The Good House Part 42

But Myles was a distraction. Angela hoped Myles couldn't see her hand trembling on the gun. He would only leave if he believed she would shoot him. First, she had to believe it herself.

"I'm about to count to ten, Myles," she said huskily. "Turn and go back. This has nothing to do with you. You'll hold me back. We'll both die like those deputies."

"Then we'll both die," Myles said. He didn't blink, and his face didn't change. His breathing had become very calm. He'd made up his mind, too. He was probably as afraid as he'd ever been, but his serenity was still in place, d.a.m.n him. "I don't have a choice, Angela Marie. I can't make you come with me, but I'm not leaving you here."

"You stubborn idiot," she said. "Why can't you just trust me to do this?"

"Youneed to trust. Let yourself need somebody for once. I don't think you've trusted a soul since the day you found your mother with that gun in her mouth, sweetheart."

Angela squeezed her mind's eye shut to keep away the image of Mama with the gun. Even today, that memory cut deep. "You're bringing that upnow?"

"Now is when I have to. I'm trying to save your life," Myles said.

"Angie, Iam here for you. I was always here. Don't run from me."

Angela felt her frightened heart surge, but her mind whirled with confusion. How could she tell the difference between the inklings from Gramma Marie and the deep, frightened parts of her that had always tried to send Myles away? Angela crouched down into the ferns to get out of easy view of the trail, and he crouched beside her. They both breathed a few seconds, not speaking.

"I can't bring you unless you're willing to admit what you're seeing," Angela said finally, hushed. "You freeze when we get in trouble, trying to think it through. We don't have time for that. You have to admit this is magic. This is a curse. If you can't admit that, you're no good to me."

Myles's jaw shook. "Angie, if you want me to admit I'm scared, h.e.l.l, yes, I'm scared," he said, and his eyes looked plagued enough to prove it. She heard the growing tremor in his voice as he spoke so quickly and softly that she had to strain to hear him.

"That's not good enough. You have to accept what we're facing."

At that, Myles's composure cracked. His face looked ready to shout, but instead a strained whisper emerged from his trembling mouth."I don't know what I just saw at your house. I have no way of knowing that, Angie. The only thing Ido know is that I'm not leaving you out here alone."

She would never talk him out of it, Angela realized. She wished she did have the nerve to shoot this man in the leg, to save them both. "I do want you to be with me," Angela said, and the words felt like burrs in her throat. "I always have, even when I acted like a fool."

"You've got me," he said, reaching out his hand. "Come back with me, Angie."

s.h.i.+t.She pulled away from him, deeper into the bush."This is what I'm talking about. You don't understand. That's the quickest way to get us killed."

"No, no, don't go," Myles said, grabbing her arm tightly to pull her close. "I'm sorry. I had to make one last plea." He sighed, glancing over his shoulder, toward the trail behind them. "You say you're relying on your instincts. Okay, I believe you. If I'm out here with you, I don't have a choice. Just tell me why you're out here."

Angela looked away from him. "I have to go to The Spot. I don't know why."

"What about Tariq?"

Angela wished she had an answer, for both their sakes. All she knew was that she had to go to the Crossroads Forest. She imagined herself rubbing her body with soil there, pouring out the contents of thegovi, burying them in the ground. That image of the burial had been in the wings of her mind since she'd first seen thegovi, she realized suddenly. But that didn't tell her what to do about Tariq, or exactly how. "I'll know when the time comes," she said.

"That time ishere. He's minutes away, if that."

"Don't argue with me, Myles. I have to do this."

"Then let's get moving."

Yes, it was time to start running again.

Angela ran in the lead, keeping a steady pace. She darted and ducked past the overhanging limbs and awkwardly placed tree trunks that steered the trail right and left at whim. She heard Myles behind her, matching her pace for pace. The rainfall against the forest's leaves and needles was a blanket of sound around them; steady, unyielding, harder and louder than it had been minutes ago. As more water seeped down to the trail, it would be harder to keep their footing. She could already hear water collecting in furrows around them, turning soil into slick mud. Much of the trail was already muddy, splas.h.i.+ng as they ran. Her feet sank with each step, demanding more effort to pull them free, slowing her stride. Mud was appearing from nowhere.

Like the mudslide,she remembered, jolted.

