look for mysterious animals that are often reported but never captured or cataloged: the yeti, the Loch Ness Monster, reports of a living dinosaur in Africa, that kind of thing. I consider myself lucky to have a monster right here in the neighborhood. Saves traveling to Scotland or Africa.”
Without smiling, the chief stared silently out at the water, arms folded tightly across his chest. After a while he said, “You think there’s sompthin’ out there, do you?”
“A lot of people do. There’s a photograph—”
“You seen it yet?”
“The photograph?”
“Hell, no, the monster.”
“No, I—”
“I figgered not.” The chief took a breath. He coughed wetly. “Ever think you might be wastin’ your time?”
“I’ve wasted a lot of time in my life.”
“I s’pose you have.” The old man looked Harrison full in the face. “So, what’d you want to meet me for?”
“To ask you if you’ve ever seen it. To see if you know anybody who has.”
Chief Connelly took a bent Camel from a partially crushed pack. He lit it skillfully, shielding the flame of the match from the wind. After taking two or three long drags, he flicked a good half of it out into the water, where it disappeared.
“It’s nothin’ we like to talk about, Mr. Allen. It’s fanciful talk. We’re practical people up here. Down to earth. We got no time to chase no monsters. If there’s sompthin’ out there, let it be, I say. If it ain’t a threat to us, and if we can’t catch it and eat it, I got no interest in it at all.”
“You’ve never seen it?”
“I seen some mighty big eel. I seen a catfish the size of a dog. I’d say a fish that size is a monster.”
“Do you know anyone who’s seen it?”
“That ain’t the sort of question I’d feel at liberty to answer, Mr. Allen.”
Harrison felt a chill that was more than the cold in the air. He knew it would not be wise to press the old man for more information.
The chief took another Camel and lit it with the same practiced skill. This time he just took one deep drag before flicking it out to sea.
“I’m tryin’ to quit,” he said.
2
The children had been excited all day. It had a good deal to do with it being Friday, but more to do with the season’s first snowfall. Beginning that morning, big lazy snowflakes had drifted past the classroom windows like sailboats on the lake. At recess kids teamed up for snowball fights, and laughing boys washed the enraged faces of squealing girls. No one’s mind was on lessons.
Nancy had felt unusually tired all day. She thought maybe she was coming down with something, a cold or the flu. Then, too, she was a little angry at herself; it had taken until this afternoon to return the quizzes to the kids. She was so late that she’d had to finish correcting them during afternoon break so she could pass them out before the kids went home. But there hadn’t been that many quizzes to grade; there was no good reason why she hadn’t done them.
She didn’t want to be compulsive, but she had promised herself time and time again that she would be professionally responsible about her job. She had to discipline herself. This was her career, for Christ’s sake! It wasn’t like college, where she could cram all night for a test, or finish a paper thirty minutes before it was due.
Why hadn’t she finished correcting them at home? That’s what was really bothering her. She could clearly remember working on them… But then what? Had she dozed off? She couldn’t recall getting into bed.
She remembered waking up this morning late, feeling exhausted and suffering from a headache she just couldn’t believe. That’s when she first suspected she might be coming down with something.
She was sure something was wrong the moment she had walked out of the bedroom to see the table overturned and papers all over the kitchen floor.
Had she been sleepwalking last night? She must have been; how else could she have gotten into bed? But God, she hadn’t sleepwalked since she was a kid. Their old family doctor had assured Mom and Nancy that the sleepwalking would end because —finally — she had accepted her father’s death. She no longer needed to search for him at night.
So now, according to the doctor, Nancy was supposed to rest easy and well.
But she didn’t feel rested. She had been tired all day long. More than tired, actually; she felt sick, and that bothered her. The late test papers bothered her. And the mess in the kitchen, frankly, scared the hell out of her.
Maybe someone had broken in during the night and ransacked the place. No — she would have heard it. No one could have knocked the table over without waking her.
So what happened? And how did she get to bed?
She held back tears long enough to dismiss her young charges, feeling some minor relief as she watched them scramble out the door. Then, finally alone, she put her head in her hands and began to cry.
She knew what the trouble was. Really, she had known all along. But any explanation — sleepwalking, an intruder, anything — would have been preferable.
The epilepsy had come back.
After so many years, she’d had another seizure.
Why? Why now, when things were going so well?
Nancy sobbed a little harder, having admitted why she’d felt so terrible all day…
… and why the table was knocked over…
… and why she had black-and-blue marks all over her body.
She knew why.
She had known all along.
