While Marny told him the entire story from start to finish, Mr. Condon busied himself with heating the water and steeping the tea bags. When he finished, he set the mugs on the table, leaned against the counter, and folded his arms.
Marny didn’t know if Mr. Condon believed his story or not. His employer had no reason to doubt Marny; he’d never lied before and certainly had never concocted any tale about a fortressed house and a crazed maniac who enjoyed throwing himself at moving vehicles.
“That all of it?” Mr. Condon said.
Marny hesitated. There was one thing he’d left out. “Almost.”
“Well, let’s have it.”
“The Nova. The, uh, windshield might need some attention.”
Mr. Condon didn’t say anything. He stood there for a few seconds, slowly nodding his head. Then his eyes shifted from Marny to Esther and finally landed on William. “What’s so special about ya, son?”
William looked at Esther, then at Mr. Condon. Marny wasn’t sure William understood the question.
Then William shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“He doesn’t realize there’s anything special about him,” Esther said. “He doesn’t do it intentionally. It’s his gift.”
Marny wanted more than that. “Doesn’t do what intentionally? What’s this gift thing?”
Her eyes dropped to the table and the mug, then found Marny again. “Faith.”
It felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room by a giant straw. Faith? That was it? Marny thought it’d be invisibility or superhuman strength or the world’s greatest mime routine … but faith? He almost laughed.
William looked at Marny and cocked his head to one side. His good hand reached across the table and rested on Marny’s. “Why are you disappointed, Marnin?”
He spoke in an almost rhythmic manner that was oddly peaceful. His brown eyes studied Marny for a moment, then went to something more interesting on the wall.
Marny’s chagrin must have shown on his face. “I guess I expected something else.”
“Like?” Esther said.
He shrugged. “Like the ability to manipulate the laws of physics or read minds, or telekinesis. Something powerful.”
Mr. Condon smiled. “Son, there’s nothin’ in the world more powerful than faith.” He looked at William and winked, then pushed away from the counter. “I’ll call Petey, let him know you three are safe. He’ll come right over. That all right?”
“Fine by me,” Marny said.
Esther turned to Marny, eyebrows raised. “Who’s Petey?”
“Local cop on patrol. Mr. Condon called him back at the garage.”
“And he’s coming here?”
“Sounds like it.”
Mr. Condon took the phone and walked to the front room in the house, the living room. Marny was about to apologize to Esther and William for his disappointment when a bright light appeared and moved along the back wall of the kitchen. A car’s headlights. Marny’s heart skipped a few precious beats. It could be Pete, or it could be …
Mr. Condon appeared in the archway between the kitchen and living room, his eyes wide, mouth tight. “Get in the cellar. All three a’ ya.”
Chapter 11
MARNY WASTED NO time with questions.
The door to the cellar was in the kitchen. It opened quietly, and he sent Esther and William down first.
Mr. Condon grabbed his arm and leaned close. “Listen, Mahny, if things go bad, ya take them to the lighthouse. My boat is docked there. The keys are under the seat. Go to Booker Island and wait for daybreak, then find help.” He looked Marny right in the eyes, and for the first time Marny saw fear in the lines of his friend’s face.
Marny nodded. “I’m not the boatman you are, but I think I can manage. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Hope and pray, Mahny. Hope and pray.” Mr. Condon patted him on the shoulder and gave him a nudge down the steps. “Now go on. And take care a’ them.”
He shut the door, and Marny descended the steps. The cellar was nothing special, just four concrete walls, a concrete floor, and a low ceiling. A furnace sat to one side, the washer and dryer opposite it. Along the walls were stacked cardboard boxes in no particular order or pattern. The rest of the floor space was taken up by boat and auto supplies and a push mower and garden tools. The room smelled like oil and cut grass. Opposite the wooden staircase, along the far wall, was a walkout door to a patio overlooking the Penobscot. The house was built into a hill with the cellar level exposed in the back.
No sooner did Marny’s foot hit the concrete floor than a loud knocking resonated through the wood framing of the house. Marny looked at Esther and William. They were huddled together under the staircase watching him, waiting to see what he would do.
