Spawn of Hell (27 page)

He had some cereal with his coffee, then took a cool, brisk shower. He tugged a pair of dungarees on over his underwear, which was all he wore in bed all year round, and put on a light blue shirt. He checked the clock. He still had an hour before Anna’s bus arrived, and it only took a few minutes to drive into town. Anna had decided against driving up in the car they’d taken to Milbourne, because it actually belonged to Derek and she wanted nothing to remind her of him, nothing he could cause a fuss about later.

David sat down on the sofa in the living room and read a mystery to pass the time. At a quarter to five he went outside and got into his father’s car. He pulled away from the property, drove down a narrow country lane which connected with the main highway and turned left. He drove past the Hillsboro grange, the old fire-house, a motel that never seemed to have any business, and a collection of cabins that was never without business. Within five minutes he was in the main part of town; its commercial district.

It stretched along Route 30—a connecting road running perpendicular to the main highway—for about three blocks. On one side of the street there was a gas station, a very tiny shopping mall and a post office. Along the other side, there was a French restaurant (which charged prices as high as big-city equivalents), a barber shop and adjacent liquor store owned by the same family and a small, rustic library. The commercial area was entirely on David’s right as he waited at the intersection for the light to change. On his left the road continued on to the next town. The main highway continued on to the state line, passing in front of the Hillsboro Diner. The major residential district, where resided all the inhabitants who didn’t live on farms, estates or in houses in the outlaying areas, was just one block beyond the main thoroughfare.

When the light turned red, David pulled across the main street and over into the diner’s parking area. The place had always been a greasy spoon, with good service and adequate food, its customers consisting of road-happy truckers and teenagers with nothing better to do but hang out in the back booths nibbling catchuppy hamburgers and ice-cold French fries. David had not sampled their fare in many years; it had probably not changed very much in spite of the sign—
UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT
—
in the window.

He checked his wristwatch. The bus should arrive any minute. He had parked in a spot with a good vantage point and would be able to see the bus a good while before it reached the diner. The land in this area was flat and smooth, courtesy of the farm which bordered the restaurant. The road sliced down through the flat surface of the ground, level for about thirty yards, then inclined downwards, a panorama of grass and gravel and sky.

He settled back in his seat and waited.

Anna Braddon sat in one of the back seats of the Trailways bus, watching the wild colors along the roadside, the trees and flowers and gaudy signs blending into one never-ending blur of country beauty. She was reminded, uncomfortably so, of the type of scenery she had seen in Milbourne, the quaint little antique shops, the ice cream stands and tiny “bar and grilles” along the roads, and she felt ill at ease, although she told herself that she was going to a completely different town, with completely different people, and that no one there had heard of or met her brother, or Harry London, or any of the people in that other, more ominous suburb.

During the bus ride she had time to reflect on the events of the past few weeks, weeks that were troubled and yet happy, full of woe, and yet carefree. It was David who made the difference. So much had happened to her, to everyone around her. Derek and the divorce. Jeffrey and the inexplicable events and disappearances in Milbourne. Nothing made sense anymore. While even David, or anyone for that matter, might have been incapable of dealing with such situations, incapable of taking away the hurt, the tension, his presence and his friendship had helped to get her through these times more easily than she might have.

On top of everything else, she had been assuming that her contract with Exclusiva cosmetics would be renewed for another year, but now there was talk that they wanted a new face, a new look. Over the hill already, and not even thirty-five. Of course, there would be other offers, new campaigns and magazine covers, but none would be as lucrative, none would offer the type of security that Exclusiva did. Being dropped from a campaign as big as Exclusiva, one could practically hear the death knell. She was not poor—and she told herself over and over again that her troubles were as nothing compared to the kinds of torment afflicting people without money, without basic sustenance—but she was still bothered and worried about the future. None of the “big deals” she’d hoped for had ever materialized and probably never would.

