Set This House in Order (39 page)

“I don't understand,” she says.

The rapping hand pauses, then starts over again:
Thump-THWACK-THWACK…thump-thump-thump-thump…

“No,” says Mouse, “I mean I don't know Morse code. Unless…Maledicta? Do you—”

Suddenly
he
snaps awake, his head jerking forward. “What…?” he exclaims, staring at his upraised arm. He glowers at Mouse. “What the hell just happened?”

“Nothing,” Mouse says, not very convincingly. “You were just stretching in your sleep.”

“Right.” They are passing a road sign:
RAPID CITY
—42. “Drive faster,” he says.

“I've got it at fifty,” says Mouse. “I thought you didn't want me to—”

“Drive faster. I want this ride over with.”

He settles back in the seat, his left hand gripping his right forearm as if to restrain it. Mouse can see that he is scared now. The encounter with the state trooper must really have shaken him up; he is starting to lose control. But barring a second police stop, Mouse still doesn't know how she is going to push him over the edge in the short time she has left.

In the end, the South Dakota state tourist bureau does the job for her.

Besides the mile markers, they are passing a lot of billboards touting various tourist attractions: Mount Rushmore, the Crazy Horse Monument, Wounded Knee, Petrified Gardens, and something called Wall Drug, which Mouse has never heard of, but which is apparently a very big deal around here.
FILL UP YOUR JUG…AT WALL DRUG
, one billboard invites, somewhat cryptically. Another, showing a display case overflowing with merchandise, reads:
WALL DRUG STORE—ALL THIS AND
FREE ICE WATER,
TOO!

“My goodness,” he says from the back seat. “Is that
the
Wall Drug Store?”

It's a new voice. “I-I don't know,” says Mouse. “I guess so. What is it, some kind of mall?”

“It's supposed to be one of the most amazing malls in the country,” he says. “It's
much
better than Westlake Center, I bet.”

“Oh. Well—”

“I got cheated out of my last mall visit,” he adds confidentially. “Do you suppose we could stop at Wall Drug for just a few minutes? No one else would have to know.”

“Sure,” says Mouse. “Sure, I'd be glad to stop there, only—do you think I could talk to Andrew first?”

Andrew's body convulses, and
he
comes back out. “Stop the car!” he shouts. “Stop—”

Another billboard goes by. “Ooh!” he cries, in a little-boy falsetto. “Wooly mammoths!”

Mouse says nothing, only waits. They pass another billboard, this one advertising Camel cigarettes.

He leans forward, blinking rapidly. “Dear,” he says, in a woman's voice, “could I get a smoke to clear my hea—”

“NO!”
He convulses again. “Stop the car! Stop the car!”

Mouse keeps driving.

“Stop the car!” he bellows, and kicks the back of her seat. “Stop it, stop it,
stop it—
”

A sliver of time drops out, and then they are pulled over at a curve in the
highway. Mouse, turned halfway around in her seat, gets just a glimpse of her passenger as he bails out of the car, leaving the door open behind him.

“Andrew!” Mouse calls—

—and then she is out of the car too, standing at the edge of a big ditch that runs alongside the road shoulder. She hears him screaming.

“Andrew?” Mouse calls. “Andrew?”

The ditch is about eight feet deep, and by the glow of the Buick's taillights, Mouse can just make out Andrew's body thrashing around at the bottom of it. He's caught in something; from the violence of his motions, and the bloodcurdling shrieks coming out of his mouth, Mouse is afraid it's a bear trap, or something equally gruesome. Then another car drives by on the highway, and as its headlights sweep the ditch, Mouse sees what he has blundered into: barbed wire.

Someone has dumped a length of barbed-wire fence in the ditch, and he has gotten tangled in the coils. Instead of holding still and trying to pick himself out carefully, he has panicked and is fighting. Mouse can see the whole heap of wire and fence posts shaking.

“Oh God, Andrew!” Mouse says. “Andrew, don't, you'll really hurt yourself…” She wants to go down and help him, but she's afraid that the way he's flailing around, he'll end up knocking her into the wire too. She hovers at the top of the ditch, pleading with him to stop thrashing.

