Outside, the moon’s light was brighter and cast the clearing and forest in a silvery lunar glow.
“To the car, there.” Marny pointed to the gravel lane where the Nova was parked just out of sight.
Esther and Marny grabbed William’s hands again and ran to the car, William hobbling but never stumbling. Midway there Marny heard Gary exit the house and cast a long line of expletives their way as if they were a hook intended to snag and reel them back in.
“Hurry.” Now Marny led the way, pulling his two companions along. They made it to the Nova, threw open the doors, and jumped in, Marny in the driver’s seat, Esther and William in the back. The key was right where he’d left it in the ignition. He turned it, and the engine roared to life. Mr. Condon took good care of his prized possession.
Gary had just hit the gravel lane when Marny flipped on the headlamps and stepped on the gas. He didn’t have time to pull the car around, so he just floored it, intending to circle the house and head back down the lane the way he’d come.
But Gary had a different idea. He dived for the car and landed on the hood with a solid thud, groping for anything to hold on to. His hands found the windshield wipers. Marny yanked the wheel hard left, causing Gary to lose his hold and slide off the hood, taking one of the wipers with him. His nails scratched along the paint like an obnoxious student dragging his fingers across a freshly wiped chalkboard.
The Nova handled the turn decently enough, slipping only once in the loose soil, but as they came back around the house, Gary was waiting. He crouched at the waist like a football linebacker ready for a bone-crushing hit. Marny pressed the accelerator closer to the floorboard.
But right before they made contact, Gary launched himself into the air, the devil in his eyes, his mouth a malicious snarl, and landed solidly on the windshield. A circle the size of a watermelon appeared in a million jagged lines, but the glass didn’t break. Gary rolled up and over the roof of the car, thudding and bumping along until he slid off the back.
Marny didn’t go back to see if he was okay. He was sure no jury in the country would find him guilty of vehicular manslaughter after what they’d been through. Instead, he pointed the Nova in the right direction and made haste back to the main road.
Throughout both assaults, neither Esther nor William had said a word. Now, back on the paved road, the Nova’s tires humming quietly on the asphalt, William spoke for the first time.
“Where are you taking us, Marnin? Somewhere safe, I hope.”
Marny hadn’t even given that a thought. He couldn’t take them to his apartment above the garage; he was certain that would be the first place Gary would look. He glanced at William in the rear-view mirror. “We’re going to see a friend of mine. Mr. Condon.”
Chapter 7
GARY WANTED TO hit something. He needed to hit something.
So in spite of the pain in his shoulder he thumped the only thing close enough to hit, the ground. The earth did not shake, nor did it open beneath his hand. He was, after all, just a man and prone to failure like any other man. In fact, he was quite accustomed to failure. At one time he’d had hopes of being a minister, even attended seminary in Massachusetts and afterward served in a few churches. But his past eventually caught up with him there too and drove him out of each ministry until he was no longer of use.
But this failure was colossal. Not acceptable.
He’d lost the boy.
Immediately the voice was there in his head, disappointed, saddened, the voice of despair and condemnation.
He is your responsibility, your charge to protect, even with your life if needed. This is your holy calling. You have been chosen by the Almighty to watch over His anointed one, to shepherd him.
And with the voice, as always, came images, just momentary glimpses, like the flashes of a camera. A boy. Not the boy, but another. Same twisted arm, though, and deformed leg as well. And the face of an angel. He’s in a wheelchair. That’s it. That’s all it ever was. Brief images, tiny explosions of a distant memory. He knew this boy, of course, and every day was haunted by him. Though he was gone in the flesh, his spirit lived on, roaming to and fro, clinging to Gary.
And there was another reminder, the scars. Gary looked at his hands, his arms. The smooth, glossy skin would never let him forget, never let him escape the failure that had altered the course of his life, defined it in every way.
He grabbed his head with both hands and rolled to his back. The impact with the car had jammed his shoulder, but that pain was nothing compared to the damage his spirit now suffered. He’d underestimated the boy and his gift. Underestimated the girl. The curious visitor—the gas station attendant—was no surprise, though. From the moment Gary caught him looking at Esther, he’d known he’d have to deal with the stranger sooner or later. He should have killed him when he caught him snooping around the house, but instead he’d locked him in the cellar, intending to deal with him in the morning.
At times the killing didn’t bother Gary, but at other times he wondered if there’d been enough of it already. He had so much blood on his hands, and the faces … they haunted him when he closed his eyes. The look they gave him right before he took their life, before he drained it from them like water from a spigot, was one of frantic terror. But none of them were innocent, not really. None were righteous.
Except the boy. The anointed one.
Again the voice was there. Only the anointed matters. Those who reject him or stand in the way of his protection must be punished. No mercy shall be shown for sinners.
“Stop!” Gary climbed to his feet and paced the clearing. He spoke aloud so his voice could rise as an offering, a sweet-smelling incense, from the forest floor to the heavens. “Forgive me. Please, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean to lose him. I didn’t mean to fail. And those words … ” It bothered him when he used vulgarities, when his mouth turned foul. “Forgive me.”
