Ghost Light (11 page)

It all sounded so good except for a few things that nagged at the back of her mind.

Her worst concern, at least right now, was how seldom she had gotten to talk to Harry since she had left home. She had tried calling him several times a day but had managed to get through to him, and not his answering machine, only three times the first week and twice the second. At night, the motel bed seemed frighteningly large without him beside her. She felt lonely and scared and vulnerable without her husband.

That in itself bothered her because she wished she could feel more confident, more courageous on her own; but there was also something else—something about the few conversations they’d had that bothered her. She couldn’t quite put it into words, and she felt uncomfortable even thinking about it, but she sensed a distance that was more than physical growing between her and her husband. At odd moments, day and night, usually when she was thinking about the last time they had talked, she would have unnerving flashes that she had been married to him a long time ago and was now divorced … and that Krissy and Billy were really her children from another marriage… or that she had never been married, except perhaps in another lifetime and that she had no idea who these kids in the back seat of her car were.

But even the few times she had talked to Harry, he had sounded impatient and detached, almost as if he thought he was wasting his time talking to her. Oh, he kept reassuring her, and he said all the right things, asking how she and the kids were doing and telling her how much he missed her, but in each of the five phone calls they’d had, there had been something else… something…
wrong
with his tone of voice. She hated to think that he didn’t really mean or feel anything he was saying. She tried to convince herself that it was just the geographical and emotional distance between them and the utter weirdness of their situation that made her feel this way, but no matter how hard she tried to push it away, a faint, nagging thought kept popping up in her mind—

What if Harry never comes here? What if he doesn’t even intend to join us here?… And what if I have to handle all of this alone?

Especially late at night and in the long stretches of silence as she drove, that thought hounded her.

What if I have to do all of this… alone!

She fortified herself with the conviction that she was doing the right and necessary thing, trying to save these kids and providing them with a safe, loving home.

Yeah, some home she’d made for them so far!

Two weeks straight of hours on end in the car, shabby motel rooms, and fast food restaurants for three meals a day. But this was the only alternative she had thought of, and she was convinced she
had
to do it because her dead sister had asked her to protect her kids, and Krissy and Billy were all she had left of any real family. Even if it meant losing Harry, she had to go through with her plans. Sometimes she would start to cry late at night or as she drove, and all she could do was hope that the kids didn’t notice.

These and other thoughts tormented her, but she tried to push them aside as the highway rolled out in front of her. Long blue afternoon shadows stretched like thin rubber across the road as the exits flew past one after another. Cindy was amazed—as she had been the only other time she had visited Maine with Harry—how the thick pine trees seemed to crowd in on both sides of the road. The horizon, which out in Nebraska seemed to stretch away forever, was much too close here. At times she had the odd sensation that she could actually reach out and touch it. Distances in New England were just too damned small. Even the three lane Maine Turnpike had far too many twists and turns as it followed the rolling contours of the land. Already she felt homesick for the wide open spaces of the Midwest.

After about an hour, she saw up ahead a sign announcing “EXIT 8 PORTLAND AND WEST-BROOK, 2 MILES.” The sun had become lost in the afternoon heat haze and cast an eerie pall over the land. She didn’t need to glance at her watch to know that it was already late afternoon.

“Hey, is anyone hungry? Want to stop and eat here?” she called out, her voice holding a light, happy tone in spite of her bleak thoughts.

Before either of the kids could respond, a loud explosion sounded from underneath the car toward the back. Cindy immediately eased her foot off the accelerator. Her hands reflexively tightened on the steering wheel when she felt the rear end of the car sway to the right, pulling hard.

“Oh, shit!”

A loud slapping sound shook the car, gradually lessening as she applied the brakes. Fighting the drag on the steering wheel, she eased into the breakdown lane and killed the engine.

“Shit, shit,
shit!
” she shouted as she pounded her fists on the dashboard. “Just what I need! A flat tire!”

