The Regulators (32 page)

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I said, and I must have sounded convincing, because he calmed down a little bit.

He led down the front walk (I was happy to go, the farther away from Seth in the back yard, the better), & pointed down at his house. He drives one of those four-wheel things, an Explorer, maybe, something like that. It was standing on four flat tires, and all the windows had been broken, including the windshield, and the big one in back

“Oh my God, I'm so sorry,” I said, I was, too, although maybe not for the reasons he thought.

“I apologize for my accusation,” he says, just as stiff as starch. “I suppose I thought . . . the toy Hugh took . . . if you were still angry . . .” A vehicle for a vehicle, I think he meant, like an eye for an eye.

“I've put the whole thing behind me, Mr. Hobart,” I said. “And I'm not what you'd call a vengeance-minded person under any circumstances.”

“Vengeance is mine saith the Lord, I will repay,” he says.

“Right!” I said, I don't know if it is or not, but by then I only wanted to get rid of him. He's creepy.

“It must have been vandals,” he said.

“Drunkards. Surely no one on the street would do such a thing.”

I hope it
was
vandals. I hope it was. And how could it have keen Seth—or the Stalky Little Boy, if you prefer—if I'm right about his powers having a short range? Unless his abilities are growing. His range widening.

I don't dare tell Herb about this.

June 24, 1995

When I came downstairs this morning to start breakfast I saw the Reeds out on their walk, still in their robes, I went out. It's been hot, but it rained in the middle of the night—hard—& the air was cooler this morning, with that sweet wet smell it gets after summer rain.

Early Saturday morning, or the whole street would have turned out, I think. There was a police car parked in front of the Hobart house, where there was broken glass everywhere, in the driveway & on the lawn, twinkling in the sun. William and his wife (Irene) were standing on their front stoop in their pj's, talking to the cops. The little thief was standing on the stoop behind them, sucking his thumb. A little old for that, but it must have been a bad morning at
chez
Hobart. Every window in the house was out, it looked like, upstairs as well as down.

Cammie said it happened around quarter to six, she was just waking up & heard it. “Not as loud as you would've expected, all that glass, but loud enough so you could tell what it was,” she said. “Weird, huh?”

“Very,” I said. My voice sounded normal enough, but I didn't dare say any more in case it started to get shaky.

Cammie said she looked out almost as soon as she heard the noises, but the people who threw the rocks were gone already (if the police actually
find
any rocks, I'll eat them with spaghetti sauce). “Whoever it was, they must have moved very fast.” She threw an elbow at Charlie. “The big lug here slept through the whole thing.”

“First his car, now this,” Charlie said. “Vandals, my butt. Someone's got it in for Will Hobart.”

“Yes,” I said. “Someone must”

Later

Found Seth's “wascally wabbit” slippers pushed way back under his bed. Just by accident. Was looking for a stray sock. Slippers wet, pink fur all matted, pieces of grass stuck to the bottoms. He was out in the night, then. Or early this morning. And I know where he went. Don't I?

Bad . . . but thank God his range isn't widening as I suspected it might be. That would be even worse.

June 26, 1995

Waited until Herb was at work—I didn't want him to go, he looked so pale and ill, but he said he had an important report to finish and a big presentation this afternoon—then went out back to talk to Seth.

He was sitting in the sandbox, playing quietly with his MotoKops guys, the HQ Crisis Center, and what Herb jokingly calls” the Ponderosa.” This is a ranch-and-corral set-up that Herb saw at a yard-sale on his way home from work one day in March or April. He made a U-turn to go back & get it. It's not really the Ponderosa Ranch from
Bonanza
, of course, but the main house with its log sides
does
look a little like it. There
LS
also a bunkhouse (part of the roof broken in but it's otherwise in good shape) and a number of plastic horses (a couple with only three legs) for the corral. Herb paid two bucks for it, & it's been one of Seth's favorite toys ever since. What's funny (& a little weird) is how quickly & effortlessly he incorporated the ranch into his MotoKops play-fantasies. I suppose all kids are that way, arbitrary boundaries don't interest 'em, especially when they're playing, but it's still a dizzy blending of genres to see Cassie or No-Face riding a three-legged plastic nag around the old corral.

