Chapter 29

Looking back on what happened—as Meredith certainly did look back during the waking moments of the year that followed—she often wondered how matters would have gone if Elsa had not chosen that exact moment to appear. During that year Meredith’s dreams were routine. Lying beside Richard each night during the early months, feeling his nearness and warmth, and feeling their child growing inside her, she once more learned to welcome sleep. She knew that her mind was suppressing a great deal of what she had seen, but she remembered enough.

And, she told herself, it was inevitable that Elsa would show up. Richard’s cab had pulled up out front, and there were four cars in the driveway: hers, Arthur’s, Gus’s, and a police car. That kind of activity would draw Elsa out like a moth to flame.

What she remembered most was ungoverned violence. She could not suppress that part. She remembered the cold, the awful twisting of faces, and the dreadful waves of vengeance that swept the rooms, causing even Gus to recoil. Most of all, she could not forget the violence.

It started with puzzlement. The policemen stood as helpless as everyone else. The older one tried to take a step toward Ed Johnson. As he moved he fumbled for his handcuffs. The younger officer stood frozen.

Then the older policeman stopped, and fear crossed his face. The fear was mixed with disbelief. He looked at his feet, as if he wondered why they no longer worked. He was held in place. “I don’t know what in hell is happening,” he muttered to his partner, “but don’t jump into it.” He dropped his hand away from the useless handcuffs.

Through the rooms, layers of cold moved about them, and the cold carried sobs that were testimony to the death of dreams. Walls glowered, glazed black as the darkest anger. Stench rode on the waves of coldness, the fumes of booze and the smell of fright. Meredith stood transfixed. She willed herself to move but could not. She could not leave Richard’s arms. It was simply that when she willed movement, her will was overridden. From deep in her mind came awareness that it was best to not even try to move. It was best to stand quietly, because matters were beyond her control.

Footsteps sounded from outside, and another shadow moved into the kitchen. She recognized Elsa’s huffing and puffing before she even appeared. “I must say. . . .” Elsa began as she stepped from the kitchen into the dining room. “I must say . . .”

She stopped, her wide girth filling the doorway as hands with stubby fingers went to her lips. Her mouth moved, but no sounds came. She leaned against the doorway, collecting herself. Her mouth continued to move. If the rest of them could not will their legs to take a step, it seemed that Elsa could not will herself to even make a sound. She concentrated, obviously adding up everything she saw. Ed Johnson still sat at the table. Gus and Arthur stood in the background. The two policemen stood before the table, like mannequins arranged for a display.

“Welcome to the show,” Ed Johnson croaked. Of all of them, he seemed the least afraid. Meredith wondered if it was whiskey courage or if Ed was still running a bluff.

“Let us not forget,” Gus said, “that there are also things of beauty in this house. They were here once, before the violence, and they have returned with Meredith. Let us not forget the beauty.” He spoke not to the assembled people, but into the dark waves of coldness and stench.

Forces in the rooms hesitated, seeming to acknowledge Gus’s words, and then rose even stronger. Faint and far away, like the echo of an echo, music ran like a tiny voice of hope. The music existed apart from the darkness, but it insisted that it had its place. Gus bowed his head. “It is important to remember all of it,” he said. “And it is true that I do not understand vengeance.”

It was then that Ed Johnson was tugged, pulled upward, staggering one step toward the living room. His head bobbed, recoiled, and then he braced himself. He was still experiencing no terror, only some confusion. The tugging was steady and not too hard—not yet. Meredith watched Ed’s face. It was blank at first. Then, as gradually as if it were blurring on a film screen, it began to contort until it resembled the grotesque grimace of a rubbery mask.

She looked downward to escape the sight of it and saw, above his open collar, the smallest indentations in the flesh, as if Ed’s neck were encircled by a noose. Ed grinned, contorting the ghoulish twisting that already marred his lips, perhaps trying to dispel his sense of doom, trying to pretend that he was still in control. Elsa leaned against the doorway, and her lips moved as she gave a rapid lecture. No sounds came, and although Elsa’s face showed that the lecture was supercilious, her eyes displayed fear.

Another tug. This time Ed stumbled. He resisted, then took two short steps. His hands went to his throat, and the false courage left his eyes. He fumbled at his throat, gasped, then stood breathing heavily as he was released. He tried to turn, to run away. As he turned, he looked at Elsa.

