LustUndone (16 page)

Finally it reached a point where the pain was tolerable.
Inhaling deeply and blinking its eyes, it called up the internal resources it
would need and took off in the direction of civilization.

But not too much civilization.

* * * * *

Elaine Warren hurried into her house and closed the door,
leaning against it to catch her breath.

It has to be my imagination. That’s all it is. No one is
following me.

Today was her day off from the hospital where she worked in
the pharmacy. Her husband usually tried to take his days off when she did, but
the last couple of weeks he said it hadn’t worked out. He was part of the
private security team for Xeniplex, a manufacturing complex halfway between
Houlton and Presque Isle, so hours weren’t always static. His shifts rotated
and he could be called out for extra shifts at any time. And that was what had
been happening.

It was good and bad. On the one hand it left her free to do
the things she needed to, as well as extra time for those she
wanted
to.
But the past two weeks she’d had the distinct feeling someone was following her
and it made her nervous.

The story about Darrell Franklin being killed by some crazed
stranger was all over the news. Darrell lived off the main roads, the way
Elaine and Harland did. The ten acres had looked wonderful when they’d bought
them. Close to town but plenty of space for privacy. As time wore on the
privacy had its drawbacks and now she wondered if it made her a sitting duck
for a killer.

She hadn’t actually
seen
anyone. It had been more
like a feeling. The tension you get when you know something was not quite
right. Of course, it could be her guilty conscience, too. Elaine pushed that
thought out of her mind as soon as it popped in.

Don’t go there. Don’t even think about it.

She waited until her heart stopped racing then opened the
door, peered around outside to see if indeed anyone was there. But all she saw
was the stark trees and the frozen white snow. She looked nervously around as
she hurried back to the car, gathered the grocery bags and rushed back inside
with them. She wished the garage was attached to the house but Harland said the
one they had was good enough and there was no sense wasting one when they
didn’t need to. Today it would have given her a greater sense of security. The
entire time she put the food away she kept looking nervously over her shoulder
and out the window, as if she expected someone to be lurking there.

Maybe it was the image of the strange man she’d seen in the
parking lot at the grocery store, wandering from vehicle to vehicle as if
looking for a ride. Or maybe something to steal.

When the last item had been stored she took down a glass and
pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge. Leaning against the counter, she sipped
it steadily, waiting for the warmth to course though her system and settle her
nerves.

I have to get out of this mess. I’m driving myself crazy.
I’ll get myself killed if I’m not careful.

* * * * *

Bradley Howard plucked the mail from his mailbox and slogged
back to his house. He’d pulled a double shift at the hospital at the last
minute and he was more than ready to be home. Although it was only late
afternoon the winter dark was already stealing in. He wanted to get inside,
build a fire in the fireplace, pour himself a drink.

One that he badly needed.

He’d been jumpy all day, chalking it up to lack of sleep.
But when he got out of his car he had the distinct feeling someone was watching
him. A feeling he’d had off and on for the past few days. And when he pulled
into his driveway out in the middle of nowhere the feeling had gotten stronger.

Ridiculous! If anyone was out here you’d see them.

He tried to tell himself it was the news of Darrell
Franklin’s death that was affecting him. That he was seeing skulking killers
behind every tree and bush. If he hadn’t been keeping a secret he might have
settled for that.

But his secret gnawed at him. Unsettled him. Made him
anxious.

He knew he couldn’t go on like this much longer. He’d have
to bring things to a head. Probably sooner rather than later.

And how that was going to turn out he had no way of knowing.

Closing his front door, he locked it securely. Then, telling
himself he was being paranoid, he checked all the other doors and windows
before finally pouring himself that drink and lighting the fire he’d already
laid in the fireplace. A couple of shots of whiskey and a good night’s sleep
were all he needed to chase away the nerves.

At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

* * * * *

Chuck Whittaker loved the winters. Which was a good thing
because living in Maine the winters were damn long. But he had his camp, which
he ran for fishermen in the summer and hunters from September through November.
He made good money, enough that he could just tend to himself from January
until April when he worked to get the camp ready to open again. Where else
could he take that kind of time off each year and just goof off?

