“No,” she hollered and lunged for his hand.
But before she could take hold of him he was out of reach, headed for Harold with that hitched limp of his.
Harold took a step back and leveled the gun on William. “Over there.” He motioned with his left hand. For the first time Marny saw what looked like fear in Harold’s eyes. The man was scared of William, afraid of his deformities. His own son repulsed him enough that he feared even contact with him.
William didn’t stray from his course, though, and continued hobbling directly at Harold, that same disinterested expression on his face he always had.
Harold took another step back. “Stop.” His lips peeled back from gray teeth, and he jabbed the gun at William.
Marny saw his opportunity and scrambled to his feet. He made a dash for Harold with every intent of tackling the larger man and occupying him long enough for Esther and William to escape down the mountain. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all he had.
But Harold’s training had not been forgotten. He swung the pistol around and pointed it at Marny. There was hatred in his eyes, death in the curve of his mouth.
The gun discharged.
When Marny was nine, he stepped into the arc of a swinging baseball bat. The impact of bat on his skull was so great he thought his head had exploded. He never felt his feet leave the ground, never felt the ground rise up to meet him, never felt the dirt on his back. One second he was looking up at the clouds doing circles in the sky above, the next he was swimming in a dark, warm liquid.
This was a thousand times worse. Marny never even felt the impact. He saw the flash of the barrel, then he was on his back in a world of darkness. His head was in a vise. In the far distance he heard another shot and a woman scream.
Then everything faded away.
Chapter 37
THE CONCUSSION OF the gun had ricocheted around the clearing and pushed Esther back a step as if it had a substance all its own.
Now silence reigned.
Esther’s first thought was that the pistol was loaded with blanks, Harold’s attempt to frighten or intimidate them. But then Marny’s head had snapped violently and he’d gone down so hard. In an instant she knew what had happened, but she was paralyzed with shock. Marny lay on his back on the ground, motionless, and of course she feared the worst. But she couldn’t move. Her feet were stuck to the ground with those nails of panic.
Before her mind could fully register what was taking place on that mountaintop, Harold, her father, the man she once adored, swung the gun around and pointed it at William.
An involuntary scream escaped her throat. She heard it as if she were outside herself, watching these events as a spectator in some gruesome game of survival. The gun went off again, and this time it was her little brother being driven backward by a bullet. His chest caved and his head went forward as he was pushed back and crumpled to the dirt.
A few silent moments passed. Harold stood like a granite image, arm extended, pistol still aimed at William. His face remained twisted into a devilish grimace and painted deep red with hate and disgust.
Esther couldn’t breathe. Her brain no longer sent signals to her diaphragm to contract and relax, contract and relax. Finally her involuntary response kicked in and she gasped for air, began to shake. She couldn’t cry, couldn’t talk, but now she found she could at least move.
She ran for William and dropped to the ground next to him. He didn’t move. His chest didn’t rise and fall. A large red stain had overtaken the front of his shirt, and in the center of it, a hole. Her eyes saw it, there was no doubting it was real, but her mind refused to accept it. She put her hands on William’s face and found her voice.
“William. William. God, please no. William.”
But there was nothing. His cheeks were already pale and going cold. Esther looked back at Harold, who was just now lowering the gun. Their eyes met, and in his she found something darkly terrifying. This was not her father, not the same man who played catch with her in the backyard, not the man she laughed with and took walks with. Not even the man who’d walked out on her. This was a monster of the worst kind.
Harold blinked several times in succession, and the color slowly drained from his face. His eyes shifted between Esther and William. It was as if the realization of what he’d done had triggered the transformation of Mr. Hyde back to Dr. Jekyll. He blinked again, then looked at Marny.
Esther tried to say something, tried to question him or yell at him or curse him, but a lump had taken residence in her throat and brought with it a wave of tears. She sat back on her haunches and began to cry.
Harold shoved the gun into his waistband and moved toward her. “Oh, no. C’mon, Esther; we don’t have time for this.”
She waved him off with shaky hands, but he was insistent. He reached down and took hold of her arm. “Get it together, Esther. We need to get going.”
Esther ripped her arm away from him and screamed something unintelligible, animal-like. Her world had been forced inside out and tumbled upside down. The foundation had crumbled, and the walls were quickly following.
Harold squatted beside her. “Esther, listen to me. We need to move now. Back down the mountain. Out of here. Come on.”
Numbly, thoughtlessly, Esther stood. Suddenly she was freezing. She took one last look at William and Marny, then headed back down the trail, her feet mechanically finding footholds, her legs moving as if controlled by a puppeteer. She noticed nothing other than Harold’s form in front of her; he carried the cooler and duffel bags. Her peripheral was black, bleak, dead space. Occasionally Harold spoke, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying.
When they arrived back at the Jeep, Harold opened the back door and ordered her in. Esther climbed onto the seat and let her head fall back against the headrest. Her legs should have been tired and achy from the descent, but she felt nothing.
Harold leaned in close. He held something in his hand. “Esther, I’m going to give you a shot to help you relax. Don’t fight it. This is for your own good.”
