Part 7 (2/2)

”I'll bet she starved to death,” the heavyset woman observed.

Well, that's not something you'll ever have to worry about, Stubbs said silently to himself as he took the nutria away. Returning to the office, he examined the animal.

What had had happened to it? happened to it?

He picked it up again, fingering it carefully, searching for a wound. When he set it down once more, the head flopped over at an unnatural angle. Frowning, he explored the creature's neck with his fingers. Even to his unpracticed touch, he could tell the nutria's neck had been broken.

An unbidden memory came to his mind of Michael, standing perfectly still, the mop clenched tightly in his fists.

If it hadn't been a mop in his hands a few days ago, but instead one of the nutrias...

There was a rumbling noise outside, and a moment later Michael himself appeared, pulling his motorcycle to a stop outside the gates. Stepping outside, Stubbs beckoned him over to the office.

”Got something I want you to look at,” he said as Michael approached. He led Michael back into the office, then stepped aside so that the boy could see the dead nutria on the desk. ”You know what might have happened to her?” he asked.

Michael stared at Martha's limp body. He couldn't explain what had happened, since he still wasn't sure. And if he told the truth, he knew he would be fired. But he couldn't lie, either. ”I-I don't know,” he stammered. ”Last night, she didn't look too good-”

Stubbs's eyes fixed on him. ”Her neck's broken, Michael.”

Michael swallowed. ”Oh, G.o.d. I thought she was going-I thought-” He fell silent, staring helplessly at Stubbs.

Stubbs's anger eased in the face of Michael's obvious torment. ”Now just take it easy, boy. Tell me what happened.”

”But-But I don't know what happened,” Michael stammered. ”I was petting her, like I always do, and I heard a siren. And it scared me.” His eyes flicked around the room, as if he were searching for a way out. At last his gaze came back to Phil Stubbs. ”I didn't do anything to her,” he said. ”At least I didn't mean to. But after the police car went by, and I looked down at her again, she'd stopped moving.” He fell silent for a few seconds, his eyes fixing on the nutria. He took a deep breath. ”I-I guess I must have killed her.”

Stubbs said nothing, frowning deeply as he tried to figure out what to do. His first impulse was to fire the boy. Yet Michael was so obviously miserable about what had happened that Stubbs was certain he hadn't intended to hurt the little animal. Indeed, Michael always became angry with anyone who even teased the creatures in their cages. ”Well, I don't know,” Stubbs said at last. ”But if you can't even remember what happened, I guess I can't say you did it on purpose.”

Michael stared abjectly at the floor. ”I'm sorry,” he said. ”Are-Are you going to fire me?”

Stubbs considered it. Once again he remembered those strange lapses when Michael seemed to lose himself. But he also remembered how much his business had improved since he'd hired the boy. ”No,” he said, making up his mind. ”But I think maybe you'd better take the rest of the day off-without pay-and think about keeping your mind on your work from here on out.” When Michael looked puzzled, Stubbs went on, ”I've seen you daydreaming before, Michael. It's like you've just gone somewhere else, like you're in some kind of trance or something. So starting tomorrow, I don't want you working after hours anymore. Can you understand that?”

Michael nodded, finally looking up. ”Are you going to tell my dad?” he asked.

Stubbs hesitated. What if Craig Sheffield demanded proof of what Michael had done? Guys could be funny about their sons-never wanting to admit their own flesh and blood could be less than perfect. And Sheffield was a lawyer, and despite the fact that he was Stubbs's own lawyer, that could lead to trouble. Besides, when you got right down to it, Michael was old enough to be responsible for himself. ”Seems to me this is just between us,” he said. ”So let's just keep it that way, okay? Now get out of here, and make sure you're on time tomorrow.”

Michael left the office, his head still down. Stubbs heard the motorcycle roar to life, and watched from the doorway until the bike disappeared around a bend in the road. Returning to his desk, he picked up the dead nutria. He stared at it for a moment, then shook his head and tossed it out the window into an open Dumpster a few yards away.

”Get Craig Sheffield upset over a lousy nutria?” he muttered to himself. ”I may be dumb, but I'm not that dumb.”

