MOON FALL (23 page)

"His ID was in his jacket," Corey said, his voice doing an
adolescent hitch.

"You're dead meat," Kelly said sympathetically. "Your
father will beat you, for sure."

Mark stared at her. "No, he won't. He'll ground me forever,
though." He wondered if Kelly's father used to hit her. Maybe
the nuns did
.
He wanted to ask but didn't have the nerve,
especially in front of Corey. "Hey," he said instead. "You
didn't see another guy around here, did you? He took off ahead
of us."

Kelly smiled knowingly. ''You mean, he turned yellow and
left you behind?"

Mark shrugged, but Corey nodded.

"No, I didn't see anybody
.
Sorry."

Win
gbeats again filled the silence between them, and then
came another screech, which was answered by one farther away.
Kelly folded her arms around herself and looked up at the
treetops
.
"I hate those things."

"I wonder what they are
.
Have you ever asked Minerva?"

She shook her head no, smiling awkwardly. "I'm afraid of
what she might tell me
.
"

''Yeah, I know what you mean." Mark tried to smile, too,
and found out how hard it was.

''Well, I'd better get back
.
" She took a few steps, then turned.

''What's your jacket look like?"

"It's blue. Why?"

"And your wallet?"

"Black, the Velcro kind. Why?" he asked again
.

"If I find it, I'll take it to Minerva's. Okay?"

"Don't get in trouble for me."

"I won't. 'Bye!" With that, she disappeared into the woods.

"Who was she?" Corey asked.

"One of the orphans. She's friends with Minerva"

''Is she your girlfriend?"

"Heck, no. I only met her once before. Let's go."

They began walking, too tired to run. Mark saw Corey repeatedly
glance around as they made their way through the woods,
which seemed to be growing darker despite the fact that it was
only mid-afternoon.

Though he tried not to, Mark kept looking around, too. The
oppressiveness of the place bore down on him, making his
arms and legs feel heavy despite the adrenaline that continued
to course through his system and the goosebumps prickling up
the hairs on the back of his neck.

At last, they plodded through the cold water of the stream
separating the dark woods from Witch Forest. Eager to leave
St. Gruesome's property, they hadn't even discussed finding a
narrow place to jump, or at least, one with a fallen log to walk
or boulders to hop. The soggy shoes and pants were worth it
because the moment Mark set foot on dry ground, everything
seemed lighter, safer. One of the unseen hawks screeched in
the distance, but even that didn't seem so ominous now.

"She likes you," Corey said, only the barest trace of nervousness
left in his voice.

"Huh?"

''That girl with the red hair, she likes you."

''Come off it." Mark tried to shake some of the cold stream
water from his shoes, but his feet still felt like they were
squishing in slush.

"No, really, she does. She wouldn't try to get your wallet
back for you if she didn't, would she?"

Mark shrugged. "She hates the nuns so much, I think she'd
do anything to bug 'em." He looked around, then cupped his
hands around his mouth. "Pete! Pete!" After a long pause, he
turned toward St. Gruesome's forest and repeated the calls. No
answer came
.
He turned east, then south, Corey adding his
voice
,
but still there was no reply.

"Do you think something happened to him?"

Mark looked at his friend. saw real concern in his eyes. He
felt it. too, but told himself he was overreacting. Pete Parker,
of all the guys he knew, was probably the most capable of taking
care of himself. "He's okay, Corey. He's probably watching us
right now,
hoping
we'll worry about him." As he spoke, he
realized he was angry with Parker for running off and leaving
them on their own. ''That really was a chicken
shit stunt he
pulled."

"Yeah, I know." Corey gave him a genuine grin. "Maybe
we can get back at him at the Haunt
.
"

"Yeah, we'll scare the piss out of him. Hey, you want to go
see the waterfalls?"

Mark considered. "Heck,
why not? Pete's the one who had
to be home by two. He'll be there waiting and then he'll have
to worry about us." Besides, he knew, it might be his last taste
of freedom for a long while, once his dad found out he'd been
caught by a nun while sneaking around the abbey.

They turned to follow the distant rumble of the Falls.

"Nothing? There's
absolutely
nothing?"