Her eyes were cold. She watched him as she might critically watch the play of children. She looked at him the way she might look at a newspaperboy who had tossed her paper on the lawn instead of onto the porch. Elsa disclaimed Ed with her eyes. Her mouth moved, soundless. She seemed to be saying that she did not even know Ed, much less approve of him.

Another tug. This one short and sharp. Ed staggered, his huge bulk bumping against the doorframe of the living room. The indentations in his neck became deeper, then relaxed. He choked, tried to scream, but could only gasp for breath. His eyes showed horror, but the rest of his face was molded more deeply now, pinched violently into a gargoylelike mask. He was being dragged forward like a man being led to a gallows.

“Please,” Meredith whispered. “Don’t.”

Richard seemed trying to move forward, but could not. Arthur and Gus stood quietly, and Elsa was silent. Arthur tried to step toward Meredith, and she could not tell if his compassion was for her or for Ed.

“There must be no more death in this house,” Gus said.

The force hesitated, giving Ed little tugs like a dog trained to heel on a choke chain. The force seemed to be considering Gus’s words.

Gus attempted to step forward to interfere, but was stopped. The older policeman made one step and was stopped. “We do not act beyond the law,” Gus said, then fell silent. His hand slipped to his jacket pocket and withdrew his unlighted pipe. “Foolishness,” he muttered, “to speak of law with that which obeys other laws.” He looked at Richard, then at Meredith. “No matter what happens,” he said to Richard, “you must not let Meredith see this. Do not follow. Do not watch.”

Light wind rose through the rooms, twisting layers of cold around them. Elsa moved slowly forward, pushed, not tugged, by an invisible but inexorable hand. As she passed Meredith her eyes became cold with blame. Her mouth moved, no doubt saying that this was all Meredith’s fault, all Meredith’s wickedness. The wind rose, and the front door slammed open. The loud crash startled Ed from his amazement, and he began to fight.

He was a big man, and he fought hard. Each step across the living room saw him resist as the invisible noose tightened. His hands grasped at his throat, then defiantly flailed into darkness and cold. His eyes bulged, and blood began to gather at the corners of his eyes. Blood from lungs that must be tearing apart began to show in the corners of his mouth, rimming his nostrils. He fought, gasped for breath, and blood stained his shirt front as he was dragged through the open door. As he disappeared into darkness, forces in the house relaxed. Meredith found that she could move.

“Stay with Meredith and Richard,” Gus said to Arthur. “Keep them out of this.” As he spoke, Elsa was slowly shoved forward. She was placed in the doorway, watching Ed in the darkness.

From outside the house, between sobs and screams, came sounds of Ed choking. Sounds rose in the night; they were torn and racking sounds; sobs, attempted shrieks, pale voices of fear turned to horror and anguish. Whatever was killing Ed was taking its time. The policemen moved quickly, pushing past Elsa, but Meredith did not hear their footsteps get past the front porch. The police were yelling commands but no one was listening. There were only the hideous gasps, the slow choking, the thrashing of a body that was now surely on all fours, fighting darkness and death.

Gus moved toward the doorway, standing behind Elsa and looking over her shoulder. She turned to him, and her mouth formed in the shape of a scream but no sound came. Gus watched, and then trembled. He braced himself against the doorframe, his body rigid. Meredith could not believe that Gus would ever react that way. Gus stood for strength, for rationality, for hope. Seeing him that way made her understand the depth of terror she had carried for weeks.

Chokes faded to gasps, and gasps faded to silence before sounds of ripping slit through the darkness. This was not like the tearing of paper, but muffled; soft, yet furious. Meredith heard small snaps from breaking bones, and muffled ripping and tearing hovered in the mist.

Then there were gasps of shock; but these gasps were not from Ed. A policeman tried to speak as sounds of fury rose in the darkness.

“My God,” Gus whispered. “Let no one ever again die such a death as that.” In horror, he backed away from the doorway, where Elsa remained transfixed.

“Get to the car radio,” the older policeman croaked to the younger one. “Get some backup here. Move.” Then his voice faltered. “I’ve seen the worst traffic wrecks in the world, but nothing . . .”

More choking. Gasps. A whisper. “All those things out there are dead. Why don’t they stop moving?” Then the younger voice choked off as hard sounds of retching turned into sounds of the young policeman vomiting. “Puke and get over it,” the older policeman said. “I think I’m gonna join you.”

