“Same to you, Vic. Drive safe.”
She closed the door and through the window they watched him limp back to his Honda CR-V.
“What a nice, sweet man,” Billie said. “I hope she’s good enough for him.”
*
“Bronowski.” The impatient growl over the phone.
“And happy holidays to you, too, Bill.”
“Where the hell have you been these weeks? I thought you’d fallen off the planet! It’s been nuts around here since you left.”
“I know a little about that.”
“Well, thank God you’re back. Just today, all kinds of fallout from your last piece and that Adrian Wulfe escape. Here’s from A.P. this morning: ‘Prominent charity benefactor Kenneth MacLean issued a statement today that he is initiating reorganization of his foundation, with a focus on advocacy for crime victims.’”
“It’s about time.”
“Hunter, you have the inside track on this stuff. I need you to follow up, now.”
He gazed down at the iron expanse of the Chesapeake from the lofty height of the Bay Bridge as his car sped westward.
“Your coverage has been just great without me, Bill. In fact, I’m just calling to wish you happy holidays and let you know I’ll be gone till the beginning of February.”
“What! Now? ” Bronowski moaned. “You’re kidding me!”
“Don’t worry. I promise you lots of fresh meat when I get back.”
Tionesta, Pennsylvania
Tuesday, December 30, 8:13 p.m.
His bouncing headlights illuminated the rutted, snow-covered drive leading to the cabin. He pulled up and parked near the door, in the clearing embraced by the pines and oaks. Left the engine running until he could go unlock the door and turn on the lights.
Then he came back for her.
“You’re going to love it here.”
He brought her inside. Then he turned her loose to explore.
At first Luna stood outside her carrier bag, hunched nervously, sniffing the bare planks of the cabin floor. Then, after a few tentative steps, during which no beasts of prey leaped from hiding places, she straightened and began to trot from item to item, checking them out.
He let her wander and went back outside to bring in and store the rest of their gear.
He kicked off his boots and hung his parka on the deer antlers next to the door-the trophy of a hunting trip so long ago.
He went to the kitchen area and, after uncorking and pouring some wine, sat on the couch. Put his stocking feet up on the knotty pine coffee table. Looked around at the bare wood walls. At the empty mantelpiece over the big stone fireplace.
It hurt not to be able to put out photos. But at least he had his memories, and particularly fond ones of this place.
He knew that he had undergone an important passage in his life since he was here last. That a new chapter was beginning. He knew he had to mark it now, alone.
He had to answer the question that he had asked himself here, not quite three years earlier.
He drank the glass. Then another.
Poured a third.
*
Once again, he limped up the stairs, carrying his duffle bag and a glass of wine. Luna scampered up after him and immediately found a place on the bare mattress. He used a rag to wipe the gathered dust from the vanity mirror. Then he sat down on the mattress beside the cat. He sipped the wine, stroked the cat, and looked into the mirror.
“Okay. So, who are you?”
The face that was now his own stared back at him, not answering.
He took another sip. Placed the glass on the floor.
Reached into the top of his duffle and extracted a leather pouch.
Opened it and pulled out the drivers’ licenses.
Spread them on the mattress next to him.
Brad Roark Flynn Victor Edward Rostand Wayne Alan Grayson Shane Michael Stone Edmond Dantes Lex Talionis
Then pulled out his wallet. Removed his driver’s license. Tossed it next to them.
Dylan Lee Hunter
He looked into the mirror, then down at all the cards.
On several, the resemblance was close to the face in the mirror.
But there were beards and wigs and mustaches on others, different colors.
And makeup.
And a great latex mask on one.
He picked up the wine glass from the floor. Stood, unsteady now.
Lifted his glass to the mirror.
“Gentlemen-a toast now to our sire: the late, great Matt Malone. Mr. Malone, here we are. Your bastard offspring, standing in your shadow. Living not as real men, but as ghosts.”
He took a last big swallow. Stared at himself.
His face in the mirror looked sad.
He sat again.
“Who are you?” he asked softly.
*
He heard the sound of a car engine approach, then die.
Heard quick steps marching up the porch stairs.
Heard the cabin door creak open.
Heard her call out:
“Dylan?”
And knew.