John studied Sara Hawthorne's pale, e
arn
est face and wished
he could give her something, some tidbit of information, wished
he could find some bit of proof that would let him put more
faith in her story. "I'm sorry," he sai
d
simply. "I even had the
county coroner check his records. He didn't find anything,
either."

"Then you must think I'm out of my mind."

Her straight-on gaze had him trapped. "No, Ms. Hawthorne.
But without some kind of proof, well, I trust you understand
my position,"

"I ... I know someone who could back up what I'm telling
you," Sara told him in a slightly strangled voice.

"Who?"

"A groundskeeper. He was my friend when I was a student.
He knew about Jenny. And he still works there. I spoke to him
this morning."

"Are you talking about Basil Boullan?" John asked, surprised.

She shook her head bitterly. ''Heavens, no. In fact. I think
Boullan's one of the reasons my friend doesn't want to come
forward." She paused. "He seemed to be afraid of him. He
warned me to watch what I say and to be careful about who I
talk to." She paused. ''In fact, he told me I should pack up
and leave."

"Your friend might be right," John agreed, though he didn't
really want to. "Maybe you
should
leave."

"I'm not leaving." Sara tilted her chin up defiantly. "And,
forgive me, Sheriff, but if you don't believe me, then why do
you agree with him?"

"I didn't say I don't believe you. I said there's no record.
No proof."

"Can't you demand to see Dr. Dashwood's records?"

"I saw them. Remember?"

She looked puzzled. ''Remember
what?
What are you talking
about?"

''I arrived just as Dashwood was helping you out of his
infirmary," he said, slightly alarmed. "You looked very ill, but
we exchanged hellos." She stared at him, and he added. ''How
are you feeling now? You're a little pale."

"I'm fine." She hesitated. "And of course I remember."

She was a terrible liar. "The doctor said you'd had too much
excitement and he'd given you something for your nerves. Was
that true?"

She blushed and looked down at her hands. ''During his
exam I got a little dizzy."

"Exam?"

She still couldn't look at him. "Yes. You know, a, ah, pre
-
employment
physical."

''But did he give you something? A tranquilizer?" He knew
she was covering something up.

"I
-
I don't remember." As she spoke, she finally met his
gaze, her cheeks still red. "He ... he brought me chocolate
truffles later." She blushed harder
.
"I mean, if he told you he
gave me a tranquilizer, then I'm sure he did
.
That is, I really
was exhausted. I even thought I saw ... my eyes were playing
tricks on me before I saw the doctor, and I was very anxious
about being back there
.
"

"What did you think you saw?"

''Nothing. It's stupid. It was just my imagination playing
tricks on me
.
" She drew herself up in the chair, her effort at
self-control obvious. ''But Jenny Blaine's death
wasn't
my
imagination."

She looked ready to bolt, so he let it drop. "I get the impression
that you trust Dr. Dashwood." The remark about the truffles
was eating at him, but he didn't even want to admit it to himself.

"Yes
.
I suppose I trust him. I mean, he's nice."

''Nice?"

She lifted one eyebrow. "You don't like him, do you?"

"Well, I can see that he possesses a certain charm," he said
carefully.

"Are you implying that I was swayed by his looks?"

"Is it possible?"

For a moment, he thought she was going to get angry, but
when she spoke, her voice was soft. ''I hate to admit it, but
you might be right."

She spoke so matter-of-factly that he could only stare at her
in astonishment
.

''All the sisters start batting their eyelashes when he
'
s around
,
and the girl
s,
well, they
'
re even worse
.
Her nose crinkled in
amusement. ''Why should I be immune to his charms?"

He suddenly wanted to believe Sara Hawthorne more than
anything else in the world. He'd been attracted to her from the
first moment they'd met, but now her unexpected frankness
reeled him in
.

"Sheriff?" she asked
.
"Did I say something wrong?"

You said something right.
He shook his head and smiled at
her. "Your honesty is refreshing."

She shrugged, a slight blush returning to her heart
-
shaped
face. "Thanks .
.
. I think
.
"

''Ms
.
Hawthorne," he said, before he could stop himself.
"It's nearly one o'clock, and I'm starving
.
Can I take you to
lunch? We'll continue our conversation, of course."

