The damage. The blood. She was butchered with this thing, this old farm thing made of wood and rusted metal.
This body… This woman…
“McKnight!” The voice again, close behind me now.
I turned and saw him. He stood in the doorway, looking past me at the horror on the ground.
“No,” he said. “God, no. Marty, what did you do? My God, Marty…”
He turned and started to run away, falling into the snow. He left me there alone with her.
I didn’t want to go any closer. But I had to.
I took one step.
Then another.
The hair, spread out around her head. The blade, the long wooden stick, the obscenity of it. I wanted to grab the handle and pull it from her back.
Please, no. Anything but this. Anything.
But wait. I reached down and touched the hair. In the dim light, it looked… red. This wasn’t Natalie. God, it wasn’t her.
I moved around to get a better look at her face. I knew her. I had seen her picture.
It was Natalie’s mother. The Irish looks, the red hair. This was her.
This was Grace, the woman I had never gotten the chance to meet, the woman with all of the lies, each one more fabulous than the last. Until now. She would never tell another lie.
I stood there for a long time, looking at her.
Then there was a sound. I looked up to see Michael Grant standing in the doorway again. This time he had the shotgun in his hands, the double-barreled shotgun from the basement.
He hated guns. I had heard him say that more than once today. He hated guns, but not enough to stop him from doing this right now, leveling it right at my head. Twenty feet away. He moved closer to me.
“No,” I said. “No.”
“I can’t let you leave now.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry, McKnight. I’m sorry.”
It came to this, all these years later, since the last time I had looked down the barrel of a gun. Another day, another season, a hot day in Detroit. The feeling was the same.
But this one will be loud. An old shotgun. God in heaven, this will be loud.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
He pulled the trigger, and it was all the noise in the world ringing at once, all around me and below me until I reached out to hold it as tight as I could.
Then I let go.
Chapter Fifteen
Natalie. I am saying her name. A song with three notes.
Natalie.
She is above me, looking down at me with that smile, that expression both sad and happy at the same time, like it’s all a puzzle she hasn’t figured out yet.
Natalie.
I can smell her hair. I can feel her fingers touching my face, as light as snowflakes.
I open my eyes.
A wooden roof, high above me in the dim light, a fine powdery snow hanging in the air, melting on my cheeks.
I’m alive.
I sat up quickly, looking around me. My neck hurt. My ears were ringing. God, my ears. I could feel warm blood on my shirt. Was I shot? What the hell happened? He hadn’t been more than twenty feet away. There’s no way he could have missed.
I touched my neck, where it joined my shoulder. I was bleeding, but… What was that? Something hard and jagged, a sudden riot of pain as I felt it. I grabbed on to it, a cry coming out of my mouth before I knew what was happening. It was hot, and slippery with blood, but I held it tight between my fingers and pulled.
God, that hurt. I looked down at the thing as the blood ran warm down my neck. It was a fragment of metal, about a half inch long. What the hell?
Then the rest of it came back to me, all at once. The body on the floor. The long farm tool of wood and metal, like a spear. I looked behind me. I didn’t want to move any closer to her. I knew she was dead.
So what had happened? I tried to put it all together in my mind, Grant and me coming up here, the guns in the basement, coming out to the barn, Grant behind me with the gun.
I looked toward the door. There was something on the ground. I tried to get up on my knees, feeling the pain shoot through my neck every time I moved it. I crawled over through the ancient hay and dusty snow. I saw the gun, or what was left of it. It was like something out of a cartoon now, both barrels curled back like banana peels.
It blew up on him. The barrels must have been plugged with the Cosmoline, like the other gun I had seen down there. Thank God for fools who don’t know any better than to fire a gun that’s been wrapped up in a basement for who knows how many years.
Some of the shrapnel had hit me. It was better than getting my head blown off, but it still hurt like hell and it kept bleeding. I tried to get to my feet. I got about halfway, felt like I would pass out, then finally I was standing.
As I looked at the wreckage of the gun again, a sudden thought hit me. Grant was standing right here when it blew up. What happened to him?
The door to the barn was still open, the snow still drifting in. I went to it, moving slowly. I saw blood on the floor, a thin trail of it leading right outside. I followed the trail out into the snow and the wind. It was the last thing I felt like facing, but I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t stay in the barn, adding my own blood to the floor, or for God’s sake looking at what had been done to this woman.
I started back toward the house, the long fight through the snow. I could see that my truck was gone, and with it my cell phone. I had been in such a rush to get inside, I had left the keys dangling in the ignition. Now Grant was gone. I saw more blood in the snow, leading all the way to where the truck had been. He was hurt, but apparently he could still drive a truck.
I slipped in the snow. The pain ran like a white hot iron spike through my neck. I had to stop for a full minute just to catch my breath.
“Son of a bitch,” I said into the wind. “Goddamned son of a bitch.”
I started moving again. The snow was collecting on my shoulders. I worked my way to the back door of the house. It was cold inside, but at least I was out of the wind. I went upstairs to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. Very carefully I slid out of my coat, gritting my teeth the whole time. When I was done, I saw that the front of my shirt was soaked with blood. I needed bandages, or at least something to tape myself up with.
I rummaged through more cabinets, found the first aid supplies. Thank God she had a lot of them. I put some gauze squares on my neck, then did my best to tape them in place.
I went downstairs and tried the phone. It was still out. I could wait for the service to come back, keeping warm and trying to limit the bleeding. Or I could try to get out of here. Trouble with that was it was a long way back to the town. Two miles in this weather, in the shape I’m in… Not a great idea. Even if I just tried to get down to the road, how long would I have to wait for someone to come by?
I could go the other way, I thought, to Mrs. DeMarco’s house. But what good would that do? I’m sure her phone is out, too. For that matter, I hope she’s all right over there. She probably has oil heat, but with the power out… No, wait, I saw a good wood-burning stove in her kitchen. I’m sure she’s staying warm.
Wait a minute. I remembered seeing the medical alert tag, hanging around Mrs. DeMarco’s neck. You just press the button and help is on the way.
I went into the guest room. Natalie’s mother’s open suitcase was on the floor-all these clothes she would never wear again. I couldn’t touch them.
I went into Natalie’s old room, saw her clothes piled up on the bed. The room was a mess. I grabbed one of her shirts and wrapped it around my neck. All of a sudden I could smell her scent, just as if she were right there in the room with me. I had to stop and close my eyes. I took a deep breath. Then I went back downstairs and headed out the door.