by Matt Kilby
“Is Snead dead?” She dropped her eyes to make sure he didn’t answer with a nod. She needed him to say it.
“He is,” he said. “I’d tell you I was sorry, but I’m not.”
“He was my husband.”
“Just a word,” he said. “If he really was one, he wouldn’t have kept you down so you didn’t realize you were better. He wouldn’t have talked you into leaving your little girl because he couldn’t imagine you needing anything more than him.”
“How do you know about that? Who are you?”
“I know because one day you’ll tell me. As for my name, it’s John Valance.”
She giggled and the vibration rolled down her skin. In some ways, she wished she was sober for this. In more, she was grateful for the filter.
“The ghost of Pine Haven?” she said, an eyebrow cocked high.
“It’s a step above a dream,” he winked, walking to the side of the house to check the street.
“Those men will be back,” he said. “They’ll second guess what they saw and know their boss won’t accept it as an excuse for not killing you.”
“What did they see?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he shook his head. “Is the car out front yours?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you drive?”
She laughed. “I can’t even stand.”
He came back and pulled her up by the elbows. Her arm ached where she stabbed the needle half an hour ago, her ankles rubber that would fold if he let her go, but he didn’t. He brushed her hair from her face and put his hand on her cheek. It was cool like a compress and clarity came behind it, so quick she puked down the front of him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, a hand to her mouth to stop the next surge, though it came quick and rained over his boots. He kept that same steady attention until she was done.
“Can you drive now?” he asked.
She almost laughed again but realized the strangest thing. She was clear-headed. It jarred her enough to seek an explanation on his face, though his silence said one wouldn’t come. But even with her mind clear, she didn’t think she could drive.
“I can’t leave him,” she said. “He wasn’t the best husband, but he loved me more than anyone else.”
“Because you let him,” the cowboy who called himself John Valance said. “Give your daughter that opportunity, your parents too, you’ll find something better.”
“You don’t know that,” she shook her head.
“I do,” he nodded once and firm, “but you have to trust me. Come with me. Leave this behind, and I’ll take you where you ought to be.”
He went back in for her keys so she didn’t witness how Snead’s sorry life ended, but she left with him. She drove south with the pedal at her feet and steering wheel in her hands, wondering how she felt she had no control at all.
2
In a town called Pine Haven, at the end of Old Tower Road, a house bustled with life for the first time in years. Two white rocking chairs sat on the front porch with a yellow table between them. A wooden swing in the yard faced the driveway to welcome whoever pulled up, something Vick Hafferty thought ironic given the town’s condition six months ago. Maribeth Vanger made a statement she wouldn’t let fear destroy her deep-rooted hospitality. Not fear of escaped inmates or her father coming home.
The house belonged to Jim Stucker, after all, making her sole heir if he turned up dead. After the pain he caused Pine Haven, Vick hoped he did, drowned in some runoff from a sewage treatment plant or burned alive by someone as cruel as himself.
Last summer, Jim went on a killing spree with Hank Barbour for reasons Vick still didn’t understand, murdering seven people before conspiring to release the prison population on the rest of Pine Haven. It had something to do with an inmate named Grady Perlson and a magic black brick sitting in Vick’s trunk, but he didn’t care about that as much as the concrete facts of the long week in July. Hank took his father from him but was dead now himself, killed by Shelley Haywood in a downtown restaurant the day before Pine Haven burned. It was the last anyone saw of her before she skipped town, missing the coming chaos by less than a day, which Vick didn’t think was a coincidence. As things went, she was a distant third in his tally of missing persons. As much damage as he did, even killing Pete Finch, Jim Stucker’s second place was still far behind his top priority. Vick’s best friend Eric Vanger stopped the monster at the end of that impossible day and was rewarded with nightmares, one day vanishing like all the others. Vick called the one person he thought might help, though it still surprised him when Joe Richards named the exact town where Eric might have gone: Creek Hollow, Louisiana.
Vick walked up the front steps and knocked soft in case the baby slept, but Maribeth answered holding her. Alice blinked a gurgling smile at “Uncle Vick,” a congealed blob of rice cereal on her cheek. Maribeth waved off his apology for interrupting breakfast.
“She’s past cooperating anyway,” she huffed and handed the little gremlin over. “You can keep her occupied while I help Suzanne pack.”
“Will do,” he said more to Alice with a smile he hadn’t given any girl for six months, her wide, toothless grin more rewarding than anything he used to earn. He walked her through the dining room and looked out the sliding door to the hint of beige within the trees—the trailer she should be in, at least until her parents saved for somewhere bigger. In that trailer, Eric had tried to kill him, or rather tied him to a chair to have time to talk himself into it. He was seduced by the same darkness that convinced the warden and his guards to free the prisoners but came to his senses as some of those prisoners arrived, firing into the trailer until Suzanne and Vick stopped them. Of course, he understood why they moved into Jim’s place instead of wasting time and money patching bullet holes, even with bad memories and a chance the nightmare might sneak up through the woods and back into their lives.
