Time Out of Mind (92 page)
Authors: John R. Maxim
Tags: #Horror, #General, #Psychological, #Suspense, #Memory, #Thrillers, #Fiction, #Time Travel
“
Where is Jonathan now?” Gwen's voice had fear in it.
“You said you saw him. Is Jonathan where you're going?”
Lesko jammed the Beretta into his belt and stepped past
her to Sturdevant. “This guy's gun is out on your porch
with his prints on it. Also tell the cops to take a walk
around the back yard.”
her to Sturdevant. “This guy's gun is out on your porch
with his prints on it. Also tell the cops to take a walk
around the back yard.”
“
Was it Jonathan?” Sturdevant asked quietly.
“
Ask me”—Lesko walked through toward the front
door—“the old guy called it right.”
“
I'm going with you.” Gwen ran after him.
The telephone on the kitchen wall rang.
Ella Beckwith slammed down the receiver and bit at the
knuckles of her fist. A mature voice had answered, almost certainly Sturdevant. She had hoped for no answer at all.
Neither Lawrence nor Burke, she knew, would have picked
up the phone if they were there and, if they were, or if
they'd finished and gone, no one else could have, either.
knuckles of her fist. A mature voice had answered, almost certainly Sturdevant. She had hoped for no answer at all.
Neither Lawrence nor Burke, she knew, would have picked
up the phone if they were there and, if they were, or if
they'd finished and gone, no one else could have, either.
Imbeciles.
Ella returned to her front window and stared into the full
darkness. She could see nothing at all. Just the snowflakes
nearest the Thermopane and the dim yellow glow from the
coach lamps atop the stone gate columns at the foot of her
driveway.
Ella caught her breath. The gates. She'd forgotten them
entirely. The gates were still wide open, tied that way by
the detective, Lesko. She rushed back to her desk and
poised a hand over her intercom, then hesitated. She could
call one of the servants in’ their quarters over the garage,
but she knew that whichever one walked down through a blizzard to remove a trenchcoat belt from her gate would
wonder about it and remember it. Better to leave them out
of it. Better to leave the gate—No, no, the gate could
not
be left open for anyone who pleased to come through it
and—Ella closed her eyes and shivered. She was remem
bering the day when her heart had almost stopped. The day
when she looked down on the road and saw a face that
could not have been there gazing back up at her. She re
membered being so badly shaken that she'd knocked over
the telescope in reaching for it and then, once it was
righted, she could barely hold it in focus on the old man
made young again who seemed to be looking directly into
the lens. A face that a part of her had been expecting for
more than twenty years. Perhaps for more than forty years.
entirely. The gates were still wide open, tied that way by
the detective, Lesko. She rushed back to her desk and
poised a hand over her intercom, then hesitated. She could
call one of the servants in’ their quarters over the garage,
but she knew that whichever one walked down through a blizzard to remove a trenchcoat belt from her gate would
wonder about it and remember it. Better to leave them out
of it. Better to leave the gate—No, no, the gate could
not
be left open for anyone who pleased to come through it
and—Ella closed her eyes and shivered. She was remem
bering the day when her heart had almost stopped. The day
when she looked down on the road and saw a face that
could not have been there gazing back up at her. She re
membered being so badly shaken that she'd knocked over
the telescope in reaching for it and then, once it was
righted, she could barely hold it in focus on the old man
made young again who seemed to be looking directly into
the lens. A face that a part of her had been expecting for
more than twenty years. Perhaps for more than forty years.
The gate. The gate had to be closed. Ella yanked open
her desk drawer and found a pair of scissors. These in one hand and her cane in the other, Ella struggled with the bolt
of the door that was still whole and passed into her entrance
hall. At a closet there she snatched a long, hooded coat,
which she hadn't worn in almost a quarter century. There
were no boots. There had been at one time but some servant
had removed them over the years. They were never used.
Miss Beckwith never went out in weather. Miss Beckwith
hardly went out at all.