After glancing over her shoulder at the oncoming traffic, she slid across the front seat and got out on the passenger’s side. The air was oppressively hot and alive with insect noises. Grasshoppers and crickets shot up from the knee-high grass along the roadside. Before shutting the door, she looked at the kids in the back seat. “You guys wait here while I change the tire, okay? It won’t take long.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Billy asked. He still didn’t smile, but she could see a subtle excitement brightening his eyes.

Cindy regarded him for a moment, then, biting her lower lip, nodded and said, “Of course I do.”

“I can do it for you, though. My dad showed me the right way to do it tons of times,” Billy said excitedly. “I know all about how you have to loosen all lug nuts first before you jack the car up, and once you take them off to put the lug nuts inside the hubcap cover so you don’t lose ’em.” He unsnapped his seat belt and shifted forward, reaching in front of Krissy to open the car door.

A car sped by, and the wind of its passing blasted into Cindy’s face like an open furnace. “No,” she said mildly, “you’d better stay in the car where it’s safe. I think I can handle this by myself.”

“Come on, you don’t know the first thing about changing tires.”

“Oh, really? And just how do you know that?”

For the first time in what seemed like days, Cindy saw a sly smile creep across Billy’s face. “Well, because rule number one, my dad always told me, is to make sure nobody stays in the car when you jack it up. If somebody moved around, it might snap the jack out, and you could bend the chassis if the car fell.”

Cindy considered for a moment, then, realizing she could use this to her advantage, said, “I suppose that makes sense. Well then, what do you say we take care of this together?”

She stepped back and opened the back door. In a flash, Billy crawled over his sister and jumped out onto the roadside before Cindy helped Krissy unbuckle. The little girl remained silent. She stepped out of the car and walked into the deep grass, moving like a robot when Cindy directed her to stand well back from the highway. Several cars went past, hitting them with hot wind blasts and raising swirls of dust that shimmered like pollen in the heavy air.

Reaching across the front seat, Cindy pulled on the emergency flashers and took the keys from the ignition before going to the back of the car and opening the trunk. She groaned when she realized that she would have to unload their suitcases before she could get at the spare tire and jack, but Billy set to work with an eagerness and energy that she found endearing. Within seconds, he had the suitcases stacked neatly on the roadside and was struggling to get the spare tire unbolted from the bracket inside the dark trunk.

“If you can’t see what you’re doing, there should be a flashlight in there somewhere,” Cindy said.

Billy felt around, then glanced back at her and shook his head. “I don’t see one.”

Sighing with frustration, Cindy went back to the car and fished under the front seat until she found it amongst the litter of empty soda cans and hamburger wrappers. When she clicked the switch, only a faint orange glow like a dying ember lit up the bulb. She swore under her breath and threw the flashlight back onto the floor.

By the time she got back to Billy, he already had the spare tire out on the ground and was fumbling with the pieces of the jack, trying to fit it into the base. The angled tire iron was on the ground at his feet.

“It’d be better if we had a star wrench,” he said.

Cindy nodded, having no idea what he meant.

“You know, maybe we should wait for someone to stop and help us,” she said, nervously watching as cars kept zipping past them. No one had bothered to stop at least so far.

“Naw, this’ll be easy. Well be done in no time,” Billy replied.

As it turned out, though, it took them better than twenty minutes to change the tire because they had so much trouble loosening the rusted lug nuts. Standing side by side, they gripped the angled tire iron, counted to three, and then pulled for all they were worth. It took more than a dozen tries on each nut, and before long they were sweating and panting, but eventually all of the lug nuts loosened with loud, complaining groans. Again, leaning close, side by side, they jacked up the car, took off the flat tire, and put on the spare. Cindy was grateful that the spare wasn’t flat, which was what happened to her the last time she’d had a flat. Once the tire was on, they eased the car down and were just setting to work to tighten the lug nuts when she heard a car pull to a stop behind them.

