As Night Falls (18 page)

“He doesn't need any help,” Barbara said.

Nicholas was standing up now too, looking from his mother to Adam.

“Do you, Nicky?” Barbara asked.

Adam took a step away from the table, holding out his hands. “We were having fun, Mrs. Burgess. Nick has been learning a lot. He's a real good kid.”

Barbara looked down at Nicholas. He tilted his face, gave her a smile that felt as if it were attached by cords to her heart.

Barbara crouched beside him. “It must be so hard for you.”

“What, Mama?” He pitched on tiptoes, looking into her face. “What you mean?”

Barbara wrapped her arms around him. “So hard,” she crooned. “To have to sit still like that. And do silly, stupid exercises.” Her voice slid into a singsong. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Adam leave the room. “I remember what happened when you played with these at our house.” She leaned over, still hugging Nicholas, and teetering in her crouch as she snagged a handful of cards from the little table. “Do you remember what you did?”

Nicholas looked at her. Then he looked at the cards.

Barbara's shoulders settled. She gave a nod, so small it hardly felt as if her head was moving. Nicholas closed his miniature fist around Barbara's hand, and she savored his touch, sitting back on her haunches.

Nicholas let out a wolfish howl then, hooking his little fingers. His nails dug divots into the cards as he began to tear each one into pieces. Though small for his age and slender, Nicholas didn't lack strength. He threw the scraps into the air, running back to the table for the rest. These Nicholas set upon with a vengeful rage, howling, ripping, tearing. And as the pieces of card stock fell around them like snow, Barbara rested, and watched her son be consumed by his desperate need and vision.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed. Cards lay all around, obscuring the floor. Even the game board had been broken. The little table had joined the chair that fell over when Adam got up.

Nicholas' chest rose and fell, his body heated as he lay in Barbara's arms. His curls were tangled so badly, she was going to have to comb them out when he was asleep.

There were footsteps along the hall. A sucked-in breath from Glenda. Gordon's defeated sigh. “Nicholas, come here,” his father said.

Nicholas roused himself enough to scream, “No!”

Barbara forced herself to stand, lifting Nicholas unsteadily and carrying him out of the room. “I'm sorry about the mess, Glenda. Adam chose quite an activity to do with my son. Perhaps you were right never to let that boy babysit.”

There was the barest of pauses. “Barbara, I'm a pastor's wife,” Glenda said. “I pray every night not to judge myself when I fail, and not to judge anyone else either.”

“Someone should judge you,” Barbara bit out. “Raising a great, big strapping boy who likes to torment little ones.”

Glenda blanched.

Nicholas flung himself around in Barbara's grasp, nearly sending himself over the stair railing. Glenda reached out and repositioned him more safely in Barbara's arms.

“I have my limitations, Lord knows.” She let out a sigh. “And I fear I may only be making things worse in this situation. For your child, perhaps, but certainly for mine. Right now Adam's so mad at himself, he can't stop pacing downstairs.”

Barbara didn't respond as she began to trudge down the steps.

“Please don't bring your boy here again, Barbara,” Glenda said. “May God bless and keep him. And that little girl of yours, too. Gordon, watch out for her. Watch out for them both.”

Gordon gave a nod, then bent down. “Cassandra,” he said. “Come to Daddy.”

I
vy jumped to her feet. “Please,” she said. “We have to go see who that is.”

Harlan moved more slowly, but he too turned in the direction of the bedroom door. “Nick will take care of it.”

Ivy ran back to the window, feet suddenly light with hope. One of her dad's sportsman friends, a lost hunter with a gun, maybe even the police.

Visoring her eyes, Ivy peered out. She could see only part of their driveway from this angle, but it was enough to reveal the rear portion of an SUV.

Everything inside her plummeted. Seconds ago, she'd sprinted on air; now it was as if both shoes had been sunk into cement. She couldn't believe he had actually come. She couldn't believe she had forgotten.

Well,
said Darcy, inside Ivy's head,
a home invasion can be kinda distracting. And it's not like you ever had a boyfriend before.

Even scared as she was, Ivy felt her ears grow hot. Cory wasn't her boyfriend.

Ivy couldn't let him walk into this. Not with Nick downstairs.

With a mad shriek, Ivy ran past Harlan. He moved clumsily enough that she made it into the hall. But sheer size allowed Harlan to catch up to her in two jerky steps, and then his hand settled around her arm. The force with which he pulled her back was staggering. Ivy felt her shoulder wrench in its socket. She flew through the air, coming down so hard at Harlan's feet that the wind was knocked out of her. She sat, holding on to her sore shoulder, and heaving and grasping for breath. She stared upwards with burning eyes.

“I'm sorry!” Harlan said. It almost looked like he was crying. “I told you I didn't want to hurt you!”

“That's my…” Ivy began as soon as she could speak. “It's my…that car.”