The storm stung her cheeks. And the snow on the drive
way seemed to bite at her ankles and try to crawl up her
legs, and the cold went through her coat as if contemptuous
of it. But she was managing. She could move quickly and
without great peril of falling if she stayed to the ruts pressed
into the snow by the cars and if she watched where she
was stepping. She pressed on stiffly, like an awkward nov
ice skier, her eyes locked on the ground immediately before
her, daring only once to glance up and measure the distance remaining to Raymond Lesko's knotted belt. Another fifty
feet. Good. Keep moving.
Some things are seen by the eye and others by the mind.
Ella's eye saw the strip of snow-covered cloth that bound
her electric gate to a bush. It was all her eye sought. But
as she looked down again to the snowy surface at her feet and her brain calculated the decreasing distance to it, her
brain also began filling in the surrounding
detail that her
glance had also photographed. There was the gate itself,
then the nearest column crowned by a steaming brass lamp,
then the other stone column, and between them, set back
several feet just at the farthest reach of their light, her brain
replayed the image of a man. Standing there. Not moving.
Ella denied this last. She would not look up again. She
would take her scissors, she would cut that belt, the gate
would swing shut and locked, and anything that might pos
sibly be standing there would be shut out in any case.
She reached the belt. Ella lowered herself on her cane
and fumbled with the scissors, twice dropping them from
icy fingers before their jaws at last closed on the stiff fabric
and began chewing through it. The belt parted with a snap.
Like a frozen snake it began unwinding. The gate creaked
forward. Ella felt a joy that approached hysteria.
and fumbled with the scissors, twice dropping them from
icy fingers before their jaws at last closed on the stiff fabric
and began chewing through it. The belt parted with a snap.
Like a frozen snake it began unwinding. The gate creaked
forward. Ella felt a joy that approached hysteria.
“
Good evening, Ella.”
Close. Keep going. That's good. Yes.
“
It won't close, Ella. The snow will stop it.”
Ella denied the voice as well. And what it said. The gate
will close. It is a heavy gate. And the snow is not so high.
It will need a little push, perhaps. But it will close.
A shadow moved. The man who was not there stepped
closer.
“
No!”
Ella shrieked. But still she would not look up.
With one bare hand she clawed at the blocking snow while
the other held the scissors stiff-armed toward the shadow.
It moved closer. It crossed the line between her columns
where her locked gates should have been.
“
Stay out of here! Stay out!”
She drew back the scissors
and hurled them at him, backhanded. They sailed harmlessly by, but it seemed to Ella they passed through him.
Ella squealed. Her cane. Where was her cane? She groped
for it in the snow and, finding it, tottered to her feet. Once erect, she gripped the cane at its tapered base and swung it
wildly at the night.
“Burke!”
she screamed.
“Burke!”
“
Burke is gone now, Ella.” The voice was almost gen
tle. “Burke, Bigelow, Hack, your father. They're all
gone.”
Ella's thin chest was heaving. Her head remained cocked to one side in a desperate hope that what was vague in her
vision would remain vague in form. Her mouth began to
froth at its corners. Her eyes were wide and unblinking in
spite of the snow.
“
It's time, Ella,” the voice said softly.
“
I'll kill you,” she hissed.
He smiled. It was a sad smile, as if she'd made a very
poor joke.
“
It's time to answer for Margaret, and for Jonathan and
for poor Lucy. There was never a need to harm Lucy.”
A low, growling wail started deep in her throat. She slashed viciously with her cane, although his shape re
mained ten feet distant, between her pillars. Now she hurled
the cane as she had the scissors. The cane struck his chest,
but lengthwise and without force. He snatched it before it
could fall and held it for a long moment. He seemed to
study it. At last he brought it down to his side. Something
in his pose brought another wail from Ella. She spun drunk
enly toward the house, her arms reaching for it. She fell face down in the snow. She lay there gasping, staring at it,
waiting in terror for the shadow to cross over her.
