House of Reckoning

by John Saul

  Shep gazed dourly at the stack of messages. “These,” he pronounced, “are why I can’t work these figures here.” He flipped through them quickly and handed them back to her. “And I won’t lose them, because I’m not even taking them home.”

  “Fine with me,” Bonnie said. “Have a nice evening.”

  “Yeah,” he said wryly. “Me, a bottle of wine, and the budget printouts. Very romantic.”

  He swiped his ID card through the security reader and waited as the barred door slid open. He was just about to step through it when a woman came through the outside doors, then pushed her way through the double doors leading to the visitors’ check-in area.

  A woman Shep instantly recognized.

  Bettina Philips.

  He stood where he was, letting the metal door slide closed again in front of him.

  What the hell is she doing here?

  The last time that nut job had shown up at the prison, it was to propose art classes for the inmates, but he had put an end to that plan before it got started. It was bad enough that his own wife sometimes went out to have Bettina read the tea leaves—or whatever it was she read—without having the woman coming into the prison, too. So what was up? Was she trying again?

  He reswiped his card, walked to the doors to the visitors’ center, and peered through the glass window. Bettina Philips was still at the counter, but a moment later she surrendered her identification, took a badge from the guard behind the desk, and was let through the door leading to the actual visiting area. As soon as she was gone, Shep pushed through the double doors and asked the officer at the desk for a look at the visitor log.

  And there she was, the last visitor of the day: Bettina Philips. Her printed name, signature, and driver’s license number.

  But she hadn’t been here to see the warden or any of the staff.

  She’d come to visit Ed Crane.

  What possible business could she have with Crane? The man was in for murder, but what could that have to do with Bettina Philips? Then he remembered: Ed Crane was also the father of the crippled girl Nick had been hanging out with lately, the one Mitch and Angie Garvey had taken in.

  But that still didn’t explain why Bettina Philips had come to see Crane, unless she’d taken some kind of extra interest in his daughter. And if that was it, he’d see to it that Nick had nothing more to do with the girl—the last thing he needed was for his son to get mixed up with the one woman in town who everyone thought was crazier than he was.

  Crap!

  As he left the building, Shep added Bettina Philips to the list of things he had to deal with.

  Fifteen minutes after she’d entered the prison, Bettina found herself sitting at a round Formica table in a barren room filled with inmates, their wives, mothers, and children, and the noise produced by all of them as they tried to hear each other. A moment later a tall, gaunt man whose tired eyes were filled with worry was escorted into the room and seated across the table from her.

  “Mr. Crane?” Bettina said, reaching across to shake his hand. “I’m Bettina Philips. Sarah’s art teacher?”

  At the mention of his daughter, Bettina saw Ed’s eyes come to life, and he slid the plastic chair closer to the table and leaned forward. “She’s good, isn’t she?” he asked, his voice reflecting his pride in Sarah’s talent. “I mean, really good—not just high school good.”

  “She is indeed,” Bettina assured him. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen another student with as much pure talent as Sarah.” She paused for a moment, then decided to seize the opening Ed had offered her. “Which is one of the reasons I’m here, Mr. Crane.”

  “Call me Ed,” Crane said. “Sarah’s crazy about you, you know.”

  Bettina smiled. “And I’m pretty fond of her, too. But I’m not so sure her foster family’s as supportive of her talent as you and I.” The light in Ed’s eyes when he talked about his daughter instantly faded, and Bettina knew she’d struck a nerve.

  “What’s she told you?” Ed asked, his voice dropping and his eyes flicking toward the closest guard. “What’s Garvey done?”

  “I’m not sure he’s done anything at all. But do you know who Sarah’s caseworker is? Perhaps I could talk with her.”

