Night Film(140)

“What’s that?”

“In magic, you fight like with like, so using the form of the leviathan, the symbol of envy—thou shall not covet—Ashley seemed to believe these three children would be envied and coveted. Any idea why?”

I could only stare at her, incredulous.

The exchange. A simple transfer of debt. Ashley knew her father, Cordova, and her brother, Theo, would come looking for her after she escaped from Briarwood. Encountering the children in her path as she tracked down the Spider, she must have been concerned Cordova might try to use them, one soul for another, in a final attempt to save her life. This led to the rift between Ashley and her family, Marlowe had said. Because when it was finally explained to her, Ashley wanted to accept her fate. But Cordova was always searching for a way out. He did until the very end.

“My daughter … ?” I managed to ask, my voice hoarse.

“She’ll probably be fine.”

“Probably? You’re not sure?”

Cleo stared at me. “A tornado knocks a house down, killing the owner, and it’s a tragedy. Then you learn a serial killer lived there and the same act becomes a miracle. The truth about what happens to us in this world keeps changing. Always. It never stops. Sometimes not even after death.” She stood up, grabbing the yellow scrap of paper she’d scribbled on, handing it to me. “This is where you send payment to the witch. Any amount you think is fair. She prefers cash.”

It was a P.O. box in Larose, Louisiana.

“What do I owe you?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Just go home.”

I gazed down at the beheaded leviathan, capsized on the table. It actually looked as if it had faded to a slightly lighter shade of black, as if it’d started to wilt like a flower clipped from its life-sustaining branch—though perhaps it was just my imagination. I’d walked into this room with a belief that I could distinguish between what was factual and what was an invention of the mind. Now I wasn’t sure I knew the difference.

I stood up, the chair shrilly scraping the floor.

“Thank you,” I said to Cleo.

She nodded, and I stepped back through the black curtain, leaving her staring after me.

All of the customers were gone, the lights switched off so the scarred wooden floors were doused in orange light spilling in from the street. Two workers waited behind the register, speaking in low, worried voices, though they fell silent as I walked past them and unlocked the door.





“Where you guys from?” the woman asked me.

She was plump, with a round friendly face. She’d been behind the desk the night before, when her husband had checked us in.

“Saratoga,” I answered.

“Not too bad a drive. You guys’re up here to go paddlin’?”

She must have noticed my car had a canoe strapped to the roof.

“It’s gonna be cold the next few days, so be sure to dress in layers.”

“About that extra key?” I asked.

“Right. You’re in room … ?”

“Nineteen.”

She unhooked the keychain, handing it to me. “Need any maps or directions?”

“No, thanks,” I said, grabbing the shopping bag at my feet.

“Our restaurant serves supper till eleven. Everything’s home-cooked. We got a mean apple pie. You should check it out.”

“Thanks for the recommendation.”

I exited through the glass door. As it dinged closed behind me, I turned back and saw the woman’s friendliness had been erased from her face and she was inspecting me carefully over her bifocals.

I waved and took off down the covered walkway.

Last night, after sizing up every roadside motel along NY Route 3 between the Adirondack towns of Fine and Moody, I chose Evening View Motel & Restaurant because of its anonymity. It was in Childwold, forty miles north of Crowthorpe Falls, and sat sulking right off the side of the road: twenty dreary rooms, each rationed one cruddy window and a brown door. The motel had a popular eatery, the parking lot crowded with cars, license plates from Michigan to Vermont. Across the street was a busy RV campground—Green Meadows, THE NORTH WOODS’ FRIENDLIEST COMPOUND, read the wood sign—so I’d guessed Evening View saw enough traffic for the proprietors not to pay close attention to any particular guest.

I was way off on that one. The woman had stared at me as if she knew within a matter of days she’d be picking me out of a police lineup.

I made my way along the walkway, scanning the parking lot. It had cleared out after lunch, leaving only a handful of cars, nothing suspicious, no one watching. A bald man exited a white sedan, stretching and yawning as he made his way toward the motel office.

I stopped outside #19—second to last on the end—and knocked once.

Hopper opened it. I slipped inside.

“How’d you make out?” He locked the door behind me.

“Fine. I had to go all the way to Tupper Lake.” I handed him the shopping bag, and he pulled out the new camera battery—this morning he’d discovered his wouldn’t charge, so I’d gone out for a replacement. “She only has one extra room key. Who wants it?”

“Give it to Nora.”

I walked over to the far double bed, where Nora was sitting, eating a protein bar, and handed it to her. She smiled wanly, her eyes lingering a moment too long on my face.