like he has never jumped before, Henry springs as high as he can off the seat, and is in midair as the all-terrain vehicle hits stout iron posts sunk in concrete. It stops short with a resounding CLANG! while Henry himself sails past over the cliff.
Holy shiiiiiii—
Hard metal bits pepper his legs, and suddenly Henry is falling, plummeting downward. In a second he will know if he cleared the beach or not. Heart in his mouth, he has a strangely serene moment of seeing a tire flying along with him, spinning and wobbling in space like a flying saucer, and wanting to put his foot on its rubber treads to steady it.
Then he hits. Like a ton of bricks.
The water is shallow, just four or five feet deep, and Henry makes a glassy crater to the bottom, smashing flat in the gravel. For a moment he lies there, stunned, encased in salty cold wetness though and through. He opens his eyes to a gritty orange blur—the water’s surface burning above him.
Ugh, he thinks. That wasn’t good.
Needing to breathe, he crawls out from under the flames and comes up draped in seaweed, feeling like his nuts have been slammed in a drawer. There is a strong smell of gasoline and a rainbow sheen on the water. Streamers of fire dribble down from above.
Ouch. Fuck.
His whole body a nest of aches, ears clogged with water and sand, Henry limps ashore as fast as he can. He has to get out of here, get back to town and call the police, the FBI, somebody—everybody.
Most of all he must find his wife and daughter.
Chapter Twenty
CUCKOO CLOCK
As Henry walks, most of the pain dissipates and he gradually realizes he is all right, though he will doubtless be a basket case by morning. He marvels at the insanity of it all, not sure if he is laughing or crying.
Charmed life, buddy, charmed life…
The euphoria doesn’t last long. Out of nowhere he has to stop and retch—there’s blood in it. The fear that had lain dormant throughout that whole experience now rises to the forefront: He could have been killed! Not just once, but several times! He should be dead now, dogmeat, a mangled corpse! And it’s not over—those people are not just going to let him go! And what of his family?
I gotta get back, he thinks, muttering aloud, “Gotta get back, gotta get back…”
Picking up the pace, he trots past the Casino and back into town. Hyperalert to any sign of pursuit, he is reassured to see no one, to hear no alarms being raised. The streets are peaceful and deserted. He debates screaming for help and decides to hold off creating any kind of spectacle until after he gets where he is going—he doesn’t want the delay of having to explain things to strangers, not yet.
As he mounts the Formosa Hotel’s front steps, Henry realizes he has been weeping about his mother, and tries to pull himself together. Sorry, Mom—I’m sorry. There is no one at the front desk, and he walks down the dim corridor to the back playroom.
“Hello?” he says anxiously. “Hello?” The door is locked and there is no sound from inside. He knocks, calling, “Moxie? Anybody home?” Ruby must have come and picked her up; Moxie would never be so quiet. When no one appears after a minute, Henry impatiently returns to the front counter and grabs the phone, punching 911.
“Police or fire department?” asks the male operator.
“Police.”
The line is switched. A new voice, husky and female: “Avalon Sheriff’s Department.”
It is the voice of that woman deputy—Deputy Myrtessa. Henry wavers. Even after all he’s been through, could they somehow pin this whole thing on him? Looking at the whole nightmare through her skeptical cop’s eyes, he realizes it could all be twisted to make him look like a crazy trespassing vandal. Especially if she’s in on it. Yes, don’t forget that.
Conflicted, cursing his own stupidity, Henry hangs up the phone and dials zero.
“City please?”
“Avalon, California.”
“How may I direct your call?”
“Please connect me to the Sand Crab Inn.”
“Yes, sir.” There is a switching sound and then a new, silky voice: “Sand Crab Inn.”
“I’m trying to reach one of your guests, a Mr. Carol Arbuthnot, but I don’t know his room number. It’s an emergency.”
“Arbuthnot…” The clerk checks. “Did you want me to ring his room?”
Henry feels a thrill of hope. “Yes, please.”
The phone rings and rings—no answer. Damn. Henry would have really liked to talk to that guy. He calls the