The Third Hill North of Town Read online

  “What on earth is he thinking?” she hissed. “That’s vandalism! He’ll break Günter’s lock and get us all in terrible trouble!”

  She gathered her breath to yell out the window at him, but she was too late; he had already raised the rock for a second strike, and he now heaved it at the door again, destroying the lock. Her angry protest died on her lips, however, overmastered by Bebe Stockton’s screams from the bathroom.

  Bebe once again did not take into account the effects of the phenobarbital on her limbs. In her panicked rush to flee from Elijah, her feet got tangled as she plunged down the hall toward the front door, causing her to take a spill right beside the staircase that led back to her bedroom. She was still howling an ear-piercing prayer to God when the side of her head bounced off the edge of the bottom step, and just like that, her screaming stopped.

  Jon Tate was a hundred yards from the farmhouse when he realized the hysterical woman had at last shut up. He knew he should just keep on running, but his legs quit moving of their own accord and he bent double, gasping for air and trying not to pass out after his wild sprint across the pasture. The edge of the woods was only fifty feet in front of him, yet all of a sudden the wall of trees looked less appealing. Now that the screaming had ceased he found he was able to think again, and he was no longer sure that an escape on foot through the dark, wet woods was such a great idea. Julianna and Elijah had apparently managed to calm the woman down, because otherwise Elijah would surely have come outside by now, either seeking help or trying to flee, too. The yard remained empty, however, and everything looked as peaceful and reassuring as it had when they first arrived. Jon shielded his eyes to check out the Edsel on the highway; it was still the only car on the road.

  “Shit,” he muttered, ashamed for panicking. Julianna and Elijah could have been having a friendly chat with the owner all along, until Jon set her off by breaking into the barn. All the ruckus had probably been his own fault.

  He looked at the woods again, and then back at the farm. Any second now Julianna and Elijah would emerge, and if Jon wasn’t there, they’d figure he’d run out on them. They’d get gas from the owner and leave, and he’d be on his own. Almost without realizing what he was doing, he started walking back to the barn. Within a few steps he picked up his pace, and began to jog.

  If the dairy lady is pissed about her padlock, he thought, I can always say I was going to leave some money for it.

  “This isn’t Polly Miller,” Julianna whispered.

  She was on her knees beside the dead woman in the hallway, and her eyes were full of tears as she gave up trying to find a pulse in Bebe Stockton’s wrist. Elijah stood next to her, holding a hand to his injured ribcage and breathing in hitches; he was so upset it was all he could do to keep from collapsing on the floor and sobbing.

  Julianna smoothed the dress on the stranger’s body. “Do you think she might have been Günter’s sister?”

  Her voice sounded thin and haunted, even to her own ears, and her hands shook as she touched Bebe’s round face. A small pool of blood was encircling the dead woman’s head like a grotesque halo.

  This will not go unpunished.

  Sanity flickered behind Julianna’s eyes, and the person she had been before her break with reality looked down at the corpse of Bebe Stockton and grimly assessed the situation.

  We will be made to pay for this.

  Elijah watched in horror as a stream of urine began to spread around Bebe’s body. His gorge rose instantly, and without warning he leaned over and vomited on his sneakers, barely missing the hem of Julianna’s dress.

  When the dairy lady had fled from the bathroom he had scrambled to his feet, intending to run also. Then there had been a sickening thump in the hallway, and the woman’s screams ended abruptly, as if somebody had flicked off the siren on a fire engine. This odd thump had scared him more than anything else in his life, and for almost a minute he hadn’t been able to move a muscle. He had stood in the bathroom, gazing through the open door into the hall, and there had been no other sound in the house for what seemed an eternity.

  Finally, he had heard quiet footsteps in the hallway, and Julianna glided past the bathroom. She had glanced in at him as she passed, but she didn’t speak; her attention was focused on something ahead of her Elijah couldn’t see. When she disappeared from view he followed her as if in a dream, one slow step at a time. She had been waiting for him right outside the bathroom, however, and only when he had joined her in the hallway did she move to examine the sprawled body at the base of the staircase.

  The body of the woman who was dead because of him.