“Uh-oh,” Krissy said. Her voice was almost lost beneath the buzzing insect sounds and the roar of passing cars.

Cindy’s heart gave a hard kick in her chest, and her body froze for a moment. She licked her lips and tried to swallow down the dry lump in her throat, hoping to hell she could manage a smile. Just as she was turning around, flickering blue lights came on and, above the rushing sound of passing traffic, she heard the faint squawk of a police radio.

The tightening in her chest got worse. Her legs felt suddenly all loose and rubbery. Her hand let go of the tire iron, and it fell to the ground, clanging as loud as a school bell.

Oh. Jesus—oh, shit—they’ve found us!

Phone Messages

I
t was a good thing that Debbie had a key to her sister’s house, and it was even better that Harry apparently had known nothing about it. At least so far he hadn’t asked to have it back. If he ever did, Alex thought, it would make it a shitload tougher for him to get
anything
done. His kids had been missing for two weeks now, and he still wasn’t sure what he planned to do about it. At least he had one major obstacle out of his way: he had access to Harry’s house whenever the hell he wanted it … as long as the son of a bitch wasn’t home with his goddamned security chain locked. Alex’s blood boiled whenever he thought about what had happened that night he had first discovered the kids were gone. He fumed with trembling rage whenever he remembered how badly he had wanted to smash that mother fucker’s front door open, rip it right off its hinges, and beat him to a bloody-fucking pulp with it.

It was a little past noon on Thursday, and like the rest of the week so far, Alex had called in sick at work. The whole time he was showering, shaving, and sobering up, he had been constantly turning over ideas about what he should do. Finding the key in the kitchen drawer with Cindy’s name on the attached name tag had certainly brightened his prospects, but he immediately started thinking that this had fallen into place a little
too
easily. In fact, he had never even noticed the key in the silverware drawer before, and that made him a little bit suspicious about it.

What if it was part of the setup, too?

Debbie had never told him she had this key. Why had she even had it—to water their plants when they were away on vacation? Or had the cops placed it here sometime in the last few weeks? Was it here—for whatever reason—to help them nail him for killing his wife?

A ray of afternoon sunlight coming in through the kitchen window reflected off the key, making it sparkle like a fishing lure in the palm of his hand. He didn’t like the vague, worrisome feeling that
he
was the catch this lure was designed to snare.

A little after two o’clock, after he had dressed in a faded blue t-shirt and jeans, ate a light meal of toast and coffee, he tucked the key into his jeans pocket and left the house, being mindful to lock the door. The day was heavy with humidity as he got into his car. The temperature had to be at least ninety degrees. Wanting to keep his mind clear, Alex tried to forget about the beer he was craving so badly as he started up the engine and pulled the car out into the street. He cautioned himself that he had to stay alert and on his guard. Just like when he was in Vietnam, he could
never
let his guard down, even for an instant. It might be fatal!

Alex was positive his kids weren’t still at Harry’s house, but finding the key had given him the idea of going over there and breaking in… just to have a look around. He drove to Elmwood Street and cruised slowly past the house. It certainly looked empty. The garage door was down, and there were no cars in the driveway. Most of the shades were drawn, and this morning’s newspaper was still lying at an angle on the front steps.

“Yeah, he ain’t home,” Alex whispered, but even if he was going to use the key now and go inside, he would first have to make sure Harry was at the hardware store. He knew he could use the phone booth at the corner store to call and find out, but instead he drove across town, over to the store on 30th Street. He circled the block twice, slowing down for each pass by the front of the store. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of Harry through the plate glass door, but the glaring reflection off the sunlit Street obscured everything. Feeling a steady rise of frustration, he pulled into the parking lot and stopped at the far end, angling the car so it was aimed straight at the storefront. He killed the engine and just sat there, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he stared at the front door and considered what he should do next. Heat waves shimmered in the heavy air, making the asphalt look like it was flooded with running water.

