CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Nick listened for the voice, but his mind remained silent. Unable to sleep after his nightmare, he dressed and went out before anyone else woke up. He had no idea of where to go, but his feet carried him forward, seeming to know where to take him.

The morning cold refreshed him. He liked this time of day. Like his thoughts, things were quiet. The drunks, freaks and night people had all gone into hiding for the day and the working stiffs hadn't stirred yet.

He knew he should be going to work himself, but the last few days had rattled him. Particularly his nightmare. Who could he talk to about it? Who would understand? There was nothing he could do but figure this one out himself.

He rounded a corner and saw Town Field, then Saint Augustine's rescue mission; the only place he might find answers. He was glad it was early. He didn't want to see the magician.

Maybe he could talk to Father Derlen, then again, maybe not. The priest would give him a few kind words, then he might call the cops. No, the only thing that made sense was to find the bearded man and try to talk to him without being seen by the magician.

A few bums slept in the doorway of St. Augustine's. The bearded man wasn't among them. Nick wanted to see if he had slept in the mission or showed up at the door, but he didn't want to be seen by anyone, so he crossed the street, shinnied up the drainpipe of the Town Field clubhouse and found a comfortable spot on the roof where he could watch.

Ten minutes after the mission opened, the bearded man came shuffling down the street from the direction of Field's Corner station with a Hefty bag slung over his shoulder. Nick watched him go into the mission, then peered over the other side of the clubhouse. Confident he wouldn’t be seen, Nick shinnied back down the drainpipe.

More people trickled into the streets on their way to work. The smells of an awakening city filled the air; diesel exhaust from a passing bus and good old carbon monoxide from the cars. Nick sneezed and hustled across Dorchester Ave. using the bus for cover.

He stood next to the doorway of the mission with his back to the window, feeling strangely vulnerable. What would he say if he ran into Father Derlen? He was still looking for Obie?

Two winos brushed past him on their way inside. Nick followed them, once more greeted by the strange mixture of institutional food and oppressive human smells.

To his relief he didn't see Father Derlen. When he felt sure no one could see him, he walked back and forth between the rows of tables studying the faces of every person in the room. The bearded man wasn't there. He glanced at the kitchen doors on the far side of the room. He had to be back there. Where else could he have gone?

One of the doors opened. Nick turned around and slipped into the crowd, working his way to the back of the room, studying the faces he passed. Finding a seat at a corner table, he stayed low. A couple of men sitting next to him slurping over what he guessed to be oatmeal frowned and put their arms in front of their bowls in protective gestures. Nick smiled and they pulled the bowls closer as if he might steal them. No one spoke.

Father Derlen appeared from the kitchen. Shit. Nick lowered his head while the priest moved about talking to people, sharing laughs and giving reassuring pats on shoulders. Nick moved his head out of Derlen's line of sight and peered out from behind the man he kept between himself and Derlen. When the priest turned his back, Nick started toward the door. When he got within a few feet of it he made a dash.

His hand clutched the knob, he opened the door and did a double-take. Sully stepped out of a car and came toward him. In that first instant, Nick recognized his gaunt, pockmarked face, but he almost went into the street anyway because he'd never seen Sully in plain clothes.

Spinning away from the door, Nick looked across the room. Derlen still hadn't seen him. He turned his back to the two men and heard the door open behind him. Screwed, blued and tattooed. He slumped into an empty seat.

Nick looked into a pair of bloodshot eyes in a weathered face framed by scraggly, silver-gray hair. Sour breath enveloped him.

Just what he needed—to be the center of attention. He half expected Sully's hand to clamp down on his shoulder.

Nick stared back. "Shut the fuck up and go back to your chow," he rasped. "Or I'll use your face to wipe the table."

The fire behind the bloodshot eyes went out and the man went back to his meal. Nick let out a slow sigh. No hand came down to claim him. Thank God. He waited a few more seconds to be sure, then peeked over his shoulder and saw Sully and Derlen hugging. Talk about the Odd Couple. What was a nice guy like Derlen doing with an asshole like Sully? Derlen put an arm over the cop’s shoulder and the two disappeared into the kitchen.

Once outside, he ran toward Field's Corner station. What the hell was going on? What was he doing? The next thought struck him like a brick hitting a wall. He was losing it. The certainty of it shot through him. He couldn't catch his breath. Jesus Christ. He was going crazy. His breath came in short, uneven bursts. Every part of him, his mind, his breath, his heart, all spun out of control as if the fear drove the life and sanity from his being.

He bit down hard on his lower lip, letting the pain jerk him back and forced the panic from his mind. No time for thoughts like that.

Instead of going to work, Nick went to the mission early every morning for the next three days in search of the bearded man who responded to the voice in his head. He didn't bother calling in sick. He knew he'd lost his job, besides, he wouldn't have been able to keep his mind on work. He had to find out what was happening.

Each morning he tried in vain to tune in to the voice as he had the day he found the man in the graveyard, but it remained silent. Before the mission opened each morning, he climbed onto the roof of the Town Field clubhouse to watch the building and the field. The bearded man never showed. Neither did the magician.

In the afternoons he went to the Cedar Grove Cemetery, hoping he might see the man there, but all he saw were the same conspicuous dicks trying their damnedest to look inconspicuous. He made sure they didn't see him.

The magician showed up on the morning of the fourth day, his bag at his side, his cape fluttering behind him like Dracula. Nick flashed on the man in his dream who grabbed for him. He hadn’t heard the voice for almost a week. Where the hell had he been? What had he been doing? What did he do with the bearded man? What if he sees me?

Nick waited until a crowd gathered before sliding down the drainpipe on the far side of the clubhouse and running in the opposite direction. He didn't stop until he entered Field's Corner station. The headline on that morning's Globe jumped out at him from a newspaper rack, making his stomach twist.

The headless body of Yvonne Perry, a twenty-six year old cocktail waitress was found in her Roxbury apartment yesterday afternoon. Perry is the third victim of a man Lt. Jerome Flynn of Charlestown Homicide has dubbed the Headless Horseman.

Flynn claims that: "We have several leads and we're closing in on our suspect. We expect to have him in custody soon."

Lynn Ford, a Cambridge college student and Barbara Brice, a Charlestown resident have also been victimized by the Horseman. Other than Brice, their heads have still not been recovered.