The Narrows(41)

When Maggie opened the door, she was still holding the shotgun.

“Jesus,” Tom said, rainwater pouring down his face. “Put that thing down, Mags.”

“Get in here,” she said, grabbing him by the lapel of his dungaree jacket and yanking him inside. She slammed the door shut and locked it behind him. Then, standing on her toes, she peered out into the darkness. “It might be gone,” she muttered.

“What’s that?” said Tom. He was pooling water on the floor, standing there like someone rescued from a sinking ship.

Maggie whirled around. The intense look on her face froze Tom in his tracks. He looked powerless to move.

“You didn’t see anything out there?” she asked him.

“See what?”

“Anything,” she said. “Something that looked like a child but wasn’t.”

Tom chuckled nervously. “Hon, you okay? Put the gun down, please.”

Maggie thought, More pls! and shuddered.

Dripping water on the floor, Tom went to one of the living room windows and brushed aside the curtain. He peered out into infinite blackness. “Doll, there ain’t nothin’ out there.”

“Don’t tell me what’s out there,” she said.

“What’d you think you saw?”

“I hit a kid with my car leaving your place last night,” she blurted, frightened by how close she was to tears. “I mean, it looked like a kid, but I don’t think it was. Not really. Because he’s come back and he’s out there.”

“Maggie…”

“It has skin as white as paper. I don’t think he was…wearing any clothes…”

“A naked kid,” Tom muttered, still peering out the window. “Don’t that beat all…”

“I’m serious.”

Tom turned away from the window. His sandy hair was plastered to his head and his light eyes, set deeply into the pockets of his skull, looked the way she imagined a blind person’s eyes to look. “Seriously. Put the f*cking gun down, Maggie, before you blow a hole in the floor. You’re freaking me out.”

She laid the gun down on the couch.

Tom sighed. “Thank you.”

“I don’t know why I told you to come over. I guess I was scared.”

“I know why you told me to come over.” He took a step toward her.

“Please, Tom. I’m not thinking right.”

“Whoever is?” He laughed. It was a shrill, mechanical sound. Had she really allowed this man’s mouth on her body? Had she really accommodated his erection, taking it inside her, laughing drunkenly the whole time? She suddenly loathed herself.

“I’m sorry,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “I shouldn’t have told you to come over.”

Tom peeled his wet jean jacket off. He tossed it onto the couch, where it soaked through the fabric, though he didn’t seem to notice. Maggie didn’t have it in her to tell him to move it.

“If you’re worried about Evan finding out,” he began, but she cut him off.

“Stop. This has nothing to do with you and me. I was scared, that’s all. Do you understand that?”

“Sure. But I’m here now. Things are okay.”

No, Maggie thought. No, they’re not. Not by a long shot.

Tom took another step toward her. She lifted up both hands, palms out toward him. Tom froze. “What?” he said. “What is it?”

“This should have never happened,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

The pleasant, helpful look on Tom Schuler’s face quickly faded. It was replaced by a look of pure agitation—a look that spoke of a lifetime of betrayal and distrust. What had she done? Traded one abusive lunatic for another?

Then Tom’s face softened. Holding up his own hands, he said, “Listen, Mags. You’re upset. Something frightened you. That’s cool, I can dig it. Just relax, keep calm. Let’s sit on the couch and talk, okay?”

She didn’t want to sit on the couch with him. She didn’t want to talk.

Again, thunder crashed and shook the house. Lightning illuminated the yard, causing Maggie to whirl around and stare out the crescent of glass in the door. As if in the explosion of a flashbulb, she saw the silhouette of the boy back on the roof of the Pontiac, there and then gone in the brief flash of light, and she screamed.

Tom came up from behind her and wrapped his arms around her. One of his big hands covered her mouth. She felt his body against her back and winced.

“Quiet,” he said. “Okay? Quiet, Mags. What is it? What’s wrong?”

His hand dropped away from her mouth.

“It’s back,” she panted. Her whole body trembled. “It’s in the yard, on the car.”

Tom chuckled. He pushed her aside and peered out through the half-moon of glass. If he saw anything, he didn’t say so.

Bouncing on the balls of her feet, Maggie said, “Well? Do you see it? Tom?”

“Son of a bitch,” Tom muttered to himself. When he opened the door, the violent storm spilled into the house. Maggie whined and took two steps back, though she was unable to pull her eyes from the doorway. Tom hustled out into the rain, leaving the door open at his back, and marching across the wet grass. Maggie watched him until the darkness swallowed him up.