“Please call me Evan—and no, it hasn’t.” He looked at her. “But I believe you.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but I can’t say I’m glad you came calling today. I prefer to forget the things I’ve told you, and you would think I’d be able to at my age, but I don’t—I can’t.” Cecil stared hard into his eyes. “That abomination in your basement isn’t natural, Mr. Tormer. It is a man-made cancer that poisons everything it touches. My father was the first to enter that room, the first to see, only moments after, what happened there. I was seven when he died of some strange disease the doctors had no name for. He simply withered away, a black ichor spreading beneath his skin until he looked burned from within. I can still hear the agony in his voice as he died, intertwined with my mother’s cries.”
Cecil’s eyes jittered slightly, and Evan wondered, not for the first time, if he’d made a mistake coming here. The woman before him, so stolid moments before, now looked unhinged.
“She went insane after my father passed, slowly, one day at a time. I cared for her, and she told me these things before she lost her mind completely.” Cecil’s jaw stiffened, the muscles bulging beneath her thin skin. “And do you know what? She still painted every day, but the only thing that ever graced her canvas after my father died was that fucking clock!”
Evan stood and bumped the glass table with his knee, spilling his half—empty cup of coffee. On the transparent table the liquid looked like blood, running in lines toward Cecil, who vibrated with a manic energy in her chair, watching him with blazing eyes.
“Destroy it, Mr. Tormer. Break it, burn it, do whatever you must before it takes everything from you like it did to me!”
Evan opened his mouth, but the only thing that came out was a small moan, barely audible even to his own ears. Then he turned and walked for the door; he had to get out of the house. His nerves were wound into a bundled heap of utter panic that urged him to run. He glanced over his shoulder, sure he would see Cecil following close behind him, her knurled hands raised like claws overhead. But the kitchen and archway were empty.
The cool air was a blessed welcome against his skin, and he slammed the door shut behind him and finally gave in to the pleadings to run. He jogged to his car, and after climbing inside, took deep, cleansing breaths and waited for the boiling anxiety to abate. After a minute it did, but when he reached to start the van, he noticed his hands still trembled.
An electronic chirp issued from the backseat, causing his slowing heart to stutter again. Evan twisted, fumbling for the computer case and dragging it onto his thighs. When he opened the laptop, the strong Wi-Fi signal in the upper right-hand corner caught his attention. He glanced at the house again, then lowered his eyes to the email that had caused the signal of new messages. The first email was from Jason. Evan clicked on it, the mere sight of his friend’s address a comfort.
Ev, I spoke to Justin about the article. He said that’s not something he’s looking for right now, but he’d be happy to hear any other ideas you have. Sorry, man. Hope you and Shaun are well. Call me soon. – Jason He reread the words several times and his shoulders slumped. A different idea? After everything that he’d learned?
But what have you learned?
The voice sounded snide and superior.
You found the ravings of an obviously insane man and brought up some of the town’s oldest, dirtiest laundry. Sordid affairs and possibly murder, but to what end? You’re going to solve a mystery that’s over ninety years old? Oh, wait, I see, there’s something else you’re digging for. That little idea that came into your mind the moment you read the article about the hit-and-run, and now the old bat in the house said the words that have been percolating in that fucked-up brain of yours out loud. You think it’s possible? You really think it is? Then if you do, you’re more disturbed than ever.
“Shut up,” Evan growled, gritting his teeth.
His phone chimed from the center console. He jerked in his seat as if it were a biting snake. A slightly familiar cell-phone number graced the display.
“Hello?” he answered.
A short puff of breath came from the other end, and then silence.
A cold dump of adrenaline entered his system, flooding his veins with a cocktail of weakness and dread.
“Becky?”
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh.”
Becky’s voice came out less than a whisper, like dead leaves sliding on concrete. The sound rolled a wave of goose bumps across his skin.
The call ended, leaving him with dead air in his ear.
Frantically he punched the number into the phone and waited. It went straight to voice mail.
“Shit!”
He dialed Becky’s number again while slamming the van into drive. As he rounded the turn and headed down the driveway in a flurry of dust, he threw a look at the house, barely noticing the curtains beside the front door shift back into place.
16
Evan held the pontoon’s throttle wide open.
The steely water reflecting the sky rose in short waves that the craft burst through and surged over. The wind, mostly calm before, now pushed and tugged at his shirt, causing him to shiver with each gust. He hadn’t been able to reach Becky again on the hurried ride back to town, and he’d lost track of how many times he’d hit the redial button.
The Fin grew and grew on the lake’s choppy surface, and Evan strained his eyes, squinting against the wind to see the house through the trees.
No fire. That was good. Becky’s boat was still tied to the dock. That was good too—she hadn’t run off and left for some strange reason, and she hadn’t taken Shaun anywhere.
Please, please, please let him be okay.
As the details of the island became clearer, he saw that two figures waited on the beach, one seated and the other standing a short distance away.