Of course, the easiest thing to do would be to walk into the store and just take a casual look around; but he rarely—if ever—came by Harry’s store, and he
certainly
never bought anything from the cheap bastard! Although he wanted to make sure Harry was in the store before breaking into his house, he also didn’t want to be seen himself, so he decided against taking that route. No, he’d just as soon not have anyone see him here today, and a phone call might raise the same suspicions. His plans were still vague at this point, but if something happened later on he sure as hell didn’t want anyone to be able to draw even the slightest connection between him and… whatever.

Then again, he thought, it might be funny as hell to walk into the store and start yelling at Harry, pretending he was still royally pissed off about his kids being missing. That wouldn’t take much effort on his part although, in fact, Alex was more upset by the fact that Cindy and—no doubt—Harry had so far gotten away with it than he was that The kids were gone. Actually, over the last few weeks, for the first time in something like ten years, he was thoroughly enjoying the peaceful silence of his own home.

But why not just burst in there and pull a scene in front of everyone, employees and customers alike? He could threaten Harry and yell at him all he wanted, but he cautioned himself: he had to be careful not to hit him or start smashing things up. After all, there was no sense getting the cops involved. He still hadn’t informed the police that his kids had been kidnapped, and he certainly didn’t want to involve them at this late date. How would he explain that his children had been gone for two weeks before he reported the incident? But it would probably be a blast to go in there and get the other employees all riled up and let them see what an absolute asshole-shit of a boss they worked for.

As Alex thought about these things, time ticked away slowly. It was boiling hot out here in the sun-blasted car, and his thirst for a beer was getting much worse. After more than an hour he was seething with frustration and rage. His body was tense, and he continually shifted in the car seat because he wanted to get out and
do
something…
anything!

But, he reminded himself, he didn’t have to rush into anything, either. All along he’d been taking his sweet time about things because he didn’t
have
to do any of the other things he was thinking about doing… at least not today.

What was the hurry?

Besides, it was smart to take his time and wait, if he waited long enough, something even better might present itself.

One thing for sure, though, it sure was a bitch being his own private detective. He wished to hell he had the resources to hire someone else to sit out here in the car and swelter, watching the store. And he would have been able to hire someone, too, he thought bitterly, if his fucking wife hadn’t scraped better than ten thousand dollars off him over the last year or so and given it to her sister… to her fucking sister!

“Yeah, Debbie,” he whispered as he wiped the wash of sweat from his forehead and stared intently at the storefront through the rippling heat waves. “1 hope to shit you’re roasting in hell for
that
one!” He snickered softly under his breath and added, “And I’ll try my damndest to make sure your sister joins you there r-e-a-l soon.”

He wasn’t sure which—if any—of the cars parked outside the store was Harry’s. Customers came and went, but one green Toyota remained parked at the side of the building. It might be Harry’s, Alex thought, or else one of the clerk’s. He tried but couldn’t remember what kind of car the asshole drove, so unless he went inside the store and checked or else called and asked for Harry, he couldn’t be sure. And after the scene he pulled at Harry’s house, he didn’t want to go over to the house and risk getting caught breaking in.

No, it might feel like he was sitting in an oven, but he had to take his time and make sure he didn’t fuck things up. He had to be clear and careful in his calculations. He wasn’t going to find Cindy and his kids—and get even with her!—unless he did.

“An ice-cold beer sure would go down smooth now,” he whispered in a dry, croaking voice.

He glanced at his watch and saw that it was already past four o’clock. He licked his lips and noticed for the first time the Pepsi vending machine outside the storefront. Opening the ashtray, he fished around until he found three quarters and a few nickels and dimes. Clenching them in his hand, he wondered if he should risk walking over there and getting himself something cold to drink. He tossed back and forth on the issue until he finally decided that it wasn’t worth it. His stomach was growling with hunger, anyway, so he started up the car, thinking there were plenty of places nearby where he could get something to eat. He could grab a quick supper, take a leak, and then come back in an hour or so to see what was going on.

