"He ain't that bad." She caressed her stomach, and wished Cart would stop playing games. He got her all hot and bothered and ready and slick and then… nothing. Nothing. Just like always, half the time, nothing.
Cart grunted.
"Well, who the hell is it?"
"No one," he said, and turned around to face her. "Could've been your old man, too. I wouldn't put it past him. I bet he watches when you take a shower, right?"
She thrust out her hips and flicked a thumb at a dark nipple, stared pointedly at his groin and pouted. "Ah, poor Cartie," she whispered. "Poor, poor Cartie." She crooked a finger and beckoned. "C'mere, Cartie. Maybe we oughta play."
"I don't like that stuff," he said, though not as strongly as he wanted.
She dropped to her hands and looked down at her hanging breasts. "Cartie?"
He took a step toward her, and she lifted her head, lowered herself slightly and raised her buttocks high. The dim yellow light glowed along the length of her back, and her breasts vanished in shadow. He took a deep breath and ordered himself forward. This was no time to fail; there was a repuation at stake if he wanted to keep walking.
Her mouth opened slightly. "Cartie, I'm hungry."
He felt a tingling in his groin. "I don't like that shit, Denise, you know that."
Her mouth opened wider. "Lollypop time, Cartie."
The tingling grew stronger. "Jesus, Denise."
And the glass door shattered inward.
Denise screamed and scrambled frantically back across the bed, grabbing up the sheet to cover herself, unable to turn away as something flailing in the drapes finally shredded them over Cart and dumped him to the floor. He shouted angrily, and thrashed, finally pulled the material aside and pushed himself back against the bed. He was ready to kill whoever was fucking him around, but there was nothing he could do except gape when Frankie reached silently for his throat.
Denise stared in disbelief and shrieked her brother's name. He paused and looked up at her over the edge of the mattress, smiling through the dried blood that coated his pale face.
She gasped, froze, couldn't will herself to move until the thing that had been her brother reached for Carter once again. Then she flung the sheet aside, leapt from the bed and raced for the door, her hand too slick to hold the knob and turn it. She heard Cart begging, gagging, heard nothing else but the wind that tore into the room, scattering papers and sheets and rippling the bedspread as if a serpent were trapped beneath it. She prayed and grabbed the knob with both hands, finally got it to turn, and yanked the door open.
Again she cried Frankie's name, but she didn't turn around. Instead she sprinted down the hall toward the staircase, passed the fire station and skidded to a halt, her shoulder slamming into the wall as she spun around suddenly. There was a hose behind the glass, and a red-handled ax. She hesitated, then pulled the door open, grabbed the ax from its rack and started back to the room.
Cart wasn't screaming.
The wind pushed a sheet of motel notepaper into the hall.
She moved slowly, pushing her bare feet along the carpet until she reached the door.
Then a hand touched her shoulder and she whirled, holding the ax high and ready. Her eyes opened, and a tear welled in one. "Daddy?" she whimpered. "Daddy?" Just before she screamed.
The wind died. Nothing moved.
The only sound was the surf's roar as it slammed into the woods, the tide so high now the beach remained flooded.
A single gull drifted over the tops of the trees.
The patrol car was parked at the curb in front of Cameron's house, engine still running, its lights flaring. Montgomery and Tabor were standing near the hood, arguing heatedly though their voices were low. Colin couldn't hear a word they were saying, but he could guess. From the moment Garve had arrived and seen the liquor glasses, smelled their breath, he hadn't believed two words either had told him, especially when they searched the immediate area and found no trace of Vincent's body. The only thing that saved them was the blood on the grass and the blacktop; the only thing that kept the chief from driving off was Peg's and Matt's corroboration of Tess' condition.
As Montgomery had feared, Tabor had driven straight to the cliffs when he couldn't get hold of the doctor. He had found the picnic site, and had fought his way through the wind down to the first ledge along the path. There was no blood, no shards of bone, no strips of cloth. There was nothing to prove Tess May-fair had landed there; she was gone.
