“Yeah?” Mark turned to him. “Where is he?”
“Don’t let this take you back to the dark side, brother. You’ve got to build a case, and you’ve got to-”
“Someone has to settle the score for her.”
Jeff’s face darkened. “There are lots of tombstones standing over men who made proclamations like that.”
“I don’t want a tombstone. When I’m gone, you take the ashes wherever you’d like. Just make sure there’s a strong wind blowing. I want to have a chance to travel.”
“That’s a bad joke.”
“It’s not a joke at all,” Mark said. “I hope you remember the request should the need ever arise.” He looked at the charter captain. “You mind bringing us in a couple hours early?”
The captain looked from Mark to Jeff and shook his head when no objection was raised. “It’s your nickel, bud.”
“Thanks,” Mark said. “We had a good run this morning. Sorry to cut it short. That’s just how it goes sometimes.”
Jeff’s voice was soft and sad when he said, “He won’t be in Cassadaga, Markus. You know that. He won’t go back there.”
“He could.”
Jeff shook his head. “You’re just feeding the darkness if you do that. Think about Lauren. What she believed, what she worked for! What she would want.”
“You’re asking me to consider what she would have wanted in her life. She’s dead, Jeff. Who’s to say what she wants now? In those last seconds of her life, maybe she formed some different opinions.”
3
The sun had barely been up when Jay left on the first call-out, but it had set and risen again by the time he made it home and found a stranger at his kitchen table.
Jay was so exhausted, so bone-tired, and the man was so relaxed, sitting with one leg crossed over the other and a polite smile, that Jay felt no threat. Just surprise, and only a modicum of that. He was confused by the stranger’s presence but unbothered by it because of the way he sat so calmly, with a cup of coffee, still steaming, close at hand. It was one of Jay’s mugs, and his perception was that his wife must have brewed the coffee. Everything that Jay didn’t understand about his visitor, Sabrina must know.
“How’s it going?” Jay said to the stranger as he shed his jacket and set to work unlacing his boots.
“Long day?” the stranger asked, genial and compassionate. He was a lean man with a narrow, pale face and long hair tied back in a tight topknot against his skull.
“A day so long it started yesterday,” Jay said, liking the stranger well enough. He walked past him, out of the kitchen and into the living room, and called for his wife.
“Sabrina isn’t home,” the stranger said. He took a drink of the coffee. He didn’t bother turning to face Jay.
“Pardon?” Jay’s next thought was that the man must be a neighbor unknown to him, because Sabrina hadn’t gone far-her car was in the garage. Sabrina was the more outgoing of the two of them, and she tended to the neighbors with an interest Jay had never been able to muster. His initial concern in Red Lodge had been getting to know the power grid, not the neighbors.
“She’s not in the house, is what I mean,” the stranger said.
Jay was standing in the living room, looking back at the man in the kitchen. The stranger set the coffee down, lifted a cell phone that was resting on the table, and beckoned to Jay.
“Come here. I’ll show you.”
Jay walked up beside him obediently. He wasn’t sure if the man had a message on the phone or if he intended to call Sabrina, wasn’t sure of anything but that the situation, however odd, was absent of menace.
Then he saw the phone’s display.
At first he thought the image on the screen was a still photo. For a few frozen, shocked seconds, he was convinced of it. Then his wife moved, and shackles rattled across her body, and he understood that it was a video.
“She’s unhurt, as you see,” the stranger said in an unfazed voice. “A bit groggy now, but physically unharmed. She’ll remain in that condition as long as you desire. Everything in Sabrina’s future belongs to your choices, Mr. Baldwin.”
On the screen, Sabrina shifted again. She was wearing a pale blue nightgown that Jay had given her two Christmases ago and there was a handcuff on her wrist that was fastened to long links of a chain that trailed offscreen. Jay was numbly aware of the floor beneath her-unvarnished boards, clean and showing no blood. He was looking for blood already. As Jay stood in his kitchen and watched, Sabrina glanced down at her wrist and cocked her head from side to side, as if she didn’t understand the meaning of the handcuff and was trying to make sense of it.
Jay started to shout something then. A question, a threat. Maybe just a scream. He didn’t know, exactly, because when he turned from the phone’s display and gave the stranger in his house his full attention for the first time, he saw that the man now had a short-barreled revolver in his right hand that was pointing at Jay’s belly. The genial expression was gone, and his eyes were empty.
“Her future belongs to your choices,” he repeated.
Jay tried to focus on the man in front of him, on the tangible threat, but his mind was still on that image of Sabrina. He stood and trembled in silence, like a frightened dog.
“Let’s not waste time,” the stranger said. “You have many questions, I know. You’ll have answers soon. But I can’t give them here. We’ll need to relocate. You’ll drive. It’s not so far. We can talk on the way.”
“Why?” Jay said. Just one word, but one that carried the weight of all his terror.
“You’ve been selected, Mr. Baldwin. Consider it an honor. You’re about to be part of something historic.”
The stranger held the gun close to Jay’s skull as Jay put his boots back on. While his head was bowed, Jay let his eyes drift to the stranger’s feet, and he saw something there that bothered him.
He was wearing what looked like everyday construction boots, built for hard work, but they had unusually thick rubber soles, and none of the eyes or grommets were metal. Everything was leather or rubber. It was the kind of boot you wore when you worked around high-voltage equipment and knew that any trace of metal could kill you.
4
On the day he visited Cassadaga to see the place where his wife had died, Mark began by taking the same run she had made on the last morning of her life.
Lauren’s route through St. Petersburg’s bay front took him down Fifth Avenue and past Straub Park, facing Tampa Bay. There he angled left and ran alongside the seawall as it curved toward the bridge between Old Northeast and Snell Isle. At the bridge he stopped running and then walked back, letting his breathing settle. Once, during an early run here, he’d seen a shadow in the water and loudly announced the presence of a shark. It was actually a dolphin. Lauren, born and bred on the Gulf Coast, a scuba diver from the age most kids learn to ride bikes, laughed so hard that she couldn’t breathe. Mark thought of that moment often-Lauren in running shorts and tank top, soaked with sweat, looking fit and impossibly young, doubled over and gasping with laughter she didn’t have the air for, her ponytail bobbing as if to count off the wheezes of her silent laughs.
“I know you’re from the mountains,” she’d said when she could finally speak, “but I have never heard anyone yell ‘Shark!’ like that in my life. Outside of the movie Jaws, that is. It tells me things about you, babe-you see Flipper and you scream ‘Shark!’ That tells me things.”
He told her that he hadn’t screamed anything, he’d just announced what he thought he’d seen. Announced it a little loudly, maybe, for clarity’s sake. That only made her laugh harder. She’d ended up on her butt on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around her knees and tears in her eyes, fighting for air.