There was a freeness about her that Peter had forgotten entirely about. Whatever shift had occurred in her—in both of them—in the brief time they had been in Gilchrist, it seemed to be restoring that part of her. Or maybe it was just that for the first time in almost two years, they both felt a connection to each other that wasn’t purely death and tragedy. The cold slab that for so long had sat stiff between them had finally begun to break down. Peter wanted to believe that it was owed to nothing more than a round of good and long-overdue sex. But he had an unsettling idea that maybe it was more than that. It was something he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but he could feel it in his heart, too vague to identify.
His back to Sylvia, he looked at his knees again. It was the only thing that felt out of place, the little itch in the back of a throat that threatens to put a damper on a good time. It will either go on to become a rip-roaring case of strep or, with any luck, will disappear without growing into a problem. He knew one thing for sure, though: he had not sustained those scrapes from making love on the floor, from making love anywhere. There was a little streak of what looked like black tar on one of the deeper cuts. It looked a lot like the stuff that he had seen on Kevin’s feet. Peter rubbed his finger over his knee and smelled it. It had a sour, smoky smell.
“Everything okay?” Sylvia said, stealing Peter’s attention.
“Yes,” he said, looking over his shoulder and smiling. “A swim sounds great. I’ll clean this mess up later.”
They spent the rest of the day swimming in the warm waters of Lake Argilla, or Big Bath, as the locals referred to it. At sunset, Peter fired up the grill and made hot dogs and hamburgers. Sylvia made a salad. It almost felt like a normal life again.
Almost.
Chapter Nine
GOOD DOG
1
Around nine o’clock on Monday morning, Corbin drove to Gilchrist County Hospital over in Hammond to talk with Gertie. He had called ahead and was told they would be moving her to Massachusetts General Hospital at noon. He hated hospitals, and if he could’ve avoided going altogether, he would have. But he had questions that needed answers. Mainly he wanted to know what the hell had transpired at that farm for her to have been holed up in her bedroom with a shotgun, and for her husband of forty-five years to have attacked her and then set himself on fire.
Corbin’s boots squeaked on the waxed linoleum floors as he walked down the sterile hallway to the nurses’ station.
A short, wide woman in a white nurse’s uniform was sitting behind the desk, filling out a form when he approached. “Can I help you?” she asked, continuing with her paperwork.
“I spoke to a Mr. Graves about an hour ago,” Corbin said, drumming his fingers noiselessly on the counter. “I’m here to see Gertrude Mayer. She was brought in yest—”
“Dr. Graves, you mean?”
“That’s what I said, ma’am.”
“Uh-huh. He’s not here at the moment. And that patient is not able to see visitors. She’s being transported shortly.”
“I know that, ma’am… at noon, if I’m not mistaken. Boston, right?”
The nurse sighed and looked up. Her face changed from an irritated scowl to a look of retroactive apology when she saw he was in uniform. “I’m sorry, Officer. I didn’t realize—”
“Chief… It’s Chief Delancey, from over in Gilchrist.” Corbin winked at her and gave a derisive little nod.
“Yes, of course. I’ll go find him. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere,” the nurse said, her face a sheet of red.
“I’d appreciate that, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“Not at all. Why don’t you take a seat while you wait.” She came around the station and went up the hall, disappearing through a doorway.
Corbin took a seat in one of the hard plastic waiting room chairs. He picked up a copy of LIFE Magazine and flipped through the pages. First forward, then backward. Then forward again. He did the same with copies of Time and The New Yorker.
He was about to pick up the copy of Cosmopolitan when a doctor came around the corner, carrying a clipboard. “Chief Delancey? Scott Graves. We spoke earlier.”
A moment later the nurse returned to her work behind the nurses’ station without looking in their direction.
“That’s right. About Gertrude Mayer,” Corbin said, dropping the magazine and getting to his feet.
“She’s one lucky lady,” Graves said.
“I gotta be honest, she didn’t look so lucky when I found her.”
