Keith watched her take the wall in a clumsy leap he. had sure skinned off half her right knee. He shook his head. His eyes were no longer green; they were black, and they were angry.
He was even angrier ten minutes later when Bernie Hallman drove up to the gate in his tow truck, saw him standing there and started yelling. He wasn’t supposed to be seen. He was supposed to be gone by now, everything done and over. Now that creep Hallman was standing there, yelling, looking around, and oh shit climbing back into the cab.
The anger drained; his eyes slowly regained their normal, placid color.
The buzzing, whispering he had felt in his head since morning was gone. Now he was alone, at Winterrest, and he didn’t know why Heather was gonna snitch.
Now he was gonna get it. Boy, now he was gonna get it good when Heather told Mom. He walked slowly to the wall and leaned on it, felt it moving so quietly beneath his arms that he smiled at the feelings that rippled and caressed over his skin. Gonna get it good, he thought; and he swallowed a whimper without knowing why when he saw Mr. Parrish walking toward him up the road.
9
They moved into the living room, Ollie sobbing quietly while Liz fussed with throw pillows, sat, stood, and walked back into the kitchen. Through the screen door she could see the trees, the grass, the aging rail fence; it was normal, all perfectly normal. She thought about calling Bud, about taking Ollie to the clinic at the hospital, about pouring two very stiff drinks and searching for the reason why Olivia had denied her own pregnancy all these months.
“Liz?”
She brushed her hair back and returned to the sofa.
“Liz, listen,” Ollie said eagerly, grabbing her hands and smiling tightly. “This could all be my imagination, right? I mean, this whole thing is all in our minds, okay? We . . .” She faltered, dropped her hands and sagged back into the corner. “I’m scared.”
It was Liz who held hands now, shaking them, tugging at them to force her to meet her gaze. “I know you’re scared,” she said calmly. “I know that. But there’s no denying it, Ollie. I mean, it’s there, right there, and—”
“What about false pregnancy? It could be that, or hysterical pregnancy, y’know? That’s why I came over. I mean, I snuck out, left a note for Bud that I was out walking, and I came here because I thought, well, you’re a mother and all, and I thought—”
Suddenly, she tore open her shirt and lay a hand on her abdomen. A moment later she uttered a short, horrified cry and covered her eyes. Liz hesitated, reached out, and lay her palm over the swelling. The flesh was warm, taut, and it wasn’t long before she felt the distinct pressure of a child kicking.
My god, she thought; my god my god.
“You felt it,” Ollie said numbly.
She nodded.
“Yeah. Yeah.” Ollie closed her eyes slowly, seemed almost to doze before they snapped open again. “J. thought it was the dope. I thought maybe Bud was right and it was the dope.”
Liz was puzzled and showed it.
“Well, he got some for us in the city a while ago,” Ollie said, speaking as if Bud had only dropped over to the general store. “It was pretty good stuff, not bad, but. . .” She squirmed uncomfortably, pushed herself upright and scowled at her stomach. “Well, he said it might be laced with something, because of the fire yesterday, so when I woke up this morning and got in the shower and saw this . . .”
She pushed deeper into the corner, trying to get away from the swelling that terrified her so much she could hardly bring herself to say the word, or even look down.
Liz, while she sympathized, had latched onto something else. “What fire?”
Ollie seemed reluctant, but Liz prodded her, trying to get her to talk about anything but the baby until they were both thinking clearly enough to make sense of what was happening.
“Well, yesterday, after we closed the shop around four or so, we found a fire in the Retirement Room. God, it was horrible! All that smoke, I thought I was going to choke to death. But when we got it out, it wasn’t there.” The expression on Liz’s face stopped her. “Did you hear me? I said it wasn’t there. There was no fire, no smoke, even the window I broke wasn’t broken. So it was the dope, though I didn’t think so at the time. That’s why I thought the baby was the dope too. I mean, that I was hallucinating. But when I came over to tell you about it, and you looked at it. . . “
Liz felt rather than heard a faint buzzing in her left ear. She rose to her feet slowly, pulled her shirt out of her jeans to expose the faint scratch on her side. Ollie stared, and shrugged her lack of understanding.
