Edward said, 'Why don't you try the aromatic crispy duck? It's especially good here. Do you know how they make it?'
I said, 'Yes, I know how they make it, but I think I prefer the chicken in black bean sauce.'
'We'll share,' said Gilly.
Edward said, 'We don't have to take the copper vessel out to Tewksbury straight away. We can always rent a refrigerated truck and have it ready at the wharf when we bring up the wreck of the David Dark, and take the copper vessel down to Mason's Cold Storage. Then we can open it ourselves and see exactly what it is we've got there.'
'You actually believe what Mr Evelith said, about that Aztec skeleton?' asked Gilly. 'I find it incredibly farfetched, I really do.'
'You don't think that what happened to us at the Hawthorne Inn was far-fetched?' I asked her.
'Well, sure, but — I don't know. A demon. Who believes in demons?'
'It's just a convenient word to use,' Edward explained. 'I don't know what the hell else to call it. An occult relic? I don't know. Demon is just a handy word, that's all.'
'All right, then, call it a demon,' said Gilly. 'But I don't think it's going to help anybody to believe in and sympathize with what you're trying to do, do you?'
'Well, we'll see,' said Edward. Then, to me, 'Did you have any luck with your father-in-law, as far as finance is concerned?'
'Not yet. I've left him to think about it.'
'Keep pressing him, won't you? We can just about afford these echo-soundings, but not much else. I've already emptied my investment account at the bank, not that that amounted to much. Two thousand, one hundred dollars.'
'Have you seen any more manifestations?' Gilly asked me. 'Any more spooky apparitions? Edward told me what happened to you on Saturday night, that must have been so scary.'
'You still don't believe it, do you?' I asked her.
'I'd like to believe it — ' she said.
' — but you can't,' I added.
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I guess I'm too pragmatic, too down-to-earth. I see these girls screaming on horror films whenever they're threatened by a monster or a vampire, and I just know that I wouldn't react that way. I'd want to know what the monster was, and what it wanted, or maybe if it was somebody dressed up to look like a monster. I'm not denying that what happened at the Hawthorne was scary. It could even have been occult. But I think if it was occult it came from inside your own mind; it was you doing it yourself. I've been changing my opinion about once every five minutes for the past few days, do I believe in ghosts or don't I, and I think I've come out on the side of the non-believers. People are seeing them; all right; you're seeing them. I believe that. But that doesn't mean to say that they're actually there.'
'Well, well, little Miss Sensible,' I said. 'Here's the beef in ginger, help yourself.'
'You think I'm too direct,' she said.
'Did I say I think you're too direct?' I asked her.
'Not in so many words.'
'Well, then, keep my opinions to yourself.'
After lunch, I bought a large bouquet of flowers and drove back to Granitehead to present them to Laura, and tell her how sorry I was for forgetting to show up for dinner. I had looked into the Crumblin' Cookie earlier, but she hadn't been there. It was obvious from the way the rest of the staff had stared at me, however, that she had told them what had happened. As I drove along West Shore Drive, I decided to drop into the Granitehead Market, and pick up a fresh bottle of whisky and maybe a bottle of wine for Laura, to go with the flowers. It was a bright, springlike afternoon, and lunch with Gilly and Edward had cheered me up. I whistled as I parked the car and walked across the parking-lot to the market door.
Charlie wasn't there, but his part-time assistant Cy was serving behind the counter, a good-humoured young teenager with bright red spots and what was probably the last crewcut on the eastern seaboard. I went to the liquor shelf and picked out a bottle of Chivas and a bottle of Mouton Cadet red.
'Charlie not here?' I asked Cy, as I took out my wallet.
'He went out,' said Cy. 'I mean, like, he really rushed out.'
'Charlie rushed? I don't think I've ever seen Charlie rush in the whole time I've been here.'
'He surely did this time. He went out of that door like a bat out of hell. He said something about Neil.'
I felt that familiar, unsettling prickle. 'Neil? You mean his dead son Neil?'
'Well, I don't think so,' said Cy. 'It couldn't have been. He said he'd seen him. "I just saw him!" he said, and then he rushed out of that door like a bat out of hell.'
'Which way?' I demanded.
'Which way?' said Cy, surprised. 'I don't know which way. Well, maybe kind of up that way, past the parking-lot and up the hill. I was serving, I didn't take too much notice.'
I pushed my two bottles to the side of the counter. 'Keep these here for me, will you?' I told him, and then wrenched open the market door and ran out into the parking-lot. I shaded my eyes against the afternoon sun and stared up the hill, but I couldn't see any sign of Charlie. However, he was fat, and unfit, and he couldn't have got far. I ran across the parking-lot and started climbing the hill as rapidly as I could.
It was a long, hard climb. Up here, the range of hills of which Quaker Hill was the southernmost was steeper and rougher than anywhere else. I had to cling on to the rough grass to keep my balance, and several times my foot slid on the crumbling soil, and I scraped my ankles.
After four or five minutes, panting and sweating, I reached the crest of the hill and looked around. Off to the north-east, I could see Granitehead Village, and beyond it, the glittering North Atlantic. To the west I could see Salem Harbour and Salem itself, strung along the shoreline; to the south I could see Quaker Hill and Quaker Lane Cottage, and off to the south-west, Waterside Cemetery.
It was breezy and cold up here, in spite of the sunshine. My eyes watered as I looked frantically around for any sign of Charlie. I even cupped my hands around my mouth, and shouted, 'Charlie! Charlie Manzi! Where are you, Charlie?'
I descended the gentler slope that eventually led down towards the sea. The grass whipped against my legs, and whistled in the wind. I felt chilly and very alone up here, and even the smoke which rose from Shetland Industrial Park, right next to Derby Wharf, didn't seem to be any guarantee that there was any human life around here. I could have been alone, in a world which had become suddenly deserted.
Not much further down the slope, however, I caught sight of Charlie. He was jogging through the grass, heading diagonally towards the shoreline, his shoulders hunched, his white apron flapping like a semaphore signal. I shouted out, 'Charlie! Wait, Charlie! Charlie!' but either he didn't hear me or he was determined to ignore me.
Although I was already out of breath, I ran as fast as I could down the slope, and at last caught up with him. He didn't even turn to look at me, and I had to keep on running just to stay abreast of him. His cheeks and jowls were white with effort, and his forehead glistened with sweat. As he ran, his breasts joggled up and down under his checkered shirt.
'Charlie!' I shouted at him. 'What are you running for?' 'You stay away, Mr Trenton!' he gasped. 'You stay away and leave me alone!'
'Charlie, for Christ's sake, you'll have a heart attack!' 'None of your goddamned business! Stay away!' I stumbled on a rock, and almost fell, but then I caught up with Charlie again and yelled, 'He isn't real, Charlie! He's an illusion!'
'Don't you give me that,' puffed Charlie. 'He's real and I've seen him. I prayed for God to bring him back and now God's brought him back. And if I get Neil back, then Moira will come back, too. So stay away, you got me? Don't question miracles.'