Hobgoblin

by John Coyne

  Barbara showered, then, naked, walked into her bedroom. She carried a towel and as she walked she dried her hair. Holding her head to one side, she let the dark hair hang free as she rubbed the ends briskly with the towel. She glanced at the bedroom clock. Scotty ought to have been home by now, she thought, and then she remembered the football game. Well, she would do her hair and take a look at the personnel files before cooking dinner. She sat on the bed and leaned down to plug in the hair dryer. But before she could turn it on, she heard the clattering sound of the garage door rolling up. Scott, she thought. And then a second thought: how could it be Scott when she hadn't heard his car? Besides, Scott never voluntarily put the MGB in the garage. Feeling vulnerable in her nakedness she snapped off the lamp on the night stand, casting the bedroom into darkness. Keeping away from the window, she slipped into her robe and hurried down the hallway to the guest bedroom, hoping it was Scott after all. In the second bedroom she went to the windows, moving along the wall so her shadow could not be seen from below. Carefully, without touching the curtains, she looked down at the yard behind the guest house. Back in the trees, concealed by darkness and the heavy foliage, she caught sight of someone moving. She would have to go back to her bedroom and phone the castle, she realized, get hold of Derek or security. Someone was trespassing, looking around for something to steal. But before she could move Barbara saw who it was, saw the strange, old woman run out of the trees and toward the house. The sight of the woman, so inappropriate and inexplicable, paralyzed Barbara. She couldn't move from the window; she stood still in the dark house, listening as the old woman disappeared around the corner of the cottage. She was leaving, Barbara thought, and sighed. She walked back into the hall and toward her bedroom, but at the top of the stairs she heard more noise and she hesitated again, listening. Then she identified the sound. The woman was trying to open the front door of the house; she was frantically turning the doorknob, but it was locked, as it almost always was. The back door wasn't. The screen door was unlatched and so was the inside door. The woman would go there next, Barbara thought, circle the house and get in through the kitchen. The front door rattled as the woman pushed against it, harder this time. She was old but she was strong. Perhaps she had escaped from some local institution-Barbara shivered at the thought of being trapped in her own house by a madwoman with hands powerful enough to pummel the door, as this one was doing. Barbara forced herself down the stairs, keeping to one side so the woman couldn't see her in the dark house. The rattling stopped. Barbara heard footsteps on the path, heard leaves being rustled. The woman was going for the back. Barbara ran. At the bottom of the stairs she grabbed the newel post, spun herself around and hit the hallway running, her bare feet soundless on the wooden floors. In the kitchen there was no light and Barbara streaked across the linoleum. She spotted the woman outside, saw flashes of her stooped shoulders passing the windows, saw, through the glass panels of the upper door, the woman opening the screen. Barbara dove forward, felt for the lock and tumbled it closed. She collapsed onto the floor, cowering behind the wooden lower half as the old woman shook the knob, banged against the door. Barbara could feel her outside, feel her body pressed against the panels, only inches away from her own. Barbara crawled away to the farthest corner of the kitchen, away from the door and windows. Now she could see the old woman clearly, her distorted face pressed against one of the glass panels, one milky white eye searching the kitchen, the bruised lips moving as if she could see Barbara and was trying to tell her something. Then the face disappeared, melted into the night. Barbara lay shaking in the corner, listening to the receding footsteps. And then, like an earthquake's aftershock, she felt the fear. The invader was gone, but she was still in danger. Scotty was in danger. Something was being kept from them. There was a secret here at Ballycastle that she and Scotty did not share.