  Ed opened his mouth, then closed it again, and a moment later his whole body seemed to sag in the chair and his eyes took on the same exhausted look they’d held when he first came into the visitor’s room. “What kind of father am I?” he muttered more to himself than to Bettina. Then he tried to pull himself together. “Would you believe I only remember her first name? It’s Kate Something-or-other,” he said. “Can you believe that? I got so wrapped up in my own problems I can’t even remember who’s supposed to be looking after my daughter.” His voice turned bitter. “Except that I know who’s supposed to be looking after her—I’m supposed to be looking after her. But instead …” His voice trailed off, and when he finally met Bettina’s gaze, she saw a sadness in his expression so deep that she wanted to reach across the table and hug him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just—” He fell silent for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  Feeling utterly helpless, Bettina put out a hand as if to touch him, but one of the guards shot her a look of warning so severe she yanked her hand back as if her fingers had just been scorched, and cast around in her mind for something—anything—to distract Ed Crane from his misery. But of course she knew what to talk about.

  “You’ve raised a wonderful girl,” she told him. “She’s kind, and sweet, and obviously got a lot of talent from somewhere.”

  “Well, she sure didn’t get it from me or my wife,” Ed sighed.

  Bettina cocked her head. “A grandparent, then?”

  Now Ed shrugged. “Maybe so, but I wouldn’t know.” He looked at Bettina again. “The thing is, Marsha and I adopted Sarah when she was two days old.” He cupped his big farmer’s hands and held them out. “She fit right in there. I could hardly believe it. She was so tiny, and so helpless, and I swore right then—” Once again he faltered, but this time he forced himself to complete the statement, no matter how painful it was for him. “I swore I’d take care of her the rest of my life. Fine mess of that I made, huh?”

  Bettina sat silent, waiting for him to speak again, and finally he did.

  “Never knew who her folks were,” Ed said. “Never heard from them at all.”

  “Sometimes that’s for the best,” Bettina replied as a two-minute warning came over the loudspeaker. She wrapped her scarf around her neck and slipped her arms into the sleeves of her coat. “I’m sorry,” she said, leaning forward. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come. But I’m glad I did—it was good to meet you, Ed.”

  Ed seemed not to have heard her, and Bettina rose to her feet as the other visitors began moving toward the door. But just as she was about to turn away, he spoke again.

  “Keep an eye on her for me, okay?” he asked, his eyes brightening with tears. “And I’ll try to remember Kate’s last name, too.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Bettina replied. “I’ll find her name. And I’ll see that Sarah’s all right, too. Try not to worry.”

  “Can’t help worrying,” Ed said. “Not much else to do here. But I’m glad you came—at least I know someone besides me cares about my little girl.”

  Bettina, no longer trusting her voice, nodded at him, then quickly threaded her way between tables, chairs, and people, and through heavy security doors that led to the visitors’ reception area. She signed out, then pushed through the doors into the fresh New England air, but the chill that suddenly seized her body was far colder than the day.

  She had no idea how she was going to keep the promise she’d just made to Ed Crane, but she would find a way.

  She had to.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “They locked you in?” Nick said, pressing the phone so hard against his ear that it was starting to feel numb. He was perched on the edge of his bed, barely able to believe what Sarah was telling him. What if
the house caught fire? How was she supposed to get out?

  “Go help her,” one of the voices in his head whispered. “Go right now.”

  “Kill them,” another voice suggested. “I can help you. I’m strong … stronger than you …just get me in there … we can do it… we can—”

  “No!” Nick tried not to voice the word, but didn’t quite succeed. Now he squeezed his eyes closed in the vain hope that if he focused on nothing but Sarah’s whispered voice, the ones in his head might fall silent. But they didn’t.

  “Ask her,” one of them was saying now. “What did she draw? Did she draw what I showed you? Ask her… ask her now or—”

  Nick shuddered, trying to close his mind to the whispering voice, but it was too late. The demon inside him wanted to know.

  “Nick?” Sarah said, her voice penetrating the din in his head. “You okay?”

  “Wh—What did you draw last night?” he asked, his own voice now no more than a whisper. “The voices want to know.” He waited, but when Sarah didn’t reply, he said, “Fire. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? You drew fire.”