In disgust, Colin had walked away from the argument. He stood leaning against the station wagon's tailgate, arms folded over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles. It was all too damned ridiculous, and he wanted to go home. He didn't give a damn about Vincent and he didn't care about Tess and it would be just fine with him if he could crawl into bed and pull the sheets over his head and pretend it was Saturday morning, and he was going to see Peg.
He looked around and wondered where all the people were. It was a solemn and universal truth that neighborhoods were incapable of ignoring the police, especially when they were parked in front of that neighborhood's most prominent house. But there was no one. Not even Bill Efron-who could easily have seen everything from his front window-had bothered to come over to find out what the trouble was.
Like everything else today, that wasn't right at all.
He's mad, Lilla had said, he's very, very mad.
The gray bundle at the shack.
"Ridiculous," he muttered, trying with a violent shudder to banish the abrupt sensation that all of this was not a grim sequence of unpleasant coincidences. Then he looked over at the two men and saw them watching him, frowning slightly, either pity or sympathy twisting their lips. "Jesus."
He pushed away from the car and walked down the drive, trying to look everywhere but at Tabor, his neck muscles taut and lips pressed to a hard line as he willed someone, anyone, to come out of a house and head their way with a dozen morbid questions.
"The point is," he heard Garve say, "somebody stole the damned body. Lombard, most likely. Who the hell else?"
"There was no one out here," Montgomery insisted.
"You were watching the whole time?"
A silence.
"I thought so."
Colin shook his head and looked to his left, to the curve of the street as it headed inland toward Neptune. The wind had picked up again, still lifting over the houses and barely ruffling his hair.
And in the distance he could hear it-the namesake of the storm.
Screaming.
A faint and undulating wailing as the wind charged over the sea and dragged the dark clouds behind it.
He looked down at his windbreaker and saw it darkening in patches, then wiped a hand across the back of his neck, and it came away damp-the seaspray was thickening to a condition much like drizzle.
"Colin!"
He turned. Montgomery was standing at the patrol car, the passenger door open. Garve was rounding the hood to the driver's side, yanking down his hatbrim.
"Colin," Hugh said, "we're going with Garve to hunt for Tess and Vincent. C'mon."
Deputy Ross at your service, he thought sourly, and had taken a single step toward the cruiser when he saw Lilla. She was running up the street, had just reached the curve and was heading for the dunes. He called out, and pointed, and broke into a slow trot that increased to a sprint when she saw him, threw up one hand and veered sharply away. A car door slammed, another, and the engine turned over. He reached the corner and leapt the curb, nearly tripped on the dune's loose sand, scrambled on hands and feet to the top. Lilla was below him in the shallow trough; she'd fallen, her legs pumping hard to drive her up and away.
"Lil!"
She didn't look back, as he slid and ran down the slope at an angle to keep from stumbling. Shells skittered from under his feet; sawgrass lashed at his legs and stung his outstretched hands.
"Lilla!"
She was at the top of the second dune when he reached her, lunged forward and caught one ankle. She fell with a shriek and kicked out at his head. He ducked and backed to his knees, pulling at her, dragging her toward him until he was able to snare the other leg.
"Goddamn it, Lil!"
She broke away with a vicious kick at his arm, rolled and scrambled feverishly until she was headed back toward the Estates. He followed with a curse, leapt and tackled her, heard her thump against the ground and groan at the impact. He knelt and shoved her to one side to grab for her waist, and she sat up awkwardly and lashed out with her fists. One cracked against his jaw and he blinked, momentarily stunned, though he managed not to release her. He dove on top of her, pinning her and rolling over until they almost returned down the slope. He yelled, and she answered, spittle flying from her mouth, her eyes so wide he thought they would split open. Once beneath him again her head whipped from side to side while he sat on her stomach and trapped her arms against the ground. Then he looked up.
A wave hissed over the first dune and filled the trough with foam.
Lilla took advantage of the momentary distraction to buck him off his knees. He sprawled to one side, but instead of running away she lunged for his throat, her teeth snapping at his cheek, his neck, while he clawed his fingers into her hair and tried to force her away. She shrieked. A wave crest launched by the wind splattered them, drenched them. He jerked up his head and butted her. She tried to twist her wrists free, and butted him in turn, directly on the lips. His mouth filled with blood, and when he spat, her face was freckled.