Those were the months he and Loraine could just hang out and
do what they wanted to. Sometimes all they did was sit in front of the fire and
read or watch television. As long as the weather didn’t screw up the satellite.

But at the moment Loraine was in Boston. Their oldest
daughter had just had her third child and of course Loraine had gone to help.
She’d been there about a week and Chuck was getting damn lonely. He didn’t
begrudge her what she was doing. What kind of father would he be if he did? But
he’d sure be glad when she came back.

He’d planned to get some work done around the cabins but it
had been so damn cold, and he wasn’t as young as he used to be. And not many
hands were looking for work in the cold months. Any able-bodied ones worked the
ski resorts or in the towns, picking up part-time stuff. Well, maybe if the
temperature climbed a little and they didn’t get any more snow for a few days
he’d get out and do what maintenance he could.

He was glad to see the roads were not only plowed but
staying that way. One thing he could say about Maine—the road crews knew how to
handle weather. Living out by the bend in the river it made it a lot easier to
get to town. Oh, he could always take the snowmobile in a pinch, get to the
convenience store on Route 1 for emergencies. But with Loraine gone, a trip to
town occupied a good bit of the day. Filled the hours.

He was glad he’d stopped in at The Crown for a late lunch.
That old dog Frenchy had finally put in an appearance and Chuck was damn glad
to see his friend up and around. Not that Clint hadn’t held down the fort. Done
a good job keeping things going. Still, Frenchy and Chuck were almost the same
age and Frenchy’s broken hip and extended rehab period had made Chuck feel
every one of his years.

He wished Loraine would get home soon. He knew it was
selfish of him, but the house was so empty without her in it. Maybe if he
didn’t feel so lonely he wouldn’t have stopped for the man trudging along on
the shoulder of the road just outside town. Not that many people would call
Left Branch a town. Named for the spur of road that veered off Route 1, it had
little to recommend it beyond the convenience store/gas station, a bar and a
dry-goods/drug store. Everyone did their shopping in Presque Isle.

It wasn’t usual to see someone on the side of the road.
Especially in winter. No vehicle, not even a snowmobile.

How the hell did he get here?

Chuck had been home the day before when Rebecca Black
stopped by on her snowmobile to ask him if he’d seen any strangers in the
areas. Warn him about strangers and stray wild animals. Chuck had been hunting
wild animals when Rebecca was still in diapers so he was sure he could handle
anything that came along. And strangers? They got a lot in season, hardly any
otherwise. And this guy who looked like he was freezing to death in his jeans
and parka sure didn’t look dangerous.

Chuck slowed the truck, reached into the console and took
out the Glock he had a permit for and put it on his lap. He stopped on the
plowed shoulder and pressed the button to lower the window on the passenger
side.

“Hey!” he called out.

The man, who’d been walking in the narrow space between the
road and the piled-up drifts of snow, kept walking.

“I said hey,” Chuck hollered again. “Didn’t you hear me?”

The man finally stopped and turned to him. “What do you
want?”

He was tall and thin, the old parka wrapped tightly around
him to ward off the cold and his collar turned up to protect his ears. His worn
jeans flapped against his legs in the wind and beneath them he wore an old pair
of work boots. His eyes had a sunken look to them, his cheekbones slashes
beneath them. To Chuck he hardly looked dangerous.

“What are you doing out here walking?” Chuck asked.

The guy shrugged. “Had a ride to Caribou. Guy got mad at me
for some reason. Made me get out.”

“In this weather?” Chuck’s eyebrows raised. “Not very nice
of him.”

“Not a nice guy. Listen, I gotta get going here.”

I’m probably being stupid but what the hell.

“Unzip your jacket,” he told the guy.

The man looked at him like he was crazy. “What?”

“Just unzip your jacket.”

The guy shrugged and unzipped it. Okay, no visible weapons.
Chuck balanced his Glock on his thighs and waved to the guy.

