Runner

26

Jane drove across the border from Nevada into California at three A.M., her headlights making the phosphorescent markers on the black highway gleam. The slopes and curves in the darkness of the high desert made her feel as though she were above the world, swooping and climbing and banking. She kept the car above the speed limit, because the passing of time was making her anxious.

As she had driven across the country for the past three days she had felt a growing sense of impatience that was becoming unbearable. Coming into California made it seem that she was at the end of the trip, but she still had a long drive ahead of her. She would reach the heavily populated areas near the coast in the morning rush hour, so she tried to beat the other cars, pushing her speed higher.

At six A.M. when she smelled the ocean and then saw it at Dana Point, she knew she was nearly finished. If she drove much longer, she would be in danger of falling asleep. She made it as far as Capistrano, saw signs for motels, coasted off the freeway, and checked into the first one that didn't look as though it was part of some criminal enterprise. She brought her small suitcase inside, locked everything she could lock, took her gun out of her purse, checked the load and the safety, and put it under the pillow beside her where she could reach it instantly.

As she lay there drifting into sleep, old stories that her grandfather—her hocsote—had told her began to present themselves in her memory. In the stories there were people who lived alone, away from the longhouses and the communal fields. They built small shelters near isolated trails and pretended to offer hospitality to strangers who passed by. Sometimes the host would be a solitary man, sometimes a group of sisters, or just one lone woman who used her beauty to lure men to her house. But always, somewhere in the forest nearby, there would be a pile of victims' bones.

In the stories, a traveler would be out in the forest searching for a lost friend or a missing relative. While the lonely host was something much worse than he seemed to be, the searcher was much better, and he would find a way to outwit the man-eater. Eventually, Jane's grandfather always got to the part when the traveler saved himself and killed the evil one, then stood over the pile of victims' bones. Her grandfather would give an abrupt jump and yell, "Get up, quick! The tree is falling on you!" The bones would instantly reunite, and the revitalized victims would run in all directions to get out of the way.

Jane felt a moment of amusement as she remembered, and then an onrush of sadness. If only that could happen. She would begin her resurrections with her grandfather, partly because he had been forced to stay dead the longest, and partly because he had taught her the trick when she was a child. And then he could teach her other old tricks, so she could bring back her father, with his sharp black eyes that sometimes seemed shiny and wild like a crow's, and her mother, all milky white and fragrant, with sky blue eyes like Jane's. She and Hocsote would bring them back together, in one instant.

She fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. When she awoke her muscles felt half-paralyzed from long immobility and it was the middle of the afternoon. She had paid for two days in the motel because she had known she would not be out by noon. She got up slowly, but after she'd had a shower and dressed she felt strong and fresh.

The first thing she did was take out her cell phone and call Sharon Curtis's number. She had called at least once a day since leaving Minnesota, but had never reached her. One of the rules she had taught Sharon to follow in situations like this was never to leave a message for a runner, because there was no way to ensure that the right person would be the one who heard it. Apparently the warning had stuck, because Sharon had not left Jane a way to leave a message. Once again there was no answer. It was summer, and Sharon was a teacher, so maybe she had left town for the vacation. She hoped the reason was that Sharon was having something nice happen in her life. This year Sharon must be thirty-one. She had always been pretty, with her blond hair and thin figure, and by now, she probably had a boyfriend. Even if she moved in with somebody, Sharon would be the sort of woman who kept a second, secret place where she could keep a bag packed with a little money and the papers to document the second false identity Jane had bought her years ago.

Jane had always told her runners to beware of vacations. Airports, resort hotels, and restaurants were places where people were recognized. But Sharon was a special case. There were only two men who wanted to harm her. She had known both of them so well that she could probably predict their movements accurately enough to stay out of their way.

But what Jane hoped for most was that Sharon was absent for a different purpose. She hoped that Christine had seen something that worried her in Minnesota and had simply come back to San Diego to seek refuge with her. Sharon would have the sense to take her somewhere and hide her.

Jane took the 5 freeway toward Encinitas, pulled off early, and drove to the neighborhood where Sharon lived. She remembered the way to the house, even though she had not been here in ten years. She took all of the usual precautions to be sure that nobody was watching the house from any of the nearby buildings or parked vehicles.

Jane parked two houses away and walked to Sharon's front door. She rang the doorbell and almost immediately heard the sound of footsteps inside, then heard the footsteps stop. She stood still on the porch for a few seconds while she was being recognized through the peephole. Then she waited a few more seconds while the streets and buildings nearby were being studied. She had taught Sharon these things. A person's closest friend could come to the door on an innocent visit and be followed by killers.

The door opened and Sharon stood there, smiling. She reached out and pulled Jane inside, shut the door and locked it, then hugged her tightly. "I can't believe it's you," she said.

"Hi, Sharon," said Jane. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, thanks to you. And how have you been?"

"Not so good right now. I'm afraid I've lost track of our mutual friend."

