Chain Letter (32 page)

On the way home he was tired and drunk. For safety’s sake
it would have been better if Sasha had driven. She had drunk twice what he had, but
her system seemed to be able to handle it. But it was a masculine thing with him that
he had to be the one to drive his car. It was close to midnight. On a long stretch
of freeway Sasha again asked him what was on his mind.

“How can you tell something’s bothering me?” he asked. He had to concentrate on the
road. The red taillights of the cars in front of him kept blurring into bloated sunspots.

“I can see it in your face,” she said simply.

He glanced over at her. Her mood was more serious than earlier, but still easy. She
had a definite presence. When she asked something, it was hard to resist answering
her truthfully.

“What do you see?” he asked.

“You’re grieving over another girl.”

Tony was shocked. “Huh?”

“What’s her name?”

Tony stared straight ahead. “Alison Parker.”

Sasha reached over and touched his leg. “You can talk about it. I don’t mind.”

“There’s nothing to say.” The car suddenly felt cramped. Yet the touch of her hand
on his leg was nice. So nice he was able to lie—a little. “She was a girl I used to
date. We broke up.”

“You haven’t broken up completely.” Sasha took her hand back. “Was she unfaithful
to you?”

“No. I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He added, “She’s leaving the area soon.”

Sasha’s next question hit him like a slap. “Do you think she’s with someone else right
now?”

Tony forced a smile. “I hope not.”

Sasha leaned closer. He could smell the alcohol on her breath, but it smelled sweet
not sour. “You’re with someone. Why can’t she be with someone?”

“She can. I just don’t think she is.”

Sasha sat back in her seat. “Let’s swing by her house on the way to my place. We’ll
see if she’s alone.”

He glanced at her, uncertain. “Sasha?”

“It’s just a hunch I have, Tony. We’ll pay her a visit. Don’t worry. She’ll never
know we were there.”

“But I don’t want to stop by her house.”

“Yes, you do.”

A
lison left the park with a heavy heart. She got in her car and drove aimlessly around
town. She felt torn apart. She had pain hitting her from all directions. Her friend
Fran was dead. They had to bury her on Monday. The murderer was still on the loose,
composing fresh letters and tasks for them to complete. Then there was Tony, her beloved
Tony, who treated everything she said with distrust and contempt. She couldn’t understand
where his hatred for her was coming from. She had done nothing to him. She only wanted
to live her life to the fullest with him still a big part of it. Of course, she had
suggested they go to the police. It was the only rational thing to do. This Caretaker
was not picking at their weak spots. He was going for the jugular, and he liked the
taste of blood. Eventually Alison found herself heading for her house, more than thirty
miles from the neighborhood where her friends lived. But when she reached her usual
off-ramp, she kept driving. She couldn’t face her parents the way she felt. She needed
to get away, to get out of the city. She stayed on the freeway, and when the turnoffs
came for the mountain resorts, she took one. The ground rose in front of her, and
the air cooled. She saw a pine, then half a dozen. The forest thickened steadily the
higher she went. Soon she was driving through mountains of green.

She finally realized she was heading toward Big Bear Lake. She didn’t want to go there.
It was a weekend, and the lake would be crowded. She spotted a sign pointing toward
a Green Valley Lake. That sounded nice. She turned left off the main road. Five miles
later she caught sight of a crystal-clear body of water. The valley was heavenly and
appeared almost deserted. She parked and walked along the water. For the first time
all day the lump in her throat began to shrink. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. She
took a deep breath and picked up a stone and skimmed it over the glassy water. Five
hops—she hadn’t lost her touch.

She wasn’t the only one skimming rocks on the lake. At the far end of the lake she
could just make out a young man in blue jeans and a yellow shirt dancing his pebbles
over the surface, too. He didn’t throw his rocks hard, but they went forever over
the water.
He
had the touch. He noticed her watching him and waved to her. He seemed to be harmless,
about her age, with a slight build and light brown hair that was in desperate need
of
a trim. He smiled as she approached, and a powerful sensation of déjà vu swept over
her. Yet she had never been to this lake before. Certainly she couldn’t have met this
guy before. She was sure of that—well, pretty sure.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hello,” she replied. She nodded to the rocks in his hands. “How do you get your stones
to skip like that? I counted fifteen hops on your last throw.”

