“They had no idea about his condition before that?”
“They were told of his mental condition, the trauma state, but nothing of the physical condition.”
“Routine hospital screw up?”
“Or willful withholding of information, Stroud? Which you prefer? Parents were allowed to see the boy but only from a great distance, through glass, and he was in a darkened room.”
“But why would Banaker lie to the parents?”
“Says he was trying to get the more dangerous problem under control and was avoiding any infection possibilities with the wounds by keeping people out.”
“But you got in. How?”
“Hell, I'm the boy's family physician for one thing, and Doctor Sidney Cooper was on watch, and Sid isn't completely taken in by Banaker, either, and--”
“But what did Banaker have to gain by ... by lying to the parents?”
“He was stalling for time, I suspect. Wanted to present them with a whole kid, so that when the cameras flashed on the boy as he exited Banaker Institute it would bring in more funds, more faith in the mighty Banaker legend he's created around himself and that place.”
Magaffey sounded bitter. “He certainly seems to orchestrate his every move,” said Stroud. “That's for sure.”
“Orchestrating me out of practice.”
“Provides a lot of jobs for the community.”
“Most of Banaker's people aren't Andover born nor bred ... most've come from the outside ... but I suppose what with the linen that goes in and out, the dirty jobs and the scut work, he does employ a lot of people.... yeah ... progress...”
“And yet he plagues you?”
“Son, he plagues you, too.”
Stroud laughed at this. “You read minds, too.”
“You forget. I knew your grandfather. You're a lot more like him than you realize.”
Stroud studied the dark little man's eyes for some sign of meaning in what he'd just said and he found Magaffey studying him back. There was a long moment of silence between them. “Most people in Andover have nothing kind to say about Ananias Stroud.”
“Abe ... Abraham Stroud.” Magaffey grasped his arm and squeezed tightly. “Most people have no idea in their heads about your grandfather, nor how much this town owes to him. He gave a good part of himself up in sacrifice to Andover. So, don't you listen to the fools and the Glen Turnips, all right? All right?”
Stroud felt compelled to say, “Thank you, I'll keep that in mind.”
“Commit it to memory,” the old man said with a wide, missing-tooth smile as he got into his automobile.
“Doctor Magaffey, have you had time to examine the bones you took from the field?”
“I have.”
“And?”
“All my original hunches are now on record, but my place, my lab, was broken into last night--”
“What?”
“And all the bones, the records ... all of it gone.”
Stroud thought of the UPS package that had gone undelivered. He got a fleeting flash through his mind, a bulletin. The bones still remained undelivered and Dr. Cage in Chicago would never see them. The sheriff's deputy, and perhaps Briggs himself, would see to that.
As if reading his thoughts again, Magaffey said, “Son, Banaker has a saying that aptly fits our situation with respect to the bones, and although it's rather an old and oft misused truth, here it fits: Let the dead bury the dead.”
He started his engine, but Stroud held onto his frail arm, stopping him from leaving. “Doctor Magaffey, what advice did you give to Timmy's parents?”
He looked as if he might just drive off, but finally he said, “Abe ... Abe ... Abe ... I told the Meyerses what I'd do if the boy was mine. Same advice your grandfather would've given them, save for one other option, uniquely his own.”
“What option was that?”
“We may talk about it sometime ... but not now.”
“I'd like to know more about my grandfather.”
Magaffey laughed. “You will, son. The longer you stay in that house, the more you'll unearth ... trust me.”
“All right, what advice did you offer the Meyerses?”
“I'd take Tim as far from this area as possible, preferably to another state, over across the Mississippi River, to be certain.”
It sounded like the worse kind of quackery and superstition. “To be certain of what?”
“Whatever got the boy isn't finished with him, hasn't used him up. Whatever got the boy'll come back for him.”
Stroud was beginning once again to think Dr. Magaffey had something rattling around in his brain worse than Stroud's own metal plate. “But, Doctor--”
“Don't but me, Stroud! Christ, it happened the same damned way to Sid Cooper's kid! Same damned way!”
