He flicked a finger toward the twist of scar tissue on her wrist and Sandy recoiled.
“Anyway, a shower’s not what I need.” He looked down at himself. “Where can I find some waterproof pants? There’ll be a foot of snow on the ground for the rest of the night.”
Sandy swallowed, regrouping. She could still snag a minute or two. She’d just have to work fast. “You can take Ben’s softshells. They’re the best ones he’s got; he keeps them in his closet.” She gestured toward the master bedroom. “Harlan will have to make do with trash bags and duct tape. We just don’t have anything that will fit him.”
Nick nodded, considering. Then he sauntered off down the hall.
As soon as he was gone, Sandy entered Ivy’s bedroom.
—
Harlan lay swathed in blankets. Like an enormous emperor, comfortable and overindulged, except that Harlan was more like a slave. He was stroking Ivy’s pillow for some reason, or maybe it was an object on the pillow.
Ivy sat on the floor beside her bed, looking impossibly small below Harlan.
“You were right,” Sandy said, and both Harlan and Ivy looked up.
“Mom?” Ivy said. “What’s happening? Where’s—”
“It’s freezing out there,” Sandy interrupted. “And the countryside is massive.”
Shirtless, Harlan lifted himself on the enormous bulb of his elbow and peered at her.
“You’ll never make it all the way to Canada,” Sandy went on. “My husband does this for a living, and even he wouldn’t take anyone out on such a trek.”
Ivy was fiddling with the edge of her dust ruffle. “Mom? What are you telling him—”
Sandy put one hand out to stay her. “Nick isn’t going to be able to protect you out there.” She paused for the revelation, the startling truth she hoped Harlan on some level already knew. “But you don’t need him to. You can protect yourself. You just have to stop Nick first.”
Harlan’s pale gaze held hers.
“You can do it, Harlan.” Sandy spoke slowly and quietly to optimize the chances of Harlan comprehending. “You can keep Nick from taking you out into that endless wilderness. And you can prevent whatever harm he intends to do here before he goes.”
Ivy’s head jerked up at that.
Sandy tried to telegraph reassurance for her daughter along with the words she had to say next. “He means to hurt us, Harlan. In one way or another. I think you know that. Nick’s hurt a lot of people tonight.”
Harlan nodded, once, then twice. “But I can’t do anything about it.”
“Oh, sure you can,” Sandy said softly. It was the statement she made to patients who were just about ready to take some leap, make a change they were realizing they’d always had in them. “You can stop him, Harlan. You always could.”
Ivy craned her head, watching Sandy with an expression she hadn’t worn in years.
“No, I can’t,” Harlan said, his voice leaden with disbelief. He lay back down, pulling a length of fabric tight against him.
“You can!” Ivy interjected. “I’ve been watching you this whole time. I saw how you didn’t want the Nelsons—” Ivy’s voice hitched, and she smoothed it. “For them to be hurt. You have morals, Harlan. You know the difference between right and wrong.”
Harlan’s eyes stayed shaded, doubting. He twisted his hands, the section of blanket he held disappearing in his grasp.
“Think about your sister,” Ivy added in a hush. “She knows you, Harlan. And she thinks you’re good, and kind, and strong.”
And with those words, Sandy knew the change had come. When Nick returned, he would find himself facing the solid wall of their objection.
Sandy gathered breath. “All you have to do is stand up—”
Harlan got up from the bed, disentangling the blankets around him.
“—and walk over to Nick,” Sandy said. Literal. She had to remember how literal Harlan could be. “Then stay with him, and keep him in one place—”
Harlan rose to his full height while Ivy remained seated on the floor, her head at his knees. Harlan tucked one of the quilts around his massive form, toga-style.
“—so that I can get help. Medical help for my husband,” Sandy went on in the same level tone. “He’s going to die otherwise.” Sandy sought to catch Ivy’s gaze, trying to impart the knowledge that this was at least half manipulative strategy on her part. “And I know you don’t want for that to happen.”
Harlan’s features bunched, and he shook his head.
