Ghost Light (10 page)

“Jesus Christ,” Alex whispered.

He seemed to be accepting this fabrication without any problem, but Harry wondered how long it would last. Alex might forget this entire conversation, and once he got home, later on tonight, or maybe sometime tomorrow, he might work himself up into a rage all over again and come looking for him and Cindy. Harry wanted to make
damned
sure Alex bought this story now so he wouldn’t bother him anymore. Besides, he had some planning of his own to do.

“Do you want me to call you a taxi?”

Alex looked confused for a moment, then a crooked smile flashed across his face. “Yeah—” he said, snorting with laughter. “I’m a taxi!” He staggered away from the door and started toward his car, zigzagging across the lawn.

Christ, he’d be lucky to walk home without hurting himself, much less drive
, Harry thought. A flash of concern made him reach up and start to undo the security chain, but then he stopped himself.

So what if Alex was dead or in the hospital? Harry figured that would just be one less problem for him to deal with.

He watched as Alex swung open the car door and flopped into the seat behind the steering wheel.

Exhaust belched from the back of the car as he stepped down hard on the accelerator, making the engine whine high. The transmission made a heavy clunk sound as he shifted into gear. The tires chirped on the asphalt and spit out gravel as he pulled away from the curb and sped up the street. Harry listened at the door until the winding sound of the car had faded to silence.

Harry smirked as he eased the door shut and made sure the security chain was in place. One less problem… and Lord knew he’d had enough already!

3

“She’s here! She’s right here!”

The voice hit a high, shrill note that sliced like a razor through Cindy’s ears and into her sleep. In a flash, Cindy was sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes vigorously as she tried to remember where she was. For a heart-stopping instant, she thought she was back home in Omaha, in bed with Harry, and that the voice had been part of a bad dream—a nightmare. Then she saw and heard the flurry of activity coming from the queen-sized bed beside her, and everything came rushing back to her—where she was and what she had done.

“Krissy… Honey.”

Her voice was thick with sleep and edged with tension.

“It’s all right, honey. Your Aunt Cindy’s right here with you.”

She flung the covers aside and swung her feet to the floor, waving her hands in front of her as she made her way across the room, as if she could brush aside the darkness. She sat down on the edge of the bed, which the little girl was sharing with her brother.

The old bedsprings creaked beneath her weight. Cindy grabbed in the dark until she found Krissy’s hands. They were ice cold in her grip.

“Hey, hey, it’s all right. I’m right here with you.”

She pulled Krissy close, winding her arms around her and stroking her thin shoulders as she smoothed the sweat-damp hair away from her face. The little girl’s breathing came fast and thin, like a frightened bird, and her body trembled so violently that Cindy had the panicked thought that she might be having an epileptic seizure or something. The back of Krissy’s neck beneath her long hair was slick with cold sweat. She glanced over at the dark lump beneath the covers that was Billy, and was grateful that Krissy’s scream hadn’t awakened him.

“You can tell me, honey. What was it, a bad dream?”

Krissy shook her head vigorously and tried to speak, but her obvious panic and the gush of tears choked her off. The only sound she made was something that sounded a little like the word, “Mommy.”

Cindy couldn’t believe how tiny and frail the girl felt inside her hug. It nearly broke her heart. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision, but even at a moment like this, she allowed herself the fantasy that Krissy was actually her own daughter, not her niece. She remained silent as she held Krissy close to her and waited patiently for her panic to subside, but the girl’s body remained rigid in her grasp.

After being ripped from her own sleep, Cindy was feeling a bit disoriented as well. While she waited for Krissy to calm down, she thought back on everything they had done this evening. After another hour or so of driving, she had taken the exit for Cedar Rapids and pulled into the
Great Midwest Inn
, the first motel she had seen. After signing in under a false name, they had bought hamburgers, sodas, and French fries at the McDonald’s across the street and brought them back to the motel. After their meal, they had brushed their teeth and settled down for the night. Billy had fallen asleep pretty much right away, but it had taken Krissy more than two hours to calm down. She hadn’t been able to stop sobbing and murmuring how much she missed her mother and wanted to go home. Once the kids had fallen asleep, well past midnight, Cindy had turned off the lights and lain in bed, staring at the ceiling until the darkness and the confused swirl of her thoughts and fears blended into a thin, disturbed sleep.