Michael gunned the engine of the motorcycle, feeling an exhilarating burst of speed as the machine responded to his command. Leaning forward into the wind, he tried to put the scene with Phil Stubbs out his mind. But an image of the dead nutria lying on his boss's desk stayed with him. This morning, on his way to work, he'd let himself hope that Martha would still be in her cage, munching on her food and looking after her pups. Maybe nothing had happened last night at all-maybe his memory of the limp animal he'd returned to the cage had been no more real than the strange image he'd seen in the mirror.

But as soon as Stubbs had called him to the office, he'd known the truth.

Somehow, last night, he'd killed the little creature.

But why couldn't he remember doing it?

He slowed the motorcycle, banking it into a curve.

Well, at least he hadn't been fired, and Stubbs wasn't even going to tell his folks what had happened. He could imagine what his father would say if he'd lost the job-the motorcycle would be gone, and he'd probably be grounded for the rest of the summer as well.

But it wouldn't happen again. From now on he'd keep his mind on what he was doing, and not let himself be distracted by anything.

But what about today? He couldn't go home-if he did, he'd have to explain why he had the day off.

And he couldn't spend the day in town, either. Even if his father didn't see him, everyone else would, and his dad would be bound to hear about it sooner or later.

Maybe he'd just head out on the bike and spend the day riding. He had plenty of money-he might even head up to Orlando and go to Disney World. Except he'd been there last year and hadn't liked it very much. Nothing had seemed real, and while Jennifer had run from one ride to another-screaming about everything-he'd wished he'd stayed home and spent the day by himself, poking around in the marshes.

Maybe that's what he would do today. There was a place he knew about, a few miles out of town, where he could hide the bike. There weren't any boats out there, but there were paths and trails. Yes, that's what he'd do. Spend the day exploring. And he'd keep his mind on the time, so he wouldn't be late getting home.

As he gunned the bike once more, a horn blared behind him. Startled, he automatically glanced into the rearview mirror, expecting to see a car overtaking him.

Instead, he saw the hideous visage of the ancient man, leering at him.

Stunned by the image in the mirror, he swerved the bike, realizing almost too late that the car behind him was now pa.s.sing. As the car's horn blasted a second time, Michael jerked the bike the other way. The motorcycle skittered toward the edge of the pavement; then, as the car disappeared around a bend, the cycle slid off the asphalt into the soft earthen bank of the drainage ditch that paralleled the road. The narrow tires began to sink into the mud as Michael struggled to pull the bike back onto the road. Throwing his weight onto the handlebars, he twisted the front wheel around. The bike remained mired in the mud. The rear end rose up, pulled free of the muck, then swung around, throwing Michael onto the ground, the toppled bike beside him.

The day before, Kelly Anderson had had only a glimpse of Villejeune from the car. Now she realized just how little there was to it. Only a few stores, a cafe, and the post office with a police station tucked in behind it. A block away she found the school she'd be going to in the fall, which didn't look like much, either. There were only two buildings, one of which seemed to be a gym, and she didn't see any sign of a swimming pool. Still, as she wandered around the village she decided she kind of liked it. It didn't feel at all like Atlanta, but that was all right.

As she came around the corner, onto Ponce Avenue, she saw the kids.

There were four of them, two boys and two girls, and the moment she saw them, she felt her guard going up.

They looked like the kids she'd always avoided back home.

Hicks, that's what they looked like.

Not one of them was wearing any interesting clothes, and the girls both wore their hair in styles Kelly wouldn't have been caught dead in, like they'd just fallen out of some old beach blanket movie starring Annette Funicello.

She felt them watching her.

Maybe she should walk right up to them and demand to know what they were staring at.

Except that she already knew.

She'd put on three pairs of earrings that morning, and two sets of cuffs. And even though the weather was hot, she was wearing a black turtleneck s.h.i.+rt and a pair of black jeans that she'd sewn some sequins onto. Back in Atlanta the outfit had looked cool, and not really very weird, compared to what a lot of the kids wore.

But here in Villejeune she stuck out like a sore thumb.

Her first impulse was to go home, but to do that she'd have to walk right past the kids. Even if she crossed the street, it would still be obvious that she was avoiding them.

Making up her mind on the spur of the moment, she turned and went the other way, walking quickly, as if she knew exactly where she was going. Once she was out of the village, and away from the kids who were staring at her, she began to feel better again.

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