by King, R. L.
“Go ahead,” Stone said softly.
Miller shrugged, as if to say suit yourself. He bent down, began grabbing clean glasses from a rack, and lined them up on shelves along the mirrored back part of the bar. He didn’t look at the three visitors as he continued. “That night—the night it happened, Eleanor was due to fix up the Christmas display at Hillerman’s. She did it every year. Had a key to the store, and spent most of the night before a big event—holiday, big sale, whatever—arranging stuff in those two big front windows. People liked showing up the next morning to see what she’d come up with. It was kind of a town tradition, especially for the Christmas display.
“Sale was set to start at 7 a.m. sharp the next day, and people started showing up a little before that. We don’t exactly have sale rushes like they do in the big city—plenty for everyone, so everybody’s polite. But when they showed up—” He stopped, his back to them, visibly trying to get himself under control. His hand holding one of the glasses shook a little. “When they showed up, they saw her there in the window.”
“She was—already dead then?” Jason asked quietly.
Miller turned around then, and his eyes sparkled with unshed tears. His jaw was set hard. “Oh, she was dead all right. From what I hear, they’d—” He lowered his head, unable to continue.
“Mr. Miller,” Stone said softly, “it’s all right. Don’t do this to yourself.”
“No, it’s—” He looked up, meeting the mage’s eyes, and swallowed. “It was like the aftermath of some kind of—Satanic ritual. They’d—tied her up in the window, and—” He breathed hard now, leaned over the bar. When he spoke again it was in a rush, like that was the only way he’d be able to get it out. “They’d gutted her with a knife, and splayed her out on this table, right there in the window. There was—blood and—other stuff—everywhere, they said. All over the window, all over the inside of the display area, and—to make it worse, they’d posed her display pieces around her. Made it look like—” His voice dropped to a whisper. “—like Santa had done this to her.”
Nobody spoke. Stone, Jason, and Verity simply stared at Miller, all of them struck speechless by his words. “Oh, God...” Verity finally whispered. Jason merely nodded. Stone didn’t move at all.
When a full minute passed, and Stone still showed no signs of moving or speaking, Jason ventured, “We—talked to a policeman before, outside Hillerman’s. He told us that—one of the suspected murderers was in custody, and the other one was dead. Do—do you know anything about that?”
Miller nodded, looking almost relieved to be able to move beyond the crux of the horrific topic. “Yeah. That’s—well, I won’t say it’s the weirdest part of the whole thing, but it’s certainly one of them.” He noticed that Stone’s glass was empty; he got the mage a fresh Guinness before continuing. “When people arrived that next morning and found—what they found—obviously they called the police. And when they got here, they found Dwight and Kurt inside, near the—scene of the crime.” He took another deep breath. “Kurt had—hanged himself with a drape cord on one of the light fixtures, or at least that’s what it looked like happened. Dwight—they found Dwight kneeling near the display, nearly catatonic, from what I heard. Before the police ran everybody off, Mrs. Meeks’s daughter Bonnie said she’d thought she heard him sobbing, saying something about how he was sorry, he hadn’t meant to do it, and he just wanted to die.”
Jason and Verity exchanged glances. “Where’s Dwight now?” Jason asked. “He’s in custody, right?”
Miller nodded. “They took him over to Helmford. The county police have a station there. They’re holding him there for the time being. I think they’ve got a couple of shrinks over there, evaluating him to see if he’s fit to stand trial.”
Stone looked up, finally taking interest in his surroundings again. “Mr. Miller, may I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” The bartender tilted his head.
“Do you have homeless people here in Woodwich?”
Miller looked like that was not anywhere close to what he’d expected to be asked. “Uh—a few,” he said. “Mostly drifters passing through, since we don’t have a shelter here in town. Why?”
“How do you feel about them?”
“How do I feel about them? I don’t understand. What are you getting at?”
Stone shrugged. “Some people are more—accommodating to homeless people than others. Giving them food, helping them out, that sort of thing, rather than trying to get out of sight of them as fast as possible.”
Miller nodded. “I don’t have a problem with them. Things are bad all over and have been for a long time. I believe it’s our Christian duty to try to help folks out when you can.”
“And you do? Try to help them, I mean.”
The bartender looked at him oddly. “I’m not sure what you’re after, Mr. Stone. But yes, sometimes I do, when I can. Sometimes they come by the back door and I give them a little food—bar nibbles and such—and sometimes if I’m feeling generous I’ll give old Ted a beer.”
“Old Ted?”
“Yeah. He’s one of the few who hang around town. Most of them move on after a short time, but Ted’s kind of a fixture around Woodwich. Harmless old guy, little touched in the head, but always friendly and polite.” He sighed. “I hear he was the one who first found Eleanor. The cops found him on the sidewalk outside the store that morning, in tears. They took him in just to be thorough, but they released him right away. Old Ted wouldn’t hurt a fly. Of course,” he added, “before a few days ago I didn’t think Dwight or Kurt would, either.”
Stone nodded. “If we wanted to talk to Ted, where might we find him?”
For the first time Miller looked suspicious. “Why would you want to talk to Ted?”
