Ash Wednesday (41 page)

It was small—a bedroom, bath, kitchen, and living room, all in somber shades of brown or dark yellow wallpaper—and he rattled through it quickly, opening and closing drawers and closets as fast as he could. He found nothing but what one would expect to find in the rooms of an old lady in Merridale. The last door he opened led to the cellar, and he ran down the stairs, sweating heavily in his warm coat, hat, and gloves.

The cellar was empty but for an old, rusted wheelbarrow, some straw baskets, a water heater, a nearly full coal bin, and a furnace, whose air of antiquity and many branching pipes put Thornton in mind of some archetypal spider-monster crouching in wait. He turned back toward the stairs and froze.

From above, a high tinkling sound clamored, followed by footsteps. At first the insane thought hit him that Marie Snyder was not dead, followed by the even more insane one that she was, but that her revenant had taken on form and weight and motive, and was even now moving through the storeroom, into the apartment, and that in a second he would see her framed in the box of light at the stair top and she would soar down upon him, wiry and naked, bearing him to the dirt floor with arms like thin cables, her mouth split in a deadly grin.

But the truth hit him, terrifying him so that he staggered in fear. Someone had come into the newsstand, had seen the blue lich on the counter before Thornton could get out. The footsteps paused, and in the sudden silence Clyde Thornton damned his greed that had made him stay and look for the money, that had made him take it in the first place. "Jesus, oh, Jesus," he muttered, looking about for an escape route.

There was none. There was only the coal chute, a foot wide, and that nearly buried by the piled-up coal. The windows were small and recessed, impossible to squeeze through.

The footsteps upstairs began again, much faster than before. He heard the pealing of the bell and the door slam shut. They've run, he thought, run for help or because they're scared. His only chance now was to run himself. Though there was a possibility now that he'd be seen when he left, he was trapped if he stayed, and that gave him no chance at all. He climbed the stairs quickly and stealthily, ran through the apartment into the storeroom, and peered around the heavy curtain. Except for the two Marie
Snyders
, the newsstand was empty.

Thornton tugged his hat down low over his forehead, wrapped the scarf to cover his nose and chin, and walked doggedly to the side door. Seeing no one, he left the shop and ran back to the alley where his car was parked.

~*~

"You
shoulda
seen her," Fred
Hibbs
said, shaking his head. "It was just awful."

Eddie Karl dunked and gulped a piece of doughnut. "I guess I can see her yet. She ain't
goin
' anywhere, is she now?"

"Really strangled?" Jake said, her hands trembling. "I mean, it wasn't just a heart attack or something?"

Hibbs
nodded assertively. "Strangled. Frank
Kaylor
said so. And hell, I
seen
her neck . . . or, well, her . . . her
ghost's
neck. And it was all tucked in like."

"It gives me the creeps," Jake said. "Who on earth
coulda
done it?"

"
Dunno
why the cops didn't hold
you
, Loafer."

"Me?"
Hibbs
bridled. "I didn't do
nothin
'!
I just
found
her!"

"So you say." Eddie smiled slyly. "But if you done it,
sayin
' you found
her's
a good way to throw suspicion
offa
yourself."

"
Goddammit
, you're loony! I had no reason to—”

“He's
kiddin
', Fred. He's just
kiddin
', aren't you, Eddie?”

“ 'Course I'm
kiddin
'. Honest to Jeez, Loafer, if your skin got any thinner, your
guts'd
pop out and dance a hula.

“Besides, everybody knows you
wouldn'ta
strangled Marie Snyder." Eddie paused a beat, took a sip of coffee. "
You'da
just
raped
her."

"
God
dam
mit
!" Fred
Hibbs
shouted over Eddie's cackling laughter and Jake's involuntary giggle. His next words were quieter as he saw two clerks from Sam Hershey's store come into the Hitching Post. "It ain't funny! Marie Snyder's dead, and here you are
laughin
' about it."

"We're all gonna be dead sooner or later," Eddie said. "Maybe it ain't funny, but it ain't no great tragedy neither." Jake went to wait on the clerks, leaving the two men alone. "What were you
doin
' out so early anyway?" Eddie asked
Hibbs
. "Sun wasn't even up before six."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Now I've heard everything. You sick or somethin'?”

“No. I just . . . haven't been sleeping good."

Eddie took another bite. His voice lost all trace of cynicism. "Your mother and father."

Fred
Hibbs
nodded, swallowed deeply. "I can never forget they're there. I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about them sitting down at the kitchen table, and I can't get back to sleep."

"
Y'know
they can't hurt you."

"I know that. Hell, they never hurt me when they was alive. But I get scared just the same. It . . . it makes me think about dying."

