Chapter Twenty-­Eight

I pulled off the road somewhere and sat there until I had regained some control. There was nothing human in the house, I thought, and what I had heard had no human origins. Whatever it was, it was nothing for me to worry about now.

I threw the empty gasoline cans in a ditch, drove back to Cainesville and parked the Ford in front of Saint Mary’s rectory. I didn’t want anyone to hear a car being driven up to the motel. Then I walked back to my room and let myself in. Father Jackson was still unconscious on the bed, snoring loudly. I undressed, put on a nightgown and got in beside him. Despite what had happened, I went to sleep almost immediately.

He was awake before I was in the morning, dressed and sitting in the chair. From the way he looked, he had a monumental hangover and he was also in an extreme state of anxiety.

“Forgive me, Maggie, I was drunk,” he said miserably.

“We both were. Relax, nothing happened. You passed out and I put you to bed. I wouldn’t have let you do anything even if you wanted to.”

“Where’s my car?”

“I took it back to the rectory so no one would know you spent the night here.”

“Thank you, Maggie. You’re really a good person.”

He left and I went back to sleep. Around noon I got up and had some coffee, then came back and turned on the television set. An hour or so later Father Jackson returned.

“Do you know what happened last night?” he said.

“What?” I kept my eyes on the soap opera.

“The Weber house burned down. It was completely destroyed.”

“It’s lucky there was no one—”

“Two bodies were found. They were badly burned, but it’s thought they’re the bodies of Mrs. Reddy and Mrs. Weber.”

“But you told me they’d gone away!” It couldn’t be they. The searchers must have found the remains of General Caine and Margaret Dorn. But those were only bones, and could hardly have been mistaken for anything else. On the other hand, Stephanie’s body might still have been in the house.

“The Sheriff has evidence that the fire was deliberately started.” Father Jackson moved between me and the television screen. “Were you here all last night, Maggie?”

“You know I was! You were with me.”

“I was out for more than ten hours. And there are a hundred more miles on my car now than there were yesterday afternoon.”

“Some kids must have borrowed it. Get away from me. I don’t want to be interrogated.”

He went, but he wasn’t satisfied. The next day he said, “Did you ever show those glasses to Duff, the ones I found?”

“Yes, I gave them to him.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing that I recall.”

Then I had a horrible thought. If I was guilty of the murder of Stephanie—and now of Mrs. Reddy and Mrs. Weber—was I also responsible for leading Duff into evil? Could he have taken the sleeping pills knowingly because of that?

The next day I asked Father Jackson if I could go to confession. He looked at me for a while, then nodded and went to his car and got his stole. He put it around his neck and sat on the bed while I knelt beside it and told him about setting fire to the Weber house. It disturbed him, but he didn’t say anything. I also told him it was possible I had killed Stephanie, since it was my glasses he had found. I didn’t remember going out of the house that night, but I did remember a terrible dream that was somehow related. Then I said I was sorry for having attempted suicide.

“Is there anything else?” he asked.

“No.”

“About you and your son?”

“I had intercourse with someone several times, but I swear it was not my son.”

I said the Act of Contrition. He sighed and made the sign of the cross over me and pronounced the words of absolution. Then he took off his stole and sat for a while without speaking.

“You ought to go to the authorities and tell them what you’ve told me about the Weber house and about Stephanie,” he said finally. “But I can’t make you do it or even penalize you spiritually for not doing it. I also think you should go back to the hospital or to some institution where you can get help. But I can’t make you do that either.”

“I’m not crazy, Peter! I was made to do those things!”

“That, I would think, is as good a definition of insanity as any other.”

Whatever it was, I was sure that if my enemies were really dead, I would never be afflicted again. After a while I would even be able to get along without Duff. I would take Franny and we would go somewhere and live again.

The next day I went to Mass. I couldn’t make myself walk up the aisle and receive Communion, but I thought it would only be a matter of time before I was able to do it. In any case, Father Jackson was pleased that I had come, and afterward he let me take his car to drive to Ashland and see Franny.

I might have been kidding myself, but I thought she smiled a bit—just a hint of movement at the corners of her mouth—when I entered her room. Anyway, that day I made arrangements to have her transferred to a nursing home in Cainesville near the motel.

Then one afternoon a couple of weeks later I borrowed the car again and drove out to the farm. Father Jackson didn’t want me to go, but I persuaded him that it was necessary therapy, that I had to be able to face the place again.

I parked in the yard and stayed there a long time, staring at the monstrous old building. But then the sun came out, sparkling the frost on the oak branches, and the place didn’t seem so bad. I drove away, but in a few days I came back again and this time unlocked the front door and went into the parlor.

Nothing had been changed. One of Jack’s legal pads was on the table near his customary chair, and Franny’s rain boots were on the floor near the stairs. I went out to the kitchen and found nothing unusual there. The cocoa cups must have been taken away, and if I had left other dishes in the sink, someone must have washed them and put them in the cupboard.

Nothing was wrong now, I thought. Whatever evil had been in the house was no longer present. I could go away with Franny and put it all out of my mind. There was just one more thing to do. I had to decide whether or not to leave Duff’s body in the graveyard.

It shouldn’t make any difference now, it seemed to me. If the evil was gone, then why disturb the grave. I had to look at it though, just once. I would do that, then take what I wanted out of the house and never come back here again.

