Eye of the Beholder

  “No, I couldn’t. My mom wasn’t home when I left, and my cell phone doesn’t get any reception up here.”

  The huge tire of the truck hit a pothole, and the vehicle jolted a bit. Joy groaned and the heavy key chain dangling from the ignition jangled. Joshua looked over at it absentmindedly.

  And then his blood froze. In the pale, luminous light from the dashboard displays, he could clearly make out the charm that hung among the many keys.

  An eye. The eye. The one that Joshua had seen swinging from Joy’s hand. He glanced quickly up at Mike to see if he had caught his look, but he was peering straight forward intensely.

  Joshua’s mind was racing, reviewing the images that Sarah had shown him. The oak tree was on the path that ran between the last place he’d seen Joy and Mike’s house. The path that forked away, up and to the left from Mike’s cabin. The motorcycle image that was Mike’s business and his hobby. Mike had even associated himself with the image. Joshua could see clear as day the moment that the man had pointed to first himself and then his card, saying, “Mike, bike.” What a fool he’d been! The charm on the key chain, which Mike wore right out in the open on his belt loop. A talisman that most people used to ward off evil, but that he had used for evil.

  Fearfully, Joshua tried to assess his situation. He glanced sideways again at Mike. The man was much bigger than he was, powerfully built, and at the peak of his strength. Joshua would be no physical match for him. They were headed away from any other houses or streets, deeper into the open forest. They would pass few, if any, other cars this late at night.

  The fire station was just up ahead on the right. Joshua could see the lights off to one side. He closed his eyes and prayed. Please let me be wrong; please let him turn in. Please turn.

  But Mike didn’t even slow down. Joshua said nothing, too mortified to speak. The stupidity of what he’d done came home to him, and with a frost that he felt to his marrow, he realized that most likely he had killed not only Joy but himself as well. With a suffocating sense of sorrow and loss for his mother, he turned and looked directly at Mike.

  Mike hit the lock button on his armrest, but they were moving a good fifty miles an hour, too fast for Joshua to jump out. He seemed to relax now that they’d passed the ranger station, and he draped one hand along the back of the seat.

  Joshua found his voice. “Where are we going?” he asked, but he thought he knew.

  “Well, I can’t very well take you home, now, can I?” Mike turned and looked at Joshua. There was a deadness in his eyes that Joshua wished he had noticed before. “Have you figured it out now?”

  Joshua nodded and swallowed hard to force back down the sob that was rising in his throat.

  “We’ll go someplace nice and private.”

  Joshua stared ahead, pretending to watch the road, but his brain was working as he focused inward. Sarah, he was calling silently, and though he didn’t know it, he was repeating his mother’s words: Sarah, help me.

  Chapter 74

  Greer’s head swiveled expectantly to the door before the other two heard the crunch of footsteps on the gravel outside. She rose and opened it just as Luke and Whitney started up the porch stairs.

  “Have you heard anything?” she asked.

  Both of them shook their heads and stepped into the kitchen. Sterling was introduced, and Greer was impressed with the gracefulness of his nonpatronizing sympathy toward them.

  “Where’s Joshua?” Luke asked.

  There was a quiet moment, and then Dario spoke. “He’s gone to look for Joy.”

  “What?” Whitney asked. “Where?”

  “I have something to tell you,” Greer began. She explained what had been happening to both her and Joshua, and apologized for not being able to tell them before. “It wasn’t my place . . . if there had been anything specific or definite, I would have come to you. I told Detective Sheridan everything he saw, I just made it seem like I had seen it. Joshua’s afraid of the gift. Well, he was afraid.”

  Whitney was perched on the edge of her chair, her black eyes framed by the dark circles beneath them. “Has he seen something specific now?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” Greer told her, taking her hand. “He sees guides, spirit guides; it’s different from the colors and emotional impressions that I get. He left us a note saying that one of the guides was with him, so we shouldn’t worry.” Greer tried to smile.

  Dario made an attempt to shift the focus off of Joshua for Greer’s sake. “Greer told me that Joy’s mother had come around. Where is she?”