Not that I was thinking about any of that this morning, I can tell you. I was scared, heart pounding like a drum in my chest, but when he looked up at me, I felt a little better. It was Seth, not the other one. Every time I see Seth' s pale, sweet little face, I love him more. It's crazy, maybe, but it's true. I want to protect him more, and I hate the other one more.

I asked him what was happening to the Hobarts—no sense kidding myself any longer that he's in the dark about what happened to Dream Floater—& he didn't answer. Just sat looking at me. I asked him if he'd snuck out on Saturday morning and gone down there to break their windows. Still no answer. Then I asked him what he wanted, what had to happen before he would stop. I didn't think he was going to answer that, either. Then he said, very clearly for Seth: “They should move. They should move soon. I can't hold it back much longer.”

“Hold what back?” I asked him, but he wouldn't say anything else, just went away to wherever it is he goes. Later on, while he was eating his lunch (the usual, Chef Boyardee & choco milk), I came upstairs & sat on the bed & thought. After my brother and his family were killed, the witnesses talked about a red van that maybe had a radar dish or some other form of telecommunications equipment on the roof. A mystery-van, the paper called it.

Tracker Arrow is red. And it has a dish on the roof.

I told myself I was completely crazy, and then I thought about the Dream Floater Herb & I saw in the back yard. It wasn't real, of course, but it was full-sized . . . and Seth was asleep when we saw it. Maybe not operating at full power.

Suppose the SLB gets tired of just breaking windows? Suppose he sends Tracker Arrow (or Dream Floater, the Justice Wagon, or Freedom) to do a little drive-by at the Hobarts'?

I can't hold it back muck longer
, Seth said.

June 27, 1995

Spent most of the day at Mohonk with Jan Goodlin. I know I shouldn't—it's as much a retreat as drugs or alcohol would be—but it's hard to resist. We talked about our folks, and embarrassing things that happened to us in high school, all the usual. Trivial and wonderful. Until the very end. I saw the little phone was gone, which means it's time to go back, & Jan said to me: “You know where he's getting the energy to work on the Hobarts, don't you, Aud?”

Sure I do: from Herb. He's stealing it like a vampire steals blood. And I think that Herb knows it, too.

June 28,1995

Late this morning I was sitting at the kitchen table, making up a shopping list, when I heard the
whoop-whoop-whoop
of an ambulance siren. I went out front in time to see it pull up in front of the Hobarts' with its lights flashing. The EMTs got out & hurried inside. I went inside my own house—
ran
, actually—and looked out into the back yard from the kitchen. Seth was gone.

Power Wagons lined up in the sandbox, slant-parked the way he always puts them when he's done for awhile, the Ponderosa all neat with the plastic horses in their corral, the HQ Crisis Center down near the swing . . . but no Seth. If I told you I was surprised, I'd be lying.

By the time I got back to the front, people were standing out on their sidewalks all up and down the street, looking at the Hobart place. Dave and Jim Reed were in their driveway, and I asked them if they had seen Seth.

“There he is, Mrs. Wyler,” Dave says, and points down to the store. Seth was standing by the bike rack, looking across the street, just like the rest of us. “He must have gone for a candybar.”

“Yes,” I reply, knowing that a.) Seth has no money; b.) Seth can hardly talk to Herb and me, let alone to store-clerks he doesn't know; c.) Seth never leaves the back yard.

Seth
doesn't, but sometimes the Stalky Little Boy does, it seems. To get into operating range, I think.

About five minutes later, the EMTs helped Irene Hobart out the door. Hugh, the son, was holding her hand & crying. I hated that kid, absolutely did, but I don't anymore. Now I only pity him & fear for him. There was blood all down the front of her dress. She was holding a compress on her nose, & one of the E
M
Ts was pressing the top of her neck in the back. They got her into the ambulance—Hugh got in right behind her—& drove away.