Just keep running, she told herself. If she surrendered to fear, she and Myles would die.

The trail was nearly impossible to follow beneath the gathering mud, so Angela concentrated on landmarks as she ran: the moss-covered dead tree that looked like it was wearing a gown. A stand of dead Douglas firs still standing upright, their stunted limbs sticking out as if the trunks had been pierced by an a.r.s.enal of thick arrows.

But new memories were sailing into Angela's head, making her feel as if her mind were literallyexpanding: She recognized the place where Gramma Marie's favorite red huckleberry shrub had grown. And where John had been hiding when he shot a black bear the size of a grizzly. She recognized the place where Art Brunell's father and his friend Lance accidentally started a fire in 1945, which had burned a quarter-acre before dying out; and they'd never told they did it. She saw the unfriendly root that had tripped Dominique and skinned her knee when she was eight, days before the demons started laughing-and then tripped Corey and skinned his knee fifty-five years later, when he was eight, too. The memories made Angela dizzy, gathering strength with the beating rain. These new memories were only the ones closest to the surface, the ones tethered to her and Gramma Marie. These woods were a haven for spirits, and spirits lived on memories.

A question came to Angela that was so unsettling that it nearly made her stop running:How could she distinguish between the voices of Gramma Marie and whatever forces her grandmother was fighting against? What if she was becoming like Maddie Fisher in the bathtub?

"The ring will protect you," she whispered, trying to believe. "As long as you wear it."

Angela saw a dark spot on the ground ahead of her, something black, so she slowed, approaching cautiously. Was the clump real or an illusion created by another unfamiliar memory?

"What?" Myles said behind her.

Angela crouched, staring. It was a muddy piece of clothing. Her arms tingled decisively. She touched the fabric, lifting up the soggy rag with two fingers. It was mud-soaked except in spots; she saw s.h.i.+ny silver-colored numbering peeping through on each side. Hot blood flooded Angela's veins.

This wasn't Gramma Marie's memory, or anyone else's; this washers.

"This is Corey's," she said. "This is Corey's s.h.i.+rt."

"Are you sure?"

Angela nodded. "Tariq brought it for him when he came that summer. A Raiders jersey."

"What do you think it means?" Myles asked.

Reluctantly, Angela dropped the s.h.i.+rt where she'd found it. She should not carry anything more than she needed today; she had to leave everything behind her. "We're closer to wherever I lost him," she whispered. Whatever happened to Corey had started before the Fourth of July. It had started in these woods. At The Spot.

They were closer to The Spot than Angela realized.

Angela saw Tariq's van parked in the clearing ahead, on the other side of the fire-pit. Its side door yawned open, but the van was dark inside because the windows were curtained. All she could see through the open door was the empty backseat.

Angela stood stock-still as fear coiled through her limbs, and not only because of the sight of the van. Her feet told her that she stood at the heart of a site that was accursed. Corey had experienced a horror here. The demon-thebaka, its name occurred to her suddenly-had bested Corey here. Her son had watered this spot with tears. Someone had died here.

"Down,"Myles whispered, yanking her backward.

Together, they crawled away from the trail, following the long, thin trunk of a fallen fir tree that had been crowded out by taller, stronger trees. They climbed over the trunk, finding refuge in a thick patch of ferns. From the end of the trail, the van had been directly ahead of them, but now it was to their right. They saw the back window, the closed curtains, and theTARIQ 1 tag.

"The police didn't see this parked here?" Myles whispered.

"It wasn't here."

"He couldn't have driven it back here. There's no way to pa.s.s."

"He didn't have to drive it." Like the gun had just come to the house. Like Onyx and the van had vanished a few days before. Ordinary travel routes were not necessary.

Myles leaned close behind her, his wet parka draped over her, and she could feel his heart pounding beneath his clothing. He whispered directly into her ear, practically soundless. "We have to know if he's there. Are you ready for that?" His lips touched her.

She nodded. Her heart wasn't ready, if its feverish beating was any sign, but she had to be.

Myles sighed, wiping rain from his brow. "Have you ever fired a gun?"

"No." She stared at the van's curtains, watching for movement from inside.

"Well, be ready to use it. I have to keep the bow. We both have to be armed."

"Agreed," she said.

