Backtracker (90 page)

*****

Chapter
44

After several minutes of winding through the gray woods of Cross Creek, Park Road finally led Dave and Billy to a more open realm, a region which
wasn
'
t
wrapped in thick forest. Though there was no sign posted to indicate that the park had ended, the boundary was clear; suddenly, the trees gave way to space, an expanse of gently rolling hills.

Some distance away, to the right, a silver silo rose from amid a cluster of buildings. Excitedly, Dave pointed at the farm, prodded the windshield with his index finger.

"
See? I
told
you
!
"
he jabbered.
"
This road comes out in Kline!
"

Behind the wheel, Billy looked especially morose. He was slumped down in his seat, and drove with one hand; his left arm was propped on the sill of the window, and his head rested against his fist.

"
I
knew
we were going the right way
!
"
whooped Dave.

"
No shit,
"
Billy muttered sullenly.

Choosing to ignore his partner
'
s grousing, Dave watched as the silo loomed closer.
"
We oughtta
'
find the address pretty soon,
"
he babbled hopefully.
"
We don
'
t have too far to go till we
'
ll start seeing houses and trailers and stuff.
"

"
Right,
"
grunted Billy,
"
but this still might not be the road we
'
re looking for.
"

"
Well, it
'
s definitely Park Road,
"
said Dave.
"
We saw three signs back there that said so. This is Park Road, and that
'
s Kline up ahead, so I
'
d say this is the road we want.
"

"
There might be another Park Road,
"
Billy said glumly.

"
This is it,
"
insisted Dave.
"
Kline just isn
'
t that big of a place. I doubt there are any two roads with the same name.
"

With a sigh, Billy opened his fist, rubbed his brow with his thumb and forefinger as if
he had
a headache.
"
We
'
ll see,
"
he mumbled.
"
Maybe it
'
ll take us longer to find the place than you think.
"

"
Don
'
t worry. It won
'
t,
"
declared Dave, gazing attentively at the silo as it slipped past.
"
It
'
s probably just a little further up the road.
"

"
Whatever,
"
sighed Billy.

The Camaro cruised up a slight rise, then down through a dip and around a loose serpentine. On either side of the road, the land was raw and dark, chewed into farmers
'
fields from which no shoots yet sprouted.

Everything looked dull and gray. The sun
couldn
'
t
be seen; earlier in the day, it had been prominent, but now it was hidden beyond a ceiling of dense cloud.

A few droplets of rain pattered the windshield of the Camaro. Quickly, the trickle became a shower, then a downpour; Billy flicked on the wipers, and Dave rolled up the passenger
'
s
-
side window.

For a while, no one said a word. Another farm flicked past; its ramshackle barn sat close to the road, surrounded by a sodden herd of black and white cows. A bit further along, a trio of rust
-
colored cows milled drowsily by the roadside, fenced in by barbed wire.

As the car glided around a bend, Dave spotted a trailer. The white box was set far back from the road, and a rutted dirt track led up to it; the only vehicle nearby was an ancient brown pickup mounted on cinder blocks. Though there was no mailbox along the road to give the trailer
'
s address, and Dave
couldn
'
t
glimpse any numbers on the front of the structure, he dismissed the place, decided that it was still too far from Kline proper to be the residence that he sought.

The Camaro continued to swoop onward, and Dave found himself slipping into a funk. His excitement over closing in on Larry faded quickly; the reality of the situation again began to sink in, and a claustrophobic dread folded around him like a heavy cape. He again began to worry about everything
-
what he would do if he
didn
'
t
find Larry, what he would do if he
did
find Larry, how he could protect Billy Bristol. His stomach clenched as he pondered a confrontation with the killer; the image of the mauled kid in the trench resurfaced to sap his resolve.

Dave thought of his family, and he wondered if he would ever see them again. When he thought about Darlene Rollins, he ached; he yearned to be with her, to hold her in his arms. He regretted never having told her that he loved her, never having made the promises that she wanted to hear.

Rain battered the windshield, cascading from the dark, portentous sky. By the time that the first group of houses appeared, Dave
'
s eagerness to find 41 Park Road had withered substantially.

The Camaro slowed as it neared the closest house, a brick rancher on the right. Both partners peered at the address, the bold, black numbers mounted beside the front door.

Though Dave had formerly been most vocal during the search, he now remained silent, engulfed in his vast apprehension. It was Billy who finally spoke.

"
That was 60,
"
he said as the car rolled toward another house.
"
There
'
s 58.
"

Dave folded his arms tightly against his chest. He drew a deep breath and shivered.

*****

Chapter
45

The kitchen knife gleamed as it plunged downward.

For a fraction of a heartbeat, the Miraclemaker was transfixed by the blade, the object which was about to prematurely end his mission.
He had
a fleeting vision of his rotting arm; he recalled the awful image of his whole body gone rotten, the way that he thought it would be at the end...and he wondered if it might not be better to let the blade fall.

Then, the wailing of the child again came sharply into focus.

The weeping of the chosen one; it inspired him.

The miracle
wasn
'
t
finished.

At the last possible instant, the Miraclemaker thrust himself from the weapon
'
s path, rolled away from the woman. Jagged shards of glass and plastic bit into his shoulders...but the jabs
were nothing
compared to the fatal agony which
he'd
just narrowly avoided.

With a tock, like the sound of a dart striking a dartboard, the point of the knife stabbed the linoleum where the Miraclemaker had been. The woman released a guttural howl of rage and frustration.

