All the Pretty Dead Girls Part 34

He watched as Mona put her BMW back into gear and drove off. He stood there for a moment, watching her go. Then he got back into his patrol car and drove off.

He went off duty at five, made himself a frozen dinner, and sat in front of his television. There was a teaser for the local news. Footage of the police at the lake, the plastic-faced anchorwoman shrilling, "Missing Wilbourne student found dead and dismembered. More news at ten."

"Yeah," Perry growled, "and then that'll be the end of it."

It was getting close to seven, the time he'd scheduled to meet Gayle at his father's house. Driving there, Perry thought again of all the papers and folders Dad had found, all neatly stacked, labeled, and cross-referenced.

The doc.u.mentation of more than a hundred years of victims, sitting neatly on Dad's kitchen table.

Victims of whom? Of what?

He'd just turned onto his father's street when a cold chill ran through him. He could see the house, his father's car still in the driveway. Gayle was not yet there. Perry parked in the street, not knowing why he felt so terrified all of a sudden. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

They're watching you, Perry. They're not going to let you expose them.

Dad's voice.

That was when the house blew up.

51.

The explosion was heard all over Lebanon.

Bernadette deSalis was in her room, writing at her desk. The entire house shook with the deafening blast from a few streets away. The young girl turned her eyes to the crucifix over her bed. It's begun, It's begun, she thought. she thought. Please, Lord, have mercy on your humble servants and show us the way. Please, Lord, have mercy on your humble servants and show us the way.

A few blocks away, Darby Pequod was forging a t.i.tle to a stolen car, and sat up in his chair as if he'd just been shot in the back. His mother Marjorie, a couple of houses down from him in the Banks, was watching a rerun of Law and Order, Law and Order, and had just fallen asleep with a cigarette in her mouth. She would credit the explosion with saving her life. and had just fallen asleep with a cigarette in her mouth. She would credit the explosion with saving her life.

At the Yellow Bird, Wally Bingham had just locked the front doors and was getting ready to clean up when the entire building rocked with the noise. What the h.e.l.l was that? What the h.e.l.l was that? he wondered, unlocking the door and going out into the street to take a look. The downtown was quiet, but over the trees toward the west, a mushroom cloud of black smoke was rising. he wondered, unlocking the door and going out into the street to take a look. The downtown was quiet, but over the trees toward the west, a mushroom cloud of black smoke was rising.

Gayle Honeycutt thought it was a terrorist attack. She saw the house go-like a golden rocket shooting into the violet night sky. She had just turned onto the street, and pulled her car over immediately to the side of the road. It was now raining golden b.a.l.l.s of fire everywhere in the neighborhood. "Jesus!" she shrieked. She kept repeating it over and over. "Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!" Then she rushed forward, notebook in hand, to record everything she saw and heard.

At Bentley Hall on the Wilbourne campus, the sound was far away, but still loud enough for girls to run to their windows. Malika, propped up in bed studying with pillows behind her back, looked up from her book and over at Sue.

"What was that?" she asked.

"I don't know," Sue replied, heading to the window and glancing out. "Something's on fire...I can see the flames through the trees, and the sky over town is really black."

"It was an explosion," Malika said.

Sue watched the black smoke billowing into the night sky. She couldn't take her eyes off it. It was both terrifying and utterly beautiful. She was fascinated by it.

"Why don't you call Billy?" Malika suggested. "His mother will know what it was. What if it was a gas station? That can cause a really bad fire..."

"I don't want you worrying about anything," Sue told her, snapping closed the blinds over the window. "I want you to rest."

"Sue, I'm fine." She smiled. "It's been weeks since I had that attack and you're still treating me like an invalid."

"Well, they've been testing you for all sorts of things..."

"And you know very well every doctor has given me a clean bill of health." Malika leaned her head back into the pillows. "I'm just glad we're friends again. But for the life of me, I still don't know how you knew I was having that seizure that day..."

"Intuition, I guess," Sue said.

Though she knew it was something more than that.

Much more.

I can see things.

I guess I've always been able to see things.

I can see things...and I can make things happen.

That's why she was not going to call Billy.

She doubted she'd ever call him again, in fact. Over the last couple of weeks, Billy had been spending time with Heidi again. He was going to see her now that she was home, bringing her flowers, keeping her cheered up. Sue knew he felt guilty about Heidi's illness, believing somehow that he'd caused it. Heidi's parents credited him with helping her pull through it, by showing up to visit her at the hospital. Now they were hopeful he'd continue keeping her on the mend, and so he did, sitting there at the side of Heidi's bed, making her laugh, telling her jokes, even kissing her good-bye on the forehead.

Billy hadn't told Sue any of this. She just knew.

And she was jealous. And angry.

That's why Heidi still isn't strong enough to walk, whereas Mike deSalis is up and back to school.

And that's why Sue had to contain her anger. That's why she had to stop thinking about Billy. She knew what might happen. Next thing they all knew, it would be Billy on the floor, gasping for breath.

So let them have each other, Sue thought bitterly. Sue thought bitterly. I hope they're deliriously happy. I hope they're deliriously happy.

And that they both choke to death the next time they kiss!

No!

Sue closed her eyes, pretending to study.

I can't think that way. I can't allow myself to have thoughts like that!

Her computer suddenly dinged. She looked at it. Her mailbox indicator was bouncing. She opened her e-mail.

