“Me, too,” Carl said. “Night.”
“Me, too,” little Donald said. He just waved.
“I’ve got a test to study for,” Elizabeth said. “Thanks for the ice cream, Alex.”
“My pleasure.”
“Night,” Elizabeth said, and walked off.
“Amazing,” Mrs. Hoffman said, unable to contain herself any longer. “If I hadn’t seen it myself…well,” she looked at Sharon, who was just staring down at the floor. “I think I will be on my way.”
“I’ll walk you to the car,” Alex said.
“Goodnight, Mrs. Gold. I’ll be in touch.”
“Yes,” Sharon said. “Goodnight.”
Alex followed Mrs. Hoffman out.
“It was very nice of you to just stop by,” he said. “From what I hear about foster children in other areas, agencies just dump them somewhere and forget them, or they get lost in bureaucratic red tape.”
“I know. I do try to keep in touch with everyone.”
“My wife is…er…not quite herself tonight,” he said. “You might have noticed.”
“Yes. I see she is disturbed.”
“We found our dog drowned in the lake.”
“She mentioned it.”
“I’ve been in touch with the police. They have a couple of ruffians in town under suspicion. This isn’t the only incident of such sadistic behavior.”
“Just terrible.”
“And these are kids with families.”
“I know what you mean. Is your wife aware of what the police had found out?”
“No. I didn’t want to talk about it. We had that dog for a long time.”
“I think it might be better if you did. I have the strong impression that she thinks one of the children is responsible.”
“Oh no, really? Well then, you’re right. I will tell her about the town kids.”
“That’s a good idea.”
Alex looked back at the house and then stepped closer to Mrs. Hoffman.
“I suppose it’s pretty obvious to you that Sharon is the fragile type. She’s been cloistered so long and withdrawn so long, it’s had its effects. That was one reason I wanted the children. So you see, I did have some selfish motives.”
“But quite understandable, Mr. Gold.”
“All in all, they’ve done her a lot of good. It’s just this recent incident. Once we’re over it…”
“Of course. I understand.” She hesitated a moment. “Look, Mr. Gold, maybe I’d better tell you this. I didn’t just happen to drop by. Your wife called me and asked me to come and see the children for myself. If the situation with your wife doesn’t improve…”
“Oh, it will,” he said. “Please, don’t worry about it. And thank you for telling me. It will help.”
“This is such a beautiful place, so ideal. It would be a shame if things didn’t work out for everyone.”
“They will. I can promise you that,” he said. He closed the door for her when she got into her car and he waved after she started the engine and pulled away. He stood there watching until the car was out of sight. Then he turned and went into the house.
Sharon felt like someone who had gambled her life and lost. She sat back on the couch and stared ahead forlornly. On the opposite wall hung a watercolor done years and years ago when the Echo Lake Manor had been somewhat smaller. The original section was clearly discernible, especially the part that contained Pa’s secret room. But there was nothing ominous in the picture. It had been painted by a talented guest who had wanted to do something special for Alex’s mother. He had used bright colors and given the house a sense of life and happiness.
She wished she could crawl into that picture and return to a time when life was less complicated. She was too young to remember the real heyday of the mountain resort seasons, but she did have vivid recollections of a busier time when whole families would come up to spend a few weeks of the summer in places like the Echo Lake Manor. Their vacations weren’t very sophisticated. Entertainments were somewhat homemade. She recalled the boat races on Echo Lake, the softball games in the back, the accordion player and singer who led sing-alongs, and the bingo games.
Somehow along the way it had all changed. At the Echo Lake Manor it was mostly because of the death of Alex’s mother. His father couldn’t carry it on. If anything, he was discouraging to business. Toward the end he was sullen and withdrawn much of the time. Guests complained about the way he glared at them, and many of them were frightened by the sight of him walking through the darkness carrying one lit candle. He looked like a zombie, with his face pale, his eyes red, and his hair disheveled. Everyone was suspect, as though the Devil would come in the form of a summer tourist and tempt the whole house to evil.
But, even if Alex’s mother hadn’t died, the tourist business as the Golds knew it was dying. People were looking for more sophisticated vacations. The small hotels that couldn’t grow went bankrupt, and the bigger hotels, like octopi, elongated their tentacles and absorbed whatever resort business was left. The Echo Lake Manor, like so many other places, looked like a tree in winter: leafless, brown, comatose. Sharon thought the name was prophetic. It became an echo of itself, an empty voice reverberating through empty years.
No wonder Alex’s father had seemed so content at the end, she thought. The dying resort had confirmed his view of things. His was a world filled with echoes and whispers. Now that she thought of it, this place was right for Alex’s children. Other children were more like flowers; these were like mushrooms, growing best where it was dark and damp and gloomy. Alex wouldn’t bring this place back; the work was superficial. It was foolish to hope for anything different.
She heard Alex come back inside. She closed her eyes and waited. Mrs. Hoffman most surely had told him the truth, she thought. It was only a matter of how much she had told him. He would be so angry with her—and he hadn’t even seen yet what she had done in his secret room. Or had he? She looked up when he came to the doorway.
