Chapter Thirty-Nine

“Be careful,” Dubrowski whispered to his partner as he watched him edge toward the little building in the woods. Dubrowski was behind him, covering him, and fear gripped his guts. He knew the fear was unreasonable, but something, intuition maybe, told him something very bad was going down inside the little building.

*

“Oh no,” Peter moaned as he witnessed the stabbing. His stomach wrenched. He breathed deep to avoid expelling the bile rising up inside him. “Please, God, no.”

Reason deserted him as Bright came toward him, the knife held aloft, his face alive with passion. “Now I’m gonna put it to you, pretty boy. Put it to you like you’ve never had it.” Bright dropped to his knees and was just about to bring the knife down when he stopped suddenly, the color draining from his face.

Both men looked down to see what had caused the interruption. Ed grasped Bright’s ankle and yanked. Ed’s face had gone sickly white, and the effort he was exerting to hold on to the guy’s leg and pull had caused beads of sweat to pop up all over his face.

“You son of a bitch!” Bright cried. “Why the fuck don’t you just die? I should have done away with you in the woods when I had the chance.”

Bright snatched his leg away from Ed’s grasp and kicked at his wrist. “My fault, my fuckin’ fault for being so goddamn careless. Well, it won’t happen again.” Timothy scrambled to his feet. He turned and, with one large swooping motion, readied the knife to plunge into Ed’s back.

“Hold it right there!”

The voice shocked all three of them. With the command, the door flew open so hard it banged against the wall behind it. The two Lake Bluff officers stood in the doorway, filling its frame, their guns drawn.

Bright stared at them openmouthed for only a second. Then he was heading toward the single window in the stable. He leaped at it, and the sound of the shattering glass combined with the report of Michaels’s gun. Immediately the small confines of the space filled with the smell of cordite.

And Bright was gone, out the window.

“Let’s get him!” Dubrowski cried, and the two officers disappeared from the doorway to make their way around the shed and into the woods.

Peter stared at Ed, who was scrambling to get to his feet. He held his hand against his side; blood seeped through his fingers. “What are you doing?” Peter asked.

Ed felt so weary, so very weary. He barely had the strength to put breath behind his words. Aside from that, he felt very cold. He wondered if he was going into shock.

“I’ve gotta go with them.”

“Are you crazy? You’ve been stabbed, Ed.”

“I have to see this through.” Ed was on his feet and loping toward the door, wincing with each step.

“At least untie me and let me come with you.”

“No time. I’m gonna fuckin’ put an end to this! Now!”

Peter watched helplessly as Ed dashed through the door, gasping.

He wondered if he’d ever see him alive again.

*

He’d never thought he would think of it as a good thing, but now Timothy was grateful for all the summertime games the good doctor had subjected him to as a teenager. It allowed him a good command of how to maneuver through these woods, giving him a distinct advantage over his pursuers.

And his pursuers were not far behind. He could almost feel their fetid breath on his neck as he crashed through the brambles, running first left and then right, dodging trees and the occasional bullet, the sound of which practically caused his heart to stop.

“Stop! Stop, goddammit, or we’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!”

No, Timothy thought, no one’s getting killed here unless I say so. Ahead was a gully that was filled with brown, muddy water from the recent rain. Timothy gulped in some air and leaped.

He just managed to clear the small chasm and wanted to stop and see if the cops had the same luck, but there was no time. He sighed and would have laughed, had he had the breath, when he heard the splash and their mumbled curses.

Just what I needed, just what I fuckin’ needed, Bright thought as he sprinted deeper into the woods. He veered to the left and crashed through a briar patch, one in which he suddenly remembered the good doctor pushing him down and holding him, like a frightened rabbit, while he fucked his ass dry.

But now these thorned yellow weeds offered him protection. He could no longer hear the police behind him and assumed they had gone off in another direction.

“This was meant to be,” he whispered to himself. “It had to be.” He knew that not too far ahead lay Route 41, and he could escape to freedom.

*

“Goddammit!” Michaels said to his partner. “Where the fuck did he go?”

The two men surveyed the woods around them. They saw nothing, heard nothing. They had the choice of countless directions in which to go, and all of them were unsafe bets.

“What do we do now?” Dubrowski asked.

“How the fuck should I know?”

*

Ed had seen everything. He had been several yards behind the cops when he saw their spectacular fall into the gully. He groaned and hoped they weren’t hurt.

He watched as Bright disappeared into the woods. “Lithe little fucker,” he whispered to himself.

He did not give chase. He figured he had gotten well enough acquainted with Mr. Bright to be able to figure out a thing or two about him.

Ed would take a risk. Jumping the gully and trying to catch him was a risk. But it wasn’t as big a risk as what he was banking on.

Ed turned and retraced his path back through the woods.

*

“Fuck.” Timothy let his hand slump to his side…again. It was no wonder no one would pick him up. His hands were cut from bursting through the window. His legs were bloodied and dirty, his pants torn from running through the woods. Scratches marred his boyish face. Plus rain had begun to fall. Suddenly and without warning, the skies turned dark; there was a pitchfork of lightning on the horizon to the east, a crackling boom, and then the rains came. Torrential. Water so heavy it blinded him; the cars sent up splashes and sprays. This had to be one of the unluckiest days of his life. Timothy trudged a little farther up the road, the rain chilling him, making him shiver.

Why had he been so cursed?

He paused, letting the water drain in rivulets down his face. One thought kept nagging at him, pulling at his psyche, teasing him, taunting him.

