Charles Grant - Night Songs

"I think so."

"You think so?"

Cameron's disgust turned on himself. "All right, all right, I kind of knew it, but I didn't think they meant it and I wanted to get a piece of the action myself, you know what I mean?" He inhaled deeply and craned his neck until the tendons grew stark against the tanned skin. When he spoke again, it was with a weariness born of fear too long suppressed. "It's all gone to hell, Col, and I don't know how to stop it."

"Great," he said. "That's just great."

"I thought you should know."

"Yeah."

"I didn't mean it should happen this way."

"Yeah."

They faced without seeing each other, until Cameron walked around Colin and started back up the street. Colin watched, then caught up. "Maybe we can do something." It was a gesture-not peace, but a truce. Cameron looked gratefully at him though his eyes were still wary. "Something, but I don't know what yet."

"Think fast, Colin," Cameron said urgently, lowering his voice as they neared the unloading. "Garve came to my place last night asking Lombard all sorts of questions. A shitty thing about Harcourt, you know?"

"I know."

They stopped.

"Lombard didn't say a thing. He was with me the whole time, I know he didn't leave." Colin looked at him. "And the Hulk?"

Cameron licked his lips nervously, his gaze straying to Colin's midsection and back. "I don't know. I swear to God, I don't know."

He thought about Montgomery's explanations and Garve's doubts and Peg's worry that both men were wrong. "Okay," he said. "I don't know what I can do, but maybe by tonight."

"Sure," Cameron said, unconvinced but relieved. "And while you're at it, think of a way we can deep-six Sterling. The stupid drunken bastard. The way things are going today, that damned storm'll hit and I'll be stuck with four thousand bucks worth of goddamned bitty sandwiches."

Colin managed a smile, one that shrank to tight lips as he reached the car and got in.

"Well? Well?" Matt asked eagerly.

"Seems the gulls grabbed old Wally and took him to Florida," he said, pulling away from the restaurant.

"No kidding," Matt said, his eyes wide with astonishment until he realized he was being had. "Aw, Mr. Ross!"

"Don't take it so hard, pal. Wally was too heavy. They had to drop him in the bay."

Matt jabbed him hard in the ribs, and he laughed, more to release the tension than because the boy tickled. And by the time they were parked in front of the drug store, he was determined not to let this news spoil the rest of the day. It had been too long coming; Cameron was just going to have to wait.

"Are you mad or something?" Matt asked as they left the car and stood on the sidewalk. There were no pedestrians, and he could hear no sounds from the direction of the beach.

"No," he said absently.

"Okay."

He swept a finger down the length of his nose, then gave the boy a gentle shove. "You get your mother. I want to see if Chief Tabor is in."

Matt looked at him doubtfully, but dashed off quickly enough when he lifted his hand in a mock-fisted threat. Then Colin hurried down to the station. The patrol car was at the curb, freshly washed and reflecting the overcast sky brightly. He noted it only in passing, but when he reached the open office door he hesitated. There was no one inside. It was quiet-no telephones ringing, no radio units crackling, the fluorescent ceiling light sputtering without sound. He called out, heard nothing, decided whoever was on duty had stepped out for lunch. He scribbled a note on scrap paper he found on Garve's desk, telling him about Frankie Adams, adding a postscript about Lombard and Vincent that was enigmatic enough, he hoped, to force Garve to seek him out. He was about to leave when he remembered his promise to Peg to tell Tabor about Lilla. He hesitated, uncertain, then took a second sheet and wrote another message. When he was finished he dropped the pen quickly and wiped his hands on his jeans. He gave a second glance around and returned to the car just as Peg and Matt were taking their seats.

Once behind the wheel he turned to her and kissed her cheek, looked to Matt in the back, and winked. The boy winked back, and they laughed, loudly, as he pulled out on Neptune after checking for traffic.

"You two are in an awfully good mood," she said, smiling.

"You don't know the half of it," he said.

"Mom, can I explore?" Matt said, folding his arms on the back of the seat and resting his chin hard on his wrist.

"You may not, young man."

"But Mom!"

Peg sighed, and Colin sensed a year-long argument destined never to be settled. "Not really a good idea, pal," he said quietly, realizing they were waiting for him to take sides.

"But Mr. Ross," Matt complained, sounding almost betrayed, "the caves are filled with gold?"

"Oh, really?"

"He found a coin in there last year," Peg said, reaching up with her left hand to pat the boy's head. He ducked away, scowling. "I didn't let him go then, either."

"Jeez."

"Now, Matt…"

"Look," Colin said quickly, "why don't we just wait until we get there, okay? I think the tide's in anyway, but let's at least wait until we get there."

Matt was unsure if he'd won something or not. "Okay. Sure."

Peg, however, dropped her hand on his thigh, smiled at him and squeezed-hard enough to make him wince. He sped up, barely listening as he commented on the lack of kids waiting to get into the theater, and the empty parking lot in front of Naughton's Market. But by the time they had reached the Estates he realized he hadn't seen a single car on the road.

He slowed and looked over. "I left a note at Garve's," he said. "About-" and he tilted his head toward the road that led to the development and Gran's shack. "I didn't call Hugh, though. I forgot."

