The Taint (19 page)

SIXTY-SEVEN

The younger children were napping while the others worked quietly on a modeling clay replica of a French villa. Amanda circled the table, watching the little hands force the clay into shapes, kneading, tugging, flattening, making it suit their wishes.

It was much like she felt about her life. Others, always others, pushing her into a mold.

She left them at their work and went down the hall to check on the little ones. As soon as she left the room she could hear the noise level increase, an argument breaking out, the sound of a slap, but she did not look back.

By the time she had reached the back room she had decided. She looked at the resting children and did not see faces made innocent by their slumber. Even sleeping, their grasping hands clenched into fists. They were amoral.

She lifted a five year old boy from his cot, amazed at the heavy weight of him. His eyelids flickered but he did not waken, and she turned and carried him from the room, turning toward the side kitchen door.

It took her a moment to open the door leading to the basement, her arms full of sleeping child. She reached with her foot behind her to pull the door shut and moved very carefully down the stairs.

SIXTY-EIGHT

In the afternoon Rachel ventured downstairs and found her books on ancient history and mythology, carrying them to her room and covering the bed as she spread them out. She took the clay figures that she had bought and began to look through the catalogs of artifacts, certain that she had seen similar pieces before.

The feelings invoked by the assortment of creatures were largely negative. The wolf was a flesh-eating animal with a reputation for fierce cruelty. The hyena was a scavenger, an eater of carrion whose shrill cry sounded like fiendish laughter.

The snake, moving soundlessly, watched with lidless eyes, fanged, dripping venom, disengaging the jaw to swallow its prey whole. Some species of lizards, the Gila monster in particular, were poisonous, and there were reports that the monster’s bite was so ferocious that even beheaded, it clung to its victim.

And bears, shaking the ground with their rage, killing for the smell of food. Brute strength and soulless eyes.

The other pieces, found at the shack, were equally evocative. The lynx had shining eyes and keen vision, the bird—which she took to be a raven from its straight sharp beak and its peering look—was both a symbol of flight and voracious appetite.

But it was the horned creature which bothered her most, and it was the one she searched for among the pages of ancient totems. It looked like nothing she had ever seen, neither human or animal. From the eyes ran tiny drops of something she instinctively knew was blood. Jon had given her the figures on the understanding that she was not to remove them from the plastic evidence bags, but now, wanting a closer look at the creature, she considered breaking her word.

She examined the bag, which was sealed by a thick strip of adhesive about an inch from the top. If she was very careful she could re-close it and he wouldn’t have to know.

But . . . what it if was only able to be sealed one time? Evidence in a death would seem to require a way to check that nothing had been tampered with. She wasn’t willing to interfere with his investigation.

Sighing, she put the bag on the bed and picked up another book, leaning back on her pillows and letting her eyes linger over the words on the page. She began to get sleepy and in the warm quiet room, surrounded by books and symbols of savagery, she rested.

SIXTY-NINE

Jon dialed the number at the hospital and listened to it ring, trying to make some sense out of the notes he’d made a few minutes before.

“This is Sheriff Scott, I’d like to speak with Dr. Adams,” he said when the phone was answered. Two minutes of hold and then a series of clicks.

“Jon?” Nathan sounded harried.

“I’ve just finished talking to the Ridgmont Police about Laura Gentry,” he began.

“They’ve found her, I hope.”

“Yes, they’ve got her . . .”

“She’s alive?”

“Alive but not well. She was found wandering, stark naked, along the interstate about sixty miles north of here.”

“My Lord, what on earth happened to her?”

“She hasn’t been able to tell them. She had no ID with her and she couldn’t tell them her name. If we hadn’t sent out a description it might have taken them weeks to trace her back to Crestview.”

“The poor girl . . .”

“She’s in the hospital, suffering a bit from exposure, but she’s apparently gone off the deep end.”

“Have they found her car? I mean, sixty miles . . .”

“No one’s located it yet, at least, not in Ridgmont.”