  Sarah’s sharp intake of breath told him all he needed to know. Once again she had drawn what he was seeing.

  Or had he seen what she was drawing?

  “Someone’s coming up the stairs,” Sarah whispered, then the phone in his hand went dead.

  “Go get her,” one of the voices told him. “Help her!”

  “I can’t,” Nick whispered, his voice breaking. “What am I supposed to do? I—”

  “Something! Anything!” another voice insisted. “Do something, or—”

  Suddenly Nick’s bedroom door opened and his father strode in without so much as a knock. The voices instantly hushed, and Nick’s heart hammered in the sudden stillness. Had his father heard him arguing with the voices? If he had—

  “How are you feeling?”

  Nick tried to analyze the question. Feeling how? Physically? Mentally? Nothing in his father’s mien gave him even a hint. “I’m okay,” he said carefully. “Sort of bruised, I guess.” He touched the area of his chest that was wrapped in bandages under his shirt. “My ribs hurt. But I’m okay.”

  Shep sat down on the edge of the bed. “Your mom said you had another one of those—”

  His father hesitated for a moment, and Nick knew why: as long as he could remember, his father had hated talking about what was wrong with him, as if not talking about it meant it wasn’t real.

  “Hallucinations, Dad,” he said. “They’re called—”

  “I know what they’re called,” his father cut in. “So did you have another one?”

  Crap, Nick thought. What am I supposed to say? If he already knows, why is he asking me? His father’s eyes were boring into him, and he knew he had to say something. “It—It was not really a hallucination,” he finally said.

  “What do you mean, ‘not really’?” his father said, his eyes narrowing. “Either it was or it wasn’t.”

  “It—well, it was more like a … a vision.”

  “A vision?” his father repeated in a mocking voice. “You think that having a vision is better than having a hallucination?”

  The voices began to mutter now. “No,” Nick said quickly, hoping he could find a way to end this conversation before the voices got so loud he wouldn’t be able to hear his father anymore. “I didn’t say it was better. But it’s different. Now I’m seeing things that mean something.” He cringed the moment the words were out of his mouth; they made it sound like he was starting to believe the hallucinations were real.

  “So it’s getting worse,” his father said, his voice as angry as the expression on his face. “And you know what? It’s been getting worse since that girl came to town—the cripple you’ve been hanging around with.”

  A howl rose in Nick’s mind. “No!” He stood up, glowering at his father. “That’s not true. Sarah’s my friend—she’s the one who found me in the park! She saved my life!”

  “Maybe she did,” Shep said. “But maybe she’s the one who got you into the park in the first place. All I know is, it looks to me like you’ve gotten worse since you met her.”

  “But—”

  “So you’re not going to see her anymore.”

  “No,” Nick pleaded. “That’s not the way it is at all. When I’m with her, it’s better. The voices almost stop.” He cast around in his mind, searching for the words that would convince his father. Then: “It’s like I’m normal when I’m with her.”

  It was as if his father didn’t even hear him. “Let me make this simple for you, Nick,” he said. “Stop seeing the Crane girl or we’ll have to send you back to the hospital.”

  The voices began to wail, and automatically Nick crossed his arms over his chest, wrapping them as far around his body as he could, trying to keep himself from yelling at the chorus in his head to shut up, knowing that would only make things worse than they already were. He searched his father’s eyes, looking for any sign that his attitude might soften, but there was nothing. There would be no arguing with him, not on this point. But still, he had to try. “I’m trying to get better,” he said, his voice cracking. “And I am. I really am.”

  “All I know is, I can’t have you running around having visions with a girl whose father is in the prison I help run. So what’ll it be? You want to quit hanging out with her or do you want to go back to the hospital?”

  So there it was, and while the voices in his head screamed in fury, Nick gave in to his father. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” he said. “Just don’t send me back to the hospital.”