He lets out one last piercing scream and falls still. Mouse waits another ten seconds, then scrambles down to him.

It's not as bad as she thought. She'd gotten the impression that Andrew's whole body was wrapped in barbed wire, but it turns out only his left arm is caught. Still, it's bad: the wire is looped around his forearm at least twice, and his struggling has pulled it taut, digging the barbs in deep. When Mouse touches his sleeve, she finds it tacky with blood.

“Andrew…” It looks like he's fainted, which is just as well, although she doesn't know how she's going to get him back into the car. First she needs to untangle him. Feeling carefully in the dark, Mouse traces the barbed wire where it loops around his arm, trying to determine if there is any slack to work with. It feels like there might be; but when Mouse gives an experimental tug on the wire, Andrew comes alive again.

His free hand comes up and seizes her roughly by the shoulder.
“Pou eimaste?”
he demands of her.
“Ti symbainei?”

Mouse squeaks.

“—and that's the last thing I remember,” Penny concluded. “The next thing I knew, we were here.”

We'd gone back inside the motel room while she told her story; now she retrieved a sheet of dinosaur-themed stationery from the top of the television set. “The Society left me a note,” she said, and handed it to me.

The note read:

“Duncan,” Penny said, as I finished reading. “I don't know who that is.”

“I do. I met him once. He's—” I paused, seeing how she was looking at me. “It's OK, Penny,” I said. “Duncan is one of your protectors. He's good.” I glanced down at the note again. “So did you call Dr. Eddington?”

“I
tried,”
Penny said. “But the phone was out of order”—she gestured at the nightstand—“and I was afraid if I left the room to call from somewhere else, you'd run away again. So I slept in the chair, and when I woke up you were still out cold, so I thought I could sneak a shower, but—”

She was on the verge of tears. “Penny,” I said. “It's all right. You did fine. I—”

“I
didn't
do fine!” Penny said, pounding her fist against her thigh. “I almost lost you again! I wanted to take a shower, but I didn't want to leave the bathroom door open, in case
he
woke up—”

“It's OK, Penny. I didn't run away. And I'm certainly not going to begrudge you a shower, after all that…really, I don't know how I'm even going to
begin
to thank you for following me all this way…I mean, when I think about the last couple weeks, I'm not sure I deserve it.”

She shook her head, dismissing the notion. “You came after me when I ran away.”

“What, you mean when you ran into the woods? That was a couple miles, Penny. But this…What I did for you doesn't compare.”

“You helped me,” Penny insisted, “so I helped you. But I shouldn't have left you alone, not for a moment, not until I was sure…”

“Penny, come on…you know if one of us is going to beat themself up, it really ought to be me. This is all my fault.”

“No. You couldn't help—”

“Oh yes I could,” I said. “I should never have gotten drunk. It's against my father's rules—I don't think I ever really appreciated
why
it's against the rules, but now I know. I let myself lose control.” I sighed, feeling all sorts of guilt-thoughts and self-recriminations—about the drinking, about Julie, about Dr. Grey (Dr. Grey!…could she really be dead?)—just waiting for a chance to surge forward and swamp me. But I couldn't afford that right now.

“Do you know,” Penny asked, “who the nasty one is? The one who wouldn't tell me his name?”

“No. I don't know either of the souls you met. I've never heard of Xavier before. And the other one…he
sounds
like Gideon, but he can't be.”

“Gideon,” said Penny. “He's bad?”

“He's selfish.” I fingered the bandage on my arm. “He's also really afraid of sharp things with points—knives, nails, thorns—I mean
really
afraid, like he can't deal with them at all. But the thing is, he's not supposed to be able to come out anymore, so if it
was
him running the body…”

“So what happens now?” asked Penny. “You're back in control now, right?”

“I hope so…I guess the first thing, we have to find a phone that works, and call Dr. Eddington and Mrs. Winslow. God, Mrs. Winslow! She's got to be so worried by now.”

“Well,” Penny said, “Maledicta did tell Julie that we were going after you. So maybe if Julie talked to Mrs. Winslow…”

“Maybe,” I said, doubtful. Somehow, I didn't think hearing about Julie's encounter with Maledicta would have put Mrs. Winslow's mind at ease. “I'd still better go call her. And then, afterwards, I'm going to need to go inside to talk to my father, and see what kind of shape the house is in. Maybe you could watch the body for me while I do that.”