Harlan shook his head, confused.

Ivy forced air down into her lungs. She took her hand off her throbbing shoulder. “I know that car. It's my friend's. I can't let Nick get there first.”

Harlan's face broke into a relieved smile. “Nick isn't going to hurt anyone.”

Ivy shook her head hopelessly. “Oh yeah? How about what he did to my dad?”

For the first time, Harlan looked doubtful. He pinched Ivy's hoodie between his thumb and forefinger, setting her back on her feet. Then he turned in the direction of the stairs.

Ivy could hear gravel being churned by tires now. At any minute that car would pull up, spelling safety and escape and freedom. But Harlan, standing beside her in the hall, was as big a barricade as the whole rest of the house. The whole rest of the world.

“Okay?” she whispered. “I can go?”

Now he was crying for sure. His tears were like the rest of him, big, like beads.

“I don't know,” he said through them.

Nick appeared at the bottom of the stairway, gun hand extended. Ivy's mom moved into view slowly, like someone who'd been wakened out of a deep sleep.

Nick crooked his elbow around her mom's neck, pulling her forward. Ivy's mom went slack, allowing herself to be dragged.

“Mom!” Ivy screamed, and started downstairs.

“Harlan,” came Nick's growl. “Stop her.”

He stopped Ivy mid-step, the ledge of his hand holding her in place.

A car door slammed.

Ivy's stomach turned to ice water; she was going to puke.

“Kill those floodlights outside,” Nick commanded. “Where's the switch?”

Ivy's mom looked around as if she weren't sure. It was like she was drunk or something.

“If you turn the lights out now, it'll only attract more attention!” Ivy shouted.

Keeping a hold of her mom, Nick craned his head upstairs.

Ivy fought to get free of Harlan, but it was no use. She might as well have been trying to shove ten boys off of her. And she couldn't figure out why her mom was acting like one of the special-needs kids in class, who couldn't follow instructions, or put five coherent words together.

“Plus our neighbors will wonder!” Ivy called down again. All things her mother should be saying. “They know we're supposed to be home!”

“Your neighbors,” Nick scoffed. “All zero of them?”

He didn't know about the Nelsons, then.

The doorbell rang, a jarring clang.

Nick aimed the gun at her mom and spoke in a deadly, drilling voice. “You didn't get rid of that girl on the phone.”

What girl? Had Melissa called? The way this stupid house muffled sound, Ivy hadn't had a clue. Just like Cory standing on the porch right now wouldn't hear them even if they screamed.

“I did,” Ivy's mom said dully. “It isn't her.”

“I don't believe you.” Nick lowered the gun to her mom's chest, and Ivy cried out.

“She's telling the truth!” she shouted. “It's my friend out there! He planned to come over earlier—before you even got here! Oh please, he doesn't have any idea!”

In the moment following Ivy's announcement, everything went completely still. When the doorbell rang again, it sounded an oddly cheerful chime in the silent house.

Nick squinted up the stairs. “Harlan,” he said, “let her come down.”

Ivy had been trying every which way to lose Harlan's shackling presence; but once she did, she hesitated. She shucked off her hoodie—stupidest, vainest act ever, but she didn't want Cory to see her in that ugly old thing—and tossed it on the floor. Starting downstairs, she didn't have the first idea of what she was going to do when she got there.

Nick met her midway, gripping her mother, who looked at Ivy with sightless eyes. Ivy nearly reached out and grabbed her. Partly to check whether her mom was okay, partly to hold on to her herself. But their position—the three of them on the stairs—was too precarious to make any sudden moves.

Nick broke into her thoughts. “That's your friend out there?”

Ivy nodded.

“You need to send him away.”

Ivy nodded again.

“Your mother did a pretty good job with her friend,” Nick went on.

What friend? Ivy looked at her mother. What was wrong with her anyway?

“I'm hoping you'll be as good,” Nick continued. “Because if you try to tell your pal anything stupid, I will shoot him. Even if I have to fire through you to do it.”

That snapped her mother out of it. She twisted in Nick's grasp so suddenly that she nearly hurled herself free. Nick pulled her up short by her hair and she let out a yowl of pain. Ivy wouldn't have imagined her mother capable of making such a sound, so wounded and young.

“Mom?” Ivy said in a small voice. “What's the matter with you?”

Her mother stilled in Nick's grasp and his grip on her hair loosened. She hung there, motionless.

“Calm down,” Nick said, smiling. “I didn't say I was going to shoot her. Or her boy toy either. Just that I would if I have to. So long as the pretty princess behaves, nobody gets hurt.” He paused, finally letting go of her mom, but keeping the gun trained on them both. “Can you do that, princess?”

Ivy nodded a third time, and brushed past Nick on the stairs.

The doorbell rang again, and Ivy jumped. From behind, she felt a metallic, unfeeling caress. The gun, against the small of her back.