Chapter 12 - Visions of Nowhere
1
Every time there was a lull in the conversation, the two men looked up at the big front window of the general store. They watched the snowstorm. A profusion of downy white flakes danced magically beneath the store’s exterior lamps.
It was dark outside, and Abner was tired, eager to get home. He knew there would be no more customers on a stormy night like this, but he didn’t want to give the impression that he was in a hurry.
Abner picked up his black-handled knife and sliced about a quarter of a pound of Cabot cheddar from the partial wheel to his left.
He put the cheese on a piece of waxed paper and set it on the counter between himself and Chief Connelly. They broke off tiny chunks from time to time, and munched thoughtfully.
“Y’ever hear any more on them Pelletier folks?” asked Abner, using the nail of his little finger to remove a morsel of pasty cheese from his dentures.
“Nope,” answered the chie
f, pushing his Stetson back on his head. “State boys figure they got off the island okay. Nobody knows what happened to ’em after that. I nosed around over to their place myself. Everything’s A-okay.”
“You talk to that fella from the captain’s place? That Harrison Allen?”
“A-yuh. Just this mornin’. He’s no problem.”
“What’s he really doin’ here, he say?”
“Says he’s lookin’ for the Lake Champlain Monster.”
“Shit. You believe him?”
“Sorta.” Chief Connelly took another fragment of cheese. “I think he’s a man’s got a problem. I don’t think it’s got nothin’ to do with us, though. Don’t think it’s got nothing to do with the monster, neither.”
Abner sniffed, feeling a cold coming on. “Christ, we git all kinds up here, don’t we?”
“Always did. Bad enough worryin’ about the summer folks. Now it’s monster hunters and schoolteachers.”
“They’re gettin’ kinda lovey-dovey, ain’t they?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. One comes here lookin’ for the simple life, the other lookin’ for God knows what.”
“How long you s’pect it’ll take ’em to realize life ain’t so goddamn simple up here?”
“Couldn’t say. I jes’ hope he don’t see nothin’.”
“What d’ya mean?”
“Well, if he sees that eel, or whatever the hell it is, swimmin’ around out there, he’ll wanna tell everybody an’ his brother.”
“Yeah, right. And we’ll have a whole gaggle of monster hunters nosin’ around here.” Abner wadded up the waxed paper and placed it in the trash bin under the counter. “Well, at least it’ll be good for business.”
“That kind of trade you don’t need, Abner.”
“None of us do, Chief. None of us do.”
2
Nancy lifted her head off the desk and sat straight up. She bent her neck way back until she was looking at the ceiling. Stretching, arms extended to the sides, she took a deep breath, then wiped the few remaining tears away with her fingertips.
She would have to see a doctor. There was no way around it. And that would mean arranging for a substitute teacher, not an easy—
God, what if I have a seizure in front of the class? Or while driving?
There was no time to lose; she had to get a checkup right away.
Oh Lord, what am I going to do?
Maybe she should talk to Harrison. Head over there right now. She could ask him to drive her to see a neurologist in Burlington. True, she didn’t know Harrison all that well, but he was the only person on the island she felt close to.
But suppose the epilepsy scares him off.
No. Not likely. It was her childhood fears again. Yet something made her hesitate. Something about Harrison troubled her. Uncertainty had been tugging at the back of her mind for some time now.
It had something to do with that state policeman. When she’d heard him ask Abner Mott about Harrison, she’d realized how little she knew of him.
Was that it? Was she suspicious of him? Had the policeman’s interest made her doubt her new friend?
“He okay?” That’s all the trooper had asked.
“He okay?” Not really enough to undermine her trust.
And Abner had replied, “Yup, for a city fella.” Then — and this was the strange part — “Ain’t that right, Miss Nancy Wells?”
Damn. That’s it! Abner’s remark had been a friendly one, sure, but how had he known? How had Abner known there was a connection between her and Harrison? There was no way for him to have known.
But he knew.
That’s silly, she thought. It had been nothing more than an offhand remark, just a way of acknowledging her, including her in the conversation.
God, I’m tired. She sighed heavily. Tired and getting paranoid. Must be I’m getting my period. That’s all I need right now! Best thing to do is go home and take a nap.
Nancy began gathering her papers and books. She piled them neatly on the corner of her desk, rested her elbows on its surface, and looked around the empty classroom. The place smelled of new desktop varnish and wet woolen clothing.
Thank God it was the weekend; she could use the rest. But what about their plans? She was supposed to meet Harrison tomorrow to explore the old monastery. That would be fun and adventurous, yet now there was a certain dread in the anticipation.
Come on, Nancy, get to the point.
Was she going to get involved with him? That was the big question.