At last. It was a reply from Joyce Davenport.

Sue:Yes indeed, it's time we talked. I understand your urgency. I'm sure you are going through many confusing, even frightening, experiences. But trust me. You must go through them. It is the only way.

I am going to be in New York in a couple of weeks. I'm a.s.suming you will be in the city for the holidays as well. Why don't you come hear me read from my book at the Politico Bookstore in Times Square on the day after Thanksgiving and then we can have lunch afterward?

We will talk about everything and anything then.

Sincerely,

Joyce Sue read the e-mail again, and then a third time.

What did Joyce mean?

I'm sure you are going through many confusing, even frightening, experiences. But trust me. You must go through them. It is the only way.

Did she mean just the usual experiences every college girl faces her first year in school, her first time away from home?

Or did she mean more than that?

How much did Joyce know about the forces at work here-the forces Sue were now convinced had some kind of control over her?

Was she being paranoid?

All she had to do was look over at Malika, propped up in her bed, still shaken from her ordeal, to convince her that she was not.

She clicked on RESPOND RESPOND, and typed quickly: Joyce, I'll be there. Thanks, Sue. Joyce, I'll be there. Thanks, Sue.

She clicked SEND SEND.

She got up just as her cell phone beeped.

Another text message.

Her hands shaking, she picked up the phone.

It has begun.

With a cry, she threw the phone away from her.

From outside, sirens could be heard, and the sky continued to turn black.

52.

Gayle Honeycutt's fingers moved furiously over the keyboard of her computer. She was determined to get the story of the explosion onto the wires before anyone else.

I was there! She was thrilled by her good fortune. She was thrilled by her good fortune. I was right there to give an eyewitness account. I was right there to give an eyewitness account.

"Front page," she was murmuring to herself as she typed up her story. "And surely splashed across newspapers throughout the region..."

Her cell rang. She saw from the Caller ID it was Perry Holland. Poor guy had gone berserk watching his father's house blow up. He kept ranting that "they" did it, that "they" didn't want him talking to her.

"Who are they they?" Gayle had asked.

Perry had been unable to respond. He was just wide-eyed and shocked, mumbling to himself. But an hour later, he was suitably composed-if Gayle could call it that-to call her on her cell, ranting again about "them." From what Gayle could make out, he seemed to think some unnamed group of unknown people were plotting behind his back, and they were connected to everything from Bonnie Warner's murder to his father's death. "Like a cult," Perry raved. "I think they're like a cult."

That was all Gayle needed to hear to tune him out. Whenever people started rambling on about "cults," she knew they were crazy. Later, she'd talked to the fire chief, who suspected it was a gas leak. Perry Holland had dismissed that idea with his paranoid theories. Gayle had simply rolled her eyes. Now the crazy deputy was calling her again. She'd let the call go to voice mail. Sure, there might be an interesting story in this history of murders that Perry claimed had happened at Wilbourne, but she had more pressing matters first.

Her cell rang again. Caller unknown. It could be Perry calling back, blocking his number. But she'd also left messages for the fire chief to confirm a few facts. She answered.

"Gayle Honeycutt?"

"Yes," she replied.

It was a woman's voice, one that seemed very familiar, though Gayle couldn't place it.

"If you think this story about the exploding house is big news," the caller said, "I suggest you meet me for something really big."

Gayle laughed. "Who's this?"

"Meet me tomorrow and you'll see."

"I need more to go on than that."

The caller chuckled. "You're tired of supporting those two kids all on your own, aren't you, Gayle? You work so hard...slaving away at some second-rate newspaper in the backwoods. You should be writing for The New York Times, The New York Times, Gayle." A pause. "And you could be." Gayle." A pause. "And you could be."

"Who is is this?" Gayle asked again, suddenly thinking she knew the voice. this?" Gayle asked again, suddenly thinking she knew the voice.

But why would Joyce Davenport Joyce Davenport be calling be calling her her?

"Everything you've dreamed about could be yours," the caller said. "Just listen, Gayle, and I'll tell you how..."

53.

During the third week of November, a cold front moved down from Canada, obliterating any lingering traces of autumn. The trees were now completely bare, and the skies were perpetually gray. Even if the official declaration of winter was still a few weeks away, it had for all intents and purposes already arrived. The residents of Lebanon reached for their thermostats, their fingers shaking from the cold. Coats, hats, gloves, and scarves were dug out from the backs of closets. Alarms were set a little earlier in order to warm up cars and sc.r.a.pe frost off the windshields. Children suffered from runny noses, and cold remedies began flying off the shelves at the drugstore.

And now, the week of Thanksgiving, a huge snowstorm was predicted-the earliest such storm anyone in the region could remember. Six or seven inches were possible-enough to paralyze the town, making the roads impa.s.sable. The power company sent workers out ahead of time to make sure the lines were strong enough to withstand the winds the storm might bring.

As the temperature dropped, Perry Holland sat in his rocking chair, staring out the window into the hard gray sky. The doctor had given him a pill to help him sleep without the dreams, where he saw his father's house explode again and again.

In the days following the explosion, he'd waited impatiently for the fire department's report on the fire. He had wandered like an aimless ghost through the devastated neighborhood, where dozens of windows on other houses had blown out, and where debris had rained down on yards, cars, and rooftops. Perry had found shards of his mother's china and charred photographs of happier times nearly a block away.