by John Saul
“It’s nothing more than a minor inconvenience,” the old woman insisted. “If anyone sends flowers, I shall have them thrown away—flowers are for funerals, and a slight heart attack hardly qualifies me for the grave.”
“There was nothing slight about it, Mother,” Phillip replied. “You’re probably going to be here for a while.”
“I’d rather be dead, and I shall tell that to the first doctor who suggests that I can’t rest just as well in my own home as I can here.” But despite her words, Abigail knew she would stay in the hospital until her strength returned, however long it took. And right now she felt much worse than she was prepared to admit.
“But what happened, Grandmother?” Tracy demanded. “What were you doing down there?”
Abigail turned to smile at her granddaughter. “Why, I wasn’t doing much of anything, darling. I simply went down to see just what it was that your father is doing to the old place, that’s all.”
Tracy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “After everybody had gone home, Grandmother?”
“Mr. Rogers had not gone home,” Abigail sniffed. “Although had I wished to go in alone, who was to stop me?”
“The liability laws, and the fine print in the contract might have given you a certain amount of pause,” Phillip observed dryly, “had you bothered to read them. But Tracy’s right—whatever possessed you to go down there today? And why didn’t you ask me to take you? I would have been more than glad to show you around.”
“And bore me with a lot of technical claptrap I care nothing about,” Abigail said with more peevishness than she truly felt. “I was up in the mausoleum and suddenly I had an urge to go down to the mill and have a look around.” She glanced at Tracy, who was watching her with more shrewdness than she would have expected from a girl of thirteen. “At any rate, it doesn’t really matter, does it? All that happened was that I went down to the basement, and I had a heart attack. I’ll grant you it was inconvenient, and it would have been a lot easier for us all if I’d done this at home, but I didn’t, and that’s that.”
Phillip gazed at his mother speculatively. “The mausoleum,” he repeated. “Why did you go up there?”
Abigail’s eyes hardened slightly. “Your father is buried there, Phillip. Do you need more of an explanation as to why I might go there?”
“Under the circumstances, Mother, I think I do,” Phillip replied. “You’ve never been in the habit of walking up that trail by yourself, and you certainly haven’t driven a car in years. Yet today you not only hiked up to the mausoleum, but you then took the car and drove yourself down to the mill, where you proceeded to have a heart attack.”
“Perhaps,” Abigail grated, “the walk and the drive were simply too much for me.”
“And perhaps,” Phillip shot back, “there’s something else going on. Something you’re not telling us about.”
Abigail glared at her son. “I do not intend to be cross-examined by you, Phillip.” Then, appearing to relent, she eased herself back against the pillows. “I was thinking about Conrad, that’s all. So I went up to the mausoleum to be nearer to him. I find it peaceful up there.” She smiled bitterly. “One day, I suppose, I shall find my peace there on a more permanent basis, shan’t I?”
No one said anything.
“As for the mill, today I simply decided to go down there and see if I could discover what it was about it that so upset your father.”
The door opened, and a smiling nurse bustled in. “I’m afraid our time’s up,” she announced with exaggerated cheer. “Doctor made us promise to keep our visit short this evening, and now we need our nap.”
Carolyn rose from her chair, and picked up her purse, while Tracy leaned over to kiss her grandmother. Abigail accepted the kiss, but her eyes remained fixed on the nurse. “I made no such promises,” she announced. “Furthermore, I have no intention of taking a nap. I intend to talk to my son for a few more minutes. ”
“Mrs. Sturgess—” the nurse began.
“It won’t work, Nurse,” Phillip said, sighing and lowering himself into the chair his wife had just vacated. “Better to give her a few more minutes than waste your time arguing with her, and end up giving in to her anyway.”
“But Doctor said—”
“Doctor was a stupid child, and I can’t imagine that he’s grown into a much brighter adult,” Abigail announced. “Now please leave me alone with my son.”