He had always hated unfinished business. And Peter Howle was still lying inside the stable, shivering and cold and listening to the storm outside.

Could he make it back? Cut through the woods and slip inside before the police returned? He knew the woods around David’s house better than anyone.

He looked behind him and saw the opening. There was a trail that led directly back into the property. Once upon a time, on hot summer afternoons, David would take him horseback riding. They’d used the trail behind him often.

Going back would mean taking an incredible risk. On the other hand, the police could be a while, searching through the brush, trees, and rain for him. And killing Peter Howle would take so little time, so very little time. All he had to do was slip through the door, plunge the knife home, and get back out. He was glad he’d clung to the knife through all of this.

He could do the deed and be on his way before anyone came back.

No. Doing that, going back, would just be stupid. It would be like walking into a trap. But those idiots who called themselves authority figures had been unable to outwit him so far. And the Lake Bluff police force was even more incompetent than Chicago’s.

What would be the harm in just going back and discreetly checking to see if the coast was clear? He could hide himself in the foliage, take a look, and if no one was around, go in and fuck Ed Comparetto up royally.

Timothy turned from the road onto the trail. Rain beat on the treetops. Even though there were no leaves, the trees gave him a little protection from the downpour. It didn’t matter anyway; he was sopping wet as it was.

Timothy hurried along, his brisk walk every so often breaking into a run. The run would continue until he got winded; then he would slow again to a speedy walk.

Within minutes, the stable was in view once more. He looked with amusement at the shattered glass and the door hanging open. It appeared no one was around. Just to be safe, Timothy turned slowly, peering into the darkening woods to see if a white face stood out, if a cop uniform clashed with the trees, the brown and green.

“Now or never,” he whispered to himself.

He sprung out into the open, heading for the door. He looked around him the whole way there, casting glances over his shoulder, expecting to see Mr. Comparetto or one of Lake Bluff’s finest spring out at him.

But there was no one. And Timothy knew this was an omen, telling him he was doing the right thing. Just as there had always been a feeling of rightness about taking the lives of those other filthy boys…

He pushed the door back and leaped inside.

“Hello, Timothy.”

Timothy gasped to see Peter Howle standing before him. Gone were the ties that had bound him, the duct tape that had gagged him, and the cloth that had blinded him.

“What the hell?”

He was about to turn when he felt a strong pair of arms encircle him, one holding him in place around his waist while the other shot out to grab his arm. Timothy stared down in horror at the hairy-knuckled hand which now gripped him…gripped him tighter and tighter, until the hand no longer felt human but like some sort of vise.

He couldn’t stand it. The knife dropped to the damp floor.

Timothy writhed, sending his elbows, with savage force, into the stomach of whoever was holding him. One blow caused a gasp of air from his attacker. His attacker’s grip loosened, and Timothy was free.

“Jesus Christ!” he cried, whirling.

Ed Comparetto stood staring at him, a grin beginning to play on his lips.

“It’s over, Timothy. Don’t make it hard on yourself.”

Adrenaline surged through Timothy. He was not about to let this happen. With an animal lunge, he leaped at Ed, sending him to the floor. Timothy, on top of him, joined his hands together and was about to bring them down on Ed’s face when he was once more grabbed from behind.

Another pair of strong arms, this time Peter Howle’s, encircled him in an unrelenting embrace, pulling him backward.

Timothy struggled to free himself, kicking at air. He felt Ed Comparetto wriggling out from beneath him and knew there was nothing he could do.

He went limp, falling back into Peter Howle’s arms. He turned his head to one side and saw David lying on the floor. His eyes were open, and the blue was filmed over with a milky white substance.

“Stop staring at me!” he shrieked. “This is your fault.”

“What the hell’s going on?” The officers from the Lake Bluff force barged in at last, and Timothy looked up at them. There was nothing to do; their guns were drawn.

“I’m alone,” Timothy whispered to no one. “I’m just fucking alone. Why couldn’t you leave me that way?” He closed his eyes and let himself fall back into Peter Howle’s arms. “Just hold me, okay?”

Ed leaned back on his haunches, never expecting things to end so perfectly. Or bizarrely… Timothy Bright was now the one hanging on. Peter’s face was a mask of confusion as Timothy gripped his hands. Peter looked to Ed for some idea of what to do. Ed shrugged and turned to the officers.

“You can take him in. You better cuff him.”

“No shit.” Dubrowski was already getting out the handcuffs and readying them.

*

Later, after giving their statements and arranging for Ed’s vehicle to be towed, Peter and Ed drove south on Route 41. The sky was purple on the horizon, the last bit of light dying.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. The two had said nothing for most of the ride.

“You’re sorry? I think you stole my line.”

“No. I didn’t have enough faith in you.”

“There’s no reason you should have. Anyone else wouldn’t have stuck it out as long as you did. Anyone else would have written me off as crazy.”

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t.”

“So am I.”

“I think that if I had understood—”

“Shhh. Let’s not talk about this now.”

The two rode on in silence, neither saying anything until they reached the northern boundary of the city and traffic began to get heavy.

“What do you say we just go home and go to bed?” Ed didn’t know how his question would be taken, but before he had a chance to ponder what his lover would think of it, Peter responded.

“That sounds wonderful. But we have to get that cut taken care of.” Peter touched Ed’s side gently; the blood had already dried.

“It was just a glancing blow, a flesh wound. I’ve got some hydrogen peroxide at my place.” Ed steered off the exit at Touhy and merged into the line of headlights heading home.