Nancy knew herself well enough to realize what she was avoiding. She liked Harrison; that much was easy. He was interesting and kind and humorous, just like a big kid.
So why avoid him? A day together would certainly decide if they were going to get any more involved. Such a day would probably be the best thing in the world for her; it would get her mind off less pleasant topics. It would be fun.
Involved — what a stupid word. Was she going to sleep with him? That was really the question. She had practically promised him that she would. Somehow, on a gut level, she knew just what the answer would be.
When the door started to open slowly, it startled her, reminded her that she was still at school. Who could be coming in when it was time to go home?
Nancy looked up, smiling, expecting to see that Harrison had dropped by to pick her up. Instead, she saw an unfamiliar man standing in the doorway, looking around the room. His long yellow hair was wet with snow. He shook his head like a dog, as if trying to dry it by throwing off the moisture.
His old gray overcoat hung almost to the floor. It must have been a very long coat, because he was a very tall man.
There was a vacant, fixed look on his ruddy face as he gawked around. Nancy felt cold air rushing past him from the open door. It carried an odd, earthy smell to her nostrils.
She knew better than to show that she was alarmed. But fear seized her when she realized who he was. She had always heard he was harmless. Profoundly retarded, yes, but not dangerous.
“Why don’t you close the door,” she asked, with as good-natured a voice as she could muster. This was her turf; she felt that she should be in control.
He stared blankly at her, blinked once, and slowly pulled the door closed behind him. He moved awkwardly, almost stumbling, as he began to pace around the room. His head moved up and down as if on a string, as he looked not only at the pictures on the walls but, seemingly, at the walls themselves.
“May I help you?” Nancy asked. Right away she felt it was a stupid thing to say.
His attention turned slowly from the wall until he was staring directly at her. He blinked again.
“I’m Miss Wells,” Nancy said. “I’m the schoolteacher. Can you tell me your name?”
The answer seemed to start with a crackle way down in his chest. It scraped its way up his throat, until finally it burst forth as a poorly articulated growl, “I yust ta go ta school here.”
Looking around again, he surveyed the circle of desks in apparent bewilderment. He walked around them, examining each one closely.
Finally he settled on one, and he pushed it nearly to the center of the room, facing front. Then he sat in it. Nancy had to suppress a laugh as he tried to fold more than six feet of himself into the child’s desk.
“This here’s whar I set,” he informed her.
Nancy stepped in front of him, standing beside her own desk. Her fingertips rested on her desktop. “Can you tell me your name?” she asked again with a practiced professional patience.
“Jay-biz,” he answered.
“Jabez what?”
“I don’ loik school.”
Nancy smiled. “Sometimes I can’t blame you. Nobody likes it all the time. Not even the teacher. Especially when it’s snowing out and it’s Friday.” She felt as if she were talking to a child.
“I never loik it.”
“If you don’t like it, why did you come back?”
They looked at each other for a long
while. This time he didn’t blink at all. His strange, fixed stare began to frighten her; she feared what his answer might be.
Nancy wasn’t sure what to say to him. Her mind raced to find conversation. Thinking only prolonged the silence. For something to do, she moved behind her desk, where she felt at least somewhat protected, and sat down.
Jabez stood up and walked over to her. His blank, staring eyes never left hers. As the distance between them diminished, she became acutely aware that it was only the wooden barrier of her desk that separated them.
Suddenly he was like a big, clumsy schoolboy standing penitently before the teacher. She looked up at him, trying to find some hint in his vacant eyes of what he had on his mind.
Nancy had no idea how long they stayed like that. It was as if they were both frozen. When he finally spoke, it was a simple statement that surprised her very much.
“You be careful a my sister,” he said.
“Your sister?” asked Nancy. “Who is your sister? Do I know her?”
Jabez only stared at her. Somewhere behind his vapid expression she thought she could see something like worry or concern.
His sister? Who is his sister? As far as she knew, he didn’t even have a sister.
“Who’s that, Jabez? Is your sister in my class?”
He didn’t seem to understand a word she was saying. “Does she have the same last name as you?” Jabez turned and began to walk away.
“Have I not been careful of her, Jabez? You can tell me. Have I done something to hurt her?”
She tried to recall a little girl that she had reprimanded or inadvertently offended.
“Jabez!” she called after him, desperate with questions and confusion.
When he paused by the door, turned, and spoke, the question he asked surprised her a second time.
“Are you all right?”
3
At six o’clock, after a beer and a salami sandwich, Cliff tried to decide whether he should phone Nancy or just go right over to her place. Either way it would be a pain in the ass, because he’d have to drive to a phone or drive to her house.
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