The nurse hesitated, then gave up. Besides, she privately agreed with Abigail Sturgess’s assessment of the doctor, and from what she’d seen of Mrs. Sturgess in the two hours since she’d arrived in the hospital, she suspected the old woman was a lot stronger than the doctor thought. “All right,” she said. “But please, Mrs. Sturgess, not all night, okay?”
Abigail nodded slightly, and offered her hand to Carolyn when the younger woman made as if to kiss her on the cheek. “I expect to be home in a few days,” she said. “I shall have to trust you to supervise Hannah until then. Please tell her—”
“I’m sure Hannah knows exactly what to do, Abigail,” Carolyn interjected. “Just try to relax, and get well, all right?”
Abigail’s lips tightened, but she didn’t speak again until Carolyn and Tracy had followed the nurse out of the room and the door was shut. “As if she really wants me to get well,” she began, but this time Phillip cut her off.
“Of course she wants you to get well, Mother,” he said. “But sometimes I can’t imagine why, considering the way you treat her. Now, what is it you want to tell me that you wouldn’t say in front of Carolyn?”
“And Tracy,” Abigail pointed out.
“Indeed?” Phillip asked. “Somehow I thought it was mostly Carolyn you wanted to be rid of.”
Abigail shook her head. “Not this time. What I have to say, I shall say only to you.” Her head turned, and her eyes fixed on her son with an intensity Phillip had rarely seen. “Phillip, you must close the mill.”
Phillip groaned. “For God’s sake, Mother. This is absolutely ridiculous. I thought when Father died, we could be done with all that nonsense. Please don’t you start in on it now. Besides, it’s far too late to change our minds. The investment is too big, and the contracts have been signed. I couldn’t cancel them, even if I wanted to, which I don’t. There’s no way—”
“If you don’t close the mill, more people will die there,” Abigail interrupted. “It isn’t going to stop, Phillip—don’t you see? It happened to Conrad Junior, and now it’s happened to Jeff Bailey—”
“Jeff Bailey’s death was an accident—nothing more. It’s been investigated, and there’s no evidence of anything other than the fact that he tripped, and fell on a pick.”
“Which is almost exactly what happened to your brother,” Abigail replied.
“And that was more than forty years ago, Mother. We’ve been through all this before.”
Abigail reached out and clutched Phillip’s hand. “And what about me?”
Phillip eyed her impatiently. “You? Mother, you yourself said that what happened to you could as easily have happened at home or anywhere else.”
“I lied,” Abigail said softly.
Phillip leaned forward. “You lied?”
“I didn’t want to frighten Tracy, or talk about it in front of your wife, but something happened today.” She looked at Phillip again, and he thought he saw something in her eyes that he’d never seen there before.
Fear.
“I saw something down there, Phillip. I can’t tell you exactly what it was, because I can’t truly remember it. But I know that this afternoon, when I was in the basement of the mill, I was in the presence of death. I could see it, and I could hear it, and I could feel it. It’s there, Phillip. Death lives in the mill, and if you don’t close it, it will kill us all.”
Phillip sat still, wondering what to say to his mother. Was it possible that her age was finally catching up with her, and she was beginning to suffer from delusions? But her voice was so strong, and she seemed
so sure of what she was saying. “Mother, I’m sure you believe you felt something today, and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t. My God! You had a heart attack! It must have been terrifying.” He smiled sympathetically. “In a way, you were in the presence of death, as you put it—”
“Don’t patronize me, Phillip,” Abigail rasped. “I know what I felt, and I know when I felt it. It had nothing to do with the heart attack, except to cause it. Oh, I was frightened all right. What do you think brought the attack on? It was fear, Phillip. Pure, unadulterated fear. I’ve never been a coward, but I saw something in that basement that frightened me more than anything has ever frightened me in my life. Whatever it is, it killed Jeff Bailey, and it tried to kill me. And there’s no way to get rid of it. Your father was right. The only thing you can do is close the mill.”
Phillip rose to his feet, knowing that arguing with his mother was useless. “I’ll think about it, Mother,” he said softly as he leaned over to kiss her. “I can’t promise you anything right now, except to think about it.”
