Night Songs (30 page)

    "I…
God!"
he said, pushing himself to his hands and knees, spitting blood and discovering a loose tooth with his tongue. "God almighty."

    Tabor said nothing. He lifted Lilla without effort and cradled her in his arms, looked once at the sea spilling over the dune, and headed back for the car. Montgomery helped Colin to his feet and supported him as they returned, saying nothing directly, only muttering to himself.

    They put her in the back seat with Hugh; Colin was in front, eyes closed, his head against the seatback. His mouth was numb, and he could feel the upper lip beginning to swell. He licked at it once, tasted his blood, grunted when Garve swung the car around and headed down for Neptune.

    "She needs help," Hugh said quietly, gently.

    "Yeah," Tabor said as if disgusted with himself.

    "We can put her in one of the cells until we can get her to the mainland."

    "All right."

    "I'll get-damn, I left my bag at Efron's!"

    The cruiser turned right onto Neptune and sped up. The wind shoved at it, faintly screaming.

    It wasn't quite dark enough for the headlights to do any good.

    Colin sighed loudly.

    "You all right, Col?"

    He tested his lips, his tongue, before he said, "Sure. Just banged up."

    "Strong."

    He sat up, half turned, and looked at the girl lying across Montgomery's lap. Except for the rise and fall of her chest, she could have been dead.

    "I don't believe it," he said. "I don't believe it."

    "She's crazy," Tabor said flatly, and winced.

    "She's scared to death," he said.

    "Of what, Gran's ghost?" Tabor said.

    Just as Colin turned to answer yes, Tabor slammed on the brakes. Montgomery yelped, and Colin braced himself against the dashboard as the cruiser skewed wildly on the slick wet tarmac, spinning in a complete circle before it finally stopped.

    Tess Mayfair was standing in the middle of the road.

    Lilla groaned.

    "Christ," Montgomery said, leaning across the seat and pushing up his glasses. "My God, look at her!"

    She was less than six feet away from the hood, her dress nearly gone, her forehead indented and her nose bent harshly to one side. Her lips were smashed, her chest exposed and gaping, and when she started to walk forward Colin shoved as far back as he could, watching silently as Garve fumbled his revolver from its holster.

    "It's… it's a miracle," Montgomery whispered. "She oughta be dead."

    Tess reached the patrol car and stared at them. Suddenly the car began to rise. Colin yelled, and Hugh fell over Lilla. Tabor, without thinking, reached his left hand out the window and fired two shots. The first went wild, the second struck the massive woman in the hollow of the throat. Her head jerked but there was no blood from the wound. Tabor fired again, hitting her right shoulder. The dress tore, and bone chips flew, but the car kept on rising.

    Then Colin slammed his left foot on the accelerator.

    The cruiser shuddered, tires smoked and squealed, and as Tabor grabbed the steering wheel the vehicle slowly moved forward, toppling Mayfair out of sight. There was a sickening thump, a skewing sideways, and Garve stopped, trembling violently, ten yards away.

    "You killed her," he said as Colin turned around. Garve was trembling. All Colin said was, "Look." Tess Mayfair was standing in the middle of the road.

    

    

    Matt was disappointed. He had ducked through the heavy door to the small cell block when his mother had answered the phone, expecting to find something far different. There were three cells ranged along the back, but none of them had straw matted on the floor, or red-eyed rats cluttering in the dark corners, or thick cobwebs swinging gently from rotted beams on the ceiling. There was.no rickety pallet, just an iron-rimmed cot bolted to the wall, with a thin mattress and pillow rolled up at the foot. There were no rusted chains hanging from the cinder-block walls, just a narrow shelf over the beds holding a handful of tattered paperbacks donated by the library. And there was no old man hanging by his wrists from rusty old shackles, his beard tangled and filthy and hanging down to his ragged trousers, his teeth old and yellow, his eyes dull and white. There wasn't anyone there at all.

    It didn't smell, and it wasn't damp, and there were no signs of bullet holes or whip marks or even escape tunnels as far as he could tell.

