She didn’t stop, though, no way. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and her murderous father as possible.
Not looking back even once, she ran until her legs could carry her no longer, then collapsed by a fallen tree. The trunk was covered with moss and surrounded by jack-in-the-pulpits and fern. Stilling her labored breathing, she listened but heard nothing.
Her lungs burned and her diaphragm worked overtime to pull oxygen in and replenish her starving cells. Sweat matted hair to the back of her neck. Her feet ached.
She listened again. This time she heard the faint sound of footsteps. Pine needles softened the forest floor, so no leaves crunched to signify how close Harold was. He could be thirty yards away or thirty feet.
Slowly, inch by inch, Esther raised her head over the bulk of the fallen tree and looked in the direction of the footsteps. Harold was there, a good forty yards away. She couldn’t see his face through the pines but caught glimpses of his body from the waist down. He walked carefully, pausing briefly between steps to listen. He was trained in hunting fugitives; she had no training in how to run like a criminal. Whatever advantage she had or thought she had was gone.
As Harold grew closer, Esther’s heart beat faster and harder, so hard in fact that she was certain Harold would hear it. He was now thirty yards off and gaining ground by the second.
She was trapped. If she made a run for it, he would see her and catch her for sure. If she stayed put, he would eventually stumble upon her, for he was headed in her direction. She needed a diversion, something to throw him off her trail.
She wished William were here; she could use some of the faith that came so naturally for him. Instead, Esther did the one thing that came naturally for her. She prayed. She knew she was asking for a miracle, the kind of thing that folks rolled their eyes at when it happened in a movie. She was asking for an easy out.
But Harold was now twenty yards away, and the easy out wasn’t there yet. Panic overcame her, and she almost threw herself up and surrendered. She no longer trusted herself to peek over the trunk, so she sat as still as she could and listened to Harold’s footfalls grow closer and louder.
He stopped. She didn’t know if he’d heard something or had seen her, but his progress halted. For a long time, minutes that felt like hours, he didn’t move. Had he heard the sound of her breathing? Or her heart clomping in her chest? Was he waiting her out, letting her make the first move?
Esther’s legs began to cramp. She didn’t know how much longer she could remain motionless. Something had to give.
Finally Harold moved, one step, then another, but he moved away from Esther, to his right. It was a trick, she was sure of it. He’d either seen or heard her and was now baiting her, luring her out into the open. But as his footsteps faded she grew more confident that it was safe to peer over the trunk again.
Harold was nowhere in sight. Her prayer had been answered. But this was still no easy way out. She had to go for help.
She could backtrack and return to the road then follow it into the town of Comfort and find a policeman. But what would she tell them? That her father, Harold Rose, the Harold Rose they all knew and admired, was trying to kill her? No way. They’d call him, and then she’d be handed over to the man who was trying to kill her.
Which led to another thought. How did she know he wanted to kill her? Yes, he’d shot William and Marny. He’d proven he was capable of murder, but that didn’t mean he wanted to murder her. That phone call could have been anything.
Doubts wrestled in her gut, causing her to waste precious time. She needed to be running, opening the space between her and her father.
So she ran. She pushed through the pines and jumped fallen limbs and whole trunks. Ahead, over the ridge in the distance, was a pond, and beyond the pond was a house. The Karstens lived there. She used to go to school with their daughter, Susan. They would remember her and help her.
Stealing a glance over her shoulder she saw nothing but pines, both standing and fallen. No Harold. She wondered how long it would be until he caught up with her. After all, she knew sooner or later he would.
Come out, come out, Squirt. It’s no use to hide. You know I’ll find you.
Chapter 46
IN THE TOWN of Pickering, Massachusetts, midway between Harold’s house and the Maine border, Gary slowed the car and Marny saw a shimmer of hope.
The town was not much more than a couple of faded-asphalt streets, a hardware store, a fast-food joint, and one strip mall that looked like it hadn’t been touched since the sixties. It was here that Gary wheeled the Taurus in front of a Goodwill store. He turned to Marny and William in the backseat.
