was possible from what Sir Andrew had told his son over the years. James had so far felt them only in bits, glimpses, and shreds of presence, brief and faraway.
"I think it's him," he had told Colin, when he had first become aware of it.
"How?" Colin had asked. "How do you know it's him?"
"Because it feels . . . bad. It feels sick ."
"Would it be stronger—if you were closer?"
"Aye. But Colin . . . I don't want to get that close."
"You may have to, brother. For the cause."
"Aye. I'd do it for the cause. But for nocht else."
And now it was time for James to do what he had said he would.
The four Scots drove out of New York City within the hour, heading west. If the Deil maintained the direction and the relaxed speed at which he seemed to be moving, they could expect him along routes 80-90 on the Ohio-Michigan border. They went nonstop, driving in shifts, and finally got off and back on near Toledo, so that they would be in the eastbound lanes, the ones in which the Deil should pass by.
They pulled off at a rest stop with a picnic table, and there they waited, with a food chest full of sandwiches and several thermoses of coffee. The main task would be to keep James awake until—and if —the Deil came within sensing distance, for want of a better term. And James had to be not only awake but alert all the time.
They sat there for twelve hours. At 4:00 A.M., they heard a story on the car radio about a man who had murdered his wife, then taken his own life in a campground in South Bend, Indiana. "Not too far away," Colin said, consulting the map. "He'll probably hole up somewhere for the night, then grab another ride in the morning. I think you can get a few hours of sleep, James."
Colin woke James up at 7:00 A.M., and they sat together as the day brightened. If it was tedious for Colin to watch the traffic roll by, how much more so, he thought, must it have been for James, who stared at and studied every approaching vehicle.
Shortly after noon, James stiffened in his seat, and although Colin looked down the road, he could see no cars approaching them. "What is it, lad?" he asked. But James only shook his head slightly, as if trying to throw off an unpleasant thought.
Angus and Rob in the backseat leaned forward, and Angus shook James's shoulder. "You all right, then?" Still, James did not respond.
Then his eyes widened, and Colin could actually see the hair on the back of his neck stand up as if from static. Down the road Colin saw the approaching vehicle. "There . . ." James whispered. "He's in there . . ."
"Hell almighty," said Rob softly. "A police car."
The black-and-white markings and the bubble top made it unmistakable. It shot past them at 70 mph, and Colin got a glimpse of the people riding inside. He started their car and pulled it onto the highway, following the police car.
"What are ye doin'?" Angus asked. "Colin, that's a police car, for God's sake. They've arrested the bastard!"
"If they'd arrested him," said Colin, "he'd be in the back. But he's riding up front, as gay as you please. He's just bummed a bloody ride, that's all—with a state trooper."
"That's just stupid," Angus protested. "Coppers don't give hitchhikers rides here, they arrest 'em."
"Well, maybe the Deil was just a little too persuasive for the copper to refuse," Colin said.
It finally dawned on Angus. "Y'mean the Deil took him?" He shook his head in admiration. "Quite a lad. But what you goin' to do, Colin? Ye cannae pull over a copper!"
"If the Deil did, then so can we," Colin said, stepping on the accelerator. When he caught up with the police car and was directly behind it, he turned on his flashers and honked his horn several times. When it continued on, he pulled up into the passing lane beside it, and glanced over.
The policeman behind the wheel was looking straight ahead, but the man in the passenger seat was watching Colin and his colleagues with what looked like amusement. He was smiling, and Colin smiled back.
"I think it's him," he had told Colin, when he had first become aware of it.
"How?" Colin had asked. "How do you know it's him?"
"Because it feels . . . bad. It feels sick ."
"Would it be stronger—if you were closer?"
"Aye. But Colin . . . I don't want to get that close."
"You may have to, brother. For the cause."
"Aye. I'd do it for the cause. But for nocht else."
And now it was time for James to do what he had said he would.
The four Scots drove out of New York City within the hour, heading west. If the Deil maintained the direction and the relaxed speed at which he seemed to be moving, they could expect him along routes 80-90 on the Ohio-Michigan border. They went nonstop, driving in shifts, and finally got off and back on near Toledo, so that they would be in the eastbound lanes, the ones in which the Deil should pass by.
They pulled off at a rest stop with a picnic table, and there they waited, with a food chest full of sandwiches and several thermoses of coffee. The main task would be to keep James awake until—and if —the Deil came within sensing distance, for want of a better term. And James had to be not only awake but alert all the time.
They sat there for twelve hours. At 4:00 A.M., they heard a story on the car radio about a man who had murdered his wife, then taken his own life in a campground in South Bend, Indiana. "Not too far away," Colin said, consulting the map. "He'll probably hole up somewhere for the night, then grab another ride in the morning. I think you can get a few hours of sleep, James."
Colin woke James up at 7:00 A.M., and they sat together as the day brightened. If it was tedious for Colin to watch the traffic roll by, how much more so, he thought, must it have been for James, who stared at and studied every approaching vehicle.
Shortly after noon, James stiffened in his seat, and although Colin looked down the road, he could see no cars approaching them. "What is it, lad?" he asked. But James only shook his head slightly, as if trying to throw off an unpleasant thought.
Angus and Rob in the backseat leaned forward, and Angus shook James's shoulder. "You all right, then?" Still, James did not respond.
Then his eyes widened, and Colin could actually see the hair on the back of his neck stand up as if from static. Down the road Colin saw the approaching vehicle. "There . . ." James whispered. "He's in there . . ."
"Hell almighty," said Rob softly. "A police car."
The black-and-white markings and the bubble top made it unmistakable. It shot past them at 70 mph, and Colin got a glimpse of the people riding inside. He started their car and pulled it onto the highway, following the police car.
"What are ye doin'?" Angus asked. "Colin, that's a police car, for God's sake. They've arrested the bastard!"
"If they'd arrested him," said Colin, "he'd be in the back. But he's riding up front, as gay as you please. He's just bummed a bloody ride, that's all—with a state trooper."
"That's just stupid," Angus protested. "Coppers don't give hitchhikers rides here, they arrest 'em."
"Well, maybe the Deil was just a little too persuasive for the copper to refuse," Colin said.
It finally dawned on Angus. "Y'mean the Deil took him?" He shook his head in admiration. "Quite a lad. But what you goin' to do, Colin? Ye cannae pull over a copper!"
"If the Deil did, then so can we," Colin said, stepping on the accelerator. When he caught up with the police car and was directly behind it, he turned on his flashers and honked his horn several times. When it continued on, he pulled up into the passing lane beside it, and glanced over.
The policeman behind the wheel was looking straight ahead, but the man in the passenger seat was watching Colin and his colleagues with what looked like amusement. He was smiling, and Colin smiled back.
Similar Books
