Part 16 (1/2)

On a Monday afternoon, Kate and I went for a walk in the woods surrounding the Wykagil River, where she'd been found by the two boys. It was still unspoken, but we seemed to be in this thing together now. Certainly no one knew more about Casanova than she did. If she could remember anything more it would be so useful. The smallest detail could be a clue that might open up everything.

Kate became quiet and unusually subdued as we entered the dark, brooding woods east of the Wykagil River. The human monster could be lurking out here, maybe prowling in the woods right now. Maybe he was watching us.

”I used to love walking in woods like these. Blackberry brambles and sweet sa.s.safras. Cardinals and blue jays feeding everywhere. It reminds me of when I was growing up,” Kate told me as we walked. ”My sisters and I used to go swimming every single day in a stream like this one. We swam nekkid, which was forbidden by my father. Anything my father strictly forbade, we tried to do.”

”All that swimming experience came in handy,” I said. ”Maybe it helped get you safely down the Wykagil.”

Kate shook her head. ”No, that was just pure stubborness. I vowed vowed I wasn't going to die that day. Couldn't give him the satisfaction.” I wasn't going to die that day. Couldn't give him the satisfaction.”

I was keeping my own discomfort about being in the woods to myself. Some of my uneasiness had to do with the unfortunate history of these woods and the surrounding farmlands. Tobacco farms had been spotted all through here once upon a time. Slave farms. The blood and bones of my ancestors. The blood and bones of my ancestors. The extraordinary kidnapping and subjugation of more than four million Africans who were originally brought to America. They had been The extraordinary kidnapping and subjugation of more than four million Africans who were originally brought to America. They had been abducted. abducted. Against their will. Against their will.

”I don't remember any of this terrain, Alex,” Kate said. I had strapped on a shoulder holster before we left the car. Kate winced and shook her head at the sight of the gun. But she didn't protest beyond the baleful look. She sensed that I was the dragonslayer. She knew there was a real dragon out here. She'd met him.

”I remember I ran away, escaped into woods just like these. Tall Carolina pines. Not much light getting through, eerie as a bat cave. I remember clearly when the house disappeared on me. I can't remember too much else. I'm blocking it. I don't even know how I got into the river.”

We were about two miles from where we'd left the car. Now we hiked north, staying close to the river Kate had floated down on her miraculous, ”stubborn” escape. Every tree and bush reached out relentlessly toward the diminis.h.i.+ng sunlight.

”This reminds me of the Bacchae,” Kate said. Her upper lip curled in an ironic smile. ”The triumph of dark, chaotic barbarism over civilized human reason.” It felt as if we were moving against a high, relentless tide of vegetation.

I knew she was trying to talk about Casanova and the terrifying house where he kept the other women. She was trying to understand him better. We both were.

”He's refusing to be civilized, or repressed,” I said. ”He does whatever he wants. He's the ultimate pleasure seeker, I suppose. A hedonist for the times.”

”I wish you could hear him talk. He's very bright, Alex.”

”So are we,” I reminded her. ”He'll make a mistake, I promise.”

I was getting to know Kate very well by now. She was getting to know me. We had talked about my wife, Maria, who was killed in a senseless drive-by shooting in Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C. I told her about my kids, Jannie and Damon. She was a good listener; she had excellent bedside-manner potential. Dr. Kate was going to be a special kind of doctor.

By three that afternoon, we must have walked four or five miles. I felt grungy and a little achy. Kate didn't complain, but she must have been hurting. Thank G.o.d the karate kept her in great shape. We hadn't found any sign of where she had run during her escape. None of the landmarks we pa.s.sed looked familiar to her. There was no disappearing house. No Casanova. No outstanding clues in the deep, dark woods. Nothing to go on.

”How the h.e.l.l did he get so good at this?” I muttered as we tramped back to the car.

”Practice,” Kate said with a grimace. ”Practice, practice, practice.”

Chapter 57.

THE TWO of us stopped to eat at Spanky's on Franklin Street in Chapel Hill. We were bushed, famished, and most of all thirsty. Everybody knew Kate at the popular bar and restaurant, and they made a nice fuss over her when we walked in. A muscular, blond-haired bartender named Hack started a big round of applause.

A waitress and friend of Kate's gave us a table of honor at a front window on Franklin Street. The woman was a doctoral candidate in philosophy, Kate told me. Verda, the waitress-philosopher of Chapel Hill.

”How do you like being a celebrity?” I kidded Kate once we were seated.

”Hate it. Hate it, Hate it,” She said with her teeth clenched tightly. ”Listen, Alex, can we get blotto drunk tonight?” Kate suddenly asked. ”I'd like a tequila, a mug of beer, and some brandy,” she told Verda. The waitress-philosopher grimaced and wrinked her nose at the order.

”I'll have the same,” I said. ”When in collegeville.”

”This definitely isn't isn't therapy,” Kate said to me as soon as Verda departed. ”We're just going to bulls.h.i.+t some tonight.” therapy,” Kate said to me as soon as Verda departed. ”We're just going to bulls.h.i.+t some tonight.”

”That sounds like therapy,” I said to her.

”If it is, then we're both both on the couch.” on the couch.”

