Moonbog, page 7
As Eddie rounded a corner, he suddenly stopped short and wheeled around to face his pursuer. A low whimper came from his throat when he saw a dark shadow moving alongside the road. Straining forward, he finally heard the steady slap-slap of the man’s feet.
Without a word, Eddie turned and ran, clenching his fists and looking back over his shoulder to see if whoever was behind him was gaining on him. The coiled fear he had experienced when he thought someone was following him now blossomed into terror, and that terror drove him on with a speed he never knew he had.
Eddie was gaining ground, and the man knew that if he didn’t catch up with him before too long, they’d get to the first house on the road and by that first house was a street light. He redoubled his efforts, aware now that Eddie knew he was behind him, but he was sadly out of shape, and it wasn’t too long before he realized that Eddie was pulling ahead.
They ran through the darkness, the only sounds the steady slapping of their feet on the pavement and the spring-time chorus of peepers. The man looked up and saw the moon, sailing up into the sky, casting dim, powdery shadows.
First Eddie rounded one turn, and then another, and with air tearing his throat raw, he saw, dimly up ahead, the streetlight: safety. Relief flooded through him as it got closer and closer. He dared not look around for fear of breaking his stride or tripping. Gritting his teeth, he pumped his arms furiously for the last stretch until he drew up beside the lamp post.
His breath came in hot waves as he leaned over, feeling he would puke. Glancing back along the road, he felt a chilled wave run along his spine when he saw that there was no one there. It hadn’t been his imagination; he was sure of that, but he didn’t see the man crouching low by the road embankment, glaring at him.
“Can’t catch me!” he hollered, feeling braver for having escaped. By the time he got home, he wanted to tell his parents what had happened, but when he remembered Billy Wilson, he decided against it. Why worry his mother? Besides, by that time, his father had gotten a call from Old Man Logan telling him about the window soaping, and right after supper, he went to bed, grateful at least that his father hadn’t given him a spanking . . . like a little kid.
IX
Sylvia Shaw walked up behind her husband and took hold of his shoulders. The strength in her hands surprised him, but then again, there was much about Sylvia that was surprisingly strong. He took one hand out from supporting his chin and, reaching behind, patted her hand.
“You should go to bed early, get some rest. You really need it,” she said softly, sympathetically.
Shaw grunted. Keeping his elbows on the table, he rubbed his face vigorously with the heels of his hands.
“Your sleep is just as important as the work you do.”
“I know.” Shaw’s voice sounded distant, as though he was talking from the next room.
The couple was silent for a long time. All the while, Sylvia massaged her husband’s shoulders. She could feel the knitted muscles beneath his skin, and she willed them to soften and loosen up.
“You can’t get so worried about it all. That’s not the way to take it.”
“How am I suppose to take it?” he asked. His tone of voice was soft, and Sylvia realized that if he had shouted what he had just said, she would have been hurt. The defeated tone in his voice worried her.
“I just mean,” she said more softly, “that if you let it really get to you, you won’t be any good at working it out.”
Shaw stiffened. Sylvia felt it in his shoulders. “That’s what Latham said to me today. Almost the exact same words.”
“Sidney?” Sylvia said the name as half question and half accusation.
“Ummm.”
“What else did he say?”
Shaw sighed deeply. “You can probably guess.” He turned and looked up at her. She smiled, trying to infuse him with her strength.
“Yeah, I probably can. He probably told you that you might not be the best man for the job of police chief anymore. He probably reminded you that last summer three kids got lost in the woods or in the Bog and were never found—by a search party organized by you. He probably suggested that, since you were almost sixty-five, you should retire and let someone else, someone younger take the job. Is that what he probably said?”
“Close enough,” Shaw said. A smile tried to appear on his lips.
“And you probably told him to sit on it!”
Surprised by his wife’s near obscenity, he spun around in his chair and looked at her. “What—”
Sylvia smiled, and her smile widened when she saw the ice in her husband’s face slowly thawing. She shrugged and said, “if the Fonz can say it on TV, I don’t see why I can’t.”
Shaw laughed out loud at that. Sylvia leaned over and kissed him firmly on the mouth. “And you’re probably going to stay on the job until Mr. Sidney Latham can find some heavier artillery.”
Shaw’s face suddenly dropped. He was silent for a moment, then said, “He has. He said he was going to bring it up at the next council meeting.”
Sylvia’s face suddenly darkened. “Oh Virg. You’ve worked hard. Been the police chief for a good many years. And you’ve done a bang up job.” She paused and had taken a deep breath before continuing. “Then again, maybe Sidney’s right.”
“What?” Shaw exploded. “Sylvia, what in the devil are you saying?”
“I’m saying that maybe you should retire. What happened last summer really got to you; you can admit it. I just don’t know if I can sit by and watch”—her voice broke off as tears formed in her eyes—“And watch what happened last night run you down. I don’t want it to drag you under.”
“Sylvia.”
“You’re a good man, Virg. You’ve done a good job as police chief and you should be proud of it, but maybe you should—”
“Walk away?” Shaw shouted, his fist slamming down onto the arm of his chair. “Is that what you’re saying? You want me to walk away?”
