Authors: John Connolly
The first of the flames flickered in the hallway, then, with startling rapidity, spread to the living room and raced up the stairs. In less than a minute, Oran thought that he could smell his family burning. He was shocked at how quickly the house ignited. He saw birds flying away in panic. The wind shifted, blowing some of the smoke back at him. His eyes watered. He tried not to breathe in the fumes, and the odor of roasting flesh that underpinned them. He was crying now, sobbing and retching, speaking the names of his mother and father and sisters in a language that could not be understood, the words emerging only as muffled sounds, as though in dying their identities had been lost and their names could no longer be spoken clearly, the flames stealing them away letter by letter along with their skin and flesh, turning them to black spirals that rose in the late morning sky and dissipated against the clear blue of a fall day. He was sorry, so sorry. He wanted to tell them that. He wanted them to know that he loved them, and had always loved them. He just couldn’t say it, but he would have done so, eventually. He would have made something of himself too. He was writing a book. It wasn’t bad, and it would get better. He had planned to show it to them, once he’d gotten a little more done. He’d already won an essay competition – so it was a religious essay competition, which was a bit embarrassing, but it had still earned him $100 as first prize, which wasn’t chump change – and he’d seen how happy it had made his mom and dad, even if he’d been too embarrassed and tied up in his own world to enjoy their pride in his achievements. He’d wanted to make them prouder still, but now that would never happen.
His home was a fiery specter of itself, its shape visible only as yellows and oranges and, here and there, spikes of angry red. He heard an explosion deep inside, and the frame seemed to shudder in shock.
And then the trunk of the car closed upon him, and there was only darkness.
9
A
manda was playing by the shoreline. She was trying to master the art of skimming stones, but any that she threw simply sank. Her mother couldn’t skim stones either, so there was no point in asking her for advice. It was at times like this that Amanda wished her father were around. Actually, she often wished for her father’s presence, if only so that she could see him in the flesh, and ask him why he had rejected her mother and herself, and if he was bad, and, if not, what he had done to get himself killed. (But she felt that it would also be useful to consult him briefly about the art of skimming stones, and a couple of other small matters on which it might be productive to have a male perspective.)
Her mother had shown Amanda a picture of the two of them together. Amanda thought that her father looked very handsome, but also kind of rough, like some of the older high school boys. Beside him, her mother held on tight to his waist, smiling prettily. Seeing them in the same photo was like glimpsing her standing with a ghost.
She didn’t spot Mr Parker until he had passed behind her. The sight of him brought back the memory of her dream, and the girl’s face that she had almost glimpsed, traces of red about to be further exposed before Amanda awoke. It was just a dream, of course: of that she was reasonably certain. She couldn’t properly explain the sand in her bed, though. She supposed that it might have lodged between her toes unnoticed that day, but it hardly seemed likely. Her toes weren’t webbed, so there was a limit to the amount of sand that could be stored between them. The other possibility was that she had somehow walked in her sleep, which worried her a lot. She didn’t like to think of her sleeping self wandering down to the sea and into the waves to be lost forever, or at least until the tide found a way to wash her body back to shore again. The thought of her final footsteps frozen in the sand, of her mother crying at the realization of what had befallen her daughter, made her sad, but in an interesting way, like a tragic heroine in a book or movie.
Perhaps that image had come to her because of the body on the beach at Mason Point. The day before, she and her mother had headed out for a late breakfast at Muriel’s, the big old diner that lay halfway between Boreas and Pirna. Amanda liked Muriel’s because the pancakes were great, and the little jukeboxes at the tables still worked. On the way there, they had witnessed the activity down at Mason Point, and her mother had stopped to ask one of the officers on duty if there had been some kind of accident. That was when they found out about the body, and although Amanda still ate her pancakes later, they didn’t taste quite as good as usual. Drowning sounded to her like a terrible way to die. Drowning, or burning: both of those were very bad. Then, later, she’d brought her mother the envelope that she’d found on the doorstep, and her mother had been very quiet for the rest of the evening, and the toilet had smelled of vomit.