She’d seen Derek only two times since her return from Milbourne. Once he surprised her by coming into her bedroom drunk at three o’clock in the morning, alternately shouting filthy words at her, then making clumsy advances. She rebuffed him and he left in a huff. The second time had been at a party given by a mutual acquaintance, a woman who was starting her own agency. Derek spent most of the evening in a corner necking with a petite blonde, waving on occasion to old friends and would-be conquests. Anna tried not to watch, knowing if she did that the good times would come rushing back, and she’d feel that certain something for him again, that strange mixture of affection and lust. She did speak to him at one point, having bumped into him on the way to the john. Their conversation was friendly, but guarded, and ended with him saying jovially, “I’ll tell my lawyer to say hello to yours.” She didn’t hate him. She couldn’t hate him. Maybe they’d still be friends. But even if she had not met somebody special, somebody better like David Hammond, she would have wanted out. Everything about the marriage, and about Derek, had become predictable and exasperating. Enough was enough.

She wondered if she were doing the right thing, just dropping everything and running up to some one-horse town in New England. But she had no choice. She wanted to be near David. And David was in Vermont. Had she asked him to stay in New York, he probably would have. But he looked so happy describing his old home, and the town, and what they would do together, so happy and full of almost child-like anticipation. She could not have disappointed him. Besides, it all sounded very nice. Different. He was different. Refreshingly so.

Anna felt a little dizzy, probably a result of the vibrations of the bus, and stumbled to the cramped little toilet in the back and relieved herself, feeling somewhat better afterwards. Tension. Tension and anxiety, she thought. Who wouldn’t feel upset, bewildered by life? Her brother dead, killed mysteriously. Getting a divorce from a man she’s been married to for years. Her career at a crossroads. Falling in love—and yes, she now believed she was—with another man she knew relatively little about. Who wouldn’t feel strange, anxious, excited, even a little frightened?

Her mood soon changed. The driver announced over the loudspeaker that they were entering the town of Hillsboro. As Anna began pulling her belongings together, a middle-aged woman turned around in her seat and said: “I just wanted to say that I see you on TV all the time, and you’re even more beautiful in person.”

Anna blushed, of all things, and thanked her, returning the smile. The woman was in her late forties, overweight, a blotchy, pale complexion on her pleasantly homely face. A little girl who looked just like her, her daughter probably, sat in the seat next to her looking thrilled. Perhaps they both dreamed of the glamor and excitement Anna’s life symbolized. Maybe they thought if they were like her they would have no problems, that their husbands would be faithful and true and never leave them feeling adrift and unwanted, that all their loved ones would live good, long lives and grow to a ripe old age, and that they themselves would stay young and beautiful and in the public’s favor forever and ever. And suddenly Anna wanted to cry, right there in the aisle, while she struggled with her suitcase to the exit, cry for them and for herself and for any poor fool who thought that there was any sure formula for happiness.

And then she looked past the driver and out the giant windshield, and saw David sitting in a car, looking up with surprise, and she didn’t feel sad any longer, only terribly,
terribly
glad that she had come.

The house was not quite what she had expected. They had turned into the cutoff and were approaching the grounds, and Anna saw this rather large two-story house in the distance. She had expected some kind of cabin, or cottage, a small intimate little thing (although David had never described the place in that manner), and was instead confronted with a large, rectangular house with a porch and second story, and an attic. She wasn’t disappointed, just surprised.

“Why David, it’s huge.”

He laughed. “Not really. Just three bedrooms, a living room, kitchen, den, with a fireplace, and the usual bathroom facilities. Out back.”

She grimaced. “You’re kidding.”

“Yes,” he snickered. “Relax, we do have the usual modern conveniences, even way up here in Vermont.” She gave him a playful poke in the ribs. “Remember, this was our
home,”
he continued. “Not just a summer place.”

