by Noah Bly
Julianna Dapper was more than a bit confused.
“Get off me, Ben!” she demanded, struggling to get out from under her friend’s weight on the ground. “I can’t breathe!”
“He’s got a gun, Julianna!” Elijah snapped. “Please stop fighting me!”
Julianna froze at the word “gun,” incapacitated by a flash of memory. Rufus has a gun! she thought in terror. He’s going to kill us all!
Jon heard the dark projectile whiz by him, missing by just a few inches. It sailed into the open door of Chuck Stockton’s beloved Volkswagen Beetle, ten feet behind him, and Jon gasped in shock, not knowing what had nearly taken his head off but assuming it was a large rock.
Jesus, that had some serious torque on it! he thought, belatedly dropping into a crouch in case the man threw something else.
Squinting through the high beams, Elijah saw the big man in the cornfield throw something at Jon Tate, saw Jon duck into a protective crouch after the missile rocketed past his head. There was an instant to wonder why the man hadn’t just used his gun on Jon instead, but then the interior of the Volkswagen erupted in a ball of fire. Elijah watched in horror as a second, almost simultaneous explosion from the gas tank flung Jon facedown on the road, his arms and legs spread wide like a skydiver. The older man and woman who were farther away from the blast than Jon both reeled backward in terror, covering their ears with their hands as the Beetle was engulfed in hellish flames.
“JON!” Elijah wailed. “JON!”
Unthinking, he leapt to his feet, staring numbly across the field at the unmoving body of Jon Tate.
“No, Ben!” Julianna cried, scrambling to her feet, too. “Rufus will kill you!”
Mary and Sam Hunter had nearly reached their son when the Volkswagen blew up behind them. Both of the Hunters spun around in shock at the explosion, not believing what they were seeing.
“Dear God in heaven!” Mary cried, clutching at Sam as they gaped at the twenty-foot-high plume of flame in the road above the wreckage of the Beetle.
The glitter of broken glass was all over the road, surrounding the still body of Jon Tate, and shrapnel had shattered the windshield of the station wagon. Mary Hunter shook herself, recovering, and twirled around again, just in time to see Gabriel Dapper bringing the Mauser to bear on her son.
“NO, GABRIEL!” she shrieked, already knowing she was too late to make any difference.
Julianna heard someone scream “NO, GABRIEL!” and her past and present collided with the force of two atoms in her psyche. The man in front of her who had been Rufus Tarwater suddenly became her own son, Gabriel, and his well-loved face set her mind spinning dizzily, like a poorly designed top. Her body, however, still moved without hesitation—as if it didn’t care whether it was the property of a teenaged girl or a middle-aged woman; as if it knew exactly what it was doing and the price it was being asked to pay; as if it belonged to a single united soul named Julianna, who wasn’t about to let someone else pay that price for her.
Not this time.
“NO, SON!” she screamed aloud, instantly hurling herself between the man and the boy.
Elijah saw the barrel of the gun pointed at his own heart, saw Julianna dart between him and the man with the gun. He shoved her out of the line of fire but she sprang in front of him again, and he grabbed at her desperately, trying to shield her with his own body.
“LET HER GO!” Gabriel roared. “GODDAMN YOU, LET HER GO!”
Julianna broke free of Elijah’s grip just as a gunshot rang out on the hilltop. Julianna staggered backward and fell at his feet like a drunkard.
“Julianna!” Elijah cried. There was a small, neat hole in her green dress, right beneath her breasts. He cried her name once again before dropping beside her.
“GET AWAY FROM HER!” Gabriel bellowed in rage and horror. “GET AWAY FROM MY MOTHER!”
He was still holding the Mauser in his hand but he didn’t seem to realize it was no longer pointed at Elijah. The second potato masher was in his other hand, but it, too, was forgotten.
“Sweet Christ,” he whispered, staring blankly at the scene before him.
“Oh, Jesus,” Elijah sobbed as Julianna convulsed in pain.
Julianna, gasping, reached out and clutched Elijah’s hands, and in the light from Gabriel’s high beams both Elijah and Gabriel could see the front of her dress had turned red.
“Is Jon okay?” she panted. “Is he alive?”
