“‘What about Lilly?’” asked a young man. From the volume of his voice, Owen suspected he might’ve been the person secretly recording the tour. “She saw what happened, didn’t she? Why didn’t she take the stand and clear Gus?’
“‘Why, son, she couldn’t. Poor Lilly, she’d gone stark raving mad on account of the slaughter. She wasn’t in shape to testify about nothing. At any rate, the jury took about two minutes flat to make up their minds. They found Gus guilty of triple murder, and the judge sentenced him to swing.
“‘Only thing is, the law never got a chance to carry out its sentence, because a mob beat it to the punch. The night after the trial, a bunch of town folks dressed up in masks busted Gus out of jail. They dragged the poor lad to this very spot, whipped a rope over that beam right there, and strung him up.
“He was an innocent man, of course. Leastwise, as innocent as any man ever is. He didn’t kill nobody at the Thorn house that night. Not unless he had claws. The beast done it. The beast done it all. Let’s go on in, now.’
“You may climb the stairs, now,” Janice said. “As you enter Beast House, you should note that this is not the original front door. The original was blasted open by a police shotgun in 1978, and is on permanent display at the Beast House Museum on Front Street.
“You should now proceed to Station Number Two, just inside the foyer and to your left. Stop the tape, and resume it when you’re inside the parlor.”
Owen pressed the Stop button on his machine.
Monica smirked at him. “Do you suppose it gets any better?”
“Let’s go in and find out.”
Owen had been vaguely aware of people moving on, climbing the porch stairs and disappearing into the house while he’d been listening to the taped voices. Looking behind him as he followed Monica up the stairs, he saw a whole new bunch listening at Station One. Some gazed up at the hanged man with disgust, some looked fascinated, and others averted their eyes.
At the open door to Beast House, Monica stopped and turned to Owen. “You first,” she said.
“If you’d rather not go “in...”
“I’ll go in.”
“You don’t have to. You could wait out on the lawn, or go around to the snack shop or something.”
“And miss all the fun?”
“You don’t seem to be having much fun.”
“Oh, you noticed?”
“Really. Why don’t you just wander around for a while. I’ll hurry.”
“I’ll go in. Just remember I’m doing it for you, Owie. I’ll hate it, but I’ll do it—because I love you.”
Chapter Nine
SANDY’S STORY—August, 1980
The woman behind the steering wheel tried to say something, but the sounds she made were muffled and mushy.
With the thumb and forefinger of her left hand, Sandy dug into the woman’s mouth and started pulling out Bill’s hair. It disgusted her. It reminded her of cleaning out a bathtub drain, except that flesh and teeth came out along with the gobs of sticky hair.
When the mouth was just about clear, the woman gasped, “Bless ya, girl. Bless ya.”
“Are you okay?” Sany asked.
The woman choked out a rough, slurpy laugh, then said, “Did I kill da cocksucker?”
“I guess so.”
“Go look. Gotta know.”
“I’m not going over there, lady. How bad are you hurt?”
“Don’ know.”
“Can you move?”
“Don’ know.”
“See if you can start the car.”
The woman slowly raised her right hand and turned the ignition key. The engine grumbled, caught, and rumbled on, staying alive. The woman turned her head toward Sandy. She grinned a bloody smile.
Though feeling a little sick, Sandy said, “Scoot over and I’ll drive.”
“Huh-uh. What about Bill?”
“Look at him. He’s dead. You think he’s not dead? My God, you probably swallowed some of his brains.”
The woman gurgled another laugh, then said, “He sure pucked up my teet. But I gotta know.” She fumbled with the latch of her seatbelt.
“I tell you what,” Sandy said.
“Huh?”
“Go on and move over. Keep your eyes on me. I’ll take care of things, and then we’ll scoot.”
“Okay.”
Sandy trotted into the white beam of the headlight. She threw a huge shadow ahead of her. Her shadow darkened Bill’s bare back.
When she got to him, she stepped aside so that neither her body nor her shadow would ruin the woman’s view. Then she sank to her knees.
Bill looked as if his head had been buried in the ground to the tops of his ears.
Sandy clutched the hair on the back of his head. When she pulled, his head slid across the ground. It wasn’t buried, after all—just smashed flat.
She tugged hard, pulling the body away from the tree, lifting its head as much as she could, wondering if the woman in the car could see that Bill’s skull was caved in and half empty.
Then she reached around the front with her butcher knife and slit his throat.
She ran back to the car.
She threw herself into the driver’s seat and slammed the door.
“Tanks,” the woman said.
Sandy smiled at her. “Glad to help.”
“I’m Lib.”
“Lib?”
“Libby, Lib.”
“Good to meet you, Lib. I’m Charly. With a y. Let’s get outa...Hey! All right!”
“Huh?” Lib asked.
“You’ve got automatic transmission!” She shoved the lever, then started to back up. For a moment, she was afraid that the right front of the car might remain stuck to the tree. But it came away all right with sounds like clinking glass and crunching tin.
“Where we goin’?” Lib asked.
“I don’t know.”
She didtn’t know. The main thing, for now, was that the car worked. She carefully turned it around, then started driving slowly back through the woods and up the slope.
About halfway to the top, she spotted her dish towel on the ground. But she didn’t dare stop for it.
She left the rag behind and kept her foot on the gas pedal.
They crept over the crest of the hill.
“There!” she gasped.
“What?”
“Made it.”
Not really, she thought, steering carefully through the woods. This is just the start. We’ll probably get to the road okay, but then what?
“Where do you live, Lib?”
“Here.”
“Here in Malcasa?”
“Huh-uh. In my car.”
“You live in your car?”
“Yeah.”
“In this car?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t have a real home?”
“Hab you?”
“I’ve got a trailer,” Sandy said “It’s not very far from here.”
“I got a trailer hitch.”
“I know. I saw it. But we’ve got one dead headlight and a smashed windshield. We’d be pulled over by the first cop that sees us. Then we’d both be busted.”
“Id was selp-depense. He beat me up.”
“Yeah, but he wasn’t doing it when you ran him down. If they find out what happened, you’ll end up in prison.”
“Puck dat.”
When the road came into sight through the trees, Sandy shut off the headlight. She drove to the edge of the pavement and stopped. The road looked dark and empty. She stared at the little MG.
“We take years?” Lib asked.
“It isn’t mine.”
You was...”
“I know. The guy it belongs to is dead. I killed him.”
“Yer kiddin’.” She let out a wet, snorty laugh.
“He attacked me. and my kid tonight.”
“Ya killed him?”