Magaffey's engine revved.
“You can't seriously think that some animal--”
“Creature--”
“Creature--whatever--got at the boy and has enough sentience to plot against the boy? To come back specifically for Timmy Meyers.”
“Damn it, it knows where Timmy lives. Knows how to get at him. If the Meyerses would just take him across the line, across the water ... maybe he'd be safe ... maybe.”
Magaffey tore off, leaving Stroud standing there with the realization that Magaffey's herb remedy and poultice smelled most strongly of garlic. He also recalled the huge crucifix above the boy's bed. Was that, too, a medical prescription of Dr. Martin Magaffey's?
Christ, it seemed the whole town was going crazy and that Magaffey was leader of the pack.
Maybe it was something in the goddamned drinking water. Maybe it was the shadow of science fiction cast with the towering Banaker Institute facility at the edge of the city which on a map stood directly opposite Stroud Manse. Twin Bluffs, where Timmy was allegedly found, was somewhere in between. Narrow strips of highway connected the three points, almost like a preordained triangle. He imagined he could go to a map and draw the triangle in red and that it'd be perfect.
Nothing was stacking up. Teetering, tottering information that threatened to keel over at the slightest touch, but nothing with foundation beyond what seemed outright lunatic reasoning on Magaffey's part. Still, why did Banaker so thoroughly isolate the boy, even from his parents? Why did he lie to them? What had he been up to? Why did his actions--so apparent and acceptable to the community at large--disturb Stroud? Why? Why? Why? The question became a mantra for Stroud.
-9-
Mrs. Elizabeth “Kitty” Meyers looked through the living room window once more to see if Stroud had left yet. Dr. Magaffey had left them alone with Stroud, apparently trusting the strange huge man, allowing him into their home without so much as a second thought. But Magaffey could be wrong about Stroud. Stroud's grandfather was believed to be one of them, and now that this man lived in the same house, reputedly haunted by the dead, surely it made no sense to allow him near the ailing boy. Suppose he deposited something in the room that might further “contaminate” Timmy?
God, oh, God, she thought, wishing Stroud would go away when Stroud did just that. “Thank God,” she moaned, and downed what was left in the glass she'd held at her side. The Valium was as much needed as the alcohol, she assured herself, but the events of the morning were too much for her to bear alone, and now she feared for Timmy's life as never before. She cried unstoppable tears as she went back to Timmy's sickroom. Next to the phone in the hallway, she saw that Stroud had hastily written down his number and a curt message to please call if Timmy's condition changed.
She went at the note with a vengeance, tearing it to shreds and casting it about the floor. A look in on Timmy told her that his condition wasn't about to change, and that perhaps they'd made a mistake not leaving him in Dr. Banaker's care, and that maybe Dr. Magaffey didn't know what the fuck he was talking about, and that her weiner of a husband had better take some action now or she was going to go stark raving mad.
She bolted from Timmy's unseeing stare and
raced to the phone in the hallway, tripping, and knocking it over. She located the console and pushed for her husband's work number. How dare he go about the day as if it were just like any other; how stupid of him to leave them alone at a time like this.
“Dave! Dave, damn you come home now! Now!”
“What's the matter, Kitty? Is it Timmy?”
“Just get home!”
“Has he come out of it? Is he talking?”
“Christ, Dave! We've got to pack the car and get the hell out of Andover as fast as we can! Before nightfall!”
“Kitty, now calm down. I got the bars on order and the men'll be coming to install them on the windows as soon as--”
“Fuck the bars, Dave! I want out!”
“Kitty!”
“Out! Out, now! Or I leave and take Timmy with me!”
At Dave's place of work everyone in the showroom could hear the irritation at the other end of the line, and the other salespeople and customers stared.
He whispered angrily, “You've been drinking all morning, haven't you?”
“What else can I do, damn you, Dave, I mean it!”
“The bars are on their way!”
“Bars won't stop them from getting Timmy back!” she burst out, crying, pleading. “You know the Cooper boy disappeared twice, and the second time--”
“It's not the same, Kitty. Old Magaffey's being foolish to think--”
She wailed. “Stroud was here.”
