The Unwanted (32 page)

But instead of taking a swing at him, Ed had shambled toward the door. “Some goddamn son you are,” he mumbled. “What kind of kid threatens his old man?” Then he was gone, and both Eric and Laura knew where he was going. He’d start out drinking on his boat, then move to the Whaler’s Inn. And when he was drunk enough, he’d come home.

When they were alone, Eric had tried to help his mother, but she’d shaken her head and waved him away. “Just leave me alone,” she said, her voice muffled. “I’ll be all right.”

He’d gone outside then, and begun the weekly routine of yardwork, but even the work hadn’t helped. His mind refused to concentrate on the job.

Instead he kept thinking about the rage growing within him.

It wasn’t just his father anymore, he knew. The anger was spilling over now, onto his mother too.…

Before—when the rage had grown to the point where he thought he might burst—he’d always gone to the marsh and talked to Miranda.

Always—since he was ten years old, and Miranda had come home from the hospital—she’d been there for him. He had been able to go out to her cabin and sit with her—Sumi snuggled comfortably in his lap—and pour out the rage. And no matter how bad it had been—how filled with hatred he’d been—Miranda had always listened to him, comforted him, and accepted him. She’d been his friend, always there.

She had taught him how to control the rage, how to use it, how to bury it so deep that no one else even knew it was there.

She had taught him how to survive.

And then Cassie had come, and Miranda—the only person who had ever been Eric’s alone—had taken her in too.

“She’s just like you, Eric,” Miranda had told him on that last afternoon when he’d gone to visit her. “And I’ve known
her just as long. I found her the same day I found you, when you were both so young. And I won’t turn away from her. I won’t, and you mustn’t either. She needs us, Eric. She needs both of us.”

That day his rage had turned for the first time on Miranda. But he’d kept it under control, hidden it so deep that even she—who could see everything—hadn’t been able to see it. And then, late that night, he’d gone back to the marsh.

But even after Miranda had died, even after he’d finally given in to the rage within him, it hadn’t stopped.

Instead the fury only seemed to feed on itself, growing ever stronger.

And then, the day Simms threw him off the baseball team, Miranda’s words came back to him. But Miranda had been wrong. He suddenly understood that it wasn’t Cassie who needed him.

It was he who needed Cassie.

Needed her so that when he finally released all the rage that had built up within him over the years, it would be Cassie who took the blame.

And it would begin today, when they released Kiska.

He put the mower back in the garage and hung the edging clippers on their nail in the wall. After he closed the garage door, he crossed the double driveway and knocked at the Winslows’ back door. A moment later Rosemary Winslow stepped out into the service porch and held the screen door open for him.

He composed his features into the friendly smile that had long ago become the mask behind which he hid the furies burning within him. “Is Cassie here?”

Rosemary frowned uncertainly. “I—well, yes, she is. But I’m not sure she’s feeling too well. When she got back from the park, she went up to her room, and she hasn’t come down again.”

“Oh,” Eric said, feeling a twinge of disappointment. “Well, when she comes back down, would you tell her I was here?”

“Of course,” Rosemary replied. She was about to let the door swing shut on its spring when Cassie suddenly called out from the kitchen.

“It’s okay. I’m here.”

Surprised, Rosemary turned to face Cassie. When she’d come back from the park an hour ago, it was obvious that something had gone wrong, but Cassie had refused to tell her what. Instead she’d disappeared up the stairs, retreating once more into the solitude of her room, shutting Rosemary out. Jennifer, though, told her what had happened, and Rosemary had been tempted to call Harriet Chambers.

Except that you didn’t do that when two teenagers had a spat, did you?

Had it been Jennifer and one of her friends, fine—the two mothers could do their best to straighten it out. But when the kids were Cassie’s and Lisa’s age, shouldn’t she stay out of it?

Now she felt foolish for even having thought of calling Harriet, for obviously Cassie’s anger had passed. She was smiling at Eric now as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

“Hi,” Cassie said to Eric. “You ready?”

Eric nodded. “I would have been here earlier, but—well, you know.”

Cassie’s smile faded. “Your dad?”

Eric shrugged dismissively. “You know what he’s like. Come on.”

As the two teenagers started out the back door, Rosemary reached out and stopped Cassie. “What about your room? Have you cleaned it?”

