Darkness

10

“I just wish I knew what to do,” Mary Anderson told Ted the next morning. She was standing in front of her sink in the master bathroom, gazing dispiritedly at her own image. “I must have been awake until after three.” The lack of sleep showed: there were dark circles under her eyes, and the skin beneath her chin seemed to be sagging. Her eyes shifted to her husband, who was watching her studying herself, a small grin playing around the corners of his mouth. “Well, I’m sorry,” Mary groused. “But it’s not easy lying awake worrying about your daughter all night, then getting up at dawn to fix breakfast for your husband. It ages a girl.”

“Not that much,” Ted observed, playfully reaching out to pinch her rump. But his smile quickly faded. “Maybe we should have talked to her when she came in last night.”

Mary’s brows arched. “On that one, I have to agree with your father. You know how she can get, and the last thing I wanted last night was to set her off. I wouldn’t have gotten any sleep at all.”

“Do you want me to talk to her this morning?”

Mary hesitated. A month ago she would have said yes, but now she wasn’t sure. What if Kelly thought they’d been spying on her? But wasn’t keeping track of your daughter part of being a mother? She’d thought things couldn’t get any worse after Kelly’s suicide attempt, but she was no longer so sure.

For a month she’d felt as though she was walking on eggs, doing her best to make Kelly feel good about herself, but always worrying that something was going to happen, something that would set Kelly off again. And if Kelly thought they were watching her …

Anger roiled up in her. Why shouldn’t they be watching her? They were worried about her! And Kelly had said nothing about going out last night. All she’d said was that she was going up to bed.

But she’d sneaked out.

Mary probably wouldn’t have found out about it all if it hadn’t been for the fan. When she’d stopped at Kelly’s door on her way to bed, she’d only peeked in, planning to say good night if her daughter was still awake. In the dim glow of the moonlight she’d seen Kelly in bed, apparently sound asleep, and had been about to close the door when she noticed how hot and stuffy the room was.

Though the window was wide open, Kelly hadn’t turned the fan on, and there wasn’t a breath of movement in the warm night air.

So Mary had reached for the switch in the darkness, but her fingers had found the wrong one. The light had gone on instead, and she’d instantly realized that the form in the bed wasn’t Kelly at all.

It was only some pillows stuffed under the sheet.

She’d told Ted and his father about it, and Ted had wanted to call the police immediately. Carl, though, had suggested that they wait. “How’s she going to feel if you send the cops after her? And Villejeune’s not like Atlanta. There’s just not that much trouble she can get into.” Finally he had suggested a compromise. “It’s a little after eleven now. Let’s wait until midnight. If she’s not home by then, we’ll decide what to do.”

Mary had reluctantly agreed, certain they were simply putting off the inevitable by an hour. But just before midnight they heard footsteps on the stairs outside, and Carl had smiled at her. “See? She’s back. Nothing to worry about.”

The comment rankled more in retrospect than when Carl had uttered it. What did he mean, nothing to worry about? Kelly had been gone for almost four hours, and they hadn’t a clue as to where she’d been or what she’d been doing. And it had kept Mary awake most of the night, wondering.

At last she made up her mind. “We’ll both talk to her,” she decided. “We’ll let her know that we certainly don’t mind her going out, but that we want to know where she’s going, and who she’s with.” Which, she thought but didn’t say, will get us one of Kelly’s patented glares, and a complaint about invading her privacy. And maybe it was true, she reflected as she splashed cold water on her face in an attempt to wash away her sleepiness. Things had changed since she was a girl. She’d never even thought about going out without telling her mother where she’d be. But nowadays a lot of parents simply didn’t seem to care.

But Mary did.

When she got downstairs a few minutes later, Carl was already at the table, finishing the breakfast he’d made for himself. “I’m sorry,” Mary apologized. “I’m afraid I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

Carl shrugged, his attention still focused on the morning paper. “No problem. After this many years, I guess I’m used to fending for myself.” Only when Kelly came in a few minutes later did he push the paper aside. “There’s my angel!” he boomed, but as he saw the pallor in Kelly’s face his words trailed off. “Kelly?” he said. “You okay?”

