Dark Witness (25 page)

Teresa turned around, opened another cabinet, tiptoed up and felt around. When she found what she wanted, she unscrewed the cap and put a little into Hannah's tea. She was smiling when she turned around.

"Tell Hannah it will be fine. This will help her get some rest. You should sleep, too."

She pressed the mug into his hands and then patted his face. Billy put his shoulder to the swinging door. He looked back to see her cleaning up the kitchen, putting things away. He wanted to say something to her, but Billy couldn't think of much so he just said:

"Night, Teresa. Thank you."

"Goodnight, Billy. It will all be better in the morning."

"Sure."

He carried the mug of steaming tea in one hand and took the knives and spoon from inside his shirt with the other. He saw no one on his way upstairs. He opened the door of Hannah's room and locked it behind him.

"Here. Teresa said this would help you sleep." He handed her the tea and showed her his tools. "And you'll sleep a whole lot better when we get that thing off you."

An hour later the cast lay in pieces around the bed and the tea was drunk. Her bruised and swollen leg was examined and both of them decided it was hurt but not broken. When Hannah was tucked in for the night, Billy sat at the foot of the bed watching her until he couldn't keep his eyes open another minute. He was so tired he couldn't even be afraid anymore. For the first time since he'd been in this place he was in a quiet room. No prayers, no weird hours for him to be awake or asleep, just silence and dark and Hannah.

She was turned on her side, one hand under her cheek, her high-necked blouse all buttoned up. Dragging his blanket with him, Billy lay down behind her. He didn't think twice when he put one arm under his head and the other over her hip. He pressed his body gently against hers. When she didn't wake up, Billy Zuni closed his eyes. Sleep came so fast the only thought he had before he drifted off was how right it felt to lie close to Hannah Sheraton.

***

"Guillard?"

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking?"

"Yeah?"

"What was with the glove?"

"What glove?"

"The one you found at the scene," Archer answered. "Did you ever figure out if it was the truck driver's? Was he wearing gloves when you found him?"

"One," Andre said. "His other arm was gone, remember?"

"Yeah."

Archer put one arm behind his head. The bed in the six-room motel was too soft, too narrow, and too unfamiliar for him to fall asleep easily. The information they had received about the prints on the key that opened the back of that container was not exactly soothing.

"Think you could have someone take a look? You know, check the size, the manufacturer, stuff like that. Just a look to see if there's anything interesting."

"Sure, Archer. I'll call Cressi in the morning. The glove should be in the locker."

"Thanks. 'Preciate it."

"No problem."

"Still. I appreciate it."

"Archer."

"Yeah?"

"Just so you know. I'm with you until we find out what happened to them. One way or another"

"'Preciate that, too, Guillard. Night."

CHAPTER 20

"He did a number, didn't he?" Nell said.

"I think it was a she," Josie drawled.

"Funny." She looked Josie up and down. "You know, I really hate your guts right about now."

"For bringing you out here?" Josie asked.

"No. I hate you because a bear mauled you and you look like you had your beauty sleep and then some. You and Andre are cut out of the same cloth. Ticks me off royally."

"Yeah, I'm sure I'm a sight to behold." Josie started to laugh, but like the old joke she stopped because it hurt when she did. "Did you find the satellite phone?"

"Not yet."

Nell bent down and grabbed what was left of the tent shell and held it up for Josie to see. The material was shredded on one side. Five slashes had destroyed it, three of which made contact with Josie. Nell took the stakes out of their sleeves and folded the whole thing up as best she could. She picked up the bottle of scotch and tossed it at Josie.

"You need more of that."

"You are cruel." Josie said.

"Do it," Nell ordered.

Since Nell had been right about everything so far, Josie did as she was told. She took the bottle of booze, opened it. Gingerly she brushed the snow pack away from her torso. Nell had applied it to stop the bleeding and reduce the swelling. The slash marks were red and raw, but not deep enough for stitches. They ran from her side to the middle of her back.

Josie picked up the bottle of scotch, breathed deep through her nose and before she let it out, she poured the alcohol onto her wounds to clean them. She let out a yelp, and then bit it off with her lower lip between her teeth.