They got out of the car, and David took her luggage out of the trunk. There was no lawn to speak of. It had long ago gone to seed after his father had been hospitalized, and there were only a few meager patches of grass. The house was surrounded on all four sides by forest. The woods were set back a way, beyond an overgrown field which seemed to have crept up to the building as close as possible on the sides and in the back, although the area in the front of the house was free of vegetation, as if the lawn had taken everything with it when it had died, draining the soil of its life-sustaining properties. If anyone needed proof that things had not been disturbed for quite some time, the tire tracks in the dirt outside the front porch, so rugged and ancient that they seemed carved in permanent concrete, gave silent testimony, as did the yard-high weeds, and the crumbling chimney which seemed to defy the elements as time progressed. Anna felt a pall of dread pass through her. What must the place be like inside? Suddenly her husband’s townhouse seemed very inviting in comparison. She was reminded of Jeffrey’s house; though different in appearance and smaller, it, too, had had that unmistakable look of loneliness and encroaching decay.

David reacted to her hesitation, sensing that something was amiss. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he reassured her. “The place is old and unkempt, but clean. I saw to that.”

The woods around the house should have been pretty and full of birds and brightly colored foliage. Instead the trees held only pale green leaves, if any, and were packed closely together, making the forest appear impenetrable. She didn’t want to say anything, but she couldn’t help but think it: The property was not attractive. The dirt on the ground where grass should have been. The encompassing weeds. The prickly gray forest. Everything seemed to depressing and dead.

David did his best to dispel that atmosphere. He gave her a hug and a moist, passionate kiss and picked her up in his arms. “I know we’re not exactly married, but I’ve always wanted to see if I could do it.”

“David, oh, David,” she squealed appreciatively as she was carried bodily over the threshold. “Put me down. Put me down.” The door was opened and suddenly everything changed: The inside of the house was charming and quaint, every bit the kind of ambience she had been hoping for. They were in a living room with a big lumpy sofa and tables full of attractive glass figurines—his mother’s—and even a grandfather clock in the corner. Two overstuffed chairs had been placed near the sofa, and there was an old-fashioned reading lamp next to each of them. A circular, patterned rug covered the floor.

He put her down gently. David’s face showed a strain, and she wondered if she had been too heavy for him. She realized he might have hurt his leg carrying her. She had long ago noticed his limp.

He showed her the kitchen. Small but functional— how odd it would feel to cook with gas again—with well-stocked cupboard (“I’ve been shopping,” he confessed) and a 1940s toaster and coffee mugs with Daffy Duck and Porky Pig painted on them. The den had a real brick fireplace and more glass figurines on the mantel. The furniture in here was more modern, but no less attractive. There were two rocking chairs that she simply had to try out later on.

There was one small bedroom on the first floor, next to the den, where David had been sleeping the past two nights. David took Anna’s suitcase up to the master bedroom on the second floor, holding her hand with his free one. His parents’ bedroom had a big canopied double bed with a headboard with sliding doors, behind which could be stored books or bedtime snacks. Lace curtains, which had unfortunately yellowed a bit with time, hung daintily over the windows. There was a small round table in the corner with an old clock sitting on it, and a gray upholstered chair with jagged tears in its cushion that had been placed near the closet. He showed her the other bedroom, which was similar to the one downstairs, and the second-floor bathroom. Obviously, it had been the original bathroom, that was indicated by the old tub with its clawed feet and the sink with two faucets. The toilet downstairs, next to the lower bedroom,, was modern in comparison, with a shower stall and chrome fixtures. David told her that the den and the downstairs bedroom had been added to the house long after it had been originally built.

“I love it,” Anna said, sitting down on the mattress in the master bedroom. “Is this where we’ll sleep?”

David seemed to breath a sigh of relief. Anna had automatically assumed that they’d sleep together each evening like married couples or lovers. She couldn’t see the point of him being downstairs while she was up here, and luckily, neither did he. “Yes,” he said. “I better bring my stuff up.”

“Umm,” she said bouncing up and down. “The mattress is hard, but not too hard. Just the way I like it.”