Part 45 (1/2)
I didn't try to follow her. Instead, I went downstairs and gave the mystery door another try. It still wouldn't open. On a whim I tried knocking; that didn't work either, and the echo of my knocks in the empty common room spooked me so much that I quickly stopped. Finally -- feeling the draft again -- I got down on my hands and knees and listened at the crack under the door. I heard a faint irregular sigh that might have been m.u.f.fled snoring.
I stood up, and felt eyes on me again: the Witness was back, watching me from the gallery. This time, I didn't ask what she wanted; I left the house. ”Sam!” I called, hurrying across the geography to the column of light. ”Time's up, Sam.”
We were in Indiana already; Aunt Sam and Maledicta had made good time. They'd been good, too, except for a twenty-dollar dessert orgy that I caught the tail end of. I didn't make a big fuss about that; it was midafternoon, and I was anxious to get to Horace Rollins's grave before dark, to see if he'd been cooperative enough to die in April, early May, or June.
No such luck. The death date on the gravestone was May 24th, which put it right in the middle of the two-week blackout period. So we weren't in the clear.
It was going on six o'clock by the time we left the cemetery. We could still have made it to Seven Lakes before nightfall, but while I didn't want to show fear or hesitation, I also didn't want to push it; next morning, I decided, would be soon enough.
We went back to Muskegon and found a motel. To avoid a repeat of the previous night's events, I asked for two widely separated rooms. But when we had our respective keys and it was time to part company, Penny was suddenly reluctant. ”Wait,” she said.
”What?” I replied, instantly on guard.
”It's still me,” she promised. ”Not. . . not Loins. But I don't want to become Loins tonight, or anybody else either, so do you think you could just sit with me until I start to fall asleep?”
”Ah. . . Penny. . .”
”Please? I know it's awkward, after. . . but I don't want to wake up in some stranger's room tomorrow morning. Or with another hangover.”
”You know if you do switch, I might not be able to do anything about it.”
”I know. But. . . please?”
We went to her room. Penny lay down on the bed, and I sat in a chair.
”How far is it to Seven Lakes from here?” Penny asked. ”I know we're close --”
”Very close. Less than an hour away.”
”What will you do when we get there?”
”Go up to the house first, I guess, and see if. . . if there's anything to see. Then maybe the town library.” She flashed me a quizzical look. ”Old newspapers,” I said.
”Oh right.”
”Hopefully there'll be a story about his. . . how he died. With enough details so that I don't have to bother the police about it. The police, I guess they'd be our third stop. There's a Police Chief Bradley who might be able to help.”
”You're brave,” Penny said.
”I don't feel brave. It's just my job.”
”You know,” she said, ”this is as close as I've been to my hometown since my mother died.”
”That's right,” I said, ”Ohio. Would you want to go there, after --”
”No!” Penny said firmly. ”There's nothing in Willow Grove I need to check on. Ever.”
”Nothing about your father, even?”
”I know what I need to know about him.” A small smile attached itself to her face. ”My grandmother told me lots of stories.”
”That must have been nice,” I said. ”To have at least one good parent. Even if he died.”
”What about your biological father?” Penny asked. ”Was he a bad person?”
”I don't know. I don't know much about him. I know he served in the army, and that he drowned a few months before Andy Gage was born, but as for what kind of person he was -- if we have any stories about that, I haven't heard them.”
”Well maybe you'll hear some tomorrow. Maybe we'll meet someone in town who knew him.”
”I don't know, Penny. I'd rather not talk to anyone in Seven Lakes if I can help it. I'd like to just go in, find out what I need to about the stepfather, and then go home.”
Which reminded me: I picked up the phone and tried to call Mrs. Winslow again. ”Still no answer?” Penny said, after I'd let it ring two dozen times.
”No.” I hung up. ”I don't understand. Where could she be?”
”Remember it's earlier there. She could still be out. . . well. . .”
”Out looking for me,” I finished for her. I grabbed the phone again and dialed Dr. Eddington's number. His answering machine picked up, and I left another message, talking until the machine cut me off.
I replaced the receiver in its cradle and started to sit down on the bed. ”Sorry,” I said, catching myself. ”I guess I should go to my room now.”
”You don't have to,” said Penny, looking uncomfortable. ”I mean. . . if you want to stay, I won't --”.
It was probably a bad idea, and if I'd seen even a trace of a smile on her face I'd have left immediately. But this wasn't Loins being coy; it was Penny, still frightened of what she might do if she were left alone. And when I thought about being alone myself, with all the things I had to worry or feel guilty about. . .
I lay down carefully, staying as close to the edge of the bed as I could without falling off; Penny likewise scootched as far over on her side as possible. We remained like that, talking quietly, until at some point, drowsing, I reached out an arm, and Penny did too, and we clasped hands long-distance, and in that way fell asleep.
In the morning I slipped out quietly while Penny was still snoring and went to my own room to shower. As I stepped into the shower stall, Adam surprised me by appearing on the rebuilt pulpit and asking for his customary two minutes. ”What's the matter?” he said. ”It's only been a few days. Don't tell me you've forgotten what it's like to hear voices.”
”I was getting used to the peace and quiet, now that you mention it,” I said. Then: ”I'm not sure you deserve any time out, after what you pulled in South Dakota.”
”All I did in South Dakota was turn on the TV -- it was Sam who went to the bar. And even so, you gave her half a day in the body yesterday. . . but I'm not going to harp on that.”
I let him have his two minutes, which were actually more like ten. When he finished, I tried to see if any of the others wanted their usual morning time, but Aunt Sam and Jake wouldn't even answer my call. ”They're hiding in their rooms,” Adam informed me. ”A lot of the other souls, too. They're scared; they know where we're going today.”
Seferis wasn't scared, though. When we got out of the shower, he ran through a modified workout, mindful of the body's still-sore hands and arm; and after he finished, I got back in the shower and rinsed off a second time. By the time all that was done, Penny was awake. She knocked on the motel-room door just as I finished dressing.
We ate a quick breakfast and then set out. The drive was no more than forty miles, but it seemed to take forever; I pa.s.sed the time by digging my fingers into the seat upholstery. ”We could still turn around,” Penny said, when she saw how white my knuckles were.
”No.” I shook my head. ”I have to do this.”
Seven Lakes sits right on the edge of the Manistee National Forest. The lakes that it is named for are more like big ponds, and according to my father their exact number varies from year to year, depending on the amount of rainfall. We saw the first one just moments later: a kidney bean-shaped body of water that lapped up against a bend in the road. It hardly seemed large enough to support more than a token fish or two, but there was a man in hip-waders standing out in the middle of it just the same, making a lazy cast with a fis.h.i.+ng pole. The man looked around as we drove by, but between the big straw hat he had jammed down on his head and the glare of the morning sun off the water's surface, I couldn't see his face.
A few hundred feet past this ”lake,” there was another bend in the road, and a sign that said entering seven lakes. We rounded the curve, and found ourselves on the main street of Andy Gage's hometown.
My father and Adam had been out on the pulpit the whole way from Muskegon; now, despite their apprehension -- in some cases, terror -- other souls began to come forward. Many of them only stepped onto the pulpit long enough for a quick peek before darting back inside the house; the sounds of their coming and going formed a constant shuffle at the back of my mind.