“Get in. I’ll give you a ride.”

The man stared at him. “To Caribou?”

Chuck nodded. “If that’s where you’re going.”

The man yanked open the door to the truck and climbed in.
His eyes widened when he spotted the Glock. “You planning to shoot me?”

“Not unless I have to.” He rolled up the window, put the
truck in gear and pulled out onto the highway. He slid a glance at the man.
“Name’s Chuck. Chuck Whittaker.”

“I answer to Fred.”

“Well, Fred, what’s got you heading to Caribou?”

Fred shrugged. “Looking for work. What else?”

Chuck thought for a minute. “Not much work in Caribou that I
heard of lately.”

“Well, nothing in Houlton or Presque Isle, either. And the
potato farms are all shut down for the winter. Need to get work somewhere. And
a place to stay for a while.”

Chuck was curious. “How did you end up here?”

“You know. Shit happens. Worked my way up the coast from job
to job. This economy jobs peter out fast. Need to earn enough to get back to
where it’s warm.”

“And your last ride?” Chuck asked. “Why’d he toss you out in
the snow?”

“He was drinking. Told him he was about to kill us both.”

Chuck could hear Loraine’s voice in his brain.

Charles Whittaker, you old fool. You don’t pick up
strangers and hire them to work. Not without knowing something about them.

But this guy looked harmless. Half-frozen and half-starved
was more like it. And the cabins were all empty during these months.

“Well,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t live to regret his words,
“it just so happens that I have some work that needs doing. If you’re handy
with your hands, that is.”

“Yeah? I can do just about anything.”

“Got a fishing and hunting camp a couple miles from here.
Need some repair work. You could stay in one of the cabins.”

Fred was silent for long moment. “You don’t know anything
about me.”

Chuck shrugged. “You don’t know anything about me, either. I
could be a homicidal maniac.”

He felt Fred’s eyes on him. “Naw, I don’t think so.”

More silence.

“So, what do you think? Because I’m about to turn off to my
place, but if you’d rather I’ll just take you on to Caribou. Not much farther.”

“Okay. If you can take a chance on me, I can take a chance
on you.”

Chuck wondered if he should suggest his new temporary
handyman ought to take a bath. Hopefully get rid of the faint odor of
turpentine clinging to him.

* * * * *

At lunchtime Sophia asked Logan if he’d mind a solitary meal
while she and Rebecca went to visit her brother and sister-in-law.

“I haven’t seen Damien and Shelley since…it happened and I
left for Texas,” she reminded him. “They just got back from Boston and I’d
really like to see them.”

“No problem.” He smiled. “I’ll call back to the ranch and
talk to the team there. See if they have anything new for us.”

“Thank you.” She smiled back at him. “I won’t be more than
an hour and a half.”

“Take your time.”

“No. I don’t want to waste daylight.”

“I’ll see you when you get back to the motel.”

In his room Logan booted up his laptop and opened the
webcam. A few clicks of the keys and he was connected with Desolation Ranch.

“Any word yet on the search for Melinda?” was his first
question.

“Nada.” Ric looked grim.

“How’s Chloe holding up?”

“She’s a trooper but it’s really taking its toll on her.
Mark’s got her working on her big coffee table book of photographs but I can
tell how much pain she’s in.”

“Tell her we’re thinking of her.”

“Will do. Any trace of the beast?” Ric asked.

Most of the Night Seekers were gathered at the comm center
in the big room, crowded together behind him. Watching the screen on their end.

“Not one single trace,” Logan said, irritated. “I know that
damn thing is around here. I can almost feel it. But not one single trace
anywhere.”

“But no more killings,” Ric said.

“No. Not so far. We’ve been trying to warn people, too. But
I’m not sure anyone takes me seriously enough.”

“The media has gotten the word out about the Franklin
killing, though, right?” This was Sam Brody, sitting just to Ric’s right.

“Yes.” Logan sighed with frustration. “But everyone’s
thinking some kind of crazed human killer. We know the devil beast can take
more than one form and we aren’t even sure in what form it appears.”