Dave fell silent, shaken at this news. Banaker and others had told him some strange tales about Stroud's grandfather, and the stranger to the area had shown up just about the same time as the Cooper boy disappeared.
“Stroud, at the house?”
“He came right in. Magaffey said it would be all right, but Daaaaaavvvvveeeee, suppose it isn't all right? Suppose--”
Dave didn't say it but he was thinking it. Suppose Timmy was a victim of some bizarre torture chamber inside Stroud Manse, and suppose Stroud meant to be certain the boy could never speak to accuse him again.
At the other end she was pleading for understanding. “Magaffey let him in; what could I do? I tried to keep him out. I didn't welcome him in.”
It sounded bad to Dave. “Jesus ... Jesus, God...”
“What're we going to do?”
“Calm down.”
“They'll come for him, and we won't be able to stop them.”
“I'll call Ray Carroll, let him know--”
“Carroll? Your brother-in-law spent a lot of time with Stroud, Dave!”
“Good God, Kitty, we can't go suspecting Ray of ... of being involved in Timmy's disappearance.”
“We can't trust anybody! No one.”
God, she was sounding on the edge. “All right, calm down ... calm ... got to think.”
“Christ, Dave, there's not time to think left! We've got to move fast!”
“Get hold of yourself!”
There was a knock at the door that Dave heard through the line. “Has he come back?”
“I ... I don't know.” She'd frozen in place, sprawled about the floor with the phone in her lap.
“Briggs, Mrs. Meyers ... Mrs. Meyers? Come to look in on you and the boy. Your husband, Dave, asked me to come by earlier, but I got tied up.... Mrs. Meyers?”
“It's Sheriff Briggs, Dave,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Did you send him?”
“No ... no, I didn't.”
“He says you did.”
“Stall him, honey. Keep him at the door. Don't let him or anyone near Timmy! You understand?”
Dave Meyers slammed down the phone with a resounding bell chime replying. He started out, his boss shouting that if he left it was the end of his job. Meyers returned, ignoring Mr. Blanchford, and dialing for Ray Carroll as Blanchford repeated his threat in his ear. “Ray! Ray! Son of a bitches want our boy, Ray!”
“What's this? What're you talking about, Dave? Can you slow down and explain?” asked Ray Carroll from his insurance brokerage office.
“Could be your Joey next, Ray. We're surrounded by them.”
“Calm down, Dave! Dave! We ... you don't know that. There's no evidence all that crap Magaffey fed you and Kitty's true!”
“Christ, Ray! If I didn't know better! Maybe Kitty was right about you.”
“Right about me?” Carroll was completely confused by now. “Dave, I want you to take a deep breath, think about what you're saying, and--”
“Ray, don't patronize me!”
“I'm not!”
“Like hell, you're not. You think I don't know how this sounds? It sounds looney-tunes, I know, but my kid and Kitty are at stake and--”
A double clickety-click on the wires stopped him from speaking for a moment. Ray heard it, too, but said nothing beyond asking Dave Meyers if he were still on the line.
“Dave, your son is safe! He's alive! You and Kitty ought to be kissing the ground, for Christ's sake, but instead--”
“You ... Kitty said you might be one of them!”
“Shit, Dave! Nobody--repeat--nobody is out to get Timmy! Or you, or Kit! Nobody.”
“They're there now, at the house! Briggs, Stroud!”
“Just checking on the boy's progress is all, Dave.... Dave?”
But Dave was gone, tearing from his place of work to home. He'd been a fool to trust the old man, Magaffey, and his concoctions and lotions. Nothing would stop these Satanists and fiends from finishing Timmy off. Dave and Kitty Meyers had become convinced that some of the very men who'd put up a mock show of concern and an all-out effort to locate Timmy had in fact been the very devils who'd kidnapped and tortured him into his present condition. They had heard tales of a witch cult operating in and around Andover, tales that spoke of men and women who'd graduated from sacrificing goats and dogs to little boys and helpless women. They'd talked to Dr. Cooper who told them about how he had lost his boy, Ronnie. Cooper had told them that they had been lucky, that he'd never get his boy back alive.
