Vision (9 page)

Maybe his physical symptoms were a part of it. A hysterical illness. He pressed his hands over his eyes. What was he going to do?

“I’ll take him home,” said the Sheriff. “Give me a chance to talk to Sam Pendell and figure out what’s going on in that house.”

Nuts. That’s what they all thought now. That he was nuts.

“Can you stand up, Bobby?”

“I don’t know, Sheriff.”

He felt their pitying eyes on him. They cleaned him up, helped him into some of Coco’s clean-smelling but too-long pants and a T-shirt, and hefted him to his feet, the ground beneath him liquid. His arms flung around their shoulders, he was walked outside, the night air hitting his face in a cool and swirling blur of light and shadow.

Once in the car, Bobby slumped lower in the seat. What would Aaron think when they carried him in the house like this? He felt a tear trickle down his cheek and wiped it quickly away.

Sheriff Barclay got in the car, his acrid blend of strong cologne, body odor, and cigars overpowering the lingering stench from the garbage bin. Bobby turned toward the bulky mass of uniformed flesh in the driver’s seat. “I’m sorry for causing so much trouble, Sheriff.”

The sheriff cleared his throat. “No trouble at all. I lied to those folks back there, you know, Bobby.”

“What?” Bobby sat up straighter.

The sheriff started the engine. The car rolled backward in reverse, then made the turn out of the lot onto Route 23.

“Last month, Carol Ann Deumont, from Clarksville in Renssalaer County, vanished right after her high-school prom.”

“It was all over the news. Was that her in the Dumpster?”

“I didn’t find no body in the Dumpster, Bobby. Did you know Carol Ann?”

“N-no. I didn’t.”

“I gathered that, Bobby.”

Bobby let his eyes slip closed. The blur of flashing lights was aggravating his headache.

“I found something else. Sticking out from under the garbage was a torn-up blue silk gown.”

“I never saw any gown, sir.”

“I gathered that, Bobby, or you would have said so. And I’m not sure what you did see. But I’ve got that gown in an evidence bag in the back seat. It looks a lot like the gown that Carol Ann was wearing the night she disappeared.”

“That’s crazy.”

“And you had no idea the gown was there?”

“What? No! How would I know that?”

“Then, Bobby Pendell, what the
hell
were you doing climbing into a Dumpster in the first place?”

By the time the sheriff’s car drove up the long, steep climb to his house, Bobby was nearly able to see normally again. At least out of one eye. The view from the right eye was still a watery, blurred mess. Bobby got out of the car. Still shaking violently, at least he could stand now without falling over.

The body, the slit throat like a ghastly smile, the blood caked around it. He knew what he’d seen. He’d felt the weight of it, smelled the putrid decay. Could the sheriff be lying? Or were his hallucinations
that vivid
?

Bobby heard Pete’s excited barking from inside the house and knew that what he could use right then was a good dose of doggie love. Sheriff Barclay insisted on helping Bobby into the house. Insisted on plopping heavily onto the living room couch beside Dad’s easy chair. Aaron had gone to bed, thankfully, while Dad snoozed through an infomercial about miracle egg slicers.

“Jeez!” he sputtered, waking up with a start. “What the hell you doing here, Chuck? What’d you do now, Bobby Pendell?”

“He didn’t do nothing but not feel good. Least, far as I know.”

“When the sheriff drives your boy home, a man’s heart stutters a little.”

“I imagine it would.” Sheriff Barclay hefted himself off the couch with a grunt. “Mind if I have a private word with Bobby, Sam?”

“Sure—the kid’s asleep in his bedroom, but feel free to use mine.”

Dad’s bedroom was a collection of empty medicine bottles, torn-up girlie magazines, and dirty clothes. Bobby cringed.

“Look, Bobby. I don’t know how you knew to look in that Dumpster…”

“I—” Bobby started to say, but Sheriff Barclay shook his head, scowled and kept talking

“…and I’m not saying you had anything to do with the girl’s disappearance. But it
is
strange you knew to look.”

“Yeah,” Bobby said, glancing away. “It does seem that way. But I swear I—”

Sheriff Barclay squinted at him. “You should get that head of yours looked at. And your right eye looks all bloodshot.”

“I will.”

“I’m going to make sure you do. I’ll be back to check up on you. If you can’t get there on your own, call and I’ll take you there myself.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.”

The sheriff studied him for a beat, then added, “Listen. I don’t know what’s ailing you, Bobby, and I don’t know what made you climb into a Dumpster and convince yourself you saw a body. I
do
know it’s a weird coincidence. I’m going to have some tests run on the gown, and file a report with the State Police in Renssalaer County. If it comes back positive we’ll be talking again real soon.”