Sandy could sense Nick behind her in the doorway now, but she didn’t flinch, or look, or even remark upon his presence. She simply stared up at Harlan, breath caught in her throat.
Two long steps took Harlan away from the bed to arrive at Sandy’s side.
Then one more, and he reached Nick.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“What’s going on here?” Nick asked brightly.
He was clad from collarbone to ankles in the slick, supple fabric of Ben’s softshells. The garments would keep him dry, and warm at temperatures as low as twenty-five degrees. He didn’t deserve such comfort, and Sandy’s fingers ground against the palms of her hands.
Harlan scrubbed his face. “I don’t want to go, Nick. It’s too far. And it’s too cold out.”
Nick glared at him. “We already covered this, Harlan. We’re going. I’m sweating like a pig in these things, and the dryer must be just about done. Let’s get everything ready.”
Nothing.
“I’m telling you what to do!” Nick said, and his voice pitched on the last word.
Harlan shook his head back and forth. “Not this time, Nick.”
Nick stuck one arm out, trying to elbow his way past Harlan, but Harlan clamped down on Nick’s arm with the vise of his fingers.
Sandy wanted to let out a cheer. She snuck a peek at Ivy.
Nick fought to get free, but he was locked by Harlan’s grip. Nick put his other hand against Harlan’s chest and shoved, but even muscled as he was, Nick couldn’t budge him. He balled his hand into a fist and went for Harlan’s throat, but Harlan rose on tiptoes, getting out of the way. Then he wrapped his left arm around Nick’s waist, and lifted him clear off the floor.
“Okay!” Nick cried. “Put me down. I said, put me down, Harlan.”
Harlan resettled Nick on the floor, keeping a hold of his forearm.
Nick seemed to regain control then, reaching into his pocket and drawing out Hark’s vial. He shook two pills into his hand. “Do these things calm you down?” Without waiting for an answer, Nick placed both in his mouth and tossed his head back to swallow them. “I suppose you have a better plan?” he asked Harlan.
Harlan thrust the barrel of his thumb in Sandy’s direction. “She’s going to get help for the man you threw down the stairs. Otherwise he’s going to die.”
Nick’s mouth lifted in a smile. “Ah. I see. My sister is going to call for help.”
Harlan nodded.
“On the landline, assuming it still works. And assuming an ambulance can get up here, which it probably will because the storm has passed.” A weighty pause before his final assertion. “Plus, the police car that comes with it will have a plow.”
Harlan stopped in the middle of another nod. “Police car?”
“The police come when the paramedics are called,” Nick responded. “Did it occur to you that my sister is trying to get us both thrown back in prison?”
Harlan’s brows drew together, and he frowned in Sandy’s direction.
“No!” she said. “That’s not—”
“No the police aren’t going to come?” Nick said, peering around Harlan’s bulk to lock eyes with her. “Or no you’re not trying to get us thrown back in prison?”
“Both—” Sandy began. “I mean—”
“Mom,” Ivy said. “Don’t lie to him. Please don’t lie.”
Sandy sensed the rubble of Harlan’s resolve before them now. There was nothing she could say or do to restore it, and b
reath left her body in a snaking hiss.
“Harlan,” Nick said. “My sister is telling you what to do just like your daddy always did. But I’m trying to help figure out what’s best for you. I’m trying to make sure you stay free.”
The long plank of Harlan’s shoulders sank. “I just don’t want you to hurt anybody anymore, Nick. I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
Nick tested the strength of Harlan’s hold, then wrenched himself loose. “Well, that’s great news. Because I don’t want anyone else to get hurt either,” Nick said. “And they’re not going to. In fact, everything will be pretty simple from here on out.”
He brushed off the arm Harlan had clamped, his satisfaction apparent. “You go downstairs and make yourself some leg coverings out of Hefty bags and duct tape.” He tapped the pair he wore. “Like this.”
Harlan nodded.
“Oh, and take the princess with you,” Nick added. “Make sure she has supplies and a pack, too. The princess knows where to find everything.”
