In an Evil Time Page 10

  Cassie was a motionless blob of shadow on her side of the bed. He could hear her breathing and knew from the cadence that she was awake. Not ready to talk to him yet, though; she lay silent as he crossed to the bathroom.

  He shut the door, turned on the light. The strange feeling had grown even more pronounced; the inner tingling was urgent, as if any second now his hands, his body would start to twitch and jerk. He imagined himself in a kind of uncontrollable fit, beginning to foam at the mouth; the image, gone in two or three seconds, left him cold all over. He stripped naked, threw his clothes into the hamper, turned on the hot water in the shower. The thought came to him then, standing there next to the toilet, that he hadn’t had to urinate since he’d stopped on the road into the Paloma Mountains after the incident with the cop. Nearly five hours up there, the drive home, even now standing here … no pressure at all.

  In the shower, under a stream as hot as he could stand it, he scrubbed himself with a thick lather. Hands, face, arms, underarms, upper body. The soapy washcloth took away the last of the sweat-stink, but he didn’t feel clean. And now his skin seemed too tight, sensitive to the touch, prickly on the surface again—sensations that had nothing to do with the steamy water.

  He kept scrubbing with the cloth, working downward across his abdomen. The instant it touched his privates, the inner tingling became something else—a carnal heat that flared the way a torch ignites. His erection seemed to leap up all at once, sprong! Like Dan Quayle’s anatomically correct doll in Doonesbury. He stood staring down at himself in disbelief. Weeks of virtual impotence, and tonight, after all that had happened, all the nightmarish things he’d done this day … a massive hard-on, sudden and unbidden. As though the acts had temporarily, perversely repaired him: bladder, prostate, sexual apparatus.

  It disgusted him and at the same time he was more excited than he’d been since his first sexual experience in high school. A great, screaming urgency that was need and fear and self-loathing and a clutch of other emotions all mixed up together, his phallus so high-jutting and engorged it was like something that had attached itself to his body, a parasitic entity, rather than an extension of himself.

  No! he thought. He shut off the water, stepped out, and dried off savagely, punishing his body with the towel. The erection would not diminish, the urgency remained like a consuming fire. It shut down his thoughts, engulfed his will to resist, left him with nothing but the clamant heat.

  He shut off the light, padded out into the dark bedroom. Cassie stirred as he approached, started to sit up, and he heard himself say, “No, don’t put on the light.” His tone more than the words caused her to lie still. He drew the bedclothes back and slid in beside her, whispered her name, moved to fit his body against hers. Heard her suck in her breath when she felt him like iron against her thigh.

  “Jack, what …?”

  “I need you,” he said in somebody else’s voice, “please, baby, I can’t … I need … it’s been so long …”

  She lay stiffly while his fingers fumbled with buttons, groped inside her pajama top to encircle her breast. “What is it, what’s happened?”

  “Nothing’s happened.”

  “Why’re you so late? Why are you like this?”

  “I just need you … please Cass please …”

  She yielded to him, not gradually but all at once, turning her body against his, her nipple hardening under his palm, her hand stroking down between their bodies to grip and guide him. She gasped as he filled her, clutched him tight with her hands, arms, legs, began to move with him in all the practiced rhythm of twenty-six years of lovemaking. But it was nothing at all like it had ever been before—not slow and tender, no murmured endearments. It was fierce, fast, insistent, an almost desperate coupling punctuated by pants and groans, Cassie’s as well as his, fast fast until he came with a crying moan that she managed to half stifle with her mouth, a climax as intense as a backdraft in a burning building, as if he were ejaculating jets of fire. When it ended it left him burned out inside, an empty hulk that collapsed against her. She neither moved nor let go of him, clinging just as fervently until his pulse rate began to slow down. The embrace was all hers; he no longer had the strength to return it.

  He knew she was waiting for him to speak first and he groped for words. The only ones he found were “I love you. I love you so much,” in a frog’s croak.

  “I know you do.”