The sunlight shone in his hair and on his shy expression. “It’s all in the wrist.”
He demonstrated for her, and the rock took close to twenty hops before sinking below
the surface. Once more she was struck by the ease with which he threw them. “See,
there’s nothing to it,” he said.

“For you maybe.” She looked around. They weren’t far from a grass meadow alive with
blooming flowers in every color. At the far end of the meadow was a small wooden cabin.
It, too, looked familiar to her, but not exactly. It was as if it had been thoroughly
described to her, not a place she had ever visited. “Is that your cabin?” she asked,
pointing.

“Sometimes I stay there,” he said, watching her. “You look tired. Would you like a
cup of tea?”

His suggestion was a little forward, but somehow, coming from him, it didn’t seem
rude. There was something disarming about the guy. Not for a second did she feel in
danger. Quite the reverse—it was very pleasant to stand beside him in the warm sunlight
among the trees.

“I’m just out for a walk.” She chuckled. “I couldn’t drop in on you. I mean, I don’t
even know you.”

He let his rocks fall to the ground and offered his hand. “My name’s Chris.”

She shook his hand. “I’m Alison.”

“Ali?”

She smiled. “My friends call me that.”

“Ali,” he repeated to himself, and it seemed as if he liked the sound of her name.
He turned in the direction of his cabin. “Well, I’m going to have tea. You can join
me if you wish.”

She didn’t want him to be gone suddenly. “I think I will,” she said.

The inside of his cabin was sparsely furnished. He put an old black kettle on a wood
stove. He lit a fire with a match scraped along the wall of the stove. “It’ll take
a few minutes,” he said and stepped back outside onto the front porch, where there
were a couple of chairs. He sat down and put his legs up on the railing. After a moment’s
hesitation, Alison sat beside him. He scanned the nearby lake and sighed with pleasure.

“A day like this makes it hard to leave here,” he said.

“Do you have to leave? Do you have to get back to work?” She believed she had miscalculated
his age. He didn’t look much older than she was, but he had an air about him that
spoke of greater maturity.

“I’m only back here for a short time, Ali,” he said.

“Where are you from?”

The question amused him. He glanced back at the water. “Not so far from here—if you
know how to fly.”

She laughed. “So you’re Peter Pan?”

He laughed softly, nodding. “If you like.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

He thought for a moment. “I’m a farmer.”

“Really? What do you grow?”

“Seeds.”

“No. Seriously?”

“I grow them, and then I harvest them when the time is right.”

She couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not. She didn’t mind if he was. His whole air
was so sweet. He was quite enchanting. He brushed a lock of his brown hair aside and
stared at her once more. He was waiting for her to speak.

“Where is your farm?” she asked.

“Near here.”

“In the woods?”

“In Los Angeles,” he said.

She laughed again. “I’d like to see it in the middle of the city. What do you grow?
People?”

He continued to watch her. “Yes. You have grown up, Ali.”

She stopped, confused. “What do you mean?”

“What I said. You are growing up swiftly. That’s why you suffer so much. Sometimes
the faster you run, the more you trip and hurt yourself. But the sooner you’ll reach
your goal.”

Now she was totally lost. “How do you know anything about me? I’ve never met you before.
Have I?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Not long ago. Don’t worry. You won’t remember me.”

Alison leaned back in her seat and felt her breath slowly go out of her body. It was
true—she had no memory of this guy. Yet she
knew
him. She didn’t understand how both things could be true at the same time.

“What am I suffering from now?” she asked carefully.

“Lack of love. It’s always the cause of suffering.”

She thought of Tony and their unfulfilled love, and her heart ached. “That’s true,”
she whispered. Then she shook herself. “Who are you?”

He removed his legs from the porch rail and sat up. “I’m a guide. I’m here to guide
you.”

“To what?”

“You know what.”

