Night Terror

by Chandler McGrew

  Merle glared at him. “You want to see anything else?”

  “Thanks for the tour,” said Virgil, wondering what he could have missed.

  “You know your way out,” said Merle, nodding back toward the cellar door.

  Virgil glanced over his shoulder and a chill shot through him. No way he was going to pass back through that long maze again. He squinted down the length of the barn.

  “What’s out back?” he said, nodding toward the barn door at the far end of the cellar.

  Merle shrugged. “That way’s out,” he said, nodding once more toward the tight little cellarway.

  Virgil shook his head. “I’m going out the back door.”

  Merle’s frown became ugly, but he headed off across the floor. “Suit yourself.”

  Virgil followed, hating the sound of their footsteps echoing away in the darkness. The barn cellar was large enough, but the darkness made it seem tight nonetheless. Merle stood beside the door, sheltered in the shadows, and Virgil gripped the rusted handle and jerked. The door rattled but held in place and Virgil noticed another lock, this one a heavy brass, keyed number.

  “Open it,” said Virgil, now more than ever wanting to be outside the confines of the basement, the locked door seeming to make the darkness tighter still.

  “Don’t know where the key is,” said Merle, petulantly. His pouting lips made him look like a fat, spoiled child. Virgil found himself wanting to slap the bastard. He thought that if he did, Merle might just run away crying, calling for his mother. He started to draw his pistol and Merle took a step backward.

  “Hey!” said Merle, raising both hands.

  “I’m going to shoot the lock off,” said Virgil, jerking his gun out of the holster, waiting to see if Merle would produce a key.

  “Fuck you,” said Merle, moving aside and crossing his arms.

  Virgil placed the pistol barrel within a hairsbreadth of the lock and pulled the trigger. The shot blasted through the brass, nearly blowing the lock through the rotten barn-boards. The sound shook the floor overhead and dust that smelled of hundred-year-old hay drifted down over them like snow.

  Virgil yanked the lock aside and slid the big door open wide enough to step through. Warm sunlight flooded over him and he breathed in deeply. “Thanks for the tour,” he said, giving Merle a look that let him know he’d be back.

  Merle followed him to his car, and once again Virgil wondered what it was he was missing. Merle was a strange one, no doubt, but there was no child hidden in his house, and he had no more to tie the man to Zach Bock’s disappearance now than he had a year before.

  Why had Merle acted like such an asshole, though, if he really had nothing to hide? Why egg a cop into shooting a lock off your door? One more question to add to the pile. He stared into Merle’s eyes as he climbed into the cruiser, trying to get the man to back down. But Merle never looked away, and finally Virgil put the car in gear and eased down the drive using that as an excuse for losing the battle.

  When he glanced toward the house again, Merle had disappeared inside.

  Virgil was halfway back to town when he noticed the dark Ford sedan in the rearview mirror again. His first thought was that it was coincidental, the car stopping somewhere just as he had, and then taking off again at the same time. But after a couple of miles, his curiosity was aroused at just how far back it was staying, so he pulled over to the shoulder, eyeing the rearview mirror.

  The car pulled over. Too far away for Virgil to read the plates, but they looked to be from Maine. Now he had no choice but to turn around and see what they were up to. He made a U-turn only to find that the sedan had beaten him to it. The sedan was around the curve ahead before Virgil could straighten out and floor the accelerator. He flipped on the siren and flashers and reached for the radio. Birch answered and Virgil gave his location and the make and color of the sedan. The closest deputy was ten miles away on a parallel road, but he might be able to cut the guy off up ahead. If Virgil could catch sight of him again before he disappeared down some side road.

  The trouble was, the country was riddled with logging roads and backroads and roads that weren’t even really roads anymore. Virgil slowed as he passed an intersection with a narrow lane that climbed away to disappear around another tree-lined bend. He had to make an educated guess and he guessed the guy hadn’t taken that turn. So he gassed the car again and roared off down the hill, talking to Birch on the radio all the time, letting him know exactly where he was and what he was doing, so Birch could coordinate a roadblock if they could run the guy into it.