It had been on Dr. Cooper's suggestion that they rush Timmy from Banaker Institute, that it was not a safe place. He also told them they must trust no one, that half or more of the population of Andover could not be trusted.
Dave hadn't wanted to believe it. But now, Kitty was frantic. She might do anything. He wondered if they were both going mad in the effort to salvage what remained of their son.
At home, in his lonely, too large, hauntingly cold old inheritance, Abraham Stroud wondered if he shouldn't just call Cage back in Chicago and take him up on the Iraq trip. There was more going on in the Middle East than unrest--there was a fantastic dig going on that had uncovered ancient mummies and gilded coffins and curses--lots of curses--to those who dared disturb the Assyrian kings and queens found there. Cage was going at the end of the month, and he'd invited his former star pupil to go along with the team he was putting together at the behest of the Iraqi government. Thus far, Stroud had put Dr. Cage off because he had no idea how long or complicated the settlement of the estate would be. Now, the strange goings-on in and around Andover and most assuredly the bone find here had complicated things further.
It would be a simple enough thing to do as the rest of Andover chose to do: stick his head in the sand, go about his business...
He went out to the stable where Lonnie Wilson, a half retarded, huge man who'd never left the manse, staying on to care for the horses that he loved, asked after his health. Lonnie had Star, the big brood mare, prepared. All that Stroud had to do was get in the saddle. Riding helped clear his mind, helped him make decisions.
“Fine, Lonnie,” he said, “and how're you?”
“Cou-couldn't be-be-be-better, sir. Beau-ti-ful day.”
“Yes, it is, Lonnie. Thanks for getting Star ready.”
“Yow welcome.”
“Want to ride out with me?”
“Naaaaa, too much to do here.”
“Suit yourself, Lonnie.”
He turned once to see that Lonnie was waving him off still, a huge smile on t
he big face, his blunt Wellington boots cutting a ridge in the earth where he kicked out in an habitual and rhythmic digging.
Stroud was gone all of an hour and it pretty much decided for him that he'd call Cage back--not about the damned “marrowless” bones, but about Iraq. Cage needed the funding he could bring to the expedition now, as well, and why let such a friend down?
Ashyer was waiting at the door for him, however, the telephone extended to him. “Mr. Carroll of the town, sir.”
It was Ray Carroll. He was concerned about the Meyerses. They'd taken their son and all three had left Andover. They'd left their house standing open. Carroll characterized it as fleeing.
“From what are they running, Ray?”
“I don't know. Got it into their heads that Timmy was no longer safe here. Got it into their heads he'd disappear a second time, the way Ronnie Cooper did.”
Stroud flashed on Magaffey's seemingly harmless presence at the home, and he wondered what the old man had been feeding to the terrified couple. “Tell me, Ray,” said Stroud. “How much do you know about the Cooper incident? Was it similar?” Stroud recalled what Dr. Cooper had said, that the “bastards” had done his kid in. What bastards? Who? Was he generalizing about the rampant childnapping that seemed for the past year to be sweeping the country as the latest in crime? Or had he meant something more specific than that?
“Naw, not really. Ronnie got odd with his father all of a sudden.”
“Odd? How?”
“Afraid like.”
“Afraid of his father? How many kids aren't?”
“Exactly, but Ronnie just took to running away.”
“I see. Anything else similar?”
Carroll thought for some time. “Matter of fact, come to think of it--”
“Yes?”
“Kid came back the first time with a lot of scars on him, cut up pretty badly. Word had it he'd fallen from a cliff. Least he was found below a bluff.”
“Anything else you can remember?”
“He wasn't the same.”
“Wasn't the same?”
“I mean, he was, like, withdrawn and bedridden after that. Never showed at school. They were sending books in. Parents said he'd contracted pneumonia, but nobody ever saw him after that.”
“Wait a minute, Ray--”
Vampire Dreams (Bloodscreams #1) Page 9
