Lis had cried then-in June-hearing his hyena-pitched laugh fill the courtroom and she wanted to cry now. She clamped her teeth together and turned to the stove to make a cup of herbal tea. Owen was still firing angry questions at the sheriff. How many men are out looking for him? Do they have dogs? Did he take any weapons? The sheriff endured this cross-examination gamely then responded, “The fact is they’re not doing a whole lot about it. It went out as an information bulletin only. Not an escape-assistance request. I myself’d guess they’ve pretty much cured him. Shocked him, probably, like they do. With those electrode things. He’s out wandering around and they’ll pick him up-”
Owen waved his hand and started to speak but Lis interrupted. “If nobody’s worried about it, Stan, what are you doing here?”
“Well, I come by to ask if you still got that letter. Thought it might give ’em a clue where he’s got himself to.”
“Letter?” Owen asked.
Lis, however, knew exactly which letter he was referring to. It’d been her first thought this evening when the sheriff had said the word “Marsden.”
“I know where it is,” she said, and went to get it.
6
Mrs. Lis-bone Atcheson:
I am in this room I can’t breathe I can’t hear. I am held here unfAIRly and thEY, yes thEy are stopping me from what I MUST DO. This is very Important. they are holding me and have told lIes About Me to waShingtOn and the enTIRE worlD. they think that I am dANGERous etc but this is their excUSE and EVErybody beliEVEs it. That is beliEVEs “them”. they are very Strong & we Must fear them, they arE eVErywhere.
It is a CONSPIRACY. CON + S + PIRACY.
and I know YOU are in it!!!!
Revenge is mine it is not the LORDS because the LORD knows what I have Done and will not let ME rest. He shoots me in the hEAd every nighT!!! I accept my fATE and YOU who are bEAuTiful mUSt too. Come to me for eternal rest forever.
EVErywhere. forEVEr. rEVEnge.
EVE the woman
COME to ME.
i your lover
Michael Hrubek’s penmanship featured green, black and blue ink.
And for her name, and his “signature,” red.
The sheriff sucked air between shiny white teeth in a loud, irritating way. “Does any of this make sense to you?” He addressed the question to Owen.
Lis answered, “It’s just babble.”
Owen glanced at her, then added, “We talked about it when it came but we thought it was a kid’s prank.”
Lis taught sophomore English at Ridgeton High School.
“I’m a tough grader.” She laughed wanly. “I’ve been on my share of sixteen-year-olds’ shit lists.”
“ ‘i your lover.’ ” The sheriff hitched at his gun belt. He stared at the letter for a moment. “Return address?”
Lis flipped through the manilla folder where she’d filed it-in the Letters, Miscellaneous slot. Just past, she now noted, Last Will and Testament-Owen and Lis. She found the envelope. There was no return address. The postmark was Gloucester.
“That’s nowhere near Marsden,” she pointed out.
“Let me make a call.” The sheriff glanced at Owen, who nodded at the phone.
As she leaned against the counter, sipping the rose-hip tea, Lis remembered a hot Saturday in September, replanting a bush of hybrid tea roses, lemon yellow. Sweat was running along her nose with a tickle. Owen had been working all day and had just returned. About 6:00 p.m., the sun low and wan. He stood in the doorway, his large shoulders slumped, a piece of paper in his hand. Lis glanced up at him and the plant sank through her fingers, a thorn piercing her skin. Because of the sallow, grave expression on her husband’s face she hadn’t at first noticed the pain. Lis looked down a second later and saw a sphere of blood on her finger. She set the plant on the ground. Owen handed her this very letter and she took it from him slowly, leaving a bloody fingerprint on the envelope-like an old-time wax seal.
Portia now read it. She shrugged, and announced to Lis, “I’ve got some stuff with me. Stop by the room, you want. It might relax you.”
Lis blinked and forced herself to appear blasé. Only her sister, she reflected from an emotional distance, would offer a joint with one-fifth of the town’s constabulary standing nearby (his squad car’s bumper proclaiming, Ridgeton Says NO to Drugs). This was vintage Portia-playful, cunning, perverse. Oh, Portia-the hip, pale, French-braided younger sister with her Discman and her stream of thin-faced boyfriends. She’d been forced to endure an evening in the country, and she was blowing Lis one of the cold kisses her older sister remembered so well.
Lis did not reply. The young woman shrugged and, with a glance at Owen, wandered out of the kitchen.
The sheriff, who hadn’t heard Portia’s proposition and probably wouldn’t have understood it if he had, hung up the receiver. When he spoke, it was to Owen. “Well… The long and the short of it is that she doesn’t have anything to worry about.”
She? Lis repeated to herself. Was this me? Her face burned and she sensed even old-world Owen shift uncomfortably at the sheriff’s patronizing attitude.
“They said it didn’t mean nothing. Hrubek’s a schizo-they don’t do well by people face-to-face. Too nervous to talk or something. So they write these long letters that’re just nonsense mostly and when they do make a threat they’re like too scared to act on it.”
“The postmark?” Lis asked firmly. “ Gloucester.”
“Oh, about that. I asked. He may still’ve sent it. He got sent to this hospital there for some tests the first week in September. It’s pretty low-security. He might’ve slipped away and mailed a letter. But, what I was telling you before, he’s headed east, away from here.”
The sheriff and Lis both looked at Owen, who because he was the largest person in the room and the most grave, seemed to be in charge. “What if he isn’t?”
“Hell, he’s on foot, Owen. The doctor said there’s no way he can drive a car. And who’s going to give him a ride, a big crazy like that?”
“I’m just asking you,” Owen said, “what if he isn’t going east. What if he changes his mind and comes here?”
“Here?” the sheriff asked and fell silent.
“I want you to put a man on the house.”
“I’m sorry, Owen. No can do. We’ve got-”
“Stan, this is serious.”
“-that storm coming up. It’s supposed to be a whopper. And Fred Bertholder’s in bed with the flu. Sick as a dog. Whole family has it.”
“One man. Just until they catch him.”
“Look, even the state boys’re spread pretty thin. They’re on highway detail mostly because of the-”
“Fucking storm,” Owen spat out. He rarely swore in front of people he didn’t know well; he considered it a sign of weakness. Lis was momentarily shocked at this lapse-not at the cussing itself but the anger that would be behind it.
“We got our priorities. Come on, don’t go looking that way, Owen. I’ll check in with Haversham every so often. If there’s any change I’ll be over here like greased lightning.”
Owen walked to the window and looked out over the lake. He was either paralyzed with anger or deep in thought.
“Why don’t you go to a hotel for the night?” the sheriff suggested with a cheerfulness that Lis found immensely irritating. “Hey, that way you’ll get yourselves a good night’s rest and not have to worry ’bout nothing.”
“Good night’s rest,” Lis muttered. “Sure.”
“Believe me, folks, you got nothing to worry about.” He glanced out the window into the sky, perhaps hoping for a searing streak of lightning to justify his deployment of deputies this evening. “I’ll stay on top of it, yessir.” The sheriff offered a rueful smile as he stepped to the door.