  Virgil had no idea why the guy was running. It could have been a million things. He might have been wanted for any number of things. Maybe he was driving on a suspended license. He might not even be in trouble. Virgil had had experience with innocent people who just panicked around a police officer. But a little voice in the back of his head told him it was none of the above.

  He blasted around a corner and up ahead he saw the tail end of the sedan dropping away again. He floored the cruiser, listening to the rumbling of the big engine, feeling the springs in the seat press into his lower back.

  “Gotcha, you son of a bitch.”

  Up ahead the road opened into farmland again, straightening out for a long straightaway. The bastard wasn’t going to lose him in the curves and there weren’t but a handful more side roads between there and the highway. He topped the hill doing a hundred and ten, praying there was no old lady in a Honda Civic on the other side.

  What there was was a dark Ford sedan parked sideways in the middle of the road, blocking both lanes. Virgil reacted instinctively, feathering the brakes, trying to squeeze by on the gravel shoulder as the car’s speed dropped to ninety, then eighty. He missed clipping the tail of the sedan by a hairsbreadth, shooting past so fast that the driver—who sat nonchalantly behind the wheel—was just a blur, neither man nor woman to Virgil. The rear tires of the cruiser skidded on the loose surface, the back end of the car skewing until one tire caught the grass and nearly rolled the car. Virgil fought the skid, spinning the wheel, trying to will the heavy auto back up out of the ditch, but to no avail. The big cruiser shot down the embankment and through a barbed-wire fence, grumbling to a stop with its tires buried in the soft soil of a freshly planted cornfield.

  Virgil shoved open his door, fumbled out of his seat belt, and cursed his way to his feet, drawing his sidearm. But the dark sedan was already just a memory.

  27

  RICHARD AWAKENED THE NEXT MORNING like a troll

  crawling out from under a bridge. He stretched his arms over his head, gripping the headboard, trying to work out the kinks in his back. Glancing over at Audrey, sound asleep beside him, he couldn’t help but notice how much like an angel she looked. She hadn’t cried out in the night since she’d been on the Halcion. Hadn’t had a nightmare or one of her night terrors. But then last night, just after midnight, she had started to moan. He’d lain beside her, not wanting to touch her or even move lest he do something to shift her deeper into the dream. Finally she’d drifted off again and sometime around dawn he, too, had finally slept.

  Now, as they drove into Arcos, he kept glancing over at her as she leaned back in the seat beside him. He hadn’t wanted to go to work, but it was Friday, things were piling up, and he couldn’t keep putting his accounts off if he wanted to retain his loyal clients. But he’d been surprised when Audrey offered to ride along. Surprised and pleased. Still, he kept checking on her. She seemed distracted, even more than she usually was by the Halcion.

  He’d driven ten miles out of their way in order not to pass the Coonts place, but she hadn’t even noticed—or if she had, she’d made no comment. When he tried to draw her into conversation, she answered in monosyllables. So as he pulled into the parking space in front of his office, he still had no idea what her plans were. He hoped they weren’t going to get into an argument about her taking the car. He’d read the warning label on the pills, and if that wasn’t enough to decide him,
her attitude was. When the engine died she glanced around as though just realizing where they were, then smiled at him.

  “We’re here,” he said, pocketing the keys and climbing out of the car.

  His business was located one block off Main Street, in a group of houses that had been converted to office space. Two dentists had the white cottage to the left, a couple of attorneys—clients of Richard’s—had the Victorian manse to his right. There were signs along the street for massage therapists, a couple of real estate companies, and Shay Martin, his friendly competitor in the numbers racket. Mister and Missus Reblette were the sole residential holdouts on the street, a nice old couple who didn’t seem at all fazed by their uniqueness or lack of regular neighbors.

  “What’re your plans?” he asked, waiting for her on the sidewalk.

  She squinted into the sun, drinking in the day and shaking her head.