She bit her lower lip, but she didn’t taste blood. She tasted cold water. Her whole
body had suddenly gone cold. “You know about the chain letters?” she gasped.

He shrugged. “The letters are not important. It’s what they represent.”

“And what’s that?”

“A chain,” he said seriously. “An unbroken chain. It’s very ancient—not a happy thing.
But it can be broken.”

Alison’s head was spinning. She had come to this spot by chance. She had only met
this guy by chance. Yet he knew of her worst fears. . . .

“How can we break it?” she asked.

“With love,” he said simply.

“I don’t understand.”

The guy’s green eyes were penetrating, yet gentle still. It was as if she stood fully
exposed before him, her thoughts and everything, but it was OK because he understood
her. And appreciated her. That’s why she felt so comfortable with him. He radiated
unconditional love.

“You do understand, Ali,” he said.

“But I love Tony. I want to help him. I want to help the others, but they won’t listen
to me. Tony won’t even talk to me.”

The guy raised a finger. “That doesn’t matter, either. You have asked for help, and
someone will come. Trust this person. But beyond this you must trust what’s in your
heart. The letters come from a place where there is no heart. There is only pain.
None of you must go to that place.”

Alison was frightened. “Where is that place?”

The guy hesitated. Alison didn’t understand why she didn’t think of him as Chris.
Then she realized it was probably because it wasn’t his real name. It was just something
he made up so she could understand. But understand what? Who the hell was this guy?

“It is not far from here, either,” he said.

“But this Caretaker has already killed one of us,” she said. “How can I stop him from
killing more of us?”

“Dying is not so bad as being put in the box.”

“What happens when you’re put in the box?” Her voice trembled. “Do you go to that
place?”

“Eventually. Unless you can get out. But it’s difficult to get out once you are inside.
Most people never do.” The kettle began to whistle inside the cabin. The guy seemed
to listen to it for a few moments. Yet he could have been listening to something far
off. His gaze focused on a place she couldn’t see. He came back to her after a minute,
though. “I’m afraid you won’t have time to stay for tea,” he said, and there was a
hint of sorrow in his voice.

“Why not?”

“It is time.”

“Time for what?” She stood. “Please, you have to tell me what’s happening here. Who
are you?”

He stood, too. He didn’t say anything but only hugged her, and his arms as they went
around her were of great comfort. She felt a warm glow in her chest that spread through
her after he let go. But her heart was still in anguish.

“I am your friend,” he said. He reached out and touched the hair that hung beside
her cheek. “I am your greatest admirer.”

“But I don’t understand.”

“You will. You will act in love. You will do what has to be done.”

She began to cry. “I’m afraid. Can’t I stay with you a few more minutes?”

He shook his head and turned for the front door. “You have to hurry. Go to where it
all began. There are two places, you know. Find them and you will reach the end of
the chain.” He smiled at her one last time before stepping inside. “Goodbye, Ali.”

“But—?”

“Hurry,” he said and vanished through the door.

Alison stood for a minute staring at the closed door before opening it and peeking
inside. He must have gone out the back way. She saw no sign of him. The whistle of
the kettle had stopped. It sat on the wood stove as if it had sat there undisturbed
for years. There was no sign of the burning logs. It was as if she had dreamed the
entire encounter. She turned and walked back to the lake, toward her car. His words
rang true, whoever he was. She had to hurry, even if she didn’t know where she was
going.

A
lison was on the main freeway toward her house when she deciphered the mystery the
strange fellow had set before her. He had spoken of two places where it had all begun.
Obviously the first must be the dusty road in the desert, where they had run over
the man. The second had eluded her at first. Neil had started the chain letters. Therefore,
the inside of Neil’s head must be the second starting point. But Neil was dead. His
mind was gone. Yet, she reasoned, he must have sat at home when he composed the chain
letters. She would go there, to what was left of the place. She remembered he had
burned it down with the man’s dead body inside to give the illusion that it was he,
Neil, who had been killed by the Caretaker. She didn’t want to go to the man’s first
grave in the desert. She wasn’t even sure that she could find it—or what she’d do
out in the middle of the desert.