Now here was Mr Parker, walking more slowly than he had the last time, when she had watched him from her window. His face looked gray, and Amanda thought that she could see beads of sweat blistering on his skin even though a breeze was blowing and it wasn’t hot. She called out a greeting, but he didn’t hear. He just stared fixedly ahead, placing one foot slowly and deliberately in front of the other. He didn’t have his stick with him today. Either he had forgotten it, which didn’t seem likely, or he was trying to make do without it. She saw the ribbon on the bag of stones fluttering in the wind, and Mr Parker altered his direction to move toward it. He was almost within touching distance of it when he stopped and swayed, then slowly collapsed to the sand, his knees folding beneath him, so that he came to rest like a man saying his bedtime prayers.
Amanda ran to him. For a moment it looked as though he would fall flat on his face, but he managed to stay upright and instead slumped back, the backs of his thighs against his calf muscles, his hands by his sides, the palms raised upwards. Amanda reached him, but did not touch him. She wasn’t sure what to do. Should she run back to her mother to get help? But that would mean leaving Mr Parker alone. Should she try to assist him? Yes, it was probably the best thing, although she figured that it would possibly break her mother’s rule about having anything to do with strangers. But what else could she do? Still, she held back, uncertain.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked, even though it was clear that he wasn’t.
He turned his head in her direction, only noticing her now that she had spoken.
‘I just need … to catch my breath.’
He was breathing shallowly, and she could see the pain in his face.
‘Do you want me to get my mom?’
‘No. I’ll be fine in a moment.’
She knelt by him. She didn’t know what else to do, so she put her right hand on his shoulder and rubbed gently. She had seen adults do this to each other when one of them was sad or in pain, although when she was sad or in pain, she preferred a hug. She didn’t think it would be appropriate to hug Mr Parker. That would
certainly
have broken her mother’s rule.
‘I’m going to get up now,’ he said at last.
‘I’ll help you.’
She wasn’t sure that she could, but it was only right to offer. She held his right arm as he used his left to lever himself up. His right hand came to rest on her right shoulder, and she took some of his weight as he stood. He swayed again when he was upright, but he didn’t fall. She saw him looking at the red ribbon in the sand, and she knew what he was thinking.
‘I’ll walk to it with you, if you like,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘I’ve seen you walking on the beach before. I saw you pick up the bag and move it along some. It’s a marker, isn’t it, so that you’ll know how far you’ve gone, so you’ll know that you walked a little more than last time?’
He smiled at her. He had a nice smile, and she felt sure that, although she had now resolutely broken
all
of her mother’s rules about dealing with strangers, this man would never hurt her.
‘That’s very perceptive of you,’ he said, and Amanda wanted to tell him about the dream, but decided not to in case it made her sound weird.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘do you want me to walk with you?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’
So they walked together, and it made her feel grown-up to think that he found some reassurance in her presence. And although it wasn’t far to the bag of stones, she understood the effort that it took for him to reach it. She saw it in the grimace on his face. When they got to it, she offered to reach down and pick it up for him, and he thanked her. They walked a little farther together, and after half a dozen steps he asked her to drop the bag, and she did.
‘Does it still count if you helped me?’ he asked, as they stood together.
‘I just walked with you,’ she said. ‘I didn’t carry you.’
‘You know,’ he said, ‘you kind of did. And we haven’t even been properly introduced.’
‘My name’s Amanda.’
‘I’m Charlie Parker.’
‘Winter. That’s my second name. Amanda Winter.’
‘Thank you, Amanda Winter. You just moved here, right?’
He turned back in the direction from which they’d come, and she turned with him.
‘Yes, me and my mom.’
‘What do you think of it?’
‘It’s pretty, but I miss my friends, and my grandma.’
‘And you’re not in school?’
‘I’ve been sick.’
‘Ah. I know what that’s like.’
‘What happened to you?’
‘You first.’
‘The doctors aren’t sure. I get real tired, and then I get sick, and it’s hard for me to move.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘It’s not so bad. I just miss a lot of school. What about you? Why are you sick?’
‘I had an accident.’