"Lost track?" Sharon seemed to turn a ghastly pale color. "Of Christine?"

"I set her up in an apartment in Minneapolis and said I'd be back just before the baby was due. I was there, she wasn't. Sharon, have you heard from her?"

"Oh, God. Yes. I did. It was about two months ago. She called me on the phone one night."

"What did she say?"

"I don't remember, exactly. It wasn't that she was in trouble or thinking she'd been found or anything. I'm afraid now that I might have done the wrong thing."

"What was the wrong thing?"

"I told her that if she wanted to survive she was going to have to give up things like calling her old friends on the phone. I said that running meant giving up her old self and her old relationships and trying to be somebody new. I warned her that Richard knew about me, so he could have had his hired criminals tap my phone and wait for her to call."

Jane said, "What you told her was true. It may even be what happened."

"But I should have done something different. Maybe I could have gone to visit her, taken her to another city for a few days just to be sure. She's barely twenty, and maybe when it finally came down to it, she couldn't cut herself off."

"You did."

"I wasn't pregnant."

"Sharon, this isn't your fault. It wouldn't have helped for you to rush off and join her in Minnesota. That's exactly what the people chasing her would want—to have you lead them to her."

"I know. It's what I told her. But if something has happened to her, I'll feel terrible."

"Has she tried to call you or e-mail you or anything after the one time?"

"I don't know," Sharon said. "After it happened the first time, I checked just about every hour so I could erase any message before someone else played it. Then I realized that wasn't good enough, so I unplugged my answering machine."

"Good. It also explains why I haven't been able to record a message when I called."

Sharon seemed to awaken from a kind of daze. "Oh, I haven't even offered you anything to drink. Please sit down somewhere, and I'll bring you something."

"No, let's talk," Jane said. "You were too polite to say it, but I'm sure you're wondering why I took the risk of coming here like this. I came because I thought you might have had contact with her. But I was also afraid that something might have happened to you. I think it's time now to make sure nothing does."

"What do you mean?"

"I want you to go away. I want you to go far from here—someplace pleasant and safe. I want you to stay away until school starts. I'll pay for your trip. Your house will have to be closed. There can't be some friend who comes to pick up your mail or water your plants."

"Well, I guess I can do that," said Sharon. "Yes, of course I can. I will."

"Good. I'll help you pack and turn things off and lock up. Then I'll drive you to the airport and make sure you get on a plane."

"Where am I going?"

"How about the northwest? You can stay in Seattle or Portland and use it as a base to explore the area."

"Sounds all right," Sharon said. She went to a closet and pulled out a suitcase, then stopped. "It's bad, isn't it?"

Jane shrugged. "I don't know. She could be somewhere else, perfectly safe."

"But you don't want me to be here while you find out."

"No. I don't."

They stopped speaking and began the work of getting the house ready for an extended period with Sharon away. Jane went into the kitchen and began taking perishable food out of the refrigerator and putting it into a plastic garbage bag. It took Sharon only a few minutes to pack the things she needed and place her suitcase by the front door. By then Jane had taken the garbage out to her SUV and was going from room to room making sure all of the windows were locked.

Jane said, "I see some of the lights are on timers. Is there anything else we need to do here? No pets?"

"No. I just have to cancel the newspaper and fill out a card to put a hold on the mail before we leave."

"All right. I'll see if I can get you a plane reservation."

The mood had turned somber. Jane used her cell phone to get the flight to Seattle while Sharon called the San Diego Union-Tribune to cancel the paper. While Sharon filled out the card for the postal service, Jane asked questions.

"Is there anyone you know of who might be putting Christine up?"

"No. She had friends here, but Richard would have known about all of them, and she knew—at least after I told her—that even calling them might put them in danger. If there is anybody like that it would have to be somebody outside San Diego, and it would have to be somebody that none of us knew about."

"Like me."

"Like you," said Sharon. She paused, then said, "I'd better take one last look around." Sharon went into her room and Jane could hear her for a few minutes, opening and closing drawers, moving hangers in the closet. After a time she came out to find Jane looking in the telephone book. "What are you looking for?"

"The Beale Company," Jane said. "I found it. I didn't find Richard Beale's address, though, and I didn't bring it with me."

"I have it." She went to her kitchen counter and opened a small address book. After she copied an address, she handed it to Jane.

"Thank you." She looked at it for a moment, then said, "This was where Christine lived with him, right?"

"Yes. But I never went over there. When we talked during that time it was usually on the phone, or we'd meet at a restaurant. I thought it was sort of my responsibility as her old teacher not to act as though her situation was okay with me, or to get chummy with him."

"But he knew where you lived, right?"

"I'm sure he probably did." She smiled. "But I'm leaving, so it doesn't matter."

"Before you go, I'd like to borrow a spare key."

"Sure, but why?"

"If someone comes here to find you, I don't want their trip to be wasted."