McCarthy closed his eyes in relief and Denny didn’t think he was going to open them again. “You did good, Paul. The story has a happy ending after all.”
Paul spoke softly. “You saved my life, Father. And… I can’t save yours…”
McCarthy’s face was serene. “It’s my time, that’s all.”
Denny watched Greymore carefully, knowing exactly how he felt, remembering his own losses.
“I’ll never forget you, Father.”
McCarthy smiled, his grip on Paul’s hand tightened, then he was gone. Paul sat there for a few minutes, holding the old priest’s hand while all around them the cleansing rain continued to fall.
(112)
The unlikely band of hikers arrived at the picket fence behind Denny’s house several hours later. Each of them were hurt, physically, emotionally or mentally, and exhausted beyond words. The trip had been mostly silent, hindered by the now torrential rain and the injuries. Paul had insisted on carrying Father McCarthy the entire way despite only having one working arm. His mind kept flashing back to a different rainy night, carrying another body. Chris carried Julie most of the way himself except for a short stint when Billy and Denny tried to carry her. Ortiz half-dragged, half-pushed Crawford while Mossy struggled to keep up without any burden other than age. There was no sign of Dale Crawford.
It was almost comedic getting everyone over the fence or through the opening in the pickets but finally they all trudged across the muddy backyard and around to the front door. Denny glanced with revulsion and a deep sense of foreboding at the Mustang in the driveway. “I’ll go in and let her know what’s going on before we all just barge in and scare the shit out of her.” He was too tired to notice the looks he got for his swear and far too out of it to see the look of fear on Mossy’s face.
Dripping rain and mud, he stepped into the house and called softly for his mother. He had no idea what time it was. He slipped out of his muddy sneakers and sloshed down the hall to the living room where he could see a light was on. He stepped in and realized this night of horrors was still not over. Will it ever be over? His mother was sitting rigid in one of the chairs staring at nothing through a swollen blood-caked face. “Mom!” It came out of him in a strangled scream more than a word. He was at her side in two strides, his hands lightly touching her face, his eyes searching hers for something. Remembering the Mustang, Denny knew Crawford had done this and silently vowed vengeance.
Her eyes moved to focus on his. “Denny, thank God.” And her arms were around him, pulling him tightly to her. It was the dream moment he’d waited for. She was crying hysterically and clinging to him like a second skin. “I thought you were gone, too,” she finally managed.
He’d been hugging her tightly but now he pulled away and looked at her again. Her face was a mess but her eyes… they were her eyes. “I’m fine, Mom. But Paul and… some others are hurt. They’re outside. I’m going to bring them in and call for help, okay?” He was terrified she was going to blank out again, but she nodded, her eyes staying focused. He slowly pulled away and went to fetch the others.
Ortiz had put Crawford in the Mustang and handcuffed him to the steering wheel. Greymore had laid McCarthy carefully in the back seat. The rest of them piled into Denny’s house. Denny’s mom had moved to the kitchen and put on the tea pot. Chris gently deposited Julie on the couch while Mossy huddled in the shadows of the hall near the front door. His expression hurt Denny to look at. He looked like he might just run out the door and keep running. Denny went to him and took his hand. Without a word, he turned and pulled Mossy. There was a moment of resistance, then they were moving toward the kitchen. His mother had her back turned. She pulled cups out of the cabinet for tea or coffee. When she finally turned, it was the embodiment of a cliché the way her eyes widened and the cups slipped from her hands to shatter on the floor. The kettle was boiling, starting to whistle. Denny heard a moan from Mossy, then they were both at his mother’s side.
Denny helped Mossy get her into one of the kitchen chairs, then shut off the kettle and made a cup of tea for his mother, not knowing what else to do. Ortiz and Chris had come running when the cups broke, but Denny had waved them away. Denny placed the tea on the table, then ran a washcloth under cold water and laid it on his mother’s forehead. Her eyes snapped open, staring at Mossy who knelt by her side holding her hand.
“It can’t be…” Mossy broke at the sound of her voice,
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry…” He collapsed against her, shaking.
Denny watched his mother carefully, still unsure which way this was going to go. His mother’s eyes met his, and he realized with near-giddiness that they were his mother’s eyes, not that zombie that took her most of the time. She smiled then, a sight that despite her wrecked face, was beautiful. Then she wrapped her arms around her father and cried with him. Denny walked over, put his arms around them both and cried right along. Sometime later the rain stopped and the sun rose majestically over Haven. It was Father’s Day, 1978.
Epilogue
The late-summer sunshine painted the trees and flowers with brightness, illuminating their color to a surreal tone. The humidity that had hung over the town like a cloak was gone; it was picture-perfect weather for the day ahead.
Denny arrived at Paul’s at the same time Billy did from the other side. They slapped palms grinning, and went to get Paul. The three were headed to Boston to see the Red Sox play, using the tickets that Paul have given to Billy on that impossibly long-ago birthday. Paul came out to greet them, his arm finally out of the sling, his gunshot wound healing.
“I wish we had another ticket for your mom,” Paul said wistfully.
Denny smiled. Summer vacation had come and gone in a blur, as summers do when you’re twelve years old. Paul had been spending a lot of time with his mom and Mossy. A collection of broken souls trying to help each other heal. His mom’s cuts and bruises had healed without a trace, and although she still drifted away sometimes, it happened less and less and the trips were brief. She had put on a little weight and actually looked younger than she had since Dad and Jimmy died. Paul sometimes looked at her funny, and Denny wasn’t sure how he felt about that. They jumped into Paul’s car, an old Cutlass he picked up to get around town. There was still a sadness about him that Denny didn’t think would ever go away. He missed Father McCarthy deeply but had already befriended the new priest in Haven, and he had Joe and his family, and now also had Denny and his mom. Paul gunned the engine and pulled out of the driveway, rolling slowly past Billy’s house. Denny could see a figure on a lounge chair in Billy’s backyard facing the lake. As they went by, Julie’s hand went up and waved without turning around in her chair. Denny grinned, thinking she was probably in a bikini and felt his face flush. Billy punched his arm, reading his mind, and Paul honked and started laughing. Julie had undergone multiple surgeries on her shattered legs, and while she was still unable to walk, doctors expected a complete recovery. She never spoke about the time in the caves, but Denny felt a new bond with her, something they shared that would never go away.
Driving through town to the highway took them past the police station. Robert Ortiz was acting Police Chief until a permanent one was appointed. All signs pointed to Ortiz remaining in the position. Crawford was recovering at the Shriner’s Burn Institute in Boston and was still in bad shape after numerous attempts at skin grafts. If he recovered, he would likely end up under investigation for his various crimes over the years. Once Crawford was out of commission, throngs of townspeople came forward to report his wrongdoings. Stories of bribery and corruption were rampant, and many of the gang at Russell’s barber shop were first in line to tell them. There was even suspicion by many that Crawford was the Butcher all along.