“You got dressed up for Mrs. Hoffman,” he said. “I should have known you had planned something,” he added, but his voice didn’t have the tone of anger she had expected. Instead, he sounded sad, tired. He came further into the room and looked up at the old picture, too. She watched him, but she did not speak. “Why is it,” Alex asked, without turning around, “that other people can see the good I’ve accomplished with the children, but you can’t? Is it because you don’t want to see?”
“I see it, Alex, but I also see other things. You’re too close to them, too involved.”
“Is Mrs. Hoffman too close? Is Mrs. Hoffman too involved?” he said. He turned around.
“She doesn’t know about Pa’s room, Alex. She doesn’t know about your strange ideas.”
“Strange? You never called them strange before.”
“I never paid that much attention to them before.”
“My strange ideas, as you call them, give me the power to do what I’ve done and give the children the power to change.” He paused, but she said nothing. “Before you began confiding in that old lady, you weren’t so antagonistic.”
“That’s not true, Alex. She has nothing to do with it. I’m only trying to help you.”
“Then stop trying to interfere,” he said. Now his eyes were small and cold. Now he was threatening again. She looked away. “You’re just distraught,” he said, “distraught over the dog. I’ve decided to get you a new dog.”
“What for? It wouldn’t last here long.”
“That’s not fair, Sharon. I’m only trying to do something nice for you.”
She looked up at him. Maybe Alex was crazy, she thought, and could go from one mood to another instantly, or maybe he was just a good actor and didn’t really care about her. Whatever it was, she needed the affection, she needed the concern. She felt so alone without it, and tonight she was feeling more alone than ever.
“Well, I miss him, Alex. The dog loved me.”
“I know, and I’m sorry such a thing h
ad to happen. You look so tired,” he added.
“I feel…drained, emotionally bankrupt.”
“I understand. Come on. Let’s go to bed. You want something hot to drink?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll make you some hot milk,” he said. “Go on up. I’ll be right there.” He helped her to her feet and then he embraced her.
“Oh, Alex,” she said, “I only tried to help you. Whatever I’ve done has been because I care about you.”
“Of course,” he said. He kissed her on the forehead. “Come on.”
“You believe me, don’t you? No matter what the children tell you, you’ll always believe me, won’t you?”
“Of course, I will.” He led her from the living room to the stairway. “Go on up. I’ll be right along.”
She nodded and went up the stairs. He went to the kitchen and put up the milk. After he got it hot, he poured it into a cup. Then he broke open two capsules containing Sharon’s sedative and dumped the powders into the milk. She was already in bed with the covers around her when he brought it up.
“You did think I looked pretty tonight, didn’t you, Alex?”
“Very pretty. You should dress like that more often. Even Elizabeth remarked about it.”
“Oh, she did not.”
“She did. You can ask the boys. She said, ‘Sharon is really a very pretty woman. She shouldn’t be afraid to show her beauty more often.’”
“I can’t get close to that girl, Alex. I’ve tried.”
“You will. In time everything will be all right. You’ll see.”
“I hope so,” she said. She sipped the hot milk. “Where are you going?” she asked when he started for the door.
“I want to check up on the children, and then I have a few things to do downstairs. You just try to sleep.”
“Alex?”
“Yes?”
“Do you still love me?”
“Of course. How can you ask that? When something is good, it doesn’t die. It changes shape or form, but it doesn’t die.”
She remembered hearing that before. It was one of his father’s ideas. Standing there with his face so serious, he looked like his father incarnate. Maybe Alex and his father were right. They were both so strong, and the things they loved never did die.
“I’m glad, Alex,” she said. “At least, I’m glad of that.”
He didn’t say anything. He stepped out of the room and left her to finish her hot milk. But he didn’t go to any of the children’s rooms. He knew they had all slipped by and down the stairs and they were all waiting for him in the den.
12
The four of them hovered close to the large old maple tree in front of Tillie Zorankin’s house. They hugged the shadows and clung to the darkness as though they were nocturnal creatures who would suffer blindness and pain in any form of light. Richard’s gaze had never left the lighted living room windows from the moment they’d arrived until now. Even Elizabeth, standing near him, was impressed. She was also somewhat jealous. Richard had Alex’s patience and Alex’s intensity. She wanted to be as strong, but she couldn’t keep her mind from wandering from time to time, and she couldn’t stand as still, fixing her attention on one thing and permitting it to hold her.
Carl nudged against her. He, too, had difficulty containing his impatience. They had been standing in the same place for a little over an hour. But Alex had said it would be this way. He had said it was possible the woman might even fall asleep in her living room watching television and not realize it for hours. He said they had to be determined, and Richard had promised they would. They all promised, not realizing how hard it would be simply to wait.
Little Donald squatted behind them. He was playing with a twig, running it over the soft, dark earth. He was making only the slightest sound, but Richard suddenly turned to him. Although Donald didn’t see him do that, he sensed it. The four had grown so close to one another by now that at times they moved like parts of a single animal.
