Hide and Seek (30 page)
“It’s two days of fun in the sun. I know the promoters and they’re first-class people. They’ve booked seventeen acts.
Eighteen
is their magic number.”
“I’d love to, but I can’t. Do you happen to remember what happened to me out in San Francisco?”
Barry went right on talking. “Tell you who they’ve got already. Bonnie Raitt, k.d. lang, Liz Phair, Emmylou Harris.”
I nodded. Started to laugh. Bit my lip. “Gee, all women. Why did you happen to start with the women?”
“You know, I never even thought of that. You’re right though, I did.”
“I don’t think I can, Barry. I appreciate the offer, if that’s what this is.”
Barry wasn’t in the mood to show any mercy. That was good though. It meant I didn’t look as though I needed any.
“Use it, or lose it,” he said. “Unless, of course, you’ve already lost it.”
“No, I sang in the shower today. I was pretty great. I’ve still got it. Better than ever, actually. Passion, edge, maturity, effervescence.”
Barry played the lead-in to “Loss of Grace” on his piano. I had to admit, a shiver went up my spine.
“I’ll
think
about it,” I told him. “But I honestly don’t believe that I
c-cc-can ss-ss-sing
in public.”
I winked at him. It was good that I could laugh about the stutter, about San Francisco.
Barry nodded, and then he smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He continued to play “Loss of Grace,” and, as he did, I started to sing again.
And I had to admit, like everything else in this second life of mine, it felt so good, so right.
I didn’t stutter, or stammer. I sang. And if I do say so myself, sang kind of beautifully. With passion, and with a real edge.
“Your timing is off, your phrasing is a mess,” Barry shook his head and said. “Welcome home, Maggie.”
M
AGGIE STILL LOVED to walk the streets of New York with the other commoners. She was such a woman of the people, wasn’t she? Maybe that was why so many of them identified with her, loved her songs, loved her.
She wore a kerchief and dark glasses, but every so often someone recognized her anyway. She was always so goddamned gracious. Sign an autograph. Move on with that shy little smile of hers.
Ingratiating bitch.
Will walked several blocks behind her. No one bothered him for autographs anymore. He didn’t exist, did he? The Invisible Man. Deceased and buried, right?
He followed her out of New York and up the Saw Mill early that evening. This was all very familiar to him, the road to Bedford. And ruin.
What wasn’t so familiar was the bizarre path his life had taken. How do you top off a life that’s been incredibly full, and is suddenly falling apart badly? Where does one go from the top?
How clever he had been up until this point
, Will thought. That fatal night, he’d shot Palmer and hadn’t felt a thing, no remorse about Palmer. That was the only way to stop the extortion money his greedy brother had been grubbing since Rio.
He had dressed his brother in his clothes. Then he placed the body on the grounds of the estate. He had gone inside and caused a ruckus. He’d lured Maggie outside, jumped her, beat her up, and fired the shot that practically blew Palmer’s face apart. Then he’d disappeared. And just
watched
the rest.
Unfortunately, his new life had turned out to be another kind of hell. Sometimes he believed that he might be a devil, and he was living in hell.
Rio was the turning point, he knew. Killing that first girl. Crime and punishment had followed him after that night.
Up the road, he saw Maggie turn into her driveway. He hated that she could be happy without him. Strange as it seemed, he had tried to love her. He’d wanted her to save him from himself.
He knew the turning point with Maggie too. He was sure about that. It was the first time he’d failed with her in bed. It was while he was
Mr. Maggie Bradford.
He had thought about killing her nearly every day since then.
She’d failed him, and now she and her little family had to pay the awful price.
Crime and punishment.
Will went for dinner at a little bar and grill in town. An old fave for the locals.
He thought it was quite something that he could sit there eating a greasy burger and fries, and that no one recognized him anymore.
Well, why the hell should they? He was ancient history, if he’d ever been history at all.
The Black Arrow.
That’s what he was now.
He wore a navy blue ballcap without an insignia, a gray sweatshirt, and khakis. He fit in okay with the bar crowd watching the Knicks lose badly to Indiana.