A week after the embers went dark, Maribeth went into labor. Without a working car, Vick rode with Suzanne. Together for the short ride to Chapel Hill, neither said anything beyond a polite “How’s it going?” Still, after Eric left, he expected something different when she called and asked him to meet at the All Rise. Enough of the old Vick remained to expect they’d end up in bed by the end of the night. It didn’t help the last time he sat at that bar he went home with Shelley Haywood—the night Pete staked out this same house and died.
Alice must have seen the torture in his eyes as he lingered in the places he usually visited alone. With perfect timing, her gut tensed and filled her diaper. He turned his head to breathe and held her out in front of him as he walked down the hall to Suzanne’s room. She and Maribeth were in a hushed conversation he assumed was about him. Suzanne stopped her sentence short with a guarded smile that jumped straight to a laugh.
“I think she needs a change, a bath, and a gallon of perfume,” he told Maribeth and aimed Alice at her.
“Really, Vick?” Suzanne rolled her eyes.
“Can you take care of her?” Maribeth asked her.
“Sure.” Suzanne rescued the dangling baby, shaking her head as she walked past.
“Is there a reason you don’t want me in the same room with her?” he asked when she was gone, stepping to the bed to see Maribeth’s profile.
“You’re the one who didn’t want to change her.”
“You know what I’m talking about. You realize we’ll be spending a lot of time together as soon as we leave, right? Time in the car. Time in restaurants. Time in hotel rooms.”
“That,” she said with a sharp glance, “is what has me nervous.”
“Yeah?” he crossed his arms. “You think this is some kind of weird date?”
“No,” she shook her head. “I think you do or will eventually. I think you spent six months convincing everyone you changed, but one day last summer will be far enough in the past to make you the same old Vick. I don’t want her hurt again when that happens.”
“I’m not going with her to win her bac
k,” he said, sitting on the bed next to the open suitcase. “I’m going to find Eric. Hell, I tried to talk her into letting me go alone, but she wouldn’t. You have it all wrong because you have her wrong. She doesn’t need you to protect her. She doesn’t need me, for that matter.”
“Then why are you going?” she looked at him as if proving her point. The truth was more complicated. He couldn’t tell her what Joe Richards said at a Virginia diner last night without making her think he lost his mind. He couldn’t say Eric might be possessed by the same thing that tried to burn Pine Haven. She might stop worrying about him trying to get back with Suzanne and start worrying he might try something worse.
“I’m not going for her,” he lowered his eyes. “I’m going for him.”
She didn’t say anything for so long he almost looked up and spoiled the moment.
“You really think you can bring him back?” Her voice went so soft he thought she might cry.
“I don’t know,” he shook his head, “but I have to try. He left because of what he almost did to me. He thinks he crossed some line he can’t come back from, and I want to prove he can. I did, even if you don’t believe me.”
She considered him as she folded the last shirt.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just protective of her. If you can’t bring Eric home, she’s all I have. If you drive her away again, I don’t think I could forgive you.”
“I get it and I won’t.”
“And you won’t let anything happen to her?”
“I’m hoping she won’t let anything happen to me,” he smiled and held up his right palm, the starburst scar of last year’s bullet wound pale in its center. She didn’t smile back, her last comment a tired sigh.
Suzanne chose that moment to come back into the room, as if she waited outside the door for the slightest hint of peace. She handed Alice to her mother, and the baby reached for Vick. He took one of her fingers but couldn’t bring himself to do more. After all, it was time to go.
“I think that does it,” Suzanne zipped the suitcase lid. “How long is the drive?”
“About 12 hours.”
“You’re sure he went to Louisiana?” she glanced at him.
He nodded.
“He never mentioned it before,” Maribeth squinted as if trying to solve a riddle. She never would, but he still wanted to leave before she asked questions.
“He said something the last time we talked. I didn’t think anything about it until we decided to look for him.”
“Good enough for me,” Suzanne pulled the suitcase off the bed, turning to Maribeth. “Unless you want to call him a liar—”
Maribeth’s cheeks flushed, her eyes darting to Vick.
“I don’t,” she shook her head.
“Then we’re going,” Suzanne put her arm around Maribeth’s neck, pulling her and Alice close. “I love you and appreciate you looking out, but I’m going to be okay. We’re all going to be okay.”
Maribeth’s tears welled then as she blubbered, “Promise?”
“As much as I can,” Suzanne nodded and turned to Vick. “Well?”
“Ready when you are.”
“Then we’re off,” she gave Maribeth a final smile. “I’ll call when we get there.”
They walked out to the Dodge Charger he bought new that morning, and Vick put her bag in the trunk. She packed more than him, his clothes fitting inside a duffel with Joe’s messenger bag behind it. She thought they had a longer search, but he knew where to start. The question was what to do when they found him.
He got in and cranked the low, chugging engine, the machine vibrating around and through him.
“New car, huh?” Suzanne ran a hand over the dashboard.
He nodded and backed out onto the street.
“A hell of an impulse buy,” she buckled her seatbelt, as if the roar under the hood meant they were about to blast off. “Want to talk about it?”