“Oh! Yeah!” she said when Liz thrust out a hip to be sure she was watching. “Right. I was in the Depot when Bud came back. God, that must’ve been terrible, Liz, all that fuss for nothing.”
Liz leaned down until their noses were almost touching. “It was not for nothing. I swear that as sure as I stand here that I felt that knife go right into my side. No! Don’t say it, don’t say anything, not yet. Let me tell you something else—yesterday, around four, around the time you had that fire that wasn’t a fire, I was on my way home from the office and I was in an earthquake.”
Ollie started to laugh, cut herself off, and shook her head. “There are no earthquakes in New Jersey.”
“Exactly.” She smoothed the shirt back into place. “Exactly. Yet something out there beat the hell out of my car. “ She licked her lips, sucked noisily once between her teeth. “I called the police that morning. They said there had been an accident at the curve where it happened. There was nothing there, but they figure a large truck must have run off the road and knocked down a couple of trees.” Licked her lips. Sucked her teeth. “There wasn’t any truck. I was there. I know.”
“Oh.” Ollie put a hand to her mouth. “Oh.”
“And do you want to know something else?”
Ollie shook her head; she had had more than enough.
Liz ignored her. “Doug. I talked to him around noon today, about last night, about what happened at the Depot. Somewhere in there I mentioned the earthquake, and he said that at the same time, over at his place, there was a hurricane.”
Ollie giggled. “Now that’s really crazy. I mean, that’s wild, Liz.” She closed her eyes, making a decision. “Last night,” she whispered, “before I went to the Depot, I looked in the Retirement Room because I couldn’t believe it was the dope. There was a burn mark on a lounge Bud had found in Maryland. A big mark. It hadn’t been there that afternoon. But the fire was . . . no. No, Liz, it’s crazy.”
“Sure it is. But something happened to you, and something happened to me, and something seems to have happened to Doug. I think we’d better find him and do some more talking.”
She reached out a hand to help Ollie to her feet, but as soon as she was up Ollie dropped the hand and stood back, looking down at the arm resting over her stomach.
“Liz, this isn’t an hallucination.”
“I know.”
“Liz, something’s going on. I’ve got to get to a doctor. I’ve got to know what’s inside me!”
Liz pulled her toward the door. “Doug first, doctor second. One more hour to find out if we’re all going nuts, and I promise I’ll take you to the clinic myself.”
She rushed into the kitchen and grabbed a notepad and pencil from the top of the refrigerator. She scribbled something quickly and attached the page to the refrigerator door with a magnetic ladybug. “Ugly isn’t it,” she said. “I put it here because it’s the first place they go when they come in.” Babbling; she was babbling. “No home should be without one.” Babbling, because there was a grinding in her stomach, a sudden need to scream.
Ollie gave a quick laugh. “It’s really ugly Liz. It’s absolutely godawful.”
She allowed herself to relax slightly. For that one sane and precious moment Ollie had forgotten her troubles. But it passed once they were in the car and Ollie saw the dents and cracked windshield; she began sniffling as they headed for the highway.
&
nbsp; “It’ll be all right,” Liz told her, reaching over to pat her arm. “Listen to me, Ollie, it’ll be all right.”
Ollie nodded, then pointed suddently. “Hey, that’s Doug!”
10
Doug yelled and waved a hand wildly when he saw the BMW glide between the pillars. Liz nodded quickly and made a rapid U-turn, and he followed, reaching the house shortly after the two women had left the car. He gaped as he slipped from the saddle. Jesus Christ, he thought, Ollie looks pregnant.
Maggie was tethered in the backyard, and when he stepped into the kitchen, Liz fell into his awkward, surprised arms.
It took an hour to sort out all the stories, Doug refusing belief until Liz dragged him outside, pointed at the damage, and drove him to the spot where she had felt the quake. A road crew was working there, hot tar steaming, steam roller waiting, while a dump truck was filled with lengths of fallen boughs. He said nothing more until they returned to the house.
