Shit, this can’t be the right place, Alex thought, but he reminded himself that he had followed the old timer’s directions perfectly, so unless the old fart was having himself some kind of a hoot, giving out-of-towners wrong directions, this had to be it. Through the thick stands of trees off to his right, he caught a better view of the lake. The bright white sparkles of reflected sunlight left swirling afterimages dancing like tracer bullets across his vision. The opposite shore looked surprisingly close until he realized it was either an island or peninsula. Beyond that, he could see a wider stretch of rippling blue water.
Alex slowed the van to a crawl, not so much because he wanted to spare the van’s suspension, but because he wanted to make sure he didn’t miss the camp. The old man had said it was red with white trim, but—at least so far—all he had seen were two or three unpainted, weather-stained shacks that were overgrown with moss and decay, and looked like they were more than likely to cave in under a load of winter snow. Then, just as he crested a slight rise, he saw the coffee pot-shaped sign that was nailed to the thick trunk of a pine tree.
“TOLAND” was written above the coffee pot in a winding swirl of gray as if the name were part of the steam coming from the pot’s snout.
“Fuckin’-a, now ain’t that cute,” Alex whispered with a chuckle. It took a great deal of effort to keep himself from whooping out loud with joy. “Looks like that asshole didn’t rip it off with the snow plow after all.”
As he pulled to a stop by the side of the road, his grip tightened on the steering wheel so hard it hurt the palms of his hands. Heaving a satisfied sigh, he jammed the gear shift into park and looked down at the camp.
Just like the old timer had said, it was a small cabin that was painted red with trim that might have been white once, but was now peeling and weather-stained to a lifeless yellow that looked like old bone in the shade of the pine trees. The main building was nestled at the bottom of a steep incline, its front porch not more than twenty feet from the narrow strip of sandy beach at the water’s edge. To one side, there was a smaller shed with an attached carport that was filled with old machinery, rusted tools, and rotting cardboard boxes.
“Christ, people sure do like to hang on to their old shit around here,” Alex whispered, remembering the pile of clutter in the antique store.
A rutted, switch-back dirt driveway that looked like it hadn’t been used much lately rounded down the slope and ended in a Y-shaped turnaround in front of the carport and camp. He didn’t see Cindy’s car, but it could easily be hidden behind the carport. It’d be just like her to do something like that!
Biting his lower lip and glancing ahead and behind him to make sure there was no one else on the road, Alex sat with the van idling as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and considered how best to proceed.
Of course, if not the best way, certainly the most direct thing to do would be to drive right down there and pull up by the cabin, get out and kick open the front door. If Cindy was there, he could just walk right on in and take his kids back. After all, she had no legal right to them—not yet, anyway—not unless, in the time they’d been here in Maine, she had seen a lawyer and done something about it.
But Alex sighed out loud and, gritting his teeth, shook his head as he considered that option. It was too direct, he thought, almost too easy—like shooting fish in a barrel, as his old man used to say. And probably worst of all, it certainly wouldn’t make Cindy suffer half as much as she deserved for everything she had put him through over the last few months.
“No, goddamnit!” Alex said, shaking his head from side to side. “I’ve gotta do a little something more than that.” He took a deep breath and held it until his lungs began to burn; then he exhaled slowly, letting a smile spread across his face.
“Actually… I want to do a whole lot more than that!”
Shifting the van back into gear, he drove further down the dirt road. After rounding the bend and passing two more driveways of apparently deserted summer camps, he pulled off the road into the brush halfway up onto the embankment. He pocketed the keys as he got out and then, taking a deep breath stretched his arms over his head and took a moment t look around. The terrain was uneven, with numerous rounded hillocks covered with scrub brush and strewn with large granite boulders. The road had been cut out of a rather steep slope that ran down to the lake am continued up on the opposite side of the road where it was lost in the dense foliage of a thick stand of beech trees. Down below, closer to the lake, stood the older darker pines. The air was cool and fresh, tinged with rich, resinous aroma. The silence of the forest was broken only by the hissing of the wind high overhead in the pines, and the raucous squawking of a blue jay somewhere off in the distance. Between the thick, black vertical lines of the pine trees, the lake sparkled in the sunlight like a gigantic jewel.
Whistling merrily to himself, Alex opened the back door of the van and took out his hunting gear. After slipping on the camouflage jacket, he pulled the slouch hat down low over his eyes and adjusted the side-mounted quiver on the bow, making sure all six arrows were secure. After drawing back the bow a few times to test its strength, he took an arrow, notched it on the bow string, and drew it back.
“What I wouldn’t give… to have that fucking bitch… in my sights… right now,” he whispered as he swung his aim around, focusing on one tree after another. Finally, he paused on a beech tree on the upper slope and released the arrow. It flew straight, with a sharp whisk sound, and then stuck squarely into the tree where it vibrated with a high, humming sound. “Yeah, I’m fuckin’ Robin Hood,” Alex said, snorting with laughter as he walked up to the tree and pried out the arrow. A thin, transparent stream of liquid ran from the cut.
