From that point on, the night warped into a gelatinous blur for Huston. He was not sure how long it lasted. Maybe an hour, maybe more. The knife pressed into his hand. The horrific choice. Your baby for mine. Either that or your whole fucking family. Every last fucking one of you.
He remembered leaning over little Davy’s crib. The soft sibilance of breath. The sweet, powdery smell. Then the tears and the terrible ache that mushroomed through his every cell. Now, the man whispered from the doorway. Or else I start shooting.
The baby looked to Huston like a small, pale fish underwater. Asleep at the bottom of an ocean of tears. The first push of the blade was too tentative and off the mark. The second was an act of mercy. It carried all the terrible weight of a father’s inestimable love.
Fifty-Two
Huston was bent double now and sobbing convulsively, hands to his face, his back bucking hard against the lighthouse rail. DeMarco climbed to his feet an inch at a time, closed the distance between them. He laid a hand on Huston’s back, felt the searing heat between his shoulder blades, felt the chill of lake air on his face. He stood like that without moving, staring into the long darkness. The broken necklace of lights in the distance blurred. They seemed to float and wobble, yanked back and forth in a current of grief.
Then DeMarco too bent forward, his forehead against the other man’s back.
? ? ?
After a while, Huston eased himself to his knees. Then fell sideways onto a hip and elbow. Then, after several minutes, he pushed himself into a sitting position, knees raised, arms crossed atop his knees, chin on his chest. DeMarco turned his back to the lake. He wanted to sit too but remained standing, knew he had to begin.
“How long before you found the rest of them?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“But after a while. When you realized he wasn’t there anymore. Wasn’t standing behind you outside Davy’s room.”
“He wasn’t anywhere,” Huston said.
“So you went into the other bedrooms then.”
Huston said nothing. His head moved twice, nodded against his arms.
“And you have no idea who this man was?”
“Bonnie. That’s all I know.”
DeMarco wondered how much he should tell him now. Should he get him down and into the car first? Or would the information help to accomplish that?
Huston said, “I went to see her last night. To ask her. But he was there. He came outside and I saw him.”
“You were there?” DeMarco said.
“That’s when I knew she wouldn’t help. I saw you there too.”
“Why didn’t you call me? Right from the beginning, you should have called me.”
“You’re my friend. And a policeman. You’d be torn apart over what to do. What I wanted to do.”
DeMarco was silent for a few moments. Then said, “The man’s name is Carl Inman. Calls himself Tex now. He was the bouncer at Whispers but kept himself out of sight most times. He was released from prison three months ago, has a long list of offenses, most of them involving violence. He did a four-year stretch this last time. I remember him from a dozen or so years back when I first met Bonnie. He’s changed a lot since I saw him back then. My guess is he’s been on a steady diet of steroids.”
Huston was looking up at him now. “Do you know where he is?”
“Not at the moment. But we will. We’ll find him.”
Huston shook his head. “I never thought,” he said. “I never would’ve imagined.”
DeMarco said, “We never can.”
More minutes passed. DeMarco was beginning to feel chilled now, a bone-deep shiver. “We need to get down from here, Tom. Get you a place to rest. Some decent food.”
After a few seconds, Huston leaned onto one hand and gradually pushed himself to his feet. But instead of moving toward the stairs, he slid away from DeMarco, four feet away against the curving rail.
“Thomas,” DeMarco said. “C’mon.”
Huston shook his head. “You go. Just leave me be.”
“To do what?” He took a step toward Huston but stopped when the man backed away and leaned his upper body over the rail. “Thomas, think. Forget Poe. There’s no Eden by the lake. And your Annabel isn’t here.”
“Then leave. Or else I’ll have to find out if that’s true.”
“Does that mean that if I leave you here, you won’t try to find out?”
Huston looked down at the rocks.
DeMarco said, “We’ll catch him, Thomas. We will.”
“Then that’s when I’ll come back.”
DeMarco considered his options. He could lunge for Huston, one long stride and grab, but would it be quick enough to stop him from going over the rail? Probably not. Was it really possible that Huston might take the plunge? His family has been butchered, DeMarco thought. What would you do?
He could call for backup, surround the lighthouse with men and safety nets. And they’ll get here just in time, he told himself, to scrape Huston off the rocks.
Or he could take the man at his word. He wasn’t a criminal; he wasn’t a murderer.
“Okay, I’m going to trust you,” DeMarco told him, “on one condition.” He reached inside his jacket and took a business card from the pocket. He held it out toward Huston. “My number is on here. You can get to a phone, right? So you check in with me every…six or so hours, okay? Agreed?”