"Damn, that hurts," she muttered. When she could unclench her teeth again, she said, "I don't think I've ever been so scared."

"Nature is a scary thing."

"You're telling me? I'd rather tangle with a shark at home. At least we have lifeguards in civilization. And we have hospitals and cars to get you there." Josie struggled to her feet. On her right side, her jacket, sweater and shirt beneath it were cut to pieces, but she'd have to make do. "I'm good now. Let me help."

"Just see if your stuff is together."

Nell tossed the pack toward Josie who let if fall at her feet rather than reaching for it. She was mobile, but she wasn't going to risk making things worse. Nell had informed her in no uncertain terms that if Josie was in a bad way, Nell would be hiking out alone to get help. Josie wanted none of that, so she bent her knees and unzipped the pack. There were no claw marks on the fabric, and it was still bulging with her belongings.

"Hey, I found an extra sweater. Can you help me get out of this one?" Josie unsnapped her jacket.

Nell was by her side in three steps, easing the parka off Josie's shoulder. The ruined sweater was more problematic.

"Bend forward," Nell directed. "Put your arms out in front of you. That shouldn't hurt as much as it would if we tried to get this off with your arms up over your head."

Josie did as she was told, taking her own sweet time to do it. Finally, she was in position and they got the ruined sweater off. Nell had the fresh one rolled up and ready to go.

"Okay," she said. "Here it comes."

Josie looked up, ready to tell Nell to take it a little slower this time, but she never got the words out. Her sudden silence had less to do with the fact that she was standing half-naked and freezing in the middle of Alaska than with what she was looking at standing at the edge of the clearing.

***

Hannah bucked and the sound she made while she did it was as close to someone strangling as Billy figured he'd ever heard. He bolted out of his sleep, and sat up against the wall in case she was ticked at him for being in bed with her. She wasn't. In fact, it was doubtful Hannah had any idea he was there. Her eyes were rolled back, her mouth was open, and her hands clawed at the blankets. Her head whipped one way and then the other.

"Hannah! Hannah! Hey, wake up!"

He screamed at her. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close, wrapping her in his arms. The seizure was so violent he could hardly keep ahold of her. He pushed her down into the mattress and held her there as best he could. She was out of control, so he threw himself off the bed and dashed for the door. He stopped when he heard a crash.

Hannah's hand had hit the bedside table hard and everything on it jumped. Billy rushed back and put the lamp and glass on the floor. Hannah groaned, and moaned. She was spread out on the bed in the most improbable contortion of limbs. Her chest heaved and her eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling. When she started to roll again, Billy had no choice. He ran for the door, threw it open, and went screaming into the hall.

"Help. Help me. Someone. Anyone. Help!"

He pounded down the stairs taking two at a time. On the second floor he ran up and down, banging on each door.

"Help! Hannah's dying! Help!"

Foster stuck his head out to see what the commotion was, and then he ducked back inside again.

"You freakin' freak," Billy screamed at him. "Teresa! Melody! Anyone. Help! Help!"

No other door opened. He took the final flight of stairs, jumping the last three steps and skidding on the rug. He turned toward the living room. It was empty. He threw open the front door. Glenn was where he always was, chopping wood. It was day, not night. He called to Glenn:

"Glenn! Glenn! Hannah's sick. Hannah's. . ."

"Billy. What's happened?" Teresa hurried from the dining room, wiping her hands on her apron. He grabbed her and pulled her.

"Come up. Hannah's dying. Come now."

Teresa went as fast as she could, up the stairs, calling down the second floor hall for Melody before Billy pulled her on and twirled her into the room.

"Oh my lord," Teresa gasped.

Melody rushed in and stopped in the doorway. Hannah had thrown herself around again. This time her legs were scissored and her head hung over the side of the bed. Drool dripped from the corner of her mouth and made spots on the floor. Her body jerked like she was being electrocuted, her fingers twitched, her face was chalky.

Teresa rushed to the bed. "Help me, Billy. Help me get her upright."

"What's happened? What's going on?" Melody rushed to the bed, putting her good hand on Hannah as if that might help right her. Suddenly, Hannah's neck arched, her back jackknifed, and a second later she lay across the bed and vomited.

