I just let his wallet lie at my feet where it had landed. “I know who you are.”
“Who I am? What the hell’s the big deal about that? I’m Larry Washburn and I work for Calico Chemical Company and I’m in this burg for a week to sell my herbicide to farmers. So what?”
I smiled. “You’re good. I’ll say that for you.”
For the first time, his voice softened. “Are you all right, pal?”
“You’ve chosen my son, haven’t you?”
“Your son?”
“What’ll it be? A car accident? Drowning?” I shook my head, repelled at the sight of him. “No, it’ll more likely be a disease, won’t it? Cancer, I suppose, or cerebral palsy. Something that will make him suffer a long time.” When I thought of how poor little Christopher would suffer with cancer, I raised the .38 so that it was square at the center of his chest “You like them to suffer, don’t you? And for their parents to suffer, too, right? Accidents are over too quickly. They’re not nearly as much fun as disease.”
For the first time, he started glancing around the room and looking afraid. “Pal, you’ve got me confused with somebody else.”
“You drive around from town to town and you pick them out, don’t you? One by one. A boy here, a girl there. They’re so innocent and loving and trusting and you don’t care at all how much you make them suffer, do you? Do you know what it’s like to hold your little child in your arms and know that this child is going to die from a horrible disease? Do you know how heartbreaking that is? But you feed on it, don’t you? And nobody ever recognizes you for what you are. Nobody ever realizes you’ve got the power. But I know. Because I’ve got the power, too. But I use my power to help people.” I thought of Dr. Russo at the state university where I ultimately went when no other kind of doctor could help assuage my headaches. “They’re not headaches,” Dr. Russo had told me: “They’re visions. You’re seeing things other people can’t see. And it’s terrifying you.” I said, “You know how I knew you were here?”
He didn’t say anything. He just kept looking around the room. Especially at the door.
“Little Cindy Brisbane. Her mother brought her over to my son’s birthday party and I saw inside Cindy’s head. I saw what was growing there. A tumor. And six days later, they rushed her to a hospital after she kept fainting. And you know what they found? They found that tumor I’d seen.” I was starting to get angry again. “Why the hell did you put that tumor in Cindy? She’s had a hard enough life as it is being adopted and all.” I gripped the .38 tighter. “You’re not going to get my son.”
“You got a ring. Your married.”
“What?”
“Wedding ring. We can call your wife.”
I looked at the gold band on my finger. “You know all about me. You’ve been checking me and my family out for the past several days. You know I’m married. And you know about my son.”
“Why don’t we call your wife?”
“What?”
“Call your wife. Have her come over.”
“So you can give her an aneurysm? Or rheumatoid arthritis? Or some kind of spinal disease? You’d just love to have my wife come over, wouldn’t you?”
“Pal, please, look, you got me confused with somebody else. I’m from Traer, Iowa, born and raised there. I’m a door pounder. A goddamn salesman, can’t you see that? I don’t even know what this power is you’re talking about.”
He had a lot of wiry gray hair on his chest and little breasts like a thirteen-year-old girl. I put the bullet right there, right between his breasts.
He went over backward on the bed. The funny thing was that the towel kept him covered very well.
His arms went out as if he were falling helplessly into a swimming pool. Blood made his chest hair the color of copper wire even before he hit the bed.
I’d struck him directly in the heart.
Far away on the other side of the motel room walls, I could hear shouts and curses. The gunshot had awakened people, of course.
I had to hurry now.
I went over to him and stood over him. If you didn’t know who and what he was, you’d think he was dead. His eyes had rolled back and his tongue was angled out of his mouth and his fingers were already getting rigid.
But because I knew exactly what I was dealing with, I knew that in no time he would be up and coming for Christopher.
Shouts grew louder; distantly, I heard a siren.
I needed to get out of the motel room and I did.
On the drive back home, I could sense him stirring back in the room. When you’re able to see things in the way I can — identifying Cindy’s tumor, for example — you’re sometimes able to tell what people are doing even at great distances.
I could see him sitting up now, holding his hand to the pumping wound in his chest, cursing me.
Then I saw what he had planned for Christopher...
I hurried.
“Hi, hon,” Ellen said when I got home. She was in red shorts and a white T-shirt and standing over the stove where she was fixing bacon and eggs. “You sure got up early this morning. You run down to the store?”
“No,” I said.
How could I possibly explain to her what I had to do?
She smiled. “Our son and his friend are getting used to summer hours. I’ll bet they won’t be up before afternoon.”
“He’s coming,” I said.
“What?”
“He’s coming.”
“Who’s coming?”
“He wants to hurt Christopher. A disease. Maybe Donny will be lucky and get off with an accident. But Christopher will get a terrible disease.”
I could see she was scared now. She put down the spatula and came over to me. “Honey, what are you talking about?”
Up in the room, they were still sleeping. Christopher and Donny.
My head was throbbing. He was very angry back there in his motel room. Very angry.
In Christopher’s body I see, I hear, I feel the cancer cells already beginning to grow.
I think of the photos I’ve seen of youngsters with cancer after chemotherapy. Those round, hairless little faces. Those sad and yearning eyes. And the parents standing by so brave, so brave.
She wanted to stop me, Ellen did, and that’s why I had to kill her.
She just didn’t understand why I need to help Christopher before he can get to him...
But then, it’s not possible to understand unless you have the power.
I raise the gun.
Christopher stirs.
Begins to look up.
Blond hair mussed.
Face smudged with sleep.
Eyes on the .38 now.
I’m not going to let him have them. He wants them to suffer. Even Donny will suffer. I see that dearly now.
But I won’t let them suffer.
“Dad, what’s wrong?” Christopher says.
I wish he’d stayed asleep. Sleeping, it would have been easier for me.
“I’m sorry, Chris,” I say. “I love you, honey. I love you.”
I get him near the temple. Death, a red blooming flower against his blond hair, is quick and final.
I kill Donny right after.
I’ve scarcely started to leave the room when I hear them coming up the stairs so heavily, heavily in the narrow echoing staircase.
Police.
I turn, the gun still in my hand and.
“You scared us, Mr. Washburn.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
“Several of our guests were sure they heard a gunshot in your room.”
Washburn laughed. “Gunshot? Afraid not.”