“Quiet,” Richard said. Little Donald dropped the twig quickly and stood up beside Carl. “You should be concentrating only on what we are here to do. Remember what Alex says: ‘A man with strong concentration can be more powerful than someone twice his size.’” Richard turned back to the house.
Little Donald looked to Elizabeth for sympathy, but she glared at him almost as hard as Richard had. She was too nervous to be soft and compassionate. The danger of their task made it essential that they followed Alex’s outline exactly. Security came only from remaining within the confines of those steps. There were to be no digressions, no distractions. Anyone who left the design could endanger the entire group. Little Donald’s size and age made no difference now. He had an important role to play.
“Maybe she’s already gone to bed,” Carl said. “I haven’t seen her moving around in there for a long time. She might have just forgotten to put out the light. Maybe she’s afraid to put out all her lights.”
“Maybe you should shut up,” Richard said. They were all quiet again for a few moments. “Didn’t Alex tell us she would put out all the lights before going to bed?” Richard asked. Carl didn’t respond. It had the effect of a slap in the face. “Didn’t he?” Carl nodded. “Do you want to go against something Alex said?”
“No,” Carl said quickly. Even so, he felt Elizabeth and little Donald glaring at him. He could barely see their eyes, but he knew there was anger raging. He tried to swallow, but couldn’t. “I didn’t mean anything,” he muttered.
“Just shut up,” Richard said.
Then Tillie Zorankin’s silhouette appeared in the living room window. Everyone held his breath. Was she looking out? After a moment the room went dark. A few moments later the outside porch light went off, and the lawn, which had been dimly illuminated, was instantly joined with the sea of darkness that surrounded the small, two-story wooden house. The streetlights were too close to the village proper to have much of an effect on the area, and the evening’s overcast sky blocked out the half-moon and stars.
The four stiffened with expectation. Their hearts beat faster; their breathing quickened. Minutes passed, but no one moved or spoke. They saw the upstairs bedroom light go on, and they waited. They waited for at least ten good minutes in the same deep silence after the light went off, too.
Richard moved away from the tree. His posture was perfect, his back straight, his body taut like an arrow loaded in a bow. After another moment, he started forward. The others, as if connected by an invisible cord, moved with him toward the house.
About halfway there, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a knife. There was a distinct click as the blade flew open. The others heard it and reached into their pockets for their knives. The clicks followed closely on one another. When they reached the rear of the house, they paused. They had moved over the lawn with catlike softness, gliding through the nightworld with a fluidity and a smoothness that made them appear airy and unreal.
No one spoke; no one needed any further instructions. They didn’t know how long Alex had been planning this, but they knew it had been for some time. He prided himself on anticipating evil, and he had anticipated the need for this.
Richard inserted the tip of his blade between the door and the jamb, sliding it down until he located the tongue of the lock. He pressed the knife against it and, as he had done many times before he had even come to live with Alex, he succeeded in moving it out of the slot. The door opened.
No one acknowledged it; no one made a comment. They expected it. They weren’t surprised at what Richard could do. They had seen him do other things that were just as impressive. He looked back at them and then they entered the house, keeping the same order as always: Richard, Elizabeth, little Donald, and then Carl.
They went through the small alcove and entered the kitchen. It was just as Alex had described: the tables and chairs were to their left, the stove, refrigerator, and dishwasher were to their right. They moved through the kitchen and entered the hal
lway that led to the living room and to the stairway. At the foot of the stairs, they paused to listen. All was quiet. Richard was sure they hadn’t been detected.
Elizabeth wanted to say that the house smelled good. The scent of pine lingered in the air. She imagined Tillie Zorankin kept her house immaculate. But she said nothing. She waited, her hand pressed gently on the small of Richard’s back.
He tried the first step. Just as Alex had predicted, it creaked a little. He waited, but no light went on upstairs and there wasn’t a sound. The others were right behind him; he could feel them pressing against one another, moving like Siamese triplets. He smiled at the thought and made his way upward, moving slowly and softly. The four of them were completely synchronized: their feet touched steps simultaneously, and their hands moved up the banister in rhythm.
They reached the upstairs landing and paused again. it was just as Alex had described: all the doors, except one, were closed. They moved toward the opened door. When they reached it, Richard crouched just a little more and the others did the same. It was here, he thought, that they would have to be their quietest and be most patient. They waited, hardly breathing, the four of them pressed up against one another. After nearly five minutes, Richard went forward.
The bed was directly ahead and a little to the left of the entrance. The large dresser was to the right against the wall. The dresser with the mirror was to their immediate left. There was a pair of small night stands, one on each side of the bed.
They paused only when they heard Tillie Zorankin moan. After a moment they heard her regular breathing. Then they paired up as arranged: Richard and little Donald on the right, Elizabeth and Carl on the left. They moved down the sides of the bed until they were at the head of it.
Tillie was clearly visible in the dark now. Her blanket had been drawn up just under her chin, but her arms lay outside it. Richard brought his left hand close to the blanket and raised the knife. When his went up, the others brought their knives up, as well. Just as he touched the blanket, Mrs. Zorankin opened her eyes.
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