Set This House in Order (55 page)

“You
cunt!
” he says, rice and saliva spraying from his lips. “You
CUNT!
” He half-turns in his seat, arm cocked to fling the water glass into Mouse's face, but before he can make good on his intention something catches in his windpipe. He gasps, then whoops in terror; the glass slips harmlessly from his grasp, and his hand claps to his throat.

“Jesus Christ,” Chief Bradley says, “she's choking,” and starts to get up. But Gideon grunts “No!” and the chief, thinking this is addressed to him, pauses halfway out of his seat.

“No…you…don't!” Gideon says. The cords of his neck stand out, and his face turns red; while his left hand continues to clutch at his throat, his right hand, turning traitor again, reaches across his plate.
“No!”
Gideon hisses at it, but the hand, trembling with exertion, keeps reaching, until its fingers close once more around the wineglass. This time, though, the hand doesn't try to lift the glass; it just clenches.

“Oh God,” says Mouse, guessing what comes next. The bowl of the wineglass cracks with a dry-stick snapping sound, then shatters; the hand continues to close, making a bloody fist.

Gideon screams. He screams, but still he hangs on, not giving up the body, until the traitor hand comes up in front of his face and opens to show
a palm studded with broken glass. The sight is too much for him; he shrinks back, trying to escape his own hand, and then his chair tips over backwards.

“Jesus Christ…” Chief Bradley knocks his own chair over as he dashes around the table to Gideon's aid. “Andrea!” he calls, bending down over the body, which is thrashing violently now, eyelids fluttering. “Andrea, can you understand me?” Getting no response, the chief turns to Mouse and asks: “What is this? Is she an epileptic?” Mouse, who has balled both of her own hands into fists now and is trying to bite the knuckles off them, doesn't answer. “Hey!” the chief yells at her. “Is Andrea an epileptic?” Mouse manages to shake her head no. “Well,” says Chief Bradley, “she's having some kind of seizure…I'm going to go call EMS, but I need you to get down here and watch that she doesn't choke to death. Can you do that?…Hey! Girl! Can you do that?” Mouse makes another head movement that Chief Bradley chooses to interpret as a nod; he gets up and runs into the back of the house.

Andy Gage's body continues to thrash on the floor, but Mouse does not get down to take Chief Bradley's place. She remains in her chair, thinking that this is how it must have looked when her mother had her stroke aboard the airplane. That was Mouse's fault, that stroke, and now she's done it again. She thought she was being so clever, outwitting Gideon, but instead she's gone and given him a seizure, and Andrew will probably die as a result, and—

But even as Mouse imagines the worst, the “seizure” begins to subside: the thrashing stops, and the unconscious eyelid flutter becomes controlled blinking. Andy Gage lifts his head and looks at Mouse. Then he turns to regard his bloody right hand, and says wearily: “Why couldn't he be afraid of the dark?”

“Andrew?”

“The janitor,” Andrew confirms.

“Oh thank God…” Mouse gets out of her chair finally, practically falling on top of him; one of her knees ends up crushing his thigh. “Sorry,” she says, “sorry…”

“'S'all right,” Andrew grunts. Mouse rolls off him, and he sits up slowly. “That was a good idea, with the fish bones…”

“Maledicta suggested it. But I thought you were choking for real.”

“Yeah,” he says, with a touch of pride, “Gideon thought so too. He really didn't want to give up, though, so I had to do something more drastic.” He looks at his hand again. “I just hope that's the last round—I'm running out of room for new scars.” He lifts his head and looks around curiously. “Where did Chief Bradley go? To call an ambulance?”

“Yes,” says Mouse. Then she lowers her voice and adds: “Listen, Andrew, we have to be careful. Gideon told me he thought Chief Bradley might have killed your stepfather.”

“I know,” says Andrew. “I talked to Xavier, inside. He said the stepfather didn't trip over the coffee table; Chief Bradley knocked him down, and let him bleed to death.”

“Oh God. We have to get out of here, then. We have to—”

“Hello, Chief Bradley,” Andrew says, looking over Mouse's shoulder.