I went out the back door and along the path to the graveyard. I wasn’t frightened. There didn’t seem to be anything to be frightened about. The sun was still shining, and though it was almost winter some blue jays were chattering on the fence as I approached the gate.

Then I opened the gate and saw the hole. It was where Father Jackson had said Duff was buried, next to his father. The empty cement vault was below, and its lid was on the pile of earth next to the hole.

My first reaction was anger, rage at those who had dared to steal the body of my son. That was instantly followed by sickening horror at the thought of the purpose for which the body was surely to be used.

The Weber house was destroyed. The casket couldn’t be there. Could they have taken it into the Caine house? I ran back to the kitchen, slammed the door and bolted it.

Then I looked through all the rooms downstairs, but there was nothing in them that hadn’t been there before. Upstairs? More likely, despite the weight of the casket. The storeroom possibly, or maybe the third floor.

But I couldn’t make myself go up the stairs. What good would it do anyway if I found it, I thought. I couldn’t move it without help, couldn’t take it away with me. I would leave now and come back in the morning with Father Jackson. If we found it, I’d have the undertaker come and get it and cremate the contents—as should have been done in the first place.

I had picked up my purse and was at the front door when I heard music coming from upstairs. It was the Bach minuet being played on a flute. I was terrified, but I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t really hearing it but only remembering it.

I fled out the front door to the car and for a couple of awful moments couldn’t find the car keys. Then when I did find them, I couldn’t start the car. In my panic I flooded it, but I kept bearing down on the pedal anyway. The cranking sounds became slower and slower and then there was nothing. The battery was dead.

Then a slight movement on the lawn caught my eye, the wind fluttering black cloth. I turned my head and looked out the side window, and there by the front door of the house were Mrs. Reddy and Mrs. Weber.

They were standing there staring at me with their hands clasped as though in prayer or supplication. As before, they were both dressed in black—black dresses and black veils. I closed my eyes and screamed and screamed and when I looked again they were gone.

I had never been more frightened. It was growing darker outside and I knew I ought to get out of the car and run somewhere to a telephone, but I couldn’t move. The phone in the Caine house had been disconnected, but even if it hadn’t been I wouldn’t have been able to go back into the house.

I sat for a long while until the sun went down and it grew very dark. I couldn’t even turn my head to look at the house now. I thought I was going to die. I hoped I could die quickly and get away from the horror.

But it wasn’t over for me yet. I sat there in the darkness, trembling, unable to think coherently, sure that the General would come. Maybe he was in the car already. In the back seat or maybe even sitting beside me. Then I had an even more terrible thought. Maybe Duff would come.

There was a knock on the car window. My heart stopped. I opened my mouth to scream again but now I couldn’t make a sound.

Then a voice called, “Don’t be scared, lady. Is anything wrong? Can I help you?”

I opened my eyes and turned my head. A young man—a perfectly normal-­looking young man—was standing there staring anxiously at me. He seemed to be about Duff’s age.

“I can’t get this car started,” I managed to shout.

“Let me try.”

I got out and he got in and turned the key.

“Battery’s dead. Do you live here, ma’am?”

“I used to.”

“I’m Jeff Duncan. I live up the road. I could get my car—”

“No, no, don’t leave!”

“It’s raining, ma’am. Is there anyone in the house?”

“No.” No?

“Does anyone know you’re here?”

“A friend of mine in Cainesville.”

“Do you think your friend might come after you?”

“Probably in a while.” It was raining hard now.

“Maybe we ought to wait inside until your friend comes.” He took my arm and I went with him to the front door and into the house.

We took our coats off. He sat on the settee and I sat in Jack’s chair. He told me he was a senior at Cainesville High and that he had known Duff casually. He said that even though Duff had been at the school only a few months, all the kids seemed to like him and that a memorial service for him had been held in the gymnasium. He knew that would please me.

He said that when the rain stopped we could both walk up the road to his house. Then he would get his father’s car and drive me back to Cainesville. I didn’t ask him how he happened to be walking on the road in the rain.

I suggested a cup of tea. I couldn’t have made cocoa. He said he usually didn’t drink tea, but it might be nice now. I went out to the kitchen, filled the kettle and waited for the water to boil. When I turned back to the table, the General was sitting there, grinning at me.

I shrieked, I think, and ran into the front room. Jeff Duncan was gone. Mrs. Reddy and Mrs. Weber were standing in front of the door, blocking it.

There was nowhere to go but up the stairs. I went up slowly and fearfully, looking back at the two as they began to follow me. And now the flute music began again.

I reached the upstairs hall. Duff’s door was closed but the music was coming from his room. Soft music now, plaintive music, calling me.

I went to his door, had my hand on the knob, but then couldn’t turn it. No matter what was behind me, I couldn’t make myself open the door.

He called me, softly at first, “Mother, please come in, Mother.” Then crying, “I need you, Mother, I beg you to come in.” Then, groaning as though in pain, “Oh, Mama, only you can save me! If you love me, Mama, come in and help me!”

The door opened without my touching it. The room was dark and there was an overpowering stench of corruption. But that vanished as I began to change. I was no longer Maggie Caine.

I took one step into the room. I could see a figure in a gray suit stretched out on the bed.

Then a voice behind me cried, “Maggie, don’t go in there!”

I was grabbed from behind and pulled back. But not before I saw his face.