He wiped a tear from his eye as he walked. He felt no glory in what he’d done, no sense of victory. But whatever he was feeling had to be better than what he’d have felt if they all caught him, if only a little. He reached the street, got his bearings, and started walking slowly home. If the others did catch him, he would deal with it.
(47)
Crawford’s Mustang sat idling in the shadows of the trees surrounding the lake. Aerosmith was playing on the tape deck but none of the three boys in the car paid any attention. Crawford and Buddy were turned around in the front seats, waiting for answers from Costa. Crawford drank greedily from the half-empty pint of whiskey, then passed the bottle back to Buddy. “I’m going to ask you one more time, you fucking ’tard, what happened?”
After the three had split up, Crawford and Buddy met back at the park, finding no sign of Denny. They waited impatiently, then went looking for Costa. Eventually, they went back to the pizza place and continued the search in Crawford’s car. They finally found Costa a few blocks from his house. He’d been sneaking along the side roads, lumbering from behind a parked car and trying to hide behind a tree when he saw the car coming. Crawford and Buddy jumped out and grabbed him. Then seeing the mess that was his face, threw him in the car, stopped at the liquor store, and headed out to the lake to figure things out. Crawford knew, and he knew that Costa knew, that where they were parked was where Eddie Sheehan was killed.
Costa hadn’t said much, other than he wanted to go home. The longer Crawford waited for an explanation, the more whiskey he took in, and the more pissed off he became. “This is it Costa. Spill it, or I’m going to drag you down by the lake and tie you to a fucking tree. If the Butcher doesn’t get you, something will.”
Costa looked shell-shocked, but at the last threat, he broke down and started sobbing. “Just take me home, Dale, please. My nose is broken, I think, and I… just take me home.”
Seeing Costa’s weakness was like pouring gasoline on the flames of Crawford’s rage. He tried to control it, knowing at some level that he was capable of going too far and maybe killing this fat piece of shit. What made it easier was knowing there would be no retribution: Costa would just be another victim of the Butcher. He took a deep breath and spoke as calmly as he could. “Sorry, Tony, that’s not an option right now. Once you tell us how O’Brien got away, I’ll take you home and Mommy can fix up your stupid face. You have ten seconds. And I count fast. One… two… eight…”
“Alright!” Costa sobbed. “O’Brien did this. I found him and he sucker-punched me. He’s gone crazy, Dale, I swear. He’s not the same kid. He told me to tell you he’s had enough and to stay away from him and Billy and Greymore.”
Crawford burst out laughing. “He said that?” He took the bottle back from Buddy, took a swig, then gave it to Costa. “Well, Buddy, what do you say? I guess we better leave them all alone.”
Buddy laughed. “Yeah, maybe we should move out of Haven just to be safe.” He snatched the bottle from Costa and drank. Crawford glared at Costa. “Maybe you’re just turning into a pussy like Brantley.”
“No, Dale, I swear, he got me by surprise, that’s all. We’ll get him next time.”
Crawford nodded. “That’s more like it, Tony. Let’s get you home and cleaned up.”
After he drove the others home, Crawford cruised around town, sipping what was left of the whiskey. He knew better than to go home too early himself, and run the risk of having to face his father. Cody Crawford had always ruled the house with a loud voice and a quick hand. Sometimes that hand held a belt, sometimes a lit cigarette. But lately it had been worse. His father was drunk most nights, and the abuse—verbal and physical—was getting out of hand. Dale hated his father but feared him more. He thought his father was going insane. And he knew it was Greymore’s return that was causing it.
As the whiskey found his brain, the idea that Dale could fix all this by taking care of Greymore himself began to turn into a plan. He could picture finding Greymore by the lake with his next victim, the way his father had so long ago. In Dale’s fantasy, he would save the kid, square off against Greymore, and beat him in a life-or-death fight to the end. His father would arrive at the scene and realize what had happened, pulling him in for a hug, telling him how proud he was.
When he came back to the real world, he was shocked to see he was on Hillview Street, idling in front of Greymore’s house.
(48)
Cheryl Peroit looked down at the small bundle she was holding with a twinge of emotion. Was it sadness? Anger? She wasn’t sure. Whatever it was tugged at both her heart and her mind. She had come out to the lake with a purpose and now it was time to put up or shut up. From where she sat beneath the shade of a towering pine tree, the lake looked so tranquil. She shuddered despite the searing heat at what she had come to do. Just then the baby in her arms squirmed and let out a small cry. Cheryl looked down at the newborn just as he opened his porcelain blue eyes. He’s hungry, she thought, I guess I can at least feed him. She lifted her shirt and let the baby nurse. The feeling was strange to her still. She reveled at the similarities of the circumstances that put her into this situation and the results of those actions.
How she had screamed in ecstasy in the back of Chuck Brantley’s van and screamed in pain at the birth of the resulting child. How Chuck had tongued and sucked the same breast that was now being suckled by his son. And how Chuck didn’t even know the baby existed. What would the point be? He was going nowhere and would have said it wasn’t his kid, so she had dumped him when she realized she was pregnant. Twice she had called a clinic about getting an abortion, but both times she was unable to go through with it.
It had been easy for her to hide the fact she was pregnant. Who was going to notice? Certainly not her parents, who probably spent more time wasted than she did. So she simply wore bulky sweaters as she began to show during the winter. She was slightly heavy to start with so by just watching her diet, she was able to maintain her weight, although in the end it was all baby and Cheryl herself was as thin as she had been in years. How did I let myself get here, she thought to herself. Two years ago she had been an honor student thinking about college and life outside of Haven. Then she had met Dale and Chuck and all the rest of the gang and before she knew it, she was a burnout. Getting high before school, drinking after school, then onto bigger and better things like cocaine and speed and God knows what else she took when she was fucked up. Then to really hit rock bottom by getting knocked up by Chuck Brantley. Just this once without a rubber, he had pleaded with her. She was so coked out and horny herself that she had given in. And here she was.