"This is the safety. Keep itoff," he said, and he checked the pin on the body of her gun. She nodded, her palm tight and damp against the revolver. Thank G.o.d Rob had pressed her to take the gun, she thought. What had she been thinking to try to refuse it?

"I'll try to draw him out, to see if he's in there," Myles said. "If you see him, stayout of sight. Don't shoot unless one of us is in danger, and make sure I'm clear. How much ammo do you have?"

"Five shots, Rob said."

"Then conserve them. Don't fire more than twice. Don't pump away on the trigger.Two shots. Hopefully that'll be enough to distract him, and maybe I'll get my shot." He was speaking so softly, his words were no more than sweet breath in her face.

"Then I should shoot at him again right after you, or he might get you."

"Use your judgment, Angie. Handguns aren't good distance weapons, not like rifles. You have to worry about what happens toyou later. This is a dangerous game we're playing. So, I'm asking you one more time: Are yousure this is what you want to do, doll-baby?"

Wantinghad nothing to do with it. "Yes."

Myles looked disappointed, his face tightening, but he nodded, too. His expression reminded her of the way a condemned man might look at the cook bringing his last meal: He'd eat, but it wouldn't taste good. Myles kissed her, rolling his mouth and tongue across hers. Again, the kiss ended too soon.

"I'm trusting you," Myles said, resting his forehead against hers. "If we get separated, we should both head straight for the police."

Angela's knowledge came again, full-blown: Theywould get separated. She didn't know if it would happen now or later, but it would happen before the day was finished.

"I love you, Myles," Angela said. "I never stopped, not for a minute."

"I knew that, Angela Marie." He grasped her hand tight, kissing it, then closed his eyes. "Lord, please watch over us fools today. Please keep us in the safety of your arms as we struggle to prevail against the cruel forces that have been pitted against us. In Jesus's name we pray, amen."

Cruel forces.Maybe Myles understood, even if he refused to utter the worddemon.

"Amen," Angela whispered beside him, hoping G.o.d's ears would not be deaf to her.

Her whole life, deep down, she'd suspected G.o.d never heard her or Mama at all.

Myles had first gone hunting with Pa Fisher when he was ten, a month after he moved to Sacajawea, and on that first outing, Pa had taught him to respect the odds.

Hunting was a game of wits. Men might have superior weapons and pure intellect, but big game animals had a primary advantage: the senses. An elk could hear a limb snap a half-mile away. Or smell a human presence up to a mile away if the wind was right, and pick up the scent of the spot a human had pa.s.sed through a day after you were gone. With eyes protruding on the sides of their heads, deer and elk had better than three-hundred-degree vision. Their eyes took in nearlyeverything. Even with camouflage, decoys, and mating calls, Pa told him, the hunted had the advantage. The more he appreciated that, the better his odds would be.

Today, Myles was both hunter and hunted. Angie thought Tariq was no mere man, but when Myles's thoughts plunged in that direction, he felt himself seize up with childlike fear. A man with a gun in the woods was dangerous enough, but a beast with a gun in the woods could be invulnerable.

Myles's lungs seemed to have climbed into his throat as he crept in the brush outlying The Spot, trying to find the best approach to Tariq's van. Despite the cold rain, the air felt hot. The old lessons came back to Myles: patience and silence. A single misstep could betray him, so he couldn't hurry. He'd seen part of the interior of the van at first glance, and that had been clear. If Tariq was inside, he was lying across the front or hidden in back.

Myles blinked away rain and stinging perspiration trickling into his eyes. His gla.s.ses were so spotted with rainwater, he cursed his decision not to take the time to put in his contacts today. Eyegla.s.ses had no place in the rain, the beads of moisture blurring his vision. He wished he could forget the gla.s.ses and take his chances with the twenty-eighty vision G.o.d had given him, but in a jumble of forest tones, he couldn't afford to miss a single shadow, jostle, or nuance. This hunt would be over if Tariq saw him first.

Myles made his way closer to the far side of the van from ten yards behind it; he was approaching the gigantic trunk of a fallen Douglas fir between him and the van. That tree could give him some cover, if it came to that. But first, he had to make sure Tariq hadn't thought of it first, that he wasn't stooped somewhere behind it. Myles's arrow was already pulled tight, ready to fly. He nestled the nock against his cheek, staring past the arrowhead to the spot it would hit if he fired. "Steady...steady...," Myles whispered with each step.