  Twelve

  "Scott mustn't know," Barbara ordered, pacing around the office. As soon as the pounding of her heart had become bearable, she had crept to the phone and called Derek, then dressed in the dark, upstairs, and gone downstairs to wait while he and the two security officers searched the woods around the guest house. Now Derek sat quietly at the conference table in his office, listening to her instructions. "It will only convince him that his fantasies are real." Derek nodded, then answered bluntly the question he knew she was afraid to ask him. "Barbara, I've been here for eight months, since the Foundation opened the castle, and I'm certain that there's no Mrs. Rochester hidden away in the attic. Don't you think you're being a little irrational about this?" She quickly glanced at Derek, as if sizing him up, as if assessing his loyalty. "Do you think I just made this up, her trying to break the doors down?" "I believe you, of course, Barbara. I just question whether this woman was really out to get you, personally. You know, a wide variety of people visit Ballycastle. It could have been someone from one of the mental hospitals." "Well, were any groups here today?" Barbara asked, accepting the possibility. All sorts of organizations made day trips to the estate, where they were welcome to tour the house and then picnic on the grounds. Perhaps this woman had gotten separated from her group and, by evening, was frantically trying to find her way back to someone. "I'm not sure. I'll ask Karen tomorrow. But this woman might not have come with a group. She might have been on her own. Barbara, a bus from Flat Rock stops at the gate. There's free admission to the grounds. I'm surprised we don't get more crazies here at Ballycastle." He had been sitting on the comer of the small conference table and now he got up and went to the window, stood looking over the fields, as if imagining what might be lurking out there. "This woman was bizarre, Derek. Her face was disfigured, but that was actually the least of it. Her clothing was odd-I couldn't really say how, but I remember it was-and her whole demeanor was weird and violent. If she had been around the castle, people would have noticed. I mean, she wasn't exactly the suburban matron." Derek came away from the window, smiling wryly, and sat next to Barbara on the leather couch. "Okay," he said, "you say she was in the woods, hidden at first by the trees." His tone had shifted, become deliberately patient and rational, as if he were dealing with a cranky child. "Derek, I'm not imagining this," she said, furious at being patronized. "I saw the woman. She was standing under the porchlight when she pressed her face up against the glass of the door." Her voice rose and caught on edge. "Her complexion was blotchy red in some places, almost blue in others. And her left eye was milky white, as if she were blind on that side." She gestured angrily. "Derek, you're just not taking me seriously. You don't believe me." "I do believe you. But you've got to admit, it's a strange story." "I have to leave," she said, realizing there was no way to persuade him. "It's late. Scotty will be home, and I have to get dinner started." She picked up her down vest and slipped it on, moving toward the door. The phone rang before she reached it. "Wait!" Derek asked. He moved to the phone. "Let me explain myself." He picked up the receiver and said hello, then listened a moment. Barbara stood with her hand on the doorknob, debating whether to leave. It would be childish, she knew, to just walk out while he was tied up on the telephone. But Derek deserved it, and she anticipated the satisfaction she'd have when he came after her, wanting to apologize. "Thank you, Ted," Derek said into the phone and hung up. "Well, our mystery's solved." He came away from his desk and toward her. "That was Ted Ward from security. The highway patrol called him. They found a woman wandering around on Route 12 across the road from the south gate, and they wanted to know if she belonged here. Ted said the police described her as a shoppingbag woman. She acted incoherent and hostile." Barbara nodded, "Fine, that explains it. Now do you believe me?" "I never doubted you." "Sure." "It's true! And to prove my good faith, let me buy you dinner." "I can't. Scotty's at home. But how about having potluck with us?" "You're sure Scott won't mind?" He was being nice, she realized, giving her a way out. "I think it would be good if Scotty began to realize I have certain rights." "Yes, but the other night he wasn't very pleased to see me." "The graveyard upset him that day, not
you. Speaking of which, I forgot to tell you: I saw Conor. He found the personnel files from the Depression. They're at the house but I haven't had time to look through them." "Good, we can go over them this evening. I'll bring what documentation I have at the office." He had walked with her out into the wide second-floor hallway. "It will give me a good excuse for Scott." "Derek, you don't need any excuses. I'm sorry I've created that impression. Scott isn't some kind of monster." "I know. But if I were Scotty I'd be overly protective too." He was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. His long hair was rumpled and a lock had fallen down across his forehead. Barbara felt a surge of attraction toward him, then firmly suppressed it. "I'm the one who's being overly protective," she said. "But that's about to stop. I'm not doing Scotty any good trying to keep him from facing the world. And it's not doing me any good either. Tonight when that woman was attacking the house, I suddenly realized I couldn't protect myself and that I had no one, really, to turn to. It wasn't a very happy feeling." "Well, you have Scott." Barbara shook her head. "Not for a few more years. And once he's old enough to count on, he'll be going off to college. I can't expect him to stay at home for my sake. He has his own life to live." She shrugged as if to say: that's the way it is. At that moment, he thought, she did seem lost and helpless. She looked like a kid herself, dressed in tight jeans, a leotard top and a green down vest. Her long black hair didn't help. It made her look even younger. "What time shall I come by for dinner?" he asked, avoiding a real answer to her problem. "Give me an hour to get the kitchen under control." She brightened up, as if putting a good face on things. "How about spaghetti and meatballs? Not fancy, but it's one of Scotty's favorites." "Fine. I must have a bottle of red wine around here somewhere." "All right, but don't worry if you don't. See you soon." Barbara ran down the stairs lightly and he slowly returned to his office, closing the door behind him. Only the desk lamp was lit and it spread a bright circle of light over his papers, leaving the rest of the room dark. He liked the effect, the contrast of shadows. It was a lovely office, he thought, and a good job. He just had to stay in control. Most of the time it was easy. Only at moments like this did he wonder about letting the Foundation down. He slid back into his leather chair. Swinging his legs up onto the desk, he reached for the phone and tapped out the phone number. "Conor? It's Mr. Brennan. Has Ted telephoned you? She got out."