Abigail turned away from Phillip’s kiss, her head sinking tiredly into the pillows. “Not good enough,” she whispered so quietly that Phillip could barely make out her words. “It’s just not good enough.” She closed her eyes, and for a moment Phillip thought she had fallen asleep. But then her eyes blinked open, and her body stiffened. “Beth,” she said.
Phillip stared at her. “Beth?” he repeated.
Abigail’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she nodded. “Where is she?”
The question threw Phillip into confusion. What on earth was she thinking of now? “She’s with her father,” he replied. “Alan was still here when we arrived, and we asked him if he’d take Beth for the evening.”
“I want to see her,” Abigail announced. “Get her, and bring her to me.”
Phillip’s eyes widened. “Now? Tonight?”
“Of course, tonight!” the old woman snapped. “If I’m as sick as you’d like to think, I could be dead by tomorrow!”
Phillip felt a sudden uneasiness. “Mother, what is all this about? I know how you feel about Beth—”
“You know nothing,” Abigail whispered in a voice as venomous as Phillip had ever heard her use. “Apparently you’re as much of a fool as your father always said you were.”
Anger surged through Phillip, and he felt a vein in his forehead begin to throb. “I hardly think you’ll get my cooperation this way, Mother,” he replied, biting the words off one by one. “And if you think I’ll expose Beth to you while you’re in a mood like this, you’re quite wrong.”
Abigail glared at him for a moment, her entire body trembling as if it were palsied. Then, slowly, she eased herself back down, and when she spoke, her voice was calm.
“I’m sorry,” she said, though there was no hint of regret in her voice. “I suppose I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. But I wish to see Beth, and I wish to see her tonight.” When Phillip said nothing, she went on. “If she doesn’t wish to see me, I shall understand, Phillip. And you may tell her that she may feel free to walk out of this room at any time.”
“But why, Mother?” Phillip pressed. “Why do you want to see Beth?”
Abigail hesitated, then shook her head. “I can’t tell you,” she said quietly. “It wouldn’t make any sense to you.” Then she turned her head away, and closed her eyes once more. Phillip watched her for a moment, then slipped out of the room to join Carolyn and Tracy in the reception area.
“What did she say, Daddy?” Tracy immediately demanded while Carolyn asked the same question with her eyes.
“Nothing much,” Phillip replied, his voice pensive. “She told me she wanted the mill closed, and she …” His voice trailed off, and there was a long moment of silence.
“What, Phillip?” Carolyn finally asked. “What else did she say?”
Phillip glanced at his daughter, then his eyes fell on his wife. “She says she wants to see Beth. Tonight.”
Carolyn’s eyes widened in surprise. “But—Phillip, she always acts as if Beth doesn’t even exist!”
“I know,” Phillip agreed. “Don’t ask me why she wants to see her—she wouldn’t say. All she said is that she wants to talk to Beth, but that if Beth doesn’t want to come, she doesn’t have to.”
As confused as her husband, Carolyn slipped her hand into his, and let him guide her out of the reception room onto the street.
In their preoccupation with Abigail’s strange request, neither of them noticed the look of pure hatred that came into Tracy’s eyes as soon as her stepsister’s name was spoken.
16
“What do you say we have supper at the Red Hen?” Alan asked dolefully as he stared into the nearly empty refrigerator. He hadn’t expected to have Beth with him that evening, so hadn’t stocked up on the food he knew she liked. Nor had he bothered to stop at the store on the way back to his apartment from the hospital. He was too tired, and he’d known from Beth’s silence that something was wrong. Now, when she didn’t answer his question, he decided to face the issue directly.
“You might as well tell me what’s up,” he said, closing the refrigerator door and moving into the tiny living room of the apartment. He dropped down onto the sofa next to Beth, and slipped his arm around her. “If you can’t tell your old dad, who can you tell?”
Beth looked up at him, her eyes filled with worry.