"Yes," she said solemnly. "That would be fine, Sheriff
.
But
please, call me Sara."

''John," he told her, rising. He opened the door for her and
was, to be as honest as Sara, a little disappointed that Bobby
Hasse's shift had ended
.
It would have been nice for Bobby to
see him with a woman for a change, instead of the other way
around. Instead, there was Dorothy, reading
Fate Magazine
at
the desk.
"I'll be out for about an hour
,
Dorothy."

She looked him and Sara up and down, a knowing smirk on
her plump little face. "Are you two going to lunch?"

He almost didn't answer because the last thing he needed
was Dorothy prying into his personal life, trying to create
romances for him, giving him advice
,
watching his every move
for clues about his emotional life. Then he decided to take
Sara's lead and be frank. Maybe that would diffuse her interest.
"Yes, we're going to lunch," he said, escorting the teacher to
the door. "Is there a problem?" he added, pushing it open.

"No
.
" His honesty had flustered Dorothy
.
"Have a nice
time," she called, as t
h
e door closed behind them.

''What was that all about?
"
Sara asked, sliding into the
passenger seat of the patrol car.

"Dorothy's been trying to fix me up for eight years." He
swallowed hard
.
"Ever since my divorce." He turned the key
in the ignition and the engine hummed to life
.
"There's a nice
little cafe a few blocks away. All they make are burgers and
fries, but there are about twenty different kinds, and they're
all good."

"Sounds wonderful." She paused, locking her seat belt. "I
don'
t mean to pry
…
"

"Pry away," he told her
.

"Your divorce. You sound very bitter. Was it that bad?"

"The worst." He glanced at her. "Except that I have sole
custody of my son. Have you been through one, too?"

''Not a divorce, but I was in a long-term relationship in
c
ollege that turned, well,
weird. When I tried to break things
off, Eric started phoning and sending me letters, threatening to
commit suicide if I didn't go back to him."

"How'd you handle it?"

''Well, first I developed an ulcer, but then I got angry. I
called a suicide hotline and gave them his number, but that just
made him worse. And that made my ulcer worse, which made
me angrier at him."

''Why did that make you angry?"

''Could you stand the idea that someone else had so much
control over you that it affected your health?"

He shook his head. "It took me years to get rid of the rage
I felt toward Barbara for all the lying and cheating she did.
For leaving me and Mark. Then I realized Barbara was all I
thought about. I was practically possessed by her. I suddenly
'came to' one day while I was daydreaming about putting my
hands around her neck and strangling her." He glanced at Sara.
"Strangling her! Can you imagine?"

''Yes, actually, I can. How did you turn off your anger?"

"I realized that she was still controlling my life. She was
winning and I decided I wouldn't let that happen. I didn't want
her to have the last laugh. So I exorcised her."
·

''How?"

He smiled slightly. ''By chopping enough wood for several
winters. With every stroke I envisioned the hate pouring out
of me. I kept it up until it was all gone."

"I thought you were going to say
that you
pictured her neck
under the ax."

He was taken aback for a moment. ''Well, maybe a littl
e
of that, too." He paused for a stop sign. "You're the most
straightforward person I've ever met."

''Is that a compliment?" she asked, a trace of uncertainty in
her voice.

"Absolutely," he replied firmly.

"Thanks. Did it work? Chopping wood?"

"Except for the occasional bout of self-pity, it's worked
great. And how did you exorcise your boyfriend?"

''The next time he called and threatened to kill himself, I
told him that if that's what he wanted to do, he should go ahead
and do it. He sputtered, and I hung up."

"What happened?"

"Two weeks of hell. He did
n
't show up at school and I
didn't hear from him. Every day I was sure I'd find out he'd
c
ommitted suicide and left a letter blaming me for it. Then he
returned to school, on the arm of the campus slut, and, well,
before long, I was back eating all the catsup and pickles
I
wanted." She paused. "But I didn't have as much invested in
Eric as you did in your ex."