“It was—it was—” Krissy whispered, but then her voice cut off again, as sharply as if someone had clapped a hand across her mouth.

“Don’t try to talk, honey. Just relax … just relax. You’re all right now. You’re safe with me,” Cindy said, hoping to hell that it wasn’t a lie.

“But I saw—her—she was—here—in the room,” Krissy said, her voice hitching with every breath.

Cindy’s eyes burned from fatigue as she stared into the swelling darkness of the motel room. Her vision had adjusted to the lack of light. She could make out the dark shapes of furniture and clothes hanging over the backs of chairs. The faint glow of a blinking yellow traffic light pulsed through the closed slats of the Levelor blinds. The room was silent except for the rattling hum of the air conditioner and Krissy’s reedy breathing.

“D’you mean you—you didn’t—didn’t see her?” Krissy asked after a long stretch of silence.

Cindy hugged her tightly, thankful that the girl’s body seemed to be losing its rigidity. Small hands grabbed at her back, giving her a measure of reassurance, but Krissy’s question had sent a wave of chills racing through her. Cold pressure filled her chest, squeezing around her heart. She shook her head and whispered, “No, I didn’t see anything.”

“But she was here—right here in the room with us!” “No one was in the room, honey. You were fast asleep. You just had a bad dream.”

Cindy could feel Krissy shaking her head in vigorous denial. She blinked back the tears gathering in her eyes, wishing to Heaven that none of this was happening. The cold, clutching feeling around her heart was getting steadily stronger.

“No, honest, Aunt Cindy. I
saw
her. She was sitting—in a chair—right over there.”

In the dark, Cindy saw the dark silhouette of the girl’s hand rise as she pointed toward the closet door.

“There’s not even a chair there, Krissy. We were all asleep in bed. There couldn’t have been anyone else in the room.”

“But you have to believe me! I saw her!” Krissy said, her voice twisting high into a tortured whine. “She was sitting right over there!”

“It couldn’t have been anyone, honey? Honest. Maybe Billy got up to go to the bathroom or something, and you just thought he was—”

“No! No! I know it wasn’t Billy! I could see that it was
her!
I—I
recognized
her!”

The winding, panicky edge in Krissy’s voice frightened Cindy so much she wanted to hold her all the tighter, if only to calm her down, to keep her quiet. The things Krissy was saying stirred something deep inside her and made her feel incredibly uncomfortable. A fleeting thought drifted at the edge of her mind, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. It was like the memory of a dream from long-ago, fleeting and elusive. Against her better judgment, and secretly dreading the reply, Cindy asked, “So who is she?”

“She’s the—the blue lady,” Krissy said, her voice edged with high, silver panic.

“The
blue
lady,” Cindy repeated, unable to stop the rush of shivers that ran up her back. This was the same thing Krissy had been talking about earlier in the car.

“Um-hum. I saw her again. I—I’ve been seeing her a lot lately.”

“But who is she?” Cindy asked in a strained voice. “Do you know who she is?”

She wished she could dismiss all of this as just part of a frightened child’s nightmare. That would have made things a lot easier. It was completely understandable that Krissy would be so distraught, considering all the grief and stress she’d had to deal with over the past month. But Cindy wasn’t able to push this aside quite so easily. Krissy’s words had reached down deep into her mind and were stirring up thoughts and memories and fears that she didn’t want to have… things she would just as soon not face.

Krissy shrugged, and, whimpering softly, clung desperately to her aunt.

“I don’t know who she is,” she said. “I never get to see her face. She’s all shiny and bright with… with blue light, but I—I—”

Her voice shut off with a loud click, and Cindy panicked, thinking for a frozen instant that Krissy had actually died from her fear. She felt only a slight measure of relief when she heard Krissy suck in a long, hissing breath before she added, “But I do know one thing…”

“What’s that, honey?”

