The Third Victim Part 72

"Then rub his b.a.l.l.s, honey. That always works for me."

She got it. Fourteen years later, she finally understood her mother's crude advice. And she had to slap her thighs and hold her middle as the laughter ripped out of her in savage gasps.

She was crying. Tears ran down her cheeks. Second time in one night.

Jesus, it sucked to be her.

She was climbing off the deck. Knowing she shouldn't do it. It was just what the b.a.s.t.a.r.d wanted. Having to do it anyway.

Burrowing under the boards into the crawl s.p.a.ce, where the soil was rich and dark and she scratched at it with her bare hands. Deeper and deeper and deeper. Still here. Still horrible. All was safe. Still here.

Oh G.o.d, she'd had no idea laughing could hurt so much. Oh G.o.d, was that her face in the mirror, with the sunken cheeks and mud splatters in the shape of tears?

An hour later she had her 9 mm and her flashlight. She went into the woods. She started to hunt. She had no illusions about what she would do if she found the man, and that both terrified her and left her calm.

About two hundred feet from her house, she discovered the hollow.

Behind some low shrubs for cover, leaves flattened down from long vigil. Ground was cold now, but she knew he'd been there. Watching.

It seemed very clear to her. A man who enjoyed manipulating children to kill. A man who was obviously angry but didn't have the gonads to do anything about it himself. Who would appeal to him more than a police officer rumored to have killed her own mother?

That was what tonight had been about. First setting the scene at the bar, then supplying the props in her living room. He was inviting her to the party.

"Come back one more time," Rainie murmured.

"Let me show you what I can do, you twisted son of a b.i.t.c.h. Let me show you everything."

She collected the battered shotgun on her way back in.

Fifteen minutes later the trees rustled as a figure leapt down to the ground not far from where Rainie had been standing. The man touched the dirt that still held her footprints. Then he brought his fingertips to his mouth and licked them.

And then he smiled. Perfect.Sat.u.r.day, May 19, 6:01 a.m.

Sandy O'grady wasn't asleep when the phone rang. She was lying on her back in bed, staring at the gray shadows s.h.i.+fting on her ceiling. She'd been dreaming that she was a little girl again. She'd been out in fields, lounging back in the thick gra.s.s with her best friend, Melinda.

They were identifying the shapes of clouds.

"Look, that one's a dragon."

"Oh, oh, an elephant!"

"A two-headed dog!"

Sandy had woken up with tears on her cheeks and the nearly unbearable need to call Melinda. Except she knew that wasn't really it. Melinda had moved to Portland nearly fifteen years ago. She'd gotten married Sandy had attended the ceremony seven months pregnant with Danny- and she and Sandy hadn't spoken since. Their lives had moved on, the way lives did. They both had new friends who lived closer, had more in common, and required less effort to keep in touch.

She didn't honestly miss her childhood friend that much. She supposed, however, that she missed her childhood.

To be young and carefree. To be so sure that you had all the answers.

Snoring came from the living room, where Shep slept on the sofa.

Rustling came from the front-hall closet, where Becky slept on the floor. And silence came from the bedroom where Danny used to be.

Six a.m. Staring at the ceiling. Wondering where her life had gone wrong. Wondering how to make sense of things. She was a mother now, and it was her job to know the way.

The phone rang.

Sandy picked it up before it completed the first high-pitched peal.

She said, "h.e.l.lo, Danny."

He didn't reply. She heard the now-familiar background noises.

Clanging metal, distant hum of voices. Sandy had seen some of Cabot County's facility the first time she'd tried to visit Danny. New, modern, really not so bad compared to how some youth detention halls could be. In Sandy's imagination, however, the youth center remained a grim, gray prison, and these noises fit that place.

"How are you doing, Danny?" she asked, keeping her voice light. She s.h.i.+fted to get more comfortable on the bed. She had him on the phone.

She might as well keep him, for it seemed this would be as close to contact as she would get with her son.

"We're doing okay," she said conversationally.

"We miss you. Your father is working very hard to help you. We hired a lawyer, Avery Johnson. I know you've met him.

He's very good, the best of the best. Your father and I are pleased he took your case." Still nothing.

She took another deep breath.

"Becky is starting to come around. She got a new stuffed animal yesterday. A white and gray kitten. You know how much she likes cats.

In fact, we might get a real cat soon. Would you like that? Your father is thinking maybe he could handle a pet after all, and Becky has sworn up and down she'll take care of everything. He'll never have to know it's around. Of course, now we need to go to the pound to pick out a kitten, and I'm not sure how Becky will handle that. She'll take one look and want to bring home every animal in the place. We could end up with a zoo. Can you imagine your father knee-deep in puppies and kittens?"

Silence.

Sandy's eyes began to burn. She blinked the tears away.

"I wish I could see you, Danny," she said. "I miss you. Verymuch. I'll be honest. I've I've been better. But there are a lot of folks around here who believe in you. The church has started a fund-raiser to help with the legal bills. Your grandma and grandpa, they've been by every day to help out, and they keep saying how much they can't wait to get this whole misunderstanding behind us. The neighbors have brought over food. Why, yesterday we even got a brand-new set of Bibles! --Danny?"

Still no answer.

She sighed quietly.

"I miss you. I wish I could give you a big hug right now. I wish I could kiss the top of your head. I wish .. ." Her voice had grown thick.

"I wish I could make everything all right. Because I know whatever happened, you didn't do it on purpose. You're a good boy, Danny.

You're my boy, and I love you very much."

More silence. Sandy couldn't take any more of this; her son was breaking her heart. She went to hang up, and Danny finally spoke.

He said dully, "So much noise. And this horrible smell. Not like the movies. I pulled the trigger. So much noise."

"Danny?"

"They jerked. The lockers went pop. People fell down. So much noise.

I did such a bad thing, Mommy." His voice rose abruptly.

"I did such a bad thing!"