“Well, the way I see it,” he offered with a lopsided grin as they entered the kitchen to join Ollie at the table, “we are the victims of a Communist conspiracy to dominate the world through the introduction of hallucinogens into the drinking water. We are affected because we have particularly susceptible nervous systems, thereby enhancing the softening process of our brains.”
“You’re full of shit,” Ollie said, though her eyes gave him a smile her lips could not manage.
He shrugged with his eyebrows, then inhaled slowly while Liz poured them coffee. “You haven’t told Bud?”
“Are you kidding? After last night, he’d freak out, Doug! He’d go so far around the bend he’d never find his way back.”
“Look,” said Liz, “if we talked to someone who knew about such things, I’m sure we’d find perfectly good reasons for the wind and the earthquake. I mean, there has to be.” She toyed with her cup; it rattled on the saucer. “It’s the fire, and Ollie, I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “It isn’t coincidence,” he said lamely.
“You’re nuts,” Liz said. “Coincidence—”
“I don’t believe in it,” he told her. “I don’t believe we could be living here all this time and suddenly, in the space of a single day, have all this come down on us. It makes no sense.”
“Well, it can’t be anything else,” she insisted. “If it were, you’d be implying some direction behind it all. Some connection.”
“Well, maybe I am,” he said without emphasis.
Ollie shook her head, swallowed, and headed for the bathroom. When she was gone, Liz took his hand and squeezed it.
“What is it, Doug?” she asked. “What’s going on?”
“I wish I knew,” he said, and felt the hand covering his, saw the eyes, the fall of hair, the lines of her face.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she accused lightly in an abrupt change of subject, and when he started to deny it she held his hand more tightly. “I don’t mean that, I mean . . . you run away from me. Right? You run away, and I think I want to know why.”
“You think?”
A brief smile. “Yeah. Maybe I don’t want to know.”
He waited, listening for Ollie’s return, and before he could stop himself he told her about Seattle, all of it, and what he had dragged with him across the country. He never once met her gaze, but his hand stayed in hers. When he was finished, he waited forever before looking up. There were no tears, no smile, but she leaned over and kissed him solidly on the cheek.
He wondered if he should tell her that he felt much better for the telling, but he was interrupted by the slam of the front door. Liz was on her feet immediately, and he followed her up the hall to the living room where, at the window, they saw Ollie hurrying up the street.
“Damn,” Liz muttered, and started for the door. “No,” he said, and took her arm. “I think Bud has to know first. With all this other stuff, she needs him more than she needs us. Besides,” he added, “you and I have to talk.”
11
Piper stood at the back door, an album cover in his hand. His housework was finally done, and Dumpling still hadn’t come back, and despite the fact that it wasn’t nearly as hot as the day before had been, he hadn’t the energy to go tramping through the woods after her. He lifted the cover and looked at the face of a young Carmel Quinn. Behind him, Irish eyes were smiling from the throat of Dennis Day.
“Damn fool animal,” he muttered, returning the album to its place. He shut off the turntable and straightened his cap. A visit to the kitchen filled his pockets with bits of roast beef, and he was soon walking down to the highway. At the intersection he flagged down Hallman’s tow truck coming toward him from the west.
“What’s up, Pipe?” Bernie said, leaning an elbow out of the window. His nose wrinkled, and he waved a loose-wristed hand. “Keerist, man, you smell like last night’s dinner.”
“Have you seen Dumpling?” Cleary asked, ignoring the jibe, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the stench of gasoline.
“Dumpling?” Hallman laughed shortly. “What the hell’s a Dumpling?”
“A hound, you ape,” he snapped, plucking at the loose skin on his wrist. “Gonna whelp any minute and the bitch’s run away.”
Hallman groaned. “Listen, I ain’t got time for your damned dogs, for god’s sake. I just lost a bundle out at Winterrest.”
Piper frowned and looked west. “What were you doin there?”
“Got a call from Parrish. Some rich joker with car trouble. All I saw was that Egan kid playing with hisself on the lawn.”
“Must’ve been a joke. You didn’t see my dog, did you?”