    He stood on tiptoe and tried to see through one of the high windows, though he knew that all he'd be able to spot would be the back of the Clipper Run's hedging around its parking lot. He supposed that anyone staying there would have to be content with a view of the sky unless there was someone in there with him to hold him up for a look.

    Then he heard his mother's voice, soft and urgent. He turned and looked through the door, saw her talking on the telephone again. She had her back to him, and he couldn't hear what she was saying. But that was all right; he didn't want to. It might be someone telling her more about Mrs. Mayfair. He didn't want to know more. He had seen enough.

    When his mother laughed quietly, he turned back to the cells and walked to the last one on the left. He held onto the barred door with one hand and warned Billy Bonny again between huge chaws of tobacco that he'd better not try to escape. Twice in one day was plenty; the next time it happened, he wouldn't be responsible for what the townspeople did if they caught him. The Kid was somber and contrite, hung his head abjectly and nodded. Matt didn't believe him for a minute, but he moved to the center cell where he found Jesse trying manfully to grab hold of the window sill and haul himself up. Jump, grab, slip, fall-over and over and over again until Matt was laughing and pointing, and Jesse was whirling around with fire in his eyes, his hands slapping leather that was no longer there. Silly, Matt told him; you're just being silly. Jesse looked awfully mad, but there was nothing he could do except kick at the wall and swear eternal vengeance.

    The last cell, opposite the door, was empty. Cole Younger had been in there before they took him away to hang him, and now it was waiting for its next resident to show.

    "Matt?"

    You guys just better watch it, he cautioned with a sneer, and went back to join his mother.

    "What are you doing, deputy?" she said.

    "Watching the bad guys, like Chief Tabor said I should."

    "Okay. You're not getting into trouble?"

    "No, Mom," he said, wondering how that was possible with nothing in there to break.

    "Well, listen, I think we ought to-"

    She stopped with a hand to her chin when the police cruiser came to a squealing, rocking halt at the curb, its front bumper less than an inch from the front of Colin's car. Peg was out of her chair and at the door before Matt could say anything; then he hastily stood to one side as Colin hurried in with Lilla cradled in his arms. Matt thought she was sleeping, maybe even dead, and paid no attention to his mother's low questions or Doc Montgomery's clipped responses. He watched Chief Tabor grab for the phone on his desk, watched as Colin opened the first cell and kicked the mattress flat. Lilla didn't move when laid her down, and Colin backed out in a hurry, slammed the door shut and forced the bolt home with the heel of his hand.

    Matt reached out to touch him, pulled back and bit his lip. "Mr. Ross? Mr. Ross, is she all right?"

    Colin leaned hard against the wall, knees bent, one hand on the boy's shoulder while the other brushed back through his hair. "I don't know. I hope so, pal."

    He was a funny color, and sweat was pouring off him. Matt didn't know whether to put an arm around his waist or ask him a question or… or what. Then he heard his mother in the front office.

    "Impossible," she declared firmly. "Absolutely impossible."

    Colin closed his eyes.

    Matt sidled around him and stood in the doorway. There was a feeling in the room now that he didn't like at all.

    Chief Tabor was sitting at his desk, Doc Montgomery standing at the window, and his mother was between them with her hands on her hips, looking from one man to the other with an expression he recognized all too well-
Matthew, the next time you tell me a story like that I'm going to tan your behind, you understand me?

    "Listen," Garve said, one hand lifted weakly from the blotter where he was trying to stand a pencil on end. "Listen, you can say that all you want, Peg, but there were three of us there, and we saw what we saw."

    "And
I
saw her go over that cliff," she insisted, eyes narrow and chin stubbornly set. "I
saw
her."

    "I don't doubt that, believe me."

    "But-"

    Montgomery rapped his knuckles on the door frame. "A little order here, please," he said. "We aren't going to solve anything by arguing over what's inarguable."

    "You're crazier than he is," she told him. "For God's sake, Hugh, you're a doctor!"

