The Crossroads (18 page)

Zipper started
barking.

Zack woke up. Looked at his watch. It was three a.m.

“What is it, Zip?”

Zipper barked again. Zack struck a match and lit his lamp.

“Lose the lantern,” Davy ordered. “Somebody's coming. Somebody bad.”

Zack twisted the knob to extinguish the flame.

“Put Zipper in the bucket.” Davy remained remarkably calm. “Lower him down.”

“All by himself?”

“We're heading down, too. Don't worry, pardner. Everything's gonna be okay.” Davy said it with cocksure confidence. “You first. Down the ladder. I've got you covered.” Davy pulled out his slingshot. “Hurry, pal. He's coming.”

Zack swung his feet around and found the ladder. He skipped a few boards on the way down and landed hard.

Davy was already on the ground and held a finger up to his lips. “Shhh.”

The boys could hear the
ping ping
of aluminum bouncing against aluminum. Davy used his right hand to gesture “to the left and down.”

The clanging came closer. So did the voice of a crazy man who sounded a lot like the scary street people Zack remembered from New York City, the ones who marched up and down the sidewalks screaming at themselves.

“Up the hill!
No!
Do it.
I can't!
Chicken!
Shut up!
”

Davy slipped silently under the trees without so much as snapping a twig.

Zipper started barking again.

Zack turned and, in a bright shaft of moonlight, saw the plumber guy who had been at the house earlier—only now he was dragging a ladder, its pulley rattling against the rungs.
Ping ping. Ping ping.

The plumber stopped, saw the boys.

Zack saw the insane look in the guy's eyes.

The knife dangling off his belt.

“This way!” Davy rambled down the slope toward the highway. Zack and Zipper ran after him.

 

Billy dropped
the ladder and chased after the boys. He slipped on a wet patch of leaves, lost his legs, landed on his butt.

“Get up!”
the spirit of Clint Eberhart insisted.

“No!”

“Come on, Billy boy—get up off the ground.”

“No! You can't make me do this!”

“Kill the Jennings boy and we're done. I promise!”

 

“Up there!”
Davy cried as they ran up the highway.

“Where?” Zack was winded. If they had to run much farther, he knew he'd be lying in the middle of Route 13, wiggling and kicking like an upside-down bug.

Davy ran faster.

“Head for the graveyard, pardner!”

“What? Are you crazy?”

“Nope. But that feller chasin' us sure is!”

Zack dared a glance over his shoulder. The plumber was less than a hundred yards away. Zack saw a knife blade flash in the moonlight. He ran faster.

“He's afraid of graveyards!” Davy said when they reached the iron fence.

“Why?”

“Most bad eggs are.”

“Really?”

“You bet.”

“How come?”

“What'd'ya say we hop over the fence first and discuss it later?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Climb on over. Zipper can squeeze through the bars.”

Zack wished he were better in gym class, better at running or scaling walls or climbing ropes. There was no way he could pull himself over the fence.

“Let's go around to the gate….”

“Ain't got time.”

“I can't do it.”

“Sure you can.”

“I'm no good at—”

“Hush. Use the crossbeams like a ladder!”

Davy pointed and Zack saw how he might be able to scramble over the wall.

“There you go. Easy does it. One foot at a time and alley-oop!”

Zack hauled himself up and over.

“Way to go!” Davy was waiting for him on the other side. Zipper had made it, too. “You should of seen ol' Zip slipping through them bars!”

The plumber was still coming, still screaming.

“Follow me,” Davy said. He led Zack through the gravestones and into the deep shadow of a mammoth tomb topped with a concrete cross.

“We'll be safe back here.”

“How come?”

“Sacred ground.”

“Hunh?”

“The crazy ones are always scared of sacred ground.”

Zack looked around. They were near the gate. It was wide open.

“The gate! It's open!”

“Don't worry, pardner. He can't come in.”

Zack couldn't see the maniac plumber anymore, couldn't hear his screams or his threats. All he could do was hope that Davy was right about sacred ground and that the plumber knew the rules, too.

Billy stopped
running when he reached the cemetery fence.

“I want to go home,” he groaned. “Now.”

“Shut up, you big baby!”
he yelled at himself in the voice of Clint Eberhart.

“I need to go home,” said Billy. “I'm exhausted.”

“You're like a broken record! I swear I ought to—”

“There will be no swearing, young man. This is sacred ground.”

Three nuns were standing behind the fence—three penguins in flowing black robes with winged white wimples on their heads.

“Nuns?”
fumed Eberhart.
“I hate nuns!”

“Hate can be very dangerous, Mr. Eberhart,” said the shortest nun. “Hate will doom you to hell for all eternity!”

“Hah! I ain't never going to hell, Sister. I'm going to live forever!”

“No man lives forever.”

“Oh, yeah? Just watch me, doll!”

The oldest nun spoke even more serenely than the first.

“Mr. O'Claire? Mr. William O'Claire? Can you hear me? I know the demon spirit has taken control of your body, but I hope you are in there, too. Mr. O'Claire, my name is Sister Elizabeth Synnott.”

“Sin-snot? What kind of name is that? Do people call you Sister Boogers?”

“Billy?” said Sister Elizabeth. “Listen carefully. Your grandmother forgives you for what the evil spirit forced you to do.”

“What?” Billy heard the nun through the fog that always came whenever Eberhart took charge of his body.

