Chapter Fourteen

The farther back into Massachusetts Carlo went, the more treacherous the roads became. But he had to get to Katherine, and that left him no choice but to drive right into the heart of the blizzard. He stuck to the highway as often as possible, because on most state roads a fleet of enormous sanders and plows were out there with him, yellow strobe lights blinking through the whiteout in a losing battle to stay ahead of the snowfall.

He did his best to concentrate on driving and keeping the car on the road, and it helped to distract him from what he’d experienced at the old Covington house. But the fear remained, the confusion and disbelief mixed with a continual sense of dread and horror. He simply couldn’t get his mind around what had happened in any consequential way, and yet, he knew damn well he hadn’t been asleep, drunk or unconscious. He’d been wide awake. And nightmares weren’t nightmares unless you were asleep. If they came to you while you were awake, they were something else entirely.

They were real.

But Carlo had never believed in such things—ghosts and demons, premonitions and hauntings and all the rest—he’d always dismissed them as nonsense, as the products of overactive imaginations. Now, he could no longer be quite so sure. He knew what he’d seen and experienced, but surely they had to be hallucinations of some kind. The salient questions were: Where had they come from, and who was responsible for their manifestation? Could James somehow be communicating with him, trying to influence him in some way? And if so, whether he was dead or alive, how was such a thing even possible? Such were the kinds of riddles the insane pondered endlessly in joyless state hospitals while awaiting their next round of meds.

He suddenly knew all too well what Katherine had meant about contagious insanity. Perhaps the insanity that had claimed James and that Katherine feared was becoming her reality as well, had turned its attention to him. He’d been so smug when they’d discussed it, so sure she was exaggerating or reading too much into things, and now the same madness was nipping at his heels.

Carlo’s hands clutched the steering wheel so tightly they’d begun to ache, and his pulse throbbed in his temples, leaving him a bit lightheaded and fatigued. Despite the cold, his brow was coated in a thin film of perspiration, and though the shaking that had throttled him from head to toe earlier had lessened, the muscles in his neck, shoulders and arms remained tense and sore.

He knew there was a bottle of whiskey in the glove compartment. Only a pint, but it was full. Just in case, he’d told himself when he’d put it there. Just in case I need it.

“That’s the last thing you need,” he said, blinking away a bead of perspiration and focusing on the endless white beyond the windshield. Understandably, after what had happened, he knew a drink would help relax him, but that wasn’t the point. He didn’t want a drink. He needed one. My God, he thought. I actually do. I need it.

The shakes returned, only this time fear alone was not the culprit.

“What the hell have I done to myself?” He pawed the sweat from his eyebrows quickly, so his hand wouldn’t be off the wheel too long. When had things gotten so out of control with his drinking? Hiding bottles in his car? When had it become that bad? “Focus, just—just focus and it’ll be all right,” he insisted, bartering with himself. “You don’t need it like that. It’s not like that, you—you’re not that bad, man, hang in. Later, I—soon as I get to Katherine’s—I’ll have a good long sip or two. Just get there first, you useless bastard, for once in your fucking life do the right thing.”

The rear tires slipped a bit and the car fishtailed. He gently tapped the break and the car corrected its aim. He continued on, straining through the thick flakes for any sign of his exit. In these conditions he was still just under an hour from Katherine, and that was assuming he could even get that far. If the highways were this bad, there was no telling how impenetrable the back roads might be.

Ignoring the flashing images still haunting his memory, he snatched his cell phone from the passenger seat and dialed Katherine’s home number. As before, he got a “circuits busy” message, so he tried her cell. Like his last attempt, it again went directly to voice mail. This time he disconnected without leaving a message. He had to reach her somehow. Josephine Covington’s voice replayed in his mind, telling him they were all in danger. And the thought of Katherine alone and trapped at the lake made his skin crawl. He had to get her out of there, had to find a way to—Marcy! She was only about ten minutes from the lake. He didn’t know her home number offhand, but remembered programming it into his phone so he wouldn’t forget it when they’d made their disastrous attempts at dating. He located it in his directory and hit Dial.

She answered with her typical degree of epic perkiness. “Ice Station Zebra!”

He’d never been happier to hear Marcy’s grating voice. “Marcy, it’s me, Carlo.”

“Hey, how’s it going, sugar?”

“Have you heard from Katherine?”

“I tried to call her awhile ago just to chat but I think the lines out that way might be down. Figures with all this snow, my God have you ever seen anything like this? I mean, it just keeps coming. I don’t think it’s ever going to—”

“Marcy, listen.” His signal was beginning to crackle. “I need you to do something for me if you can, all right? I’m in Rhode Island and—”

“What are you doing in Rhode Island? Nice day for a drive, dipshit!”

“Look, I have some information for Katherine, information she needs to know. I’m on my way to her place now, but I’m still a ways off and I’m worried about her. I can’t go into it right now but—”

“You’re breaking up on me,” she said. “It’s no wonder in this storm. I don’t know what it’s like in Rhode Island but—wow—you should see it here! And it’s only getting worse. I mean, it wasn’t all that bad when I first got up but now it’s crazy, it’s like something out of a movie or something. That’s why I said Ice Station Zebra when I answered the phone!” She laughed heartily, clearly amused with herself. “Remember that movie? Rock Hudson was in it. I always liked him. Anyway, if Katherine’s lines are down she shouldn’t be out there all cut off from everybody. I couldn’t even get her on her cell. Did I tell you I tried her on her cell too? No luck.”

Certain she would have to stop to take a breath at some point he waited for his opening then pounced. “Marcy, can you go over there and check on her? Do you think you can still get through?”

She answered him, but the signal faded, and he wasn’t able to make out her response.

“Say again, Marcy, I’m losing you!”

“I said, yeah, I can go pick her up if you want! I just bought a tank! You won’t believe this thing, it’s huge! Trust me, I can get anywhere! Even in this crap!”

“I’m on my way there now,” Carlo yelled into the phone. “I’ll meet you there, okay?”

“Cool, we can all come back to my place and get shitfaced! I mean, it’s a frickin’ blizzard, what the hell else is there to do, right? We’ll raid my bar and—oh!—I have some kick-ass frozen pizzas we can—”

“Just get your ass over there and make sure she’s all right!”

Dead air answered him, and for a second he thought they’d been disconnected.

“Hey, Carlo?” she finally asked, her tone a bit more concerned. “You sound really stressed, is everything okay?”

“Go now and I’ll explain everything when I get there, okay?” Again, dead air answered. “Okay? Marcy?”

The call was lost.

“Hang on, Kate.” Carlo snapped the phone shut. “I’m coming.”