Slice (34 page)

N
INETY-ONE

“
Y
our aunt is very worried about you,” John told he ras they sat on the couch that night, a soft rain tapping behind them on the windows.

Jessie smiled. “I know she is. But she shouldn't be.”

“She came by my house and asked me to come speak with you.” John sighed as he took Jessie's hands in his. “Are you really certain that letting that boy stay here in the house is a good idea?”

“He belongs here, John.” Jessie looked over at the stairs that led up to the rooms where both Aaron and Abby were now sound asleep. “This is his home.”

John made a face that showed a lack of understanding. “Paulette said you're convinced that somehow . . .” His voice trailed off for a moment. “That somehow he's your son.”

Jessie held his gaze. “I know it must sound crazy.”

John gave her a small smile as if to say he wasn't disputing that fact.

“Maybe it
is
crazy,” Jessie admitted. “But it's what I believe.”

“How is that possible, Jessie? You told me you had a miscarriage.”

“I did. A miscarriage I caused by wanting it, wishing for it. You have no idea how much guilt and grief I carried around with me because of that. And I believe I have brought Aaron back the same way—subconsciously wanting it and wishing for it.”

“That's impossible, Jessie.”

“Is it?” She settled back into the couch, allowing her shoulder to press into his. “Aren't you the author of a book called
The Killing Room
?”

“Yes. Have you read it?”

“I've read enough about it to know the plot. A woman believes very hard that her husband, killed in war, is actually not dead. She manifests him back to life through her grief.” Here she made it a point to look up at John. “And through the power of life and death and hope and love.”

“Jessie,” John said. “That was fiction.”

She smiled. “The little boy upstairs isn't fiction. He's very real. I fed him a big dinner tonight, and then I gave him a bath. He had real dirt between his toes. And he peed like any real little boy after drinking three glasses of milk with his Oreo cookies.”

“All the more reason to think he might be some kid being used by Emil to get at you,” John said, sitting forward suddenly on the couch and turning to look at her hard. He squeezed her hands. “I don't trust that kid.”

“He's my son, John.”

“You're not thinking clearly, Jessie. Something . . . something's come over you.”

“My maternal instinct has come over me,” she said. “I recognize my own child.”

“Listen to me, Jessie. I believe Emil has come back. It's the only explanation.”

She gently extricated her hands from his and stood up from the couch, walking across the room to place another log on the fireplace. The night was so cold and damp.

“The man from the FBI, Patrick Castile, was here to talk to me,” she said. “Do you know him?”

John hesitated. “Yes. He came by to see me as well.”

“He told me that the FBI has long suspected that Emil wasn't killed in that shoot-out in Mexico.”

“That's right, Jessie. That's why you need to be careful.”

“Did you know this all along, John? That Emil might not be dead?” She kept her back to him as she nudged the logs with the poker.

“I . . . I had some reasons to think so.”

“Really? And you never told me.”

“I had no reason to think you were in any danger, Jessie. At least not then. Now I'm worried about it.”

She turned to look at him. “I'm not running in terror from Emil anymore.”

“I'm not asking you to run, just to be smart and to take precautions. Letting that child live with you . . .”

Jessie smiled. “Oh, John. How could a five-year-old boy hurt me? Don't tell me you're subscribing to Aunt Paulette's crazy theory that he's really Emil, returned as a ghost in the guise of a child?”

“No, of course not. Ghosts don't pee.”

“Precisely.” She returned to the couch and sat down beside John once again.

He slipped his arm around her, pulling her close. “But, Jessie,” he said. “The FBI is right. . . .” His voice was clearly troubled. “Look, I have to tell you what I know because things are happening . . . and I'm worried about you.”

“So you
do
know more than you've told me,” she said.

“When I started writing the book,” John said, “I went to Mexico looking for Emil. I wanted to find him, to hear the story in his own words. Through the members of his gang that I'd tracked down—and after paying them some money—I determined Emil's whereabouts. I flew to Mexico and located him.”

“You—you met Emil?”

“Just once.”

Jessie pulled away from him on the couch.

“Please listen to me, Jessie.”

“I'm listening,” she said coldly. “Go on.”

“Emil told me that he'd give me his story if I paid him. I was in the process of trying to raise the cash when the Mexican police raided the house he was staying in, killing everyone inside. But I knew Emil wasn't one of them.”

“How did you know that?”

“Because he left a note for me the next day at my hotel, saying he'd still tell me his story if I paid him the money. But by that time the FBI and CIA had arrived and were swarming all over the place. A couple of them interviewed me and made it clear that I was interfering with their investigation. So I got the hell out of there.”

“So you knew all along that Emil was alive. . . .”

“The FBI wasn't sure if the note was a forgery, written by another gang member. But yes . . . I had serious suspicions he was alive.”

“And you never told me.”

“I didn't want to worry you. And the FBI was in touch with me periodically, asking me if I had heard from Emil. They told me to say nothing. And they assured me that they were keeping watch on a person who might be him, and that he had not returned to the United States.”

“But now they believe he has. . . .”

John nodded. “And that's why I want you to take all precautions, Jessie. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you everything before.”

She looked at him. “Are there any more secrets I should know, John?”

For half a second, Jessie thought she detected a flicker of unease in John's eyes, and a flash of hesitation. But then he said firmly, “No. No more secrets.”

Jessie sighed, standing up once more despite John's attempt to embrace her. Did she believe him that there were no more secrets? She wasn't sure.

He's a very bad man
, Aaron had said.

Why did John want to separate her from her son—the son she had only just found again after so long?

