“Patrick, listen to me carefully.”
He nodded.
“Have you ever been to Wichita?”
“No.”
“Kansas?”
He gave his head a slow, unequivocal shake.
“And you’re not shitting me about this. This isn’t some big—”
“Some big wind-up?” Patrick’s lower lip trembled, his voice betrayed fear. “Christ, Beth, I’m losing my fucking mind here, I know you can’t actually help me, but a little moral support would be nice.”
“Hey, I’m sorry.”
It was no heartfelt sorry, but a semi-sarcastic, fuck you sort of sorry.
Patrick stood up from the table and his chair flew away and toppled onto its back. “Don’t. Just fucking don’t, Beth. You realize if this turns out to be nonsense – if the Red Barrow shit doesn’t happen – it means I’ve got some sort of psychiatric disorder. You can see that, can’t you?”
Beth stayed still, but there was a hint of human frailty in her slumped shoulders. “And if you’re right?”
“If I’m right… Well, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“No,” Beth said. “If you’re right then thirteen innocent children are going to die.”
Patrick heaved a few sighs, calming himself. He picked up the chair.
They stared at each other. After Beth’s brief dalliance with vulnerability there was steel in her eyes once again.
“I know what we’re going to do,” Beth said.
“What?”
“We have to go there,” she said, blurting out the words.
“Go where?” Patrick said. “Wichita?”
“You have to go to this Buckthorn High School. You have to see if Rozita’s there.”
“Hold on,” Patrick said. “I thought you were my voice of reason here?”
“I am.” The steely eyes were now matched by the voice. “You need to find this out for your own sanity. That’s the reason for going.”
“So you still don’t believe me?”
Beth gave an upside down smile. “I’d plead the fifth on that.”
“Fair enough. I don’t think I’d believe me.” Patrick spent a few seconds giving his fingernail a thoughtful chew. “I didn’t even know where Wichita was until I looked it up online an hour ago. It’s a long way. Could I get a flight there?”
Beth thought for a moment. “You can get a flight anywhere – but it’s late notice.”
“Oh.”
“If it turns out there aren’t any flights you won’t get there in time.”
Patrick gave his stubble a rub. “What’s the alternative?”
“You heard of Route-66?”
“I don’t have a car.”
Beth made a cradle of her hands and rested her chin on it. “But I do,” she said.
“You’d lend me your car?”
Beth let out a gasp. “Now you’re definitely shitting me.”
“Oh.”
“Oh. Exactly. I’ll drive you there. I want to see this for myself. I reckon it’s a ten hour drive; if we leave now we’ll get there before midnight. We can catch a few hours’ sleep in a motel, then get to the school in the morning.”
“How do we get into the school? Don’t they have security?”
“We can sort that out when we get there. Are you good to go?”
“Now?”
“We can stop off at your place on the way.”
Thirty minutes later Patrick signed out of security at his apartment block, and hopped into the passenger seat of Beth’s Ford Taurus.
They’d got to the edge of town before either of them spoke.
“Nervous?” Beth said.
“Sort of.”
“What about? Spending the next two days with me?”
“Why would I be nervous about that?”
Beth glanced to her side and spluttered a laugh. “I was being sarcastic. And don’t say you don’t understand; I know for a fact you Brits do sarcasm pretty well, in fact—”
“How can you joke about this, Beth?”
She shrugged as she pulled out onto the freeway. “How about, because I’m nervous even if you’re not and it’s my way of coping?”
“You’re just the driver; what have you got to be nervous about?”
“Oh, nothing. I’m just driving halfway across the country and spending the night with a man who thinks his dreams are telling him the future, that’s all.”
Patrick breathed out a laugh.
Beth looked over and smiled. “You know, that’s the first time you’ve done that since I’ve known you.”
“Is that surprising? You’re not the only person in this car who’s nervous. It’s not like we’ve thought this whole thing through. We’re going on a wing and a prayer.”
“It’s pretty straightforward,” Beth said. “We go to the school, we find out if your Rozita really is there – which I’m sure she isn’t.”
“But if she is?”
“Then I guess it’s a big, big story for someone.”
“Yes, but if she’s there and she’s planning to… to go through with this thing, then do we just watch her do it? And if not, then… what do we do?”
“You mean, what do you do. I’m just the driver, remember?”
“Okay,” Patrick said. “What do I do?”
They stopped at a set of traffic lights and Beth turned that steely glare to Patrick again. “It’s simple,” she said. “You kill her.”
24
Back in the Lake’s End coffee shop, Maggie Dolan finished her coffee and slid her cup to one side.
“You know, something in your story just doesn’t add up to me,” she said.
The man gave a short laugh. “Of course it doesn’t.”
Maggie shook her head. “I don’t mean the dreams, I mean about Beth.”
“What about her?”
“Why would she be doing all of this? Why show so much concern for one employee?”
“You’re suspicious of her actions?”
