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Was Betsy Neal single? Tess thought so. She had seen no wedding ring that day in Neals office, and while she might have missed that, there had been no family pictures, either. The only picture she could remember seeing was a framed photo of Barack Obama and he was already married. So yes-Betsy Neal was probably divorced or single. And probably unlisted. In which case, a computer search would do her no good at all. Tess supposed she could go to The Stagger Inn and find her there but she didnt want to go back to The Stagger. Ever again.

Why are you buying trouble? Fritzy said from the windowsill. At least check the telephone listings for Colewich. And whats that I smell on you? Is that dog?

Yes. Thats Goober.

Traitor, Fritzy said contemptuously.

Her search turned up an even dozen Neals. One was an E Neal. E for Elizabeth? There was one way to find out.

With no hesitation-that would have almost certainly have caused her to lose her courage-Tess punched in the number. She was sweating, and her heart was beating rapidly.

The phone rang once. Twice.

Its probably not her. It could be an Edith Neal. An Edwina Neal. Even an Elvira Neal.

Three times.

If it is Betsy Neals phone, shes probably not even there. Shes probably on vacation in the Catskills-

Four times.

or shacked up with one of the Zombie Bakers, how about that? The lead guitarist. They probably sing Can Your Pussy Do the Dog together in the shower after they-

The phone was picked up, and Tess recognized the voice in her ear at once.

Hello, youve reached Betsy, but I cant come to the phone right now. Theres a beep coming, and you know what to do when you hear it. Have a nice day.

I had a bad day, thanks, and last night was ever so much w The beep came, and Tess heard herself talking before she was even aware she meant to. Hello, Ms. Neal, this is Tessa Jean calling-the Willow Grove Lady? We met at The Stagger Inn. You gave me back my Tomtom and I signed an autograph for your gran. You saw how marked up I was and I told you some lies. It wasnt a boyfriend, Ms. Neal. Tess began to speak faster, afraid that the message tape would run out before she finished and she discovered she badly wanted to finish. I was raped and that was bad, but then I tried to make it right and I I have to talk to you about it because-

There was a click on the line and then Betsy Neal herself was in Tesss ear. Start again, she said, but go slow. I just woke up and Im still half asleep. 47 -

They met for lunch on the Colewich town common. They sat on a bench near the bandstand. Tess didnt think she was hungry, but Betsy Neal forced a sandwich on her, and Tess found herself eating it in large bites that made her think of Goober snarfing up Lester Strehlkes hamburger.

Start at the beginning, Betsy said. She was calm, Tess thought-almost preternaturally so. Start from the beginning and tell me everything.

Tess began with the invitation from Books amp; Brown Baggers. Betsy Neal said little, only occasionally adding an Uh-huh or Okay to let Tess know she was still following the story. Telling it was thirsty work. Luckily, Betsy had also brought two cans of Dr. Browns cream soda. Tess took one and drank it greedily.

When she finished, it was past one in the afternoon. The few people who had come to the common to eat their lunches were gone. There were two women walking babies in strollers, but they were a good distance away.

Let me get this straight, Betsy Neal said. You were going to kill yourself, and then some phantom voice told you to go back to Alvin Strehlkes house, instead.

Yes, Tess replied. Where I found my purse. And the duck with the blood on it.

Your panties you found in the younger brothers house.

Little Drivers, yes. Theyre in my Expedition. And the purse. Do you want to see them?

No. What about the gun?

Thats in the car, too. With one bullet left in it. She looked at Neal curiously, thinking: The girl with the Picasso eyes. Arent you afraid of me? Youre the one loose end. The only one I can think of, anyway.

Were in a public park, Tess. Also, Ive got quite the confession on my answering machine at home.

Tess blinked. Something else she hadnt thought of.

Even if you somehow managed to kill me without those two young mothers over there noticing-

Im not up for killing anyone else. Here or anywhere.

Good to know. Because even if you took care of me and my answering machine tape, sooner or later someone would find the cabdriver who brought you out to The Stagger on Saturday morning. And when the police got to you, theyd find you wearing a load of incriminating bruises.