  Luke and Whitney both looked at the floor before he answered, barely keeping the disgust out of his voice. “In the guest room, snoring like a pig.”

  “Oh,” Dario said, “I see. Well, that explains quite a bit.”

  “Doesn’t it, though?” Luke asked.

  The sound of a car engine coming down the dirt track pulled their attention outside. They all strained to see who it was, but Sterling was the one who recognized it first. “Unmarked cop car,” he said.

  They watched as the door opened and Detective Sheridan got out. He paused to put something in his mouth and then proceeded toward Greer’s door.

  Whitney reached for Luke’s hand. He took it and squeezed once, and then rose to meet the detective.

  Sheridan looked slightly surprised when Luke opened Greer’s door. He knew enough about the anguish parents of missing children lived through to speak directly. “Mr. Whitehorse, I’m afraid I don’t have any news for you yet.”

  Everyone seemed to breathe at the same time.

  “Is Ms. Sands in?”

  “I’m here.” Greer stepped up next to Luke. “Please come in. How can I help you?”

  The detective came into the kitchen and regarded the faces that watched him eagerly. He felt deeply sorry that he hadn’t done more, that there was nothing he could tell them to expel them from purgatory.

  “You called my office earlier and left a message that you needed to speak to me. I’m assuming it was about the Vince Slater incident.” He narrowed his eyes at Greer. “You seem to have found a great deal of trouble in this little community.”

  “Oh, no, we’re not going into that again, are we?”

  Sheridan managed a weak, tired smile. “Not unless you turn out to be connected to Mr. Slater.”

  “I happen to be friends with his ex-wife,” Greer said. Then, noting the exhaustion on the detective’s face, she asked, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  Sheridan winced. “I wish I could, but I’m fighting off a bleeding ulcer.”

  “So did he have anything to do with Joy?” Greer asked hopefully. She sat down again, very close to Sterling. He noticed the proximity and shifted to make it even closer.

  “Not directly, that we can tell. He’s connected to one major drug operation, though—probably the one that supplied the drugs she hid in your son’s room. You might like to know that we arrested your postman tonight. He’s the one who was selling the methamphetamine to the kids at the high school.”

  Luke’s hands formed into tight fists, and Whitney pulled one to her and started to loosen it finger by finger.

  “We also arrested the guy you called us about.” Sheridan nodded his head toward Dario. “Turns out the girl he picks up is his cousin.”

  “Oh,” Dario said. “I’ll have to apologize.”

  “We got another anonymous tip that the same guy was carrying meth in the saddlebags of his bike. But Leah Falconer told us later that she had seen Vince Slater plant it there. Apparently they had a little altercation at a bar over the way he was treating a girl, and framing Newman was Slater’s idea of recreation. So, he’s clean.”

  “Are we talking about Army?” Greer asked, surprised.

  Dario nodded. “Pistol told me he’d seen him pick a young girl up at school, and I thought with the motorcycle and the prison record . . .”

  “No, you did the right thing,” Sheridan told him. “No harm done. We didn’t even stick him wit
h the drug charge; his blood was clean when we apprehended him. What’s this about a motorcycle?”

  Looks went all around the room. Everyone wondered who should speak or where to begin. Of course, all eyes landed on Greer.

  “Detective, I have something to confess. I did have premonitions about Joy and then Leah Falconer coming to harm, but some of the images that I told you about came from my son.”

  Sheridan had guessed that the night they’d seen Zoe Caldwell at the hospital, but he didn’t comment on his deduction. He had done the count when he came in, and he didn’t need to look around now to know that Joshua wasn’t there. “Where is he?” His voice was grim.

  “He’s gone out to look for Joy.”

  Sheridan sighed. “And where has he gone to look for her?” he asked wearily.

  Dario took over. “We don’t know. He left that note.” He pointed behind the detective.

  Sheridan turned and walked to the bulletin board. He read the note quickly. “Who’s Sarah?” he asked in a voice that seemed not to really want to know, but resigned to hear the answer.