In a single, smooth motion, the Miraclemaker came out of his roll and snapped to his feet. He
didn
'
t
waste time casting about for a weapon; without hesitation, he charged at the woman.

She was moving almost as quickly as he was, jerking the knife from the floor and drawing herself up to resume combat. Her head swung up, her icy eyes flicked to target him...but she
wasn
'
t
fast enough. Before she could dodge or shift the blade to a useful position, he leaped upon her, blasted her backward.

The Miraclemaker drove her against a counter; her skull bashed back against the metal door of a cupboard. Despite the fierce impact, she held onto the knife...but the Miraclemaker pounded her arm against the counter
'
s edge until she finally let go.

Desperately, the woman lashed a hand toward his face; he hooked her wrist before her nails even got close to his eyes. She tried to pump a knee into his groin; he blocked the blow with his own knee, then crushed her leg back against the lower cupboards. When she lunged her head forward and tried to bite him, he bobbed back, then butted his own head into her face.

Wildly, she thrashed in his grip, writhing and straining against him. She struggled like a convict fighting to escape the electric chair, expending every ounce of strength in an animal frenzy.

The Miraclemaker held fast to her. In response to her squirming and flailing, he propelled her right arm against the lip of the counter, mashed it back with such force that the arm broke below the elbow. The resulting scream was intoxicating to the Miraclemaker, a perfect note which soothed and spurred him.

Smirking cruelly, he heaved her back, made her skull again crash against the cupboard. When she dropped forward, he was pleased to note that her head had made a sizable dent in the cupboard
'
s metal door.

The woman now had a glazed look in her eyes; as the Miraclemaker gazed at her, he knew that she was beaten. Her cold intensity had fallen away to reveal an unfocused agitation, a stupefied vulnerability; her cadaverous, thorny face was beginning to look more frail than dangerous.

Chuckling, the Miraclemaker poured a fist into her belly, then again boosted her against the cupboard. For the hell of it, he whipped her broken arm against the counter, cracking the bones in new places.

"
I should
'
ve known,
"
he whispered menacingly, sneering at his captive.
"
Should
'
ve
known
you
'
d be a
pistol
.
"

Blearily, the woman blinked at him. She squinted, seemed to be having difficulty making him out, even though his face was just inches from her own.

The Miraclemaker snorted and wagged his head.
"
You
'
re a real
handful
, all right,
"
he oozed venomously.
"
Guess it runs in the family, huh? Like
son
, like mother.
"

The woman looked confused. Her lips twitched, but she
didn
'
t
speak.

"
I don
'
t know
where
your
hubby
fits in,
"
he drawled sardonically.
"
What a
runt
!
Only thing I can figure is that
he
isn
'
t your kid
'
s
father
.
"

For an instant, the woman
'
s eyes seemed to clear and flicker with indignation; then, the muddled, drifting look returned.

"
Yeah, that
'
s it,
"
snickered the Miraclemaker.
"
I always
did
think your kid was a
bastard
.
"

Again, an angry glint sparked in the woman
'
s eyes, only to wink out more quickly than the last.

The Miraclemaker grinned; he was savoring every second of his victory speech.
"
Just for the record,
"
he purred,
"
it
'
s all your fault. If you weren
'
t such a lousy mother, I wouldn
'
t have to do this.
"

"
What
'
re you...talking about
?
"
asked the woman, her weak, breathless mumble a pitiful contrast to her earlier bluster.

"
Oh, I think you know,
"
clucked the Miraclemaker.
"
You
'
re a disgrace to motherhood. You should
'
ve taken up something you
'
d be better suited for...like prostitution.
"
Abruptly, he bugged his eyes wide and gasped, then giggled as if he were embarrassed by a gaffe that
he'd
made.
"
Oops! I
'
m sorry! You
are
a whore! Let me rephrase that: you should
'
ve done something you
'
d be better at...like dealing drugs.
"
Again, he gawked and tittered.
"
Oh no! I forgot! You
are
a drug dealer! Boy, I just can
'
t get
anything
right today!
"

"
Donald,
"
croaked the woman.
"
Is that...what this is about?
"

"
Who
'
s Donald
?
"
the Miraclemaker queried glibly.

"
One more week,
"
said the woman.
"
Just...one more week...
please
.
"

"
Hmm,
"
frowned the Miraclemaker.
"
Isn
'
t it a little bit
late
to be begging for another week? I mean, I
did
just kill your
husband
.
"

"
I don
'
t care,
"
snuffled the woman.
"
Just give
me
one more
week
.
"

Eyes twinkling with amusement, the Miraclemaker shook his head and chuckled.
"
Y
'
know, I understand now. I see where your son got his warm and caring personality.
"

"
Come on,
"
the woman sputtered pleadingly.
"
One more week.
"

"
I almost feel sorry for the little nipper,
"
the Miraclemaker said reflectively...and then he laughed.
"
Nah. Forget I said that.
"

"
Please
,
"
groaned the woman, her voice cracking.
"
Give me a week!
"

"
No can do,
"
sighed the Miraclemaker.
"
For one thing, I don
'
t know who this
'
Donald
'
is, and I have no idea what you
'
re talking about. For another thing...well, let
'
s just say I owe you one.
"

"
Please
!
"
sobbed the woman.

"
Say
'
pretty please
'
,
"
the Miraclemaker suggested softly, grasping her face with both hands, gently drawing her head forward.

"
Pretty...,
"
was all that she got out.

The Miraclemaker pounded her skull against the cupboard fourteen times.