“Um…OK,” said Penny. She pinched the collar of her bathrobe. “Just let me get dressed, and I'll come with you to make the phone call.”

As I waited for Penny outside the motel room, I tried to call out my father. At first there was no response—the pulpit still wasn't there—but then I heard my name, from what sounded like a long way off: “…drew?…”

“Father?” I said.

The motel-room door opened and Penny came out in a rush, hopping on one foot as she struggled to pull on her shoe. She saw the distant expression on my face and got scared. “Andrew?” she said.

“It's all right,” I told her, abandoning my attempt to make contact with the house. “It's still me.”

We went to the motel office and told the manager that the phone in our room was out of order. He shrugged, as if unclear why this should be his concern; but when I pressed him, he reluctantly agreed to let me use the office phone.

I dialed Mrs. Winslow's number, and was surprised to get an answering machine: “This is Mrs. Winslow speaking. If this is Andrew, Aaron, or another member of their family, please leave a message telling me where you are. If you don't know where you are, you need to dial 911 immediately; tell whoever answers that you're lost, and give them my phone num—”

The recording cut off with a beep in midsentence. “Mrs. Winslow?” I said. “It's all right, Mrs. Winslow, I'm—” There was another beep, a crackle of static, and then the connection was broken.

“What?” Penny said.

“I got an answering machine,” I told her. “I didn't know Mrs. Winslow had one of those…I mean I guess it makes sense that she would, but she's almost always home.”

“You didn't leave a message?”

I shook my head. “Something was wrong with it…” I dialed the number again, and got a busy signal. Frustrated, I hung up, and started to dial Dr. Eddington's number.

“Ahem.” The motel manager cleared his throat. “Just how many calls are you planning to make, exactly?”

“Just one more,” I said. The phone rang twice, and then Dr. Eddington's answering machine picked up. But at least it seemed to be working properly. I left a lengthy message.

“All right,” I said to Penny after I hung up. “Let's go back to the room, and—”

The manager cleared his throat again. “That'll be fifteen dollars.”

“Fifteen—…for what?”

“Three long-distance calls,” the manager said. “I figure five bucks per.”

“The first call was only thirty seconds long,” I pointed out. “And the second was a busy signal.”

The manager shrugged. “I didn't hear any busy signal.”

“You…” I gave up; I didn't have the energy to argue.

“Sorry,” Penny apologized as we walked back to the room. “I guess Duncan picked the wrong motel.”

“He had more important things to worry about—you both did. Anyway, the money doesn't concern me so much as not being able to talk to Mrs. Winslow.”

Back in the room, I thought about taking a quick shower, but reluctantly decided against it. First things first. I explained to Penny what I was going to do.

“So you'll be unconscious again?” she said.

I nodded. “It'll look like I'm sleeping,” I said. “And you can shake me awake, if there's an emergency, but it may take me a few seconds to wake up.”

“What if somebody else wakes up instead?” Penny asked. “What if
he
wakes up?”

“That shouldn't happen.”

She just looked at me.

“Right,” I said. “Right…” I searched the room for something pointy and sharp, but not too sharp; in the drawer of the nightstand, alongside a Bible and a Book of Mormon, I found a letter opener. “Here,” I said, offering it to her. “If Gideon does show up, just wave this at him…”

Penny blinked. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Maledicta said. “You want me to fucking stab you?”

“Not
stab,”
I said. “You wouldn't actually have to use it, just show it to him. Threaten to, to poke him with it…”

“Poke him with it,” said Maledicta. “Tell you what, why don't I bust out the fucking window and threaten to poke him with a piece of
that?”

“Oh-
kay,
” I said, “maybe this isn't such a good idea…”

She blinked again. “No,” Penny said, “no, I'm sorry, it's all right. I'll do it.”

I wasn't sure I wanted her to, now. “You don't have to, Penny. If you're not comfortable staying in here while I—”

“It's all right. Give me the letter opener.”

