Cold (38 page)

And then her head withdrew briefly.
 
Their faces were still so close that he could feel her breath, which was now coming in long drafts, accompanied by a faint quivering every time her lungs compressed.

Her face came toward his again, and her breasts spread across the ropes that bound his chest, and she kissed him once more, quickly, and then she stood up.

•

Gazing down at him in the dark, Noel wanted to say something about loneliness.
 
Something that would make him understand that she really knew what it meant to be alone.
 
Something that would help him to never be lonely again.

Then the constable, this perfect stranger said, “Thank you.”

She was certain that he did understand.
 
“I hope you’re not offended or anything.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You
are
very alone,” she said.
 
“But I don’t think you don’t mind.”

“Most of the time, no.”

The light from the fire had grown dim and she could barely see his face.
 
But it didn’t matter.
 
She knew he was there.
 
“It’s a form of meditation.”

Eighteen

Once outside the lodge, Norman followed his brother’s tracks along the wall, but something had happened.
 
It was all there in the snow.
 
The tracks stopped just after rounding the corner of the building and the snow was broken up in a large area—and from there a wide trail angled down the ridge toward the river.
 
Leaning down for a close look, Norman saw blood, which in the moonlight appeared black.

He followed the tracks away from the lodge, wading through fresh powder that was up to his knees.
 
The tracks, descending the hill toward the river, were made by two, perhaps three sets of legs.
 
When he was near the bottom of the hill he could see the footbridge and the shed.
 
The tracks went to the shed door, which had been swung open recently, clearing an arc of snow from in front of it.
 
He considered calling his brother’s name, but the wind in the trees was so loud he doubted he’d be heard even from this distance.
 
If it weren’t for the constable, he would have brought the gun with him.

He crossed the footbridge and followed the tracks to the shed.
 
He couldn’t hear anything inside.
 
Placing his gloved hand on the doorknob—it was the soft curve of an antler point—he pulled open the door.
 
The shed couldn’t have been more than ten feet square and it was pitch dark.
 
He took a step inside and his foot hit something—looking down, he could barely see a pair of legs lying on the floor.
 
As he squatted down to see, he heard a sound outside, a quick movement through the snow, rushing up both sides of the shed.
 
He began to turn around when the blow caught him on the right side of his head.

•

Del watched Noel as she stared out the kitchen window.
 
She was gnawing on a thumbnail and she hadn’t said anything for several minutes.

“Noel, something’s going on out there.”

“I
know
that.”
 
Her voice was shaking.

“What do you want to do?”

She wouldn’t turn from the window.
 
“I don’t know.”

“Can I make a suggestion?”

She exhaled slowly.
 
“What?”

“I think you should get Lorraine up, get to your car and leave.”

Noel turned her head toward him.
 
The logs in the fireplace were now only embers and he could barely see her face, though her hair formed a faint blond arc that cupped the left side of her head.
 
It was getting cold too and he could see her breath against the fleeting moonlight that came through the window.
 
“You do?” she said finally.

“Yes.
 
Just get her away from here.”

“I don’t understand what’s going
on
—why aren’t they coming
back
—why aren’t the
lights
on—it’s just
so—”

“I know.
 
But you have to make a decision.
 
You have to get Lorraine out of here.”

“I can’t leave without Norman.”

“Yes, you can.
 
You’ve thought you needed someone to come and take you away.
 
But now you know you can go by yourself.”
 
She didn’t say anything, though her breathing was audible.
 
“Just go, Noel.”

“Just go?
 
For a long time I’ve wanted to
just go.”
 
She raised her head slightly as though she were watching something in the sky.
 
Placing one hand on the glass, she tapped out a crisp code with her fingernail.
 
Suddenly she folded her arms.
 
“If I did go, what about you?”

“Well, I’d like you to untie me.”

“Yeah, sure.
 
And I suppose you want me to hand the gun over too.”

“No, you keep it, if you want.
 
But untie me.
 
Just do that, all right?”

She walked passed him, out of his sight.
 
He listened to her footsteps move across the Great Room, rapidly, though once she stopped and seemed to change directions, and then her footsteps returned to the kitchen.
 
She stood behind him.
 
He could hear that her breathing had become even more pronounced; he suspected that she was asthmatic.
 
He also wondered how many pills she’d taken.
 
It seemed she popped pills like Warren drank, steadily, with little apparent effect.
 
It was not uncommon for people to go on like that, until there was a sudden, dramatic change—they either simply passed out or, in some cases, they completely lost it.
 
More than once Del had been called to a house where the other—the one who wasn’t as far gone—would simply say, “He was fine, and then all of a sudden this, a total meltdown.”

When she walked back into the kitchen he asked, “Lorraine’s still asleep?”

“Knocked out.”

“Maybe she won’t even wake up.
 
Just carry her out.”
 
He waited but she didn’t say anything.
 
“Just undo the knot,” he said.
 
“Leave me wrapped up, if you want. I’ll wriggle out but it’ll take me a while.”

“Like some Houdini?”

“Sure,” he said.
 
