Ty was sitting on the top stair of the massive staircase at Gatewood mansion. She heard voices from downstairs, from the living room, a shout of laughter. She wanted to walk downstairs and join them, wanted to get closer because they were enjoying themselves so much. But she couldn’t move. She tried again, heaving with the effort, but it was like some great force was holding her in place. She felt something that made her afraid, saw something dark casting shadows on the high ceilings downstairs in the entrance hall, darkening its corners. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew it was evil. And it was coming closer, to her and to the happy voices talking and laughing. She wanted to warn the voices, but she still couldn’t move. She tried to shout to them to run, but nothing came out of her mouth. She covered her eyes with her fists, wishing she could will herself away from there because now she was so afraid, she was scared to even breathe. She felt movement beside her and would have screamed if she could. She opened her eyes and saw a pretty young girl standing over her on the staircase. She wasn’t looking at Ty but down the stairs, and she seemed focused on the laughing voices, just as Ty had been. Ty said, “I wanted to go down and laugh with them, but now I know there’s something evil down there. It won’t let me move. Will it let you move? Can you warn them?”
“I can move, but it doesn’t matter, not now. You’re right, he’s here. They’ll all be dead soon.” She paused, cocked her head. Ty felt the evil coming toward them.
“No!”
“Ty, wake up!”
Now the pretty young girl was huddled down above her, her back pressed against the staircase wall. Then she ran, up the stairs to the third floor.
“Ty, come on, wake up!” He shook her shoulders, and she moaned, convulsing with fear, trying to pull away.
“He’s coming, he’s coming! But I can’t see his face! Why can’t I see him?”
Sala shook her once again, harder this time. Ty snapped awake, her vision blurred, her brain churning. Slowly, the pretty girl faded away, the terrifying blackness faded away. The laughter and voices were last, but then they too disappeared, leaving only Gatewood, standing gray and tall and empty on Point Gulliver, in a soundless world. Ty sucked in air. She stared up at Sala, his face dim in the night. She recognized his scent, his voice, and quieted. She whispered, “He killed them, Sala, and there was nothing I could do, nothing she could do.”
She was icy to the touch, and Sala imagined her pupils were dilated from the shock of it, the fear. He grabbed up the single blanket and wrapped it around her, then pulled her against him, rubbed his hands up and down her back. “You’re all right, you’re okay. You had a doozy of a nightmare, sounded as dramatic and scary as any of mine. That’s right, Ty, take slow, deep breaths. I’ve got you.”
She whispered against his neck, “Sala?”
“I’m here.”
Slowly Ty pulled back. She was still breathing hard, almost panting, remembering the awful fear, the helplessness.
“Who killed them, Ty? Who were they?”
Finally, she began to calm. She said, “I was at Gatewood, Sala, sitting on the landing stairs, and they were downstairs laughing and talking. I wanted to go down and be with them, but I couldn’t move, and I knew something was holding me there. I couldn’t escape it. Then a blackness came, and it spread all over the house. And she was there, and she knew as well as I did it was coming. Then she ran away to hide.”
As she spoke, the girl’s words were beginning to blur and fade away. Ty leaned against him, finally felt her breathing even. Sala said nothing more.
She said against his shoulder, “Sala, before I went to sleep, I was thinking about Gatewood, and I could see the outline of the belt buckle in the water off the end of the dock. And the bones, stretching out, almost to infinity. Then I dreamed I was there, Sala, and the girl at Gatewood was there, too—I know who she was.” And Ty told him the story every citizen of Willicott knew, a terrifying story still told to keep the kids away from Gatewood. “She was only fifteen when a madman murdered her father, her mother, her brother, stabbed them and threw their bodies off the Gatewood dock into Lake Massey. They couldn’t find her body, though, and some people came to believe she’d murdered them and run away after stealing the money her father kept in his safe.”
Sala said, “But she survived.”
She settled against him again, nodded against his neck. “Tomorrow morning, before we go back to Haggersville, I want to make a stop at Charlie Corsica’s house. I think we’ve found her.”
