She shrugged. “It worked only because he wasn’t expecting it.”
“He could’ve killed you, you know. The kids too.”
“He might have, if I had let him get in the car with us.”
The officer pondered that and nodded. “Probably right. Just glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks, Keller. It’s good to see you again.”
As she turned to leave, he said, “Guess this proves it, right?”
“Proves what?”
“Lightning can strike twice in the same place.”
Anna thought about that a moment. “Compared to last time,” she said, “this was easy.”
An awkward silence passed.
“Maybe what happened before...” He paused for a beat. “Maybe it made you tough.”
She nodded. “Maybe it did.”
Moments later the three travelers were inside their van. “Help your brother buckle up,” Anna told her daughter. “And hand me a Coke from the cooler before we get going.”
Deborah, her face still a little pale, stared straight ahead. “Mom?”
“What, honey?”
“That man. Did he just want to steal our car? Or did he want to... hurt us?”
Anna shook her head, reached over, and smoothed her daughter’s hair. “Doesn’t matter, Deb. Everything’s okay. He won’t be doing either one.”
“They’ll get his fingerprints, right? Off the gun?”
“Yes. They’ll catch him.”
Deborah hesitated, frowning hard in thought. “What did that policeman mean, about lightning?”
Anna sighed. “Something happened here, years ago,” she said. “Before you were born.”
“Here at this store?”
“Yeah. In the woods over there, actually.” She glanced again at the distant trees and, jutting above them, the old windmill she remembered so well. Even from this far away, she could see its blades turning lazily in the wind.
“What happened?” Deborah asked. “Something bad?”
This time it was the mother who hesitated. “Not really. Something good, in a way. Something that got rid of something bad.”
“Tell me,” Deborah said.
A long stare. “Maybe I will. Maybe it’s time. But first hand me that Coke.”
When everyone was strapped in and they had eased out of the gas station’s parking lot and onto the road, Anna popped the top of the can and let out a long breath. She glanced over at Deborah. “You sure you really want to hear this?”
“I’m sure.”
Charlie was already snoozing in his car seat, but that was okay, Anna thought. He was too young to understand what she was about to say. If she was able to say it, that is. She hadn’t talked to anyone about this for a long, long time.
Anna took a pull on the Coke, set it in the cup holder, and clamped both hands on the wheel at the ten-till-two position.
“Years ago,” she said, “two people left Jackson, south of here, to drive to a ball game in Starkville, over a hundred miles north. And to hike around for a bit, afterward. They were young and they were foolish and they were in love. The girl was Anna Langley—”
“That was you, right?”
“That’s right. And the boy was named Woody. Woody Prestridge. He was tall and blond—”
— and Anna thought he was just about the best thing that had ever happened to her. She stood there on the sun-dappled sidewalk in front of her dorm at Millsaps College and watched as Woody loaded her picnic basket and backpack into the trunk of his Toyota and slammed the lid.
“Done,” he said. “Prepare for takeoff.”
“How long will this game last?” Anna asked as she climbed in and buckled up. “I don’t care to spend all Saturday afternoon watching a bunch of guys bash their brains out.”
“We won’t, I promise.” Woody cranked up and headed across campus and out the gates and onto North State Street. “It isn’t even a conference game. We’ll leave early and hike around in the woods a little, on the way back.”
She stayed quiet awhile, watching the grand old homes drift by on both sides of the road. “Heck of a thing,” she said finally, “when you’re probably safer out in the woods than sitting in your own car. Right?”
He didn’t answer right away. Anna knew he didn’t want to talk about the Night Stalker. She didn’t either. She didn’t even like the name, something the stupid media had come up with because all three incidents had happened after dark. They could have at least been original, she thought. That name reminded her of the old TV movie about vampires in Las Vegas.
But this modern Night Stalker was plenty scary enough. It had been all over the news the past couple weeks, and she was worried. Everybody was worried — especially those who had to drive Route 25. It was on that highway — a four-lane that cut a bending path across the upper-right center of the state — that all three killings had taken place, or least all three disappearances; no bodies had yet been recovered. But the cars of the three missing women had later been found parked on the side of the road. The consensus so far was that the killer/kidnapper could be posing as a police officer, and had pulled his victims over beforehand. Whatever the case, Anna was less than thrilled to be traveling that same road today.
“Why don’t we take the interstate instead?” she asked him.
“That would add half an hour to the trip, Anna. We’ll be fine.”
“Why am I thinking, Famous last words?”
“Look,” Woody said, “people can’t let this nutcase dictate where they’re going or how they’re going to get there. That’s like refusing to travel by air because someone might hijack the plane and fly it into a building.”
“It’s not the same thing,” she said.
“Well, I really want to go today, and I think you do too. We’ll be careful, okay?” Before she could respond, he crooked a finger to her and pointed to something below his right thigh. When she leaned over she saw, underneath the driver’s seat, one of those padded, telescoping steel bars that can extend to two feet or so with one flick of the wrist. In its collapsed state, it was maybe ten inches long. Woody took it from under the seat and showed it to her. “Anybody comes along who looks suspicious, I’ll crack his skull with this.”
“I’m so reassured,” she said, frowning.
Her doubts were still there fifteen minutes later, when they stopped for breakfast at a Wendy’s on Lakeland Drive, on the way out of town.
The only highway patrolman Anna knew sat down at their table with a plateful of biscuits and gravy. Officer Jack Speerman had been Woody’s roommate in college and teammate on the football team when Jack decided to drop out and apply at the Police Academy. Some admired him for it, but some said he was throwing away a great future — maybe even the NFL. Jack didn’t care. He’d been determined to become a cop. Woody had once confided to Anna that he suspected part of the reason was that Jack’s brother Stuart, a year or two older, had been in and out of jail most of his miserable life, and that Jack might be trying somehow to atone for the sins of the sibling. Whatever the reason, Jack Speerman had done well, and seemed happy in his job.
He asked them where they were headed, and Woody told him. When Anna restated her concerns, Jack shook his head. “I agree with Woody,” he said. “Don’t change your plans because of whoever this guy is. He’s probably a thousand miles away by now anyway. Just be watchful.” He dusted some salt onto his gravy. “It’s the folks traveling alone that I worry about.”
“What?” said Anna.
Jack pointed his plastic fork at a young lady placing her order at the counter. She was tall and attractive in a sixties-hippie kind of way — straight black hair, long skirt, no makeup. A cloth purse was slung over one shoulder. “Said she’s looking for a ride to Kentucky.”