The two sat for a while, Eddie dunking and sipping, Fred
Hibbs
slowly stirring his spoon in his coffee and staring at the brightly colored cereal packs in their plastic display. Finally Eddie spoke softly. "Fred, I'm gonna give you a Christmas present."

Hibbs
looked up, suspicious. "What Christmas present?”

“Peace of mind. A good night's sleep."

"And how are you gonna do that?"

"I'm gonna let you move in with me."

"What?"

"What's the matter? I wash." He put a friendly arm on
Hibbs's
shoulder. "Look, I like you, buddy. That's why I josh ya so much. You're one of the few people in this town that'll say more to me than `How's it
goin
', Eddie.' Now I just rattle around in that house of mine, and like I said before, there ain't a spook to be seen.
Y'can
have your own room, get up when you want, sleep when you want, and we'll just split the food 'n' the beer.
Whaddya
think?"

"I . . . I don't know."

"Well, you better make up your mind quick. This ain't no long-
standin
' offer."

"What about your friends?"

"My friends?"

"You know. The folks you talk to all the time. The dead folks. "

Eddie shook his head and smiled. "They don't come to visit me very often. And when they do, I'll keep 'em downstairs. "

Fred
Hibbs
looked hard at Eddie Karl, then knitted his fingers and stared down at the nearly empty coffee cup in front of him. "
Y'know
," he said, "
I'm
not too damn easy to live with."

Eddie shrugged. "I'll take my chances. And I wouldn't mind the company. Besides''—he frowned—"I can't do things like I used to . . . lifting things around the house and such. You may not be the goddamn most industrious bastard in this town, but you're strong. You'd earn your keep."

Hibbs
nodded. "All right, Eddie. It sounds all right. Just one thing though. Don't call me Loafer no more. Okay?"

"Sure, Fred." And for the first time in their lives, Fred
Hibbs
and Eddie Karl smiled at each other.

"Hello."

"Brad, this is Bonnie."

"Yeah."

"Bonnie."

"I know who you are. I'm listening."

"All right, then. I'm leaving town. With Linda. We're going to my aunt's in Allentown and I'm going to stay with her until I can find a job up there."

"Okay. You called to tell me that?"

"Not just that. There's more. I can't sell the house.”

“Big surprise."

"Will you just
listen
. There's no point in it just sitting empty. So I thought that since you're really the one who paid for it, you might like to use it, move in with that girl you're living with."

"Christine. Her name's Christine."

"All right. With Christine. And her little boy."

"Why the sudden generosity? It's yours. The courts gave it to you."

"It just seems silly not to have it used. It was your house too."

"How long will you be gone?"

"For good. I'm not coming back. If this freaky thing ever ends and I can sell it, maybe we could work something out. Or maybe you'd like to buy it yourself eventually if you don't leave."

"I'm not leaving. And I have no intention of buying a house I already bought once."

"Well, I'm not worried about it. Do you want it?”

“No cost."

"I suppose I'd be stupid not to take it."

"That's up to you."

"All right. I accept."

They discussed arrangements then, and when Brad hung up, he walked into the kitchen where Christine was finishing the dinner dishes. "We're leaving here," he said.

She straightened up and looked at him doubtfully. "When?”

“Friday. Next Friday."

Something in his tone told her it was not a lie, and she ran to him and embraced him with wet, soapy hands. "Where are we going?" she crooned. "Oh, where are we going?"

"Sundale Road," he said. "1765 Sundale Road."

He felt her stiffen in his arms, but it was not until she pulled back and away from him that he saw the terror mold itself anew to her features, and he thought for the first time that he could see madness in them as well.

~*~

Jim
Callendar
told Alice about himself as they lay naked in bed under the warm blankets that were pulled up to their chins. Their hands each rested lightly on the other's flank, their heads turned on the pillows so that they faced each other only partially, as if there were still something that each did not want the other to see.

He talked about it all, nevertheless, and as he did, there was the sense of a burden not so much dropping from him as being shared, but not in the way that he felt Beth had tried to share it, that detached way that accepted it only clinically, taking in facts and motivations while trying to keep emotion at bay. Alice
absorbed
the emotion, understanding not the detail, but the
sense
of it, soaking up his pain like a rich humus absorbs bitter rain. For the first time he felt understood, and with the understanding came something that he was desperate to grasp as love.

She had been there a few mornings before when he'd stumbled groggily and unclothed past the living room on the way to the kitchen for his morning coffee. He hadn't noticed her, and remembered her only dimly from the drunken and bruising night before, so that when she walked into the kitchen, the shrill blast of the teakettle having awakened her, he was standing with his bare ass to her and not a cover-up within reach.