“Princess,” Nick said, and Ivy let out a little whimper. “I changed my mind. If you screw this up, I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to kill your mother.”

Ivy couldn't bear to turn in her mom's direction, see her looking slumped and dumb, as if she hadn't even understood what Nick said.

From upstairs, Harlan called down encouragingly. “Just make him go away,” he said. “And Nick won't do anything.”

Ivy turned the doorknob.

Cory stood on the porch, legs planted wide, his gloved hands shoved into the pockets of his parka. Snow fell in a sheet behind him. It was still coming down hard.

“Hey,” he said. “Sorry it took me a while to get here.”

Ivy stared at him. She wasn't sure her voice would work. Her jaw felt like it had rusted shut.

Cory spoke into the silence. “You were right. My folks were worried about the storm.”

Ivy could feel the weight of all three people behind her. Not just Harlan's immense contribution, but also her mother, so hushed and weirdly stuporous, plus Nick and his gun.

“So you wanna go out?” Cory asked. “People will be by the Rock. I got snowshoes in my car.” He inclined his head. Snow flew like darts through the air. “Nice weather for a trek.”

A smile wobbled on Ivy's lips. On any other day, she would've had to inwardly marvel at the cliché. Her first chance with a boy, and he was just like her father.

Her dad. How could she have forgotten about her dad?

“Hey, are you all right?” Cory asked.

There was a warning cough behind her, a rumble that threatened to turn into a growl.

Cory cocked his head, trying to get a look inside the house.

Ivy spoke hurriedly. “I can't go out tonight. I'm sorry.”

“Is it the weather?” Cory asked. “ 'Cause I'd be glad to talk to your folks. That's them inside, right? Probably I should introduce myself.”

Ivy looked at him.

“I mean…if we're gonna hang out or whatever.” A hopeful smile appeared on his mouth.

Ivy's cheeks bloomed. Even anticipating the thrust of the gun against her—or worse, one explosive burst from it—she couldn't stop staring at Cory's mouth.

“Don't worry, I chained up. The beast is great on a night like this.” He offered a grin, sticking his thumb in the direction of his Explorer.

How Ivy longed to be in it. The power of that engine, considerately left thrumming so that the interior would stay warm, could take her away from here so fast. Take all of them away. Ivy nearly made a run for it right then. Only movie images of bullets and spatters of blood flying, fleshy crimson against all the snow, stopped her.

“It's not that,” Ivy said. “It's—my dad is sick.”

Or hurt. Just not that word she couldn't think.

“Oh,” Cory said, clearly confused. “Like, and you have to take care of him?”

What a dumb lie. Ivy wrapped her arms around herself, her body wracked by shivers.

Cory took a step forward. “Is he going to be all right, your dad? Hey, you want my coat?” He pulled the zipper down with awkward, puffy fingers, and began to shrug out of his parka.

“No—” Ivy started.

“He's not going to be okay?” Cory's face folded with concern.

“No, not that—” Ivy tried to push at the coat Cory was offering.

From behind her came a grunt, and then a barely audible
tick.

The safety on the gun.

Cory first, then her mother.

Ivy's knees jolted. “Cory, look!” she said, almost crying. She would've cried if she hadn't thought it might alert Cory. “I don't want your coat, I don't want anything from you! My dad isn't even really sick.” She let out a laugh that burned her throat, as if she'd just thrown up.

Cory began to frown.

“What I really want is for you to go. Okay?” Ivy took a step into the cold, away from the front door, as if a few feet could deter a bullet. “I just want you to leave. I mean, I don't want us to go out. At all. Okay?”

Cory's coat was still thrust out. It fell to the ground as he stumbled backward across the slippery stone. “Sure, okay,” he said, righting himself. “I just—I guess I misunderstood. Take care, Ivy. Hope your dad is—” He seemed to remember the lie and his face fired red despite the temperature. He turned and took the wide steps at a skid.

Leaving without his coat.

Ivy couldn't let him come back up here.

The lidless eye of the gun continued to probe from behind. Ivy pictured it tracking Cory across the snow like one of those red laser beams in a heist movie.

“Cory—” she called out, her voice hitching, breaking apart on the word.

Cory turned back, an expectant lift to his eyebrows, and Ivy hurled the parka. Cory bent and snatched it up. He threw himself into his car, grinding the gears and fishtailing as he swung the vehicle around.

Then he was gone.

Nick stepped out onto the porch. He squinted into the snow with an expression of fierce hatred. “Goddamn storm,” he said.

As if it was personally setting out to upset him. As if he hadn't just witnessed Ivy's display of cruelty and betrayal, far worse than any weather could be. Ivy was no better than one of the mean girls at school.

She stared down at the ground, blinking through a silver sheen. Her legs, her whole body, were entirely glued with white. Snowflakes ran down her face like tears.

“Get back inside now,” Nick said after a while. “Good job.”