“Well, she had to get there some way.”

“Someone could have given her a ride. The car could have been abandoned anywhere along the way.”

“Oh!” Nathan was suddenly agitated. “Did they check her for sexual assault?”

“I asked them, and apparently she was not molested.”

“Thank God for that. I’d like to talk with the doctor in charge where she’s been admitted. How much could they tell you about her condition?”

“Just that she’s incoherent and they’ve got her on a seventy-two hour psychiatric hold.”

“When did they pick her up?”

“Monday.”

“So . . . if things weren’t so confused around here, I’d see about getting her transferred.”

“I think she’s better off where she is . . . at least she’s safe.” Jon hesitated. “We still haven’t heard anything about Rogers and Buono.”

“I saw Mrs. Rogers this morning, gave her a sedative. She’s frantic with worry.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about Melissa’s mother; the last time I saw her she was doing a very good job of drinking herself into a stupor.”

“As we all might be before this is over.”

“If it’s ever over.”

The road was deserted as he drove out to the ranger’s station, the parksites empty. Plumes of dust rose in the hot dry air behind him and he licked his lips. Summer was back with a vengeance.

Malloy had not answered his phone or the radio all afternoon. With the exodus of campers there would be little reason for him to be out of the office for that long, unless he was looking for Hudson on his own.

Jon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He did not need another person lost in the woods.

The gate was closed and locked, the small Quonset hut which served as information center and reservation check-in was vacant. He jimmied the lock and went inside, picking up the phone to check for a dial tone. It was working.

He looked around but there were no clues to the whereabouts of the ranger. No notes, no schedules listing outside duties, nothing.

He walked the few yards from the hut to the tower and began to climb up the ladder.

No one was in the tower and he stood looking down at the park, searching for movement. The forest stretched out below, hiding its secrets, basking in the heat of the day.

SEVENTY

Rachel woke with a start; someone was knocking on the door. She glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was after five.

She put on her robe as she started down the stairs. Her headache was gone and she felt only slightly warmer than usual. A little groggy still, she hid a yawn behind her hand while opening the front door.

Kelly Hamilton stood outside.

“Kelly!” She ran her fingers through her hair, brushing it back from her face.

“Hello Rachel.” He waited, hands in his pockets, unsure of her reaction.

“How did you know I was home?”

“I saw Mike; he told me you were back, too.”

She held the door open. “Come in.”

They sat in the living room, strangely silent.

“How have you been?” she asked finally.

A quick smile. “Name it. I’ve been angry, lonely, depressed, relieved, hurt . . . and confused.”

“I’m very sorry. I know that doesn’t help, but I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“There was just no other way out . . .”

“You could have told me about your doubts,” he said gently.

“They came and went. Sometimes I was fine. But that day I wasn’t.”

“We should have just eloped.”

She smiled sadly. “I don’t think it would have made any difference. I couldn’t marry you.”

“Because of him?”

She looked at him closely, curious. “What do you mean?”

“Your brother’s friend, Jon, is it?”

“Jon Scott is a family friend,” she began and then stopped at the look on his face.

“I guessed a long time ago,” he said. “From a lot of little things. The look on your face when you mention his name, the tone of your voice. The picture . . .”

“Of Tim . . .”

“. . . and Jon. It became very clear to me after a while.”

“But there’s nothing between us,” she protested.

“Except memories and feelings. When you would talk about your brother, somehow Jon always came up. When you called your uncle, you always asked about Jon.”

“I’ve known him since I was thirteen.”

“And loved him just as long?”

She did not answer.

“And the picture. It took me a little longer to figure it out, but finally I saw the resemblance. I’ve got his coloring. We could be brothers.”

She frowned, looking at her hands folded in her lap.

“You bought me clothes that you’d seen him wear, the same colors, same styles. We probably use the same aftershave. Every similarity between us . . .”

“And you knew this?”

“After a while I did. Not at first.”

“I can’t believe you’d let me do that to you, make you over in his image . . .”

