So Cold the River (2010) (34 page)

She tried a nip. Horrible stuff, made her head pound and her
stomach churn, but she got it down. One thing she’d never lacked was willpower. She took a minute to settle herself and then
tried another swallow, smaller this time, and then she replaced the stopper and wrapped the bottle again and put it away.

Now she would wait. Wait and, hopefully, see.

T
IME SLID AWAY FROM
Josiah while he was out in the wet woods. He’d walked all the way to the far end of the ridge and then down the slope, moving
aimlessly but enjoying the feel of the water running over his skin and saturating his clothes, savoring the way he sometimes
had to blink it out of his eyes just to see. The lightning stopped and the thunder softened and then faded away, and it surprised
him when he realized that the western sky was no longer dark from storm clouds but from sunset.

He started back up the ridge then, mud and wet leaves stuck to his boots, everything smelling of damp wood. He caught himself
spitting often, which was odd as it wasn’t a habit he’d practiced before. Stranger still was the mild taste of chewing tobacco
in his mouth.

The long stretch of summer twilight that should have guided him back wasn’t present beneath tonight’s overcast sky. He came
back to the timber camp in almost total darkness and didn’t
make out the shape of the car until he was almost upon it. He gave a start at first and shrank back into the woods but then
recognized it as Danny’s Oldsmobile. When he came up behind it, the driver’s door swung open and Danny stepped out with a
face twisted with consternation.

“Where in the hell you been? I swear, Josiah, I was ten minutes from leaving.”

“My truck was in the barn.”

“I seen it, else I would’ve been gone an hour ago.” He frowned. “You been walking around in the rain?”

“I have.” Josiah leaned past him, looked into the car. “That a pizza?”

“Figured you’d need some grub. Cold by now, of course.”

“Hell if I care.”

They pushed the barn door open a few feet and sat just inside while Josiah ate some pizza and drank a bottle of water. It
took the edge off the powerful thirst that had built in him, but neither food nor water removed that faint taste of tobacco.

While he ate, Danny gave him the update from town. Talk of the murder was common, but credible theories were not.

“You find out if the one who called himself Shaw is still in town?” Josiah said.

“He is. I had a hell of a time finding him, but then I got lucky.”

“Yeah?”

“I called both hotels and asked for him. French Lick said he wasn’t registered, but West Baden put me through to a room. I
hung up soon as it rang.”

“That’s a hell of a hard time?”

“No. But just because he had a room doesn’t mean he was still in it, and besides, you told me to follow him. But I don’t know
what kind of car he has. Car they were in yesterday was the black guy’s.”

“Right.” Josiah caught Danny frowning at him. “What are you staring at?”

“Why do you keep spitting?” Danny said. Josiah was surprised; he hadn’t even realized he was doing it again.

“No reason,” he said. “Get back to the story.”

“Well, I went through the parking lot, looking for Illinois plates, but there was quite a few of them, so I didn’t know what
to wait on. It started to rain then and I decided I’d drive back up here and ask what you thought. I was halfway through town
when I seen him walking down the sidewalk.”

“You did.”

“Uh-huh. Wouldn’t have even noticed him but he was all bent over like he was about to be sick. He walked all the way back
up to the hotel, stumbling like a drunk. Wasn’t but five minutes later he came out and got in a car. Acura SUV. Then he drove
to Anne McKinney’s house.”

“Anne McKinney?” Josiah said, incredulous.

“You know who she is, right?”

“Got that house with all the windmills and shit. Comes to the hotel every day.”

“Yeah.”

“What would he be doing up there?”

“I’m not sure,” Danny said, “but he looked awful strange going inside. Left the door open and the engine running. She had
to come out and turn it off.”

“She did? Well, how long did he stay?”

“A long time. Then he went back to the hotel. Didn’t see him come out again, so I left to come up here. Something else—what
he told Grandpa is that some woman from Chicago hired him.”

“A
woman?
”

“That’s what he said.”

“Bullshit. He’s working for Lucas.”

“I got to say I don’t know what we’re doing, following this guy around,” Danny said. “You’re in a shit-ton of trouble. You
ask me—”

“I didn’t ask you.”

Danny shut his mouth and stared at Josiah, then spoke again, his voice lower.

“Maybe not. But
if
you did ask, I’d say you only got two options. First is to turn yourself in. I know you don’t want to do that, but I think
it’s smartest. That guy pulled a gun on you, right? You did what you had to.”

“Not going to happen,” Josiah said. “I got no interest in trusting the local law.”

“Fine,” Danny said. “Then you best get out of town. You said you need money to do it, but I don’t know how you’re getting
any from these people from Chicago. I’ll give you what I got left from the casino, be enough to get you out of here, at least.”

Josiah shook his head. “Again, not an option that I favor. I’m disinclined to leave a place I’ve known for so long as home.
It’s more mine than theirs, Danny, more mine than theirs.”

Danny tilted his head and squinted at him. “Why you talking like that?”

“Way I always talk.”

“No, it’s not.”

Josiah shrugged. “Well, you never know how a man might progress, Danny, in conversation and conduct.”

“I got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Here’s all you need to know—they aren’t going to take me from this valley again, aren’t going to take me from my home.”

“Again?”

“My blood kin, Danny. Campbell.”

“
Campbell?
What the hell? The man’s been dead for eighty years! You’d never have so much as known his name if it weren’t for Grandpa.”

“And there’s the dilemma, Danny, my boy. Isn’t hardly anybody remembers his name anymore, and those that do, well, they got
no word but a harsh word. In his time, Campbell did plenty for these people. Why’s the man faulted just for having some ambition?
Can you answer that?”

“He ran out on his family. What are you talking about, ambition?”