He put a finger to his mouth.
The knock came again, and this time was followed by Mr. Condon’s footsteps along the hardwood flooring. He moved toward the front door.
The lock on the door jiggled and voices could be heard, Mr. Condon’s and Gary’s. Marny couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the conversation grew in intensity and finally resulted in a loud wet knock, breaking glass, and a grunt.
Heavy footsteps crossed the floor, accompanied by a muffled scraping sound. A chair slid and rattled, and the floor shook from a sudden thud. The men were in the kitchen.
“Where are they?” Gary’s voice was low and serious. Silence for a few moments, then louder, “Esther, I know you’re here. Bring the boy out or the old man dies. Do you want that on your conscience?”
Marny shook his head slowly. Esther pressed a hand to her mouth. There were tears in her eyes. William buried his face in his sister’s shirt.
A volley of loud smacks and groans came from above.
“Where are they?” Gary again. He waited a second or two, then followed with another smack. Mr. Condon’s moan was pitiful.
Marny’s stomach twisted around itself like a sailor’s knot, and nausea burned in his abdomen. He rounded the staircase and quietly ascended the first four steps so he could peer under the door and into the kitchen. He could see two legs of the table, the chair legs, and Mr. Condon’s sneakers. One foot was flat on the floor, the other was tipped and resting on the outside edge. Gary’s footsteps moved across the kitchen, something clunked, then they moved back until his boots came into view.
“There’s always ways of making people talk,” Gary said. His voice was calm now, conversational, as if he were discussing the day’s weather with dear Mr. Condon. “Do you know what this is? Of course you do; you’re an educated man.”
He raised his voice so Marny, Esther, and William could know what it was as well.
“It’s a garrote, ligature, used for strangulation. I loop this cord around your neck and progressively tighten it. The pressure collapses your carotid artery, cutting off oxygen to the brain. At first you’ll feel woozy, light-headed, then the pressure will grow so great it will compress your trachea and you’ll experience a choking sensation. I can assure you it isn’t pleasant, not one bit, but it has a way of getting someone to talk.”
There was another slap, another moan, then, “Now, where are they?”
A pause.
“Fine then. Because of your hardened heart you will be punished. You will share in the suffering of our Lord in hopes that your soul may be cleansed and the darkness in it banished.”
This declaration was followed by a struggle and the sound of someone being strangled. Mr. Condon gagged, wheezed, gurgled. His feet twisted and stamped on the floor. An awful image dangled before Marny’s mind’s eye: Mr. Condon’s eyes bulging, face red, lips turning purple as the cord dug into his neck.
Marny clenched his fists and ground his molars. Sweat broke out all over his face. He wanted to rush up the stairs, throw open the door, and wrap his own hands around Gary’s neck. He’d been mistaken. Gary was no gorilla. He was a monster, as Esther had said.
But instead he tumble-slid down the steps, grabbed
Esther by the arm, and pulled her and William across the cellar. Things had sufficiently gone bad, and he was getting them out of there.
The cellar door to the patio opened easily, and all three of them stumbled outside. Despite the cooler temperature of the night, sweat drenched Marny. To their right, a quarter mile down the coast, was a lighthouse privately owned by Mr. Condon’s neighbor, who allowed him to dock his lobster boat there. It sat at the end of a rock pier that jutted another quarter mile into the bay.
“C’mon,” Marny said. “The lighthouse.”
But before he finished the word, a sharp woop-woop pierced the night air. The siren of Petey’s patrol car.
“The police,” Esther said and pulled up.
“Petey.” Marny hesitated and briefly entertained the thought of going back into the house and seeing what the outcome of all this would be. But he quickly shook off the notion and took Esther by the arm. “C’mon. Let him handle things. We need to move.”
Esther didn’t question him.