"Maybe not, but I'm still impressed." He pulled into the
small parking lot at Pippin's Cafe and parked. Assuming the
story Sara had just told him was true, she had a lot of backbone
and that somehow lent credibility to her tale about Jennifer
Blaine
.
It s
ounds
to me like you're not especially easy to
manipulate, he added, as they got out of the car.

''Thank you for thinking so." She smiled up at him as he
held the cafe door open. ''This place smells like heaven on
earth."

His favorite booth was free, the one by the comer window
that gave the best view of the town, so he led her there and
handed her a menu. ''Like I said, the food's great."

She consulted the menu, then put it aside. "Sheriff
-
"

"John," he reminded her.

"John." She tried to smile, but faltered. "The sisters are
masters of manipulation."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I think I've been manipulated." She picked up her
napkin and twisted it back and forth. "I shouldn't even admit
this to you, since I know my story's not very credible to begin
with, but I'd prefer complete honesty."

''I'd prefer it, too." The waitress chose that moment to take
their orders
and he
waited until she bustled away to speak
aga
in
. Please, continue. The nuns manipulated you in some
way?"

"I think so." Her voice trembled slightly. "That's the proble
m
?
I
…
I can't be sure. There are huge chunks of my memory
missin
g. I saw a therapist when I couldn't remember my school
days, and she helped me get past the blocks as much as she
could."

''Blocks?"

Sara nodded. ''She said that my memory had been tampered
with; that either I blocked out certain things myself, or that
someone did it to me. She said it was probably the latter."

"How could she tell?"

''I let her hypnotize me." She gave him a small, twisted
smile. "It wasn't easy to do. I
really
don't like to be manipulated."

"A fellow control freak."

She nodded. ''Frankly, I have a hard time with the idea of
hypnosis. Did you know that suggestions can be planted by the
hypnotist accidentally?"

"I've heard that
.
Did you trust your therapist?"

"Yes," she said after a long pause. "Yes, I did. She wasn't
the sort that was out to prove that everyone was an abused
child. I don't think she had any hidden agendas."

"What was it that you remembered? Was it Jenny's death?"

''Yes and no. I already knew Jenny had died. I found her
body. Bu
t, except for my nightmares, I h
ad no reason to think
she'd been murdered, ev
en though I never believed she h
ad
committed suicide." She silenced while the waitress set their
burger platters before them. Picking up a fry, she nibbled it
thoughtfully. ''Have you ever bad dreams that seem to be trying
to tell you something?"

Have I ever.
"Yes," he said uneasily. "I think that's normal.
Your subconscious is trying to tell you something, or you're
working out frustrations. That's what dreams are for, aren't
they?" He bit into his bacon-cheeseburger.

''Maybe. What about nightmares?"

"Have I bad them?"

''Yes."

''Of course." He felt guilty about being so flippant with her,
since he was fairly certain that what she was trying to tell him
would hit very close to home, but he couldn't help it. He'd
denied that there was any problem for so long that it was second
nature now. ''But nightmares are still just dreams." He took
another bite and the food sank in his belly. He thought of Mark
s
uddenly, uneasily. But he was safely at the Parkers'.

"Usually they're just dreams." She pointed a French fry at
him. ''But have you ever lost something or forgotten something
and remembered it in a dream?''

"Car keys," he admitted. "But misplacing a set of keys isn't
exactly the same thing as forgetting a major incident in your
life."

"Maybe you're more willing to accept that you found your
keys through a dream than something less tangible. Or less
pleasant."

''Well, when I forget to call my grandfather for a week or
so, I begin dreaming about him. A guilt-induced dream, to
remind me." He chewed slowly, then swallowed, the food feeling
like a hard lump in his throat. He wanted badly to admit
to Sara that he knew exactly what she was talking about, that
he, too, had missing time and nightmares that tried to fill it.
But he couldn't-
not and maintain any shred of authority. She
was staring hard at him, not bothering to eat. "But I think I
understand what you mean," he added uncomfortably. He was
having a hard time concentrating; his son was on his mind now,
as much as the topic of conversation.
You just want to avoid
the subject.

"I think you do," she said solemnly.

The silence between them lay heavily for a long moment;
then Sara sipped her Coke and smiled. ''So, tell me all about
your son."