The old woman seemed to surface from a great depth. "What is all this, Katherine?"
"If you call me, I'll come over right away."
"Of course. I've kept you far too long as it is. You told me you could only stop a moment." "Well, it's just that I'm working." "Old people become such gluttons for attention." "I'll come by later, if you want. Is there anything else you need, before I make my rounds? Are you sure? I hate to think of you all alone here at night."
IX
Icy and urgent, a secret tide lifted through the room, swirling the murky desolation that clouded his sleep into a deeper tumult. It seemed he stumbled on a bank of frozen mud. Heavy with the fecund reek of the marsh, sour winds sprang from the water, wafting the sad stench of death around him. He stared down. A pinkish film spread thinly across the surface while men with hooks dragged things dripping from the depths. Gulls skimmed the turbid bay, and their reflections wheeled with squealing cries, their cruel wings curved like hooks...
"No." He woke in darkness to the sound of his own voice.
He lay soaked against the sheets, listening. Such silence. He found it difficult to believe a town slept below the windows of this hotel. Even blocks away, he thought he could still hear waves rise against the sand, a constant sigh, though scarcely more audible than his heartbeat. The sound eluded him entirely when he tried to focus on it, but the moment his attention drifted, the ebbing hush swept back.
Something tapped at his window, and his fists clenched. As the gentle pattering grew more rapid, he groped on the nightstand for his watch. He held the luminous dial near his face. Only a little past ten thirty. He had time. And God knows I need the rest. He gave himself over to the lulling drum against the pane, and sleep washed over him again.
What began as soporific, the somnolent brush of rain across the glass, became something wild, distressing. Again, he woke in alarmed confusion.
Where...? Switching on the light, he blinked at the room. Rain glittered across the windowpane. He grabbed his watch and cursed, lurching up and into the bathroom to splash water on his face. Have to get my thoughts clear.
When the second hand on his watch touched midnight, he rang the number once before hanging up, then dialed again. What would happen if some night that phone just kept ringing? He envisioned the lonely stretch of highway. What if no one ever answered?
What would his life become?
It rang twice. With a tremor of something like pain, he shut his eyes when he heard her voice. "It's starting again," he muttered. "Yeah, I'm sure now."
He exhaled loudly. Sleet chipped at the window. "What does it matter how I am?" Listening to her words, he rubbed at his face before responding, despising himself for the petulance in his voice. "Sorry." He pressed the phone hard against his ear, the receiver slippery in his palm. "I...think I'm coming down with something. I just...sometimes...wonder if we're doing the right thing anymore. No, I'm all right, I guess. Don't worry. Yeah. I'm on top of this. Most likely. I'll call tomorrow." He hung up quickly and clenched his teeth until the shivering stopped.
I wonder if I really am sick. He pressed his shoulders against the headboard. Really sick, I mean. Gradually, the noise of the storm faded, until he could detect only the faintest tap of rain. No, probably just a touch of flu, something like that. He got up, hunting for his shoes. His coat was draped over the chair.
He shut the door softly behind him. At the end of the corridor, a narrow alcove opened to the well of the back stairs. Near the bottom, he paused, and silence settled like dust. Stealthily, he groped along with both hands until he felt the sliding doors. Casters rolled with a low, chattering hum. Weird shapes jutted: tables with chairs on top of them, he guessed. As he crept through the dining room, floorboards barely sighed. A draft found his face, and he located the alcove. Straight ahead must lie the kitchen, and somewhere along here, he knew, a rear entrance led to the family's apartment. With a deft movement, he snicked open a small knife.
Before his probing fingers located it, frigid dampness revealed the service entrance. He sank to his knees, felt cold whittle in through the jamb. Clicking on the tiny flashlight, he held it in his mouth while he tested the lock with the blade. He took a small can of household oil from his pocket and went to work on the hinges. At last, the door eased open almost soundlessly, and he stepped out into the parking lot. Thin drizzle continued to settle, visible under the streetlight. His Volks was next to the old van that always seemed to be in the same place. As usual, there were no other cars.
He released the brake and let the beetle roll into the street before hitting the ignition. Makes so damn much racket. On the sidewalk and in the gutters, slimy film glistened. Enough noise to wake the dead. Gray patches had already iced over, and at the first corner, the car skidded. He cursed, pumping the brakes, and tires scraped asphalt.
The streets crawled past, empty and slick, until at last some heat leaked up from the grill. For over an hour, he cruised, constantly circling, trying first a main street, then a back road near the edge of town.
Rain pebbled the windshield. Near an intersection, he let the engine idle and switched off the lights to watch for any sign of movement.
...the dream...
He switched the headlights back on and eased the car forward.
...the bay...
Deciding to take the long way around, he quickly left the streets and houses behind him. As though barring the way, a tangle of evergreens seemed to leap at his windshield. This secondary road led to the mainland, and with each curve his high beams sheered into the trees.
The forest sank into salt marsh. Even with the windows rolled tight, he could smell it. Just off the road. He drove past a shack, then another. Headlights lanced over cedar shingles, across broken windows mended with tar paper.
Near the dilapidated docks, the road ended at police barricades. He stopped the car and got out, left it steaming off the side of the road. On foot, he slipped between the barriers.
Pointless. The roots of an elm had mounded beneath the sidewalk, and he paused on the small rise. Wandering the docks in the dead of night. Darkness had solidified, and he peered downward into a blank flatness where the bay must be. Never stop the killing this way. Why did I think something would be waiting here? Wind stirred wetly. Because I dreamed it? Pathetic. A fecund stench of brine rolled over him: for a moment his mind drifted irresistibly on seaside memories of his childhood...until the odor thickened into a putrid miasma. Dear Lord, is that just the bay? Breathing shallowly, he edged closer to the water, forcing himself through a stench like that of the decomposing carcass of some huge sea creature. What must this smell be like in summer?
The shore road ended abruptly at a low fence, and the earth dropped steeply to frosted silt. Just as well I didn't try to drive this at night. Scruffy dunes hemmed the marsh, and he struggled up a hillock to gaze down on a debris-choked channel. One wrong turn...
Cold seared his flesh. Icy leaves crunched underfoot, and his shoes scuffed quietly as he clambered onto a boulder. So close. On one side of the road, the docks. On the other...
The bay whispered. He felt another tremor begin in his shoulders.
Hovering over moon-burnished whorls of water, coldness became a vaporous presence. It surrounded him, icing his lungs. Gradually, he made out the docks below, and the wobbling slabs of small boats. How many pieces was she in when they fished her out? Just below the road, the ground appeared firm, but he knew the marsh swirled through reeds and grasses, knew the narrow channels that cut the vegetation into islands marked only deeper places.