“I’ll do it later,” Cassie replied. She started to move around Rosemary, but Rosemary stepped sideways to block her path. “You got out of it earlier by taking Jennifer to the park. Now, before you do anything else, I want that room cleaned.”

Cassie’s eyes darkened. “I’ll do it later,” she said again. “Besides, you’re not my mother, and you can’t tell me what to do!”

While Rosemary stared after her in shocked silence, Cassie disappeared out the back door, letting the screen slam behind her.

For just a moment Rosemary considered going after her, then abandoned the idea.

She was going to have at least four days alone with Cassie. She didn’t want to start them off with a fight.

*  *  *

From the
Big Ed’s
pilothouse Ed Cavanaugh watched the
Morning Star III
move sedately out of the harbor as Keith Winslow carefully maneuvered it past the channel markers.

From the provisions he’d watched Keith stowing aboard, it looked like he was planning to be out quite a while. That meant his wife would be alone in the house with Jennifer.

Jennifer, and Cassie.

His mind darkened as he thought of the girl.

He’d seen her watching him. It had been going on ever since Miranda had died, and gotten worse in the last few days, after she’d locked herself up in that room of hers.

Almost every day he’d seen her standing at her window, looking down at him, accusing him, like maybe she thought
he’d
killed Miranda.

But he hadn’t done anything, no matter what the girl thought. Not that he cared that Miranda was dead—in fact he was glad. At least Eric wouldn’t be wasting any more time going out to that cabin of hers, listening to whatever crap the crazy bitch had been telling him all those years. And Eric thought he was so smart, thought no one knew where he was going all those times when he sneaked out of the house on weekends, leaving all the work for him to do.

He should have stopped it years ago, Ed thought. Would have, too, if there’d been any way he could have kept his eye on the kid all the time. But there wasn’t.

Once he’d even tried to go out to the cabin himself and slap some sense into Miranda. Tell her to leave his kid alone! And after he’d told her—

But he’d never even gotten close to the cabin. The goddamn hawk had seen to that.

So when the old witch had finally gotten what was coming to her, he hadn’t shed any tears.

Except that now Cassie was picking up where Miranda Sikes had left off. Now it was Cassie who Eric was always talking to. And he knew what Eric was telling her.

He was telling her the same things he’d told Miranda—telling her what a jerk his old man was!

And she was listening to Eric, too, just like Miranda had. And why wouldn’t she? He’d seen what the little tramp was after right from the beginning, staring at the boy with
those big brown eyes and getting him into all sorts of trouble, cutting school and being wise with his father. Cassie Winslow and Miranda Sikes were two of a kind. Well, he might not have been able to do anything about Miranda, but he knew what he could do about Cassie Winslow.

He already knew Rosemary Winslow didn’t like her. So tonight he’d go pay a little call on Rosemary. With her smart-ass husband gone, she’d pay attention to him. He’d tell her exactly what Cassie was all about, and let her know what would happen if she didn’t see to it that Cassie stayed away from Eric. If she wanted to live with a nut in the house, that was fine with him. But she’d damn well keep the kid away from his son.

And after they’d talked …

Ed’s eyes glistened as he thought about what he might do to Rosemary Winslow.

Hell, he thought, she probably wouldn’t even scream. She’d probably like it. She’d sure given him the eye enough times.

He opened the little icebox next to the sinkful of dirty dishes and fished around for a beer. When there wasn’t any, he slammed the icebox closed and locked the
Big Ed
.

The Whaler’s Inn always had beer, and people to talk to. Good people—people who liked him.

Not sluts like his wife, and Rosemary Winslow, and Cassie.

Well, he’d show them. He’d show them all. And he’d start tonight.

The hawk cocked his head, his pink eye fixing on Cassie, the feathers on his neck ruffling nervously.

The cage had been completely invisible as they approached; indeed, Cassie hadn’t even been sure toward which bush Eric was leading her. To her eye the entire area to the west of the hillock seemed choked with vegetation, and the path Eric had followed had been all but completely grown over with vines and reeds.

But a few moments ago she’d felt a tingling sensation come over her, almost as if there were unseen eyes watching her. She’d paused, looking around, and Eric had looked at her sharply. “You can feel him, can’t you?”

Cassie hesitated. “I—I can feel
some
thing,” she said. “Are we close?”