Melody cried out. Teresa stepped back. Billy wailed and took her in his arms.

"Hannah, what's wrong. What's wrong? Wake up."

"Get away, Billy. Go away," Teresa barked.

"I'm not leaving you alone with her. I'm not leaving you. . .you tried to kill. . ."

Before he could finish, Teresa drew back and struck him. His head flew back and his long hair snapped around his face.

"Get out of here," she ordered. "Get out of here now."

Melody took his arm and hurried him to the door. She shoved him into the hallway. "If you want to help her, go away. Let Teresa and me see to her."

Melody slammed the door and before he could open it, he heard her throw the lock. Billy slammed his open palms against the wall. He slammed them again and again and downstairs Duncan heard the commotion as he came into the house.

He didn't want to go upstairs. He wouldn't go upstairs. Waiting was what he did best.

***

"Nell, put my sweater on. Now, Nell," Josie said. "We have a visitor."

Nell looked over her shoulder, raised an eyebrow. She put Josie's sweater on, picked up the ruined parka, and helped her put that on, too. All the while she kept an eye on the man leaning against a tree watching them.

He didn't smile. Then again he didn't frown. He wasn't exactly checking out Josie's bod. Then again, he wasn't exactly looking away either. He was just standing there holding a couple things: a towel that belonged to Nell, a hunk of plastic that looked suspiciously like part of a satellite phone, a rifle, a .44 Magnum, a quiver of arrows slung across his back one way and a bow the other way. On his head was a dew rag made from the American flag. On top of that was a cap that looked like he had stitched it himself and on which was affixed a ptarmigan head that appeared had not spent enough time at the taxidermist.

His clothing was equally interesting: a down jacket, puffy at the chest but worn out at the arms and making him look like a partially deflated Michelin Man. He wore a sweater, jeans that were shiny with wear, boots that were dull with scuffing, laces in one and not the other.

"Neighbor." Nell moved back a step so that she and Josie stood shoulder to shoulder.

"Ain't your neighbor," he said, his mouth opening just enough so that Josie counted three teeth.

Since there seemed to be no response to that comment, they all waited. The women figured he would make the ground rules since he was the one with the weapons. It took a good five seconds before he threw back his head and laughed hard and loud. Josie could see she had been wrong. He had eight teeth, and it wouldn't take long before those fell out from the looks of them.

"Had you ladies goin' didn't I?"

Josie and Nell looked at one another. When Nell shrugged and pulled a face, Josie relaxed.

"That you did." Nell stepped out in front. She didn't put out her hand but she raised one, and their new friend was happy enough with that. He held up her towel.

"You had a visitor last night looks like. Found a little trail of your belongings. I was looking for something that might want killing afore winter really sets in when I stumbled across all this."

"Did you see it?" Nell asked.

"Naw. Saw the slashes in the trees by the river, but that's about it. Stood maybe seven feet. Not the biggest I've ever seen, but good size." He checked out the tent, looked at Josie's jacket, and took a long look at Nell. "Figured I'd be finding me a body or two. Just didn't know they'd still be breathin'. Happy to see you ladies up and about. Too bad though."

"You'd rather we were dead?" Josie asked.

"No ma'am. But if you were I could scavenge me a few things, you know. I'm the lazy sort. Don't like to go get my supplies in any store less I have to. Besides, haven't got any country money to speak of. Well," he pulled his bushy brows together, "that ain't exactly true. Might have some. Got a disability check the government's always telling me I'm supposed to get. Must be at my address."

"And where would that be?" Nell asked.

"Don't remember. That's my disability. Don't remember much of anything important." He prowled around the campsite, checking things out, seeing if there was anything he liked. The only thing that seemed to catch his interest was Josie's pack.

"Want to sell that?" he raised his chin toward it.

"Not if you don't have any money," Josie said.

"You could take it out in trade," he answered.

He waited a few beats, threw back his head and laughed again as he wilted to the ground. The bow pushed up behind him nearly knocking the ptarmigan hat off his head. He moved his butt until it settled in just right. He put his rifle on the ground. But he kept his gun in his lap. He laughed so hard he had to wipe away a few tears.