“That’s the thing—weren’t his choice to leave. He never had a mind to go.”

Danny stared at him. Out beyond the barn, the dark trees were starting to weave again in a mild breeze.

“Why you using that voice?”

“Only one I got.”

“Don’t sound normal. Don’t sound anything like you.”

“Boy, you are one critical son of a bitch today, aren’t you? Pardon my voice, Danny, pardon my manner of speaking, and pardon
my occasional desire to spit. Sorry such qualities don’t find your favor this evening.”

“Whatever, man.”

“You had enough of helping me? Going to leave me to handle this on my own?”

“I didn’t say that. I just don’t understand what I’m supposed to do that can help.”

“Good thing I do, then. I got a real clear sense of your role, Danny, and it won’t be a difficult task. All I’ll require now
is that you go on down to the gas station and buy two of those prepaid cell phones. I have some cash for you to use. Bring
them back up here. I’ll wait before I make my call. Seems like the sort of call you make in the middle of the night.”

The pain held off until evening. Eric lingered with Kellen at the bar, drank a few more beers and even ate a meal and felt
fine through all of it, actually had himself thinking maybe it was done.

It wasn’t.

The first headache came about an hour after he’d eaten. The nausea settled in soon after the headache, and when he looked
up at the bartender and saw the vertical hold go again, that rapid shuddering of the scene in front of him, Eric knew it was
time to go.

“Feeling bad again?” Kellen said when Eric got to his feet.

“Not great. Probably just need to lie down.”

He wasn’t sure why he said that; they both knew it was bullshit.

“You want me to hang around or…”

Eric shook his head. “No, no. You don’t need to worry about it, man. If it gets bad, I’ll do what I’ve got to do.”

“And see what you have to see,” Kellen said, face grave, studying him. He put out his hand. “All right, my man. Good luck
to you. And I’ll be in town tonight. So anything gets away from you…”

“I’ll be fine. Guarantee it. By the time we talk tomorrow, you’ll see.”

There was an odd ghosting to the door as he walked out of the bar, a hint of double vision returning, and the lights in the
hallway burned in his skull, but somehow neither occurrence struck quite the same the chord of fear that it had before. Bad
things were coming for him, yes, but he could hold them at bay now. He knew that.

He’d just take some more of the water, that was all. Every day.
Have some bad moments, sure, maybe deal with some effects that weren’t ideal, but it would keep the real demons away, too.
Even though it had given birth to them, it could now keep them away. Wasn’t that a hell of a thing? So he’d stay on the cycle,
that was all, protect himself with the same thing that threatened him.

Up to the fourth floor, hand on the elevator wall for balance, then out into the hall, smiling and nodding past a middle-aged
couple who went by without a second look. He was getting the hang of this now, learning how to hide the symptoms, knowing
that he no longer had to cope with them—the water would do that for him.

There was a rapid tremor working deep within him and his vision was blurred and unsteady, but he found himself laughing at
it as he took the keycard from his pocket, whistling as he opened the door, cheerful as hell.
Can’t touch me, can’t touch me, can’t touch me
. Not anymore, it couldn’t. He had the cure, and who gave a shit if it was also the cause? Important part was that it worked.
Control was his again.

He’d left the bottle in the room, but this time he’d taken a precaution. The room had one of those traveler’s safes in the
closet, the sort people used for jewelry or wallets. He’d put a bottle of water in his. Now he punched in the code—the number
of Claire’s old apartment in Evanston—popped the door open, and found the bottle.

Cool but not cold to the touch, completely normal in fact, and he found himself almost missing the Bradford bottle as he opened
this one and drank. The taste of Anne’s water was so unpleasant, fetid and harsh, with none of that honey flavor that had
developed over time in the Bradford bottle. It would do the job, though, and that was enough.

Only this time it didn’t do the job. Not as quickly, at least.
Five minutes later, his nausea was worse and the headache still present. Odd. He gave it another five and then drank again.
Full swallows this time, steeling himself against the sulfuric taste.

Finally, success. A few minutes after this second dose, the throbbing in his temples diminished and his stomach settled and
his vision steadied. His old friend was coming through again. He’d just needed a touch more this time, that was all.

He was still in the chair when the violin called to him. Whisper-soft at first, but he raised his head like a dog hearing
a whistle. Man, it was beautiful. An elegy, the boy had called it. A song for the dead. The more Eric heard of it, the more
he liked it.

He got to his feet and went to the balcony, where the music seemed to be originating. He opened the doors softly and stepped
out and the rotunda below was gone, vacant gray space stretching on beneath the balcony instead, falling away like an endless
canyon. Even the smells of the hotel were missing, replaced by dead leaves and wood smoke. Two points of light showed somewhere
down in the gray canyon, and he turned to watch them. As they approached, the hotel and his memory of it faded away.

He was with the lights now and saw that they were the cold white eyes of Campbell’s roadster, which had pulled to a stop outside
a long wooden building with a wide front porch. Rain was pouring down, finding holes in the porch roof here and there. A few
black men sat on the porch in the dry areas, smoking and talking in voices that went soft when the car door opened and Campbell
stepped out into the puddles beside the car. A moment later the passenger door opened and there was Lucas, with the violin
case in hand. It seemed always to be in hand.

“Gentlemen,” Campbell said. “Enjoying the porch on a rainy evening, I see.”

None of the black men responded.

“Shadrach’s indoors?” Campbell said, unbothered.

“Downstairs,” one said after a long pause, and Campbell tipped his hat and went to the door, opened it, and held it for the
boy to step through. Now they were in a dark room with round tables and a long wooden bar with a brass rail. The bar and all
of the tables were empty. Stacks of cards and chips stood on one of the tables. Everything was covered with a fine layer of
dust.