Hearing the change in her father-in-law’s tone, Mary turned to look at her daughter. Kelly, as usual, was dressed in a black turtleneck and torn jeans, her ears decorated with an array of the jewelry that Mary suspected Kelly wore more as a way of irritating her elders than because she really liked it. But this morning she seemed to have put on some makeup that made her complexion look absolutely pasty, and her eyes were glazed over, almost as if she wasn’t aware of where she was.

Drugs.

The word flashed into Mary’s mind instantly. But she rejected the idea as quickly as it came to her. To the best of her knowledge — and over the last few weeks, it had become intimate — one problem Kelly had never suffered from was drugs. “Kelly, what is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

Kelly’s eyes instantly focused, but as she sat down at the table, she shook her head. “I–I just don’t feel very good, I guess. I didn’t sleep very well.”

“Perhaps you would have, if you’d been in bed before midnight.” As soon as she uttered the words, Mary regretted them, knowing that not only her comment, but the archness in her voice would undoubtedly set Kelly off. But Kelly’s reaction surprised her.

“Midnight?” she echoed. “But we didn’t—”

“We?” Despite her good intentions, Mary’s voice cracked like a whip. “Who were you with?”

Kelly’s face reddened. “A — A boy I met yesterday.”

Kelly had said nothing of meeting anyone. “You didn’t mention having a date last night,” she said more sharply than she intended. “You said—”

“I said I was going to bed!” Kelly shot back. “So I didn’t go to bed. So I changed my mind and went out for a walk. What’s the big deal? And I didn’t have a date!”

Now it was Carl Anderson who spoke, his voice heavy. “Just hold your horses, young lady,” he began. “There’s no need to talk to your mother in that tone of voice. And it sure sounded to me like you had a date. Now who was it with?”

Kelly glared angrily at her grandfather. “It was Michael Sheffield, all right? His father is your lawyer.” She turned furious eyes on her mother. “And I didn’t have a date with him. I just thought he might come over, and he did. So I went out with him for a while. I’m sixteen, Mom. I can go out if I want!”

Mary felt all her good intentions of keeping the conversation rational slip away. “But couldn’t you have asked us?” she demanded.

Kelly was on her feet now. “Would you have let me go?” she countered. “And what’s the big deal? I went out with Michael and I lost track of time! Why can’t you just leave me alone?” Turning, she stormed out onto the patio, then disappeared around the corner of the house.

As Ted came into the kitchen, Carl was on his feet, ready to go after Kelly, but Mary stopped him. “Don’t,” she said, biting her lower lip. “When she gets like this, there’s no reasoning with her.” She turned to Ted, forcing a wan smile. “Well, so much for my good intentions. I asked her about last night, and she blew up.”

Ted’s expression set grimly. “How the hell are we supposed to show her we love her when she won’t even let us talk to her?”

Mary sank into one of the chairs at the breakfast table. “I don’t know,” she sighed. “I just don’t know.”

“Well, I know,” Ted replied darkly. “Tonight, after Dad and I get home from work, Kelly and I are going to have a little chat. I’m going to tell her what the rules are around here, and she’s going to by-God abide by them! And if she doesn’t—”

“And if she doesn’t, what?” Mary broke in, her eyes moistening with tears. “She’s never obeyed any of our rules, Ted! What makes you think she’s going to start now?” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed quietly. “It was supposed to be different here,” she said. “That’s why we came. But it’s not different. We’re the same, and Kelly’s the same, and I can’t stand it. I just can’t stand it!”

Ted and Carl gazed helplessly at Mary as she sobbed.

Finally Carl spoke into the silence. “Michael Sheffield’s not a bad kid,” he said. “He’s kind of a loner, but he’s never been any trouble to anyone. If Kelly’s hanging out with him, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Mary, hearing the words, wiped her eyes and managed to look up. “Is that what you think, Carl?” she asked.

Her father-in-law nodded.

“Well, I wish I thought you were right. But right now I’m not so sure. Just now I think that maybe Craig Sheffield should be worrying. After all, it’s his son who’s hanging around with my daughter.”