“Mee Maw forgives you, Billy. She told me that you were a good boy. That you visited her in the nursing home and brought her oatmeal pies and—”

“Shut your mouth!”
Clint snarled through Billy's lips.

But Billy fought back.

“Sister, tell Mee Maw I—”

“Hate her guts for turning me into such a pansy!”
Clint's spirit was stronger.

“Go home, Billy,” Sister Elizabeth said gently. “Resist the demon. Can you do that for your Mee Maw?”

“I'll try, Sister.”

“One last thing, Mr. O'Claire.”

“Yes, ma'am?”

“Watch over your son.”

Eberhart yanked Billy's head sideways, wrenched his neck out of joint, sent spasms wriggling through his limbs.

“You have a son, Billy boy?”

Sister Elizabeth gasped. Understanding dawned. “I'm sorry, Billy,” she said. “I didn't realize—”

“Why is this the first I'm hearing about my great-grandson?”

“Keep him away from Aidan!” the nun implored.

“Why, Sister, what a horrible thing to say! Keep me away from my great-grandson? This Aidan and I are family.”

Early Wednesday,
Judy sat in the breakfast nook with a cup of coffee and not much else.

She needed to hit the grocery store. Soon. She saw the checkbook sitting next to the empty fruit bowl. It was too early to go outside and wake the boys. Besides, she had nothing to serve them for breakfast. Maybe she could run out to the store and grab some doughnuts, cereal, and fruit. They'd be okay for fifteen minutes.

She opened the checkbook to rip out what she assumed would be check 001.

It was 003. George must've written two checks. She looked at the stub flaps. Check 001 went to Mandica and Son for the tree work. Check 002 was made out to Billy O'Claire. The plumber.

So that's his name. O'Claire. Just like—

Judy put down the checkbook, went to the small kitchen office, and found the clasp envelope where she kept all the notes and clippings she'd been collecting. She pulled out the Miracle Mary newspaper story and raced down to the last paragraph:

Miracle Mary is survived by one grandson, William O'Claire, a plumber who still works in the North Chester area.

He still works here, all right—right here in this house.
Judy remembered something else from that story. Some kind of connection between O'Claire and her husband's family. She skimmed up a few paragraphs to the part about Mary's son.

In 1983, at the age of 25, Thomas (Tommy) O'Claire and his wife, Alice, were gunned down by Sheriff James Jennings in what was described as the “tragic and fatal conclusion to a bungled blackmail scheme.” The shootings took place outside Spratling Manor.

Zack's grandpa had killed the plumber's father and mother. Did the plumber know that George was the sheriff's son? He certainly now knew that George was a Jennings. He had to. It was written in the upper left-hand corner of the check.

Was the plumber's working at their house merely coincidence or part of some clever scheme for revenge?

Judy felt a sudden pang.

Maternal instinct? Do stepmothers get that, too?

She didn't know where it came from. All she knew was she had to go check on Zack and Davy in the backyard and she had to do it now!

Zack wasn't
in the tree house. Neither was Davy or Zipper.

Judy saw a paint-splattered aluminum ladder lying in a small clearing. On its side was stenciled O'Claire's Plumbing.

She was right! She might also be too late.

 

Sheriff Hargrove
was at the house three minutes after Judy dialed 911.

“They were sleeping in the tree house,” Judy told him. “They're in trouble. The plumber, Billy O'Claire. He's Miracle Mary's grandson.” She pointed at the ladder.

“But why would—”

“George's father killed Tommy and Alice O'Claire.”

“The plumber's parents?”

“Exactly.”

“What's that smell?” Hargrove sniffed the peppery air.

“Kerosene.” Judy saw Zack's lantern shattered on the ground. “They must have dropped it.” Judy scanned the backyard, saw some bent branches. Footprints. “They ran that way. The dog went after them.” She pointed at paw prints in the mud and then a grooved indentation left by a big boot. “So did the plumber.” Judy saw more dog tracks. “This way,” she said.

“Wait a second. It might be best if—”

“This way!”

The sheriff followed Judy down a trail the boys had ripped through the underbrush. When they reached the highway, they saw the plumber's pickup parked on the shoulder.

“Stay back. Behind that tree there. Now. Go.”

He approached the vehicle. “Mr. O'Claire? Mr. O'Claire?”

There was no response.

“He's not here!”

Judy squinted, looked up and down Route 13.

“See that tall grass near the graveyard?” she said. “It's been trampled down!”

“Yeah.” Hargrove started jogging. Judy ran after him. She was faster.

“Zack?” Judy yelled between breaths. “Zack!”

A dog barked.

“Zipper?” she called out.

The dog barked louder. Judy and the sheriff crested cemetery hill. She saw Zack standing behind the railings.

“Zack!”

Hargrove ran around the fence, found the gate. Judy worked her arms through the bars so she could hug Zack.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

“Where's Davy? Is Davy okay?”

“Davy went home,” Zack said. “The farm bell rang. He had chores to do.”

Sheriff Hargrove worked his way through the graveyard and stood next to Zack and Zipper. “Are you okay, son?”

“Yeah. It was the plumber. He wanted to kill us, so we ran away.”

The sheriff scanned the horizon. “Where'd he go?”

“I don't know. We hid behind a tombstone all night long.”

“Good for you!” said Judy.

She silently vowed that she'd never let Zack out of her sight again, not until he was eighteen—no, twenty-one!