We talked about a lot of unrelated things for the first hour or so: cars, rural versus big-city hospitals, slavery, childrearing, doctors' salaries and the health-care crisis, rock 'n' roll lyrics versus blues lyrics, a book we'd both enjoyed called The English Patient. The English Patient. We had been able to talk to each other right from the beginning. Almost from that first moment at University Hospital, there had been some kind of bright sparks between us. We had been able to talk to each other right from the beginning. Almost from that first moment at University Hospital, there had been some kind of bright sparks between us.

After the first blitzkrieg round of drinks, we settled into slow-sipping-beer in my case, the house wine in Kate's. We got a little buzzed, but nothing too disastrous. Kate was right about one thing. We definitely needed some kind of release from the stress of the Casanova case.

Around our third hour in the bar, Kate told a true story about herself that was almost as shocking to me as her abduction. Her brown eyes were wide as she spun her tale. Her eyes sparkled in the bar's low light. ”Let me tell you this one time now. Southerners love to tell a story, Alex. We're the last safekeepers of America's sacred oral history.”

”Tell me the story, Kate. I love to listen to stories. So much so that I made it my job.”

Kate put her hand on top of mine. She took a deep breath. Her voice got soft, very quiet. ”Once upon a time, there was the McTiernan family of Birch. This was a happy group of campers, Alex. Tight-knit, especially the girls: Susanne, Marjorie, Kristin, Carole Anne, and Kate. Kristin and I were the youngest goils goils-twins. Then there was Mary, our mother, and Martin, our father. I'm not going to say too much about Martin. My mother made him leave when I was four. He was very domineering and could be as mean as a stepped-on copperhead sometimes. To h.e.l.l with him. I'm way past my father by now.”

Kate went on for a bit, but then she stopped and looked deeply into my eyes. ”Did anybody ever tell you what a terrific, terrific terrific listener you are? You make it seem like you're interested in everything I have to say. That makes me want to talk to you. I have listener you are? You make it seem like you're interested in everything I have to say. That makes me want to talk to you. I have never never told this whole story to anyone, Alex.” told this whole story to anyone, Alex.”

”Well, I am interested in what you have to say. It makes me feel good that you're sharing this with me, that you trust me enough.”

”I trust you. It's not a very happy story, so I must trust you a lot.”

”I have that sense,” I told Kate. It struck me again how very beautiful her face was. Her eyes were very large and lovely. Her lips weren't too full, or too thin. I kept being reminded why Casanova had chosen her.

”My sisters, my mother, they were so great when I was growing up. I was their little slave, and and I was their pet. There wasn't much money coming into the house, so there was always too much to do. We canned our own veggies, jelly, and fruit. We took in was.h.i.+ng and ironing. Did our own carpentry, plumbing, auto repair. We were lucky: we liked one another. We were always laughing and singing the latest hit song off the radio. We read a lot, and we'd talk about everything from abortion rights to recipes. A sense of humor was mandatory in our house. I was their pet. There wasn't much money coming into the house, so there was always too much to do. We canned our own veggies, jelly, and fruit. We took in was.h.i.+ng and ironing. Did our own carpentry, plumbing, auto repair. We were lucky: we liked one another. We were always laughing and singing the latest hit song off the radio. We read a lot, and we'd talk about everything from abortion rights to recipes. A sense of humor was mandatory in our house. 'Don't be so serious' 'Don't be so serious' was the famous line there.” was the famous line there.”

Finally, Kate told me what had happened to the McTiernan family. Her story; her secret came out in an agitated burst that darkened her face.

”Marjorie got sick first. She was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Margie died when she was twenty-six. She already had three kids. Then, in order, Susanne, my twin Kristin, and my mother died. All of breast or ovarian cancer, That left Carole Anne, me, and my father. Carole Anne and I joke that we inherited my father's snarly mean streak, so we're destined to die of nasty heart attacks.”

Kate suddenly swung her head down and to one side. Then she looked back up at me. ”I was going to say, I don't know why I told you that. But I do know. I like you. I want to be your friend. I want you to be my friend. Is that possible?”

I started to say something about how I felt, but Kate stopped me. She put the tips of her fingers on my lips. ”Don't be sentimental right now. Don't ask me any more about my sisters right now. Tell me something you don't ever ever tell other people. Tell me quick now, before you change your mind. Tell me one of your big secrets, Alex.” tell other people. Tell me quick now, before you change your mind. Tell me one of your big secrets, Alex.”

I didn't think about what I was going to say. I just let it come out. It seemed fair after what Kate had told me. Besides, I wanted to share something with her, I wanted to confide in Kate, at least see if I could.

”I've been screwed up ever since my wife, Maria, died,” I told Kate McTiernan, one of my secrets, one of the things I keep bottled inside. ”I put on clothes every morning, and a sociable face, and my six-gun some days... but I feel hollow most of the time. I got into a relations.h.i.+p after Maria, and it didn't work out. It failed in a spectacular fas.h.i.+on. Now I'm not ready to be with anyone again. I don't know if I ever will be.”

Kate peered into my eyes. ”Oh, Alex, you're wrong. You are so ready,” she told me without any doubt in her eyes or her voice.

Sparks.

Friends.