Nothing special about him, really. Other than that he was stark raving mad, of course. Probably not the only madman sitting at the crowded horseshoe bar either. Not the only guy here who was a little homicidal toward his wife.
“The Knicks suck,” the young brick seated next to him passed along the sum total of his acquired wisdom.
“Burgers here suck too,” Will said, and the other man laughed.
Soul brothers, are we?
Will wanted to continue the conversation in earnest.
Think so? Want to come with me to my ex-wife’s house? I’m going to kill the bitch and her two kids. You in? You with me on this?
“Patrick Ewing
really
sucks,” the other man contributed another choice nugget.
Will nodded sympathetically, and figured it was time to get out of the bar. Truth be known, he didn’t know the Knicks from the Yankees from the New York Jets.
It was dark outside. He could see that through the bar’s front window.
“Well, time to head on home to the missus,” he told his new mate, then stood up at the bar.
Sure you don’t want to tag along, pal? This is going to be a big night in Bedford. I can promise you that.
I
T WASN’T MUCH of a problem for him to get onto the estate grounds undetected. Will parked in one of the Lake Club lots, then crossed over through pine woods and a narrow meadow.
No sweat so far. Just the way he’d figured it.
Walking in the field of high grass made him remember something. He’d ridden on horseback there with Allie, when he was only a baby. He’d done it to impress Maggie. He
knew
it would touch her down below her belt. He knew a woman’s soft spots, knew the buttons to hit. He had carefully pushed all of Maggie’s, every single one, one by one.
He had been inside the house on a trial run the week before, so he’d already figured how this would go. The cellar door under the original wing was open, as it always was.
He didn’t use his flashlight until he was safely inside. The cellar was a creepy place. The house had been built on bare ground, and the original boulders were still down there. There was a wooden stairway up from where the freezer was to the kitchen.
Will used the stairs and was in the house by a little past 11:40. It was a school night and everyone had gone to bed.
JAM! Jennie, Allie, and Maggie … Notice, no Will.
Maggie was still a country girl at heart—early to bed, early to rise. The quiet house reminded him of a damn morgue, which seemed appropriate enough.
In a way, Maggie had given him the idea for tonight. Probably for good reasons, she noticed every news story about a husband who ran amok and killed one or more family members.
That was pretty much what Will planned to do tonight. Kill all of them, right there in the house. Then disappear for good. The murders would never be solved, and that struck him as just the right touch.
He had a Smith and Wesson, sixteen shots, plus a nasty hunting knife. That was more than enough firepower. If need be, he could do the job with his bare hands. There was merit to that approach too, the personal touch.
“Families really suck,” Will mumbled as he walked up the thickly, carpeted stairs to the second floor.
There wasn’t a sound to be heard up there.
Maybe this is a trap
, he thought,
but he knew it couldn’t be.
This train was leaving the station. There was no way to stop it now. No way on heaven or earth to stop this from happening.
He was breathing real quietly, every breath even, and exactly the same.
He was feeling confident, real good about this. No guilt. No feelings at all.
It was the right thing to do.
Ever so slowly, he opened the bedroom door.
He could see everything in soft, yellow moonlight streaming from the window.
No surprises here. No surprises anywhere tonight.
“Hello, little buddy,” Will said to Allie.
W
HAT THE HELL was that? What was that?
We had all gone to bed early, and I’d fallen asleep almost immediately.
I had been dreaming about singing at a huge outdoor concert—and then completely losing it onstage. No need to call Dr. Freud in to explain that one.
I awoke and I thought I heard a noise upstairs.
Was Jennie just going to bed?
I sat up, looked at the luminous figures on the radio clock: 11:45. I didn’t think Jennie would be up so late.
Then I heard another sound. Strange.
Well, one of the kids was definitely up.
Then a louder noise, as though a bed were being moved around.
And finally, what sounded to me like a muffled scream or yell. Was I hearing things?
I got up quickly and hurried across the bedroom to the door.