Yes, Tess said, touching the worst of them. Thats true. So what now?

For one thing, I think youd be wise to stay out of sight as much as you can until your pretty face looks pretty again.

I think Im covered there, Tess said, and told Betsy the tale she had confabulated for Patsy McClains benefit.

Thats pretty good.

Ms. Neal Betsy do you believe me?

Oh yes, she said, almost absently. Now listen. Are you listening?

Tess nodded.

Were a couple of women having a little picnic in the park, and thats fine. But after today, were not going to see each other again. Right?

If you say so, Tess said. Her brain felt the way her jaw did after the dentist gave her a healthy shot of novocaine.

I do. And you need to have another story made up and ready, just in case the cops talk to either the limo driver who took you home-

Manuel. His name was Manuel.

-or the taxi driver who took you out to The Stagger on Saturday morning. I dont think anybody will make the connection between you and the Strehlkes as long as none of your ID shows up, but when the story breaks, this is going to be big news and we cant assume the investigation wont touch you. She leaned forward and tapped Tess once above the left breast. Im counting on you to make sure that it never touches me. Because I dont deserve that.

No. She absolutely didnt.

What story could you tell the cops, hon? Something good without me in it. Come on, youre the writer.

Tess thought for a full minute. Betsy let her.

Id say Ramona Norville told me about the Stagg Road shortcut after my appearance-which is true-and that I saw The Stagger Inn when I drove by. Id say I stopped for dinner a few miles down the road, then decided to go back and have a few drinks. Listen to the band.

Thats good. Theyre called-

I know what theyre called, Tess said. Maybe the novocaine was wearing off. Id say I met some guys, drank a bunch, and decided I was too blitzed to drive. Youre not in this story, because you dont work nights. I could also say-

Never mind, thats enough. Youre pretty good at this stuff once you get cooking. Just dont embellish too much.

I wont, Tess said. And this is one story I might not ever have to tell. Once they have the Strehlkes and the Strehlkes victims, theyll be looking for a killer a lot different than a little book-writing lady like me.

Betsy Neal smiled. Little book-writing lady, my ass. Youre one bad bitch. Then she saw the look of startled alarm on Tesss face. What? What now?

They will be able to tie the women in the pipe to the Strehlkes, wont they? At least to Lester?

Did he put on a rubber before he raped you?

No. God, no. His stuff was still on my thighs when I got home. And inside me. She shuddered.

Then hell have gone in bareback with the others. Plenty of evidence. Theyll put it together. As long as those bad boys really got rid of your ID, you should be home and dry. And theres no sense worrying about what you cant control, is there?

No.

As for you not planning on going home and cutting your wrists in the bathtub, are you? Or using that last bullet?

No. Tess thought of how sweet the night air had smelled as she sat in the truck with the short barrel of the Lemon Squeezer in her mouth. No, Im good.

Then its time for you to leave. Ill sit here a little longer.

Tess started to get off the bench, then sat down again. Theres something I need to know. Youre making yourself an accessory after the fact. Why would you do that for a woman you dont even know? A woman you only met once?

Would you believe because my gran loves your books and would be very disappointed if you went to jail for a triple murder?

Not a bit, Tess said.

Betsy said nothing for a moment. She picked up her can of Dr. Browns, then put it back down again. Lots of women get raped, wouldnt you say? I mean, youre not unique in that respect, are you?

No, Tess knew she was not unique in that respect, but knowing it did not make the pain and shame any less. Nor would it help with her nerves while she waited for the results of the AIDS test shed soon be taking.

Betsy smiled. There was nothing pleasant about it. Or pretty. Women all over the world are being raped as we speak. Girls, too. Some who undoubtedly have favorite stuffed toys. Some are killed, and some survive. Of the survivors, how many do you think report what happened to them?

Tess shook her head.