Elijah glanced over at Jon’s body on the road and shook his head, choking on his tears. “I don’t think so.”
The bullet Gabriel had fired into his mother’s body was somehow inside of Gabriel himself now; he could feel it working its way toward his heart. The anguish on Elijah Hunter’s face and the desperation with which Julianna was holding Elijah’s hands told him more clearly than anything else could have that the boy he had just tried to shoot was not a killer and a kidnapper after all, but only a boy.
“Oh, Jesus,” Gabriel panted, running forward and falling on his knees beside his mother. He dropped his gun and the grenade on the ground and gathered Julianna’s head into his lap.
Mary and Sam Hunter were struck dumb by the sight before them. The man who had just attempted to kill their son had discarded his weapons and was now seated less than a foot away from his intended victim; Gabriel’s left knee was actually in contact with Elijah’s right thigh. Mary’s first impulse was to grab Elijah by the shoulders and drag him away from this bizarre tableau, but the vivid grief etched into his face stopped her. Mary’s breath caught in her throat as her son’s eyes met her own and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out his name again.
“How badly is Julianna hurt?” Edgar Reilly yelled from across the cornfield, where he was hovering over the motionless body of Jon Tate. “I’m coming as quickly as I can!”
Mary didn’t know if there was anything Edgar could do for the Tate boy, but it was obvious to her that nobody on earth was going to be able to save the woman on the ground at her feet. Julianna Dapper herself was apparently of the same opinion; she shook her head in Gabriel’s lap.
“Tell him to stay with Jon,” Julianna murmured to Gabriel.
Gabriel—who knew a mortal wound, too, when he saw one—was beyond responding. He wanted to do what his mother had asked of him, but all he could manage was to raise his head and look toward the road in mute misery. Mary pressed Sam’s hand and Sam left at once to relay Julianna’s message to Edgar. There were sirens in the distance as Sam passed Mary Taylor in the cornfield. Gabriel pressed his forehead against Julianna’s, and then broke down completely.
“Hush, son,” Julianna whispered. “It’s all right. It’s all my fault.” She blinked, gazing up at the sky. “The stars are so pretty tonight, aren’t they, Ben? We should wake up Michael and Seth.”
Gabriel made a bewildered noise and Elijah tried to explain.
“She means me,” Elijah murmured. “She thinks my name is Ben.”
Julianna sighed. “Your name is Ben, you ninny,” she breathed. “Honestly, you may need psychiatric help.”
Mary Taylor, her elderly knees popping, was suddenly kneeling at Julianna’s other side. “Julianna? Oh, honey, I can’t believe it’s really you! It’s me, Mary Taylor, Ben Taylor’s mama. Do you remember me?”
Julianna searched the older woman’s face for a long moment and then smiled in delighted recognition. “Hi, Mrs. Taylor!” she said. “Look, I’ve . . . brought Ben back . . . home, good as new!”
Tears spilled down Mary Taylor’s wrinkled face. “Thank you so much, honey,” she rasped, caressing Julianna’s cheek. She glanced across Julianna’s body at Elijah and her lips trembled as their eyes met. “I’ve been missing him something awful.”
“It took us . . . took us forever to . . . to get here,” Julianna gasped. “I’m sorry we’re late.” She turned her head and blinked again, and the timbre of her voice shifted abruptly. “Look, Elijah.”
The grieving boy followed her gaze, barely noti
cing she’d called him by his correct name. A second later he cried out with immense relief: Jon Tate was on his feet and headed their way, supported by Sam and the older man Elijah had noticed earlier. The revolvers Jon had retrieved from the Volkswagen were now tucked awkwardly in Sam’s belt, leaving his hands free to help Jon walk.
“Is that . . . your daddy . . . with Jon?” Julianna asked Elijah. “You’re the . . . spitting image of him.” She loosened one of her hands and reached up to stroke Gabriel’s face; he blubbered uncontrollably as she ran her hand over the stubble on his jaw.
“My sweet Gabriel,” she murmured. “You look awful.”