  Elijah promptly threw up again. Fortunately he hadn’t eaten in a long while so most of what came up was water, but the smell was still foul, and he reflexively muttered an apology to Julianna. She didn’t even seem to notice, though; she just got to her feet, knees popping, and took a slow, shaky breath.

  “I don’t think Günter’s sister is feeling well,” she whispered, still staring at the woman on the floor.

  Elijah blinked several times before raising his head to gape at Julianna. “What?”

  “Maybe we should just let ourselves out, don’t you think?” she asked. “She probably just needs a nap.” She turned her head to gaze at Elijah. “Were you able to find the alcohol and bandages for Steve’s leg?”

  She was standing less than a foot from the corpse, on a dry spot of floor between twin puddles of piss and puke, yet she looked for all the world as if she were simply inquiring about a homework assignment.

  Elijah shook his head in disbelief as he realized that the hallucinatory narrative Julianna had been telling herself all along was still intact, regardless of the dead woman beside them. “No, but don’t you think we . . . I mean, we can’t just . . . this is . . . this . . .”

  He trailed off in despair.

  Fifteen minutes ago, Elijah had thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse. The assault on the state trooper had seemed like Armageddon as it was happening, but it didn’t even come close to this. Unlike the state trooper, the woman at their feet had not been shooting at them when she died, nor had she threatened any of them in any way. She had done nothing, in point of fact, but to enter her own bathroom and have the misfortune of running smack into Elijah Hunter.

  Elijah Hunter, who had no excuse whatsoever to be in her home. Elijah Hunter, whose uninvited, illegal presence had literally frightened the poor woman to death.

  “Oh, Jesus,” he whispered. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  Julianna was aware that her friend Ben was distraught about something but her compassion for him was tempered by a growing sense of urgency. Something was telling her they were wasting precious seconds, and if they didn’t leave soon their trip home might actually be jeopardized. She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder.

  “We really must hurry, Benjamin.”

  She gave him a gentle squeeze. It was a reassuring, loving touch, and Elijah looked down at her hand on his skin and fought to keep from crying. He wanted very much to be held and comforted right then, but he hadn’t yet learned how to ask for this sort of thing, and Julianna was too intent on what had to be done to perceive just how badly he was hurting.

  He swallowed hard a few times, still struggling for control. He knew she was right, but he couldn’t seem to make himself care.

  I deserve to be put in prison, he thought. I deserve the electric chair.

  He lifted his head to tell her to go on without him, but as he looked into her face he found he couldn’t speak. Something in her unwavering green eyes—and in the strength of her grip—told him she would never agree to leave her friend “Ben” behind, and for the first time he began to wonder about the boy she had mistaken him for all along. If he were still alive, he’d be in his fifties, like Julianna, but some instinct told Elijah that the real Ben Taylor was long since dead.

  He couldn’t have said why, but understanding the reasons behind Julianna’s delusions now se
emed critical to him, as if they might help explain why this nightmare was happening. She was clearly on a mission of some kind, and Elijah was part of her insane journey, like it or not. His fate was now bound to hers by at least one death, and probably two, and whatever happened to him would surely happen to her, as well.

  Who was Ben, Julianna? He almost asked aloud, but he knew she’d tell him he was being silly. What happened to him?

  He forced himself to take a deep breath, and then another. If he stayed here and turned himself in, Julianna would be taken into custody, as well, and no doubt she would soon be returned to the mental ward she had apparently escaped from. And while that might be the best place for her, there was something about the trust on her face that made him feel bad, in spite of himself, at the idea of being responsible for her recapture. There was also Steve to think about; if the other boy got caught with them, he would likely share in their punishment even though he had done nothing wrong. Turning himself and Julianna in was one thing, but getting Steve arrested, too, surely wasn’t the right thing to do, was it? Elijah could tell the police the older boy was innocent, of course, but he doubted the cops would believe anything that came out of his mouth—especially not since they already thought he and Steve had run over one of their own on the highway.

  “Jesus,” he murmured again. “This is so insane.”

  Julianna was still watching him, still waiting for him. It occurred to Elijah that he’d never had anybody besides his parents look at him the way she was looking at him; whoever she thought he was, the softness of her gaze held real love in it, genuine and unmistakable.