Carl’s expression darkened. “You don’t mean that, Mary,” he said. “That’s a terrible thing to say about your little girl ”

Mary nodded miserably. “But she’s not my little girl, is she?” she asked brokenly. “She’s a stranger who lives with me, and I hardly know her. And it’s always been that way. Always.”

• • •

Two hours later, as he and Ted were inspecting one of the houses in Villejeune Links Estates, Carl paused halfway up the temporary stairs to the second floor and found himself panting. Ted, already on the landing above, looked down at him. “Dad? You okay?”

Carl took a deep breath, nodded, and continued on upward. But his legs felt heavy, and by the time he reached the top, he needed to sit down. “Getting old,” he said. “Just give me a minute, and I’ll be okay.”

Ted eyed his father carefully. Carl’s face had gone pale, and wrinkles Ted had never noticed before were etched around his eyes. “You don’t look so good,” he said. “I think maybe we’d better get you over to the clinic. Does your chest hurt?”

Carl glanced up at his son and chuckled hollowly. “Thinkin’ maybe your old man’s going to have a heart attack?” he asked. “Well, don’t get your hopes up. I don’t have any plans for dying.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Ted said quickly. “But at your age—”

“At my age, I’m in better shape than most men twenty years younger’n me!” He struggled to his feet, but his legs still felt rubbery. “Huh,” he muttered. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go see Warren Phillips.”

Allowing Ted to steady him, Carl made his way carefully down the stairs. As he came to the bottom and started toward the front door, his vision began to blur slightly, and suddenly he knew what was wrong. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

Ted, still holding the older man’s arm, tightened his grip. “What is it?” he asked.

“Nothin’,” Carl replied. “I just need to go see Phillips today, that’s all. I’m feeling puny ‘cause I’m due for a shot.”

Ted said nothing until they were in the truck and heading toward Villejeune. He glanced over at his father. Though Carl was sitting straight up in the seat next to him, he looked even worse than he had a few minutes before. “What’s wrong, Dad?” he asked.

Carl’s head swung around, and his eyes, suddenly looking dull, fixed vacantly on Ted. “Huh?” he grunted.

“You said you need a shot, Dad,” Ted went on, trying not to betray the concern he was feeling. “What shot? What’s wrong with you?”

Carl made a dismissive gesture. “It’s nothing. Just a vitamin shot Warren Phillips gives me.”

Ted frowned. Whatever was wrong with his father, it didn’t look like a vitamin shot would take care of it. Indeed, Carl seemed to be getting worse by the minute. His breath was rasping now, and he was beginning to cough every few seconds. Ted pressed his foot on the accelerator, and the truck shot forward. When they came to the clinic, Ted ignored the parking lot, pulling up to the emergency entrance and hurrying around to help his father out of the truck.

“I can make it,” Carl complained, brushing Ted’s hand away as he struggled to get out of the truck. He felt his limbs stiffening, as if his arthritis were flaring up again. Clenching his jaw against the pain, he walked into the clinic, Ted beside him.

Jolene Mayhew looked up from her computer terminal, a welcoming smile on her face, which faded into a look of concern when she saw Carl Anderson. “Carl! What’s— My goodness, let me call Dr. Phillips.” She picked up the phone, punched two digits into it, then spoke rapidly. A moment later she hurried out of her cubicle and took Carl’s left arm. “Let’s get you right in.”

Carl irritably shook the girl off. “Leave me alone, will you?” he rasped, his voice querulous. “I’m not dying, young lady.”

Jolene fixed him with an exaggerated glare. “Well, you couldn’t tell by me,” she said. “You look gray as a ghost. If I didn’t know you better, I’d swear you were having a heart attack.”

“Well, I’m not!” Carl snapped, moving toward the corridor that led to Warren Phillips’s office. “Ted, you stay here. I don’t need you fussing while I’m talking to Warren.”

Ted, ignoring his father’s words, started after the older man, but Jolene stopped him. “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” she said. “I’ve seen your pa like this before, and he’ll bite your head right off if you cross him. Just sit down. He won’t be but a few minutes.”

