of the house," and added that it was all she needed to know. She realized that she was grateful he'd been so closemouthed. If she'd been with him at the burial and knew the spot she would probably have gone to it daily, perhaps to mutter "I'm sorry!" over and over again, as she had done before, or perhaps merely to remember, and to regret. This way, she could almost convince herself that the boy hadn't been buried at all. That, in fact, he hadn't even died.
Chapter 8
Â
October 12
Â
N orm Gellis opened the door wide, took a bag of groceries from his wife, and peered into it. "Did you get 'em, Marge?"
"Yes, Norm, I did. Two boxes, like you said."
"Are they the right size, Marge? You didn't get the wrong size, did you?"
"Whatever you added to the list, Norm." She made her way into the kitchen. "I didn't even look at it," she called back. "I just gave it to the man behind the counter."
Norm followed her into the kitchen and set the bag down on the table. "Okay, so where are they? In that bag, there?" He nodded at the bag Marge still carried. She set it on the table.
"I don't know, Norm." She sounded vaguely annoyed. "They're here somewhere."
He grinned at her. "Does this bother you, Marge? Does it make you a little queasy?"
She retrieved a box of Sugar Pops from one of the bags, turned her back to him, put the box in a cupboard. "It doesn't bother me, Norm. Like you said, we need to protect ourselves."
"I know that's what I said, Marge. But do you believe it?"
She turned, smiled. I'm on your side , the smile said. "Of course I believe it, Norm."
"Damn right!" He took some cans out of one of the bags. "Who in the fuck packed these, Marge? Did you pack 'em?" He withdrew a box of Charter Arms hollow-point .38 calibre bullets from the bottom of the bag; he studied the box closely for a moment; he opened it, withdrew one of the slugs, and held it up lengthwise, between his thumb and forefinger, at half an arm's length, so his wife could see it. "It don't really look like much, does it, Marge?"
She hesitated, then, "It's not supposed to look like much, is it?"
He grinned again. "It'll take most of your head clean off, Marge. Did you know that?"
"No," she answered immediately. "I didn't know that." Her voice was trembling a little.
Norm laughed shortly; he put the slug back in the box. "Go to sleep now," he murmured.
"Sorry, Norm?" Marge said. "I didn't hear you."
He looked up sharply at her. "I wasn't talking to you, Marge." He looked back at the box, "I wasn't talking to you at all."
Â
T immy Meade thought the fence frightened Sam Wentis and he wondered if he should ask him why. Hey, Sam, why you scared of the shit damn fence? But, he considered, you just didn't talk to Sam the way you talked to other kids.
"Look what it says here," Sam Wentis said. "It says 'Empire.'"
"That's the brand name, Sam."
"'Empire'?"
"Yeah, 'cuz this is 'The Empire State.' Didn't you know that?"
Sam didn't answer.
Timmy repeated, "Didn't you know that, Samâthat this is . . ."
Sam turned his head suddenly, his eyes wide, his mouth tight. And Timmy Meade felt a quick, sharp chill take hold, as if, impossibly, his friend was somehow threatening him. He laughed a high, nervous, cackling laugh.
And a moment later, the laugh came back to him from somewhere in the woods just behind. And something about it its pitch, its duration; he didn't know what, preciselyâmade him shudder.
He laughed again, louder and longer.
And he saw, as he laughed, that Sam Wentis was quickly scaling the six-foot-high Empire fence.
"Sam, what are you trying to do?" Because there were jagged spikes of fencing at the top. "Are you trying to hurt yourself? Shit damn, if you wanta hurt yourself, Sam, go ahead. I hope you slit your shit damn neck!"
Then he saw that Sam Wentis was straddling the top of the fence. In the next moment, he had jumped to the other side.
"Sam?" There was no response. Sam Wentis stood motionless on the opposite side
Chapter 8
Â
October 12
Â
N orm Gellis opened the door wide, took a bag of groceries from his wife, and peered into it. "Did you get 'em, Marge?"
"Yes, Norm, I did. Two boxes, like you said."
"Are they the right size, Marge? You didn't get the wrong size, did you?"
"Whatever you added to the list, Norm." She made her way into the kitchen. "I didn't even look at it," she called back. "I just gave it to the man behind the counter."
Norm followed her into the kitchen and set the bag down on the table. "Okay, so where are they? In that bag, there?" He nodded at the bag Marge still carried. She set it on the table.
"I don't know, Norm." She sounded vaguely annoyed. "They're here somewhere."
He grinned at her. "Does this bother you, Marge? Does it make you a little queasy?"
She retrieved a box of Sugar Pops from one of the bags, turned her back to him, put the box in a cupboard. "It doesn't bother me, Norm. Like you said, we need to protect ourselves."
"I know that's what I said, Marge. But do you believe it?"
She turned, smiled. I'm on your side , the smile said. "Of course I believe it, Norm."
"Damn right!" He took some cans out of one of the bags. "Who in the fuck packed these, Marge? Did you pack 'em?" He withdrew a box of Charter Arms hollow-point .38 calibre bullets from the bottom of the bag; he studied the box closely for a moment; he opened it, withdrew one of the slugs, and held it up lengthwise, between his thumb and forefinger, at half an arm's length, so his wife could see it. "It don't really look like much, does it, Marge?"
She hesitated, then, "It's not supposed to look like much, is it?"
He grinned again. "It'll take most of your head clean off, Marge. Did you know that?"
"No," she answered immediately. "I didn't know that." Her voice was trembling a little.
Norm laughed shortly; he put the slug back in the box. "Go to sleep now," he murmured.
"Sorry, Norm?" Marge said. "I didn't hear you."
He looked up sharply at her. "I wasn't talking to you, Marge." He looked back at the box, "I wasn't talking to you at all."
Â
T immy Meade thought the fence frightened Sam Wentis and he wondered if he should ask him why. Hey, Sam, why you scared of the shit damn fence? But, he considered, you just didn't talk to Sam the way you talked to other kids.
"Look what it says here," Sam Wentis said. "It says 'Empire.'"
"That's the brand name, Sam."
"'Empire'?"
"Yeah, 'cuz this is 'The Empire State.' Didn't you know that?"
Sam didn't answer.
Timmy repeated, "Didn't you know that, Samâthat this is . . ."
Sam turned his head suddenly, his eyes wide, his mouth tight. And Timmy Meade felt a quick, sharp chill take hold, as if, impossibly, his friend was somehow threatening him. He laughed a high, nervous, cackling laugh.
And a moment later, the laugh came back to him from somewhere in the woods just behind. And something about it its pitch, its duration; he didn't know what, preciselyâmade him shudder.
He laughed again, louder and longer.
And he saw, as he laughed, that Sam Wentis was quickly scaling the six-foot-high Empire fence.
"Sam, what are you trying to do?" Because there were jagged spikes of fencing at the top. "Are you trying to hurt yourself? Shit damn, if you wanta hurt yourself, Sam, go ahead. I hope you slit your shit damn neck!"
Then he saw that Sam Wentis was straddling the top of the fence. In the next moment, he had jumped to the other side.
"Sam?" There was no response. Sam Wentis stood motionless on the opposite side
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