He slid the arrow back into the bow-mounted quiver and then, squaring his shoulders, started walking back up the road. After a hundred feet or so, he cut down along the wooded slope, angling toward the camp.
Boy-oh-boy, is she ever going to be surprised when she sees me! he thought. The hissing silence of the woods was broken by the deep rumble of his laughter.
Soon enough, though, his laughter changed to a low, guttural curse. He hadn’t seen her car in the driveway on his first pass, but he had assumed it was either parked behind the shed and carport or else so close to the side of the steep embankment that he hadn’t been able to see it from the road. As he approached the cabin on foot, wending his way through the thick stand of pine trees, he realized that there was no car parked anywhere near the camp, and there was no sign of life, either. He could tell, just by the feeling of the place, that it was empty.
“What the hell?” he muttered, crouching low behind a bush and scanning the small yard around the camp. The immense silence of the forest seemed to press in on him, and he began to wonder again if the old man outside the store might have been putting him on, sending him on a wild goose chase to an abandoned camp. He had the creepy feeling that somewhere in the woods unseen eyes were watching him, staring at him with a cold, penetrating hatred. The thought made him shiver.
Squinting his eyes and crouching low, he started toward the camp, keeping inside the deep shadows of the trees as much as possible. The carpet of pine needles on the forest floor made his approach almost completely silent, but he realized that his caution was a foolish waste of effort.
There was no one out here!
Still, he thought, this might be the right place. It had to be! It certainly belonged to someone with the same last name as Cindy’s husband, so he knew he’d better take the time to check it out thoroughly. Besides, it was the only possibility he had. If he didn’t find her here, h might just as well go back to Nebraska and forge about the whole thing.
Standing up straight, with his bow in one hand, he walked boldly out into the clear. As he crossed the dirt driveway, he bent down and carefully checked for tracks. He saw plenty of markings in the dirt, but he couldn’t make much sense of them. Although he had done some hunting in his life, he certainly was not a skilled trac
ker. These marks could have been made a day or a month ago for all he knew.
He walked boldly up to the back door of the cabin and, leaning close to the window, peered inside. Through the grimy glass he could see the entryway, where there was an old-fashioned wringer washing machine, and into the kitchen. The counter certainly looked clean and neat. There was half a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter placed carefully beside a stack of paper plates and blue plastic cups. He could see several plastic glasses and clean silverware in the dish drainer beside the sink.
Well, at least, by the looks of thing, someone’s been here recently.
Stroking his chin thoughtfully, Alex considered breaking into the camp to have a better look around; but if it really was Cindy who was staying here, he didn’t want to do anything that might scare her off again. He contented himself with going from window to window and looking inside. In the living room, he saw something that made his heart jump in his chest. There on the floor was a television set, and resting on top of that was the small gray box of a Super Nintendo game unit. It looked exactly like the TV and game unit he had seen in Cindy’s apartment when he had broken in there a few days ago.
“Jesus Christ, it’s gotta be them!” he whispered in an excited voice that fogged the glass; but short of breaking into the camp, there was no way he could be absolutely sure unless…
… Unless…
“Shit yes, that’s it!” he said, snapping his fingers.
A twisted smile spread slowly across his face, and he congratulated himself for having had the foresight to buy a camouflage jacket this morning. All he had to do was pick out a nice, comfortable place to wait—say, up in the grove of beech trees on the slope across from the amp road. He could settle in there and wait to see who—if anyone—drove up to the camp between now and evening.
And then, if he saw her, once he was positive it really was Cindy and the kids who were staying out here, why—shit! He had them! And in a lonely, isolated place like this he could take his sweet old time to figure out exactly what he wanted to do with them!
Chapter Twenty-Three
Night Voices
Something’s wrong… something’s really wrong!
The thought became a mental chant almost the whole time Cindy was in Portland after swapping back Alice’s car for her own. She and the kids ate lunch at a little pizza place called Amato’s, then went shopping at the Maine Mall. Cindy told the kids that she wanted to pick up a few more things they would need out at the camp, but—at least to herself—she admitted the real reason: she didn’t want to go back to the camp on Little Sebago unless she felt they absolutely had to. It was too lonely out there, and she was nearly frantic, thinking about what she should do next. All day she had felt like she was a hair’s breadth away from bursting out in tears, but she had held it all inside, not wanting to let Krissy and Billy see her feeling this fragile.
Late that afternoon, after stopping at Shaw’s for a few groceries, they were on their way back to the camp when she stopped at the phone booth outside a corner store in South Windham to call Alice. She dialed the number and let it ring seven or eight times before finally giving up.
“Damnit, where the hell is she?” she whispered.
She fought back her tears by closing her eyes and leaning her forehead against the cold, black box of the telephone. Sobbing, she rocked her head back and forth as gnawing thoughts about how long it had been since she had heard from her husband made her mach feel all twisted up and tight. She was filled with the cold realization that she was all alone; just as had been all along. Now she couldn’t even get in touch with her one remaining friend, Alice.