  "Scotty isn't home," Barbara said, opening the front door as Derek approached. She had heard footsteps on the gravel drive and rushed to the living room, thinking it might be her son. "Well, you said there was a football game." "Yes, but they play in the afternoon, right after school." She stepped back from the door, letting him enter. "He's usually home by six. And, besides, he's not supposed to drive after dark." "Maybe he's in town. You know kids. They're probably celebrating the game at some fast food place." Barbara was shaking her head. "He would have called." "Okay, we can call the school." This was the sort of crisis he could handle easily, and he took a certain pleasure in showing Barbara she could count on him. "I've already telephoned the school," she said. "No one answered." "The state police?" She shook her head. "There have been no accidents." "Do you have any idea who he might be with?" Barbara shrugged. "He doesn't really have friends. I should telephone Valerie Dunn, the girl you drove home the other day. It's possible he's gone to her house. But still, he would have called and told me." Her voice trailed off. "He may have tried to call, Barbara, but you were over in my office for at least an hour." He went to the hall phone and dialed information, taking charge. "If he's not at Valerie's, we'll start looking. We'll take my car and drive into town. He could have had car trouble." Barbara dropped into the sofa. The thought that something might have happened to Scott immobilized her. She kept thinking of Warren, of how he had died while she lay upstairs, unaware. She wouldn't be able to stand it if something had happened to Scott. "He was with Valerie," Derek reported, returning to the living room. "I spoke to Mrs. Dunn. He dropped Valerie off about half an hour ago. Valerie was upset about something, but all she would tell her mother is that Flat Rock lost the football game." "Half an hour ago?" Barbara looked out the picture window. "Then where is he? Goddamit! I'm going to take that car away from him." "Barbara, we'll give him another twenty minutes, then we'll go look for him, all right?" "Let's go now. I can't stand just sitting here." "Wait!" He put his hands on her shoulders, halting her. "The three gates are still open. They will be for another twenty minutes. He could come home any which way off Route 12, but once security closes the gates he has to come in from the north side." Barbara nodded, understanding his point. "It's just that I hate waiting here for him." "Let me make you a drink." She shook her head. Derek still had her, still held her firmly in his hands, as if balancing her slight body, keeping her steady with his grip. She was looking past him, out the windows to the drive that swept up the hill and through the white birch woods. For a second she glimpsed the headlights of a car coming up from the north gate, but then the woods were dark again. It had to be him, she told herself. In a few minutes he would be home. She felt Derek tighten his grip on her shoulders, felt herself being pulled toward him. Still she did not look away from the dark frame of the picture window. It was as if she were being tugged by mysterious forces. For a moment, she wasn't even aware of who held her. Her consciousness was adrift. She was aware only that she needed this, needed to be held securely in someone's arms, even a stranger's. To feel the warmth of a human body. Her eyes were still open, still watching for the headlights. Her head was pressed now against Derek's shoulder, but she was not responding. It was as if this embrace was happening to someone else's body, not hers. Her arms hung loose at her side. He tilted her head, raised her chin, brought her eyes in contact with his. She didn't focus. Her eyes never found his face. When he kissed her lips it startled her. "Don't," she asked, breaking away. "Why not?" he asked, still holding her. She fitted against his body like a child. "God, why?" She pulled away slightly and found his face. Her dark eyes were watching him, evaluating. She had returned to the present. "Do you want this?" she asked. "I'm not sure what I want. That question may be a little premature." She was shaking her head as he spoke and she pulled herself from his arms. "Are you ready for an office involvement?" "You're a very beautiful woman, Barbara." "Don't change the subject. Do you think we can keep something like this quiet?" "Why should we? Neither one of us is married. We're roughly the same age and we're not the same sex. Compared to most people I know, we constitute a model couple." She didn't laugh, didn't even look up, and he went to the couch and sat down beside her. She was leaning back against the arm of the couch, with both her legs pulled up, making herself into a tight, unapproachable ball. "Derek, we both know that you have been flirting with me for months. First you'd come on, and then you'd back off, as if you were testing the water with your toe. Now, when I can least afford to complicate my life, when my sixteen-year-old is out there somewhere in the dark with his sports car, you decide