Hallman shook his head without an ounce of concern, shifted gears loudly and was gone, turning Piper away from the dust, pushing him toward Winterrest before he knew where he was heading. When he realized it, he stopped and turned around, and pulled off his cap. His left forefinger dug into one ear, wiped the wax on his jeans, then scratched through the thin white hair that laced across his scalp.
“Dumb dog.”
Worry doubly creased his face. He needed those pups to sell come September; he needed Dumpling for another litter; and he missed her because she was the only dog who didn’t try to bite off his ankle whenever he trained her. She was the best in a long line of coon hounds. She reminded him of his dead wife.
Well, hell. He didn’t even know where to start, so he might as well head home, get himself something to eat, and go on over to the Depot for a Saturday night’s watching.
He supposed he was picked because he was Irish, and the Irish were supposed to be fantastic drinkers. But drink made him throw up. Most of the time he nursed a ginger ale and an oath from Judy and Gil that they’d never tell a soul. He wasn’t even really very Irish, not all the way through. He hated Tommy Machen, couldn’t stand the raucous yelling of the Clancy Brothers either, but they were part of the damned act. He preferred Carmel Quinn and Dennis Day, solid professional Irishmen who could bring a tear to your eye and a lump to your throat just by winking them County Cork orbs.
But hell and damn the English, you can’t have everything. After all, the money was good and the company was okay, and shit they’d all be on welfare if he wasn’t for him since that damned feedbag of his son’s hardly ever turned a profit.
A finger poked him in the middle of his back.
He whirled with a gasp, slapping his cap back on as if caught with his hand in the till, and had a curse at his Hps until he saw who it was.
“Mr. Cleary, top o’ the morning to you.”
Piper forgot Dumpling, and the roast beef in his pockets. He nodded deferentially and touched his shirt pocket. “Got the invite, sir. Thank you. I appreciate it truly.”
“Very good, Mr. Cleary. I trust you’ll be there.”
He sniffed and whipped a handkerchief from his hip pocket to wipe across his nose. “Got a lost pup, sir., need to find her.”
“Mr. Cleary, your priorities are wrong,” said Eban Parrish.
Piper allowed as how that might be god’s truth, it being such a long time since the last time if Mr. Parrish knew what he meant. Mr. Parrish did indeed and without annoyance, then asked about the truck he had seen heading into town. Piper told him, word for word, inflection for inflection, what Hallman had said, and he almost ran when he came to the part about the Egan boy playing.
Parrish’s eyes turned black.
It was just for a moment, but Piper knew they had turned black, and something in the back of his mind told him he had seen that look before. He said a quick prayer for the lad, then backed away, explaining again that Dumpling was missing, Mr. Parrish must know what a prize she was, and if Mr. Parrish didn’t mind he’d be on his way, hunting for the fool creature before it got itself hurt.
Mr. Parrish didn’t mind.
Piper smiled weakly. “I guess, then, sir, I’ll be seein you tomorrow.”
“You will, Mr. Cleary. You will.”
Piper headed back up the lane, stopping only when he heard the soft whisper of his name.
Parrish was still at the intersection.
“Yessir?”
“Don’t worry about a thing, Mr. Cleary,” Parrish said. “It will be worth it, I assure you. You always did enjoy your little trips, as I recall.”
Piper said nothing, making only an affirmative gesture with his hand. It was true he didn’t mind driving off once in a while, getting away from Nell’s nagging, but he never would quite remember where he had been, or why he had gone there.
Parrish touched the dark red handkerchief in his breast pocket and nodded a farewell.
Piper nodded back, and had half turned to leave when Parrish called him again.
“Sir?”
“I should be careful, though, Mr. Cleary.”
Piper frowned. “Sir?”
“Well, you never can tell where you’ll find demons.”
12
Ollie stumbled through the back door into the tiny service porch and leaned against the wall to catch her breath. Her hand strayed to her stomach, and when she realized where it was she snatched it away and lay it against her cheek. The skin there was warm, and slightly slick with perspiration, and she tried as best she could to dry her face with her sleeves.
The Tea Party - A Novel of Horror Page 16