Bobby waited for the door to close, then glanced at himself in Dad’s dresser mirror. His left eye looked fine. But like the sheriff said, the right eye was bloodshot and he still couldn’t see out of it worth spit.

Something was wrong with him and getting worse.

He wasn’t imagining that.

T
he next morning, Bobby studied his right eye in the bathroom mirror. It was a hideous sight, the white filled entirely with bright red blood. Closing his left eye, he peered at himself. The vision in the eye was definitely better, though still smudgy around the edges. But he looked like hell.

As promised, Sheriff Barclay checked in to make sure that Bobby took the day off from school. He offered to drive him to the VA for an examination, but Bobby had something else in mind.

Dr. Joseph Piedmont in Salisbury was an old friend of Bobby’s grandfather, Dr. Herbert Sparrow. At ninety, the old geezer was well past retirement age, but Bobby wasn’t interested in a state-of-the-art examination. He just needed a note for Max Friend to prove that he was fit to work, and old Doc Piedmont was the right man for the job. Though the memory of the girl’s body still gave him the jitters, Bobby was pretty sure, if he could just steer clear of crime evidence, he’d be good to go.

With her faded red hair gone white at the roots, the receptionist at Doctor Piedmont’s office looked as ancient and frail as the doctor himself. Bobby leafed through National Geographic magazines from the seventies. Fidgeting on the ripped vinyl of the waiting-room seat, he hoped that Dr. Piedmont wouldn’t ask him to take off the sunglasses that disguised his wickedly irritated eye.

The doctor peered at him over the rims of his bifocals. “Well, Bobby, it’s good to see you. But would you mind taking off those dark glasses?”

Bobby sighed. The doctor whistled, picked up a small penlight, shined it in his right eye, then peered closer. “My, my. What happened here?”

“I, uh…I fell and hit my eye. I got a little dizzy, but I’m fine now. I just need a note so I can go back to work tomorrow night.”

“I see.” The doctor wet his lips and scribbled in a pad, then looked back up at him. “Bobby, how are you all doing?”

“We, uh—we’re doing okay—it’s just that, I’m fine and I need to get back to work, Dr. Piedmont. I really need to.”

The doctor nodded. “I understand. Have you had any headaches? Blurred or double vision? That must have been quite a knock you had.”

“No. No. I’m fine. Absolutely fine.”

The doctor nodded. “I’ll write you your note, but if you do have headaches or eye trouble, I suggest you don’t ignore them. Untreated head injuries can result in blood clots, you know. Blood clots in the brain can cause brain damage and are often fatal. There’s nothing else you’re not telling me, is there, Bobby?”

“No, sir. Not all.”

The doctor stared at him shrewdly, then jotted a note on his memo pad and handed it to Bobby.

“There you go. I’m pretty certain this is just a common subconjunctival hemorrhage. Can be caused by vomiting, coughing, or even a hard sneeze. Nothing to worry about.”

Bobby hurried out to the truck, note in hand, reasonably sure he didn’t have to worry about a blood clot, since he’d never actually hit his head. Besides, he was feeling fine now. Except that every time he blinked, the victim’s body was there, silently accusing him with its taped-shut eyes, begging him to do something. Anything.

How could he know if the grisly memory was real or not? What physical evidence did he have to back up any of the visions he’d had, except the tattered gown the sheriff had found in the Dumpster? And he’d never even seen that. With his eyes shorting out all the time, it was hard to tell the difference between what he’d really seen and what he thought he had seen.

Then Bobby remembered the scrap of material he’d stashed in the toolbox. He wasn’t even sure what color it was, if it was the same blue silk as the missing girl’s gown. He was going to have to look at it.

Bobby drove a mile out of Salisbury and pulled over to the side of the road.

If the scrap was the same blue silk as the gown the sheriff had found, maybe he was on the trail of an actual killer.

And he or she was still out there.

Bobby squeezed his eyes closed and slowly unlatched the toolkit. It only took a quick peek for the headache to hammer him.

He couldn’t risk losing another day of work to the sickness. He’d have to bring the fragment to Sheriff Barclay and explain where he’d found it. Which would make the man even more suspicious of Bobby than he already was, but it was the only way.

If only he knew what secrets were hidden in those woods, why he had had such a strong reaction to the path that lead deeper in. But he couldn’t chance going back there, either. It was starting to dawn on Bobby that, each time he had a vision, the physical reactions got more severe.

He’d have to do his research remotely.