  “Come on in, then,” said Richard. “I’ll make a pot of coffee and you can watch TV in the back office while I work.”

  “I’m gonna go for a walk.”

  “You sure?” he said, studying her.

  She smiled. “I’m okay,” she said, touching him lightly on the arm. It seemed like she wanted him to kiss her, but he felt uncomfortable making the first move, like a teenager on a blind date.

  “I’ll be all right,” she said.

  “Sure you will.” He leaned in and they bussed awkwardly. She tapped him on the shoulder and started off toward Main Street.

  “Take you to lunch?” he called after her.

  “Sure,” she said, waving over her shoulder without looking back.

  He watched her until she disappeared around the corner. Then he went inside, hoping that this was a new day after all, that Doctor Cates and his pills were going to give him back the old Audrey.

  Audrey hadn’t been alone in town since Zach’s disappearance, and she almost felt like a tourist. It was amazing how much things had changed since she’d last walked the streets. You noticed things you didn’t when driving past. Or maybe she just hadn’t noticed anything for the last year.

  The diner had a new neon sign in the shape of a crossed knife and fork. Not classy but effective, she decided. And she was surprised to find a pet store where the thrift shop used to be. She stopped for a few moments, entranced by the dark wet eyes of a yellow lab puppy that kept gooping up the glass with sopping puppy licks. She had to drag herself away.

  The hardware store had all their spring and summer gear out. The sidewalk was lined with bright red lawn mowers and all manner of barbecue grills and gardening tools. She stopped to read the ingredients on a fifty-pound bag of lawn fertilizer and shook her head. Too much nitrogen in the mix for this altitude and climate, but you couldn’t expect a hardware store to know that. She preferred to do her chemical shopping at the farmer’s co-op.

  Traffic seemed heavy for a weekday; most of the diagonal parking spots were filled and she said hello to a couple of people who knew her name, but whose faces she couldn’t quite place. Thankfully none of them stopped to talk or saddled her with the one thing she feared most—their pity. Maybe they thought enough time had passed for her grief to have run its course. Or probably they were just too polite to chance awakening hurtful memories.

  The stores gave way to another residential section, before Main Street ran out a couple of blocks ahead and turned back into Route 26 in front of the hospital. She didn’t intend to go that far, afraid that someone there might recognize her and she would get drawn into conversation. This walk wasn’t about connecting with people. It was about reconnecting herself with the outside world. But only a little at a time. She had come close to drowning, and was now taking her first tentative steps back into the tiny wavelets along the shore. She could see the breakers, but she wasn’t ready to plunge into them.

  When she reached the corner she stopped and glanced over the manicured lawn in front of the house she faced. The grass was cut close, like a golf course, but it was healthy and green. The owners hadn’t bought their fertilizer from the local hardware. The walk was edged to perfection and thick lilies surrounded the wide front porch. The heavy floral curtains spoke of an older female and Audrey got the idea that the home was owned by a retired couple who had probably bought the place before she was born. He would be ex-military, or maybe an old millworker. She’d be a lifelong housewife. They probably had a dozen kids and enough grandkids to flood across the lawn on holidays and other visits.

  The thought of kids racing across the grass stabbed at her heart, and it took her a minute to catch her breath. As she stared at the front porch she noticed a small shingle sign beside the ornate glass door and realized she’d made a mistake. This wasn’t a residence after all. More than likely the sign had a name with esquire after it. Some old attorney who worked only on cases that interested him, for people he knew. She tried to remember if she knew the names of any other attorneys in town besides Richard’s neighbors. Frowning, she took a few paces up the walk to read the sign.

  As she did so, the front door opened and a middle-aged woman with a bright blue scarf on her head reached out and emptied her mailbox, standing half-in, half-out of the house. Audrey stood frozen, hoping the woman would close the door and go back inside without noticing the stranger trespassing on her walk. But instead, she finished flipping envelopes and looked up, locking eyes with Audrey. When the woman smiled, Audrey was disarmed.

  “I’m sorry,” said Audrey, smiling back. “I was trying to read your sign.”