  Greer explained while everyone else sat and listened to her story. “She was my friend; she was killed when we were fifteen. I asked for her help to find Joy. I was just praying, and it seems she heard me.” Greer shrugged, as though apologetic that they might not be able to believe her, but it was true anyway. “She’s been appearing to Joshua in dreams and waking. She keeps showing him an oak tree damaged by fire, a motorcycle, and a set of keys. We’ve tried to figure out what that means. Joshua’s so new at this that he hasn’t learned how to interpret signs. That part takes a long time. For me, the signs are personal. Colors mean something, but it took me a while to figure out which ones meant what. For instance, I might look at Sterling and see an orange glow around him. That wouldn’t mean he likes citrus fruit. To me, who associates orange with health and vitality, it means that his energy and stamina are very good. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “So, in other words,” Sheridan asked, “those particular things that your son is, uh, ‘seeing’ might not have to do with Joy so much as with Joshua?”

  “Exactly,” Greer agreed.

  “But it might be something to do with Joy and her kidnapper?”

  Greer nodded. “That much seems certain. It’s the interpretation that’s difficult. It could be literal or representative. I just don’t know.”

  Sheridan stood motionless for a moment. Finally he said, “He definitely saw an image of a motorcycle?” He was thinking of the only clue he had about the suspect at the motel. She nodded.

  He turned slowly back to the bulletin board. “Like that motorcycle?”

  He brought his hand up deliberately and pointed at the card that Mike had given Joshua what seemed like months ago, but which had really been only a few days. It had the picture of a motorcycle, and a phone number underneath it.

  Greer stood up to get a better look at what he was pointing to. Luke had his back to Sheridan, and he twisted in his chair to look over his shoulder. “Yes,” Greer said, “I guess so. He didn’t say what kind. Only . . .”

  But she let the words die. Luke was coming to his feet. He moved to the card and ripped it off the board. “This is Mike’s card,” he said, staring at it.

  “Yes, he gave it to Joshua and told him to call if we needed help.”

  “I know it’s Mike’s card; I’ve got one in my book. And that’s why I didn’t think anything of it when I found one in Joy’s drawer.”

  Whitney stood up and put her hand on her husband’s arm. “Honey?” she said tentatively.

  His face was twisted in rage and confusion. “It was in the same drawer as the walkie-talkie,” he said. “Could it be?” Luke’s strong, handsome features crumbled. “Could it be him? He’s our neighbor; we’ve known him for years.”

  Sheridan had already started to move toward the phone. A neighbor. Almost always someone they knew and trusted. “Where is his house?” he asked. Luke was on his feet, and Sheridan reversed his direction and stood to block the door. Sterling was next to him in a minute, and as soon as Dario understood he had placed a large hand on Luke’s substantial arm.

  “Hold on there.” Sheridan spoke calmingly. “We’re going, but let’s do this right. The last thing you want now is to go barging in there, have him panic, and get her hurt. Much better to do this nice and quiet.” He watched as the idea crossed over Luke’s face.

  With a gigantic effort of will Luke stopped himself from fighting his way through the three men and charging out the door. He forced himself to nod.

  Sheridan picked up the phone and called for backup.

  Please, God, the detective thought, let her be alive.

  Chapter 75

  The higher up the twisting highway they drove, the thicker the trees grew on either side. Twice now, Mike had slowed down as they came to a turnoff, and shone a flashlight around the area. Both times he had grunted and then sped on.

  But now he was turning onto a small dirt track. The powerful headlights of the truck illuminated the road ahead. It curved into the trees, out of sight of the main road, and Mike drove along, the truck bouncing in and out of deep holes and pitted ruts.

  About a hundred yards in, the road ended in a pile of tangled tree trunks and branches that seemed to be as far as a bulldozer had gone. They were covered with dirt and moss, obviously untouched for a long time. It seemed as though someone had started to clear a road, been suddenly called away, and then forgotten about it years ago. Mike cut the engine, turned off the lights, and sat listening. Nothing. Not a car or another living soul for miles around.

  Joshua didn’t know what this place was, but he had a bad feeling he knew what it was about to become: the place where he and Joy were buried.