  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it, I—”

  “Don’t be sorry for that. I needed you too.”

  Gently she disengaged herself and sat up. He sensed she was going to switch on her bedside lamp and he lay with his eyes shut. He could almost feel the sudden radiance against his lids, her gaze probing his face. But there was nothing there for her to see, nothing left inside him to show through.

  “Talk to me,” she said. “If something did happen—”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Then why are you so late? Jack … did you really go to Paloma to see Nick Jackson?”

  “I told you I did.”

  “Not the city … Rakubian …”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “I was so worried. I thought—”

  “You thought what?” Hollis opened his eyes and sat up weakly, blinking, to face her. “I didn’t confront or harm that psycho, if that’s what’s bothering you. Do you want me to swear it? All right, I swear it on Angela’s life, Kenny’s life.”

  She believed him because she wanted to believe. She said, “Do you blame me for worrying, thinking the worst? First Eric disappeared, all upset, and then you do the same thing.…”

  “No,” he said, “I don’t blame you.”

  “Where have you been? Why didn’t you call?”

  “Dinner lasted longer than I expected. Afterward … I just felt depressed. Angela leaving, that business with Eric today, Rakubian. I needed to be alone. I went to a movie, drove around for a while afterward … avoided coming home, as lousy as that sounds.”

  The lies rolled out glibly; oh, he was becoming a fine goddamn liar. Cassie believed them, too. She said, “I understand, but you still should have called.”

  “I know it. I’m sorry.”

  “Didn’t you think about Rakubian? That he might show up here again, do God knows what?”

  “He didn’t, did he? Show up or call or anything?”

  “No. But he could have.”

  “I’m not myself these days, Cass, not thinking straight. One minute I function more or less normally, the next I’m half crazy, the next I’m like a teenager in heat. Schizoid. That’s not an excuse, just an explanation, such as it is.”

  Cassie sighed and said, “I feel the same way.” Then she touched his face, tenderly. “You look so tired.”

  “Exhausted.”

  “Sleep now, both of us.” She flicked off the lamp.

  In the darkness, on the edge of sleep, holding her and hating himself, he thought: Keeping them safe, that’s all that really counts. No matter what it costs me, no matter what it takes …

  11

  Sunday Morning

  ON the patio after breakfast, last night’s mist already burned off and balmy spring smells in the crisp air, Cassie and Angela inside out of earshot.

  “Is there anything you want to tell me, Eric?”

  “Like what?”

  “About yesterday.”

  Pause. “You mean Rakubian?”

  “Yes. Rakubian.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Eric said. Looking him straight in the eye. “All that stuff stored in the garage … I admit it really freaked me. I felt like driving straight to the city and beating the shit out of him.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t. Kept my cool and went for a long ride in the opposite direction. I suppose you were afraid I might’ve done something stupid?”

  “I’d stand behind you if you did, you know that.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry. I’m not a kid anymore.”


  “No, you’re not.” You’re an adult liar and pretender, just like your old man.

  Eric was silent for a time, that brown-study silence that always made Hollis a little uncomfortable. “Poor Angie,” he said at length. “Every time I look at her, see how afraid she is.…” He shook his head, as if shaking off a painful mental image. “What’s the use talking about it? We’ve talked it to death.”

  Hollis sat back, watching his son brood. Outwardly, Eric seemed all right. His eyes were clear, as though he’d slept well enough; hands steady, body language more or less normal. But inside? Frightened, worried … yes. Heartsick? Probably. Remorseful? Maybe. The same emotions Hollis himself was feeling—and concealing. The two of them sitting here as if this were any Sunday morning at home, one not a murderer, the other not an accomplice after the fact, yesterday any Saturday rather than a turning point in both their lives. Hiding the truth from each other because neither could bear to face the other with it.