*

Red and blue lights of emergency vehicles flashed in front of the house as a coroner’s truck departed. Neighbors stood in the mist along the chill sidewalk. There was a fire truck out there, and sounds of spraying water told Meredith that fire hoses were covering the lawn. What the police could not explain, they were washing away. That seemed almost sensible.

She had sat in numb silence at the dining room table with Richard beside her. Action and voices swirled. Her mind had retreated. She felt small and still, like a fearful child hiding from the wrath of adults. For a while Gus also sat beside her. Then, at a hurried call from Arthur, Gus went to the living room to help Elsa.

“This is not normal shock,” Gus said to Arthur. From the dining room Meredith remotely understood that Elsa lay on the couch as the two men attended to her. “Of course she’s in shock,” Gus said, “but there are physical manifestations beyond shock.”

“I think she can’t hear you,” Arthur said. “She can’t move her arms or legs, and I think she can’t hear.”

“Something is wrong,” Meredith told Richard. “I have to help.”

“Don’t count on it,” he said grimly, “and don’t go in there. Trust Gus.”

“She may regain movement,” Gus said about Elsa. “But you are right about her hearing. I think she hears nothing but her own voice.”

“I can’t hear a word she says.”

“Doctors will examine her,” Gus told Arthur, “but it looks like there is no physical damage.” Then his voice sank to a mutter. “The mind can play tricks, but I’m not sure her mind has. To tell the truth, I’m not sure of anything.”

And so that was it, Meredith thought. She knew, somehow, something she would never say to Gus. This was the punishment laid on Elsa by a violent and vengeful force. Elsa would never, ever hear a single sound except the sound of her own voice, Meredith was sure, but no one else would ever hear that voice. Meredith thought of the many, many words that came from Elsa. She thought of the spite, the petty machinations, the triviality, and small nastiness of Elsa. Meredith was not sure that Ed had received the worst punishment.

“The ambulance is coming,” Arthur said.

“See to it,” Gus said. “Then join us. In a while I’ll make coffee.” He left the living room and returned to Meredith, to sit beside her, holding her hand. “That took immeasurable courage,” he said to her. “Few people have such courage.”

She was not sure what he meant, and she did not feel courageous. She only felt that she had done what was necessary to protect all of them.

“You caught Richard out front? To think he almost walked in on that plan I had Arthur call you about.”

“Good thing Gus saw me get out of the cab,” Richard answered for him. “And he made me wait. He’s the best friend we’ll ever have.” He looked up as Arthur entered the room. Meredith was weak, but managed to stand.

“I’m a little bit wobbly,” she said to Gus, “but it’s over now.”

“It probably isn’t,” Gus said, “but the darkness has passed.” He reached to steady her, saw that she was in control. He pulled his pipe from his jacket and tamped tobacco from a pouch. “The circle must close,” he muttered, “and it has not closed yet.”

As if in answer, a faint light began to rise from the shadows. It was not normal light, but it was not threatening. Gold luminosity tinged the air. A sense of finality and acceptance surrounded them, and Meredith immediately understood that the forces that held Patty now released her. The game was played, horror added to horror, but now Patty was free.

In Meredith’s memory Patty appeared, for minutes or for only an instant. Meredith could never say, but time made no difference to the importance of the memory.

“Let us not forget that there are also things of beauty in this house.” Gus had said that. When he had spoken those words, the forces of cold and stench had hesitated. Now beauty spread through the rooms, and it would be beauty that would draw the final curtain.

The four clustered together: Gus, Meredith, Richard, and Arthur. Then Arthur was gently detached from the group. A bare hint of music moved through the light, felt more than heard. Arthur’s eyes filled with tears, and his face showed a curious mixture of grief and joy.

Arthur stepped toward the once-familiar living room as music surrounded him. The presence that filled the house was not apologetic. It was loving and it carried regret, but it no longer held fear or loneliness. Arthur stood in the great solitude of his memories and grief, and it seemed to Meredith that for a while he was joined to another presence. Soft light covered him, focused on him, and he was surrounded by a gentle love that was no longer timid.

Meredith turned away then, as did Gus. They left Arthur in the great privacy of farewell, but Meredith hesitated, as it seemed to her that she was momentarily included. She felt the gentle passage of Patty being released, and also felt a quick and private whisper as Patty placed a blessing on her house.