Ted looked at the nurse curiously. “This has happened before?” he asked.

Jolene shrugged. “Not often. Your pa’s real good about making his appointments.”

Ted felt a twinge of foreboding. “How often does he come?”

Jolene shrugged. “Every other week, regular as clockwork. And don’t you worry. Dr. P will fix him right up.”

Ted sank into a chair, his mind spinning. What was going on? His father had never been sick — in fact, as far as Ted knew, he was in perfect health. But if he was taking shots every other week …

He sat numbly, waiting for his father — or the doctor — to reappear.

Fifteen minutes later Carl walked back into the waiting room, smiling now, his color back to normal. “See?” he teased Jolene Mayhew. “Fit as a fiddle. Even had Warren give me an EKG, just to prove to you that I was right. Probably cost me fifty bucks, but what the hell?” He turned to Ted. “Come on, boy. Let’s not waste the day sittin’ around here waiting for people to die. There’s work to be done.”

Ted stared at his father, stunned. It was as if the incident had never happened. Carl’s breathing was back to normal, there was a spring to his step again, and he was once more the man he’d been early this morning.

As they left the hospital and returned to the truck, Ted had the uncomfortable certainty that he knew why. “Dad,” he said as he started back to the construction site, “about those shots …”

Carl chuckled. “I know what you’re going to say,” he interrupted. “You think Warren Phillips is a Dr. Feelgood, and your old man’s hooked on drugs, right? Well, forget it — he’s not!”

Ted pursed his lips. “Whose word do you have on that?” he asked. “Seems to me that if Phillips was shooting you up with something, he’d be the last person to tell you.”

Carl laughed out loud. “Well, I guess we know whose son you are, anyway! First time he gave me one of those shots, way back when my arthritis first hit, I got suspicious. Never thought I’d say this, but I felt too damned good. So the next time, soon as I was done with him, I hied myself up to Orlando and got a blood test. Didn’t name any names — just told them I’d been given a shot and wanted to know what was in it.” He chuckled softly. “Figured it was amphetamines, at least, and probably a whole lot else. Well, score one for Warren Phillips. All they found was cortisone, along with some traces of hormones.”

Ted stared at him incredulously. “Hormones?” he repeated. “What kind?”

“How the hell would I know?” Carl boomed. “I don’t know shit from hormones, and don’t want to. Probably some kind of sheep’s balls or something, like that guy in Switzerland used to use on the movie stars. All I know is, it keeps me feeling good and looking good, and the doctor in Orlando said there was nothing wrong with it. And there damned well shouldn’t be, considering the price Phillips gets for it.” He grinned at Ted. “Who knows? If I can afford it, maybe I can live forever.”

Ted said nothing more, but his father’s words didn’t sound right. If the shots were nothing more than hormones, how could they have made his father rebound so quickly? And why did they cost so much? From what his father had said, the shots didn’t sound like they should be that expensive.

But drugs were.

And only drugs, as far as he knew, could affect anyone the way Dr. Phillips’s shot had affected his father.

• • •

“How the hell do you know where you are?” Tim Kitteridge asked Judd Duval.

He was sitting in the prow of Judd’s boat. For the last hour he had been certain they were going in circles. Everywhere, the tangle of moss-laden cypress and bushy mangroves looked the same. Half the time, the foliage had closed in so tightly around the boat that the mangrove roots scraped against its sides as they passed. Every now and then Tim had spotted snakes — thick, green constrictors — draped over the tree limbs under which they’d passed. He’d shuddered as he imagined one of them dropping down on him, coiling itself around his body, slowly crushing him. In addition, alligators lay in the water, their yellow eyes staring greedily as they passed.

“Lived here all my life,” Judd replied. “When you grow up in a place, you get to know it real well. Just have t’know what t’look for.” He chuckled, an ugly, cackling sound. “ ’Course, they say us swamp rats have some extra senses, too,” he added. “There’s them’s as think we can see in the dark.”

“Well, I’d just as soon not find out,” Kitteridge observed. “Not today, anyway. You sure you know where this Lambert woman lives?”

