As Night Falls (28 page)

“W
hat'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 breath 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.”

S
o 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!”

“I
t'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.

Something changed in Harlan's eyes, Ivy couldn't have said what, and after a moment, no more breaths arrived to riffle her hair.

Ivy leapt for the stairs, aware of how little time she had. There might be no time left at all, but she was still going to do what Harlan asked. The little clump of fur his sister gave him sat next to her pillow; she had watched Harlan caressing it when he lay on her bed.

From the top of the flight, her mother let out a warning owl screech. Words accompanied it in an unconnected string. “No, Ivy, get out, now, go…”

But Ivy wasn't listening, so intent was she on getting what Harlan wanted.

She passed Nick on the steps, going up, and hardly even recognized him.

Her mother grabbed her at the top and then they were inside Ivy's room. Ivy snatched the bedraggled bit of fur in her fist, and turned back toward the door.

Her mother shoved it shut.

“Mom!” Ivy cried out. “Please! I have to give this to Harlan!” She revealed the bit of fur as if showing what she held would have any chance of helping.

“It's too late,” her mother whispered.

Ivy shook her head back and forth. “No, it's not too late, it's not, he can't be dead, he can't! You killed him!” Her voice rose higher and higher, spiraling up toward the ceiling, and on the last cluster of words, it broke into a wordless shriek that threatened never to end.

Her mother slapped her across the face.

Ivy's head snapped back and her mother's hand skidded off it in a sloppy mess of tears.

They stared at each other, Ivy seeing the shock she felt reflected in her mother's eyes.

“I'm sorry,” her mom said jaggedly. “I'm so sorry, Ivy.”

Ivy had no idea what she was apologizing for. For hitting Ivy for the first time in her life? Or for pushing Harlan over the stairs?

“I didn't mean to,” her mother said, and the statement could've applied to either. “I mean, I didn't want to.” Her mother took in a rattling breath. “I didn't want to have to.”

Ivy dropped her head, looking at a spot on her carpet that had turned wet and darkened. At last she gave a single nod.

“Ivy,” her mother said, seizing Ivy's hand and closing it over the piece of fur. “It's too late for Harlan. But it isn't too late for us.”

Ivy shook her head. “I can't,” she said. “I can't go on trying stupid plans that don't work and only end up with people dead.” She sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around her shins and beginning to rock.

Her mother bent over her. “Do you know why I named you
Ivy
?”

“She was a character in a book you liked,” Ivy replied tonelessly.

“Well, yes,” her mother said, placing her palms on Ivy's knees. “But the book wasn't really the reason for your name. Not the most important one anyway.”

Ivy looked up.

“
Ivy
stands for connection.” Her mother's fingers mimed twining strands of vine. “And that was you, Ive. From the moment I laid eyes on you, we were so connected. We were just so—” Her mom's voice split. “—incredibly connected.”

Ivy had been furious with her mother for lying to her all her life. Those lies had led in some twisted, tormented way to these deaths. Mr. and Mrs. Nelson's. Harlan's. Maybe even—Ivy swallowed back a thick, gelatinous sob—her father's. But now she understood that her mom hadn't been lying exactly, or if she was, she'd mainly lied to herself. By blocking things out.

And Ivy had done the same thing after her father had been pushed down the basement stairs. Because it had been too scary to consider. Too hard. And what else explained the secrets her mother had shielded besides that same avoidance of pain?

Ivy was more like her mother than she had ever let herself realize. And more glad about it now than she'd felt in a long time.

Pressure built behind her eyes, but she didn't let the tears fall. Instead, she slid Harlan's clump of fur inside her pocket and got to her feet, realizing that for this one brief moment, a mere splinter of time, she could look right into her mother's eyes.

“What do you think we should do?” Ivy asked.

They turned as one, taking in the circumference of the room.

There came a sodden thud of footsteps.

Noise didn't carry from one room to another in this house. Nick must be right outside her bedroom.

Ivy could hear him walking now, stalk-stiff, sliding his feet along in a shambling gait.

Her heavy door moved an inch or two, swinging slowly as if the person trying to open it lacked strength.

When Nick appeared in the frame, he looked less than human. His features were contorted with fury, his eyes smoldering bits of ember, red-rimmed and sullen.

“Give me the princess,” he said, like a robot, or a machine.

Ivy's mother stepped in front of the doorway. “No,” she said.

“Your choice,” Nick said in a voice thick as clay. “She's going to die no matter what. You both are. But if I have to fight you for the princess, then I promise, her death is going to make Harlan's look pretty.”

Terror overtook Ivy and if her mother hadn't been holding on to her, she would've broken into a run, gone tearing around the room like a panicked hamster in a cage.

Another sound penetrated then.

Like the throttle of an engine. Or a dog getting ready to attack.