The Cellar

CHAPTER ONE 1.

Donna Hayes put down the telephone. She rubbed her trembling, wet hands on the covers, and sat up.

She had known it would happen. She had expected it, planned for it, dreaded it. Now it was upon her. “I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour,” he’d said, “but I knew you’d want to be informed immediately. Your husband was released. Yesterday morning. I just found out, myself…”

For a long time, she stared into the darkness of her bedroom, unwilling to swing her feet down to the floor. Darkness began to fade from the room. She could wait no longer.

The Sunday morning air was like cold water drenching her skin as she stood up. Shivering, she bundled herself in a robe. She stepped across the hallway. From the slow breathing inside the room, she knew that her twelve-year-old daughter still slept.

She went to the edge of the bed. A small shoulder, covered with yellow flannel, protruded from the top of the covers. Donna cupped it in her hand and gently shook it. Rolling onto her back, the girl opened her eyes. Donna kissed her forehead. “Good morning,” she said.

The girl smiled. She brushed pale hair away from her eyes and stretched. “I was having a dream.”

“Was it a good one?”

The girl nodded seriously. “I had a horse that was white all over, and so big I had to stand on a kitchen chair to get on him.”

“That sounds awfully big.”

“It was a giant,” she said. “How come you’re up so early?”

“I thought you and I might just pack our bags, get in the Maverick, and take ourselves a vacation.”

“A vacation?”

“Yep.”

“When?”

“Right now.”

“Wow!”

It took nearly an hour to wash up, dress, and pack enough clothes for a week away from the apartment. As they carried their luggage down to the carport, Donna fought a strong urge to confide in Sandy, to let the girl know that she would never return, never spend another night in her room or another lazy afternoon at Sorrento Beach, never see her school friends again. With a sense of guilt, Donna kept quiet about it.

Santa Monica was gray with its usual June morning overcast as Donna backed onto the road. She looked up and down the block. No sign of him. The prison authorities had left him at the San Rafael bus depot yesterday morning at eight. Plenty of time for him to arrive, look up her address, and come for her. But she saw no sign of him.

“Which way do you want to go?” she asked.

“I don’t care.”

“How about north?”

“What’s north?” Sandy asked.

“It’s a direction—like south, east, west…”

“Mom!”

“Well, there’s San Francisco. We can see if they’ve painted the bridge right. There’s also Portland, Seattle, Juneau, Anchorage, the North Pole.”

“Can we get there in a week?”

“We can take longer, if we want.”

“What about your job?”

“Somebody else can do it while we’re gone.”

“Okay. Let’s go north.”

The Santa Monica Freeway was nearly deserted. So was the San Diego. The old Maverick did fine, cruising just over sixty. “Keep an eye out for Smokey,” Donna said.

Sandy nodded. “Ten-four, Big Mama.”

“Watch that ‘Big’ stuff.”

Far below them, the San Fernando Valley was sunny. The smog’s yellow vapor, at this hour, was still a barely noticeable smudge hanging low over the land.

“What can your handle be?” asked Sandy.

“How about ‘Mom’?”

“That’s no fun.”

They nosed down toward the valley, and Donna steered onto the Ventura Freeway. After a while, Sandy asked permission to change the radio station. She turned it to 93 KHJ and listened for an hour before Donna asked for an intermission, and turned the radio off.

The highway generally followed the coast to Santa Barbara, then cut inland through a wooded pass with a tunnel.

“I’m sure starving,” Sandy said.

“Okay, we’ll stop pretty soon.”

They stopped at Denny’s near Santa Maria. They both ordered sausage and eggs. Donna sighed with pleasure as she took her day’s first drink of coffee. Sandy, with a glass of orange juice, mimicked her.

“That bad?” Donna asked.

“How about ‘Coffee Mama’?” Sandy suggested.

“Make it ‘Java Mama,’ and we’ve got a deal.”

“Okay, you’re ‘Java Mama.’ ”

“Who are you?”

“You have to name me.”

“How about ‘Sweetie-Pie’?”

“Mom!” Sandy looked disgusted.

Knowing they would have to stop for gas within an hour’s driving, Donna allowed herself three cups of the dark hot coffee with breakfast.

When Sandy’s plate was clean, Donna asked if she was ready to leave.

“I have to make a pit stop,” the girl said.

“Where’d you pick that up?”

Sandy shrugged, grinning.

“Uncle Bob, I bet.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I have to make a pit stop, too.”

