Jack_ Secret Vengeance - F. Paul Wilson [57]
Jack watched, awed and fascinated, until they dispersed and drifted off in all directions.
What was that all about? Was that why nothing grew in that spot? Did the lumens somehow sterilize it?
Questions, questions, questions, but none so pressing as how to open Toliver’s lock.
SUNDAY
1
A little after one A.M., Jack pushed his bike through the brush and onto the shoulder of Route 206. As usual he emerged opposite the Lonely Pine Motel. In the dim blue light from the roadside neon sign he again made out Miriam’s old station wagon in its same spot before room three.
She said she’d be there till Sunday. Well, Sunday was here. He imagined her waiting alone with her baby since Tuesday in that tiny room. The poor woman had to be stir-crazy by now.
He was about to push on when he saw a shadow moving along the motel’s front walk, passing the doors one by one until it stopped by number three.
Walt?
Could be, but Jack couldn’t make out any details. The light from the sign didn’t reach that far. All he saw was a man-shaped blob of black.
The shape stood silent and unmoving before room three. Then, with a suddenness that made Jack jump, three loud knocks echoed through the night. Seconds later the pair of double-hung windows to the right of the door lit. The curtains parted in the middle and Miriam’s face appeared, then quickly vanished. The door opened, letting light escape into the night.
Jack recognized the figure now.
Even if he hadn’t, Miriam’s cry of “Mister Erskine!” would have been enough. She was dressed in some sort of bathrobe. She pulled him in and shut the door.
Jack stood frozen, staring. He knew he should be heading down the road toward school, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the door to room three. What was going on in there? Obviously Miriam believed that Walt had some sort of healing power—she’d said so loud and clear that afternoon in USED. But did Walt believe it too?
He must, or else why would he have come? But why at this hour of the morning? To keep it secret? Or was there another reason?
After Miriam had peeked out, she hadn’t closed the curtains all the way. A bright blade of light sliced into the darkness. Jack moved toward it, drawn like the moths already fluttering against the glass.
He knew he shouldn’t do this—he felt like a Peeping Tom—but the situation was so bizarre, so far-out, he had to see what would happen between Walt, Miriam, and her baby.
He leaned his bike against the rear bumper of the station wagon and tiptoed toward the window. Gravel scraped under his sneaker as he stepped onto the walk. He stopped, ready to duck away should anyone take a look. But no one seemed to have heard, so he crept the rest of the way and crouched outside the window.
Through the one-inch gap in the curtains he saw Miriam standing by an unmade double bed, holding her sleeping baby. Walt stood opposite her, looking stiff and awkward.
“I can’t believe it,” she said, tears running down her cheeks. “I can’t believe you came. I’d given up hope.”
Jack was surprised he could hear her so clearly, then realized the window sashes were raised a couple of inches, probably to let a little air circulate in the tiny room.
“I don’t want to give false hope,” Walt said, his voice thick and hoarse.
His eyes seemed clearer that usual, but his gaze was darting all over the room, settling everywhere but on the baby.
“It’s not false, Mister Erskine—”
“Call me Walt.”
“Okay … Walt. I know it’s not false hope.” She raised her left arm. “I’m living proof.”
“Yeah, but that was then, this is now.”
Yeah? Jack thought. Did Walt just say yeah?
He wasn’t denying it as he had back