“A very bad man,” she heard again, only now it was John speaking. “Emil is very bad, very dangerous.”

Jessie leveled her eyes at him. “Do you think I don't know that?”

“Of course you do, Jessie. It's just that the idea of him here, in Sayer's Brook, makes me very uneasy. I remember the cruelty in his eyes when I spoke with him in Mexico. I saw then a man who had no conscience, a sociopath who lived only for himself, and whose motives were greed and revenge.”

“Did he say anything about me?”

“Only that you had seen him commit the murder. We didn't speak long. He wasn't going to tell me anything before he got his money.”

Jessie shuddered.

“I'm so sorry about this, Jessie. Please. Let me put you and Abby up at a hotel.”

“No.”

“Or come stay with me. . . .”

“Emil can't harm me anymore, John,” she told him. “I won't let him.”

“How can you fight off a monster like that?”

Jessie smiled. “Call me crazy, and you probably will, but I feel that the boy upstairs—my son—is here to protect me. That's why he came back. Aaron won't let his father hurt me again.”

“You're right. I
do
think that sounds crazy.”

“A couple of days ago, I would have agreed that it sounds crazy. I can't explain how I feel, John. But I believe Aaron has come back to protect Abby and me from Emil.”

“Fine. But take some other precautions. . . .”

“We have a high-powered, maximum-security system in place.”

“I don't think that will keep Emil out if he wants in.”

“Look, John, I'm not afraid of Emil anymore. For too long I've lived in fear of him. But now, you can rest assured that I am indeed strong enough to stand up to anything Emil does.” She smiled, looking toward the stairs. “You'll see. Emil will be sorry for everything he ever did to me.”

N
INETY-TWO

A
aron walked softly through the woods, wearing the clean, sweet-smelling, blue flannel pajamas that Jessie had dressed him in. The only sounds, as usual, were the leaves underfoot. The rain was drenching his hair and the mud was once again soiling his feet.

He reached the shack.

The boy entered, sitting on a broken old chair against one wall. Within seconds, the man entered. Aaron watched him. The man was carrying a sack. He threw the sack behind a pile of old wooden boxes, then stretched out on the floor.

“Sleep,” the man said in a weary voice. “I need sleep. . . .”

It wasn't long before the man was snoring on the floor.

Aaron sat there, watching him.

N
INETY-THREE

“
I
can't help you, Aunt Paulette,” Monica said. “She won't speak to me.”

“She can't allow that boy to sleep in her house! I don't trust him! He's a devil-child! I think he's Emil come back to life!”

Monica poured herself another glass of wine. It was her third in the last half hour. At this rate, she'd have the whole bottle empty soon, and she was absolutely fine with that. The wine made the nights easier to get through.

“You sound like a crazy old woman,” she told her aunt, her words slurring slightly. “I've never believed in all your hocus pocus about visions and ghosts. Devil-child! Emil come back to life! Don't make me laugh!”

“It's true, Monica. You must believe me! Jessie's not herself. That child has cast some kind of spell over her.”

“Maybe that explains why she's being such a bitch,” Monica said, sipping the wine. “She keeps saying I owe her an apology, when it's because of
her
that my husband has left me. . . .”

“Monica, please! Let that go for now. Your sister is in danger! She needs our help!”

Monica gestured at her aunt with the wineglass. “Did you know that Todd is living right down the street? He's staying with Mr. Thayer. I saw him. But he won't speak to me. I've left hundreds of messages. I even went down there. He's put poor Mr. Thayer in a dreadful position. Mr. Thayer was very sympathetic to me when I went down there.” She frowned at Aunt Paulette. “It was a nice change to find someone sympathetic to
me
for a change.”

“Monica, please . . .”

“But even though Mr. Thayer tried to get Todd to talk with me, he refused. I just don't know what to do anymore, Aunt Paulette.”

She chugged back the wine.

“Monica, we need to help Jessie. . . .”

“Jessie can go to hell!” Monica shrieked, and tossed the wineglass across the room. It shattered against the marble floor.

N
INETY-FOUR

O
utside the window, standing in the rain, peering in through the window, Aaron heard Monica's words.

He turned and trudged up the hill back toward Jessie's house. Halfway there, he paused. He stood in the shadows, watching the scene unfold on Jessie's front porch.

She was saying good night to John Manning. He took Jessie in his arms.

“I've come to care about you a great deal,” Manning was saying to Jessie. Aaron could hear his voice clearly from where he stood, floating through the night air and the misty rain. “And I'm worried about you.”

“I'm perfectly safe here,” Jessie told him. “The security system is quite sophisticated.”

“But the boy . . .”

“He's my son, John. I know you don't believe it, and I can't explain it. But he's my son.”

“He's
not
your son, Jessie,” John said.

Aaron's face darkened.

“Then what is he?” Jessie asked. “A little boy who's lost.”

“If that's so, his parents must be looking for him. . . .”

“His mother has already found him.”

“Jessie, you should at least talk to Chief Walters about him. . . .”

She put a finger to Manning's mouth.

He fell silent. Then he reached down and kissed Jessie on the lips.

Aaron's mouth twisted downward in anger as he watched.

“We'll talk again in the morning,” Manning told Jessie.

“Come by for our Halloween party,” she said. “Wait until you see the kids' costumes!”

Manning didn't reply. Aaron watched him as he walked down the steps. His eyes followed the man as he hurried through the rain toward his house.

Jessie went back inside. Aaron heard the lock of the front door, and the soft “beep-beep” indicating that Jessie had just activated the security system. Then the lights in the living room went out, and Aaron could hear Jessie heading upstairs.