  He pulled Joy’s head tighter up against his chest, and her eyes fluttered open again. “Shh,” he urged. “Just sleep; it’s okay.” He didn’t know what else to say. Maybe she wouldn’t feel anything.

  Mike got out of the truck and stood looking around with his flashlight. Joshua could see only what fell into the bright circle of light from his torch. The trees, the leaf litter on the ground. The cold, hard ground.

  Joshua’s panic began to subside into an almost supernatural calm. So this was it. This is where I end. But, he decided, he wouldn’t just walk out there and die. He was going to fight; at least he would struggle, maybe even inflict some pain on this bastard.

  This is my life, not his! Joshua was thinking. Who is he to say it’s over? Joy’s favorite descriptive word rose in Joshua’s mental monologue, and he had to laugh to himself when he recognized it. Fuck this! he thought. And fuck him.

  Carefully he eased Joy’s head from his lap. Mike had left his door open and walked a few feet away, where he was kicking at the ground, testing its firmness. Joshua moved himself along between the seat and the dash until he was on the driver’s side. He watched tensely as Mike leaned down to move a fallen branch, and Joshua launched himself toward the big man.

  Joshua kicked him hard in the back, and Mike went sprawling to the ground with a curse. The flashlight flew from his hand and landed somewhere to the right in a pile of pine needles, casting a jagged beam on the trunk of a nearby tree. Joshua jumped onto Mike’s back with both knees, knocking the breath out of the other man, and tried to get his arm around his neck. Joshua knew very little about actual fighting, and it quickly became apparent to him that it was very different from what he’d seen on TV or in the movies.

  With a roar of rage, Mike flipped over, sending Joshua scrambling to stay on his feet. It was dark, but there was enough light from the shrouded moon and the flashlight’s residual glow for the two men to see the outline of each other. Mike moved toward Joshua, his breath coming in short bursts as he recovered from Joshua’s blow. Lunging toward Mike with all his weight, Joshua caught him in the midsection with his shoulder, hoping to knock him to the ground again.

  But the big man barely moved. Now he was expecting it, and he
was angry. He grabbed Joshua’s hair with one hand and pulled his head back far enough to hit him with the other fist. Joshua reeled from the blow, but Mike did not release him. Instead he hit Joshua in the face again, and then in the midsection so hard that Joshua was sure his stomach must be crushed against his spine.

  He couldn’t breathe; both his arms had stopped flailing for Mike and were now wrapped tightly around his body to try to shield himself from more pain than he had ever known. Mike hit him again, this time in the side, where he was not protected, and Joshua thought he felt a rib crack.

  Mike still had hold of his hair, and with a yank he sent Joshua hurling to the ground, where Joshua lay panting and curled into a ball. Mike put his boot on Joshua’s side and rolled him onto his back; then he straddled Joshua and sat on him, effectively pinning him to the ground.

  Joshua felt Mike’s huge hands go around his throat, and he clawed at them, trying to free himself as Mike started to squeeze. Joshua found his body separated from its ability to take in air. The pain in his body, the rocks that cut into his back, all that went away, and every fiber in Joshua’s body, every cell in his brain, scrambled desperately for a solution, a way out, a chance to live. The bubbling pressure in his head and the frantic kicking of his legs intensified, and then a great weakness came over him, and he felt incapable of effort. His eyes closed and his body went limp. The world around him vibrated distantly. He thought, It’s over.

  Mike’s grunting breath suddenly stopped, his mouth opened, and his grip lessened. Joshua found one last burst of strength; he pulled the hands away from his neck and sucked hard on the frigid, welcome air, gasping and gulping the life back into his body.

  Above him, Mike’s hands were raised, as though in a parody of surrender, and his back was arched. Joshua struggled and kicked as he worked to get enough oxygen to clear the black fuzziness from his eyes.

  Mike’s body went rigid and he fell to one side, into the beam of the flashlight. The bright light directly on his face showed a look of stunned disbelief as Mike stared upward. Joshua kicked himself free and rolled away. Then he understood.