“She took a deep stab wound to her abdomen and lost a fair amount of blood. It could’ve been a heck of a lot worse, though. Whoever attacked her managed to miss every major organ and artery. Have you caught the guy?”
Corbin folded his arms. “Didn’t have to. He died.”
“I see.”
“Uh-huh. Doc, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get to it,” Corbin said.
“She’s stable for the time being—we managed to stop the internal bleeding—but we’re moving her to a facility that’s better equipped to handle the surgery. She’s this way,” Graves said, and started up the hall. “But I’ll warn you, she’s been sedated. And I can’t allow you to upset her. If I think that you’re starting to put her well-being at—”
“I’m only going to ask her a few simple questions. I don’t like this any more than you.”
“No. I suppose not.”
Graves led him around a corner and through a set of double doors. Gertie was in the last door on the left. When they went in, she was staring out the window. Her skin looked like wax paper.
She turned to them. “Hi, Corbin,” she said weakly. She had an oxygen tube under her nose, and was attached to an assortment of expensive-looking machines that beeped and booped to the rhythm of her heart. “Have you come to arrest me?”
“Not unless you’d like me to,” Corbin said, trying to lighten the mood. She smiled at him, but he could tell she didn’t mean it. “No, Gertie, I just came to ask you a couple questions, if you feel up to it. Of course, if you don’t think—”
“Do I look like someone who won’t be okay?”
“No. You don’t.”
“So don’t treat me like one. You want to know why I almost shot you,” she said point-blank. “You’ve a right to ask.”
“That’s a good place to start, yeah.” Corbin pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. “At the time, you said you didn’t know it was me in the house. You were waiting for someone, though.”
“That’s right. I thought you were Elhouse,” she said, as if it made complete sense. Her eyes went back to the window. Corbin could tell it wasn’t that she didn’t care—she just wanted to get the pain over with already. Like ripping a bandage off in one quick motion.
“So you wanted to shoot your husband?” he asked.
“I don’t know if ‘wanted to’ is the way I’d put it.”
“So how would you put it, then?”
“I had no choice,” Gertie said, flattening her lips.
“I don’t understand.”
“That makes two of us, doesn’t it?”
“Try and help me paint a picture here,” Corbin said. “I saw Elhouse when I first pulled up, and he was acting real strange. He told me he’d hurt you. Is he the one who did this to you?”
She looked at Corbin and shook her head. “We were married for forty-five years, and the thing that attacked me yesterday was not my Elhouse. It might’ve looked like him, but that wasn’t the man I married. I don’t know what that was.”
Two tears ran down the side of her face, but she didn’t outwardly cry. Corbin looked at Dr. Graves to check the count. The doctor gave him a warning look.
“Was he sick? Had he been showing signs something was wrong? Anything?” Corbin asked.
“No. Nothing like that,” Gertie said.
“Can you tell me what happened? Just help me understand. Forget the uniform. I want to know for my own peace of mind, if you can believe that. What in God’s name
went on over there? I’m trying to wrap my head around it and… and frankly, I’m having a tough time making any sense of it. I’ve known you both my entire life, and I can’t for the life of me…” He trailed off, his point made.
“You’re talking as if he and I both lost our minds. I was just defending myself. That’s what went on,” she said firmly. “Elhouse is the one who wasn’t himself.”
“What do you mean by ‘wasn’t himself’?”
“I mean just that… it wasn’t him. I already told you that.”
“Can you give me a little more to work with?”
She sighed. “When he came to bed Saturday night, something seemed different about him. That’s when I first noticed it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Gertie said, her tone taking on a frustrated lilt. “It’s hard to say without sounding completely off my rocker. And the last thing I want is to spend the rest of my days in a looney bin, eating spoon food and staring out the window.”
Corbin could tell she was scared and upset. Probably still in shock. He put his hand on the bed, not touching her, but leaving it there if she wanted something familiar to hold. “I promise you I don’t have anyone waiting around the corner with a straitjacket.”