“How come?” Harlan asked.
Nick mimed surprise. “Didn’t I tell you? She’s coming with us. Just a little extra motivation for my sister not to send anyone after us.” Her brother’s gaze found Sandy’s, and he gave a pretend shudder. “Police and their weapons. Chases on foot never seem to end very well.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
So this was the final trick Nick meant to pull out of his hat. Of course he would never leave Sandy standing. He was going to cut her off at the knees, the heart, the soul.
Nick spoke again to Harlan. “Sound okay? Because I’d like things to be more equal between us from now on, Harlan. I’d like to know you approve of this plan.”
Harlan eyed him, but not warily. Gratitude filled his expression, a degree of joy.
“And I think you and the princess have come to really understand each other,” Nick concluded. “Like each other even.”
At last, Harlan gave a great nod. “I was worried you were going to hurt one of them.”
“Nah,” Nick said, transferring his gaze to Sandy. “Just a nice walk through the woods.”
In the moments spent talking, Ivy had frozen in place. Only her eyes danced about wildly, and when Harlan’s hand landed on her, she screamed.
Harlan frowned.
Sandy tried to get between him and Ivy, but Harlan was too big an obstacle: shoulders the size of boulders, torso like a tank. When Sandy attempted to move to Ivy’s other side, Harlan took one sidling step, and he was there, too.
“Please!” Ivy cried. “Let me stay with my mom!”
Harlan looked down at her, and his expression creased with hurt and bewilderment. “But—you said I was good. Remember?”
Ivy began pulling against Harlan, and he looked down at her arm as if it might come off in his grasp. He let go, and Ivy dropped to the floor.
Harlan rubbed his eyes. “I thought you weren’t scared of me anymore.”
Ivy let her head fall back, her hair grazing the rug. “I’m not, Harlan. I’m not. I just—it’s just that I want to stay here.”
Harlan turned to look at Nick.
Nick gave a somber shake of his head. “Do you trust me, Harlan?”
There was no hesitation before his reply rumbled forth. “Of course I do, Nick. You’re the best friend I ever had.”
Something took hold of Nick’s face then. For a second, he was the one to hesitate, and his voice creaked when he used it. “Then pick up the princess and take her downstairs. Make sure she packs everything she’ll need. We want her to stay warm out there, don’t we?”
Harlan bent over and scooped up Ivy.
Nick stretched out his arm as Harlan went by. He had trouble reaching Harlan’s shoulder, so the caress landed nearer to his back. Harlan paused, and the two men stood there, linked.
“I need a pick-me-up from that suite or hotel room or whatever the hell they call their bedroom,” Nick said gruffly. “That medicine I took sure works fast.”
Cradling Ivy in his arms, Harlan walked out into the hall.
“You stay here,” Nick ordered Sandy. “I don’t want you talking to Harlan anymore.”
Sandy gave him a nod. Smooth acquiescence never raised Nick’s suspicions; he just accepted it as his due. Wondering what the effects of a total of three Oxycontin in his system would be, Sandy dropped down on Ivy’s bed and tried to make herself look settled.
As soon as Nick left, Sandy yanked open the door to Ivy’s closet so hard that her shoulder wrenched in its socket. She had to beat Harlan to the stairs.
—
Ben’s system of closets, made extra-generous in size by virtue of the connected passages between them. By pushing through the clothes that hung on Ivy’s rod, Sandy emerged in a column of space beside the shelves of linens in the hall.
She cracked open the door, and looked out.
From down the hall came the tang of tobacco, and a faint drift of smoke. Nick had found Ben’s stash of cigars.
From behind the louvered doors across the hall, Sandy could hear the muffled pounding of the dryer, Harlan’s clothes a sodden mass clumped inside instead of spinning free. They would never dry like that. But it didn’t matter; Sandy couldn’t let things reach the point where Harlan was putting them on.
There he was, moving slowly along the hall, weighed down by the freight in his arms more than he would’ve been otherwise because Ivy had made herself dead weight.