Maggie nodded. “Especially driving all that way. Why would she do that?”
The man leaned forward and whispered, “You’ll have to wait to find out.”
“You don’t understand,” Maggie said.
“What?” The man’s face dropped a little. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is, Why wasn’t Patrick suspicious?”
“Oh,” the man said.
“You see, if someone did all of that for me, came to my apartment to check on me, took me on a long drive in their own car – I mean, I’d be flattered by the concern, but I’d look for some other motive.”
The man’s weary eyes held onto her for a few seconds, then he looked down into his coffee cup and took it up to his mouth to drain the last few drops.
“Then again,” he said, “you’re not Patrick, are you?”
“But from what you say he’s a clever guy,” Maggie said. “It doesn’t ring true that he just goes along with Beth.”
“Well, perhaps there’s something about him you don’t understand.”
Maggie shrugged. “Like what?”
“You have to remember that his parents died when he was young. You don’t know how that feels, do you?”
Maggie thought for a moment. “Well, no I don’t. But how would you know that about me?”
“Never mind,” the man said with a sneer. “The point is, Patrick was brought up in care. He didn’t have some of the life skills most people take for granted. He didn’t have the security of a loving mother and father.”
“But… surely he must have had some idea?”
“Well, yes. Let’s just say the thoughts were starting to crystallize in his mind.”
“Good,” Maggie said. “And this Rozita, she sounds so perfect to me.”
The man tilted his head to one side and gazed into the beyond. “Oh, she was,” he said. “Then again, what would you expect of a dream lover?”
There was a long pause. Maggie turned to watch the
commuters walking along the street outside. Now none of them looked likely to try the door.
“So how about you carry on?” she said. “Tell me whether he went and found this Rozita woman.”
“Okay, I will.”
The man drew breath again.
25
“You don’t go for the idea, do you?” Beth said.
“Of killing Rozita? Not exactly.”
“You’ve got some feelings for her?”
“She’s my wife.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Patrick paused for a moment and looked out over the parking lot. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m kidding.” He turned as the waitress approached and eased back from the table to let her slide the tray onto it.
They’d stopped at some café in some small town that must have been something like the halfway point. The café was surrounded by the kind of flat featureless expanses of cornfields and wheatfields that seemed all this part of the country had to offer, some of them seemingly the size of an entire English county. But Patrick didn’t much care for the details. He cared that he was hungry – and a whole lot more.
His tray had a cheeseburger, double fries and large cola. Beth’s had an omelette, small fries, and fruit juice.
She nodded to his food. “You’re sure getting into the American way of life.”
“To tell you the truth I’d prefer beans on toast with a large mug of tea.”
“You could have asked for that.”
“I didn’t think it was worth it.”
“No, no. They’d have thought you were…”
“Crazy?”
“No, just odd. Or British.” Beth took a shot of fruit juice and licked her lips. “Do you miss Britain?”
“Not just at the moment,” Patrick said. “I’ve got more important things to worry about.”
“Sure. Sorry.”
“But yes, I do.”
“You still got family back there?”
“Nobody I see too often. I have Declan, my brother, who’s over here. Works in LA I think. I should see him more often. You’ve reminded me, I have to ring him, arrange to meet up in a few weeks. I think I might need the break.”
“Mom and Dad still in England?”
“Forever.”
“You don’t think they’ll come over to visit?”
“I know they won’t.” Patrick squinted at her. “Sorry, I’m teasing. They died when me and Declan were young.”
“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“They died together?”
“House fire.” Patrick stopped chewing, turned his face to one side and pulled back his hair, revealing a thin vertical scar, like he’d fallen asleep with his face against a crease in the pillow. “See this?”
“Oh my God, yeah. I didn’t notice, honestly.”
“Well, it’s had a lot of years to recover. I had a few minor ops when I was a kid. Ruined my good looks, of course.”
Beth took a moment to swallow. “The only thing that would ruin your good looks would be decapitation.”
“Oh, cheers.”
“’Cheers’? Oh, yeah, I think I get that. Irony, yeah?”
Patrick nodded. “And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“You see your parents much?”
“I never visit Dad, and Mom’s still in Tennessee.”
“She never got hooked up with another guy?”
“I don’t think she’s capable of that much trust in one person anymore.”
“She lives on her own?”
Beth nodded.
“What about your sister?”
“Sister?”
“In Wichita.”
“Oh yeah – actually just a half-sister. She never sees Mom.”
“Your mom must be very proud of you?”
“It’s funny really. It’s only because of the mess she’s in I got where I am with my studies and OrSum.”
“Mmm,” Patrick said. “I can see that.”
“You know, I think we’re all products of our parents more so than we realize, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps.” Patrick shrugged. “I never really knew mine well enough to agree or disagree.”
“Hey, I’m sorry. That wasn’t a very cool thing to say.”
“No worries.” Patrick took a long slurp of cola then had to accommodate a belch. “See, you don’t get that with tea.”