Jason raised his hands in an ‘it’s all good’ gesture. “We just want to ask him a couple of things about Eleanor. That’s all.”
Stone nodded. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Miller. I know we’re strangers here, but we mean no harm. Eleanor was a friend of mine, and I just wanted to talk to the people who knew her. I hope you understand. We’ll be leaving tomorrow after the memorial, so we don’t have a lot of time.”
Miller paused, looking them over for a long time, as if gauging the trustworthiness of their words. Finally he sighed. “Okay. Ted usually hangs out in the park down at the end of Main Street. The groundskeeper looks the other way when he sets up shop in the shed there in the cold months. He makes rounds to collect cans and panhandle a little, but not as often this time of year. If he’s not at the park he might be at the library, but old Beatrice doesn’t usually let him stay unless it’s really cold out. Says the smell puts off the customers.”
Stone nodded, standing up. “Thank you, Mr. Miller. You’ve been very helpful. Please accept our condolences for the loss of your friend. It certainly sounds like Eleanor made quite an impression around here.”
“That she did, Mr. Stone. And condolences to you as well. Safe trip home.”
They left the bar through the front door. As soon as it closed behind them, Verity stopped. “My God,” she murmured. “What a horrible way to die.”
“I can’t believe this isn’t all over the papers,” Jason said. “Not just around here, I mean.”
Stone shook his head. “I can. Remember, things like this are happening all over the country these days—don’t you remember a somewhat less ritualistic but every bit as horrific murder in Sunnyvale a couple of months ago? People are getting inured to it, sad to say.”
“You think it was the Evil?” Verity asked. “Possessing those guys?”
“That’s why I want to talk to Ted,” Stone said. “I want to find out if he’s Forgotten, or if he can point us to whoever left those symbols. I wish we could talk to this Dwight, but I doubt we can manage that.”
“Maybe he can have visitors,” Verity suggested.
“Proba
bly not,” Jason said. “If they’re holding him to find out if he’s mentally fit, I doubt they’ll let him have visitors who aren’t relatives, or his doctors or lawyers.” He thought a moment. “You know, there’s a small chance I might be able to help with that. Don’t get your hopes up, but let me make a phone call after we find Ted.”
As they talked, they walked down Main Street in the direction of the park. “If it was the Evil,” Verity said, “that explains how they were able to—get to her without her suspecting anything until it was too late. She probably knew them, and trusted them.”
Jason nodded. “If they didn’t have a regular police patrol around here, it sounds like those guys were it for security. So even if she suspected anything was wrong, she probably called them to check it out.”
“But the important question is: why would they kill her at all, let alone in such a visible and horrible way?” Stone asked. “You heard Mr. Miller: this is an area free of violent crimes. On the surface, anyway, it appears to be an idyllic little town full of charming eccentrics who tolerate each other’s foibles as some kind of badge of honor. The Evil would starve here. Eleanor’s murder would certainly provide them with ample sustenance, but unless they’re planning on continuing their killing spree, things would settle down again quickly and they’d be back where they started. Unlike in a large city, a string of messy murders would gather quite a lot of attention here.”
“So you’re thinking they had a reason to specifically kill Eleanor?” Jason asked.
“I don’t know,” Stone said, shrugging. “And I’m not sure we ever will know. But keep your eyes and ears open.”
They reached the park, a large expanse of forested land at the north end of Main Street. The area comprising the large block nearest the road was flat, with only a few snow-strewn trees. Several sheltered areas with picnic tables and barbecue pits dotted it at regular intervals. The park was deserted except for two bundled-up children running gleefully around flinging snowballs at each other under the watchful eye of their mother sitting on one of the picnic tables. She glanced up at the newcomers, but they were far enough away that she apparently didn’t consider them a threat.
It didn’t take long to find the groundskeeper’s shed, which was set back on the other side of a rise near the tree line, out of view of the road. An unremarkable looking, blocky wooden structure the size of a small cabin, it had a roll-up door on one side and two small windows and a normal-sized door on another. The two doors were closed, and shutters covered the windows.
Stone tried the smaller door; it wasn’t locked. Pushing it open, he called tentatively, “Ted? Are you in there?”
There was no answer. The shed was dark, and faint smells of oil, old grass clippings, cigarette smoke, and unwashed clothes hung in the air inside. The looming, covered shape of what looked like a riding lawn mower crouched next to uncovered implements such as chainsaws and trimmers—the latter locked with a chain and heavy padlock to large metal ring set into the concrete floor. In the back corner a small area had obviously been cleared and was decked out with a pile of old clothes, a ratty sleeping bag, and some shopping bags.
Stone sighed. “So much for finding him at home.”
“Why would you want to find me at home?” asked a voice from behind them.
Chapter Four
All three spun to find themselves facing a hunched, bearded old man in a shapeless coat and knit cap. He stood back at a safe distance, one hand clutching the strap of a large, dirty, green backpack resting on the snow next to him.
“Ted, I presume?” Stone asked.
“I’m Ted, yeah,” he said. “I don’t think I seen you three around before.” His voice was creaky and hesitant, his eyes wandering between the three of them.
