She already had a good livelihood, and it would be an even better one after she joined Alison in the new firm. If it became necessary, she could support the household. But that probably wouldn’t be necessary; Jan had tenure, and the university would be accommodating about shifting his teaching load as his health problems demanded. Blind professors were not unheard of; many published and lectured at the same pace as their sighted colleagues. Knowing Jan-his determination, his dedication- she wouldn’t be surprised if he wrote other books on lighthouses after he finished Guardians of the Night.
No, it wouldn’t be the end of the world for either of them. If only he’d had more faith in her, he’d long ago have come to the same conclusion.
She heard Jan descend the staircase and set down their suitcases in the living room. When he went back upstairs, she made a trip out to the station wagon and laid her drawing board flat in the rear so things could be piled on top of it. The night had turned cold and the mist had thickened. The wind was icy, the smell of the sea extra sharp.
Jan was standing next to the couch when she came back inside. Several of his shirts had fallen off their hangers and he clutched them by their limp sleeves, a helpless, serio-comic expression on his face. For the first time in days Alix smiled as she went to his aid.
“Damned things,” he said.
“Don’t worry about them-they’ll only get wrinkled in the car. When we get home I’ll take everything to the cleaners.”
They set about untangling the garments. It seemed an impossible task; the hangers kept slipping to the floor, the shirts slithering after them. Finally, Jan went into the kitchen to get a plastic garbage bag. They’d dump the shirts into it, carry them home that way.
He held the bag and she picked up the clothing. But as she started to stuff them into the bag, he tensed and his head cocked in a listening pose. “What was that?”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“Sounded like somebody moving around outside.”
She listened. “It must have been the wind.”
“Maybe.” Frowning, he let the bag fall and started for the door.
Outside and not far away, there was a sudden echoing report-one she’d heard before, one she recognized as a rifle shot. It froze Jan halfway to the door. Froze her with one hand at her mouth.
And before the echoes of it died away, male voices rose in an excited clamor out there. Close, very close. In the front yard.
“Ryerson!” one of them shouted. “Come out of there, Ryerson, or we’ll come in and get you!”
Adam Reese
Adam yelled it again. “Come out of there, Ryerson, or we’ll come in and get you!” Then he threw the Springfield up and squeezed off another round. Put that sucker right into the lighthouse wall, right under the nightlight-saw the splinters fly, saw the hole it made, heard the echoes rolling off into the foggy night like some kind of sweet thunder.
Pretty soon lights went out inside. Place was dark now, except for the nightlight and one window up on the second floor.
He felt like jumping up and down; hell, he was jumping up and down, he couldn’t stand still. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this excited. Goddamn, this was something. Goddamn, they should of come out here a long time ago.
Old Seth kept whooping and cackling like he was about to lay an egg. “Shoot out one of the windows, Adam! Shoot out one of the windows!” But Mitch and Hod, they weren’t into it yet. He could understand about Hod-poor bugger was still all tore up about Mandy, and so damn drunk he was wandering back and forth like he didn’t even know where he was. Well, they were all drunk-all except Adam. He hadn’t drunk as much whiskey as the others. He didn’t need no Dutch courage to prime his pump. No, sir. He’d been ready for this for a long time.
It was Mitch he couldn’t figure. Mitch had been ready for a long time, too, hadn’t he? His idea they come out here tonight and get Ryerson, make him confess, make a citizen’s arrest and haul him in to Coos Bay and dump him in that cop Sinclair’s lap. But now that they were here, into it, he wasn’t saying much, was just hanging back kind of nervous, watching. It wasn’t that he was shitfaced, no, he wasn’t much worse off than Adam was. It was like he was having second thoughts or something, like he figured maybe they’d bit off more than they could chew.
But they hadn’t bit off anything yet. Not yet.
“Bust one of the windows, Adam!” Bonner yelled.
He threw the Springfield up to his shoulder, sighted at the kitchen window, fired. Glass shattered, sprayed; the curtain inside flapped, blew out in the wind. Bonner let out another whoop and danced a little jig. Mitch stood there staring, fidgeting.
“Come on out, Ryerson!” Adam yelled.
“He’s not coming out,” Mitch said. His face was wet with mist; he wiped it off on the back of his hand. “He’ll never come out, not with his wife in there with him.”
“Then we’ll go in and drag him out.”
“That’s it,” Bonner said. He clapped his hands like a kid. “Drag him out, make him confess. How do we do it, Mitch? How do we go in and get him?”
Mitch didn’t say nothing. He was staring again, wiping his face, fidgeting.
Why, hell, Adam thought suddenly, he’s scared. He couldn’t figure it at first. He’d always looked up to Mitch, always figured him to be tough and strong, the leader type. But now… well, you had to believe your eyes. Mitch was scared, backing-down scared-there was no question about it. And Bonner’s crazy, he thought, and Hod’s drunk and that leaves just me, don’t it?
He squeezed off another shot, blew out an upstairs window this time. Bonner whooped. Mitch stared and fidgeted.
I’m in charge now, Adam thought. Yes, sir, I’m the real leader here. Give the orders, do things any way I want. Any way I want. Bust in there, drag Ryerson out, make him confess… even kill him if I want. Shoot him down like a dog if I want. And her? What about her? Nobody’s said anything about her, but she’s as bad as he is, helping him, protecting him, and all the time with her nose in the air like her shit don’t stink-what about her? Do anything I want to her, too, when the time comes.
Do what I should of done to that bitch up in Lake Oswego. Put this baby’s muzzle up against her head, let her feel cold steel against her head, make her beg a little… any damn thing I want!
Jan
He heard the second bullet whine and smash into the outside wall before he heard the shot boom. Riding the echoes of the shot was Alix’s voice: “What’s happening, what’s going on?” Her face was white, the folds of the red shirt she clutched like splashes of blood against her breasts.
Jan grasped her hard by the shoulders, pushed her down to her knees. “Stay down!” He dropped down beside her, crawled quickly to the front door, raised up to throw the bolt lock. Then he swung back toward the window in the side wall. He was more angry than anything else at this moment, but the anger was muted by an almost detached calm. The emotional scene with Alix earlier had left him drained, incapable for the time being of fear or any other strong feeling.
Outside the voices were loud, excited, the words indistinguishable now. Jan reached for the lamp cord, yanked it out of the socket in the side wall, yanked the room into darkness. Under its protective cover, he pushed himself up into a standing crouch. Behind him he could hear Alix’s breathing coming fast and ragged: she was on her knees alongside the couch.
He groped his way across the room. Alix heard him moving and said, “Where are you going?” Her voice shook but she sounded in control.
“Kitchen window. See who’s out there.”
He made his way into the kitchen. Light filtering through the window made a diffused wedge across the sink and the linoleum floor. He ducked under the sill of the window, came up on the far side, and leaned up over the drainboard to look past one comer of the curtain.