“We’ll find William a shirt that fits here.” He paused and glared at both of them, a silent warning. “No funny stuff. Don’t talk to anyone. Five minutes and we’re out.”
They got out of the car, and Marny suddenly had the urge to run, to grab William and get away from Gary once and for all. Pickering was a small town, but there were homes and businesses. Surely they had some form of a police force. Somebody would help them. But it wouldn’t be once and for all, would it? His curse had finally fully matured and was a mammoth of a beast standing right in front of him. There was no way around it or through it. If they ran, it would pursue them like a hound on the scent of fresh blood.
In the store William headed straight for the back where the children’s clothes were. The T-shirt rack was in the center, in easy view of the front door and the Taurus parked outside. Gary hung by the door, keeping an eye on them.
Again Marny thought about escape. They could slip out the back and put good distance between themselves and Gary by the time he crossed the length of the store and found his way out the back exit.
William turned his back to the front of the store and busied himself with fingering through T-shirts. “We can’t run, Marnin. He’ll catch us.” He kept his voice low, barely above a whisper.
Marny feigned interest in a particular shirt, pulled it off the rack and held it up. “How do you know?”
“He won’t stop until he does.”
William pulled a shirt from the rack, a blue one with the Miami Dolphins logo on the front.
Marny threw a casual glance Gary’s way. The big man was still by the door, hands in his pockets, watching them. Turning back to the shirt rack, Marny said, “William, I’m lost here. What’s going on? Why does Gary want you so bad?”
“Gary thinks God has chosen him to protect me. He thinks I’m special. He won’t let himself fail; he’ll do anything, even kill people, to make sure he doesn’t. We can’t get away from him, Marnin.”
As much as it made no common sense in the real world, in a perverted, twisted way—in Gary’s world—that made complete sense. It explained Gary’s obsession with William, his relentless pursuit, his protective compulsion, his cold willingness to kill. He was crazy, nuts.
“William,” Marny said, “can’t you do something? Use your gift to get away from him?”
William was quiet. He held up the Dolphins shirt and sized it against his torso. It was a perfect fit and the color looked good on him. At three dollars it was a steal. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Why?”
William turned up his face, and his eyes had never looked more sincere. “Because that would be selfish.” He said it like it was the most obvious answer in the world and why hadn’t Marny figured that out on his own.
“Well, I’m not going to sit around and wait for him to kill me. Listen to me; we’ll play along for now, but when we get to Comfort, we’re gone.”
“What do you have in mind, Marnin?” William’s eyes were now wide, expectant.
What did he have in mind? Last night on the island (was it really just last night?) Esther had asked him what his plan was. He didn’t have a plan. He told her he wasn’t the planning type. And still he had no plan.
“Nothing yet.” There was no use lying to William; he’d see ri
ght through it anyway.
William held up the shirt. “I want this one.”
“Miami, huh?”
“Yes. I like dolphins.”
“Okay then, the dolphin shirt it is.”
They paid for the shirt and joined Gary at the entrance. Together they left, Gary in front. A police cruiser was parked a few stores down, and the officer stood on the sidewalk talking to someone, jotting notes on his steno pad. Marny stopped and took hold of William’s arm. If he ran for the cop, made enough noise and commotion, Gary would be forced to flee. He wouldn’t want a confrontation here in public view.
Marny glanced at the officer, glanced at Gary. Gary’s eyes were wide and fiery, his mouth a thin line. He’d seen the cop too and read Marny’s intent.
Marny tightened his grip on William’s arm and took off toward the cop, hollering and waving his free arm. “Help! Help us!”
The officer dropped his steno pad, turned, and reached for his weapon. The woman he was talking to backed away, stumbled over her bags.
Marny, dragging William along, continued to holler and wave his arm.
