In Leilani’s vital coils, a chill arose. She prayed that she wouldn’t shiver and, by shivering, alert Preston to the fact that she was awake.
“Tetsy was twenty-four, and she’d had some good years. The world is full of people who’ve never known a good year.”
Starvation, disease, Leilani thought grimly.
“Starvation, disease,” Preston said, “desperate poverty—“
War and oppression, Leilani thought.
“—war, and oppression,” Preston continued. “This world is the only Hell we need, the only Hell there is.”
Leilani much preferred Sinsemilla’s screwed-up fairy tales to Preston’s familiar soft-spoken rant, even if, when Beauty and the Beast came to the rescue of Goldilocks, Beauty was torn to pieces by the bears, and the Beast’s dark side was thrilled by the bears’ savagery, motivating him to slaughter Goldilocks and to eat her kidneys, and even if the bears and the maddened Beast then joined forces with the Big Bad Wolf and launched a brutal attack on the home of three very unfortunate little pigs.
The silken voice of Preston Maddoc slipped through the darkness, as supple as a strangler’s scarf: “Leilani? Are you awake?”
The chill at the core of her grew colder, spreading loop to loop through her bowels.
She. closed her eyes and concentrated on remaining still. She thought that she heard him move on the thatched seat of the chair. Her eyes snapped open.
The cane was quiet.
“Leilani?”
Under the sheets, her good hand still rested on the detached brace. Earlier, the steel had felt cool to the touch. Now it was icy.
“Are you awake?”
She clutched the brace.
Still speaking quietly, he said, “Tetsy had more than her share of good years, so it would have been greedy for the poor girl to want still more.”
As Preston rose from the chair, the stretched cane flexed with considerable noise, as though he had been more difficult to support than would have been any man of equal size.
“Tetsy collected miniatures. Only penguins. Ceramic penguins, glass penguins, carved wood, cast metal, all kinds.”
He eased closer to the bed. Leilani sensed him hulking over her.
“I brought one of her penguins for you.”
If she threw back the sheet, rolled off her side and up, all in one motion, she could swing the brace like a club, toward that darker place in the darkness where she imagined his face to be.
She wouldn’t strike at him unless he touched her.
Looming, Preston said nothing. He must be gazing down at her, though he couldn’t possibly see anything but the vaguest shape in the gloom.
He always avoided touching Leilani, as though her deformities might be contagious. Contact with her at least disturbed him and, she believed, filled him with disgust that he struggled to conceal. When the aliens failed to come, when the time finally arrived for baking a birthday cake and for buying party hats, when he had to touch her to kill her, he would surely wear gloves.
“I brought you one little penguin in particular because it reminds me of Luki. It’s very sweet. I’ll put it on your nightstand.”
A faint click. Penguin deposited.
She didn’t want his souvenir, stolen from a dead girl.
As if this house had been built to defeat the laws of gravity, Preston seemed not to be standing by the bed, but to hang from the floor like a bat adapted to strange rules, wings furled and silently watchful, a suspensefully suspended presence.
Perhaps he was already wearing gloves.
She tightened her grip on the steel bludgeon.
After what seemed an interminable time, he broke this latest silence in a voice hushed by the importance of the news that he delivered: “We burst her heart.”
Leilani knew that he was speaking of the stranger named Tetsy, who had loved and been loved, who laughed and cried, who collected miniature animals to brighten her life, and who never expected to die at twenty-four.
“We did it without fanfare, just family. No one will know. We burst her heart, but I’m confident she felt no pain.”
How satisfying it must be to live with unshakable confidence, to know beyond doubt that your intentions are honorable, that your reasoning is always correct, that therefore the consequences of your actions, no matter how extreme, are beyond judgment.
God, take her home, Leilani thought, referring to the dead woman who had been a stranger moments ago, but to whom she herself was now forever linked through the heartless mercy of Preston Maddoc. Take her home now where she belongs.
With supreme confidence even in the darkness, he returned the cane chair to the spot from which he’d moved it. Surefooted, he went to the door.
If earlier the snake had spoken to Leilani, while coiled upon her mother’s bed or from its refuge under the chest of drawers, this would have been its voice, not wickedly sibilant but a honeyed croon: “I would never have caused her pain, Leilani. I’m the enemy of pain. I’ve devoted my life to relieving it.”
When Preston opened the bedroom door, a ghostly portal of light appeared on the wall opposite him, as before, and his phantom form on that threshold, looking back at her. Then his shadow appeared to cross into another reality, distorting as it went, and a slab of blackness swung shut upon the exit he had taken.
Leilani wished that the shadow show represented reality and that Preston had indeed stepped out of this world and forever into another place better suited to him, perhaps a world in which everyone would be born dead and therefore could never be subjected to pain. He was but a wall or two away, however, still sharing the breath of life with her, still abiding under the same vault of stars that were, to her, filled with wonder and mystery, but that were, to him, nothing more than distant balls of fire and cataclysm.
Chapter 28
Curtis hears or smells or senses tarantulas springing out of sand tunnels, swarming away from his feet, and he hears or smells or senses rattlesnakes wriggling out of his path or coiling to shake a warning at him in maraca code, frightened rodents scampering away from him and from the feeding snakes, prairie dogs bolting into their burrows, startled birds erupting into flight from nests in the hollow arms of half-dead cactuses, lizards slithering liquid-quick across sand and stone from which still radiates the stored heat of the fierce sun long set, hawks circling high above, and coyotes ranging singly and in packs far to the left and to the right of him. These things might be figments of his imagination rather than real presences perceived through a mystical sharing of the dog’s keen senses, but the night seems to bustle with life.
Old Yeller leads him, as never Lassie led Timmy, up slopes and down, into ravines and out, fast and faster. Cactus groves are mazes of needles at night. Layers of small round stones and smaller gravel, quarried out of the original rock strata and piled into ridges by the massive moving glaciers of an ancient ice age, provide treacherous passage to more welcoming terrain.
They have put additional distance between themselves and the pair of SUVs, which continue to prowl in their wake, now more than one hill away. Once, a search flare had gone up, casting an unearthly bluish brilliance across a wide swath of the landscape, but it had been safely behind Curtis and the dog.
Initially to the rear of the SUVs but soon parallel with them, the helicopter has tacked west to east, east to west, back and forth across the field of search, proceeding steadily north by indirection. The chopper is most likely equipped with a powerful searchlight that would make the gear on the two SUVs seem like mere votive candles by comparison. Yet the craft conducts its maneuvers without this aid, from which Curtis infers that they have sophisticated electronic tracking packages aboard.