“Andrea,” says Chief Bradley, his voice flat. “I see you're doing better.”

“Yes,” Andrew says. Mouse is amazed at how calm he sounds. “Better, but not perfect.” He holds up his wounded hand, and a line of blood runs down the inside of his forearm. “Is the ambulance coming?”

“No,” Chief Bradley says. “I'm afraid not. I called Seven Lakes EMS, and they said the ambulance is already out on call. The dispatcher was going to try to get another paramedic team out here, but since you're better, I think I'll just run you over to the emergency clinic myself.”

“That's OK. You don't have to bother. Penny can drive me.”

“No, I'll take you. I'll take both of you. Just wait here a moment…”

He stalks off through the living room again. Mouse scrambles to her feet the moment he's out of sight; she gets Andrew up, too, and together they move towards the sliding glass porch doors. But before they can get out, Chief Bradley reappears, coming through the kitchen this time, heading them off. Mouse sees that he is wearing his gunbelt now.

“Wrap your hand in this,” Chief Bradley says brusquely, grabbing a dishtowel off the kitchen counter and tossing it at Andrew. Then he stands back, indicating that they should walk in front of him. “Let's go.”

And so they do, out onto the porch and down into the open yard where the cars are parked. Mouse, feeling like she's floating, starts to drift towards her Buick, but Chief Bradley calls out sternly: “No!” Mouse stops and turns around; the chief steps to the back of his cruiser, opens the door, and gestures for both Andrew and Mouse to get in.

Andrew starts to comply, but Mouse balks. “No,” she says, in a barely audible refusal, “no, I, I'll take my car—”

The chief doesn't contradict her, just shifts his stance, giving her a clearer view of the gun on his hip. Then Andrew, perhaps fearing what could happen if Mouse tries to run, says: “Come on, Penny. We'll ride in the chief's car.”

“Andrew…”

“Come on,” he says, taking her hand. “It'll be fine.”

Mouse shakes her head:
Oh no it won't.
Andrew, smiling—how does he stay so calm?—leans in close enough to whisper.

“Don't be afraid,” he tells her. “We have him outnumbered.”

 

After shutting us in the back of the patrol car, Chief Bradley grabbed a radio from the front seat and stood outside talking into it. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I could guess: he was calling the paramedics back, telling them his previous call had been a false alarm, and probably telling his own dispatcher not to try contacting him for a while, that he had some private business to take care of.

I waited impassively for whatever that business might be. Penny was terrified, which was understandable: unlike me, she hadn't just returned from the dead, and didn't have the feeling of invulnerability such an experience confers. That she also hadn't had as much wine with dinner, that she wasn't bleeding, and that her assessment of our situation might therefore be more clearheaded than my own—that didn't occur to me.

Chief Bradley finished talking on the radio. He got in the patrol car, glancing at us in the rearview mirror without saying anything, and started the engine. He drove towards town. As we came around the bend onto Main Street a few moments later, I saw another patrol car up ahead, in front of the police station. I wondered if it was Officer Cahill, and what, if anything, Chief Bradley would say to him.

But Chief Bradley didn't go that way. He turned off Main Street almost immediately, taking a left just past the firehouse. Three blocks along this cross street, we came to the Seven Lakes Emergency Clinic. It was a small but brightly lit building, with a glowing red cross on the front lawn. Chief Bradley slowed the car as we neared the entrance to the parking lot, and I sat up in surprise, thinking I'd had him wrong after all; but then he stepped on the gas again. Penny watched the red cross go by and made an abortive squeak of protest.

“I think you missed a turn, Chief Bradley,” I said.

He kept on driving. The street ended in a T-junction, and Chief Bradley turned right, onto a gently curving road that followed the shoreline of yet another lake. Between the bungalows and cabins that clustered along the lakebank, I could see dark water glinting red with the last of the sunset.

From its name, you would think Two Seasons Lake was only full for part of the year, like Thaw Canal back in Autumn Creek. In fact, it is one of the largest and most permanent bodies of water in Seven Lakes; only Greenwa
ter Lake is bigger. The shore around the west end of the lake is well-settled, but the east end, where Hansen's Brook flows in, remains mostly undeveloped except for a few isolated cabins and some hiking trails.