What happened next seemed to play out in slow motion. The cop’s eyes went from Marny to something over Marny’s left shoulder. Before he could draw his weapon, a shot fired; the cop folded in on himself and was pushed back by some unseen hand. Another shot sounded, and a spray of blood burst from the man’s head. Marny stopped and covered his head with his free arm, pulled William close to him, and went down on the sidewalk. Another shot; the woman gasped and crumpled to the pavement.
Then Gary was there, full speed again, cursing. He walked to the cop, rifled through his utility belt, and grabbed the handgun and extra clips. After shoving them into his pocket, he groped at Marny’s arm. “C’mon. Let’s go. Get up.”
Marny stayed down, but Gary was having none of it. He grabbed Marny by the arm and lifted him from the ground as if he were a toddler. His hand found the back of Marny’s neck and squeezed. Pain shot down Marny’s back.
“Get in the car now or you’re next,” Gary said.
Marny and William stumbled toward the car. People began to gather. In the distance someone hollered.
“Move!” Gary shouted into Marny’s ear.
At the car he opened the back door and shoved Marny in, then William. Gary got in behind the wheel, threw the car into reverse, then into drive, and laid down rubber getting out of the parking lot.
When they were back on the road Gary found Marny in the rearview mirror. His face was red and sweaty. “That was stupid. Really stupid. Don’t ever try to be a hero again.”
Chapter 47
THE KARSTENS LIVED in a two-story log home on the fringe of nowhere.
The house sat at least a mile from the road, with its only access a dirt lane that was only passable with a four-wheel-drive vehicle. From what Esther remembered, that’s the way they liked it: private. Susan was a little odd, mostly kept to herself. Esther was her only friend. As a child she’d been to their house twice, once for Susan’s tenth birthday and once to say good-bye before she, William, and their mother went to live with Gary.
When the house was in view, Esther pushed ahead harder, crossing from forest to clearing without slowing even a step. The image of the home, those deep mahogany, tightly fitted logs, so orderly, so sturdy—so much like a fortress—brought a surge of relief over her, as if in this manic world where her father was a murderer and everything she knew no longer made sense, there was something of logic, something outside her plight, something oblivious to the murky waters she found herself trying to stay afloat in … something of hope.
With the exception of the house appearing a little more weathered, the property hadn’t changed a bit. The same two pickups were parked in a gravel driveway. There was no landscaping to speak of, except what nature had to offer at no charge: trees and grass, a shrub here and there. A row of metal garbage cans, lids bungee-corded in place to keep the bears from rummaging, lined the rear of the concrete foundation.
When she got within thirty feet of the house, a dog started barking from inside. Seconds later Mr. Karsten appeared on the front porch, hands in his pockets. He was a large man with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. Thick graying beard. Flannel work shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbow and jeans, despite the warm weather. He was a lumberjack and looked every bit the part.
Esther stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. She was shaking, and her lungs were working double time.
Mr. Karsten eyed her, then glanced around the clearing, cocked his head to one side. “Ya lost, miss?”
Inside the house the dog kept barking, a steady yelp that could have set time for a musical piece.
“Mr. Karsten?”
Mr. Karsten squinted his eyes and nodded. “That’s me.”
She glanced around the clearing and had the sudden fear that Harold would burst from the woods, pistol in hand, firing away. “I need help. He’s after me. Please, can I come in?”
From what Esther remembered, Mr. Karsten was not a sympathetic man; at least he’d never appeared to be. He wasn’t a friendly man either, but he wasn’t ignorant. He took his hands out of his pockets, ran his steady eyes over the clearing, and motioned for Esther to come up on the porch. “Well, come on then, girl. Let’s get ya inside.”
Inside Esther was immediately welcomed by a lanky Redbone Coonhound who couldn’t keep his tongue off her. She was also greeted by Mrs. Karsten, a thick, plain woman with straight gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. She recognized Esther at once and smiled warmly. “Why, Esther Rose, dearie, what’s wrong? What’s the matter with ya?”