Then they were on the road again. Just north of San Luis Obispo, they pulled into a Chevron station, gassed up the Ford, and used the toilets. Two hours later, in the bright heat of the San Joaquin Valley, they stopped at a drive-in for Cokes and cheeseburgers. The valley seemed to go on forever, but finally the freeway curved upward to the west, and the air lost some of its heat. The radio began to pick up San Francisco stations.

“Are we almost there?” Sandy asked.

“Where?”

“San Francisco.”

“Almost. Another hour or so.”

“That long?”

“Afraid so.”

“Will we spend the night?”

“I don’t think so. I want to go far, don’t you?”

“How far?” Sandy asked.

“The North Pole.”

“Oh, Mom.”

It was after three o’clock when Highway 101 sloped downward into a shadowy corner of San Francisco. They waited at a stoplight, turned, watched for signs marking 101, and turned again: up Van Ness Avenue, left onto Lombard, finally up a curving road to the Golden Gate.

“Remember how disappointed you were the first time you saw it?” Donna asked.

“I’m still disappointed. If it isn’t golden, they shouldn’t say it is. Should they?”

“Certainly not. It is beautiful, though.”

“But it’s orange. Not golden. They ought to call it the Orange Gate.”

Glancing out toward the open sea, Donna saw the front edge of a fog mass. It looked pure white in the sunlight. “Look at the fog,” she said. “Isn’t it lovely?”

“It’s okay.”

They left the Golden Gate behind.

They passed through a tunnel with a mouth painted like a rainbow.

They sped by the Sausalito off-ramp.

“Hey, can we go to Stinson Beach?” Sandy asked, reading the sign for the turnoff.

Donna shrugged. “Why not? It won’t be as fast, but it’ll be a lot prettier.” She flicked on her turn signal, followed the curving ramp, and left 101 behind.

Soon they were on the Coast Highway. It was narrow: far too narrow and far too crooked, considering the steep drop just across the left-hand lanes. She drove as far to the right as the road would allow.

The fog lay just offshore, as white and heavy as cotton batting. It seemed to be moving slowly closer, but was still a good distance away from shore when they reached the town of Stinson Beach.

“Can we spend the night here?” Sandy asked.

“Let’s keep going for a while. Okay?”

“Do we have to?”

“You’ve never been to Bodega Bay?”

“No.”

“That’s where they filmed that movie The Birds.”

“Oooh, that was scary.”

“Should we try for Bodega?”

“How far is it?” the girl asked.

“Maybe an hour.” She ached, especially in her back. It was important, though, to keep going, to put more miles behind them. She could stand the pain for a while longer.

When they reached Bodega Bay, Donna said, “Let’s keep going for a little while.”

“Do we have to? I’m tired.”

“You’re tired. I’m dying.”

Soon after they left Bodega Bay, fog started to blow past the windshield. Fingers of it began reaching over the lip of the road, sneaking forward, feeling blindly. Then, as if they liked what they felt, the whole body of fog shambled onto the road.

“Mom, I can’t see!”

Through the thick white mass, Donna could barely make out the front of the hood. The road was only a memory. She stepped on the brakes, praying that another car hadn’t come up behind them. She steered to the right. Her wheels crunched gravel. Suddenly the car plunged down. 2.

An instant before the stop threw Donna into the steering wheel, she flung an arm across her daughter’s chest. Sandy folded at the hips, knocking the arm away. Her head hit the dashboard. She started to cry. Donna quickly turned off the engine.

“Let’s see.”

The soft dashboard had left a red mark across the girl’s forehead.

“Are you hurt any place else?”

“Here.”

“Where the seat belt got you?”

She nodded, gulping.

“Good thing you had it on.” Her mind pictured Sandy’s head breaking through the windshield, jagged glass ripping her body, then the last of her disappearing into the fog, forever lost.

“Wish I hadn’t.”

“Let’s undo it. Hold on.”

The girl braced herself against the dash, and Donna unlatched the seat belt.

“Okay, let’s get out now. I’ll go first. Don’t do anything until I say it’s all right.”

“Okay.”

Climbing out, Donna slipped on the fog-wet grassy covering of the slope. She clung to the door until she found her footing.

“Are you okay?” Sandy asked.

“So far, so good.” Holding herself steady, she peered through the fog. Apparently the road had curved to the left without them, and they had nose-dived into a ditch. The rear of the car remained at road level: unless the fog was too thick, it would be visible to passing cars.