“She’s scary… I mean
really
scary!”

Big Decisions

A
narrow beam of sunlight and a surprisingly cool breeze blowing in through the open window woke Alex up as he lay sprawled on the couch in the living room. His neck and shoulders were stiff from resting on the cushioned couch arm. Pain shot through his forehead and down his neck and back as he swung his feet off the couch and shakily stood up. Groaning and trembling like a man with a fever, he stretched his arms above his head and rotated his neck to ease the pain. He knew what he
really
needed right now to ease the pain was a slug of beer.

“The hair of the dog that bit me,” he muttered. He snickered and smacked his lips as he eyed the doorway into the kitchen, but then he noticed the dull pressure in his bladder and started instead down the hallway toward the bathroom, wading through the empty beer cans, dirty clothes, crumpled newspapers, and balled-up potato chip bags that littered the living room floor. He belched loudly, and the sour taste of vomit filled the back of his throat as he shouldered open the bathroom door and walked quickly over to the toilet. He opened his zipper, relieved himself, flushed the toilet, then went over to the sink. He ran the water until it was lukewarm before filling his cupped hands and splashing his face several times. Shaking the water from his face, he leaned forward on the counter and stared long and hard at his reflection.

“And a jolly-good-fuckin’-morning to you, too,” he whispered before belching again. The taste made him wince. He scratched his neck and watched as water streamed like sweat down his face. His eyes were bloodshot, and his complexion had a sickly yellowish cast to it that made him look as though he hadn’t been out in the sun for several weeks. At least a week’s worth of heard stubble covered his cheeks, but he didn’t feel like bothering to shave. What was the point? Squeezing his eyes tightly closed for a moment, he took a deep breath and tried like hell to focus his thoughts. He knew he had to make some big decisions today, but he wasn’t quite sure where or how to start.

Well, first off, it went without saying that he would have to report his children missing. He hadn’t called the cops last night before going over to the Toland’s house because he had been convinced that he’d find his kids there. The fact that they hadn’t been there had caught him completely off guard, but he was thankful now that he had slept—or passed out—on the couch after he had gotten home. This gave him time to think about things, and he realized now that it wouldn’t have looked all that good if he had shown up at the police station last night, blind drunk and ranting about his children being kidnapped by their aunt and uncle.

Of course, he had believed Harry when he told him that Cindy had taken off with the kids, but he wasn’t absolutely convinced that Harry had no idea where they had gone. In fact, he didn’t believe him at all. It’d be just like that sneaky little weasel to pull something like this and then pretend he had no clue what was going on… especially now that Cindy had access to over ten thousand dollars—ten thousand of
his
hard-earned dollars! So figuring out Harry’s and Cindy’s game plan would be his next step, after he called the cops and reported what had happened.

“Aww,
shit!
”he shouted when he glanced at his wrist watch and saw that it was almost eight o’clock. He should have left for work half an hour ago. The
very
first thing he had to do was call in sick for the day. Maybe he’d even ask for the rest of the week off. Why not? Even though his wife had died a little more than a month ago, he knew Floyd Harriman, his boss, was starting to get a little bit pissed off about all the personal time he’d been taking lately. But, hey he didn’t give a shit anymore. He was beginning to think he’d be leaving that job soon, anyway, so screw Floyd Harriman and Delta Airlines and Omaha International Airport. Screw ’em all!

He squinted and studied his face for several seconds. Water still dripped from the beard stubble on his chin, still making him look like he was sweating out a fever, but at least his eyes seemed a little bit clearer. He could actually see some white in there.

“Uh-huh,” he whispered, watching the reflection of his thin, almost bloodless lips curl into a sneer. “So where in the hell would they go? Where the fuck would they take Billy and Krissy?”

As soon as he said this out loud, another thought struck him like lightning.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to go to the police right away.