“It’ll give you enough time to get down to the car and on your way.”

“But somebody’s out there.
 
Isn’t there?”

“Something’s going on, yes.”

“I might not make it to the car.”

“Norman and Warren went out behind the lodge.
 
You’ll be all right if you just go out the front door and get down to the road.
 
After about twenty yards no one will be able to see you from here.”
 
He turned his head and spoke very quietly, with no urgency in his voice.
 
“You go now and it will be like you were never here.
 
You never saw Norman.
 
I never saw you.
 
You’re free of all this.”

“It just didn’t happen.”

“That’s right,” he said.

“But it
did
happen.”

“It doesn’t matter now.
 
It’s not that important.”

“So, what?
 
I go back to North Eicher?
 
Back to nights in that motel?”

He nodded.
 
“I know, I know.
 
Maybe for just a little while.
 
But you’ll go.
 
Soon.
 
You’ll get out, Noel.
 
It’s your father, I know.
 
You’ll get away from him.”

“You don’t know,” she said.
 
“You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

 
“But I know you’ll get out on your own.
 
With the baby.
 
That’s the best way to do it, on your own.
 
But you have to get out of here first.
 
Noel, this was a mistake, just an all around bad idea.”

Del waited.
 
His arms were sore and he had a cramp in his left shoulder blade.
 
He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold still.

•

At first, Warren didn’t know where he was, but as things started to come back to him he remembered being dragged into the shed across the river.
 
This wasn’t an ordinary pass out.
 
He knew he was drunk, but the pain in his head, particularly toward the back of his skull, was greater than the worst hangover.
 
It was dark and he was lying on the cold wood floor.
 
He was not alone—another body lay motionless right behind him—and somewhere above and behind him he could hear someone breathing.
 
No, maybe there were two of them, and one had a kind of a wheeze to it that was somehow familiar.

A match was struck.
 
The flame illuminated a hand that lit a lantern hanging from the ceiling.
 
The shed was made of weathered boards and fishing gear hung from two-by-four studs.
 
Rolling onto his back, Warren saw that Norman was lying beside him.
 
He knew then that they were in trouble, in a situation that seemed to have been conceived years ago and had been waiting for them since then, waiting in a place like this on a winter’s night like this and, though his head was throbbing and he was cold, he knew it would not help to show his fear.

Raising his eyes he was not surprised to see Pronovost sitting on the bench that ran along the back wall of the shed.
 
Woo-San was next to him, his knees wide apart, his fingers laced over his stomach.
 
Because Warren was looking at them upside-down, their mouths seemed odd, the corners turned up, though there was no joy or humor about them.

Woo-San took a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket and offered one to Pronovost.

“Come on,” Warren said.
 
“Give me one.”

Woo-San ignored him.
 
He and Pronovost lit their cigarettes and the shack smelled of tobacco.
 
Warren started to sit up.

Pronovost held a sawed off baseball bat across his knees and said, “Easy.”
 
The bat was old and used to club fish.

Warren shifted on the floor until his back was against one of the two-by-four studs.
 
Blood had run down from Norman’s scalp and pooled in his right ear before it continued down his neck.
 
“You kill him?”

“Doubt it,” Pronovost said.
 
“I hit you harder.
 
I thought you were that cop because you got his coat on.
 
With the hood up I couldn’t tell so I gave you a good one.”
 
He reached inside his overcoat and drew out a flask; it was silver with some kind of leather and it looked old and expensive.
 
When he unscrewed the cap he took a drink, didn’t offer any to Woo-San, then quickly put it away.
 
The smell of whiskey blended with the cigarette smoke.

“Cold in here,” Warren said.
 
“A little snort would help.”

 
“This lamp’ll take the chill off,” Pronovost said.
 
Friendly as could be.

That was the thing about Pronovost:
 
the real estate agent in him allowed him to be agreeable around clients, and it wasn’t until later, after he showed a house or a piece of property, after the appointment was over that he’d make it clear how badly he wanted to screw them before they got him.
 
It was how he saw all of his clients:
 
like fish.
 
Dangle the bait.
 
Set the hook.
 
Haul them out of the water.
 
Sap them in the head with a sawed off baseball bat.
 
Then you clean, cook and eat them.
 
Pronovost wasn’t a catch and release kind of fisherman.

“So now what?” Warren asked.

“Good question,” Pronovost said.
 
“Since it was you in the constable’s coat, I gather that he’s still up there in the lodge with Noel and the baby.
 
I had hoped we’d get him out of the picture first.
 
Instead I got the two of you—so that part was easier than I thought.”

“What part?”

Pronovost leaned forward, cleared his throat and dropped a wad of spit on the floor.
 
“The getting you two bozos part.”
 
He studied Warren a moment.
 
“The real question is who’s going to walk out of here.
 
No, no—I’ll tell you what the real question is, Warren.
 
What did you hope to accomplish by bringing the constable out here?
 
Grab your brother and take him back to prison?”
 
He sat back on the bench and drew on his cigarette.
 
“Or did you have loftier goals?”