Sylvia remained silent, but the look she gave him continued to plead with him.
“No, damnit! I won’t! I’m not gonna’ give up!”
Suddenly Sylvia’s face softened, and a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “I know you, Virgil Shaw. Don’t you ever forget that. And I know that you won’t give up until this . . . this killer is caught. Now,” she said as she walked over to the stove, “how about another cup of coffee.”
X
David and Allison took the afternoon to drive to Portland. For the first time since they had left New York, Allison perked up as they walked up and down the length of Exchange Street, peering into shop windows. After a satisfying supper at the Village Cafe, they took in a movie and then drove back to the motel. But even after a long, slow session of love-making, David found that sleep eluded him. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, and when sleep did finally come, the nightmare came too; only now, the looming black shape had eyes Billy Wilson’s blank, coin-like eyes.
HOLLAND, MAINE, SUNDAY EXPRESS, JUNE 5, 1977
SUSPECT STILL SOUGHT IN MURDER CASE
HOLLAND—Local police, with the assistance of state police, are still looking for leads in the bizarre death of William Wilson. This small, quiet Maine town was stunned last Friday by the discovery of the boy’s mutilated body.
As yet there are no solid leads, but, according to Police Chief Virgil Shaw, authorities are questioning several possible witnesses.
“We haven’t really got too much to go on,” Chief Shaw told the Express. “This was a relatively isolated incident and, as far as we know, there aren’t many leads.”
The area where the boy was found has been roped off and is being patrolled by police while investigators from Augusta and Scarborough examine the ground for clues.
Funeral services for Billy Wilson will be held tomorrow at St. Mark’s at one o’clock. All schools have been cancelled for the day.
Chapter Three
I
David jumped, startled as the doors at the back of the church flew open, letting in a shaft of sunlight and a warm, wafting breeze of fresh air. The congregation sang the last verse of “Onward Christian Soldiers” with renewed vigor as the choir solemnly filed out to the center aisle and toward the door. David held the hymnal open with one hand, Allison’s hand in the other. He gave her hand a little squeeze and glanced at her. She smiled at him tightly and continued to mouth the words of the hymn. David was amused by her irritation, and his smile widened.
“Up yours,” Allison whispered harshly, barely audible above the singing. David looked nervously around to see if anyone had heard. Just as he cast an irritated glance at her, Pastor Clement followed the choir down the aisle and nodded his head at David. David made a bold attempt to twist his frown into a grin and failed miserably. He turned and watched the minister walk to the doorway and then stop in the warm sunlight.
The organ swelled louder, almost rattling the floor with a prolonged “AAAAAA-mennnnnn” and then cut off abruptly. David felt himself relax after the sustained finish of the hymn, then he snapped the hymnal shut and glanced again at Allison. “Not too bad, huh?” he asked, smiling.
Allison’s smile was tight, totally false, David knew; but it was probably good enough to fool just about anyone.
“It’ll do your soul some good, you know? Get in a few extra brownie points with the man up there.” He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the ceiling, and Allison involuntarily looked up.
“Bullshit,” she whispered, bending close to David’s ear.
The center aisle had filled with the dispersing congregation. David stood there for a while, actually surprised by the number of faces he recognized—Mr. and Mrs. Jessup, Lilly Clayton, Joe and Edna Judkins. Many of the folks smiled and nodded at David as they passed by, but almost as many looked quizzically at him and, especially, the woman beside him wearing the dangerously low-cut, violet silk dress.
When he saw a break in the flow of people, David tugged on Allison’s hand, pulling her out into the aisle after him. They were carried toward the door with the departing throng, bumping shoulders as they went. Just before they reached Pastor Clement, David considered darting down the stairwell to the church basement; he wasn’t sure he wanted to speak with the minister, at least not yet. Before he had made up his mind, though, Clement darted forward, and David felt a warm, sweaty hand grasp his.
“Davie, Davie my boy. So good to see you again.” The minister pumped David’s hand rapidly. “It’s been too long, too long.”
David’s smile felt forced. “Nice to see you again, Pastor Clement.”
“And this must be your wife, Barbara,” Pastor Clement said, looking over David’s shoulder. “We’ve never met before.”
“No, uhh.” David shifted uneasily on his feet. “This is Allison, Allison Vickery, a friend of mine. Allison, this is Pastor Clement,” he added nervously.
Allison cocked her eyebrow, as though to say, Really? You mean he’s not the Pope? and held her hand out.
Pastor Clement was frowning slightly, so David hastened to add, “Barbara and I were divorced quite a while ago.”
“Allison.” The minister took Allison’s hand and shook it more gently, David noticed. “That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.”
Allison seemed genuinely flustered. She looked down at her shoes and muttered, “Thank you.”
Most of the congregation had filed out by now. A few stragglers remained in the church, talking in small groups. David’s uneasiness was growing, and he was just starting to walk away, leading Allison toward the door when the pastor grasped him firmly on the shoulder.
“David,” he said, with a note of urgency in his voice, “I would like to speak with you for a moment—if I could.” He looked over at a departing group of people and waved his hand.