“I … I think I know what happened to Mrs. Sturgess,” she said after a silence that had threatened to stretch into minutes. “I think Amy must have done something to her, just like she did to Jeff Bailey.”
Alan frowned thoughtfully, and wished—not for the first time—that he knew more about psychology. Then he reminded himself that parents had dealt with children for centuries before psychologists had ever invented themselves, and decided that his own instincts were all he needed. Right now, his instincts told him not to challenge the existence of Beth’s imaginary friend. “Why would Amy want to do something to Mrs. Sturgess?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Beth replied. “I think she hates the Sturgesses, though. And I think she hates all their friends, too.”
“But why?” Alan pressed. “That doesn’t really make sense, does it?” But of course he knew that it did. Amy, as Beth’s “friend,” would be angry at all the people who had hurt Beth, but whom Beth would not let herself hate. But how could he explain that to his daughter now, after what had happened that morning? She was already feeling friendless, and taking Amy away from her—trying to explain to her that the child didn’t exist outside her own imagination—seemed to him as if it would be too much.
He’d heard about what had happened up on the hill that morning. At least he’d heard what Peggy Russell had had to say when she’d come bursting into the Red Hen while Alan was having lunch that afternoon.
But he hadn’t, he now realized ruefully, connected Peggy’s wild tale with Abigail Sturgess’s unexpected visit to the mill. He should have, especially when the old woman insisted on going into the basement, but he hadn’t.
Beth, obviously, had, and now it was up to him to try to find a way to convince his daughter that what had happened to Abigail was nothing more than a heart attack brought on only by her age. But it was certainly not connected to the presence in the mill of any sort of being, either real or imaginary. He was trying to figure out how to explain this to Beth when the doorbell rang. To his surprise, he found Phillip and Carolyn, with Tracy between them, standing in the hall.
Instinctively, he stepped out of the apartment and closed the door behind him, rather than invite them all inside. As Phillip began to explain the reason they were there, Alan’s feeling of apprehension grew. There could only be one possible reason why Abigail wanted to talk to Beth, and the last thing he wanted to do was discuss that subject in front of Tracy. Why, he wondered, couldn’t they have left her at home?
“Beth and I were just going out for supper,” he said at last, not really intending the statement as anything more
than an attempt to buy some time to think. But Phillip immediately suggested that they all go together, and Alan, taken off guard, was unable to invent a polite way to refuse.
It was a mistake.
Alan realized it was a mistake even as he pulled into the parking lot at the Red Hen, to be greeted warmly a few moments later by Eileen Russell. When the Sturgesses appeared behind him, Eileen’s welcoming smile all but disappeared, and Alan felt a distinct chill between Carolyn and Eileen as Eileen led them to a large round table near the fireplace, that, even on this warm early-summer evening, was ablaze with the false warmth of poorly designed gas logs.
“This is totally tacky,” Tracy announced as they spread themselves around the table. “No wonder Grandmother never comes here.”
“How is Mrs. Sturgess?” Alan asked immediately. Out of the corner of his eye, he’d seen Phillip opening his mouth to admonish his daughter, and all his instincts told him that if he let that happen, Tracy would do her best to make the meal as difficult as possible for all of them. And for Beth, it would become sheer misery. As if to confirm his feeling, he saw Carolyn shoot him a grateful look.
“Much better,” Phillip replied, his attention diverted from Tracy. “In fact, she’s doing her best to make life miserable for everyone at the hospital, which, for Mother, is a good sign.”
“Did she say what happened?” Alan asked warily, still certain the woman’s experience in the mill had to be the reason she now wanted to talk to Beth.
Phillip hesitated, but shook his head. “Not really. She said something in the basement frightened her, but she couldn’t say exactly what.”
A nervous silence fell over the table, which Alan finally broke with an attempt at a lightness he didn’t feel. But he still wasn’t ready to discuss Abigail’s request with Beth, so he tried to put it off with black humor. “Aside from the darkness, the smell, and the rats that live down there, what’s to be scared of?”