The beating rainfall worked to his advantage, helping soften the sound of the dead leaves, but Myles still took care not to let his feet land heavily enough to crack the twigs on the forest floor. He'd been unsettled by the thick mud covering the trail earlier, but he missed its silence now. His hiking boots were bulky. He and Pa had worn padded fleece boots on their hunting trips, and Myles would give a finger for a pair today. He crept as quietly as he could, four feet from the tree trunk. Two more steps, and he could see if anyone was hidden on the other side of it.

POP.

The only gunshot Myles heard was in his imagination. There was nothing behind the ma.s.sive trunk except weeds and crabgra.s.s. Myles swallowed hard, so relieved he had to blink to send his attention back to the VW. He wouldn't approach the VW from the open side because it would be easy for Tariq to come storming through the open door with his gun blasting, or to ambush him from the woods. The front seat windows were the only ones that weren't hidden behind curtains. The front windows were closed tight, so the bow would be useless even if Tariq was even three inches from his face. But at least he would know where Tariq was.

Driver's window first. Then, he'd step around to look through the winds.h.i.+eld.

And then Tariq Hill is going to turn your face into a gaping hole.

Myles had known a guy in grad school with one of these old VW hippiemobiles, a red one with curtains part.i.tioning off the front from the back of the bus. If Tariq's van had the same curtain, he'd be exposing himself at the winds.h.i.+eld and see virtuallynothing inside.

"But you knew this was insane in the beginning," Myles breathed to himself.

Today was the definition of insane, from the moment Rob Graybold had called his house and asked him to bring Angie to Art's jail cell. The insanity had only multiplied.

Myles ventured toward the clearing. Just like stalking a buck, he told himself.

"Myles?"

He had only taken his first step when he heard a woman's voice behind him. He whipped around, uncertain, still ready to fire. It had d.a.m.n near sounded...

"Myles? Don't leave me here. I'mscared, Myles. I promise I'll leave my socks alone."

Myles's t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es seized up. It was Ma's voice, faint but unmistakable. The voice had come from the woods, where the cedar stand grew thick behind him.

The plaintive voice flew to him again. "Myles, take me backhome . I want my fish. Youdidn't bring my goldfish. You left them in my room."

As he stared back at the woods, Myles's lips parted, dry. Through the beads of water on his gla.s.ses, he could see someone ahead, perched on the low-hanging branch of a leafless maple tree. Ma's hair was tied back, and she was dressed in the bright yellow sweater she'd been wearing when he took her to Riverview. Her legs were swinging gently back and forth, like a child's. She must be ten yards high, he calculated, stunned.How could Ma have climbed...

Myles's heart curdled, and he swallowed back a sickly taste in his mouth. However she was up there, he had to get to her. If she fell, she'd break a hip, or worse. He could climb over that Douglas fir trunk and claw his way through the tight thicket of devil's club that grew in his path, protected by yellow, spiny bristles.

But he didn't move. He was rooted in place by a discrepancy his mind couldn't dismiss:His mother could not be in that tree. His mother was in Skamokawa with Candace, where he'd left her.

"Let me go home, Myles. My memory is fit as a fiddle. We'll talk over old times. Remember the day we brought you home and you saw the room we'd fixed for you? I remember, Myles."

The skin on Myles's back itched up and down his spine. Whatever he was up against had the power to create illusions in his mind. A womandid seem to be sitting in that tree, and that woman looked like Ma, there was no denying it. But it was a lie, a trick of the senses.

"I can't live this way anymore, Myles. I can't be a burden to you. I'm going to jump."

Myles battled his instinct to run toward her. As he stared at Ma, years seemed to fade from her face, and she became a teenage girl, the way she looked in her old family photographs. Shockingly pretty. He blinked, stunned. She was only Ma again.

"No. That's not Ma," he whispered. "That'snot Ma."

Don't look at her,Myles told himself.Look away.

Fighting tears, Myles forced himself to turn his eyes away from the apparition. His hands were no longer steady on the bow and arrow. He would regain control if he kept his focus on the VW in front of him. Only trouble was behind him.