He prepared excuses for why he got up that morning and went to the Dodge dealership in Apex. The one he landed on was Pete’s Focus, which he drove since prisoners torched his car last year, wasn’t reliable for a road trip. True or not, it was easier than explaining why he met Joe Richards for a talk that made him doubt he’d leave Louisiana alive. With a decent chance he was driving south to die, what did a car payment matter?
“Nothing to talk about,” he shrugged as he drove to the highway and turned toward the courthouse. “I’ve always wanted one, and this felt like the time to break it in.”
He maneuvered the traffic circle and passed the construction crew rebuilding the courthouse. Two men hung the new back door as he slipped down the southern leg of highway 15. They didn’t talk as they passed the Road King and old Pump and Save. The road to Shelley Haywood’s house. The Rocky River. After everything they went through together, he could count the number of times he saw her those last six months on one hand. This was only the second time they were alone. The first was when she told him she was going to look for Eric. He tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen. So he turned his focus to going with her. That was hard enough, winning the argument felt like accomplishing more than volunteering to be her chauffeur.
Suzanne turned on the radio before Sanford and fell asleep before the North Carolina border. After an hour, she woke in a better mood and offered to take a shift behind the wheel, though he shook his head. They passed through town after town and state after state until half the day was gone and they crossed the Louisiana border. A dark blue sign welcomed them in English and French with a fleur-de-lis between them, and Suzanne got out her phone. After a few minutes, she put it in her lap.
“I can’t find anywhere to stay in Creek Hollow.”
“There’s a motel ten minutes away,” he said. “I figured that as good a place as any.”
“I saw it. Looks like the kind that charges by the hour.”
“I’m open to suggestions,” he glanced at her. She snatched up her phone and tried again.
“There’s one further out that doesn’t look bad. Even has a restaurant next door.”
She sounded hopeful, so he didn’t put his voice to the arguments that came to mind. In the forefront was the fact this was their longest conversation in twelve hours of driving. Adding time to every drive meant more awkward silences, but maybe that was a good thing. Forced to talk, they might move past this.
He followed her directions to the motel, which did seem a full star better than the other. The restaurant was more of a bar but could come in handy in the days to come.
“You newlyweds?” the girl at the desk asked. Suzanne was quick to correct her.
“Friends.” She made the word sound like it had some other meaning.
Vick didn’t say anything as the girl apologized, wondering if there was any way past the poisoned air between them, enough to make them real friends—the kind who laughed about being mistaken for a couple.
“You’re lucky,” the girl told him.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“We’ve got one room left.”
“One room,” Suzanne repeated, her tone so icy the girl seemed nervous.
“Sorry,” she frowned and then perked up a little. “It has two beds.”
Suzanne glared at Vick as if this was somehow planned. He held up his hands.
“You picked this place,” he reminded her.
“I’m reconsidering the No-Tell Motel,” she walked to the window to stare at the car.
“That place on 71?” the desk girl chuckled. “The only people who stay there are crackheads and hookers.”
“Is that a fact?” Suzanne looked at her as if she needed their business enough to lie.
“Go see for yourself,” she gave her own glare. “I’ll save your room.”
Vick watched them, ready to stop a fight. He hoped this wouldn’t be how the whole trip went. All that time in the car put her on edge, and there was so much more to come.
“Suzanne,” he said and wai
ted for her to look at him. “It is what it is. We’re here for Eric and Maribeth.”
She stared a few seconds before something happened he could only call a miracle. The tension in her face dissolved like when she used to come to him worked up over something, often the expectations her father piled on her. Nothing was ever enough for Judge Morgan, especially dating him, and she wore the weight every day until he took it from her.
“Two beds?”
The desk girl nodded.
“Good,” she let a smile creep over her lips but lost it before turning to Vick. “We’ll need them.”
She walked out and to the car, leaving him to reserve their room.
“She always like that?” the girl asked as she typed his credit card information.
“Just around me.”
“Lucky you,” she gave his card back.
“Lucky me,” he echoed as he took it and left.
In the parking lot, Suzanne had the trunk open. He grabbed his bag and thought about taking Joe’s but left it for now. Joe called the stone a weapon, and those tended to hurt the wrong people when someone didn’t know what they were doing. He would have left the damned thing in Pine Haven if he didn’t think he needed it.
Their room was on the second floor, tucked in the corner of the walkway. He wondered if their history made the beds look close, even with a nightstand between them. Lying on one, he might touch her if he rolled over in the night, unintentionally, though he doubted she’d believe it. He thought of another solution, wondering how the Charger’s upholstery felt at two in the morning, but she shocked him with a short nod.
“It’ll have to work,” she said.
“You sure?”
“I’m tired and hungry,” she corrected. “There’ll be time for sure later.”
It was too late for much choice of where to eat, but a restaurant with a bar was enough when other places closed. They walked next door and found it abandoned except for the bartender, leaning against a sink with her eyes half-closed.
“Neil shuts down the kitchen in ten minutes,” she said.