  What am I supposed to do, God? he demanded. Tell me what to do!

  No answer from on high was forthcoming, however, and Julianna was beginning to fidget.

  Elijah swallowed hard, pulling himself together as best he could. “I know where the medicine cabinet is,” he rasped. “I’ll try to find the stuff for Steve’s leg.”

  Julianna rewarded him with a dazzling smile.

  “Very good.” She released his shoulder with a final squeeze and gazed back at the kitchen doorway, thinking fast. “Okay. After you’ve done that, run and tell Steve to hurry with the gasoline. I’ll join the two of you by the car in a moment, but I have a couple of things to take care of in here first.”

  The sudden command in her voice was startling, but in spite of himself Elijah felt a surge of relief. The Julianna who had run over the state trooper was apparently back, and Elijah couldn’t help but be grateful. Insane or not, this version of Julianna had proven herself able to deal with emergencies, and they very much needed her right now.

  “Hurry, Ben,” she urged. “We don’t have much time.”

  She strode past him on her way to the kitchen, but before she stepped out of sight she turned to face him. Her expression was stern.

  “Once you’re outside, stay there,” she ordered. “Don’t come back in the house. Understand?”

  Elijah opened his mouth to ask why, but she vanished around the corner before he could say anything. He stared down one final time at the dead woman on the floor, and his heart twisted. There was an ugly, fist-sized bruise on her left temple, and her pale lips were frozen in a frown. He closed his eyes and prayed for her soul—and his own, too, in pity and sorrow.

  Julianna’s voice floated down the hall from the kitchen, jarring him back into motion.

  “And don’t forget to zip up your pants, dear,” she called.

  Chapter 6

  Gabriel Dapper sat behind the wheel of his bright red Cadillac and watched Edgar Reilly trundle down the steps of the state mental hospital in Bangor, Maine. Edgar had drooping jowls and a bulging torso; his eyes were sad and brown, and much too small for his bald, wrinkled head.

  “He looks like a walrus,” Gabriel muttered to himself.

  It was half past seven on Saturday evening, but the temperature was still unpleasantly warm, so Gabriel had the windows rolled up and the air conditioner at its highest setting. Even with the arctic blast coming from the vents, however, he was sweating profusely; he felt as if he had a fever.

  Edgar opened the passenger door of the Cadillac. “Hello, Gabriel.”

  Gabriel nodded, unconsciously tapping his steering wheel seven times with his left forefinger before answering. “Hi, Doc. Hop on in.”

  As Edgar settled into the passenger seat of the Cadillac and pulled the door shut, he sighed with relief at the cooler temperature in the car. He simply couldn’t abide being hot, and he’d feared that Gabriel might be a “fresh air” type of man.

  He gave Julianna’s son a strained smile. “Thanks again for letting me tag along with you tonight.”

  Gabriel shrugged, wrinkling his nose at the smell of cigarettes on Edgar’s breath and clothes. “Sure.”

  I hope he’s not a yakker, Gabriel thought, putting the Cadillac in gear and turning west out of the parking lot. Gabriel was consumed with worry about his mother and had no patience for small talk.

  I certainly hope he doesn’t expect me to make conversation all the way there, Edgar Reilly thought. Edgar had a lot to mull over before they reached their destination, and he didn’t feel up to explaining his complicated mental processes to a layman. He reached into his pocket and dug out a bag of M&M’s, staring resolutely out the window to forestall a dialogue.

  Earlier that evening Edgar had received a phone call from the Bangor Police Department informing him Julianna had been spotted by a state trooper in New Hampshire. This same trooper was now in the intensive care unit of a county hospital and had not regained consciousness since being run over by Edgar’s stolen Edsel. To make matters worse, the trooper’s last words to the dispatcher had been a shouted warning about a second kidnapper in the vehicle with Julianna.