But instead there was light. Headlights. Their glow grew bright on the snow and—she twisted her head—on her col
umns and the shape between them. She heard the sound of
a motor, first loud, then purring. She heard a car door. And another. Lawrence. Lawrence and Burke. See? They are not
gone. Liar. Kill him, Lawrence. Kill him now and you'll
be rich.
umns and the shape between them. She heard the sound of
a motor, first loud, then purring. She heard a car door. And another. Lawrence. Lawrence and Burke. See? They are not
gone. Liar. Kill him, Lawrence. Kill him now and you'll
be rich.
“
Jonathan!”
Gwen ran to him, one hand gripping her white skirts. She'd brought no coat. Raymond Lesko ap
proached more slowly. He held the pistol ready in his
pocket as he scanned the darkness. He saw Ella. She was
kicking her legs, crablike, trying to back away, but she was
making no progress. “
Kill him,''
she was screeching.
Jonathan!”
Gwen ran to him, one hand gripping her white skirts. She'd brought no coat. Raymond Lesko ap
proached more slowly. He held the pistol ready in his
pocket as he scanned the darkness. He saw Ella. She was
kicking her legs, crablike, trying to back away, but she was
making no progress. “
Kill him,''
she was screeching.
Corbin stared at Gwen. It seemed to her at first that he
did not know her. His eyes were odd. Then recognition
showed in them, then affection, then something like appre
ciation. But it was more the look Jonathan might have given
her the second or third time they met.
“
You must be cold,” he said.
If she was, she was not conscious of it. She stood, look
ing hard into his eyes as he peeled off his coat and wrapped
it around her shoulders.
“
Are you Jonathan?” she asked.
His eyes took a sort of hitch, like that made by a film when it jumps to another scene.
`
“
Yes, sweetheart.” He closed his lapels across her
throat. “I'm Jonathan.” He gestured with his head toward
the woman who was shouting into the storm. “That's Ella
Beckwith.”
”
I know. Mr. Lesko told me.”
“
She killed them all. Or had it done. She was going to
kill us.”
She killed them all. Or had it done. She was going to
kill us.”
”
I know that, too. Jonathan, let's get away from here.”
“
In just a minute, sweetheart.” He touched her cheek tenderly. But his eyes changed again as they turned and
locked on Ella Beckwith. “In just another minute.”
In just a minute, sweetheart.” He touched her cheek tenderly. But his eyes changed again as they turned and
locked on Ella Beckwith. “In just another minute.”
He was coming for her. Ella hooded her eyes against the coach-light's glare and she saw him moving toward her.
Where was Lawrence? Where was Burke? She could not have imagined that they'd come. She'd seen them. Two of them, rushing from the car. Now there was no one. Only
him. Except for just an instant she'd imagined she saw his Chicago whore standing at his side, but now she, too, was
gone.
Where was Lawrence? Where was Burke? She could not have imagined that they'd come. She'd seen them. Two of them, rushing from the car. Now there was no one. Only
him. Except for just an instant she'd imagined she saw his Chicago whore standing at his side, but now she, too, was
gone.
Get a grip on yourself. Think. If you can just get to
...
where? Get to where?
She tried to remember. There was a building, she knew,
that she wanted to reach. A place with light and warmth
and stout doors. But the snow was piling high and her feet
were numb and the hem of her coat was heavy with ice.
She would never reach it. He would be there first.
Ella looked back.
He was coming. Steadily. Unhurried. The cane swinging
in his right hand. There was hardly any snow. Why was
there so little snow for him and so much for her? Every
thing seemed turned around somehow. She was even moving downhill now. How could that be when her driveway
climbed steeply upward?
At last Ella reached a broad, open space that was flat. It should have been where her front terrace and her wisteria
trellis were, but it was all so different. The trellis was so high, so much bigger, and its posts seemed more like steel p
illars. She heard a scream. An odd scream, not like a
woman's. It came again. From a distance. She stared past
the pillars and saw it. It was a horse. A horse was screaming
because it had fallen and could not rise and there were two
men, policemen. Oh, glory. Yes. Policemen.
“Police,” she croaked. ”I need you. Police!”
But the wind shredded her words and drove them back
into her face.
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