After all, there was no sense hurrying.

He shifted the car into gear and was just about to pull out when a bright red Camaro, glimmering with reflections off the chrome, pulled into the parking lot. He saw Harry’s balding silhouette through the driver’s side window.

“Yeah, okay. Back from an early supper, huh, you lousy prick?” Alex whispered. He shrank down into the seat and turned to watch the driver.

Harry pulled up as close as he could to the store and stopped the car. A self-satisfied grin split his face as he stepped out of the car, pocketed his keys, and strutted purposely to the front door. Alex’s fists, still holding the coins, clenched with anger as he watched Harry swing the door open and step inside. As the door swung shut behind him, a glancing flash of sunlight reflected off the mirrored surface of the plate glass, stinging Alex’s eyes and leaving a trailing, white-hot afterimage.

“Okay, you rotten mother-fucker! … At least now I know where you are.”

He started up his car and, without pausing at the stop sign, darted out into the flow of traffic heading east. The trailing blast of a horn let him know that the driver behind him wasn’t pleased with his performance. He stuck his arm out the window and casually raised his middle finger over the car roof.

He still wasn’t sure what he thought he could accomplish, but he figured, at least for a little while, it was safe for him to drive out to Harry and Cindy’s house on Elmwood Street… just to have a little look around, he told himself.

2

C
indy couldn’t believe her luck, but in spite of how nervous she was and how badly she was stuttering, trying to explain who she was and where she was going and that she and “her boy” had already taken care of the flat tire, the state trooper never seemed to pick up that these were the two kidnapped kids from Nebraska she had in her car.

It was a miracle!

And Billy and Krissy—
God love them!
— didn’t say or do anything to give her away. Up until that moment, Cindy had never been absolutely certain that the kids even wanted to be with her; but with a state trooper right there, this was their chance to say or do something if they wanted to get away from her. Throughout the entire interaction, Cindy was inwardly cringing, just waiting to hear one of them, probably Krissy, because she seemed the most unhappy, start whining and say,
“Hey, mister! This isn’t my mommy! My mommy’s dead, and this lady’s our aunt who stole us away from our daddy! But I wanna go home! I wanna see my daddy!”

But they didn’t.

They went right along with the story she concocted on the spot—that they were from Nebraska, obviously enough from the license plates on her car, and had driven to Maine to spend a few weeks with their uncle, who lived in Westbrook. She chose Westbrook because that was the last town or city name she remembered seeing on the exit sign. A couple of times, Billy nodded agreement—perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, Cindy thought—while Krissy remained silent, rooted to the spot on the roadside where she had been told to stand.

After making sure the lug nuts had been put on tightly, the state trooper replaced the flat tire and the jack back in the trunk, and got back into his cruiser. With his blue lights still strobing like lightning, he waited—and watched—while Cindy loaded the kids into the back seat, got them seat-belted, started up her car, and pulled back onto the turnpike as soon as she saw a break in the traffic. She was gnawing viciously at her lower lip as she drove away, gradually picking up speed. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the rearview mirror to watch the state trooper as he followed along behind them.

Is he just biding his time? Maybe he’s radioing up ahead to the state police barracks, asking them to run down the numbers on her Nebraska license plate! Or maybe he already knows who she is, and is just following along behind to keep tabs on her until other units get in place to cut her off!

Up ahead, Cindy saw the sign for Exit 8—Portland and Westbrook. Remembering her story, she snapped on her blinker and slowed down for the turn. The state trooper suddenly darted out into the passing lane. For a single, shimmering instant, Cindy thought she was about to see his blue flashers come on again, but then he tooted his horn a few times and waved to her before zipping up the interstate.

Relief flooded Cindy’s body as she eased her car around the long, curving turn, heading toward the toll booth.

“Boy, oh boy, that was a close one, huh?” Billy said.