The boy needs you. You must be willing to die for him. A good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. Are you willing to do that?
“Yes. I’m willing.” He’d thrown himself in front of the car, hadn’t he?
Gary lumbered to the house and grabbed his car keys. His shoulder still throbbed, but he ignored the pain. He had to get the boy back. He had to please the voice. He had to fulfill his duty. And his duty was to protect the boy. He was the guardian, the defender. The boy was special, the anointed.
Walking back to the car, keys in hand, Gary clenched his hands into fists.
The boy needs you. He can’t defend himself. Look at him, vulnerable, scared. Prey for the wolves. He needs you.
“I’ll find him. I promise.”
Gary could not resist the urge to obey the voice. He chalked that up to it being his holy calling. Before the foundations of the earth he was elected to be the boy’s protector. From the first time he laid eyes on the boy and his twisted arm and leg, he knew how he would spend the remainder of his life. He had a purpose for existing. Nothing else mattered. No other life was as precious.
The Taurus started on the first try, and Gary didn’t waste any time getting out of the woods and onto the main road. He pointed the car in the right direction and hit the gas. He had time to make up. He had a sheep to rescue.
Chapter 8
NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCES ARE rarely pleasant and almost always disturbing.
Marny still shook from his confrontations at the house: his dream of Karl and his mom, then the encounter with the gorilla. He massaged the steering wheel with both hands, checked the rearview mirror.
Once the Nova settled into a comfortable speed, Esther climbed up front and fastened the seat belt. “William’s sleeping.”
For a few long seconds Marny said nothing, just watched the dark figures of hovering pines, the sentinels of the night, whiz by in so many blurs.
After checking the mirrors again he said, “What was that back there?”
“The house or the monster who lives in it?”
“Both.”
“It’s a long story. How much time do we have?”
“Twenty-five, thirty minutes.”
Esther sighed, looked out the side window. “The pines are so peaceful, aren’t they? Their strength is immeasurable, yet they cause no harm.”
“Except when they fall on you.”
She looked at Marny, and even in the darkness of the car he could feel the heaviness of her eyes. “Thank you for coming for us.”
He shrugged. “It was—”
“Don’t say it was nothing, Marny. It was anything but nothing. The moment I saw you I knew you were a hero. I knew you were the one.”
“The one?”
“The one with a heart big enough to help us.”
Her words hit him in the chest and nearly took the wind from his lungs. His mother used to accuse him of having a heart big enough to fit the world in, but he never believed her. “You don’t know the whole story,” he said. “You probably don’t want to spend too much time around me. I’ll get you to Mr. Condon’s and let him take it from there. You two will be in good hands.”
She turned toward the window again and studied those peaceful giants she so admired. After a minute she cleared her throat. “He’s our uncle, our mother’s brother.”
It took Marny a second to get whom she was talking about. “The gorilla.”
“Gary. Our father left us after William was born. He couldn’t bear the sight of his own son. Mom tried to make it on her own for a few years, but just wasn’t able to, so she took us to live with her brother.”
“The gorilla.”
“Yes. Gary. He was single and had this great big house in the woods he’d just moved into. Plenty of room for all of us. She died when I was seventeen and William was seven. Four years ago. He’s kept us with him these last four years because of William.”
“What about William?”
“He’s special.”
“Is that what you call it?”
“No. We call it cerebral palsy, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”
She had him intrigued now. “Go on.”
“There’s nothing to go on about.”
“You said he’s special.”
She glanced at the backseat where her brother was sleeping soundly. “He has abilities … gifts.”
“Is that why he was able to get the door open back there?”
“Yes.”
“So what, he knows how to pick locks, that kind of stuff?”
Esther laughed a little, and even in the dark her smile was bright. “No, nothing like that.”
“So is he some kind of genius, boy wonder kind of deal?”
“No, not like that either. It’s hard to explain. You have to just believe it.”
“Okay.” Her enigmatic answers were keeping him at an arm’s length. Maybe that was for the best. He planned to dump them both in the lap of law enforcement when they got to Mr. Condon’s and then step out of their lives forever … before the dark storm clouds that followed him would catch up to them and he would have one more regret to add to his long list.
Up ahead he saw the porch light of Mr. Condon’s place, a beacon of safety and rest. “There it is.”
Esther shifted in her seat and looked back at William. “He’ll keep coming after us, you know. This isn’t over.” She drilled him with those haunting eyes. “No one can keep us safe, Marny.”
Those were not the words he wanted to hear.
Chapter 9
IT WOULDN’T BE hard to find them.
The voice was persistent in Gary’s head now. He’d agitated it, gotten it concerned. It doubted him. But he was, in fact, very resourceful when he needed to be. He remembered seeing the gas station attendant and the older man playing a game in the garage bay when he pulled up to the pump. Playing a game instead of doing their job meant they were more than coworkers; they were friends. He’d also noticed the curtains in the windows above the garage. Living quarters. And by the way the punk dressed and acted, Gary didn’t think it was much of a stretch to presume he was the one who occupied those quarters. Low-rent accommodations.