Eric nodded. “Over there. The big bush, with the clump of cattails growing out of it.”

Cassie had scanned the area ahead, then spotted the bush Eric was pointing at. She’d started toward it, and the tingling sensation grew stronger. Finally, with Eric behind her, she’d knelt down on the damp earth and pushed her way through the dense foliage. The cage was hidden among the branches, near the trunk of the shrub.

Inside the cage, his talons wrapped around a makeshift perch, Kiska had gazed warily at her, soft clicking sounds emerging from his throat.

Eric crept up beside her, then fished in the pocket of his
jacket. “Here,” he breathed. “Give him this.” He put something in her hand.

Cassie glanced down, gasping as she recognized the small shape of a dead mouse sitting in her right palm. Her stomach recoiled and her hand jerked reflexively, the mouse falling to the ground.

The hawk stretched up from the perch, its neck extending as it reached for the small gray form. Cassie looked fearfully at Eric. “What should I do?”

“Pick it up,” Eric told her. “Hold it on your hand, but keep your hand flat. Then put your hand in the cage. He’ll take it right away.”

Cassie swallowed hard, then gingerly picked up the dead mouse and laid it in the palm of her hand.

Kiska clucked eagerly, his head bobbing and weaving as he kept his eyes on the furry shape.

Cassie carefully opened the cage door just wide enough to slip her hand inside. Kiska’s head flashed forward, and suddenly the mouse was in his beak.

Cassie quickly pulled her hand out of the cage and shut the door. Then, as they watched, the bird began eating the mouse.

He dropped it to the floor of the cage and pounced on it, his talons puncturing the creature’s hide, sinking into its flesh as his curved beak began tearing chunks of skin and meat from the small skeleton. As soon as a piece came loose, the bird jerked his head back, his tongue stuffing the morsel back into his throat. Even before the first piece was swallowed, he was tearing at the corpse once more. In seconds the mouse had disappeared, even its bones torn apart and forced down the bird’s gullet.

“Did you ever see anything like it?” Eric breathed, his eyes still on Kiska, who was back on his perch now, methodically preening his feathers with his beak.

Cassie, still fighting a wave of nausea, shook her head. “You’ve really been doing this every day?” she asked. “Where did you get the mice?”

Eric said nothing for a moment, then shrugged. “The cellar of our house. Dad dumps everything down there, and there’s mice all over the place. I just set some traps. A couple of days ago I had three for him.”

“But what are we going to do with him?” Cassie asked. “We can’t just keep him out here forever.”

Eric glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “And we can’t just let him go, can we?”

“But he’s okay now,” Cassie said. “I know he is.”

“But what about Templeton?” Eric asked. “If he sees him, he’ll shoot him again.”

Cassie fell silent, her eyes fixed on the bird for several long seconds. Inside the cage Kiska stopped preening his feathers, standing perfectly still as he stared back at Cassie.

The soft cluckings in his throat died away.

Finally Cassie reached out once more and opened the door of the cage. Immediately the hawk hopped from the perch to the floor of the cage and extended his head through the opening.

Slowly, warily, Cassie moved her hand down until her wrist was just outside the door.

Kiska bounded onto her wrist, his talons closing around her flesh as they had around the mouse’s a few minutes earlier. But the pressure was light, and the needle-sharp points of his claws didn’t pierce her skin.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she smiled at Eric. “It’s all right,” she said. “I can feel him, and it’s all right.”

As if to prove her words, the hawk suddenly leaped from her arm, his wings spreading as he beat his way through the thick foliage and burst into the sky above the marsh. Cassie and Eric pushed out of the tangled branches of the bush and scrambled to their feet. Above them the hawk was circling higher and higher, his wings moving strongly as he searched for the wind. Then he found it and his wings locked into position as he soared on the breeze, his tail spread wide, a screech of excitement bursting from his throat. A moment later he dived, swooping low over the pine trees around the cabin, flushing a flock of ravens from their nests. Cawing loudly, the black birds fluttered into the air, streaking after the hawk. He rose high again, with the ravens chasing after him, then dived straight into the flock. Frustrated and furious, the ravens tumbled through the air then spread out, surrounding the hawk. One by one they darted in at him, but each time he dived away, gradually leading them out over the sea.