Something’s wrong… something’s really wrong!
It was already past four-thirty. She knew that Alice’s daily routine was absolutely set. She came home from work every day between three-thirty and four o’clock, took a quick shower, and then, while supper was cooking, she could sit at the kitchen table watching Oprah and sipping a glass of wine.
Alice did that every day—every single day… except today!
Something’s wrong… something’s really wrong!
As she stood in the phone booth, sniffing back her tears, a chilly gust of wind blew in some dead leaves that swirled like a muddy river current around her ankles. She shivered as she wiped her eyes on her wrist and wondered what the hell she should do next. All of their essential possessions were back at the lake, so they had to go there at least for tonight; but then what?
All she knew was, she would have to come up with something better than what she had right now…
But what?
Thoughts of moving someplace else, to another city or state, filled her with apprehension. How long could she expect the kids to cope with this kind of instability in their lives? She couldn’t just keep uprooting them and dragging them halfway across the country, then expect them to feel just fine and dandy. Their mother was dead and their father, as far as she knew was an abusive tyrant. Billy was already showing signs of serious alienation. Almost all the time now, anger and downright hostility was directed straight at her. And Krissy seemed to be withdrawing deeply into herself, enclosing herself inside a bubble of isolation that Cindy knew wasn’t healthy.
Something had to change… soon!
Maybe they should take a chance and move back to the apartment on Coyne Street. That, certainly, was what Billy would vote for; Krissy probably wouldn’t express an opinion even if Cindy asked her directly. She hadn’t notified the landlord that they were leaving and the rent was already paid up through to the end of the month, so why not just go back there? As bad as their situation had been, the kids—at least ever since they had been living in Portland—seemed to be doing all right. Maybe this business with the white van was just a fabrication on her part, a product of her nervousness and paranoia.
What else could it be?
If the FBI, police, or anyone else was after her, wouldn’t they just swoop down on her and take the kids away? The idea that they were being stalked, being hunted by someone was absolutely ridiculous.
But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking along those lines. Coincidence or paranoia, Krissy had been followed by a man driving a white van, and both she and Krissy had seen what looked like the same vehicle parked outside their apartment, as though someone were keeping them under surveillance.
Good God, she had to think clearly! She had to come up with the quickest and best solution for all of them!
The sudden blast of a car horn made her jump. She turned and saw Billy, who was sitting behind the steering wheel and waving frantically for her to come back to the car. She raised one hand, signaling him to wait just a minute, then deposited a quarter into the phone and dialed Alice’s number again. Her hand was shaking—from the cold, she told herself—as she pressed the receiver to her ear and mentally counted each time the phone rang at the other end of the line.
One… two… three…
“Come on! Come on, Alice! Pick up the damned phone!”
She mentally pictured Alice’s tiny apartment, and heard the shrill ring of the telephone, breaking the hollow, deserted silence.
Four… five… six…
“Please, pick up the goddamned phone!” she whispered in a voice that sounded tight and ready to crack.
Seven…
“Where are you?”
Eight…
“Where the hell are you?”
She let her head drop and stared, unfocused, down at her feet until her vision blurred from the tears filling her eyes.
Something’s wrong… something’s really wrong!
After the ninth ring, she hung up and waited for her quarter to drop into the coin return. Taking a deep breath, she replaced the receiver gently, but what she really wanted to do was scream as loud as she could and smash the goddamned telephone booth to pieces.
Alice should be home by now! Why the hell isn’t she answering?
Cindy grabbed the telephone bo
ok and hurriedly looked up the number for the Portland police station. She put her quarter into the machine again and dialed the number before she had a chance to reconsider. She almost lost her courage and hung up when the telephone started to ring at the other end. It was answered on the second ring.
“Good afternoon, Portland Police Department. This is Sergeant Conners. How may I help you?”
Cindy hesitated and licked her lips before she began speaking.
“Yes—uhh, who would I speak to about… about checking out something for me.”
“Exactly what do you mean, ’mam?” said the steady voice at the other end of the line.
Cindy suspected that the police could trace back every call that came into the station, so she wanted to say what she had to say as fast as she could and get away from the phone booth before they could send someone out to check up on her.
“I—uh, I’m really worried about a friend of mine,” she said in a trembling voice. “She—she lives in an apartment on Coyne Street. On the second floor. Her name’s Alice Crowther. That’s number 37 Coyne street. Got that?”
“Yes, ’mam.”
“Could you please send someone over there to check on her?”
“If you don’t mind me asking, just why do you think there might be a problem over there, ’mam,” the desk dispatcher said in a cool, even voice.
Cindy sensed that he was leading her on, trying to keep her on the line as long as possible.
“I … I don’t know why!” Cindy said, almost shouting. “I just… I just know she’s… she’s been really sick lately, and she was supposed to call me earliertoday but she hasn’t, and now I’m worried. I can’t get there myself to check on her, but if you’d—”
“Look, I’ve taken down her name and the street address. I’ll send a patrol car over there as soon as I can, but would you mind giving me your name so I can get back to you if—”
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