‘In a car?’
‘No. At home.’
‘In that house?’
She pointed to his roof in the distance, just visible over her own because the road ascended slightly to the south.
‘No, at another one. I’m just staying here while I get better. My real home is down in Scarborough. You know where that is?’
He was walking more confidently now. Maybe moving the bag of stones along, even just a little, had energized him.
‘Near Portland,’ said Amanda. ‘I’ve been there. To Portland, I mean. Not Scarborough.’
‘Did you like Portland?’
‘It was okay. We had ice cream.’
‘Beal’s?’
‘Maybe. It was down near the water, on a corner.’
‘Yeah, that’s Beal’s. They make good ice cream. I take my daughter there sometimes.’
‘You have a daughter?’
Again, Amanda returned to her dream. There was something about the girl she’d seen, something familiar …
‘Yes. She lives in Vermont with her mom.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Samantha, but I just call her Sam. I think her mom calls her Samantha when she’s in trouble.’
‘My mom calls me Amanda Jane when she’s mad at me.’
‘You should treat it as a warning, like a siren going off, then run and hide.’
Amanda giggled.
‘How old is you daughter?’
‘Younger than you. Six now.’
‘Has she got blond hair?’ asked Amanda.
Parker stopped walking. He looked at her in a funny way.
‘Why would you ask that?’
She knew that she’d been careless, that she’d overstepped some line, so she lied, even though lying was wrong.
‘I just like blond hair, that’s all.’
She continued walking, and so did he.
‘No, she doesn’t have blond hair.’
‘Does she visit you?’
‘Like you, I’ve only just moved here, but she’ll be coming to stay very soon. I’ll introduce you, if you like.’
‘Sure.’
They kept pace with each other, talking about the sea, and birds, and the town, when Amanda’s mother appeared on the sand, walking quickly toward them.
‘Uh-oh,’ said Amanda. ‘I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.’
‘I bet she calls you Amanda Jane,’ he said, and even though her mother was trailing storm clouds, Amanda couldn’t help but laugh.
Her mother stopped when she was about five feet away from them, her arms wrapped around herself against the breeze.
‘Where have you been?’ she said. ‘I was worried.’
Not just worried, thought Amanda. You’re angry.
‘I was just walking,’ said Amanda. ‘And—’
‘I fell,’ said Mr Parker. ‘I fell on the sand, and I couldn’t get back up. Your daughter helped me. I’m sorry if I caused you any concern. You have a great daughter. Not every young woman would have stopped to help a man in trouble.’
Amanda glowed at being referred to as a ‘young woman,’ but she still feared her mother’s wrath. By walking and talking with Mr Parker, she’d done the wrong thing for the right reasons – or was it the right thing for the wrong reasons? No, it was definitely the first. She wanted to explain it to her mom, but this was between adults now.
Something softened in her mother – only a little, but it was there.
‘It’s just that – well, I’ve warned her about talking to, you know—’
‘Strange men,’ he finished for her, and she smiled slightly.
‘Yes, strange men.’
He reached out a hand to her.
‘My name is Charlie Parker. We’re neighbors.’
His hand hung in the air for a couple of seconds before she took it.
‘Ruth Winter,’ she said. ‘And I believe you’ve met my daughter.’
‘Yes. Like I said, a good kid.’
Amanda tried not to scowl now that she was back to being a kid again, but at least Mr Parker was doing his best to get her mother on their side.
‘Sometimes,’ said her mother. ‘Go on, Amanda Jane. Inside. I don’t want you catching a chill.’
Amanda did as she was told, but looked back over her shoulder and gave Mr Parker a smile.
Amanda Jane
. He’d been right, and he knew it. He couldn’t help smiling back. Her mother caught it, and turned to find out its cause, but by then Amanda was already running for the house.
‘Again,’ said Parker, ‘I’m sorry. I really did fall, and she really did help me. If she hadn’t, I might still be down there on the sand.’
‘You know how it is,’ said Ruth. ‘You can’t be too careful.’
‘I have a daughter of my own, younger than Amanda. I know.’