“Are you all right, Mrs. McFall?” he asked her, heading her way.
The kitchen light was on behind her; he could see that she was holding a cup of tea, leaning against the doorframe—watching him.
“I’m fine. I was wondering if Isaac had gotten it together to speak with you,” she said.
“Yes, he spoke with us,” Griffin told her.
“I’m so glad you’re here! I’ve had the oddest feeling for the longest time now...”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, for one, I see strangers on the street sometimes. They’re here for a day, and then they’re gone. And I don’t know why they’re here, except that I think they’re looking for something.”
“And do you know what they’re looking for?” Griffin asked her.
“Call me crazy, Special Agent Pryce,” she said softly, “but I am eighty, and I have lived here a long time, and seen a great deal. I think that they’re looking for people.”
“People?”
“People like Brenda Noonan, Nell Patton or Carly Sanderson.”
“They believe that Carly Sanderson is alive.”
“And she may well be. She may be one of them now.”
“One of them—who?”
“The murderers, Special Agent Pryce, the murderers. You really do need to believe me. I’m not a crazy old lady. I’ve heard about what’s going on in Boston—and I’ve seen what’s going on out here. I’m very grateful that you’re here. You stop these monsters, sir! Somebody is pulling puppet strings. I just don’t believe that they’re bringing fire and brimstone and Satan in the flesh to the forest—but I do believe that there is a flesh-and-blood monster out there, and he’s going to kill until he is stopped.” She paused, setting her cup on the table. “Well, thank you for listening. Good night, Special Agent Pryce!”
She started to walk by him.
“Mrs. McFall?”
“Yes?”
“Please, call me Griffin. It’s a lot shorter.”
She laughed softly. “Okay.” Then she hesitated. “Mona. You may call me Mona. No, never mind. I like being Mrs. McFall!”
He laughed. “Good night, Mrs. McFall!”
She went on up. Griffin followed.
He opened the door to his room, wondering if Vickie had waited up for him, but expecting that she crashed out, was sound asleep and lying curled up on her side of the bed.
To his surprise, she was not.
She was standing beside the bed, facing the windows. Her eyes were open, but she didn’t see him; she didn’t turn as he came in.
“Vickie?” he said softly.
She didn’t respond.
“Vickie!”
He walked over to her. He gently turned her to look at him, and then took her into his arms.
“Vickie!”
She started suddenly, and blinked. For a long moment, she was completely disoriented, staring at him, and then she murmured, “Griffin!”
“Yes, it’s me, Vickie. It’s okay, you were...”
“Dreaming. Griffin, it was so weird! Tonight, the animals in the woods talked. They wanted me to know that the bear didn’t do it.”
“The bear told you that, right?”
“No, a mountain lion. I guess he was speaking for the bear. But there is a connection, I know it—but we can’t become too fixated on the connection. Griffin, they were all in my dream—the beautiful blonde, who I don’t think is the same woman we found in the Quabbin today. She was very tiny. Although, I don’t know. I didn’t actually see that much... Anyway, the men from Fall River were all in the dream. Charlie Oakley, Syd Smith, Robert Merton and Cole Magruder. They were on a log when I walked through, and Syd was talking about misdirection again. We can’t lose focus—we have to concentrate on finding Alex.”
He held her tightly and gently, looking into her eyes.
He understood.
None of them could help the emotion that came with the job—and it was actually important that they never did. There was something horrible that tore at the heart to see what man was capable of doing to man.
And yet, for both justice and a chance to help the living, they had to see the dead.
For them, in more ways than one.
“We’re going to find Alex,” he assured her, gently smoothing back her hair.
She still seemed worried as he held her. He eased back, studying her again. “Are you okay?” he asked her. “I’ve been thinking that you are just too close to this. First, there is the point that Alex is your friend. And then, whoever is doing this wanted you warned away, or something. That’s why Gloria knew your name—why blood was thrown at you. I should call your dad—”
She started to laugh suddenly. “Oh, Griffin, really—you’re going to call my dad on me?”
He laughed, too. “I meant that it might be a lot safer for you right now, joining your parents.”
She shook her head. “You need me, and I’m staying. You’re right. I have a feeling I know what it’s all about, too.”
“You do?”
“At first, I think whoever it is wanted me to stop. To be terrified—and just stop. What was happening in Boston, I think, was to keep people from noticing what was going on elsewhere. If this guy really thinks that he can kill and kill and be ignored, he’s crazy. I don’t think that I need to be frightened, Griffin. I wasn’t physically attacked, not really, not in the sense to hurt me. The blood washed off. If I’m in any danger, it’s because this person may think that if Alex fails, I might find something that he didn’t. We’re back to Jehovah, Griffin. I’ve got to figure out where it was—not vaguely that it was out here somewhere. We have to find out where it really was, and then ruin any possibility of this creature using it for whatever his plan may be!”
She was fierce when she spoke to him, and he nodded slowly. “Okay, but you have to stay close. One of us will always be with you.”
They went to bed. For a long time, he just held her. They both started to drift off to sleep, but then a brush became a touch, and they made love.
Quietly, slowly...
The moon made its way in through the window, and it was beautiful.
*
“Vickie!”
The phone rang bright and early—or at least it felt bright and early when Vickie groped for her cell on the bedside table.
Griffin, however, was up and gone; a note lay on his pillow.
“Vickie! Are you there?”
The caller was Roxanne. Her voice was exuberant.
Annoyingly so, since Vickie was barely awake.
“Yes, yes, I’m here. Roxanne. Hey. How are you?”
“I’m great—I mean, really great. Vickie, I know I make a lot of mistakes, and you’re always warning me, and yes, I need to be careful. But—and thank you, because this is all you!—I’m in love!”
“What?”
“I’m in love!”
“That’s truly wonderful. Who are you in love with?”
“The cop, Vickie! The incredible artist cop. Jim Tracy. James Bradford Tracy. He’s so wonderful, Vickie. And shy, even. First, he asked me out for coffee so we could compare our sketches. Then he asked me to dinner. Then he asked me to come with him on this trip,” Roxanne said.
“That’s—um, great.”
“We’re in Fall River. In an hour, we’re heading over to the gas station to get the brothers to describe the man they saw with the missing woman. Vickie, he is so cute. I mean, Jim Tracy is so cute. Not the creepy brothers. Honestly, I haven’t even met them yet, but everyone says that they’re creepy. And I am so crazy about him. Jim, I mean, obviously! He likes art. He loves art.”
“Roxanne, I’m... I guess I’m happy for you both. But should I be worried about you? You told me you were a chicken.”
“I was a chicken. Well, I’m still a chicken. But coming out here with Jim...it isn’t doing anything dangerous. Hey, he knows how to use a gun and he’s taken all kinds of martial arts classes. I don’t think I could be in safer company. Besides, we’re not after anyone. We’re just here to listen to a description and try to do up a likeness. I thought it was so amazing of Jim to ask me. I mean, he had permission. Your guy, your Griffin, thinks he’s really good. So, we were sent out from Boston. I think he’s really good, and he thinks I’m really good. I am in love!”