“I love you, Rachel. If I had to be like him to keep you . . .” he shrugged.

She buried her face in her hands, shaking her head.

“I thought that, maybe after we were married, you would forget about him.”

“God, I’m sorry . . .”

“Don’t be sorry that we were together. Even if you were thinking of him, you were making love to me.”

She looked at him with tortured eyes. “Kelly, I used you. How could you let me do that? How could you settle for so little?”

“Because I love you the way you love him.”

Tears threatened. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

There was little else to say.

She offered him coffee and he declined, and they walked to the door, standing there and looking into each other’s eyes. It had not been that long ago that they had shared so much; he was her first lover. But even that was unreal to her now.

“If you ever change your mind . . .”

She let it hang there between them, unanswered.

As she let him out the door he turned to her, leaning quickly, brushing her lips with his own.

“Does he know?”

She shook her head.

After a last lingering glance, he walked away and she watched until the car tail lights disappeared.

She took three aspirin and went back to bed, pulling the covers up to her neck and willing herself to go to sleep.

In a way, it was a relief to have it over. Kelly would get over her and find someone to love, someone who loved him in the way he deserved. It might take a little longer for her to get over the guilt of knowing what she’d done to him.

SEVENTY-ONE

Amanda Frey was locking the basement door when her husband came home and she pocketed the key before turning her cold eyes toward him.

“Dear.” He kissed the side of her mouth. “Dinner ready?” He rubbed his hands together, sniffing the air for clues.

“Liver and onions,” she said and went to the stove to fill the serving dishes.

He went immediately into the dining room and sat down at the head of the table, humming under his breath.

Amanda came through the door carrying the liver and a large bowl of whipped potatoes which she set on the table before returning to the kitchen.

He usually preferred to wait until everything was on the table before he began to dine, but the liver was too great a temptation and he stabbed the serving fork into the meat which was sliced thin, the way he liked it.

She returned with a gravy boat and a platter of her home-made biscuits, melting with hand-churned butter. Another quick trip through the door and his meal was complete: steamed cauliflower, broccoli and carrots.

“Lovely,” he said and took his first bite of liver which was remarkably tender and mild-flavored.

It was a little while before he noticed that she wasn’t eating, although she watched every bite he took.

“Don’t you feel well?” he inquired, sopping up gravy with a biscuit and taking it whole into his mouth.

“I’m a little tired.” Her face was expressionless.

“You should eat something,” he said when his mouth was empty.

“I’ve had my fill.”

“Oh yes, you always did nibble when cooking.” He clicked his tongue. “I remember when we were first married; you were in danger of becoming a little dumpling.” He turned his attention back to the food.

Her mouth twitched and she got up from the table, standing with hands folded near the door to the front room.

When the doorbell rang she walked quickly to answer it. A minor adjustment of her dress and she opened the door.

“Mrs. Frey, I’m Billy’s dad,” the man standing there said.

“Billy, of course.” She waited for him to continue.

“I’m looking for him, he didn’t come home from school.”

“Why, I’m sure he left with the others.”

“You didn’t see him lingering around?”

“No.” She took a small step backward. “But you know little boys . . . I’m sure he’ll turn up soon.”

She watched from behind the curtain as the man drove away, the car moving slowly along the road. Then she smoothed the fabric back in place and turned out the porch light, locking the double-locks.

“Another child missing?” Martin said when she told him. “Just terrible.”

“Children like to hide,” she observed and settled back into the chair across from him.

“The poor parents. Imagine how frantic they must be.”

She nodded.

A sigh. “I hope this won’t interfere with your school. You’ve been doing so well.”

“. . . so well,” she echoed.

“I guess we’ll just have to work harder. Perhaps you could pick the children up in the morning and take them home every afternoon. That would surely put their minds at ease.”

“The parents . . .” she began.

“The parents will surely see that there’s no safer place for their children to be than here on the church property with you. Like being in the lap of God.”

Again she nodded. “Perhaps you’re right.”