This was where Chief Bradley was taking us. As we continued along the shore road, the houses got fewer and fewer and then disappeared; the road got rougher, and not long after that it appeared to dead-end. But Chief Bradley made a final turn onto an overgrown track; it led straight down to the lake and right on into it. As a warning to drivers of non-amphibious vehicles, a chain with a reflectorized stop sign had been strung across the track just a few yards from the water's edge.

The police car didn't want to obey the sign. When we were still some distance from the chain, Chief Bradley took his foot off the gas, but the car continued to roll forward. The chief let it roll, as if curious to see how far it would go; he let go of the steering wheel too. It looked like we were going to go swimming, but at the last moment Chief Bradley dropped his hand and engaged the parking brake. The police car shuddered to a halt.

Chief Bradley killed the engine but left the headlights on; they shone out over the murky waters. I almost asked the chief what he'd brought us here for, not because I needed to be told, but because I thought the question might shame him into reconsidering. In the end I decided to let him speak first. Several times he seemed about to say something, only to sigh as if the words had escaped him at the last second.

“Do you know,” he finally said, “this is where your father drowned.” Penny let out a gasp at the blunt mention of drowning, while I had to think a moment which father he was referring to. “Not
here,
” Chief Bradley added. “Out there, in the deep water. There used to be a wooden raft anchored out there, for diving. Kids would go out there sometimes, night-swimming, sometimes drunk, and occasionally there would be accidents.”

“Silas Gage had an accident,” I said, managing to bite off the last word:
too?

“Not like
that.
” He turned around, facing me through the cage that separated the front and back seats, and I was surprised to see what looked like tears starting in his eyes. “How could you even
think…
” He trailed off, started to face forward again, then turned back, demanding: “What
are
you thinking, Andrea? What do you want from me? This morning, when I came into work and found you talking with Jimmy, I thought…and then that crazy story you told, how you were worried maybe
you
killed Horace…” He shook his head. “What is it you're after? Is it blackmail? I've already said
I'll give you money for the property, and if you want more…Or do you just want to punish me for some reason? If that's it, you're too late. Life has already punished me.”

“I don't want to punish you.” I fingered the steel cage-mesh, and wondered how long it would take Seferis to break through it. “Tell me what happened to Silas Gage.”

“I didn't drown your father, Andrea. He did that on his own.”

“You were jealous of him.”

Chief Bradley sighed. “Jimmy told you.”

“No,” I said, “you did. Wanting my mother's house so bad, and before that, arranging her funeral…and her burial. That was you, wasn't it, who had her plot changed?”

“That was just simple decency. I couldn't leave her lying forever next to that man.”

“Or with his name. The tombstone said Althea Gage, not Althea Rollins.”

He chuckled bitterly. “You have sharp eyes, Andrea.”

“I saw the epitaph, too. So it's kind of obvious that you were in love with her.”

“Yes,” Chief Bradley said. “Yes, I was, and more fool me…but I loved your father, too. I could have put your mother's maiden name on that stone, if I'd wanted—or my own. There was no one to object. I was the last, the only person who still cared about her at the end. Even if she never…

“I suppose I was jealous of your father,” he went on. “But more than that, I was frustrated by him. I don't know if you can appreciate this, Andrea, but the one thing that is worse than not getting what you want, is seeing someone else get it who doesn't value it the way you do. When we were both courting Althea, Silas worked hard to win her love; but once he had her, in particular once they'd married, it was as if he'd decided he didn't have to try anymore.
I
would have doted on her…and even if I hadn't, even if she weren't special, a woman
worth
doting on, still…when a man takes a wife, starts a family, he's supposed to change. Grow up, for God's sake! It's what's done. But Silas wouldn't. He was fond of her, and I believe he was faithful, but in other ways he failed to give her the consideration that a wife—that
she,
especially—deserved. And who knows”—he shrugged—“who the hell knows, maybe she was attracted to that. Maybe that was part of it, maybe she
liked
being taken for granted. But it made me see red.