Donna worked her way carefully down the slippery embankment. The Maverick’s front bumper was buried in the ditch. Steam hissed from the crevices of the hood. She crawled across the hood, got down on the other side, and climbed the slope to Sandy’s door. She helped the girl out. Together they slid and stumbled to the bottom of the ditch.

“Well,” Donna said in a voice as cheerful as she could muster, “here we are. Now let’s have a look at your wounds.”

Sandy untucked her plaid blouse and lifted it out of the way. Donna, squatting, lowered the girl’s jeans. A wide band of red crossed her belly. The skin over her hip bones looked tender and raw, as if layers had been sandpapered off. “I’ll bet that stings.”

Sandy nodded. Donna began to lift the jeans.

“I’ve gotta go.”

“Well, pick a tree. Just a second.” She climbed up to the car and took a box of Kleenex from the glove compartment. “You can use these.”

Carrying the box of tissue with one hand and holding up her jeans with the other, Sandy walked along the bottom of the ditch. She vanished in the fog. “Hey, here’s a path!” she called.

“Don’t go far.”

“Just a little ways.”

Donna heard her daughter’s feet crushing the forest mat of dead twigs and pine needles. The sounds became faint. “Sandy! Don’t go any farther.”

The footfalls had either stopped, or faded so completely with distance that they blended with the other forest sounds.

“Sandy!”

“What?” The girl sounded annoyed, but her voice came from far away.

“Can you get back all right?”

“Geez, Mom.”

“Okay.” Donna leaned back until the seat of her corduroy pants pressed against the car. She shivered. Her blouse was too thin to keep out the cold. She would wait for Sandy, then get jackets out of the backseat. Until the girl’s return, she didn’t want to move. She waited, staring into the gray where Sandy had gone.

Suddenly, the wind tore away a shred of fog. “That was a longer-than-average pit stop,” Donna said.

Sandy didn’t answer, or move.

“What’s the matter, hon?”

She just stood there, above the ditch, motionless and mute.

“Sandy, what’s wrong?”

Feeling a prickling chill on the back of her neck, Donna snapped her head around. Nothing behind her. She looked back at Sandy.

“My God, what’s wrong?”

Pushing from the car, she ran. She ran toward the paralyzed, silent figure at the forest edge. Ran through the gray, obscuring murk. Watched the shape of her daughter twist into a crude resemblance as the fog thinned until, a dozen feet away, nothing remained of Sandy but a four-foot pine sapling.

“Oh, Jesus,” Donna muttered. And then she shrieked, “Sandy!”

“Mom,” came the distant voice. “I think I’m lost.”

“Don’t move.”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t move. Stay right where you are! I’m coming!”

“Hurry!”

A narrow path through the pines seemed to point in the voice’s direction. Donna hurried.

“Sandy!” she shouted.

“Here.”

The voice was closer. Donna walked quickly, watching the fog, stepping over a dead pine trunk blocking the path.

“Sandy?”

“Mom!”

The voice was very close now, but off to the right.

“Okay, I’ve almost reached you.”

“Hurry.”

“Just a minute.” She stepped off the path, pushing between damp limbs that tried to hold her back. “Where are you, darling?”

“Here.”

“Where?”

“Here!”

“Where?” Before the girl could answer, Donna shoved through a barrier of branches and saw her.

“Mom!”

She was clutching the pink box of Kleenex to her chest as if it would somehow keep her from harm.

“I got turned around,” she explained.

Donna hugged her. “That’s all right, honey. It’s all right. Did you take care of business?”

She nodded.

“Okay, let’s go back to the car.”

If we can find it, she thought.

But she found the path without difficulty, and the path took them to the opening above the ditch. Donna kept her eyes down as she stepped past the pine sapling she had mistaken for Sandy. Silly, she knew, but the thought of seeing it frightened her; what if it looked like Sandy again, or like someone else—a stranger, or him?

“Don’t be mad,” Sandy said.

“Me? I’m not mad.”

“You look mad.”

“Do I?” She smiled. Then the two of them climbed down the slope of the ditch. “I was just thinking,” Donna said.

“About Dad?”

She forced herself not to react. She didn’t gasp, didn’t suddenly squeeze her daughter’s hand, didn’t let her head snap toward the girl in shock. In a voice that sounded very calm, she said, “Why would I be thinking about Dad?”

The girl shrugged.

“Come on. Out with it.”

Ahead of them, the dark bulk of the car appeared through the fog.