"It's all right," she said.

"Somebody sick?" Matt asked.

"Little pitchers and big ears," Colin muttered.

"What does that mean?"

He saw the boy's reflection in the rearview mirror, and shrugged. "Y'know, pal, all these years I've heard that and I don't have the faintest idea."

The road ended a half mile later. Colin turned the car around and shut off the engine.

The woods were noisy. The leaves and needles husked in a light breeze, the surf's roar threaded its way through the branches, and a flight of unseen crows were raucous near the cliffs.

They wasted little time leaving the car and heading for the narrow trail that led to the cliffs. Matt took the lead at a dead run, Peg followed, and Colin moved as quickly as he could with the basket in his left hand. He didn't mind being last. It gave him a chance to watch

Peg in her jeans, the way her plaid shirt pulled snug across her back. Her hair was in a pony tail and it swung with her hips, and when she glanced back over her shoulder and gave him a broad wink, he grinned as he realized she knew what he was doing.

Fifteen minutes after they left the car, the light changed. It was more a glow than sunshine, catching in slow motion the dust in the air. The greens were dull, the autumn reds sullen, and the shrubs off the trail cloaked themselves in pale shadow. He looked up several times as if expecting to see the clouds thickening to storm, looked behind him several more times as if expecting to see something. The crows were gone, the breeze dead, and the waves tearing at the cliffs made him think he was a soldier walking into a battle in a time that wasn't his.

The air grew damp, and the light sparkled with errant spray.

Matt was gone, but Peg hung back, waiting until she could walk beside him as best she could within the trail's confines. He shifted the basket and held her hand.

Their shoes snapped twigs and broke the spines of piles of dead leaves; their breathing matched the pulse of the surf.

The trees began shrinking and bending away from the ocean, the shrubs falling back, the ground turning to rock until they were out in the clear and the water swept ahead of them to a leftward curving horizon. The boulders were huge, were small, were brown lined with color, and what grass managed to break through the cracks in the ground was rough and sharp-edged and tipped with darkred thorns.

Matt stood in a gap between two child-sized rocks, his hands on his hips, and shaking his head. "It's in," he said, nodding toward the tide.

Colin lowered the basket and joined him, looked down, and told himself sternly he wasn't going to fall.

One hundred feet to the water, surging as if it were trying to climb, splattering, scattering, turning dark to white while spumes of its thunder were caught by the wind and thrown up just short of lashing them.

They were standing at the top of a precarious pathway, one that switchbacked unevenly more than halfway down. Ledges littered with broken shells, weakly fluttering feathers, every so often the bones of a gull. At the bottom the rocks were smooth, but elsewhere they jutted and forced gashes in the waves, gashes in the air. The wind caught his hair and forced it back, exposing his forehead, made him clutch the throat of his jacket and close it around his neck.

Matt pleaded with a look.

"No way, pal, forget it. Even I know the tide's higher than usual. That storm's on its way, and you definitely are not going to be its first casualty."

"What's casualty?"

"It means your butt turns red when you don't do what you're told."

"Oh."

They stepped back reluctantly, Colin first and watching as Peg, protected from the wind by a broken wall of massive boulders, unpacked the basket. He started toward her to help, stopped when Matt tugged at his waist.

"Pal, I said no."

Matt pointed.

On the horizon, merged with the overcast that lowered darkly and began to churn, was the fog.

"She's singing," the boy said.

"What?" He knelt, facing away from the cliff's edge.

"Lilla," Matt told him. "She's singing."

"Now how do you know that, pal?"

"It happens every time, Mr. Ross. Didn't you know that? It does. Every time she sings the fog comes back."

"Enough of that," Peg scolded mildly, looking up from the food.

"Indeed." He took Matt's shoulders gently. "You know what coincidence is?" The boy nodded. "Well, that's what this is."

"Nope," Matt said. "It isn't… what you said." The wind screamed like an angry flock of gulls. The fog.

Colin took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Look, Matt, I know you believe this, and I guess that's all right for now. But I'm starving to death, in case you hadn't noticed, and I would appreciate tabling all ghost stories until after I've had some of your mother's lousy cake."

"Well, I like that," she said with a scowl.

Colin shrugged and nudged her son forward, then groped for his shoulder when Tess Mayfair walked silently out of the trees.

Her dress was ragged, her chest and stomach partially exposed and covered with dried blood. A rib poked behind ragged flesh. Her hair was matted and her eyes were wide.

Peg saw her the moment Colin did and grabbed for Matt, shoved him behind her as she rose slowly from the blanket and backed toward the rocks.

"Jesus, Tess," Colin said with concern. "God almighty, what happened? Do you need help?"

Tess walked toward him, stumbling on the rough ground but not losing her balance,

"Tess?"

She stumbled again and lurched toward him, forcing him back, into the gap that opened on the path. He couldn't look back, couldn't look down, didn't hear Peg shouting as she raced for the basket. The wind snared him and he grabbed for a rock. Tess didn't stop, not even when Peg threw a large bottle of soda at her head.

"Tess!"

She filled the gap. And she lunged.