I gave it to her, not without a trace of reluctance. “Just…be careful,” I said. “Maybe, if Gideon does show up, maybe the best thing would be to step back and let him go.”

Penny didn't say anything to that, just sat in the chair, holding the letter opener awkwardly in her fist.

I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes.

Going inside was much harder than it usually is. When I went to step out of the body, I encountered resistance; it was like trying to back through a tunnel that had been packed with cotton. But I concentrated, and pushed, until finally something gave; and then I was down, in a landscape so changed that I thought I'd stumbled into the wrong geography.

The mist which ordinarily shrouded Coventry had thickened into fog and boiled over, obliterating the lake and much of the lakebank; a thinner but still substantial haze extended as far as the encircling forest, turning the trees into shadowy silhouettes. Standing on the hill where the column of light touches down, I couldn't see the house.

“Father?” I called, the haze swallowing my words. “Adam?…Anybody?”

There was no answer, but I heard a sound like muffled hammering in the distance. I moved towards it, and found myself at the house.

It was in shambles. It was still standing, but it looked like it had been picked up and dropped from a height: the grounds around were littered with sprung boards, broken glass, and cracked shingles. The pulpit, as I'd expected, was totally gone, torn away; the door that had connected it to the second-floor gallery was boarded over with heavy planks.

My father stood on the front lawn, surveying the damage. When he noticed me standing beside him, his reaction was surprisingly subdued. “Andrew,” he said. “So you're awake, finally.”

“Yes,” I said, thrown by his demeanor. “Since just a little while ago. I…I'm back in control of the body, too.”

“And where is the body?” he asked, in a tone of voice that suggested he wasn't all that interested. “A long way from Autumn Creek, I'm guessing.”

“Yes,” I said. “We're in South Dakota. It's Thursday.” I waited for him to react; when he didn't, I blurted out: “I'm really sorry about getting drunk.”

“Yes, you should be.” His brow contracted, and I thought he was going to let me have it; but then his anger just dissipated. “Well, I suppose it's my failure too.”

“Aren't you…don't you want to yell at me?”

He shook his head, smiling his disappointment. “There's not much point. You know it was wrong; you knew it was wrong before you did it; and it's not the first time it's happened. But you did it anyway.”

“Well I didn't think
this
would happen, or—”

Still smiling: “Why did you imagine I forbade it, Andrew? Did you think I was just trying to keep you from having a good time?”

“I don't know what I thought. I guess I
didn't
think, at all.” I hung my head, but after a moment, when he still didn't yell at me, I looked back up at the house. “What happened here?”

“It was a lot like an earthquake,” my father said, “only the sky shook, too. And then the mist on the lake…well, you can see what happened with the mist.”

“Is everyone else OK? Where are they?”

“The Witnesses are inside, in the nursery. The others…are around. I've been trying to get them together for a meeting, but they keep scattering, wandering off into the fog.” He was silent for a few seconds. Then he said: “South Dakota?”

“Yes. Near Rapid City.”

“And Penny Driver is with you?”

“Yes. How did you know? Have you been—”

“Watching? No. Since the pulpit blew away, I haven't been able to get more than vague impressions from outside; I knew we were traveling, but not much more. I haven't been able to get out, either, except once, and even then only partway. The body was in the back seat of Penny's car, and we were driving on a highway at night.”

“The Morse code message. That was you.”

He nodded. “Stupid of me, really—I should have tried signaling for a pen or a pencil instead. Not that there would have been time for that…I'd barely made contact when
somebody
kicked me out. Who was that, by the way? Who's been controlling the body? Do you know?”

“Not really.” I gave him a very abbreviated summary of what Penny had told me about the journey from Autumn Creek to the Badlands.

“I don't know any soul named Xavier,” my father said when I was finished. He gazed off into the mist, in the direction of the lake. “I suppose he could be new…”

“I don't think he is new. From what Penny told me, it sounded like he'd been to Michigan before, and that he'd…seen the stepfather.” I paused, realizing something. “But wait a minute—if that's true, then you'd
have
to know him, wouldn't you? I mean, wasn't part of the whole process of building the house that you took an inventory of all the souls?”