Unbury Carol(85)
Kill her now, he thought.
He looked down to see he had the throw pillow in his hands. His knuckles were white with squeezing.
Yet another sound from beyond the glass and this time Dwight froze. The pillow fell to his feet and he was certain, yes, he heard footsteps. Leaves on the lawn crunching beneath the weight of something much greater than a squirrel, a bunny, a fox. Unthinking, his shoes shuffled backward, to where the lantern did not reach, to the corner of the parlor where just yesterday women whispered about the sad sudden passing of Carol Evers. He did not take his eyes from the glass, though he wanted to very badly. Dwight whimpered, a single girlish hiccup, before seeing the shape of a deer pass ghostlike across the frame.
Pig-shit on Robert Manders and his line of dead bodies! Curse the Illness that had come to Harrows, that had granted Carol these remaining thirty thousand seconds to wake!
The clock on the mantel clucked and Dwight stepped to it fast and took hold of it and smashed it against the brick framing of the fireplace.
“Stop it!” he screamed. “STOP IT NOW!”
Oh, if Dwight used his hands, Opal would find the marks of murder upon her.
“No marks!” he said. Then he brought a finger to the slight cut on his face. Made by Carol in the coma.
What if she woke, right—
You heard wrong, Carol! Dear! What you heard in there was not true! It was a nasty dream, nothing more! Distortion! Perversion! A nasty dream!
He brought a hand to his chest. He was breathing much too hard. So much planning, such good plans…all of them…for naught…if she were to wake…
Right now.
Light sparkled outside and Dwight was certain it came from within the coach. The door was opening and his conscious bride was coming to life in some hellish form of light. She would come with the face of the grave upon her, the future dirt and death-smell, the way he wanted her to be. But awake! Alive! Yes, Carol would come with string-thin hair and black-oil nails and Dwight would cower, chattering, as she approached, her voice level fury, telling him, They all know they all know they all know Dwight that you tried to bury your wife alive because they all know you couldn’t bear the burden of her shadow, her mind, her money. They all know they all know they all know you didn’t have the guts to kill her they all know you waited waited waited for her to do it herself…for you…even this…even this you couldn’t do on your own…
A sound outside and Dwight cried out, “Stay away, James Moxie! Stay away!”
Not just any outlaw, no no, the outlaw who killed a man without drawing his gun. The black-magic marvel; a name bigger than any other on the Trail; a Trail littered with the tracks of a thousand terrible men; and he, the biggest, the darkest, the worst, was coming…coming…coming here…
What if she were to wake right now?
Light dazzled through the glass and Dwight curled up into the corner. He shook his head no no and knew it was James Moxie, knew it was Sheriff Opal, knew it was Carol herself.
The clock, smashed and in pieces on the floor, clucked the seconds away.
Someone was coming. The light…a lantern…someone was coming up the drive.
Dwight shook his head no no and the fingers of fear held him flat against the wall.
Who could it be? Who would come calling at this late hour if not with a mind for murder?
The light grew and Dwight saw the orb pass close to the coach. Was Carol sitting up in there? Could the carrier of the light see her body within?
The light vanished from view.
A knock came at the door.
I was sleeping, Sheriff Opal…I didn’t hear your knock…
I was sleeping, Sheriff Opal…I didn’t hear your knock…
I was sleeping—
“Hello?”
A foreign voice. A voice Dwight did not know.
Timid, trembling, he stepped from the corner of the parlor and his boots clacked against the wood floor and the echo told the person at the door that he was indeed not sleeping.
“Hello! Is there someone there?”
Dwight crossed the room slowly, his teeth clenched painfully, his eyes wet and wide, his fingers contorted into claws.
“Hello?”
Dwight opened the door.
In the light of the held lantern, the traveler saw him and saw that he was the picture of unbalance, that he had perhaps knocked on the wrong door tonight.
“I—I’m sorry to have bothered you, sir, but I—I was looking for a place to sleep. I’ve been walking some—”
“What?”
The traveler inched back from the door. “I don’t mean to bother you, kind sir, I’ll just—”
“What are you saying?”
“Sir?”
“What are you doing here?”
The traveler attempted to plead ignorance once more.
Dwight shut the door.
And he stood by the window, watching the orb of light grow smaller once again. As the stranger passed the coach in the drive, Dwight did not gasp. He did not cry out. For he almost expected she would be sitting up in there, her and the thousand spirits she had met so close to death.
they all know they all know they all know
“Lafayette,” Dwight said. And his voice was animal instinct. His voice was hardly his own. “Call Lafayette…once more…get rid of the girl Farrah…Farrah knows something…get rid of the girl…what if she says something…what if she says my name…what if she says…”