They headed down a sloping bank to a pebbly beach dotted with clumps of boulders. Moonlight shimmered on the water like a white oil slick, but beyond, a few hundred yards out, the horizon was nothing but blackness, an empty gulf, as if the world really were flat and just dropped out of sight. Out there somewhere, a good mile off the coast, was Booker Island. The air coming off the water, blowing out of that dark abyss, was moist with the smell of salt and seaweed.
Behind them, the house was quiet. To any passers-by it would seem to be just another seaside bungalow whose occupants had turned in for the night and were snug in their beds, listening to the rolling ocean through screened windows.
Marny wanted to look back, but he couldn’t yet. He had to put distance between the three of them and Gary; he had to press on toward the lighthouse. It was their place of refuge now, their way out of this nightmare.
When they were a little over halfway to the pier, a shot rang out and cut through the air so sharply Marny almost felt its impact. He stopped and spun around. The lighted windows of the house on the shore made for a serene picture that contrasted violently with what had occurred within those four walls.
Had Petey taken care of Gary? Had he shot him and rescued Mr. Condon?
Hope swelled in Marny.
Until he saw the figure standing on the patio, silhouetted by the lighted door of Mr. Condon’s home.
Gary lumbered down the bank and took off after them in a full sprint.
Chapter 12
MARNY HAD KNOWN that sooner or later Mr. Condon’s affiliation with him would catch up to his friend.
It did everyone. Sooner or later.
And this time it had caught up to Pete Morsey. Which was why, in spite of the fond feelings he already had for them, Marny was determined to part company with Esther and William. But not before getting them to safety and out of the reach of their crazed Uncle Gary. He wasn’t about to abandon them prematurely. He might be self-deprecating and overly cautious, but he wasn’t a jerk.
Marny was surprised by how fast William could move with that gimpy gait of his. Years of accommodation and substitution must have trained his muscles to overcompensate with what they had to work with. William and Esther held hands as they hit the pier.
Looking back, Marny was relieved to see that Gary had gained no ground on them. He was malicious and hateful, but he was also big and lumbering, a lummox, not in the least swift of foot. But navigating the pier would slow them all down. It consisted of Prius-sized boulders aligned in three rows and ran the length of a quarter mile, sticking out into the Penobscot Bay like an aging finger. Most of the boulders abutted each other tightly, leaving no room between them, but occasionally there was a gap the size of a tire. They had to be careful to stay on top of the boulders and not find one of those crevices. If one of them caught a foot and went down, Gary would be on them like a Rottweiler on a rabbit.
The moonlight cast odd shadows across the pier, masking the places where the gaps were. At one point William slipped and would have gone down if Marny hadn’t grabbed him by the shirt and steadied him.
Navigating the boulders slowed William even more than Marny had anticipated. Gary was gaining on them. They were a little less than halfway along when their pursuer stepped onto his first boulder.
“We need to move faster.” Marny’s voice quaked and cracked with fear.
“He can’t,” Esther said.
Marny had a thought. It wasn’t often he came up with a good idea, and even less often one that would save lives.
He stopped Esther and William, crouched low, and told William to get on his back.
Esther looked at him like he’d just crossed the border to Crazyland.
Gary was gaining quickly now. He might be a lummox, but his footing on the boulders was proving to be surprisingly nimble.
“Quick. Get on.”
William glanced at Esther, then climbed onto Marny’s back. He was small for his age and couldn’t have weighed more than eighty pounds. A load to carry, yes, but not unbearable. Marny found himself able to run the boulders quite well with William perched on his back. But he still had a good quarter of the way to go, and his lungs were already burning.
Out of breath and struggling to find words, Marny said to Esther, “Go ahead and get the boat started. The key is under the seat cushion. You start it like a car.”
She touched William’s arm, nodded at Marny, then took off ahead. Marny realized then how slowly he was moving and pushed himself to go faster. Adrenaline surged through his veins even as the buildup of lactic acid in the muscles of his legs threatened to end this whole ordeal. But he couldn’t stop, not now. He was almost there. A hundred yards more to go. He wanted to look back and see where Gary was, but he didn’t dare for fear he’d lose his footing and go down.
