Hide & Seek - James Patterson [94]
“You know, I never even thought of that. You’re right though, I did.”
“I don’t think I can, Barry. I appreciate the offer, if that’s what this is.”
Barry wasn’t in the mood to show any mercy. That was good though. It meant I didn’t look as though I needed any.
“Use it, or lose it,” he said. “Unless, of course, you’ve already lost it.”
“No, I sang in the shower today. I was pretty great. I’ve still got it. Better than ever, actually. Passion, edge, maturity, effervescence.”
Barry played the lead-in to “Loss of Grace” on his piano. I had to admit, a shiver went up my spine.
“I’ll think about it,” I told him. “But I honestly don’t believe that I c-cc-can ss-ss-sing in public.”
I winked at him. It was good that I could laugh about the stutter, about San Francisco.
Barry nodded, and then he smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He continued to play “Loss of Grace,” and, as he did, I started to sing again.
And I had to admit, like everything else in this second life of mine, it felt so good, so right.
I didn’t stutter, or stammer. I sang. And if I do say so myself, sang kind of beautifully. With passion, and with a real edge.
“Your timing is off, your phrasing is a mess,” Barry shook his head and said. “Welcome home, Maggie.”
CHAPTER 117
MAGGIE STILL LOVED to walk the streets of New York with the other commoners. She was such a woman of the people, wasn’t she? Maybe that was why so many of them identified with her, loved her songs, loved her.
She wore a kerchief and dark glasses, but every so often someone recognized her anyway. She was always so goddamned gracious. Sign an autograph. Move on with that shy little smile of hers. Ingratiating bitch.
Will walked several blocks behind her. No one bothered him for autographs anymore. He didn’t exist, did he? The Invisible Man. Deceased and buried, right?
He followed her out of New York and up the Saw Mill early that evening. This was all very familiar to him, the road to Bedford. And ruin.
What wasn’t so familiar was the bizarre path his life had taken. How do you top off a life that’s been incredibly full, and is suddenly falling apart badly? Where does one go from the top?
How clever he had been up until this point, Will thought. That fatal night, he’d shot Palmer and hadn’t felt a thing, no remorse about Palmer. That was the only way to stop the extortion money his greedy brother had been grubbing since Rio.
He had dressed his brother in his clothes. Then he placed the body on the grounds of the estate. He had gone inside and caused a ruckus. He’d lured Maggie outside, jumped her, beat her up, and fired the shot that practically blew Palmer’s face apart. Then he’d disappeared. And just watched the rest.
Unfortunately, his new life had turned out to be another kind of hell. Sometimes he believed that he might be a devil, and he was living in hell.
Rio was the turning point, he knew. Killing that first girl. Crime and punishment had followed him after that night.
Up the road, he saw Maggie turn into her driveway. He hated that she could be happy without him. Strange as it seemed, he had tried to love her. He’d wanted her to save him from himself.
He knew the turning point with Maggie too. He was sure about that. It was the first time he’d failed with her in bed. It was while he was Mr. Maggie Bradford. He had thought about killing her nearly every day since then.
She’d failed him, and now she and her little family had to pay the awful price. Crime and punishment.
Will went for dinner at a little bar and grill in town. An old fave for the locals.
He thought it was quite something that he could sit there eating a greasy burger and fries, and that no one recognized him anymore.
Well, why the hell should they? He was ancient history, if he’d ever been history at all.
The Black Arrow. That’s what he was now.
He wore a navy blue ballcap without an insignia, a gray sweatshirt, and khakis. He fit in okay with the bar crowd watching the Knicks lose badly to Indiana.
Nothing special about him, really. Other than that he was stark raving mad,