“I was just thinking about him,” Sandy told her.

“Why?”

“It was scary back there.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“It was cold, like that time. And I had my pants down.”

“Oh God.”

“I got afraid he might be watching.”

“I bet that was plenty scary.”

“Yeah.”

They stopped at the side of the car. Sandy looked up at Donna. In a very small voice Sandy said, “What if he gets us here? All by ourselves?”

“Impossible.”

“He’d kill us, wouldn’t he?”

“No, of course not. Besides, it can’t happen.”

“It might, if he escaped. Or if they let him out.”

“Even if they did, he’d never find us here.”

“Oh yes he would. He told me so. He said he’d find us wherever we went. He said, ‘I’ll sniff you down.’”

“Shhhh.”

“What?” Sandy whispered.

For a moment, Donna held to the hope that it was only the sound of the ocean surf beating the rocky shore. But the surf was across the road, and far down the cliff. Besides, why hadn’t she heard it before now? The sound grew.

“A car’s coming,” she muttered.

The girl’s face went pale. “It’s him!”

“No, it’s not. Get in the car.”

“It’s him. He escaped! It’s him!”

“No! Get in the car. Quick!” 3.

She first saw the man in the rearview mirror, hunched over the back of the car, turning his head slowly as he looked in at her. His tiny eyes, his nose, his grinning mouth, all seemed far too small, as if they belonged to a head half the size of this one.

A gloved fist knocked on the rear window.

“Mom!”

She looked down at her daughter crouched on the floor below the dashboard. “It’s okay, honey.”

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it him?”

“No.”

The car rocked as the stranger’s hand tugged the door handle. He knocked on the window. Donna turned to him. He looked about forty, in spite of the deep lines carved in his face. He seemed less interested in Donna than in the plastic head of the lock button. He pointed a gloved finger at it, pecking the window glass.

Donna shook her head.

“I’ll come in,” he called.

Donna shook her head. “No!”

The man smiled as if it were a game. “I’ll come in.” He let go of the door handle and leaped to the bottom of the ditch. When he hit the ground, he almost fell. Steadying himself, he glanced over his shoulder as if to see whether Donna had appreciated his jump. He grinned. Then he started hobbling along the ditch, limping badly. The fog nibbled at him. Then he was gone.

“What’s he doing now?” Sandy asked from the floor.

“I don’t know.”

“Did he go away?”

“He’s in the ditch. I can’t see him. The fog’s too thick.”

“Maybe he’ll get lost.”

“Maybe.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know, honey.”

“Does he want to hurt us?”

Donna didn’t answer. She saw a dark shape in the fog. It slowly became distinct, became the strange, limping man. In his left hand he carried a rock.

“Is he back?” Sandy asked.

“He’s on his way.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Honey, I want you to sit up.”

“What?”

“Get up in your seat. If I tell you to, I want you to jump out and run. Run into the woods and hide.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll try to come, too. But you go when I say, regardless.”

“No. I won’t go without you.”

“Sandra!”

“I won’t!”

Donna watched the man climb up the embankment to the car. He used the door handle to pull himself up. Then he thumped the window, like before, pointing at the lock button. He made a smile. “I’ll come in,” he said.

“Go away!”

He raised the gray, wedge-shaped rock in his left hand. He tapped it lightly against the window, then looked at her.

“Okay,” Donna said to him.

“Mom, don’t.”

“We can’t stay in here,” she said quietly.

The man grinned as Donna reached over her shoulder.

“Get ready, hon.”

“No!”

She flicked up the lock button, levered the door handle and thrust herself against it. The door swung, jolted, and knocked into the man. With a yelp of surprise, he tumbled backward, the rock flying from his hand. He did a crooked somersault to the bottom of the ditch.

“Now!”

“Mom!”

“Let’s go!”

“He’ll get us!”

Donna saw him motionless on his back. His eyes were shut. “It’s all right,” she said. “Look. He’s knocked out.”

“He’s playing possum, Mom. He’ll get us.”

Hanging onto the open door, one foot down on the slippery grass, Donna stared at the man. He certainly looked unconscious, the way his arms and legs were splayed out in such strange, grotesque ways. Unconscious, or even dead.

Playing possum?

She raised her foot inside the car, pulled the door shut, and locked it. “Okay,” she said, “we’ll stay.”

The girl sighed, and lowered herself, once again, to the floor in front of the seat.

Donna managed a smile for her. “You okay?”