“It was like he was there, but he wasn’t there,” Gertie said. “And I felt, maybe, like I was sleeping next to a stranger, I guess. I know that makes about as much sense as a Jell-O umbrella, but that’s what it was like. I just thought he was still mad about the kids racing up the road. I figured that’s what was on his mind and he’d be back to his normal self in the morning. I never thought… well…” Gertie stalled, her face racing with painful recollection.
“Was he back to his normal self in the morning?” Corbin asked, trying to push the moment forward. But he heard the foolishness of the question as it left his lips, and he immediately regretted asking it.
“What do you think? I’m here, and he’s dead. Does that seem ‘normal’ to you?”
“I guess not, no.”
Gertie folded her hands in her lap and started rubbing her thumbs together. This was hard for her. Perhaps the hardest thing—aside from being prepared to shoot her own husband—she had ever had to do.
“No, it was worse the next day,” she said. “That man was up at five thirty on the nose every morning, rain or shine, for as long as I’ve known him. So when six o’clock rolled around and he hadn’t come downstairs yet for his breakfast, I went to check on him.” She swallowed hard. “He was just sitting there on the side of the bed… naked, staring out the window at the woods behind our house. And when he looked at me, I swear my heart went cold. His eyes were… they were green. But my Elhouse’s are blue, like yours. That doesn’t just happen.”
A twinge of surprised dread fired off inside Corbin. He had seen those very same green eyes for a split second when Elhouse was in the barn. He had tried to convince himself it had been his imagination, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. A part of him thought he should tell Gertie that maybe he had seen the same thing, but that seemed like too big a step into territory he neither wanted, nor knew how to navigate.
“Is that when all this”—he gestured to her lying in the hospital bed—“happened?”
“No. Eventually he came downstairs… dressed. But dressed funny. He had on dirty clothes from the day before, and his boots weren’t tied. He hadn’t showered, and he smelled. It was a funny smell. I don’t know what it was… like burnt something. He didn’t say a single word, just walked downstairs, looked at me for a second, then went out the front door and disappeared, trailing that awful smell behind him.”
“Disappeared? Where?”
“He liked to work on the equipment when had something on his mind, so I figured he was in the barn and would talk to me when he’d worked out whatever it was bothering him.”
“If I can interrupt, that’s the second time you’ve mentioned he was upset,” Corbin said. “What’s that about?”
“I told you already—and I know Elhouse brought it up to you more than a few times this last year—but kids treat Waldingfield Road like a raceway. We were taking a walk Saturday evening and nearly got run over. It was Nathaniel Osterman’s son. Elhouse recognized the car. Anyway, I tried to calm him down about it, but I could tell it wasn’t something he would let go easily.”
This bit of info made a strong case for Elhouse being involved in Danny Metzger’s car accident. Maybe Elhouse, angry about being nearly run over, had snapped and set a trap to teach the local kids a lesson about speeding down his road. The Elhouse he knew wouldn’t do that, but the version of him that Gertie was describing—the version that could attack the woman he loved and then douse himself in gasoline—might have been capable of such a thing. He didn’t think it was an outlandish jump to make. But he couldn’t ignore that it just didn’t sit right. It was like finding a puzzle piece that fits but only roughly: it’ll slide into place, but only if you force it a little more than should be necessary, and only if you look at it with squinted eyes.
“I’ll have a talk with Ricky, you have my word,” he said. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again. That boy is a royal pain in my rear, and his father isn’t any better.”
Gertie gave him a smart look that said: How sweet of you, Chief, but let’s not pretend that’s what matters right now… or that it’ll change anything. Instead, she said, “You do that,” and went on.