70
* * *
KOUGAR'S PHARMACY
FORT PESSEL, VIRGINIA
THURSDAY NIGHT
Victor drove with his lights off into the narrow alley beside Kougar’s Pharmacy, pulled up close to a dumpster he knew was always there, and turned off the engine. It was dark as a pit. One thing you could count on in Fort Pessel—when the sun went, most everything closed down. Even the single movie theater only opened its doors on Friday nights. Of course, the bars outside Fort Pessel were always alive with lights and music. Here in town, near midnight, there were only the streetlights on low wattage, hardly even a car.
He sat quietly for a few minutes, feeling the pervasive heat build inside the car with the AC off. He thought about what he would do now, with the FBI agents at the Smiley house. He had a feeling the bank robbery money could be somewhere near the old, long-unused well, about thirty feet south of the house. But he couldn’t be sure, and he couldn’t think of anyplace else to look. If only Lissy would simply tell him. It pissed him off she didn’t trust him enough, and look what he was doing for her. Stealing more drugs so she would feel better, and yes, finally stop complaining about the staples digging into her belly.
He’d been extra careful this time, even driven by Mrs. Kougar’s house on Nob Tree Hill to make sure she was home. Her lights were on, and her lame-butt ancient light blue Impala was in the driveway. Still, he’d waited until he’d seen her shadow moving around upstairs.
He was all set. Break in, fill a Ziploc bag with pills, drive out of the alley, a clean getaway. No worries about an alarm. Before he got out of the car, he said again, “Stay here and out of sight, Lissy. There’s no need for you to come in.” He prayed she’d listen. He didn’t want to have to deal with her craziness tonight, her endless criticism, her trying to give him orders.
She said nothing, which was very unlike her. He said immediately, “I know those staples are really hurting you, Lissy. I’ll be as fast as I can. Then you’ll feel real good again.”
She could have wished him luck, but she didn’t. She stayed quiet.
He turned off the interior light, got out of the Chrysler with a tire iron in his hand, and quietly closed the driver’s door behind him. He walked to the mouth of the alley and stared up and down the street. The frigging town was dead.
His sneakers made no noise as he walked to the back door. He eased his tire iron between the door and the frame and pushed down. Old Lady Kougar still didn’t have an alarm, but the door held. He bet she’d installed a dead bolt inside. He pulled out the tire iron, repositioned it for more leverage, and pushed down with all his weight. The wood splintered and the door flew open, then stopped again. She’d put a chain on the door. No problem, he was ready for that. He pulled out a metal cutter and snapped the chain. He picked up the tire iron and pulled out his flashlight. He stepped into the back storeroom, filled with unopened boxes of cough medicine, toilet paper, condoms, shampoo, hemorrhoid cream . . . everything the citizens of Fort Pessel could want or need.
He knew the prescription drugs were in locked glass cabinets behind the pharmacy counter, about twenty feet away from the back storage room. He clutched the tire iron in his right hand, his flashlight in his left, and made his way into the store. It wasn’t as dark out here as in the closed-in storeroom, what with the large windows across the entire front of the store and the streetlight on the corner. He turned off his flashlight and walked to the counter, paused a moment, listened. Nothing. If Old Lady Kougar hadn’t moved them around, he knew exactly where the pain meds were. He unlatched the small gate separating the customers from the pharmacy. His hand was on the gate when he heard a voice from his nightmares.
“It’s over, Victor. Lay the tire iron on the floor and put your hands on your head. Do it now.”
Savich. Victor couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it. It was Lissy, mimicking Savich to make him nuts.
“Now, Victor. I don’t want to shoot you, but I will.”
It wasn’t Lissy. Victor jerked around and threw the tire iron where he thought Savich was standing. He heard it strike a shelf, sending merchandise flying to hit the linoleum floor and scatter.
“Victor, you took your shot, and now it’s over. Hands on top of your head. I won’t tell you again.”