Up ahead, Esther climbed aboard Mr. Condon’s boat and fished around the seat for the key.
Seventy-five more yards. Marny’s legs felt like lumps of clay moving through mud. Each step on each boulder was a chore that took every ounce of his strength and focus.
Esther stood, and a second later the engine roared to life.
Fifty yards. He could hear Gary’s footsteps behind them now. The monster was gaining.
“The rope,” Marny hollered, but his voice was so weak and strained he didn’t know if Esther could hear him or not. “Get the cleat.”
Apparently she did hear, because she jumped out of the boat and unwound the rope from the cleat on the small dock.
Twenty-five yards. Marny’s foot hit a divot in one of the boulders and buckled his knee. He had no idea how he hung on and didn’t go down. He could hear Gary’s labored breathing behind him now. The gorilla couldn’t be more than thirty or forty feet away. Esther climbed back into the boat and got behind the wheel. Hopefully she’d be ready to throw the throttle as soon as Marny and William hit the boat’s deck.
Ten yards now. He bore down and pushed his body to the limits of what it would give him. His legs were numb. He had to will them to move, to take one more step, one more step, one more step. Finally they were there, at the dock. It sat maybe five feet lower than the boulders, and a ladder descended to the planks below. Marny skipped the ladder and made the jump. His legs hit the dock and collapsed beneath him, throwing William from his back.
“Go!” He shoved William in the direction of the boat. The boy scrambled to his feet and hobbled ahead.
On his back, legs throbbing, Marny looked up. Gary stood on the pier above him. His face glistened with sweat in the moonlight, and his deep-set eyes were hidden by shadows. His chest heaved, lungs wheezed.
Marny managed to climb to his feet, to his numb and useless legs, and get himself to the boat. Right before he reached the end of the dock the whole thing shook from the impact of Gary landing on it. Marny tried to leap from the dock to the deck of the boat, but his legs gave out from under him. He tumbled off the edge of the dock, hit the back of the boat, and rolled in. Immediately the engine grow
led and the vessel lurched forward, leaving Gary standing on the end of the dock.
With legs spread wide and the dock rocking in the boat’s wake, Gary pounded his chest and beat at the air. “You can’t get away from me! I own you.”
His voice carried across the hard water until it sounded like it was in the boat with Marny, like Gary was standing next to him, screaming into his ear.
“There’s nowhere you can go to hide from me. I’ll find you!”
Marny had no doubt he would keep his promise.
Chapter 13
THE BOY WAS there again, in his wheelchair with his withered limbs.
Gary had landed awkwardly, straight-legged, and the impact of his feet with the dock had sent a jolt up his legs, through his spine, and into his head. And the shock had produced the image of the boy, just a child.
The voice was there again too.
How could you let this happen? You’re supposed to protect him. You’re his guardian.
Gary tugged at his hair with both hands and thought about throwing himself into the bay. “Please, don’t. I’ll get him back, I promise. I will.”
You are the guardian of the anointed; you must take this seriously. It is a high calling and not one to be taken lightly.
He ground his molars and leaned against the pier. “I take it seriously. It’s my life. He’s my life. There’s nothing else. I’ll find him.”
Then, before the voice could scold him anymore, he turned, climbed the ladder to the pier, and took off back toward the mainland singing a song he’d learned many years ago: “Loving shepherd of Thy sheep, keep Thy lamb, in safety keep; nothing can Thy power withstand, none can pluck me from Thy hand.”
The song kept the voice quiet. Or at least drowned out its droning.
When he got back to Condon’s house, he went inside and surveyed the scene. Condon was dead at the table, the cop on the floor. The place was a mess. Broken glass, spilled tea, broken furniture. But surprisingly, not much blood. It hadn’t taken Gary long to overpower the cop and take his weapon, but the altercation was violent. The shot to the cop’s head had shut down the brain, which canceled the heart. Little blood oozed from the hole just above the right eyebrow. He’d straighten and clean the place up, not leave a trace of ever being there, but first he had to attend to the bodies.
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