He pulled into the gas station lot and cut the engine. The Nova was nowhere in sight. He grabbed a rag from the passenger seat and got out of the car. The garage was on a stretch of road that was mostly uninhabited; there were no other buildings in sight, no homes, no one to hear the sound of glass breaking.
Above, the starlit sky appeared to shimmer and undulate. Gary liked nighttime in Maine. The pines absorbed any residual light, causing the darkness to be blacker than what was experienced in other parts of the country. Sometimes, when the boy and his sister were asleep, he’d creep out of the house, lie on the ground, and gaze at the starry sky, get lost in it. As a boy he did the same thing, except he’d climb out his bedroom window and lie on the roof of the porch. Midnight was always his favorite time.
Along the side of the garage a wooden staircase led to the second-story apartment. Gary climbed the steps, wrapped the rag around his right hand, and punched a hole in the door’s window. He didn’t even flinch when the glass shattered. Reaching through the mouth of jagged teeth, he flipped the lock on the knob and opened the door.
The interior was dark and the furniture a collage of black humps. It smelled of cleaning fluid and pine. At least the punk wasn’t a slob.
Gary clicked on his penlight and moved it around the apartment in wide arcs. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Kitchen table with two chairs, sofa, recliner, TV in the corner. Nothing matched, but it wasn’t worn either. In fact, the place looked barely lived in. The punk surely did little entertaining in this bachelor pad of his.
Moving from room to room, running the light’s beam along the floors, over the furniture, and up and down the walls, Gary surveyed the entire two-room living area and found nothing worth noting. He even fingered through a stack of bills on the kitchen counter but came up empty. In the living room he sat on the sofa and propped his feet on the coffee table. He needed a few minutes to rest and think.
A thought came to him then, an inclination. The punk would probably go to Condon’s house looking for help, maybe to call the police. Gary leaned forward and picked up a framed picture on the table. It was of a woman and a boy, the punk at a younger age, maybe seven or eight. The woman was smiling, but it wasn’t genuine. There was something sad about her, wounded, and for an instant Gary felt sorry for her. There was pain in her eyes, the same pain he dealt with. He had an urge to throw the picture across the room, but instead he set it back on the table. It toppled and fell over.
After relieving himself in the punk’s bathroom, Gary exited the apartment and followed the wooden stairs back down to the ground level. At the door that opened to the station’s office and waiting area, Gary again wrapped the rag around his right hand and put his fist through the window.
Once inside, he found the office and pulled out his light. It didn’t take long to find Condon’s home address. In the top drawer of the desk was a small stack of personal bills.
Gary tapped the envelope against his chin. He had to get the boy back. It was literally a matter of life and death—for him; for the boy, the anointed one. He’d failed to uphold his one solemn duty, and now he had to redeem himself. He’d go to Condon’s house, and if the threesome wasn’t there, well, maybe Condon would know where they were.
Gary could be very persuasive. And resourceful.
Chapter 10
MR. CONDON TOOK great pride in two things, his garage and his home.
When Marny wheeled the Nova into the driveway and parked behind Mr. Condon’s Chevy pickup, Esther said, “Wow, seaside paradise. Nice place.”
Mr. Condon lived fifteen miles from the garage in the quaint coastal town of Pine Harbor. His house was a small bungalow with a wide porch that overlooked the broad waters of the Penobscot Bay. He’d lived there alone since his love, his wife, Sarah, died of uterine cancer some eight years earlier, and when he wasn’t tinkering with cars at the garage or digging in the
dirt, he could be found sitting in his favorite rocker, sipping hot tea and watching the lobster boats go by with their catch. To the right of the house was a one-car garage where Darla, Mr. Condon’s other love, resided: a partially restored 1972 Buick Riviera Boattail. The interior was pristine, while the exterior had been stripped and primed but still awaited its first coat of paint.
Having done all the remodeling and landscaping around his shoreline house himself, Mr. Condon spent most of his free time maintaining it and working on Darla.
The bungalow was a nice place, the kind of house Marny saw himself owning someday. From the driveway, a winding flagstone path curved through the front lawn and up to a wide porch populated by natural wood wicker furniture. The porch was surrounded by clumps of witch hazel and sweet fern, and at the corner of the house stood a midsized black willow. Another stone path led around the side of the home, under a breezeway that connected the house to the garage, to an expansive deck that overlooked the bay where one could sit with a blanket and watch a spattering of colorful buoys bob in the dark seawater.
Marny looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight. Mr. Condon was not a night owl; he preferred the early morning hours and watching the sun rise.
Esther got William from the car, and they walked to the front porch, but before Marny could knock on the door, Mr. Condon threw it open. “Holy jumpin’, Mahny. What’d ya do?”
He was in an old pair of khakis and a faded T-shirt, and his hair showed no sign of being awakened from sleep.
He looked from Marny to Esther to William, and understanding dawned in his eyes. “Well, come on in. Can’t have ya standin’ out there in the dark.”
Once inside, introductions were made, and the threesome followed Mr. Condon back to the kitchen, where he told them to sit at the table. “I’ll get the tea,” he said. “You do the talkin’.”
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