She nodded.

“Cold?”

Another nod. Awkwardly, Donna turned and stretched an arm over the back of the seat. She reached Sandy’s coat first, then her own.

Curled against the passenger door, Sandy used the coat to cover all but her face.

Donna got into her blue windbreaker.

The man outside hadn’t moved.

“It’s almost dark,” Sandy whispered.

“Yeah.”

“He’ll come for us when it’s dark.”

“Do you have to say that kind of stuff?”

“I’m sorry,” the girl said.

“Besides, I don’t think he’s coming for anybody. I think he’s hurt.”

“He’s pretending.”

“I don’t know.” Bent forward with her chin on the steering wheel, Donna watched him. She watched for the movement of an arm or leg, for a turn of the head, an opening eye. Then she tried to see if he was breathing.

In his fall, the sweatshirt under his open jacket had pulled up, leaving his belly exposed. She watched it closely. It didn’t seem to be moving, but the distance was enough that she could easily miss the subtle rise and fall of his breathing.

Especially under all that hair.

He must be a mass of hair from head to toe. No, the head was shaved. Even the top. There seemed to be a bristly crown of dark stubble on top, as if he hadn’t shaved it for several days.

He ought to shave his belly, she thought.

She looked at it again. Still, she couldn’t see any movement.

His gray pants hung low on his hips, showing the waistband of his underwear. Baggy boxer shorts. Striped. Donna looked down at his feet. His sneakers were soiled gray, and held together with tape.

“Sandy?”

“Hmmm?”

“Stay inside.”

“What are you doing?” Fright in the girl’s voice.

“I’m going out for a second.”

“No!”

“He can’t hurt us, honey.”

“Please.”

“I think he might be dead.”

She opened the car door and climbed out carefully. She locked the door. Shut it. Tried it. Fingering the side of the car for balance, she eased herself down the slope. She stood above the man. He didn’t move. She zipped her windbreaker, and knelt beside him.

“Hey,” she said. She jiggled his shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

She pressed a hand flat against his chest, felt its rise and fall, felt the light throbbing of his heart.

“Can you wake up?” she asked. “I want to help you. Are you hurt?”

In the growing darkness, she didn’t notice the moving, gloved hand until it grabbed her wrist. 4.

With a startled yelp, Donna tried to twist free. She couldn’t break the man’s stiff grip.

His eyes opened.

“Let go. Please.”

“It hurts,” he said.

His hand squeezed more tightly. His grip felt strange. Glancing down, Donna saw that he was holding her with only two fingers and the thumb of his right hand. The other two glove fingers remained straight. With a vague stir of revulsion, she realized there were probably no fingers inside those parts of the glove.

“I’m sorry it hurts,” Donna said, “but you’re hurting me, now.”

“You’ll run.”

“No. I promise.”

His tight grip eased. “I wasn’t going to hurt you,” he said. He sounded as if he might cry. “I just wanted in. You didn’t have to hurt me.”

“I was frightened.”

“I just wanted in.”

“Where are you hurt?”

“Here.” He pointed at the back of his head.

“I can’t see.”

Groaning, he rolled over. Donna saw the pale shape of a rock on the ground where his head had been. Though the night was too dark to be certain, there didn’t seem to be blood on his head. She touched it, feeling the soft brush of his hair stubble, and found a lump. Then she inspected her fingers. She rubbed them together. No blood.

“I’m Axel,” the man said. “Axel Kutch.”

“I’m Donna. I don’t think you’re bleeding.”

“Dah-nuh.”

“Yes.”

“Donna.”

“Axel.”

He got to his hands and knees and turned his face to her. “I just wanted in.”

“That’s okay, Axel.”

“Do I have to go now?”

“No.”

“Can I stay with you?”

“Maybe we can all go away. Will you drive us somewhere for help?”

“I drive good.”

Donna helped him to stand. “Why don’t we wait for the fog to lift, then you can drive us somewhere for help.”

“Home.”

“Your home?”

He nodded. “It’s safe.”

“Where do you live?”

“Malcasa Point.”

“Is that nearby?”

“We’ll go there.”

“Where is it, Axel?”

He pointed into the darkness. North.

“We’ll go home. It’s safe.”

“Okay. But we have to wait for the fog to lift. You wait in your car, and we’ll wait in ours.”

“Come with me.”