  Finally his father smiled, though Nick felt no hint of warmth from it. “Then keep away from the girl, and we’ll see what happens, okay?”

  Nick could not imagine staying away from Sarah, but he nodded anyway.

  “Okay?” his father repeated.

  “Okay,” Nick whispered.

  “Good. Then I guess we’re done here. Dinner in a few minutes.”

  “I’ll be down.”

  His father left the room, not bothering to close the door behind him, and it was all Nick could do to keep from going over and slamming it shut. But that would only make things worse, and he’d already started to think of ways around his father’s order.

  He could still see Sarah at school, especially if they arranged to “accidentally” bump into each other. What could his father do about that? How would he even know? It wasn’t like his father paid that much attention to him anyway.

  Besides, even if he wanted to stop seeing Sarah, he couldn’t.

  The voices in his head wouldn’t let him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Bettina Philips waited until the last of her students left the classroom before heading out into the crush of first period students and weaving her way through the crowded hallway to the administration office.

  Enid Hogan, who had been the office secretary when Bettina herself had gone to high school—and might even have been there for her father as well, given that no one could remember Enid having changed at all over the last four decades—was doing exactly as she’d done every school day at this time: finishing entering the attendance records into the permanent files. The only thing that had changed in all the years Enid had been at her desk was that now she entered the records into a computer instead of the old ledgers she once used. It wasn’t a change that came easily to Enid: pen and ink, she understood. Digits were a mystery, and a mystery she deeply distrusted, which was why, at Warwick High School, all the important records were still kept in a filing cabinet next to Enid’s desk, as well as in the computer hidden away in a secure room in the basement. “If it’s there at all,” Enid had once sniffed. “And even if it is, what if it breaks? Then where are the records?”

  Despite the fact that Enid had managed to double her own workload by doing things both “the new way and the right way,” she still looked up from her work with her usual warm smile at the sound of the door opening.

  “Hi, Enid
,” Bettina said. “Did Sarah Crane come to school today?”

  Enid shook her head. “I called Angie Garvey yesterday, and apparently Sarah has the flu. Angie said she was throwing up most of the night. Not last night,” Enid quickly added in her never-ending quest to make certain her records were perfect. “Night before last. So I didn’t call this morning—I had that bug three weeks ago, and it kept me out for two days. So if Sarah doesn’t show up tomorrow …”

  But Bettina was no longer listening. Sarah Crane hadn’t been throwing up the night before last—she’d been sound asleep on Bettina’s own chaise, Cooper snuggled next to her and both of them covered with two warm blankets. Sarah wasn’t sick at all.

  Which meant something else was going on, and Bettina was pretty sure she knew what. She tilted her head toward the principal’s office. “Is Joe in?”

  Enid nodded. “Go right in.”

  Bettina tapped softly on Joe Markham’s office door, then opened it and looked in.

  “Bettina,” the principal said, leaning back in his chair and looking far more tired than he should have, given how early in the day it was. “Come in.”

  “I’m a bit worried about Sarah Crane,” the teacher said, stepping farther into the office and closing the door behind her. “She’s not in school today, and she wasn’t yesterday, either.”

  “Has Enid called?” he asked.

  “Angie Garvey told Enid she has the flu, but that went around weeks ago. And if she does have it, she’s the only one, which is also strange.”

  Markham’s brows lifted slightly. “And because of that you want—what? For me to call Child Protective Services?” Then his voice turned serious. “I’m hearing some strange stories going around—I gather our Miss Crane is quite the little artist.”

  Bettina stiffened. “She’s very talented, yes. Which is certainly one of the reasons I’m interested in her. Talent like hers needs to be encouraged, but—”

  “But the Garveys don’t want her to have anything to do with you. Right?” Bettina nodded. “Which is why you want me to deal with them, right?” Bettina nodded again, and Joe Markham made a notation on his desk calendar. “Tell you what—let’s see if she’s here tomorrow, and if she’s not, I’ll see what I can find out. Okay?”