Although he still had a hell of a time admitting it to himself, and he tried his damndest to justify what had happened by reminding himself how much Debbie had pissed him off that night, he knew damned well that he had killed his wife. There was no way around it. Although much of what had happened now had a disorienting, dream-like quality to it, he clearly remembered certain moments. He remembered being engulfed by rage the instant he had walked into the kitchen and listened to the rash of shit Debbie laid on him. He could clearly recall the expression of shocked surprise on his wife’s face when he knocked her down; and he would never forget the sickening
thump
sound her head made when he had smashed it against the counter edge before dropping her to the floor. In rare moments of self-honesty, he admitted to himself that he had known
exactly
what he was doing when he killed her, and—sometimes—he even acknowledged that he had actually enjoyed doing it. Well, Christ, what did you expect? The bitch had deserved it, hadn’t she? He’d had to teach her a fucking lesson!

But now, the more he thought about the way Cindy had looked at him, both at Debbie’s funeral and then that day at the lawyer’s office, the more he thought that she must suspect the truth about what had happened the night Debbie died. Of course, there was no way Cindy could know with certainty what had happened, and there was no way in hell she could prove a thing. But if she ever voiced her suspicions, she might start the police asking all the wrong questions. At least so far, no one had even hinted that he might have been responsible for his wife’s death, much less arrested and charged him with it, and that was just the way he wanted to keep it.

But what if he couldn’t keep it that way?

What if the police were working on the case right now? What if they were getting close to making an arrest?

That’s when another thought hit him like a rolling clap of thunder. His head sagged forward, and he groaned out loud.

Maybe kidnapping the kids had just been a tactic on Cindy’s part, a trick to help the cops catch him. Maybe she was working with the goddamned police to flush him out, to get him to do something stupid that would help them pin Debbie’s murder on him. And if all of this was a setup, then reporting the kidnapping might not be such a great idea. He might say or do something that would make the police even more suspicious. As careful as he knew he could be, he might slip up somehow, maybe even enough to convince them of his guilt. So why go down to the police station and remind them that he even existed? There was no sense sticking his face into their’s!

“No sir,” he whispered, leaning so close to the mirror that his breath fogged over part of the glass. “No fucking way! I’m not gonna let them nail me!”

His eyes gradually widened, and his vision blurred as he stared past his reflection, following this paranoid line of thinking further. In the darkest corners of his mind, moving past his concerns for his own safety, he began to think; if he had enjoyed—even a little bit—what he had done to Debbie, he would be in sheer ecstasy if he could have Cindy Toland—the little bitch!—all to himself. She was to blame for everything, as far as he could see. His life probably wouldn’t have turned out the way it had if Cindy hadn’t been there, urging and helping her sister make plans to leave him. Debbie never would have thought of it on her own. Never would have had the courage. And she certainly wouldn’t have had the brains to start stealing money and hiding it away in a bank account! No doubt it had all been part of Cindy’s plan to get her hands on their money! Why, if it hadn’t been for Cindy, his wife might still be alive today, and his children might still have their mother, such as she was.

No, he thought, feeling a rising surge of anger, he
owed
Cindy. One thing he had learned, one thing his daddy had taught him quite well back there on the farm in Iowa—paybacks are a bitch!

Wouldn’t it feel just
great
if he could do it right now? Take her scrawny, little neck into his powerful grip and slam her fucking head as hard as he could against the bathroom mirror. No accident. No pretense of an accident. Just fucking
do
it! Wouldn’t it make a great sound? And wouldn’t it be just terrific to hear the sound of splintering glass and breaking bones as her skull cracked open? And wouldn’t he feel terrific, watching as her brains and blood leaked out of her head onto the counter and filled the sink? He knew he’d enjoy watching the light dim in her eyes as she faded away, knowing he had gotten back at her!

“Yeah, goddamnit,” Alex whispered as his focus snapped back to his face, and he watched the translucent oval of fog cover the mirror, obscuring part of his face for a moment and then disappearing to reveal his own reflection in stark, startling detail.

“Yeah, I just may have to do that.”