  His son, his flesh and blood—a killer. How do you reconcile a thing like that? Answer: In an evil time, evil things happen—good people are driven by both external and internal forces to do things they would never do in ordinary circumstances. Maybe that was a rationalization, not really an answer at all, but there was no other way to look at it that would allow him to hold himself together. He was a sadder, more bitter, somewhat diminished man today, and he suspected Eric saw himself in the same way.

  Rakubian’s death made no real difference in how he felt about his son. Still loved him as much as ever, would do anything to protect him. Twinges of disappointment and shame, no denying that, but none greater than his own. He could live with what Eric had done. But could Eric?

  Conscience and anger management, those were the keys. The anger was something they could talk about, but at another time—not this close to all that had happened yesterday. For now, they’d each keep their secrets and go on telling the lies they’d have to tell.…

  “Dad? You okay?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Funny look on your face. Like you’re in pain.”

  “Just thinking about Angela and Kenny.

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  Hollis asked, “You planning to drive back to San Luis today?”

  “No, I thought I’d leave in the morning when they do. Make sure they get on the road okay. I only have two Monday classes and I can blow them off.” Pause. “Your prostate giving you trouble?”

  He frowned at the abrupt change of subject. “What makes you ask that?”

  “The way you walk, sit, the look you get sometimes—like just now.”

  One secret he didn’t have to keep any longer, at least from Eric; one lie he didn’t have to go on telling. “Yes, it’s giving me trouble.”

  “Same symptoms?”

  “Mostly.”

  “What does Dr. Otaki say?”

  “I haven’t been to see him recently.”

  “Christ, why not?”

  “Too many other things on my mind. But I’m going to make an appointment this week. You haven’t said anything to your mother about this?”

  “Uh-uh. I guess you haven’t, either.”

  “I didn’t want to worry her. I’ll tell her after I see Otaki, have a new batch of tests run.” But it occurred to him that if the signs had been obvious enough for Eric to pick up on them in just a couple of days, they surely must have been obvious to Cassie all along. Then why hadn’t she said anything?

  “Will you let me know the test results?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “No reason. Making sure, that’s all.”

  They had nothing more to say to each other after that. Just sat there sipping coffee and not making eye contact—conspirators alone with their secrets in the spring sunshine.

  When he was sure Gloria had had enough time to get home from church, he shut himself inside the garage and called her on his cell phone. Trip to Tomales Bay canceled: he wanted to spend the day with Angela and Kenny, he said, since she’d decided to leave tomorrow. Gloria was sympathetic. She said to give them her love, she’d pray for them every day. Pray for Eric and me, too, Hollis thought. We’re the ones who need it now.

  He made quick work of emptying the Lexus’s trunk. Pick and shovel into a corner of the garage behind some other tools; Colt Woodsman into the locked storage cabinet; overalls and galoshes and gloves and soiled khaki shirt and Cal Poly blanket into a trash bag. He stuffed the bag into the bottom of one of the trash barrels.

  Nothing left to do now but wait.

  Sunday Afternoon

  Two visitors, to say good-bye to Angela and Kenny.

  One was expected. During breakfast she had said tentatively, “Ryan is going to drop by this afternoon. He asked and I said I thought it’d be all right. Please don’t be angry with me, Daddy.”

  “I’m not angry.”

  “He won’t stay long. Just to see Kenny again before we go.”

  Hollis promised he’d be civil to Pierce and he meant it. Little enough in the way of a favor, if it would help ease her through the next twenty-four hours. She seemed raw-nerved today—not because of the long drive to Utah or the prospect of living with strangers, he thought, but because she was apprehensive that Rakubian might show up at the last minute, do something crazy before she could escape. He longed to take her in his arms, tell her she never had to be afraid of David Rakubian again, tell her escape was no longer necessary. Keeping up the pretense was almost as painful as what Rakubian alive had put them through.

  The other visitor, the first to arrive, came unannounced. Gabe Mannix. Hollis was in his study with Kenny playing Pokémon on the computer. The boy was much less animated than usual; resigned to the move—Angela had had a long talk with him—but not really understanding or liking the idea.