She was back less than two hours later (by then Seth was safely tucked away in the den, watching old Westerns on cable). Kim Geller dropped by for coffee & told me she went down to see if she could do anything for Irene. She's the only one on the block who is what you could call friendly with the Hobarts. She said everything is under control, but that Irene had a scare. She has bad hypertension. Takes medication for it, but it's still barely controlled. She's had nosebleeds before, but never one as bad as this. She told Kim it went all at once, blood just
spraying
out of her nostrils, and it wouldn't stop even when she cold-packed it. Hugh got scared & called 911. The EMTs insisted on taking her to the hospital to see if she needed to have the inside of her nose cauterized, even tho the bleeding had mostly stopped by the time the ambulance got to the house.

I got Seth inside and started shaking him. Told him he had to stop. He only looked at me, his mouth trembling. I was the one who stopped, angry & ashamed of myself. I was shaking the wrong one.

I could see the other one, though. I swear I could. Hiding behind Seth's eyes and laughing at me. I think the most terrible thing of all is how the SLB knows to leave Hugh Hobart alone. To let him just watch.

June 29, 1995

Woke up this morning around 3 a.m. and the other half of the bed was empty. The bathroom, too. I went downstairs, scared, No one in the living room, den, or kitchen, I went out to the garage & found Herb sitting at his workbench, wearing nothing but the Jockeys he sleeps in, & crying. He put in hi-intensity lighting out there two years ago—metal-hooded lamps that look like the kinds you see in pool-parlors—& in their glow I could see how much weight he's lost. He looks
horrible
. Like he has anorexia nervosa. I took him in my arms & he wept like a baby. Kept saying he was tired, so tired all the time. I said something about taking him to see Dr. Evers first thing in the morning. He just laughed, said I knew what was wrong with him.

I do, of course.

July, 1, 1995

Another ambulance at the Hobart house late this afternoon. As soon as I saw it I raced upstairs to check on Seth, who was supposedly napping. No Seth. Window open—
second-floor window
—& no Seth. When I went outside, I saw him across the street, holding old Tom Billingsley's hand. I ran across & grabbed him.

“No fear, he's all right, Aud,” Tom said. “Just went wanderin' a little, didn't you, Sethie-boy?”

“Don't you ever cross the street on your own!” I told him. “Don't you
ever!
” Shook him again in spite of myself. Stupid; might as well shake a lump of wax.

This time when the EMTs came out, they were using their stretcher. Wm. Hobart was on it. “Seems like just lately if it wasn't for bad luck, those Hobarts wouldn't have any luck at all,” Tom said.

This is supposed to be Mr. Hobart's vacation week, but he will be spending at least some of it in County General. He fell downstairs, broke his leg & hip. Kim told me later that he drinks, church deacon at Zion's Covenant or not. Maybe he
does
drink, but I don't think that's why he fell downstairs.

July 3, 1995

There's no Stalky Little Boy. Never was. There's a
thing
inside of Seth—not an id, not another manifestation of his personality, not a hitchhiker, but something like a tapeworm. It can think. And talk. It talked to me today—it calls itself Tak.

July 6, 1995

Someone shot the Hobarts' pet Angora cat last night. Apparently nothing left but blood & fur. Kim says Irene H. is hysterical, thinks everyone on the street is out to get them because they know the Hobarts are going to heaven & the rest of us are going to hell. “So they are making this hell on earth for us” is what she told Kim. She begged Kim to tell her who did it, said Hugh was devastated, wouldn't come out of his room, just lay there on his bed, crying & saying it was all his fault cause he was a sinner. When Kim said she didn't know and didn't think anyone on Poplar Street would shoot the Hobarts' cat, Mrs. Hobart said Kim was just like the rest & told her they weren't friends anymore. Kim very upset, but not as upset as I am.

What in God's name should I do? It hasn't hurt anyone too badly yet, but—

July 8, 1995

Oh God, thank you. A Mayflower van turned onto the street at just past nine this morning & stopped in front of the Hobarts'. They are moving out.

July 16, 1995

Oh you fucking little bastard you shit. Oh how could you. Oh you bastard if I could get at you. If you let Seth go & I could get at you. Oh God God God.

My fault? Yes. HOW MUCH my fault is the question. Dear Jesus how can I live without him. How go on with this. I didn't know there could be this much pain in the whole wide world & how much my fault HOW MUCH? You bastard Tak you bastard. I'm done writing in this book. What good did I ever think it could do anyway.