The two of them passed so close to the closet that Sandy could have reached out and touched her daughter’s listless, dangling legs.
She stepped into the hall.
Ivy’s head hung, and her eyes stared blankly. Harlan set her down when they reached the top of the stairs. He adjusted the billowing quilt he was wrapped in, and then he and Ivy started forward together again.
The staircase was unique, a staggering feat of architecture, appearing to float in space but for its dagger of railing, forged out of branches, twisting and alive. The flight didn’t quite meet code, but there were ways around the regulations so long as you got the right builder. Each broad plank was held aloft by seemingly nothing. The steps generous, more than large enough to contain two people. But not when one of them was the size of Harlan.
Sandy took the first step behind Harlan and Ivy. She wasn’t sure what she was intending; she wasn’t intending anything at all.
Ivy leaned back to see who was there, and Harlan did the same. But he was so big, and unused to these stairs. His foot got tangled in the hem of the quilt and he strayed overly close to one side, nothing beyond it but open space.
He was going to lead Ivy off into the wilderness. Harlan didn’t even understand why that would be so bad. There was so much he didn’t understand. And so much he would do, if it came at Nick’s behest.
Ivy reached out, trying to steady Harlan, who hadn’t yet gotten his balance. If Harlan clutched back, he might pull Ivy over the side. Acting on instinct, to make sure her daughter didn’t get latched onto, Sandy pulled Ivy onto the higher stair she herself occupied. The two of them were too close together then, and Sandy switched places.
Her body clipped Harlan’s unsteady form. It should’ve been like ramming a mountain, except that this mountain had already half slid off the face of the earth.
Harlan fought to free himself from the bundling cloth. He got one hand out in time to grab the railing, but the wood split beneath the force of his grip. Harlan teetered, arms windmilling over empty air, and then his immense weight carried the rest of him sideways.
He had time to give Sandy, who stood so near, a look of understanding, and remorse, and not the slightest hint of blame.
Then he fell.
—
When Harlan landed, the whole house shook.
Sandy grabbed Ivy, making sure she wasn’t destabilized by the impact, the aftershocks rising up from the floor. But Ivy broke free and raced downstairs to Harlan.
Nick emerged from the master bedroom, walking a bit unsteadily and
stinking of smoke. “What the hell was that noise?” he demanded. His voice slurred and the zzz sounds ran together.
It took him a second to register the mass at the bottom of the stairs, and by then Ivy had reached the first floor.
They let out yowls of identical voltage and pain.
Nick stumbled as he went forward, and wound up sprawled out for a second on the floor.
Sandy’s gaze whipped from Nick at the top of the staircase to Ivy below.
“Ivy!” she screamed. “The front door! Now! Go!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“It’s okay,” Ivy said when she got to Harlan. She dropped down beside him. “You’re going to be fine.”
But he wasn’t. Harlan had landed flat on his back, and his head had smashed like a vase. A wreath of red haloed it, spreading out across the floor.
“I never hurt anybody,” Harlan told Ivy. “Not once on any job.”
She nodded, only partially clear on what he was talking about. But what did she think Harlan had gotten locked up for? You didn’t go to jail for being huge.
He angled his head, and more blood spilled out. He was trying to look down at his arm. “That’s funny,” he said. “Hard as I try, I can’t move my hand.”
“Shh,” Ivy said helplessly. She tucked the blanket over him, making sure Harlan was covered.
“I wanted to hold yours,” he said.
Ivy seized up his enormous hand, as many of his fingers as she could grip at once.
“He never gave me any of the money,” Harlan said. “I just held the gun or drove the car.” A great sigh of breath, sufficient to stir Ivy’s hair. “I always did what my daddy told me.”
Ivy’s eyes welled. She bore down on Harlan’s fingers, which he didn’t seem to feel. There was something so terribly sad in his words. Even if Harlan didn’t know it.
“Ivy?”
Ivy used her free hand to blot her face.
“Will you get Charley for me?” he said. “I’d sure like to…”
“Charley?” Ivy echoed. But she knew, and was already starting to rise.
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