The interior of the house was cluttered with flats of canned and dry food, but it was clean. Apparently the Karstens were pack rats, but they gathered and stored with some semblance of order. They would be well prepared for the coming nuclear winter or economic depression.
The dog nudged Esther’s hand, wanting her to pet him.
“Nosey, you stop that,” Mrs. Karsten scolded.
“He’s after me. He’s coming. You have to help me.”
Mrs. Karsten smoothed Esther’s hair from her face, a motherly, endearing gesture. “Who, dear? Who’s after ya?”
“Do you remember my father, Harold Rose?”
“O’ course I do,” Mr. Karsten said. “The state troopah.”
“Did you know he left us and moved to Massachusetts?”
Mr. Karsten nodded. “We heard that. Right around the time a’ the killin’s.”
The killings. The Maniac, the serial killer. Esther remembered hearing about him. Harold had been on that case. She recalled her mother talking about how much the case was stressing him out, wearing on his nerves, and that’s why he was acting the way he was.
Esther swallowed hard and fought back the tears. “Do you remember my brother, William? He would have been just a baby when my father left us.”
Mrs. Karsten stepped forward. “I talked to your mother once about him. He was … handicapped, right?”
“Yes. Cerebral palsy.” She paused, caught her breath, glanced out the window, but there was no Harold. She knew of no other way to say it other than straight out. “William’s dead. Murdered.”
Mrs. Karsten’s hands went to her mouth. “Lord!”
Mr. Karsten clenched his fists. “How? How did it happen?”
Esther looked him right in the eyes. She hoped that by seeing the clarity in her own, the honesty, the goodness, he would believe her. “My father killed him.”
Neither of the Karstens said anything for a long moment. Nosey nudged Esther’s hand with his nose and whined.
Finally Mrs. Karsten said, “Your father, he was a police officer, a nice man from what I remember.”
“Did you see him do it?” Mr. Karsten said.
Esther nodded. A few stray tears slipped past her eyes and tracked down her cheek. Her hands trembled.
Mrs. Karsten walked over and stood next to her husband, put a hand on his shoulder. “Dearie, do ya kno
w what you’re sayin’?”
“Yes. I know exactly what I’m saying. And now he’s after me. He’s going to kill me next.” The words poured out now, like water over a dam flooding the plain below. Either they would believe her and offer help, or they’d think her crazy and call the police. This was her last hope.
“He kidnapped me and brought me back here, to our old house. I got away. This was the only place I could think of to go. Please, you have to help me. Please.”
Again they were both quiet. Mrs. Karsten’s hand tightened on her husband’s shoulder. “Dearie,” she said, “do ya know what you’re accusin’ your father of?”
“O’ course she does,” Mr. Karsten said. He looked out the window, then at his hands. “I believe her. I never did like that man. Somethin’ ’bout him didn’t sit right with me from the first time I met him. And when he left durin’ those killin’s … that was the stuff of a coward.” He met Esther’s eyes. “I believe ya.”
Nosey’s ears perked, and he cocked his head to the side and stood motionless as a marble statue.
“What’s the mattah, boy?” Mr. Karsten said.
At once Nosey ran for the window, his gait more of a glide, and erupted into a fit of barks.
Chapter 48
THEY RODE IN silence for a half hour.
In the back of the Taurus William had worked his hand across the seat and found Marny’s. He held on tight as if the window would suddenly open and Marny would be sucked out. Gary kept glancing in the rearview mirror at Marny, shooting him looks that wielded daggers and clubs and poison-tipped arrows.
And Marny remained motionless, still stunned from the barrage of violence Gary had rained down on the small town of Pickering, Massachusetts.
It was Marny’s fault. His curse was in a feeding frenzy now, like a ravenous wolf that had gotten the taste of blood and wanted— needed—more. Sooner or later it would satisfy its lust, but how many would be left dead in its horrid wake? Marny wished it would turn on him and just be done with it.
Frantic Page 17