Judd’s chuckle rumbled up from his throat again. “Less’n she’s moved, I know the place, and she ain’t likely to move till the day she dies. If she ever dies.”

Kitteridge glanced back at the deputy. “How old is she?”

“Who knows? Been here as long as I have, and she was an old lady back then.” He grinned wickedly at the chief. “Lots of folks say she’s a witch. Or maybe a voodoo princess.”

Kitteridge wondered, not for the first time, if he wasn’t just wasting the morning. Still, if he could get a line on Jonas Cox, it would be worthwhile. He’d asked Judd about Jonas first thing that morning, as soon as Judd had reported for the day’s duty.

“Kid’s half cracked,” Judd had told him. “Lives out in the swamp somewhere, and nobody hardly ever sees him. Just as well, if you ask me. Mean as shit, and twice as dumb.”

“According to Amelie Coulton, he and George both have something to do with this person she called the Dark Man.”

Judd had rolled his eyes. “Amelie’s almost as dumb as Jonas. Anyway, that sure warn’t George we found out there.”

“Amelie thinks it was,” Kitteridge replied.

A dark look flashed across Judd’s face, then disappeared. “Well, there ain’t no such person as the Dark Man. You cain’t hardly believe nothin’ a swamp rat says. They’ll tell you anythin’ you want, then shoot you in the back.”

Kitteridge had stared pointedly at Duval. “Not much of a recommendation for you, is it?”

The comment had not been lost on the deputy, but he’d merely shrugged. “You’re the boss. You want to see Clarey Lambert, it’s my job to get you there. But the onliest way we’ll find Jonas is if we stumble onto him.”

Now, as they rounded yet another of the myriad tiny islands, a house came into view. Kitteridge had become accustomed to the shacks the swamp rats lived in, and this one seemed no different from any of the others. Propped up out of the mire on stilts, it was built of cypress, patched here and there with bits of corrugated tin. On the porch, a woman sat in a rocker, her hands busy with some mending. “That’s her,” Judd said from behind him. “Settin’ in her chair, just like always.”

As the boat drew near, Clarey Lambert’s fingers stopped working and her eyes fixed on the two men. She knew Judd Duval — had known him for years. The other one she’d never seen before, but recognized anyway.

“Mrs. Lambert?” Kitteridge asked as the boat came to a stop a few feet out from the porch and Judd cut the engine.

Clarey nodded, but said nothing.

“I’m Tim Kitteridge. I’m the police chief in—”

“I knows who you be,” Clarey said, her eyes dropping back to the work in her lap.

“I want to talk to you.”

Clarey shrugged.

“I heard a story about some people who live out here.”

Clarey’s head tilted disinterestedly.

“Amelie Coulton said I should talk to you about them.”

Clarey remained silent.

“Do you know Jonas Cox?”

Clarey nodded.

“Do you know where he is?”

Clarey shook her head.

As Kitteridge’s eyes fixed on the old woman, she returned his stare, unblinking, and he knew he was going to get no information out of her at all. He had no idea how old she might be, but her eyes were almost hidden in the deep wrinkles of her skin, and her hair, thin and wispy, barely covered her scalp. “Amelie said her husband and Jonas Cox were the Dark Man’s children.” He watched the old woman carefully as he spoke, but if she’d reacted to his words, she gave no sign at all. He hesitated, then went on, “She said they were dead, Mrs. Lambert. And she said I should ask you about them.”

Clarey’s lips creased into a thin semblance of a smile. “If Jonas be dead, why ask me where he is?”

Again Kitteridge hesitated. Then: “That’s not what she meant. I think she meant it more like they were zombies or something.”

Clarey’s eyes fixed on the police chief. “If’n I was you, I’d be careful who heard me talkin’ like that. Folks might think you be crazy.”

Kitteridge held her gaze. “I didn’t say I believed her, Mrs. Lambert. I’m just doing my job.”

Clarey Lambert smiled once more. “Then I reckon you better git on with it. And I’ll git on with mine.” Dropping her eyes, she went back to her mending, her fingers working the needle deftly through the fabric in her lap. Kitteridge watched her for a moment, but he knew that no matter what he said, she would say no more. He signaled Judd to start the engine, and the deputy pulled the boat away from Clarey’s shack. Though the police chief watched her as long as he could, she never looked up from her sewing.