“When the fog lifts. Good-bye.” She feared he would try to stop her from getting into the car, but he didn’t. She shut the door and rolled down the window. “Axel?” He limped closer. “This is my daughter, Sandy.”

“San-dee,” he said.

“This is Axel Kutch.”

“Hi,” Sandy greeted him, her voice soft and uncertain.

“We’ll see you later,” Donna said. She waved good-bye and rolled up the window.

For a few moments, Axel stared silently in at them. Then he climbed the slope and was gone.

“What’s wrong with him?” the girl asked.

“I think he’s…slow.”

“You mean a retard?”

“That’s not a nice way to put it, Sandy.”

“We’ve got them like that at school. Retards. Know what they’re called? Special.”

“That sounds a lot better.”

“Yeah, I guess. Where’d he go?”

“Back to his car.”

“Is he leaving?” Sandy’s voice was eager with hope.

“Nope. We’ll wait for the fog to thin out, then he’s going to drive us out of here.”

“We’re going in his car?”

“Ours isn’t going anyplace.”

“I know, but…”

“Would you rather stay here?”

“He scares me.”

“That’s just because he’s strange. If he wanted to do us harm, he’s had plenty of opportunity. He certainly couldn’t find a better location for it than right here.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Anyway, we can’t just stay here.”

“I know. Dad’ll get us.” The girl’s eyes were black holes in the oval of her face. “Dad’s not in prison anymore, is he?”

“No, he’s not. The district attorney…remember Mr. Goldstein?…he telephoned this morning. They let Dad out yesterday. Mr. Goldstein called to warn us.”

“Are we running away?”

“Yes.”

The girl on the floor lapsed into silence. Donna, resting against the steering wheel, closed her eyes. At some point, she fell asleep. She was awakened by a quiet sob.

“Sandy, what is it?”

“It won’t do any good.”

“What won’t?”

“He’ll get us.”

“Honey!”

“He will!”

“Try to sleep, honey. It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”

The girl became silent except for an occasional sniff. Donna, leaning on the steering wheel, waited for sleep. When it finally came, it was a tense, aching half-sleep feverish with vivid dreams. She stood it as long as she could. At last, she had to get out. If the rest of her body could endure the torment, her full bladder couldn’t.

Taking the box of Kleenex from the floor beside Sandy, she climbed silently from the car. The chilly air made her shake. She breathed deeply. Rolling her head, she tried to work the stiffness out of her sore neck muscles. It didn’t seem to help much. She locked the door and pushed it quietly shut.

Before letting go of its handle, she looked over the top of the car. On the shoulder of the road, less then twenty feet from the rear of the Maverick, was a pickup truck.

Axel Kutch sat on the roof of its cab, legs hanging over the windshield. His face, turned skyward, was lighted by a full moon. He seemed to be staring at it, as if entranced.

Silently, Donna crept down the slope. From the bottom of the ditch, she could still see Axel’s head. She watched it as she opened her corduroys. The huge head was still tilted back, its mouth gaping. She crouched close to the car.

The breeze was cold on her skin.

I was cold, like that time. And I had my pants down.

Everything will be fine, she thought.

He’ll sniff us down.

When she finished, Donna climbed the slope to the roadside. Axel, sitting on the roof of his truck cab, didn’t seem to notice.

“Axel?”

His hands flinched. He looked down at her and smiled. “Donna,” he said.

“The fog’s gone. Maybe we can leave now.”

Without a word, he jumped down. When he hit the asphalt road, his left leg buckled, but he kept his balance.

“What’s going on?” Sandy called to them.

“We’re leaving.”

The three of them unpacked the Maverick and transferred the suitcases to the bed of the pickup truck. Then they climbed inside, Donna sitting between Axel and her daughter.

“Help me remember where the car is,” she told Sandy.

“Will we come back for it?”

“We sure will.”

Axel steered his truck onto the road. He grinned at Donna. She grinned back.

“You smell good,” he said.

She thanked him.

Then he was quiet. On the radio, Jeannie C. Riley sang about the Harper Valley PTA. Donna fell asleep before the end of the song. She opened her eyes, sometime later, saw the truck’s headlights opening a path through the darkness of the curving road, and shut them again. Later, she was awakened when Axel started to sing along in his thick, low voice, with “The Blind Man in the Bleachers.” She drifted again into sleep. A hand on her thigh woke her up.

Axel’s hand.

“Here we are,” he said. Lifting the hand away, he pointed.

The headlights lit a metal sign: WELCOME TO MALCASA POINT, POP. 400. DRIVE WITH CARE.