She was in no mood to resist. She didn’t care. If he was about to shoot acid into her veins, she would welcome it. She felt a slight pinch, then Harold shut the door. Seconds later, warmth spread over her body, and she grew very tired. She slumped to her side on the seat and allowed her eyelids to close.
The sleep, the escape, was welcome. Maybe she would wake up and find all of this was a nightmare. Maybe she wouldn’t wake up at all.
Chapter 38
LIGHT OVERCAME THE darkness.
With his eyes still closed, Marny was suddenly aware he was lying on his back. A rock pushed into his left kidney, but he didn’t care. The inside of his eyelids was a light shade of gray. In spite of the rock he was comfortable. Warm. A soft breeze washed over him, and above he could hear the excited chatter of squirrels and the drone of cicadas.
A hand touched his face and pushed back his hair.
Then a child’s voice. “You can open your eyes now, Marnin.”
William.
It came back to him then. He’d been shot. Harold had pointed the pistol directly at him and squeezed the trigger. He remembered the blast of light, the brief feeling of weightlessness as his body lifted off the ground, then the impact of earth with his back.
He should be dead, shouldn’t he?
“You’re okay now, Marnin. You can open your eyes.”
Okay? No, he wasn’t okay. He should be dead. Marny’s eyes moved behind closed lids. He tried to open them, but the light was too bright. They fluttered and shut again. He lifted a hand and placed it over his eyes. He parted his fingers slowly, letting light in a little at a time and easing the transition.
Above him, leaves moved in unison as a breeze played through them. The sky was a pale blue, no clouds. A flock of birds took off from a high branch, crossed the sky, and disappeared into the foliage.
William was there, bent over him, looking intently at the side of his head. His little hand combed
through Marny’s hair. “How do you feel now?”
Marny heard his question, but it didn’t make sense. How did he feel? He’d just been shot in the head at fairly close range and, oddly, he felt fine.
He pushed up from the ground, expecting pain to hit his head like a sledgehammer, but it never did. He didn’t even have a headache. The side of his head was tender to touch and his hair was still a little sticky with drying blood, but he felt no wound. The skin was intact.
That’s when he noticed two things that stole the air from his lungs. One, the front of William’s shirt was stained with blood, and in the center of the stain was a hole the size of a dime. And two, Harold and Esther were gone.
He reached for William. “William, your shirt. Are you hurt?”
William looked at his shirt, put his hand up under it, poked his finger through the bullet hole and wiggled it. “I’m fine now, Marnin.”
Marny reached for the shirt and lifted it. William’s chest was covered with dried, flaky blood, and in the center, an inch to the left of his sternum, was an entry wound the size of a nickel, healed over like it had happened weeks ago. Marny lifted his hand and touched the side of his head again. “William, what did you do?”
William shrugged and diverted his eyes, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. Marny knew what he’d done. He’d healed both of them. His gift. His superpower or whatever it was.
“Are you okay? Your chest?”
William patted his chest and smiled. “I’m fine now.”
Marny held William by both shoulders. “Where’s Esther?”
William looked to his left, down the mountain. Worry lines formed on his brow. “Harold took her. I’m worried about her, Marnin.”
Marny usually found hiking a relaxing activity, but after being shot and left for dead, this journey was anything but tranquil.
It took him and William the better part of an hour to make it down the mountain. The Jeep had done its job well, handling the rough terrain and making excellent time up the steep slope.
They mostly walked in silence, concentrating on their footing and breathing. More than a couple times they slipped on the loose ground and would have gone down if not for the steadying hand of the other. Once Marny asked William about his gift, his special powers, but William didn’t answer. He only watched the ground before him with mild indifference and quietly limped his way along the path.
At the bottom of the mountain the service trail met a paved road. Marny sat on a fallen tree, rubbed his thighs, and tried to make sense of what had just occurred on the mountaintop, how death had been foiled.
But death was always on Marny’s mind. Not just his own, but the deaths of the others. Those who shouldn’t have died but did because of him.
His memories carried him back to high school and weekends on the farm with Adam Bitfield.
Marny had met Adam in the ninth grade. They were both fifteen and in that awkward stage between the teen years and adulthood. Problem was, they both thought they were more adult than they were.
Adam’s father, John, was a potato farmer and owned one of the largest farms in the southern half of Maine. Usually Adam referred to it as Spud Kingdom, but on those rare days when his father (the Spud King) was in a mood, his fuse short, his tongue sharp, and his hand looking for something to hit, Adam called it Spud Hell.
That Saturday in September was one of those rare days. Marny rode his bike the eight miles to the Bitfield farm and dropped it outside the barn. He usually found Adam in there, either working or thinking. Adam liked to think. Said he wanted to be a philosopher once he got away from the Spud King. Only today it was no kingdom. It was hell.
Marny found Adam in the corner of the barn with a six-pack of Michelob, a fat lip, and a bruised right eye.
“What happened?”
Adam took a swig of beer and shrugged. He was working on his second can. “Old man was in a bad mood this mornin’. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I guess. Wanted someone to take it out on.”