“You could have had tea with burger and fries. Would that work?”
“Tea goes with everything,” Patrick said. He took a few more mouthfuls, then said, “So, your dad. You’re never even tempted to see him again?”
“No. Not after the argument we had.”
“Sounds like the word ‘argument’ doesn’t really cut it there.”
“No, I guess not.”
Patrick stopped eating for a second and looked out again at the car park, and the traffic beyond racing both ways. “I hardly remember my mother and father but I still miss them.”
Beth nodded slowly. “I’m sure you do.”
“You honestly don’t miss your dad?”
Beth took a few mouthfuls of omelette followed by a long stretch of juice.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” Patrick said.
“When I was a little girl…” Beth swallowed the last of her food and drew a few breaths. “And I don’t talk to many people about this. When I was a girl we lived in this house next to a lake. It wasn’t a huge lake, but we had our own little boat house and jetty, and there were only a handful of other places around the lake, so it felt like the lake was our family’s too. Dad used to take me out boating there. We had an emerald green boat with a cover over one end, and a few seats inside, enough space to sleep in, which we did a few times. Mom didn’t come with us. She was always afraid of water, but she used to bake all sorts of cakes for us to take. It’s difficult to explain, and I don’t know whether it makes sense, but even on a small lake like that you felt like you were leaving your troubles ashore. We’d just eat, do a little fishing, and read books. Dad wouldn’t let me take anything electrical like a radio, said it was our way of getting away from the rest of mankind and being part of nature.”
“That’s a nice story,” Patrick said. “Is sounds a really special place.”
“It was – still is. That’s what I miss, boating on the lake with Dad.”
“Is that why you moved to Chicago? For the lake?”
“I like the lake. I don’t like boats anymore.”
“Because it reminds you of your father?”
Beth grimaced and repositioned her knife and fork on her empty plate “You mind if we talk about something else?”
Patrick held his hands up. “No problem, just making conversation.”
“So let’s talk about Rozita.”
“Okay.”
“You weren’t really kidding, were you? About having feelings for her?”
“I feel like an idiot thinking that way.”
“Hey, you can’t control who you have feelings for.”
“But this is different, Beth – it’s not even a ‘who’, it’s just a character, an image in my mind. And I just don’t know how I’m going to react if she’s actually there in the flesh. You see…” He leaned forward on the table and lowered his voice. “I don’t know what it is about her. She’s beautiful, intelligent, loving, a good mother. But there’s something else.”
“I can tell you exactly what it is about her you find so attractive,” Beth said.
“You can?”
“I know men better than you might think.”
“So?”
“It’s because she’s unattainable. Now, don’t take this the wrong way, Patrick. God knows I don’t pigeon-hole myself as a rabid feminist type – in spite of what my father did – but you’re a man, and men have a tendency to be attracted to women they can’t possibly have. A touch generalized I know, but pretty true.”
Patrick froze for a few moments, alm
ost in a trance, then he looked up, his eyes red and heavy. “I’m scared, Beth. I don’t know how I’m going to react if she’s there.”
“Oh, yes you do,” Beth whispered. “We both know how you’re going to react.”
“You mean…?”
Beth nodded.
“You’re serious? About killing her?” Patrick shook his head “You know, I really don’t think I could do that. Anyway, how would I do it?”
Beth spoke slowly. “You keep forgetting this is America. Not quite everyone has a gun, but certainly I do.” She unzipped her jacket to reveal a holster with a small, white-handled pistol nestling in it, then zipped it back up.
“Murder?” Patrick’s hands started to tremble as he grabbed the table to steady himself. “Oh, God. Oh, no.”
“Listen to me,” Beth said. “Let’s get one thing straight – no, let’s get two things straight: one, you’ve never actually met this woman before, and two, you can’t murder someone who doesn’t exist.”
“But if…” Patrick closed his eyes. “Oh, I can’t take this. It’s crazy, just crazy.”
Beth checked her watch then stood up. “Come on, let’s pay up and get moving. I got plenty more miles to drive before we hit Wichita.”
26
As soon as they reached the outskirts of Wichita they stopped at the first motel with a flashing “Vacancies” sign. It was soulless, but quiet, much as to be expected at half past midnight.
“You sure you don’t mind sharing?” Patrick said as they crunched on the gravel between reception and the furthest room from the road.
“We’re sharing a room – not a bed,” Beth said. “Besides, you really think I want to be on my own in a creepy place like this?” After holding the keys up to the light she got the lock first time and opened the door. A stench of disinfectant flew out like a jailbreak.
“Jesus!” Patrick said as he followed her in.
“That’s the smell of clean. Obviously your uber-male nose is unacquainted with it.”
“You mean you like that?” Patrick held the door and swung it back and forth a few times.
“I guess it is a little strong. You could open a window.” She waved a dismissive hand nowhere in particular. “Aah, we’ll sleep, you see if we don’t.”
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