Looking ahead through the bars of a wrought-iron fence, Donna saw a dark Victorian house: a strange mixture of bay windows, gables, and balconies. At one end of the roof, a cone-shaped peak jabbed at the night. “What’s this place?” she asked in a whisper.

“Beast House,” said Axel.

“The Beast House?”

He nodded.

“Where the murders were?”

“They were fools.”

“Who?”

“They went in at night.”

He slowed the truck.

“What are you…?”

He turned left onto an unpaved road directly across from the ticket booth of Beast House. Ahead of them, perhaps fifty yards up the road, stood a two-story brick house with a garage.

“Here we are,” Axel said.

“What is this?”

“Home. It’s safe.”

“Mom?” Sandy’s voice was like a moan of despair.

Donna took the girl’s hand. The palm was sweaty.

“It’s safe,” Axel repeated.

“It doesn’t have windows. Not a single window.”

“No. It’s safe.”

“We’re not going in there, Axel.” 5.

“Isn’t there someplace else we can spend the night?” Donna asked.

“No.”

“Isn’t there?”

“I want you here.”

“We won’t stay here. Not in that house.”

“Mother’s here.”

“It’s not that. Just take us someplace else. There has to be some kind of motel or something.”

“You’re mad at me,” he said.

“No, I’m not. Just take us someplace else, where we can stay till morning.”

He backed the pickup onto the road, and drove through the few blocks of Malcasa Point’s business section. At the north end of town was a Chevron station. Closed. Half a mile beyond it, Axel pulled into the lighted parking lot of the Welcome Inn. Overhead, a red neon sign flashed the word VACANCY.

“This is just fine,” Donna said. “Let’s just unload our luggage, and we’ll be all set.”

They climbed from the truck. Reaching into the back, Axel pulled out the suitcases.

“I’ll go home,” he said.

“Thanks a lot for helping us like you did.”

He grinned and shrugged.

“Yeah,” said Sandy. “Same here.”

“Wait.” His grin became very big. Reaching into a hip pocket, he pulled out his billfold. The black leather looked old, shiny with a dull gloss from so much use, and ragged at the corners. It flopped open. He spread the lips of its bill compartment, which was bloated more with a thick assortment of papers and cards than with money. Holding the billfold inches from his nose, he searched it. He began to mutter. He looked at Donna with a silent plea for patience, then made a quick, embarrassed smile at Sandy. “Wait,” he said. Turning his back to them, he ducked his head and bit the fingertips of his righthand glove.

Donna glanced at the motel office. It looked empty, but lighted. The coffee shop across the driveway was crowded. She could smell french fries. Her stomach rumbled.

“Ah!” Glove hanging from his teeth, Axel swung around. In his hand—or what there was of a hand—he held two blue cards. The skin of his hand was seamed with scars. Half-inch stumps remained of the two missing fingers. The tip of his middle finger was gone. Two flesh-colored bandages wrapped his thumb.

Donna took the cards, smiling in spite of the heavy thickness she suddenly felt in her stomach. She started to read the top one. COMPLIMENTARY was printed in block letters. The small type beneath it was difficult to see in the lights of the parking lot, but she struggled with it, reading aloud. “This ticket entitles the bearer to one free, guided tour of Malcasa Point’s infamous, worldrenowned Beast House…”

“Is that the scary old place with the fence?” Sandy asked.

Axel nodded, grinning. Donna saw that his glove was on again.

“Hey, that’d be neat!”

“I work there,” he said, looking proud.

“Is there really a beast?” the girl asked.

“Just at night. No tours after four.”

“Well, thank you for the tickets, Axel. And for driving us here.”

“Will you come?” “We’ll try to see it,” Donna said, though she had no intention of touring such a place.

“Are you the tour guide?” asked Sandy.

“I clean. Scrub-a-dub-dub.” Waving at them, he climbed into his truck. Donna and Sandy watched it roll out of the parking lot. It disappeared down the road toward Malcasa Point.

“Well.” Donna took a deep breath, relishing the relief she felt at Axel’s departure. “Let’s get registered, and then we’ll grab a bite to eat.”

“A bite won’t be enough.”

“We’ll buy the joint out.”

They picked up their suitcases and walked toward the motel office.

“Can we take the tour tomorrow?” Sandy asked.

“We’ll see.”

“Does that mean no?”

“If you want to go on the tour, we’ll do it.”

“All right!”