His fists clenched tightly, and before he could think about what he was doing, he twisted to one side and then with a wild scream brought his fist around in a wide, whistling arc. The impact shattered the mirror into a bright, jagged spider web pattern. Rectangles of glass clinked like tiny bells as they fell to the counter. He stared at his clenched fist, nesting inside the pocket of broken glass. From the stinging sensation, he knew that he had cut his knuckles, but he ignored the pain and the thin flow of blood as he slowly drew his hand back and stared at the mosaic reflection of his face. In dozens of oddly-shaped rectangles of glass, he saw that he was smiling a wide, savage grin, and that made him chuckle.

“Yes-sir-ee, by Jesus,” he hissed, having to restrain the rising wail of laughter that was building up inside him. “I just may have to find her and the kids by myself, and show her exactly what I do to people who steal my money and try to take my kids away from me!”

2

I
t was a little after two o’clock as Cindy crossed the Portsmouth bridge into Maine. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt a strange mixture of elation, apprehension, and… something else… something she couldn’t quite name.

“THE WAY LIFE’S SUPPOSED TO BE” read the big road sign on the Maine side of the bridge, and her first thought was,
Oh. God, if this is the way fife’s supposed to be, I don’t want any part of it!

Both she and the kids were frazzled after spending the last two weeks—two of the hottest weeks of the summer—on the road. It hadn’t been long before the cheap motels had all started seeming the same and the food at roadside restaurants started to blend into a memory of odorless, colorless, and tasteless mush.

For most of the trip, they had stuck to side roads, taking wide detours to avoid the major highways, where Cindy expected the police to be looking for her—if, in fact, they
were
looking for her. She had listened to a lot of talk radio stations on the AM but—at least so far—hadn’t heard anything about Nebraskan authorities on the lookout for a woman who had kidnapped two children from their home in Omaha.

After the first few days on the road, though, she had found she couldn’t sustain her high-pitched sense of paranoia. She stopped panicking every time she saw a police cruiser, but the steady, grinding tension, coupled with her oncoming period, was still bearing down hard on her, making her an irritable bundle of nerves. Day after day, when the kids whined about being hungry or having to go to the bathroom, she found herself snapping at them more than she would have liked; and at night, when they had trouble falling asleep—especially Krissy, crying for her mother—Cindy found that she didn’t have the patience to deal with them as she knew she should. The children, in turn, were starting to act tense and alienated, especially Billy, who was still trying to put on a brave face. He seemed to respond to Cindy with increasing hostility and defiance, while Krissy was sulky and withdrawn, spending most of her days and nights either sobbing to herself or silently sullen. At least when she did sleep, she didn’t wake up from any more nightmares about the “blue lady”… none that she ever mentioned to Cindy, anyway. But Cindy was filled with concern because she could see that the three of them still weren’t pulling together the way they should be. She knew that she couldn’t hold out any high hopes for them getting along any better, not unless they started getting along… like a
real
family.

In western Massachusetts, she decided that she could be a little less cautious, so in Springfield she got onto the Massachusetts Turnpike, which she took to Route 290, south of Worcester. From there, she drove north to Route 495 and Interstate 95, crossing into New Hampshire and, shortly thereafter, into Kittery, Maine. She had a Rand McNally
Road Atlas
and written directions to Harry’s uncle’s camp in Gray, Maine, but the prospect of actually arriving at their destination began to fill her with a gnawing sense of worry.

Soon it would be all over… at least
this
part of it.

And then what?

In spite of the drain on her energy and nerves, their escape from Nebraska had gone pretty much without a hitch. She had saved Krissy and Billy from their father; she had lined up a safe place to go; she had brought along plenty of clothes and a few toys and books for the kids; and she had enough money in Traveler’s Checks and in a bank she could draw onto carry them for quite a while. Hopefully, in spite of the terrible economy, Harry would be able to sell his business fairly soon and join them. Once they were together again, Cindy was determined to hire a lawyer and see about gaining legal custody of the kids in Maine. Then they could make plans to move wherever they wanted to and begin a new life together… as a family.