Everything changes.
Suddenly Travis appears very clear to her, very bright and in focus, almost as if he’s somehow lit from within, and everything else around him falls away. She notices the tiny scar on Travis’s chin and immediately understands that the neighbor’s dog, Barney, snapped at Travis when he was eight years old because he’d been throwing rocks at it from across the chain-link fence. This was in Boston, where Travis grew up. She stares at the thick, wavy texture of his hair and suddenly understands that he’s having an affair with his hair dresser, a single woman named Katy who lives in a trailer on the outskirts of town with her three-year-old son. Her dear old friend Brigette knows nothing about it…
…and then Gwendy’s vision blurs and Travis suddenly swirls out of view, like he’s being sucked into the maw of a pitch-black vortex, and everything else around him swims back into focus.
“—you okay?” Travis asks. He’s standing a few feet away, staring at her with concern in his eyes.
Gwendy blinks and looks around. “I’m fine,” she says. “Felt a little light-headed for a minute there.”
“Christ, I thought you were having a seizure or something,” he says.
“Come on,” Brigette says, taking her by the arm. “Let’s sit down.”
“Honest, I’m fine.” She wants out of there, and she wants out of there right now. “I think it’s time I head home. It’s been a long day.”
“Are you sure you should be driving? Travis could take—”
“I’m good,” Gwendy says, forcing a smile. “I promise.”
Brigette gives her a lingering look. “Okay, but please be careful.”
“Will do,” Gwendy says, waving goodbye. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
What in the hell was that all about? she thinks, cutting across the Common on the way to her car. She doesn’t even know how to describe what just happened, but she knows she’s never experienced anything remotely like it before. It’s almost as if a door had opened, and she’d stepped inside. But opened to what? Travis’s soul? It sounded hokey, like something out of a science fiction novel, but it also made a certain amount of sense to her, the same way that the button box made a certain amount of sense to her now.
Was what happened some kind of a bizarre side effect because of the chocolates she’d given to her Mom? And why Travis? She barely knew the guy, and he certainly wasn’t the only person she’d come in contact with tonight. She shook hands with dozens of other people.
A dark figure suddenly steps out of the shadows in front of her. “Are you okay, Mrs. Peterson?”
Startled, Gwendy jerks to a stop. It’s the stranger in the Patriots cap, and he’s standing close enough to reach out and touch her. She’s trapped in between buildings now, and it’s darker here without the streetlights.
“I’m fine,” she says, trying to sound unafraid. “You really should be more careful about ambushing people like that. Especially with everything that’s going on around here.”
“I apologize,” the man says in a pleasant tone. “I saw what happened and was concerned.”
“You saw what happened,” Gwendy repeats with an edge to her voice. “And why were you watching me in the first place, Mr….?”
“Nolan,” the man says, pulling open his coat to reveal a badge clipped to his belt. “Detective Nolan.”
Gwendy’s eyes widen and she feels a flush spread across her cheeks. “And now I feel very foolish.”
The detective holds up his hands. “Please don’t, ma’am. I should have identified myself right away.”
“Did Sheriff Ridgewick ask you to keep an eye on me?”
“No, ma’am,” he says. “Way he talks about you, I’m pretty sure the sheriff thinks you can take care of yourself.”
Gwendy laughs. She can picture Norris saying exactly those words. “Well, have a good night, detective. Thanks for checking on me.”
He nods mutely and starts walking back in the direction of the Common.
Gwendy turns toward the street and, in the time it takes to recognize the man walking toward her, she decides to conduct an experiment. “Hey, there, Mr. Gallagher,” she says. “Happy New Year.” She tugs the glove off her right hand and extends it toward him.
“Happy New Year to you, too, young lady.” Gwendy’s eighth grade algebra teacher shakes her hand with a firm grip. She can feel the rough callouses on his palm. “You should stop by the school one day. The kids would love to see you.”
“I’ll do that,” she says, waiting for something, anything, out of the ordinary to happen.
But it doesn’t.
So she keeps walking until she reaches Main Street where she parked her car. She’s thinking about the button box and its chocolate treats and not looking where she’s going when her feet suddenly go out from under her. One minute she’s striding confidently past the Castle Rock Diner, catching a fleeting glimpse of her reflection in the darkened front window, and the next she’s skidding across an icy patch of sidewalk, her arms flailing above her head.
Someone grabs her around the waist.
“Oh my God,” she says, steadying herself.
“That was a close one, Mrs. Peterson.” Lucas Browne lets go of her waist and reaches down to the sidewalk. He comes back up holding her glove. “You dropped this.” He smiles and hands it to her and their bare fingers touch…
…and Main Street suddenly falls away, the cars and storefronts and streetlights disappearing, and all she can see is him, in brilliant, almost luminescent, detail. And just like that she knows. Lucas Browne is the Tooth Fairy. She stares at his hand and watches as his gloved fingers wrap around a stainless steel instrument, reach into a dummy mouth full of fake teeth set up on a brightly lit table, UB School of Dental Medicine stitched across the breast of the long white lab coat he’s wearing… and then those same fingers, filthy now, gripping a pair of rusty workroom pliers, and he’s standing over a cowering Deborah Parker, her long hair spiked with sweat, her eyes wide and frightened, the tips of his cowboy boots splattered with fat drops of blood…
And then the darkness swallows him away, and the streetscape sharpens into focus again and Lucas Browne is standing on the sidewalk in front of her.
“What just happened?” he asks, eyes narrowing. “Are you okay?”
“I’m… I’m fine,” she says. “Thank you. You saved me from a nasty fall.” Her voice sounds dull and distant.
A young couple, walking arm-in-arm, passes by then. The teenage boy, a James Dean wannabe with his leather jacket and cigarette dangling from his mouth, nods at them. “What’s up, Lucas?”
Lucas doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at the guy—just watches Gwendy cross the street with that same wary look on his face.
Gwendy unlocks the car and climbs inside, hurriedly locking the door behind her. Her hands are shaking and her heart feels like it’s going to burst inside her chest. She starts the engine and pulls away without letting it warm up. When she glances toward the sidewalk, Lucas Browne is still standing there, watching her.
68
SHERIFF RIDGEWICK PICKS UP on the first ring. “Hello?”
“It’s Lucas Browne!” Gwendy nearly shouts. “Lucas Browne’s the Tooth Fairy!”
“Gwendy? Do you know what time it is?”
“Listen to me, Norris. Please. I think Deborah Parker’s still alive, but I don’t know how much time she has.”