In the end, it didn’t matter, so he pictured how it would be: the white linen and warm skin, the bow of her neck and the communion as she died. He felt sick again, thinking about it; but already his eyes were brimming.
This time, it would work.
This time, he would find her.
He waited until it was dark, and she was home alone. For an hour, he watched the lights in her house. Then he circled the block and watched for an hour more. There was no movement in the night. No walkers or porch-sitters or idle curious. By nine o’clock he was certain.
She was alone in the house.
He was alone on the street.
Starting the car, its lights off, he pulled forward, then backed into her driveway. The neighboring house was close on that side, but his car settled above an oily spot only ten steps from the porch. There were bushes, trees, pools of blackness.
On the porch, he saw her through the glass. On the sofa. Legs curled. He tapped on the glass and watched her eyebrows crease as she came hesitantly to the door. He lifted a hand so she saw it through the pane: a friendly wave from a friendly face. The door opened a few inches.
“May I help you?” A trace of doubt flickered, but she would overcome it. She was young and polite and Southern. Girls like her always overcame it.
“I’m sorry to bother you. I know it’s late, but it’s about the day-care center.”
The door opened another six inches, and he saw that she was barefoot in jeans, and that she’d removed her bra. The T-shirt was worn thin, so he looked away, but not before she frowned and the door’s gap narrowed.
“The center?”
“There’s a problem. I know it’s sudden. I can drive, if you like.”
“I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
Of course, she didn’t. He had nothing to do with the center. “Mrs. McClusky is not answering her phone or her door. I guess she’s out.” He smiled one of his good smiles. “I just naturally thought of you.”
“Who are you again?”
“A friend of Mrs. McClusky.”
She looked at her feet-a palm on each thigh-and it seemed as if it might be that easy. “I need shoes.”
“You don’t need shoes.”
“What?”
That was stupid. Stupid! Maybe he was more nervous than he thought, or more frightened of failure. “I’m sorry.” He laughed, thought it was good. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Of course, you need shoes.”
She looked past his smile and saw the car in the drive. It was dirty and dented and streaked with rust. He used it because he could burn it if he had to or drop it in the river. But it caused these problems.
“We should hurry.” He tried again because headlights rose two blocks down the street. Getting the girl in the car was taking too long.
The door closed another inch. “Maybe I should call Mrs. McClusky.”
“By all means. Of course. I’m just trying to help.”
“What did you say the problem was?”
She turned into the house, going for the phone. The headlights were a block away and would hit the porch in seconds. He couldn’t be there when it happened. “I didn’t exactly.”
She said something about waiting on the porch, but he was already committed. He caught the door, two steps behind her. The phone was across the room, but she didn’t go for the phone. She spun and hit the door and drove it into his face. He snatched at her shirt, caught fabric, and felt it tear. But she wasn’t running. She lurched sideways, one hand behind the door as she pulled a bat from the crack, then spun and swung it at his head. He threw up an arm, caught the blow on his elbow, and felt a burst of yellow heat. She tried again, but he stepped back, let it pass, then snapped a palm under her chin, clacking her jaw closed and making her eyes roll white.
She swayed, and for a split second he was amazed by the quiet ferocity of her attack. No screaming or crying.
But it was over.
He caught her with one arm and felt the tiny waist, the flutter. Mosquitoes whined as he moved down the stairs to open the hatchback and make space. Back inside, he wiped every surface he’d touched: the edge of the door, the bat. When it was done, he checked the street and carried the girl to the car.
She fit perfectly.
Candy in a box.
14
At eight o’clock Elizabeth found Faircloth Jones on the porch of his grand old house. He was alone, with a drink in one hand and a cigar in the other. “Elizabeth, my dear.” He rose to press a papery cheek against her own. “If you are looking for our friend, I fear time and circumstance have stolen him away.” The porch was dark but for open windows and squares of light. Long-untended box bushes pressed against the rails. Down the bluff, the river moved with the sound of a whispering crowd. “May I offer you something? I know it’s not the evening I promised, but I’ve opened a fine Bordeaux, and there’s Belvedere, of course. I also have a lovely Spanish cheese.”
“I don’t understand. Where has Adrian gone?”
“Home, I fear, and on foot.” Faircloth tilted his head down the hill. “It’s only a few miles if you know the trails that follow the river. I dare say he knows them well.”
Elizabeth sat in a rocking chair, and the old lawyer did the same. “You mentioned circumstance.”
“Tight spaces and paranoia, my dear. I brought our friend home as intended, but he was unwilling to remain under my roof or between my walls. Nothing uncivilized, mind you. Lots of thanks and kindness; but, he wasn’t going to have it. Apparently, he has every intention of sleeping beneath the stars, and the risk of another trespass charge is no deterrent. Love of place. I believe Adrian suffers unduly.”
“He’s also claustrophobic.”
“Ah, that’s very good.” The lawyer’s eyes narrowed as he smiled. “Not many people ever figured that out.”
“I saw him in lockdown.” Elizabeth pressed her hands between her knees. “It wasn’t pretty.”
“He spoke to me of reasons, once, and I had nightmares for a year, after.”
“Tell me.”
“Adrian had family in some farm town up in Pennsylvania. His mother’s parents, I believe. It was a little place, regardless, all cornfields and trucks and dusty brawls. He was six, I think, or seven, wandering about on a neighbor’s farm when he went down an abandoned well shaft and wedged tight at sixty feet. They didn’t find him until lunch the next day. Even then, it took another thirty hours to get him out alive. There’re newspaper accounts out there somewhere if you care to dig them up. Front-page stuff. The pictures alone would break your heart. The most blank-eyed, traumatized look I’ve ever seen on a child. I don’t think he spoke for a month, after.”
Elizabeth blinked and saw Adrian as he’d been in the lockdown cell, shirtless in the dark, scarred and sweat-slicked and talking to himself. “Jesus.”
“Indeed.”
“I think I’ll have that drink.”
“Belvedere?”
“Please.” He shuffled into the house and returned with a glass that clinked as he handed it to her. “You mentioned paranoia.”
“Oh, yes.” The lawyer reclaimed his chair. “He thought we were followed from the jailhouse. A gray car. Two men. He was very agitated about it. Told me he’d seen the same car on three prior occasions. I pushed him for motive or cause, and though he refused to discuss it, he did act as if, perhaps, he knew what it was about.”