    "That's right."

    "Then-"

    "Then nothing," he snapped, yanking off his glasses. He stared at them, blew on one lens, put them back on. His voice sounded hoarse. "She took a bullet in the throat, one in the shoulder, she was run over by the length of the car, and as God is my witness, Pegeen, she was standing up and moving the last time we saw her."

    "Then for God's sake, why isn't anyone out there to help her?"

    Neither man answered. Montgomery looked out at the street and pulled at his mustache while Tabor opened a desk drawer and took out another pencil.

    "Garve? Garve, for Christ's sake!"

    Matt didn't like the feeling at all. It was almost like the time they came and told him his father was dead, and he felt so bad because he couldn't bring himself to cry. He was supposed to, he knew that, but all he could think of was that there'd be no more beatings and no more lies and no more broken promises, and his mother wouldn't go to bed crying at night. It was almost like that-something unreal and not right, yet this time there was something more, something that almost had an odor to it, and it came from the two men who were trying not to look at his mother.

    "All right," she said, temper and fearful confusion making her voice thin and high, "Why don't I ask Colin, okay?"

    "Ask," Montgomery said. "Ask away."

    Matt jumped then when Colin walked past him into the room. He started to follow, but changed his mind immediately when he saw his mother's face shift from hope to disbelief.

    "My God, not you too," she said.

    "Peg," he said in the middle of a long sigh, "don't say another goddamned word until you hear me out. Just remember what you were thinking when we took off and went for Lilla."

    Matt turned away. Colin was angry and trying very hard not to yell. He didn't want to hear that, so he returned to the cell block and leaned against the wall where Colin had stood. Looking at Lilla. Remembering how she'd come to him at Tommy Fox's place. He looked up, out the small window, and saw the dim light and the wires trembling and the leaves flying by as if chased by the night.

    "Hello, Little Matt."

    She was sitting up, her hands in her lap, her bare feet close together. The dress was worse now than when he'd seen it the day before, and her hair was pressed so close to her scalp she looked almost bald. She looked terrible, but her eyes were all right.

    "Hello," he answered softly. But he didn't dare move.

    She tilted her head and raised a corner of her mouth in what might have been a smile. "They're doing a lot of yelling out there, aren't they?"

    He shrugged. "I guess so." His hands were cold, and he could feel an icicle pricking the back of his neck.

    "They're talking about me, you know."

    He lifted a foot and pressed the heel to the wall in case he had to push off quick and run. "I guess." It was funny, though. She sounded just like the old Lilla now, not like the spooky Lilla who had come after him at the marina. It was funny. She even looked at him in the same old way-nice, and friendly, like she was going to tell him a secret about the ice cream old Gran hand-cranked in the back. "Something happened, I guess."

    "Yes." Then she straightened, and looked right at him. "And you know, don't you, Little Matt?"

    "Oh, no," he said quickly. "No, I don't know anything."

    "Oh, I bet you do. Maybe not everything, but I bet you know more than they do."

    He was ready to deny it, to tell her she was crazy and he was going to get his mother; he was ready, but he said nothing because the way she studied him, the way she nodded and pointed at him once, made him realize that he'd been right. All along, he had been right.

    It must have shown on his face because she seemed to relax abruptly. "I knew you were smart, Little Matt. I knew it all the time. Gran knew it too. He knows a lot of things like that."

    Suddenly, without quite knowing why, Matt was excited. If she could do that, if she could talk to the fog and things, then she would be the first real witch he had ever known in his life. This wasn't like James Bond or anything like that; this was his home, and this was
real.
A hundred million questions stumbled over each other in their haste to get out, but he couldn't find the right words. All he could do was watch as she rose slowly from the cot and looked up at the window. Then she looked over her shoulder and gave him her beautiful ice-cream smile.

    "Shall I sing you, Little Matt? Shall I teach you a song?"

    He remembered lying under the covers and listening to the melody cloak the island and bring the fog.