Liar Liar - James Patterson Page 0,80

the valley, making for a moment the shape of a warm little dwelling with a lit window. Heather had discovered the lighthouse the first morning they’d been there, sitting on the cane lounge with a steaming coffee in her hand. “We should go up there,” she’d suggested, and they had, Regan following her begrudgingly up the slope, whipping bushes with a stick. They’d stood at the rock and she’d smoothed the slope with her hand, and then sat, giggling, in the wind-worn hole like a girl on a swing.

Regan had looked at her that morning and tried to feel the goodness. Tried to think of her as a good woman, and him as a good boy. But there was nothing in him. No goodness. Just a hollow cage in his chest, a place waiting to be filled with life.

His father had crossed the valley to the adjacent stretch of land where the owners had a well and a barn for horses. From where they stood, Regan and his mother could see the sun gleaming on the animals’ coats as they lingered in the clearing. A thick rope was tied around the tree nearest the well, disappearing into the blackness of the stone structure.

“What’s he doing down there?” Regan had asked.

“The owners think the well might be leaking. They’ve asked Daddy to take a look,” she had said, curling a finger in the hair at the back of his head. “Regan, I want to talk to you about something. I’ve got some special news to tell you. I think it’s going to make you very happy.”

She explained about the baby, her hand now withdrawn from his hair and unconsciously smoothing the gentle curve of her belly. Regan watched the horses and listened.

“Having a little brother or sister is going to be great, isn’t it?” She smiled, rubbing his shoulder encouragingly when he didn’t answer. “Isn’t it, love?”

“Let’s go see Daddy,” he said, and started walking down the incline.

Heather followed her son down the hill, not knowing she was heading toward the place where she would die.

Chapter 101

THEY ARRIVED AT the well, Regan and his mother and the baby inside her that was not only good but great. Regan stood on his father’s toolbox and leaned over the edge of the well and looked down. Twenty meters below him he could see the top of Ron Banks’s head as he stacked heavy stones on one side of the empty well.

“Hello, Daddy!” Regan called down, and his father looked up, squinting in the light, a gloved hand held against the sun.

“We’ve come to see how you’re doing down there.” Heather leaned over the edge of the well, too, and cast a shadow on her husband. “Can you see the trouble?”

“I think so,” Ron said, brushing off his muddy gloves. He explained to Heather about the crack in the concrete casing, the clay at the bottom of the well. Regan watched his mother leaning over the stone ledge, her skirt fluttering gently in the wind.

She had only a moment to scream when he grabbed her leg and lifted it. No time to twist or clutch at the wall under her hands. Regan was so fast, so perfect in his aim, that he counterbalanced her before she could steady herself and pitched her into the well.

There was a thump, the sound of screams. Regan jumped back onto the toolbox and looked down into the well, where his parents were collapsed together in the mud. His mother’s head and mouth were bleeding. It was funny, the two of them writhing together, trying to untangle themselves. A pair of pigs in mud. His father was groaning, gasping, trying to grip the wall to pull himself up.

Regan laughed down at them.

“Are you okay? Are you okay? How did you fall?”

“I didn’t fall! He…he…”

She couldn’t say it. There was blood pouring down her face from a deep gash in her forehead. The two of them looked up at the grinning boy, dumbfounded.

Regan wondered if the great baby was inside her looking up at him, too.

“Re—Regan?” Heather stammered. “Honey, why did you—”

He stepped down from the toolbox and flipped open the lid. He could hear their voices still, bouncing off the stone walls of the deep well.

“Try to stay still. You’ve hurt your head badly.”

“Why would he…Why would he…?”

“Jesus, I think my arm is broken.”

Regan took the box cutter from the top shelf of the toolbox and pushed the blade out with a series of clicks. He went to the