  “I don’t want to leave you, Granpa,” he’d said, his thin arms tight around Hollis’s neck. “I wish I could stay here with you and Granma.”

  “I wish you could, too. But it’s only for a little while.”

  “Will you come and visit us?”

  “Maybe we won’t have to. Maybe you and your mom will be back home before it’s time for a visit.”

  “Really?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “How soon? Two weeks?”

  “Not that soon.”

  “Before the Fourth of July fireworks?”

  “We’ll see. If you promise to be good and take care of your mom.”

  “I will. I promise, Granpa.”

  More longing, more painful pretense.

  When Hollis heard the doorbell he thought it was Pierce and stayed where he was. Then Cassie appeared and told him it was Gabe. He left Kenny to his video game and went out to the living room.

  Mannix was seated on the couch beside Angela, holding her hand and talking earnestly. Whatever he was saying had spawned a wan smile. She’d always been fond of him; said more than once that he was like an uncle to her. The expression on Mannix’s craggy face was anything but avuncular. If any other middle-aged man had looked at his daughter with that kind of wistful yearning, Hollis would have resented it. Not so with Gabe. They’d been friends too long—and his feelings for her were not only unspoken but close to worshipful besides. He was a lusty bugger with every woman except Angela. And Cassie, too, of course.

  He gave Hollis a crooked grin, still holding her hand. “I was in the neighborhood,” he said.

  “Sure you were.

  “Well, I couldn’t let them leave without saying good-bye, could I?”

  “No, and I’m glad you didn’t. If I’d been thinking straight, I’d’ve invited you. Cup of coffee?”

  “You don’t mind, I’d rather have a little hair of the dog.”

  “Big night?”

  “Big night with small people. Scotch, single malt.”

  Hollis poured three fingers of Glenlivet for Gabe, resisting the urge to do the same for himself. In his fragile and volatile state, alcohol was a dangero
us additive. The four of them sat talking desultorily, each avoiding the subjects of Rakubian and the temporary relocation. After a time Eric came downstairs to join them.

  Then Pierce showed up.

  At least he wasn’t as scruffy-looking as last week. Hair trimmed, clean-shaven, an old corduroy sport jacket and slacks in place of the western outfit. Ill at ease, though, and seeing both Gabe and Eric didn’t help him any. Eric had nothing to say to him; ignored his tentative greeting and went back upstairs. Mannix’s reaction was a surprised double-take and then a fixed scowl. Pierce seemed to sense that offering to shake hands was inviting rebuff. He didn’t try it with Hollis, either.

  He perched on a chair nearest Angela, who moved away from Gabe and closer to him. Cassie, the social arbiter, went to fetch Kenny, but the boy’s presence did little to ease the strain in the room. He seemed no more pleased to see Pierce than the rest of them.

  Pierce ruffled his hair, something he didn’t like adults to do, and asked, “How’s it going, sport?”

  “Okay,” Kenny said. Then he said, “Are you really my dad?”

  Pierce’s smile sagged; his answer sounded defensive. “Sure I am. You know that.”

  “Then why don’t you live with us? Why’d you stay away so long? Why aren’t you going away with us?”

  Cassie fielded that, saying, “Kenny, how about showing your father how good you are at Pokémon. Your mom’ll go along, too.”

  Angela took the hint and the three of them went out, Pierce rubbing shoulders with her and holding the boy’s hand—as if for him the past eighteen months had been wiped off the slate and they were a family again. Watching them, Hollis wished he’d poured Scotch for himself after all. Mannix didn’t like it, either. He drained his glass and got to his feet.

  Cassie said, “You’re not leaving already, Gabe?”

  “Things to do. No rest for the wicked.”

  “Go in and say good-bye to Angela before you go.”

  “I already said my good-byes.”

  He pecked Cassie on the cheek, glanced at Hollis as he turned. The look said he wanted to talk. Hollis followed him to the door, out onto the porch.