Marny knew there was always more to it than that. Adam downplayed his father’s outbursts, but word in town was that the farm was in financial difficulties and that John Bitfield was about to lose everything.
“You okay?” Marny leaned in for a better look at Adam’s wounds. “That lip looks nasty.”
Another swig of the Michelob. “Looks worse than it feels. I think it’s so swollen it’s numb now.” He touched it lightly and looked at this hand. “Bleedin’s stopped at least.”
“You wanna do something?”
Adam swirled the beer in its can. “Old man wants me to take the bush hog out and mow the north field. I better get to it before I get a matchin’ pair a’ these shiners. You want to come?”
Marny had nothing better to do. “Sure.”
“Great. I could use some company.” Adam grabbed what was left of the six-pack and stood. “Over there in the cooler is another one a’ these.” He held up the cans. “Grab one and let’s head out. We’ll take our time and drink our way through the field.”
Unlike Karl Gunnison and John Bitfield, Marny was not a drinker, but he figured a few wouldn’t hurt so he could keep his friend company. After all, when misery came at the hand of the Spud King, it almost demanded company.
They got on the tractor and Adam fired it up, then leaned over to Marny. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to do more drinkin’ than talkin’.” He tapped his lip. “Not really in the talkin’ mood, know what I mean?”
Marny nodded. “Sure. Anything you want, Adam.”
“Besides, once this thing gets goin’”—he pointed at the bush hog behind the tractor—“it’s so loud you can’t hear yourself think.”
Adam popped the tab on a can and handed it to Marny. “Here, wash your worries away.”
By the time they reached the north field, Adam had downed another full can and was working on his fourth. He was already a little sluggish with the tractor’s controls.
“Here we go.” Adam held up his can and started up the bush hog. The sound of the rotating seven-foot blades was like that of a chopper going full blast.
There was no pattern to the way Adam mowed the field. Usually he was careful to steer the tractor in straight rows and cover every inch of ground, but today the tractor weaved right and left and missed whole stretches of field. While Adam guzzled his beer, one can after the next, Marny only sipped at his. He wasn’t particularly fond of the taste and knew too well the effect it had on people.
About an hour into the job, one six-pack gone and Adam working on the other, his friend could barely stay on his seat, could barely lift the can to his mouth, and what little he said made no sense at all.
Marny was about to tell him he’d had enough and suggest they go back when Adam suddenly lost his balance and tipped left. As he fell, he jerked the steering wheel in the same direction, pulling the tractor into a hard left turn. Marny lost his hold and fell to his right, landing hard on the ground.
Marny righted himself and looked under the tractor, through its wheels, just in time to see the mower bump over Adam.
By the time Marny chased down the tractor and stopped it, there wasn’t much left of Adam for the coroner to examine.
William inched closer, bringing Marny out of the past. He leaned his head against Marny’s arm. “Where do we go from here, Marnin?”
“Back to Harold’s house, I suppose. It’s as good a place as any to start.”
“Start what?”
“Looking for Esther. We’re not leaving her with that jerk.”
William was quiet for a few beats; he twisted his hands, his good one rubbing the withered one. “He’s not my father, Marnin.”
Marny put his arm around William. The kid may have been gifted in math or science or human psychology, he might have special powers to manipulate the laws of nature, but he was still a kid, and finding out that the father who walked out on you because you were a “freak” refused to believe you and he even shared the same blood would be
a bitter pill to get down at any age. “He said you’re not his son. There’s a difference. But for the record, he may have fathered you, but you’re right; he’s not your father, not really. He’s a jerk who tried to murder us. Who did murder us.”
William said nothing. Marny could tell he was deep in thought, his mind churning with questions that had no answers at the moment. Questions of origin and purpose and wrongs never made right. Questions no eleven-year-old should have to wrestle with.
“We’ll find her, William,” Marny said. “We’ll find Esther.”
Across the road the woods seemed to have fallen into a deep slumber. No breeze stirred the leaves; no wildlife foraged for food. The legions of cicadas present on the way up the trail could not be heard here. The road was silent too.
Marny stood and walked onto the pavement. Faded blacktop stretched in both directions and disappeared behind the dense, lifeless woods. “You have any idea where he’d take her?”
William shrugged. “Back to his house?”
Marny put his hands in his pockets and went back to the fallen tree along the side of the road. “Maybe. But I’m thinking that would be too obvious. He’ll want to take her somewhere different, probably far from here. Maybe back to Maine. A place familiar to him. To both of them.”
“I remember Esther talking about the house we used to live in before Gary came. She really liked that house.”
“Do you remember it?”
“No, Marnin. I only remember Gary’s house.”
“Did she ever mention the name of the town?”
“Comfort.”
Marny patted William’s knee. “You think he’d take her there?”
William thought for a bit, his eyes scanning the woods on the other side of the road. For a moment Marny thought the boy had seen something there, something unseen to the average eye but spotted by some extrasensory ability William had been hiding from him. Finally he said, “Yes.”
“Why?”
William shifted on the tree and found Marny’s eyes. His irises were striated with the richest shades of brown Marny had ever seen, and in them was an innocence this world did not know. “Because it’s the last place he was happy.”
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