I dont know, either, Betsy said, but I know what the National Crime Victimization Survey says, because I googled it. Sixty per cent of rapes go unreported, according to them. Three in every five. I think that might be low, but who can say for sure? Outside of math classes, its hard to prove a negative. Impossible, really.

Who raped you? Tess asked.

My stepfather. I was twelve. He held a butter knife to my face while he did it. I kept still-I was scared-but the knife slipped when he came. Probably not on purpose, but who can say?

Betsy pulled down the lower lid of her left eye with her left hand. The right she cupped beneath it, and the glass eye rolled neatly into that palm. The empty socket was mildly red and uptilted, seeming to stare out at the world with surprise.

The pain was well, theres no way to describe pain like that, not really. It seemed like the end of the world to me. There was blood, too. Lots. My mother took me to the doctor. She said I was to tell him I was running in my stocking feet and slipped on the kitchen linoleum because shed just waxed it. That I pitched forward and put out my eye on the corner of the kitchen counter. She said the doctor would want to speak to me alone, and she was depending on me. I know he did a terrible thing to you, she said, but if people find out, theyll blame me. Please, baby, do this one thing for me and Ill make sure nothing bad ever happens to you again. So thats what I did.

And did it happen again?

Three or four more times. And I always kept still, because I only had one eye left to donate to the cause. Listen, are we done here or not?

Tess moved to embrace her, but Betsy cringed back-like a vampire who sees a crucifix, Tess thought.

Dont do that, Betsy said.

But-

I know, I know, mucho thanks, solidarity, sisterhood forever, blah-blah-blah. I dont like to be hugged, thats all. Are we done here, or not?

Were done.

Then go. And Id throw that gun of yours in the river on your way back home. Did you burn the confession?

Yes. You bet.

Betsy nodded. And Ill erase the message you left on my answering machine.

Tess walked away. She looked back once. Betsy Neal was still sitting on the bench. She had put her eye back in. 48 -

In her Expedition, Tess realized it might be an extremely good idea to delete her last few journeys from her GPS. She pushed the power button, and the screen brightened. Tom said: Hello, Tess. I see were taking a trip.

Tess finished making her deletions, then turned the GPS unit off again. No trip, not really; she was only going home. And she thought she could find the way by herself.

Streeter only saw the sign because he had to pull over and puke. He puked a lot now, and there was very little warning-sometimes a flutter of nausea, sometimes a brassy taste in the back of his mouth, and sometimes nothing at all; just urk and out it came, howdy-do. It made driving a risky proposition, yet he also drove a lot now, partly because he wouldnt be able to by late fall and partly because he had a lot to think about. He had always done his best thinking behind the wheel.

He was out on the Harris Avenue Extension, a broad thoroughfare that ran for two miles beside the Derry County Airport and the attendant businesses: mostly motels and warehouses. The Extension was busy during the daytime, because it connected Derrys west and east sides as well as servicing the airport, but in the evening it was nearly deserted. Streeter pulled over into the bike lane, snatched one of his plastic barf-bags from the pile of them on the passenger seat, dropped his face into it, and let fly. Dinner made an encore appearance. Or would have, if hed had his eyes open. He didnt. Once youd seen one bellyful of puke, youd seen them all.

When the puking phase started, there hadnt been pain. Dr. Henderson had warned him that would change, and over the last week, it had. Not agony as yet; just a quick lightning-stroke up from the gut and into the throat, like acid indigestion. It came, then faded. But it would get worse. Dr. Henderson had told him that, too.

He raised his head from the bag, opened the glove compartment, took out a wire bread-tie, and secured his dinner before the smell could permeate the car. He looked to his right and saw a providential litter basket with a cheerful lop-eared hound on the side and a stenciled message reading DERRY DAWG SEZ PUT LITTER IN ITS PLACE!

Streeter got out, went to the Dawg Basket, and disposed of the latest ejecta from his failing body. The summer sun was setting red over the airports flat (and currently deserted) acreage, and the shadow tacked to his heels was long and grotesquely thin. It was as if it were four months ahead of his body, and already fully ravaged by the cancer that would soon be eating him alive.