to make a move." She was shaking her head, trying hard to hold her emotions in check. "Derek, really, I don't need to have my life jerked around any more." "But you find me attractive," he protested. "I mean, you've been flirting with me too." "Come on, Derek, don't be a jerk. My finding you attractive has nothing to do with getting something going with you." "Well, it's a beginning," he replied, trying to lighten the exchange. "Derek, I'm thirty-six years old. I have a growing son, and I'm a recent widow trying to establish herself in a fairly esoteric profession. Really, no offense meant, but I'm not interested in a casual affair." "Is that what you think I'm suggesting?" She shrugged. "I don't know what you're suggesting." "You're making up your mind about whatever might transpire between us before we get beyond a few handshakes and one kiss. Christ!" He stood up and moved away from the sofa, running his hands through his hair. "How do I know I won't get hung up on you, and you'll treat it all like some casual affair? Jesus, Barbara, that's why you get involved with someone. To find out what happens. You know, you take a chance!" "I can't take chances," she
said from her couch. Derek shrugged, nodded. He couldn't think of what more to say. "It would be hard on Scotty, bringing on another father figure so soon after his father's death." "Barbara, the boy is almost an adult. He's old enough to handle it." She tilted her head sideways, as if contemplating that notion, then replied thoughtfully. "That's one of my great fears, that he can't-that he isn't in control." "You have to let him grow up. Trust him." "I do trust him. And look where it's gotten me." She glanced at her watch, then looked up out the window, searching for the headlights that had never reappeared. "You also have to have a life of your own." Derek came back to sit down next to her. "A half hour ago you were telling me that Scott had to begin recognizing your rights. Well, is one of those rights some sort of relationship with another man? You're still young, Barbara. Do you want to go through life alone?" He was leaning forward, whispering, trying to catch her dark eyes. He could see they were sparkling with tears already. "I don't know what I want, Derek," she admitted. "All I seem to do is worry. I worry constantly about Scott. I worry about my job-whether I'm good enough even to call myself a professional." "Barbara, I told you, what I've read of your initial report is first rate." "Thank you." She reached out and took his hand, cupped it in both of hers as she continued. "I haven't worked full time for so long, since before Scotty was born, so I just can't judge how I'm doing. And then, topping all that, I rented our house in Connecticut and moved away. I had a pretty secure world there, all in all. At least I knew where to get my clothes cleaned and where to buy meat." She was laughing now with her tears, at the absurdity of her complaint. Yet when he tugged at her arms, tried to pull her into an embrace, she said good-naturedly, "Wait, there's more. I mean, this is important. It took me nearly two months to find someplace where I could get fresh fish." "Why didn't you ask me? It's Miller's Market in Flat Rock." "Thanks, but I know that now." "But this was all good for you, leaving Connecticut and coming here to Ballycastle. You saved your own life. I mean, what would have become of you if you had stayed there, living comfortably off Warren's estate?" Barbara shrugged. He didn't know that there had been no estate, to speak of. "I would have improved my bridge game, and lowered my golf handicap to a seven or eight. I might even have won my flight at the Country Club Championship." "And it would have killed you. You would have been bored out of your gourd." Barbara nodded. "Perhaps, but at least I would have felt safe. I haven't felt safe since I arrived at Ballycastle. I don't know whether it's me or the place." "It's the place," Derek stated. "I felt the same way about the castle when I first came here. It's the way it looks, I'm sure. The dark dreariness, all those turrets. But look, you'll only be here until spring. It's not as if you're condemned for life." Barbara smiled wryly. "Some days I don't think I'll live till spring. I'm already dreading the winter up here. I have the vision that we'll be snowbound till April." She moved then, uncoiled herself from the comer of the sofa, and Derek reached out and took her into his arms. It was simply done, without effort, as if it had been rehearsed. He kissed her again. This time she did not hesitate. Her body melted against his, and she ran her fingers into his thick hair. "I've been wanting to do that for months," she admitted. "What? Kiss me?" "No, run my fingers through your hair. You have gorgeous hair, do you realize that?" "Well, here, do it again." He took hold of her small hands. "No. The gates are closed. We have to find Scott." She swung her legs off the sofa. "And when I do," she added, half in jest, "I'm going to break his neck for putting me through this worry." The telephone rang before they could leave the house.