  Nor had this been the last of the grim tidings:

  Edgar’s Edsel had been found abandoned on the highway in front of a dairy two miles from the border between New Hampshire and Vermont. There had been no sign of Julianna and her two captors, but there was a bullet hole in the rear window, blood on the steering wheel and on the backseat, and the dairy farmhouse itself had been burned to the ground—with the wife of the dairy farmer presumed to be still inside. The only other news Edgar had been given was that the first kidnapper was believed to be a teenaged Negro named Elijah Hunter, who had gone missing that morning from Prescott, Maine. Nothing was known about the Hunter boy’s companion.

  Edgar had promptly dialed Gabriel Dapper to tell him what he’d learned, and Gabriel—who had spent the day at Julianna’s silent, book-stuffed house in Bangor, working himself into a frenzy of restlessness and rage over his mother’s abduction—had decided on the spot that he’d be damned if he’d sit around waiting for more such news. He’d stated his intention to leave Bangor that night to find Julianna on his own, and Edgar—who for his part had spent the day berating both himself and his staff for allowing Julianna’s escape—offered his assistance. Gabriel had accepted, and they had agreed to begin their search that night at the dairy farm in New Hampshire.

  “Mind if I smoke?” Edgar now asked, reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

  Gabriel loathed the smell of cigarettes. “Sorry, I’m allergic,” he lied.

  Edgar looked crestfallen. “That’s fine,” he muttered, doing his best to be a good sport. “I smoke too much, anyway.”

  They lapsed into silence once more. Gabriel kept his eye on the mile markers along the highway, and every seven miles he tapped the steering wheel seven times. Edgar watched this ritual occur again and again and finally caught the pattern. He stirred in his seat and cleared his throat.

  “You’ve got Zwangsneurose,” he said to Gabriel.

  Gabriel turned to stare at him. “I’ve got what?”

  “Zwangsneurose,” Edgar repeated. “It means ‘compulsion neurosis.’ It’s a nervous disorder that often manifests itself in a behavioral tic such as yours.”

  Edgar tapped the dash of the Cadillac seven times to demonstrate wh
at he meant.

  Gabriel flushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’ve been tapping your steering wheel seven times, every seven miles,” Edgar explained kindly. “Many people who suffer from a compulsion neurosis fixate on a specific number, just like you’re doing. For example, I once had a patient who washed and dried his hands exactly five times whenever he went to the bathroom.”

  Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “I’m just keeping track of the miles, Doc. I’m not crazy.”

  “Of course not,” Edgar agreed. “A compulsion neurosis is nothing to be overly worried about. But you might want to consider undergoing psychoanalysis sometime to deal with the underlying motive for why you feel compelled to keep track of the miles in such a tactile, systematic manner. It’s a highly interesting quirk, to say the least.”

  “It’s not a quirk,” Gabriel protested. “It’s just something I do to keep awake when I drive.”

  “I see,” Edgar murmured. “Well, then, I’m glad it serves a good purpose.”

  Gabriel scowled and returned his attention to the road, deciding to let the matter drop. He rebelliously tapped the wheel seven times again at the appropriate mile marker, however, refusing to interrupt his routine just because Edgar thought there was something wrong with it.

  Edgar smiled indulgently and began sorting through a colorful handful of M&M’s, popping them in his mouth one by one (starting with brown, as always, then proceeding in alphabetic order through the other colors). As the chocolate melted on his tongue he stared out the window and let his mind wander.

  Unbeknownst to Gabriel, Edgar had spoken on the phone less than an hour before to a profane man named Otto Kiley, who was the sheriff of Elijah Hunter’s hometown of Prescott, Maine. Sheriff Kiley had told Edgar that the report about Julianna’s kidnapping sounded like “a steaming pile of horseshit” to him; he insisted Elijah Hunter was a “fine young Negro” who would never dream of committing such a crime, let alone the other barbarities he was accused of, and that something “pretty fucking peculiar” had to be going on. Edgar had listened to Kiley’s protestations about what he viewed as a rush to judgment of Elijah Hunter, but Edgar’s immediate reaction had been to assume that the man probably had close ties to the Hunter family, and was therefore an unreliable source of information. This being the case he had decided not to share Kiley’s doubts with Julianna’s son, feeling that the last thing Gabriel needed to hear at the moment was idle speculation about the innocence of his mother’s kidnapper.