Kitteridge had the eerie feeling that as far as she was concerned, he’d never been there at all.

• • •

Tim Kitteridge signaled Judd to slow the boat. “There’s a boat up ahead,” he said, as the deputy cut the engine and he himself slipped the oars into their locks.

A moment later, as they drifted through a clump of mangrove and emerged into a quiet lagoon, he could see the boat clearly. It was empty, floating in the shallows fifty yards away. Across its stern he could make out a single word, scrawled unevenly in black paint: COX

He glanced inquiringly at Judd Duval: “Jonas Cox?”

The deputy shrugged. “Could be. Mebbe not — must be a dozen Coxes out here. ’Sides, boat’s empty.”

Kitteridge frowned. “Where would he have gone? And why just leave the boat?” But even as he spoke the words, an idea formed in his mind. “Tell you what we’re going to do. I’ll row us over there, and get in that boat. Then the two of us will talk about hanging around, and decide not to. Then you row away.”

Judd, mystified, did as he was told. They pulled alongside the rowboat, and he held it steady while Kitteridge, talking loudly, carefully transferred himself from his own boat into the other one.

“I don’t know,” he said, seating himself on the center bench of the dory. “Looks like whoever was here just took off. Probably in the next county by now.”

“Maybe we oughta take his boat,” Judd suggested.

“Forget it. Looks like it’s ready to sink, and I don’t see any point wasting time trying to tow it out of here. Let’s just leave it.”

He waved Duval off, and the deputy started the engine, steering their boat across the lagoon into a narrow channel on the other side. Tall reeds closed around him, and a minute later he could barely make out Tim Kitteridge sitting silently in Jonas Cox’s small dory.

• • •

For nearly twenty minutes Kitteridge didn’t move. The water around him was as flat and still as a mirror, and the reflection line had all but disappeared. It was as if he was suspended in a green sphere, totally alone in the world.

But he could feel someone close by, sense him with all the instincts that had protected him through his long career in California, where he’d always known which of the seedy apartments he was breaking into were empty and which held armed men, ready to shoot him on sight.

Suddenly, from the side of the boat, a ripple ran out over the surface of the water.

A moment later two hands appeared, clasping the boat’s gunwale.

And then a narrow-faced, stringy-haired boy of around nineteen, with two short pieces of hollow reed clenched in his teeth, rose out of the shallow water. His ferretlike eyes widened as he saw Tim Kitteridge in the boat, and he tried to hurl himself away, but it was too late.

The police chief grabbed him by his lanky hair, twisting him sharply so he lost his balance. He dropped back into the water from which he’d just emerged, struggling wildly.

“Got him!” Tim yelled, but the shout was unnecessary. Judd Duval had already started the engine of his boat and was speeding across the lagoon. A minute or two later Jonas, his hands cuffed behind his back, was sitting in the deputy’s boat, glowering sullenly at Tim Kitteridge.

“How’d you know he was there?” Duval asked as he fastened the line from Jonas’s boat onto the stem cleat of his own.

“Saw it in a movie a long time ago,” Kitteridge said, chuckling. “The water’s so murky you can’t see two inches into it. So if you want to hide, all you do is stick a couple of reeds in your mouth and lie down. People can pass you a foot away and they’ll never see you.” His eyes fixed on Duval. “Seems to me you should have thought of it yourself.”

Duval’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. As the deputy started the engine and began maneuvering the boat back into the narrow channels toward Villejeune, Kitteridge shifted his gaze to Jonas. “Why’d you hide from us, son?” he asked.

Jonas’s eyes, flat and lifeless, seemed to look right through him, and he made no reply to the chief’s question.

“Okay,” Kitteridge sighed. “You sit and think about it. But by the time we get back to town, believe me, you’re gonna talk to me. There’s a lot I want to know about you, Jonas, and I’m gonna find out.”

He turned away, completely missing the look that passed between Jonas Cox and Judd Duval.