  “What’s wrong with that? That’s why I put it there,” said the woman, tossing the mail back inside the house and stepping out onto the porch to greet her. “Come on up!”

  Along with the scarf, the woman wore a thick, wool, knee-length skirt with bobby sox and tennis shoes. She looked like a bag lady with new clothes. But she seemed friendly enough, and Audrey decided this might be just the right time to ease a little farther out into the waves. Not knee high. Just up to her calves, maybe. She stepped up onto the porch and shook hands.

  “I’m Audrey Bock,” she said.

  “Babs St. Clair,” said the woman. She angled her head, studying Audrey’s features, and Audrey noticed how hawklike her eyes were, darting from Audrey’s nose to her lips and down her torso.

  The woman seemed familiar, but Audrey couldn’t place her. “Have we met before?”

  “Not in this life,” said Babs. “But you were coming to see me, weren’t you?”

  Audrey glanced at the sign and hoped she didn’t show her shock. The lettering was calligraphic, swirling gilt.

  Babs St. Clair

  Seer, Healer

  The Universe is Large,

  I am small.

  “No,” said Audrey, trying to look Babs right in the eye now and not be drawn to the sign again. “I was just passing by.”

  Babs laughed, tapping the sign. “Some people like it. Some think it’s a little over the top. You a believer?”

  “In what?”

  “Anything. Whatcha got? There’s not any right or wrong way to believe.” That thought seemed to dredge up a frown that looked out of place on Babs’s face. “That’s not exactly a fact, I suppose. You can believe the wrong way. Or rather you can follow the wrong path. But you’re not.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Following the wrong path. That’s not you. You’re heading in the right direction.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Babs laughed again, slapping Audrey on the shoulder hard enough to set her back on her heels, somehow doing it without hurting her. Babs acted like a jovial kid brother or a friendly bear. “Because you’re here! Come on in.” She turned and disappeared through the door before Audrey could reply.

  “No! Really, I was just passing by.”

  “Come on,” said Babs, throwing the door wide open.

  For the first time, Audrey realized that the window in the frame had been cut in shapes of crosses and Stars of David and crescent moons and other shapes that she assumed
were spiritual but which had no meaning to her.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” said Babs. “And I never charge for the first consultation. What have you got to lose? Have you got an appointment somewhere?”

  Audrey shook her head, unable to lie to the woman.

  “Then come on in. You can pretend nothing I say means anything and it’s all just hocus-pocus. Virgil does.”

  “Virgil?”

  “Virgil Milche, the sheriff. He’s one of those hard-to-convince characters. But he’s coming around. I told him you’d be coming to see me. Wait till he hears you showed up.”

  “No!” said Audrey, shifting her feet. “Please don’t tell him I was here.”

  “Why not?” said Babs. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “How could you have known I was coming?” said Audrey, as disconcerted by that as the possibility that her visit might become public knowledge.

  Babs shrugged. “I know things like that. Come on, I’ll do a quick reading.”

  “No, really. I’d rather not.”

  But Babs wasn’t going to take no for an answer, Audrey could see it in her eyes.

  “Come on, now. Don’t be afraid. If nothing else, you’ll have passed the time and I’ll have kept in practice.”

  “Practice at what?” said Audrey, letting Babs close the door and shepherd her into the room. She sniffed at the candle smoke, taking in the wild decor. Strange how someone who kept her yard so immaculate would live in all this… chaos.

  “Reading the cards!” said Babs, playfully shoving her into an armchair across the table from her.

  Audrey stared at the stack of cards, alarm bells sounding in her mind. Her face felt suddenly hot and she shifted uneasily in the chair.

  “What’s the matter?” said Babs, the frown creasing her face again but not reaching her eyes. “You got questions, don’t you? Everyone’s got questions.”

  Audrey frowned all the way to her forehead before nodding. She had questions all right, but they weren’t going to be answered by this woman. Maybe they were never going to get answered, but she didn’t want to believe that.