Jon Tate, Edgar, and Sam joined the loose circle around Julianna. Edgar knelt beside Julianna and shook his head sadly as he pressed his hands to her wound; Jon sank down beside Elijah with a groan. The Volkswagen had borne the brunt of the explosion, but even so he was coated with dirt and blood; shrapnel from the blast had lacerated his back and his legs in several places and the bullet wound on his chest was bleeding again, saturating his bandages. He was trembling from shock and he put a hand on Elijah’s shoulder to steady himself.
“Hi, stranger,” Julianna greeted him sweetly.
“Hi, Julianna,” Jon husked.
He tried to say more, but he couldn’t seem to get the words out. The sound of sirens was getting much closer, and Julianna winced as she became aware of them. She looked at Mary Taylor once again and her brilliant green eyes filled as she studied the older woman more closely.
“I am . . . so sorry, Mary!” she cried. “I tried to . . . save Ben . . . but I couldn’t . . . couldn’t save . . . I killed Rufus . . . but . . . it was . . . I was too late.”
Mary Taylor made shushing noises but she herself was no longer able to speak. Her hand continued stroking Julianna’s face, however, never faltering, her slender, wrinkled fingers occasionally drifting into Julianna’s short hair. Julianna’s mouth filled with blood and she struggled to speak again; Elijah guessed what she was trying to say and said it for her:
“She loved your son very much,” he rasped. “She told us he died trying to stop Rufus from killing her family.”
Mary Taylor’s chin quivered and she bent down to kiss Julianna on the cheek before turning away. Julianna looked at Elijah gratefully, and her eyes then moved to include Jon as she fought to say something else. The boys leaned closer to hear her, their heads touching.
“Thank you, boys,” Julianna whispered. “Thank you for . . . bringing me home.” She looked up at Gabriel again and smiled, thinking she was seeing Lars Olsen, the town blacksmith.
“What . . . are you . . . doing here . . . Lars?” she asked.
As Julianna fell silent and stopped breathing, Elijah put his arms around Jon Tate and cried into the older boy’s shoulder. Jon rocked him back and forth, crying now, as well, and Mary and Sam Hunter watched in baffled sadness, feeling useless and more than a little taken aback by the extent of their son’s distress over the death of a woman who had kidnapped him and dragged him halfway across the country. Elijah’s weeping didn’t sound like the child who had been stolen from them less than two days before; there was something in his grief they had never before heard from him, something wholehearted and terrible that made them feel as if they were watching a stranger. Equally disconcerting was that Elijah had turned for comfort to Jon Tate instead of to them; the Elijah they had always known would sooner pet a rabid dog than reach out to someone who wasn’t family.
Mary felt a pang of jealousy she was immediately ashamed of. She told herself she should be glad her son had found other people to love; she reminded herself that after everything that had happened to Elijah it was only natural for him to seek solace from someone who had lived through the ordeal with him. But it was still a very hard thing to stand back and allow the Tate boy to hold him when he was suffering. All she wanted to do was take Elijah in her arms and whisper reassurances in his ear; all she wanted to do was feel his heart beating against hers and his breath against her neck as she had done a thousand times since the moment of his birth. Surely she had more right to be with him and help him through this than Jon Tate did?
No, Mary told herself sternly. No, you don’t. Stop acting like a fool, and just be glad he has someone to care for him. She felt Sam take her hand, and with an aching heart she watched their son grieve without them.
Edgar Reilly, kneeling next to Mary Taylor, was startled to find that his own cheeks were wet. He hadn’t cried in years and had almost forgotten what the sensation felt like. He wanted to speak to Gabriel, but he knew there was nothing he could say that would matter; the other man was in the kind of hell where words have no meaning. Edgar looked over at Elijah Hunter and Jon Tate, envying the innocence of their tears; his own felt contaminated with remorse for having played a part in all that had happened.
Gabriel Dapper raised his head and stared over at the road. Four police cars—two from the south and two from the north—were speeding toward them and would be there shortly; the fire from the Volkswagen on the top of the hill was as bright as a lighthouse beacon, drawing them to it.
Gabriel bent down once more and kissed Julianna’s forehead, then carefully lifted her head out of his lap and slid from beneath her. He reclaimed his pistol and the grenade from the ground and stood up again. He didn’t even glance at the two boys he had nearly killed that night, nor did he make any sign of recognition as his eyes flitted over Edgar Reilly and the Hunters. He turned and walked back toward his Cadillac, ten yards away; the two Marys, Sam, and Edgar all watched in stricken compassion as he got behind the driver’s wheel once again and closed the door behind him.