“Terrific sermon, Pastor,” one of them said, “I didn’t even doze.”
“That’s good to hear, Sterling,” Clement said good-naturedly, but still David could see a crease of worry on the minister’s brow. “How’s the missus?”
“She’s much better. The doctor says she might be able to come home the end of the week.”
“That’s nice. You tell her my prayers are with her,” he said, and then turned back to David, locking him with an intense stare. “It’s been so long since you’ve been in town, Davie. I’d like it very much if we could have a chance to talk—catch up on things.”
David shrugged. “Things are going pretty well for me.”
The church had emptied out by now, and David was aware of the imposing silence of the building. Faintly, he could hear the last car of worshippers leave the driveway. He was aware of Allison anxiously shifting from foot to foot behind him.
“The old town must have changed quite a bit since you were here last. Even in a small town like Holland, time doesn’t stop.”
David heard Allison sigh softly. He had the feeling that there was something beneath what Pastor Clement was saying, something he wanted to say but didn’t know how to.
“It’s nice to be back,” David finally said, merely for the sake of saying something.
“And how do you like living in New York City? I suppose you must get tired of the hustle ‘n bustle . . . and the crime.”
“Actually it’s not that bad, Pastor. I like where I live, I have a good job as a loan manager at a city bank. We don’t see that much crime, either, it’s just that the news blows it up out of proportion. I”—he stumbled, almost decided not to continue, but found he said it anyway—“I’ve seen more crime here, in Holland, than I have in New York.”
Pastor Clement seemed shocked by what he said, and he shook his head sadly. “I know, Davie, it’s such a terrible thing. To think that here . . . in a town like this, something like that could happen.” He exhaled sharply, squared his shoulders, and looked at David. “It really can put one’s faith to the test.”
Allison gave David’s hand an impatient squeeze.
“I understand that you’re here to settle the Will and sell the old place, is that right?”
David nodded.
“I was talking to Shaw this morning before church, and he said you weren’t at all interested in staying in Holland.”
David felt himself getting angry. He didn’t like the idea of Shaw making his business everyone’s business. It shouldn’t have surprised him, he knew; like any small town, Holland had a communications network that would put the CIA to shame.
“Like I said,” David said tensely, “I like where I live, and I like my job. I don’t see why I should hang onto a dead weight like that old house, pay taxes on it, and leave it empty when someone could buy it and fix it up.”
“True,” Pastor Clement said, “the place does need some work. It’d be nice if you could—”
“I’m really not interested in staying in Holland, Pastor,” David said sharply.
“But, Davie,” the minister’s eyes took on an earnest squint, “Holland is your home. It’s where your roots are. It’s true, you know, no matter how far or how long you’re away from your home, you can never pull all of your roots out of the soil.”
“I know what I want,” David said, feeling his anger rise. He didn’t want the pastor or the police chief or the lawyer or anyone telling him what he should do. “My life is outside of Holland now. I’ve had to come back because of some legal problems, but once they’re settled, I intend to leave.”
Pastor Clement stepped forward and grabbed both of David’s elbows. He squeezed tightly. “Many times, Davie, we think we know who we are, but we don’t. We try to leave, to run away from something, but that something will always—eventually—raise its head. It’s only by understanding our past, where we came from, that we can truly know ourselves.”
“I don’t—”
“That land, that house is your birthright. Your father, and his father, and his father worked hard for that land. It’s been in your family since before the Revolution. You and your—your uncle Marshall are the last two surviving Logans. Don’t you feel some sort of responsibility?”
“Obviously not as much as you think I should.”
“I just wish you’d consider it—deeply—before you go and sell the place.”
“I have,” David said simply, letting his anger pass.
“Well, I think that if you look deeply into yourself and into your family, I think you’ll find—” He seemed to catch the angry tone in his voice, and suddenly dropped it. He continued in a milder tone, “I think you’ll find that you’re more attached to Holland than you think.” He released David’s elbows and took a step back, smoothing out his vestments.
“I’ll think about what you said,” David said, moving toward the door. Of course, his mind was made up, but he had to say something to satisfy the minister.
“But anyway,” Clement said, smiling warmly again, “Margaret and I would like to invite you and Allison to the house for coffee this afternoon, if you’d like. There will be a few other folks around. Some you may remember. Nothing fancy.”
“Well, I—” Allison gave his hand a quick jerk, and he understood her message. “I’d like to but—”
“Around three o’clock would be fine,” Pastor Clement said.
David shrugged and started down the stairway, squinting his eyes in the bright sunlight.
“Davie,” Pastor Clement shouted from the top of the stairs. “You just remember what I said. There’s a lot about yourself that you just won’t find out anyplace else but Holland.”
David smiled and waved, then walked across the lawn to his car. The warm morning air washed over him with relief.
“Boy, that guy’s a barrel of fun,” Allison said, as she opened her door and sat down. “What the hell was he into?”
David slammed his door shut and started the car. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he said, “Like everyone else in this piss-water town, he tries like hell to make everything his business.” He jerked the car into gear and left the parking lot with a loud scuffing of tires.
