In the night room Page 0,119

thoroughly as she could.

Then I remembered the slight stiffness in her gait, the way she had held herself, deliberately turned from the window, and even my bones went cold. Like her father, she hid her face whenever she could; certainly, she wanted no one to look in and see that face. The cruelty and wickedness she had absorbed, and for which she paid with service to her patients, still lived in her—Diane Huntress knew it, she had always known it. That was why she had told us that Lily was the worst person she had ever known. Diane had not rescued Lily; by dint of tireless, selfless, unending devoted work she had half-tamed her. That Lily’s new name was Huntress sent icicles through my bloodstream. Her father, who had loved her, loved her still: it was only by a closely monitored borderline that she restrained herself from going out hunting exactly as he had.

I thought I could hear Jasper Dan Kohle cackling and howling from beneath the trees at the end of the country club.

“All right,” I said. My voice sounded breathy and battered, and I cleared my throat. “I’m going back to the hotel.”

On the way to the Pforzheimer, Tim stopped at the Fireside Lounge, a restaurant he had always liked for its old-fashioned red leather booths and low lighting. Willy said, “I was so preoccupied back there, I forgot how hungry I was.” When she ordered a tenderloin for herself, the waitress pointed out that it was intended for two people. “I’m eating for two,” Willy said. “What kind of potatoes come with that?”

She devoured her enormous meal in no more time than Tim required to eat his hamburger and half of the French fries that came with it. The other half wound up on Willy’s plate. When the worst of her hunger had been satisfied, she asked, with the air of one entering extremely dangerous territory, “What do you think about what just happened, anyhow?”

“I think she’s more like her father than anyone has ever recognized,” he said. “But what she’s done with it is extraordinary.”

“I bet you wish you could have seen her face.”

“To tell you the truth, Willy,” he said, “the thought of looking upon that woman’s face fills me with terror. What do you think about what happened?”

“I’m scared,” Willy said. Her face rippled, and her cheeks turned chalky and white. “I’m lost, and I’m frightened. She was scary, but you are, too.”

His heart and stomach both quivered. “How could I be scary to you?” he asked, fearing that tears would erupt from his eyes, from even his pores.

“You had to see her, didn’t you?” She could bear to look at him for only a second longer.

When they returned to their little suite, Willy went immediately into the bedroom and closed the door.

Tim sat down before Mark’s computer, downloaded his e-mail, and discovered another twenty messages without domain names. Their subject lines said things like Need to Hear from You and Explain What Is Happening! and This Is All Wrong!! These, too, he deleted without remorse or hesitation. These sasha would have to find their way without him. A message from Cyrax remained. When opened, it offered him this rigorous and mocking consolation:

deer buttsecks,

with every step 4-ward, every step up,

something new is lost or forsworn.

this IS a process of loss

reed ’em & weep, LOLOL

(foul & flawed & week tho u r,

u must face yr loss 2 come!)

do not FLINCH! do not QUAIL!

do not BACK AWAY! the PRICE

must bee PAID!!! u have luvd,

now u must looze yr love & bid

gud-bye, old soldier. this 2 is death.

33

Brian Jeckyll had rescheduled all of Tim’s drive-time interviews for 6:30 to noon on Thursday morning, and at 6:00 A.M., Tim reluctantly unpeeled himself from sleeping Willy, rose from their bed, used the bathroom, and, freshly showered, dressed himself in Gap khakis, a blue button-down shirt, and a black, lightweight jacket. With ten minutes to spare, he went downstairs, bought two Danishes and a cup of coffee, and returned to his room. He had polished off the first Danish by the time the telephone rang, right on schedule. Ginnie and Mack were calling from their radio station in Charlotte, North Carolina, and the first thing they wanted to know was if he’d ever had any supernatural experiences.

“I don’t really know how to answer that, Mack,” Tim said. “How about you?”

After Ginnie and Mack came Zack and the MonsterMan of Ithaca, New York, who wondered aloud how weird you would have