The headlights on the Cadillac flicked off and left the hilltop in relative darkness, and Julianna Dapper’s son stared through the window of the Cadillac at the moonlit silhouettes of the people circling his mother’s body. His big hands were moving of their own accord as he sat there, and he was almost surprised to find that he had put the Mauser pistol down in the passenger seat. He was still clutching the grenade, however, and he glanced down at it as if he had never seen it before. In one smooth motion he pulled its cord and dropped it in his lap. The five-second fuse on the grenade permitted him just enough time to begin to sob before the inside of the Cadillac turned into a crematorium.
Chapter 16
Speeding toward the top of the hill in a squad car, Bonnor Tucker swore aloud as he saw his stolen station wagon blocking the road in front of the burning carcass of a Volkswagen Beetle.
“What the hell is this?” he muttered.
An enormous explosion in the cornfield to his left nearly caused him to drive into the ditch. He fought to bring his car back onto the gravel and he gaped at the inferno engulfing Gabriel Dapper’s Cadillac. Twenty feet away from the explosion was a cluster of people all standing or crouching beside somebody lying on the ground; Bonnor immediately spotted Mary and Sam Hunter, and the fat doctor, and an old black woman he didn’t recognize.
It took him another second, though, to notice who else was there, partially hidden behind the old black woman and the fat doctor.
Bonnor slammed on his brakes so fast that the state trooper who was following him up the hill almost rear-ended him. As Bonnor skidded sideways and came to a halt with his headlights pointed at the group in the cornfield, two Missouri squad cars flew over the top of the hill from the other direction and screeched to a stop, too, a dozen yards from the burning Beetle. Bonnor scrambled for his shotgun and threw open his door, praying that Elijah Hunter and Jon Tate would give him the chance to avenge Ronnie Buckley’s death—and his own humiliation.
“Please, please, PLEASE do something stupid,” he muttered, taking cover behind his door. The trooper who had followed him was doing the same thing, as were the others by the Volkswagen.
Samuel Hunter dragged his wife to the ground as Gabriel’s Cadillac erupted in fire. Fragments of the car’s windshield rained down in the cornfield all around them; Sam heard Edgar Reilly and Mary Taylor both cry
out but was too astonished to do anything except stare at the wall of flame in front of him. An instant later he saw Gabriel Dapper’s body inside the car, burning like a torch, and he recoiled in horror.
“Mother of God!” he gasped. Bile rose in his throat at the sudden, sickly sweet smell of roasted meat.
Mary spoke Samuel’s name, jarring him back to awareness; they got to their knees together and turned as one to check on their son. Elijah was goggling at the fire with Jon Tate but neither of the boys seemed to have sustained any additional injuries. Edgar Reilly was tending to Mary Taylor, using his tie as a tourniquet for her forearm. Edgar himself was bleeding freely from a cut in his cheek, yet he was apparently more concerned with the older woman’s injury.
A harsh, booming voice sounded above the crackle of the fire.
“GET DOWN ON THE GROUND AND PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!”
Across the cornfield four police cars had lined up on the road, one after another; the blaze from the wreckage of the Cadillac was brighter than all their high beams combined. The shouted order came from one of the Missouri state troopers by the Volkswagen, but it was quickly followed by Bonnor Tucker’s equally loud, equally hostile voice, a little farther down the hill.
“BACK THE FUCK OFF, ASSHOLES, THIS IS MY GODDAMN ARREST!”
There was a short pause, then the Missouri trooper responded.
“THE HELL IT IS! IN CASE YOU HAVEN’T NOTICED, ASS-WIPE, THIS IS MISSOURI, NOT FUCKING IOWA!”
Sam glanced down at the revolvers in his belt, deeply regretting having picked them up on the road earlier when he was helping Jon Tate to his feet. Jon had asked him to bring the guns along and Sam had agreed, thinking it might be wise to have them just in case Gabriel Dapper lost his head again. But now that Gabriel was dead and the police had arrived, Sam didn’t want the revolvers anywhere near his family.