“A little while later I was hanging the laundry, and Elhouse came up from behind, scared the dickens outta me. I turned around, and he was standing there. He was trembling. Shaking all over. I’ll never forget what he said. He said, ‘I love you, Gertie. Now run and don’t let me catch you no matter what… kill me if you have to.’ And he was crying. I didn’t understand what was happening. He was always such a sweet man, not capable of anything like this. I remember thinking that so clearly, even when he pulled the kitchen knife out of his pocket and stuck me with it. Those green eyes stared at me the whole time, never blinking.”
Gertie wiped her tear-streaked cheeks, and when she did, the doctor cleared his throat and stepped forward. “I think that’s enough for now. Mrs. Mayer really needs her rest.”
“Like hell I do,” Gertie said, as quick as a whip. “I’m finishing this story, then it’ll never touch my lips again. Besides, if God had intended for me to die, I would’ve died in that house. It’s not my time, so you can just hold your horses with all that worrying.”
Dr. Graves put up his hand. “Okay,” he said, and muttered something inaudibly. Probably something like: I’m only a doctor. What do I know?
Corbin glanced at him and watched the doctor slink back against the wall like a child who had just been caught red handed stealing from the cookie jar before dinner.
“I managed to get away and run into the house, but he came after me quick. It was like being chased by a rabid dog. That relentless, sick mind that drives at a single confused idea until it has it in its teeth and doesn’t know what to do with it but bite down. That’s what it felt like. It’s a bit of a blur after he stabbed me, but I do remember that I was on the staircase in the front hall, and he was on top of me, choking me, and the world was going gray. I think I was heading off to my big, final sleep, if you want to know the truth. Then that thing on top of me leaned in close, and I heard my Elhouse’s voice tell me not to give up. He told me to fight. That part was him.”
Gertie paused a moment. The room was silent. Her last words hung on the air.
“Then what?” Corbin finally asked. For a second he felt like he was five years old again, and he was listening to his mother tell him a bedtime story. Not a sweet story, but a story where he had to know what happened next.
“I fought,” she said. “I jammed my thumbs into those nasty green eyes, and that thing let out an awful scream.” She demonstrated with a pointed thumb, which she jabbed weakly out in front of her. “That’s when I ran upstairs, grabbed the shotgun from the closet, and locked myself
in the bedroom and waited. I was there until you found me.”
Corbin sat up stiff in the chair but didn’t speak right away. He didn’t know what to say. If anything, he was more confused than he had been before walking in there.
Gertie looked at the doctor. “I didn’t mean to speak curtly to you, Dr. Graves. You’ve been very good to me, and I appreciate it. Thank you.”
“It’s okay,” he said in a subdued voice. “But I must insist you get some rest now. You need it before they transport you. You have surgery this afternoon.”
“And I will, but would you mind giving Corbin and I a moment alone before I do? After that, I promise to do whatever you say. I’m too tired to put up a fight.”
“Why do I get the feeling it doesn’t matter what I say?” Dr. Graves said, then left the room and shut the door behind him.
“Corbin,” Gertie said, “I know what I just told you doesn’t answer much. In fact, I’d wager you probably have more questions than before you stepped foot in this room. Maybe you even regret coming. I’m sorry if you do.”
Corbin, who had found himself staring absently out the window, looked at her with a blank expression. “I just don’t understand. Why would Elhouse do something like this all of a sudden? People don’t just lose their minds overnight and decide to start killing the people they love.”
He remembered that he still had the unpleasant task of telling Gertie about how her husband had died, and it sent a pang of anxiety through his body. He couldn’t keep that from her forever. He would just as soon forget about it himself. He could still smell the scent of burning flesh, as if it were coating the insides of his nose.
“My Elhouse didn’t do this to me,” she said. “He tried to save me as best he could. It wasn’t his fault, and I don’t blame him. Neither should you.”
“You keep saying that it wasn’t him, but I have to be honest, I just don’t think I…” Corbin trailed off, dragging a tired hand down his face and breathing out slowly. He couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought, but the word, once more, would’ve been understand. At that point, it seemed completely repetitive, like an old refrain he was sick of hearing.
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