“We’re just visiting,” Verity told him.
“We’d like to chat with you if we can,” Stone added.
Ted looked dubious. “I dunno. I was just gonna go have a nap for a little bit. I’m real tired, and it’s gettin’ cold out here.” He nodded toward the shed.
Stone pulled out his notebook, opened it to an empty page, and sketched the triangle-and-rays symbol. “Ted...what would you say if I showed you this?”
The effect on the old man was dramatic. As soon as he saw it, his slitted eyes widened, and his hunched body snapped to attention. “How do you—”
“You know what it means, don’t you?” Jason asked. “You’re Forgotten.”
“How—did you know?” Ted looked fearful. “How do you—” He glanced around him, as if trying to locate a potential escape route.
“Ted,” Stone said gently, “We’re from California. We know quite a lot of Forgotten out there. They’re friends of ours. And so was Eleanor Pearsall. I understand you were—the first to find her.”
Ted’s head bowed. “I tried to warn her. I tried...but I guess she didn’t listen.”
“Warn her?” Jason asked. “You knew something was going to happen?”
“Would you like something to eat, Ted?” Stone asked. “We could go down to one of the shops and get you something, and we could talk a bit more about this. Would that be all right?”
“Could really use a drink,” Ted mumbled without looking up. “But—yeah, okay. They won’t let me in, though.”
“I think they will,” Stone said. “Don’t you worry about that.”
By the time they got back to the downtown area, the sun had begun to set. They chose the gourmet burger restaurant this time, selecting a table in the back where they could have some privacy. The proprietor started to say something when she saw Ted and his big grimy backpack, but Stone informed her that he was their guest for the evening and Jason asked if she had a problem with that. She mumbled something noncommittal and headed back toward the kitchen, where she occasionally cast them disapproving glances, but didn’t say anything more. Some of the other customers looked at them oddly as well, though nobody said anything loud enough for them to hear. Several other groups occupied the dining area, but nobody sat near them.
Ted looked like he couldn’t quite believe that three strangers were taking him out to such a fine dinner and telling him he could order whatever he liked. “Can I get a beer?” he asked hopefully.
“Anything you like,” Stone said. He waited until everyone had placed their orders and the busybody proprietor—who doubled as the waitress—had headed off to the kitchen before speaking further. “Now then,” he said. “Would you be willing to answer my friend’s question: Did you know something was going to happen to Eleanor that night?”
Ted sighed, looking down at his placemat, which featured a smiling hamburger wearing a monocle. “I—I thought something might be wrong,” he said. “I didn’t know what. I just—sometimes know when I look at people that something bad might happen to them soon.” He shook his head. “I wish I’d maybe gone to check on her, but I was kinda drunk, and—”
“It’s okay,” Jason said. “I doubt you could’ve stopped it. They might have killed you too, and that wouldn’t have helped her.”
“I coulda told somebody...” he mumbled. “Nobody much listens to me, but I coulda tried...”
“Told who?” Stone asked. “Those security guards—wouldn’t they have been the ones you thought to tell? And you said you tried to tell Eleanor. Please, Ted, don’t tear yourself up about it. But if you could answer our questions, perhaps you could help us.”
“Who are you?” he asked, looking up. “How’d you know Miz Pearsall?”
The waitress/proprietor showed up again with their drinks. She was clearly trying not to get too close to Ted without being obvious about it. In her defense, the old man did reek of body odor and stale liquor, especially in the warmth of the restaurant.
Stone waited until she left again before continuing. “She’s a friend of mine from awhile back. Ted—” He hesitated a moment. “Do you know anything about—magic?”
Stone nodded. “In answer to your question, Eleanor and I weren’t close friends, but we’ve attended some of the same gatherings over the years. She was a wonderful lady, and this is a terrible thing that’s happened.”
“Yeah...” Ted agreed, looking down again.
“Are there any other Forgotten around here?” Jason asked him. “Did you make those symbols behind Hillerman’s and the bar?”
“Yeah, that was me,” Ted said after pausing for another long swig of beer. “Mr. Miller at the bar—he’s a good guy. He sometimes gives me something to eat, and even a beer sometimes.”
“What about the bad symbols?” Stone asked. “Those look more recent.”
“Yeah...I don’t know what it is about Hillerman’s, but I just—thought there might be somethin’ bad there, you know?”
“Still?” Verity asked. “Or was it just the two guards?”
Ted shrugged. “Place ain’t been open since—since it happened, so I dunno. Just bein’ safe, is all. In case anybody else comes through.”
“So Forgotten sometimes come through here, but they don’t stay?” Stone asked.
“Sometimes. Not often. Sometimes a travelin’ group passes through, but there’s not much here for ’em, so they move on.”
“What about the Evil?” Verity asked.
Ted looked quickly up at her. “They talk about that sometimes,” he said. “I dunno what they mean, but they’re scared of it. The Evil.” He looked at Stone. “Do you know?”
Stone nodded. “It’s hard to explain if you haven’t experienced it, but I’ll wager it’s probably what you’re sensing when you think something bad will happen to someone. Do you get this feeling often?”