I listened there for half a second.
Nothing more.
Then another muffled sound, this one farther away it seemed. I couldn’t tell exactly where. Allie? Was Allie up for some reason?
I hurried outside into the upstairs hallway. The light was out, and I switched it back on.
No one was there. Not Jennie. Not Allie.
False alarm? Probably so. Things in the country always seemed to go bump in the night. Creaky floor-boards, loose shutters, branches against a window.
I decided to check on the kids anyway. Maybe somebody was sick, or maybe one of them was having a nightmare. Goodness knows, they’d been through enough.
I gently opened Jennie’s bedroom door, the first one, next to mine.
Jennie was gone!
I ran as fast as I could down the hallway to the front left bedroom, which had a choice view of our horse pastures.
I yanked open the bedroom door.
Allie was gone too!
T
HERE’S AN EXPLANATION for this. Has to be.
But I was frightened as could be.
I ran down the stairway loudly calling out their names, “Jennie! Allie! Where are you two? Where are you?”
There’s a simple explanation.
No one was in the front hall, or the living room either.
But I could see a light coming from the den. Okay, the kids were in the den.
“Jennie? … Allie? … Is something the matter?”
I ran toward the den, clipping a pile of books on the edge of an old hallway table. The books fell loudly to the floor.
I turned the corner into the den, and I stopped. Everything stopped. All time, all forward progress, all sense of fairness and goodness in the universe.
Stopped.
Will was standing there with the kids.
I stared at the black hair and beard, but I knew it was definitely Will.
He had a gun, and he had Jennie and Allie, and the gun was loosely pointed at them.
“Hello, Maggie. Long time, huh?” Cool as could be. Psychopathic as they come. “Good to see ya.”
“Are you two all right?” I asked the kids.
“We’re okay, Mom,” Jennie said. “We’re okay. We’re fine.”
“They’re okay,” Will said. “What’s the big problem? Haven’t you heard of visitation rights?”
I walked further into the room. My heart wouldn’t stop pounding.
Will was there. Will was alive.
“I hate you!” I said. I couldn’t stop myself from saying it.
“Hate you too, darlin’. Hate you
more.
That’s why I’m here,” Will said and smiled. “Been hating you and hating you, for a long, long time.”
I stopped myself and stared at him. I tried to be calm. “Why did you dare come here, Will? After all that’s happened.”
“Oh, lots of neat reasons. First of all, just to see the confusion in your eyes, the fear. I love that look. Makes me feel good all over.”
“That’s because you’re a coward.” I told him what I really thought.
“No doubt. I think you’re right.
That’s
exactly why I’m here. I’m afraid to go on living the way I am. That’s it.”
“You wouldn’t hurt them. Why would you hurt them?” I asked him.
Will shrugged. “Because they’re yours. Because you fucked me up even worse than I was. I could
function
before you. Now, Maggie—
shut up.
I mean it—
shut the hell up.”
He pointed the gun at Allie. My little boy was trying not to cry but he was starting to shake. There was nothing I could do.
No one spoke, and will smiled at the silence. He nodded his approval. Controlling son of a bitch.
“Okay now, here’s what we’re going to do,” he finally said. “You all lie on the floor. Facedown. Keep very still. Everybody on the floor. Let’s play a game, Allie.”
“Says who?”
Jennie suddenly turned and shouted at him. “What, so you can kill us all a lot easier? That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? You punk! You piece of crap.”
“Jennie,” I tried to quiet her. Then I realized what she was doing, at least I thought I did, hoped I did,
prayed I did.
“We’re not doing anything you say!” I yelled at Will, just as Jennie had. “We all hate your guts!”
“We hate you!” Jennie screamed at him.
“We hate you!” yelled Allie in his tiny voice.
Jennie suddenly flew into Will’s side, and I reached for the gun. I pulled on his wrist as hard as I could.
Both hands! The strength of a madwoman!
At the same time, I brought up my knee—as hard as I could—into Will’s groin.
Will
woofed
out air. He groaned. The gun actually came free, and I had it.
